by JK Ensley
And so it was, Musashi grew in power and prowess. His name alone spread fear and weakened spines. The only place he would ever be destined for, was the top. This rogue warrior would challenge every man alive until he was either destroyed, or champion of them all.
His strange sense of honor, his code, must’ve come from within, for noble traits had not been taught him. Even with his feral upbringing, Musashi never attacked an unarmed opponent. Yet, he would soon learn to murder children as they slept.
His conscience was dictated by the delusional idea he was doing them an honorable favor. Being a widow or an orphan… it was a dreadfully dark path to be set upon. He knew this fate firsthand. Musashi found that people were all the same when forced into an inescapable corner. They lie down and die, or… they come out fighting.
His noble intentions of sending the innocent ones on to meet their maker—instead of leaving them to a fate he’d known so well—changed into a very un-noble need, when a young man tried to avenge his father’s death at Musashi’s powerful hands. Watching the lights flicker out in the eyes of a child was much harder than stealing their lives as they slept. His giant heart had been calloused until that fateful day. Then… those calluses were covered over by darkness.
And as such, the destiny of Jinn became set in stone.
Musashi claimed his throne by the sword and ruled by the sword. His heart was as hard as the dual blades that never left his side. These days, he kept his skill through sparring alone. Gone were the challengers and opponents of the past. The ninth layer humbly accepted its place at the feet of the one once scorned.
History would never repeat itself on Jinn. Children were no longer used as coin or payment, but their fates had been sealed by their own unrighteous hands. Now, they swallowed their medicine the only way they could… with their knee bent and their head bowed.
Musashi had no heirs, for he had never known the touch of a woman, nor did he want to. Many tales floated on the wind, carried from village to village, about his claiming of virgins and prowess with the widows and handmaids. He had no such desire. Musashi could not miss, nor could he yearn for, something he had never known.
His teenage years were spent alone in the wilderness, his twenties were spent in bloody battle, and now his adulthood could spare no room for kisses in the night or for love to lay seed in a blackened heart. Many maids were drawn to his power and many swooned at the sight of his rugged good looks, but he entertained them not. Musashi was wed to razor-sharp steel and he sought no other mistress.
On occasion, a young samurai would be born with a heart of a tiger and set his eye on the Emperor’s rule. Musashi lived for such things. He would never extinguish the passionate flame during their youth, for he found no pleasure in dueling the weak. He would watch over the newcomer’s accomplishments and even cheer him on. The stronger his opponent, the happier Musashi was when the victory he claimed.
The people of Jinn were of one blood. No variations could be found in color or complexion. Every man, woman, and child was crowned with hair the color of midnight and their eyes closely matched the beautiful lavender growing in every field.
Only Musashi had seen and spoken with the angelic messenger who was absent color. The look of her unnerved the mighty Ronin.
Only a witch could have drained her own darkness and spun silver in its place.
Musashi Yomika dwelled little upon Valencia’s looks, and much more upon her words.
To be Master of Creation would be a great challenge indeed.
*****
Jinn was a beautifully majestic layer. The entire realm was covered with wave upon wave of fragrant lavender. The sun wasn’t brutally hot, and the enchanting night sky boasted two glorious moons. It was a land in which great magic could still be found… if you knew where to look.
Some rare people on Jinn were born with magic, they were called Shinobi. These ancient people were a peaceful clan who chose to live in the mountains, far from the fearful masses of normal Jinnites.
The odd creatures that roamed Jinn could be found on no other layer, nor could their equal. The common creatures swimming in the gray green waters of layer nine would be called monsters and nightmares in all other places. There were no tame animals on Jinn, the people feared and avoided or killed them.
The giant striped cats were as beautiful as they were deadly, and the fire-breathing carnivorous lizards ruled them all. The striped tiger cats and the fire dragon lizards were the largest predators, but not the deadliest. The tiny reclusive purple spiders killed more people on Jinn than all other things combined, and the colorful belly-gliding serpents came in a close second.
The main reason for the staggering mortality stats was the size of the offender. The spiders and snakes hid easily and crept into homes and beds unawares. Their lethal bites were usually defensive and not meant to sate hunger pangs. The larger and more imposing beasts were easily avoided. The villages were established far away from the beastly breeding grounds and overly protected hatchling nests.
Thus the greatest natural resource of Jinn had gone untapped, and the sheer power of these massive beasts remained unharnessed. The magic wielders had tried, unsuccessfully, to lay hands upon a youngling, intending to raise it among them. The gigantic parents had proved the greatest of majestic guardians.
So, as it was, large portions of Jinn were called the badlands and inhabited only by the winged and four-footed creatures of this serenely beautiful layer. This bothered the Emperor. He set his mind upon conquering the beasts of Jinn, the same as he’d already done with its people.
Chapter 3
Valencia
(vah-LIN-cee-ah)
Valencia had been born one of the blessed. She was the youngest child of Valadrog and Vareen, little sister to Jenevier’s beloved Varick.
And as such, all the Vanir doted upon the only little girl running through the streets of Vanahirdem.
Since death was a rare thing among these majestic people, the birth of a new Vanir was a monumental occasion. One can then imagine how spoiled a young child may become in such a glorious place.
Valencia had proven to be the expected outcome of such an environment. She was fiercely loyal to her loving big brother, but only to him. She tended to act a bit superior to anyone she deemed unworthy or a threat to her in some way. As this gorgeous angelic woman grew and developed, no Vanir could remember any before who had been quite so taken with such a great sense of personal entitlement.
Valencia not only expected reverence, she demanded it. Yet, reverence, loyalty, and respect are not traits to be demanded… they must always be earned.
Valadrog spent many worrisome years throughout the millennia searching for and tracking down his rebellious female offspring. Valencia loved nothing more than darting into the clouds and popping out in all the wrong places. Her insatiable curiosity had gotten her into many compromising situations. Even though she was blessed with great charm and an overflowing, vivacious personality, there were a few situations she hadn’t been able to smile or glamour her way out of. It was during those times her loving father had managed to find her and save her wings.
Even though Valencia would kiss her father and praised the salvation of her hide… they were only hollow words, play acting. Valadrog and Vareen knew this, as did all other Vanir.
The truth was… Varick was the only creature in existence who the enchanting young Princess Valencia truly worshipped.
Several hundred years after her birth, she was still considered a teenager by the standards of the Vanir. It was during this time Valencia grew further and further away from her ethereal kin.
The holy Vanir have a purpose, a specific purpose, they all do. And, they are formed for that purpose… created to perfectly carry out their intended duty. Each Vanir was blessed with a rare talent made especially for an explicit job. Valencia was no different. Her talents lay in charm, grace, and coercion. Naturally, her heavenly obligation was that of an ambassador.
Not only was s
he the liaison of the Vanir, Valencia was a prized negotiator and emissary between numerous races and factions upon all layers and throughout various realms of the unseen worlds. Her rare talents had saved many people, many lands, and even many souls.
Alas, her job kept her on the move and too often in the shadows of this vast universe. Her life wasn’t the same as her brethren. Her experiences were different, her perception was different, and her personality was a blended plethora of all these things.
Her task wasn’t protecting innocence, no. Her responsibility was in maintaining balance and order. If innocence or love must be sacrificed to obtain a greater good, then they were sacrificed… simple as that.
One word Valencia refused to accept was fair.
“Fair is in the eye of the beholder and always within their own best interest. My fair will never be your fair and vice versa. Fair is merely a made-up word to describe a made-up world that doesn’t actually exist. Fair is never truly fair. Thus, it negates itself. Speak to me of fair and I shall teach you unfair. Bind fair within your heart and whisper it not upon the wind… lest it reach mine ear.”
So was Valencia—a vital part of a grander plan, yet heartless and unlovable at but a glance.
Was she evil? No.
Valencia is rhyme and reason and pertinence… not compassion and love and favor. Those were tasks placed upon others. She was blessed with the knowledge of outcome. The pain of the process towards said outcome… was irrelevant. Only the ending mattered.
Even though the part she played was an essential one, most Vanir couldn’t stomach her nonchalant air and pointed attitude.
Varick understood and accepted his little sister. Not only because he was her beloved brother, but also because his task was that of a judge. No one could appreciate her importance more than he.
And, so it was, Valencia’s unemotional and pragmatic heart took no pity on Jenevier’s punishment or plight. The truth of the matter was… the ethereal ambassador was extremely resentful of the task given to her.
Watching over this sniveling little girl and her incessant tears tries my nerves. She needs a good dose of reality.
Valencia soon put this bitter thought into action. She was the one who placed the enlightening little book of Jenevier’s life in that discount bin and blew upon the nearby wind chimes.
This is ridiculous, she thought. Now the silly human cleaves to the book I wrote and cries all the more. Its intention was to vividly paint her putrid sins, bring them foremost to her mind—show her the bitter reality she created herself and let her read the truth with her own eyes. Yet, she embraces them—holds tight to her countless flaws. I swear… I believe I hate her.
Chapter 4
Iga
(EE-gah)
He felt the tremors beneath his feet as he entered the mysterious Shinobi village.
“It’s the fire lizards. When the females are in season, the male’s ferocity causes the very firmament to tremble.”
Musashi looked up to see a small boy perched atop a nearby house. He’d gone there to get a better view of the distant Valley of Dragons.
“You can see them from here?”
“Yes, Emperor, and hear them as well.” The boy proudly smiled.
The Emperor hid his laughter. “Is that so? And what are they saying, boy?”
The young man simply shrugged his shoulders. “Mostly, they’re just bragging about who has the sharpest teeth, shiniest scales, or longest wings,” he replied flatly.
“Goemon! Don’t speak to the Emperor thusly.” His mother scolded him as she appeared in the doorway. “Do not take offense, Your Grace, his manners are unpolished.” She bowed low before him.
“Fret not. The boy is fine.” Musashi eased her mind with an understanding smile. “He openly shares his vivid imagination with me. That’s a rare thing.”
“It’s not his imagination, Sire. He is Shinobi, as are we all. His eyes are as an eagle’s and the animals speak to him.”
The melodious voice came from a young maid Musashi had failed to notice kneeling before him.
She took note of the shock that crossed his face. “Apologies, Milord. I should have spoken to you while I was yet afar off.”
He narrowed his eyes, examining the maiden. “Explain your words.”
“I can only be seen while I speak, Sire,” she said.
“How is this possible? I’ve never heard of such a gift as yours.”
“I was born this way. I am… Shinobi.”
“She didn’t tell you everything,” the boy yelled down from the roof. “You can see her when she sleeps, too.”
Musashi looked from the informative lad back to the kneeling maiden, she was gone. He reached to where she had been but a moment ago. A soft hand took his and materialized as her enticing voice once more begged his forgiveness.
“Is there magic in your words as well?”
“Not my words, Milord, my voice.”
“So, you can approach an enemy, completely unnoticed, unless you speak. Yet when you do, your angelic voice is a siren call to their ears?”
“Not exactly, Emperor Yomika. I am invisible, not weightless. If the ground is firm and I try to be quiet, I can. As for enemies, I know not how my voice affects them, for I have none.”
Musashi held tightly to her hand. He felt extremely disconcerted when she vanished once more with her words.
“I think I should like you to speak without ceasing, Maiden. I wish not to bruise your tiny hand from all the squeezing.” His words were spoken in jest, but there was much truth in them.
“Oh no, Sire. You’ll tire of her ramblings sooner than you would think, trust me,” the boy added. “And she’s as loud as a boar elk when she goes stomping through the woods. I can hardly hear a thing when she’s around.”
“Goemon, please.” His mother scolded him but the boy took no note of it.
“What, Mama? It’s true. It doesn’t matter if she’s invisible. Everyone knows where she is by her clumsy feet.”
The girl chuckled and her ebony-framed smiling face was before the Emperor once more.
“And that’s not even the worst part,” Goemon continued. “She forgets we can even see her at all. She traipses back from the bathhouse without a stitch on, and starts humming or singing before she’s inside her room.” He snorted. “Then we’re all forced to look at that.”
“Goemon, enough! Sire, please forgive my children’s atrocious manners and come inside for some hot tea.”
Musashi had to hide his laughter again. “Gratitude for your gracious offer, but I seek words with your clan’s elders.”
“Of course, Emperor. I’ll bring them at once.”
The woman bowed slightly toward Masashi before she hurried off into the village proper. He gave a little squeeze to the delicate hand he still held captive.
“Maiden, your mother speaks true. Your manners really are atrocious. We’ve been holding hands since first we met and I’ve yet to be graced with your name.”
“Apologies, Your Grace.”
She was once again on her knees with her head bowed when she came into view. He gave her hand a little tug, she rose as she vanished.
“Your name?” he asked again.
“Mika.”
Her bright lavender eyes appeared before him as her name spilled over her pink lips, landing firmly upon his frozen heart. Musashi rocked inside as she faded from view.
“Again,” he demanded.
“Sire, my name is Mika. Mika Hattori of the Iga clan.”
Musashi feverishly tried to take in her delicate features, record them in his mind before they were lost to sight once more.
“Again,” he whispered.
“Shall I sing you a song, Milord? No, wait…” She smiled, innocently. “I will recite to you a poem of my people.”
Mika orated her lovely prose. Emperor Musashi was lulled by her voice, entranced by the hauntingly sorrowful story of fated lovers and an ancient battle.
“Sire, the eld
ers have come. Mika, tend to your affairs,” her mother urged.
“No,” Musashi said, a bit louder than he meant to. “The girl stays with me.”
Everyone froze, slowly turning toward the mighty Ronin. He was just as confused by his own demand as the others obviously were.
“Very well, then,” her mother continued. “See the Emperor to the parlor, Mika. Serve his tea as he desires.”
*****
“Why have you graced our humble village, Sire?” Hanzo inquired.
There were four village elders, yet Musashi would’ve guessed their ages closer to his own.
Hanzo Oni was the obvious leader of the group, but each man spoke as he saw fit.
Saizo Katou’s eyes were the palest lavender Musashi had ever seen. The thin, graceful man wore his shouzoku covering from his nose down. The curious Ronin couldn’t help but stare as the man spoke to him through the dark cloth. It was a bit unnerving.
Orochimaru Mori had a pinched face and sharp nose to match his even sharper chin. Musashi tried to glance at his defined features only momentarily, but found he couldn’t turn away from the man. The elder Mori had no eyebrows and the effect was startling. His forehead seemed to cover half his face, with only the deep purple eyes acting as a strange border.
I wonder… When he closes his eyelids, does he have a face at all? Or is it just a blank canvas, coming to life through his eyes alone? Musashi did not retain a single word Orochimaru had said. He was lost in the curious thought of why a man would remove his lashes and brows. Perhaps he was born minus these things. Or perhaps, they are a sign of his magical abilities. I wonder what they are.
“But enough with all this,” Sasuke said. “Emperor Musashi, how can your humble servants be of assistance?”
The fourth man’s words caught his attention, coupled with a little tug on his earlobe by an invisible Mika, pulling his mind from its fascinated musings.
