Flight of the Warrior- 8

Running again

She was terrified when she left her hut. Flying for over an hour the fear began to be dulled by fatigue. She was not good over long distances.

Then after losing her concentration one time too many she decided she needed to stop and find a place to eat and rest. It was of the utmost importance she not be seen. There must be no trace whatsoever of the direction she was taking. So she decided on stopping in the mountains of the Southern Japanese Alps, find a cave, or some sort of shelter. She might stay for a day or two and then fly the remainder of the way to Tokyo.

As she turned in the direction of the alps she heard it. I summon you. She could not mistake his voice. Each word rang like a low pitched gong in her head. It resonated. She continued to hear the echo long after the message came. She also felt he was close. Then the shocking realisation she had stupidly flown over the east, where the wind had told her he was riding.

Mistake after mistake.

There was only one choice she would need to fly north, perhaps to another mountain range, try to outrun him. She would go to the Jyoshin-etsu area. This would mean another hour flying. She was not altogether happy with her choice, the area was known for Asiatic black bears, but she felt she was backed into a corner. She needed distance. She would try to find a spot along the Matsukawa ravine.

Minutes in the air felt like hours. She was exhausted by the effort of flying, and the constant danger. Several times during the journey she wished she was not alone, she even wished for the company of the tracker. Someone whose mere presence would help her to stay alert. They were hopeless thoughts she was on her own, and always had been. Her plan to see the old lady in the fishing village was abandoned. Her plan to practice with two jian would need to wait.

There was no time for plans, it was all too late now.

Flight of the Warrior- 7

Black heart on a black horse

He rode a black horse, given to him for his bravery during the war.

He had been a samurai in the cavalry, skilled in both yabusame and the sword. He was one of the few who could ride and shoot a bow, then jump from his horse and fight hand to hand or with his katana. They called him the shourisha because his arrival to the battlefield, no matter how hopeless it was, meant a victory for his side. He seemed to wield some sort of magic.

He was a tall man, over six feet, with large muscular shoulders. He was unlike the other samurai who were shorter, but he had their quickness. And he was a ronin, he answered to no-one. He fought in battle for the sheer glory of killing. Because of his status he was able to move from place to place and no daimyo ever refused him food or shelter.

He was returning from collecting a fee for his services during the war. He had demanded the overlord's daughter together with the fee. She was very pretty, but she was weak and acquiesced to him all too easily. She had cried and begged for mercy. He left her very early in the night, not even desiring her more than the once. In fact he could not even be bothered to kill the wretch. She would probably do that herself anyway.

He wanted the one who fought him, the one who resisted. His toraneko.

So he had left the overlord's home in the late hours of the night and took to his black horse. He could have flown, but he needed time to decide what he would do to her. He needed a plan.

She had come into his life by accident. He had been flying on a beautiful night, lit by the moon. He could smell jasmine on the wind. He turned and traced the fragrance through the air. He saw her immediately, standing on the ground. She appeared to be sprinting and taking off, then landing and repeating the movement like a drill. He decided to watch her for a while.

Peasant girls almost never appealed to him. They had little to offer a man of his class. But this one seemed different, and it was only when she flew closer to him did he realise. She was a takokujin.

So when he flew straight at her, knocking her to the ground, he had acted out of opportunity. And he had not been disappointed.

She was fiery, she fought him every moment. In fact, she had gotten away from him when he had planned to keep her for a little while. Flying that night and seeing her had been a happy co-incidence. To make the experience even more beguiling, he discovered she had been wearing a light nightdress under her traveling robes. She had refused to answer him when he asked her why, she had held up her chin and bit down on her lip.

He felt that she had been put there in that moment just for him. A present from Hachiman, the god of war.

As he rode towards her hut, he wondered exactly what it was that he wanted to do. He most certainly did not want to kill her, at least not yet. So he must not get carried away. It was an inspired moment when he had cursed her and he had felt the benefits of his work already. She had clearly been touched by another man. He was connected to her in that way now. Her pain was his pleasure.

So perhaps he would go to her hut, stay the night and see what happened. The idea of a whole night with her wreathing beneath his body filled him with a wild feeling. He burned for her.

He spurred on the black horse, pushing the beast through the night and well into the next day.

He arrived at her hut, and was about to dismount when he felt the approach of another man. He pulled his horse behind a tree and watched as the man came to the door of the hut. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He resisted the urge to fly out and cut the man's head cleanly from his shoulders with his katana. He noticed the frame of the man, he was his equal in height and build and he wore a short and long sword. Most certainly a soldier. Better to stay hidden and see what happened. He could always take care of him later.

The man knocked on the door, stood for a moment and then slowly exhaled letting his forehead rest against the heavy wood. He heard him utter, "Gone." Studying this man he realised he was the suitor. He must be, why else would he be so disappointed she was gone?

And before he could remove his sword to take care of it, the man was gone. In fact he did not even see where he went. In a moment of panic he spun around trying to figure out what had happened. Was this some sort of trick? Was this an ambush?

Minutes passed and he was still not sure what had occurred. He was certain of one thing, if he should cross paths with this man again, he would use the upmost caution.

He decided to head toward the village. He would see if anyone knew her whereabouts, and perhaps he would take a local girl to ease his passion. The nobility in this area where known for their hospitality. He would avail himself of what they could offer.

And then he would find her, and make her pay for fleeing. She must learn that he was the master of her now- the shourisha.

He sent a message on the wind I summon you.

Flight of the Warrior- 6

The first warning

She had flown back to the hut, tears streaming down her face the whole way. She was lost and the man who could help her had thought her a liar. He had tested her. He had been cruel.

She had tried since the attack to balance her reactions to men. They were not all like him. Some were kind and gentle. But here was another example that she should not trust.

She had gone to find him with many questions. Most remained unanswered.

But she had figured out for herself something that had perplexed her. In the trackers presence, particularly when she was close to him, or he touched her, she had felt physically ill and dreadfully lethargic. He was not unattractive, despite his crude approach to her in the marketplace. This had never happened before with any man, and there had been a couple. But then she had not been close to any man since the attack.

At first she thought it to be a lack of courage. But sitting with the tracker around his small fire, she had unwittingly recalled what the man had done and said after he had assaulted her.

She had fought for twenty minutes before he threw her on that boulder. Twenty long minutes, ten of those with her jian. But he had a much longer reach with his katana, and with each block she grew tired. He was so much stronger. The slash down her side had been vicious but precise. She had released her grip on her jian to hold her nightdress together. That was all it took. Laughing at her he was upon her in a second. She had struck him with her fist, and the blow hit home opening the skin above the eye. He had smiled. "Toraneko, I like that."

She had been flung, almost tossed as if she weighed nothing at all face down on the boulder. He had been rough, exceptionally rough, her hip and rib bones grinding into the hard stone. She felt as if she was being ripped apart. When he was done, he turned her over and she thought with horror he was going to do it all over again. He pushed the hair back from her face. She wished he hadn't, it was the only thing between her and those piercing eyes.

They cut her, invaded her soul. 

So it was to her surprise that after pushing the hair back from her face that he had kissed her, passionately. "Mine now my little toraneko. No other man can have you." He had said this to her in a coarse whisper, passion filling every word, breathing the hot words into her lungs he was so close. Making it hard for her to hold onto sanity. She felt as if she was slipping into madness. He was branding her. Searing his mark on her.

At the time she thought he had meant that she would never be able to let another man touch her. She would be so harmed when he had finished with her, that she would never be whole again.

After the kiss and his little speech he had hit her hard across the side of the head. She had rolled off the rock and fallen heavily on the ground, so strong was the blow. She had glanced up at him, trying to push herself up onto her feet. She had learned in training that the ground was a bad place to be, she was vulnerable there. But god, he was so strong it seemed to matter little what defensive position she put herself in. He had laughed at her again. And she felt a wave of anger invigorate her. As she stood up she grabbed a rock, a little bigger than her hand, and she threw it hard at his head. She aimed for his nose, figuring if she was off target she might still hit. He saw it, managing to move a little but too late to avoid it all together. She heard a sickening crack as the rock hit his temple. He fell to the ground and she ran fast for her jian that lay on the ground a few feet away, close to her traveling robes. He had grabbed her ankle somehow and dragged her to the ground. She kicked furiously with her free leg. She heard him say over and over "Fight little toraneko". Then somehow she got her ankle free and had the jian in her hand running away from the boulder, from the man who had taken what was not his, as fast as her legs would carry her.

She had been terrified flying away from him. She knew he was the better flyer and hoped that the rock had caused some sort of concussion. She needed some advantage to fall her way. She did not hear him on the wind again that night and made it to safety. She had been taken in by some kind people. They had helped her and she would always be grateful for that. And she had blocked from her memory those words said with such desire, spoken into her soul.

She wiped the tears away from her face and took a deep breath. She was back at her hut now and the painful memories had passed. But the realisation had hit her. She was branded.

It was only when the tracker had asked her about the attack that she had remembered. The kiss had been a curse, if any man came close to her, touched her, she would feel incredibly ill, she would be incapable of reacting to any potential attraction. He had killed that part of her.

She had no idea if he had intended to let her live. Perhaps it was a sick game he wanted to play, take her, curse her and then release her. Let her suffer, knowing that she can never love or be loved by any other man. She would always be his.

And then to come back one day, the tracker certainly thought he would. She sat on her bed trying to calm herself.

He was going to come back to claim what was his. Oh god, she could not go through that again. If the tracker could find her.... she had to leave, and leave now. The sudden urgency of her predicament fired her with action. She had to go.

She packed a few belongings and some food hastily. Her hands shook and she had difficulty putting everything into the small satchel. She almost ran through the door, slamming it behind her. A blast of cold air hit her face, and she felt as if she had been slapped. It stopped her instantly.

It was a warning. This time she felt it with clarity. He is coming for you the wind whispered from the east he rides.

She ran and launched off a small knoll to the side of the hut. She flew low over the valley, then past the small village where she was known, where it was easy for her to be found.

She fled north to the big city, to Tokyo.

Flight of the Warrior- 5

Following the trail

He decided to have more tea rather than go after her. She was willful, and when angry unlikely to be forthcoming with any further information. Perhaps he would go to her hut later. When she had calmed down.

He sat down wearily. The night had been cold and he had received many messages on the wind. Both had conspired to keep him awake for most of the night.

The tea was hot and revived him somewhat. He decided to go over what he knew already.

His employer was a daimyo of the north islands and had risen to power and wealth after the Ōnin war. He had been called to the house two hours after the wife's death. Deep with grief his employer had the composure to leave everything as it had been found. She was beautiful even though her attacker had disfigured her horribly. Slashes like the one he had felt on the girl's side where everywhere on her body, but always north south. The blade puncturing the skin and dragged down in a whip like action, the middle of the wound deepest. The exit point was ragged as if the blade was twisted purposefully as a final insult to the skin. He had felt the woman's wounds and committed to memory the vibration of the blade that had caused such damage. At that point he did not know the murderer's name.

Finn had been an outsider, originally from Europe born from an affair his Nordic mother had sworn she would never speak about. When she was dying he had begged her to say his father's name. She refused. So he decided to travel, to find a place he belonged. He had gone first to Russia, across Mongolia to central China, then the Korean peninsula to seek work. He had found his skill as a tracker and after the war sailed to Japan lured by the possibility of becoming a sabarau. He had found that tracking was more lucrative, and he liked the idea of being anonymous.

It had been six weeks since he had stood in that room with the lifeless body. It was obvious she had been raped, held captive for many hours, tortured and finally killed. The murderer had disappeared without a trace until he had heard a rumour. Further in the mountainous South, a young woman, a westerner, was said to have come to the house of the local nobility, where she had asked if she could be sheltered for the night. She had been wearing a light nightdress that had been slashed down the side. Barefoot and bleeding she had been taken into the servant's quarters. She had a long wound where her nightdress had been opened, clearly made by a sword. The family physician had attended to her. She would not say who had attacked her, and left two days later before she was fully healed. When Finn spoke to the physician he had been almost secretive about the treatment provided and the conversations he had with the young lady. He would only say she should have stayed longer, and that the servants had supplied her with some clothes, food and he had given her a small amount of money. Then she had left. The physician said she was heading further South. Finn knew he was lying, he could feel the discord on the man's breath. She had left quite a mark on the old man, she was obviously beautiful for him to protect her like that. Perhaps she had bewitched him.

He had asked some discreet questions about a red headed woman, a takokujin. She had gone XX he heard. And he had been lucky. Passing through a village, eager to find food, he had discovered the place alive with trade. Once a week farmers from the flat lands came up to the foothills to sell their produce. He was sitting on the shingle roof of a dwelling when he had seen her move through the crowded stalls. He noticed that she kept her hood on, said very little to anyone, and bought only a couple of items. She was taller than the other women and not as slight but she walked with grace. Pride he thought. He had followed her for a week, been to her home, a single roomed hut barely space for sleeping quarters and a hearth. On the side of a hill about three miles from the village, she was alone and he felt, dangerously unprotected.

It was then he had heard whispers of other attacks and he had traveled back to the city. What he was told unsettled him. This man had murdered before the daimyo's wife. Three times before in fact. And once after. Five bodies all women of great beauty, and only the red haired takokujin alive to speak of the attack, to identify the man. She was his sixth victim. There were likely to be more.

He felt sure he would come back to her. She was unfinished business. He was sure this man would protect his anonymity, and Finn knew a little something about that. The murderer was clever in that he had not been seen entering or leaving the homes of the women he killed. All had been heavily guarded by trained men, experienced soldiers. All dead. No one had heard a sound. He had checked and the women all had their tongues, they had not been cut out. There was no sign of a mouth gag or bondage of any kind. There were marks on the wife where a strong hand had held  and bruised her wrists, arms, upper thighs. But how had he done all that without them at least crying out?

In the city and some of the larger villages of the North they had named this man the kage, the shadow. Perhaps by now there were others tracking the kage. It was possible.

He kept coming back to the young woman. She would be able to tell him what he needed to know. Perhaps he could even save her? But he tried to brush away that thought. He was not a hero and his life would be complicated if he was weighed down by obligations other than that of his employer. 

He had also seen she was not defenseless. She was lightening quick with her sword and she could fly. But he knew she stood little chance. He had killed samurai, men of the sword. All she had was a shorter jian probably light, and a hand dagger. She didn't stand much of a chance. If Finn could find her this easily, the kage could as well.

He decided he would need to speak with her again. He had to explain why he had touched her. She could be angry if she liked.

But he would keep the rest to himself- why he had turned from her so quickly without a word and sped away. He was not sure what he would do with those thoughts. He would deal with that later. He would see his favourite in the city and she would erase all memory of the green eyes and the skin beneath the silk.


So he went to the small hut on the side of the hill. He knocked politely, but knew as soon as he touched the wood of the door she had gone. 


Yes, he had handled things very badly indeed.