Gabriel Ferrer
Under the Old Willow
Rain fell gently on the branches of the Old Willow that stood overlooking the valley. Its branches drooped down towards the ground, making it appear as a lamenting giant. Perhaps it was saddened further by the sight that laid before it or the knowledge of the days to come. Either way fate begat the sight to be sought. Under the Old Willow, only a few meters away from its base, two men stood as foes.
Kayasi’s blade was drawn, extended towards his enemy. The castle forged steel glistened in the reflection of the rising moon, which was barely visible through the rain-soaked clouds. Kayasi’s eyes were fixed upon his brother, Hizuru, who stood before him. The men of the same blood grimaced at each other, contemplating their next move, for what seemed to be an eternity. Finally, breaking the silence, Kayasi spoke:
“You think you can run after the Council’s deliberation? Those lands are mine by right, brother. You know there is no point in fleeing from the consequences of your actions. You are a fool to expect any outcome other than your death.” His voice was fraught with disgust. Hizuru, however, said nothing. His face was no longer glowering at his younger sibling. His green eyes transfixed on the boy, barely even considered a man, that challenged him. Kayasi continued “Damn you! You know what you have done! You—You have defiled all that we were taught to hold sacred! You…fraternize with witches and warlocks. You mock the gods–You mock the very sigil that belonged to our ancestors!” At mentioning their forefathers Kayasi beat his chest
with his left fist, his right still wielding the katana.
Hizuru finally spoke, “Brother, these are lies and you know it. What I have done, I did for the good of our people. The Council is marred by unctuous bureaucrats and politicians. We-We had dreams, brother, dreams of changing the swamp of war that contaminates this world into the calm waters of peace. Join me and it can still be that way.” Hizuru outstretched his hand. Kayasi’s katana still marked his brother as its enemy. Kayasi weighed the words that were spoken. His viridian eyes began to swell with tears, which were barely visible from the gentle shower that fell from the heavens. His blade lowered for what seemed to be a couple of inches. His composure faltered for a second, more than ever he looked like a boy playing at a man’s game. However, he quickly regained himself. His blade returned to its original, menacing position.
He cried out, “No… Liar. You are a liar! You forfeited your right to that dream the moment you threatened the life of your emperor. You no longer have the right to father’s lands and you have no right to your title.” Kayasi took a step forward in his fighting stance. Hizuru’s face offered a clear modicum of disappointment, like a father shamed by the actions of his son. Hizuru brought his outstretched hand closer to his face. His emerald eyes gazed at his palm as if he was searching for an answer.
He said, in a voice that had deep longing in it, “I know that someday we shall find peace, brother. But it has become evident that we shall not behold it together.” After a moment he reached for the hilt of his sword.
Under the Old Willow brother and brother locked blades…
The Song of Steel
Sparks flew in all directions as their blades collided. The scraping of edged steel rang a blood curdling song that carried over the sound of the rain. Blow after blow the brothers were locked in combat. Kayasi’s katana waving, almost frantically, with each swing. Hizuru’s calculating blocks, parries, and dodges counteracted any attempts of fatal blows that came in quick succession. Grunts and huffs emanated from the brothers as the battle waged on, dueling forces of similar resolve met in heated confrontation. Then, at once, Hizuru pinned Kayasi’s katana in the dirt and rammed into him with his shoulder. Kayasi was taken aback.
Once regaining his footing Kayasi lunged at his brother with his sword above him, grasping it with two hands. Kayasi’s eyes widened, rage filled the green of his eyes that somehow seemed red. Hizuru retaliated by side stepping his charging opponent and, with a flick of his blade, slashed the upper thigh. At the finality of his counter, as if to immobilize his brother further, Hizuru jabbed the pommel of his katana into the back of Kayasi’s head. The boy fell forward, disarmed and bloodied. Ground broke under the force of his collision; mud plastered the front of his body. Hizuru, using the crease of his elbow, slowly and methodically cleaned the shinogi. The edge was pointed upward and the blood fell in droplets, mixing with the mud below. As Kayasi was face down in the earth, his older brother deliberated what would become of him as he sheathed his katana. Hizuru contemplated the effects of his actions. Sedulous in his deliberation, Hizuru quickly finalized the coming moments. The older brother walked over and kneeled next to his brother. Hizuru’s head was almost level with Kayasi’s motionless body. His breathing was strained and he was muttering some words. Hizuru bent his head down closer in order to hear what Kayasi was saying. It was hard to completely decipher the whole sentences, but a few words bled through. “Father…honor….regret…Home.” Understanding what his younger brother was trying to say, Hizuru stood up again. He gazed at the body of the closest family he had left. The rain pattered overhead and the moon was almost directly above the
willow tree. Time had passed and Hizuru was no closer to his goal. His brother’s body laid firmly in the way. Coming to a decision, Hizuru turned toward Kayasi’s deserted katana. He dislodged the piece that held the sword together and broke it apart. He removed the mekugi, releasing the soul of the blade along with it. He scattered the pieces, throwing them in all directions: North, South, East, and West. Returning to his brother’s fallen body he turned him over, so his eyes faced the heavens. Even as Kayasi lay there half asleep, he seemed ever more a child, small and defeated. Hizuru contemplated whether to just run away from the hill, leave all of this nonsense behind and start anew.
Shaking his head, he proceeded. Nothing would break his resolve. He declared, “You have made an unwise decision, Kayasi. Sometimes I forget that when children are burdened with power, they tend to conduct themselves as such. I do not fault you; I am to blame. I expected too much from you. However, a lesson needs to be taught. Such is my divine right as champion of this duel to mark you as an example to all those foolish enough to cross me as you have. You have my pity, not my forgiveness. Be that as it may, get in my way again and my benevolence will not save you. Goodbye, brother.”
Upon dictating Kayasi his sentence, Hizuru unsheathed his tanto. He bent down and cut off the tip of his brother’s right ear, forever marking him as his subordinate. The mud was cool under his face. It never bothered him much, the mud. Its sticky, wet, and paste-like texture reminded him of the floodplain that surrounded Kotimoro river. It reminded him of when he was a boy, which was not that long ago but still felt a lifetime away. It reminded him of spring in the village. The flowering of thick, fertile grass that surrounded the embankment. The glittering river that teemed with life. His brother would take him fishing along the water’s edge. They would spend hours sending their lines into the slow-moving current or using a spear to skillfully skewer an unsuspecting trout. The sun’s glorious rays warmed his arms as they threw their lines in and quickly retreated them. As the memory vanished from his mind, the pain seeped into the forefront. Hot blood leaked from his ear and traveled the length of his face. Somehow, he managed to go from landing on his face to being on his back, to once again facedown in the mud. The pain in his ear began to throb, the rhythmic thump of his heart matched its speed. Get up, said a voice, barely a whisper. Kayasi’s body ignored it. Get up, it said again. Kayasi’s mind tried to wander back to the memory of the Kotimoro River in the springtime. He tried to picture the river’s illustrious waters that were clearer than any crystal or diamond he had ever seen. Get up. The voice’s tone had grown in both temper and volume. You dumb bastard, you need to get up. “No,” he thought, “I cannot keep going. I lost. He beat me.” However, the voice’s determination remained unfaltering. Get. Up. Something within himself stirred, a thrust had followed the voice. It held a certain authority over him. Its sternness matched the candor and vigor of a battle commander compelling his soldiers to bravery. Kayasi’s eyes slowly opened, the sun’s magnificent rays struck like lightning. Once his vision adjusted he noticed that rain had obviously stopped. He shifted away from his position, as he did the wound on his thigh reminded him of its presence.
He gingerly rose off the ground, his eyes shifted to the skies. Burgeoning colors of orange, yellow, and blue swirled above in a horizontal cascade of clouds. A lighter complexion radiated from the Old Willow. Its stoic and impressive stature still towered upon the hill, but its lamenting predisposition was all the more present. The rains that preceded this morning seemed a distant memory. If truth be told, even Kayasi’s recollection faltered, either intentionally or not, to fully comprehend the events that transpired. It seemed like something that had occurred a millennia ago. A legend from a time long forgotten. For a moment he wished he could stay there, rest and ignore the beckonings of fate that call to him. He longed for a simpler time, he longed for all to be set right. However distant that dream felt it only seemed to magnify with each moment he stood admiring the sky. He needed to press on. The Council would need to hear from him and the decisions his brother had committed. They would not make their verdict lightly, nor would they be merciful in their distribution of consequences. This same Council ordered Kayasi to kill his own brother. They expected his return for the right to his family’s land. What would they say now that Hizuru had defeated him? Beyond that, how would others at court illustrate their displeasure at my clan? Nevermind that, now lies ahead the task of trudging back to the village. And so Kayasi limped on.
Deep in the Angst of Autumn
Amongst the turmoil of the landscape, the Old Willow stood as it had for centuries. Its firm roots clasped the ground with the same intensity as it had always had. The lamenting giant had withstood the test of time and, it seems, it will continue to do so. Even as the ground trembled with the clash of armies not mere feet away from it, the tree remained unmoved. Unfazed by the clutches of immorality, by the facsimile of honor.
Reaching the base of the hill, Kayasi prepared himself for the confrontation that preceded him. His heart thumped with a force that he felt reverberated throughout his body. Adrenaline sharpened his senses and his wits were about him. His right hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his Katana, where it rested close to the guard. He swiveled his head to set his face mask properly on his nose. The holes for the eyes were positioned in perfect unison. Sweat moistened the palms of his hands. His breathing eased and he proceeded with his ascension. At the top of the hill, in full view of the Old Willow, was a samurai with his back towards Kayasi. The Samurai was not wearing his kabuto, as it was resting on the hilt of his katana that was jabbed into the ground. In front of the katana was a perfect rectangle that disappeared into the Earth. A grave that was strategically placed. Kayasi slightly moved closer to the samurai. From behind the warrior appeared to be too thin for his armor; It seemed to droop against his gaunt figure. What Kayasi could inexplicitly make out was the fact that this man was his own kin. His own blood. He felt an attraction towards this man that placed him at the cross section of his destiny.
Hizuru spoke,“I hear that you proudly bear the mark that I presented to you, Kayasi. I admit that a lesser man would have had the inclination to hide it. But then again, you were always a stubborn child.” He turned his body to Kayasi. Hizuru’s face had lost all of the color that it once had. His facial hair had grown to twice the length it had once been. Gray hairs peppered his beard. What had not lost its gumption was his eyes. The viridian seemed darker than ever, its rage more pronounced. Its hate is more palpable. Is this truly the Golden Shinigami of the Valley? Had the stories surrounding Kayasi’s brother been true? Is this truly the assassin
he had once called kin?
Hizuru continued, “I won’t lie to you, your presence in my war has been annoying–” “Your war?” Kayasi spat in a quick retort. “You self-righteous bastard! I know what you are! I know what you have become. You are a coward and the stain that you have left on our people ends here!” Hizuru’s eyes scrunched as he sneered at the outburst.
He calmly and wittingly replied, “Such talk of cowardice is rich coming from the boy who would not face me at the base of Mount Ito. I assume that you learned such spinelessness from Commander Fujiwama, because I taught you no such thing.” As he uttered this sentence Hizuru went for his Kabuto.
“That fool has never had the stomach to do what is necessary in the heat of battle. I expect your training has been for naught with him. Tell me, where have you left him?”
“You are one to talk, you are the one that has eluded your destiny,” Kayasi said with an air of recompense.
“Ah, yes—destiny. I was wondering how long it would take for you to mention your fascination with fate. You never answered. What became of the great Commander Fujiwama?” As Hizuru spoke he assembled his helmet into place. His facemask covered his features that only showed his dark green eyes. His Kabuto resembled the scowling face of a golden shinigami. The mask had an inlay of jagged teeth, a large nose, and a dull reflection. Kayasi was in awe of the mask, completely disregarding his brother’s question. This was the face that struck fear into the Ronins of the East. This was the face that was notorious amongst the people of the Valley. This was the face that sent so many souls to their damnation. And here it was. Its gaze marks Kayasi, not as a brother, but as its enemy. Hizuru cut the pretense:
“So, Brother. Is it your destiny to face your closest blood relative here on this soil? Is it your destiny to destroy your closest relative on this soil?” His eyes were ablaze, the green of his eyes illuminated behind the shield of mask. “I think that your destiny is to end up in this hole. Buried and forgotten. I think your destiny was fulfilled the moment you were fool enough to think you could destroy all that I have built. What I have done will foment a peace that will last until my bones are ash. I gave you a warning last time, brother. It seems that you have completely forgotten it. A reminder is in order.”
Hizuru lifted his blade from the dirt and steadied it with both hands. The sword glimmered in the sun, its shimmer a golden streak. Come fulfill your destiny, the Golden Shinigami declared. Sparks flew once more with the clashing of brotherly blades. Castle-forged steel bit at the air with a swish as deft hands pushed against the wind. War waged without and within. A torrential upheaval erupted along the banks of the Valley. The rivers would run red. The skies will be enraptured with plumes of billowing smoke. Corpses will be scattered around the onslaught of victorious salutes as the triumphant extolled another day of breath. In the decades to come the living men would tell their progeny of their bravery in the face of desolation. They will aggrandize their standing and impact within the war. They will sing songs of their gallantry. One side will tell of how good conquered evil and the other will lament how evil prevailed. No tears will be shed for the fallen. In the end, it matters not which brother ended up in the hole. It matters not which was standing for the better cause. Brothers are still fighting. Kin still abandoned their humanity in the face of desperation. There will be no true glory. No fair winner. Only loss. Only grief.
To this day the Willow still stands. Lamenting as always. A harrowing sight to behold. It looks on without judgment. It looks on as the years strip away at its bark. It looks on as the rain rots its branches. It looks on as generations come and go like the leaves of autumn.