The Shadow of Issu

Cold Rain

Ten days have passed and Hina has recovered from the injury. She could still barely stand and would have to rely on a walking stick for at least a few more days before she can walk again. 

Goundo's winds have finally taken a lighter and calmer draft, settling like a gentle but fickle breeze now that everything has been more or less resolved. The kind of breeze that comes before a impending storm, and it was only a matter of time before it arouses and is cast overhead.

Even after all those inhibitions, the terrible truth that harbored behind the anodyne state of Goundo, and the untold things that are better left unspoken, buried along with her grandfather; that smile, that the renowned swordsman who was Iyone Hina had always worn, had not changed a shade. Though behind it something else lingered, something akin to regret but inclined more to a sorrowful acceptance. The life of a swordsman entails death—whether to deliver or to be taken by it. Akha knew it would only be a matter of time until she would once again lift up the sword, but until then, the matters of state are burdened upon her shoulders.

Hase had no children, and so the successor to Goundo’s rule was automatically bequeathed to his closest family—Iyone Hina.

“I will not fight for Ogana.” She told them.

Akane stood there, confused.

“Goundo will answer to one call— and it is the call of Tomoga Akane.”

Akane smiled and closed her eyes. “Very well,” She spoke. “That is as good an answer as the capital will get.” She unscrolled a parchment before her as Hina lifted an inked brush and signed a contract with Tomoga Akane.

“If it were not for you, and master Akha, I wonder what would have become of Goundo.”

“Hase would have kept both of your deaths to himself, and allowed the Yasukagi to roam free as Goundo feeds on the magic that seeps from its murderous spree. There will be a time, that the Yasukagi will become strong enough to resist control, and this valley will become what it once was—desolate and filled with nothing but death.”

“Your talent to foresee and enunciate so vividly such circumstances is indeed praiseworthy, lady Tomoga. It must be the sole reason as to why the fourth Shin of Ogana had not known defeat against the Teyan.”

“Yes… defeat.” Akane stuttered.

“Lady Tomoga?”

“Forgive me, I was just lost in thought.” She fell silent for a while and faced Hina. “Goundo Hase was a good man.”

“He was.” Hina answered wistfully.

“I am deeply sorry about your grandfather.”

The swordsman smiled. That weary look on her face, the hazelnut hair that danced in the wind— the beauty of Iyone Hina was shown in pure daylight as much as the pain that was laid to rest behind that façade that she wears.

“His ambitions took the best of him, much as to how he was infatuated in preserving the valley that he had fought for all his life.” Hina answers her. “And the one he calls his own, he could not even answer the questions that stemmed from his reason of doing—to have made me the strongest of all Goundo. Still even beyond death, he refuses me the truth.”

“Maybe because he was protecting you from it?”

“Maybe,” Hina whispered. “Or that there was something more sinister that withheld it.”

The wind had blown fairly calm even if winter approached fast. The valley of Goundo will be covered by snow before the first fall reaches the north. Yura of the far south, the place to which the two were to go next, is probably already veiled in snow.

“What will you do next? Where will you go?”

“South, to Yura Region.”

“The matters of the capital are far from completion, I see.” Hina realized. “Goundo will offer provisions enough to last you until your next destination.”

“Thank you, Lady Iyone. I wish your people prosperity.”

“As do I, Tomoga.”

On the memorial hilltop, Hina lights incense at the stone of her grandfather. It was beside her father and her mother, in the center of a clearing, atop the hill’s highest peak. She placed both her hands together and prayed. Before the gravestone, the sword of his grandfather was laid. She heard the rustling of grass behind her, and as she looked back, she was met with a familiar face.

Akha stood there behind her, watching at the overlooking expanse that basked the entire glory of Goundo Valley—a deep and forestine land where a giant river snakes from the east and flowing as far as the first border of Ogana reaches.

“That was quite a battle, master Akha.” Hina spoke standing up.

Akha nodded and uttered no words.

Goundo’s new ruler turned and gazed at the downcast stare of the former Kinu. She stared hard and long, questions flooding through her mind—most which entails his acts of treason against Issu, and those of the betrayal of his own master. She wanted to ask all that led to his exile, and the reason behind his doing, but perhaps the wounds have not completely healed, and it would only be too soon until it is opened.

“To clash swords with one who has perfected such a remarkable blade art. The honor is all mine.” Akha spoke, then he began to kneel.

“Stand up, master Akha.”

Akha propped himself from his knees, his eyes still looking down on the cobbletone pavements.

“I know that it is beyond the Kinu to ask for forgiveness. But if you have actually come here to ask for it, then you already are.” Hina smiled.

The swordsman looked up and their eyes met, the scar that ran from his jaw to his eye was evident in the day. Some burns from the fight a few days ago have already healed. The scar reminded her of Hase, and the pain of loss sunk in.

“I want you to have this.”

Akha extended his hand and inside it— the reed that called upon the Yasukagi. The thing was already in its poorest state, and to blow upon it probably would no longer produce sound. But Hina accepted it, for it was no longer the pragmatism of it that Akha had intended to give, Hina knew that much. It was something that Akha only knew as a Kinu to compensate one’s guilt, or regret.

“Thank you.”

The swordsman nodded and made his way back to the staircase that would lead down the hill of the memorial.

“The Ictha Shinu.” Hina spoke, calling to Akha’s attention. “They have resurfaced, have they?”

Akha looks back, and faces to her. The shadow that was upon the Kinu’s face was evident to answer that what she spoke was evidently true. Then he answered her.

“They are the reason… as to why I remain artless.”

“Who faced you?”

“All of them, except for one.”

Hina could not imagine the ordeal that was to face nine of Issu’s most proficient and terrifying blademasters. Hearing those words, she almost refused to accept such claims, for even to cross paths with one was already enough to send armies cowering.

“The Ictha Shinu intervened in the Spring of Moons, where I almost lost my life. I found myself awake at the bottom of the mountain. I made my way home, only to have returned to an ashen place that was once Kobuke Estate.”

“And they deemed you responsible for it.”

“Negligence of duty… was a form of betrayal from which Issu holds grievance. It defeats the purpose of what it means to be a Kinu.” Akha answered.

Hina’s eyes meanders to the hip of Akha, where his Kuratashi hung, the smoothened sheathe glistened in the daylight, and its impeccable designs of flower petals ornamented the sword into a fine piece of work.

“It was Akane who returned that sword to you?”

“Yes.”

“What is it called?”

Akha lowers his eyes to it, and then back to Hina. “Kanakahaburo.”

“A name that takes to its own master—red severing orchid.”

The air was filled with a comforting coolness. The sound of distant birds flying north was heard as the cicadas no longer called in the day. The silence of winter was already looming in Goundo, and with winter, come the coldness of revenge. Hina had not forgotten the purpose of her strength, and now that she had heard of the Kinu’s relation with the Ictha Shinu, she began to see it as an opportunity to advance her vendetta.

“Do you still remember what I said back in Ogana five years ago?”

“Why one brings a sword?”

Hina, who was caught surprise, did not expected an answer. Akha had only recently recalled the memory when he was travelling in one of the rivers that led here to Goundo. The old name of Goundo, The Valley of god’s blood, rung a familiar in his head, and some events, which he had most forgotten, came rushing in like rippling waves.

“You continue to surprise me, Master Akha.”

“What of those words you once spoke?”

“The reason why one takes up the blade…” She answered him.

“I was not strong enough before, and I know that my strength now could only take me so far. The Ictha Shinu took my father’s life, and they will continue to take more from helpless daughters in Issu if we do not stop them.” She continued.

Akha listened, and he remained silent, still, and unusually composed. Even from Hina’s words when described the deaths of her fellow Tenshando in the forests of Kado, the gruesome killings, and the truth of these events—Akha listened like it was something that a person can simply tolerate.

“I need your help, Akha.”

Looking up, he answered her with one word. No. Hina perfectly understood, and it was not that she had expected another answer. The truth of the Kinu lies even beyond their sworn word, they determine their actions through the very thing that they have known all their lives—loyalty.

The once-Kinu answered now to Tomoga Akane, and like that oath that she had sworn herself, their swords are raised for her, and not for Ogana. Unofficially, this former Bladesworn fights for Akane through every word, and it would only deem fitting that he would be quick to deny her proposition, even if meant at a chance for vengeance.

“Perhaps I might learn something from you.” She smiled as Akha answers with a slightly confused look.

“We will cross paths again, master Akha, I am sure of it.”

Something of a pleased expression showed on Akha’s face as he lifts his gaze to the sky, the wind was blowing across his face as the clear sky reminisced of that from his old home, to the far northeast lands across the landbridge, in a deep and remote forest in Atano.

“I believe as well, Lady Iyone.” He spoke, and with those words she bid him off.

The journey of Akane, a strategist of the fourth Shin of Ogana, and Akha, a dishonored former Bladesworn, was far from over. Only one of the three mission that was tasked by Lord Kuzaemon Shida has been accomplished, but it had resolved over a lengthy thirteen days. Now that winter was drawing nearer with each passing day and the schemes of those behind the wrestle for Issu, both from the capital and from the forces that oppose it, churn endlessly, it would only be a matter of time before the tides of war shift unfavorably.

The two make a great effort to cross the Katen Borders and reach the Southern Mountains in three days, where somewhere in Yura, a shrine stands in solitude, a shrine rumored to have housed a thousand of Issu’s most proficient spirit hunters.

For Yura was a land of demons and monsters, and so was in need of spirit hunters.

By noon, Akane and Akha set out into the road leading south. Further on after a few hours, they passed by the last persimmon tree and the air began to take on a callous frigid atmosphere. Upon the second day, the region of Yura welcomed them with an capacious plane, from where the Yuran Tundras were most commonly found beside half-frozen lakes and treeless hills. The cold was starting to become unbearable. From when they left Goundo, Hina was kind enough to lend them layers for their journey, but even with the thick winter coats, when blown by passing Yura winds, the coldness would tear through these coats and shivered even the bones of Akha.

There was an unusually iciness in the air, and often times, Akane thinks that unnatural forces tamper with it.

Caught by the last hour of the second day and with a snowstorm brewing from the south, the two decided to encamp at a shallow cavern in one of Yura’s hills. Settlments in Yura are set far apart from each other and from the charts from where they coursed their travel, Akane decided that it was better to spend the night in the warm cave instead of freezing themselves into the night trying to reach the next village.

It seemed also a good moment to reflect on what had happened in Goundo, for there were many that left here questioning, and many of which had made her dreams bizzarely straightforward.

Akha sets the horses inside and ties them to one of the rocks that protruded around them. After felling down some of the pine trees around the area, he lit a small fire with dry hay, drying out the wet wood over it until it eventually blazed. He skewered pieces of meat, salted to preserve them for their long travels, over a fire. While he prepares these things, Akane ponders at a corner, deep in the thoughts of a strategist, whose mind was filled with burden upon burden.

“Something that troubles you?” The swordsman spoke first.

Akane turned to him, a smile devoid from her face which left Akha to presume that something worrying has troubled his companion. She had always been one to have worn a smile even in times where she reflects into her inner thoughts, feigning away the strain that is imposed upon her and concealing them through a certain frivolousness that Akha knew from the beginning, was simply a way to divert attention from the truth before them. His silence decided not to pry further, listening only to the extent of what she says to him. Nothing more and nothing less.

But strangely, he now wished for her to open up more.

“It is always the burden of a strategist to brood upon many matters, master Akha. Worry not.” She spoke, which was followed by that exact same smile.

“You do not have to force yourself.” He uttered under his breath.

“Master Akha?”

“You do not have to force yourself to smile… tell me what troubles you.”

Surprised, she stood up from where she was contemplating, walked to his direction, and sat down beside him. “You do not have to worry such things, master Akha. When one puts on a face that dismays, it will only bring misery, and there has already been enough of that for the thirteen days that have passed. When faced with ordeal, one oughts to show that it does not get to him—no matter what.”

Being once a Kinu, he could not determine the importance of such things. To utilize emotions to favor situations—to clarify, to hide, and to confuse. It disrupts the purity of intention, which hinders the work of a Kinu, and evidently perceiving to lower one’s efficiency. It was something that Akha considers a skill, one that he hopes someday to understand.

They partook dinner later that evening, and they carried on their routine every night to comfort each other, and this time, the warmth from their bodies was needed in the stark cold of the nights. Akane took out the moon-crested brooch from her robes and placed it in Akha’s palms. She turned her back against him and held her hair up, showing her nape for a moment and letting her ashen hair fall over Akha’s lap.

“We will have an analysis of your fight against Iyone Hina and Goundo Hase.”

The swordsman picked up the brooch, and proceeded to move its teeth across her hair in silence.

“Iyone Hina, how was her blade work?”

“Agile, perceptive, and adaptive.” Akha answered.

“Did you hold back when you fought her?”

“No.”

“I see, then there your faults were made evident. When I watched from afar, I knew from your first swing that Hina would be able to block it, and from thereon, she would already know how to counter your attack. Your offensive stance, Kanakahagiri, the severing stance of the orchid, comprises of five moves—a flurry of straightforward attacks, a withdrawal, and a follow up thrust. I’ve noticed that you want to stop the fight before it starts, but it does not seem to do well in prolonged battles.

I also noticed that you decided not to rely on sheathed stances against Hina. It was good, since your enemy was already on defensive, it would not do you as well like it had against Nuro.

I know that you would withdraw your attacks to gap yourself from the enemy so you can observe weakspots in their technique, which, you always follow with a full thrust. To improve your Kanakahagiri’s turn around, I would recommend replacing this with a feinted attack instead—this way even if your enemy would be on defensive, if you manage to feign an attack—whether a high or low strike, they would not expect it to be followed by a full thrust. This was similar to that time that Hina disarmed you, she used the momentum of her strike to feint an attack and instead delivered one with a kick to knock your Kurutashi off your hand.

If you were not quick to perceive then, you could have been ended on the mats with a sword on your chest.”

“I understand.”

Akane smiled and she continued on to further explain how Hina was able to read him so easily, and that attack that he finally landed in the end was when he exploited a weakness that burrowed deep inside her. On the night before, Akane could hear the voice of a daughter calling towards the night in the rain for her father’s name.

“Goundo Hase,” Akha spoke. “How?”

“The name Yasukagi has two meanings—Yasu’s mercy, or Mercy to a Yasu. The Yasukagi was a demon binded to a contract that the first founder of the valley had made a pact with. He who was known to be the first bloodline of Goundo. The Yasukagi could not be cut down by normal means, it could only be fallen by someone who came from that bloodline. The contract entailed that so as long as no one from the man’s lineage tampers with the tree that stemmed from the white-seeded persimmon, the only living thing amidst a valley of death, then the demon shall no longer hunt those who dwelt in its lands. If cut down by Goundan blood, the demon will once again emerge and wreathe the valley in flames just like it had a hundred years ago.

It wasn’t Goundo Hase who cut down the tree, nor anyone from Goundo. Hase sought intervention from a capable person—one who knew how to exploit the contract, and use it for their own control. With a reed grown from the rivers that which flowed from the white-seed, one would be able to call upon the Yasukagi and harness its demonic powers to enhance his strength beyond the limits of man.

Hina ended that contract when she killed Hase, the last remaining pure Goundan bloodline, and set the Yasukagi into the lands to judge its fate.

But the question remains still— who cut the Yasukagi? Who allowed such a fate to almost befall Goundo and led Goundo Hase to his own downfall, and what gain does this man have from this? It seems that our time ran out before we can answer them, and the banners of ruin draw closer, and we could no longer waste another day to linger in Goundo.”

Akha, who listened in seriousness, stared into the embers that burned hot in the middle of the camp. Inside them, he saw the eyes of the Yasukgai, filled with an insatiable hunger and an ravenous desire to hunt and kill. The wood fell and specks of fire flew up into the air and disappeared.

“It is quite remarkable for you to have seen it that way, Akane.”

“What do you mean?”

Followed by silence, Akha paused for a moment, then spoke. “When I raised my sword to Hase, I no longer saw a man that had schemed all the things that you have just said. I simply saw an adversary, clothed in flames and eager for ruin. There was only one thing in my mind when I faced him…to kill him.”

Akha’s hands stopped midway and he breathed out a sigh. Akane looked back and that brooding shadow was once again imminent on the swordsman’s face.

“You are not just a singleminded killing machine.”

“Then what am I, Akane… What purpose does a Kinu have but this?”

“You are the young lord’s protector. You are the only one to have withstood sleepless nights to keep the lord safe, to stay beside him from when the world turned his back against him.”

“And yet, I am also the one that cost him everything.”

“You are also the only one capable of delivering him from the Teyan as well.”

Akha’s eyes wandered outside where cold rain falls upon the land as darkness covers it. “I was an orphan, born into war. An old Kinu came to clear the battlefield to of the surviving Ukumaris, and there he saw me. A boy whose fingers were wrapped around the hilt of a broken Kuratashi soaked in the blood of an indistinct foe. I never knew who to fight, and who to fight for.

I was raised to distinguish no enemy, to hold no grudge, and to harbor no emotion when faced with a task. However, a lingering remorse fills him from a past decision."

Akane leaned closer, for his voice was soft almost to a whisper.

"My father had once abandoned the code, when he had fallen for a woman...” 

“He knew that emotions would only get in the way of a true Bladesworn” As calm as a still lake. The words echoed inside his mind.

Akane had fallen silent.

“I never understood what it meant when I was young… But as far as weakness entails, my father was obsessed to disallow me such faults. I had to become the perfect sword, without blunt edges and without crude ends.”

“Master Akha…”

“He has probably passed in the years that I have been in exile, though I wish that I could have seen his face once more. After all, he was the one that made me… into this.”

Realizing what he had just spoke, Akha turns around in shame. There it was again, getting lost into memory as if it had brought any sense of meaning, save for the guilt that bores through him like a hole.

Akane turned and faced towards the swordsman’s back.

“You are not the only one whom guilt haunts, master Akha.” She whispered. “I promise someday, we will make sense of each other’s pain, and resolve them through and through.”

The storm continues to rage outside the dry cave, and as the night was held at the edge of an unknown blade, the two sleep in the warmth of each others arms—solely because the circumstances had forced them to compromise and nothing more. As Akane goes into a deep sleep, she finds herself in one of those reveries where she wakes up in cold sweat and heavy breaths.

Akha was going to die.