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.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
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.
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