Chapter 6

Miyamoto Musashi followed Lord Sato down the three flights of stairs he had climbed earlier. Akira and the large samurai who appeared to be Okinaga’s personal bodyguard accompanied them. By now, there were no servants frantically running around. They had all left or taken refuge in some secret hiding spot. The Samurai remained, however. Each bowing their heads low as Lord Sato walked past.
On the ground floor the entourage came to a small room towards the back of the residence. The room was completely empty, except for a spear that was mounted on the far wall.
Musashi scanned the room. Where was Itto Isamu?
“Ichiro,” Lord Sato called, motioning towards the wall.
With that command, his bodyguard stepped forward and removed the spear from the wall. Holding the spear with both hands, he plunged the blunt end into a small round hole in the wooden floorboards. There was a muffled click as a large trap door swung open revealing a hidden staircase leading down into darkness.
Akira briefly left the room, returning with a blazing torch.
Musashi knew where they were going: the dungeon. Every Daimyo had one. They were primarily used for torturing captured spies. If a spy was strong enough he would accept his fate and be tortured to death. But if he was weak, he would talk, hoping cooperation would save their life. The only thing talking ensured however, was a quick death.
Akira held the torch above his head. “Watch your step.”
Down into the darkness they went. Akira led the way, his torch illuminating the narrow staircase. Musashi felt as though he was falling deeper into a strange dream. One that felt incredibly real.
The staircase opened up onto a stone corridor. On each side of the corridor were thick metal bars. Behind them were individual prison cells containing a whole range of evil looking contraptions. Musashi felt a sudden wave of sympathy pain in his gut as he thought about how many spies had been tortured to death down here.
Musashi took a closer look. In one of the cells he saw a whole range of canes and whips, each one slightly different to the next. He saw thin bamboo canes used for whipping the skin. Thick bamboo canes used for breaking bones. Some whips were stiff and made from leather, like the ones farmers used for herding cattle. Others looked like nothing Musashi had ever seen. They contained multiple whip endings. Attached to them were spiked lead pellets. He could not comprehend the pain something like that would cause.
As Akira led the group along the corridor he lit several small candles that provided a dim orange light.
Musashi’s gaze drifted ahead past the servant. Off in the distance he saw an island of flickering light. “Is that…?”
“Yes,” Lord Sato interrupted.
“Why is he down here?” Musashi asked, puzzled.
“Itto Isamu arrived here earlier tonight. He then proceeded to slash his way through the guards on watch. Once he was inside he headed straight for the dungeon and locked himself inside the far cell.”
Musashi was amazed he had slept through the attack. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t awake to help,” he apologised, embarrassed.
“No need to apologise. Isamu was extremely quick about it. By the time we knew what was going on it was too late.”
“Why did he feel the need to lock himself up?”
“For our protection. At the moment he will attack anyone who comes near him. He can no longer control his power to kill.”
Musashi was still confused. “But the note said he was dead?”
Okinaga spoke as though he were reporting from notes he had taken earlier. “He is dead. He has used the Kensai technique of resurrection. It is the most difficult technique to master. Only Isamu and one other Kensai have ever been able to use it.”
Musashi was in awe. “I didn’t know the Kensai could do such things. I had no idea Isamu was this powerful.”
“No one did. Not even his assailant. That is why he was able to get away after the initial attack.”
“Where was he attacked?” Musashi asked.
“Itto Isamu was murdered while he was resting in Kumamoto Castle. Whoever managed to get inside is extremely skilled.”
They continued walking towards the far cell. Akira slowly swung open a rusty iron gate, using considerable effort to do so. Musashi could see a lone dark figure kneeling, his head lowered. “How is this technique possible?”
“Isamu told me that when a Kensai becomes one with his sword it becomes his very soul. Not just a figure of speech, but his actual soul.”
Musashi found this hard to believe. He knew most Samurai considered the sword to be the soul of a true warrior. But he was not one of them. As far as he was concerned the sword was just a weapon. “So your telling me that Itto Isamu was murdered but then he miraculously came back to life through his Katana?”
“Precisely,” Lord Sato said, convinced. “But if you don’t believe me, why don’t you ask Isamu yourself?”

The ghostly figure of Itto Isamu knelt in front of Musashi behind the bars of the cell. He was dressed in plain white pants. His haori – long sleeved jacket – was also white. It was open, exposing Isamu’s chest. Musashi noticed his skin was a grey lifeless shade.
Musashi found himself to be standing alone. The others had stopped several meters back, refusing for their own safety’s sake, to come any closer. It was only then that he noticed the pile of dead Samurai at the end of the corridor. At least seven bodies lay on top of each other, cut down by the uncontrollable sword of the Kensai Master.
“My fellow Kensai,” Isamu hissed slowly, his head lowered. “You have come.”
Musashi bowed, but his eyes remained on Isamu. “Master Isamu, I am no longer a Kensai. I haven’t been…”
“Tonight,” the Kensai Master said, cutting Musashi off. “The Clan has resurfaced after centuries of hiding,” “We thought we had wiped them out. Our arrogance has made us weak.”
Isamu spoke as though it caused him pain. Musashi could not believe he was speaking with a dead man. How did a member of a Clan manage to kill such a powerful Kensai, he thought?
Isamu raised his hand. “Beware the serpent’s bite,” he said. As though reading Musashi’s thoughts.
Musashi stepped back, feeling strangely vulnerable that Isamu seemed to have read his mind. He looked closely at Isamu’s hand. He could clearly see a bite mark.
“Goda, has become a powerful servant of the Clan.”
“Goda,” Musashi breathed. He had not heard that name in a long time.
“He is on a quest. One that he will stop at nothing to achieve.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants what all men want. Absolute power.”