To Live by the Blade

Sashin wriggled his toes in the winter cold, bemoaning his earlier
insistence on thin socks, for agility's sake. His last dregs of sak?
sloshed gently in their clay pot as Sashin descended an outcrop. He
eased his katana in the sheath, wary of the blade freezing in place.
Ryosuke had taught him that. Ryosuke&;#8230; Ryosuke had taught him
much, far more than just how to survive with the sword. He had taught
him how to live by it. And then told him to abandon it! The old man had
been good, very good, but his wits must have weakened with age. Sashin
would rather die than leave his sword behind him. Sashin had not spent
years training in order to forgo the blade; Ryosuke seemed to have
thought he had done. Ryosuke and his stupid beliefs! Even after all
this time, the old fool would probably still think that Sashin could
not live both by honour and the blade.

The soft crunch of compacting snow drew Sashin's attention away from
his inner thoughts. Thumbing the hilt of his katana up, readying it to
be unsheathed, Sashin spoke quietly: "Who is there?", but the only
answer was silence. Looking back, Sashin caught a glimpse of a shadow
dashing between the trees before it disappeared entirely. This puzzled
him, yet still he let his katana fall back into the sheath. Followers
in the snow were the least of Sashin's concerns today.

**************************************

The sun hung only half above the treetops when Sashin again heard
footsteps, this time ahead of him. They used less subtlety this time.
Well-trained ears picked out the clack of sheath on leg. But that sak?
bottle had been full that morning, and Sashin was in no state to fight
an opponent of any strength. His dismissal from the Sekihoutai had not
been equable, and Kaoran-saman would maybe even stoop to sending ronin
after him. Maybe even some of the Sekihoutai themselves.

Whatever the truth, Sashin could see no option but to run. But which
way? Turning back would only place him farther from the next village
and relative safety; running into the forests this close to night and
the next snowfall was probably just as dangerous as meeting the armed
stranger. Agitated, Sashin looked from the path behind him to the heavy
forest on his left, and then back to the path. Nowhere to
run&;#8230;

Flustered as he was, Sashin only just picked up the crisp collapse of
fresh snow again, much closer this time. Even as he froze, the other's
pace picked up, running towards him- fast. Sashin's hand was on his
hilt as the other's blade hissed free of its sheath. A sharp breath
marked the other jumping, and Sashin's instincts, however weathered
they might be by the sak? and the cold, took over. Waiting until the
assailant began his descent, Sashin ghosted sideways, ducking his
shoulder to allow the other's blade to whisper past his side. The
attacker, a youngish man wearing a ronin's gear and a dark halfmask,
landed heavily but recovered quickly. Sashin was surprised to note
another, apparently unarmed man a short distance away, padding
silently, fluidly down the rough pathway. That Sashin had not sensed
him was warning enough that he was far from unarmed. But the ronin with
the halfmask had fully regained his stance now, and was advancing
rapidly again. Sashin sneered as he cut the man down. Barely enough
training to know one side of his sword from the other, and already sent
out on an important mission. These ronin had no idea of how to live by
the blade. Turning to face his other attacker, Sashin barely had time
to register the scene before a fist like rock hit his jaw and sent him
reeling. Blood dripped from his lip as Sashin staggered back, badly off
balance. Stars spotted his vision. Shaking his head clear of most of
the dizziness, Sashin raised his head again only to see the Sekihoutai-
with a punch like that, thought Sashin, there was little else he could
be- prepare to strike again. Alert this time, Sashin readied himself to
dodge in the tiny space of time available to him. This time, as the
other shot forward, Sashin thought himself ready. He thought
wrong.

As Ryosuke had taught him, Sashin slid away from the other's fist at
the last moment, and moved only the least distance needed to avoid the
blow. But the Sekihoutai, a deadpan expression on his face even as he
acted, was too fast. Again, the other man's blow connected, and Sashin,
only a short man for all his skill, was knocked off his feet. On his
back, Sashin now had time to pull his katana up to block the most
likely point of attack- the neck. Sure enough, the assailant's fist
went for the weak point of soft flesh, and was caught.

Yet instead of the spray of blood and cry of agony that Sashin
expected, there was nothing but a short, sharp clang and a sudden
pressure on his katana, forcing Sashin to expend all of his strength to
keep the blade's back from breaking his nose. Horrified, Sashin
realised that the Sekihoutai wore metal gauntlets under his cloth
gloves. Sashin knew now that he stood little chance, at least not
whilst drunk. Jumping up as fast as he could, Sashin ran for the woods,
and escape.

**************************************

It was later, far later, and night had long ago begun. Leaves swirled
in the fresh, drifting snow that powdered the landscape anew in a fresh
wave of icy whiteness. Sashin was staggering, alone and cold. His head
pounded, his thoughts swum, as confused and as random as the fresh
flakes that settled in thin drifts on the shoulders of his worn kimono.
He still clutched the sak? bottle, thought he had drained its contents
an hour past, as if wishing it would refill itself. The cold was enough
to bring tears to his eyes.

-Sashin&;#8230;-

Sashin looked up. He would swear that he had heard the voice of his old
sensei. Dismissing it as a trick of the wind, he raised his foot to get
a hold on a precipice, preparing to clamber up.

-You have failed me again, Sashin&;#8230;-

Surprised, Sashin slipped and nearly lost his balance. There was a time
when that would never had happened to him, he mused. But that voice,
that had to have been his imagination talking. He had not failed
Ryosuke. He had surpassed him.

-Failed&;#8230; You have failed three times, Sashin. You failed to
understand the true reason for taking up the sword, and were blinded by
ambition and dreams of vengeance. You failed yourself, as a human and
as a samurai; failed me, as a student; failed Kaoran as an
assassin&;#8230;-

As Sashin watched, horrified, the swirling snow for a second formed the
outline of a tall, lean and agile man with a long braid of dark hair.
Of Ryosuke.

"No, Ryosuke! You lie to me again! I have never failed you, or Kaoran!
Each of you asked the impossible! You told me to give up all that I was
and live the sorry life of an unknown hermit, and
Kaoran&;#8230;"

-Kaoran told you to kill, and you did not. He gave you a task, and you
refused it. He offered you the life that you left me to live, that of a
hitokiri, a killer, and you failed even that. You are casteless,
Sashin, an outcast. You are little more than a ronin; a sore, bitter,
contemptible ronin.-

Sashin screamed wordlessly, and drew his katana, slashing fervently at
the snow, at Ryosuke, at Kaoran, at everything and everyone. At his own
failure, and his former blind ambition. Tears of anger and sorrow
burned his cheeks, and it seemed to him as if he was branded with his
guilt.

"I wanted to be the greatest, the most skilled and benevolent samurai
ever to take up the sword! I wanted to protect the weak and defy the
oppressive, to save the helpless and to slay the evil!"

-But you have done none of this, Sashin. You could claim to nothing but
your skill, and now, you have let even that go. You were beaten,
Sashin, by a lowly Sekihoutai and assassin. Beaten by the very thing
you wished to become.-

Sashin dropped to his knees, sobbing even as his first-shed tears froze
in the cold of the winter's night. He mumbled senselessly, repeating:
"Failed&;#8230; I have failed&;#8230; Failed&;#8230;"
There was nothing but grief in his mind. The snows above him coalesced
again into the form of a man, a man that was not quite Ryosuke, nor
Kaoran, but something between them and Sashin's own image of the
perfect samurai that he had wished to become. The figure showed
strength, skill and ruthlessness to the wrong, but also compassion,
wisdom and restraint. It seemed an avatar of enlightenment and
perfection, and Sashin knew that it was something he could never
be.

-You know what you must do, Sashin.-

"Yes&;#8230; I&;#8230; know. It m-must be
d-done&;#8230;"
And there, alone but for his own mind in the cold, dark forest,
Keitarosara Sashin, blood, tears, ice and sak? mixed on his face in a
mask of hate, anguish and pain, let his fingers relax. Seemingly
slowly, with hardly a whisper of noise, his katana fell to the ground,
sinking into the soft white powder and disappearing forever from both
his sight and his life. Looking up to the few stars that shone through
the canopy, Sashin cried out again. At last, he had succeeded. He had
forgone the blade, and left his life behind him, left behind his sins
and Ryosuke's murder. Even now, that still pained him. There had been
no other choice, no other way, he knew that, but still&;#8230;

Hugging his knees desperately, Sashin fell sideways to the ground,
alone at last in the forest.

And high above, the snow swirled and spiraled in an ever-changing
pattern of pale flakes. If there was anyone but the hunting owls there,
then perhaps they would see, just for a moment, the outline of a man:
majestic; graceful; patriarchal. Smiling.

But there was no-one there, and even if there was, who would believe?
Followers in the snow were the least of anyone's concerns
today&;#8230;