Previously on Coiled Fates, a stranger visits the naga village to treat with its warlords, but the intervention of Dragon Clan samurai Mirumoto Daini reveals the stranger’s duplicity. The stranger gives up all pretense and attacks the naga and Daini before escaping. The Mara offers to help secure Daini’s freedom if he helps the naga track down the stranger, and Daini agrees.

Now, you can read or listen to the fourth 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 Four

The taste of the Foul coated the Mara’s tongue. The one the Daini called “the stranger” had been here recently. Normally, this vantage would offer a majestic view of the River of the Sky winding throughout the Shishomen with its whitewater cascades. Instead, a cold fog swallowed the view and reduced her companions to gray shadows.

Any colder, and the naga would have to set camp. But every rest brought the enemy of her people a little closer to evading justice. If only they could deduce where he and the bandits were headed.

“They’re following the river north,” came the voice of the Shabura. She and the Isha appeared through the fog. Shadowstalkers both, they’d been hand-picked by the Shahadet to track the stranger and drag him back for a tribunal. The tracks of the bandits accompanying him grew fewer every day. The Shishomen was a dangerous place, and the Isha often remarked that it might do their job for them.

“The river goes underground,” the Isha observed. “Perhaps they entered the caves?”

The Shabura shook her head. “No, they can’t navigate underground. Right?” She looked to the Mara for confirmation.

In only a few months, the Mara had become the resident Rokugani expert. She nodded, recalling the time that the Daini got entangled in a deer net because it was night, having to be cut free. Recalling his pout afterward, she smiled.

“Speaking of the Rokugani…” The Isha looked to the Mara. “Does your Daini intend to help? Or is he simply here to observe?”

“He is not my Daini,” the Mara objected. “He is the Daini of the Dragon.”

“Maybe the Shahadet was right,” the Shabura remarked. “Can we really depend on the samurai? He seems so frail. He must rest, always.”

The Mara suspected the Shahadet had ulterior motives for permitting the Daini to accompany the Shadowstalkers. Perhaps he hoped this would highlight the samurai’s shortcomings. And where the Daini went, the Mara followed. She’d hoped that being his interpreter would allow her more freedom, but she felt more restrained, more disregarded, than ever. Not only did the Shahadet strike down all her suggestions, but now she could never venture too far from the Daini. It was not that she disliked his company, far from it, but he’d proved as headstrong as the Shahadet.

The Daini hadn’t much luck, either. They both agreed that their people needed to be more involved in the outside world, but the Qamar was not yet convinced that the Dragon Clan’s problems were also the naga’s. The Daini made little attempt to adapt to their ways, waiting for others to come to him instead of actively seeking allies. The naga thought he was too aloof. Was he really a diplomat among his people?

If only they could see the Daini as she saw him. If only he would let them see.

“He is anything but frail,” she insisted. “Did he not pick up a trail that you both missed?”

“So quick to defend him,” the Isha observed. He and the Shabura locked eyes. They were passing comments through the Unity that she couldn’t overhear. Right in front of her!

“Would you care to repeat that aloud?” she challenged.

The Isha became suddenly interested in scouting ahead.

The Shabura put a hand on the Mara’s shoulder. “Just remind him that he wants to impress us, yes?”

The Mara sighed. This was not the first of such talks.

She spotted the Daini’s glowing body heat through the fog. He crouched beneath a cedar, writing in his notebook, serious as stone. He seemed to do that often. Whenever she asked what he was writing so intently, he would wave it away. What she wouldn’t give to know what was in that notebook.

She could just listen to his surface thoughts. She’d done that many times, without him realizing it. The Daini was strange in that he often seemed to think things that did not correspond with what he said, even through his body language. It was his own fault if she had to peek into his mind to know what he meant!

But stealing a look into his notebook felt more like a violation than an innocent peek. The Daini wanted his secrets, and she had to respect that, despite its bizarre nature. Still, she wished she could learn more about his people. He talked little about himself, no matter how she pried.

“Should I even ask what you’re writing?”

He closed the notebook. “Nothing of consequence.”

Then just tell me. “They’re getting impatient. We have a long way to catch up–”

“And I’m slowing you down.”

“I didn’t say that.” The Daini had proven touchy about anything implying he was “pampered” or not up to a task. She’d diffused a few tense situations over similar comments. Did samurai take umbrage at everything?

I can’t let them find the stranger before I do.

The Mara froze. The Daini’s thoughts rattled in hers. Before she could stop herself, she dove deeper.

If I defeat the stranger, it will win their respect. The Mara will finally trust me.

She was awash with relief and new anxiety, along with a warm feeling that she couldn’t quite identify. Daini cared what she thought of him. Why did he think she didn’t trust him?

The Daini rose and marched to the others, the Mara shortly behind.

“Tell them I think we should split up,” he said. “We’ll cover more ground that way.”

“What did he say?” the Shabura asked.

The Mara’s mind raced through the many things that could go wrong. The Daini’s suggestion came from his pride, not his better judgement. She should talk him out of it.

But he wasn’t wrong, necessarily. If they caught the stranger before two Shadowstalkers did, that would reflect greatly on them both. The Shahadet would have to acknowledge her worth, wouldn’t he? Besides, maybe this was a chance to actually learn about the Daini and his people. Perhaps he would finally share what was in that notebook…

“The Daini suggests we split into two groups,” she said.

The Isha looked concerned, but the Shabura’s eyes lit up. “Oh? You two against us? Perhaps he would like to make things interesting. Tell him I will surrender half my rations for a week if he finds our quarry before I do.”

That might be good for the Daini, the Mara supposed. He was very concerned with rationing his food. Why else would he barely eat what the naga fed him?

“But what if you win?”

A long black tongue slipped from the Shabura’s lips. “He keeps my bedroll warm for a week.”

“What is she saying?” the Daini inquired.

“Nothing!” the Mara blurted in Rokugani. Why did this notion make her so uncomfortable? She returned to her native tongue. “Gambling on this is distasteful. The Shahadet would not approve of such a bet.”

The Shabura grinned, casting the Isha a long knowing look as he failed to hide his amusement. The Mara wasn’t sure she wanted to know what they were saying through the Unity now.

They agreed that the first to find the stranger would fire a whistling arrow for the others. The Mara felt a growing dread as the Shadowstalkers slinked away. Maybe this was a mistake.

“Is everything all right?” the Daini asked. “She looked like she wanted to eat me.”

“It’s fine,” the Mara said, harsher than intended. She felt suddenly annoyed with him. “You don’t have to prove yourself constantly, you know.”

“Yes, I do. So do you. Or have I misread the situation?”

She didn’t reply. He’d been paying attention, it seemed.

“I’ll take the lead,” he said, dropping the matter. “Your friends can track animals, but not Rokugani. The bastard camped here, and they went this way.” He flashed a smile. “I’m from the mountains. I know what I’m doing.” With that, he started into the fog.

“You’re not from these mountains,” she murmured, but followed, nonetheless.

When they came upon another empty camp, the Mara suspected that the Daini was right; the stranger wasn’t following the river at all. The northern Shishomen was on a higher incline, the river cascading southward. The Daini believed they were headed west, along a forested gorge. Why, he couldn’t say.

By midday, the fog grew too thick to track anything. More than once they nearly toppled over a steep cliff. The Daini frequently consulted a palm-sized device he called a “compass,” only to shake his head and murmur, “That’s not possible.”

It was the snow that finally broke him.

“It’s nearly summer!” he exclaimed, as if to argue with nature itself. Puffy flakes hung in the air like dust motes. The cold was unbearable. The Mara licked the air to get her bearings, but the snow stung her tongue. She grew sluggish, her tail locking up, growing stiff. Her thoughts were muddied, her eyelids heavy and sore.

Groggily she watched the Daini trudge onward, his glowing heat trailing behind him. Of course, he was fine. Why didn’t she speak up earlier, when the temperatures started to drop? Why was she risking herself following this stubborn fool, one whose irrational thoughts disagreed with his actions? Truly samurai were no different than…

You’re just angry, she thought. You could have left any time. You’re still here because you want him to succeed. Because you want to prove yourself just as much as he does.

“We need to find shelter,” he finally said. He was silent for a moment. “You know, they say travelers who freeze while hiking become morigami, wandering the woods looking for campers to possess and drive to their deaths. Do your people have any such tales?”

She couldn’t quite follow. She was so tired, so very tired. Why couldn’t the Daini let her rest?

He appeared before her, alarmed eyes growing wider. “Say, you’re not looking so good. Can you hear me? Hey! Say something! Don’t go to sleep!”

She closed her eyes. His voice seemed distant, even though he was screaming her name.

She dreamed that she was chained to the bottom of a canal. Frost crystalized over her gray lithic snakeskin. Above, silhouetted figures swam amidst rising bubbles or floated by on massive lotus blooms. She had no voice to shout at them. They passed by as if she wasn’t there.

She should be afraid. Panicked. Frustrated. But it was too cold to feel any of those things. Her bones were iced into one solid mass. She’d always been this way; there was nothing in her pool that recalled anything warm. Just cold and alone.

Wait. No. There was someone else.

Even with her eyes closed, she saw a golden bloom, close enough to feel a hint of radiant warmth, to evaporate the frost, to ease her tense muscles and bones.

But not close enough! She was hungry for life-giving warmth to boil the waters of her pool and thaw her frozen thoughts. She needed heat like she needed breath.

New life coursed through her. She snaked around the heat source, pulled it against her, embracing it. A heart thudded against her belly, hot breath exhaling in surprise on her collar. I am the Mara, she recalled, and enveloped the light.

“You’re crushing me,” the Daini rasped.

She opened one eye. She’d encircled him and had him constricted in her tail in a vice-like grip. His face, pressed into her tunic’s collar, had turned an interesting shade of crimson, and she wasn’t sure whether this was due to their proximity and his racing heart, or if she was squeezing all the blood into his head.

She relaxed, hesitant to let him go fully, just enough that he could exhale hot foggy puffs.

“Give me a moment,” she said. “You’re really warm. I didn’t know Rokugani got this warm.”

“Do as you like,” he managed, not meeting her gaze.

“I won’t crush you.”

The Mara let her eyes roll over her surroundings. They were in a rock shelter, the snow-blanketed forest beyond the opening. A small campfire crackled nearby, casting their unified shadow on the wall. He’d put his dochugi overcoat on the rocky floor, making a thin bed of it.

So he’d brought them here, started the fire, and then sat next to her to lend his warmth? Her mind went to the Shabura’s teasing, and she felt very aware of his heat pressed against her, and how she held him. But she wasn’t fully thawed, and it was cold beyond the rock shelter, and that meant it was dangerous to let him go, didn’t it?

She grasped at the first topic she could conjure. “How did you start the fire?” She studied the pyramid of logs, the familiar objects in the ashes. She probed the air with her tongue. Lacquered wood. Paper. Ink. Scorched and burned.

Oh no.

“You used your writing kit,” she realized. The case and brush would’ve served as his fireboard, and the kindling… “Did you use your notebook for kindling?”

He shrugged. Like it meant nothing at all.

But he’d been writing in it for months. He let no one see its pages. Yet he’d tossed it away, just like that.

“You didn’t have to,” she finally choked out. “It was important to you.”

“It’s my fault this happened,” he replied.

“Neither of us predicted snow.”

“I should have realized the cold would have this effect on you. I was too stubborn to consider stopping.” He sighed, a pleasantly hot burst of air. “I’m sorry.”

For a while, they stared at the fire. She relaxed more, and he shifted, now shoulder-to-shoulder; a bit more propriety than before, if one disregarded that he was still hugged in her tail.

“It was just a journal,” he said suddenly. “A record of my… accomplishments. I’ve kept it since I was fifteen. It’s embarrassing.”

“Your… accomplishments?”

His dark eyes drank in the flames. “With my siblings’ accolades, one must have proof of one’s deeds, or no one notices. We are not like the naga – we do not inherit our memories, recall our past lives. We must record our feats, lest we are forgotten, with no one to tend the grave.” He paused. “Like my grandmother. No one speaks her name except at Obon. She had many adventures, yet no one tells her story. Father refuses. When I am gone, perhaps no one will remember her.

“And my brother joined her,” he continued. His voice tightened, but the words poured out. “He was the thread that held the family together. But now Satsu’s name is never spoken. Especially not near my sister. Will he, too, be forgotten? How long after my death until I am?”

She didn’t know what to say. The Daini was all alone inside, wasn’t he? A life unshared, locked away in that head of his. They were alike, in this way. Prisoners in their own minds. Fundamentally alone.

But for her, it was an accident. A malfunction. The Daini had been born that way. So, all Rokugani were imprisoned within their own minds, she realized in soft horror.

He chided himself. “Ah, such pointless rambling. Forget it.”

Gently, she touched his mind. His thoughts rushed through her like a warm river.

Idiot. You made her uncomfortable. Burdening others with your troubles only serves to multiply them. Don’t be so selfish!

Was that why he never opened up? All this time, she thought it was because he didn’t trust her.

The tips of her fingers barely grazed his hand. It could have been an accident. His eyes were wide and wondering.

“You needn’t worry about that, you know. You are in the Mara’s memory pool now. Even generations from now, whoever inherits this name will remember the Daini.” She smirked, showing him a fang. “And the silly things he did.”

“I… hadn’t considered that.” He relaxed, suddenly unburdened. “Then it is lucky I met you.”

“Yes, it is,” she replied, and felt very pleased for reasons she couldn’t articulate. “And if you tell me your grandmother’s story, then the Mara will remember her as well.”

“All right.” He settled into a more comfortable seated position with his feet on his thighs, something he’d called the Lotus. “I suppose her story truly began when her father forbade her from leaving the Dragon Mountains, but she went on a warrior pilgrimage anyway.”

The Mara warmed her cheek on his shoulder. “I like her already.”

That light, from the cave. A campfire. Their voices… he heard them. Tasted them.

So they lived.

That was good. Right?

No. They were trespassers. And they were getting away, just like the Foul got away, just like–

Be quiet, he told the voices. He was in charge. This was his body, not theirs.

A strange pair they were: one untethered Greensnake, one Rokugani. He’d only called the snow down to deter them, not threaten their lives! But they would have stumbled into the city if he hadn’t. Outsiders were not permitted in the City of Three Waterfalls. Where the Pearl of Mists lay buried. Cracked.

Because he failed. Because they all failed.

You’re going to lose our bet, sang the voice he hated the most. The Foul will find the Pearl, and it will be your fault, all your fault, and finally this body will be mine.

“No,” said the Shashakar. “These two are not the Foul’s minions.”

But he’d better watch them anyway. Just to be sure.