From the Brink...
25 October 2005
by Everett Johnson

"This one's def'nit'ly dead."

"Ya, hard to lif widout haf a neck."

"Well, let's git 'er on the cart."

Tetsujin stood in reverent silence with the rest of the witnesses as the young candidates knelt in meditation. His thoughts wandered back to his own years spent here in learning. Had his health not recovered enough for his father's satisfaction, he would likely have knelt at one time in a similar ceremony, instead of the more martial gempukku favored by the Mirumoto sensei.

Tetsujin was brought out of his reminiscences by the voice of Satsuo-sama, calling out the name of the first candidate. The boy stood to take his vows, and Tetsujin could faintly feel the kami start gathering to witness, as well as occasionally bind themselves to the raw will of the new monks.

Finally, it was Sarusou-san's turn. Tetsujin felt an unaccustomed pride and affection as the girl stood to speak her vows. She had learned quickly when Tetsujin was tasked with introducing her to the life of a tsurai zume, and was the only person Tetsujin considered a friend. The feeling grew as Sarusou-san spoke the vows, at once simple and utterly profound, that forever bound her to the Dragon Clan, and Tetsujin began to marvel at his growing affection for this former scion of the Fuzake.

"Hey, Kotan, this one's still bleedin'!"

"I nefer saw a ded man do dat! T'ink it's some a' dat blood machic?"

"Naw, prob'ly just that 'e's not quite dead yet. You'd better go git one of them shugenjas."

"You t'ink 'e can lif wid a cut like dat!? 'E's arredy gone to white!"

"I'd rather let the shugenja figure that out. Now git goin'!"

Tetsujin's thoughts, or what currently passed for them in this state, were mostly focused on the stranger seated with him at the table. It seemed that he had just said something incredibly profound, but that couldn't be right. Shinsei had been dead for at least a while, or something like that. But then Tetsujin remembered that the stranger wasn't talking about philosophy, so it was ok to not be dead yet.

He squinted at the man – Riboko? Renaldo? no, Ridachi! There seemed to be something wrong with his face. About half of it didn't look like it was there, but for some reason, that seemed like it was the way things were supposed to be. Tetsujin remembered meeting other people who didn't seem to have all of their faces, so Ribaldi must be like them.

The stranger was making sense, though. Tetsujin wasn't going to do himself or Sarusou-chan any good by drinking any more of the good drink. He needed to show his father that he was just as good as any of those other bushi that didn't happen to be bleach-dried. He also needed to show Hyosuke that a match with Sarusou-chan would bring ties to both the Monkeys as well as the monks – hah, Monkeys and monks, heh, that's a...

Testujin sat a little straighter, grimaced, and in a mostly steady voice, called for strong tea.

"Well, where is this man you say should be dead and isn't?"

"Right ofer here, shugencha-sama. Mako's wid 'im right dere."

"Then I'd better have a lo... Tetsujin-san!"

"You knew da man? I's right sorry 'e..."

"Shut up. If he's still breathing and bleeding, I won't let him die! You two, see to it that I'm not disturbed."

The two eta looked at each other, shrugged, and turned to watch out over the bloody battlefied.

Left. Forward. Up. Pause. Back. Down. The motions merged into one, and Tetsujin finally realized that the flow of the blade was the same as the flow of his thoughts when he studied the words of the Tao. Kakita Kinuyo-san had told him that each practitioner of The Empire Rests on its Edge would find their own balance. Her balance came as she pondered the flow and balance of interaction at court. Her teacher had found his in contemplation of the art of medicine.

There was a truth there that Tetsujin realized he wasn't yet enlightened enough to fully grasp. He would have to ponder this. At the very least, Tetsujin knew that as he came to a greater understanding of the words of Shinsei, his ability and grace with the katana would grow as well. If nothing else, that made the time he and Kinuyo-san had spent trapped at this shrine by the snows worth while.

As they departed the following day, Tetsujin realized that Kakita Kinuyo-san was saying her farewells to him as if he were a friend, rather than as to a bad omen, the more common mode of address by far. With Sarusou-chan and Ridachi-san, that made only three people who treated him this way. Maybe, one day, there would be more.

Seppun Nikana looked down on the still form of Mirumoto Tetsujin. Perhaps it was the pale color the man normally had to begin with, but the wound stood out like none he had ever seen before. Nikana bent to retrieve the Dragon samurai's daisho, and noted with approval that despite the final outcome, it seemed Tetsujin had at least struck the first blow, and struck well, from the amount of blood still on the blade.

Isawa Takako finished her casting, and Tetsujin immedately started breathing easier and at a more regular rate. "He'll live," she said. "For a while, I wasn't sure he would."

One of Tetsujin's eyes opened slightly. His breath rasped out as if he were trying to say something, but Nikana couldn't make out any words. Takako helped Tetsujin drink a little water, and both bent closer as Tetsujin tried to speak again. This time, they were able to make out the words. "Ri... da... chi?"

"He'll survive." With Nikana's words, Tetsujin's eyes closed, and his breathing deepened into sleep.