The Red Ninja stepped out on to the front veranda acutely aware of the arrows that were aimed at his head and chest. He was also aware of the archers hesitation as they realised he was holding a prisoner. He could feel the tension; he could taste their fear.
Goda was breathing deeply. The slaughter inside had caused him to work up a slight sweat but he was just getting started. There was still more killing to do.
He took in the scene before him in a heartbeat. At the front gate were twenty or so men, armed with spears and swords. They were ready for the fight but held back, waiting for the archers stationed on the two front sentry towers to shoot Goda down from a safe distance. There would be more archers at the rear but at the moment the residence itself protected Goda from their arrows.
Still in his grasp was the young servant who held the key to his mission. Goda held him in and arm lock with one hand, the boy’s face was covered in blood. He could hear his tendons and ligaments tearing but to his credit the servant didn’t scream.
Lord Sato’s men are weak, he thought. The archers should have fired their arrows the moment he stepped outside.
Goda looked down at the servant. “Can I trust you to stay here and not run away?”
There was no response. The boy’s eyes were shut tight as blood that was not his own dripped from his face on to the wooden floorboards.
“I didn’t think so.”
Goda released the servant from his grip and with his thumb executed a pressure point strike to the side of the boy’s neck. He fell to the ground as one side of his body went limp and the other side went stiff. The servant was completely paralysed.
To the right of the residence, Goda noticed one of Lord Sato’s men running away like a coward. He was carrying a woman. Goda remembered seeing her inside and judging by her clothes she was obviously from a high-ranking family. He had briefly made eye contact with her and couldn’t be helped being stunned by her beauty. She will be the perfect spoil of this battle, he thought, after he disposed of the rest of these samurai.
He reached inside his blood red gi, and removed three throwing stars. He leapt off the veranda and threw one at the coward’s legs, careful not to hit his prize. The samurai faltered as the many points of the throwing star tore into his leg but he continued running.
Goda had underestimated his target.
He threw two more shuruikens and heard them thud into the flesh around his knee, finally causing the samurai to fall to the ground.
Goda smiled. To the Victor go the spoils.
At that moment, the archers realised the Red Ninja had moved far away enough from his prisoner to open fire.
The arrows flew through the air quicker than the eye could see. Goda held his breath and closed his eyes. He counted his heartbeats in his head. One, two, three…
When he opened his eyes the arrows had frozen in mid-air. Everything was silent; everyone was still.
It was the first time Goda had used this technique in battle and he was more than pleased with the results. It took all his strength and focus to perform it, his jaw was clenched tight in concentration but his years of training and discipline had paid off.
Goda was not yet a fully fledged master of this Clan technique but he was getting better. He remembered vividly the rigorous training of stepping between droplets of rain as he slowed their descent from the sky and then stopping the rain altogether. His master had told him of the ancient Clan members who could stop the rain just metres from the ground while they ploughed a field and then planted seedlings. Goda could not fathom the amount of skill and concentration it would have taken to do something like that. He was only just realising the true power that lay within him.
For the moment, Goda would have to work fast. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could focus for. The arrows were directly in front of him, like a swarm of angry killer insects. His first priority was to move from their trajectory and take care of the archers.
He ran quickly across the front lawn and scaled the left sentry tower. He could feel his focus slipping. Sound and movement began returning to the world. He looked down at the arrows as they began slowly moving through the air again. He moved to the rear of the archers. They were tightly packed in together to get the best possible vantage point, each standing side on, one hand tightly grasping their bow, the other hand back past their head having just released the string that sent the first wave of arrows on their way. He counted twenty men.
Goda let go of his concentration and the world around him returned to normal. He could hear the arrows pierce through the air below, striking the ground and wooden floorboards of the front veranda.
The archers paused, looking intently to see if they had hit their target.
“Did we get him?”
“There’s no body!”
Confusion and panic spread through the archers like wild fire. They re-loaded their bows and searched frantically for the intruder.
“Where is he? Where did he go?”
The Red Ninja held his weapon in front of his body and triggered the blade inside the hilt. The hissing noise as the sword came to life, alerted the archers to his presence immediately. They turned at once, the confined area of the tower rendering their arrows useless, rendering their numbers useless. Goda did not need any Clan techniques to defeat them. The look of utter confusion was still on their faces when they fell.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Chapter 15
Looking over his shoulder as he ran, Ichiro saw a terrifying image. Standing at the entrance to the House of the Volcano was the Red Ninja. Ichiro was breathing hard, his legs were pumping fire through his veins but he wasn’t running fast enough.
He had decided to get Lady Toyotomi a horse and ride with her to safety. Given the circumstances he couldn’t really be blamed for leaving Lord Sato. But at the rate Goda was making his way through Okinaga’s men, Ichiro feared he would never reach the stables.
“Duck your head, Lady.”
Kimiko obeyed and buried her head in Ichiro’s chest as he continued to run. Just as he feared, he heard the whistling sound of an assassin’s throwing star. He braced himself for impact. The terrifying sound grew louder right before it sliced into his leg. Ichiro stumbled but he kept running. He almost dropped Kimiko but he kept running.
Behind him, the whistling sound came again. Two more throwing stars lodged deep into his leg muscles. Ichiro fell.
Lady Toyotomi screamed as she crashed into the ground. Ichiro’s only thought was to keep his armoured body between her and the assassin.
“Lady, you must run to the stables and find your horse. Get as far away from here as possible.”
The Shogun’s daughter looked at him with fearful eyes. Her exquisite silken robe was now covered in grass stains and her face was streaked with tears. Such beauty should never be so close to war and death, Ichiro thought.
Lady Toyotomi shook her head. “I’m not leaving you. Please, you have to get up! I order you to get up!”
Ichiro was on his knees; the three throwing stars were still stuck in his right leg. He was a defeated man. He was expecting Goda to finish him off any second now and the last image he would ever see would be that of Lady Toyotomi. It will be a good death, he thought. A honourable death.
He held his breath and waited.
High atop the sentry towers, the archers steadied their aim. The strum of the bows filled the air as a hail of arrows fired towards the Red Ninja.
He had decided to get Lady Toyotomi a horse and ride with her to safety. Given the circumstances he couldn’t really be blamed for leaving Lord Sato. But at the rate Goda was making his way through Okinaga’s men, Ichiro feared he would never reach the stables.
“Duck your head, Lady.”
Kimiko obeyed and buried her head in Ichiro’s chest as he continued to run. Just as he feared, he heard the whistling sound of an assassin’s throwing star. He braced himself for impact. The terrifying sound grew louder right before it sliced into his leg. Ichiro stumbled but he kept running. He almost dropped Kimiko but he kept running.
Behind him, the whistling sound came again. Two more throwing stars lodged deep into his leg muscles. Ichiro fell.
Lady Toyotomi screamed as she crashed into the ground. Ichiro’s only thought was to keep his armoured body between her and the assassin.
“Lady, you must run to the stables and find your horse. Get as far away from here as possible.”
The Shogun’s daughter looked at him with fearful eyes. Her exquisite silken robe was now covered in grass stains and her face was streaked with tears. Such beauty should never be so close to war and death, Ichiro thought.
Lady Toyotomi shook her head. “I’m not leaving you. Please, you have to get up! I order you to get up!”
Ichiro was on his knees; the three throwing stars were still stuck in his right leg. He was a defeated man. He was expecting Goda to finish him off any second now and the last image he would ever see would be that of Lady Toyotomi. It will be a good death, he thought. A honourable death.
He held his breath and waited.
High atop the sentry towers, the archers steadied their aim. The strum of the bows filled the air as a hail of arrows fired towards the Red Ninja.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Chapter 14
Musashi tensed instinctively. Goda was close.
It was a frightening thought. The Clan may have waited hundreds of years to strike. Musashi knew patience, knew it was a weakness in most men, but waiting hundreds of years for the right moment to come out from the shadows and reveal yourself was simply unheard of. Imagine an ambitious Daimyo waiting that long to conquer lands and defeat armies. It would never happen.
The dead samurai remained still with their blood shot eyes trained on Musashi. He kept his distance from them and made sure he was in a fighting stance.
“You must go to the Dead Forest,” Isamu said. “The Sword of Souls is hidden there.
The Dead Forest. Musashi couldn’t believe what Isamu was saying. It was a sacred place, an evil place. Nobody entered the Dead Forest. “Master, you must be aware, it is forbidden to enter...”
“Yes it is,” Isamu, said matter of factly. “That is why the Kensai chose to hide the sword there, away from power hungry Lords. It is protected by the Grandmaster of the Kensai order and by the inhabitants of the Forest.”
“What do you mean, the inhabitants of the Forest?”
“They are the Fallen. They are men just like the ones that stand before you. They have died without honour, their anger sustaining them in death. Their spirits refuse to cross over to the next world and so they wander the Dead Forest waiting an eternity to claim their revenge.
“But these men died with honour. They died serving Lord Okinaga.”
“I have control over these relics. The only thing that controls the Fallen is their hatred and thirst for revenge.”
Musashi shivered. He wondered how many men were wandering in the Dead Forest waiting for him. “Why must I go there? Not even the Clan would risk going in.”
“The Clan will risk everything. They know the location of the Sword. You must get there before they do. Nothing else matters.”
“How do they know its location?”
“They have come into possession of a map. Musashi, listen to me, you must go to the Forest and stop the Clan. Do you understand?”
Musashi wasn’t sure he understood anything. “How will I find the Sword?”
“You must find Akira, he is the only person who knows its location.”
“The servant?”
“Yes. He will be a powerful ally.
“But he’s just a kid!
“You were a kid once, Musashi and quite fearless as well. To find the sword you must find Akira.”
Travelling into the Dead Forest with a servant did not sound like a good idea. What Musashi needed was an army. Yes, he thought to himself. He would need the help of Lord Okinaga’s samurai.
“But before you set out on this journey,” Isamu continued. “You must defeat these fallen samurai. You have discovered a sword is useless against them so you must defeat them with an empty hand. You must use their own energy against the them. Show me your skill, Musashi.”
Something inside Musashi clicked. He realised what Isamu was doing. He was testing him. Just like he had always done. Musashi remembered the first time they had met. Musashi was young and wild. He was totally uncontrollable. He didn’t realise it at the time but Itto Isamu had saved his life.
“I thought you said your skilled was unmatched?” Musashi mocked as he stood over his opponent. He threw the wooden staff he had beaten Arima Kihei to death with on the ground and turned triumphantly to face the crowd that had gathered in the street. The people passing by had stopped, unable to turn away. A look of shock was frozen on their faces. The crowd was silent.
Musashi studied the gathering of people. Each time he made eye contact with someone they would turn their gaze toward the ground. A feeling of power consumed him. These people were afraid, afraid of a mere child. “Anybody else?” shouted Musashi. “Anybody else think they can beat me?”
The crowd remained silent.
An old man shuffled forward. “Poor Arima,” he said. “He was a skilled warrior. A bit cocky, but he had a good heart nonetheless.”
Musashi turned to face the old man. He wore two swords in the sash of his kimono. He was probably once a powerful samurai but he had lived to long. He had grown weak.
“You serve your master poorly old man. You should have died in battle a long time ago.”
The old man smiled. “You are so young and yet you understand the way of the warrior so well. It usually takes a lifetime to understand such things.”
“What’s to understand? You’re old, you should be dead.”
The brash remark made the old man laugh out loud. “Tell me young man, where is your sword? Surely you are not a farmers son, you have to much fighting spirit for that.”
Musashi shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t need a sword to be a warrior. There’s more than one way to kill a man.”
“You’re absolutely right,” the old man nodded as he looked at the bloody mess on the ground. “But do you even know how to use a sword?”
“Of course I do! I may only be thirteen but I’m more of a warrior then you’ll ever be.”
“Is that so?” With one quick movement the old man drew his Katana, the sword coming to life in his hands, stopping just inches from Musashi’s face. “Show me.”
“What?” Musashi said as he stumbled back.
“Show me your skill with the sword.”
The old man offered the Katana to Musashi, holding the blade flat across the palms of his hands, bowing as he did.
Musashi reached for the sword but then hesitated. “Is this some sort of trick?”
“No trick. I want you to take my sword and strike me down,” he said smiling. “If you can.”
“You have clearly lost your mind old man, so as a favour to you, I will put you out of your misery.”
Musashi snatched the sword away, failing to return the old man’s bow. In the same movement he attacked low, aiming for the legs. The old man leapt as the blade sliced through the air below his feet. Musashi was not expecting the old man to move so fast and nearly lost his balance.
The old man seemed to hang in the air for a second before landing on the ground. “Interesting strike. It was fast and smooth but it wasn’t your best option for a fatal blow.”
Musashi took a step back and sized up his opponent. All warfare was deception and this old man was a master. “If I take your legs, you are useless. Your only option would be ritual suicide. Then we would see how much of a warrior you really are.”
The old man raised an eyebrow. “You leave too much to chance.”
Musashi tightened his grip on the sword. He hadn’t held a live blade in his hands for such a long time. It was lighter than the wooden training sword he often carried. “Who are you?” Musashi demanded.
“I am Itto Isamu, Master of the Kensai order.”
“Why are you here?”
“I have come for you, Musashi. Rumour has spread quickly about your fighting ability. I wanted to see for myself. They say your skill with a sword is masterful and yet you are only thirteen. How can this be?”
“There are some things in this world that can’t be taught. How does a bird know how to fly?”
“Are you saying your skill with a sword is completely instinctive?”
“I’m not telling you. I’m showing you.”
Musashi attacked again, slicing downwards. The old man turned his body side on and the blade whisked passed.
“Instinct can only take you so far,” he said calmly. “What you need is control. Your anger and your youth make you a danger to yourself. Come with me, join the Kensai and I will teach you control.”
“How can you teach me anything if your dead?”
Musashi feigned a strike and whipped the sword back to sever Isamu’s sash that tied his kimono together. With this cut, Isamu’s short sword fell free. Musahsi scooped it up with the blade of the katana and caught the short sword in his free hand. Isamu jumped backwards confused as to what Musashi was doing.
“I don’t like your chances old man,” Musashi said as he smiled. The look of the Kensai’s face amused him immensly. Only a handful of warriors had ever perfected the two swords technique. Musashi was only thriteen.
The calm exterior of Itto Isamu was replaced by a look of complete surprise. “Where did you learn the two swords technique?”
Musashi laughed. “My father asked me the same question. But I didn’t learn it from anyone. I just know.”
“Where is your father now?”
The smile dissappeared from Musahshi’s face. “Enough talk. You can either stop me now, or perish.”
“Very well.”
Musashi transferred his body weight on to his back foot and then leapt towards Isamu. To his surprise, the old man did not evade the attack, he stepped forward, closer and yet still out of range of both swords. The next thing Musashi felt was the wind being knocked from his lungs. He slid on his back across the dirt and as the gravel ripped at his skin he knew instantly he had lost his grip on the swords. He scrambled back to his feet.
“You may think you can use a sword, but to be a true master, you must first learn to fight without a weapon.” Isamu said as he retrieved his Katana. “You must welcome my attack into your body and then send it away, using my own force against me.”
Musashi’s eyes searched the dusty ground for the short sword but he couldn’t find it. He needed a weapon if he was to have any chance of defeating the Kensai Master. Isamu continued to talk. Good, Musashi thought. Aslong as he’s talking I still have time.
“The martial arts is as much a mental test as it is a physical one. You must have the ability to relax the mind and body under the stress of mortal danger. Meet my attack Musashi. Meet it with confidence and directness.”
The words of the master had a strange effect on Musashi. He stopped looking for the dropped sword. For the first time in his life he found himself listening. The old man was talking to him as an equal, something no one had ever done before. It had a soothing effect, as though the old man understood his nature. He will never give up on me, Musahshi thought. He will never abandon me, like my father did.
“Accept my attack into your being, stare death in the face.”
Itto Isamu lunged forward, bringing the sword down from high above his head. Musashi was calm.
“Stare death in the face,” Musashi whispered to himself.
The dead samurai moved forwards once again but this time Musashi did not panic. When they reached out for him and grabbed his jacket he did not strike back. He accepted the attack. He welcomed it wholeheartedly. Then with as much effort as lifting a feather he sent them away. He moved through the dead samurai like a breeze through a forest. He didn’t know what strange force possessed these corpses but it didn’t matter. Time seemed to slow down. He had eternity to see each attack as it unfolded before him and an eternity to send it away.
The human mind and it’s memory work in strange ways. Itto Isamu taught Musashi self control all those years ago, he had truly saved him from his own recklessness and given him the fundamental mind frame to focus all his martial ability. And yet, somewhere through the years he had forgotten this lesson. Musashi had left the Kensai order and become a wandering Ronin. He knew he had to leave after he disobeyed their first rule of self defence. But he realised now there was no reason to leave their teachings.
Musashi took everything Isamu had taught him in his brief stay with the Kensai and used it for his own personal gain. He used this knowledge in every duel he had ever been in and as a result he had never been defeated. But something was missing. He had never truly been able to stare death in the face.
Fear kept him alive. He realised now after all these years he had to accept death. In order to reach his full potential he had to acknowledge one day he would die. Knowing this was freedom. Knowing this was power. Musashi suddenly found himself hungry to learn all Isamu had to teach.
These thoughts and revelations whirled in Musashi’s head as he stepped through the dead samurai. The force that had possessed them was gone. He looked over at Isamu’s prison cell. It was empty.
Musashi had been so focussed on the fight, he had lost track of time. Indeed time itself seemed to have lost all meaning. How long had it been? Had he been possessed by some strange force during the fight as well? And where was Isamu?
Lord Sato’s men lay motionless on the dungeon floor as they had when Musashi had first seen them. He looked down the corridor. The heavy iron gate that had trapped him was now open. A litte further down Lord Sato Okinaga sat with his back up against the bars of one of the prison cells, his chin resting on chest. He was either dead or unconscious.
Where the hell is Isamu? The Kensai master had dissappeared into thin air and Musashi realised he was standing in the dungeon alone.
It was a frightening thought. The Clan may have waited hundreds of years to strike. Musashi knew patience, knew it was a weakness in most men, but waiting hundreds of years for the right moment to come out from the shadows and reveal yourself was simply unheard of. Imagine an ambitious Daimyo waiting that long to conquer lands and defeat armies. It would never happen.
The dead samurai remained still with their blood shot eyes trained on Musashi. He kept his distance from them and made sure he was in a fighting stance.
“You must go to the Dead Forest,” Isamu said. “The Sword of Souls is hidden there.
The Dead Forest. Musashi couldn’t believe what Isamu was saying. It was a sacred place, an evil place. Nobody entered the Dead Forest. “Master, you must be aware, it is forbidden to enter...”
“Yes it is,” Isamu, said matter of factly. “That is why the Kensai chose to hide the sword there, away from power hungry Lords. It is protected by the Grandmaster of the Kensai order and by the inhabitants of the Forest.”
“What do you mean, the inhabitants of the Forest?”
“They are the Fallen. They are men just like the ones that stand before you. They have died without honour, their anger sustaining them in death. Their spirits refuse to cross over to the next world and so they wander the Dead Forest waiting an eternity to claim their revenge.
“But these men died with honour. They died serving Lord Okinaga.”
“I have control over these relics. The only thing that controls the Fallen is their hatred and thirst for revenge.”
Musashi shivered. He wondered how many men were wandering in the Dead Forest waiting for him. “Why must I go there? Not even the Clan would risk going in.”
“The Clan will risk everything. They know the location of the Sword. You must get there before they do. Nothing else matters.”
“How do they know its location?”
“They have come into possession of a map. Musashi, listen to me, you must go to the Forest and stop the Clan. Do you understand?”
Musashi wasn’t sure he understood anything. “How will I find the Sword?”
“You must find Akira, he is the only person who knows its location.”
“The servant?”
“Yes. He will be a powerful ally.
“But he’s just a kid!
“You were a kid once, Musashi and quite fearless as well. To find the sword you must find Akira.”
Travelling into the Dead Forest with a servant did not sound like a good idea. What Musashi needed was an army. Yes, he thought to himself. He would need the help of Lord Okinaga’s samurai.
“But before you set out on this journey,” Isamu continued. “You must defeat these fallen samurai. You have discovered a sword is useless against them so you must defeat them with an empty hand. You must use their own energy against the them. Show me your skill, Musashi.”
Something inside Musashi clicked. He realised what Isamu was doing. He was testing him. Just like he had always done. Musashi remembered the first time they had met. Musashi was young and wild. He was totally uncontrollable. He didn’t realise it at the time but Itto Isamu had saved his life.
“I thought you said your skilled was unmatched?” Musashi mocked as he stood over his opponent. He threw the wooden staff he had beaten Arima Kihei to death with on the ground and turned triumphantly to face the crowd that had gathered in the street. The people passing by had stopped, unable to turn away. A look of shock was frozen on their faces. The crowd was silent.
Musashi studied the gathering of people. Each time he made eye contact with someone they would turn their gaze toward the ground. A feeling of power consumed him. These people were afraid, afraid of a mere child. “Anybody else?” shouted Musashi. “Anybody else think they can beat me?”
The crowd remained silent.
An old man shuffled forward. “Poor Arima,” he said. “He was a skilled warrior. A bit cocky, but he had a good heart nonetheless.”
Musashi turned to face the old man. He wore two swords in the sash of his kimono. He was probably once a powerful samurai but he had lived to long. He had grown weak.
“You serve your master poorly old man. You should have died in battle a long time ago.”
The old man smiled. “You are so young and yet you understand the way of the warrior so well. It usually takes a lifetime to understand such things.”
“What’s to understand? You’re old, you should be dead.”
The brash remark made the old man laugh out loud. “Tell me young man, where is your sword? Surely you are not a farmers son, you have to much fighting spirit for that.”
Musashi shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t need a sword to be a warrior. There’s more than one way to kill a man.”
“You’re absolutely right,” the old man nodded as he looked at the bloody mess on the ground. “But do you even know how to use a sword?”
“Of course I do! I may only be thirteen but I’m more of a warrior then you’ll ever be.”
“Is that so?” With one quick movement the old man drew his Katana, the sword coming to life in his hands, stopping just inches from Musashi’s face. “Show me.”
“What?” Musashi said as he stumbled back.
“Show me your skill with the sword.”
The old man offered the Katana to Musashi, holding the blade flat across the palms of his hands, bowing as he did.
Musashi reached for the sword but then hesitated. “Is this some sort of trick?”
“No trick. I want you to take my sword and strike me down,” he said smiling. “If you can.”
“You have clearly lost your mind old man, so as a favour to you, I will put you out of your misery.”
Musashi snatched the sword away, failing to return the old man’s bow. In the same movement he attacked low, aiming for the legs. The old man leapt as the blade sliced through the air below his feet. Musashi was not expecting the old man to move so fast and nearly lost his balance.
The old man seemed to hang in the air for a second before landing on the ground. “Interesting strike. It was fast and smooth but it wasn’t your best option for a fatal blow.”
Musashi took a step back and sized up his opponent. All warfare was deception and this old man was a master. “If I take your legs, you are useless. Your only option would be ritual suicide. Then we would see how much of a warrior you really are.”
The old man raised an eyebrow. “You leave too much to chance.”
Musashi tightened his grip on the sword. He hadn’t held a live blade in his hands for such a long time. It was lighter than the wooden training sword he often carried. “Who are you?” Musashi demanded.
“I am Itto Isamu, Master of the Kensai order.”
“Why are you here?”
“I have come for you, Musashi. Rumour has spread quickly about your fighting ability. I wanted to see for myself. They say your skill with a sword is masterful and yet you are only thirteen. How can this be?”
“There are some things in this world that can’t be taught. How does a bird know how to fly?”
“Are you saying your skill with a sword is completely instinctive?”
“I’m not telling you. I’m showing you.”
Musashi attacked again, slicing downwards. The old man turned his body side on and the blade whisked passed.
“Instinct can only take you so far,” he said calmly. “What you need is control. Your anger and your youth make you a danger to yourself. Come with me, join the Kensai and I will teach you control.”
“How can you teach me anything if your dead?”
Musashi feigned a strike and whipped the sword back to sever Isamu’s sash that tied his kimono together. With this cut, Isamu’s short sword fell free. Musahsi scooped it up with the blade of the katana and caught the short sword in his free hand. Isamu jumped backwards confused as to what Musashi was doing.
“I don’t like your chances old man,” Musashi said as he smiled. The look of the Kensai’s face amused him immensly. Only a handful of warriors had ever perfected the two swords technique. Musashi was only thriteen.
The calm exterior of Itto Isamu was replaced by a look of complete surprise. “Where did you learn the two swords technique?”
Musashi laughed. “My father asked me the same question. But I didn’t learn it from anyone. I just know.”
“Where is your father now?”
The smile dissappeared from Musahshi’s face. “Enough talk. You can either stop me now, or perish.”
“Very well.”
Musashi transferred his body weight on to his back foot and then leapt towards Isamu. To his surprise, the old man did not evade the attack, he stepped forward, closer and yet still out of range of both swords. The next thing Musashi felt was the wind being knocked from his lungs. He slid on his back across the dirt and as the gravel ripped at his skin he knew instantly he had lost his grip on the swords. He scrambled back to his feet.
“You may think you can use a sword, but to be a true master, you must first learn to fight without a weapon.” Isamu said as he retrieved his Katana. “You must welcome my attack into your body and then send it away, using my own force against me.”
Musashi’s eyes searched the dusty ground for the short sword but he couldn’t find it. He needed a weapon if he was to have any chance of defeating the Kensai Master. Isamu continued to talk. Good, Musashi thought. Aslong as he’s talking I still have time.
“The martial arts is as much a mental test as it is a physical one. You must have the ability to relax the mind and body under the stress of mortal danger. Meet my attack Musashi. Meet it with confidence and directness.”
The words of the master had a strange effect on Musashi. He stopped looking for the dropped sword. For the first time in his life he found himself listening. The old man was talking to him as an equal, something no one had ever done before. It had a soothing effect, as though the old man understood his nature. He will never give up on me, Musahshi thought. He will never abandon me, like my father did.
“Accept my attack into your being, stare death in the face.”
Itto Isamu lunged forward, bringing the sword down from high above his head. Musashi was calm.
“Stare death in the face,” Musashi whispered to himself.
The dead samurai moved forwards once again but this time Musashi did not panic. When they reached out for him and grabbed his jacket he did not strike back. He accepted the attack. He welcomed it wholeheartedly. Then with as much effort as lifting a feather he sent them away. He moved through the dead samurai like a breeze through a forest. He didn’t know what strange force possessed these corpses but it didn’t matter. Time seemed to slow down. He had eternity to see each attack as it unfolded before him and an eternity to send it away.
The human mind and it’s memory work in strange ways. Itto Isamu taught Musashi self control all those years ago, he had truly saved him from his own recklessness and given him the fundamental mind frame to focus all his martial ability. And yet, somewhere through the years he had forgotten this lesson. Musashi had left the Kensai order and become a wandering Ronin. He knew he had to leave after he disobeyed their first rule of self defence. But he realised now there was no reason to leave their teachings.
Musashi took everything Isamu had taught him in his brief stay with the Kensai and used it for his own personal gain. He used this knowledge in every duel he had ever been in and as a result he had never been defeated. But something was missing. He had never truly been able to stare death in the face.
Fear kept him alive. He realised now after all these years he had to accept death. In order to reach his full potential he had to acknowledge one day he would die. Knowing this was freedom. Knowing this was power. Musashi suddenly found himself hungry to learn all Isamu had to teach.
These thoughts and revelations whirled in Musashi’s head as he stepped through the dead samurai. The force that had possessed them was gone. He looked over at Isamu’s prison cell. It was empty.
Musashi had been so focussed on the fight, he had lost track of time. Indeed time itself seemed to have lost all meaning. How long had it been? Had he been possessed by some strange force during the fight as well? And where was Isamu?
Lord Sato’s men lay motionless on the dungeon floor as they had when Musashi had first seen them. He looked down the corridor. The heavy iron gate that had trapped him was now open. A litte further down Lord Sato Okinaga sat with his back up against the bars of one of the prison cells, his chin resting on chest. He was either dead or unconscious.
Where the hell is Isamu? The Kensai master had dissappeared into thin air and Musashi realised he was standing in the dungeon alone.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Chapter 13
Miyamoto Musashi had his back pressed against the heavy iron gate that closed off the corridor of the dungeon. The seven dead samurai had him surrounded like a pack of wild dogs would the moment before they attacked their prey. Musashi was out of ideas. He looked over at Itto Isamu and pleaded for his help.
“Isamu, I’ll do whatever you ask of me. I’ll return to the Kensai order, I’ll devote my life to them. Just stop what you’re doing and call off these demons!”
The old Kensai master was grimacing in pain and despite the freezing cold temperature of the dungeon, beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “Like I said before,” he strained. “This is your final test. But rest assured this is not a game. If you fail, you will die, as will thousands of innocent people.”
“Why? Why should I be responsible for innocent lives? I did not choose this, you cannot force it on me!” The tone of voice surprised him. Never in a million years should he talk to the Kensai master like this. But considering the circumstances, and the weight of what Isamu was saying, Musashi couldn’t help it.
Isamu remained perfectly still and his eyes were closed. Only his lips moved. “Why you? I cannot say. It would seem destiny has a plan.”
“Destiny? Stop talking nonsense. Don’t tell me you meditated on it, I don’t want to hear it. It’s all horse shit!”
Isamu’s hand steadied and in turn the dead samurai seemed to halt their advance. “One day you will see what I see. It will torment your dreams and haunt your days. But you will learn to burden this great responsibility. To perceive, to sharpen your sight and your minds eye you must let go. You must empty your cup. A cup is made from clay or wood. Tangible things. But it is the emptiness of the cup that we desire. You must empty your cup, Musashi, then you will see."
Musashi shook his head; he did not believe the master’s words. “ Oh yeah? What will I see?”
“You will see things no one else can. You will see into the very hearts of men, their fears, their ambitions. Eventually you will be able to see through time. Your mind will be your greatest weapon, sharper than any sword, more devastating than any army.”
“Well, if your mind is such a great weapon, how did Goda defeat you? Why didn’t you know he was coming for you?”
Isamu took a deep breath; the dead samurai remained still. “Do not underestimate Goda.”
Musashi did not understand. Why did men fear The Red Ninja so much? Wasn’t he just a spy, an assassin for hire?
“You must be careful, Miyamoto. He is no longer a man,” Isamu warned. “He has become something else. I knew this the moment I looked into his eyes. He has changed.”
“What do you mean? How has he changed? Changed from what?”
For a long while, Isamu said nothing. The sound of his breathing seemed to get louder, deeper. Finally he spoke.
“ There is no denying it, Musashi. You cannot change your destiny,” he said ignoring Musashi’s question. “You will be the saviour of the Kensai. You will stop the Clan. I have foreseen it.”
Musashi lowered his head. “I’m not ready. I’m not the man you think I am. I can’t stop the Clan. How do I fight an enemy that has no honour? They strike from the shadows; they kill men in their sleep, they sneak up on them when their backs are turned. How do I fight an enemy like that?”
“Always lure your enemy with something to gain.”
“What… what can I lure them with? What do they want? You said before Goda was in search of absolute power. Just what exactly is absolute power?”
“The Clan or any opponent for that matter will fight and die for wealth, land, power. The Clan are in search of the Sword of Souls. The sword will deliver what they desire. They will come out from the darkness to seize it. There, you will make your stand.”
It all started to make sense. The Clan had only revealed themselves to the world for one reason. They were after the legendary Sword of Souls. But wasn’t it just that, Musashi thought? Wasn’t it just a legend, a story about a sword with special powers? Musashi had heard the story a hundred times as a child. The sword could only be wielded by a true master, the power of the sword increasing the more lives it ended and the more souls it collected.
“The sword is real,” Isamu said, once again appearing to have read Musashi’s mind.
“How do you do that? How can you hear my thoughts?”
“Empty your cup, Musashi. Then you will see.”
Musashi realised he still had so much to learn from Isamu. His feeble skills were no match for the power possessed by the Kensai Master. He found himself wanting to learn more, to master all of his capabilities. He wanted to see what Isamu could see.
“How long have the Clan waited for this moment?”
“It is difficult to say. They conceal themselves extremely well.”
“Where is Goda now?”
Isamu took several deep breaths, as if mustering the strength to talk. “He is close. I can feel it.”
“Isamu, I’ll do whatever you ask of me. I’ll return to the Kensai order, I’ll devote my life to them. Just stop what you’re doing and call off these demons!”
The old Kensai master was grimacing in pain and despite the freezing cold temperature of the dungeon, beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “Like I said before,” he strained. “This is your final test. But rest assured this is not a game. If you fail, you will die, as will thousands of innocent people.”
“Why? Why should I be responsible for innocent lives? I did not choose this, you cannot force it on me!” The tone of voice surprised him. Never in a million years should he talk to the Kensai master like this. But considering the circumstances, and the weight of what Isamu was saying, Musashi couldn’t help it.
Isamu remained perfectly still and his eyes were closed. Only his lips moved. “Why you? I cannot say. It would seem destiny has a plan.”
“Destiny? Stop talking nonsense. Don’t tell me you meditated on it, I don’t want to hear it. It’s all horse shit!”
Isamu’s hand steadied and in turn the dead samurai seemed to halt their advance. “One day you will see what I see. It will torment your dreams and haunt your days. But you will learn to burden this great responsibility. To perceive, to sharpen your sight and your minds eye you must let go. You must empty your cup. A cup is made from clay or wood. Tangible things. But it is the emptiness of the cup that we desire. You must empty your cup, Musashi, then you will see."
Musashi shook his head; he did not believe the master’s words. “ Oh yeah? What will I see?”
“You will see things no one else can. You will see into the very hearts of men, their fears, their ambitions. Eventually you will be able to see through time. Your mind will be your greatest weapon, sharper than any sword, more devastating than any army.”
“Well, if your mind is such a great weapon, how did Goda defeat you? Why didn’t you know he was coming for you?”
Isamu took a deep breath; the dead samurai remained still. “Do not underestimate Goda.”
Musashi did not understand. Why did men fear The Red Ninja so much? Wasn’t he just a spy, an assassin for hire?
“You must be careful, Miyamoto. He is no longer a man,” Isamu warned. “He has become something else. I knew this the moment I looked into his eyes. He has changed.”
“What do you mean? How has he changed? Changed from what?”
For a long while, Isamu said nothing. The sound of his breathing seemed to get louder, deeper. Finally he spoke.
“ There is no denying it, Musashi. You cannot change your destiny,” he said ignoring Musashi’s question. “You will be the saviour of the Kensai. You will stop the Clan. I have foreseen it.”
Musashi lowered his head. “I’m not ready. I’m not the man you think I am. I can’t stop the Clan. How do I fight an enemy that has no honour? They strike from the shadows; they kill men in their sleep, they sneak up on them when their backs are turned. How do I fight an enemy like that?”
“Always lure your enemy with something to gain.”
“What… what can I lure them with? What do they want? You said before Goda was in search of absolute power. Just what exactly is absolute power?”
“The Clan or any opponent for that matter will fight and die for wealth, land, power. The Clan are in search of the Sword of Souls. The sword will deliver what they desire. They will come out from the darkness to seize it. There, you will make your stand.”
It all started to make sense. The Clan had only revealed themselves to the world for one reason. They were after the legendary Sword of Souls. But wasn’t it just that, Musashi thought? Wasn’t it just a legend, a story about a sword with special powers? Musashi had heard the story a hundred times as a child. The sword could only be wielded by a true master, the power of the sword increasing the more lives it ended and the more souls it collected.
“The sword is real,” Isamu said, once again appearing to have read Musashi’s mind.
“How do you do that? How can you hear my thoughts?”
“Empty your cup, Musashi. Then you will see.”
Musashi realised he still had so much to learn from Isamu. His feeble skills were no match for the power possessed by the Kensai Master. He found himself wanting to learn more, to master all of his capabilities. He wanted to see what Isamu could see.
“How long have the Clan waited for this moment?”
“It is difficult to say. They conceal themselves extremely well.”
“Where is Goda now?”
Isamu took several deep breaths, as if mustering the strength to talk. “He is close. I can feel it.”
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Chapter 12
Ichiro held Toyotomi Kimiko in his powerful arms. He led her into the House on the Volcano where she would be safe. She was the Shogun’s daughter, yet she was frail and delicate. He breathed in her sweet scent and wished he could hold on to her for longer.
“Lady Kimiko I will place you under the protection of Lord Sato’s best warriors. I would take care of you personally but I have other matters to attend to.”
Kimiko wriggled free from Ichiro. “I need to speak with Lord Okinaga immediately.”
Ichiro knew this was not an option right now. Okinaga was in the dungeon speaking with an apparently dead Kensai Master. No place for a woman, even if she was the Shogun’s daughter and probably accustomed to getting her way.
“I apologise Lady Kimiko but Lord Sato Okinaga is busy and I need to get you to safety. The observation room is the most secure room in the residence.”
Ichiro placed a hand on Kimiko’s back and try to direct her towards the stairs but as predicted Kimiko did not respond well to being told No.
“I must speak with him,” she demanded as she pushed Ichiro’s arm away. She staggered through the front door. Her legs were tired from riding all night. Her head was light. She struggled to breathe as her chest tightened. Gasping for air she collapsed on the ground.
Ichiro rushed to her side and lifted her head. Her face was pale and her lips were dry. “Lady Kimiko!”
“Please, I need to speak with Lord Sato,” she whispered as she opened her eyes.
“You need water and a physician. Stay still.”
Ichiro looked around for help but amazingly he found no one. All the men were on patrol or guarding the front gates, which left the front door eerily deserted.
He was just about to call out when he heard the heart-stopping cry of one of his men.
“Ninja!”
It was shouted from somewhere upstairs, possibly the third floor.
He felt Kimiko’s body tense up and then realised his own body had become tense. He had even stopped breathing. A split second passed before he heard more shouting. Another second passed and then there was silence.
Ichiro couldn’t believe it. Someone had managed to get inside the House on the Volcano. Every muscle in his body burned for him to run up the stairs and join the fight but he couldn’t leave Lady Toyotomi. She needed his protection.
The other samurai began to run past him, their swords in hand. He fought the natural reflex to join them and stayed with Kimiko.
“Lady Toyotomi, we must leave.”
Kimiko did not respond. Her gaze was directed towards the staircase. Ichiro then noticed the other samurai had frozen in their tracks. He was about to reprimand them for hesitating, for taking so long to apprehend the intruder when he looked up and saw why they had stopped. The Red Ninja was calmly standing on the last step of the staircase holding Akira, in an awkward and painful arm lock.
The rumours were true, Ichiro thought to himself. The Clan had returned and Goda had joined their evil crusade.
The assassin’s eyes were scanning the crowd of samurai, sizing them up, anticipating their next move. The ninja then focused on Kimiko. Ichiro knew at once he needed to get the Shogun’s daughter to safety.
He looked at his men. He understood why they had paused. Goda was a dangerous enemy, even for a small army of samurai. The mere mention of his name was enough to make grown men nervous, and the site of him was enough to scare them stiff. Regardless, Ichiro needed his men to defend the residence; he needed them to attack the intruder and to protect Lady Toyotomi. He needed them to do what they had trained all their lives to do. And since that meant going up against the Red Ninja, he needed them to sacrifice themselves. He needed them to die.
As if the samurai had read Ichiro’s thoughts they all raised their swords and readied themselves for battle. The samurai shouted as one. The hairs on the back of Ichiro’s neck stood up. He had never been so proud of these men. They were true warriors. Warriors who he had grown up with and trained with.
More guards rushed from upstairs and paused on the first story landing only a few steps away from Goda. The Red Ninja did not even turn to acknowledge them.
Ichiro picked up Kimiko and carried her back outside. The samurai attacked with single-minded fierceness, each moving on his own, but with the same goal. Goda reacted with such speed it appeared as though he was predicting the samurai’s every move and he did it all one handed. He was slicing through the fiercest warriors Ichiro had ever known all the while still holding Akira in an arm lock.
Ichiro began to run but realised he didn’t know where to take Lady Toyotomi. He didn’t know what to do. Maybe he should get her horse and tell her to ride to the next town or as far away as possible or even all the way back to the capital. Maybe he should go with her. The Shogun’s daughter cannot ride unescorted, unprotected. But Ichiro knew he couldn’t leave. He was Okinaga’s personal bodyguard. There was no way he could leave his lord.
Ichiro’s indecision was tearing him apart. Never before had he been so clueless as to what to do.
He quickly searched the surrounding area for answers, something that would give him a sign. But all he saw were the guards at the front gate looking as anxious as ever and just as torn as he was. High atop the sentry towers the archers had their bows drawn and their arrows loaded but they had no target to shoot. None of this helped. The men were all poised and ready for an all out war but Ichiro needed to get to safety.
Inside the residence he could hear the battle intensify. The samurai were dying with honour but they were dying quickly. Suddenly the clash of steel ceased and shouting ended.
In a matter of seconds Goda had cut down the samurai.Ichiro began to run again, he ran like the Red Ninja was right behind him, ready to strike. He wasn’t use to running away and he didn’t know where he was running to, but he didn’t care. In his arms, Kimiko held on to his thick muscular neck as tight as she could. All that mattered now was her safety.
“Lady Kimiko I will place you under the protection of Lord Sato’s best warriors. I would take care of you personally but I have other matters to attend to.”
Kimiko wriggled free from Ichiro. “I need to speak with Lord Okinaga immediately.”
Ichiro knew this was not an option right now. Okinaga was in the dungeon speaking with an apparently dead Kensai Master. No place for a woman, even if she was the Shogun’s daughter and probably accustomed to getting her way.
“I apologise Lady Kimiko but Lord Sato Okinaga is busy and I need to get you to safety. The observation room is the most secure room in the residence.”
Ichiro placed a hand on Kimiko’s back and try to direct her towards the stairs but as predicted Kimiko did not respond well to being told No.
“I must speak with him,” she demanded as she pushed Ichiro’s arm away. She staggered through the front door. Her legs were tired from riding all night. Her head was light. She struggled to breathe as her chest tightened. Gasping for air she collapsed on the ground.
Ichiro rushed to her side and lifted her head. Her face was pale and her lips were dry. “Lady Kimiko!”
“Please, I need to speak with Lord Sato,” she whispered as she opened her eyes.
“You need water and a physician. Stay still.”
Ichiro looked around for help but amazingly he found no one. All the men were on patrol or guarding the front gates, which left the front door eerily deserted.
He was just about to call out when he heard the heart-stopping cry of one of his men.
“Ninja!”
It was shouted from somewhere upstairs, possibly the third floor.
He felt Kimiko’s body tense up and then realised his own body had become tense. He had even stopped breathing. A split second passed before he heard more shouting. Another second passed and then there was silence.
Ichiro couldn’t believe it. Someone had managed to get inside the House on the Volcano. Every muscle in his body burned for him to run up the stairs and join the fight but he couldn’t leave Lady Toyotomi. She needed his protection.
The other samurai began to run past him, their swords in hand. He fought the natural reflex to join them and stayed with Kimiko.
“Lady Toyotomi, we must leave.”
Kimiko did not respond. Her gaze was directed towards the staircase. Ichiro then noticed the other samurai had frozen in their tracks. He was about to reprimand them for hesitating, for taking so long to apprehend the intruder when he looked up and saw why they had stopped. The Red Ninja was calmly standing on the last step of the staircase holding Akira, in an awkward and painful arm lock.
The rumours were true, Ichiro thought to himself. The Clan had returned and Goda had joined their evil crusade.
The assassin’s eyes were scanning the crowd of samurai, sizing them up, anticipating their next move. The ninja then focused on Kimiko. Ichiro knew at once he needed to get the Shogun’s daughter to safety.
He looked at his men. He understood why they had paused. Goda was a dangerous enemy, even for a small army of samurai. The mere mention of his name was enough to make grown men nervous, and the site of him was enough to scare them stiff. Regardless, Ichiro needed his men to defend the residence; he needed them to attack the intruder and to protect Lady Toyotomi. He needed them to do what they had trained all their lives to do. And since that meant going up against the Red Ninja, he needed them to sacrifice themselves. He needed them to die.
As if the samurai had read Ichiro’s thoughts they all raised their swords and readied themselves for battle. The samurai shouted as one. The hairs on the back of Ichiro’s neck stood up. He had never been so proud of these men. They were true warriors. Warriors who he had grown up with and trained with.
More guards rushed from upstairs and paused on the first story landing only a few steps away from Goda. The Red Ninja did not even turn to acknowledge them.
Ichiro picked up Kimiko and carried her back outside. The samurai attacked with single-minded fierceness, each moving on his own, but with the same goal. Goda reacted with such speed it appeared as though he was predicting the samurai’s every move and he did it all one handed. He was slicing through the fiercest warriors Ichiro had ever known all the while still holding Akira in an arm lock.
Ichiro began to run but realised he didn’t know where to take Lady Toyotomi. He didn’t know what to do. Maybe he should get her horse and tell her to ride to the next town or as far away as possible or even all the way back to the capital. Maybe he should go with her. The Shogun’s daughter cannot ride unescorted, unprotected. But Ichiro knew he couldn’t leave. He was Okinaga’s personal bodyguard. There was no way he could leave his lord.
Ichiro’s indecision was tearing him apart. Never before had he been so clueless as to what to do.
He quickly searched the surrounding area for answers, something that would give him a sign. But all he saw were the guards at the front gate looking as anxious as ever and just as torn as he was. High atop the sentry towers the archers had their bows drawn and their arrows loaded but they had no target to shoot. None of this helped. The men were all poised and ready for an all out war but Ichiro needed to get to safety.
Inside the residence he could hear the battle intensify. The samurai were dying with honour but they were dying quickly. Suddenly the clash of steel ceased and shouting ended.
In a matter of seconds Goda had cut down the samurai.Ichiro began to run again, he ran like the Red Ninja was right behind him, ready to strike. He wasn’t use to running away and he didn’t know where he was running to, but he didn’t care. In his arms, Kimiko held on to his thick muscular neck as tight as she could. All that mattered now was her safety.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Chapter 11
The temperature inside Lord Sato Okinaga’s dungeon had dropped to below freezing. Miyamoto Musashi tried to remain as calm as possible as seven samurai who had previously been slaughtered by Itto Isamu slowly advanced on him.
The first dead samurai approached Musashi, his arms outstretched. Somehow it still had all its limbs and even its head. Its expression was inhuman, its eyes were bloodshot and saliva drooled from its mouth. Musashi sidestepped, avoiding its grasp, pushing it into the iron bars of Isamu’s prison cell. Another unsheathed its short sword and sliced wildly at Musashi. It missed by mere inches.
If the dead samurai had attacked with its Katana it would have been a direct hit.
Suddenly Musashi realised the samurai would have dropped their Katanas earlier. He quickly scanned the ground for the nearest sword. But all he found was shuffling feet.
The dead samurai with the short sword attacked again, this time in a stabbing motion. Musashi reacted instantaneously grabbing its forearm and snapping its wrist back into a totally unnatural position. Normally this would cause the person so much pain they would drop the sword immediately but the dead samurai did not let go, it didn’t even flinch.
Confused and more than worried he gripped the hilt of the short sword and planted a thrust kick square on the chest of the dead samurai. Musashi yanked the sword free as the samurai was sent flying into the far wall from the force of the kick. Using the short sword, Musashi decapitated the nearest samurai and punctured the neck of the next closest.
His movements were fast and effortless.
He slid the sword out of the samurai’s neck and waited for it to fall to the ground. But again the dead samurai did not react; it didn’t even flinch.
Musashi dropped the sword and began to panic.
On the other side of the iron gate Lord Sato paced back and forth like a caged animal. He had tried with all his might to open the gate but it would not budge. There was no way he could reach Musashi.
“Isamu! What are you doing?” Lord Sato shouted.
The Kensai Master did not answer. He was kneeling in his prison cell in deep meditation, his hand outstretched as though he was controlling the dead samurai, the dead samurai who used to be Lord Sato’s best men. Isamu had sliced them to bits when he had arrived here earlier. Lord Sato had never seen anything so scary as a completely out of control Kensai Master. He knew it didn’t matter how many of his men he had thrown at Isamu, he would have disposed of them all. Luckily Isamu seemed to be hell bent on getting down into this dungeon. Okinaga couldn’t figure out why. Was it for their protection or was their another reason?
Okinaga unsheathed his katana and sliced at the iron bars of the gate. Sparks flew but the sword barely made a scratch. He then attempted to cut the hinges of the gate, but again nothing happened. He was running out of time.
“Musashi, take my sword,” Okinaga offered as he slid the katana through the gate.
Musashi shook his head as he kept a close watch on the dead samurai slowly shuffling forward. “I don’t think a sword is going to stop them.”
Okinaga swore. He needed to get Musashi out of there. Itto Isamu had lost his mind,
“Musashi, you have to get out of there!”
“I don’t think that’s an option right now.”
Okinaga looked around frantically for anything that could unlock the gate. He found nothing. There were no keys, no tools, absolutely nothing, only whips and chains and other instruments of torture. He looked down the corridor at the stairs. He had sent Akira for reinforcements but the servant had not returned. What was taking him so long?
Lord Sato reached through the gate and placed a reassuring hand on Musashi’s shoulder. “I am going to get help. I will open this gate.”
Okinaga ran down the corridor and suddenly realised there was no light coming from the top of the stairs. When he reached the top he saw that the trapdoor had been closed. When he tried to push it open, it did not move. Lord Sato Okinaga was a prisoner in his own dungeon.
The first dead samurai approached Musashi, his arms outstretched. Somehow it still had all its limbs and even its head. Its expression was inhuman, its eyes were bloodshot and saliva drooled from its mouth. Musashi sidestepped, avoiding its grasp, pushing it into the iron bars of Isamu’s prison cell. Another unsheathed its short sword and sliced wildly at Musashi. It missed by mere inches.
If the dead samurai had attacked with its Katana it would have been a direct hit.
Suddenly Musashi realised the samurai would have dropped their Katanas earlier. He quickly scanned the ground for the nearest sword. But all he found was shuffling feet.
The dead samurai with the short sword attacked again, this time in a stabbing motion. Musashi reacted instantaneously grabbing its forearm and snapping its wrist back into a totally unnatural position. Normally this would cause the person so much pain they would drop the sword immediately but the dead samurai did not let go, it didn’t even flinch.
Confused and more than worried he gripped the hilt of the short sword and planted a thrust kick square on the chest of the dead samurai. Musashi yanked the sword free as the samurai was sent flying into the far wall from the force of the kick. Using the short sword, Musashi decapitated the nearest samurai and punctured the neck of the next closest.
His movements were fast and effortless.
He slid the sword out of the samurai’s neck and waited for it to fall to the ground. But again the dead samurai did not react; it didn’t even flinch.
Musashi dropped the sword and began to panic.
On the other side of the iron gate Lord Sato paced back and forth like a caged animal. He had tried with all his might to open the gate but it would not budge. There was no way he could reach Musashi.
“Isamu! What are you doing?” Lord Sato shouted.
The Kensai Master did not answer. He was kneeling in his prison cell in deep meditation, his hand outstretched as though he was controlling the dead samurai, the dead samurai who used to be Lord Sato’s best men. Isamu had sliced them to bits when he had arrived here earlier. Lord Sato had never seen anything so scary as a completely out of control Kensai Master. He knew it didn’t matter how many of his men he had thrown at Isamu, he would have disposed of them all. Luckily Isamu seemed to be hell bent on getting down into this dungeon. Okinaga couldn’t figure out why. Was it for their protection or was their another reason?
Okinaga unsheathed his katana and sliced at the iron bars of the gate. Sparks flew but the sword barely made a scratch. He then attempted to cut the hinges of the gate, but again nothing happened. He was running out of time.
“Musashi, take my sword,” Okinaga offered as he slid the katana through the gate.
Musashi shook his head as he kept a close watch on the dead samurai slowly shuffling forward. “I don’t think a sword is going to stop them.”
Okinaga swore. He needed to get Musashi out of there. Itto Isamu had lost his mind,
“Musashi, you have to get out of there!”
“I don’t think that’s an option right now.”
Okinaga looked around frantically for anything that could unlock the gate. He found nothing. There were no keys, no tools, absolutely nothing, only whips and chains and other instruments of torture. He looked down the corridor at the stairs. He had sent Akira for reinforcements but the servant had not returned. What was taking him so long?
Lord Sato reached through the gate and placed a reassuring hand on Musashi’s shoulder. “I am going to get help. I will open this gate.”
Okinaga ran down the corridor and suddenly realised there was no light coming from the top of the stairs. When he reached the top he saw that the trapdoor had been closed. When he tried to push it open, it did not move. Lord Sato Okinaga was a prisoner in his own dungeon.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Chapter 10
Goda stood over the young servant, his mind racing to remember where he knew this boy from and why it felt so important. In his right hand his weapon dripped with the life of fallen samurai. Executing a perfect chiburi, he whisked his sword through the air flicking the blood from the blade; he then pushed a button on the unusually long hilt and the blade retracted, disappearing faster than the eye could see.
The sound of running footsteps on wooden floorboards was all Goda could hear now. Lord Sato’s samurai would surround him in a matter of seconds. Outside he could hear shouting. They were desperate and full of panic. Goda knew he needed to retreat, to hide and recuperate but he didn’t. He couldn’t. The voice in his head wouldn’t let him. There was something about this boy that was too familiar. He racked his brain to figure it out before it was too late. The running footsteps of the samurai came closer; the shouts became louder.
Goda looked at the servant carefully. His face, his fearful eyes, everything about him triggered a feeling in the deep recesses of his mind. The fog was slowly lifting.
It was then he saw it. The servant’s jacket had come slightly undone in the fall revealing a mark on his chest. Goda reached out and ripped open the boy’s haori. He struggled to believe what he was seeing. It was too good to be true. It was as if a blindfold had been lifted from his eyes. Covering the boy’s entire torso was a huge and unbelievably intricate tattoo.
Goda remembered.
He remembered it was ten years ago when he first met this boy. Before he had joined the Clan and realised his true abilities. It was that first night he had come to the House on the Volcano. Somehow fate had brought him back here.
Goda had gone through hell that night but he had refused to give up. Clinging one-handed to a sheer cliff-face he was determined to live. Never again would he make the same mistakes that had almost gotten him killed. He remembered the pain from his dislocated shoulder came in waves as he inched his way back up the cliff face with his good arm. Goda knew it would be hours before he eventually reached the top again, perhaps even daylight. But he didn’t care. He remained focused on his goal.
Goda’s left hand dangled at his waist as his right hand hung to the rocky cliff face. He pulled his whole body upwards with his good arm using his feet for stability. He then forced himself to let go and reach up higher to find another rock to grab on to.
He had repeated this process a total of nine times. Each time he pulled himself up he had to convince himself to let go. It went against all his natural instincts but he had no choice. If he failed to find a handhold he would fall to his death.
The excruciatingly slow climb would be impossible without his metal handspikes. But even still he was beginning to lose feeling in his fingers. The metal spikes crunched into the rock as he dug his feet in to the cliff to ease the strain on his right hand and arm.
The weather wasn’t helping much either.
Initially it was a perfect night for his mission. There was no moon, good cloud cover and a strong wind. All of these elements combined for a dark night and the wind created extra noise to cover up any sound Goda would have made. But now the wind had picked up to a point where it was almost blowing Goda off the cliff. And the poor visibility made it impossible to see where he was actually climbing. He had to feel his way up.
To top everything off the night had turned so cold Goda couldn’t stop shivering. It was probably a combination of shock and the wind but Goda had never been so cold in his life. What he needed right now was to soak in hot spring. He needed to the warm water to calm his aching muscles and relax his mind. He could almost feel the hot steam on his face. Goosebumps formed on his skin as he was instantly warmed. It felt so real.
Goda inhaled deeply and breathed in the warm air, filling his lungs. Suddenly he snapped out of his daydream and looked upwards. He wasn’t imagining the warm air. It was pouring out of the cliff face.
He reached up higher and miraculously his hand found a ledge. He pulled himself up high enough to see over it. The warm air appeared to be coming from a passageway. Goda couldn’t believe it. After all that had gone wrong, finally a bit of luck. He was just about to climb into the passageway when he heard two voices.
“I can’t believe he didn’t talk,” said one voice.
“He was well disciplined,” said the other.
The voices were close now. Goda lowered himself and pressed his body against the cliff. Hopefully they wouldn’t see him.
“Still, I’ve never seen anyone take so much punishment without saying a word.”
“It was the least he could do to restore what little honour he ever had.”
The voices were standing right over Goda now. Once again the darkness was his ally.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“On the count of three. One, two, three.”
Confused, Goda glanced up to see what was going on. The voices belonged to two samurai. They were holding a man dressed in black; one samurai held his feet, the other held his hands. They were currently swinging his body back and forth. Then on the count of three, they threw the corpse down the cliff.
“Come on, let’s get back. I’m not sure what the Kensai masters want us to do with the boy.”
Goda listened as the footsteps of the samurai became distant. He then pulled himself up on to the ledge and collapsed on his back. The relief was instant. His arm, his legs, his whole body thanked him for the rest. Goda breathed deeply, his left shoulder was still dislocated and he could barely move his fingers on his right hand but at least he could relax now.
Goda took in his surroundings. The passageway disappeared around a slight bend. He couldn’t help but wonder where it led to.
Goda once again weighed up his options. He could either continue the climb up the cliff or he could risk following the passageway. It seemed like tonight he was forever re-assessing his situation. Choosing one path over the other.
Deep down he knew he wouldn’t have made it all the way up the cliff to safety. And it was just sheer luck that he had found this passageway. Maybe if he rested long enough he would be able to make the rest of the climb. But then again, maybe he was better off seeing what was around the bend. He knew at least two samurai were somewhere there and possibly two Kensai masters but somehow that option sounded a whole lot better than the cliff. He knew he could sneak past them. That he was sure of. He wasn’t sure however, that he could make the climb up the cliff.
Goda made his decision.
He crouched down and began moving along the passageway. The air becoming warmer the further he went. As he came around the bend, he could hear more voices.
“Master Isamu, we have disposed of the body as requested. What do you want us to do with the boy?”
“Nothing Ichiro, we have not finished with him yet. Return to your post.”
Goda slowly crept further around the bend so now he could see what was going on. The passageway led to a dungeon. He could see several prison cells connected by one long corridor. The two samurai were reporting to the Kensai masters. The Kensai were standing over a young boy who was chained to the wall of one of the cells.
The two samurai then walked along the corridor of the dungeon and ascended a set of stairs, leaving the Kensai masters alone with the boy.
“This is definitely the map, Isamu. Who do you think drew it?
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you think it was the Clan?”
“The Clan no longer exist.”
“Well then who did it?”
“Whoever it was has detailed knowledge of the Dead Forest, perhaps a bandit, or a fellow Kensai. Regardless, I will instruct Lord Sato to keep the boy here, where he’ll be safe.”
“You think a Kensai drew this? But we are the keepers of the sword. We are its protectors. The secrecy of the sword’s location is of the utmost importance.”
Goda looked closely at the boy. His face was pale and his eyes were closed. He had obviously been drugged. On his chest was a tattoo that the Kensai masters apparently thought was a map of some kind. Goda had never seen anything so strange.
“Isamu, what if this map falls into the wrong hands?”
“The future is difficult to see. We will leave the sword in the Dead Forest for now. Even if someone discovers its location, they will never be able to reach it. The forest is too dangerous. And Grandmaster Shigeru has sworn to protect it. He would never relinquish the Sword as long as he lives.”
Goda edged closer. If the tattoo was a map then maybe he could use it to his advantage. He didn’t know what the Sword of Souls was but it sounded valuable to these Kensai. Since his mission tonight had turned into a complete nightmare, maybe this sword was the key to his retirement fund.
The Kensai continued to talk about the fate of the boy. Their best option was to kill him and remove his skin so no one would ever see the map. But their beliefs prevented them from doing this. Their Katana’s and their skill would only ever be used in self-defence. The boy would remain in Lord Sato’s care under the careful watch of the Kensai.
When the two masters left, a single samurai came to guard the boy while he woke up from his drugged induced sleep.
Goda knew his time to strike was now.
He momentarily retreated down the passageway. He needed a diversion or a distraction. He needed a noise loud enough so the samurai would leave his post and come and investigate. Goda searched the passageway to find a lose stone, or a rock or anything. But instead he decided on something even better. He moved over to a wall of the passageway and pressed his shoulder against it.
Taking a deep breath he rammed his arm back into its socket and let out a muffled cry. When the guard came around the bend to see what the noise was, Goda attacked with his knife slicing the samurai’s throat.
Goda moved quickly. He removed the samurai’s clothing and armour and changed into them. Moving over to the ledge he then pushed the body of the guard down the cliff. Dressed as one of Lord Sato’s men, Goda made his escape from the House on the Volcano.
The loyal samurai of Lord Sato Okinaga were almost on top of Goda now. He could hear their ragged breaths as they ran and shouted. Goda looked at the young servant curled up in front of him, completely paralysed with fear. Amazed that he had forgotten about the boy and the map tattooed to his frail body until now. He could only conclude the God’s were smiling on him. Then again, a lot had happened in ten years time. So many times he had come close to death. He had been tortured for days at a time. He had lost friends and betrayed masters. And eventually he had joined the Clan.
Everything that had happened was leading to this moment. Destiny had re-united him with this servant. The Sword of Souls would soon be his.
Everything was falling into place.
Goda reached down and grabbed the young servant by the hair. “You’re coming with me.”
The sound of running footsteps on wooden floorboards was all Goda could hear now. Lord Sato’s samurai would surround him in a matter of seconds. Outside he could hear shouting. They were desperate and full of panic. Goda knew he needed to retreat, to hide and recuperate but he didn’t. He couldn’t. The voice in his head wouldn’t let him. There was something about this boy that was too familiar. He racked his brain to figure it out before it was too late. The running footsteps of the samurai came closer; the shouts became louder.
Goda looked at the servant carefully. His face, his fearful eyes, everything about him triggered a feeling in the deep recesses of his mind. The fog was slowly lifting.
It was then he saw it. The servant’s jacket had come slightly undone in the fall revealing a mark on his chest. Goda reached out and ripped open the boy’s haori. He struggled to believe what he was seeing. It was too good to be true. It was as if a blindfold had been lifted from his eyes. Covering the boy’s entire torso was a huge and unbelievably intricate tattoo.
Goda remembered.
He remembered it was ten years ago when he first met this boy. Before he had joined the Clan and realised his true abilities. It was that first night he had come to the House on the Volcano. Somehow fate had brought him back here.
Goda had gone through hell that night but he had refused to give up. Clinging one-handed to a sheer cliff-face he was determined to live. Never again would he make the same mistakes that had almost gotten him killed. He remembered the pain from his dislocated shoulder came in waves as he inched his way back up the cliff face with his good arm. Goda knew it would be hours before he eventually reached the top again, perhaps even daylight. But he didn’t care. He remained focused on his goal.
Goda’s left hand dangled at his waist as his right hand hung to the rocky cliff face. He pulled his whole body upwards with his good arm using his feet for stability. He then forced himself to let go and reach up higher to find another rock to grab on to.
He had repeated this process a total of nine times. Each time he pulled himself up he had to convince himself to let go. It went against all his natural instincts but he had no choice. If he failed to find a handhold he would fall to his death.
The excruciatingly slow climb would be impossible without his metal handspikes. But even still he was beginning to lose feeling in his fingers. The metal spikes crunched into the rock as he dug his feet in to the cliff to ease the strain on his right hand and arm.
The weather wasn’t helping much either.
Initially it was a perfect night for his mission. There was no moon, good cloud cover and a strong wind. All of these elements combined for a dark night and the wind created extra noise to cover up any sound Goda would have made. But now the wind had picked up to a point where it was almost blowing Goda off the cliff. And the poor visibility made it impossible to see where he was actually climbing. He had to feel his way up.
To top everything off the night had turned so cold Goda couldn’t stop shivering. It was probably a combination of shock and the wind but Goda had never been so cold in his life. What he needed right now was to soak in hot spring. He needed to the warm water to calm his aching muscles and relax his mind. He could almost feel the hot steam on his face. Goosebumps formed on his skin as he was instantly warmed. It felt so real.
Goda inhaled deeply and breathed in the warm air, filling his lungs. Suddenly he snapped out of his daydream and looked upwards. He wasn’t imagining the warm air. It was pouring out of the cliff face.
He reached up higher and miraculously his hand found a ledge. He pulled himself up high enough to see over it. The warm air appeared to be coming from a passageway. Goda couldn’t believe it. After all that had gone wrong, finally a bit of luck. He was just about to climb into the passageway when he heard two voices.
“I can’t believe he didn’t talk,” said one voice.
“He was well disciplined,” said the other.
The voices were close now. Goda lowered himself and pressed his body against the cliff. Hopefully they wouldn’t see him.
“Still, I’ve never seen anyone take so much punishment without saying a word.”
“It was the least he could do to restore what little honour he ever had.”
The voices were standing right over Goda now. Once again the darkness was his ally.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“On the count of three. One, two, three.”
Confused, Goda glanced up to see what was going on. The voices belonged to two samurai. They were holding a man dressed in black; one samurai held his feet, the other held his hands. They were currently swinging his body back and forth. Then on the count of three, they threw the corpse down the cliff.
“Come on, let’s get back. I’m not sure what the Kensai masters want us to do with the boy.”
Goda listened as the footsteps of the samurai became distant. He then pulled himself up on to the ledge and collapsed on his back. The relief was instant. His arm, his legs, his whole body thanked him for the rest. Goda breathed deeply, his left shoulder was still dislocated and he could barely move his fingers on his right hand but at least he could relax now.
Goda took in his surroundings. The passageway disappeared around a slight bend. He couldn’t help but wonder where it led to.
Goda once again weighed up his options. He could either continue the climb up the cliff or he could risk following the passageway. It seemed like tonight he was forever re-assessing his situation. Choosing one path over the other.
Deep down he knew he wouldn’t have made it all the way up the cliff to safety. And it was just sheer luck that he had found this passageway. Maybe if he rested long enough he would be able to make the rest of the climb. But then again, maybe he was better off seeing what was around the bend. He knew at least two samurai were somewhere there and possibly two Kensai masters but somehow that option sounded a whole lot better than the cliff. He knew he could sneak past them. That he was sure of. He wasn’t sure however, that he could make the climb up the cliff.
Goda made his decision.
He crouched down and began moving along the passageway. The air becoming warmer the further he went. As he came around the bend, he could hear more voices.
“Master Isamu, we have disposed of the body as requested. What do you want us to do with the boy?”
“Nothing Ichiro, we have not finished with him yet. Return to your post.”
Goda slowly crept further around the bend so now he could see what was going on. The passageway led to a dungeon. He could see several prison cells connected by one long corridor. The two samurai were reporting to the Kensai masters. The Kensai were standing over a young boy who was chained to the wall of one of the cells.
The two samurai then walked along the corridor of the dungeon and ascended a set of stairs, leaving the Kensai masters alone with the boy.
“This is definitely the map, Isamu. Who do you think drew it?
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you think it was the Clan?”
“The Clan no longer exist.”
“Well then who did it?”
“Whoever it was has detailed knowledge of the Dead Forest, perhaps a bandit, or a fellow Kensai. Regardless, I will instruct Lord Sato to keep the boy here, where he’ll be safe.”
“You think a Kensai drew this? But we are the keepers of the sword. We are its protectors. The secrecy of the sword’s location is of the utmost importance.”
Goda looked closely at the boy. His face was pale and his eyes were closed. He had obviously been drugged. On his chest was a tattoo that the Kensai masters apparently thought was a map of some kind. Goda had never seen anything so strange.
“Isamu, what if this map falls into the wrong hands?”
“The future is difficult to see. We will leave the sword in the Dead Forest for now. Even if someone discovers its location, they will never be able to reach it. The forest is too dangerous. And Grandmaster Shigeru has sworn to protect it. He would never relinquish the Sword as long as he lives.”
Goda edged closer. If the tattoo was a map then maybe he could use it to his advantage. He didn’t know what the Sword of Souls was but it sounded valuable to these Kensai. Since his mission tonight had turned into a complete nightmare, maybe this sword was the key to his retirement fund.
The Kensai continued to talk about the fate of the boy. Their best option was to kill him and remove his skin so no one would ever see the map. But their beliefs prevented them from doing this. Their Katana’s and their skill would only ever be used in self-defence. The boy would remain in Lord Sato’s care under the careful watch of the Kensai.
When the two masters left, a single samurai came to guard the boy while he woke up from his drugged induced sleep.
Goda knew his time to strike was now.
He momentarily retreated down the passageway. He needed a diversion or a distraction. He needed a noise loud enough so the samurai would leave his post and come and investigate. Goda searched the passageway to find a lose stone, or a rock or anything. But instead he decided on something even better. He moved over to a wall of the passageway and pressed his shoulder against it.
Taking a deep breath he rammed his arm back into its socket and let out a muffled cry. When the guard came around the bend to see what the noise was, Goda attacked with his knife slicing the samurai’s throat.
Goda moved quickly. He removed the samurai’s clothing and armour and changed into them. Moving over to the ledge he then pushed the body of the guard down the cliff. Dressed as one of Lord Sato’s men, Goda made his escape from the House on the Volcano.
The loyal samurai of Lord Sato Okinaga were almost on top of Goda now. He could hear their ragged breaths as they ran and shouted. Goda looked at the young servant curled up in front of him, completely paralysed with fear. Amazed that he had forgotten about the boy and the map tattooed to his frail body until now. He could only conclude the God’s were smiling on him. Then again, a lot had happened in ten years time. So many times he had come close to death. He had been tortured for days at a time. He had lost friends and betrayed masters. And eventually he had joined the Clan.
Everything that had happened was leading to this moment. Destiny had re-united him with this servant. The Sword of Souls would soon be his.
Everything was falling into place.
Goda reached down and grabbed the young servant by the hair. “You’re coming with me.”
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Chapter 9
Akira leapt up the stairs and out of the trapdoor of the dungeon. He began to run but suddenly realised he had no idea where Ichiro was. The residence was massive. Akira didn’t have enough time to search every room and Lord Sato needed reinforcements now.
He looked over at the trapdoor and considered going back down into the dungeon. He didn’t like that idea at all. Something strange was happening down there. The dungeon felt like night in the dead of winter.
No, Akira thought to himself. He wasn’t going back down there without the protection of Ichiro. He decided to head for the observation room and prayed that one of the guards there would know where he was.
Akira ran up the first flight of stairs, taking three steps at a time. His legs began to burn. He continued the pace up the second flight but his legs tired and he tripped on the final step. He cursed under his breath and scrambled back to his feet. When he stood he froze.
Akira had come face to face with the Red Ninja.
He tried to run but his feet were nailed to the stairs. How did the assassin get inside? The House on the Volcano was lit up like a forest fire. There were guards patrolling every inch of the house and the gardens, archers were loaded and keeping watch from each sentry tower. There was no way one Ninja should have been able to infiltrate such a fortress. And yet here he was. The sight of the Clan member crushed the breath from Akira’s lungs as he prepared himself for death.
The Red Ninja stepped forward and grabbed Akira by the throat. He lifted the young servant clear off the floor. “You know who I am. You know what I can do,” he said as he studied Akira’s facial features. “Now tell me, where is Okinaga?”
Akira responded with choking noises. He would have gladly told the assassin everything he wanted to know. But at the moment the vice like grip of the Red Ninja was firmly grasped around his throat, preventing him from speaking or breathing.
Akira’s world started to turn black. His vision became narrow. The only thing he could see was the Red Ninja’s dark eyes. As Akira started to lose consciousness he began to accept his own death. He also realised that no one was safe. The House on the Volcano had been breached.
The Red Ninja continued to study Akira’s face. Just before the servant’s world turned to complete darkness Akira saw a flicker of recognition in the assassin eyes.
As Goda was about to tighten his grip around the boy’s fragile neck, he hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to snap the neck of this pathetic little servant. But he didn’t. He felt compelled to let him live. There was a strange voice inside his head telling him to spare the boy’s life; it was like a pinprick in the back of his mind. Goda loosened his grip immediately and threw Akira down the stairs. Tumbling head over heels, the young servant came to an abrupt halt on the stairway landing, gasping for air.
Suddenly the voice inside Goda’s head became clearer. He knew this boy. He had met him before. “What is your name, servant?”
Akira looked up at the Red Ninja and saw confusion in his eyes. What was the assassin doing? Akira couldn’t figure out why he was still alive.
“What’s going on?” a voice shouted.
Akira recognised it as one of Lord Sato’s men. He came running up the stairs with three other samurai. Their swords were drawn, their eyes focused. They were ready for war.
The first samurai leant down next to Akira. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
Akira was unable to speak, he simply pointed to the top of the stairs where the assassin stood unmoved and defiant.
For a split second everything became quiet. Akira’s breaths came in long, ragged gasps. His body was numb. The samurai next to Akira clenched his jaw.
Then the war began.
“Ninja!” the samurai shouted as loud as he could. It was loud enough so the entire residence would know there was a trespasser. Akira breathed a sigh of relief. He would be safe now.
The samurai charged at the intruder, yelling as they did. It was a war cry that would instil fear in the most battle-hardened opponents. And yet the Red Ninja stood his ground.
As the samurai ran headlong up the stairs, Akira suddenly realised they were incredibly vulnerable. They had entered a bottleneck, each one running right behind the next and the assassin had the high ground.
It was then the Clan member attacked. Akira had never seen anyone move so fast. The samurai never had a chance.
As they first guard swung his sword the Red Ninja calmly ducked his head and came up on the other side. Using his right arm and hip he pinned the samurai against the wall of the staircase. In one fluid motion, he drew his weapon from behind his back with his left hand. With unimaginable speed and force he sliced off the head of the second samurai and pierced the heart of the guard pinned against the wall.
After seeing this, the other two samurai looked at each other and hesitated. Their hesitation was what killed them.
The Red Ninja launched himself into the air, clearing the first two bodies. In one wicked swoop the assassin lopped of the next two samurai’s heads. They fell to the floor with a thud and a gush of blood at the feet of Akira, their heads rolling down the stairs.
Akira’s eyes widened in horror, the samurai never had a chance.
He looked over at the trapdoor and considered going back down into the dungeon. He didn’t like that idea at all. Something strange was happening down there. The dungeon felt like night in the dead of winter.
No, Akira thought to himself. He wasn’t going back down there without the protection of Ichiro. He decided to head for the observation room and prayed that one of the guards there would know where he was.
Akira ran up the first flight of stairs, taking three steps at a time. His legs began to burn. He continued the pace up the second flight but his legs tired and he tripped on the final step. He cursed under his breath and scrambled back to his feet. When he stood he froze.
Akira had come face to face with the Red Ninja.
He tried to run but his feet were nailed to the stairs. How did the assassin get inside? The House on the Volcano was lit up like a forest fire. There were guards patrolling every inch of the house and the gardens, archers were loaded and keeping watch from each sentry tower. There was no way one Ninja should have been able to infiltrate such a fortress. And yet here he was. The sight of the Clan member crushed the breath from Akira’s lungs as he prepared himself for death.
The Red Ninja stepped forward and grabbed Akira by the throat. He lifted the young servant clear off the floor. “You know who I am. You know what I can do,” he said as he studied Akira’s facial features. “Now tell me, where is Okinaga?”
Akira responded with choking noises. He would have gladly told the assassin everything he wanted to know. But at the moment the vice like grip of the Red Ninja was firmly grasped around his throat, preventing him from speaking or breathing.
Akira’s world started to turn black. His vision became narrow. The only thing he could see was the Red Ninja’s dark eyes. As Akira started to lose consciousness he began to accept his own death. He also realised that no one was safe. The House on the Volcano had been breached.
The Red Ninja continued to study Akira’s face. Just before the servant’s world turned to complete darkness Akira saw a flicker of recognition in the assassin eyes.
As Goda was about to tighten his grip around the boy’s fragile neck, he hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to snap the neck of this pathetic little servant. But he didn’t. He felt compelled to let him live. There was a strange voice inside his head telling him to spare the boy’s life; it was like a pinprick in the back of his mind. Goda loosened his grip immediately and threw Akira down the stairs. Tumbling head over heels, the young servant came to an abrupt halt on the stairway landing, gasping for air.
Suddenly the voice inside Goda’s head became clearer. He knew this boy. He had met him before. “What is your name, servant?”
Akira looked up at the Red Ninja and saw confusion in his eyes. What was the assassin doing? Akira couldn’t figure out why he was still alive.
“What’s going on?” a voice shouted.
Akira recognised it as one of Lord Sato’s men. He came running up the stairs with three other samurai. Their swords were drawn, their eyes focused. They were ready for war.
The first samurai leant down next to Akira. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
Akira was unable to speak, he simply pointed to the top of the stairs where the assassin stood unmoved and defiant.
For a split second everything became quiet. Akira’s breaths came in long, ragged gasps. His body was numb. The samurai next to Akira clenched his jaw.
Then the war began.
“Ninja!” the samurai shouted as loud as he could. It was loud enough so the entire residence would know there was a trespasser. Akira breathed a sigh of relief. He would be safe now.
The samurai charged at the intruder, yelling as they did. It was a war cry that would instil fear in the most battle-hardened opponents. And yet the Red Ninja stood his ground.
As the samurai ran headlong up the stairs, Akira suddenly realised they were incredibly vulnerable. They had entered a bottleneck, each one running right behind the next and the assassin had the high ground.
It was then the Clan member attacked. Akira had never seen anyone move so fast. The samurai never had a chance.
As they first guard swung his sword the Red Ninja calmly ducked his head and came up on the other side. Using his right arm and hip he pinned the samurai against the wall of the staircase. In one fluid motion, he drew his weapon from behind his back with his left hand. With unimaginable speed and force he sliced off the head of the second samurai and pierced the heart of the guard pinned against the wall.
After seeing this, the other two samurai looked at each other and hesitated. Their hesitation was what killed them.
The Red Ninja launched himself into the air, clearing the first two bodies. In one wicked swoop the assassin lopped of the next two samurai’s heads. They fell to the floor with a thud and a gush of blood at the feet of Akira, their heads rolling down the stairs.
Akira’s eyes widened in horror, the samurai never had a chance.
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