The Shadow of Issu

Memories of a Broken Sword

Akane stared at Akha’s bared back—they were like that of a landscape’s, with threading scars snaking like rivers over a large plane that was his back, his muscles arching like mountains. She began to wonder what made those lengthy scars that ran down his shoulders, what sort of adversaries he had to face to have earned those. She had only known the world through the eyes of a teacher, and it was only until recently that she was called unto council and orchestrated the victory of the fourth Shin against a year-long Teyan group at Jintan Peaks, the burden of such prodigious talent.

She had seen death imminent by the piling corpses from battle, but never the opportunity to ask from one who has truly participated in battle.

She stood up, walked towards Akha, who was about to wipe himself with a wet cloth, and placed her hand over his.

“I can do it myself.”

“Let me,” She insisted. “It is the least I can do for everything that has happened.” The swordsman quietly succumbed to the maiden’s request and sat there in silence.

“To be truthful, that was the first time I have seen a duel.” She spoke. Akha turned his head, looked into Akane’s eyes and stared back into the wooden walls.

“A strategist of the Fourth Shin of the Issian Army, and you have not seen a duel?”

“A duel is different from gazing upon a skirmish. I have seen men s*******r each other, I have had soldiers ambush the enemy in many campaigns, but I have never seen two blades clash that belonged to swordsmen who common folk deem as myths and legends. The intimate battle of one against one.”

 “You are exaggerating.”

“Perhaps,” She spoke. “But I have seen the Red Orchid of Kobuke himself way before I have witnessed him in battle.”           

Akha tilted his head in question. Akane dried the cloth by the nearby basin and wiped him off. The light of the nearby lamp drenched the room in a dim orange, flickering with every gust of wind that came into the room unannounced.

“Turn around.” She asked of Akha. The swordsman faced her and she proceeded to wipe his chest. She had a distinct aroma similar to that of cinnamon, sweet but powerful, and the fragrance from her hair faintly carried the scent of plum. Akha was not unfamiliar to these scents, but he had never sensed them worn by a woman, and so he was taken aback with a great curiosity. A soothing wave washed over him as his nose welcomed the alluring smell. It was only until then that he had come to his senses and realized that he had brushed his fingers over Akane’s white hair.

“M-master Akha,” She spoke. “I am almost done.”

He skidded back, in surprise. He looked down in embarrassment and turned his gaze away. “You have not seen a duel, yet you knew that Nuro was going to cast a Tensa-Ki. Who are you really?” Akha digressed.

Akane placed the towel in the basin and lifted it as she went towards the door. She looked down and smiled, that smile that one makes when he looks upon something pitiful. Yes, that was the best word to have described the woman who was Tomoga Akane, something that she could not reveal to Akha just yet. She looked up just one more time to meet Akha’s cold gaze.

"If you had known, that what you were to be, was something that you have despised since the beginning… I wonder if you would you still accept yourself.” She uttered. Then just as her stare had become evidently downcast, she lifted her chin up and smiled. Akha could not have distinguished that it was a different smile.

“We will share each other’s familiarities when I bring us dinner.” She spoke and went outside.

Akha stared outside into the late night sky. The village was called Kidubo, which roughly translated mountain-side. It was set upon the foot of a mountain, exactly parallel to a set of ranges that was crowned by a thousand stars, below it, a sprawling woodland that encircled a lake. The moon had shimmered over the great body of water, its reflection dancing in the calm waves as the night had come alive with the sound of crickets and owls.

A similar scene was captured in the depths of the swordsman’s mind. The Atano lake that took on an elongated shape of the crescent moon. It began with a nearby waterfall to its north called the Pasa, where he once trained his endurance in cold water and the constant weight of the fall’s pressure upon his shoulder.

He remembers his father walk alongside the banks, his eyes staring over the wild flowers that grew amongst the shrubs and greenery. If he remembers clearly, they were called to be baby’s-breath, and he never mentioned why he was so fond of them.

Then under the fields of a familiar expanse, the chrysanthemum’s colors reflect iridescent under a dark sky, pouring over a grassland that stretched as far as his eye could reach them. Atano was far beyond reach from here. In the east farther on from Ogana, the Kobuke estate lies between two ranges of mountains that shelters the place in deep Katen. The rain falls from the clustered skies, as he stands over a great overlooking, facing East where the capital stood.

A Kinu sits under a plum tree, his legs crossed and his eyes began to close, the rain continues to drench him, but he sat there calmly in meditation. A boy comes to him; in his hands he had brought an umbrella.

“My lord,” The Kinu addressed.

“I was starting to worry that you have gone somewhere far, and in this weather.”

“I would not simply leave you, my lord.”

The young boy’s robes were beginning to dampen, on his feet the edge of his clothes was sullied with mud and blades of grass, something that did not exactly compliment the design of such clothing that was upon his person. The boy’s clothes were of noble design, with a primary auburn shade, ornamented with tan, the color of varnished wood, and deep yellow that had a semblance to the morning sun. There was not another layer to him, and the cold had begun to shake his lord’s constitution. He coughed and shivered to the cold.

“You should go back to the shed, my lord. The fireplace will keep you warm.”

“And keep you here in the cold? I would not be so heartless to have asked you to come with me, grant my absurd request, and then simply allow you to be drenched in this weather.”

“But my lord, a Kinu should not share the same hearth with his lord, as our code dictates. And in our circumstance, we have but one.”

“A duty of a Kinu is that of complete abidance, and I ask of you, my dear blade, to come and share the fire.”

“Understood.”

The weather had significantly worsen since he had come to shelter in a dilapidated shed in the middle of an old meadow in high-rise Katen. They were miles from the Kobuke estate, far into eastern Katen just across the Daizen Planes. The woodlands here were dark, ominous, and reaching. Any daylight to fall upon the leaves her would simply be swallowed by the thickness of the canopies of woods that towered a hundred feet tall. The iron trees, they were named, and they stood there, lonesome and paramount for a thousand years.

The young master claims that something was hidden deep in these woods, to farther east, from where the trail starts at a young budding stream that glistens with stones that reflect the color of stars.

The storm was unexpected, as if it had brewed only for the sake of deterring the young lord’s endeavors. But he did not seem troubled by it, since he was busy immersing himself into a book that he had brought into this unexpected excursion.  There in a small make-shift shaft that they had found over a small clearing in the forest, a stove of stone preserved inside the remains was used to start a hearth and keep the two warm.

The place seemed almost ageless, the wood was preserved only by the stone that had kept it together— like the bones of a person, knowing no rot as the test of time comes to take it away as overgrowth blanketed the entire place.

The fire illuminated the parchments of the young lord’s book, and Akha sat facing him, legs crossed and blade placed beside him. The two had brought nothing else—provisions, thicker clothing—none of the mentioned. The young lord had brought only a book and an umbrella with him, which was rather strange for Akha, but he had kept silent about it. The Bladesworn do not question their master’s decision, no matter how questionable they may seem.

“I doubt this will let up anytime soon.”

Akha answered in silence, and the fire-stove crackled on.

“My lord,”

Lord Yuko looked up, and his eyes met the cold glare of the Kinu before him. He closed the book as if waiting for a question.

“What do you seek in these woodlands?” Akha spoke, in a manner that he could try best to sound polite.

The young lord smiled, and he placed another piece of wood over the stove.

“There are many secrets that this world hide. So many that I could not possibly hope to count them. But when one finds himself troubled by these secrets, then it would only be natural for him to look for it.”

Akha nodded in response.

The young lord continued. “Everyone is always searching for something, and often times we would spend most of our time either searching for the wrong thing, or wondering if what we are looking for is even there. The world is a cruel place, it abides to no master, and the rules it follows are something that we cannot fathom. I do not wish to be consumed by the rules of this world, it is as fickle as it is tumultuous. Therefore, I would want to confirm that my life has not been a vague statement that has become as it is now. I want to know that what I am experiencing right now is something that this world has allowed, and not simply be as it is by chance.”

“The dreams?” The Kinu asked.

“Recurring, almost every night, and becoming much clearer than the last. It is as if I am standing over a high place, witnessing everything—witnessing…” The lord’s voice began to falter.

He placed his book beside him and crouched. He enveloped his legs over his arms and dug his face into them. The Kinu stares at his master, and the stove continues to burn in the middle. The Kinu stands watch over the Kobuke household, but he is allowed only to be inside designated rooms and may be called into his master’s chambers if it need be. During his vigilant nights, he would often hear Yuko wake from sleep in the middle of the night, screaming.

“People are afraid of me.”

A deep quietness came, the sound of rain pattering non-stop over the wood and stone filled the small space with a strange though settling atmosphere. The thoughts of those who have set upon the fire churned, that which belonged to a troubled master and his Bladesworn.

“People are afraid of me, too.” Akha answered to break the silence. “But the line that separates fear and disgust is but a blur. Maybe it is but a matter of understanding, or something else, but it is what it is. I was raised by my father to be taught to hold the sword, and now, I know nothing else. I know only to kill, and to kill without question, where the mercy lies from my master’s verdict.”

Akha looked up to the ceiling, and a few drops have begun to seep into the recesses of the crumbling decrepitude of their shelter.

“They see me… only as a weapon, and by such, I am treated as one. Though I do not mind, for it is my duty to stand alongside my lord and carry his will. But if I may be permitted to speak my thoughts, I would also ruminate upon things such as the possibility that, have I not been a Bladesworn, and was someone else, would I be pondering upon such things? Maybe it is also what bothers you in this time—that maybe this prejudice you have set upon yourself is something that you carry as the heir to the Kobuke line.”

“Maybe you are right,” The young lord spoke. “But inaction would only stem forth ignorance, and I do not wish that.”

Yuko looked to Akha, whose eyes were cast unto the dying fire of the stove. “My Kinu,” The young lord called. Akha answered with an absolute look to his master.

“Will you carry my will until the very end?”

The Bladesworn stared blankly at his master. Then without a sound, he prostrated himself in front of him, forehead touching the dry wooden floorboards at his feet. That day, the two had shared an inseparable bond, one that transcended that of a master and his Kinu. Akha’s loyalty was cast unto Yuko from the perspective of a Bladesworn, but what the young lord had seen in the swordsman, was an unlikely friend. The rain soon stopped after a few hours, and the two carried on deeper into the forests.

Akha had been staring into the lake for too long he had not heard Akane enter through the doors. She was already setting up the table, and the scent of something that was not charred over a campfire immediately filled the room with an enticing aroma.

It was a banquet of sorts, or at least it was to Akha, that was prepared on the small wooden table. Cuts of pork that had a certain tangy scent to them, seasoned by more than simply salt and grounded pepper. There was also a broth of pork bone and soy sauce, put beside a bowl of dry noodles, and as well as a variety of pickled vegetables that Akha had known to eat raw in his days to live in Atano.

Akane called him to sit, and the swordsman did so.

“What is it?” Akane asked, catching a glimpse of a flicker dancing in the swordsman’s eyes.

“Nothing,” he answered.

Akane grinned, and noticed his glare shift away from the cutlets that was steaming in front of him. She took her chopsticks, prayed, and ate in silence. After taking in a mouthful, she saw that Akha had still not touched his chopsticks. He was simply staring at an empty corner to his right.

“Are you not going to eat?” She asked.

The swordsman shook his head. “I partake a meal, only after my master has eaten… I cannot distinguish why this is any different.”

“I could deem it almost commendable that you see it that way, but you are neither in the presence of your master, nor do you follow the code of the Kinu. Eat now,” She spoke, reaching her hand towards the food. “Before it gets cold.”

Akha proceeded and ate in silence. After Akha finished, Akane carried the bowls outside and thanked the owner of their temporary stay for the meal. The dealings of tonight came into a serene passing, it had been an anodyne occurrence, with nothing exciting to mention save for the fireflies that make its way into the room only for Akha to return them back into the night sky for past few hours. The swordsman stares deep from the window and Akane had just went into the room from a steamed bath. She dresses into a night-gown and wraps a cloth around her waist, fixing her clothes.

Brushing her hair, Akane caught glimpse of the moon that hung high on the evening sky.

“A while back, you seemed to be very deep in thought.” Akane spoke.

Akha replied with a sigh. He stirred on the mat and moved to position himself facing towards Akane. He momentarily stood up, walked towards her, kneeled and dropped his head in front of her.

“Let me brush your hair.” He asked.

Akane’s face flushed beet red, she skidded back and her expression was that mixed of astonishment and surprise. “M-master Akha, w-what is this about?”

“Forgive me. It has been… a year since I had known the scent of a human being. Something of you reminds me of the young lord. Lord Yuko has always brought me peace, and I have thought, that if I could acquaint myself with your scent even more, perhaps it will also bring me peace.”

Akane, sat up, and straightened her posture. She closed her eyes and smiled.

“Very well,” She spoke and handed him the brush. She turned around and presented him her long wavy ashen hair that glistened beautifully in the light of the lamp beside them. Akha took the brush, and placed his hand under Akane’s hair. It was soft, falling over his calloused fingers, he raised the brush over it and carried on, softly.

“Regarding your... question.”

Akane poised, slightly in surprise. “Is there something that troubles you?”

Akha pondered for a moment. “Deep Katen, a storm in early fall, the young lord... he asked me to join him somewhere. I do not remember anything else.”

Akane knew of what the swordsman had spoken of. It was even almost surprising to Akane that he had forgotten it.

Three years ago there was a time that the young lord had left home. Though it is evidently true that a Kinu was only to swear to his master’s words, it is also the duty of one to make sure that his master was safe and away from harm.

The Kobuke sent out trackers to find them but were of no avail. After a week’s time, the two returned, and something about Yuko had never been the same since. Akha on the other hand, became the subject of the Kobuke’s contempt. His skill with the blade was never displayed during his years of servitude, and all he has ever done was stand watch outside his master’s chambers, sitting beside an open window, staring peculiarly at the moon.

“The young lord has always been an odd one, and perhaps that was his gift to begin with. He would ask of the most peculiar requests, for me teach him of things beyond what a child could ponder upon. While other children ask tales, Yuko would ask of things that stem forth from the mystic arts, stories of the Yasu, the Gerashii, the many feats of Nectha, the Kinu even… He was one that burned with a deep curiosity for things.” Akane spoke in reminiscence.

 “Do you miss the young lord?” She asked as Akha continued to brush her hair in silence.

“I have always thought… that I would never forget.” The swordsman uttered in a voice almost as soft as a whisper. “But now, every time I remember the years when I have served under the Kobuke clan— it becomes a blurry image. I can only remember the times that seem important to me. Beyond that, there is nothing else.”

“So you do not remember me?”

Akha stopped his hand, he looks up to the ceiling, staring into the wood that stretched above them, cobwebs forming from the corners.

“I do not.” He answered.

“I see.”

The swordsman cleared his throat, and prompted a question of his own. “What of you, Tomoga Akane. Why have you come this far south to find me?”

“The young lord is also important to me.” She answered. “He is a very special child, and capable of very special things. There is not a day that passes by when I think of how he is. Lord Yuko had seen his own home burn, and his parents killed. A child can only take so much… that is why I have decided to deliver him from the Teyan, no matter what it takes.”

“Will not the absence of the Fourth Shin’s strategist prove detrimental?”

“Lord Shida has substituted a replacement, and furthermore, he was the one who gave me this responsibility.”

Akane turned to look at Akha as he placed the brush beside her. “It seems that the Orchid is not half bad at brushing a maiden’s hair.”

“When I fought Nuro at the forest roads… Something has held you back.” Akha digressed.

Akane’s eyes shifted from his gaze. “Why do you say so?” She asks, with a tone that doubts the swordsman’s judgement.

“To spare an Ictha Shinu would be unlikely. I refuse to believe it was out of mercy. From your eyes—it had seemed something else.” Akha uttered.

 Akane turned silent, no words would come out from her mouth to answer Akha, not in that moment. She was confused, whether it was by her decision to refuse him from knowing the real reason, or that it was a wound that dug in far too deep, that to even mention it would send her into disordered thoughts—one of the numerous reasons that had prevented her sleep during the nights when the flames of war burned furiously under its skies.

“The next Ictha Shinu that comes our way, you are to kill him. Understand?”

Akha replied with a nod, and the two was once again draped in silence. No words were said thereafter.

The night seemed to be held by an unseen blade, for within the minds of the two who shared one room— whether they be reason, plans, or old memories— they lurked and stirred restlessly deep within, only to be hidden in each one’s past as the two rested on the futon that was promptly prepared. The darkness swallowed the whole room as the lamp was blown to herald sleep, with the moon’s light coloring the walls with a dark cerulean hue, the color of the deep sea. Dust danced in the air around the room as each speck passed through this light. The many sounds of the night had died down, subsiding into a deep cradling stillness.

Akha could not sleep despite closing his eyes. He turns to Akane’s direction, whose futon was farther than an arm’s length from his. She was facing to the opposite side, unmoving.

She must be already be asleep, he thinks to himself.

He stirs supine, with his back to the floor, eyes afixed to the ceiling above him. Suddenly he hears a voice.

“Brother,”

Akha stands up, and looks towards Akane’s direction.

“Where were you... where....” Akane mutters softly.

A gust of wind came into the room, and Akane shivers to the cold. Winter had recently passed, and the cold sting of the midnight air had not left the spring nights that have gone by. The swordsman stood up, kneeled beside her, and raised her covers to her shoulders. He had also given her his. Then Akha walked towards the window, his eyes cast upon the sky once again, his sword placed beside him.