Kenji's Tale

Kenji ought to have been dead, one of the thousands of casualties in the Battle of Hakoetsu, signaling the fall of the last bastions of the shogunate, and the restoration of the Imperial throne. That was a year ago. Instead he found his broken body, among others, in an abandoned temple up in the mountains, barely held together by his oyoroi, or great armour, a legacy of his family name, alongside his odachi which he could no longer wield, with only one arm. It was hard to explain what kept him alive, but in the dark days that followed, there was but one possible explanation, one which he refused to admit to.

Until he began to discover that the bodies were going missing, one by one. Now there was a mystery to solve.

The big warrior stood tall in the dim light of the noon hour. His old eyes had become keen in the strange twilight, sensitive to movement, quick to perceive threats, real or imagined. From his vantage point above the ancient temple, he could see several figures converging on it - some by the main road, others on more difficult trails. Some who wanted to remain hidden, others who did not care.

Two women, by the looks of their gaits, one a fighter and the other moving with a familiar liquid grace. A mountain of a man, riding in a covered koshi, born by several struggling bearers. The slinking thief who owed him a life.

And was that Satoshi, his once-rival? They had met on the battlefield and fought to a draw once - both surviving the encounter and earning mutual respect. Was he coming back to try to finish the job? Why? The old battles for old masters were history, and surely there was no feud to be settled now?

Strange tidings for sure. The temple so rarely received visitors. Surely this was an omen. It could be no coincidence that the bodies had begun to go missing, and now all of these people were at once traveling to the abandoned temple high up on the mountain. His domain.

But why? Why were they coming? What could it portend? Were they coming in peace? Were they looking for him? Did someone know what he had done?

The cold mountain wind blew across his face. He adjusted his dirty, stinking armor. Since losing his left arm, the upper half never fit quite right anymore. The thick leather and iron armor kept drifting. Perhaps he stood differently with only one arm. Maybe an armorsmith could fix it.

Ha. But who would take his coin, in his condition? And when would he ever have coin again anyway? He barely ate these days.

He stepped from behind the dead tree and decided to go down and surprise the thief. The old warrior was hungry, and Ikari still owed him. Perhaps the thief could supply food, coin and information, and even a laugh, and then Kenji would forgive the blood debt.

If only he could get cleaned up and presentable, he would not be ashamed to see Kayo again.

The abandoned temple that Kenji had inadvertently made into his domicile was as much a casualty of war as he was. It was not the first time the plains of Sekigama saw such internecine conflict, with terrible losses for the forces of the last shogunate and a devastating crippling of the Imperial army who won the battle. Staging areas all along the landscape were battle scarred and war torn, and the temple ruins up the slope overlooking the plains was testament to the conflict, with only its outer wall left erect and the rest of the compound near demolished.

The survivors must have moved the important fallen soldiers to the temple, Kenji included to perform their funeral rights, and left them forgotten to fade into history. That Kenji was somehow not dead, staying put in the temple (for it was nigh impossible for him to move) until the most grievous of his wounds had fully recovered. The dwindling food store and old well kept him alive, or perhaps some darker force did.

Still, he couldn't stay cooped up forever. Once he trusted himself to walk again, and also to learn to fight again with his odachi, it was time to see what had changed under imperial rule.

There was littie point in descending the slope back down to the war torn plains. He was familiar with the geographical fact that going round the crest of the hill on which the ruins sat would let him cut cross a small valley to reach Nakasendo Way, the main mountain thoroughfare that connected the main cities. There he would be able to get supplies, or news, or meet travellers along the way, and if he wished, he could descend from there to the former capital, Heian.

It is time. I must confront my circumstances. I cannot allow fear to dominate me.

The old, broken warrior was clad in the same armor he wore when he fell upon the battlefield on the plains below...the same armor that had saved his life from many sword strikes as he was surrounded by a dozen foes...but also the same armor that had failed to keep his left arm attached to his torso and allowed his life to slowly drain from his body that cold and rainy day.

He had been surviving on wet, moldy rations, and the scummy water in the broken well adjacent to the old temple. But after what must have been two months of miserable existence, he was out of food and the water was making him ill. He hadn't bathed since he rose from what should have been his final resting place near his fellow warriors in the temple, and he stank and itched. It was time to leave this forsaken place and face others, finally.

The demon taunted him. Sometimes in the form of a crow, with red, beady eyes. Sometimes a black rat with long fangs like a snake. Once as a child...a phony replica of his own young nephew, complete with a school uniform, though it was in tatters and the boy's face was deathly pale and had black pits for eyes. "Feed me, Kenji-san! I have given you life, and now you must pay it with the life of another! Balance the scales! A life for a life! Who will it be? A stranger? Someone you know? You have 10 days to perform the ritual again or things will go badly for you, Kenji-san!"

Kenji had been forced into a dark deal he never wanted to sign. The demon had picked him as his instrument, and brought the old warrior back from death. But the price was steep - the demon required sacrifice...once every moon.

The first one, over a moon ago, was a lone monk who had taken a vow of silence and embarked on a mission to visit all the Shinto temples of the nation. He had sat with Kenji and wrote to him, and Kenji had thought to befriend him. But the demon forced him to take the monk's life. At first, Kenji refused - it was dishonourable to harm an innocent life, a non-combatant. But the demon insisted, and started inflicting the monk with horrible, painful afflictions. Boils on his skin. Blood dripping from his eyes. Bouts of vomiting and diarrhea. Fits of coughing. When Kenji could take it no more, he brought relief to the kindly monk with a single swipe of his odachi. Then he performed the rites as directed by the demon and the foul spirit was slaked for one moon's time.

There was another, but it was a sickly old vagrant with nothing to live for, and Kenji felt less guilt that time, but the shame still stained his soul. He hated the demon for stealing his honour. He would have committed seppuku, but to do so without the consent of his daimyo was forbidden and would doom his soul to wander...lost forever.

And so Kenji would now go to the road, not only to clean himself up and find clean clothing and food and drink, but also to find his next sacrifice. He hoped he could identify a criminal or a corrupt official, to ease the guilt. Or maybe he would offer his sword to the local daimyo and could be ordered to kill an enemy, and the sacrifice could be honorable.

But more importantly, he hoped to find someone who could rid him of the demon, show him how to end the curse, or at the very least, he might just find a way to die honorably.

He made his way from the ruined temple to Nakasendo Way. His adjusted his armor and sheathed his big odachi in the sheath on his back.

It would be a long journey back to his clan and his daimyo, and at this point he was utterly clueless as to whether they had won or lost the war. The nearest city was the capital, Heian, and getting to the Nakasen road would enable Kenji to reach the city sooner or later. But he was right to realise that it was sensible to find real food and drink, followed by proper lodging to clean up, and then information. There was something amiss anyway with the ruined temple he was not currently ready to solve, why he was alive, why the spirits of the dead that surrounded him seemed to be restless.

Even though it was going to take the better part of a day, it was not difficult to navigate his way towards the main mountain trail that connected Heian to Yedo, along which were interspersed with regular post stations so that travellers could pace their journey and reach supplies and accommodation at intervals day to day. Nearing the trail, Kenji knew that heading upwards would take him to the station where the old Iwata Teahouse stood, with a cluster of shops, an inn, and various vendors servicing the rest stop. Going down would finally lead him to the foot of the mountain. He would still be able to find what he needed, but it was likely to be more populated with people coming and going.

Kenji was faced with a choice: go uphill toward the Teahouse, or down the mountain to the larger centers of population. Considering his current condition, he thought it better to start small, and gain his bearings. He needed to know how long he had been out of action, what was the disposition of the war, what happened to his daimyo and his clan.

But he needed food and a bath before anything else. And of course, he had to find himself a sacrifice for the damned demon that dogged his footsteps.

"Which way, Kenji-san?" said the demon, this time in the form of a dead raccoon, it's tongue lolling out of its mouth. "Up or down? Nine days before I make your life a living hell!"

Why me? Why didn't you let me die an honorable death? What have I done to deserve this fate?

He took a deep breath and began trudging up the long mountain road toward the teahouse.

It was not the same Kenji, brave samurai of the war, who made his way back to civilisation.