“How shall I begin?” asked the swordsman. “I was born the son of a peasant farmer, amid the war, and our village was often ravaged by rival factions. My mother died when I was three or four from sickness. I do not remember anything about her, other than she smelled of persimmons, or at least that is what I think of when I smell them now.
From that time on, I must have been raised by the other villagers who took pity on my father and me. We lived in a small wooden house with dirt floors. My father took to sake and spent most of his free time drinking. When I smell sake, I think of him, though not as fondly. He did not beat me, as many of the other peasants did to their children. He would just stare at me with profound sadness in his eyes. I could tell that he missed my mother and saw a glimpse of her when he looked at me. I think I would have rather had him beat me than look at me like that.
Eventually, my father remarried, and those were tough years. While my new mother brought him out of his drunkenness, she already had three children of her own from a previous marriage, and she did not take kindly to me. Perhaps it was because it was the way my father looked at me, I could not be sure. Though she did not injure me herself, she often spoke ill of me and did not stop her children from abusing me. The two older boys constantly tortured and harassed me, and as a result, I became mean and unruly. I was constantly getting into trouble, which made my father angry, and my new mother despised me all the more. Though I was thrown out of the house on numerous occasions, my father would always bring me back, though only after thorough punishment.
One day, when I was seven or eight years old, something happened that would change the course of my life forever. My sister, the youngest of my new mother’s children, and nearest to my age, disappeared into the forest that bordered our village. My father and stepmother were desperate, and the entire village was roused to look for her. We searched for many days with no sign of her whereabouts. Eventually, people began to give up hope.
At about the same time, a stranger came to our village. His name was Nakoto Jinsai, and he was what people called a Kaijin, a wanderer. He wore swords like a samurai but had the look of a monk or vagabond. Many people in the village distrusted him, but he came and stayed among us. He had heard about my family’s trouble and offered to help find the girl. Within three or four days he was able to recover her and in doing so he gained the favor of the village and my parents. However, when asked about where she was or what had happened to her, he would not say.
After a brief period of celebration, where even I felt some semblance of happiness, Nakoto prepared to leave us. The night before he was to depart, my father had a long conversation with him by candlelight. I could not understand the details of this conversation, but I knew that it concerned me. As Nakoto left the room, and I pretended to be asleep, I could tell that he looked upon me for some time, considering some matter very deeply.
The following day I woke early but was surprised to find that my father and Nakoto were already awake. My father came to me and told me that I was to be placed under the care of this man from then on. He told me that I deserved a better life than the one that he had provided me with. He told me that he was ashamed to be my father.
I could not understand what my father meant by this and was filled with heartache, though my life up until that point had been miserable. Nakoto said little about the matter and seemed to scarcely notice me. “Listen to your father, boy,” were his only words. Tears were in my father’s eyes, and he begged me to go, and so I reluctantly did what he asked. I took nothing with me other than the clothes on my back. I walked away with Nakoto Jinsai that morning, and never did I return to that village or see my father again.
For a few days, I followed Nakoto like a ghost, trying to understand what had happened. We traveled for some days in near silence, and I thought that I might die from exhaustion, for I was unused to such travel. Eventually, we came to a wealthy samurai estate, and there Nakoto sought an audience with the head of that house.
The two had met before, but Nakoto had refused the samurai’s previous offer to be his personal swordmaster. As a result, he was not kindly received upon his return. Nakoto said that he was willing to reconsider the master’s secondary offer, which was to take on one of his children and teach them the way of the sword.
The old samurai, having recently acquired a new swordmaster, dismissed the idea and threatened to send the Kaijin away. However, after some consideration, he decided to give Nakoto a chance. If he could defeat his new swordmaster in a traditional duel, he would allow him to train any of his children, save his eldest, who was already a man full grown.
The entire household gathered in the courtyard outside of the residence where the duel was to be held. Both duelists were to use wooden bokken and it would be called in the traditional style, with the one who could land the first blow to be the winner. This was the first time I had ever seen a contest of swords, and I was mesmerized. I had never seen anything like it before, and from that moment on my love of swordsmanship started and grew.
In the end, Nakoto defeated the swordmaster. The agreement was begrudgingly honored and he was allowed to choose who he would train. Instead of taking one of the more promising offspring from the samurai’s household, Nakoto took on an illegitimate son, a boy my age who went by the name Kazekiri, or Kaze for short. This decision was much derided by the wealthy samurai and his swordmaster, but Nakoto would not be dissuaded. The three of us departed the following day, and we would remain together for many years.
After we left the samurai’s estate, Nakoto looked upon us and spoke these stern words to us. He said, ‘I am not your father. I am not your friend. I am your teacher, and you are my pupils.’ Looking at Kaze, he said, ‘You are the bastard son of a samurai house which has passed its prime. You would have been used as little more than a slave if you remained at home, and worse might have befallen you if your house were to fail.’ Then to me, he said, ‘You were born of poor peasants in a backwater village. In this era, you would be considered lucky to make it five more years before either the sword or famine claimed you. Besides, all but your father despised you.’
Then he closed his eyes and said this, ‘Remember these things, for the next few years you may consider returning home. You cannot go home. Nothing but grief awaits you there. Your only choice now is to seize the one chance you have in front of you. Follow me, and I can teach you how to survive in this cold world. We will all meet doom, but with this, you may be able to push it back a little, and then, perhaps, you may be able to do some good.’ When he said, ‘With this,’ his hand gripped his sword’s hilt, and then I knew that he was to teach us the way of the sword.
Afterward, we traveled ceaselessly, never staying in one place for long. Nakoto was a Kaijin first, and he had many obligations that we were too inexperienced to help him with. During that time, our training consisted mostly of learning to survive in the wilderness. We often were cold, tired, and hungry, and our feet were ever sore from constant journeying. Yet it made our bodies strong, and it sharpened our wits.
Naturally, as outsiders, we were often looked upon with suspicion and disdain, and we were cast out of so many villages that I cannot remember them all. Local boys mocked us, and young girls ran away in terror, as we must have seemed more like wolves than boys. This was hard, for we did not then understand the role of a Kaijin, nor the lifestyle that our master had chosen for himself.
Kaze was full of pride, and though he was an illegitimate child, he still revered his father and his lineage and often resented the jeers and taunts from the villagers. He was the first to run into a fight, though at that time he was not big or strong. He even despised me at first, for I was also a peasant’s son. However, as it usually fell to me to save him from his reckless actions, his hatred towards me slowly cooled.
We spent many days together in the wild when our teacher was away on errands. We swam and fished in many rivers. We climbed and slept in many a beech or oak tree. We ran through the tall grass of the mountain hills and caught all varieties of insects and frogs. We spoke of our futures, when we would use our swords to claim great glory and renown. We planned on saving the lands from the evil war that seemed to hurt only the most vulnerable. We were dreamers, and we lived beneath the stars.
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Eventually, the time came for us to learn swordsmanship in earnest, though it was still some years before we ever held a real blade. As we grew in body and mind, so did our skills. We no longer struggled to survive in the wilds, but it was our home, and we drew power from nature. The village boys stopped taunting us, for we were dangerous, and together we would win any fight be it against one or many. The girls still fled at the sight of us, but we did not mind, for we became just as frightened of them, strange as it then seemed.
When I was about twelve, Nakoto brought us to a Truist temple deep in the forest. Due to his office, he was required to do this every so often for important councils or to receive urgent missions. He was revered among many of the Truists, but he never seemed comfortable with them, unless he was with old friends.
One of which was Aya, the Truist Sage. They had some history together, though he was not one to bring up his past. Somehow, he was able to convince the Sage to consecrate four swords for Kaze and myself. The swords were identical to those of my teacher, in that they were made of dark metal, and had a black tint to them. The only differences could be found in the subtle hardening pattern on each blade, which is unique to each sword. The swords were made by the same smith, Tenjan Morifuji, who crafted many famous weapons used during the War of Ashes. We were given our swords in a special but secret ceremony. Then we left the Truist temple and the Sage.”
At that moment, Kira’s expression of feigned slumber shifted to one vague interest.
“Are you telling me that those swords were made by Tenjan Morifuji?” cried No with unbounded excitement. “I cannot believe it! It was said he inherited the knowledge of sword smithing from the days of the Emperors.”
“I’ve heard that as well,” Gin said with a smile. “And I am impressed by your lore. I am still not sure why Nakoto designed two sets identical to his. But we were happy to have our very own weapons, after years of hard training.
From that time on, we began to accompany our teacher on his Kaijin missions. He thought it a natural next step in our training, that we would develop our swordsmanship against real enemies, though they were of the spiritual kind. He had long been preparing us for this task, as he had often told us stories about the kami and the yomi. Though we had been with him for a few years by that time, we had not truly understood the kind of work that he did. As you might expect, we were terrified by the prospect of encountering such dreadful beings. Yet my master’s words were true, ‘It is not something one can talk about doing, it simply must be done.’
Fortunately for us, Nakoto Jinsai was perhaps the greatest Kaijin of that generation and was a brilliant swordsman. This empowered us to proceed with our training. We also started fairly easy, squaring off against lesser yomi such as kappa or inugami. I say, ‘fairly easy’ for it is not usual to contest with such beings, and most would not dare to do so. Those matters are often swept under the rug or hidden in a secret place. These are the kinds of things left for a Kaijin to deal with.
Of that time, I could spend many full days telling you all. Yet all you may need to know is that by the time we reached full manhood, we were skilled swordsmen and perilous. There were few yomi that we had not yet encountered, and we had bested them all. Yet the life of a Kaijin is wearisome and thankless. We were full of energy and hungry to experience life, and as time went on, we grew unsatisfied with our furtive duties. The Kaijin are ever shunned and despised, and we desired glory, the kind we had dreamed about in our youth. Eventually, Kazekiri decided to leave our teacher and volunteer to fight in the War of Ashes.
‘We have sworn no oaths,’ he had said to me one day, all of a sudden. ‘We are not true Kaijin. Soon, I shall take my leave of our conservative teacher so I can go and change this world.’
I was dismayed by this, but I did not stop him, knowing it would be impossible to do so. ‘I shall not hinder you,’ I said.
Then he said to me, ‘Come with me, Gin-kun. We are both young and strong, there is much we can do together. I deem that we can do more together than we can apart. Imagine it! Captains of men, lords of our castles, who knows, perhaps even servants of the Shōgun.’
‘Why not Shōguns ourselves?’ I jested.
Kaze merely smiled back at me. ‘Nakoto-sensei does not understand, but I do. We were made for so much more than this.’
He spoke to our teacher only one more time following this. As expected, Nakoto scoffed at Kaze’s plan. ‘Leave now? But your training is not yet complete. If you leave now, I foresee great harm will come of it. You seek glory, and you may have it. You seek titles, and you may achieve them. But be wary of your own heart, for it is the teacher that appears the wisest that is truly the fool.’
These were harsh words, and Kaze liked them not. He turned and strode away, and he departed without saying goodbye the following morning. The two never met again to my knowledge. Then it was my turn to choose. To remain or depart. Long did I wrestle with my decision, but I came to it at last. The following morning, I said farewell to my teacher and resigned my apprenticeship. I then sought my friend.
My search was not so long or difficult, for as we had lived as brothers, I knew his mind well. I soon found him, and we continued together. Shortly after, we joined the army of Yoshimitsu Akira, and the rest of the tale is well known among the inns and tea houses of the Old Capital. After just one battle we were selected to join the Kurogumi, an elite group of warriors whose role was to oppose the influence of the treacherous Shadowhand. We started as mere novices, but we soon rose through the ranks. In doing so, we gained fame and glory for our exploits, though it came by spilling much blood, human blood.
Kaze rose higher than I and eventually became the Second Commander of the Kurogumi. His skills were incredible, and he was a clever leader. However, not long after his appointment, he was slain during a pivotal mission, where we effectively destroyed the original Shadowhand and cast down its leader. If it was not for his heroic deeds, we would have surely failed.
In the aftermath, I was chosen to be the third Commander of the Kurogumi, and we went on to swing the tide of war in Akira’s favor. But alas it was not enough. In the end, as you well know, Yoshimitsu Akira was slain on the field of Akasaka, where his forces were caught off guard and were massacred. The remainder of the Kurogumi defended his keep, but they too were eventually wiped out. I alone survived…or so I once thought.”
At this, Kira sat up and stared at him intently.
“Strange were the final words of your captain,” said Gintaro softly. “A riddle I could not solve until I met you.”
“What did he say?” Kira hissed, and her eyes burned like hot embers.
“Beware the Fujin…”
“The Fujin?” Saru repeated. “I have never heard this name.”
“But you have,” said Gin, staring at Kira with a piercing gaze. “For if you were as close to Kondo as you say, he would have undoubtedly shared with you this secret.”
Kira frowned and her body appeared to tense but she said nothing.
“As members of the Kurogumi, we were often given aliases to hide our true names. I was known as the Raijin, and Kazekiri was…”
“The Fujin…” Kira said softly, and her eyes showed bewilderment as if seeing something for the first time.
“But that is impossible!” Saru interposed, “You just said that he was dead!”
“I did,” said Gintaro somberly, “And I believed it for many years. But this is the only answer that makes sense. He then reached inside his kimono, pulled out the ruby-encrusted ring of the Mukade, and held it up.
Kira gasped. “That ring!”
The ring glittered wickedly in the light of the fire. “For a long time, I could not understand the riddle, but I may guess at it now, though I do not want to believe it to be true. My old friend, whom I long thought dead, perhaps is now the master of the Shin-Shadowhand.”
“Wait a minute,” said Nō, waving his arms about confusedly. “How can this be? If this Kaze person was behind all of this, why would he have Kondo kidnap your daughter and then allow you to travel across the Islands? He might have sent Kondo to kill you at the outset.”
“This is a good point, but you must remember that the Shin-Shadowhand operates at the behest of the Shōgun, at least nominally. Yet, as with the previous iteration, the Shadowhand often has designs of their own. The Shōgun commanded his shinobi to capture my daughter for personal reasons, that I believe to be true. He desires the Sword of the Emperor and believes that only I can retrieve it. However, bringing me out of retirement, so to speak, might have created a problem for my old friend Kazekiri. I am one of the few alive who knows him by face and understands his past. Perhaps that alone warrants my death, which is why he sent Kondo for me later on.”
Saru’s face seemed to twitch with realization. “If the Fujin is the master of the Shin-Shadowhand, and your former comrade-in-arms, then he knew all too well the peril that his subordinate, Kondo, would soon face in fighting you. It may not have been your death he desired, but his.”
“Lies!” cried Kira, nearly jumping to her feet.
“Why not?” Saru returned. She rose and approached Kira menacingly. “You ninja are ever untrustworthy! Would it be so surprising that he would turn on his own?”
“Enough!” shouted Gin, whose voice was harsh enough to cool the argument. “We do not know this to be true, though it might be so. But Saru is right, if Kazekiri is truly the master of the Shin-Shadowhand…” he trailed off and his face seemed haggard and pale. “Then his treachery is almost too much to bear.”
For a long time, all were silent, until at last Gintaro finally stirred. He looked at Kira soberly, with a kind of quiet pity. “Tomorrow we will leave this place, and soon we shall part ways. If you are willing to take my advice, you should rest until you are healed of all your injuries. Then you should find a quiet place to live and discover the beauty of a simple life. There is so much out there beyond blood feuds, beyond hate, beyond endless wars. It may not seem like much, but you are worthy of such a life.” He smiled, and his gaze lifted as if seeing something out of a distant past. Then, the dark creases in his face seemed to appear once again. “Yet if you cannot do so, and you return to your master, tell him, ‘I know.’”
With that, he handed Kira the ruby ring of the Mukade and closed her fingers about it tightly.
