Ryojin- the Bonded Blade

by Noah Ward

  “They travelled to Hakkanose several days ago by boat, so I expect they will not be back for some time yet,” he said.

  Kaz let out a long breath. “Very well.”

  The three of them sat in silence for a short while until the bosan levered himself up with his walking stick. “I must tend to the shōden.” Hanza loosed a sigh then smiled. “It seems my brothers and sisters did not take into consideration how much work I would have to accomplish in their absence.” He held out his hand to one of the beds. “Please, rest.”

  “My thanks,” said Kaz as the bosan hobbled out of the room.

  A few moments later, she took a last look at Shay before leaving.

  14

  Beggar

  Saito had been studying the crumpled parchment in his hand more times than he could count over the previous day. Its messaged had led him here, to the merchant town of Hakkanose, which was situated along one of the curves of River Ryuzi, the massive body of saltwater that ran across Zenitia. At this time of year, the river itself was frozen and the morning light made it blinding to behold. Those who wanted to travel by boat were forced to find other modes of transport across this bend. Now, the river was home to ice fishers and even stalls had been established.

  This close to the Ryuzi, the chill was still biting. In his absence, the others had gone about their assigned business. This was something Saito wanted to be burdened with alone; unfortunately, as much as he desired it, he would have to share the load. So, after travelling flatout in his stalker across the more barren lands, he had taken to a keval and ridden it to Hakkanose’s port. While the area’s activity paled in comparison to the warmer seasons, many had moored their vessels here to ride the weather out. Some made repairs to their ships, while others stored their goods in the several large stone warehouses. Denizens, sailors, traders and more bustled about while Saito navigated the thin crowds.

  Close to the exit of the port was a large metal gate, similar to the passage gates one would see at a shrine. This gate was a mix of blues and greens, turning it turquoise to honour the shogen of water Isumi and shogen of wind Sephyr. In the runup to the gate, there were several smaller shrines, where sailors and the like would place perishable offerings before embarking on their journey or venturing into town.

  If any settlement was a place for trade, no matter how big or small, it attracted beggars. They tended to congregate by the gates, preying on the superstitious generosity of travellers. As Saito approached, he clocked the usual suspects: the poor, infirm, and sick; a gaggle of mendicant bosan hailing from the shrine of Minori judging by the effigy placed in front of their collection bowl; a collection of chancers hoping to strum the heart strings of passersby.

  As he passed the begging clutches, Saito dropped a gold aian in the bowl of a prostrate man before stopping by one of the small offering shrines, where he placed some of the bread he had not eaten on the road onto a small plate.

  Continuing through the town, he headed straight for the connecting market district beyond the gate. Stalls flanked him as he paced onwards and there was still a bustle to those trading furs, meats, jewelry, and more. The scents of strong incense, spices, and cooking food melded with the tinge of salt on the air.

  Ahead of him was his destination: a large, red, wooden bridge that spanned the breadth of the broad market road, easily wide enough for two krystallis-powered carriages. The bridge spanned a tributary of the River Ryuzi, and was currently home to an offshoot of winter markets. Before stepping foot on there, however, Saito purchased a bottle of rice wine popular in Hakkanose. It was infused with elderflower and cherry, and some found the bitter almond taste divisive. Saito was one of them. He’d rather drink piss. But it wasn’t for him.

  When he reached the centre of the bridge, Saito leaned on its railing and waited, praying he would not become too impatient. Below him, children skidded on the ice, playing with each other. Their shrieks and laughs echoed. One of their parents appeared and swept one of the children into his arms. Saito huffed, pushed himself off the railing, took the clay bottle from inside his armoured robes and pressed it to his lips.

  “Ugh,” he grimaced. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “You get used to its unique...aftertaste,” said the man who had appeared beside him and pinched the bottle from his grasp before necking some himself.

  “I almost didn’t recognise you, Hanza,” Saito said, looking the man up and down. His robes were tattered, handwraps gone from white to a dirty grey, and he was a good few inches shorter than Saito, with several more winters under his belt. The wide-brimmed straw hat obscured most of his face apart from his jaw. “Lying prostrate like that makes it hard to see your face.”

  “It’s been a few winters; maybe you’d just forgotten?” The man smiled at him and proffered the drink. Saito’s stomach turned at the sight of it, which was enough for the man to shrug and keep it for himself.

  “I know this is slightly earlier than when I planned to call upon you…”

  Hanza took another sip. “How’s all that business coming along?”

  “We’re close.” Saito traced lines in the rough wooden railing. “Closer than ever. Which is why the timing worries me.” He turned to Hanza. “I would have gone myself but--”

  “You’ve made the right choice.” Hanza shuffled around and leant on the bridge. “What about the village? You heard nothing?”

  Saito shook his head, lips tight. “No. Something’s not right. But I can do nothing right now.”

  “Well,” Hanza said before he took a swig, “don’t keep me in suspense. What exactly do you want done?”

  “I need you to retrieve something for me,” he said.

  “Oh really?” said Hanaza as he removed the hat from his head, his clouded eyes widened in anticipation.

  ◆◆◆

  Kaz wandered outside the shrine’s gathering hall and lit the rollup. Light snow had begun to fall. She’d not had a decent night’s sleep in some time, but would have to survive without it for a while longer yet.

  Smoke coalesced in front of her eyes, grey writhing snakes rising only to dissipate moments later. The shindo stood a few metres in front of her. Beyond it, the bamboo forest continued, swallowed by the black mouth of night. The moon was but a curve of mercury. Judging by the encroaching belt of thick grey clouds, even that meagre source of light would soon vanish.

  Kaz took a final drag on the rollup. She flicked it towards the shallow trenches and patches of blood that marked the distance between the hall and the shindo. She took a breath and stepped forwards. While the rollup had calmed her nerves somewhat, her palms had become slick with sweat.

  “Hanza,” she said.

  At the mention of his name, he craned his head upwards. He was sat on the short flight of steps up to the shindo. He held that bamboo cane in between his legs. His blind eyes pierced her soul. “How did you know?” the bosan asked with a quizzical frown.

  Then it was Kaz’s turn to frown. “You do not remember those slaughtered soldiers at Wasahashi, the Battle of Sashima, the city of Oss, on the plains of Tsuragi…” Saying the names drained her of energy, like each word tied a weight to her soul. “So many dead. I…”

  “You fought against us?” Hanza asked, sounding genuinely intrigued. “For Zenitia?”

  “No,” said Kaz. She looked across at the man before her. “You’ve been blind for years, by the hand of another.”

  That stopped him in his tracks. “And just how do you know that?”

  “I know too much, it seems,” said Kaz. Her throat had gone dry. “Though I suppose the sightless have a hard time remembering faces.”

  Hanza grunted. “That is true enough.” He leant on his cane, which really was no cane at all, but a blade. His back was straight. “But I do still have ears. Who are you, woman?”

  “I am glad you’ve forgotten. But why now? After all these years, now you’d kill me?”

  He frowned, “You are in his way. You must die. That much you can unde
rstand.”

  “But why? I--” Kaz cut herself off and bit her lip. She should have just left. But they found her once, so what was to say that they would not do it again? Had they only now decided to tie up their loose ends? None of this made sense.

  Don’t think about it, Kaz. Push it down. Forget.

  “I can leave,” said Kaz. “Let me leave. Tell him--”

  “I cannot allow that,” Hanza said with an almost disbelieving smirk.

  Kaz cursed under her breath and stared at the sky, as if waiting for a divine hand to pierce the veil and whisk her away.

  “I know…” she managed to croak past the lump in her throat.

  Hanza wandered towards the bamboo forest just behind him, not bothering to look back. Kaz wordlessly followed and soon the two stood opposite each other. Wind rustled the thin branches. The moon vanished behind the clouds, plunging the area in near-total darkness.

  “Now we’re all blind…” Hanza said.

  Kaz did not hear his blade come free of its scabbard, but the arcing flash of silver before her eyes was as clear as day.

  15

  Blind

  Steel sung in the dead night. Kaz’s blade leapt free from its scabbard to barely deflect Hanza’s sword. The impact was enough to send her feet skidding in the slush and she ended up stumbling after backing into one of the countless bamboo trees.

  And just like that, he’d gone. Her eyes were still adjusting to the lack of moonlight, the black in front of her so thick she could taste it. Searching the darkness offered no help. Though the forest was silent save for the occasional flurry of wind, Hanza’s footsteps verged on nonexistence. The man could be--

  --Flash of steel--

  --anywhere

  It was all Kaz could do to dive out of the way, sword flailing, like a child playing warrior. But in pitch darkness, who could blame her? Escaping the forest was pointless--the bamboo staves effectively turned this place into a prison with innumerable bars. She’d run head-first into into a tree or, worse, the tip of a blade.

  As she crashed against the slurry of snow and dirt she rolled to her feet and drew a second, smaller sword from her hip. While more effective for parrying, its shorter range may give her the advantage where the bamboo was packed more densely.

  The man had disappeared once again. Her heart pounded. This was like a nightmare. Inescapable. Attacked by some beast born from the ether. She was outclassed. She knew that. Kaz should have just turned tail and ran. It’d worked well for so many winters. Now the creature had her scent once again and would run her down.

  Kaz held her weapons in perfunctory defensive positions: shorter blade held parallel to her chest; katana held high. She tried to replace ragged gasps with measured breaths but failed. Her eyes flitted about the darkness. If she concentrated, perhaps--

  Pain flared across her right calf and left shoulder. Kaz spun on her feet, braced for another attack. It arrived: thrust to her midsection. Her sword sword swung downwards to deflect the blow but it had already drawn a slit in her stomach. Painful but not mortal. Warm blood trickled down her midriff and soaked into her belt.

  “Most would have been gutted by that,” Hanza’s ethereal voice floated through the darkness like a petal across a lake. “I’m inclined to believe you were trained well. I think I’ll cut the truth from from you yet, woman.”

  She dared not speak, dared not advertise her meagre position. He could hear her every move, every ragged inhalation. Kaz knew his senses were heightened by his ability to incomprehensible levels. This was his maze and she was a dying rat. If she moved, he would know her position, that was how he worked. She could not defeat him through sight or sound…

  “Standing still will do you no good,” Hanza whispered. She felt his breath on her neck. The wind evacuated her lungs as the butt of his sword rammed into her stomach. Kaz flailed backwards, knowing a couple of her ribs had been broken.

  The paranoia of a pointed blade appearing from the darkness and plunging into her chest paraded through her mind. She knew she was not herself, mentally crippled by this man and what he represented. Kaz was supposed to be strong. The person’s whose body she inhabited was weak.

  She needed a plan, a way out. Move and she’d be dead--he could hear her. Stand still and she’d be dead--he could trace her scent. Even now the funk of stale rollups reached her nose…

  Then came the plan.

  Kaz sheathed her katana. Got up. Couldn’t think about him appearing--she had to be quick. Reaching into her robes, she found her tobacco pouch. Heart racing, she crouched, retrieved her flintlock lighter. Please let this work quickly.

  Saying a mental prayer to Ryudan, shogen of furious wrath, absolving conflagration, and boundless strength, Kaz sparked the lighter.

  Glorious flame ignited the tobacco, engulfing the mossy brown fibres. Smoke rose and its pungent scent flooded the air. Kaz tore out clumps and threw them, knowing it would not last long.

  “Pointless,” said Hanza as the blind man and his blade appeared as if from nowhere.

  Kaz rolled to the side while the sword sheared through several bamboos. The trees wailed and came crashing to the ground. The scent of tobacco, aided by the burst of wind, pervaded.

  She became a statue. Waited. The flaming patches offered little light--but just enough for her to see him at her periphery, over to her left.

  Hanza’s feet seemed to glide over the snow with each careful footfall. He held the sword out in front of himself, one hand on the grip, the other clutching it halfway down the wooden scabbard. The man would stop, cock his head to the side, then continue searching.

  Kaz readied her smaller blade. While she may not have surprise, her odds were at least tipped a miniscule amount in her favour.

  The blind man slunk between shafts of bamboo as Kaz willed him closer. The tobacco mounds had begun to peter out. Hanza turned, seemed to look straight through her. He put one silent foot in front of the other. A few more and he would be within striking distance.

  Holding her breath, she readied herself.

  Step. Step.

  Hanza stopped.

  Kaz struck. Threw everything behind her overhead strike. His blade flashed like the lashing tongue of a lizard, blocking the slash with ease. But that had always been the plan; she followed with the smaller blade, searching for his gut, stabbing from her waist.

  Her left hand suddenly felt lighter: Hanza’s blade had worked like a figure eight, firstly parrying the high attack, only to curve downwards and swat her weapon away. It flipped through the air to embed itself in a thick shaft of bamboo.

  You are very, very exposed, Kaz.

  Her sword hand was useless knocked aside. She brought it down as quickly as her wounded and shattered body could manage, doing just enough to alter the course of Hanza’s rising attack.

  A hot line snaked up her right cheek, narrowly missing her eye and continuing to her forehead. She screamed and spun to the side.

  She could not do it. This was a task she could not hope to surmount. Still, she hopelessly scrambled across the mucky ground to fruitlessly yank her sword from the bamboo. Tripped. She couldn’t even die on her feet.

  Scrambling onto her back, she could only watch as Hanza’s sword flashed. A perfect arc of blurred steel, an errant strand of moonlight winking off its sharpened edge, rushed to meet her chest.

  Ping.

  The sword stalled. Dumb luck? Divine intervention? Kaz’s instincts kicked in. The katana was in her hand and it was plunging into Hanza’s stomach. Flesh tore and punctured. Blood pooled and trickled down her blade, collecting atop her hand like an offering plate.

  The blind man’s sword dropped to the earth. A gargled choke passed his lips, followed by a pulse of dark blood. Kaz was frozen on the ground, hands clutched around her katana. Hanza struggled to breath as his hands held her blade to stop from slipping further down. The damage was done, however. It was a mortal wound.

  “How…” he murmured. His foggy, watery eyes stared down
at her in disbelief. Then his body jerked down a few inches with a loud squelch. He was only a foot away from her now. Hanza tried to steady himself and placed one hand against her chest.

  “Oh…” he said moments later. A half smile crept upon his lips just before his eyes shut and body succumbed to death.

  Kaz held him there for a breathless minute before heaving him to the side. From a branch, a falcon squawked and took flight. When she could finally rise to her feet, every inch of her body that was not currently bleeding began to protest. She looked down at him. In death, he was not so fearsome. None were. If he had lived, she would have asked what was behind that smile and why now, of all times, did they pursue her?

  In the end, it was dumb luck that saved her life. Embedded in the bamboo was her short blade, sporting a deep ridge where Hanza’s blade had connected and subsequently been deflected.

  Through a deep sigh, Kaz yanked the weapon free and sheathed it along with her katana.

  It’s over, Kaz. Put it behind you. Just leave. Get out. Now.

  There was no way she could challenge the road with these wounds. She needed time to heal, to burn all the mental refuse that had piled up in such a short time.

  She did not check the shiden to confirm the corpses had been stuffed in there. No time to mourn or to bury them. Who knew if more of Retsudan’s lackeys were on their way. They could be waiting for her as soon as she returned inside.

  Only silence greeted her. No army drew back the doors and rushed her. It was only Kaz.

  In a haze, she raided the storage room, taking enough items to create a poultice for her wounds. If Hanza had poisoned the blade, she would have felt its effects by now, so she focused on cleaning her injuries, applying the poultice, and then dressing the wounds.

  Acting as her own doctor was arduous work. She nearly collapsed from exhaustion a few times as dawn slowly crept in. Forced to press her injuries to stay conscious, the sun was close to rising by the time her bloody task was finished.