Tenno Heika Komei: The Battle Of Hitoshirezu-jo, Part II

At noon, the enemy arrived. Sunshine still ruled the day, though darker clouds had edged ever closer, the afternoon comfortably cool. It stood to reason that the weather would be perfect for battle, as the bingo charms granted the Magician (as I understood it) some degree of prognostication.

The enemy forces crested the forested hill directly in front of the castle, a small valley standing between their grassy hill and my forces outside Hitoshirezu-jo. While a right-thinking tactician would at this juncture politely mention that my small army would have the greater advantage utilizing the castle's walls as a defensive position, the very point of our defense was to keep the Magician out of the structure entirely. I would use the castle as a fallback position only, for late last year I had received a letter that read thusly:

To the great and powerful Emperor Komei of Japan,

Forgive the brevity of this note, but I have not much time. I am preparing to write a letter to my descendant, and I have not much doubt that once I do so my old master will sense my betrayal and take vengeance upon me from afar.

This I know, and mark me well: should the Magician set a single foot inside Hitoshirezu-jo, you will be powerless to stop him from performing his trick, thus bringing the world as you know it to an end. You must keep him outside of the castle walls at all costs.

He does have one hurdle, however, and that is that he must somehow place a portion of his blood inside the castle for him to be able to enter. Be aware as well that his body no longer contains blood of its own, so he cannot merely open a vein on your doorstep. He might have an old vial, or use other means to smuggle it inside, such as (and this is my own devious mind at work) painting blood onto Hollis' centipedes and having them run up the walls and into the windows. Or perhaps he will tempt one of your men into hiding a vial on his person. Search all of your people. There will always be a traitor, as I well know to my ultimate shame.

Best of luck to you. End it, once and for all, I beg you.

Your fellow sovereign,

Leopold George Christian Frederick, Prince of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, Duke of Saxony, King of the Belgians

With this missive in mind, I had the walls of the castle covered in grease so that none of the foul insects could scurry up its sides, and though I was disgusted by the ordering of the mistrustful act, I had had all of my troops' clothing and armor inspected for blood, discovering none.

My foe and his men gathered over the next hour, his grinning, elderly, yet superhumanly strong forces arranging themselves in a line on the ridge. We would do battle on the small plain in front of the castle, and as both he and I knew that there was no element of surprise to be had, we assembled and positioned our fighters at our leisure.

His lieutenants were the last to appear, and from King Leopold's earlier writings I recognized a good many of the personages. First to appear was the American, Hollis, a man I despised almost as much as the Magician himself, as he had bestowed the secret of nuclear fire to our enemies and brought Nippon to its knees. He was dressed in a white, three-piece suit and casually held a Confederate cavalry saber at his side.

Next could be seen a tall man, black as coal, dressed in only a loincloth and lion's mane headdress. He carried a pair of spears and a shield, and roaming about his feet were four mangy, giggling, snarling hyenas. The man gazed upon my assembled army with an arrogant sneer. From my readings, I concluded that this was Nhlakanipho Mabuza.

Following him was an old woman of middle-eastern descent. She was wrapped in gray cloth, her face thinly veiled, though even from my far position, through my telescope I could see that once she had been a specimen of incomparable beauty. She peered over her nose at the battlefield with what seemed an odd combination of boredom and disdain. I guessed that this might be who Leopold referred to as the Red Lady of Babil, but I could not be certain.

The last of the Magician's Lieutanants limped up the hill, peering up at the castle with gray, melancholy eyes as a rangy, tired-looking wolf slumped up next to him and gazed disinterestedly at the army assembled in front of it. In the man's hand was a Russian shashka (a hilt-less saber) held so loosely and carelessly that it actually dragged at the ground at his feet. His gray hair was long and ragged and the Soviet longcoat he wore identified him to me as Taras the Mutineer.

Finally the Magician himself appeared, strolling up the hill in a full tuxedo, his dark eyes staring up at the castle, the hint of a smile dancing at the edge of his lips. By his side was a woman dressed all in a funereal, black, burqa-like garment. I wondered if perhaps this was the Red Lady instead, but could afford no time to dwell upon the matter further.

From his far vantage point, the Magician picked my person out from the crowd, and gave a theatrical bow in my direction which I did not see fit to return. Then, with a gesture, he commanded his troops to advance.

At my side, sadistic Sato snarled uncontrollably, almost mad with the exertion of restraining himself on the brink of battle. Further toward the line I could see my archers, with Hara serenely stringing his bow and testing its pull as calmly as if it were another day on the practice range.

At the front and center of the line stood Ota, his block-like form stoically poised for battle. Fukimitsu sat atop his horse with the other cavalry on our right flank, his usual whimsical smile replaced with a more proper look of determination and focus.

In the rear stood the reserves and the gaijin, with him gripping the Magician's knife, his knuckles white around the handle, hovering over the opened chest of bingo charms and her holding a bow in one hand and an arrow in another. As I watched they turned and simply stared at one another for a long moment. Before I turned away, in their eyes I saw a reflection of the purest romantic love, and I was reminded that while the outlanders did not belong in our world, they were not all to blame for what had gone wrong in the universe. In that split second, I almost regretted not fulfilling their request and marrying them, even on our most-sacred site.

I pushed these thoughts from my mind, as regret has no place in a leader's mind on a battlefield. The "Smilers" as Howland and Stroud referred to them advanced down the hill to our position, with the African Nhlakanipho Mabuza loping down with them. Hollis sauntered down at a leisurely pace behind, while the Magician, Taras and the two ladies remained in the rear.

Calling out to Hara, I said, "Target the lieutenants. It will take many arrows to bring them down, so aim true for once, Hara-san!" He bowed back to me as my men chuckled politely at my small jest. From my position I could see Hara take a deep breath and close his eyes, then he pulled a long, barbed arrow from the ground and fitted it to the string. With perfect form, he raised his bow high and pulled back the arrow just as Nhlakanipho Mabuza reared back and heaved one of his spears with savage force, the shaft whooshing through the air with a sound I could hear even in the rear, and before Hara could loose even a single bolt, the spear punched straight through the center of his head, dropping him to the ground with an awkward thud, killing him instantly.

My army gasped, and the gaijin Howland summed up our collective thoughts with a stunned English curse that even I recognized: "Motherf*cker!"

I had been harshly reminded of that old tenet of war: no battle plan survives contact with the enemy.

And then the battle was joined as the front row of Smilers waded into my troops with their Hawaiian shirts and straw hats, a few of them even randomly clicking away with their cameras as my infantry hacked into them, their katanas flashing in the sun.

My front line held, Ota's gigantic frame providing a constant reference point throughout the engagement. With my telescope I could see one of my soldiers beheading a young, blond-haired cruise director in one place, while refocusing on another area would reveal one of my samurai's arms being torn off by a grinning elderly woman and being beaten to death with it. All along the front was chaos, and in another moment I could see my men staggering back almost as one as they writhed about in what appeared to be an odd dance. Deducing what was happening, I shouted and pointed at Howland, who nodded, stabbing down with the knife into the chest of charms.

With a bright flash, The centipedes which now covered my infantry dropped off, killed instantly, as were Nhlakanipho Mabuza's blood-gorged hyenas and Taras' wolf, who laid down and died almost gratefully. In addition, all of the Magician's Lieutenants staggered back holding their heads, reeling and confused.

My men cheered, redoubling their efforts as I flagged Fukimitsu to commence his cavalry charge. He and his men put the spurs to their steeds with a yell, and the thunder of hoof beats bore down on the enemy, smashing into their flank ferociously and carving a deep hole into their ranks.

We took every advantage of the moment until eventually the Lieutenants recovered, Nhlakanipho Mabuza and Hollis once again attacking my front lines and conjuring more centipedes and hyenas.

And so that is how the day was spent, with the Magician's forces pushing us back to the castle gates until Howland destroyed another charm, when the first few ranks of Smilers and every animal in sight would fall over dead, and the more powerful henchmen of the Magician would be left stunned and staggering, and then we would rally until they recovered and back again. By late afternoon the dark clouds were almost upon us, and while we had slaughtered thousands of them, the Magician still had all of his most powerful servants while I possessed only a few hundred samurai.

Just after five o'clock in the evening, Nhlakanipho Mabuza- drenched in samurai blood and howling for more- was running rampant through my lines. It was then that I finally released my reserves, led by Sato, who at this stage was virtually foaming at the mouth.

Sato charged straight for the African, waving his katana and shouting various profanities. Both the Smilers and the other samurai parted as the two madmen clashed, Sato's katana deflected by Mabuza's shield, a quick side-step saving Sato from impalement on Mabuza's spear in return. Round and round the two circled, all the while furiously attacking and barely bothering to defend.

Eventually, Sato stepped in too close, and Nhlakanipho Mabuza's spear stabbed him through the left shoulder, the point jutting out of his armor on the other side. The Magician's servant smiled with bone-white teeth at the hit before realizing that Sato had offered up the sacrifice of his bad arm so that he could get a clear shot with his good one. Before Mabuza could react, Sato's katana arced sideways underneath his shield, disemboweling him.

Nhlakanipho Mabuza stared down at the intestines and gore spilling out of his belly and cursed, looking peevish. Without hesitation, he yanked the spear from Sato's shoulder with one hand while with the other he lifted up his intestines and threw them over his shoulder like a scarf, getting them out from underfoot. With his internal organs draped over his back like a cape, Mabuza renewed his attack to Sato's great surprise, beating him down to the ground with the butt of his spear. Another hit, and Sato's katana went flying, but as he raised his spear for the killing blow, Fukimitsu roared past on his horse, his sword flashed in the final rays of the day's sun, and Nhlakanipho Mabuza's head fell to the gore-soaked ground, a shocked expression permanently etched on the dead man's face.

A great cheer went up from my men, but only a moment later Hollis stepped from the pack, his pristine, white suit now almost totally soaked in red, and chopped low, hacking off Fukimitsu's horse's forelegs as it galloped. His steed tumbling and screaming, Fukimitsu went flying, hurtling high over the field and down in a clattering heap, dazed and momentarily helpless while Hollis grinned a yellow smile and sauntered over to his prone form twirling his saber in anticipation for the killing blow.

While it is up to a leader of men to treat every one of his men with a certain equanimity, some simply have more value than others. Fukimitsu was my interpreter and my chief Lieutenant, and his loss would have been a heavy burden on my command. Can I claim in all truth that I would have personally leapt to his rescue if he were not my descendant? Perhaps not, but therein lies another rule of leadership: rank hath its privileges.

Drawing my blade, I charged down through the fray, pushing aside friend and foe alike until I bore down on Hollis, calling his name to try and turn him away from Fukimitsu. Finally I was almost upon him, but Hollis stood directly over him, placed his foot on my great-great-great-great grandson's neck, held his sword pointed directly downward at his face and turned his head to smile at me cunningly out of the corner of his eye.

I knew that if I took one more step Hollis would kill him, so I halted in my tracks and considered what I could possibly say to make him stop. I could think of nothing that would not impugn either my or Fukimitsu's honor, so I said nothing and merely stared.

After a long moment, Hollis bowed to me in his Southern American style and said in heavily accented Japanese, "I had the pleasure of entertaining your man Tanaka for a year or so, your majesty. While I taught him English, I did the best I could to learn his language in turn for just such an occasion. Ironically, however, after all my struggles to learn your three alphabets and dizzying patterns of speech, with all due respect, here you turn out to be not much of a conversationalist." He laughed then with good humor, or as good as a soul so utterly twisted could manage.

Slowly circling him to try and draw his attention toward me and away from Fukimitsu, I said, "Tell me, there are so many countries and culture that were brought to this world, so why are there so few of the traitors who serve the Magician here today? Should there not be fifty or a hundred of you or more?"

I kept my eyes on his, but still his sword point hung only inches from Fukimitsu's head. Hollis nodded, more than happy to carry on a conversation amidst a full-on war. "Some regret their decision and do not come when called. My master does not punish those who do not participate, only those who turn on him. Also by this point, many have died- some by accident, some by murder and the rest by their own hand." He shrugged. "Immortality isn't for everyone."

He grinned then, his sword whipping up and away from Fukimitsu's face. "Care for a sword-fight, your majesty? That's all I wanted when I cut your boy's horse out from under him in the first place." He raised his saber in salute and I granted him a nod in response before we charged, our blades smashing into each other in a shower of sparks. Again and again we attacked, and I could not help but smile. For all of these years the tremendous physical gifts that Nippon had bestowed upon me had gone all but unused, but now finally I could reveal the speed, strength and agility that made me the Magician's equal, at least of the flesh.

I was concentrating so completely on Hollis that I was surprised when a stray Smiler lunged at me from the side, her wrinkled and liver-spotted hands reaching out for my neck, and I was even more taken aback when her advance was stopped by Hollis himself, who brought his saber down on her skull, splitting her head in two and dropping her to the ground. He muttered, "Pardon, ma'am. Private party," before saluting me once more and rejoining the combat.

I do not know how long we fought there on the field- for the most part unmolested by the surrounding troops- but finally I was able to convince him in the false sincerity of a downward feint and thus take his left arm off with a rapid upward slash. His face betrayed not a hint of pain, but he shook his head at the wound and gave a soft curse. "I tell you, sir, on our last campaign I duelled the King of the Belgians, and he did not land a single blow."

My head held high, I said, "The Emperor of Japan is superior in swordplay to the King of the Belgians. This surprises you?" He shook his head, chuckling, but before he could speak I continued, "And Leopold, he was one of the King's men?"

"A minister."

"And he betrayed his King? Joined the Magician, gained immortality and was himself made King after the Magician brought his world to invade Nippon?"

Hollis paused to kick his severed arm out from underfoot. "Yes, your majesty. A decision he came to regret, apparently."

"But you do not."

He shook his head. "Why am I the way I am? Is that your question, sir?" For the first time I felt I was nearing the heart of the man. "An abusive father? A neglectful mother? Broken home? Crippling poverty? A true love lost to another man? All of it? All and more?" Hollis sighed. "Does it matter now? If anyone can accept a monster for what he is, surely it is you and your people. The only reason that matters is that I do it because I can. Looking beyond that has rapidly diminishing returns, I assure you."

My blade sang out then, slashing across his midsection, but the tip of my katana only just caught his belly, dealing a mere flesh wound. In another moment Hollis was retreating, darting back up the hill toward the Magician, weaving his way through the army of Smilers who now were free to turn their attentions on me. I spit on the ground after the retreating American, then made my way back to my position behind the lines, beheading whatever Smilers I happened to run across on my path.

Once I had returned to my vantage point nearer the castle, I trained my telescope on the opposite hill to find that a small unit of samurai had fought their way up the left flank all the way to the Magician, Taras and the two veiled women. They reached Taras first, and he raised his sword and parried without enthusiasm, blocking blow after blow until finally stepping forward, reaching out a hand and pushing his attacker down the hill as a child would in a game of king of the mountain.

Another of my men stepped closer to the beautiful, veiled woman in gray standing on the right hand of the Magician, and though she had no weapon he raised his katana to cut her down. Just before he could bring the blade down upon her, she raised her hand, and suddenly his face was covered with snakes, their fangs sunk deep in his cheeks and eyes. As he writhed on the ground before her in anguish, though I could not see her expression behind her veil, her eyes danced with cruel glee.

Over the screams of the dead and dying I could hear the rumble of thunder now as the dark clouds massed closer. Dusk was approaching, and with every lost moment of daylight we lost our advantage. The Smilers showed no sign of fatigue, while my men (with the exception of Ota) were almost completely exhausted. We had killed at least seven of them to every one of us, but still they kept coming, pouring over the hill in a seemingly endless stream.

Noticing that there was a limited range on the damage that the bingo charms could do when they were destroyed, Howland had moved up closer to the front, smashing the knife down and dropping hundreds of the enemy with a single blow, but as night fell only a few charms remained. The woman, Stroud, fired her bow when necessary to kill a stray foe that happened to straggle toward them, and I was forced to concede that her past months' training had been effective, and her courage in the face of the enemy was impressive.

Finally, the last light of day was swallowed up by the dark clouds, and we were fighting virtually blind. Taking heavy losses, I reluctantly gave the order to retreat to the castle walls, and here is where our woes truly began.

The samurai is never as ferocious and unbeatable as when he is on the all-out attack, and conversely, is always at his weakest when forced to withdraw. Contrary to the belief of gaijin and their preposterous portrayals of Japanese warriors in their stories, the samurai has no maneuver that you could reasonably label a "parry". If two katanas strike one another, it simply means that they were both attacking the same place, not that one was employing a defense. Because of this fighting style, retreating can be next to impossible. Our only two saving graces were that the enemy's footsoldiers used no weapons, and every time they were on the brink of completely overwhelming us on our stumbling run back to the castle, Howland would destroy another charm, buying us much needed time.

Yet, by the time my men had made it back to the castle doors, less than thirty remained, with most heavily wounded. Sato's left arm had been rendered entirely ineffective by the spear-wound at the hands of Nhlakanipho Mabuza and would certainly have to be amputated. Fukimitsu had a savage gash over his left eye from the fall from his horse during Hollis' attack, the wound stubbornly leaking blood down his face through the crude stitches. Ota was seemingly one, giant, open wound, bleeding from a thousand cuts and scratches, but never once did he say a single word of complaint, or a word of any kind. He simply continued to fight, performing precisely as I expected he would on the day he was born for.

Even young Kisho Yoshida, blinking behind his thick glasses, had been wounded. He limped around on a smashed foot, hurt as he was delivering arrows to the archers and bandages and painkillers to the medics. Early in the fight his archery skills had been deemed just as deadly to us as the enemy, so he had been demoted to packhorse, hauling supplies where needed. Despite his clear lack of aptitude at fighting, he had carried out his new tasks admirably enough.

As for his uncles, the brothers Yoshida, I would only discover later that the two had been slain most brutally by Hollis when they charged him in the field, howling for vengeance for their murdered brother.

The last ones to the door were Howland and Stroud, with her firing one arrow after the next at the advancing horde, and him smashing the knife down into the box, felling wave after wave until finally he tossed the chest aside, all the charms destroyed. The two of them turned around and moved to step inside only to find Ota blocking their path into the castle.

Speaking softly, I said, "I swore long ago that no gaijin would ever set foot in this sacred place. Tell them... tell them I wish it were otherwise."

Fukimitsu stared at me pleadingly. "My lord, your majesty... grandfather... they have fought with us! They have bled with us... if not for them... I ask you, please reconsider. Do not leave them outside the castle to their doom." We could now see a few shambling forms lurching ever closer, coming up behind the gaijin, the two of them speaking to me imploringly from outside the threshold.

Young Kisho bowed to me as well. "Your majesty, no one has fought for you harder then they, though they were unaware of whom they were assisting. I beg you, do not let them die like this... abandoned and betrayed. Though they are gaijin, they are... they have shown me that-" I cut him off with a gesture, and he bowed again, falling to his knees.

Gritting my teeth, I turned to Fukimitsu. "This is not a pleasant decision. Understand... every instinct I possess screams at me not to let them inside this place. Every molecule of my royal person, blessed by the spirit of Nippon, tells me that their presence must not defile Hitoshirezu-jo." Now the leering grins of the Smilers could be seen hovering forward into the ring of torchlight, their arms reaching out for the back of the gaijin's necks. Howland and Stroud stopped talking- seeing as no one was listening- and simply stared at me, their eyes conveying a mixture of exhaustion and betrayal.

Torn, knowing from reading this archive just how completely they had suffered in their quest to destroy my sworn enemy, I finally let out a curse and broke my lifetime oath. "Search them, quickly! Make absolutely certain they have no vials of blood on them. Hurry!" My men let out a quick cheer, relieved by my decision, and two of my samurai leapt forward and pawed at the gaijin even as the grinning, one-armed figure of Hollis stepped through the ranks of the Smilers, sword in hand. While my men frantically worked their way down the Americans' bodies, Hollis stepped within a few yards and lifted his saber, preparing to cut sideways through both of them with a single blow. As he reared back to deliver the killing strike, my men had worked their way down to their socks, hurriedly turning around to me to proclaim them clean.

"Ota-san!" I yelled. "Now!" Ota reached forward with a speed that belied his enormous frame, grabbed both Howland and Stroud by their shirt fronts and yanked them inside just as Hollis' saber whistled behind them, cutting only air.

I suddenly felt nauseous and fought the urge to vomit, feeling as though a barrel of black, foul oil had been poured into a basin of the holiest water, my very soul crying out at the presence of the gaijin in our most sacred place.

Now we all huddled in the torchlight of the castle's entryway, Ota standing in the doorway waiting for a charge that did not come. The enemy massed just feet away outside the castle, but they made no move to enter. After a few moments, Hollis stepped aside, and the Magician strolled up in front of the door, just feet from Ota. Even after the day's fighting, his tuxedo was pristine, and he had not a scratch on him.

"Ota-san, be sure to stay on this side of the doorway. He cannot enter." Ota backed up two paces, leaving the entryway open. For a long time, all was quiet, save for the panting of my exhausted soldiers and the muted groans of the wounded. The enemy army was massed on the other side of the archway, but they made neither movement nor sound.

After a few long moments, the Magician- standing mere inches from the threshold- raised his hands and pulled back his cuffs, showing us that there was nothing up his sleeves. Then he ever so slowly began to raise his right foot and step forward, closer and closer, until he brought his polished, black leather shoe down on the cobblestone floor inside the castle. When his foot hit the ground, the very earth shook, and behind him was the deafening crack of a thunderclap.

"Oh, sh*t," Fukimitsu gasped as the Smilers poured around the Magician, flooding inside the entryway and throwing themselves upon us in wave after wave of wrinkled, supernaturally strong flesh, their sheer mass pressing us down and pinning us in the confined quarters.

In an instant, with a single footstep, the Magician had won the Battle of Hitoshirezu-jo. Disarmed and defeated, we could do naught but await our fates and the grand trick that would end our world.

Tenno Heika Komei: The Battle Of Hitoshirezu-jo, Part I

To be a leader of men, whether in war or peace, one must know his followers as well as himself. At issue is a word that is greatly misunderstood and misinterpreted, and that word is: trust.

Trust in the Western world in leadership is thought to be a question of whether or not the men will betray their leader to the enemy or simply fail to exert themselves to the degree necessary to accomplish whatever task is set for them.

With Bushido, or the Way of the Warrior, all of the daimyo's (or, lord's) samurai are assumed to be absolutely faithful and prepared to strive for excellence in all things at every moment of their lives.

And so the question for the daimyo becomes, what tasks are each samurai individually capable of performing? This is what I mean when I speak of trust. I trust Ota completely, but do I trust him to translate English? If I did, I would be a fool, for I doubt I have heard him say ten words in his entire life even in his native Japanese. Do I trust Hara to lift a three hundred pound stone? No, because while his prowess with a bow and arrow verges on the sublime, his physique is reminiscent of the phasmatodea, or stick insect.

It is not enough for a leader of men to be trusted and served faithfully by his followers- he must reward that faith by knowing them in turn and utilizing them in a fashion that maximizes their capabilities and minimizes their weaknesses.

These were my thoughts as I strode among my warriors, their lacquer armor gleaming in the early morning light; the red and gold banners on their backs fluttering in the chill wind. On the horizon I could see a massing of dark clouds, and was hopeful for rain later in the day should the enemy attempt to fire the castle.

I stalked down the line, looking each of my lieutenants in the eye in turn and judging their characters. First, Sato: driven by the most savage and cruel instincts, he was most likely to be drawn out of position by the enemy early in the battle. Here was a man who would certainly have committed horrible crimes against humanity if not for his loyalty to his lord. Him I would keep by my side for use as a reserve, as his blood-lust would be stoked into a killing frenzy by mid-battle, and his sudden introduction to the fight would grant his comrades a boost of energy just as theirs was beginning to wane.

Then Hara: his bowmanship was such an art form- really an act of meditation- that he fired most shots without even looking at the target. I would place him in the center of the field and provide him with a forest of arrows so that he would be always firing, firing, firing from the first moment of combat to the last.

Ota: while I would very much have preferred to hold my strongest warrior in reserve, he was simply too valuable to leave off the field for even an instant. Indefatigable, intractable and seemingly indestructible, Ota would be the anchor that held my line intact.

And finally, my great-great-great-great grandson Fukimitsu. If there was any doubt as to character, it was here. Not to cast aspersions on the young man, but can any grandfather be the supreme judge of his grandson's mettle? By all appearances he would acquit himself with honor, but he had spent so much time dabbling in the ways of the outlanders that I could not with complete honesty swear that I knew him absolutely.

At every time in the past, one of the Magician's enemies had betrayed their masters and gone to him, from then on to be one of his lieutenants. Would Fukimitsu be that traitor? Savage Sato? Would it be seemingly superhuman Ota, the possibility of his mutiny seemingly inconceivable? Or would- for the first time- the Magician's hopes be dashed, his series of conquests ground to a halt here in the land of the rising sun?

Never once did I allow these questions or doubts to surface in my expression or bearing, as I completed my inspection of the men. Not only should a leader never appear to be without a plan, he must also never ask a question of any kind of his men. Everything must be given as an order. The question took form in my mind: where is the enemy now? and was instantly translated as, "Fukimitsu-san, report the enemy's position."

He did, informing me that the line of outlanders would arrive at Hitoshirezu-jo by noon. Just then, the cars conveying Shouhei, Shouta and Kisho Yoshida as well as our gaijin allies, Howland and Stroud pulled up the long gravel drive and up the hill to the castle.

The Yoshidas were hastily issued armor, bows and katanas, the young one Kisho nearly toppling over as his helmet was placed atop his slim, awkward frame.

Howland and Stroud approached, their attempts at bowing making a mockery of the act. While I knew very well that they despised the Magician as much as I did, my very bones screamed for their deaths with every moment they stood before me. Nippon's gifts to me had made me acutely aware of how much the outlanders did not belong here- in this world generally, Nippon particularly and this sacred castle specifically.

The man Howland spoke, and Fukimitsu translated. "Howland announces that he and Stroud are now engaged, and he humbly requests that you marry them here and now so that they may face their fates as husband and wife."

"I would just as soon preside over their funerals. Preposterous. As if I would ever bless a gaijin union on this holy spot." Keeping my face composed took no small effort. "Invent an excuse."

Fukimitsu did as commanded, and when he concluded the two were disappointed but apparently satisfied. I continued, "Tell the gaijin to wait until the enemy is packed in close before he uses the knife to destroy one of the charms. If fortune is with us, each charm will destroy the Magician's minions in a wide radius. Tell him to stay back with his woman in a rear position, though should the range of the charms be ineffective, I will call upon him to advance to the front."

Again he translated. He returned, "Howland informs your supreme majesty that there is no cause for concern. He says that he knows how to use a smart bomb. He says that he plays video games." I considered ordering Fukimitsu to tell me what the gaijin's gibberish was supposed to mean, but my great-great-great-great grandson had found the answer to be satisfactory so I decided to turn my attention back to my men.

The rest of the morning was spent checking and double-checking supplies, monitoring the movement of the enemy and maintaining troop morale, no small task considering the situation. However, while the men knew that the Magician and his forces were great and terrible, they were all well aware that we were the final line of defense against the ultimate destruction of not only Nippon, but the world itself.

In all, we spent our time attempting to occupy ourselves while waiting for the coming battle.

We would not have long to wait.

Josh: Tourist Trap

He's here.

For the first time since we began this archive, the actual date is the same as the one on the time stamp at the top of this post. It is Wednesday, February 25th, 2009.

At 6:31 P.M. ("That's 18:31 in military time." Thank you, Yoshida) last night a Carnival cruise ship docked as scheduled in Kyoto harbor for a sightseeing tour. Then at midnight, another enormous cruise ship docked, surprising the harbor master as it was completely unscheduled. Finally, just before dawn this morning, a third cruise liner docked, with other boats having to make a mad scramble to accommodate it. The event was unheard of, unprecedented and upsetting to everyone on the dock but the brothers Yoshida, who were the only ones who knew exactly what was happening.

The call went out. Cars were dispatched for Mary, Yoshida and I, and at Hitoshirezu-jo, they began the final preparations for battle.

Precisely at dawn, the gangplanks on all three ships went down, and the massive cruise lines disgorged their contents as thousands of gray and blue-haired, overweight, Hawaiian shirt-wearing tourists grinning ear-to-ear streamed down into the streets of Kyoto, marching into the rising sun.

The brothers Yoshida had positioned spies down at the port to report the enemy's movements, and they said that whenever a native would approach a tourist and ask them if they needed assistance or wanted to make a purchase, the tourist would merely lift up their camera, flash a few shots of something at random and keep walking. This would satisfy the questioner that the elderly tourist was where they were supposed to be, and on the off-chance that it didn't, one or another of the tourist group-leaders would step over to the native, whisper a few kind words in their ear and invite them to join the processional.

After their little chat, the native seemed quite happy to do just that.

They walked slowly but surely to the castle. It will take them hours, but they don't seem to mind.

Mary and I packed quickly, and soon our car had arrived to take us away to Hitoshirezu-jo. Before we left I pulled her close and kissed her, taking one final, wistful look at our apartment. In the past couple of months it had become home. While the waiting for battle had been stressful at points, it had also been, without question, the most wonderful time of my entire life.

I peered around nostalgically while Mary fretted about whether it was clean enough to leave.

"Mary, in all probability the world's about to end. Is it that important that you didn't scrub the grout in the shower?"

She ignored me, going about her last minute-tidying and finally noticed a small box on the table by the front door. Mary picked it up, stared at it quizzically and ran a finger over the black felt on top. She opened it. She looked at me.

"It's a ring."

I nodded.

She came and put her arms around me, gently, her eyes filling with tears. We stood there holding each other close while the doorbell rang again and again and the smiling armies of the enemy advanced upon us, neither of us wanting to let go.

Finally we wiped our tears, gathered the last of our things, gave an awkward little bow to our apartment and headed down to the car.


We stopped to pick up Yoshida, and when he got to the car his shirt was mis-buttoned down the front, with one side sticking up higher than the other, there was a glob of peanut butter on his chin and his fly was open. In other words, he was only slightly more disheveled than normal.

"You okay, buddy?"

He nodded as he sat down across from us and began chewing his nails. "I know there are other instances of that year that I'm missing. 1831. It is like one of your Easter egg hunts: I feel as though I will be punished for not finding them all."

Mary smiled. "That's not how Easter egg hunts work."

Yoshida ignored her. "More time. It's all ending. I just wanted more time. Is that a new ring?"

She beamed, extending her hand to show him. "I know it doesn't have a diamond and it has an unusual design. And I know it's a bit larger than a normal engagement ring. Don't say anything about it being different." Mary began to scowl. "Don't say anything mean. In fact, don't say anything." Finally she added with a warning glare, "Just say 'congratulations'."

"Congratulations."

Mary smiled again. "Thank you."

I cleared my throat. "Yoshida, I'd like you to be my best man."

Both he and Mary turned to me with the same astonished expressions, saying simultaneously, "You would?"

I shrugged. "Everyone else I know is dead. Besides, I think you would give the most staggeringly awkward best man toast since the invention of human speech. I can't wait to hear it." After a moment he mumbled that he would be deeply honored, and we all settled in for the ride to the castle, with me writing this post on my Blackberry as we went.

With her head resting on my shoulder, Mary gazed down at her ring and asked innocently, "Where did you get the design?"

"Uh... well, it was Galadriel's ring from 'Lord of the Rings'. It was kind've a last minute thing..."

She pulled away, giving me a deadly look. "'Lord of the Rings'? And this writing on the inside, what does it say?"

Now I was squirming. "Yeah... probably something about Sauron. I'm not really sure. It's in Elvish."

Mary stared at me, shaking her head, her mouth open. Her face began to get red and I glanced up to see Yoshida was pointing his phone at us again ("Why?" I asked him later. "She was either going to have sex with you or murder you. Either way, I wanted a copy.") She started to say something, then took a deep breath, looked back down at the ring and finally laughed.

She gave me a sloppy kiss, talking and giggling all at the same time. "It's ridiculous and wildly inappropriate and one-of-a-kind and I have never in my life loved anything more."

Josh: Komei

Mary, Kisho Yoshida and I rode in a stretch limousine, following the Yoshida brothers' car to the outskirts of the city. Outside our car windows the sleek skyscrapers of Kyoto were replaced by rural housing and then by the beautiful rolling trees and hills of the Japanese countryside.

As we drove, Mary and I sat in the rear seat with Kisho facing us, Yoshida never taking his eyes from his PDA as we rolled along. As the sun went down over the hills, Mary placed her head on my shoulder and whispered, smiling, "Back in the office? What you did? That was very sexy."

I smiled back at her and was about to reply when Yoshida pulled out his phone, opened it up and pointed it at us. Mary scowled. "What are you doing? Are you videotaping us?" Yoshida made no reply. Her scowl deepened. "You think we're going to have sex right here?" He shrugged, closed the phone and put it back in his pocket, picking the PDA back up again and ignoring us once more.

As Mary glared at him with a combination of disbelief and loathing, I gazed back out the window and murmured, "We should probably get some new friends."

"Ya think?"

The rest of the trip was a touch frosty, and we rode in silence until the cars arrived at a large, wooden gate, with twin rows of lanterns hung on posts on either side of a gravel driveway leading across a bridge and up a small hill.

In no time we'd reached the top, and when the car door was opened for us we found ourselves standing before an actual, medieval-style Japanese castle, with torches mounted alongside enormous, dark, brass-bound, wooden doors. In the darkness it was difficult to make out just how large the castle was, but looking up I could see a significant portion of the sky blotted out by the structure.

I began to walk toward the doors, but the Yoshida brothers' assistant sidled up to me from the other limo and informed me in no uncertain terms that I was forbidden to enter the castle. He and the brothers then ushered us down a path running alongside the gigantic stone and wood structure to a pavilion in a clearing in the back. As we approached I could hear the sound of music- one of those Japanese guitar-things I never knew the name of was being plucked one string at a time in its distinctive, quavering style.

Walking into the pavilion was like strolling into the past. It was brightly lit with lanterns and decorated with red and gold banners (actual design, below), and everyone there was dressed in kimonos, with not a hint of anything modern or technological on display. There was a lovely young Japanese woman on our right playing the shamisen (the weird guitar-thing. Kisho filled me in later), along with a half-dozen men and women sitting on mats and talking quietly amongst themselves. At the end of the room in a clear position of "boss" was an elderly Japanese gentleman, his silk kimono covered with a long, opulent, golden robe that spread out behind him like a fan. To his left stood a young man in his early twenties with just the hint of a smile on his face, reading to him from a small black book. Kisho whispered that the servant's name was Fukimitsu. To the elderly man's right was the most muscular Japanese man I had ever seen, with the mass of a sumo wrestler but without the fat. His name was Ota, according to Kisho. Both of the men standing were holding curved, long canes which were obviously swords in very thin disguise.

As we stepped into the area, led by the Yoshidas, the two brothers actually went to their knees and then bowed so far their foreheads touched the floor. I glanced over at Kisho to see that he was doing the same thing, so Mary and I followed suit.

While we were bowing, Kisho whispered, "It is Yamamoto-Sama. Lord Yamamoto is President and C.E.O. of the Bengosha Corporation." His expression was deferential verging on terrified. He hissed, "Please, please, please be respectful. Do not act like, uh... like you do."

Finally we rose, and the Yoshida brothers spoke in Japanese to Yamamoto for a minute before he nodded and waved us forward to stand in front of him. For an elderly man, Yamamoto's eyes were white and clear, and he gave no impression of frailty whatsoever. As we approached, the sumo guy Ota's knuckles went white on the handle of his sword cane, and it was then that I decided to adopt an immediate and binding "no sudden moves" policy.

Yamamoto cleared his throat and spoke a few words of Japanese to Fukimitsu- the smiling man with the book on his left- and he bowed, lifted up the book and began to read aloud in perfect English:


"Frustrated once again by all our efforts, I retreated to the bar just off the base, hoping that some time away from the project would clear my head. The bar was mostly empty as usual- no surprise given its combination of isolated locale and lack of hygiene.

A middle-aged man in a white suit sitting two stools down ordered another whiskey and drank it in a single gulp, sighing with a smile at the empty glass as he put it down on the bar. He turned to me and commented in a southern drawl, 'Whiskey didn't used to be the drink of the world, my friend. Oh, no. Back in 1831, Aeneas Coffey invented the Coffey still, which produced a far more drinkable whiskey. Later that century, by a remarkable confluence of events, the phylloxera beetle annihilated France's vineyards, and in just a few years there was an enormous shortage of wine and brandy. Then the Scots discovered marketing, and the rest is history. Out with the old, in with the new, so they say.' He grinned at me with yellow teeth as he lit a cigarette and rose from his chair, picking up a thin briefcase as he got up.

I thought he was turning to go, but instead he stepped closer, gestured at the stool next to mine and asked 'May I?', sitting down without waiting for my reply. He ordered another whiskey and took a gulp as he stared straight ahead, gazing at himself in the mirror behind the bar. He looked wistful as he spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper, 'The fire... the plumes of flame that will jet up into the sky... it was mankind's first discovery and you want to talk about beginner's luck! There is nothing so pure, hypnotic and lovely as a fire, and you will make the greatest of them all.

'Every sweet family home turned to charred ash in an instant, their carefully tended gardens scorched down to the bare earth... and the people! Mothers incinerated as they instinctively but futilely attempt to turn and shield their tiny babies... little boys and girls, their hair catching fire as they play in the street, running like a parade of mad matchsticks and screaming for help that will never come. Sweet fire. How I do admire you, sir.'

The man raised his glass in a toast and drank the rest as I gaped at him, horrified, and demanded to know what in God's name he was going on about. Then as I told him to get away and leave me alone, he turned to look at me, the intensity of his gaze stopping me in mid-sentence. 'Hit a bit of a snag, have we? This might be of some small service.' The man reached down within his briefcase and pulled out a file folder, laying it carefully down on the bar in front of me. I opened it, my curiosity getting the better of me, and I sat stunned as I saw laid out in very clear detail precisely how to solve every problem we'd come up against.

I looked up at the man then just as he was rising to go, asking if he knew what he had there, telling him (stupidly, against protocol, but I was just so damned amazed) that with that file we would be able to construct one by next year at the latest.

The man nodded and tossed a few bills on the bar in payment for his drinks. Suddenly I felt something run across my right ankle, and I looked down in time to see an enormous, black centipede run under the bar and out of sight. With a shiver I looked back at the man to see he was already at the door. He turned back to me before he left and said, 'One? The Japanese Emperor is an extraordinarily stubborn individual, with all due respect.' He gave me a wide, yellow smile that gave me a shiver worse than the centipede just had, then he winked and said, 'Better make two.'

After he'd gone I drove back to the base and read the file from cover to cover. Next year's date was stamped on every page.

And every word was in my own handwriting.

May God have mercy on my soul. 'I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.'"


Yamamoto cleared his throat once more and gestured to one of the women, who instantly rose and brought him a tray with a small cup of tea. He took a sip, and Fukimitsu said, "The diary of Robert Oppenheimer, architect of the atomic bomb. Secret diary, or at least he believed it was." Yamamoto motioned for us to come and sit before him, and two of the servants shuffled mats over to the center of the room. We sat cross-legged and waited, saying nothing. He took another sip of tea, then another. We waited some more. This better be good, I thought to myself, biting my tongue.

It was.

He stared at us with those clear, calm eyes and spoke, Fukimitsu translating. "My lord says: when I was born I was given the name Hiro-no-Miya. I was the fourth son of Emperor Ninko of Japan. When my father died I was proclaimed the one hundred twenty-first, divine, sovereign Emperor, and following what was believed to be my death, was posthumously named Emperor Komei. I am one hundred and seventy-seven years old.

"Tell me everything that you know of the Magician."

Mary: The Brothers Yoshida

November 25th, 2008:

In the waiting room of the posh, dockside offices of the Bengosha Corporation, we whispered amongst ourselves as we waited for an hour past the time of our appointment with Yoshida's uncles:


JOSH: Mary, did you bring a cake? Because I just had another birthday waiting for Yoshida's goddamn uncles.

YOSHIDA: You were told it would be some time. Do not complain to my uncles about this when we are admitted to their office. And do not bow.

JOSH: I thought it was the thing to do?

YOSHIDA: It is for Japanese to do, not you. You don't know what you're doing. It is the equivalent of a limp, wet handshake in the Western world, but worse.

JOSH: It's a bow, Yoshida. It's not that complicated.

YOSHIDA: And yet you manage to fail at it spectacularly. Yours is more of a spasm than a bow. It is wrong. It is like watching a monkey attempt to try and ride a unicycle. Stop giggling.

JOSH: Monkey on a unicycle.

YOSHIDA: My uncles despise Westerners more than you can imagine. My father created a virus to annihilate virtually all human life on this planet, and of his brothers he was regarded as the nice one. You must be on your best- stop giggling, you idiot!

JOSH: Monkey on a unicycle.

Finally the door to the offices opened, and the same assistant we'd ridden with earlier in the limousine led us inside. There were two desks side-by-side in the large office, and behind them was a wall of glass overlooking the ocean. The office was decorated with Japanese antiques, with twin suits of armor on either side of the door and paintings of castles on rice paper on the walls. The only modern things in the room were the desks and the white, plastic computers that sat on top of them.

The brothers Yoshida glared at Josh and I as we walked in, their expressions equally filled with revulsion at the very sight of us. They did not get up.

There were three black, antique Japanese chairs lined up in front of the twin desks, and Josh threw himself into the middle one, the wood creaking ominously. The Yoshidas' eyes narrowed. Josh turned and nodded to Kisho (We're going to have to start calling him by his first name, now) as he sat on his left, then smiled at me when I took the seat on his right. Then he smiled at the brothers Yoshida, cleared his throat and said, "I had always heard that the Japanese people were two things: punctual and polite, which is amazing because you two absolutely suck at both."

The assistant's eyes opened wide in shock as he gaped at Josh, then looked over to the Yoshidas and back to Josh, clearly reluctant to translate. Josh waved him on, urging him to relay what he'd said. After he'd done so in a hushed, stuttering monotone, the Yoshida brothers expressions changed from merely disapproving to outright rage. The two exploded, rising from their chairs as a stream of what had to be curses spewed from them in unison.

I can only imagine my own expression at this point, and when I glanced over at Kisho he was literally covering his mouth with both hands, his eyes like saucers behind his thick glasses. Meanwhile, Josh kept smiling through the onslaught, then slowly rose from his chair, calmly brushed himself off and yelled, his expression suddenly ferocious, "Oh, shut the f*ck up, the both of you!"

The Yoshida brothers actually did, their faces utterly stunned. Without waiting, Josh continued while standing, "Your brother and his assistant were brutally murdered. We have been hunting his killer. My father was murdered by the same man. My mother is dead. I have been bitten by hissing, poisonous centipedes, gnawed on by eels, beaten up and blown up. Virtually everyone who ever tried to help me is dead. I'm wanted for murders I didn't commit. We have sacrificed our entire lives to get the murderous, rampaging monster who slaughtered your brother, and by God you will show us some f*cking respect!" He finished his speech by bringing his fist down on one of the desks so hard the computer actually jumped a half-inch off the desktop.

Josh nodded to the assistant. "Translate that, poindexter. We've wasted enough time already."


Five minutes later everyone was seated once more, and we had been served a delicious tea along with some kind of gooey rice cake which was the consistency of a pink pencil eraser. I nibbled mine politely while Yoshida crammed the entire thing in and chewed loudly with his mouth open. Josh took one bite before replacing it on its tray and remarking to the uncomprehending secretary, "No more for me, thanks. I already had doorstop for lunch."

In all, once the initial shock of Josh's outburst had worn off, the Yoshida brothers had adopted a stern yet courteous posture toward us, ordering refreshments and seeing to it that we were made comfortable.

Once all the pleasantries had been seen to, one of the brothers adopted a very serious tone and said something in Japanese to Josh. The assistant translated, "Now that we have made you welcome, we have but one question: are you or are you not a member of Greenpeace?"

Josh looked up from his tea and said without hesitation, "Screw Greenpeace. Whales are evil and should be slaughtered as fast as we can forge the harpoons."

For the first time, the brothers smiled, clearly extremely pleased. The other brother asked, "And why do you say they are 'evil'? We hunt them for research, nothing more."

Josh and I exchanged looks, having known that this moment would come. We had gone over it back in the sky-rise apartment, wondering just how much we should tell them. If we revealed too much about what was really going on they would think we were insane. Too little, and they wouldn't be able to help us effectively. Eventually we decided to tell most of it, but just a piece at a time to see how they would react. If they were entirely resistant, at least we had Kisho to back us up.

Sighing, Josh started, "The whales are being controlled in some way... perhaps scientifically, by the same man who murdered your brother and his assistant. This man, whom I'll refer to as 'The Magician', has-" he stopped then, noticing an unmistakable widening of both of the brothers eyes. "Wait... you know that name. You've heard of him, haven't you? Even in English you know the name of the Magician."

The assistant translated, the brothers turned and stared at each other for a long moment, then they both rose from their desks. They spoke, and the translation came: "You will ride with us. There is someone you must meet."