“This is the end.”
The pain had taken hold of my body and blinded me. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t defend myself. Maybe it was for the better. I could not anticipate the final blow.
“Sai!” called another voice. “Leave him! He is finished.”
“What? But he—!”
“He is finished! He will die. Let him suffer until death.”
He sighed and turned away, his feet shuffling along the ground.
I was alone, left here to die. I supposed I couldn’t have expected mercy from the likes of those traitors…
I was too weak. I couldn’t defeat them. They were leagues ahead of me; how could a low-rank officer like me ever hope to best them in combat? I was a fool to try. And now I would die here, alone and unfulfilled, her death forever unavenged.
A raindrop fell onto my arm. It burned. Then another fell, and soon liquid fire was pouring onto me, setting my whole body ablaze.
God … have mercy …
♦
I must have passed out, then. I couldn’t remember anything after that.
I awoke, greeted by the dull pain of stale wounds. I knew from the feeling of the cloth I was laying on that this wasn’t the field where I had fallen. Nor was it home, I was certain.
I opened my eyes. A bright mid-morning sun lit the room, blinding me for a few moments. Once my eyes had adjusted to the light, I looked around me: it was a small room, enclosed by beige fusuma panels acting as walls, typical of the country’s housing. Traditional paintings and many plants decorated the room. In one corner stood a small dresser, a vase full of varied flowers standing prominently on it, and on the same wall hung an old clock. It was half past six.
Where was I?
I tried to sit up. A searing pain pierced my chest, and I yelled out automatically. I really had taken a beating. It was ironic; I never got more than a few cuts during the war, and now here I was, so broken I couldn’t even move.
“Oh, you’re awake!” I looked up and saw a young woman standing at the now-open sliding-door, her long, black hair dripping water onto her light nightgown.
“Are you all right?” she asked, crouching beside me. “You were in really bad shape when I found you.” I gazed into her eyes and looked away immediately. A wretch like me wasn’t worthy of her pity. I shouldn’t even still have been living. I should have been dead.
The girl put her hand over my forehead. “Staying out in the rain like that didn’t do you any good, either. You’re feverish.”
“Where am I?” I wheezed, my chest filling with fire.
“You’re…” She stared at me for a moment, her deep black eyes betraying her doubt. “Does it matter? You’re safe, here.”
She left the room. I heard dishes clanging in the next room over, and she soon came back with a bowl of hot soup. She helped me up into a half-seated position and brought the spoon to my lips.
“Here, eat,” she said. “You’ll feel better.”
♦
I barely remember the next day. I only recall having seen the young lady I had met before and an older woman at my side.
That night — or day, I could not follow the time — I had a chain of nightmares. Of my past, of the horrors I’ve lived, and of the only thing still keeping me chained to this existence.
I kept reliving that day.
It looked to be a sleepless night. I was nervous beyond belief, and the tense air of that temple helped me sleep no more. All of us were restless. This was to be no ordinary battle; it promised to be one of the grandest battles of the war.
A sharp sound pulled me from my half-slumber. Feeling uneasy, I got up, automatically bringing my sword with me. None of them had stirred, strangely, despite the fact that many of them would have been awake — and indeed, some called out to me as I walked towards the door. I ignored them.
As I walked out of the temple, which we had appropriated for use as a military camp, I heard a woman’s cries coming from the artisans’ district nearby. I supposed it would not be any of the army women — their camp was in the opposite direction — but who else? Nearly all the villagers had left in a hurry, afraid of the battle that was to take place.
I followed her yells, and soon came to an old warehouse. I heard her yell out: “Get off me, you creep!” It was a voice I could not mistake, a voice I was intimately familiar with.
It was Lynn.
I ran through the door, rational thought abandoned, and what I found could not have been more horrifying.
Two of our own were assaulting her. The larger of the two had abandoned his kimono on the ground alongside Lynn’s. She had fallen. He stood behind her, and it was a disgusting sight: he took her, and defiled her in the most dishonourable manner, and robbed her of dignity.
As soon as the other man saw me, he pounced on me and pinned me to the ground. All I could do was watch as the first man finished with her, threw her aside and plunged his dagger into her chest.
As soon as he let me go, I ran. I don’t know how I escaped them, or why they let me escape, after I witnessed their crimes. But I ran. I fled into the field, and lay there half-dazed all during the night.
I never told a soul of that dreadful incident, not out of fear, not out of embarrassment, but because such a thing had never occurred to me. The day Lynn died, raped and murdered at the hands of those wretched barbarians … The same day the enemy lost everything, so did I.
I joined the other soldiers the next morning.
And as if my illness had not been satisfied to torture me with my most dreadful memory, it fed me nightmare after nightmare. Those battles, my defeats, haunted me constantly. I had gone after my only enemies numerous times, and every time, both my bones and my spirit were left utterly broken. They would taunt me, mock me, flaunt their skills, humiliate me, injure me, beat me, maim me, yet they would always walk away, and death would never finally take me.
But I was no longer human, naught but a sinner and an honourless monster. I did not deserve to survive those battles; I did not deserve to live. So why was I still alive? Was it a subconscious will to avenge her, even after my conscious will had eroded, that kept me attached to this world?
My dreams, like my enemies, mocked me ceaselessly.
The strangest of my nightmares was of a battle I had no memory of. It was a battle as horrible as the others, and it, too, tormented me.
I was in an old building, worn and rotting. My sword was drawn. Before me stood a thin man, whose face was a blur to my memory, brandishing his shorter chisakatana above his head. We were both completely and utterly exhausted; I could hear his laboured breath over mine, and hear my heart pounding in my chest.
He stepped forward and swung down; I parried, and went for his exposed head; he blocked. Our swords interlocked in a struggle for power.
With a great heave, I threw him against the wall, and drove my sword through his chest. But then I noticed his blade pressing against my body. He chuckled.
I always woke up at that instant, only to fall back into Hell moments later.
♦
I was bedridden for the next ten days, both by illness and injury. Come the second week, though, I could sit up. It was still painful, because of the wounds I had taken to my chest. I couldn’t walk yet, either, with a broken left leg. The girl, who was called Jenna, and her mother tended to me the whole time, checking my wounds, changing my bandages.
By the third week, I was able to walk around the room, much to Jenna’s dismay. I was determined to leave this place as quickly as possible. My health, my life, this wretched existence, didn’t mean anything to me anymore. For as long as I would be alive, only vengeance was important to me; I would recover only enough to exact revenge.
I began wandering around the house, eventually, and discovered a dojo in a connected building. I had never seen any man living in this household, only Jenna and the old woman, and I couldn’t fathom how either of them could be a sensei, a teacher, in the art of the sword.
The dojo was empty when I found it. It was still early, long before anybody would have arrived for morning practice, so I didn’t know whether it was abandoned. It was kept clean, at any rate.
I stepped in and examined the baskets of weapons. Shinai, bamboo kendo blades; bokken, wooden practice swords; and iaito, a light, blunt sword. I took an iaito, the closest there was to a live blade — I had no clue what had happened to my own — and began practicing my strikes. It had been a long time since I held a sword; over a month, now. I would have to train hard to have any chance of defeating them in combat.
Eventually, I noticed a little girl standing at the doorway. I had no clue how long she had been watching me, but when I saw her, she was observing me intently with her big blue eyes. I made to approach her, but she flinched back.
“Hello,” I said. “How long have you been there?” She kept staring at me silently. After a moment, finding my words greeted by silence, I resumed my training.
Time passed, and eventually the girl began inching towards me, her jaw-length brown hair swaying with each step. She only reached up to my abdomen; I supposed she might have been seven or eight.
“A–are you a soldier?” she asked. I replied with a quick nod. She continued staring at me for a moment before asking, “Do you play kendo?”
“Kendo?” I stopped mid-swing and turned to face her. “The sport? I used to.”
She opened her mouth to speak again, but Jenna’s voice, yelling “Maia! Maia!”, interrupted her. We both looked towards the corridor as Jenna appeared.
“Oh, Maia! There you are!” she said, taking the girl into her arms. “I was so worried! Don’t run off like—” Her eyes flicked up to me, still holding the blunt sword in mid-swing. “What are you...?”
At that instant, I couldn’t tell if she was worried about me, as she always was, or wary of me.
“Sorry,” I said, “I guess I should have asked before leaving the room.” I bowed briefly in apology. For a moment, she gazed at me.
“N–no, it’s all right.”
The question came back to me, and I asked, “Who is this dojo’s sensei?” I waved my hand around, indicating the room.
“I am,” replied Jenna. “Maia’s surpassed me in skill, though, but she’s too young to take over.”
“I see,” I said. “Is there—?”
The girl suddenly broke away from her mother’s embrace and said to me, “I challenge you to a duel.”
Both of us stared at the girl, dumbfounded. She stared at me with unwavering resolve. After a silent moment, Jenna conceded; she seemed to understand the situation a lot better than I did.
“Do you practice kendo?” she asked me.
“I did when I was younger,” I said. “I was first dan before I quit, when I enrolled in the army.”
“All right,” said Jenna.
Maia had already run off to change.
♦
As a wandering traveller, I had no kendo garbs or armour, so Jenna lent me everything I needed. As I stepped back into the dojo, I saw that Maia was all ready. I sat down and quickly wrapped the cloth around my head. Then I took the men and lowered it onto my head, tying it behind me. I slipped my left hand into one kote, then my right into the other.
I stood up, my shinai held loosely at my side in my left hand, and stepped up to the centre of the floor. Both of us bowed, and then squatted down into sonkyo position, drawing our blades.
There was a considerable difference in our heights. I was by no means tall, but she looked like she’d barely be able to reach my men with her blade.
“Five points,” she said as we rose again and assumed a chūdan stance — the neutral ready stance. “No rules except the striking places, and to use the shinai only. Fight me like a soldier, not a kendoka.”
I stole a glance towards Jenna. I wasn’t sure what was happening.
“Be gentle,” she mouthed. I nodded, and turned back to Maia. Jenna called: “Hajime!”
We stood there for a few seconds, waiting for the other to make the first move. Then she let out a blood-curdling yell and stepped forward.
“Men!” she cried.
Jenna raised her white flag, calling, “Men ari!” A valid head strike.
I stood there, completely dumbstruck. It took me a moment to even realise she had moved; she had leapt up and struck me on the men ... I thought. I hadn’t expected that kind of speed, let alone been ready enough to react.
She turned back to me, assuming the chūdan again.
Jenna called the second round. Maia stepped quickly into range, her knees bent. Was she going for a head strike again? I raised my shinai in anticipation of the blow.
“Dō!” she yelled.
“Dō ari!” said Jenna. A body strike.
I froze. I certainly had underestimated this shy little girl. Rather than leap up, she had thrust herself forward and hit me cleanly on the body.
She stepped back to two shinai distance of me, the standard starting position. “Is that the best you can do?”
The third round was called. As soon as she stepped forward, I sidestepped and struck her shinai down. She parried my attempt at her dō in a quick upward motion. The tip of her shinai clacked onto my men.
“Men!”
“Men ari!”
As we stepped back out of each others’ range, she cried out, “Fight me like a soldier, not a kendoka! Stop holding back!”
I glanced at Jenna, not wanting to anger her — I was sure the girl could endure whatever I threw at her, but I was holding back for her sake. She sighed, and nodded.
I wasn’t sure if going all out would help me much against her, though. Surely she was much stronger than this, if she had surpassed her sensei.
I stepped into a chūdan stance. Jenna announced the fourth round. (I wondered, then, why Maia had chosen a five-point match.) I slid forward and swung at her men, and our shinai clacked together as she parried. She replied, and her counterattack was so fierce and sudden that I barely managed to block it, and I left myself vulnerable for a second attempt, this time at my dō.
We exchanged blows once more, and then backed off. I struck again immediately, hoping to take her by surprise, and our shinai locked together.
I was close enough that I could see her eyes shining through her face mask and feel the exhilaration that radiated from her.
She pushed my shinai up with her hand guard and withdrew, causing me to unwittingly push back down and lower my shinai. She somersaulted clear above my head and hit me on the side of the men. I couldn’t react.
I felt a moment’s hesitation before Jenna cried out, “Men ari!”
I turned to her. “Was that legal?”
“She told you the rules for this duel,” she said.
I turned back to Maia and took position, still a little dazed.
Once I had overcome the initial shock of the manoeuvre, I realized how peculiar that leap had been. Somehow, I felt as if I had seen that kind of attack before, but I couldn’t quite remember where or how.
“Maia, what was that?” I asked.
“My–my father’s fighting style,” she said.
“Use it against me.” I wanted to experience it fully, see if I could remember where I had seen such a thing. Her eyes seemed to brighten up even more, and she nodded. She stepped back three paces.
I thought I heard an exasperated sigh come from Jenna’s direction before she called the fifth round.
Maia let out a powerful kiai, a yell of spirit, and sprinted forward. She wasn’t using kendo footwork anymore. She leapt clear above me and went for my head. I blocked. Instinctively I sidestepped and brought my shinai downwards.
She stumbled back a little as she parried my counterattack and stepped back, returning to kendo footwork. We stood there a few moments, ready to react at a moment’s notice. Then she stepped forward.
She dashed erratically, nearly zigzagging, towards me and went for my dō. It was easy to block. But as soon as she passed me, she somersaulted clear above me and went for either side of my head, shouting “Men! Men!” I blocked both, spun on my heel and brought my shinai down onto her.
“Men!”
“Men ari!”
She lost balance and fell to her knees. As she turned her head and looked up towards me, I saw the bewilderment in her eyes.
“That’s enough,” I said. “I forfeit. You win.”
♦
That evening was the first that I ate with them. Usually, Jenna would bring me supper in my room, even after I felt well enough to walk. I never knew why she hadn’t ever invited me to eat with them until then.
There were only Jenna, Maia, the old woman and myself around the dinner table. We mostly ate in silence, except for some occasional whispers between Maia and her mother.
After the girl had gone to bed, I began asking Jenna about Maia’s combat style.
“It was a style her father taught her,” Jenna said. “It wasn’t meant for kendo, but for liberal duelling.”
“Liberal duelling?” I asked.
“Hato-sensei … her father … was a well known kendo master in the village,” she explained slowly, “but he hated it and how restrictive it was. He enrolled in the army and studied the samurai’s way.” She brought the cup of tea to her lips, and then continued, “During that time, he devised a new sword sport, ‘Liberal duelling’, that imitated real combat while still being safe enough to call a sport. It’s practically unknown.
“He developed that style to please a crowd, though. You know, everyone loves flashy acrobatics, but it’s useless for real combat. Well, for him, it was. With Maia’s speed and reflexes, I think she could use it effectively.”
“It seems like it would be very demanding,” I said.
“But most people wouldn’t expect that kind of attack in combat. Most people wouldn’t survive for very long, even with armour.”
“I can agree to that,” I said. I definitely hadn’t expected it the first time she somersaulted over me. But I knew I already came across that style before, somewhere. It had probably not been during the war — countering the basics to her style felt much too instinctual for me to only have come across it once. And besides, I wasn’t dead.
“So, where is her father?” I asked. “Should he not be sensei of this dojo?”
“Ah, H–Hato—” She turned her gaze to her lap. “H–he…”
“I–I’m sorry,” I said. “How did—”
“The war took him,” said Jenna’s mother. “The Battle of Hi-no-tao.”
That was an unforgettable name to any man or woman of the country. That battle had been one that would haunt me eternally. The Hitsumi forces had been completely devastated; it was one of the bloodiest, most ruthless defeats that the Hansai had ever dealt them during the war, and the loss of the Hansai army quickly led to Shinnai’s capitulation. I still remember the last time I saw that field: it was dark, and the rain fell as if the Heavens were weeping for the fallen men, but the ground and grass were stained a deep crimson that would not wash away. There wasn’t a single sign of life: nothing but corpses, mangled and broken, stepped on and thrown about; and dead grass; and broken flowers; and that vile, sickening red.
I suddenly found myself wondering whether I might have met Hato-sensei during the war, whether he might have been in my battalion or brigade.
“It–it had been a horrible defeat for us,” she continued. I tried vainly to prevent surprise from reaching my face. It hadn’t occurred to me that they might have been Hitsumi. In fact, I wasn’t really sure where I was — I had followed Gang and Sai’s trace blindly. I could very well have ended up on Hitsumi soil.
Jenna eventually raised her head, still sobbing quietly, and I followed her gaze to a picture frame on the wall.
My heart skipped a beat. I recognized that face. It was on the final day of the battle of Hi-no-tao... He had been the last of the Hitsumi to fall, and I had killed him in a most dishonourable manner.
I excused myself and left.
I was no better than them. To have killed in such a way, I was no better than those two traitors. Nor was the incident singular, nor did I do it out of necessity or risk to my own life. I realized, then, that in battle, I killed out of pure bloodlust; not to serve my country, not to end the conflict. War had turned me into a monster.
I had flirted with the idea many times before, and finally I had decided definitively: once I had exacted revenge, I would take my own life. I had no reason to live already; to have acted so dishonourably… The world was better off without me.
♦
I often used to tell myself that next time, I would have my revenge. I was willing myself to believe it, but it never really felt like an all-or-nothing opportunity. Yet, I knew, somehow, that this would be my last chance to avenge her. And this time, I would be prepared.
I hadn’t realized it until a few hours later: Maia’s style was exactly that of Sai and Gang. I asked Jenna, the next day, whether I could practice with Maia. She agreed, reluctantly, when the girl brightened up at the idea.
So I did. Jenna reproached the fact that I was “pushing Maia too much.” Frankly, I was wearing myself much more than she seemed to be.
I trained rigorously for six months. I learned every little detail of the style; I learned to predict and counter it perfectly. And she did surprisingly well to adapt to that — she was always one step ahead of me. All the better.
I kept my distance from their family, otherwise. I was a lifeless wretch with but one goal; what reason to make friends only to leave them? Maia, though, seemed to warm up to me considerably.
I ate with them. I sparred with Maia. The rest of the time, I stayed in my room, practiced alone in the dojo or walked outside, always out of view when I was could help it.
We lived in perfect but quiet harmony.
♦
I thought nothing much of that mid-autumn incident. In retrospect, I probably should have paid attention to it. But it hadn’t seemed as important as it turned out to be.
I awoke to a sudden thump, that morning, something akin to a body falling onto a hard floor.
“W-What’re you doing here?” I heard Jenna yelp. I didn’t hear a response. “What?”
More silence.
“No, you know what I think about —”
I couldn’t hear the visitor at all.
“Absolutely not!” she nearly yelled. “You might be my brother, but I still have principles!”
I heard a man’s voice for the first time. I couldn’t hear him, for he was speaking so quietly, but he was obviously becoming irate.
“And you’re any better?” she retorted. “I know what you did, then, too! You—” She yelped out in pain.
As soon as I heard the wooden bang, I got up, instinctually reaching for my sword, and, once I realized I didn’t have it, rushed into the corridor, trying to find them.
The front door slammed shut across the main hall.
♦
The first day of winter came. Everything had become blanketed with a thin layer of snow; it was an odd coincidence that the first snowfall came on this particular day, for it was also the day of my departure.
I had decided that today would be the day when I heard that Gang and Sai were passing through. They were mercenaries, now (such a foul profession suited foul people well), and apparently had some business in this little region of Hitsumi.
I had no belongings. Jenna returned my sword to me early in the morning, and I intended to leave before the old woman and Maia, especially, awoke.
“Please,” pleaded Jenna, “stay … for one more meal.” She was begging; I couldn’t just turn away after all these months. So, reluctantly, I accepted. She served me a delicious chicken soup — like always, her cooking was divine despite their limited resources.
As she set the bowl onto the table, I noticed her eyes, her deep black eyes that delved into her soul. They were unfocused and hesitant.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“I–I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just … It’s—it’s sad to see you go a-after all this time.” Despite my efforts to avoid it, had she really grown so attached to me?
“Thank you,” I said once I had finished, pushing the empty bowl away from me. “Goodbye.”
Jenna knew I was out for revenge, and that I was wagering my life to pursue this goal, but none of them knew my entire intentions. It was for the better.
♦
I carefully pressed against the door to the rotting warehouse, almost afraid that it was going to fall off its hinges at the slightest disturbance. They had entered here mere moments before, but had their work really brought them here? I couldn’t figure out what business they might have had in a run-down old building like this.
I looked back towards the village behind me. Hi-son, the “village of fire”, it was called; once a thriving community of artisans, especially blacksmiths, it had become nearly lifeless after the war. It was, however, recovering slowly. But it didn’t look it.
The little temple’s roof was visible, looking down onto the village like the Gods did over our country. I had hoped never to return to this place, but here I was once again. One last time, forevermore.
I took a deep breath, and pushed the door. They were expecting me.
♦
Gang’s broad shoulders shook as he laughed. “You still out for blood for this? She double agent, so she enemy. We do what have to do.”
“What you had to do?” I retorted. “Rape her? Rob her of dignity? And then kill her?”
“It is war.”
“What part of war allows you to violate honour and dignity?” I spat. “Nothing! Nothing! You acted without honour, and you’ll get what you deserve for it!”
Gang’s wry grin disappeared. He stepped right in front of me, standing menacingly. “It is war. War turn all person into mindless animal. You think you any better?” His dark, deep-set eyes bore into me. “Hato. Hi-no-tao. Was that honourable death?”
“I never said I was better than you,” I said. “I only want revenge for what you did to her. Both of us will find judgement today!”
“So it is.”
Before I could understand what was happening, I was acquainting myself with the yellowed grass, jaw feeling painfully detached from my skull. The familiar sound of swords ringing against their sheaths reached my ears. I drew my own and rolled to my feet, regaining my balance on a dead patch of dirt.
This was the final battle to our war. This was our Hi-no-tao — and this time, I was prepared. I would kill no man who had surrendered, no man who had fallen. I would defeat them honourably, and punish them for their sins, and amend my own.
Sai stepped forward, evidently preparing his classic opening move, but Gang held him back. “This time, leave to me,” he said. Suddenly, he rushed at me recklessly, lunging at my throat. The blade narrowly missed, slicing across the side of my neck.
Then a horrible realization struck me: for all the times I had battled Sai, I had never even seen Gang in combat. In utter folly, I had assumed he fought like Sai — though it would have been impossible with his large build.
I parried a swing to my chest, and we both backed off.
Neither Sai nor Gang were part of our division. I had never met them before that day, two years ago, and I was never acquainted with their combat styles.
I brought my upright sword near my shoulder, and shifted my weight back. I couldn’t risk a direct offensive against an unknown opponent.
I had seen Sai on the battlefield, and I knew what to expect at our first battle, but I had never seen Gang after the incident. Though the field was large, both of them should have been nearby, with the rest of their division.
Gang charged again. He swung at my body, and quickly followed with a stab to the throat. I barely knocked his sword away. He ran past me; no time to attack him.
Despite it all, I had never thought about his fighting style. Still, it was appalling that I would neglect such an important detail.
I spun around, parrying his swing, and went for his exposed wrist.
It had always been Sai who fought me. Was the Gang weaker one, or the stronger?
I backed off again, and Gang dashed at me. He went for my head; I blocked. Then he slid his sword off mine and ran past me, going for my abdomen as he came level to me. I sidestepped, turned around and stepped back as he swung again. I fell back three paces.
Only a fool could not have realized his strategy. He was charging recklessly into his opponent. His first strike was always predictable — he made sure to always position his sword to announce his attack.
He sprinted towards me. His sword was raised to his side. If he kept this up, I had no problem. I raised my blade, and our swords clashed above us.
But he was quick with his blade, and he relied on that to follow up on his offence quickly, and take his opponent off guard. Of course, that was probably the tip of the iceberg — certainly enough to take down weaker or unwary swordsmen in duel, and gave him a chance to scout out his opponent’s combat ability, like I had been doing.
I pushed his sword aside, and swung down onto his head.
As long as he kept that up, I would have no trouble. But I couldn’t count on that.
He dodged, and my sword glanced off the end of his shoulder. I stepped back to one blade-length out of range.
I had to try and strike him before he had time to change tactics. That was my best chance.
I dashed forward recklessly, knocking away his sword with a flick of the wrist. I thrust toward his neck.
Suddenly, a cold needle flashed across my stomach, sending pain darting through my midsection. I stepped back.
I knew it was only a flesh wound. That swing hadn’t had the strength to slice further than my clothes and skin; he had been much too close.
I studied Gang. I hadn’t struck his neck, of course, but I had succeeded in taking a piece off his left shoulder. He glanced to it, and glared at me with such rage that it sent a twinge of fear through my body.
He charged. His sword violently shoved my own out of my hand. He rammed into me, throwing me down onto the ground. I rolled to one side, not thinking which way. I felt his blade cut through the air and strike the frozen ground behind me.
I scrambled to my feet, searching desperately for my sword. It had fallen beyond where Gang stood.
He came at me again. I barely dodged swing after swing. I soon realized his assault was completely on my upper body. I ducked and rolled in the direction of my sword, coming short of it — I was perfectly positioned.
He approached again, swinging his sword at me. I reached for my blade and slashed his ankle, cutting his right foot clean off. He screamed in pain and surprise, and fell to the ground.
Swinging blindly at the air, he struggled and scrambled to get to his feet, spreading a mess of blood onto the grass. Eventually he propelled himself upwards and balanced himself precariously on his remaining foot.
He was no longer menacing. He was no longer angry. His eyes told me the truth: now he was nothing but a frightened puppy.
I blocked his wild, desperate attack, and sliced his dominant hand. The sword fell between us. He lost his balance and fell towards me; I pushed him forward and, in one clean strike, severed his head from his body.
Gang had been the one who raped her. Gang was the one who had seen fit to humiliate her and kill her. Now justice had been dealt upon him.
A twinge of weakness took hold of me, and I fell to my knees.
The grass crackled, and the sensation of relief fled me. I struggled to my feet and spun around, raising my sword, and noticed Sai’s lithe body springing upwards. In my triumph, I had forgotten about him.
That would usually have been the end of most men. But I had become far too familiar with Sai’s style; I could counter his openings without even thinking about it.
I spun around and swung down onto his head as he landed. His eyes betrayed surprise, but his reactions were unaffected; he blocked and countered. I deflected his sword and we backed off.
“Nice reactions, there, kid,” he said. He was grinning madly. Gang, I gathered, was a more careful, strategic warrior, but Sai was his perfect complement. His bloodthirsty gaze betrayed him — he loved nothing more than combat and bloodshed. No planning, just action.
He ran at me. I couldn’t read his movements like Maia’s, but I knew what was coming. He sidestepped suddenly and dashed past me. I moved aside, and his swing hit the air where my stomach had been.
He halted his movement and somersaulted over me. I blocked his strikes to either side of my head. As he fell, I lowered my sword in preparation. He was vulnerable just as he landed.
He touched ground, facing me. I thrust towards his neck. He staggered back and jerked his body to the right; a muffled croak escaped his lips.
He retreated to many blades’ length, and his hand shot up to his throat, as if to assure himself that it was intact. He grimaced and bared his teeth, his eyes ablaze in a mixture of hatred and psychotic delight.
“I haven’t had this much fun in a while!” He rushed at me, sword raised to his shoulder. “Killing you’s going to be a pleasure!”
“It won’t be that easy!” I shifted my weight. Suddenly, instead of leaping up, he propelled himself forward. I deflected his blade away from my stomach, and he went past me. I raised my weapon. His body flew above me, and his attacks found themselves again impeded by my sword.
I stepped back. He swung around, his sword narrowly reaching me. Just as quickly, I lept forward and went for his neck. He raised his sword to block, but he was unbalanced and fell back onto the bare ground.
I approached him. Suddenly sand flew into my face and my eyes burned. I stepped back, trying frantically to rub it out. I heard shuffling.
He ran towards me. I gave up on my eyes and attempted blindly to block. He pushed my weapon down and rammed me to the ground.
I groped about blindly on the dry crackling herbs, rolling and trying to get to my feet. I felt Sai’s blade narrowly hit me numerous times. Eventually I pushed myself up, narrowly propelling myself right into his swing. I backed into the wooden wall — I could feel the soft fuzz covering it — rubbed my eyes and finally attempting to open them. They still burned, but I could see.
I dodged aside and pulled away from the wall, just before Sai’s blade thudded against it. Before I could act, he was already coming after me again. He lept; I blocked and spun around, and went for his neck anew. I knew it was predictable, this time. He blocked and made to stab at my chest. I defended. Our swords locked together.
“You’ve improved a lot, kid,” he growled. “You’re so much fun, this time!”
I pulled back and knocked his sword away. He instantly retaliated in a vicious swing. Our blades clashed. But he had left himself open, and I aimed for his abdomen. He dodged, but my blade cut a shallow wound into his side.
He stepped back again, and without missing a beat, he lept. I blocked and spun around once again.
He wasn’t there.
I jerked back as he attacked me from the side. A searing cold cut through my arm. I staggered backwards, clutching it with my other hand.
I hadn’t expected him to move quite so quickly.
He grinned. “But despite that, you’re still no match for me.”
It was painful, but it wasn’t too deep a wound. I was barely bleeding. Yet, for some reason, I began feeling weak.
He lept up again. I let go of my arm and raised my blade. He landed and swung again; I retaliated, and we exchanged blows once more before backing off.
I staggered backwards. He came at me again. I raised my sword. He attacked. He wasn’t leaving any openings. Why was I having trouble keeping up, all of the sudden?
I stepped back as his blade flashed in front of me. I couldn’t focus my eyes well. I struck back; he dodged and stepped a few paces behind.
“What’s wrong?” he said between heavy breaths. “You’re getting sluggish.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know why I was suddenly so fatigued. But my heart was pounding in my chest, and my every breath burned.
“Oh, I know!” he said mockingly. “You’re feeling the effects of the poison you swallowed this morning!”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“Jenna,” he replied, and only hearing her name filled my heart with dread. “That wretched Hitsumi. You lived with her.” He paused. “She’s my half-sister, and she poisoned you.”
Jenna! Would she really have poisoned me? She seemed too good a person. And she had housed me for months — if she had wanted to kill me, why now?
Then that incident, a month ago, came back into my mind. She hadn’t wanted to. Her eyes had been filled with remorse that morning.
“You fiend!” I yelled. “You rotten bastard! You threatened her!” I tightened my grip on my sword’s sweat-soaked hilt. “I swear, I’m going to kill you!”
He grinned madly, and raised his blade above his head. “Then let’s do this!” he said.
He was exhausted, too; I could hear his breathing. His style definitely wasn’t intended for long battles.
This was it; this was the end. My heart was pounding. Could I finish him?
He stepped forward and swung down onto my head. I deflected his strike. I went for his head. He blocked it, and our swords locked in a struggle for power.
I summoned the last of my strength, and with a great heave, I pushed Sai back and threw him against the rotting wooden wall. I charged into him, driving my sword into his chest.
A gurgle sounded from Sai’s throat.
♦
I lay there idly, staring at the roof interior, spotted by light where it was broken. My vision had blurred it almost to spots of light against the dark wood.
An inferno burned in my chest, fuelled by every breath I took. But I paid it no heed. I was not suffering.
My mind wandered and lost itself in a timeless void.
I turned my head, lethargically, to one side. Sai’s still body lay crumpled against the wall, his head dangling to one side, sitting in a pool of blood. Beyond him, Gang’s eyes stared bewildered at his headless body, lying upon the ground, almost peacefully.
I was not suffering. My only purpose had been fulfilled; their misdeeds have been repaid to the Gods, and soon my own would be as well. I could leave this world in peace.
And I would leave it, soon. Sai had made sure of that.
A faint, distant pitter-pattering reached my ears. Had winter already ended? I did not know how long I had lain there. A few minutes? A few weeks?
Light was slowly receding from the room. Darkness crept into my vision, and slowly, surely, I found myself engulfed in the pitch blackness.
A raindrop fell onto my arm. I felt nothing. The world had become naught but numb darkness.
The world was no longer.
♦
Copyright © 2008 Marc-Alexandre Chan (a.k.a. Laogeodritt). All Rights Reserved.