The Shadow of Issu

Thicker than Blood

The scent of incense filled the air, a small space opened to where a small black case, gilded with gold, was placed on a patch of neatly folded linen as white as snow. Hase sat with legs folded before the incense burner, in his hands, a black sheathe that housed an old Kuratashi.

He placed the weapon before the case, and all was befallen in silence.

“When is he coming home, grandfather?”

Hase turned, and his eyes, blurred, and the other bearing a scar that began on the tip of his left eye coursing up to his ear where a piece had been wedged off. His left eye was filled with a clouded white.

“Is father still not coming back?”

“My dear, your father is searching for something… something that cannot be found easily, and until he finds it, I am afraid that he cannot come home yet.” He spoke.

“What is it, grandfather? Will it help stop mother from crying?”

“Perhaps, my dear. Perhaps it will do that.”

The girl walked to her grandfather. A cotton doll was in her hands and she extended it to her half-blind grandfather who sat before her.

“Why do you give me Po?”

The girl answered first with a smile. “I cannot always be with you grandfather, and I do not see you cry, so I must always be by my mother’s when she does. That is why you can have Po instead, so that when you do cry, he will always be there for you, when I am not.”

Hase reached his hand, thinly, pale, and frigid they were. He received the doll with one hand and suddenly the robe of his right sleeves folded back. He caught it and stretched it back to his wrists. Any more than that and she could have seen it. His arms held many scars, many that were mementos of war that transpired upon their land, many that he did not want his granddaughter to see. If she would see it, there will be no doubt that Hina would ask of it, and Hase was not ready to speak of the truth yet.

He would not want to lie, for lie breeds only more lies. If he were to speak to Hina of it, he would have to tell her in the right moment, and in the subtlest of manner. She might not have even known that her father was the reason why he was talking to her right now.

“Thank you.” Hase spoke.

The young Hina smiled and skipped happily outside the room. She once did tell Hase that she could not bear the smell of incense, it was too strong for her so she said.

As he was alone in that heavily scented room, the events of that day resonated in his mind with ravenous intentions. Rain, falling cold and unforgiving on what was left of them.

The event occurred two decades before the rebellion of Teyan, a historical uproar that came to be known as The Seven Year War. It was a ferocious and bloody conflict against Issian warlords that sought power, driven by a motive to reshape Issu and overthrow the capital. Every region, and every city, were targets of these warmongers, and so during the Seven Year War, to protect what each had owned, unlikely bonds were forged. Enemies turned into dubious allies, united to only one purpose—stopping a common enemy.

When the Ukumari decided to capture south of Icathia, their motives were all made transparent in Issu. With each passing victory their strength grew, and so did their ambitions. They did not wait for another year to cross the land bridge and Issu was engulfed in total bedlam.

Many said that the Ukumari came from beyond the sea, but until this day, no one completely knows the truth.

It was during that day, after a failed ambush, that the rest of the Shin were wiped out. Only about fifty survivors narrowly escaped to the forests, all ending with the Ukumari unit purging survivors and villages in that portion of land that the Goundans lost control after a grave miscalculation in strategy. Fearing for another, they traced their way towards a remote gorge that only a few knew of that time, a shadowy ravine known as the Hundan Pass.

The Hundan Pass was a massive winding canyon stretching far for miles and miles and shaped by large stone structures and plates, each side almost eight stories high. There was a legend that circulated around these deep ridges, but most of these men did not welcome superstition, and so they walked on.

The echo of rain pattered against the hard ground, reverberating off the walls like deafening monotones, and the howling of the wind sung like eerie wails as they passed through the holes and the arcs around them. These twisted misshapen, and almost cavernous structures, were carved by both time and wind for countless millennia.

As the men shambled wounded, hungry, cold, and shivering—Hase’s spirit was unbroken. He could no longer tell what time of the day it was, but he knew that it was only a matter of hours when they finally reach a Goundo regroup battalion. Given comfort by this idea, the general of Goundo’s first Shin led his men on.

In that mist, a dark figure shows from a distance. With eyes weary of travel, Hase’s men cheered, but he knew something else was terribly dredging.

He was right. One of his men took an arrow to the chest. The man fell down, blood seeping into the puddle where he lay dead, eyes devoid of life as they swirled back. His men took out their Kuratashi, but with each one taking out their swords, another fell on the maroon soaked ground.

“Kumu Hiru!” Hase screamed.

The mist hazed their sight even from a few meters away. They circled, backs to each other, taking on the Kumu Hiru, the stone stance of the River Blade. It blocked a few arrows, but the fog had greatly deterred the technique, and some of them met their end beside their brothers.

The clashing of steel of the arrowhead against their blades rang as each shot became more familiar. The arrows stopped, but Hase knew something was already aloft.

Above them, Ukumari spearwalkers descended. The men split, but many of those that did not move fast enough were impaled from where they stood.

“Damn it!” Hase cursed. “Stand ground, stay in Kumu Hiru, and watch from above.”

The spearwalkers surrounded them, towering over them as they suspended themselves upon spears pierced on the ground. They looked like monkeys, but draped in a deep dark red from head to toe, bearing no shame to their intention to kill the survivors there and then. They wore masks smeared with the sign of their bloodline— a white eye across a visage of pure black. He could hear them, whispering in language that he has not heard before, some were of Issian tongue, and the tone had made it clear that they were speaking in contempt.

Hase made sure no one knew of this pass. How could they have found them?

They were only a few of them left, less than a dozen. The closest person he knew from the group, Yoshida, was beside him, had taken an arrow to his shoulder. Still, he held his ground. Feet planted on the ground and two hands gripping on the handle of his Kuratashi—his Kumu Hiru in perfect stance.

“My lord,” He called. “By your call, what shall we do?”

Hase scrutinized their situation. There were about ten spearwalkers, five from each side, that cornered them. Though fairly from a far distance. Even in small numbers, they probably reckoned that the Goundo Tenshando was not a force to underestimate. With glaring eyes and hands upon the shaft of their deadly weapons tightening their grip, expecting, it was almost as if they were waiting for them to make the first move.

“We fight. Muzi Hiru— get as close to them as you can, and strike by the neck. Swiftly and without fail.”

“With the length of those spears and invisible arrows aimed directly towards us, I doubt it would be an easy task.”

“It will be impossible… but we will not die today.” Hase answered him, and smiled.

“I have never doubted you once, lord Hase.”

Hase, shifted the sword from his side to face the point to the front, aimed towards their adversaries as the blade was suspended to his ear. “Muzi Hiru!” He shouted, and the men took the same stance.

When Hase shouted those words, the Ukumari began to flinch from their standing positions, eventually two charged to the Tenshando. Swiftly, they evaded the strike of their spears and lunged their swords straight to their necks with precision and speed. The blade pierced through that unarmored portion like slicing through thin paper, rupturing the jugular in a mere blink of an eye as red sprayed over them like the rain.

The two fell and instantly, and the rest of them followed.

Though a few of the Ukumari were unpredictably skilled, initiated to the River Blade swordsmanship. They eventually found methods to feint the attacks of a few of Hase’s men. Once a Tenshando lost footing, they ended them from where they stand through a sudden and rupturing strike to the heart.

It was a quick battle, a few who failed to strike down an Ukumari but survived managed to retake their stances, and a series of fast blade work against highly evasive techniques was instantly displayed in full capacity. The mist turned red for some time, thick in warm blood. It went on for a while, and subsided, along with the sound of clashing steel as all came to a stillness.

The scene ended with ten Ukumari spearwalkers lying dead before the feet of the Goundo Tenshando, or what remained of them. Before any of them could catch their breaths, more emerged from the mist.

“Lord Hase…” One of them dropped to his knees. His name was Chihiro. Hase remembers well of the man’s ordeals. He was a father of two whose wife died a year ago. Chihiro enlisted to the Goundo First Shin after the Ukumari threatened to burn his old homeland in the far east to the Katen shores.

“Stand up, Chihiro… Stand up. This is not how we die.”

The sky was dark and ashen. The rain did not stop, and the Ukumari met their ends by the blade of the five Tenshando who held no fear in their eyes.

Their muscles ached and their breaths were chaffed and heavy. They had to find a way out of this, and fast, before the limits of the body takes its toll on them.

A gaunt and tall figured emerged from the thickening fog, his eyes were set ablaze with the color of fire— a Blademaster of the Ukumari. His sword was larger than the Kuratashi, and heavier, for no ordinary man could seem to lift such a heavy piece of steel. But the blademaster took it out from its sheathe like it was nothing. Its length was terrifyingly longer, and the edge seems to gleam with a disturbing taste for blood as it reflected the color that cloaked the walls and the puddles around them.

Ukumari warriors emerged from behind them. The rain continues to fall.

Yoshida looks up, and his eyes saw a way out.

“My lord, above us.” He whispers, the Blademaster taking its time to relish the dread of his prey.

Hase followed his eyes and he saw it, too—A part of the canyon was a pile of massive boulders held in place by an arc above them, they must have chipped from a higher portion of the wall during several earthquakes and collected there for time knows how long. Seeing it, Hase instantly knew what Yoshida was planning, there was only one more thing to consider.

How were they going to destroy the arc?

Then his eyes shifted forward, the sharp, heavy piece of metal shining in the hands of the Blademaster. A force strong enough to carry a momentum can destroy even stone.

“Yoshida, you take the men and go south as fast as you can, do not stop to find me.”

“My lord…”

“Understood?”

The young Tenshando’s eyes were filled with sadness, but Hase placed his hand on his shoulder. “We will again share a drink someday, my friend.”

“I will look forward to that, my lord.”

The Blademaster placed his hand forward, and dashed in a speed almost impossible to be performed by an ordinary swordsman. Hase seemed to be his target, and his blade swung so strong as to render the air of rain for a while. Hase managed to evade that powerful swing, and just when he was about to reposition himself, the Ukumari vaulted and used the weight of the blade to whirl it in the air and carry the blade to strike him on the ground. Hase sidestepped, as the sword dug into the stone and split it as if they were but pottery.

Hase smiled, knowing that it could.

The Blademaster’s technique was explosive and powerful, and though the Ukumari moves fast, he was actually using the weight of the blade as a way to deliver his attacks. It was a matter of conserving his strength for when he actually needs it, like redirecting the blade as soon as it lands, which explains the first set of moves that Hase has managed to dodge by just a hair’s breadth.

While the battle went on, Yoshida led the remaining back where their swords met the Ukumari warriors behind them. The blades clashed and sparked, even in the rain, with the eyes of those heretics concealed in a visor that bore the same symbols. They fought like beasts, fast and reckless, as if life had no value as they charged to the Tenshando with a drive that could not be explained.

But Yoshida’s men emerged victorious, the blade of his Kuratashi dented and almost broken.

He looked back, and he saw his lord battle that monstrosity.

Hase, sheathed his blade, but his hand was steady on the grip. He mastered his footing and eye to catch the blade in midair so he can find a way to evade it, and predict its next direction, he had to keep his Kuratashi sheathed to maximize his movement. The Blademaster spun, swirled, and struck with such force it shook the very ground they stood upon.

The Ukumari performed a leap to swipe his opponent down, but Hase quickly turned, took out the blade to struck the Ukumari by the heel.

The Blademaster grunted, and swung the sword behind him, Hase bent back and dodged the clean swipe where it flew and struck to the pillar that was holding up the arc. Hase’s movements lead them near the boulders, and when he found a way to circumvent the attack and lead the blade towards the stone pillar, it successfully shattered into pieces as the boulders came crashing down to them.

As Hase expected, it created a blockage where it flattened the Ukumari beneath it, whereas more had come from the mist on Hase’s side. He steadied the blade forward in his hands, blood streaming from his forehead down to his chin. He grinned, knowing his men were beyond that mountainous pile of stone.

On the other side, Yoshida looked at that stone wall and moved forward, when suddenly the atmosphere grew cold and malicious.

One more deterred their way—a shadow that bore a woman’s figure.

Filled with grief and the desperation to escape, Chihiro stepped up, and took out his blade. “I had enough!”

“Chihiro, wait…”

In the blink of an eye, the woman tipped the hilt of her sword and the sound of wind shifted in the flash of a second.

Red pooled below Chihiro’s feet, and with a choking sound, his head fell, rolling between Yoshida’s feet. Terror quickly engulfed his eyes.

The enemy revealed herself from the mist. Dread overcame the rest of them as each nearing step turned their soul into ice. Yoshida had never seen anyone possess such an aura, a malicious and petrifying air that even to look at her was enough to leave one’s spirit asunder. He could not point out what made her so intimidating—was it her skill? The swiftness of such technique that even their eyes could not catch her drawing her blade and severing Chihiro’s neck. It could be, but something else concealed under those piercing eyes filled their bodies with dread, something ancient, something born of evil itself.

 Her eyes were dead and empty, dark shallows bore below them. She breathed in a long, extended breath, and exhaled a somewhat disappointed sigh. She began to whisper something and suddenly the clouds grew darker, stirring, becoming more and more menacing.

The wind blew fiercer. Yoshida looks up, and a swirling assimilation of darkness began to form above them as hints of lightning flashed from it.

Then with such speed, she quickly drew her Kuratashi and placed the tip of the blade to the ground, and the voice of thunder shook the heavens.

She spoke something, and instantly lightning crashed to where the stone wall formed.

Everything beyond that was a hazy memory. Hase fell face-first, his left eye was bleeding, his Kuratashi has been shattered by the force and a piece flew striking his eye as it swiped across his face and cutting his ear. The stone wall behind him perished into ash and smoke. He remembers Yoshida, covered in blood, panting, as he hoists him up as the two runs to the wall of the canyon. He sees it, a small opening, Yoshida must have remembered, and so did Hase.

The Hundan Pass was above a rushing underground river that opened at a cavern at lower ground.

The lightning was powerful enough to strike a hole in that hollow wall and opened another opportunity for them to escape. It led on to a steep way to utter darkness. Yoshida lifted Hase over that small incline before the cavern that hid it in plain sight.

“Chihiro… Zuru… Where are they?”

“My lord, crawl.”

“Where are they, Yoshida?”

“Gone! They are all dead— She… S-she killed all of them. She brought down that lightning, Hase. We cannot defeat her.”

Hase stares at his terrified countenance. All hope was lost in them.

“Give me your hand,” He extends, freedom awaiting them from the dark abyss below.

Contemplating the choices left, Yoshida unwraps his Kuratashi’s hanging cord. “If I use it one more, it will surely break.” He lends the sword to Hase. “Yours has already shattered, my lord. I hope this will come to protect you when the time comes.”

“What, what are you planning to…”

Yoshida turns his head back, and draws his Rakatashi, a smaller blade that all Tenshando should bring.

“I will buy you enough time.”

He turns his back and that was the last of what Hase remembers of Hundan Pass. He dropped to dark waters and floated for hours until he eventually saw daylight at the mouth of a cave.

The evening birds sung their songs, and Hase was taken back from his reverie. He looks at the sword that he placed before him. The incense stick burned away, and the air was still heavy with the scent. Hase stands up, picks up the doll and walks out the room. He closes the paper door, leaving behind that memory that he just recently relived.

He turns right where he sees his granddaughter wait for him, hands behind her back, standing there and playing with her toes.

“How long have you been there?”

“Not long ago, grandfather. Mother wanted me to call you for dinner.”

“I will be returning to the Kuzuboki, Hina. I am afraid I cannot stay.”

“Oh…” The little girl replied. “Will you bring Po with you?”

Hase smiled and knelt before her. “Do you want him back?” He asked.

The little girl turned away, pouting. “No, no, it is okay.”

“I once had a friend like Po, he was always there beside me. I know how it feels to have such a friend taken from you, that is why…” He extended his hand with the doll to Hina. “You should have him back.”

A light shone on her face, and she took the doll without hesitation. She then proceeded to hug her grandfather with the tightest one she could offer. Hase was caught surprised when his granddaughter flung her arms around his neck, he could hear her starting to cry.

“I miss father.” She whispered.

Hase did not know what to respond. He could not imagine how she would be stricken with such grief at such a young age if she had known that her father was no longer. Then an idea struck him, something he could do to protect Hina even if he was not there.

Hase knew that old age will eventually come to him. He knew he would not always be there to protect Hina and Nizu, and so he decided—He was going to teach her the Ways of the River Blade.