A flash of lightning crosses the sky, and it is that that wakes me up. A loud, booming thunder eventually accompanies it, so this is by far the center of where the phenomena took place. Rain drums at the dry leaves around me, creating an almost deafening sound around me, screwing up my bearings. Wind is the only thing that isn't vicious; it claws at the trees, tearing them away, but it is only at the canopy that it is strong.
I jump to my feet, quickly gathering my weapons, so that I can seek shelter. I am about to run off in search when another deafening boom discombobulates me. In my surprise, I trip over my own feet and fall to the ground, skinning my elbows through my sleeves as I catch myself before my chin slams to the rock as well. Somehow, reason unbeknownst to me, I land in a puddle of liquid mud, which splashes up the front of my body and into my eyes.
Out of the corner of my eye I think I see a movement, but I am too caught up in my own worries that I don't pay too much attention to it. Slowly, I push myself to my knees, trying to use my hands to wipe the mud away from my eyes, but I streak it only further with my dirty hands. So, as a backup plan, I turn my face to the sky, shutting my eyes while the stinging cold rain washes it away, even if it isn't completely effective.
Another fork of lightning lights the sky and the clearing I'm in. Within the short period of time, I find the thing that had moved earlier, since it wasn't a figment of my imagination after all. Still not knowing what the dark, hulking shape is, I pull out my knife and clench it in my hands, climbing to my feet in the meantime. Rain dripping down my face, knife posed before myself, a bear rises to its feet, towering above me. Its teeth show white in another, lesser flash of lightening, and its grunting roar is drowned by the accompanying thunder. Nearly whimpering in fright, I take a step backwards, hoping that I don't seem too much of a threat and that the bear doesn't know what the knife would do to it. Unfortunately, I was not fast enough. The bear lunges toward me, her teeth bared. Letting my training kick in, I crouch low and wait. The animal falls just short of my nose. Then it's my turn. My knife flashes, almost faster than the eye can see. My conditioned legs throw me forward as I strike at the bear's eyes, nose, throat and chest. In retaliation she waves her paw forward, but she only manages to grab at my shoulder with her claws, because I jump out of the way.
Growling in pain, I use the momentum that carried me away from the bear to turn around and jump onto her back, where she wouldn't be able to reach me with her finger sized claws. She twists and turns with amazing maneuvers to try and throw me off, but I had managed to get a good grip before it. Finding me still on her back, she bellows in frustration, cuing more lightning to flash across the sky, and thunder that vibrates my chest. Slowly, I realize that she is backing up into a tree, intent on squishing me between her bulk and the tree's immoveable barrier. I flip off, managing to slice at her throat, cutting deep, and then I land with enough force to make my knees buckle. A second later, the bear's claws slice through the air just where I was before I fell. Still empty handed, she falls forward onto four feet and bites at my already bad arm. I roll away, jumping to my feet.
The fight has lasted long enough; now I'm angry and have bloodlust. No doubt the bear does as well, but where she has power I have speed and agility.
My vision narrowed because of my slitted eyes, I pull out my other knife and throw it at the bear's neck, where I hope an important vein or artery is located, carrying much needed blood to the bear's brain. I wait for a while, expecting her to attack me forcefully, but she merely twists her body, striking me in the head while she falls over, dead. I, myself, am out cold, as her paw acted as a club against my temple, taking me into blackness with her.
When I wake up, the sky is bright and blue, but the air, overnight, had dropped significantly. With only the wet clothes on my body and the bear's paw still on the back of my neck, I find myself shivering helplessly. I shift, allowing the blood to flow in my arm again, and then look down at the damage the bear had done on my body. My left shoulder had three deep gashes cutting across it. Further down on the forearm a bloody imprint of the bear's mouth would be forever existent, and I could barely clench my fist because of the pain. Besides that, I had only sore muscles from the peculiar way I lay on the ground overnight and just from the fight, though I noticed that my bow had snapped in half. Setting my mouth into a frown, I only toss it into the trees, having no time to deal with it.
Turning my attention outside of my own body, I glance around the clearing. A couple of the smaller saplings had fallen over during the storm and a large amount of soil from places unknown to me covered up the rock that was earlier exposed. A few fresh prints have been stamped into the soft ground, leading up to the bear. They appeared canine. Following the tracks with only sight, I find a wolf perched on top of the bear's mass, watching me with amber eyes. At first I am taken aback and slide out from under the bear's paw, until I realize he isn't out to hurt me.
The wolf, like the bear, is enormous. He's almost pure white except for numerous gray specks that are more concentrated around his spine. His tail, around his paws and his ears are all tinted a bluish color, which might have been the most exotic thing about him, until I saw him open his maw. His mouth, which was already ringed in red because he had been eating the bear I only killed last night, was home to a lot of long, sharp teeth. Gulping, I trail my eyes to the claws on his human sized paws, which are long, curved and as sharp as the small dagger I had used to cut apart the rabbit.
Continuing my examination of the wolf, my eyes finally rest on his ears. One had been torn to shreds, and by the look of the crusted, black blood, the accident had happened recently. I wondered why this magnificent animal had such a wound, but I didn't want to know what had caused it.
Sitting still, which is hard since it was so cold, I waited for the wolf to eat his fill and leave, allowing me to grab my knife from its neck and skin the pelt away from its carcass so that I can have something to warm me. Once finished, he jumps to the ground, shakes himself and licks the blood from his maw. He stays sitting, but looks at me with the air of authority, as if questioning why I was here. Our eyes meet, and I expect him to flinch away at the venom behind my gaze, but he doesn't, turning it into a contest of dominance. When neither of us back down, I decide to speak, wondering if it would scare him off.
"Who are you?" I ask, sensing that there is something to this wolf that is different from most. My voice comes out in a gurgle, though still squeaky because I haven't used it in such a long time.
Almost acting as if satisfied with something rather than afraid, the wolf wags his tail and turns down toward the path a few paces. He faces me again with beckoning eyes as if telling me to follow him.
I don't exactly know what to do. In most cases I would have ignored the beast, but this is an unusual one. "Hold on," I whisper in case I disturb the silence, and I walk toward the bear, hoping to get some meat for a couple days and pull off her coat so that I can stay warm, since she no longer needs it. I work until the sun reached its zenith point, carefully peeling the fur away, using my sharp, little knife when my fingers are not enough. Eventually I pull off enough to cover me enough, so I set to work at collecting some of its meat, wrapping it up in the fur's meaty side, since I have no other way to carry it. Finally, as a trophy, I cut off one of the bear's claws so I don't forget the fight, not that I ever will. Satisfied, I looked to the wolf, who had barely moved the whole time.
As if understanding that I have completed my task, he gets onto his feet and walks another few feet to the mouth of the next path. His ears are titled back, listening to my footsteps as I reach his flanks. Trotting forward, he leads the way.
For the rest of the day we travel together; him in front, I following, examining my surroundings with interest. The trees, I find, are covered in a lot of moss and are skinny and tall. The path laid affront of me is not a path carved by man, but made by man. The woodchips are soggy and soft, as long as a man's big toe. I look behind me and see no difference than ahead. Then, relying on my ears rather than my eyes, I listen to the padding of my new, four legged friend and to the sounds of the forest. Rain from the thunderstorm the night before is collecting on the leaves, dripping into puddles on the forest floor. Birds sing from somewhere in the trees, casting their beautiful joy throughout the cold air. Opening my mind even further, I taste the freshwater rain through my mouth, which covers the scent of drying ferns spread between the trees.
I walk without my eyes until we reach the next clearing, using the wolf's whispered footfalls as my sight when available. When we reach the next clearing, I decide not to hunt or eat and curl up under my bear fur, hoping the wolf won't eat my hard work. Subconsciously, I note that he lies down beside me, just barely touching the skin on my legs with his fur.
That night my dreams are troubled. I visualize a great, big wolf with grey-speckled fur, his teeth as long as my arm. In a lunge they open wide and head toward me. In defense, I only scream in terror and try to twist away, but the wolf only lands on the ground in front of me and jumps again. He grabs me with his powerful jaws and yanks, like a puppy might do when playing tug a war. I try to pull away, but cannot, as his impossibly long teeth have embedded themselves into my forearm. Time is slowed by the pain. I continue to struggle with the wolf as tears stream down my cheeks. He doesn't care, but tears off my arm cruelly. Thrashing and yelling, I wait for the pain to pass and my life to end.
With a final cry, I wake up. My hands are clammy and my heart is racing. The bear skin that covered me is gone, but so is the mysterious wolf. I rise to my feet, my muscles barely holding my weight. Slowly, I scan the clearing with my nocturnal gaze, but don't see a sign of the wolf. Giving up, I decide I can look for him in the morning and fall back asleep
Waking up the next morning, I see the wolf where he had settled down the night before. He raises his head in greeting, giving the ground one thump with his tail, tilting his head to the side with unintelligible questions in his eyes.
"Can you understand me?" I asked him, but I only receive a tail way in reply. "Where were you last night?" I persist. I don't know why I ask questions, because wolves can't talk, but something compels me to ask him. "I woke up then, and you weren't there." He barely even acknowledges me this time, but jumps to his feet and waits by the mouth of the path. "Hold on," I order, holding up my fingers. To my surprise, he sits down patiently like a trained dog. Quickly, I gather up the bear fur, which mysteriously showed up along with the morning and transfer the meat from the ground and into a makeshift bag. Kicking around some leaves; I straighten up, throwing the bag over my shoulder, announcing "Ready." The wolf bounces his head and trots down the wooden path, keeping the same pace as he had the day before. Silently and quickly, I follow.
We hike only a few miles on the path before the wolf halts, the hair on the back of his neck bristling and his muzzle rose in a snarl. Crouching down, I clutch the handle of my big knife in my dominant hand and wait for a cue from my guardian wolf, who only snarls a warning, or from some unseen attacker. Listening, I try to pinpoint some sign of life, but I hear only a few of the braver birds and a light breeze waking the dry leaves. My knife now in plain sight, I circle slowly in one spot, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it is that bothers the wolf, who now not only growls, but is also barking maliciously. Tensing my muscles, I feel the hair on the back of my own neck rise in anticipation of a fight, and my jaw clenches.
"Heeyah!" A ninja screams his warning-which was stupid-from my right and clumsily jumps forward with a sword in hand. Dropping my bear bag, I quickly, I slash first at his wrists, making him drop the weapon, and then I kick him hard with my foot so that he falls to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye I see another ninja locked in battle with the wolf, and I know immediately that I am against the hunters. While I am delivering the finishing blow to the first ninja, a heavy kick is delivered to my side, knocking me off my feet and making my knife fly out of my hand. Jumping up, I grope around for my knife; I find the handle and whip it around to where I thought the ninja to be. Turning around a second later, I see the ninja fall, jerking with pain. Taking a running step toward him, I grab my knife from his body and bring it over my head as another swordsman tries to split my skull in half. Stepping sideways as my arms give under the force, I let the momentum of his sword carrying him off balance, and then I elbow him into the back and drive my knife into his spine.
No one else coming after me, I sheathe my bloody knife, pick the bear fur and meat up again, and turn to my new buddy, who is licking his wounds that he received in the battle. Sensing my own victory, he looks up and into my eyes. I don't find any dominance in his gaze this time, but instead discover wisdom and sorrow. His characteristic eyes spread warmth through my body where it was absent before, and inside those amber eyes, I remember my sensei, and I see him inside this wolf. "Thank-you," I nod, "Sensei." Sensei blinks slowly, as if in agreement with his new name, and then he leaps forward up the path, revealing a slight limp. Frowning, knowing it was I that had caused this; I follow the poor wolf, leaving the bloodied bodies behind. Actually, I hadn't looked at Sensei's work, just because I didn't want to know what had happened to his victims.
Reaching the next break in the path, Sensei lays down with a finality after putting up such a strong hike to get here. It is still early in the day, but I give the wolf the time he needs because he had helped me so much in the squabble earlier. While I wait for him to rest, I pull out the knife I had used and inspect it. A thin layer of blood is the first thing I take care of, and then I see the place where the hunter's blade had bitten into my blade, leaving a shallow scratch. Hoping it won't affect the strength of my weapon, I sheathe it and find Sensei on his feet again, waiting for me.
Rising to my feet, I walk slightly behind him, letting the pride filled wolf take the lead. As we walk further and further, I notice his limp gets worse, but he doesn't seem to mind much, but he could have just been putting on a show for me and anyone else watching. Thankfully we reached another clearing by the time the sun starts to set, allowing him to lay down. Before he dozes off, though, I take his favored paw in my hand, watching his head, but he doesn't seem to care. Closely looking at his leg, I find a shuriken embedded in the meaty part of his leg, and I take it out, jumping a little when Sensei flinches. Taking another quick look at his face, I see him looking at me, and I can't help but let my heart melt. Applying pressure above the wound, I wait for it to stop bleeding, and then take a strip of the meat from my bear bag, giving it to the wolf. In a couple, quick bites he swallows it, and then I settle down to eat my own share. Once finished, I cover up in the bear blanket again, and fall asleep under the appearing stars.
For the next couple days the going is slow, the pace set by Sensei's healing leg. We make frequent stops so that he doesn't strain his leg any further, and instead of going through three clearings, we reach only two. After a quick run-in with one other hunter, I am now constantly on my guard and don't even think about making a fire at night to cook the diminishing stock of bear meat. On the third day after the one fight, however, we run into more than just one enemy.
"Halt, there!" I voice hails from just beyond a turn of the trees. The disembodied speech makes my skin crawl and my hand instantly jumps to the grip of my knife. I set a hand on Sensei's shoulder, silently telling him to let me go in front because of the possible danger, and step forward enough so that we are face to face. "You are a stranger trespassing on our territory," the guy pointed out, though he made no move to grab the handle of the katana on his back. I guess I wasn't that much of a threat.
"Yeah, so?" I ask him, surprised at my response. I was never really that rude or disrespectful, even to a hunter of the shadow warrior.
"You must come back with me to our fortress," the man replies, puffing his chest out with authority. "You can either comply without struggle or risk your death." Five other black clad goons then walk out of the trees, previously hidden from my sight. Sensei bristled and growled, but with my hand on his shoulder he didn't pounce and attack. The two of us work together as if we have been fighting side-by-side for years, even though we just met less than a week ago. I wait to see if any other men would jump out at us, but none do. Giving Sensei a quick glance, I try to ask him if he'll be okay to fight, but I already know the answer.
Lifting my eyes away from the wolf, I stare the lead man in the face, a grim mask on my own. "What if we don't accept either option?" I ask, a taunting note to my voice.
"You haven't a choice," the man growls, and makes a silent motion with his hand. Instantly, the others throw themselves at Sensei and I with their weapons drawn. I have seconds to react, alert on only how I act and react, though now, in the back of my mind, I am also worried about Sensei; I don't want my friend to die because of me. Throwing myself to the side as I avoid a sword aimed at my heart, I sidestep into another hunter, throwing him off balance and into Sensei's paws. Turning around, I pull my knife out completely from its sheath and slice the closest man's deltoid, causing him to grimace and throw a punch at my face. Turning my head slightly, his fist misses me, but he is so intent on his follow-through that he doesn't notice as I kick him where I just cut him, and then stand on top of his fallen over body. I know two out of six are down for the count.
A man tackles me to the ground from behind, pressing what feels like a wooden stack against my shoulder blade. I shrug him off, rolling over and kick him in the groin, not even bothering to play nicely. He instantly doubles over on the ground, allowing me to slit his throat. Then a third one decides to slap me in the back of my head with a jo staff. I am thrown forward onto my hands and knees, but I quickly spin on my left knee and throw my knife at his chest, which doesn't miss its mark. Getting back to my feet, I spin around to assess what else needs to be done, but even the lead man lay on the ground with Sensei's jaws around his throat.
"Whoa, boy," I say, first retrieving my knife and then walking up to him and putting my hand on his shoulder, which normally calms him. He drops the dead man and looks up at me, licking the side of his maw with his pink tongue. Pain is portrayed through his eyes, and after a quick inspection of his body, I see the problem. The wound from the shuriken had opened up again, and the fur just below the cut was matted with new blood, but there was also a decent gash in the thick fur around his neck, which was bleeding freely. I lightly touched my fingers to the spot, hoping that the bond between us would save me from his teeth, but Sensei gives a warning snap not far from my fingers. Quickly pulling them back, I whisper, "Sorry!" Inside, I felt a pang for him, but he didn't seem to mind much as he walked down the path, leaving the remains of the battle behind him.
We reach another clearing breaking up the path not much later. Sensei throws himself to the ground, panting and gasping for air. I had silently offered him numerous times to rest, but the stubborn wolf had refused every offer and had insisted on moving on by doing just that. I think the last fight had taken a lot out of the wolf, but the blood dripping from his neck certainly didn't help. He was an obstinate fellow, full of pride; they were the most doomed creatures.
Looking into the last of my bear meat in the bear bag, I toss the rest of it to my friend, taking only a little sliver of it for myself. I don't start up a campfire, but continue to eat it raw like I had ever since passing the barrier between the hunters and the protectors. Although Sensei didn't eat the meat with the same enthusiasm as before, he managed to get it down and keep it down. He doses off almost immediately after, succumbing to a much deeper sleep than I have ever seen him sleep before. I watch with interest for a while, wanting to tend to his neck, but knowing it was a bad idea all the same. I watched as his slowly chest rises and falls, and how it shivers every now and again, and then how he spontaneously kicks out with one of his paws. Finally, I let the fight catch up to me, and I join my friend in dreamland.
Because of how much the frequency of the patrols has been rising, I wake with an urge to get up and go, but I ignore it instantly when I see Sensei. His breaths are no longer rhythmic and regular, but noisy and painful. His eyes blink open at me, but they can't focus and immediately shut again. Stepping forward carefully, I kneel by his side and put my hand on his shoulder as I have done to calm him down all the other times. I don't want to leave him behind, yet at the same time I know that if I don't move on the hunters will come and end both of our lives. After Sensei lets out a pained puff of exhaled air, I decide to risk my safety and stay with him, either until he gets better or until his last breath.
For the whole day I stand or sit by him, barely moving beyond arm reach from his side. I stroke the fur on his spine when he whimpers painfully, but leave him alone when he can't bear it. Eventually clouds thicken above our heads and cold water is falling from the sky by the end of the day. My energy being sapped away by the cold and my growing grief, I fall asleep while on guard, only waking when the sun the next day pokes at my eyes. Jumping onto my knees quickly, I touch Sensei's shoulder, but he doesn't acknowledge me; his body is stiff and cold, his chest not rising and falling with breath. The shock of his death is still great, even though I had foreseen it the night before, and it reduces me to tears, my sobs breaking painfully through my throat. The years of training leading up to the moment are forgotten; all of the conditioning and hardening of my emotions. Up until I had met Sensei I had not one person I could call a true friend.
I try to just get up and move on as if I had never met him, but I cannot with his once powerful body lying on the ground. Tears welling up in the corners of my eyes, I decide to bury him so he has a proper goodbye. Despite the cold, the ground was soft, and I set to work on first finding a thin rock I could use as a digging utensil, and then digging a decent size hole. If I had a shovel it wouldn't have taken me that long, maybe an hour, but with only the tools nature has given me directly, it takes the whole of the day. By the end of it I am tired, though not cold, and have pushed Sensei's death to the back of my mind. When I turn around to see him again, though, the barrier is easily broken and I fall over with sobs again. Gradually getting a hold over myself, I lift his body the best I can, knees buckling slightly, and carry it to the hole I had dug, gently resting him at the bottom. Dropping to my knees and bowing my head, I recite:
"Moeyasuku
Mata kieyasuki
Hotaru kana"
In English the poem would mean "It lights up as lightly as it fades: a firefly." Because the friendship that Sensei and I shared for such a short period of time, I could compare it to the blinking of a firefly's light, fading in and out, except our friendship were only one blink, fading in, and his slow death fading it out. The death poem was written by a Japanese poet, Chine.
Finally, waking up the courage inside of me, though no comparable to Sensei's courage, I start shoveling earth back over Sensei's body, burying him where all life begins and ends. A gibbous moon lights my work after the sun has fallen, and it is under that moon that I lay my final pat on the grave and fall asleep beside it.
Without looking at the grave the next morning so I don't grow emotional, I walk downtrodden away down the path. At some point I break down and fall to my knees in sudden sorrow, but once I finally compose myself and get back to my feet, walking on without a tear. Since I empty my mind from all thought, I come up to the next clearing quickly, as if no time has passed at all. The curious thing about it, which makes it stand out from the other clearings, is that instead of having another path lead the way it opens into a pond. Tipping my head curiously to the side, I walk up to the edge of the pool. I know that if you cannot see the bottom of a gather of water, you shouldn't go in at all, but I ignore the logic, simply jumping right in without dropping my bear skin or taking off my clothes. Icy water rushes past my head, and the shock of it pushes the air in my lungs outward. For a few moments I flounder about, searching for up, but I finally break the surface of the water, coughing and sputtering. Treading water until I get my bearings, I catch my breath and start to swim to the other end. Seaweed and other plants cling at my legs like slippery fingers, almost bringing me under, but I instantly come back up and swim on. Halfway across the pond, which turns out to be larger than I first imagined, the bottom completely falls away, bringing the plants with it. I stay still as I process what it could mean, occasionally moving my arms to keep my head above the water so that I can breathe.
Something rubs against my side, causing me to gasp and nearly sink below the surface. The surface of its long body is slimy, slippery and not rough. Unsure of what it could do, and a fear growing because of it, I flip onto my back and swim as fast as I can to the other bank. Making it to the other side without any other problems, with not even weeds pulling at my limbs, I pull myself to the shore and instantly take off my weapons so that I can dry them as best as I can to prevent them from rusting. Just letting my raggedy clothing air dry, I strap the sheathes back on my body and hike the rest of the trail so I don't have to make camp in the middle of the path, much less by the edge of the deep, deep pond.
Morning comes too soon. I stretch my muscles, marveling at how lucky I am for not being discovered while burying Sensei and not being attacked afterwards as well. I should be happy because of it, but it only concerns me and makes me more jumpy, especially without the protection of the wolf's keen senses. Trying to keep the air of being certain around me, I follow the path, still twisting and turning continuously, still affecting my range of sight. The trees are larger and closer because I have finally reached the heart of the woods, the place where the hunters of the shadow have made their home.
I brood my problem that happens to come up, thanks to my literal position: People are pursuing me. I can't hear them; they're ninjas, but I know they're there. I've been trained to work with the dark as well, though I tend to stick to day, and judging on when my enemies have attacked me, I guess that they like daylight, though through the trees the daylight isn't much of an improvement over a new moon on a hill in the height of night.
Coming upon a tall brick wall, my thoughts suddenly all drop away as I curiously brush my hand against the rough surface. Carefully, I put my ear against the cold surface, hoping to hear some sound come through the solid, but expecting none. What is on the other side? Piteously, my mind wanders, and I can hear cars from my home city.
A twig snaps behind me, jerking me away from my fantasy land. Slowly, I unsheathe my larger knife without making a noise, gripping it so hard in my right hand that my knuckles turn white. Leaves crunch to my left, signaling that the person behind the snap isn't alone. I turn sharply, holding my knife diagonally in front of me, anticipating a fight. The wall is to my back so I don't have to worry about a backwards attack. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a ninja revealing himself before attacking, holding a bo staff in his hands. Grieving for my friend must be put behind me, because now is the time to focus, to fight.
The ninja swings the staff above my head, though I don't move because I know it will miss me. Maybe hoping his friend will distract me, the other ninja reveals himself as well, holding a pair of nunchucku in his hands and swinging them in continuous circles. Now I move.
Darting forward a few steps, I wheel around to face my enemies, who easily follow. The first man, if he could be called that, swings his staff to my face, which I block easily with the side of my dagger while I back away, letting them think that I'm giving up without a fight. They lighten their blows. I don't, but I'm only blocking them. I can tell they're novices, because even their hardest blows I can block easily with my forearms or knife. They think I'm their equal or even lesser because I'm steadily giving them ground, almost as if I'm unable to protect myself. And then the kids get careless and give me numerous chances to take them out. Pretending as if I'm wearing out, I guard myself even heavier, making it seem as if I can barely control my knife, as if I'm a clumsy woman.
One of the kids laugh, and in response the other nods. The one with the nunchucks attacks my knees with one and my hip with the other, reasons unknown to me. I half-heartedly block him, but while he is attacking, the other ninja, the one with the bo, is preparing for a death blow. Pretending I'm giving my complete attention to the other, I keep my eyes on the bo staff kid, who uses his staff to hit me behind my neck with blinding speed. I've been waiting for such a move. Up until this moment, I've only been using my knife and the forearm holding it, not my fists or feet. Kicking out with my feet, I hit the second ninja under the ribs, causing him to double over. My left hand powerfully disarms the first and beheads him, because ninjas-even good ones-are assassins if push comes to shove. Jumping onto the squatting kid's back, I hold my bloody knife to his throat. "Drop your weapons and give me no hassle, ore you'll end up like your friend," I growl, though my unpracticed voice doesn't portray the threat as well as I would have liked.
"A-anything," the boy stutters, throwing his weapons to the side as if they were rag dolls.
"If I get off, you won't run," I say, more of an order than a suggestion. Feeling him nod, I reluctantly pull my bloodthirsty knife away from his throat, crawling off his back. The boy only stiffens and doesn't dare move. "I'll strike a deal with you," I announce, "take it or leave it, I don't care." He stares at me wide-eyed. "If I bring you along with me, you can't be human; you must be ninja-silent. That's the only way I let you live." I crossed my arms and gave the boy time to think about the path his life will take.
"Agreed," he finally whispers, barely audible, sticking out his hand to close the deal. I ignore the gesture, only craning my neck to stare at the top of the tall wall, and then asking him, "Great, now how do you get past this wall?"
"This way," the boy asserts, and with the amount of confidence he has in his voice, I believe him and let him take the lead. The farther we walk around the wall, the more the path becomes pronounced, greenery is slowly disappearing.
"If you lead me into a trap," I warn, "it will be off with your head." I grab my sharper knife to prove my point. The boy keeps walking at his pace, but I can tell that his face grows paler.
He stops suddenly, pointing at the wall, as if he was pointing through it.
"Th-there i-is a-our hideout i-in those walls," the kid stammers pathetically, shrinking when I turn my cold, blue gaze on him.
"Very good," I congratulate him, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice. "Now that's a way to earn my trust." The boy doesn't smile, but denies me eye contact. I can tell the kid doesn't trust me, I can tell that easily, but I also notice other things about him as he leads the way: His hair is shoulder-length, the dull color of a stained wood, hanging thinly and limply from his scalp; he has broad, powerful shoulders and well developed arm muscles to better control his weapon of choice; he's rather skinny as well, though from the way his clothes loosely ripple in the wind he creates from walking, I can't tell anything beyond that; and finally, I estimate him to be about eighteen or nineteen years old, so about three quarters of my age. At his age he should have been trained better than he is, since his performance wasn't commendable when he was attacking me. He was shorter than I by as much as seven inches, and I wasn't that tall myself, standing at five foot six. But the most noticeable weakness of his is that he walks with a slight limp, and to a degree, he dragged his dominant side foot, leaving a little line in the loose dirt on the path. The path, I see, is unlike the woodchip strewn path that I have been walking on for the past many days; instead of being dug out it was worn down by many generations of footsteps, following the great brick wall beside us that slowly curves in a continuous circle.
"There are guards above us," the kid points out flatly, retreating into the shadowy safety of a young willow tree. Faintly, I see him point upwards without a care in the direction of the sentinel.
Following his gaze, as shadowed as it is, I find what he was referring to. Indeed, it was someone on top of the wall, looking out through the trees for intruder, completely missing both the kid and I. "Great," I breathe, crouching down beside the boy before the guard decides to look downwards. "Hold on." I turned to face him, my face grave. "If I can't trust you, I'll kill you. Now tell me, do you have a shuriken?"
"What's that?" the kid asks, dumbfounded.
I sigh, shaking my head, exasperated. How could someone that lives with the hunters of the shadow-lived-not know what a shuriken is? And how was I going to get the guard down here so I can slit his neck without him warning others that we're here? "Do you know him?" I ask.
The kid shakes his head. "No."
Standing still with my chin resting in my folded hand, I continue to look up at the guard while he remains unaware that the kid and I are even there. If we have gotten this far without him noticing, then he wouldn't notice if we go any further, would he? Studying any patterns I might notice in his behavior, I realize after a while he doesn't even try at his job, but continues to look off into space at some unseen object. "We're going to sneak past," I tell the kid, grabbing his arm and pulling his ear closer to my mouth so that I don't have to raise my voice at all.
"Silence or death, understand?" The kid nods his head, so I shove him forward, letting him stumble quietly back onto the path. Following wearily, jerking at the slightest disturbance in the air, I practically push the kid until we're out of the guard's eye and ear shot. Walking a little easier from then on, we reach no more guard stations until we reach the continuation of the woodchip path. Almost walking backwards the whole time, I am exhausted when we reach the next clearing. The kid, though, isn't as tired, but I can practically see the energy burning in his eyes. "I can tell you're bursting with questions," I sigh, sitting down and resting on my arms, leaning backwards. "I'll tell you what I deem appropriate."
"Thank-you!" the boy rushes, slapping his face with the palms of his hands comically. "Why do you wear rags?"
"I have no other clothes," I say simply, looking downwards at my attire. I hadn't even noticed that they were ripped up and dirtied so.
"Okay . . . then why do you have so many scratches and stuff? They're everywhere! You face, your arms, everything is covered with them!"
Again, I have to study myself before I can answer him. "I fought and killed a bear,"
I answer him, and after another moment of thought, I ask, "They're that bad?"
"Yeah!" he exclaims, jumping with the force of his exclamation. "Awful."
"May I have a turn?" I ask, cutting off whatever else he might suddenly inquire. I am not burning with questions like him, but the information I seek would be nice to know.
"Sure," the kid replies, almost bashfully. The timidness quickly disappears. "But I didn't get a good turn."
I ignore his second comment, straightening up a little. "What's your name?"
"Chiaki," he answers instantly, puffing his chest up proudly.
"Nice."
A pause. "Are you done?"
"Yes."
"Great! What's a shuriken?"
Rolling my eyes, I pull the knife from on my leg and quickly carve a simple shuriken shape into the dirt. Chiaki jumps at the sudden appearance of my weapon, but leans over curiously when I stuff it back in the leather sheathe, right after whipping the dirt off the blade. "Oh! A ninja throwing star!" My only reply to his statement is throwing him a skeptical look, wondering what the hunters were teaching their pupils. "How old are you?"
"That's not a very polite question."
"Are you going to answer?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I'm old enough." I set my jaw, already a little frustrated; I didn't work well with children.
"Fine."
"Any more questions?" I ask, my hopes rising a little.
"Hmm . . . yeah."
Rolling my eyes, I grunt, "Spill," and then drop my arms so that I am laying on my back.
"Why are you in the woods?" Chiaki's usual enthusiasm was not added to this question, and instead his voice sounded sincere and concerned, as if I were a wounded, wild animal that was completely out of their habitat. In a way, I was.
His question caught me off guard, and I feel the breath catch in my chest.
Hesitating, and involuntarily showing it through my voice, I say, "I . . . not at this time."
"So that means you are going to answer?" he chatters, back to his excited ways.
"It depends," I answer slowly. "One, if I don't kill you. Two, if I find you worthy of the answer, and three . . ."
"Three?" Chiaki prompts and he sits forward enough so that he invades my personal space.
"When I deem appropriate and if I don't die myself." At that, I spoke nothing more of the subject, despite his loud and obvious protests. Settling down, I make to sleep, but Chiaki make sure that I see nothing of it.
"I'm hungry!" he complains, contorting his face in a childish manner. When he gets no reaction from the fake sleeping me, he continues: "I didn't eat lunch today."
I snort in laughter, unable to control myself and show to him that I clearly am not asleep, such as I had acted. Maybe I would keep the kid by my side; his hilarious personality equaled out how annoying he was. "What did you have for breakfast?" I snort, not caring if he answered or not.
Staring hard at me, Chiaki wears a bewildered expression, possibly afraid at the sudden change in my own demeanor. "That's not important," he sniffs, and crosses his arms and turns up his nose in obvious mockery.
Hiding my humorous side, I pull out my knife and hold it up so that he can see it.
My face grows serious enough to cause him to speak. Holding up his hands, as if defending himself, Chiaki says, "O-okay. I ate two eggs, a glace of orange juice and a banana." Sheathing my knife, I roll on the ground, laughing even harder than before. "W-what?" he hollers, trying to figure out why I am so amused.
Shaking my head, getting control over myself I decide to tell him the answer to that question. "I haven't had anything to eat for . . ." I trail off, counting the days on my fingers. "Four days? And even then, what I ate was little and was raw meat."
Chiaki's face is a mask of horror. "Y-you ate meat
raw?" he stammers, backing away from me now.
"Yeah," I sneer, lifting my lip in a snarl. "That's all I have to eat is what the forest gives to me, and I can't start up a fire to cook it. I've had nothing as fancy as you for a very long time." I poke him in the chest, seeing as he didn't back out of my arms reach. "I don't think it's your place to complain anymore, now is it?" Cringing in terror from my touch, his legs scrambling for purchase in the ground, he finally puts the distance of the clearing between us, letting me to roll over and fall asleep, as I have wanted to do for a while now. I wake up before the sun can shine into the clearing, and before the kid wakes up himself. "Wake up kid! Time to leave camp! Let's go!" I bellow, though just loud enough to rouse Chiaki.
"What?" the kid cries, jumping up, and then landing on his butt. "Hey! What-no breakfast?"
"Never," I laugh, and turn to leave.
"What?" he shrieks, running to catch up to me, and then he matches my pace.
"How do you live?"
I wink, not even bothering to bring up that I haven't eaten anything really good for me in more days than I can count. "If you're lucky, I'll start a fire tonight."
"If I'm lucky?" the kid quotes, his jaw dropping.
"And if you're lucky, I'll let you borrow one of my knives-"
"Hold on, you said, one of my knives. How many do you have?"
I ignore him, and start up my sentence again. "I'll let you borrow one of my knives to get a rabbit for dinner."
"Wow," the kid mumbles, more to himself than to me, "you've grown like the forest." I throw him a looking, wondering if he is crazy himself, as I don't have a clue as to what it means. "Oh!" he suddenly pipes, perking up. "I didn't ask your name."
"Kifu," I answer.
"Ooh! That's a game," he chatters, continuing on and on with things I don't care about. Eventually I learn to tune him out, focusing on things beyond my physical horizon of sight so that we aren't ambushed while Chiaki talks as if in the city with one of his friends.
I cut into his speech a few miles later, unable to control my irate emotions building up in the back of my head. "Chaiki, I'll answer your question if you shut-" I pause, both in my steps and speech.
"What?" Chiaki asks nervously, noticing that I'm not behind him any longer.
"Quiet," I hiss, dropping into my expectant fight position, pulling out my dagger, which I toss to Chiaki, hoping he can catch it.
"Wha-?" he starts, grabbing it out of reflex, and even manages to take the handle and not cut himself.
"Heh!" I snap to shut him up, cutting my hand violently through the air. "Defend yourself!"
"Uh-oh." Chiaki crouches into a defensive stance, knife in hand, as he realizes what I'm getting at sink into his thick skull. I pull out the knife I had adopted as a throwing knife, and expect Chiaki to cover my back as I shift slightly; waiting for the body behind the sounds I had heard. After about twenty minutes, Chiaki grows impatient. "Uh, Kifu, I don't think we're under attack."
"Very observant," I snap crossly. I drop my own position and put the small, sharp knife back. "Keep the knife for now. It ain't good for throwing, but I always think it's nice to have a blade. Stay on your toes. We could be ambushed any time now.
And, Chiaki, keep your mouth closed unless it's necessary," I rattle off in succession, hoping he'll remember the three points I made in my little speech.
We walk silently on, stopping occasionally when I think I hear something out of the ordinary in the thick trees outside of the path. I sense Chiaki's fear grow, but I don't comment on it, and he seems to be able to contain it enough. "Chiaki," I begin suddenly, making him jump. "No more fire. If we find something to eat, it'll be raw." To my relief, he nods, clenching his jaw together grimly.
The day passes, and we finally reach another clearing. Quietly, I tell him to go around and see if he can find any edible plants so that I don't starve; my strength was waning noticeably, and I was breathing hard after the long trek through the day. I crouch on the border of the clearing, holding my small throwing knife in place of my bow and arrow, hoping I might chance upon another rabbit or other game animal. By the time darkness falls, I come up empty handed, and Chiaki had only filled one hand with wild blackberries. He hands most of them over to me, and if I didn't need the food so much, I would have refused.
"You want first or second watch?" I ask him, leaning back on a tree with my arms over my head.
"Second," he yawns, stretching in the typical way a tired man does. "I need to keep up my strength."
I force out a couple laughs and lay my knife on my lap, getting comfortable. "Glad to see you listen," I mutter with as much humor as I can muster. His response is to find a soft patch of moss and lay down, curling up against the cold. It gets dark. A normal person would only just make out their hand in the small, crescent moon.
Since I had trained my eyes for years, I can see the whole clearing as if it were bathed in the light of the full moon. Checking myself so I don't doze off, I wait for hours as nothing happens. Glancing up at the moon, I estimate its height of arc to not be far off, and I decide it is at that time that I will wake Chiaki and settle down for a rest, but I know I won't go to sleep, because I can tell that he wouldn't make a great sentry, as he probably has a year or two of training. My lips curl up at the thought of being able to meditate again, a ritual I have been denied for so long.
Hearing a twig snap, I am pulled to my sharpest senses again, and I tense, ready to wake Chiaki at moment's notice. Nothing happens straight after the sound, but I don't relax my guard. Another few minutes later, an unnatural rustling comes from my right. I pray to no one in particular for it to be a deer, but know deep down that it isn't. Hopefully they should think me asleep, giving me the benefit of surprise.
More crackling from dead, hanging leaves comes from my left. I wish to wake
Chiaki, but he'd only make noise, thanks to his training like that of a fly; but even those are near silent. As the seconds tick by, my heart thumps harder. The crunching comes from all around the clearing now, happening in shorter intervals of time, and in closer distance to me.
I think back to what my sensei said to me, before I was sent out on this training exercise. "You said there are only about a hundred of them?" I had asked.
"No, Kifu. There are at least a thousand shadow ninjas, and that was when I went through the woods." It was when he said that that my attention jumped to the few scars that he held, and then I go back to wondering how many I have.
I remember my younger friend, Seiko, saying just as gaily as Chiaki, "There must be five thousand ninjas now!"
"No," sensei rejected, "their place is not big enough to hold such numbers."
Sticks snap all around, protesting loudly when heavy weight is put onto them. The ninjas are in the clearing now, but I wait for the right moment.
I said, about a half a year ago, to Shinka, to frighten him, "Many people never even come back. Several go in, few come out." I realize now that I had said the truth, and it wasn't any joke.
Now, I decide, is the time to act. Jumping to my feet, knife in hand, I cry out,
"Chaiki! Wake up! We're under attack!"
Chiaki jumps up clumsily and screeches, "Ah! I was hoping you were wrong!"
Shaking my head, I dive at the closest ninja, plunging my small knife into his chest.
Pulling it out again, I spin around only to get tackled by two more. At such a close range, it isn't hard to slit my attackers' throats, and I push them off me. Another ninja takes me down instantly, letting a sword that had been aimed for my head cut harmlessly through the air over our heads. Stabbing my knife into his stomach,
I push him off as well, and then dive for the nearest hunters' legs so that they fall heavily onto their comrades behind them. Taking no chances, I pounce on them and give half of them the bliss of death, but send the other ones off with deep wounds on lesser parts of their body. I keep twisting and turning to throw the pests off that jump on me and carve them open when I have the chance.
Eventually, once I am near exhaustion-despite the adrenaline surge-and the last few turn tail and run like the wimps they are back to where they came from.
Panting, I go around the clearing to find Chiaki. Bloody bodies are on the ground, making it difficult to effectively make my way around, but at least it is only I that is still standing. Finally, I find the kid under the body of another ninja, and his chest still rises and falls, signaling he hasn't left me. Summoning the rest of my strength,
I pull Chiaki onto my shoulders and leave the bodies, both dead and alive, behind as I walk the few miles to reach the next clearing.
Instead of feeling victorious and triumphant, I feel empty, sorrowful, regret and shame; those people didn't deserve to die just yet. Because of the side they might not have even chosen, they died because they were ordered to, fighting a body with much more power and experience than them.
I hadn't slept for more than twenty-four hours. I know that it is well past midnight, and it is neigh impossible to see on ground level, thanks to the canopy, though thick, is noticeably thinning as I get farther and farther away from the heart.
Eventually, I come upon the next clearing, and I see the sky had lightened to dawn, and sunlight winks through the small amount of leaves. Collapsing, I pass out on the ground, dropping Chiaki carelessly on the ground beside me.
When the sun is completely in the sky, and I had gotten enough sleep for me to at least function, I look around the clearing. I notice another stone statue, marking the edge of the hunters' territorial claim, but I also find that the kid is missing. I wonder if he had wandered off, afraid and shameful at killing so many of his peers, or for other reasons. Lethargically, discovering that I need a real meal, I leave the matter behind and collect enough berries and leaves to stop my stomach from rumbling. Even when I am finished, Chiaki doesn't come back. I am feasting like a king, or at least in my standards, but my companion is either captured or lost.
A twig cracks on the path I had come from. I try to ignore it, feeling the loss of another friend, but hope flutters in my chest, and my immediate thought was 'Chiaki is back!' Glancing upwards, I see a dark shadow hover on the path.
Knowing that Chiaki was not that big, I grip my knife again, and I feel dread climb and push back the hope until it is gone. Slowly standing, I see the shadowed figure step into the sunlight, revealing his features. He is holding Chiaki. Growling, I have to keep myself from charging the brute, but his only reaction is to stare at me, dominance twinkling in his eyes, thinking I have naught a chance. Nevertheless, I stare back, showing him that I'm not afraid of his burly physique.
Breaking eye contact only after a long period of time, the man throws Chiaki to the side, where he lands with a soft thump. Grabbing his katana, he takes two steps forward and swings at my neck, but I duck in time and in turn stab him with my knife, but it doesn't faze him; he kicks out at my head. Grunting, I roll aside, but he's on me in an instant.
"Kifu," sensei growled. I realize it's a part of my life I had already lived. "When under attack, react. Think later. But keep in the back of your mind, in a pinch, use pressure points."
Blinking, I get up defiantly and land a solid blow on his knee. He only flinches, takes a step forward on it, and then falls over. Stabbing him in an important artery located on his arm, I flip over him and cut into his neck enough for him to bleed out to his death. In the end, it was an easy squabble, but seeing as I haven't slept much, and that I was battle sore, it had been harder on me than I would have thought. The only thing that matters, though, is that I got Chiaki back. Crawling over to his body, I see that he is lying prone across the ground, his face just getting enough air to allow him to keep breathing.
"Chiaki, if you can hear me, I leave at sundown," I whisper, merciless, even though my heart goes out for the kid. "I won't be able to carry you. If you don't wake, I'm afraid I must leave you here."
His eyes flutter open. "Kifu," he groans, "food."
Chuckling softly, grateful that he is awake, I hand him over a few blackberries, which he quickly gobbles down. "Help yourself," I tell him, spreading my arms to show how many wild berries there were located here. He tears at them with a ferocity I have never previously seen. When finished, he lay against a tree, patting his stomach. "That's the best 'meal' I've ever had with you," he points out happily.
"You ate more than I did!" I scold, looking around at the empty bushes, which weren't even supposed to bear fruit at this time of year anyway. He laughs and tosses a small pebble at my head, which bounces innocently off. "Alright," I growl, cuffing him, "time to go."
"Aw man," Chiaki complains, though out of good humor. Still, when I leave Chiaki follows with a string of complaints.
The canopy gives way to the ghostly moon a few days down the path, lending us its light. The path grows broader, allowing Chiaki and I to walk side by side rather than play follow the leader. Then the path just ends, giving way to a small, rocky cliff. Going up to the edge, Chiaki and I look down at a small, medieval town, minus the church. A fire burns in the center, giving the residents of the place warmth, which is greatly needed in the nearing winter.
Sighing, I start down the hill, followed closely by Chiaki. The journey in the woods is over, but it only begins a new adventure, a new life, that lies before me.
Sat Feb 27, 2010 12:50 am