Previously on Coiled Fates, Dragon Clan samurai Mirumoto Daini journeys through the enchanted Shinomen Forest in search of allies to stand against the coming darkness. He does not expect to be confronted by a living naga, a snakelike people known only in myths.

Now, you can read or listen to the third 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 Three

During their childhood, Mirumoto Daini’s sister Hitomi confided that she believed a monk in the High House was a naga in disguise. He’d laughed at her. Only the hopelessly gullible would buy such ludicrous folk tales of people who were snakes from the waist down. He still brought it up whenever he wanted to humble her. What rational person would believe such nonsense?

Now, leaning against the slats of his prison, he watched the naga guards slither away, responding to hisses of alarm. Please, he prayed, never let Hitomi find out she was right.

Mirumoto Daini wasn’t sure how the stranger infiltrated the naga’s settlement. He’d only seen the hooded intruder step into the open, nearby guards emitting surprised hisses, spears at his throat. He spoke unflinchingly. “I am here to negotiate the release of your prisoners.”

So this was the “Master” that the Forest Killers so revered. It was all they talked about in the week after their capture inside their shared pen. That the Master would release them. Make the naga pay for this indignity. That he was capable of anything. What sort of odious person could win the Forest Killers’ loyalty?

More importantly, how was the stranger communicating with the naga? He spoke, they hissed back, he replied. During his imprisonment, Daini’s inquiries led him nowhere, yet the naga seemed to understand the stranger instantly. Did this “Master” possess an elemental gift, like shindōshi? Or was this something else?

The gates of the largest building opened for the hooded stranger. Guards escorted him into an open atrium, where water reflections cast caustics on the walls. Daini glimpsed resplendent naga within before the gates shut. Their leaders, no doubt.

“Last chance, samurai,” spoke a gruff voice behind him. “Are you in or out?”

The Forest Killers asked every day if Daini would fight beside them when the time came. Each time he replied noncommittally or said something cryptic. Now, three dozen bandits loomed, awaiting his answer.

Daini continued to peer through the wooden slats. “You really think you can take them? They defeated you soundly under better circumstances.”

Another bandit chuckled. “The Master knows a trick or two, and we’ve hidden–”

A loud smack. The man went silent.

The first spoke again. “Give us your answer.” His words dripped with a quiet threat.

“You’ll lose,” Daini said. “They know this terrain. Only fools allow their enemies to decide where to fight. Now, say we fall back to your camp. Make them come to you. You could pick them off, force them into pinch points. We’d have a fighting chance, then.”

After a long silence, a meaty hand clasped his shoulder.

“A wise decision, friend. Be away from these bars when the Master makes his move. We’ll make for the camp as you suggest. There are a few weapon caches stashed along the way.”

So he knew their master’s plan? Daini thought. How was that possible?

“That saves us some trouble,” Daini said. “Only, I ought to know the plan so I can fight effectively.”

The bandit grinned. “For now, you only need know that these woods will soon be ours.”

Daini exhaled after they’d dispersed, returning to their dwellings. The naga had provided an enclosure with space for tents and even campfires. But it was in the open, surrounded by the village. He’d felt like an animal in a lord’s private menagerie.

Daini had no intention of consorting with honorless dogs that would likely kill him anyway. He would make his own gamble for freedom.

As if so summoned, the naga woman appeared, as she had each day of Daini’s imprisonment. Daini straightened. She slid uncannily towards him, a viridian marriage of mammal and reptile. The naga seemed like something that should only exist in temple murals, perhaps the creation of a jovial Fortune. Her plum-colored tunic, with yellow spirals and conch shell clasps, reminded him of the short-sleeved happi servants wore at Mirumoto Castle.

Imprisonment was disgraceful and humiliating for one of his station, but her visits made things bearable. Attempts at communication were rudimentary, awkward. She seemingly wanted him to talk, but although he spoke his name, his word for her people, and so on, none of it seemed to matter. Mostly they looked at each other in silence.

And there were the new dreams. Each night was the same: him thrashing in inky water, heart hammering, aware of a massive squamous thing encircling him. A reptilian eye opened, casting him in gold, and his mind exploded with cloudy memories long buried. The last had been of a red-faced girl, his sister Hitomi, glowering at him with a splintered wooden sword. Each time he woke in a dreadful sweat, feeling as though he’d been torn open, his shame and deepest secrets laid bare to invisible eyes. Was this how the priest felt before the altar, helpless beneath the gaze of primordial gods?

The naga woman always brought him something to eat. Last time it was some crispy thing suspended in a jelly sphere that reeked of pond scum. It turned his stomach, but refusal would be rude. She’d watched him gag it down, unblinking. This time she had something that alarmingly resembled a whole cooked frog. She hovered several feet over his head, observing him with bronze-hued eyes.

Those eyes captivated him like deep rivers. Moons eclipsing amber suns.

Remembering himself, he withdrew the letter hidden in his collar, flattening it so the naga could see the figures he’d drawn on the back: the bandits, labeled with an axe, terrorizing a town. Sword-wielding warriors, a mountain temple, a serpentine dragon in the clouds.

She offered him a look similar to an adult praising a child for proudly displaying their scribblings.

Damn. He’d really hoped that would work.

“Well,” he sighed. “It was worth a try.”

Her tail thudded. She hissed, urgently, gesturing toward her mouth, as if something was tumbling out of it. Or perhaps, as though she wanted to eat… something.

Daini grimaced. “So that’s why you visit each day. Plan to eat me, do you? I’ll make you a difficult meal.”

She stopped. Then, she erupted into loud guffaws, drawing the brief attention of naga passersby.

“I’m not going to eat you, dummy. I was asking you to keep talking.”

Had that voice, those words, come from her?

They had!

An old Rokugani dialect, one Daini had only heard spoken in plays. But they were words he understood. He grinned.

She flashed daggerlike teeth. “It really worked! I mean, of course it worked. I knew it would.” She undulated, weaving her arms. Her smile was like a sunrise. “I can’t believe this! Finally. Finally!”

“How?” Daini boggled. “I didn’t understand you before. Are the spirits translating your words?”

She shook her head. “You taught me.” He thought she might explain further, but she only stared at him. Then, a serious look came over her. “How were you able to send me your thoughts? The Unity is the gift of the naga. How is it that you can use it?”

The Unity? Sending his thoughts?

Daini shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought maybe you were a priestess and invoked the elements.” He smiled hesitantly. “Until recently, I believed the naga were a myth.”

She went silent. Grief flickered across her face.

When unsure, fall back to propriety. He tilted into a bow. “This one is Mirumoto Daini, a samurai of the Dragon Clan. I would know the name of the one to whom I owe my life.”

“Dragon Clan.” A slender black tongue slid from her lips and licked the air. “Pine and snow. The mountains.” She touched her chest. “You may call me the Mara.”

“The Mara?” He smirked. “The one and only?”

“It is my purpose to be the Mara,” she said, explaining nothing.

For now, the bandits had seemingly not noticed that he was conversing with one of their captors. He lowered his voice. “We haven’t much time. That man who entered your camp just now, who is he?”

She raised her brow. “You don’t know him? He claims to be your lord, something called a ‘dye-myoh’ of a ‘great clan.’”

His mood darkened. “That man is not my lord. These prisoners are not samurai. They are Forest Killers. Bandits.”

“Forest Killers.” She licked the air, then sneered. “I don’t like that. But why were you with them?”

“I was their prisoner. They ambushed my retinue.” He stopped. A few bandits milled about on the far side of the enclosure. Any moment, one might glance his way. “I don’t know their plans, but they are confident that stranger will free them. You must warn your leaders. If they escape, they’ll fall back to their camp in the ruins. You might get there first.”

She was performing calculations behind those brassy eyes. A determined look befell her, and after gulping the roasted frog in a single bite, she disappeared.

Daini had hoped to get further than this. Time stretched. A few bandits cast him reassuring looks. He nodded back, wondering if they would realize it was he who thwarted their escape, and how long he could last against them all.

He barely registered when the Mara returned. She’d strapped a quiver to her tail, along with an elongated recurve bow with a spearhead. His gaze darted to the sheathed katana she carried. His katana.

A few clicks, and the prison gate swung open. The Mara gestured him through.

“Hey!” came one of the bandits. “What are you doing? Are they letting you out?”

“Hurry,” she said.

She slammed the gate behind him and spun the key. Two bandits hit the slats, too late. Daini turned from their goggling faces as the Mara surrendered his sword. He fed it into his belt and tied back his sleeves, following her toward her leaders’ den. No naga moved against them, but a few seemed alarmed. Daini didn’t know how the naga punished those who released armed prisoners, but that she’d risked much was not lost on him.

“How much trouble did I just put you in?” he asked, barely keeping pace.

“Ask me later. This false lord, can you disprove his lies?”

He wasn’t sure. “I can try. Will your leaders understand me?”

“Unlikely,” she admitted. “So I will translate for the Daini.”

“Oh? Am I the Daini?”

A fang uncurled from her smile. “The one and only.”

They slipped past surprised guards and through the atrium’s gates. It reminded Daini of a monastery courtyard, but with an overgrown reflection pool, fed by a steady waterfall from above. Daini’s steps sent ripples across the ankle-deep water, lotuses floating on the surface. He felt a fish wriggle past his bare foot.

Several elaborately armored naga were wrapped around the columns holding up the skylight ceiling. They dwarfed even the Mara. The naga warrior who’d nearly killed him was here, looking like he wanted another chance at it.

The naga were not as surprised as the “Master.” The man’s gray threadbare garments reminded Daini of webs. A sword hung from his belt in the manner of a tachi.

“A dog of the Dragon.” The stranger spoke in a serrated voice. “You should execute him.”

The naga exchanged hisses as guards entered the atrium.

Daini cast the Mara a questioning look. “They understand his Rokugani?”

She looked surprised. “He’s speaking my people’s tongue. Isn’t he?”

Daini’s eyes widened. So whoever heard this man’s words heard them in their own language? Something gnawed at the back of Daini’s mind, but he pushed the thought aside. He’d have to solve this puzzle later.

“Trust nothing this man says,” Daini shouted. The Mara unleashed a string of hisses, translating. “He is no daimyō. Your prisoners are criminals who desecrated your ruins.”

His words, conveyed through the Mara, stirred the naga warlords. The most ornately dressed naga, at the seat of authority, levied her with questions. He heard “the Daini” among her hasty responses, and she nodded at him. Reassuringly, he thought.

“So,” the stranger uttered through a sick smile. “This is the Mirumoto daimyō’s surviving son.”

The stranger had malice in his eyes. Did Daini know this man from somewhere?

“You have my name,” Daini said as the Mara interpreted. “But what is your family? From what clan do you hail? What province?”

A naga hissed, and the Mara translated. “He says he’s the Shinjo, of the Unicorn,” she told him.

Daini almost laughed. “Strange that you would be without your horse, Lord Shinjo. What fate befell it? I’ve not known a Shinjo to be without one.”

“Is a samurai’s word worth nothing?”

“Apologies,” Daini said, each following word accompanied by the Mara’s hasty translation. “Then you know you are in violation of Imperial Edict, as all samurai abroad must display their clan heraldry.” He gestured to the symbol of the Dragon on his yellow and green kimono. “But your traveling papers would clear that up. I have mine. Do you have yours?”

The collective gaze swung to the stranger.

He lowered his hood. Daini did not recognize his thin face but spotted a hint of color on his neck. A tattoo? Daini squinted to make it out.

“We’re far from your empire, samurai.” The stranger bowed to the collective naga. “You’ll wish you accepted my offer, Shahadet. You have doomed your people.”

Screams from outside. The room resounded with the ring of freed blades.

The guards absorbed most of the blast. Daini ducked under flying debris, choking on dust. Where the gate had been now lay a smoldering hole. Daini shielded his eyes against the emergence of a giant humanoid conflagration, an emaciated gaunt husk buried under the flames. Its head was an eyeless bear skull. The creature charged the Shahadet. Water sizzled under its steps.

Daini pushed his fear away and pursued the stranger, who dodged into the open. Several of the flaming giants lumbered across the village with naga either fleeing or engaging in combat. Somehow, he’d stumbled into a dream with impossible creatures. He dimly recalled tales from the Crab Clan, the horrors they battled on the Kaiu Wall erected against the Shadowlands. Were these beings related to those?

The prison pen was shattered. Flames licked charred wood. Some Forest Killer bodies lay scattered about, but the rest of them were gone. Daini took little solace knowing they’d fled into the forest instead of standing and fighting, as they might have done had he not suggested otherwise.

Despite it all, Daini never lost his quarry.

“Since when did the Dragon bother to descend their mountains?” the stranger yelled, his eyes alit by flames, his words clear as though he’d spoken directly in Daini’s ear. “Consider this a gift. Go home. Tell your lord in the High House of Light that he has failed.”

Daini sprinted to the man, freeing his blade. Behind the stranger, the Mara descended upon him. Their gazes locked as she struck.

The stranger sidestepped and flicked his wrist.

A pop. Black smoke bloomed, stinging Daini’s eyes. Pepper bomb. He gagged, searching the opaque black curtain. It was no use! The stranger would escape in the smoke, and–

The Mara swept and slammed her tail into the cloud, parting the smoke with a bony crunch. The haze cleared. A body lay smashed beneath her.

Daini recalled a lesson about snakes from the Agasha, that they could see their prey’s body heat, that irritants did not deter them. What harm could a pepper bomb do to a snake?

He inched towards the lifeless body. It was the Forest Killer that had demanded Daini’s cooperation. But how? Moments before, it had been the stranger. How had they swapped places?

The Mara spat on the ground, her tongue lashing the air. “The Foul.”

Daini knew now what the bandits’ master was. It had not been admiration, but fear that tinged the Forest Killers’ words, fear of sorcery that could summon fire-cloaked demons and beset them upon a village, fear of pacts with the Shadowlands. Madōshi, wielders of blasphemous powers. Was this the darkness that Yokuni spoke of in their letter?

He looked up into the Mara’s solar eclipse eyes. Something clenched in his chest.

It was the naga, wasn’t it? They were his destiny, the allies he’d been sent to find.

Are you watching now, Lord Yokuni? Are you laughing?

“Help us,” she said. “And I will do what I can for your cause.”

Somehow, he felt he didn’t need to say anything, that she already knew he would agree. He would need to earn their trust, learn more about their ways. That work would begin tomorrow.

Today, there were demons to fight. Fates coiled together, they entered the fray.