by A. J. Roe
Realising they were now waiting for him, Rick unzipped his leather bag and unwrapped the blade from the faded navy-blue Slazenger T-shirt it was swaddled in for protection. He pretended not to see the recoil of disgust from Voss and Yuriko as he lay the leather wrap out on the sterile plastic.
The first thing the Professor did was open his desk drawer and remove a transparent plexiglass case. “I had this printed based on the image proportions.” He removed the shirt, holding it with a finger and thumb at arm's length, and handed it to Rick whose face flushed as he hastily tucked it away at the foot of the desk.
Voss laid the sheath beside the blade and leaned forwards to study the markings under the bright magnifying desk light. He moved the relic down, examining its surface and simultaneously snapping images with the magnifier. The close-ups were immediately displayed on a large flat screen suspended on the bookcase to his right.
“Any idea what it says?" Rick asked.
"Yuriko, perhaps you can shed some light on the Chinese?”
“Of course. So, the figures here are not actually part of a cohesive text. It looks to me as though they are written equivalents of divination hexagrams. Similar to those used in the I Ching—The book of changes.”
“Please remind us of the relevance of these hexagrams,” Voss said, catching the look of confusion on his guest’s face.
“Each one is a symbol that is made up of six lines, either single or broken, the equivalent of an ancient binary system. They form the basis for many Taoist geomancy rituals such as Feng Shui. But those listed here wouldn’t make sense as a grouping. I suspect they may be some kind of cypher or code. Encryption was an extremely popular practice in early-dynastic Asia.”
Rick noticed both of them share a look and the beginning of a grin spread across the Professor’ face. “Things are getting exciting,” Voss said, nodding along, “any idea of age?”
“It would be nearly impossible to pin anything down with certainty—the hexagram system is thought to have been developed anywhere between the tenth and fourth centuries BCE, but its predecessors are much older.” Yuriko spoke as though for Rick’s benefit, but the way she worked through the items was more like she was simply processing her own thoughts. “The text however, uses a type of loose cursive, a style that was popular in the Wu Dynasty, around two hundred CE. The thing is the design of the dagger is nothing like anything I have ever seen from that period.”
“The mystery deepens,” Voss said, smiling to himself and adjusting the angle of his glasses with his surgical-gloved pinkie.
“What about the other text?” Rick said, “Looks more like Viking Runes than Chinese to me.”
“Well you are right to some extent,” Voss replied, “It is a Nordic language, ‘Old East Norse’ to be specific, a dialect used mainly in ancient Sweden and Denmark. More confusing still, it did not come into widespread use until around the seventh century.”
Voss sat up and stroked his chin as he thought. “On another note, we can clearly see the layout of the ideographs, which are six figures much like the Wu script, therefore it would not be unreasonable to assume it is a duplication. I believe by taking time to analyse both languages along with computer modelling we will be able to triangulate the meaning of the text. Although as Yuriko suggests it seems likely that it is a religious or divinatory message.”
The room was quiet for a moment as they all processed the implications. Finally, the Professor broke the silence. “I have a hypothesis I would like to share.”
Both Rick and Yuriko waited wide eyed for the expert opinion.
“Firstly, I believe this is not a modern creation for two reasons, the design of the dagger itself, you can see the slight uneven widths across the blade's edge which leads me to believe it was created entirely by primitive methods. But more importantly, there are probably only a handful of people in the world who would have the linguistic knowledge to translate these two languages and, knowing most of them quite well, I very much doubt any of them would.”
Rick was about to speak when the Professor took a sharp breath and continued. “But what really excites me is the rich mythology surrounding blades in the two regions themselves. In Germanic countries we have legends like Excalibur, in Nordic mythology they have Tyrfing, on the Tibetan plateau they have the Kīla, meanwhile here in Japan they have Kusanagi-No-Tsurugi—The heavenly sword of gathering clouds.
It has long been hypothesised that more than one of these myths may have developed from common roots. Several scholars here in Japan have argued that the myth of Kusanagi actually stems from a much earlier South Asian Hindu text that discusses a number of weapons known as the ‘Divine Relics’. Interestingly, the same story is mirrored almost exactly in Norse mythology. While no direct correlation can be proven, having ancient text of both regions on a single item offers some promising further discussion.”
Rick nodded, his mind swirling with questions. Yuriko stood up and walked slowly over to the cabinet on the right-hand side of the room, where she filled another crystal glass from a water pitcher.
“But what I found isn’t even a sword, how could it possibly be the inspiration for Kusu- Kusagi- whatever it’s called?”
Yuriko answered from where she stood on the far side of the room. “My people have told tales of the weapon for centuries. Like all mythology, with each retelling the story becomes more and more exaggerated. Men in particular seem to find comfort in reimagining their weapons as being greatly larger and more powerful than in reality.” She suppressed a gentle smile.
“But it doesn’t even look Japanese. Katana and even the smaller ones are all curved with only a single cutting edge, right?”
“Nowadays, yes, but this design only became widespread after the eighth century, before that during what is called the ‘Jokoto Period’, Japanese blades were mostly straight and used Chinese design principles.”
Rick nodded. “So, any idea what it's worth?” As interesting as the history was, he wanted to know the real-world implications, specifically what sort of pay day he might be expecting.
“Well,” the Professor said, “in the best-case scenario this weapon may be a significant religious relic, possibly even the original blade that inspired the Japanese myth and more. Failing this, we still have a unique artefact that will be able to provide valuable linguistic and cultural insight. Either way, you should be extremely excited.”
The Professor reached for the bone handle. Rick held his breath, half expecting a jump or twitch from Voss as he made contact with the relic. Instead, the large man simply picked it up and slid it into the sheath with no noticeable reaction. The blade locked into the plexiglass case with a satisfying click, perfect to a hair’s width
The Professor turned his chair back to the desk and lay the sheathed weapon down flat on the sterile plastic.
“I suggest the next step for us is to contact a private organization for verification of authenticity. The handle can be carbon dated, however, I doubt it is original. In the meantime, I will begin looking for any possible descriptions or drawings of the so-called ‘Divine Relics’ in official archives.”
The Professor turned in his chair and put a hand on Rick's shoulder, in a gesture that felt a little too friendly. The meaning was clear; there was no offer coming. Rick’s throat tightened and he berated himself for being so pathetic as to only care about the money.
Voss continued, “I would like to fund this research. I do not need any cut of profits that may eventually arise from your discovery, however the caveat is that my contribution should be included in official records. What do y-”
-SMASH.
The sudden noise caused Rick’s heart to practically jump from his chest, he spun towards the western window to see it shattered. The wind of an approaching storm was whistling through the remaining spikes of glass. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the Professor. It took a second to register the abject look of horror that had twisted across his host’s face.
Rick’
s gaze fell south, locking on the dark red stain on the Professor’s shirt. Blood was seeping from a hole above his heart, pumping out across his chest and pooling at his feet.
For the next few seconds Rick was frozen to the spot, his mind was screaming at his body to move but it flat out refused to respond. A second smash snapped him from paralysis. He spun on the spot, his eyes scanning the room for the source of noise. The crystal decanter in Yuriko’s hand had fallen and exploded on impact, throwing thousands of razor-sharp shards across the floor. Her mouth was agape, her eyes flooded with terror.
Before Rick had a chance to speak, a volley of gunshots exploded through the windows. On instinct, he hit the soft-carpeted floor, cutting his elbows and knees on the shattered glass as high-calibre bullets obliterated the room around him.
Yuriko was deathly still, her back pressed against the wall, sheltered only by the indented angle of the corner. The innocuous decision to take a drink of water had undoubtedly just saved her life.
Fragments of the priceless artefacts that had once adorned the walls rained down on Rick’s head in a torrent of ancient canvas, stone, wood and dust. I’m dead.
12
When Rick’s hearing returned, the scream of gunfire was still spilling in through the shattered windows. They weren't cute popping sounds like in movies, instead each one was a snarling burst of thunder desperate to take his life.
“Get down!” Rick screamed at Yuriko, who stood frozen in the corner, how long she’d be safe there was anyone’s guess. The next instant there was silence again.
“We need to call an ambulance—he needs help,” Yuriko pleaded. A piercing ringing in Rick’s ears made her words seem distant and distorted.
His eyes fell to the Professor's lifeless body, he’d only ever seen one corpse before and that was Uncle Roger, nicely dressed in an open casket. Here and now though, it didn’t take a medical professional to tell that Voss was way beyond saving. There was no time to dwell on sorrow for the man that had been so jovial and full of life just moments ago. That would have to wait.
The shots began again, but this time they were outside the house. Each moment of silence was punctuated with screams of pain and cries for mercy, no doubt from Voss’s guards and staff—the attack was swift and brutal.
“He’s dead,” Rick yelled at the petrified Japanese woman. A second later, a bang shook through the room as someone attempted to batter their way through the deadbolted office door.
With no idea who was on the other side, Rick sure as hell didn’t like the idea of sticking around to find out. He commando-crawled across the floor, shredding his elbows and knees to shreds on the broken glass. His hand found the plexiglass case on top of the desk and pulled the relic down, ignoring the violent jolt of static in his palm.
In a low squat, Rick bolted back towards Yuriko who had slumped down in the corner as panic set in. “Is there another way out of here?”
She said nothing and simply looked at him as if completely incapable of words. “We need to go!” Getting nothing out of her, Rick dived back across the floor to the cover of Voss's desk and wrenched it upwards until the heavy wood fell sideways, putting a solid barrier between himself and the entrance. Another mighty bang followed. Wood cracked and splintered as the heavy oak door strained on its hinges. They’ll be inside any moment.
Rick scanned the bookcases at the back of the room hoping for some kind of hidden exit but found nothing. His heart was pounding as he heard yet another smash of a battering ram against the door.
You can’t give up without a fight, Rick ordered himself. Hoping he had the balls to follow through, he freed the relic from its case, mentally preparing himself to make a final charge at the attackers. If he could surprise them, there might still be some chance of escape.
“Listen carefully,” a warm voice said. Rick couldn’t tell if it was in his ears or his head but either way it drowned out the maniacal cacophony of gunfire and screams beyond the window.
He spun towards Yuriko half expecting to see her lips moving. She was sitting fifteen feet across the room staring back at him wide eyed with her hands over her ears.
“They are coming through that door in less than twenty seconds. I can get you out alive if you agree to my terms,” the voice said, as calm as a summer breeze.
“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Rick screamed over the mayhem.
“I help you escape; you do something for me. Do we have a deal? Fourteen seconds.”
“Yes. Anything. Just get me out of here.”
“Do exactly as I say. You see the lamp on the table to your right? Take it and return behind the desk. Now.”
Rick didn’t bother to question her and dived out for the magnifier lamp that had landed a few feet to the right as he had flipped the desk. It was made of a high-quality, smooth metal, but it had a surprising weight to it.
“When I say so, throw it over your right shoulder as hard as you can. Then run towards the bookcase and pull out the third shelf from the bottom on the left-hand side… Now.”
The door burst from its hinges with a roar of splitting wood as a beast of a man, two hundred and fifty pounds at least, dressed all in black, exploded through shoulder first.
Rick swung the lamp over his head, almost tearing out most of the muscles in his shoulder as he did. There was a meaty clunk as it met the crown of the huge man and he crumpled like paper.
Seizing the moment of surprise, Rick bolted towards the rear of the room and ripped the third layer from the bookshelf. Behind it, set into the wall itself was a square hollowed-out space, about a foot deep.
In the hole sat a century-old, forty-four-millimetre, Remington Frontier Revolver. The only things Rick could tell about the long-barrelled weapon from a glance, were that it was both ancient technology and it was intimidating as hell, the kind outlaws in old western movies might sport to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies.
Not needing any further instruction, Rick spun on the spot and fired. The shot practically deafened him and unleashed an enormous cloud of noxious blue smoke that obscured his vision. When it finally cleared, two men dressed in matching black attire were strewn across the floor. The giant-like man that had shattered the door with his weight lay with his eyes rolled back into his head, he was clean out. The second attacker was far worse, with a gaping fist-sized hole in his abdomen; he was already dying. Behind them a third attacker moved fast through the doorway, his head was bald and he was dressed all in black like the others, the only difference in his dress was a thick gold chain around his neck.
“Throw the revolver,” the voice said.
“No way.”
Jumping over his fallen colleague the bald man levelled a submachine gun. His eyes seemed to meet Yuriko’s and for a fraction of a second, he hesitated.
“There is a splinter of metal in the chamber. You will blow your hand off. Throw it now.”
Just as the attacker began to fire, Rick hurled the massive revolver. The grip slammed into his face, crushing the bridge of his nose under the weight of the ancient, heavy steel. He howled in anger and screamed a series of what were presumably Japanese profanities. The bald man’s left hand instinctively shot to his face in an attempt to stop the flow of blood, while his right sprayed a blind burst of shots into the far wall.
“Kick him.” There was no way Rick could cover the distance to the door before he re-aimed, he was already clinching the trigger.
As if she had suddenly snapped back to consciousness, Yuriko spurred into action. She skidded across the width of the room on her hands and feet, while the broken-nosed gunman struggled to refocus, his eyes still streaming with tears from the impact.
The bleeding attacker twigged movement in his peripheral vision a moment too late. Yuriko shot beneath his line of fire, slamming her shoulders into the man’s shins and pulling both feet out from under him.
The gunman unleashed a torrent of bullets that spat across into the far corner of the room and thudded upwar
ds into the ceiling as he fell over his dead accomplice and bounced down the circular staircase to his rear.
“Now, the window.”
“What do you mean the fucking window?! We're thirty feet up.” Rick screamed, his patience for seemingly impossible orders well and truly absent.
“Climb up on the sofa and jump out, roll when you land and you will be fine.”
“You seem to be wildly overestimating my abilities, I have literally never done a roll in my life.”
“The physics is simple. Drop down and disperse your weight when you land. Time is running out.”
The overwhelming desire to live and total lack of any other plan soon helped to alleviate Rick’s concerns. “Come on,” he yelled as Yuriko slammed the half-destroyed door shut.
Standing on the long leather sofa Rick used one of its cushions to smash out the remaining splinters of glass before leaning it across the window frame. He heaved his body up into the moonlight then spun on his front until he was facing backwards into the room.
Rick dropped an arm down and wrenched Yuriko up beside him. The moment she had a good grip, he dropped. Instead of hitting the grass and rolling as planned, Rick’s legs caught in the bushes that bordered the house and he slammed face first into the grass, narrowly avoiding impaling himself on the relic.
Half a second later, Yuriko hit the ground beside him, rolled smoothly over one shoulder and ended up back on her feet. Before there was even time to express his surprise, another volley of automatic gunfire rang out from above. A row of five shots thudded into the perfectly manicured lawn just ahead, throwing a cloud of soil and turf into the air. Their saving grace was the steep angle from the window to the ground.
The gunman, his face covered in blood and his nose badly broken, cursed and he climbed up higher for the kill shot.
“Run.”
13
Deep, panicked gulps of air burned Rick’s lungs. He and Yuriko tore across the lawn from the eastern side of the house and down towards the southern wall of the compound. An image of the gaping hole in the Professor’s chest and the twisted look of pain on his face was imprinted in Rick’s mind's eye the whole time, as if he’d been staring too long into the sun.