A frozen pall of ashen clouds robbed the world of its
colors. A torn pale-grey body marooned amidst dark splashes. Utter stillness. The
windless sky left the leaves unstirred.
As she surveyed the small clearing of the cave mouth, the
blackened remains of a recent fire, and the ripped corpse… Takeko wondered if
they had crossed the river Sanzu and had wandered into the realm of the dead where neither she nor the two living
men by her side belonged.
Ingen approached the body and poked it,
"Huh, this guy is still alive! Kinda..."
"In that case I shall interrogate
him." Teruro said with a frown.
"You do that... While you do, I'm a
gonna have myself a look around."
 |
| Japanese flint and striker |
Takeko watched Ingen relight the fire
using his hiuchi ishii, grab a brand from
the fire and head into the cave. Meanwhile Teruro set about interrogating the
body. This much she had already seen. A sad tale quickly coming to its
conclusion, one that ultimately had little meaning. It was a brief dispassionate affair, a few
short pointed questions, a flashing blade punctuated with a decapitated body.
Before the flash, the last whispered venomous
words of the dead man, "Cur of your corrupt Tokugawa masters, at least I
die having tried to fix our rotten world."
Teruro's movements were marked with
clear respect as he bound the head in the cloth he had brought for that
purpose. Though many would qualify the mystic's actions as immoral, Teruro
understood the amoral nature of duty, indeed he had lived his entire life
walking two overlapping paths, that of duty and that of the blade, neither of
which ascribed to a standard definition of morality.
He frowned as he watched Ingen saunter
out from the cave, a small weighty-looking cloth bundle tied to his scabbard
that was brazenly slung over his shoulder.
Ingen chuckled "Wow, you need not frown
so, oldster."
The frown deepened "I see you lost
your backwaters accent in that cave."
With a shrug and grin Ingen replied
"All things have their time."
"Indeed they do, and now is the
time you will answer my questions. Who are you and what is that you are
carrying?"
The grin widened "Ohoho, is this an
interrogation? I reckon I'll be more fun than your previous subject." He
said pointing to the wrapped head that Teruro had carefully put down out of the
way.
"Answer the question."
Teruro's body had subtly shifted its position and his hands seemed to casually
rest near his belt, a subtle but certain threat.
Somehow, Ingen's posture seemed to
become even more relaxed, he laughed and pulled the small bundle of the end of
his scabbard. He seemed to amuse himself by tossing the bundle up and down in
left hand like a child's ball. "Well now... Me? I'm nobody."
He grinned and dropped the bundle in the grass by his feet, "And what was the other question?"
Takeko observed the two men, resignation
and weariness stamped across her face. She knew that the events that had passed
had all led inevitably to this point in time, she had seen it. She also knew
that the outcome was open. She knew that Teruro’s mission was twofold: recover
the stolen gold if possible, and the mystic’s head at all costs. Ingen’s
motivation however was less clear, overtly he seemed motivated by greed, yet even
his greed was ambiguous, seemingly affected. Ultimately, she wondered if he might
not merely be in search of entertainment.
 |
| Jodan stance |
Teruro adopted the jodan
(ascending/high) stance. His form was flawless. His fighting was that of a
veteran craftsman, practiced to the point where it has become more than a
second nature, to the point where it has become a part of his true nature. Not
a movement wasted, nothing superfluous, an illustration of mastery.
Ingen’s stance, on the other hand, was unlike
anything Teruro had seen before. He wouldn’t stand still he kept moving, and it
looked almost as if he weren’t ready for combat, as if he just happened to be
holding a sword, but for no specific purpose. It seemed sloppy to Teruro.
Although Ingen had taken care never to
reveal the true form of his fighting style Takeko had already seen it, she knew
that his fighting was instinctive and constantly changing, a reflection of his
tremendous innate talent and exceptional physical abilities, his fighting was
mercurial and ever shifting, he fought like the sea, unpredictable, wild and beautiful…
a counter-point to Teruro’s jodan stance, which was an ideal of formal kenjutsu
(sword fighting) made manifest, massive power that is quiescent before exploding
into action, the stately power of a volcano with all of eruptive force.
Most duels end in a matter of seconds, but
sometimes, when two fighters who have both reached the highest levels meet, the
resultant battle is matched only by the superlative reality of epic tales,
indeed such battles are the fodder from which such tales are derived.
Back and forth the battle went, the
lives of both combatants crystallized in a single blazing point in time, and
for them they existed out of time… But finally, both bloodied, battered, and exhausted,
they paused. Abruptly the explosive and violent tension between the two men
vanished, or perhaps merely transformed into something completely different. Ingen
laughed brightly as he sheathed his blade.
“Partner, I gotta hand it to ya, this is
everything I was hoping it would be. But I reckon it’s over. You can barely
stand anymore.”
“Hmph… Neither can you. Come at me, and let’s
finish this.”
“Well, I reckon I could do that… Or…” As
he talked he had been positioning himself so that, abruptly his hand flashed
down and he grabbed the bundle of gold at his feet. With a quick chuckle he
bowed mockingly and made to run away.
But Teruro was ready, he dashed forward
and sprang high in the air. His sword flashed and the sound of metal against metal
rang in the clearing. Ingen’s blood splashed on the grass. A shiny piece of
metal sprang up above them, spinning and catching the first glimmers of sunrise and looking strangely like a star, falling to earth next to Teruro’s feet.
Ingen roared in pain, but escaped
nonetheless and vanished into the shade of the trees. Terruro stood alone in
the clearing, still holding his now broken sword at the ready. Finally, with
obvious difficulty, he picked up the broken piece of his sword and put both
halves in his scabbard. Although Teruro was bleeding from several grievous
wounds and his face was pale and drawn, he walked slowly and straight backed,
to the edge of the clearing where Takeko stood.
“I die as I have lived, yet I cannot die
in peace unless...”
Takeko
sighed softly and answered the unasked question, “Of course.”
Teruro smiled wearily, “That is good, thank
you.”
Finally, he sat down against the trunk
of a tree and seemed to just fall asleep.
Years later wild white lilies would grow
there, where Takeko buried the old warrior’s at the foot of the tree where he slept
the final sleep.
Something about Gwen’s personality afforded her her own view of Paris. Tall dirty gray Haussmann buildings with their decaying splendor hobnobbing with faceless gray post war buildings. Clusters of feral young men with predatory eyes. Pairs of painstakingly dressed women, rail thin and tiny. The smell of expensive perfumes and human waste.
