Never Again
15 October 2005
by Loren Dean

The world was a thick viscous gray, and Shosuro Ridachi was having trouble swimming through it to consciousness. Part of his confusion was simply that he couldn't tell where he was going. The gray was everywhere, with no discernible up or down, or horizon, or footing. It was a sea of gray, and that, a tiny lucid part of him concluded, was what made the swimming metaphor effective.

Of course, it was also hard to swim while numb. He could feel his body one moment, but not the next. A twinge of pain, gone before he could pinpoint it. Then nothing. Then a flare of agony. Then nothing, and on through the cycle. The gray swirled about him, and as he struggled, it snapped clear in an instant.

He was running through the swirling mass of the Battle of White Orchid Road, following his friend Tetsujin, along with Nikana and Takako. Why, oh why had he thought he had anything to prove to anyone? Now here, in the armor of a simple ashigaru, he fought for his life with nothing more than his courtly menhari-gata and his magisterial jitte. On one level, it was ridiculous that he should be here, and a part of his mind screamed at him to flee to the reserves and stay near the relative safety of the rear echelons. But he had told Tetsujin-san he'd follow the Dragon's lead, and that lead had brought him here, into the thick. He rationalized again and again that he was probably safer near the others in his traveling group. But that mantra was beginning to wear thin.

And then they saw the lone Crane rush into the Lion lines, screaming and slashing. Nikana-san had bellowed that the single man in blue would be slain instantly if he wasn't aided, and the foursome had leapt after him to help, their steel flashing as Takako's fire darted past them and into the enemy. Ridachi had stayed close to Tetsujin, and had come face to face with a shrieking Matsu samurai-ko intent on cutting down the impertinent Crane. Ridachi had caught her katana with the prong of his jitte, and with a deft twist sent her family blade into the dirt. Surprised and angered at the arrival of the Scorpion, she had drawn her wakizashi to continue the battle, but Ridachi had disarmed her of that as well. And it was at that point that Ridachi realized he had no idea what to do next. In any other circumstance, he would have ordered her to surrender to whatever nearby magistrate held sway. But here, in a battle, he had no such recourse. He and the lioness locked eyes with each other for a brief moment, and he readied himself to flee, when suddenly the Crane and Tetsujin, fighting back to him, cut the samurai-ko down in an instant.

The gray swallowed him again, and Ridachi felt a flare of pain in his side. He imagined he'd be writhing in pain, if he were aware of any more of his body than that. He twisted in agony for a brief eternity, struggling for breath and fighting to stay afloat, when the world cleared again.

It had been over an hour, and the battle was nearing an end. Ridachi could feel it. Something was about to give, one way or the other. Shinjo Yul had lead a savage cavalry charge at the head of the puny Crane column, and had fortunately ended his action in the vicinity of the other four. Sang was nowhere to be found, but the now-quintet searched for some final action that could be taken to help decide the contest in favor of the Crane. And then the strangest thing happened.

A party of Lion samurai, accompanied by a single Kitsu shugenja and led by Tsuruchi Iesada himself appeared out of the swirling din, and challenged the entire group directly. Ridachi reflected on the surreal nature of it all, that five people could line up against five other people in the middle of a brawl such as this, and be left alone by everyone else to decide among themselves who would walk away. It was the beginning of a duel, times five. And it was ridiculous. Iesada himself appeared ready to revisit his matches of the White Orchid festival, and Ridachi made a mental note to pursue quiet vengeance against the self-important Wasp who had with his ill-borne testimony set in motion the events that had led to the day's bloodletting.

But there was no time to reflect too much on such things, as Ridachi was facing a muscled Matsu samurai of his own. Ridachi knew he had no ability in a duel, and regarded his opponent wryly in the half-second it took for the burly man to settle into his iajutsu stance. This would have to be ended swiftly and unexpectedly, he knew. So he did what he could. Not entering any stance himself, he simply leapt forward and plunged his jitte into the man's obi. The two men stood locked together for a single moment, the samurai eyes-wide, mentally cataloguing his body for signs of pain or damage, Ridachi holding the other man's gaze as stonily as he could. There was no damage to the samurai's person, of course, as the jitte had not been aimed to cut the man himself. Rather, with a flick of his wrist Ridachi used the sharp inner edge of his jitte to clip the samurai's obi completely, sending it unraveling to the ground atop the clattering sayas of the man's daisho. That done, he leapt back, his eyes crinkling as he smiled beneath his tied scarf.

"You lose," he quipped. But even as he said it, his heart sank. Again, he had no idea what to do next. And there would be no help coming, either. Everyone else had an opponent, and there could be no interference in a duel.

The samurai looked with disbelief at his daisho, and then, screaming out his humiliated rage, came after Ridachi with his bare hands. Ridachi had hoped the man would try and pick the blades up, and thus allow him to continue his jitte-driven disarming dance until the samurai grew tired and left in a huff, but it wasn't to be. A single thrust with the jitte simply scraped across the samurai's armor, and then the fist landed on the side of his head. The world went white from one side as Ridachi felt the fist crash into him. He half-turned with the blow, and it was followed by a kick to his side that turned Ridachi's bowels to water. He dropped to his knees, bile rising in his throat, and the Lion continued his assault, landing another ox-strong blow in the center of the Scorpion's back, and a rib-cracking kick as he went prone. Ridachi hit the ground, intending to play dead, the gray enveloping him even as his mind formed the plan.

And the gray came. He shifted as he swam through the swirl, and felt his ribs grind painfully. What had any of this proved? That he had the courage to take a beating? That he was brave enough to enter a battle he had no hope of surviving? What good had it done?

"Never again," he murmured to himself.

And on his litter, being carried from the field with the other wounded, the ashigaru bearers heard him quietly choke out, "Never again."