by James Harden
Musashi
Miyamoto Musashi awoke from a troubled sleep with sweat dripping off his face. His breathing was heavy. He sat up and tried to calm himself.
Musashi looked around and was surprised to find himself in a large, luxurious room. It was still night.
Momentarily unsure of where he was, he stood up to get his bearings. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept indoors.
As he stood, he felt a dull pain in his leg muscles and his memory suddenly cleared. He was staying at the famous House of Fire as a guest of Lord Sato Okinaga. The residence was situated near the peak of Mount Aso, right near the crater of the volcano. He had spent the most part of the previous day climbing to the top.
Lord Okinaga was a powerful warlord. Musashi knew if there was any place in the world where he should be able to get a good night sleep, it was here. Although building a house on the side of a volcano sounded like madness to most people, the truth was, the residence was a fortress.
Musashi rose from his bed, using the sheets to wipe the sweat off his muscular body. He ran his hardened and calloused hands through his coarse black hair and sat crossed legged on the floor. He straightened his back and placed his hands together high above his head. He inhaled deeply as he drew his hands inward to his chest and then exhaled slowly as he extended them outwards in front of his body. He repeated this process as he concentrated on the rhythm of his breathing.
The events of the previous week played over in his head: his journey to Funa Island and the duel with his old friend, Sasaki Kojiro.
Since the fight, Musashi hadn’t been able to get the look on Kojiro’s face out of his mind. It was the look of a desperate man. It was seared into his memory.
Kojiro had asked to meet him at dawn, on the northern beach of the island. Musashi knew why he had invited him out to the secluded location. There could only be one reason.
Kojiro wanted to die.
It had been twenty years since the Great War. Twenty years since the Dark Shogun and the Emperor had outlawed the Kensei order. The reason for the law was simple. The Emperor feared the Kensei. He did not understand their power. As a result, the Kensei, along with the entire Samurai class, were banned from carrying their swords in public, banned from practicing any form of martial art and banned from teaching. But worst of all they were forbidden to serve in battle. The greatest warriors in existence were reduced to nothing.
A rebellion was expected. After all, who would be able to enforce such a law? Who would be mad enough? But there was no rebellion. The Kensei elders and most of the great Samurai clans obeyed the wishes of the Emperor and laid down their swords.
For most of the Kensei it was a fate worse than death. And as a result most of them chose to end their own lives. Seppuku - ritual suicide was the only honorable thing left to do.
Others like Musashi and Kojiro chose life over death. And for the past twenty years they had drifted from town to town as Ronin – wandering swordsmen.
But Musashi could sense Kojiro was tired of leading a directionless life, tired of hiding his true identity.
Musashi had agreed to meet him with the small hope that he could convince Kojiro to live, that he had not wasted his life. As a precaution he'd left his katana and short sword on the mainland as he did not want to be tempted by any weapon.
The morning was hot even though the sun was barely over the horizon.
Musashi jumped out of the small boat he had travelled to the island in, landing in the shallow water. Kojiro was waiting for him on the beach.
As Musashi approached Kojiro he could see that his fellow Kensei had already unsheathed his sword and thrown away the scabbard. Musashi began to worry.
“You’re late,” Kojiro said as he stared out at the water.
“It took me longer than I expected to row out here,” Musashi replied.
The sun continued to rise, shimmering on the edge of the horizon.
Kojiro looked down at his sword. “This blade is over four hundred years old,” he said. “And yet the cutting edge has never been damaged. It is made of the highest quality steel. I have complete mastery over this weapon. Through it I can harness unknowable power.”
Back when the Kensei were outlawed, Kojiro had talked about secretly starting his own school of sword fighting. Even in the Kensei order’s darkest hour he had been hopeful and resilient. But now Kojiro’s hope had run out.
“For twenty years I’ve kept my sword sheathed,” he continued. “For twenty years I've obeyed the wishes of the Kensei elders and resisted the temptation to fight back against this unjust law. But I'm not sure how much longer I can last. Am I supposed to throw it all away? Everything I’ve worked for my entire life?”
“Your life doesn’t have to be ruled by the sword,” Musashi said. “You could find a girl, you could have a son.”
“Is that what you’re going to do? Settle down, deny who you are? Forget everything you know? Maybe we should’ve committed suicide with the rest. I don’t know why I felt compelled to live. I guess I was still in denial. I guess I always thought we would make a final stand.”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
Kojiro slashed at the water with his sword. “Don’t tell me you still believe that crap? We devoted our lives to the Kensei order. And then the elders, the so called Grand Masters just abandoned us. Why? Why didn’t they fight? Why did they surrender their swords?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have any answers. If you brought me here for enlightenment, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Kojiro looked at Musashi. “Where is your sword?”
Musashi said nothing.
“Many nights I have thought about storming the Imperial Palace and killing the Emperor and everyone who serves him,” Kojiro said. “But what would that achieve? It’s hopeless. There’s no point anymore.”
The sun had risen above the horizon. In the distance a hawk hovered in the air, searching for food, watching everything.
“I need your help Musashi. I need you to end my life.”
“The only reason I came out here was to convince you to live. I will not fight you.”
Kojiro laughed. “You are Miyamoto Musashi, the Lone Wolf, the youngest Sword Saint of all time. Fighting is in your blood.”
“I am just a man.”
The sun reflected off Kojiro’s sword. The hawk continued to circle high above.
Without warning Kojiro sliced wildly with his sword, aiming for Musashi's neck. Musashi evaded the attack at the last possible moment.
“It was unwise of you to come here unarmed,” Kojiro warned. “If you will not willingly fight me, I will force you.”
Musashi crouched low and then launched himself high into the air, somersaulting to the far side of the row boat. Musashi knew he wouldn't be able to evade Kojiro for very long; eventually he would need to fight back.
“Do it,” Kojiro pleaded. “I need you to set me free.”
Musashi picked up one of the oars in the boat and gripped it tightly with both hands. He walked slowly through the knee high water directly towards Kojiro.
“Please,” Kojiro repeated. “Set me free.”
Musashi nodded. “As you wish.”
Kojiro smiled a weary smile and seemed to relax like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He bowed his head slightly, acknowledging his fellow Kensei.
Musashi stood his ground and raised the oar above his head. As Kojiro charged he brought the wooden pole slicing down a split second before his opponent could react, cracking his skull wide open.
Kojiro dropped to his knees. Musashi counted the heart beats in his head. After what seemed like an eternity, Kojiro collapsed in the shallow water. Blood flowed from his skull turning the calm water red. Musashi brought the oar slicing down one more time and finished off his old friend.
The sound of distant tapping brought Musashi’s mind reeling back to the present.
A voice spoke through the door. “Lord Musashi…”
Musashi
wasn’t used to being called Lord. The person on the other side must be a servant, he thought.
“Lord Musashi,” the servant continued. “You have been invited to sit with Lord Sato Okinaga.”
At this hour?
Musashi was honored but he was totally exhausted. “Please tell Lord Sato that I am not feeling well. But I'll be able to speak with him tomorrow morning.”
The servant persisted. “I am not sure that he can wait ‘till then.”
Musashi wondered what could possibly be so important. “I understand that I'm Lord Sato’s guest but I really…”
The servant interrupted Musashi by sliding open his bedroom door. The servant was kneeling, his face pressed against the floor. In front of him was a piece of paper. “My orders are to bring you to Lord Sato. Please, you must read this.”
Musashi picked up the piece of paper. He did not believe what he read.
Ito Isamu is dead. The Immortals have returned.
