Previously on Coiled Fates, the naga warlords reel from the news that the stranger is seeking the Pearl of Mists. Some believe the Daini is in league with the stranger and the Foul. The Mara finds new hope after the Dashmar, her teacher and the naga’s leading diplomat, finally awakens from the Great Sleep.  

Now, you can read or listen to the final chapter of Robert Denton III’s new serial set in the world of Legend of the Five Rings and part of the saga of the Clan Wars. Discover the heroes and warriors of the naga before the release of Champions of Rokugan, coming soon from Monolith Board Games. Sign up to the Legend of the Five Rings newsletter and subscribe to the Aconyte Fiction Podcast to make sure you catch the rest of the series.

Coiled Fates

by Robert Denton III

Chapter Eight

Ducking another branch, Mirumoto Daini halted in a bamboo thicket. Had he heard the Mara’s voice?

No. The Shinomen was playing tricks on him again.

His pounding heart begged him to rest. But his pursuers wouldn’t tire. They didn’t care about branches tearing their faces, horrors plucking them into awaiting maws, or falling onto thorns large enough to impale. The Foul would keep going.

For many long days, he’d avoided them. But after one stupid misstep, they had gained ground and were right behind him.

He hoisted his burden and resumed his swift pace.

By now, he should have been eaten. Or mauled. Or driven into quicksand. Or any of the other terrible fates befalling those who ventured blindly into these woods. But even when he caught sight of some enormous forest denizen, or the shadow of some spindly horror, it left him alone.

It had to be because of the Pearl of Mists. Perhaps the Shinomen recognized what he’d strapped to his back with vine-rope, the orb that he dared not lose.

The brush rustled to his left. He caught glimpses of graying scales between the brief spaces between foliage. Clawed hands. A cobra hood, sagging and bloated. Milky reptilian eyes.

The Shashakar meant to buy him time by freeing the mindless remnants of the jakla from their stone cocoons. But once slain, the sorcerer raised them as his own minions. They’d proven much stronger and swifter than undead bandits. He gripped his hilt, ready to draw, but he did not stop running. The village had to be close…

Just keep going. There had to be some escape, someplace he could–

A crash of steel rang from the brush. Daini fell to his knees. A detached naga head with a cobra hood rolled into sight.

But instead of drawing his sword, he relaxed. He’d hoped if he got close enough to the naga village, they would sense him and emerge.

The Mara slid from the brush, dressed for war, her spearbow already slung. The tension in Daini’s chest released like an avalanche. She was safe, alive. He caught her bronze eyes, desperate to speak with her.

Instead, she flinched, looking away.

Other naga emerged, weapons ready. The Isha in his charcoal tunic. The Shahadet, his blade dripping with Foul blood.

Grim, they studied the head of the undead jakla that had pursued him. From the dread on their faces, Daini supposed they didn’t think the naga being undead was possible, that their kin had been forced to slither under someone else’s power.

Every second brought the Foul closer. The Mara’s eyes widened as he unslung the iridescent orb from its makeshift rope backpack. She recognized it. They all did. Even the Shahadet seemed to forget himself, his jaw going slack.

Take the pearl to your lord in the mountains, the Shashakar had said. Keep it far from here.

Daini approached her and knelt, surrendering the pearl to the Mara’s trembling hands.

Are you reading my thoughts? he wondered as she accepted it. Are you wondering why I did this?

He could have forced them to the negotiation table. Taken it to the Dragon Clan. Leveraged the favor.

But this artifact did not belong in the Dragon mountains. Let the Shinomen naga be the masters of their own fate. Let them be unbound to the whims of any Great Clan.

He stood. “Will you translate for me?”

She searched his face. Finally, she nodded.

He relayed how he’d adventured in the City of Three Waterfalls. His encounter with the Shashakar, the sorcerer’s attack, and his retreat with the pearl. How the sorcerer had raised the empty jakla bodies to pursue him.

They glowed at the mention of the Shashakar, the possibility of an awakened jakla who could, in turn, awaken slumbering naga with a gesture. Then, at Daini’s uncertainty of the Shashakar’s fate, all but the Shahadet deflated.

“Do not underestimate the Shashakar,” the champion of the Asp bloodline assured them. “Nor his powerful magics.”

The Mara nodded, hopeful.

Daini gestured to the decapitated head. “This awaits the naga if the sorcerer obtains the pearl. The Shashakar requested I take it to my homelands, to keep it safe.”

The Mara interrupted her own translation. “Why bring it here, then? If our highest jakla told you to–”

“The naga should decide their own fate. If the Qamar so wills, the Dragon will protect it.” He stared at the Shahadet’s stern face. “If the word of a samurai is not enough, tell me how I might demonstrate my sincerity.”

The Mara quietly translated, her people’s future gently humming in her hands.

Silence. The naga exchanged glances. They conversed through the Unity, Daini supposed. Under the Mara’s searching gaze, a shameful heat bloomed on his face. What could he possibly say that would undo the harsh words exchanged at their last parting?

Through her, the Shahadet asked a question. “The sorcerer is from your clan. Why did you not give the pearl to him?”

So they knew. Perhaps the Mara had told them. He took a deep breath.

“He is a madōshi,” Daini answered. “He surrendered to the Foul. He has no place among the Dragon.” Either they would understand, or they wouldn’t.

Another question. “What would you advise?”

Of all people, he hadn’t expected that from the Shahadet. Had he finally cracked the warlord’s shell?

“A defensive strategy is inherently a losing one. The purpose of defense is to create openings for attack.”

There was a hint of approval from the Shahadet at this assessment.

Daini thought. “Among my people are a family known as the Agasha. They are experts in similar matters, and I was fortunate to study beside them. It is very… difficult… to command spirits and defend oneself simultaneously. We should draw the sorcerer in, then attack him directly. As a great general once said: ‘Cut the head off the snake, and the body will die.’” He paused, then glanced at the Mara. “Maybe omit that last part.”

She conveyed his words, and the Shahadet immediately emitted a series of hisses. A surprised expression melted into a genuine smile on the Mara’s face. Her eyes twinkled.

“He agrees,” she said. “And thanks you for volunteering.”

“If only I knew about these when I was running for my life.”

The Mara did not reply. Before him, the naga slithered across the netting bridge, occasionally ducking a branch or spiderweb. The Isha took the lead, slashing at vines and foliage that barred their way.

Daini hadn’t known about these suspended hemp-net pathways hidden in the treetops, bypassing the terrain below. He imagined only some had survived the centuries. He wobbled across the net, his feet occasionally slipping between the gaps. They were clearly designed for beings with tails, not legs.

His mind wandered to the group the Shahadet led, somewhere below. This was a two-sword strike, not unlike the Mirumoto niten; threaten by advancing, provoke an attack with one blade, diverting it to create an opening. This group was the other sword, ready to strike when the enemy overcommitted.

Collectively, they slid onto the wide branches of a massive cypress. Mist and shafts of moonlight clung to the bamboo grove. They waited.

Crouched on the bough, he sensed the bulk of the Mara’s tail as she slithered next to him. She leaned forward, searching.

If you say nothing now, she’ll never speak to you again.

“You’re sure this will work?” he asked, forcing the words past his tightening throat.

The Mara nodded. “When I talked to the Forest Killer, he was ready to abandon everything. I’ll bet that is a prevailing attitude among the rest. If not, at least we will surprise him.”

Daini paused. “I am sorry,” he said.

A distant birdcall. The rustling of leaves.

To apologize with mere words was insincere in the world of samurai. Deeds, not words, was what mattered. But even as he prepared to flatten himself on the bough, stripping himself of dignity, would that be enough for his reaction, for abandoning her?

He thought, maybe, she wouldn’t reply. But then, her lips parted. “I regret listening to your thoughts without your permission.”

His heart contracted. “The way I acted was inexcusable.”

She seemed to search for words. “I do not understand the Rokugani desire for… privacy. To be solitary, disconnected, is unnatural to my people. It makes us… inquisitive. Invasive. Overprotective. That is no excuse, but perhaps it is an explanation.” She gave a wry look. “It is how my people treat me. I should have realized I was doing it myself. But they only do it because they… care. Just as I…”

Her jaw clenched.

This was hard for her. Daini interjected, to spare her the need.

“In the Dragon mountains, one learns to be self-sufficient. To align one’s intent with action. The truth of one’s inner thoughts is secondary to the greater truth of one’s actions. One must stand alone before one can stand for others. One must be the sort that is approached, not the sort that offers. But perhaps, in so doing, I thoughtlessly pushed away those who would be my allies.” His eyes met hers. “And accused a dear friend of wrongdoing. How am I to even show my face?”

Bronze eyes softened. “It is not a bad face.”

He smiled. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I was unhappy you were gone,” she whispered. “I face new challenges now. I do not want to attempt them without you. I was untethered until we met. There is no one in the Mara’s pool like the Daini.”

“And no one in my life like the Mara.” A smile became a smirk. “The one and only.”

Each knew the thoughts of the other. There was no need to say more.

When the first dead naga slithered underneath, they tensed. The creatures sidewinded by, bearing injuries that should have felled them. Dead bandits joined them. The stench reached Daini’s nostrils even at this height.

Steel rang in the distance as Daini tied back his sleeves. The Shahadet had engaged the dead. Daini freed his sheathed katana, enduring the others’ trepid looks. They would prefer an ambush, but the Mara had helped them to understand. A samurai had rules to follow.

At last, something alive walked below. Only a dozen or so Forest Killers remained. They were a listless bunch, holding their weapons like the already defeated. Like prisoners.

Then there was the madōshi, bare-chested, his long ponytail writhing down his spine. Blood dripped from his clasped hands.

Daini hopped down from branch to branch, thudding on the forest floor. “Wait, cousin.”

Several bandits spun, but the madōshi kept his back to Daini. The bush warbler tattoo flapped its wings, relaying commands.

“I recognize that tattoo. The monks of Togashi do not bestow such things lightly. You have fallen far. Who were you before this?”

The madōshi chuckled. “You’ve never heard of me, I promise. But ‘cousin’ is fine.”

The bandits exchanged uneasy looks. Clearly, they didn’t know if they should charge Daini or wait.

Daini addressed them. “We once shared a cage, and an offer was made. I make another: fight beside me, and by authority of the Dragon Clan, I will pardon your crimes.”

The madōshi finally turned around with open annoyance. “You were better as a tracking dog, Mirumoto. I should not have spared you.”

“Ah, I see now. You used the tattoo to coordinate with the traitor jakla, the Dark One trapped inside the Shashakar. You needed someone to find the Cobra jakla city so you could obtain the pearl. But what then? You become lord of the forest?” He shook his head. “No just lord treats his vassals like mere pawns.”

“You condemn me for this but praise your lord in the High House of Light for much the same. Isn’t that why you’re here? So he could teach you some pointless lesson?” The madōshi’s tone dripped with malice. “I decided long ago that I would never be his pawn again. Now, I serve a greater master.”

“You’ve merely become someone else’s pawn,” Daini realized. “Whose?”

My lord’s victory. That was what the jakla traitor had said through the Shashakar. What greater puppet-master was pulling these strings?

“I’ll introduce you,” the stranger replied, and drew his blade.

Daini freed his katana, wielding the sheath in his other hand.

And gasped, as the nearest bandit lashed out at the master. The madōshi barely avoided the axe strike.

Chaos unfolded. Naga fell from the trees like arrows, blades and spearbows flashing in the moonlight. Daini lost sight of his quarry in the storm of bodies and threw himself into the fray.

“We follow you.” A bandit suddenly spoke up beside Daini as he split the skull of a terrible horror. “Teach us, and we’ll do whatever you say.”

Daini tried not to roll his eyes. “You wish to learn the warrior’s path? Beg forgiveness of the villages you stole from.”

“We only wanted a good life, samurai.”

“You wanted a comfortable life,” Daini corrected. “That is why you found only hardship. It is easy to live a good life; harder to die a good death.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the man’s eyes lit with admiration. Daini wryly realized his mistake. Now, he’d never be rid of them.

He pushed on, slicing through axes and claws. The Mara appeared, clearing some space with her arrows. “Where is he?” she yelled.

Daini’s instincts spun the wheel in his belly. He dodged, from a sudden, unexpected killing slash. The madōshi showered him with steel blows. Each painful deflection sent shockwaves through his arms. His back struck a tree.

Daini folded into a half-seated stance, legs crossing into a tight coil, striking as he did.

The madōshi avoided the attack, his own blade plunging down.

Left, screamed the Mara’s voice.

Daini flicked his wrist, repositioning his sword to his left. The madōshi’s strike slid harmlessly down the steel.

The sorcerer’s eyes widened.

Daini leapt, rammed the sheath into the sorcerer’s nose with a crunch. The sword followed. He drew a red arc across falling moonbeams.

He stood and studied the madōshi’s prone body. The tattoo still flapped, the sorcerer drawing labored breaths. Weakly, he traced something in his own blood as his life ebbed. The ground broke before him, and a muddy form rose, assembling into a vaguely humanoid shape.

Daini’s blood froze. He was summoning a horror, like those that had attacked the naga village. They’d lose their chance, and all would be for nothing.

Then, the Mara lunged. She wound the madōshi in her tail and squeezed. Daini winced at the sound of snapping bones. The forming monster wavered, chunks falling away.

The madōshi screamed. With the last of his strength, he plunged his sword into the Mara’s chest. The blade tip protruded from her back.

A scream filled Daini’s ears. It was his own. He couldn’t stop.

The creature fully collapsed into a rain of boulders and mud. It hammered upon the Mara’s unnaturally still body. The ground rumbled, breaking further apart, and she fell, the earth swallowing her and what remained of the monster.

A dark sinkhole stood in their place.

Daini made only a few steps forward before falling to his knees. The ground shook with collapsing undead bodies, each soft thud an echo of his hammering heart. He felt himself becoming stone, even as he begged his body to move, to run for her.

He sensed others slithering to his side. The Shahadet, victorious with his retinue, suddenly mournful. The Isha, stunned, weapons falling from his hands. A wave of sorrow passed over the naga. Daini didn’t understand, but he imagined the Shahadet said, “She proved to be a warrior after all.”

But where was the immense grief he should be feeling? The desperation? Why did it seem like he could hear her still, that his initial terror of losing her was based on nothing?

Did I get him? Is it over?

Those thoughts had not come from him.

“Give me your lantern,” he commanded the nearest bandit. A surge of energy revitalized him. No, a surge of hope.

The descent down the pit was slow. Both the bandits and the naga gazed down from the pit’s rim. His surroundings transitioned into an inky void, illuminated only by the bubble of lantern light swaying from his obi.

The madōshi’s crushed body lay at the bottom. The bush warbler tattoo was finally still. Daini ventured past the sorcerer to see the Mara, coiled in a knot against the muddy wall.

The blade’s handguard jutted from her chest, blood staining her tunic.

Her eyes opened and she smiled. “Must I ask again? Did I get him?”

Daini’s legs felt boneless. “Thank the Fortunes. I feared… Don’t ever do that again.”

“I thought for sure he had me.” She gestured to the hilt. “But why did he strike me where there are no organs?”

“That’s where the Rokugani keep their heart,” Daini explained. Of course, the naga heart was closer to their collarbone, and they could relocate it an inch or two besides. He remembered hearing hers under his cheek when they’d kept warm in the snow. If the madōshi had bothered to learn anything about them, he might have struck true.

“Luck, then.” She attempted to remove the blade.

“Don’t move,” he said sharply. “Leave it for a healer.”

She nodded, and he shouted for aid. Jubilant voices came from above.

“You knew I lived,” she remarked. “Such worry is unwarranted.”

“Not at first,” he admitted. “But then, I heard you, heard you thinking at me, wondering if you succeeded.”

Her body shook with gentle laughter. “That settles it. You’re one of us, now.”

“You will find your destiny in the Shinomen,” Yokuni had said. “Your fate will be coiled with the allies you find.” Daini had never felt more grateful to Togashi Yokuni than he did at this moment.

The coming days would give them little peace. The Qamar was unlikely to change his mind based on one battle’s outcome. There were still the stirring marshes, and the dead things the madōshi had freed. The Unity was still faltering and the pearl cracked and the world no farther from the coming darkness, whatever it was. He’d have to remain in the forest for longer still, far from the comforts of home, courts, his people, and the world he knew.

The Mara grinned, radiant as the sun.

Well, he thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.