The Shadow of Issu

The Capital of the East

“That’s a three, I win.”

The swordsman raised a brow, picked up a stone and threw it towards the river. It skipped a little over seven times.

“Impressive.” Akane raises her chin. This had only been his third attempt.

Akha answered with a somehow pleased look. Lately his expressions have taken almost a likeness to the leaves that had fallen upon the soft ground in late fall of an early winter— a noticeable vibrancy that shrouds upon an almost aberrant truth. The truth of a shadow that walks towards his redemption, amongst the living from which he was not to share the same ground with.

 Akha knew of how grievous his acts were before, and there is not a day that passes by that he is reminded of this failure, simply by the presence of a sword strapped to his waist; the sole reason why he had abandoned it so long ago. Still, he takes every step towards the capital unquestioning, in his mind brewing where he had stolen such an unburdening sense of acquiescence.

His eyes shift to his left hand. They had involuntarily rested upon the mouth of the sword’s sheathe, ready to draw the blade come any moment.

He remembers now. This was no absolution—he knew that there was none. Issu simply wants his blade, and barters the safety of his master for it.

“Master Akha, did you see that?”

He looks to Akane her composed posture now displayed like a child who had first played how to skip stones.

“That was a seven!... though after a few dozen times… but evidently a seven! But then, it is a tie. We have no guidelines for a tie…”

“How far is Ogana?” Akha digressed.

As if from a trance, Akane’s closed her eyes, stood straight up to form her posture, and cleared her throat. The same composed and graceful woman that Akha had been for three months had suddenly taken form and glances to him with a shade of color taken from her eyes, as if going dull.

“After we cross a bridge that overlooks a cliff, we will see the Imperial Castle, the tallest building of all Ogana.”

The swordsman nodded. He picked up a stone and threw it at the river, this time, Akha had only skipped the pebble twice. Akane smiled, raised the sleeves of her dress up to her mouth, and tried her best to hide a chuckle.

By midday, a bridge that was painted the color of maroon was set upon a crossing river that opened to a waterfall, which, as Akane had described, overlooked towards the deep northern valleys. An array of autumn trees that shed their leaves welcomed them, and just beyond their canopies, a golden sparkle caught the eye of the swordsman. Draped by clouds at some far distance, a tower peaks over these misty streaks.

“Do you see it? The Imperial Castle?”

Akha nodded, and the walked the bridge, the sound of a rushing river filled their ears as their eyes were occupied with copious colors of autumn.

“We are nearing the rice fields just by the outskirts of Ogana, it would be best that none of the Tenshando be able to distinguish you.”

Akane takes something from her sleeve, a long elongated brown cloth, similarly to a scarf, but longer, and also noticeably larger in width. She gave it to Akha, who received it with a look filed with a dozen questions.

“Remember the merchant at Nishin? Yes, I bought it from him. I most definitely did not pick it off from a corpse.”

Akha remembers the bandits they encountered at northern Nishin just a few days ago. He once again had the opportunity to polish his blade with the blood of his adversaries, but lately the frequency has become rather unusual. Bandits were not uncommon on the main-roads from the capital to the south, but when one encounters five groups in a span of a month, it might hint a shift in the tides of war. Perhaps these raids have been too common that traders and merchants often pass through diversions or even secret roads just to avoid the mainland tracks. Villages have been reduced to ghost towns in recent time, and only those that are nearer to the capital, that are under the jurisdiction of the Tenshando, are guaranteed protection throughout the days of constant war. Raiders, bandits, and even monsters are a constant threat that might attack at any given moment.

Luckily for the townsfolk in a watering village down southwest Nishin, Akha and Akane were around the area. For the thugs that were ready to ransack a village, not so much.

Akha nods, and ponders upon that time. He remembers his fight again with Nuro. Despite the time that passed— the memory was still fresh and blazing. It was as if Akha had remembered every swing that each had intended for each other. Even the pain from his eyes and the shortness of his breath from the noxious gas of Wakasuburo’s Tensa-Ki was felt.

 The extraordinary clashing of their swords had left a mark in his mind, and his victory made it even so. He knew Nuro had every opportunity to strike him down, much known to the skill he had displayed during their fight, but he was careless with his attacks. This reckless, though astonishingly precise, system of fighting evidently lead to his defeat as a swordsman. His display of the weapon’s power and his raging tenacity was something that Akha read even before Nuro used his Tensa-Ki to incapacitate him. He had control of defense, whilst Nuro did not, and so had cost him his arm.

In comparison to the bandits at Nishin, Nuro was almost god-like.

“What else did you… buy at Nishin?” The swordsman asked, as he wrapped the cloth over his face like a hood, revealing only a portion of his face while most of it was clade in shadows under a clouded sun.

Akane revealed to him a lavender brooch with a silver crescent moon that was prominent of its design. She held it to her hand, and the thing gleamed like the face of the moon would in the minimal sunlight from the shade of the multiple trees around them.

 “The old woman mentioned that previous owner of this brooch was a bride, who lost her husband in battle.” The wind blows softly around them, Akane’ fingers caressing through its surface, studying its form and almost perfectly maintained state.

“She must have valued this very much. Her last memento of a departed beloved, who gave her the brooch the very night they were wed. Yet, it also became her very reason of suffering. After selling it off, the woman hung herself in her own chambers. Such a beautiful ornamented piece yet it holds a dark excruciating past.”

Akha stares at the brooch and gazes straight forward.

“Why barter for it?” He asks.

“Reasons a many,” She spoke, and tucked the brooch inside her sleeve as they walked on. “A sense of remembrance, or perhaps a reminder— Of one who was given happiness, and was taken from numerous folds back. An irony of life that another might find useful.”

Though her words had made much sense to Akha, and had borne truth as well, but what had taken her interest most from the brooch was the figure of the moon. A deep silver almost the color of her hair.

“But you must also be wondering—Why keep an object that emanates suffering?” She spoke, and Akha glanced at her for a moment. Akane raised her head to the skies, where she pondered upon the swirling clouds from a far distance assembling above massive blue giants that surround the valley of Northern Issu.

“Why then?” He reciprocates.                                                            

“Perhaps one day, when you have known me well enough, you would understand my pain.” She spoke, eyes affixed to the clouds. “And likewise, I as well, will be able to understand yours.”

Akha was stricken confused. Though his stoic demeanor had not shown in evident, his mind was deep in thought. He could not understand the unpredictability of the woman who was Tomoga Akane, or was it only because he had lived in solitude for so long that he had forgotten how people think, how people would hold a conversation. But what Akha really knew, was that Akane had not been entirely honest with him. He had been feigning ignorance for the past few months, and that she had not disclosed everything to him, but he continues to observe.

From his days of watching, Akha noticed that Akane was quite fond of simple games to pass the time, though she would instantly digress when she is reminded of this. Akha felt restrain, as of one who had known the discipline of the blade, he knew exactly of it, but Akane’s was different. An unwelcomed forcefulness that contradicts something inside her.

 “Forgive me, for saying such strange things.” She mustered a laugh, a smile utterly forced.

“Why do you always speak that way?” He asked.

“Like what?” Akane spoke, her eyes seemed eager for an answer—an answer that Akha did not know yet.

 So he kept silent, and the question washed into the river and was carried into reaches unknown in the deep regions of Ogana.

The two reached the numerous paddy fields of Ogana City. It was a green expanse of endless fields that stretched miles and miles across the flat planes before the capital. Prior to this, the two had actually passed through a stone gate, with its palisades lined with guards and eyes from multiple watchtowers. Even the crowmen, the Uro-kunu, have found their places among them in case something was to happen, especially in a time when the word of war was slowly reaching them from the east. Akane was given clearance once she presented a sigil of permission that resembled the Kuzaemon insignia.

When they had passed through the gate, Akha seemed unsettled by the sight of these men.

“It’s alright.” Akane spoke noticing Akha lower his head.

Crows loomed above them, circling and watching over the land. Once they were significantly far from the sight of these birds. Akane relaxed and Akha’s brows began to furrow even lower.

“When there are crows, there are two things— A battle, and the Uro-kunu. Both bad omens.” Akha whispers.

Akane nodded to the thought. “It is indeed a given that a prelude of war is a bringer of ill news, but the Uro-kunu have served the Kuzaemon line since time immemorial, and have thus, garnered respect from the people of Ogana despite their dubious tendencies.”

As ancient, enigmatic, and often volatile these men are, the Uro-kunu, have not failed their duty as the sentries of past wars which led to the numerous victories from when the Kuzaemon took this country. They were a few of the known divine practitioners in Issu who served as the eyes of the many warlords of olden times— a formidable tactic that only the Kuzaemon had mastered throughout its generations.

The woman smiled a teasing grin. “Though what particularly is it that you find strange of them?”

“I do not like men who talk to the birds and the dead.”

Akane smiled and the two carried on. After a few minutes of stopping by the shade and being greeted by the peasants that had gone through their daily routine knee-deep soaked in mud, cracking from the ones that reached up to their waist under the sun. It was almost time to harvest these crops for the winter.

The two finally reach the inner wall of Ogana, this time, it was much higher. In between the formed patterns of the wall, there was a harder, and prominently darker substance, taking shape of the nooks and crevices to create a smoother texture, and a more intimidating look. This wall gleamed in the presence of fire, and it spanned from east to west as far as Ogana reaches, and during this time, passing through was more complicated than the first wall.

“Stay here.” Akane told Akha.

The swordsman nodded and she went over by the gatemaster, who took a long unprecendted look upon him. They conversed and Akane signaled Akha with a nod.

Akha begins to glance from left to right. There were numerous of these guards of Ogana flocking at this time of near sundown. He still knew them, the Tenshando, the warriors of ancient Issu, who follow a slightly different code from the Kinu.

Unlike the Kinu, the Tenshando form schools throughout Issu, which are taught in the ways of combat to fist fighting, archery, wielding a Kuratashi, to codes of absolute conduct and dignity as a soldier of the Capital. The Kinu follow a more solitary, and mystical path, with a journey that ends in completion when a Kinu finishes the Blade of Rite in the Spring of Moons. During the last light of the moon, a Kinu acquires a Tensa-Ki from within himself— a Way of the Blade honed from one’s discipline and fidelity to the sword.

The Tenshando are usually equipped in slightly heavy armor made of reliable fibers, woven hard enough to even block an arrow. But here in the city, they are best noticed by the slightly polished robe they wear with the sigils of the school from where they trained. Many of the Tenshando come from all different parts, and in all different walks of life, in Issu, though most of the Tenshando in Ogana come from the School of Stone.

 A defining value of the Tenshando is the Kuratashi that is strapped to their waist and a shorter and straighter blade, a Rakatashi, behind them.

Akha drapes the tip of his hood over his blade to conceal it.

 The two walk on, and they reached into the more thickly guarded parts of the city, where a quotidian wall is set before them. This wall inside the city was lined with an elite roster of Tenshando, who are now clad in armor from the head to the waist down. This gate which opens to the front court of the palace was opened once sight of Akane was noticed.

Some of the Tenshando even happened to bow to her, and while most had their gaze in shadow from a mask that is upon their visage, a noticeable few shifted towards Akha. Whether they bore hostility or something else, he did not know.

On the entrance of the palace doors, they waited.

“Akane,” A man greeted. Upon him was a robe of white and purple, that by which was almost similar to that of Akane’s, and a set of spectacles on his eyes. He paused just before them and took a good look at the ragged man beside his previous colleague.

“It has been more than a year.” He begins the conversation, and warily looks at Akha.

“Toma, you seem well.” She greets. “Is Lord Shida in the palace?”

“The Minister is busy with his affairs with the governor of Goundo, I believe an audience with him now would be—”

“A year ago, Lord Shida was clear to me that when I return from this undertaking, I am to be given allowance to report to him regardless of the situation that is thereof imposed as of any moment given.”

The man sighed. “He is at the auditorium.”

“Thank you.”

The door was opened and the empty halls of the great palace was adorned with a multitude of designs and ornaments that took on the identity of Ogana and its history. The floors were bleached with a deep white from its marble constituent and the walls are draped dark with heavy colors from written parchments to paintings. Despite such an ornamented look, the palace seemed silent and bleak. An anodyne scene veiled in a lifeless quietness save for the reminding sound of the rushing pond by an open portion of the palace where miniature trees flourished by a nearby sand garden.

The soothing color of lotus flowers was also incorporated into the scene and the sight of these blossoms stemmed a memory within the Kinu’s mind. A memory of old that concerned his father, and his alias as a Kinu.

“The Kuzuboki of Ogana has thirteen floors, and Shida must be at the topmost, as Toma mentioned.” Akane spoke.

Akha nodded and followed behind her.

When they arrived at the auditorium, they were met with a great expanse of emptiness—A room with mats upon every inch of the floors and with nothing but a tea table in the middle of the chamber. On top of this table; a parchment half-opened, paired with a brush left neglected on its paper. The ink that seeped from where the brush lay slowly formed black, expanding, anfractuous veins obscuring the characters written on it one by one. To the farthest corner, a man stares out into an opened, fairly gigantic, window where the breeze of the late autumn air was welcomed into the room carrying a scent that reminisced of snow.

Akane gestured to Akha to stay where he was and she walked towards the person who seemed deep in thought.

From where he stood, Akha could only describe what he saw when the man jumped in surprise and gave Akane a welcoming embrace without hesitation something that could only stem forth from when one shares a deep bond to another.

The Kinu has never shared anything with someone else, save for the remorse of his master.

The maroon colored walls, the curtains of black and gold— it reminded him of Kobuke Estate. And from there, then he remembers his young master. That eagerness that Yuko possessed to show the swordsman anything interesting he has learned for the first time was one of those moments that Akha did not quite understand. More than half of these situations, he would not know how or what to respond. His actions were reduced to two choices—nod in silence, or answer in a way that aimed to cut the conversation short, but even then, Yuko never stopped to converse with him.

Akha scorns himself to have forgotten these memories.

A brief moment of contemplation passed, and he comes face to face with the man distinguished as Issu’s most powerful person. He was wearing a fabric of pure white, seams gilded with weavings of gold, and the edges of his robes adorned with designs of salmon and cerulean, the symbolic colors of Ogana. He was clearly younger than Akha, but perhaps only by a few years, maybe that of the same age as Akane. His dark was hair tied up, his cheeks caved into shallow furrows and dark circles grew bigger underneath his eyes that shone a deep blue in the light of day.

“Akha, this is Lord Shida, of the 31st Kuzaemon line, and current minister of Ogana.” Akane introduced walking beside the swordsman.

“To witness the Orchid of Kobeka with my own eyes, a pleasure.” Shida spoke and bowed.

Akha stayed motionless, eyes set upon the man who has lowered his head before him. Akane proceeded to elbow him by the back and so he returned the bow.

“It was such a preposterous request of me to give lady Tomoga such a task, and this resentment manifests by how many times I have sent ravens to seek her out and tell her to come back, but it seems that all this waiting was not all for naught. We should sit by the table, I will have the servants bring us tea.”

Akane and Akha sat by the table as Shida walked farther on to close the window that was opened.

He then returned, sat, lifted the brush from the paper and rolled the parchment into the scroll and kept in shortly. He faced the two in an austere and straightforward gaze, one that was filled with the urgency to speak. It was only a matter of time before Akha would know what.

But despite Shida’s imposing aura, Akha sat there with his eyes cast downward. The mind of the Kinu was that of a still lake that reflects the sky like a mirror. A peace that only a few have achieved, and a peace that has allowed him to strike a sword deep into someone’s chest without hesitation—or even remorse.

 “I am very gratuitous to you, first of all, lady Tomoga, to have come back with the Orchid of Kobuke, and of course, to the Bladesworn himself.” Shida spoke.

Akha did not move a lip, and his elongated silence kept the massive room to a standstill.

“Akha,” Akane answered for him. “He is called Akha.”

“Crimson Blossom...” He whispers, almost cautiously. “Well, your manners are certainly in need of refining.”

Akane turned his eyes to Akha, whose eyes were cast downwards to the matted floor beneath them. They were filled with a pondering spirit, yet devoid of everything else. “Akha... is a man of few words.” She spoke.

“So I have heard of the Kinu, but I don’t mind at all, my lady. Now, I prefer not to tally, for every second that passes, Issu is at stake. I believe you know of our country’s matters?” Shida opened.

Akha nodded, and Shida stirred in his seat.

“Then I must assume that Akane has told you a few numerous things, but I will enunciate it anyway. The Teyan currently resides northeast from here, cross the Teba sea and into someplace further north near the mountains of Orel. Though there might be one thing that Akane does not know due to her absence. The Teyan now have the Ikura Archipelagos by their side...”

“Then does that mean... we no longer have clearance to bring the army overseas. This will force them to take the Katen pass instead?” The strategist asked.

“That is what I have afeared all this time. Once the Teyan take control of Katen, it will be a matter of time before they bring their armies to our lands. I did all I could to avoid this, but it did absolutely nothing. Now the Ikura have stopped supplying us, and come even as bold as to declare their allegiance with the Teyan after they sunk one of our ships by the crescent channels.” Shida uttered with his hand over his temples, his voice bringing a tint of desperation.

“And now they are on their next move, to persuade the eastern clans to join them."

“The Eastern clans... do you mean...?”

Akane and Shida turned to the Kinu, who had barely made a sound that he had almost taken on the likeness of stone better than the statues on the ground floors in the Ogana temple. A single breath from him wasn’t even audible unless one was to focus very hard to catch it, and as he was on the process to ask the question, his presence was instantly shown in a second.

“The untamed region of Icathia.” Shida spoke.

“Since the age of the old sun, the dealings of Icathia have never been understood by those beyond it, these clans who have existed closest to the old secrets of Issu even shirk from these arts, perhaps it is too soon for the Teyan to be able to exploit the powers here.” Akane added.

“We share the same thoughts, that is until what happened twenty nights ago. A brigade was supposed to extract survivors from the third onslaught in Katen during the midsummer skirmish— there was a vantage location where an old ruin was set in high-rise of Katen, and in luck, we managed to wrestle control of it— though there were some who were separated from the Shin during this battle. They kept sending ravens for a few days, but they suddenly went silent. When the men reached there, none of those men were found alive.”

“They were able to distinguish twenty to forty bodies, which had been dead for two weeks, left rotting in Katen soil. The Teyan could have found out about these handful, sent out a search party for any survivors, but the trackers found no evident traces of a group that could have subdued them, save for one...”

Shida glances to Akha, whose look spoke a thousand times louder than any word. But he glanced away just as quickly, but the relevance of his gaze still lingered.

“Many had tried to deduce what had killed those men. The Teyan, mercenaries, a Yasu, or even a masterless Kinu... but one possibility remained that even many dare not speak of.”

Akane and Akha shared looks, and in that instance, they knew what Shida was talking about.

“Rumors of the Ictha Shinu circulated by the end of last year’s winter, but they had only been rumors.” Shida continued. “If what killed those men was what we feared to be, and had any relations to the Teyan, Issu will be wreathed in flames before we even know it.”

“Are you suggesting something, my lord?” Akane asked.

Shida dug into the stack of scrolls that were kept under the table, and took one from them. He momentarily proceeds to open it across the table and it revealed the map of Issu.

“Giko Tenai, the strategist of the first Shin, mentioned that three major entities are still ambivalent in participating in this war. To seize control of the western side of Issu, and mandate a force to be reckoned with, we will have to ask them to join the Ministry, diplomatically, but if all else fails... ”

Shida looks to Akha’s direction. “Here is where your new duty lies.”