Chapter 8

Musashi stood in the dim light of Lord Sato’s Dungeon. The dark and confined space making him feel uncomfortable. The bizarre events of the night didn’t help matters either. Right now he couldn’t stop staring at the corpse like frame of Itto Isamu. His skin had lost its colour; his eyes were sunk deep into his gaunt face. The Kensai Master looked like he had been dead for days.
A shiver ran down Musashi’s spine. The dungeon was a cold, dark place. The less time spent down here the better.
He looked at the old Kensai Master. After all these years, Musashi was still in awe of his power. He still needed Isamu’s help.
“Master Isamu, you must face Goda. You are the only one who can stop the Clan.”
Isamu’s breathing had become laboured. His head was still lowered. “I am not the only one. Besides, I am not long for this world. The technique of resurrection is like a blazing inferno. No matter how fierce, it will burn out eventually.”
It was then that Musashi realised Isamu had come here to warn him and him alone. He had expired every last drop of his energy not seeking revenge but rather to prepare Musashi for the impending onslaught. “I can’t face the Clan by myself. I’m not ready.”
Isamu slowly raised a skeletal index finger. “You underestimate yourself, Musashi. You were born ready.”
Goosebumps formed on Musashi’s skin.
He looked back down the corridor to where Lord Sato and the servant Akira were standing. They seemed to have retreated further down the corridor of the dungeon, making sure they were as close as possible to the only exit. Musashi could now see his breath in front of his face.
“Master Isamu. This is not my fight. I do not want to be involved.”
For a moment the old Kensai Master said nothing. Musashi could sense he was growing weak.
“It is too late, my son. You are already involved.”
The temperature in the dungeon dropped rapidly. The air was so cold it now stung Musashi’s skin.
Isamu raised his frail hand again, motioning in the direction of Lord Sato and Akira. Without warning, a rusty iron gate slammed shut, cutting the corridor of the dungeon in half. Musashi was now separated from Okinaga and the servant.
Okinaga moved to the iron gate and tried to open it. “Musashi, what is going on?” he asked urgently, as Akira moved closer to the exit.
Musashi did not respond. His gaze was fixed on the Kensai Master. His mind blocked out the biting cold.
Isamu raised his other hand slowly, his palm turned upwards. The dungeon grew colder still. “You were once a bright young Kensai, Musashi. No training did you ever require. No instruction did you ever need. But you never realised your full potential.”
It was at that moment, Musashi noticed the pile of dead samurai at the end of the corridor start to move. A voice inside his head screamed to get out, to run away. But there was nowhere to retreat to.
“Tonight, all that will change,” Isamu continued. “When you left the Kensai order, I knew full well that you would return. The future is difficult to see. But this was not.
Lord Sato started shaking the immovable iron gate in a futile attempt to reach Musashi. “Akira!” he shouted. “Go and get Ichiro. Tell him to bring reinforcements.”
“Yes my Lord,” the servant replied as he ran up the stairs.
Musashi took a small step back as he kept a close watch on the moving pile of dead samurai. “What are you doing Isamu?”
“This is your final test. You will be a Kensai once again,” proclaimed the old Master as he raised his upturned palm higher.
Isamu’s hand started to shake as the dead samurai came back to life. Slowly they stood. All seven of them turned towards Musashi. Some were missing limbs; others were missing their heads. Isamu had cut through them with ease earlier that night. But now, through some other mysterious Kensai technique he was breathing life back into their corpses.Musashi retreated further down the corridor as the dead samurai shuffled slowly towards him. His eyes searched frantically for a weapon. He found nothing. Isamu had turned the corridor into a prison cell. Musashi was trapped.