The open ground was already packed as Eric slipped inside the gate, taking care not to bump into anyone too roughly. It was impossible to avoid contact completely because there were nearly two hundred people crammed into the space behind the main dojo. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, chattering excitedly amongst each other as they waited for the event to begin. Eric was there for the same reason, of course. Today was about honoring his master and mentor, Ehran Tokugawa. He was there to show his support. He was also late.
That’s what I get for trying to sleep in on my first day off in weeks, he chastised himself silently. Several of the people in front of him turned as they sensed his presence and, recognizing him at once as Ehran’s apprentice, gave him a respectful nod and stepped aside. He returned their quiet greetings, repeating that gesture enough to make his neck stiff as he made his way through the crowd. Well, at least he was getting through quickly.
“You’re late.”
The grave voice wasn’t angry or disappointed, but it still made him jump and sent a guilty shiver down his spine. Before he even turned to view the speaker, he was already apologizing. “I’m sorry, Master Calemviir. I slept in a bit too much.”
Calemviir Hannis’ face was stoic as ever, refusing to give away either annoyance or amusement. But Eric was familiar with the man’s lack of overt expression by now. The rugged beard and mustache atop the seasoned face could conceal a lot, but he knew how to see past it. He could tell that he wasn’t angry and heaved an invisible sigh of relief. Second only to his mentor, this was a man he didn’t want to disappoint.
“Can’t say I blame you, with a beautiful wife and child,” his commanding officer said. Though his arms remained crossed, he let out a low chuckle. “How is your family, Breeden?”
“We sleep easier now,” Eric admitted, sighing. “Especially since Emily stopped having those nightmares.”
That drew another chuckle. “I bet it reminded you of when she wouldn’t sleep through the night.”
“I did notice some similarities.”
Calemviir waved him forward without another word. He offered the man a quick bow, which was returned, and hurried to the front. At first, he merely paused in the first line of the crowd, content to watch the ceremony from there. But there was a flurry of movement to the side of the large circular stone tablet that was the most important ceremonial relic. It was one of the other masters of Issho-Ni. In fact, as he looked closer, several figures in ready stances ranged around the stone, all wearing white robes.
It took him a moment to realize the significance of the scene before his eyes, but suddenly, it hit him. Each of the members arranged around the stone was one of those who’d been gifted a shard of Longfang and grown it into a powerful force of their own. That same flurry of movement he’d caught was one of the Masters beckoning him over. Of course, Eric knew that Hunter, the wolf he’d grown accustomed to fighting alongside, was a shard of Longfang, but he hadn’t thought that he’d be included.
He left it too long and felt a firm shove in the middle of his back. He stumbled forward, all quiet grace forgotten. A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, but he took the hint and shuffled over. He felt horribly out of place in his dark blue tabard. It was the finest uniform he owned (picked by his wife, who had a much greater fashion sense), but it made him stick out like a sore thumb. But still, he was obviously required, so he lined up in the vacant space indicated to him.
“Don’t worry,” the master who beckoned him over said. “Just play along, and you’ll figure it out along the way. Hunter will know what to do, so you don’t have to.”
“Thanks,” he replied dryly. “Glad to hear that I fulfilled my purpose of bringing the dog.”
After about ten minutes of waiting, in which he followed the example of the others by standing in place and staring straight ahead, his ears caught, just over the crowd, the sound of the heavy double doors opening. That was the main dojo, he realized. Confident that everyone else would already be looking that way as well, he turned his head to see the small group of figures exiting from the interior. At the lead, the High Priest of Shigeru, an old man he didn’t know well. Behind him was Ehran Tokugawa himself.
Today, Ehran’s robes were a more ornate, ritualistic version of his usual attire. Where his normal uniform had sleeves that were cut just above the elbow and made of lightweight but sturdy fabric, now he wore a long-sleeved, gold-embroidered, heavy white robe. The shining thread was immaculately stitched, depicting dancing golden wolves around the ends of the wide sleeves, conjoined at the forearm and morphing into a line of flames that traced up the shoulders and around the neckline. The front of the robe bore the Nihon-Jan characters familiar to them all. In order, the Tokugawa name, then Issho-Ni, then his own. And though it wasn’t visible from this angle, Eric knew the back would bear the wolf’s head crest of his family.
“Be silent, all!” The High Priest barked. There was no need for the command, as the entire crowd had been hushed at the mere sight of the pair. “We witness today the reaffirmation and growth of a warrior in the eyes of his divine ancestor and our lord!”
It was strange but touching, Eric thought, that they still referred to Shigeru as Ehran’s ancestor when the god had never sired a child of his own. His only child, Tobito, had been adopted, as had every “child” added to the line since. Though it wasn’t a requirement, they’d all remained childless until the end of their lives, instead choosing to adopt at least one child, who would learn all they could teach and take on the mantle of the Tokugawa clan themselves.
“Identify yourself, warrior,” the High Priest was saying now, his voice ringing loud and clear in the expectant silence. The man had trained his voice to be heard clearly even across a chaotic battlefield, all to convey the words of his lord for the followers to hear. “Claim your stake for all those present to hear!”
“I am Ehran Gin Tokugawa,” Ehran said, his voice equally as strong. Like the lifelong warrior he was. “I am son and student to Shiora Tokugawa, who was son and student to Akira Tokugawa, who was daughter and student to Tobito Tokugawa, who was son and student to Shigeru Tokugawa. I am the bearer of Swiftfang, the shard of the great wolf Longfang. I claim my rightful place in the lineage of the Tokugawa Clan.”
“Are there any here who challenge your place in the lineage?”
In spite of his utmost faith in his master, Eric still felt a cold heart clench his hand at the question. If someone chose to, they could speak up at this very moment, also staking a claim to the lineage. If they did, Ehran would be forced to face them in combat at that very moment. He had no doubt that Ehran would win, but he did not wish to see the disrespect that an opposing claim would bring. Fortunately, no voice spoke out. After several seconds of tense silence, the High Priest nodded.
“It seems that none here challenge you,” he informed Ehran, who appeared unsurprised. Eric couldn’t tell if he hadn’t expected a challenge or not. His mask of calm indifference was impeccable. “Do any of your ancestors deny your claim?”
Again, nothing but silence. The High Priest continued. “The path to your claim is clear, warrior. You may approach your ancestors.”
At the words, the large stone tablet in the ground flared to life. Each line carved into its face emitted a white light that was bright but not blindingly so. Eric had only to blink once or twice to adjust to it. Ehran approached, taking measured, deliberate steps as if he were enraptured by the light pouring out of the tablet. It pulled him into its embrace, continuing to glow until he reached the center when the light faded. Eric felt a chill run down his spine as the power coursed, as it had once before, from the stone and into Ehran, then back into the stone and into the figures arranged around it, himself included. It crashed against his body, at once filling him to the brim with life and also draining him more harshly than he’d ever experienced.
In a second, the sensation was gone, and he was linked, as were the others, to Ehran. An invisible bond ran from each of them to where he stood in the circle. It thrummed, just barely audible to their ears, a gentle note of peace and tranquility, yet also a fierce bounding hymn of power and ferocity. It created a field between them with the energy. And in that field, figures began to appear. First, they were the shards belonging to the hosts that were present. Eric could see the occasional streak of red as Hunter flashed past his eyes, joining his brethren in the dance of wolves, running and leaping in a circle around Ehran.
Gradually, the wolves settled. All of varying sizes, they moved to stand before the partners to which they belonged, though facing the new claimant to the lineage. Then, in the center of the tablet, just before Ehran, another wolf appeared. It was easily twice the size of the largest wolf in the circle, standing thirteen feet at the shoulder and nearly eighteen long. It was none other than Longfang, the original Ancient beast, with fur the color of untouched snow and deep violet eyes.
Ehran dropped gracefully to his knees and bowed, hands and head touching the cool stone of the tablet. And from his small form, the wolf Swiftfang appeared, standing tall and proud, though nowhere near the size of its ancestor. It stared directly into Longfang’s eyes, fierce, proud, and determined. Longfang stared back in silence for several long seconds. Judging. Measuring. After what felt like several minutes, the great wolf lowered its head. It, along with the other wolves, evaporated into a bright white mist that was drawn to Swiftfang.
Ehran’s wolf absorbed the power of its ancestor and brethren; its head held high as it drew the lifeforce in. Again, Eric felt as if he were being drained and knew that a piece of his essence was being given away. Then, as Swiftfang collapsed back into Ehran and the warrior stood, a wave of energy washed outward, crashing back into the other shard bearers. Eric felt the lost piece returned to him. Then the light faded, and it was over.
The High Priest spoke at once, delivering the final line that would seal the ceremony and make it permanent. “The ancestors have measured your soul, warrior, and judged you worthy. We welcome you home, Master Ehran.”
The crowd broke into a loud round of applause, some bowing deeply in Ehran’s direction. Eric and the other shard bearers copied the action, grinning broadly in pride for their friend and mentor. Ehran returned the bow, swiveling to meet them all before rising. Then the applause increased, and a roar of affirmation rang out, deafening them all. Eric yelled for all he was worth as well, and together, they raised their voices to their Divine Patron, welcoming his newest family member.
-
“So that’s it,” Eric said once he finally caught a moment alone with his mentor after the ceremony. He embraced Ehran, patting him on the back. “You’re a Divine warrior of Shigeru now?”
Ehran nodded. For once, his mask of indifference had slipped away, revealing his shock and surprise at his acceptance to this new, highest order of his family’s ranks. But more evident than the surprise was his honor and gratitude. “Yes, that’s it. I’m like my father was.”
“Does that mean you’re invulnerable now?” Eric asked. It was a question that had occurred to him almost a week before the ceremony, but he’d been too busy to ask it. “That’s what the Divines of Ahya are, right?”
“The true Divines, yes,” Ehran corrected him. “I am but a soldier. I can still be felled in battle. Nothing has changed in that regard.”
“But you’re stronger now?”
“In time,” Ehran said, nodding and looking down at his hand, clenching it into a fist. “When I’ve spent enough time in reflection and become one with this new gift.”
Eric’s grin widened, and he pulled his master in for another fierce hug. “Well done, Master Ehran. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks. You know, this could be your power one day as well.”
“That’s a scary thought,” Eric laughed. “Let’s not entertain it just yet.”
“Agreed. You still have a lot to learn, and you have yet to make your own mark. You’ve nearly mastered what I’ve taught you, but you need to contribute your own to the tradition.”
