The Stranger

The noise of soldiers galloping on horseback was of no surprise to the expected warrior. His keen senses offered him the luxury of observing how the inherent silence of nightfall had amplified the pounding hooves of the war decorated Kiso horses. The clanking noise of heavily armored guardsmen also produced its own menacing sound. Their intent upon arrival was to strike fear upon anyone that laid eyes upon them. Stealth was not part of their intention. They preferred the loud, and intimidating approach while riding through the small village and moving towards their target of interest. Many of the fearful villagers stayed indoors and watched the invasion through partially opened panels of their homes. They were, and understandably so, frightened by this intrusion. They have witnessed this clan pass through several times throughout the years. It was never good. Never. It always indicated one thing. Death… was imminent.

Meanwhile, inside the home of the target-of-interest, sat the expectant warrior at his heavily notched and very uninspiring wooden table, listening to the loud ruckus of the guardsmen closing in. The table itself had many stories of its own. And much like the battle tested warrior, its’ surface was also permanently imprinted with scratches and gouges that revealed its' history of wear and tear. While at the table, he noticed how the torches held by the incoming guardsmen provided an eerily beautiful glow from a distance. He took a deep breath, then shifted his attention to the large cast iron tetsubin pot that sat over a sunken pit lined with hot stones and glowing coals. The water was at a rolling boil and available for use. Using a ladle, he scooped and poured hot water into the kyusu, which contained a generous portion of tea leaves inside. The instant brewing of the tea inside the pot responded with emitting a pleasurable aroma, which he drew in graciously. The effort to attain the precise balance of tea leaves and the amount of water was not an overlooked skill to the warrior. He valued the understanding and discipline that honors any concept of perfection. Discipline, honor, and the mastery of skills were the three fundamentals in his existence he ever cherished. He instilled these methods early in his childhood training. His Sensei provided refuge for him at a very early age. He was only an infant when Sensei found him in a braided basket sitting near the forest's end. Many speculated that the youngster was left for dead due to its odd characteristics. He was, minimally, different. His head of hair, his eyes, everything about his child was unusual. The locals believed the child to be cursed for being such a visual abomination. Only Sensei saw the beauty of this castaway. He understood it as a sign, not of a cursed existence, but as a gift. And with that understanding, Sensei poured every ounce of wisdom and his multiple highly skilled martial art practices into this new child's brain. To Sensei, this child was far from living as an ill-fated being. He was extraordinary. Sensei understood it from the moment he saw the abandoned child at the forest's end. Perhaps fate, he wondered. This child was not an abomination. This child was a gift.

The militia appeared and swiftly surrounded the warrior's home leaving any possibility of escape hopeless. The commander looked over and gave a slight inclination of the head to the courier, informing him to proceed with the announcement of their Emperor's orders. The hikyaku understood and reached into his pouch and retrieved the well-preserved delicate scroll. He stepped down from his horse and walked towards the door of the warrior's home. He stopped about 20ft shy of the entrance and opened the scroll. After unfurling the scroll to read the message, he suddenly began to feel a sense of real concern. He had knowledge of this warrior person. The tales he's heard were viewed as folklore created by the locals. "Every desperate person is in want of a hero" he thought. But currently, as he found himself there facing the warrior's home, he began to wonder if any of those tales held any ounce of credibility. A cold chill flowed down his spine as if shards of ice trickled down the back of his neck. A growing sense of unease and discomfort flooded his body, and though there were a staggering amount of the emperor's highly skilled guardsmen around to protect him, he still somehow felt exposed and extremely defenseless. He summoned his last remaining bit of bravery and held up the scroll, hoping that his shaking hands were unnoticed by the nearby guardsmen. He readied his vocal cords, then read aloud: "WE ARE HERE, BY THE ORDERS OF THE EMPEROR! YOU ARE NOW, HEREBY, BANISHED FROM THIS REGION AND ALL OTHER NEIGHBORING JURISDICTIONS. IF YOU FAIL TO ABIDE OF THIS COMMAND, WE HAVE BEEN GIVEN ORDERS BY THE EMPEROR TO HAVE YOU ELIMINATED BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY!”

The warrior heard the messenger's pronouncements and with little regard for his warnings, went on with preparing his bowl of noodles and broth. Once he had finished his preparations, he took a small sip of the hot tea, then used his chopsticks and fed himself a large, tangled wad of Soba noodles. "Precision and attentiveness can be the difference between life and death", Sensei would say. The warrior echoed the message in his head, then cursed himself for the added seventy-nine seconds his food consumption required. His Sensei would have disciplined him for a week for this failure. He shook his head in self-disgust, then immediately pushed those thoughts aside and began preparing himself to handle the intruding visitors on horseback surrounding his home.

“… AND FURTHERMORE…”, the reader continued, "THE EMPEROR HAS GIVEN HIS PERMISSI….", and abruptly he stopped his statement in mid-sentence. It was the sudden thunk sound that drew the messenger's hand up to his throat. He placed his hand on the area where a sharp pain suddenly emerged. His trembling fingers gently tapped around, what seemed to be a long dowel of sort emerging from his neck. Within seconds, warm blood seeped out of his new orifice, which created a garbled wheezing sound every time the messenger attempted to breathe. If not for the sound of the ornate scroll striking the ground, his involuntary release of the document would have gone unnoticed. His inhaling and exhaling were quickly becoming a task within itself, and his ability to vocalize was suddenly non-existent. He extracted the item that was protruding from his neck and immediately felt the rush of blood flow down his neck and chest. He gazed at the item that had pierced his neck in wholehearted disbelief. A wave of embarrassment and shock impeded his mind as he clutched the single blood coated chopstick in his hand and tiredly gazed at the odd choice of weaponry. “What absurdity is this?", he thought. His last utterance was an incoherent stutter as he collapsed to the ground pressing on his neck with blood oozing between the gaps of his weakening fingers. The messenger made one last attempt to interact with the guardsmen but was too weak to generate any vocal output. If he had been capable, he would have advised his fellow guardsmen to "run.”

The nearby guardsmen faced each other in utter confusion. Through firm discipline, loyalty and an unspoken growing sense of fear, a small group of soldiers descended from their horses. They immediately unsheathed their swords and slowly advanced towards the entrance of the target’s home.

At the front opening of his large sliding door, the warrior heard the sound of several guardsmen dismounting their horses, and listened to their footsteps approach the front of his home. He knew how they’d aimed to flank his home if he decided to flee. However, he was not contemplating anything of the sort. His back was to the wall, and his katana was positioned low beside him, gripped firmly in both hands. He then bellowed out to the approaching men… “He deserved to die, you know. He was a pilferer, a rapist, and a murderer!” The warrior drew his breath in sharply, and then stated… “I know all about most of you as well. You will all have the same outcome!” The group of soldiers that were progressing all stopped in their tracks. They squatted and glanced at each other. Even though they all stayed silent, their concerned eyes revealed a heavy burden of guilt. One of them just motioned with his head towards the others, as if to just disregard the claim. He signals for them to move forward, and as they redirect their attention to their front entrance, there stood their target standing in plain sight at the entrance of his home. They did not foresee seeing him out in the open. Nor were they prepared to fix their eyes upon this peculiar human being. The rumors proved to be true, they all thought. They slowly rose and gazed at the strange-looking warrior. He was every bit of the abomination as proclaimed through the villagers’ chattering tongues. For one, his tall lean build was enveloped in a loose fabric that can easily be mistaken for a peasant’s wardrobe. But, it wasn’t the attire that particularly drew their attention. It was him. Despite the nightfall, there was no mistaking what they were seeing. His deeply brown skin color was similar to the weathered leather straps that bind their armor. His entire form was covered with this alternate skin color. His black hair was unnaturally dense and stubborn against any, and all wind. The soldiers were perplexed at the sight of this human. As they stared at the wretched, accursed being before them, they quickly became very cognizant of the sword held firmly in his hand. It was rare. Very rare. In fact, there were but three of its kind. The emperor is in control of two of the three. And to the astonishment of the soldiers, the third was in the possession of the stranger standing before them.

“Oh, this”, the stranger remarks while giving his attention towards his katana. “Hey”, he continues, “…did you know that there’s only 2 more just like this one?” He pauses. "Strange, huh? But, what’s rather strange is that one of them belonged to my sensei. And the other belonged to, well…”, he takes in a long breath, “…my long-lost stepbrother.”

“What madness do you say?” asks one of the soldiers. His tone is abrasive and aggressive.

“Ah, I gather that your emperor has failed to tell you his secret. Well, it doesn't matter. Just know this, I do plan to avenge my Sensei, who was killed by the hands of many of you here tonight, and I will also reclaim the last 2 swords of its kind. Your emperor is stained with my sensei’s blood…,” he lowers his voice into a gravelly tone and adds, “and he will die for this.” As he ends his last comment, he quickly raises his free hand and in the blink of an eye, hurls two deadly steel throwing stars towards two guards. The swiftness of his actions was uncanny. The two guards had little time to react before each of them felt the sharp pointed tip of the shurikens embed themselves deep into their eye sockets. The impact of the throw created a grotesque sound of their punctured eye sockets. The cringe-inducing screaming only added to the horror of what the other guardsmen have just observed. As the two guards collapsed to the ground in a useless heap, the other nearby soldiers screamed out a rally cry and charged the stranger who had just disappeared back inside his home.

Many of the onlooking soldiers dismounted and began to flank the perimeter of the stranger’s home. The reverberation of steel against steel echoed throughout the inside of the home. Screams, gurgling of dying men, and crashes of furniture violated the silence of the night. Many bodies were hurled through the other doors and several windows, landing on the ground as if someone was throwing corpses out to rot.

The carnage was unimaginable. The stranger’s speed and agility were unparalleled by all. His proficiency and fluidity prevented him from sustaining any significant harm. His mastery in a range of styles of combat and elite swordsmanship was second to none. It was then, before the severely wounded soldiers took they’re final breath, they believed the other whispers that passed along the villagers’ gossiping tongues. Most regarded him as inhuman, or at times, supernatural.

Several moments afterward, the noises of combat and screams withered down back to a quiet night. The other guards outside never set foot inside but were not sure if fleeing was an option as well. The emperor would certainly have them executed if this truth were to ever come back to him. At the entrance of the now severely damaged house, the stranger slowly stepped out front and stood just outside the wide doorway. The splatter and streaks of gore across his garments were noticeable under the bright moonlight. He stood there, breathing deeply. In his right hand, he still kept a firm grip on his sword, which continuously dripped blood at his feet. He brought his left hand up, which was holding his teacup. He lifted it to his lips, then gently blew on it to cool it down slightly. He took a small sip and let out a pleasing “Ahhhhh.” He runs his tongue across his lips then sets the cup down by his feet. The remaining guardsmen all look at each other, then seemingly with unified agreement, they all take several steps closer to the odd-looking stranger and kneel. The stranger, showing no indication of surprise at the soldier’s conceding, steps over the messenger’s corpse and stops. “Ok”, he says.” Which one of you will take me to your Emperor? It’s time to visit my stepbrother.”

                               THE END