It took Doctor Mori two entire days to recover from the ordeal in the Old Capital. By the time he was well enough to eat and to stand, Kondo had brought them far away from the city and set a direct course for the Middle Country. They had lost the cart that Mori had brought with him from the New Capital, so Kondo had to keep Mori on horseback. He did well, but coughed frequently, and there was sometimes blood on his lips.

  Kondo was furious with himself for Mori’s capture, but what was done was done, and he had to focus on the future. The Shin-Shadowhand would not soon forget the escape that he and Mori made and would be searching for them with even more vehemence if it were possible.

  “Their lives will be forfeit,” Kondo thought, “If the Master finds out what happened. Then he will know about me. But will they tell him right away?”

  The lands outside of the Old Capital were rich and well populated, but Kondo managed to find a way to slink into the shadows and they found rest in inconspicuous spaces and patches of forest when available.

  He hoped that within a week they would come to the edge of the Middle Country, and soon thereafter they would be within the power of the Truists. There alone they could rest peacefully, as the vigilance of this congregation was reportedly great.

  He monitored the doctor carefully and listened well to his instructions. He was able to make salves and medicines from everyday herbs and grew to admire the doctor’s wisdom in the healing arts.

  But as the doctor recovered, he seemed more somber and less talkative than before. He meditated alone and ate little.

  One night, as the two sat beside a campfire in the middle of an old, overgrown garden, Mori finally revealed to Kondo what was in his heart.

  “I can feel my life ebbing away, Kondo-san. I do not think I will make it back to my people,” his voice was quiet, but firm.

  “You will recover,” Kondo countered. “You are already doing better. You can stand, and soon you will walk.”

  “I am gathering my strength, but I do not think it will be enough.”

  Kondo slammed his fist down on his thigh in a fit of rage. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted those monks! One of them betrayed you and…”

  “It is not the fault of the monks, even the one who gave me up. There is nothing different we could have done. It is the fate that the All-Kami has decided for me.”

  “Being beaten and tortured is the will of the All-Kami?” Kondo asked with scathing sarcasm.

  Mori nodded slowly. “I have lived nearly my whole life in the protection of the Mashige lords. They knew what I was, but never did I suffer for it. Now I know just a taste of what others have suffered for their faith. For that I am grateful.”

  “You must still be delirious,” Kondo scoffed. “You are speaking nonsense! You will live, and you will reach your people. Then you can deliver your message. Do not forget about that.”

  “I have not forgotten,” Mori said quietly, and his eyes seemed to see something as if laid out before him. “It is of the utmost importance that this information reaches my people.”

  “Then you must deliver it yourself.”

  Mori smiled. “Kondo-san, have you ever heard the story of the Shinjin?”

  Kondo rubbed his face, considering bits and pieces scraped together over his life. He remembered most of all the words of Yukiana at the Shrine of Beginnings, far away on Minami-shima. “Some,” was his answer.

  “I shall retell it for you,” Mori said. “Please listen carefully. The Shinjin awoke many, many days ago. Some say that he was a mortal man, some say that he was a kami, but the Truists believe that he was indeed the All-Kami, come to release human beings from the oppression of themselves and of the Akuma. Of his early life and doings, I will speak little, but he gave the people of that age great wisdom and told them not to fear the kami but to trust them as allies. Over time, he gathered to himself many followers. Of those followers, he had eight of whom he trusted the most, and they always remained with him. These men will become important, as you will soon see.

  Towards the end of his time upon the Islands, he turned his attention to a grim task, uprooting the evil of the Akuma from the lands. But before he could accomplish his task, one of his own betrayed him, one of the eight, and he was thought to have died. However, a few days later, the earth trembled, and the seas raged, and it is said that the gates of the mountain fortress of Osoroshi were broken asunder. Rumor spread that the Shinjin had regained his divine form and that the Akuma had been mortally wounded and cast down from his throne under the mountain.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Then the remaining seven disciples of the Shinjin rose up, and with a great host of men and kami, they raided the mansions of Osoroshi and destroyed nearly all the evil that dwelt there. They claimed to have purged all of the haunts below the mountain, but some say they did not go far enough.

  Yet, the seven champions returned from Osoroshi, and the land thereabout was cleaned of evil. The people were amazed, and they began to admire the seven champions, though the champions themselves did not seek glory. The chief of them was Teru Masada, who became the first in the line of Emperors, though he was but a mortal man. He did not seek this title, but it was thrust upon him, as the people, freshly freed from bondage, desired someone else to rule over them. Teru reluctantly took this office but used it to instruct the people who did not know the wisdom of the Shinjin.

  The seven had been commanded to root out the evil from the islands, and this meant not only cleansing Osoroshi, but Oboroshi in the north as well. Teru led a great host northward, but he died along the route. The place he died is now known as the Old Capital. Then his son, Teru Asada took up his father’s arms and continued to Oboroshi and raided that haunt as well. When both lairs were deemed clean, he returned to the Old Capital, and there the line of Teru continued, and the heirs of the six other houses became the six great houses of the bygone days.

  As you know, the house of Teru did not last forever, as great as it once was. For the Teru fell away from the truth, and descended into frivolity, and were eventually replaced by the lesser Shōguns. Three houses of the Shōgun are counted, the Kirin, the Yoshimitsu, and now the Mashige, though we now know that the last is nearly extinguished.”

  Kondo looked at Mori, whose voice was growing increasingly quiet, and his face was pale. “Why do you waste your energy telling me this?” he asked. “It is old history, and now it matters little.”

  “It matters a great deal,” returned Mori, but his face was not angered. “When the Blood-slayer, the Ketetsu, hid the three sacred treasures, he did so to prevent one who was not of the house of Teru from regaining the Sakura Throne. Why was he so diligent?”

  Kondo shook his head. “I do not know. He probably did not favor another line ascending the throne, being a vassal of the Teru.”

  “No!” Mori said and exhaled heavily. “You are not seeing the whole picture.”

  “Then explain it to me,” Kondo urged.

  Mori shook his head, paused, but then continued. “Teru Masada, the first of the earthly Emperors, was in the prime of his life when he passed away in the valley of the Old Capital. Why did he die? How did he die?”

  “Yet another thing I do not know,” Kondo growled, growing angry and Mori’s erratic line of thinking.

  “He died because of what he carried from Osoroshi.”

  “What did he bring from that accursed place?”

  At this, Mori closed his eyes and did not speak for some time.

  “What did he bring from Osoroshi!” Kondo cried, unable to contain his frustration.

  Mori then slowly opened his eyes, as if from a dream. “What do we all bring with us? What do you carry in your heart, though you fight against it?”

  Kondo sat back and self-examined himself for several minutes.

  “Evil…” he said at last.

  Mori nodded.

  “He brought back the Akuma, or some remnant of it.”

  Mori nodded again. “He thought that if this thing was left alone in the depths, it would once again grow and fester. He was right, but the deed cost him his life. He sealed it under the Sakura Throne, and there it has been ever since, or so the Truists believe.”

  “But what does that have to do with us? What does that have to do with you, now, and your people?”

  “Don’t you see, my friend? Always evil is at work. Good as well. The two powers of this world strive against each other, vying for the mastery. And for men, only with such tribulations can true greatness be achieved.”

  At these words, Kondo recoiled as if struck by a sudden blow. He said nothing, but his features insisted Mori on.

  “Long has the Akuma been buried, but his will stretches out far and wide. He seeks to undo the work of the Shinjin, and sadly, he has been largely successful. But there is one thing he desires most of all. To return, or to empower a worthy successor. And now we come to it. Ishihara.

  Why do you think that Ishihara has come to power? Do you think she merely desires land, titles, or money? Is that what she really wants? I have seen things, Kondo-san, things of her that are wholly evil. Terror emanates from her, and she bathes in deceit. I believe that she wants more than just the Shōgunate.”

  “But she could not release the Akuma, if such a thing is even possible. She doesn’t have the three sacred treasures.”

  “Not yet, but I believe she has one, and perhaps two of the three. The Sword of the Emperor is lost, but if Hideyō-sama was correct, it indeed exists. And now Gintaro, the greatest swordsman of our time, seeks it. I believe he will find it, and if it falls into her hands, well…”

  “So, you have come to warn your people, no, you have come to make them afraid,” mocked Kondo, stung by the reminder of Gintaro’s supremacy. “Do they not have enough to worry about?”

  Mori merely shook his head. “Things are dire, yes, as many threads are coming together. Some strands have been long in the making. Some were started even as the Shinjin walked these lands long ago. No, I have no ill tidings for them. I am sure that they already suspect Ishihara and her motivations. I come to deliver to them something they now desperately need. Hope.”

  “I do not understand.”

  Mori sat up and then looked directly into Kondo's eyes. His face was serious, and his gaze was unwavering. “If I die before I reach my people, you must tell them, the time has come. The heir returns.”

  “The heir? What heir?”

  But Mori, worn out from his speech, sat back and then closed his eyes. “I must rest,” he said softly. “I shall tell you more on the morrow.”

  Kondo brooded long on those words, but unable to understand them, he too lay back and slowly allowed himself to fall into a light slumber.