On Loyalty
20 August 2005
by Loren Dean

Ridachi inhaled the night air deeply, letting the pleasant perfume of the garden lull him.

It had been quite a day of competition, and one more revealing than he had expected. It was the poetry, he decided. That was what had truly struck him. He himself was no poet. His skills laid in practical applications of philosophy, not artistic expressions thereof. But it didn't stop him from enjoying others' efforts.

Indeed, the day's haiku competition had been a marvel. Ridachi smiled as he recalled the scene, doubtless a horror for the etiquette-minded. The chops had been drawn, and there sat Tetsujin, the albino from the mountains, across from Yul, the hulking barbarian. Tetsujin looked every bit the ill omen with his odd coloration, his vague stutter, and his gaunt frame. It pained Ridachi to see one as eager to excel as Tetsujin misjudged for cosmetic reasons. Yul, however, had been equally misjudged, and Ridachi felt a small prick of selfish pride at his long-ago personal vow to never judge a man by his appearance.

Regardless, he had been glad to hear his friend read his haiku without a single misspoken syllable. Poetry and philosophy were the only times Tetsujin's voice would behave.

Fate abandons me
Task seems as cold as winter
Samurai stands firm

It was an excellent haiku, as Ridachi had expected. It brought to mind the sometimes cold duty of those who served. Ridachi thought of his own daimyo, and tasks past, present, and future. His own activities were sometimes cold, and Ridachi had to admit that he sometimes felt the cold abandonment in Tetsujin's reference. Tetsujin's attention to his samurai duty was commendable, and Ridachi respected his friend for his devotion to such ideals.

Ideals. That word would have new meaning now, after Tetsujin's opponent took his turn. Shinjo Yul was arguably even more a mannered courtier's nightmare than poor Tetsujin. Gaijin in name, mannerism, and bearing, Yul's nearly unpronounceable name and significant bulk would doubtless always work against him socially anywhere outside Unicorn lands. But the man's poetry was exquisite.

The children playing
Parents calling from fields
Once again stillness

The words were simple, but the impact had been profound. Where Tetsujin's haiku had earned him appreciative nods, Yul's brought on an absolute lack of immediate response. The air went charged somehow, as though a storm were brewing in the distance. It was a moment before the assembly so much as breathed, so sublime was the moment.

Ridachi smiled to himself, his eyes closed. How marvelous to see people realize they have underestimated a man. No observer would have ever imagined Yul could produce such a poem as he had. On a selfish level, Ridachi was a little gleeful to see even Shiju-sama momentarily undone. But other thoughts had flooded him, and had stayed all day.

In his mind's eye, he could see. Here in his mind was his beloved Etsuki, calling for Korekeda to come in and eat dinner. There was the rambunctious, and slightly disheveled, six-year old, ambling away from his friends to answer his mother's summons. Immediately. And with a smile. Korekeda was eleven now, breathing and eating his swordmaster's teachings instead of the pointless games of his early years, but it was the image of him as a small child that Yul had invoked today. And Ridachi smiled as he let the images be conjured.

Ridachi inhaled the night air deeply, letting the pleasant perfume of the garden lull him.