Rage Against the Dying (The Secret Apocalypse Book 8)

by James Harden

  “The Samurai will not surrender,” Isamu said; his hand almost upon the hilt of his sword. “They will fight.”

  “I thought I told you not to move,” Goda warned.

  “Why don't you come over here and stop me?” Isamu challenged.

  “It saddens me to see you like this. Drunk and pathetic. You were a Master. You were my Master. You were one of the greatest warriors of all time.”

  “That’s all in the past now,” Isamu sighed.

  “You should’ve joined your brothers a long time ago. You could restore what little honor you have left.”

  Isamu laughed. “Honor? You’re one to talk. Tell me, how many people have you killed for money?”

  “I don’t kill for money. Not anymore.”

  The words of Goda sent a chill down Isamu’s spine. Something was wrong. Something was different. He could sense a change in his former pupil. It had been so many long years since Isamu had seen Goda. In that time, Goda had used his deadly talents to become one of the most feared assassins in the entire country. A killer for hire. Goda used the skills he had honed as a Kensei warrior, the skills that Isamu had taught him over years of relentless training, to forge a name for himself, and a career of death. So successful was Goda in this dark art, he had become infamous. He had become known as the Red Ninja on account of his distinctive blood-red clothing and armor. If you were unfortunate enough to ever see the Red Ninja, it meant that you were seconds away from death. Or so the saying went.

  But that was a long time ago.

  After the Dark Shogun had dismantled the Samurai class and outlawed the use of Ninja, no one had seen Goda. There had been no reports of activity, no assassinations. Nothing. He had simply vanished.

  “So, if you don’t kill for money anymore, then why?” Isamu asked. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here for you. And I’m here for your secrets.”

  “So the rumors are true?” Isamu said. “The Kensei are being hunted? They are being hunted by one of their own.”

  “To kill a snake, you must cut off the head. If we hunt and kill the Kensei, the other Samurai will not stand a chance against us.”

  “Us?”

  “The Shogun. The Emperor.”

  “So you’re working for the Shogun now?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “How many Kensei have you killed?”

  Goda retrieved a scroll from his sleeve. He unrolled it to show a long list of names that were crossed out with blood. Only a handful of names remained. Goda tossed the scroll over to Isamu.

  Isamu saw his own name. Saw that it was crossed out. “Why is my name already crossed out?”

  “Because you are already dead.”

  Isamu held his sword, took a deep breath, and stood slowly. The room spun faster as he faced his former pupil.

  For a moment they stared at each other without speaking.

  Isamu remembered the long hours he had spent training and teaching his young apprentice. He remembered how Goda would question every instruction and everything he was told. How he would argue every point and would never accept that he was wrong. Or accept defeat. His stubbornness was perhaps his greatest strength.

  “I do not want to kill you,” Goda whispered. “You were like a father to me. But it was decided that I was the best suited for the job.”

  “I don’t want to kill you either,” Isamu replied as he widened his stance. “But I will defend myself. I am not allowed to leave this world just yet.”

  Isamu visualized the attack. His sword would fly through the air and strike in one fluid motion, almost of its own accord. He inhaled slowly and made his move.

  He grabbed the handle of his sword, ready to attack. But something was wrong. There was no fluid motion. His arms felt heavy. He struggled to keep his balance.

  “How much have you had to drink tonight, old man?” Goda mocked.

  Isamu stumbled. This wasn’t the effects of alcohol. This was something else. He struck out with his sword in a wild swooping arc. Goda stepped back and the sword sliced through the air. Isamu immediately felt nauseas. His vision became blurry. He dropped his sword. He hunched over and vomited.

  “Quite toxic, isn’t it?” Goda taunted. “This particular poison is extremely lethal. It attacks the nervous system, causing death by paralysis.”

  Isamu looked over at Goda, standing in the shadows as he always did.

  “But this is no ordinary poison,” he said menacingly.

  Goda took a step towards Isamu. He seemed to grow in size and split into multiple beings. Isamu was completely surrounded by an army of red assassins.

  It must be the poison playing tricks on my mind, he thought. I must be seeing things.

  Isamu vomited again. He could feel the poison tighten its grip on his body. He started to lose feeling in his limbs. “Goda,” he said, struggling to talk. “What have you become?”

  Goda stood over the dying Master. “I have become more powerful than any Kensei. I am Immortal.”

  “Immortal,” Isamu whispered under his breath. “That’s impossible. The Immortals were destroyed.”

  “I assure you, it is possible,” he said as he leant down and grabbed Isamu’s hair, pulling his head back. “Now tell me, where is the Sword of Souls?”

  Isamu’s eyes widened in horror. How did he know about the sword?

  “I can end your suffering,” Goda said. “Just tell me where it is.”

  Isamu knew that Goda could not be allowed to get his hands on such a powerful weapon. And yet he felt a strange urge to share this important piece of information with his enemy.

  “Interesting side-effect of the poison, wouldn’t you agree?” Goda said.

  Isamu tightened his jaw, trying desperately not to blurt out the hidden location of the sword.

  Goda continued to revel in the demise of his old Master. “It turns out that this particular toxin acts as both a poison and as a truth serum.”

  Isamu tried to crawl away but he could barely move.

  “So you see old man,” Goda said. “Before you die, you will tell me all your secrets.”

  Ryu

  I wasn’t supposed to be in the village of Aso. Hell, I wasn’t supposed to leave the house at night. If my stepfather ever found out, he’d kill me on the spot. But I can’t help myself, moving through the darkness and the shadows, travelling unseen, it’s like an addiction.

  So I wander the nearby villages at night and I wander the mountainside and the lush forest. I explore the volcano’s crater when it’s not too smoky. I even went to Kumamoto Castle one night just to see if I could scale the towers and touch the moon.

  But at that particular moment, I was in the small farming village of Aso because I couldn’t help myself.

  I had to see the Shogun’s Elite.

  I crouched at the edge of the forest and observed the town. It was a dark night so approaching the village unseen would be easy. I watched the main gates for a few minutes, and when I was convinced there were no guards or patrols in the area, I ran across the clearing, staying low, staying in the shadows.

  I climbed the outer wall and made my way to the roof of the village training hall. I scanned the streets for movement but found none.

  The whole village was quiet. There were no farmers. No Samurai. No women. No children. No one at all. I couldn’t hear any voices.

  The narrow laneways were lined with torches, giving the impression that the whole place was ready for a festival of some sort. But with the Shogun’s Elite in town, I’d thought there’d be more people out.

  Aso was only a small farming village with a small population, but since the war, a lot of Samurai who had survived the fighting had settled out here and started families. This was the main reason for the Shogun’s presence. He had been making his way through the south country, working his way down from the capital, enforcing the peace treaty and the terms of surrender on all the regional Samurai clans. He wanted these old Samurai to hand over their swor
ds. To pledge their allegiance. To give their word that they would never rebel.

  Sometimes the situation would get violent and the local Samurai would fight back. That’s why the Shogun would travel with a thousand of his fiercest and deadliest and most loyal Samurai. They all dressed in black and they were all ready to fight to the death. They were known as the Shogun’s Elite. They were the greatest fighting force in the entire country and I couldn’t wait to see them.

  I made my way to the training hall. I knew it would be empty. The doors were boarded up and the slated windows were all shut. I looked around to make sure the surrounding streets were vacant. When I was completely sure I was alone, I lifted one of the windows and silently climbed in.

  I am always excited to set foot inside a real dojo. And at that moment, I had the whole place to myself.

  My stepfather did not want me learning the way of the sword. Or any forms of fighting for that matter. And he refused to teach me. Whenever I asked him why, he always said because he had seen enough bloodshed to last a thousand lifetimes. And he was worried that I’d get sucked into some hopeless war like he did. Sometimes my stepfather could be a real hard ass. But I knew he was just looking out for me. He had adopted me and raised me as his own from when I was really young.

  I wish I could remember my birth parents. But I can’t. My father was killed in the Great War and I never knew my mother.

  I can’t remember much of my childhood at all. Whenever I try, only flashes appear. I can’t remember how I got the massive tattoo that covers my entire body. And I don’t know how I can do the things I can do.

  The first time it happened, well the first time I remember, I was terrified. I was roaming the streets of Kumamoto, exploring the river and the forest nearby. I was about to pick some mushrooms to take home when I heard a voice from behind.

  “Those mushrooms don’t belong to you, boy. This is our forest now.”

  I froze. I had been taken completely by surprise. I thought I was alone. I left the mushrooms in the ground.

  “Turn around, boy.”

  I did as the man said and I was confronted by three ragged looking bandits. One of which was wearing an eye patch. They were obviously destitute. Former Samurai, turned wandering Ronin, forced into a life of crime. They were all armed with swords even though it was against the law to carry them.

  “We’ll make you a deal,” said the man with the eye patch. “We’ll let you pick those mushrooms on one condition. The condition being that you make us a soup.”

  “Yeah,” said one of the other men. “But if we don’t like it there’ll be trouble, if you catch my meaning. Do you catch my meaning?”

  The men laughed at me.

  I was still in a state of shock. I was speechless. I decided to run. I don’t know why I decided to run. I guess I panicked. I ran along the river, and crossed where the stream narrowed. I ran up the hill as fast as I could. But the bandits pursued.

  They called out to me, taunting me, describing the things they were going to do to me once they had caught me. I have always prided myself on my speed and quickness, and I was able to put some distance between me and the bandits.

  I looked over my shoulder. I could barely see them anymore. It was getting dark and I was convinced I could outrun them and make it all the way back home.

  I should’ve been looking where I was going.

  I ran right into the fourth member of their gang. He blindsided me, knocking me off my feet, knocking the wind from my lungs. I tried to breathe but my lungs wouldn’t work. He placed his foot on my chest and waited for the others to catch up. He unsheathed his sword and placed the tip of the blade against my throat.

  To my surprise, when the others showed up he was angry at them. “What the hell are you idiots doing? This boy is a peasant! Look at his clothes. He is obviously a farmer’s son. He has no money. He has nothing of value.”

  “We thought that maybe…”

  “No. You weren’t thinking.”

  He took his foot off me and I finally caught my breath.

  “Slash his neck,” the leader said. “And throw him in the river.”

  The man with the eye patch raised his sword and I closed my eyes and waited for the blade to end my life.

  I waited. And waited.

  I opened my eyes. I was in the field closest to my two-story house, next to the horse stable. My whole body was shaking from fear and from exhaustion. I was staring up at the glow of a full moon. I was covered in its silver light. I was breathing hard.

  I couldn’t believe I had cheated death.

  Ever since that night I have been practicing in secret. I would travel from one side of the mountain to the other, I would move from the first floor of my house to the second floor.

  I have no idea how I do it or how it’s possible. The only thing I know is that it takes a huge amount of strength and energy and focus.

  One time, when I was feeling particularly brave and stupid, I snuck into the armory at Kumamoto Castle. The reason I did this was because I wanted to see a real katana, one forged by a master sword maker.

  My curiosity nearly got me killed.

  While I was snooping around, a patrol of guards entered the room. If they found me trespassing in the armory I would’ve been executed. No warning, no nothing. They would’ve cut my head off and hung my body up where the townspeople could see.

  I hid behind a large set of armor. I figured all I needed to do was close my eyes and concentrate and think of my house, my farm, the field next to the horse stable, and I would be spirited away.

  But nothing happened.

  I was too tired. I had neither the strength nor the focus nor the energy to escape.

  The only thing I could do was make myself as small as possible and hold my breath.

  I kept telling myself to remain calm.

  I kept telling myself not to panic.

  The entire time I held my breath.

  The guards walked right up to me. They were looking right at me. But through me.

  They lifted the armor that I was hiding behind and carried it out of the room.

  They couldn’t see me.

  I had turned invisible.

  I was a ghost.

  I exhaled slowly and my body came back into view. First my arms and legs. And then my torso.

  I ended up sleeping the night in the armory because I was locked inside.

  Early the next morning I made my escape.

  My stepfather had no idea I was gone.

  The entire day, as I worked alongside him in the field, I couldn’t help but think; when I hold my breath I can turn invisible. I can become a ghost.

  I couldn’t wait for nightfall.

  I snuck out of my room and headed for the forest. And now I practice whenever I can. If I concentrate hard enough and stay calm, I can hold my breath for over three minutes. Sometimes I can sneak up on deer. Sometimes, if I concentrate, and take my time, I can reach out and touch their coat without them knowing I’m there.

  Outside the training hall I heard the sound of galloping horses. I waited for the noise to fade away before I moved over to a rack of weapons. I picked up a wooden training sword.

  I couldn’t help but think that soon, once the Shogun has his way, these wooden training swords will be the only kind of swords left. Apparently once the Shogun collects the katanas, he takes them back to the capital. There are rumors of a Great Hall of Swords hidden in the Shogun’s Palace. The blades cover the walls and the ceilings and the floors.

  Now there’s a place I’d like to sneak into.

  Torchlight filtered in through the slated windows of the dojo as I held the wooden training sword with both hands. I took a deep breath and began practicing the simple moves that I’d seen the Samurai at Kumamoto practicing. I’ve tried to commit as many moves to memory as possible but unfortunately that number is not a lot. I am useless with a sword. I can only hope that one day my stepfather will finally give in and agree to teach me.

 
The wooden sword was heavy and I had worked up a sweat in no time. I removed my jacket and made double sure I was alone. Not just because I’d be severely punished for sneaking into the training hall, but because I don’t let anyone see my tattoos. Even in summer and autumn when it’s hot and humid and the air is heavy I always wear a long sleeve jacket.

  I raised the wooden sword high above my head and brought it slicing down. I then held the sword out in front of my body. Horizontally.

  I focused my concentration.

  And the sword hovered in mid-air.

  This was another trick I’d discovered I could do. Again, I had to concentrate really hard and it practically took all my strength. It felt like I was holding a massive boulder out in front of my body.

  Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, droplets spattered the floorboards of the dojo.

  Outside I heard shouting. The first voices I had heard since entering the village. There was a pause. Followed by silence. Like a calm before a storm. Seconds passed. And then the sound of swords clashing together and the screams of dying men.

  My concentration wavered and I dropped the wooden sword.

  Suddenly the entrance opened at the far end of the training hall.

  Someone was coming.

  I quickly and silently moved back against the far wall.

  I held my breath and concentrated.

  I became invisible. First my hands disappeared, then my arms and legs and my entire body.

  I grabbed my jacket and it turned invisible as well.

  It was the perfect camouflage technique. I was completely invisible. But like I said, the only problem was I could only keep this up for as long as I could hold my breath.

  One of the Shogun’s Samurai walked through the doors and into the training hall. I don’t know why he had decided to check it out, but he had a good look around and he took his sweet time.

  I was running out of air. I could hear my heart beat loudly inside my head.

  The Samurai continued walking towards me. He then found the wooden training sword I had dropped. He picked it up and whipped it through the air, completing a series of moves with amazing speed and dexterity, before placing it back in the rack.