Echoes of a Shattered Age

by R. J. Terrell

  * * *

  After Kenjiro completed his moving meditation, he inspected his sword. He and his sister had seen many battles together, shared many victories. They’d fought together their whole lives, and so their skill complemented one another.

  The samurai thought back to ten years ago when he’d been given the task of forging his own sword. At the young age of fifteen, he was already a warrior of notable skill, with strength and endurance well beyond any of his peers. His parents had begun his training at the age of five, not unusual for children born of a warrior family. After only a day, his teacher had requested to move him to learn in the advanced class, which brought his parents pride, and himself confusion. Kenjiro hadn’t felt as capable as Sensei had perceived him to be, but it was not his place to question.

  What older students were expected to grasp in one month, he was expected to have mastered in that same period of time. Though every person was different, it was considered unthinkable for a practitioner to expect to achieve mastery inside of a decade. Kenjiro had reached mastery within seven years. Sensei was also adamant about Kenjiro learning Bushido, an ancient code of ethics that the samurai adhered to since even before the Age of Technology. Kenjiro remembered the day he began his lessons alone. Sensei purposely separated his young pupil from the rest of the students because of his rare abilities.

  “Ego is a dangerous trait that is born in all of us, Kenjiro,” the master lectured. “Some of your classmates admire and envy your abilities, which can lead to jealousy. This could interfere with their progress as well as yours. Remember this Kenjiro: Although your innate abilities exceed that of anyone in your class, it is your soul, your very being, that is your true strength. There is always someone physically stronger, but it is within yourself that you will find that true, elusive and intangible power that you seek. Power without perception is useless. Do you know what I mean when I say this?”

  “I’m not sure, Sensei,” the young Kenjiro had replied.

  “Come.”

  They went for a walk in a nearby garden overflowing with diverse types of vegetation, from weeping willows to bonsai trees to small, green shrubs. Purple flowers bloomed and emitted a sweet smell. As they crossed an arc-shaped bridge, Kenjiro looked down at the many smooth multicolored rocks that carpeted the floor of the stream below. He liked picking the rocks up to feel their smooth texture before throwing them back into the water and disturbing the koi fish that browsed the stream bed. The sound of Sensei’s voice brought Kenjiro’s thoughts back to the present.

  “What do you see around you?” Sensei asked.

  “I see nature, Sensei,” Kenjiro replied.

  “And what about nature? Why do we often say we see nature, when we are in fact a part of it? Why is it when we take a retreat to a park, or go to the mountains or the forest, we feel relaxed and refreshed, and once we come back to this place that we call civilization, we are renewed? In fact, why is it that we call going to the mountains, or the forest, a retreat?” The child shook his head, confused.

  “This,” the master continued, “is because humans have separated themselves from nature. We once lived complex lives that were very different from today. The machines that we once used in our daily existence had no spontaneity, no vigor. We as humans have struggled to regain that spontaneity and vigor that we almost lost, so many years ago.”

  “People did just as their machines once did. They got up, performed their daily functions and went home to sleep. In some cases, perhaps I should refer to the relationship between people and machines differently. Instead of saying people and their machines, perhaps I should say machines and their people. People created these artificial workers to make their lives easier, but as a result, life grew even more complex than the people of previous ages could have ever dreamt it would be. Life and artificial life had interwoven themselves into each other. Though life is different now than it was, we as a species are still struggling to understand life, and live it without the unnecessary complications we are so adept at creating.”

  Sensei spread a hand out to encompass the garden. “Kenjiro. When you see nature, what do you see?”

  “I see something that is beautiful and simple, Sensei.”

  “Explain,” Sensei said in an approving tone.

  “When I look at nature, I see things going easy, like everything is doing what it does without having to think about it. It just does what it does. Everything seems to happen as it is supposed to, and there is nothing forcing anything to do anything. Flowers always bloom, fish always swim through the water perfectly, and birds fly just as if the sky picked them up and carried them away.”

  “Good, Kenjiro,” Sensei replied, smiling at the child’s simple explanation. “I said earlier that power without perception was useless. Now do you understand what I meant by this?”

  “I think you were meaning to say that every living thing is able to work in life perfectly without any limits or distractions.”

  “Close,” the teacher nodded encouragingly. “Watch that bird.” Sensei pointed to a bird roosting in a tree. “Do you see what it’s doing?”

  The young boy nodded uncertainly.

  “It is waiting patiently,” Sensei continued. “Scanning for food. From its perch, it can see everything below with more detail than we can.” Just as Sensei finished speaking, the bird crouched, then leaped from the branch and glided downward. Several feet from the ground it spread its wings and evened out its angle, scooping up a cricket while avoiding impact with the ground by mere inches.

  “You see, Kenjiro? Without an outside influence it would never miscalculate and collide with the ground, because it need not calculate at all. It simply does. Without thought. It is in tune with itself and its surroundings. Unlike most humans who stumble through life, the bird acts according to the flow of life using its innate qualities, intelligence and instincts.”

  “For example, a bird is born with the ability to fly, but must be taught by its parents to utilize this ability, and after a short time, the bird learns to fly. After some time and guidance from its parents, the bird masters the art of flying and soars with grace and perfection. This is unlike some humans that you may have seen who even after decades of walking remain clumsy and can be seen stumbling about.”

  “You are not like that, Sensei,” young Kenjiro replied.

  Akutagawa smiled, holding up a finger. “This is because I have learned to banish the ego, Kenjiro. Ego is involved in almost everything we as humans do, and that is sometimes the reason we stumble through life. We want to look perfect when we walk, we have to sound extra intelligent when we talk, we must behave this way or that way. I am not, however, implying that we just do whatever we wish and say whatever comes to mind without tact, but it is often because of ego that mastery escapes us.”

  Sensei looked at his student. “You must strive for perfection without ego, young one. Such a task at your age would be easier than as an adult. You are rare, Kenjiro, but you will discover that there are others not unlike you that are on a similar path to self-discovery.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kenjiro said.

  “You will, in time. For now, train without ego, train for the goal of emptiness and selflessness. Only then will you truly be able to master yourself.”

  A few years following his and his master’s walk, Kenjiro was given the task of forging his own sword. Weeks of failed attempts passed until he was able to successfully forge a simple sword, but the master was not satisfied. “Not bad,” Akutagawa congratulated. “This sword will serve you well for now, but in the real battles to come, you will need a sword far stronger than that one.” Kenjiro, looking even more confused, tipped his head in inquiry.

  “Sensei, people say that the Age of Technology will return and that there is no need to fight in battles using swords and physical fighting; those are the times of the past. Machines will do it all again as they did before. Why do I have to forge a stronger sword that was only used in a time that we read about in scho
ol and that people say will return soon?”

  The master chuckled and replied, “Live on, my young student, live on.”

  After three more years of hammering and smoothing, healing small burns and squinting from the bright light of the molten coals over which he worked the metal that would be his sword, Kenjiro had finally realized his life’s greatest achievement. He had forged the strongest blade seen in generations. The master inspected the weapon carefully. The curved blade was weighted perfectly, and as sharp as if a laser had tuned it during the times of technology.

  “Excellent work,” the master observed. “As strong as I have ever seen. I could never have forged such a sword. This one will serve you well, Kenjiro. More than just steel was used to create this. A bit of you and much more went into the conception and creation of this weapon. You would do well to name it and forever keep it by your side.”

  The young student looked at his new sword with a wide, gleaming smile of pride. “I told you,” Akutagawa scolded, “simply do. Do not involve ego or all of your efforts are lost.”

  Kenjiro responded with a nervous nod, and looked at his sword once again. “Its name is … Kenzo.” He looked to his master barely in time to see the startled look that came over his teacher’s face before it was quickly replaced with a smile of approval.

  “Very well,” said Sensei with a bow to the sword. Kenjiro gently laid the sword atop its stand, stood up, and did the same.

  As he lost himself in his remembrance of those past days, Kenjiro had not noticed that his sister had left. He chuckled as he looked in the direction that Akemi had last been standing. How ironic it was that one of the very people the master had referred to as having similar abilities would turn out to be his own sister. He eventually had come to realize that in some ways, Akemi’s abilities exceeded his own. He felt no jealousy or envy. He was happy that he had such a strong sister—even if she was a ninja—and that they could fight side by side. He would have had it no other way.

  ***

  Chapter Five

  As she made her way up to the peak of Mount Yamanake, Akemi reflected on her own training. Her teacher always seemed to know exactly how to incorporate the correct training methods to complement her abilities. As a girl, she had been capable of so much more than her classmates, and the master knew this. He’d been training Kenjiro for three years before she began, never once implying that she was actually exceeding her older brother’s progress.

  Sensei had been adamant about her performing without ego, which he’d constantly tried to hammer into her head. She’d always had a comment or a question about everything, and she never hesitated to say how she felt. Akemi laughed when she recalled the time when Sensei realized that she had a thirst for battle. Many times had the master scolded her for fighting with a devious grin on her face, while her opponent would struggle to maintain a solid footing amidst the barrage that was the little soon-to-be ninja.

  “Akemi!” Sensei would say. “Do you forget that battle is a last resort? A measure taken only when all efforts for peace have been exhausted? You have a love for the martial arts and the martial way, and I commend you for that, especially at such an early age, but be mindful of your insatiable desire for the fight.”

  “Sensei,” the young girl asked innocently, “is there anything else in life? All people do is fight. We always fight, but in different ways. Some people fight in school, some people fight in war, my parents always fight to make money for us to live in a nice home. They don’t fight for real, but they sometimes don’t look very happy when they think we do not see. Don’t we all just fight in different ways?”

  The master looked at his six-year-old student while hiding his amazement. First her brother names his sword after the legendary ancestor he has never known, and now his sister at this age has developed a philosophy on her own!

  “Part of what you say is true,” Akutagawa said, his face a mask of calm. “But you must remember patience. Your love for battle is fed by your lack of a challenge. When you meet someone who is better than yourself, will you then retain this vigor and hunger for the fight that you have now? That may be a question you will have to answer one day.”

  I doubt it, the girl thought, but kept those feelings to herself. The truth was that she had never met a person aside from her brother that could challenge her. Not even the senior students of the class could match her skill. She remembered one sparring match that she’d had with a twelve-year student. It was a typical medium-contact match, and all in class expected for the senior student to prevail, given the age and size gap.

  “Akemi,” the master had announced. “Today you will fight Tanaka in a medium-contact match.”

  Tanaka, one of Sensei’s senior students, was seventeen years old and very skilled. He stood five feet seven inches tall with a slender frame. Being one of the most skilled students in the master’s class, he restrained his curiosity at the decision. He dare not speak back to the master or question his judgment, but Tanaka couldn’t help but wonder why he was being matched against a student who was only eight years old, had only been learning for two years, and was also female.

  The master, seeing the concern in his student’s face, added, “Underestimation of your adversary is most dangerous.”

  Unconvinced, Tanaka bowed respectfully to the master and then to Akemi, who did the same. They both took their customary stances.

  Once the match began, Tanaka came in at Akemi with a simple right-handed open palm thrust, which Akemi avoided easily with a simple side step. Tanaka, expecting the evasion, followed up the attack with a right-legged sideways kick, which the ever-quick young girl simply slapped aside. The two stepped back, eyeing each other. After a moment, Tanaka frowned and glanced down at his ankle, which was red and stinging. This girl is only eight years old. It’s impossible for her to have this kind of power! He was drawn from his thoughts by the master’s voice.

  “Akemi!” Akutagawa’s voice was stern. “Concentrate, pay attention and be serious!”

  Tanaka looked back in amazement and fury when he saw the small girl, standing several feet in front of him, her face so wrinkled from fighting back a smile that she looked as if she would burst into laughter. Although the master disapproved of her attitude, this did little to repair Tanaka’s wounded pride.

  He moved in quickly with a series of open palm thrusts and stiff-handed chops that would have easily defeated more than half the students that sat watching in amazement. Still grinning, Akemi avoided every attack.

  Her smile did vanish, however, when Tanaka caught her in the ankle with a foot sweep, tripping her to the floor. As soon as she was up again, the senior student was on her with a barrage of forward knife-hand strikes, one after another, driving the girl back on her heels. He snapped his foot up, catching the younger student under the chin and re-depositing her to the floor. The blow hurt a bit more than it should have, and it was then that Akemi realized that her opponent was no longer holding back. Her superior attitude had been injured by her now-stinging chin. Now it was Tanaka’s turn to stand and smile.

  The master watched in silent disapproval. He would let them learn this lesson on their own, though he did smile inwardly at his students’ wonderful progress.

  Akemi stood up and faced her opponent, who towered over her by more than a foot and a half. She shifted into a left-legged stance, putting her right leg forward. This caught Tanaka by surprise. He had not fought a left-legged opponent before, and now both of their front legs were facing each other. The arrogant girl smiled again when she saw the concern on her opponent’s face. Several seconds passed.

  Finally, Tanaka decided to attack, but every time he made a move, Akemi’s rear foot snapped out and tapped Tanaka lightly on his shin. He could hardly believe the speed of the little upstart. She was clearly mocking him, but it was the ease with which she did it that infuriated him. He doubled his efforts, again producing the same series of forward knife hand strikes. This time Akemi dodged every attack without retreating
a step.

  Tanaka followed up with a high roundhouse kick, then a lower one. Akemi dodged both kicks and then, in a blink of the master’s amazed eye, Tanaka was on his heels.

  Akemi was on him in a flurry of punches, knife-hand strikes and reverse roundhouse kicks that had the older boy skittering backward. He managed to block and evade for a moment, but in short order Akemi landed a series of palm strikes to his midsection and then three dizzying kicks to his chest, depositing him to the floor in a breathless heap.

  Swelling with triumph, the little girl stood tall and scanned the room at her astonished classmates. Her smile melted away, however, when her eyes fell upon her teacher, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out the window opposite the sparing floor with his back to the class and to Akemi and Tanaka in particular. “Class is dismissed … thank you.” As the students quietly filed out the door, a compulsion that she could not name held Akemi where she stood. After all the students had gone, the master turned just enough to face the door, and exited the room. Akemi stood alone, feeling defeated instead of victorious.

  How long ago that had been. Akemi had never forgotten the feeling of failure she had felt on that day. It was also the day she’d learned the most about herself. Three years after she had completed her training with Sensei Akutagawa, Akemi had become a member of the Azuma Ninja Clan and quickly rose in the ranks to become one of the most valued and feared demon hunters. Now, years later, Akemi was a lone ninja and demon hunter.

  * * *

  Once she reached her destination, Akemi found an open area and set up a small portable shrine. The first time she’d used the shrine was to charge Sekimaru, the sword that she forged when she was seventeen years old. The master had waited two years longer than he did with Kenjiro to ensure that she was mature enough to forge the weapon. He had no doubt that she would create a powerful sword, which she did, but he wanted to be certain that she wouldn’t become overzealous.