Ryojin- the Bonded Blade

by Noah Ward

  She licked her lips, wished she had a drink.

  “Sworn!” another one of the burlier men blurted. He was stationed at the rear of the carrying pole.

  The statement wiped the smiles off the guards’ faces. Kaz tried to catch Shay’s eye. The girl had her hands and feet bound, and a rag had been shoved and secured in her mouth. She was breathing heavily, probably terrified. Kaz had told her to stay out of sight. This was all her damn fault!

  “What do you mean, sworn?” said Tessho. He looked at the group.

  “We was comin’ back from the hunt--” began the thin man.

  “--She cost us a damn deer!--” another objected.

  “--And we see somethin’ in the forest. Looked like a person. So we follow it. It starts runnin’, then a trap goes off.”

  “She was caught in it--her foot.” The bigger man at the front of the carrying pole jiggled it, which seemed to send Shay into a muffled tirade. “But as we came close, it were like…”

  “Swoosh,” said a skinny one. He made the gesture like a blade cutting through the air.

  Tessho put a hand on his hip. “She cut herself down?”

  “No. No. Nonono,” he carried on. “It was like...it came from nowhere. Outta thin air. Just...was there.”

  Tessho stroked his moustache. “You’re sure?” He took a step towards Shay. The guards balked. “She is of that age…”

  “We all saw it,” said the one at the rear of the pole.

  “Did she say why she was there before you stuffed a rag in her mouth?”

  “Nah, didn’t say a word.”

  “A bit too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?” Tessho said, raising his voice as he turned to Kaz.

  Well, at least he had saved her the trouble of introducing herself at an awkward point in their interrogation.

  She looked around, as if he’d been talking to someone in the empty streets, then started walking forwards.

  “That’s far enough,” Tessho said.

  Complying and holding both her palms up, she caught the guards and villagers flicking their eyes between Shay and herself. The latter had their hands on their weapons.

  “We let you in this village with the explicit agreement you would not cause trouble,” said Tessho. “We don’t ask for your fated kind here, but I have tolerated it, much to the ire of many others.”

  “And I thank you for your hospitality,” said Kaz. “I’ve never caused trouble here and you’ve always been kind enough to allow me into Kirral.” The villagers were murmuring between each other. “Nothing has changed. Just let me and the girl be on our way and you have my word I will never return her again--”

  “Why was she out there?!” one the villagers snapped. “Sneakin’ around. Maybe they were plannin’ to attack us!”

  “With a girl as a scout?” Kaz scoffed. “She was a stranger and I did not want to cause trouble. You have seen my face, not hers.”

  “We’ve never seen your face,” said one of the guards.

  “It’s a turn of phrase,” said Kaz, rolling her eyes.

  Tessho’s gaze wandered to the girl. He frowned. “She’s not from Zenitia.” His eyes narrowed. “No, there’s some in her blood. But why is she with you and where are you going?”

  “I can’t tell you that. I just want to leave.”

  “What--what if she brings more?” said a scrawny villager. “What if she destroys Kirral--”

  “Why would I do that, you fucking idiot?” Kaz snapped. She jammed the rollup in her mouth to stop from ranting at the simple-minded fool. All the times she’d visited, paid them in good coin, more than they deserved, and they would suddenly turn on her because of what they thought she was. Idiots.

  “We should kill ‘em and be done with it,” said another. A few murmurs from the guards seemed his comments were in good company, and the ones with the bows tried to surreptitiously knock their arrows.

  “Hold your tongues!” Tessho shouted at them as he held up his hands to everyone. He looked to Kaz. “Here is what we will do. You will stay in our lockhouse until I am satisfied. You will have your hands shackled--”

  “I can’t do that,” said Kaz. It was a fair, reasonable offer. Maybe if she were not being hunted, she would have considered it. “It is better for all of you if you just let me and the girl leave.”

  Tessho took a couple of steps towards her, causing the men and women in his company to bristle. “This is the fairest offer you will get,” he said under his breath.

  “I know,” said Kaz, bowing her head. She unravelled her hand from the keval’s bridle.

  “Smart,” said Tessho. He gestured for the two guards to approach and bind Kaz’s hands. They were reluctant at first but, perhaps not wanting to show their fear in front of the others, trudged forward with their spears levelled in front of them.

  Scratch another village off the list, Kaz.

  She took one last drag of the rollup and exhaled slowly. The spearman on her right was closest.

  “Hold your hands out--” he began.

  Kaz flicked the smouldering rollup into his face. He instinctively dropped his weapon and clawed at his singed cheek. She was already moving. Breathe. Grabbed the wooden haft of the spear to her left; jerked it up so the butt caught its wielder under the chin with an almighty crack. An arrow whizzed past her head as she spun, yanking the spear with her. Kaz lashed out behind her and whacked the spearman across the head, laying him low. Then, her arm tensed and she launched the projectile towards the parapet. Wood splintered and the woman with the bow yelped, ducking for cover, but it was meant to distract, not kill.

  Two guards with drawn katanas rushed at her, screaming. The villagers stood glued to the spot, having no idea whether to fight the abomination or run, so chose a third option: impotence. Shay’s eyes were wide. She was screaming something.

  Two curves of silver glinted in the moonlight. Kaz extended her right hand, palm open. The peculiar action bought her a second when the guards momentarily slowed.

  A bolt of steel shot through the air. The rough grip of her katana slapped into her palm and she tightened her hand into a fist. Kaz rushed forward, glided across the snow. Her blade arced towards the guard on her left with such force it spun the sword from her grasp. She carried on with her momentum and backhanded the woman across her cheek to send her spinning. Immediately arrested her path. Let her knees buckle and flowed under a horizontal slash. Exploded upwards and drove her knee into the guard’s stomach. Bile jumped out his mouth. She crunched the butt of her blade into the back of his head and he crumpled.

  Kaz was sprinting at Tessho. The man had dropped her weapons, sword ready, legs wide in the style of the Zenitian military, blade held high above his head. She was sure he was an honorable and competent swordsman. Maybe he even practiced every other day when the chill wasn’t too much for his bones. No doubt he relished showing these hicks a thing or two. But Kaz didn’t have the time to find out how dedicated he was.

  Her foot hooked up a clump of dirty snow; she flicked it towards him, his face exposed. He could either back off and wipe his face or swing and let instinct and technique compensate. Tessho went with aging technique. Kaz was already sliding along the snow. Her katana pinged off his blade as she went under his legs and sprung up on the other side. Her left bicep hooked under his chin; she slotted her sword just above it. Slight pressure would slit his throat.

  Kaz swung him around to the others. “I hope I have your attention,” she shouted.

  24

  Adversary

  Pain flared in the middle of Gin’s back and he was flying forwards to skid across the dusty floor. His shoulder crunched against a wooden crate, dislodging a shower of grime and temporarily blinding him as he scrambled to his feet, tanto drawn.

  Getting snuck up on is not the model of a competent kamen, Gin.

  His eyes scanned the darkness, the blade of light stabbing through the warehouse’s window attempting to steal his night vision.

  All was quiet.


  Should he bleed into the darkness? Shogens knew he was knackered and the act might only draw attention to the fact he was sworn. After a painful few seconds of silence, he cursed inwardly and vanished. While some kamen might escape, he refused to afford himself such a luxury. He had a mission and this may well be his only lead.

  Darkness concealing him, Gin waited. It did not take long until his attacker revealed themselves. They stepped out of the darkness behind a wooden support strut. Were they cracked in the head? No one would do something so reckless unless they wanted him to attack.

  Despite his ability to see clearly in near-darkness, his assailant had taken precautions to obscure their face. They wore a tight, hooded robe and a series of rags concealing all but their eyes. Man or woman, he had no idea. They had information and it was his duty to extract it.

  Though it required great concentration, Gin reached within his immaterial form and withdrew a series of small kunai, throwing knives, that materialised within ghostly mental hands. The glints of metal surged from the darkness towards the figure. Of course, they ducked, as intended. The projectiles thunked into the wooden support beam, one shattered a pot and another clattered harmlessly to the floor.

  Gin emerged from the void several strides away from the figure. Their eyes widened, distracted. That was when he yanked his left hand back, calling the bonded weapons to return to their master. Not a killing blow, but one that would immobilize his attacker.

  If they hit…

  His attacker spun in the air like some circus performer, narrowly avoiding the kunai. Gin went from amazed at their foresight to cursing as the figure’s foot somehow booted one of the blades from the air to send it careening for him.

  In a flash he vanished, sailed the dark river, and emerged leaping at the figure, tanto ready to slice their hand. But it was as if this person knew his every move. They nimbly hopped back and delivered a low kick, hard as iron, to the crook of his left leg. Buckling at the knee, Gin was too surprised to defend as the follow-up kick crashed against his temple.

  Though the roof was covered, he still saw stars.

  Crafty tactics weren’t cutting it--they were getting his arse handed to him.

  “Surrender,” Gin spat. “I have more--”

  The figure scoffed and rushed towards him.

  Bullshit wasn’t working either. And he was too tired to keep delving into the shadow. So he attacked.

  The warrior wielded a tanto similar to his. Their blades met in a high attack and they struggled to overpower one another. He got a good look at their weapon; expertly crafted. No mere thug and sworn to boot if he had to guess.

  Teeth gritted, he tried to cop a look at their eyes. As soon as he shifted his head, their foot whipped out to whack him in the groin. Gin shimmied his body backwards so the blow glanced off his stomach, and then swiftly returned the favour.

  His foot caught them square between the legs. There was a grunt of pain but not the level of anguish if there had been something to strike.

  “Woman…” Gin gasped.

  She threw herself out of the clash, flipped the tanto over in her gloved hand so that the tip pointed away from him. She then brought it level with her covered nose, just below the eyes, keeping her free hand a little below. A kamen stance if even he’d saw one.

  “Whose...house do you serve?” Gin gasped.

  Another grunt. She sprinted at him. He knew he couldn’t keep this up. One decisive blow, that’s what was needed.

  Gin allowed her to approach. Held his nerve. Long-range hadn’t worked last time. She’d expected that.

  She slashed. Gin sunk into the floor, appeared behind her, ready to attack, to finish this.

  His figure coalesced into reality. She had followed through with her momentum and was now twisting into a roll.

  Oh...shit…

  She used her shoulders to squirm on the floor like a contortionist dancer. Spinning, her right foot whacked him across the cheek; the left followed and flung the tanto from his hand. Then she was on her knees, still spinning, as her tanto scored him across the stomach.

  Pain held him like a vice, sent an electric shock through his body and yanked his feet from under him. Gin whacked his head on the floor; his cheek was already swelling. Warm blood was trickling from his wound onto the floor. His breathing came in short, laboured gasps.

  Poison. He’d been fucking poisoned! Shogens, how disappointing…

  His fingers attempted to stretch and reach his tanto just inches away. It might as well have been at the ends of Zenitia. Strength sapped, body slowly becoming more unresponsive as time passed, he was nearing an end.

  Is this where he died?

  “Predictable…” said the woman as she sashayed over to his tanto.

  Gin brought one hand to his wound and laid the other on his chest.

  Her eyes narrowed at Gin, then booted his tanto away.

  This is not where Gin died.

  Click.

  Her eyes narrowed. Gin gave her a weak smile and dragged his hand from inside his armour. In his palm was a clay orb that he let tumble across the floor. The woman cursed and shielded her face.

  If all went well, a flash of bright white light should have blinded her temporarily. He didn’t wait to find out. With the last dregs of his mental fortitude, Gin slipped into darkness, travelling wherever the inky pathways could take him before reappearing, exhausted.

  The last thing Gin saw before collapsing was the snow and mud rising to meet him.

  25

  A Bloody Dance

  The bandits attacked with hate in their eyes and steel greasing their palms. Words had failed him; shogens knew he was no diplomat, had a tongue made of lead not silver, but he’d tried. It felt as if he’d been futilely trying for nearly a decade now.

  There was nothing left for it. Saito had arrived at an impasse: let them slaughter him because, in truth, he deserved it, or kill and live to save more lives in the future.

  These bodies would be the last. By the shogens, he swore it.

  Four bandits were dashing towards him, with more waiting behind. Two wielded katanas that would do them little good in the confines of the pub; one had a knife; the other had an iron club.

  The two swordsmen struck. One slashed from upon high; the second made to run him through. Saito swept his right palm outwards: the separation of waterfalls. Dark purple crackled and coalesced in the air; the tanto appeared in his grasp, severed the swordsman’s wrists. His hands and blade crashed to the floor, followed by fountaining blood.

  The second bandit plunged his blade; Saito shifted so his sword speared the wooden bar. Saito slammed his foot on the floor: Mudan’s lance. A steel javelin shot up from the ground and ran the bandit through the gut. Vanished in a bruised haze.

  The one wielding the knife and the other with the club paused for a moment, mouths slack.

  “Kill him!” Ichiro bellowed.

  That steeled their veins. They approached.

  Saito’s right hand lanced outwards: Maw of the tiger. A two-pronged blade appeared in his grasp, hooked the bandit’s dagger, whipped it off to the left where it sunk into the club-weilder’s throat.

  Saito slammed his hand against the man’s chest: piercing the veil. A dagger formed and bit into the man’s heart.

  Four were dead. There were six left, not including Ichiro. They looked at him with a mixture of fear and awe. He’d seen it a thousand times before. One time it fuelled him; now he knew it for what it was: the effects of a murderer.

  “Stop this, Ichiro,” said Saito. “Please.” He held up his palms.

  Ichiro flung his arm out, as if he were scattering a handful of seeds. “Where was that compassion all those winters ago!”

  “I know, I know. But it’s here now. No more killing. Just tell me what I need to know.”

  “Then what, eh?” His eyes were wide, manic. Saito had lost him. “Then you’ll continue to slaughter us?”

  The bandits looked at the man in char
ge. A few hands wavered holding weapons. It stank of blood and shit in the pub already.

  Ichiro was shaking his head. “It is too late for that.” He looked to the bandits. “This is the fated that stole your land and loved ones. This is your chance for vengeance. Don’t stand there. Kill him!”

  All six of them rushed Saito. A great weight piled upon his shoulders. Wherever he travelled, Kagen walked in his shadow, a portent for death and sorrow. Could he truly change if she remained a spectre at his back?

  Only living would give him the answer. His pride would suffer no less.

  Saito stepped forward to engage them: Bloody harvest.

  Purple mist deposited the chain and sickle in his hands. He pirouetted on the balls of his feet and let the sickle fly. The chain snapped taut as it swung in a killing ark, scything through flesh as if it were wheat. Men and women screamed and howled and cursed and begged the shogens. It was quick, gory work. The curved blade hacked off limbs and rended flesh. In seconds, six more corpses lay scattered on the floor of the pub.

  Saito flicked his hand and the weapon vanished.

  “Ka… Kagen…” Ichiro spluttered. Bloody, he had pressed himself to the corner of the pub. The red scoring his clothes and flesh was not his own, however. Of that he was sure.

  Saito regarded the bodies. He should feel something. He wanted to. Remorse, regret, guilt, but there was only frustration. It was not supposed to be like this. It should have been...simpler.

  Just a little further, that’s all, then it will be.

  He took a breath and crossed the shallow river of bodies to Ichiro. The man had shrunk in on himself, as if the floor might be kind enough to swallow him. It was not feeling generous, however. Saito hauled the man up and pressed him against the wall.

  “What...what?” blubbered Ichiro.

  “Your warriors have died for you,” said Saito. “Show them some respect in death.”

  His wide eyes fixed on Saito. The bandit’s breath came in fervent gasps. Saito released his grip.

  “You will tell me what I need to know, do you understand?” said Saito.