Wednesday, December 07, 2005
The New Samurai
He knew he would not see the sun rise again. But somehow that was the least melancholic of his thoughts. Death would put an end to everything. This idea felt soothing to him. He hoped oblivion would erase the knowledge of his failure. That was the terrible fact he would gladly forget even if it meant losing his life. He had failed. All his life's training and devotion had come to nothing. And so his life had to end.
Kneeling there at the center of the woods clearing he heard the silence surrounding him, whispering the truth to his ears. The snow had covered the grass with a thick, dampening layer, like trying to hide the misery he had caused. But he knew it was there all the same, just behind the surface. The blood of the Emperor's daughter was already frozen solid, and its bright color had turned to reddish black, just before being mercifully covered by nature's cold sheet. The corpses of her bodyguards and those of the traitorous mercenaries that had attacked them were now no more than bumps on the white plain. The snow had started falling just as he had slain the last assassins, and had not stopped for the few hours he remained there, frozen not by the cold but by the realization of his defeat; he had not even been in time to hear her last words. But now he could even hear the flakes sliding down the silk of his kimono, only hindered by the rare stain of blood. The milky light from the rising moon let him see his surrounding as in a ghost tale. The world seemed expectant, waiting for him in anticipation.
He knew from the beginning what he had to do, and he was not delaying it, but he had just fallen into a kind of torpor while the magnitude of his failure overcame him. But now he finally came to his senses; he started slowly to move his right arm. It was numb and almost frozen, and he hardly felt his hand as it gripped the handle of his katana. Slowly he unsheathed it and performed the ritual movements that he had learnt from his masters hoping they would crown a life of honor. He finally directed the pointed end towards his stomach, holding the blade with his bare hands, as his arms were too short to reach the handle. He would badly slash his hands in the final thrust, but he was sure he would not even notice that. He raised his face to the sky, and asked for mercifulness on the next life. Then he bowed his head and prepared for the final effort.
On the blade, among the snowflakes that melted on its shiny surface, he glinted at a vision that halted his breathing. The beauty of that face was overwhelming. A pallid countenance framed by black hair locks showcasing the deepest dark eyes and a resolute mouth, all combining in a placid expression of wisdom and confidence. He felt he could kiss that face, he knew he could worship it. He thought it was the apparition of one of his ancestors waiting to meet him and welcoming him to their realm. It certainly seemed to come from another world. But as he focused his attention on the vision, and his eyes had time to locate it as a reflection on the blade, he realized it was his face he was looking at. His was that wise visage that had so captivated him for a few moments. He was that being that deserved worshipping.
He looked inside his soul, and realized he could not put an end to such a being. He was now so much wiser and was therefore both more worthy and unable to destroy beauty. He had to break free from the rules of the Samurai, the code of Bushido which was forcing acts on him that he knew now were against his nature. The sacred code was the way to perfection, but somehow you had to drop it to reach that very goal. He sensed his time has come to do this. He felt a great relief and at the same time the big burden of freedom of will falling on his shoulders. He was now a complete being who could and should take his decisions on his own, knowing there was no better guide than his consciousness and wisdom, as he had grown them through the years, through the masters, and through the discipline.
Once free of the self-imposed code of conduct, he could see he had not failed. He had put all his will to the task, without hesitation, without consideration for his own life. He had tried as hard as he was able of, so he could not blame himself. His old mind kept telling him that if only he had moved more swiftly, or if he had just foreseen the attack a few seconds sooner, the Princess would still be alive. But his new self told him those were constructs of his imagination; if he had not done things differently it was because that was all that was at his reach as a limited being. What did not happen could not have happened. He had given all he had to offer, and the result didn't change that. He was sad of the outcome, but could not regret it.
He stood up, and as he did he felt himself raising to a new level, where his obligations were clear, but not written in any book. Now he was his own master.
He raised his arm above his head, and with a skillful sweep of his katana, he let loose the knot of hair that represented his commitment to the Samurai. His long, black hair went flowing down and rested on his shoulders. Together with his resolute gaze and new facial expression they gave him a new look that was difficult to associate with the old tamed warrior that was about to commit Hara-kiri just there a few minutes ago.
He walked as fast as he could, in spite of the piled snow, and in a few hours he could already see the small village in which they had thought to spend the night. It was just a small group of huts surrounded by a wood fence, with two gates that allowed the main path to enter and leave the village and split it in halves. The gates were closed, but there was no lookout.
As he approached the gate, and opened it without difficulty, it came to his mind that he would need a new name to match his new resolution. A name with which to present himself to the world, the way he would need to do now to the dormant inhabitants. Kirumo was the name waiting for him as he searched for one, and he adopted it immediately. He identified with it as if he had seen himself as a Kirumo for his whole life.
He went down the path and approached the biggest hut he could see. He knocked on the door and called loudly to the owners to come out. After a moment of hesitation, and some hushed noises, the door opened with an unpleasant squeak and a short, old man in underwears and loose, white hair looked outside with a nervous and surprised expression. Several other heads also popped out from diverse openings in the surrounding dwellings, wondering what could be disturbing their quiet lives in the middle of the night. Kirumo didn't waste time on any ceremonial presentations and exclaimed:
- I am bearer of very sad news for all inhabitants of the Empire. It is my duty to announce that the younger daughter of our Emperor has been slain by a murderous band of traitors!
- What? How can that be? That's not possible! - Exclaimed several voices around him.
- So what! - Murmured someone in the darkness, obviously feeling more detached from the royal affairs.
- Her body lies near your village, hardly a few hours to the east, in the center of the main clearing of the woods. - Continued Kirumo - It is your duty and obligation now to proceed urgently to collect her remains and give them the treatment they deserve. You will also send a herald to inform the Emperor of this disgrace as soon as possible.
These news caused a lot of noise and confusion, and also some amount of disbelief. It was not after the stranger showed them his jade ring, with the emblem all of them could recognize, that the village people started showing the due respect and initiated the preliminaries for the retrieval expedition.
During the frantic activity that ensued, the emisary that had just caused all this perturbation slid aside and disappeared into the darkness while nobody noticed. He had just taken care of his last duty and was ready to start his new life. He left the hamlet quickly and silently, and decided to travel north, towards the wastelands, so as to remain as far as he could from the metropolises and the merchant paths.
For days he walked north, crossing boldly the woods and barren plains, by day or by night, or following sometimes the small roads that helped him on this travel to his deserted destination.
He was following one of these roads one day, when he saw a young girl approaching him all alone, and noticed how she became nervous at the prospect of meeting a foreigner far from his village. When she was close enough, Kirumo was dumbstruck at the sight of her face. Even though she kept it bowed down, he could clearly see this young girl was no other than the Princess herself! He knew it was clearly impossible; not only was the Princess dead, but she would never wear those peasant robes, nor bow in front of a baseborn. But he could not deny his eyes either.
On an impulse, he went down on his knees and elbows, and proclaimed:
- Your Majesty! Here I am to serve you. Please command me what you please.
One part of him expected she would scorn at him and request of him he should take his own life right there. Another part of him hoped she would forgive him and take him back into her service. Yet another part of him knew this was all nonsense. The Princess was dead, and not walking the countryside paths all by herself.
Kneeling there at the center of the woods clearing he heard the silence surrounding him, whispering the truth to his ears. The snow had covered the grass with a thick, dampening layer, like trying to hide the misery he had caused. But he knew it was there all the same, just behind the surface. The blood of the Emperor's daughter was already frozen solid, and its bright color had turned to reddish black, just before being mercifully covered by nature's cold sheet. The corpses of her bodyguards and those of the traitorous mercenaries that had attacked them were now no more than bumps on the white plain. The snow had started falling just as he had slain the last assassins, and had not stopped for the few hours he remained there, frozen not by the cold but by the realization of his defeat; he had not even been in time to hear her last words. But now he could even hear the flakes sliding down the silk of his kimono, only hindered by the rare stain of blood. The milky light from the rising moon let him see his surrounding as in a ghost tale. The world seemed expectant, waiting for him in anticipation.
He knew from the beginning what he had to do, and he was not delaying it, but he had just fallen into a kind of torpor while the magnitude of his failure overcame him. But now he finally came to his senses; he started slowly to move his right arm. It was numb and almost frozen, and he hardly felt his hand as it gripped the handle of his katana. Slowly he unsheathed it and performed the ritual movements that he had learnt from his masters hoping they would crown a life of honor. He finally directed the pointed end towards his stomach, holding the blade with his bare hands, as his arms were too short to reach the handle. He would badly slash his hands in the final thrust, but he was sure he would not even notice that. He raised his face to the sky, and asked for mercifulness on the next life. Then he bowed his head and prepared for the final effort.
On the blade, among the snowflakes that melted on its shiny surface, he glinted at a vision that halted his breathing. The beauty of that face was overwhelming. A pallid countenance framed by black hair locks showcasing the deepest dark eyes and a resolute mouth, all combining in a placid expression of wisdom and confidence. He felt he could kiss that face, he knew he could worship it. He thought it was the apparition of one of his ancestors waiting to meet him and welcoming him to their realm. It certainly seemed to come from another world. But as he focused his attention on the vision, and his eyes had time to locate it as a reflection on the blade, he realized it was his face he was looking at. His was that wise visage that had so captivated him for a few moments. He was that being that deserved worshipping.
He looked inside his soul, and realized he could not put an end to such a being. He was now so much wiser and was therefore both more worthy and unable to destroy beauty. He had to break free from the rules of the Samurai, the code of Bushido which was forcing acts on him that he knew now were against his nature. The sacred code was the way to perfection, but somehow you had to drop it to reach that very goal. He sensed his time has come to do this. He felt a great relief and at the same time the big burden of freedom of will falling on his shoulders. He was now a complete being who could and should take his decisions on his own, knowing there was no better guide than his consciousness and wisdom, as he had grown them through the years, through the masters, and through the discipline.
Once free of the self-imposed code of conduct, he could see he had not failed. He had put all his will to the task, without hesitation, without consideration for his own life. He had tried as hard as he was able of, so he could not blame himself. His old mind kept telling him that if only he had moved more swiftly, or if he had just foreseen the attack a few seconds sooner, the Princess would still be alive. But his new self told him those were constructs of his imagination; if he had not done things differently it was because that was all that was at his reach as a limited being. What did not happen could not have happened. He had given all he had to offer, and the result didn't change that. He was sad of the outcome, but could not regret it.
He stood up, and as he did he felt himself raising to a new level, where his obligations were clear, but not written in any book. Now he was his own master.
He raised his arm above his head, and with a skillful sweep of his katana, he let loose the knot of hair that represented his commitment to the Samurai. His long, black hair went flowing down and rested on his shoulders. Together with his resolute gaze and new facial expression they gave him a new look that was difficult to associate with the old tamed warrior that was about to commit Hara-kiri just there a few minutes ago.
He walked as fast as he could, in spite of the piled snow, and in a few hours he could already see the small village in which they had thought to spend the night. It was just a small group of huts surrounded by a wood fence, with two gates that allowed the main path to enter and leave the village and split it in halves. The gates were closed, but there was no lookout.
As he approached the gate, and opened it without difficulty, it came to his mind that he would need a new name to match his new resolution. A name with which to present himself to the world, the way he would need to do now to the dormant inhabitants. Kirumo was the name waiting for him as he searched for one, and he adopted it immediately. He identified with it as if he had seen himself as a Kirumo for his whole life.
He went down the path and approached the biggest hut he could see. He knocked on the door and called loudly to the owners to come out. After a moment of hesitation, and some hushed noises, the door opened with an unpleasant squeak and a short, old man in underwears and loose, white hair looked outside with a nervous and surprised expression. Several other heads also popped out from diverse openings in the surrounding dwellings, wondering what could be disturbing their quiet lives in the middle of the night. Kirumo didn't waste time on any ceremonial presentations and exclaimed:
- I am bearer of very sad news for all inhabitants of the Empire. It is my duty to announce that the younger daughter of our Emperor has been slain by a murderous band of traitors!
- What? How can that be? That's not possible! - Exclaimed several voices around him.
- So what! - Murmured someone in the darkness, obviously feeling more detached from the royal affairs.
- Her body lies near your village, hardly a few hours to the east, in the center of the main clearing of the woods. - Continued Kirumo - It is your duty and obligation now to proceed urgently to collect her remains and give them the treatment they deserve. You will also send a herald to inform the Emperor of this disgrace as soon as possible.
These news caused a lot of noise and confusion, and also some amount of disbelief. It was not after the stranger showed them his jade ring, with the emblem all of them could recognize, that the village people started showing the due respect and initiated the preliminaries for the retrieval expedition.
During the frantic activity that ensued, the emisary that had just caused all this perturbation slid aside and disappeared into the darkness while nobody noticed. He had just taken care of his last duty and was ready to start his new life. He left the hamlet quickly and silently, and decided to travel north, towards the wastelands, so as to remain as far as he could from the metropolises and the merchant paths.
For days he walked north, crossing boldly the woods and barren plains, by day or by night, or following sometimes the small roads that helped him on this travel to his deserted destination.
He was following one of these roads one day, when he saw a young girl approaching him all alone, and noticed how she became nervous at the prospect of meeting a foreigner far from his village. When she was close enough, Kirumo was dumbstruck at the sight of her face. Even though she kept it bowed down, he could clearly see this young girl was no other than the Princess herself! He knew it was clearly impossible; not only was the Princess dead, but she would never wear those peasant robes, nor bow in front of a baseborn. But he could not deny his eyes either.
On an impulse, he went down on his knees and elbows, and proclaimed:
- Your Majesty! Here I am to serve you. Please command me what you please.
One part of him expected she would scorn at him and request of him he should take his own life right there. Another part of him hoped she would forgive him and take him back into her service. Yet another part of him knew this was all nonsense. The Princess was dead, and not walking the countryside paths all by herself.
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