Akira's vengeance

The Emperor’s Son

A man stood but several metres from me, and laid his palm on the hilt of his sword. The scene was poetic. We stood apart in a deep valley, surrounded by steep mountains and trees. Light from the moon had lit up the land, the land which I had grown to love. The cherry blossoms had bloomed. I too rested my hand on the handle of my sword.

“I never knew your name. You slaughtered my men and sabotaged my operations, and I know it was you, but I never knew your name.” I said to the man.

“My name means nothing, but it is here that I stand and here that you will die.”

I hadn’t any time to think of his words, for he closed the distance between him and I within two swift strides. Our blades clashed. His piercing glare shot through my soul as we stood against each other, and the battle began. I could feel the strength in his hands and the skill behind his years through the edge of his sword with each exchange.

He came at me with a sweeping cut from the side which I hardly survived by skirting backwards just in time. The tip of his blade tore my shirt and sliced the skin of my stomach, then I remembered his name.

Had I known that the boy who I let survive and run off into the woods would return after years of brewing his hatred into something as the art of the sword, I would have killed him when his years were few. But here he stood before me, now approaching once more, and I had to accept reality.

Once, he had buckled me with a straight kick to the stomach and hacked me across the clavicle with the blunt edge of his blade. Had he used the sharp edge, I would be in two. He had laughed at me then. My demise was becoming more apparent with each exchange.

The man was quick with both mind and body. When I sliced, he retreated before I could complete the attack, and when he engaged again, his style was different each time. He lunged forwards with a deft thrust of his blade and I jumped backwards.

My heel struck a rock and I fell to my back. I had accepted death right there. He surely would have jumped on me and his blade would have ended me as I lay dazed and helpless, but he didn’t. As I scrambled to my feet, I saw that Akira had moved back and allowed me to stand.

A man of skill not only defeats his opponents, but he does it with confidence. I knew that he had won.

“I accept defeat. Please, take all that is mine - my estate, my money, my power, my wives - but let me walk, and I will leave to never return to this country again.”

I was on one knee. The light of the moon showed the disgust on the man’s face.

“So you are a coward as well as a scoundrel. Stand.” He spat

I stood, and the battle continued. My words had offended him. There was a new kind of speed in his movements and a new kind of malice in his cuts. The man was sparing me. I could tell. He enjoyed the moment, but it had to end. We both knew that.

I swung down on him and he parried my blade, slashed my dominant wrist. I dropped my sword in the grass. I heard the roar of hatred, a sword slice the air, and knew I was dead.

The Guardsman

With heavy eyes I watched the dancing flames of the campfire. My companions huddled around it to cope with the wild snow. We were to defend the Emperor’s son from an enemy we had no information on, but it seemed to be a ruthless army we were against.

A scout approached the fire, it was my turn to take watch. I cursed the damned winter as I relinquished my seat and took my post by the entrance to camp. There hadn’t been a sighting of anyone for months since we posted here, but the Emperor paid well, so we stayed.

We defended a position in a narrow valley between two towering mountains, and behind us was where the Emperor’s son spent his winters. For what reason I never knew. I wasn’t even a royal guard, but a farmer desperate for coin during the fruitless winter months.

I was chilled to the bone and leaning on my lance when I thought I saw a flicker of movement through the fall of snow. To clearly see several meters ahead of oneself was to demand the impossible, but I studied the tree line as well as my eyes would allow.

An arrow was released from the forest, cut air, and I heard a sharp cry from the Eastern guard. Ducking low, I ran to my fallen companion. He was dead.

“We’re under attack!” I shouted.

How had the archer been so accurate in these conditions? The sun had set long ago, and the snow did not permit vision beyond one’s immediate surroundings. How was such a shot possible? Where had he fired from? Where was he now?

A sharp whistle in the air, another yelp. We were starting to panic now. Another arrow struck a man who made a break for the trees.

“Where the hell is he?”

I ran out to the edge of the camp and strained my eyes to see anything. A companion came beside me and I heard an arrow split the air and strike wood. He had missed! But I turned to my companion and saw the blood seeping from his chest, the crimson coated arrow embedded in the post behind him.

Stumbling over my own feet, I ducked behind a low wall and held my lance close to my chest. The few companions who were still alive were keeping low to the ground and behind cover, but it was to no avail.

The sound of a sword leaving its sheath rang through the night and sent a chill down my spine. The chill was not that of cold, but fear.

I heard footsteps behind me and I shot up, expecting a fight, but nobody was there. Someone called out but his warning was stopped short. There was a clash of blades to my right and a yelp, a slashing of fabric and flesh to my left, then I saw him.

The attacker was face to face with my Captain, and I backed away until a wall blocked my path. I froze.

“Who are you?” The Captain demanded.

The mysterious man flicked a thick coat of blood off of his blade.

“It matters not. Years ago you would not have cared for my name, so I fail to see why you should care now.”

I could hardly believe what I saw. The man lunged forwards and seemed to only twitch his wrist, then the Captain’s sword was clattering to the ground and he was laying face down, motionless, in the snow stained with his own blood.

The man saw me, and I gasped. I knew that I stood no chance against him, but I had to try. My family needed me back in the fields. I hoped my years of chopping wood and tilling the soil would give me the strength to hold my own. As I raised my lance and stood before him, he stopped short. He cleaned his blade with a chunk of snow.

“You don’t belong here.” He said to me.

“What?”

“I am hunting the Emperor’s pawns, not real men like you. You are not a guardsman belonging to the royal family, but a farmer who belongs to his own family.
 “How can you tell?”
 “Your hands, and by the way you hold the lance like a hoe. I have worked many years on a farm and I know a working man when I see one.”
 I was stunned, but I lowered the point of my lance as he sheathed his blade. He threw me a coin purse and I dropped my weapon to catch it. He spoke as he walked away.

“Run.”

So I did, and I didn’t stop until my feet found the fields of my home.

The Old Man

The young boy worked in the field some distance off. About a year ago I let him into my abode because he carried a sword which used to be mine. I glanced at the dark clouds rolling in from the West and knew that rain was bound to fall soon. On the deck of my house, I rocked back and forth on my chair while carving my staff. When I had finished, I left it on the chair to be polished another day and set to making a meal for the boy and I. I called to him when all was prepared.

He came to the deck, dropped his tool and made up the steps.

“Clean your shoes, boy. I walk barefoot in my own home and wish not to tread on dirt in here.”
 With his eyes cast downwards, he nodded and cleaned his shoes before removing them and entering the house. He ate hastily. His knuckles were scarred, and he wore the look of a hard man despite being at the age of sixteen. He looked up at me.

“Master, when will you teach me to use the sword? I traveled across swamps and mountains to find you, and I’ve been working your fields for a year now. I practice on my own when the sun sets, but can only teach myself so much! I am beginning to think that you know not how to wield a blade.”

“We shall start soon enough, but to master the blade you must master yourself first, you have long to go. We are building strength and discipline.”

The boy shot up to his feet in anger. His fists were clenched and his muscles tight. When the boy first came to me, he was thin and weak, but I saw in his eyes that he had seen much hardship which had made him a man. After a year of working the fields his chest was deep and his shoulders thicker. His hands held power, but he did not know it.

“You underestimate me! I will prove my worth. Grab your staff master, let’s spar and you will see that I am ready!”

His energy was always his greatest strength. He took hold of a staff that rested against the wall, and I grabbed mine. The boy stormed onto the patch of grass before the fields where I met him. The rain clouds were well above us.

“What do you intend to do?” I asked.

“You will see what I am, and I can stop wasting my time! Everyone has died, and people need to suffer the consequences.”

A tear rolled down one of his eyes, or maybe it was the rain, but I saw something in him then. The boy would spill the blood of many, wether I trained him or not, but perhaps they would be the people who’s blood needed spilling.

He wiped his face and charged forwards. I dropped low and jabbed him in the ribs. He yelped and recoiled, but charged once again. He swung at my head, I parried and swept his feet from under him. The boy fell on his face and got up quickly, then charged again.

Time and time again he lost each exchange, but the boy never stopped despite being battered. The rain had started to fall, and it came down hard now. Akira leapt in the air with his staff raised high above his head. He released a shrill cry as he brought his weapon down over my head. I raised my staff to block and his staff snapped.

I twisted my hip and caught him in the cheek. He stumbled back, cast the broken staff to the ground, and charged forwards with his fists raised. That was when I realized the boy was right, I had underestimated him. There was something driving this boy that I had failed to see.

With a quick flick of the hip I struck him twice. The boy was badly cut and bruised after having spared with me for what seemed to be a half hour, but he had the spirit of no other man I had ever met or taught. Never had he won an exchange with me, but he lunged forwards again with fury and determination in his eyes.

“That’s enough.”

The boy stopped in his tracks and glared into my eyes. Blood trickled through the gaps between his teeth.

“What is it, old man? Are you tired?” He asked.

That was funny, and I laughed.

“No, but I realize that I judged you wrongly. I apologize. Rest well tonight, tomorrow we will practice the art of the sword.”

The Hunter

It was by pure chance that I came across that boy. He was laying face down in the leaves. When I came nearer I saw he had a deep gash across his back. But he lived.

I sank behind a tree, weary of the conflict that was taking place in this region, and intentional about staying apart from it. The boy pushed himself to his feet with great effort and stumbled forwards before falling down again, and picking himself up. He was not bound to travel far in any quick manner, so I scouted the area around us.

Nobody else was around, it was just the two of us. I had taken to the woods a few days ago in search of game, but I slung my bow over my back and focused on the injured boy. I returned to where I last saw him and tracked his path. He had not gone far.

Once again he was face down in the leaves. I hustled to his side and turned him over. He made a futile attempt to push me away, he was weak, but he was alive, for now. His years were no more than fourteen. Aside from the wound on his back, his knuckles were torn and raw. The boy showed signs of malnourishment which most likely had spanned for weeks or a month judging by the little muscle and fat that he had around his bones.

I introduced myself to him, wether he heard me or not, and hoisted him into my arms. The hike back to my hut was long, but I was not going to abandon a dying kid in the woods. He fell asleep before we made it.

The boy woke when I was setting wood into the fireplace. I gave him water which he drank in great gulps, then I gave him more. How long had he been walking through the forest? Why was he alone?

I had mended his wounds on the back and knuckles, and fixed up a stew with the best meat I had. My bow and arrows were hung by the door, and I noted that he would cast analytic eyes to the tool, or the door. I gave him a bowl of stew which he ate with wild intent and quick mouth fulls.

“What is your name?” I asked.

The boy froze briefly, stared at me blankly, and continued eating.

“Where is your family?”

The boy stopped eating and shook his head. I understood.

“The world is cruel. I lost my family as well, my brother to the war and my parents to the illnesses.”

Perhaps the boy didn’t care, but it established a connection between us, a similarity. I swore to myself never to ask the boy of his history again. His eyes ventured to the bow once more.

“Have you ever used one?”

He shook his head.

“Well, the draw on that bow is too heavy for you, so I’ll craft you another one and teach you. You have to earn your living here.”

And I did. While I made his bow and arrows the next day, the boy regained some strength, but he still didn’t speak.

I was lonely and cherished the company. The boy was good with the bow once he learnt, and after a few months of constant practice he was a fine shot.

One night, while we sipped tea by the fire, he spotted my katana leaning against the wall. I had not taken it out in years, but I thought the boy must have been in trouble, and I wanted to be ready if it followed him here. He spoke for the first time since we met.

“Are you a swordsman?”

I was shocked, for there was a strength to his voice that I could not have foreseen by the state of his body. He spoke like a wise and solid man, but a man he was not.

“I was, but there came a time where I could not bear to kill again. I took to hunting.”

The boy sipped his tea thoughtfully.

“Can you teach me?”

“I am afraid not. Long has it been since I felt the grip of that sword, and I fear that I have lost my skill.”
 “But you must. I am forever grateful for your lessons with the bow, but you must remember some of the sword. Please.”

I set my cup of tea down by my feet.

“Why are you so keen to learn?”

“I have a promise to keep.”

He could see that I did not understand.

“I do not expect you to grasp the magnitude of my motives, but do you ever wish to confront the one who killed your brother?”

The boy had stricken a patch of my soul which I had tucked away for the past decade. He was right.

“I do.”

“Then you can understand why I need to learn to use a sword.”

“I get it, but I cannot teach you even if I wanted to. The most I can do is direct you to my own teacher. If he is still breathing, as old as he is, he lives on the other side of the mountains in the farmlands. I will draw a map when you wish to leave.”

I wished he would stay though, but I knew that the boy had an agenda. I leaned back, picked up my sword, and gave it to the boy. He took it with two hands because I offered it with two hands, and I asked for his name before I let the sword leave my grip.

“You will know it in stories to come.” Said he.

Neither of us slept that night. The boy lay on his bed roll and I on mine, and I could tell by his breathing that he lay awake. I admired him. He had a long and hard journey ahead of him and he showed no signs of fear.

When morning came, I drew a map like I said I would, packed him a bag with a blanket and some food, and watched him leave until he disappeared into the thick of the trees.

Akira

The sun was setting when the Emperor’s men rode in on their groomed steeds. Father shot straight up to his feet and made for the window. He knew what those men were here for, because the next thing he did was fetch a dagger.

“Son, take your brother and mother to the bedroom and stay quiet.” Father demanded of my elder brother.

My older bother was five years older than I, and father always turned to him when things needed to be done quickly and without question. He grabbed Mother and I’s wrists when there was yelling from outside. Father came to the window again and so did I after slipping from my brother’s grip. It was the Emperor’s son.

The man who had attempted to block their entrance to the village was struck across the temple, and lay twitching in the mud, his scalp darkened. I saw my father’s knuckles were white from gripping his dagger so tightly. He turned suddenly to me and my brother.

“Remember who I taught you to be. Now, go quickly and quietly, do not live in vain.”

Then he threw open the door and presented himself to the Emperor’s soldiers, dagger in hand. I heeded my father’s advice and pushed away from the window, leading the way out back for my mother and brother. We darted through the shadows of an alley and halted before a narrow lane that ran between the houses.

Other village men and women were running out of their homes, weapons in hand. I peeked round the corner and saw that they were running to my father’s side, who was now struggling against several soldiers.

My mother saw the fight, and he grabbed my shoulder.

“Your father needs me. You and mother must make for the trees. Don’t stop running until you reach the mountains, the emperor’s reach dare not extend to those lands. Go!”

But I stayed, and watched my mother grab a scythe and join the village and my father. I understood that I could stay still no longer. The soldier’s were winning the skirmish, and I grabbed my brother’s hand to make a break for the trees. We were on the verge of sobbing, but we picked up our feet and moved, for father told me that a still man was a dead man.

A flicker of motion caught my eye, I heard the sharp whistle of an arrow, then my brother’s grip slackened. I stumbled and fell. An arrow protruded from my brother’s chest and my vision blurred, but I had little time to grieve. The archer was upon me now.

I rose to my feet to duck away, but he slashed deep at my back. I turned on him and my situation dawned on me. There was no chance of running or hiding from the archer, he had longer legs than I and he had a bow, I had to fight.

The soldier swung wide and hard, I slipped forwards, throwing a high elbow straight and true. It connected hard with his nose and he stumbled backwards, dazed. I cracked him in the jaw with a swing and he went down. I leapt on his chest, driving my knees into his ribs, and brought a heavy fists on his face.

His nose snapped, and blood spewed from his nostrils. I punched him again and again until my knuckles stung and his eyes rolled back. I stood up and saw that my brother had fallen.

He lay face down in the mud, but my father was still having at the soldiers. I had never taken father as a fighting man, although he had taught me, but watching him face three soldiers at once filled me with awe. Villager’s bodies littered the ground, and my father was the last man standing. The emperor’s son dismounted his horse, and when father was distracted, stabbed father in the back.

I yelled in horror, the soldiers turned to me, and I spoke directly to the emperor’s son. His eyes caught mine.

“Scum! I will remember the face of you and your company for the rest of my days and you will suffer for this. This is not the last time you will see me! My name is Akira Tao, and when we next meet, you will have but your wits and body to defend you. l promise that you will taste death by my hands!”

The emperor’s son halted his men, and was grinning devilishly at me. I glared into his eyes and could only hope that what I said would haunt him. SI took off to the trees and promised the universe that I would bring death to that man, even if it costed my life.