Chapter 4

Miyamoto Musashi stood in the observation room of the House on the Volcano. He was in a state of total disbelief. Lord Sato Okinaga was a shaken man, but he still commanded respect. When he spoke, people listened.

Itto Isamu delivered the message himself.

Every rational bone in Musashi’s exhausted body knew it was ludicrous for Isamu to have delivered his own death note. So why did Lord Sato sound so believable?
Musashi had so many questions. If Itto Isamu was dead, how did he deliver the message? Musashi started to suspect Lord Sato had lost his mind.
“Lord Sato, I mean no disrespect, but how is that possible? Why would Lord Sato come here to deliver such a message? More importantly, how did he deliver it if he was already dead?”
Okinaga was not listening. He had moved to an open window, his eyes moving back and forth surveying his surrounding property. The House on the Volcano was a fortress. The topography of the terrain made it impossible for any army to invade, giving the residence a security that was unmatched.
To add to this, Lord Sato had ordered the construction of a massive stone wall to surround his entire property. The stone wall was twenty metres tall and included four sentry towers, one at each corner.
Tonight those towers were ablaze as the Sato Samurai stood guard having lit up a multitude of torches. Their orders had been simple: create as much light as possible.
The effect was brilliant. The flames had lit up the entire residence. The immaculate gardens within the walls were clearly visible. No one was getting in here tonight without Lord Sato knowing about it.
Despite all these measures, Lord Sato was still visibly unnerved. Musashi could not comprehend what had scared such a powerful man.
One of the Samurai walked over to Okinaga. “Please move away from the window Lord Sato. They’ve used snipers before.”
Okinaga turned around and faced the room.
“We must act now, before it’s too late,” he said addressing his loyal samurai. “Miyamoto,” he said turning his attention to Musashi. “Is it true what they say? Were you once a Kensai?”
Musashi drew a sharp breath. He thought he had buried that part of his life. How did Okinaga know? “ I was very young. I am no longer worthy,” he said bowing his head.
Lord Sato laughed. “Once a Kensai, always a Kensai. You of all people should know that.”
The walls of Musashi’s memory began to crumble as he remembered his time as a Kensai warrior and why it had to end. His eyes became distant as the memory returned to haunt his life once again.
Musashi’s mind reeled back to that day he found himself standing in his father’s dojo. He was only fourteen.

“What are you doing back here?”
Musashi locked eyes with his father, Miyamoto Tessai. It had been over a year since he had run away and met Itto Isamu. He was now a Kensai warrior. His knowledge of the martial arts far surpassed his father and yet he still cowered in his presence. It felt like a lifetime since he had seen his father. He did not know it was possible to hate someone this much, after all this time.
“I want to see my mother,” Musashi said, his voice wavering.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” Tessai replied sternly. “And I don’t want you here.”
Musashi never took his eyes off his father. He could sense the walls of the dojo closing in.
“Where is she?” he tentatively demanded.
“None of your damn business,” Tessai fired back. “We don’t want you here. Now leave before I raise my sword.”
Musashi felt his heart quicken. He knew his father wouldn’t hesitate to hurt his only son. The teachings of Itto Isamu echoed in Musashi’s head: use your hands for self defence only. His hate for his father grew every second. He flirted with the idea of lashing out but since becoming a Kensai, Musashi had learned to control his anger.
Dejected and longing to see his mother, Musashi had given up hope. Just as he was about to leave, a blood-curdling scream pierced through the walls of the dojo.
“Mother!”
Musashi pushed passed his father and ran in the direction of the scream. He ran outside the dojo and towards the house where he had grown up. He slid open the door and ran down the corridor to his parents room. What he saw inside would be forever burned into his memory.
His mother was on her knees, naked and semi-conscious. She was bruised and bleeding. Her hands were tied above her head with a rope hanging from the ceiling. Standing over her was a man he had never seen before.
A rage erupted inside Musashi, giving him strength he did not know he possessed. He rushed toward the man pushing him into the wall.
The man was not impressed. “Fucking kid. Get the fuck out!”
Musashi ignored him. A wooden stick that lay on the floor had seized his attention. It was covered in blood. He held the stick up and advanced towards the man.
“Is this my mother’s blood?” Musashi asked, his voice disturbingly calm.
The man could see the rage in the kid’s eyes. Oh god, this was his Mother? He backed up against the wall. For the first time in his life he was afraid.
“Ahh…”
Before the man could respond, Musashi whipped the wooden stick across his face, splattering blood on the wall. Musashi cried out, bringing the stick down multiple times, crushing the man’s face into a pulp.
Blood was everywhere. Its warmth surprised Musashi.
Somewhere in the distance he could hear his father’s giant footsteps pounding down the corridor. Coming closer. Closer. “Miyamoto Musashi!” he roared.
Musashi was kneeling over the disfigured corpse of a man he did not know. Blood and sweat dripping from his face. He felt like an animal protecting its kill as he heard his father’s call.
Normally he would be scared. But now, as he sat kneeling covered in someone else’s blood, all he felt was anger. The voice of Itto Isamu repeated inside Musashi’s head urging him to be merciful. Everything he had learnt pleaded for control. But it was too late. Hate had consumed him.
“Father!” Musashi fired back, as equally ferocious. “What have you done?”
The footsteps stopped. He could smell his Father’s fear.
Musashi stood, and faced the entrance to the room, blood dripping from the wooden stick, still in his grasp. His father was standing in the doorway, sword in hand.
He could see his father’s eyes take in the crimson scene before him.
“You shouldn’t have come back here, Musashi. Your mother deserved this. She was unfaithful.”
“I know your scared father,” he replied ignoring his father’s explanation.
“You do not understand!”
Musashi looked at his father, taking pity on him. “You are unwell, father. A sickness has spread through your body. You cannot be cured.”
“A sickness? Who do you think you are? You were warned against coming back here,” he threatened as he raised his sword. “Now, you will accept the consequences of your actions.”
He charged forward, screaming as he did. Slicing his sword down wildly.
Musashi stepped to the side and watched the sword move harmlessly through the air before cutting deep into the wall. The sword was stuck.
With blinding speed, Musashi brought the wooden stick smashing down on his father’s hand. Tessai let out a cry of pain, instantly releasing his grip on the sword. As he held his twisted and broken hand, a strange feeling of fear crept into his consciousness. He tried to move away from his crazed son, but it was too late. He felt a bone crunching strike to his knee.
Tessai fell to the floor.
Musashi stood over his Father, adrenalin coursing through his veins. He had dreamt about this day for so long. He had fantasised about his Father begging for his life. He could see the horror in his eyes, the realisation that he was about to die. The moment had finally come.
“Please son. Spare my life. I do not want to die,” Tessai pleaded as he tried to crawl away.
Musashi was not listening. He tightened his grip on the blood-covered stick and flogged it across his father’s face, splitting his cheek open, exposing his jawbone and teeth.
Tessai had never been in so much pain. He did not believe his own son was capable of such punishment. He prayed for death.
“In order to kill you father, I have to become you. I have to be every bit as evil,” Musashi said, as he dislodged his father’s sword from the wall.
Moving over to his mother, he raised the sword above his head. With both hands he sliced downward. Using the skill and precision of a Kensai warrior he cut off his Mother’s head. Unlike her life, her death was painless.
Musashi dropped the sword on the ground, the metal blade clanging against the floorboards. He moved over to his father. “Your death will not be so honourable.”

The voice of Lord Sato Okinaga brought Musashi back to the present, his heart beating loud in his head.
“Musashi? Are you all right?”
For a second Musashi felt dizzy and faint. “I’m… I’m fine.”
“You looked like you were in a different world.”
Musashi took a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain his composure. He was only thirteen years old when he was inducted as a Kensai: the youngest ever. The old Kensai Masters, including Itto Isamu knew that Musashi was unusually gifted. He possessed an understanding of the martial arts that was unparalleled. His skill with a sword was phenomenal.
The most amazing thing about Musashi however, was not his flawless technique but rather his lack any formal training. It was all natural. Every ounce of his ability was derived from deep within himself. It was simply unheard of for someone as young as Musashi with no training or instruction from anyone to become a Kensai.
But Musashi had given up that life long ago. He had been a Kensai for only a short period. He had long since become a Ronin. He was masterless. He had no obligations to anyone. This posed a troubling question. What did Lord Sato want with Musashi?
“I fail to see why this matters?” he responded.
A glimmer of hope flashed in Okinaga’s eyes. “We may have a chance with a Kensai among our ranks,” he said, confidence returning to his voice. “Will you protect us?”
Musashi was taken back by the question. Lord Sato had an entire army of loyal Samurai at his disposal and yet he wanted the protection of one man? “You don’t need my protection.”
“I know the power of the Kensai,” Okinaga continued. “I have witnessed it first hand. We need your help Lord Miyamoto.”
Lord?
Musashi had not been called Lord by someone of Sato Okinaga’s rank in such a long time. It almost felt wrong. Musashi weighed up his options. He didn’t seem to have a choice. If the Clan or anyone else attacked he would fight. It was in his blood. “If you need my help,” he said reluctantly. “I will oblige.”
Okinaga and his samurai smiled. Even the young servant Akira smiled.
“But I have my price.”
Lord Sato laughed out loud. “A Kensai Mercenary! I never thought I’d see the day.”
Musashi failed to see the humour.
Okinaga could hardly contain his excitement. “Musashi, you will be compensated justly. You have my word.”
“Compensation is not necessary. All I want is to know what’s going on.”
“Of course,” Okinaga said eager to please Musashi. “All your questions will be answered immediately.”
The two men bowed to each other. Sealing the agreement.
“Now follow me, Okinaga said. “Itto Isamu wishes to speak with you.”
Musashi did a double take. “Excuse me?”
Lord Sato locked eyes with Musashi. “Itto Isamu is waiting for you.”
Musashi furrowed his brow in confusion. “I thought you said he was dead.”
“He is,” replied Okinaga bluntly.
“How is this possible?”
“Like I said,” replied Lord Sato. I have witnessed the power of the Kensai first hand. And Itto Isamu was a most powerful Kensai.”