Kakita Aiko was watching her grandson and her daughter-in-law in the yard when Makoto returned home. He was obviously in rough shape, though he bore it well. He bowed to her, first, before his son and wife had even noticed his quiet arrival. "I am home, Mother."

Aiko almost leapt to her feet. "Makoto! You're alive!"

Smiling sadly, her son inclined his head. "I am," he says in a tone that questions whether he is pleased with this.

Shiki yelled, "Daddy!" and ran for his father, who stooped to catch the little boy under the arms and swing him about. The stiffness and brevity of the motion was not lost on either woman watching him; his wounds had yet to heal.

Under Oroko's amused gaze, Aiko flushed over her outburst. "I mean, welcome home, my son."

The younger samuraiko winked at her mother-in-law. "I will not tell of your outburst if you do not speak of mine, Aiko-sama," she says, and grabbed her husband to pull him into a kiss. After releasing him, she stepped back, a model of propriety once more. "Welcome home, Makoto-kun."

"We are glad you have returned," came a deep voice belonging to the blue-clad samurai with pristine white hair walking around the corner, a white-hilted katana at his hip. A younger man walked beside him, in well-made peasant's garb. Crows fluttered after them.

Makoto bowed deeply. "Thank you, Father. I have…a long story to share. But first, some small tokens of my journey on behalf of the Emperor." Reverently, he pulled out a well-traveled cloth, which he unwrapped on the slightly moist clay of the yard. On it were six small bundles of black pinion feathers, tied together at the quills. "Feathers of crows from the Shrine of Shinsei," he explained, smiling up at everyone, especially the peasant who accompanied his father. "One for Oroko," he said, offering it to her, and then proceeding to hand each to the others, "for Shiki, for you, Mother, Father, and one for Kana." He was genuinely smiling by the time he was done. "The last one's for Mitoto-san, Father, if you would give it to her when she returns."

At Aiko's insistence, he was bathed and his wounds dressed in fresh bandages before he could begin his tale. When he joined his family once more, they all had their little bundles of feathers on. Mitoto, the ronin woman his father used as a makeshift magistrate in the Valley of Black Feathers, sat with them. His skill at storytelling is impressive, which is good for his listeners, as he leaves nothing of import or interest out as he describes events from the delivery of taxes to Toshi Ranbo, to the events at the Shrine of Shinsei.

The Emperor's dream disturbed Kana greatly, though the peasant demurred when asked what was wrong, saying only that Makoto-sama's interpretation seemed good. Kana, as Makoto predicted, was enthralled by the tale of Shinsei's Shrine. Makoto's own strange dream and the technique he had been practicing since then was of particular interest to his father, Kakita Soyoken, and to Kana.

Mitoto spoke up. "The crow-headed men are called 'kenku', Makoto-sama. The one you met was not exaggerating, according to legend. They are perhaps the greatest duelists in any world," she said with a refinement that still seemed a bit of a veneer over her ronin directness. It was, however, a veneer with which Makoto had grown up, so he did not notice.

"You honor your friend by equating him with such esteemed duelists in your dreams," intoned Soyoken. "And with young Kana's infamous adoration for the crows of our Valley, it's only natural that you would think of him in a time of great stress, especially following the intensely spiritual experience of the Shrine of Shinsei." He smiled indulgently at his son. "Now, tomorrow, I would see this kata Kana-sensei taught you in a dream."

Groaning, the peasant youth cast his eyes to the table, not looking at anybody. "Not you, too, my Lord, please. The monks are bad enough. I am simply Makoto-sama's servant and friend."

"Kana's my friend, too!" piped up Shiki.

Aiko and Oroko chuckled indulgently. "You've been a better friend than many to myself and my son," said the former ronin woman.

The two friends - young peasant and younger samurai - both sighed at their family's adulations. Makoto rescued them both by turning to Kana. "After dinner, would you attend me, please?"

==============

Kana stooped into the quiet room, carefully carrying a bucket of black liquid. "Why did you want me to bring this dye, Makoto?" he asked, looking up at his friend. He gasped when he saw the long, white strands of his master and friend's hair lying neatly to the side, next to a tanto likely used to cut it off.

The remainder of Makoto's hair hung barely past his shoulders, limp and pale against the simple black kimono he usually only wore for purification rituals. His feet were bare. He sat cross-legged as he brushed loose white strands out of his face to look at Kana. "I've lost some of my honor, Kana. Perhaps not enough to request seppuku from lord Hanabi, but until I regain it, I will wear a reminder of my shame, that I may be properly humble. I need your help to dye the bottom half of my hair black. I am not currently worthy to wear it entirely white."

The pale brown-kimono'd servant sighed as he placed his bucket in position. "Is this about the fight you lost?"

"It is. And the dishonor of being violated by bandits, even as I lay helpless to prevent it." Makoto leaned back, propping himself at the right angle over some pillows, as Kana hesitated only a moment before helping him guide it into the dye.

Once Makoto was in position, Kana excused himself. Makoto frowned in private, saddened that, indeed, the man who taught him all he knew about Bushido could not bear to be in his presence. He held himself still, attempting to meditate. His serenity was disturbed, however, when Kana returned, carrying another pail and a few pillows, wearing a black kimono of his own.

He knelt next to Makoto, and set up the pail and the pillows in silence, so another could dye their hair beside the samurai. He picked up the tanto Makoto had used to cut his hair, and, loosing his from the simple peasant's holder, cut his own to the same length. "What are you doing?" Makoto finally asked, puzzlement clear in his voice.

Kana sat with his back to the reclining pillows, and pulled his shortened black hair back into a single tail. Holding it with one hand, he smiled down at Makoto. "My master and best friend says he has lost his honor. I know where it is, so I will hold it for him until he feels ready to accept it, again." Kana lay down, carefully lowering his bundled hair into the second pail he had brought in, and lay in silence, meditating alongside his master.

From that day on, for as long as Makoto wore his hair only bleached white from the roots to halfway down, Kana bleached the bottom half of his own hair.

******************************************************

The Shrine of Shinsei. The Oracle of Water. The emperor's retired father, now a monk. Those strange bird-men. Makoto reflected on the things he had seen and done in this service to the Emperor. The honor of serving in this capacity seemed magnified a thousand-fold by the wonders he had been privileged to see.

It was nearly over. His failures of most of the tests were distant in his mind even as he passed the ledges where they'd occurred. He paused, though, at the plateau where he had met the monk who administered the test of Air. The wind brought back the memory of the odd exchange, more clear now than when it actually happened.

"Is it true that you had an affair with your daimyo's wife?" the strange monk had asked.

Makoto had paused only a moment to make certain he heard the question correctly, before simply stating, "No."

"LIAR!" the monk had cried, so startling the young Kakita that he did not even notice the incoming swing until it decked him. Even as he was picking himself up off the dust-covered stone, the monk's pronouncement of failure to learn the lessons of Air barely registered.

After his companions had each asked and answered, some convincing, some dodging, and some being struck, Makoto had bowed to the monk, in an effort to place the slight to his honor behind him. "Did I not know you lied only as part of this test, I would have challenged you to a duel for that insult to my honor, and that of my daimyo and his wife."

The monk had smiled, and his next words were what haunted Makoto. "Who says I was speaking of the past?"

Makoto shook his head to dispel that memory at his companions' call, and hastened to catch up with them. It was over. Perhaps he should have dueled that monk, after all. But that was done. They had succeeded, and would bring the Emperor that which he had charged them to seek.

As they wound past the platform where the test of Earth had occurred, Makoto pulled out one of the small bundles of feathers he had made for his friends and family. Smiling, he recalled the idyllic village that so reminded him of his home. The crows of the Valley of Black Feathers hang nearly as thick there as they did at the Shrine of Shinsei, though only at the Shrine had he seen such a blizzard of perfect pinions. Kana would absolutely love the memento of the Shrine, and to know his aviary was beloved by the same creatures that featured it. His friend should have been a monk, though Makoto never ceased to be grateful that Kana chose to remain in service to Makoto's family.

The sun rose on a new day, months after the night that had fallen just as the Emperor's servants started their ascent up the hill. Clearly, time had passed differently in ningen-do than in the Shrine. With as much time as had passed in that one day amongst Shinsei's students, it seemed good that the samurai had not stopped to rest nor refresh themselves.

No sooner had the hill vanished behind their backs, taking with it the mysteries of the Tao that its inhabitants sought to embody, than it became obvious that a boat awaited them on the River of Gold. Perhaps this would be able to hasten their long-delayed return to Toshi Ranbo!

Hiruma Taigen was the first to realize something was wrong. The scorpion that spoke for the small band of ronin and their treacherous brother only confirmed it. "Did you bring something down from the mountain?" he asked.

Toshiro, the ronin Magistrate, replied, "Only wisdom."

The truth of that statement was misleading, and it pained Makoto to let it slide, for there was a physical manifestation of the previous Emperor's wisdom that Taigen bore. But these men did not need to know that.

"Give us what you acquired, and you can go unharmed." So, they suspected, anyway.

Makoto looked to Taigen. "Our report must reach the Emperor. You are the fastest of us. We will hold them off."

Taigen looked from his companions to the bandits, and back. Swallowing his pride, he nodded, and ran, swiftly as the wind, his precious cargo hidden within his traveling pack. The scorpion bushi rushed after him, but failed to cut when he drew his sword. Makoto followed him, and cut him down, but only after the scorpion stung him.

The enemy was fresh, well-rested. The servants of the Emperor had not rested since they started their climb - and their trials - two nights ago. Makoto cut down the scorpion samurai, but could not stand against the two ronin. They cut him once, twice…he barely felt the blows. But the third…

The ground tilted and came up to meet Makoto. He was surprised, briefly, before all went black. His last thought was hope that his friends would prevail without him.

===============

"Kana! Kana!" called Shiki as he toddled rapidly up to his father's quiet friend.

The peasant youth turned to face his master's tiny son, who was holding up something black and feathery. "Crow died, Kana! Crow died!"

"Put it down, Shiki," Kana said quietly. Inexplicably, a shiver ran down his spine. "Samurai do not touch dead things. Put it down. We will fetch an eta."

Shiki bent down almost reverently, and laid the crow on the ground. His hands were sticky with its blood. "Come, we will wash your hands. How did you find it, Shiki?" asked the peasant of the two-year-old samurai son.

"Big brown bird hit crow. Crow fell." Kana listened. 'Big brown birds' are chicken-hawks. They don't come around here, much. Even from Shiki's infantile description, Kana could see the flash of talons, the crow's death. His mind's eye showed him the black-feathered body falling at the little boy's feet.

The boy's mother found them as they approached the wash basins. "I'll take him to the monks for a cleansing ritual," she said with a sigh after Kana explained the situation. The peasant washed the child's hands. Oroko continued as her son's hands were dried, "Perhaps they can give some meaning to this omen. It can't bode well."

"Makoto-sama was struck a nearly fatal blow," Kana said gravely. "He did not die. But he came close."

Oroko gasped, her hand going to the slight bulge just starting to show in her stomach. Shiki looked up at his mother and Kana's expressions. His eyes welled with tears. "Daddy's hurt?"

Kana reached down and ruffled his small black head. "He'll be fine, Shiki-chan. Makoto-sama will come back to us, I'm sure." He looked up at Oroko. "I will go with you to the shrine, if you will permit me. I would pray for him, as well." The samuraiko bowed her head in acquiescence, unable to speak, though no other sign of emotion crossed her fair warrior's face.

=============

The mournful cry of a carrion bird caught Makoto's attention. Turning, he found himself standing in a sun-dappled clearing, surrounded by trees. A brook babbled gently by a small red shrine. The crow cawed again. Kana stood in the saffron robes of a monk, a black-sheathed daisho hanging from his right hip. The crow perched on his left shoulder, tilting its head at the exact angle Kana held his.

Makoto's hand dropped to his own daisho, before he pulled it away in confusion. "Why are you dressed that way? And holding weapons? You know it's forbidden; you taught me that."

"So you were willing to risk your life, after all, Son and Student of Kakita," his friend said in unison with the crow, who spoke with the voice of those strange bird-men from the Shrine.

The white-haired youth's eyes narrowed. "My life belongs to the Emperor, and was not mine to risk, save in his service. What's going on? I was fighting…"

Kana nodded, once, in an almost pecking gesture which the crow on his shoulder mimicked. "You put your life on the line for the reason you said you would. Now, I will give you a duel, as was promised you."

Makoto looks uncomfortable. "You're not really Kana, are you?" he asked, half a statement, as he dropped into his dueling stance.

"I am your teacher," replied Kana, in just his own voice. He likewise assumed a stance, left hand going to the black hilt of the katana he wore. This Kana, at least, was a better duelist than Makoto.

It therefore surprised the young Kakita when his saffron-robed opponent gave him the opening almost immediately. With the speed only one from his School could truly master, Makoto's blade cleared his sheath. In a graceful, effortless arc, he swung to bring the edge to rest ever so gently against Kana's neck, without breaking the skin.

Except Kana's blade leapt from its sheath at the exact same instant. Rather than cutting through the air unimpeded, Makoto's silvery sword clashed edge-to-edge with a black-bladed katana. Sparks flew, and even as Makoto was finishing the by-now instinctive motion to re-sheathe his blade for another strike, he found the black blade resting against his own throat. The younger duelist released the powder blue hilt of his weapon in surrender.

Holding the black blade out to his left, Kana bowed. The crow on his shoulder held its wing out to the side, feathers fanned, in imitation, bowing with the older boy. Sheathing his blade as he rose, the peasant, monk, duelist…whatever he was, said, "Again," and dropped into his stance.

Bowing, Makoto again assumed his stance. Again came the opening; again steel clashed on steel. This time, Makoto was faster, and managed to try a second strike, but Kana fanned his blade like the feathers of the crow to deflect it again, almost casually. Again, Makoto was touched first, his sword not quite back in its sheath.

"Your blade is eager, but you draw too quickly," declared Kana.

Makoto shifted his feet to better support his weight in a relaxed stance, the close-cropped grass of the clearing whispering under his sandals. "In a duel, he who maintains focus longest will always strike first."

"When you studied my stance, which of us did you believe would maintain focus the longest?" Kana's head tilted to the side, then back up, in small, jerky motions which the crow mimicked.

Makoto inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Your skill is such that I would have bowed, were this a tournament."

"Tell me how you expected the duel to go." The question was rhetorical, but Kana always walked through his lessons like this. The teaching style was so very like Kana's that it caused Makoto to begin to question whether this duelist in monk's robes really could not be his friend and mentor.

"We would both focus as long as possible, but you would prove the more capable. I would eventually give an opening, which you would exploit. Before I could recover, your blade would touch me. Mine would remain undrawn," Makoto answered, almost reflexively. The crow, and the older youth upon whose shoulder it perched, waited in silence for him to continue. "…instead, you gave me the opening almost immediately, but my draw was still the slower."

Kana nodded again, shifting stance with the strange, bird-like motions he had exhibited since Makoto first saw him here. "Speed is only the first lesson. Focus only the second. You demonstrated Kakita's First Stance; I saw its purity in your focus. Now, you must learn timing."

"I don't understand," replied the Kakita duelist. "Focusing is all about timing. Watch the opponent unblinking for the perfect moment, then strike with greater speed."

The crow lifted one wing, and preened beneath it. "Sometimes, it is not wise to let your opponent decide when the strike will happen."

"I know even some skilled duelists allow the other to strike first just to make it early. But the goal is always to then win the duel to the down. That is not what you did."

A smile that was purely Kana's own graced the teacher's face. "And why should a duelist accept a touch, Makoto-sama?" The crow spoke next, again in the voice of the teacher, "A master duelist not only controls when he will strike, but when his opponent will strike. The secret is not to draw fastest, but at exactly the right time. It is another lesson of Air that you must learn. Come, practice with me."

And so the strangest lesson Makoto had ever learned began. Too soon, Kana sheathed his black blade, and bowed. "Practice this, Student of the Kakita."

The crow had left Kana's shoulder at some point that Makoto failed to notice. Its raucous cry from behind startled him. Flinching, he found himself on his back, badly wounded but not dead, at the shores of the River of Gold. As he sat up, careful lest he wince at the pain, he recalled his fall in battle. His hair was stained nearly black with river mud from its tips to halfway up its length, the topknot broken to let it hang loose and matted. His belongings had been rifled through. The fallen forms of his companions on the sacred mission entrusted them by the Emperor littered the ground nearby. They had failed the Son of Heaven. Broken and dishonored, Makoto struggled to his feet.

===================

The candles lighting the shrine in the late summer evening burned low as the peasant youth rose gracefully from his prayers. "Is all well, Kana-sensei?" asked a monk, waiting with fresh candles to replace the old.

"It will be," said the serene young man. "Thank you. And please, do not call me 'sensei'."

"Of course, Kana-sensei. I'm glad to hear that," she said with a small smile, getting back to work. The peasant sighed in mild frustration as he stepped out into the darkened road.