The Flames of Judgement
An Heir of Blood Short Story by Frank Holtham
The grasp of winter had still not completely waned, and the cold chill of early spring stung the village of
Numachi Mura. A gentle film of ice capped the small puddles of water that lay amongst the wet ground, and those who would walk throughout the village needed a heavier wool Haori to protect them from the chill.
At least that would be the norm, if not for fire that had begun to burn at the center of the village.
A small pyre had been set up in the center of town, with a large stake. Tied to which was a middle aged man, his hair thinning from malnourishment, and his skin slick with sweat, as he stared down at the slowly growing fire at his feet. And before him was a young woman dressed in the orange and red of the Phoenix, a small fire burning within her palm. Asako Tsuna.
“I will ask you once more,
Iori..” she spit out the name like venom. “Who gave you that scroll. And who else learned from it?”
Tsuna was an Inquisitor. And one of the brightest of this generation. Tasked with seeking out, and purging, Maho Tsukai. And today, her mission brought her here, to the village of
Numachi Mura, on the border of Crab and Falcon territory. A mission that, until right now, had proved rather boring and laborious.
“Surely, even as a peasant, you know the crime of invoking the Kansen? Defiling the kami and attempting to perform Maho. Your punishment will be death, of that you can be assured. The only question that remains to be seen is exactly how long that death will take.” She nodded to a burakumin torturer, and he moved forward, placing the end of a metal poker into the fire.
The man, Iori, spit back at her. “If I am going to die anyway then do you take me as such a fool to bring suffering to my comrades? You will get nothing from me, Inquisitor.”
Tsuna almost had to commend the vermin for his bravery. Most of the time simple backwater peasants broke at the slightest hint of pain. But this one would be difficult.
Finally. Today was going to be a fun day.
“So. Comrades, was it?” She let the word slither across her tongue. “There are others, then? How many, I wonder.” She let her gaze briefly fall upon the rest of the town, allowing the weight of her threat to press against Iori. “Would be a pity if I could not find them all. I am sure you couldn’t have gone further than this village.”
Realizing his mistake, Iori’s eyes went wide. He bit down on his chapped, dry lips, coughing on the smoke from the fires beneath him. “You wouldn’t..”
Tsuna interrupted him, her gaze still upon the small houses built into the swamp. She begins to casually play with the ball of fire in her hand, allowing it to roll and dance across her fingers. Tiny motes of embers fluttered around her like fireflies.
“Just as a doctor must amputate a gangrenous leg to save the rest of the body, so too must a small village be purged to save the spiritual sanctity of the empire. A Samurai’s word is law, Iori. Know that this is no idle threat.”
Tsuna turned her gaze back at the maho tsukai. She allowed a silence to sear his wounded pride, and watched him as he struggled in his binds. The fires at his feet quickly heating up and scorching his legs. It was almost admirable how little he screamed.
Admirable. But boring.
“Give me the names of those in your cell, and I will give you, and them, a swift and painless death. Or else…”
With scripted ease, the burakumin torturer removes the metal poker from the fire, red with heat. Before he can bring it to Iori, Tsuna waves a hand, stopping him. She walks over and grabs the implement herself, placing it directly to the chest of Iori, over his heart.
Iori screamed in agony, his body pulling back as much as it could. He writhed from the pain, trying not to fall forward, into the iron poker.
Tsuna glared at him, holding the poker firmly in her grip. “Names, Iori. And I end this now. Swiftly. Of that you have my word.”
“The word of a Samurai?”
Tsuna nodded, pressing the red poker ever so slightly more into him.
Broken, Iori gave in. He gave her what she wanted. Names of half a dozen maho tsukai. Where they lived. How much Maho they knew. Anything to end his suffering and to save the lives of the village. All while an attendant took notes, writing down all the names with haste and practiced ease.
“Is that all?”
Iori nodded, begging. The pain and terror breaking what spirit he had. “Please…” He closed his eyes. Preparing for her to pierce his heart. For the quick flash of pain before the slip into nothingness.
But nothing came.
He opened his eyes again in confusion to find that Tsuna had given the poker back to the burakumin, and was giving orders to her attendants. “Find the others. Bring them to me. If those are the only maho tsukai in town, then we burn them all to appease the wrath of the kami. If there are more, then we remain here. Even if we have to question every single peasant in this village.”
Tsuna turned back to the fire and took out a small piece of sanctified charcoal from her satchel, and she prayed to the fire kami.
“Kami of the flames. I feel your pain and beseech you to bring your righteous fury. For those among you tortured by kansen, let your wrath consume the unjust and burn them to cinders.”
The kami gladly took the offering and the fires beneath Iori’s feet took blaze. He screamed, his painful wails echoing across the marslands and the hills around them. His wrists pulled at the ropes and his body thrashed against the wooden stake, the fire slowly consuming him.
As stubborn, and as adamant as ever, Iori managed to squeeze out some words between his screams. Calling to Tsuna. Cursing her. “Why! Why are you doing this!? You gave your word! Your word as a samurai!”
Asako Tsuna looked up at the Iori and smiled, for the first time in weeks. “I lied.”
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