"Yakuotoshi" by Andrew C. Euston

Crisp mountain air collected around a group of short buildings. A pair of lightly armored guards kept post around the base of the camp, clearly visible. It was a risk the camp could barely afford. In one of the buildings, a man meditated, trying desperately to dispel terrible images that he could no longer run from. Burning, the base of the mountain was burning. His fellow ninja and his master were among those lost to the flames. The attackers has taken his master and made him a Ronin. His master would be avenged, that he was certain of. His status as a Ronin was acceptable though, considering his near mastery of the art of Ninjutsu. He got up from his kneeling meditative stance and looked out over the mist filled peaks of mount Hijiyama. The blaze was no longer visible. They were the Iga ninja that dared defy the sovereignty of he who would be called Lord Nobunaga of the Oda clan. They were less than 5,000 men against his 30,000.

The man approached a small shrine in the front of his quarters. He lit a small bit of incense and gave a prayer to Bishamon, the god of war and defense. He stood next to his suit of yoroi armor, its smooth enamel the color of the night sky that blanketed the land. This was his first and in all likely-hood, last suit of armor. Given to him by his father at only age thirteen, it had become a second skin for him. He ran his hands over an almost invisible engraving on the neck guard of the armor. Takeo. "My name is Takeo," the man said sternly. It made him think of his father.

"Takeo means strong like bamboo," his father had told him. Takeo prayed that his father’s spirit could see his strength from heaven so that he could be proud of his only son.

A sharp rapping on the building’s entryway echoed like an avalanche in Takeo’s ears. "What is it?" Takeo asked, unmoving.

"Arms master Shiro requests you at the armory," the figure at the door was nothing more than a shadow in the scarce light of the moon. Takeo would have gladly met with Shiro to discuss tactics or the weather, but he knew all to well that this meeting would have absolutely no pleasantries. Shiro was related to his master, although all he had to show for it was his title as arms master. Shiro enjoyed the anonymity that his distance from the family bloodline granted him though. Takeo decided against delaying any longer and set out into the night.

Takeo let the cool damp air into his lungs with a slow breath as he stood at the door to Shiro’s quarters. His friend would not need or accept any condolences for the loss of their master. The makeshift door opened and revealed a man, tall by Japanese standards, with dark brown hair that flowed down his back like a river of silk. At his side was his O-Dachi. The blade itself was legendary, the last work of the family weapon smith. Few swords were made in such a fashion as it took great skill and even greater strength to wield such a weapon. Shiro’s expression alone told Takeo that of the grave situation that lay in wait within the thickly forested mountainside just beyond their camp.

"We must assemble our able men at once and prepare to move westward. Our 500 men would be nothing to the 5,000 that will be advancing from the south," the words came out like blood from a fresh wound. It pained Shiro deeply to retreat from such honorless foes as Nobunaga and his army of loyal fools.

"Have the others agreed upon a point of meeting to the west?" Takeo queried.

Shiro hesitated briefly then answered "No, I have been waiting for their decision. It has been a whole day. I am beginning to think that the main camp may have been taken by Nobunaga’s men."

Takeo nearly screamed out in rage as he thought of the Buddhist temple resting at the peak of the mountain being defiled by Nobunaga’s tainted ambition. "We need to get away from this mountain now," he reiterated his point with a quick sweep of his hand, "or we will all surely die here."

Shiro and Takeo exchanged worried glances and parted ways shortly after agreeing. Takeo swiftly gathered as many idle men as he could to spread the word of their immediate re-location. Alert as they were, none of the guards saw the living shadows that rapidly darted between the tall sudajii pines that covered the mountainside.

Takeo had just put his armor on and was stepping out of what had only hours ago been his quarters when his night trained eyes picked up fleeting movement. He wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but his sixth sense told him it was not something he should ignore. His ears told him of the telltale snap of twigs he had expected to hear from his right. Beyond a group of sudajii pines stood a man dressed in loose black cloth with what appeared to be red dragons embroidered on the sleeves. The man’s long hair was tied into a ponytail that danced in the wind. The two men watched each other soundlessly. The black dressed man gave a wicked smile and in a blinding motion vanished. Seconds later he re-appeared at Takeo’s side with nothing but a slight breeze to tell Takeo of the man’s presence. "Tell me your name, dark samurai," Takeo whispered.

"I am known as Zeshin. I am he who rides the wind. That is all you need to know, ninja." With that, the dark samurai Zeshin drew a black serrated katana from the darkness. In the same motion he sprang backwards, his already dim form melting into the velvet night shadows. Calling forth great power in an ancient tongue, Zeshin raised his arm into the sky as it was bathed in blue flame. A swift wind picked leaves from trees and sent them around the two combatants.

"Magic?" Takeo uttered under his breath. He had never seen true magic and had only heard few stories of its use. With a wave of Zeshin’s arm, the enchanting blue flame was extinguished. Zeshin’s image blurred and disappeared into the whirlwind of leaves. He was moving with such frightening speed that Takeo had barely enough time to draw his katana and bring the sword up in anticipation of Zeshin’s first attack. The swords cried out into the their wielder’s souls as blade struck blade for the first time. Takeo reacted to the attack with a quick turn which should have brought him to Zeshin’s unprotected side, but where sword should have met flesh there rang the cry of metal. Zeshin may prove to be a worthy opponent, thought Takeo as he again took up a defensive stance.

A battle raged in the center of the camp where the remaining Iga ninja were gathered. They were fighting a mere scouting party from Nobunaga’s main army, but it was enough to endanger the whole camp, as there would certainly be many more groups behind them. Shiro gripped his O-Dachi with both of his hands and led his men into the fray, slaying any attacker foolish enough to come within the reach of the enormous blade.

Sparks flew into the air like fireflies as two blades locked together. The men they belonged to were calm and expressionless. They rotated slowly around each other seeking weaknesses to exploit. "Your master taught you well, ninja. I have never met an opponent with such skill in the sword," Zeshin chortled.

"It is a shame that you serve Nobunaga, samurai. We could have learned a great deal from each other," Takeo retorted. At that Zeshin just smiled again and laughed. Zeshin drew his blade back and in a dance of deadly beauty brought his sword around and suddenly into a lethal arc meant for Takeo’s exposed neck. In a move that stunned Zeshin, Takeo dashed forward bringing his blade across Zeshin’s chest. Both blades found their targets but fell off course. Both warriors stood still with their backs to each other. Zeshin shifted oddly.

"This isn’t over. As long as I still live, we will meet again," Zeshin said as he leapt onto the roof of a nearby building. He pulled out an ornate silver flute from a fold in his black garments. The flute shown through the night with an unearthly glow as Zeshin played a choice few hypnotizing notes into the wind. With that, he dove backwards from the rooftop and was gone.

"I’ll be looking forward to our next meeting," Takeo said, knowing Zeshin hadn’t heard him. Zeshin didn’t have to hear him; Takeo felt that Zeshin already knew. He fell to one knee and noted the wound that he had received on his right shoulder. He dropped his blade and started tending the wound. He didn’t see the fresh blood that covered his fallen blade. But then, he didn’t need to see it to know that it was there.

Shiro was a tempest of destruction. The large man’s ferocious concentration was calmed by several short but beautiful notes that seemed to echo in his mind. The group of scouts they were locked in battle with sheathed their weapons and vanished into the forest with incredible ease. They had left as quickly as they had come. With darkness as their protection, Shiro knew that chasing the samurai would only set them back by more time. He knew most of all that they could afford to waste no time in their retreat. A group of officers gathered around Shiro questioning their next move. "We gather what we can so we may head west. I am unsure of what forces, friendly or otherwise, we may meet on the road west but I know that if we were to remain here, we would be slaughtered. I am less certain of where we may stay, as Nobunaga will surely not forget our flight from him." With that, Shiro left his officers to find the fate of Takeo.

Takeo met with Shiro shortly after he had bound his shoulder. "How did you get that? Has the mighty Takeo met a foe worthy of his blade?" Shiro joked, adding a small laugh.

"A samurai like none I’ve met before. He was the leader of the men you fought, I am sure of it. His skill in the blade was nearly equal to my own," Takeo looked at his shoulder. "I struck him at the moment he struck me. No matter, we must make preparations to move at once, my intuition tells me the scouts may already be planning a second attack," Takeo said as he cleaned the blood from his sword with an oiled cloth.

Shiro grinned for the first time in weeks. "I have already made arrangements with the men. They should be ready to move within the hour. Come, let us gather our belongings," with that, Shiro left Takeo to his thoughts. Takeo looked to tapestry of stars above him and sighed.

Takeo had prepared for the group departure. He thought again of the dark samurai Zeshin. Can we really escape? Even if we do, where can we go and what province would take us in? His mind was burning with questions that threatened to consume him. He drew his blade again and placed it before his shrine for one last time. "I must survive this. My Ninjutsu teachings will not die with me. I will honor my master’s teachings and my father’s spirit will be proud of my perseverance," Takeo sheathed his katana’s blade in the wooden scabbard that hung from his side. He left the makeshift building and joined the other ninja that waiting in a clearing just beyond the camp. None of the men gathered in that clearing would ever return to the mountain.

The sun crept above the sudajji pine trees, burning through the mist that rolled lazily down the mountain’s side. After the last vestiges of night had left the ninja camp, several groups of heavily armed men on horseback advanced. Soldiers dashed from building to building in their frantic search. A bearded man bearing the marks of high rank dismounted and grabbed a passing soldier by the neck. The man was beyond reasoning. "Where are the ninja?" He barked and threw the soldier to the ground. "Your scouting party reported that they were here!"

The soldier appeared visibly shaken by his officer’s fiery rage. "I…I…"

"Tell me now, fool!" The soldier’s fear of him only fed the officer’s rage. "Where is Zeshin. He shall be held responsible for this failure, not I."

"S-sir, he moved ahead of our group after we reported," the soldier mustered enough courage talk. "He must be tracking the ninja even as we search."

The officer put his hand on his sword and briefly considered striking the soldier. He stopped himself after remembering how Nobunaga dealt with officers that had lost their tempers. "I have no idea why the commander puts up with Zeshin. He is too unpredictable," the officer snarled more to himself than the soldier. "Send word to the main force of the ninjas movement. Let them decide what to do, I will not lose my head because of that fool Zeshin."

A day passed. Thousands had lost their lives because of one mans ambition. Now the mountain was quiet except for the songs of the birds and the soft gurgle of the cool mountain fed streams. Mount Hijiyama had found lasting peace.