by Ryan Kirk
The stranger stepped forward into the rush, moving with calm steps. What struck the boy as unusual was that the stranger did not seem to move much. His cuts all blended into one beautiful motion. There was never even the clang of steel on steel. When he stepped out of the back end of the rush of bandits, the boy would have sworn that they had been play-fighting, unwilling to actually meet steel.
The impression vanished along with the spirits of the bandits. The five men collapsed, and within the space of a couple of breaths they had stopped moving altogether. Their leader was the only one standing, and although he stood tall, the boy could almost smell the fear radiating off of him. He was much bigger than the stranger dressed in white, but size wasn’t going to save him.
“Who are you?” The bandit leader asked again.
“Shigeru,” stated the enigmatic man.
“Your name is no answer, where did you learn how to do that? I have never seen moves like that.”
“Nor will you again.” The statement was made without a change in inflection.
The bandit held his sword out in a defensive stance as the stranger took two paces forward. The boy stared, intent on watching what happened. He thought for a heartbeat that he felt the movement of the stranger. He blinked, and it was untrue. The two warriors had not moved. They stood two paces apart, the stranger with his sword held low and behind him, the bandit with his blade held straight in front of him.
The boy wondered if they would stand that way forever. The bandit held his stance, as firm as he could, while the stranger was relaxed. In time, the bandit’s stance began to falter, but he was without options. Turning his back would mean immediate execution, but an aggressive cut seemed equally unlikely to succeed. He was most safe as he stood, but he couldn’t lower his guard without risk.
The outcome was inevitable. The bandit, either out of frustration or the realization that there was no other option, switched to an offensive stance and stepped forward. The stranger, as relaxed as ever, moved forward as well. Again there was no clang of steel, but the bandit fell without a sound. The stranger flicked his wrist, and blood snapped off his blade. He withdrew a cloth from the folds of his robe and wiped down his blade before sheathing it in one smooth motion. He was unhurried and thorough. The boy got the impression he had done this many times before.
The process only took a couple of breaths, and when he was done he turned his attention to the boy. The boy, earlier fascinated, now felt the slow but steady growth of the taste of fear in his mouth. He had never seen anybody like the stranger. He thought quickly. Behind him the stranger’s throwing knife was embedded in the bandit who once held him captive. It wasn’t much, but it was a hope. He could grab the knife and throw before the stranger reached him.
The stranger stopped where he was. “You need not worry about me, boy. I have no intent to harm you. Leave the knife where it is.”
The boy started. He had made no motion towards the knife and was confident he hadn’t even glanced towards it. The pieces fell into place in his head, and the boy found his natural curiosity overwhelming his fear. “You can sense, can’t you?” He put a strong emphasis on the word sense, savoring the sound of it like a rare dessert, something one got to experience only occasionally, if ever.
The man let the hint of a smile creep into the corners of his mouth. The boy found that with the smile, the stranger who had just slaughtered a group of bandits was kind and warm. The stranger nodded. “My name is Shigeru. What is your name?”
For some reason the question gave the boy pause. He was five, and of course he knew his name, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak it. Some quality in this man wouldn’t allow him to speak. His tongue, always quick with questions, was thick and heavy. His mind, quick and sharp, could not form a coherent thought.
The stranger examined him head to toe, and for the first time in the boy’s life, he felt like he was no longer the one who was asking the questions. Without saying a word, the stranger managed to look into him. It wasn’t that he was being stripped naked, but that somehow this Shigeru was able to look straight into him, unraveling all the paradoxes which defined him as a child. Shigeru held the boy in his gaze and seemed to come to a conclusion. Without warning the boy felt like he had been folded back up into the box of himself. It was disorienting, and it took him a couple of breaths to recover.
“Your name is Ryuu.” The stranger mentioned this matter-of-factly, confusing the boy even further. From a literal perspective, the man was wrong, but there was some quality in the name that seemed so right. The boy nodded, implicit agreement with a new reality defined by his new name.
The stranger sat down, calm and unmoving. Ryuu watched Shigeru as he pulled out dried fruit and ate. He offered some calmly to Ryuu, who took it without saying a word. The food tasted wonderful to the boy, who hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he started eating. He realized as he ate he didn’t recognize all the fruits he tasted. He filed the information away. Wherever Shigeru had come from, it wasn’t near here.
Seeing that Shigeru wasn’t moving, Ryuu turned to his parents. They lay unmoving on the snow, and for the first time the reality of what had happened started to sink into Ryuu. The grief rose over him and crested like a wave, almost knocking him to his knees. He stood through it, pondering his next move. The first was clear. He needed to take care of his parents.
Shigeru watched without speaking as Ryuu brought his parents together over some straw from the caravan. The work was slow and his parents were heavy, but Shigeru did not offer help and Ryuu didn’t ask. He laid them in repose and quickly said a prayer to the Cycle. He took a moment to reflect on all that his parents had given him. Grateful, he took the embers from the caravan’s forgotten fire, stoked them back to life, lit a torch, and then carefully touched the flame to his parents’ pyre, which was slowly consumed by the fire.
Ryuu watched them burn, but could not bring himself to cry. Not yet.
After the bodies were fully consumed, Shigeru stood up. He re-arranged his limited clothing. Without a word, he turned around and started walking away. Ryuu understood. After one last glance at his parents, Ryuu followed him.
2
The sounds of battle died away, leaving behind an eerie silence, a natural honoring of the dead. But the smells lingered, impossible to forget. It was the smells that haunted him day in and day out. If he wasn’t watched like a hawk by so many, he would have thrown up. But that was not a possibility here.
Prince Akira sat on a horse, his balance and poise reflecting the thorough training he’d already accumulated despite having only seen ten cycles. He followed his father as they inspected the troops recovering from the battle. They were trying to retake the Three Sisters, the single large pass that exited the south of the Kingdom. To hear his father tell the stories, this battle was just one of a much larger pattern. Ever since the collapse of the Great Kingdom over a thousand cycles ago this pass had been controlled by the Southern Kingdom. It was only in the past fifty cycles that it had become a site of contention between the Southern Kingdom and Azaria, the people to the south of the mountains.
Akira would have loved to see an actual Azarian. The One People, although divided into three kingdoms now, were all of the same heritage. Azarians were different. They were said to be taller and darker skinned. Every man and woman of their people was said to be equal in battle skill to three of the Southern Kingdom troops. Akira had quizzed his father on the Azarians relentlessly when he was younger, but his father had always pushed aside his questions. It wasn’t until two moons ago he realized it was because his father hadn’t known the answers. They only ever encountered the warrior class, and neither nation had managed to push far into the other, due in large part to the Three Sisters.
The Three Sisters was so named because of the triple peaks that rose almost exactly in the middle of the pass, which was a three day’s journey for an army. The pass was the sole route wide enough to march an army through, but it was still narrow. It was
easy to defend and hard to take, which made it a target of prime importance both for the Azarians and for the Southern Kingdom.
According to his father, Lord Azuma, the pass had belonged to the Southern Kingdom for as long as their records lasted. The Southern Kingdom had never pushed south beyond the mountains. The mountains were a natural defense, and the land to the south was desolate. They hadn’t even known the Azarians existed until they took the pass for the first time. It kicked off an endless pattern of violence. One side would send an enormous amount of troops to retake the pass. It was always brutal and slow, and often it would take entire cycles. There was never enough time to establish more than a foothold on the other side of the pass before winter would set in and the pass would close down.
The rulers of each nation had come to realize this, and major offensives in the pass were now rare. There was an unspoken agreement between the two nations, an understanding that the pass could be the death of either nation. The Southern Kingdom faced constant, unrelenting pressure from the Northern and Western Kingdoms, and couldn’t spare enough troops to retake the pass and launch a major offensive into Azaria. Besides that, no one was sure Azaria was even worth conquering. No spy or scout had returned yet, another mystery that needed solving someday.
This lack of knowledge intrigued Akira, who was relentless about acquiring information about his world. He knew that someday he would be the Lord of the Southern Kingdom, but even at the age of ten, the idea didn’t interest him in the least. He wanted to understand this world, know the people and the places, and see it all.
Azuma had inconveniently interpreted his son’s curiosity about the Azarians as the battle dreams of a future lord. Akira’s father had been made on the battlefield and he expected the same from his son. Every day Akira trained in the use of the sword and already was well known for his skill even though he never wished to use it in battle. He had already decided, although he never told his father, that if he did become Lord he would be a diplomatic leader.
Despite his gentle protests, Akira had landed here at the front line of the largest campaign the Southern Kingdom had seen in a generation. The Azarians had held the pass now for almost thirty cycles, defending it against the force sent against it every year. But Azuma was passionate about retaking the pass. It had been many cycles in the preparation, but the day had come at last.
Every step they took was bloody, harried by archers and ambushes, but their progress was relentless. The sheer number of troops Akira’s father was pouring into the pass was terrifying, and the Azarians were retreating, step by blood-soaked step. Akira’s father predicted that within the next quarter moon the Azarians would abandon the pass.
But that was a quarter moon more to sit through this experience. Akira found that there were parts of battles that were beautiful. The flight of arrows through the air was mesmerizing if one could ignore their intended destination. The order and sound of an army on the march was also thrilling if their steps didn’t end at the steel points of their enemies.
Akira maintained a brave face. Even at ten his father had drilled into him well the importance of appearance. He mimicked the same stern expression that was his father’s face, and did not allow himself to display any of the emotions that were coursing through his mind. When he and his father were alone, they could talk and speak with refreshing honesty, but if even a servant was nearby the masks fell into place. At ten, Akira couldn’t imagine any other way of living.
They finished their inspection even though there wasn’t much to inspect. Azuma’s army was always in perfect condition. The real purpose was to be out among the troops, build their morale. Lord Azuma was held in mixed regard by the people. Order ruled the Southern Kingdom, but it was a harsh order which rankled many who saw their lifetimes as a time of peace. They were removed from the fighting at the pass and didn’t realize the full extent of the effort that went into taking and holding the pass and protecting their borders.
While the civilians had doubts, the army did not. Azuma wasn’t just a lord, but was one of the top generals in the Three Kingdoms. While he was stern, he was also fair and kind to his troops. After every major battle or skirmish he was out among them, spreading an encouraging word here, a compliment there. While the people of the Southern Kingdom may have had mixed feelings about their Lord, the troops adored him, and Azuma taught Akira that it was the troops who kept any ruler in power. Akira could recite the lesson from memory.
Arriving back at the tent was a relief. Akira could shut out a small part of the smell of the battlefield. Incense was lit in the tent, and Akira welcomed its pungent scent.
Akira’s father dismissed everyone, including the servants. He finished preparing the tea that had been started for them and served himself and his son. “How are you, son?”
Akira never lied to his father, a lesson he had learned at an early age. His father was a hard man, but a man who believed in truth. Akira had always been punished for lying. He had been punished at times for telling the truth as well, but to a much lesser degree. “It’s hard, father.”
Akira’s father nodded, and Akira was relieved. “It can be, yes. Do you know why we are fighting for this pass?”
Every day, always a test. Ten cycles and he was already sick of it. But Akira answered, “Because then we control the flow of troops. If we control the pass, we take an important step in defending the Southern Kingdom.”
Akira’s father leaned in. “Yes, but do you get it?”
He didn’t.
The Lord of the Southern Kingdom leaned back. “You’re not wrong. We need to control the pass to protect our kingdom. But you see only the blood of the soldiers in front of you. That’s good. You should always know the cost of what you do. But try to understand the greater implications. The Azarians have held the pass for many cycles, and every cycle we have to launch a bloody campaign to keep them from establishing a sizable foothold. If we can control the pass, we can save hundreds, if not thousands, of lives which are lost every year. Defending the pass is much simpler than taking it. What could you do with thousands of extra troops every year?”
He paused, to make sure his son understood. “So it may cost us many lives to retake this pass, but it costs far less over the cycles, and that gives us an advantage in this world. It’s hard for me to see good men die as well, but their sacrifice means safety and opportunity for us all. Even though there is a part of me that hates it, I will continue to send men to their deaths as long as I live, so long as it means the safety of those in my Kingdom. Do you understand now?”
Akira couldn’t do anything but nod. He had never thought of it in that way, but it made sense.
“Good. It’s only through death that we can keep this kingdom alive, son. Remember that, because some day you too will be called on to send men to their graves.”
3
The first time Ryuu laid his head down in the same place two nights in a row was almost a half moon later. He had never journeyed like this. Every day they walked further than Ryuu’s little legs had ever been. Though he had been raised in the fields, his feet grew even more calloused and he stopped asking when they would rest for the night. They walked as long as the sun was up and sometimes longer. Ryuu wanted to complain, but wanted Shigeru’s respect even more. Every time he formed the thought, he reminded himself that he was traveling with a nightblade! He shut his mouth and focused on putting one foot in front of the other until Shigeru would tell him to stop.
After the first few days Ryuu adapted to the pace. He had never been a heavy child, farm work and little food guaranteed that, but he could feel himself getting lighter and stronger every day. Each day it was just a little easier to keep up with Shigeru. With his parents he had complained about bedtime, but with Shigeru falling asleep was sweet relief.
Every morning was the same routine. Shigeru would shake Ryuu awake, unaware of how strong the shaking was. While Ryuu wiped the sleep from his eyes, Shigeru went through his morning movements. The movements wer
e beautiful in a way Ryuu found hard to describe. In some movements he held his sword. Others were empty handed. Ryuu had never seen movements like these before. He had watched the militia guards train, but Shigeru’s practice seemed something else entirely. His cuts were quick and blended together into one flawless blur of movement. Ryuu knew it was combat practice, but how it applied to the real world was beyond him. Whenever he heard Shigeru moving in the morning he would watch through slitted eyelids.
Shigeru never talked about his practice or what the movements meant. Ryuu was burning up with questions, but Shigeru’s demeanor restrained him. Shigeru was private and quiet. He was a man you didn’t disturb no matter how important your question was. But Ryuu’s unwillingness to ask questions fueled his imagination. Coupled with what he had already seen, he was convinced that Shigeru could destroy an army by himself. Sometimes to distract his mind from the relentless walking he would imagine an army over the next rise. His imagination painted vivid scenes of battle in which Shigeru emerged victorious.
Somewhat to his disappointment, danger never materialized. If it did Ryuu wasn’t old enough to recognize it. All he knew was that when he was in the company of Shigeru, he felt safe, even from his imaginary armies. He did not worry about food or bandits or any of the dangers of the trail his parents had impressed into him. In his young eyes, Shigeru could do no wrong.
The impression was only strengthened by the types of conversation Shigeru held. He was private, but when he spoke he used imagery that Ryuu was unable to process. He would talk as if he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say next. It was as if he had never spoken to a child. On the fifth morning of their journey, Shigeru said, “Our lives are like water, always flowing forward in the streams of time. When we encounter what is unexpected, our best choice is to flow around the obstacle.” Then he looked at Ryuu as if he expected a response.