What Must be Done
8 January 2006
by Loren Dean

The shrine was a tiny filthy shack in a sprawling array of tiny filthy shacks. Still, no other shelters had been built nearby, the surrounding neighborhood seeming to crowd away after the manner of market-goers shrinking from a leper. It was alone in a rough square–its slouching, greasy presence somehow making the nearby hovels brighter and more appealing.

The eta dung-shoveler Ridachi had spoken to had given him enough information to work from. The shack held a shrine to Fu Leng, where the peasants left offerings to placate the dark one, hoping to turn his gaze elsewhere. It was a place of fear, not reverence. And a young samurai with an amber-hilted sword had come here very recently, and...done something.

The eta was fuzzy on the details, and was no poet, but his words had been telling nonetheless. The samurai had entered the shrine, and then things in the neighborhood had gotten darker. All the usual lights had been in place, but the air had grown blurred, as though there was a fog but no fog. Heavy, like when rains are due, but there was no rain. Thick, like smoke, but there was no smoke. Something had happened, and the people of the neighborhood made sure they were elsewhere when the samurai left. Making oneself scarce was a survival tool for an eta, Ridachi thought wryly, especially when young samurai were nearby making pacts with dark forces.

Yul had actually had the courage to open the door to the shrine, though even he did not enter. He had simply stared into the small enclosure for a few moments, and then closed the door and walked, with a barely perceptible hurry, back to Ridachi.

"Evil," was all he said. And Ridachi believed him.

On some level, Ridachi was grateful that Yul had accompanied him on this excursion. Yul had the sense of what needed to be done, and so was willing to strip to a loinrag and a jingasa, roll in mud, and leave his beloved scimitar for a crude parangu in order to accompany the like-disguised Ridachi into the eta quarter in a manner that would not draw attention. Ridachi had to admit to himself that he did in fact feel safer next to the massive Yul, especially since there had been no telling what sort of troubles the eta quarter might offer.

But now they were on their way back with their information. Shaiyan had indeed made an oath to a dark force, and was most likely intending to do something horrid in his quest for vengeance. The others would need to be told.

But, Ridachi wondered to himself, what then? What needed to be done? Should Shaiyan be captured? And turned over to whom? The Daimyo of the city? Shaiyan's own daimyo?

Surely Shaiyan considered his task something that needed to be done, and theoretically could not be faulted for seeking revenge on his father's killer. However, the detour into dark paths and evil oaths was not something that could be ignored, and Ridachi had been taught well the perils of dabbling in things one knew little about, even when one's intentions were pure. Did not Bayushi Shoju himself serve as the greatest example of falling to evil while keeping the best intentions?

Ultimately, Shoju had needed to be put down. There was no way around it. For the sake of everyone involved, there could have been no trial, no investigation, no questions before the Emperor. Shoju's actions meant his death, and ultimately his death was what was needed. For his family, for his clan, and for the empire.

Shaiyan would need to be dealt with similarly, Ridachi decided. He had crossed a dangerous line, and one that could not be uncrossed. Captured and taken before a daimyo, any daimyo, Shaiyan would be dishonored and destroyed. His name would become one spoken with a hiss, as the litany of crimes was read against him.

But his father deserved better than that. Shaiyan may be misguided, but he was still a loyal son. Better that he be slain seeking vengeance than after arrests and trials. It was a nobler end for a samurai. It had been a nobler end for Shoju, and it would be a nobler end for Shaiyan.