Samurai Stories part 2

Chapter 16

2007-04-26T01:28:00.000-07:00

The Red Ninja stepped out on to the front veranda acutely aware of the arrows that were aimed at his head and chest. He was also aware of the archers hesitation as they realised he was holding a prisoner. He could feel the tension; he could taste their fear.
Goda was breathing deeply. The slaughter inside had caused him to work up a slight sweat but he was just getting started. There was still more killing to do.
He took in the scene before him in a heartbeat. At the front gate were twenty or so men, armed with spears and swords. They were ready for the fight but held back, waiting for the archers stationed on the two front sentry towers to shoot Goda down from a safe distance. There would be more archers at the rear but at the moment the residence itself protected Goda from their arrows.
Still in his grasp was the young servant who held the key to his mission. Goda held him in and arm lock with one hand, the boy’s face was covered in blood. He could hear his tendons and ligaments tearing but to his credit the servant didn’t scream.
Lord Sato’s men are weak, he thought. The archers should have fired their arrows the moment he stepped outside.
Goda looked down at the servant. “Can I trust you to stay here and not run away?”
There was no response. The boy’s eyes were shut tight as blood that was not his own dripped from his face on to the wooden floorboards.
“I didn’t think so.”
Goda released the servant from his grip and with his thumb executed a pressure point strike to the side of the boy’s neck. He fell to the ground as one side of his body went limp and the other side went stiff. The servant was completely paralysed.
To the right of the residence, Goda noticed one of Lord Sato’s men running away like a coward. He was carrying a woman. Goda remembered seeing her inside and judging by her clothes she was obviously from a high-ranking family. He had briefly made eye contact with her and couldn’t be helped being stunned by her beauty. She will be the perfect spoil of this battle, he thought, after he disposed of the rest of these samurai.
He reached inside his blood red gi, and removed three throwing stars. He leapt off the veranda and threw one at the coward’s legs, careful not to hit his prize. The samurai faltered as the many points of the throwing star tore into his leg but he continued running.
Goda had underestimated his target.
He threw two more shuruikens and heard them thud into the flesh around his knee, finally causing the samurai to fall to the ground.
Goda smiled. To the Victor go the spoils.
At that moment, the archers realised the Red Ninja had moved far away enough from his prisoner to open fire.
The arrows flew through the air quicker than the eye could see. Goda held his breath and closed his eyes. He counted his heartbeats in his head. One, two, three…
When he opened his eyes the arrows had frozen in mid-air. Everything was silent; everyone was still.
It was the first time Goda had used this technique in battle and he was more than pleased with the results. It took all his strength and focus to perform it, his jaw was clenched tight in concentration but his years of training and discipline had paid off.
Goda was not yet a fully fledged master of this Clan technique but he was getting better. He remembered vividly the rigorous training of stepping between droplets of rain as he slowed their descent from the sky and then stopping the rain altogether. His master had told him of the ancient Clan members who could stop the rain just metres from the ground while they ploughed a field and then planted seedlings. Goda could not fathom the amount of skill and concentration it would have taken to do something like that. He was only just realising the true power that lay within him.
For the moment, Goda would have to work fast. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could focus for. The arrows were directly in front of him, like a swarm of angry killer insects. His first priority was to move from their trajectory and take care of the archers.
He ran quickly across the front lawn and scaled the left sentry tower. He could feel his focus slipping. Sound and movement began returning to the world. He looked down at the arrows as they began slowly moving through the air again. He moved to the rear of the archers. They were tightly packed in together to get the best possible vantage point, each standing side on, one hand tightly grasping their bow, the other hand back past their head having just released the string that sent the first wave of arrows on their way. He counted twenty men.
Goda let go of his concentration and the world around him returned to normal. He could hear the arrows pierce through the air below, striking the ground and wooden floorboards of the front veranda.
The archers paused, looking intently to see if they had hit their target.
“Did we get him?”
“There’s no body!”
Confusion and panic spread through the archers like wild fire. They re-loaded their bows and searched frantically for the intruder.
“Where is he? Where did he go?”
The Red Ninja held his weapon in front of his body and triggered the blade inside the hilt. The hissing noise as the sword came to life, alerted the archers to his presence immediately. They turned at once, the confined area of the tower rendering their arrows useless, rendering their numbers useless. Goda did not need any Clan techniques to defeat them. The look of utter confusion was still on their faces when they fell.

Chapter 15

2007-03-25T05:12:00.000-07:00

Looking over his shoulder as he ran, Ichiro saw a terrifying image. Standing at the entrance to the House of the Volcano was the Red Ninja. Ichiro was breathing hard, his legs were pumping fire through his veins but he wasn’t running fast enough.
He had decided to get Lady Toyotomi a horse and ride with her to safety. Given the circumstances he couldn’t really be blamed for leaving Lord Sato. But at the rate Goda was making his way through Okinaga’s men, Ichiro feared he would never reach the stables.
“Duck your head, Lady.”
Kimiko obeyed and buried her head in Ichiro’s chest as he continued to run. Just as he feared, he heard the whistling sound of an assassin’s throwing star. He braced himself for impact. The terrifying sound grew louder right before it sliced into his leg. Ichiro stumbled but he kept running. He almost dropped Kimiko but he kept running.
Behind him, the whistling sound came again. Two more throwing stars lodged deep into his leg muscles. Ichiro fell.
Lady Toyotomi screamed as she crashed into the ground. Ichiro’s only thought was to keep his armoured body between her and the assassin.
“Lady, you must run to the stables and find your horse. Get as far away from here as possible.”
The Shogun’s daughter looked at him with fearful eyes. Her exquisite silken robe was now covered in grass stains and her face was streaked with tears. Such beauty should never be so close to war and death, Ichiro thought.
Lady Toyotomi shook her head. “I’m not leaving you. Please, you have to get up! I order you to get up!”
Ichiro was on his knees; the three throwing stars were still stuck in his right leg. He was a defeated man. He was expecting Goda to finish him off any second now and the last image he would ever see would be that of Lady Toyotomi. It will be a good death, he thought. A honourable death.
He held his breath and waited.

High atop the sentry towers, the archers steadied their aim. The strum of the bows filled the air as a hail of arrows fired towards the Red Ninja.

Chapter 14

2007-03-08T19:59:00.000-08:00

Musashi tensed instinctively. Goda was close.
It was a frightening thought. The Clan may have waited hundreds of years to strike. Musashi knew patience, knew it was a weakness in most men, but waiting hundreds of years for the right moment to come out from the shadows and reveal yourself was simply unheard of. Imagine an ambitious Daimyo waiting that long to conquer lands and defeat armies. It would never happen.
The dead samurai remained still with their blood shot eyes trained on Musashi. He kept his distance from them and made sure he was in a fighting stance.
“You must go to the Dead Forest,” Isamu said. “The Sword of Souls is hidden there.
The Dead Forest. Musashi couldn’t believe what Isamu was saying. It was a sacred place, an evil place. Nobody entered the Dead Forest. “Master, you must be aware, it is forbidden to enter...”
“Yes it is,” Isamu, said matter of factly. “That is why the Kensai chose to hide the sword there, away from power hungry Lords. It is protected by the Grandmaster of the Kensai order and by the inhabitants of the Forest.”
“What do you mean, the inhabitants of the Forest?”
“They are the Fallen. They are men just like the ones that stand before you. They have died without honour, their anger sustaining them in death. Their spirits refuse to cross over to the next world and so they wander the Dead Forest waiting an eternity to claim their revenge.
“But these men died with honour. They died serving Lord Okinaga.”
“I have control over these relics. The only thing that controls the Fallen is their hatred and thirst for revenge.”
Musashi shivered. He wondered how many men were wandering in the Dead Forest waiting for him. “Why must I go there? Not even the Clan would risk going in.”
“The Clan will risk everything. They know the location of the Sword. You must get there before they do. Nothing else matters.”
“How do they know its location?”
“They have come into possession of a map. Musashi, listen to me, you must go to the Forest and stop the Clan. Do you understand?”
Musashi wasn’t sure he understood anything. “How will I find the Sword?”
“You must find Akira, he is the only person who knows its location.”
“The servant?”
“Yes. He will be a powerful ally.
“But he’s just a kid!
“You were a kid once, Musashi and quite fearless as well. To find the sword you must find Akira.”
Travelling into the Dead Forest with a servant did not sound like a good idea. What Musashi needed was an army. Yes, he thought to himself. He would need the help of Lord Okinaga’s samurai.
“But before you set out on this journey,” Isamu continued. “You must defeat these fallen samurai. You have discovered a sword is useless against them so you must defeat them with an empty hand. You must use their own energy against the them. Show me your skill, Musashi.”
Something inside Musashi clicked. He realised what Isamu was doing. He was testing him. Just like he had always done. Musashi remembered the first time they had met. Musashi was young and wild. He was totally uncontrollable. He didn’t realise it at the time but Itto Isamu had saved his life.

“I thought you said your skilled was unmatched?” Musashi mocked as he stood over his opponent. He threw the wooden staff he had beaten Arima Kihei to death with on the ground and turned triumphantly to face the crowd that had gathered in the street. The people passing by had stopped, unable to turn away. A look of shock was frozen on their faces. The crowd was silent.
Musashi studied the gathering of people. Each time he made eye contact with someone they would turn their gaze toward the ground. A feeling of power consumed him. These people were afraid, afraid of a mere child. “Anybody else?” shouted Musashi. “Anybody else think they can beat me?”
The crowd remained silent.
An old man shuffled forward. “Poor Arima,” he said. “He was a skilled warrior. A bit cocky, but he had a good heart nonetheless.”
Musashi turned to face the old man. He wore two swords in the sash of his kimono. He was probably once a powerful samurai but he had lived to long. He had grown weak.
“You serve your master poorly old man. You should have died in battle a long time ago.”
The old man smiled. “You are so young and yet you understand the way of the warrior so well. It usually takes a lifetime to understand such things.”
“What’s to understand? You’re old, you should be dead.”
The brash remark made the old man laugh out loud. “Tell me young man, where is your sword? Surely you are not a farmers son, you have to much fighting spirit for that.”
Musashi shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t need a sword to be a warrior. There’s more than one way to kill a man.”
“You’re absolutely right,” the old man nodded as he looked at the bloody mess on the ground. “But do you even know how to use a sword?”
“Of course I do! I may only be thirteen but I’m more of a warrior then you’ll ever be.”
“Is that so?” With one quick movement the old man drew his Katana, the sword coming to life in his hands, stopping just inches from Musashi’s face. “Show me.”
“What?” Musashi said as he stumbled back.
“Show me your skill with the sword.”
The old man offered the Katana to Musashi, holding the blade flat across the palms of his hands, bowing as he did.
Musashi reached for the sword but then hesitated. “Is this some sort of trick?”
“No trick. I want you to take my sword and strike me down,” he said smiling. “If you can.”
“You have clearly lost your mind old man, so as a favour to you, I will put you out of your misery.”
Musashi snatched the sword away, failing to return the old man’s bow. In the same movement he attacked low, aiming for the legs. The old man leapt as the blade sliced through the air below his feet. Musashi was not expecting the old man to move so fast and nearly lost his balance.
The old man seemed to hang in the air for a second before landing on the ground. “Interesting strike. It was fast and smooth but it wasn’t your best option for a fatal blow.”
Musashi took a step back and sized up his opponent. All warfare was deception and this old man was a master. “If I take your legs, you are useless. Your only option would be ritual suicide. Then we would see how much of a warrior you really are.”
The old man raised an eyebrow. “You leave too much to chance.”
Musashi tightened his grip on the sword. He hadn’t held a live blade in his hands for such a long time. It was lighter than the wooden training sword he often carried. “Who are you?” Musashi demanded.
“I am Itto Isamu, Master of the Kensai order.”
“Why are you here?”
“I have come for you, Musashi. Rumour has spread quickly about your fighting ability. I wanted to see for myself. They say your skill with a sword is masterful and yet you are only thirteen. How can this be?”
“There are some things in this world that can’t be taught. How does a bird know how to fly?”
“Are you saying your skill with a sword is completely instinctive?”
“I’m not telling you. I’m showing you.”
Musashi attacked again, slicing downwards. The old man turned his body side on and the blade whisked passed.
“Instinct can only take you so far,” he said calmly. “What you need is control. Your anger and your youth make you a danger to yourself. Come with me, join the Kensai and I will teach you control.”
“How can you teach me anything if your dead?”
Musashi feigned a strike and whipped the sword back to sever Isamu’s sash that tied his kimono together. With this cut, Isamu’s short sword fell free. Musahsi scooped it up with the blade of the katana and caught the short sword in his free hand. Isamu jumped backwards confused as to what Musashi was doing.
“I don’t like your chances old man,” Musashi said as he smiled. The look of the Kensai’s face amused him immensly. Only a handful of warriors had ever perfected the two swords technique. Musashi was only thriteen.
The calm exterior of Itto Isamu was replaced by a look of complete surprise. “Where did you learn the two swords technique?”
Musashi laughed. “My father asked me the same question. But I didn’t learn it from anyone. I just know.”
“Where is your father now?”
The smile dissappeared from Musahshi’s face. “Enough talk. You can either stop me now, or perish.”
“Very well.”
Musashi transferred his body weight on to his back foot and then leapt towards Isamu. To his surprise, the old man did not evade the attack, he stepped forward, closer and yet still out of range of both swords. The next thing Musashi felt was the wind being knocked from his lungs. He slid on his back across the dirt and as the gravel ripped at his skin he knew instantly he had lost his grip on the swords. He scrambled back to his feet.
“You may think you can use a sword, but to be a true master, you must first learn to fight without a weapon.” Isamu said as he retrieved his Katana. “You must welcome my attack into your body and then send it away, using my own force against me.”
Musashi’s eyes searched the dusty ground for the short sword but he couldn’t find it. He needed a weapon if he was to have any chance of defeating the Kensai Master. Isamu continued to talk. Good, Musashi thought. Aslong as he’s talking I still have time.
“The martial arts is as much a mental test as it is a physical one. You must have the ability to relax the mind and body under the stress of mortal danger. Meet my attack Musashi. Meet it with confidence and directness.”
The words of the master had a strange effect on Musashi. He stopped looking for the dropped sword. For the first time in his life he found himself listening. The old man was talking to him as an equal, something no one had ever done before. It had a soothing effect, as though the old man understood his nature. He will never give up on me, Musahshi thought. He will never abandon me, like my father did.
“Accept my attack into your being, stare death in the face.”
Itto Isamu lunged forward, bringing the sword down from high above his head. Musashi was calm.

“Stare death in the face,” Musashi whispered to himself.
The dead samurai moved forwards once again but this time Musashi did not panic. When they reached out for him and grabbed his jacket he did not strike back. He accepted the attack. He welcomed it wholeheartedly. Then with as much effort as lifting a feather he sent them away. He moved through the dead samurai like a breeze through a forest. He didn’t know what strange force possessed these corpses but it didn’t matter. Time seemed to slow down. He had eternity to see each attack as it unfolded before him and an eternity to send it away.
The human mind and it’s memory work in strange ways. Itto Isamu taught Musashi self control all those years ago, he had truly saved him from his own recklessness and given him the fundamental mind frame to focus all his martial ability. And yet, somewhere through the years he had forgotten this lesson. Musashi had left the Kensai order and become a wandering Ronin. He knew he had to leave after he disobeyed their first rule of self defence. But he realised now there was no reason to leave their teachings.
Musashi took everything Isamu had taught him in his brief stay with the Kensai and used it for his own personal gain. He used this knowledge in every duel he had ever been in and as a result he had never been defeated. But something was missing. He had never truly been able to stare death in the face.
Fear kept him alive. He realised now after all these years he had to accept death. In order to reach his full potential he had to acknowledge one day he would die. Knowing this was freedom. Knowing this was power. Musashi suddenly found himself hungry to learn all Isamu had to teach.
These thoughts and revelations whirled in Musashi’s head as he stepped through the dead samurai. The force that had possessed them was gone. He looked over at Isamu’s prison cell. It was empty.
Musashi had been so focussed on the fight, he had lost track of time. Indeed time itself seemed to have lost all meaning. How long had it been? Had he been possessed by some strange force during the fight as well? And where was Isamu?
Lord Sato’s men lay motionless on the dungeon floor as they had when Musashi had first seen them. He looked down the corridor. The heavy iron gate that had trapped him was now open. A litte further down Lord Sato Okinaga sat with his back up against the bars of one of the prison cells, his chin resting on chest. He was either dead or unconscious.
Where the hell is Isamu? The Kensai master had dissappeared into thin air and Musashi realised he was standing in the dungeon alone.

Chapter 13

2007-02-21T03:00:00.000-08:00

Miyamoto Musashi had his back pressed against the heavy iron gate that closed off the corridor of the dungeon. The seven dead samurai had him surrounded like a pack of wild dogs would the moment before they attacked their prey. Musashi was out of ideas. He looked over at Itto Isamu and pleaded for his help.
“Isamu, I’ll do whatever you ask of me. I’ll return to the Kensai order, I’ll devote my life to them. Just stop what you’re doing and call off these demons!”
The old Kensai master was grimacing in pain and despite the freezing cold temperature of the dungeon, beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “Like I said before,” he strained. “This is your final test. But rest assured this is not a game. If you fail, you will die, as will thousands of innocent people.”
“Why? Why should I be responsible for innocent lives? I did not choose this, you cannot force it on me!” The tone of voice surprised him. Never in a million years should he talk to the Kensai master like this. But considering the circumstances, and the weight of what Isamu was saying, Musashi couldn’t help it.
Isamu remained perfectly still and his eyes were closed. Only his lips moved. “Why you? I cannot say. It would seem destiny has a plan.”
“Destiny? Stop talking nonsense. Don’t tell me you meditated on it, I don’t want to hear it. It’s all horse shit!”
Isamu’s hand steadied and in turn the dead samurai seemed to halt their advance. “One day you will see what I see. It will torment your dreams and haunt your days. But you will learn to burden this great responsibility. To perceive, to sharpen your sight and your minds eye you must let go. You must empty your cup. A cup is made from clay or wood. Tangible things. But it is the emptiness of the cup that we desire. You must empty your cup, Musashi, then you will see."
Musashi shook his head; he did not believe the master’s words. “ Oh yeah? What will I see?”
“You will see things no one else can. You will see into the very hearts of men, their fears, their ambitions. Eventually you will be able to see through time. Your mind will be your greatest weapon, sharper than any sword, more devastating than any army.”
“Well, if your mind is such a great weapon, how did Goda defeat you? Why didn’t you know he was coming for you?”
Isamu took a deep breath; the dead samurai remained still. “Do not underestimate Goda.”
Musashi did not understand. Why did men fear The Red Ninja so much? Wasn’t he just a spy, an assassin for hire?
“You must be careful, Miyamoto. He is no longer a man,” Isamu warned. “He has become something else. I knew this the moment I looked into his eyes. He has changed.”
“What do you mean? How has he changed? Changed from what?”
For a long while, Isamu said nothing. The sound of his breathing seemed to get louder, deeper. Finally he spoke.
“ There is no denying it, Musashi. You cannot change your destiny,” he said ignoring Musashi’s question. “You will be the saviour of the Kensai. You will stop the Clan. I have foreseen it.”
Musashi lowered his head. “I’m not ready. I’m not the man you think I am. I can’t stop the Clan. How do I fight an enemy that has no honour? They strike from the shadows; they kill men in their sleep, they sneak up on them when their backs are turned. How do I fight an enemy like that?”
“Always lure your enemy with something to gain.”
“What… what can I lure them with? What do they want? You said before Goda was in search of absolute power. Just what exactly is absolute power?”
“The Clan or any opponent for that matter will fight and die for wealth, land, power. The Clan are in search of the Sword of Souls. The sword will deliver what they desire. They will come out from the darkness to seize it. There, you will make your stand.”
It all started to make sense. The Clan had only revealed themselves to the world for one reason. They were after the legendary Sword of Souls. But wasn’t it just that, Musashi thought? Wasn’t it just a legend, a story about a sword with special powers? Musashi had heard the story a hundred times as a child. The sword could only be wielded by a true master, the power of the sword increasing the more lives it ended and the more souls it collected.
“The sword is real,” Isamu said, once again appearing to have read Musashi’s mind.
“How do you do that? How can you hear my thoughts?”
“Empty your cup, Musashi. Then you will see.”
Musashi realised he still had so much to learn from Isamu. His feeble skills were no match for the power possessed by the Kensai Master. He found himself wanting to learn more, to master all of his capabilities. He wanted to see what Isamu could see.
“How long have the Clan waited for this moment?”
“It is difficult to say. They conceal themselves extremely well.”
“Where is Goda now?”
Isamu took several deep breaths, as if mustering the strength to talk. “He is close. I can feel it.”

Chapter 12

2007-02-13T03:29:00.000-08:00

Ichiro held Toyotomi Kimiko in his powerful arms. He led her into the House on the Volcano where she would be safe. She was the Shogun’s daughter, yet she was frail and delicate. He breathed in her sweet scent and wished he could hold on to her for longer.
“Lady Kimiko I will place you under the protection of Lord Sato’s best warriors. I would take care of you personally but I have other matters to attend to.”
Kimiko wriggled free from Ichiro. “I need to speak with Lord Okinaga immediately.”
Ichiro knew this was not an option right now. Okinaga was in the dungeon speaking with an apparently dead Kensai Master. No place for a woman, even if she was the Shogun’s daughter and probably accustomed to getting her way.
“I apologise Lady Kimiko but Lord Sato Okinaga is busy and I need to get you to safety. The observation room is the most secure room in the residence.”
Ichiro placed a hand on Kimiko’s back and try to direct her towards the stairs but as predicted Kimiko did not respond well to being told No.
“I must speak with him,” she demanded as she pushed Ichiro’s arm away. She staggered through the front door. Her legs were tired from riding all night. Her head was light. She struggled to breathe as her chest tightened. Gasping for air she collapsed on the ground.
Ichiro rushed to her side and lifted her head. Her face was pale and her lips were dry. “Lady Kimiko!”
“Please, I need to speak with Lord Sato,” she whispered as she opened her eyes.
“You need water and a physician. Stay still.”
Ichiro looked around for help but amazingly he found no one. All the men were on patrol or guarding the front gates, which left the front door eerily deserted.
He was just about to call out when he heard the heart-stopping cry of one of his men.
“Ninja!”
It was shouted from somewhere upstairs, possibly the third floor.
He felt Kimiko’s body tense up and then realised his own body had become tense. He had even stopped breathing. A split second passed before he heard more shouting. Another second passed and then there was silence.
Ichiro couldn’t believe it. Someone had managed to get inside the House on the Volcano. Every muscle in his body burned for him to run up the stairs and join the fight but he couldn’t leave Lady Toyotomi. She needed his protection.
The other samurai began to run past him, their swords in hand. He fought the natural reflex to join them and stayed with Kimiko.
“Lady Toyotomi, we must leave.”
Kimiko did not respond. Her gaze was directed towards the staircase. Ichiro then noticed the other samurai had frozen in their tracks. He was about to reprimand them for hesitating, for taking so long to apprehend the intruder when he looked up and saw why they had stopped. The Red Ninja was calmly standing on the last step of the staircase holding Akira, in an awkward and painful arm lock.
The rumours were true, Ichiro thought to himself. The Clan had returned and Goda had joined their evil crusade.
The assassin’s eyes were scanning the crowd of samurai, sizing them up, anticipating their next move. The ninja then focused on Kimiko. Ichiro knew at once he needed to get the Shogun’s daughter to safety.
He looked at his men. He understood why they had paused. Goda was a dangerous enemy, even for a small army of samurai. The mere mention of his name was enough to make grown men nervous, and the site of him was enough to scare them stiff. Regardless, Ichiro needed his men to defend the residence; he needed them to attack the intruder and to protect Lady Toyotomi. He needed them to do what they had trained all their lives to do. And since that meant going up against the Red Ninja, he needed them to sacrifice themselves. He needed them to die.
As if the samurai had read Ichiro’s thoughts they all raised their swords and readied themselves for battle. The samurai shouted as one. The hairs on the back of Ichiro’s neck stood up. He had never been so proud of these men. They were true warriors. Warriors who he had grown up with and trained with.
More guards rushed from upstairs and paused on the first story landing only a few steps away from Goda. The Red Ninja did not even turn to acknowledge them.
Ichiro picked up Kimiko and carried her back outside. The samurai attacked with single-minded fierceness, each moving on his own, but with the same goal. Goda reacted with such speed it appeared as though he was predicting the samurai’s every move and he did it all one handed. He was slicing through the fiercest warriors Ichiro had ever known all the while still holding Akira in an arm lock.
Ichiro began to run but realised he didn’t know where to take Lady Toyotomi. He didn’t know what to do. Maybe he should get her horse and tell her to ride to the next town or as far away as possible or even all the way back to the capital. Maybe he should go with her. The Shogun’s daughter cannot ride unescorted, unprotected. But Ichiro knew he couldn’t leave. He was Okinaga’s personal bodyguard. There was no way he could leave his lord.
Ichiro’s indecision was tearing him apart. Never before had he been so clueless as to what to do.
He quickly searched the surrounding area for answers, something that would give him a sign. But all he saw were the guards at the front gate looking as anxious as ever and just as torn as he was. High atop the sentry towers the archers had their bows drawn and their arrows loaded but they had no target to shoot. None of this helped. The men were all poised and ready for an all out war but Ichiro needed to get to safety.
Inside the residence he could hear the battle intensify. The samurai were dying with honour but they were dying quickly. Suddenly the clash of steel ceased and shouting ended.
In a matter of seconds Goda had cut down the samurai.Ichiro began to run again, he ran like the Red Ninja was right behind him, ready to strike. He wasn’t use to running away and he didn’t know where he was running to, but he didn’t care. In his arms, Kimiko held on to his thick muscular neck as tight as she could. All that mattered now was her safety.

Chapter 11

2007-02-04T03:32:00.000-08:00

The temperature inside Lord Sato Okinaga’s dungeon had dropped to below freezing. Miyamoto Musashi tried to remain as calm as possible as seven samurai who had previously been slaughtered by Itto Isamu slowly advanced on him.
The first dead samurai approached Musashi, his arms outstretched. Somehow it still had all its limbs and even its head. Its expression was inhuman, its eyes were bloodshot and saliva drooled from its mouth. Musashi sidestepped, avoiding its grasp, pushing it into the iron bars of Isamu’s prison cell. Another unsheathed its short sword and sliced wildly at Musashi. It missed by mere inches.
If the dead samurai had attacked with its Katana it would have been a direct hit.
Suddenly Musashi realised the samurai would have dropped their Katanas earlier. He quickly scanned the ground for the nearest sword. But all he found was shuffling feet.
The dead samurai with the short sword attacked again, this time in a stabbing motion. Musashi reacted instantaneously grabbing its forearm and snapping its wrist back into a totally unnatural position. Normally this would cause the person so much pain they would drop the sword immediately but the dead samurai did not let go, it didn’t even flinch.
Confused and more than worried he gripped the hilt of the short sword and planted a thrust kick square on the chest of the dead samurai. Musashi yanked the sword free as the samurai was sent flying into the far wall from the force of the kick. Using the short sword, Musashi decapitated the nearest samurai and punctured the neck of the next closest.
His movements were fast and effortless.
He slid the sword out of the samurai’s neck and waited for it to fall to the ground. But again the dead samurai did not react; it didn’t even flinch.
Musashi dropped the sword and began to panic.

On the other side of the iron gate Lord Sato paced back and forth like a caged animal. He had tried with all his might to open the gate but it would not budge. There was no way he could reach Musashi.
“Isamu! What are you doing?” Lord Sato shouted.
The Kensai Master did not answer. He was kneeling in his prison cell in deep meditation, his hand outstretched as though he was controlling the dead samurai, the dead samurai who used to be Lord Sato’s best men. Isamu had sliced them to bits when he had arrived here earlier. Lord Sato had never seen anything so scary as a completely out of control Kensai Master. He knew it didn’t matter how many of his men he had thrown at Isamu, he would have disposed of them all. Luckily Isamu seemed to be hell bent on getting down into this dungeon. Okinaga couldn’t figure out why. Was it for their protection or was their another reason?
Okinaga unsheathed his katana and sliced at the iron bars of the gate. Sparks flew but the sword barely made a scratch. He then attempted to cut the hinges of the gate, but again nothing happened. He was running out of time.
“Musashi, take my sword,” Okinaga offered as he slid the katana through the gate.
Musashi shook his head as he kept a close watch on the dead samurai slowly shuffling forward. “I don’t think a sword is going to stop them.”
Okinaga swore. He needed to get Musashi out of there. Itto Isamu had lost his mind,
“Musashi, you have to get out of there!”
“I don’t think that’s an option right now.”
Okinaga looked around frantically for anything that could unlock the gate. He found nothing. There were no keys, no tools, absolutely nothing, only whips and chains and other instruments of torture. He looked down the corridor at the stairs. He had sent Akira for reinforcements but the servant had not returned. What was taking him so long?
Lord Sato reached through the gate and placed a reassuring hand on Musashi’s shoulder. “I am going to get help. I will open this gate.”
Okinaga ran down the corridor and suddenly realised there was no light coming from the top of the stairs. When he reached the top he saw that the trapdoor had been closed. When he tried to push it open, it did not move. Lord Sato Okinaga was a prisoner in his own dungeon.

Chapter 10

2007-01-30T04:12:00.000-08:00

Goda stood over the young servant, his mind racing to remember where he knew this boy from and why it felt so important. In his right hand his weapon dripped with the life of fallen samurai. Executing a perfect chiburi, he whisked his sword through the air flicking the blood from the blade; he then pushed a button on the unusually long hilt and the blade retracted, disappearing faster than the eye could see.
The sound of running footsteps on wooden floorboards was all Goda could hear now. Lord Sato’s samurai would surround him in a matter of seconds. Outside he could hear shouting. They were desperate and full of panic. Goda knew he needed to retreat, to hide and recuperate but he didn’t. He couldn’t. The voice in his head wouldn’t let him. There was something about this boy that was too familiar. He racked his brain to figure it out before it was too late. The running footsteps of the samurai came closer; the shouts became louder.
Goda looked at the servant carefully. His face, his fearful eyes, everything about him triggered a feeling in the deep recesses of his mind. The fog was slowly lifting.
It was then he saw it. The servant’s jacket had come slightly undone in the fall revealing a mark on his chest. Goda reached out and ripped open the boy’s haori. He struggled to believe what he was seeing. It was too good to be true. It was as if a blindfold had been lifted from his eyes. Covering the boy’s entire torso was a huge and unbelievably intricate tattoo.
Goda remembered.
He remembered it was ten years ago when he first met this boy. Before he had joined the Clan and realised his true abilities. It was that first night he had come to the House on the Volcano. Somehow fate had brought him back here.
Goda had gone through hell that night but he had refused to give up. Clinging one-handed to a sheer cliff-face he was determined to live. Never again would he make the same mistakes that had almost gotten him killed. He remembered the pain from his dislocated shoulder came in waves as he inched his way back up the cliff face with his good arm. Goda knew it would be hours before he eventually reached the top again, perhaps even daylight. But he didn’t care. He remained focused on his goal.
Goda’s left hand dangled at his waist as his right hand hung to the rocky cliff face. He pulled his whole body upwards with his good arm using his feet for stability. He then forced himself to let go and reach up higher to find another rock to grab on to.
He had repeated this process a total of nine times. Each time he pulled himself up he had to convince himself to let go. It went against all his natural instincts but he had no choice. If he failed to find a handhold he would fall to his death.
The excruciatingly slow climb would be impossible without his metal handspikes. But even still he was beginning to lose feeling in his fingers. The metal spikes crunched into the rock as he dug his feet in to the cliff to ease the strain on his right hand and arm.
The weather wasn’t helping much either.
Initially it was a perfect night for his mission. There was no moon, good cloud cover and a strong wind. All of these elements combined for a dark night and the wind created extra noise to cover up any sound Goda would have made. But now the wind had picked up to a point where it was almost blowing Goda off the cliff. And the poor visibility made it impossible to see where he was actually climbing. He had to feel his way up.
To top everything off the night had turned so cold Goda couldn’t stop shivering. It was probably a combination of shock and the wind but Goda had never been so cold in his life. What he needed right now was to soak in hot spring. He needed to the warm water to calm his aching muscles and relax his mind. He could almost feel the hot steam on his face. Goosebumps formed on his skin as he was instantly warmed. It felt so real.
Goda inhaled deeply and breathed in the warm air, filling his lungs. Suddenly he snapped out of his daydream and looked upwards. He wasn’t imagining the warm air. It was pouring out of the cliff face.
He reached up higher and miraculously his hand found a ledge. He pulled himself up high enough to see over it. The warm air appeared to be coming from a passageway. Goda couldn’t believe it. After all that had gone wrong, finally a bit of luck. He was just about to climb into the passageway when he heard two voices.
“I can’t believe he didn’t talk,” said one voice.
“He was well disciplined,” said the other.
The voices were close now. Goda lowered himself and pressed his body against the cliff. Hopefully they wouldn’t see him.
“Still, I’ve never seen anyone take so much punishment without saying a word.”
“It was the least he could do to restore what little honour he ever had.”
The voices were standing right over Goda now. Once again the darkness was his ally.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“On the count of three. One, two, three.”
Confused, Goda glanced up to see what was going on. The voices belonged to two samurai. They were holding a man dressed in black; one samurai held his feet, the other held his hands. They were currently swinging his body back and forth. Then on the count of three, they threw the corpse down the cliff.
“Come on, let’s get back. I’m not sure what the Kensai masters want us to do with the boy.”
Goda listened as the footsteps of the samurai became distant. He then pulled himself up on to the ledge and collapsed on his back. The relief was instant. His arm, his legs, his whole body thanked him for the rest. Goda breathed deeply, his left shoulder was still dislocated and he could barely move his fingers on his right hand but at least he could relax now.
Goda took in his surroundings. The passageway disappeared around a slight bend. He couldn’t help but wonder where it led to.
Goda once again weighed up his options. He could either continue the climb up the cliff or he could risk following the passageway. It seemed like tonight he was forever re-assessing his situation. Choosing one path over the other.
Deep down he knew he wouldn’t have made it all the way up the cliff to safety. And it was just sheer luck that he had found this passageway. Maybe if he rested long enough he would be able to make the rest of the climb. But then again, maybe he was better off seeing what was around the bend. He knew at least two samurai were somewhere there and possibly two Kensai masters but somehow that option sounded a whole lot better than the cliff. He knew he could sneak past them. That he was sure of. He wasn’t sure however, that he could make the climb up the cliff.
Goda made his decision.
He crouched down and began moving along the passageway. The air becoming warmer the further he went. As he came around the bend, he could hear more voices.
“Master Isamu, we have disposed of the body as requested. What do you want us to do with the boy?”
“Nothing Ichiro, we have not finished with him yet. Return to your post.”
Goda slowly crept further around the bend so now he could see what was going on. The passageway led to a dungeon. He could see several prison cells connected by one long corridor. The two samurai were reporting to the Kensai masters. The Kensai were standing over a young boy who was chained to the wall of one of the cells.
The two samurai then walked along the corridor of the dungeon and ascended a set of stairs, leaving the Kensai masters alone with the boy.
“This is definitely the map, Isamu. Who do you think drew it?
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you think it was the Clan?”
“The Clan no longer exist.”
“Well then who did it?”
“Whoever it was has detailed knowledge of the Dead Forest, perhaps a bandit, or a fellow Kensai. Regardless, I will instruct Lord Sato to keep the boy here, where he’ll be safe.”
“You think a Kensai drew this? But we are the keepers of the sword. We are its protectors. The secrecy of the sword’s location is of the utmost importance.”
Goda looked closely at the boy. His face was pale and his eyes were closed. He had obviously been drugged. On his chest was a tattoo that the Kensai masters apparently thought was a map of some kind. Goda had never seen anything so strange.
“Isamu, what if this map falls into the wrong hands?”
“The future is difficult to see. We will leave the sword in the Dead Forest for now. Even if someone discovers its location, they will never be able to reach it. The forest is too dangerous. And Grandmaster Shigeru has sworn to protect it. He would never relinquish the Sword as long as he lives.”
Goda edged closer. If the tattoo was a map then maybe he could use it to his advantage. He didn’t know what the Sword of Souls was but it sounded valuable to these Kensai. Since his mission tonight had turned into a complete nightmare, maybe this sword was the key to his retirement fund.
The Kensai continued to talk about the fate of the boy. Their best option was to kill him and remove his skin so no one would ever see the map. But their beliefs prevented them from doing this. Their Katana’s and their skill would only ever be used in self-defence. The boy would remain in Lord Sato’s care under the careful watch of the Kensai.
When the two masters left, a single samurai came to guard the boy while he woke up from his drugged induced sleep.
Goda knew his time to strike was now.
He momentarily retreated down the passageway. He needed a diversion or a distraction. He needed a noise loud enough so the samurai would leave his post and come and investigate. Goda searched the passageway to find a lose stone, or a rock or anything. But instead he decided on something even better. He moved over to a wall of the passageway and pressed his shoulder against it.
Taking a deep breath he rammed his arm back into its socket and let out a muffled cry. When the guard came around the bend to see what the noise was, Goda attacked with his knife slicing the samurai’s throat.
Goda moved quickly. He removed the samurai’s clothing and armour and changed into them. Moving over to the ledge he then pushed the body of the guard down the cliff. Dressed as one of Lord Sato’s men, Goda made his escape from the House on the Volcano.

The loyal samurai of Lord Sato Okinaga were almost on top of Goda now. He could hear their ragged breaths as they ran and shouted. Goda looked at the young servant curled up in front of him, completely paralysed with fear. Amazed that he had forgotten about the boy and the map tattooed to his frail body until now. He could only conclude the God’s were smiling on him. Then again, a lot had happened in ten years time. So many times he had come close to death. He had been tortured for days at a time. He had lost friends and betrayed masters. And eventually he had joined the Clan.
Everything that had happened was leading to this moment. Destiny had re-united him with this servant. The Sword of Souls would soon be his.
Everything was falling into place.
Goda reached down and grabbed the young servant by the hair. “You’re coming with me.”

Chapter 9

2007-01-17T03:36:00.000-08:00

Akira leapt up the stairs and out of the trapdoor of the dungeon. He began to run but suddenly realised he had no idea where Ichiro was. The residence was massive. Akira didn’t have enough time to search every room and Lord Sato needed reinforcements now.
He looked over at the trapdoor and considered going back down into the dungeon. He didn’t like that idea at all. Something strange was happening down there. The dungeon felt like night in the dead of winter.
No, Akira thought to himself. He wasn’t going back down there without the protection of Ichiro. He decided to head for the observation room and prayed that one of the guards there would know where he was.
Akira ran up the first flight of stairs, taking three steps at a time. His legs began to burn. He continued the pace up the second flight but his legs tired and he tripped on the final step. He cursed under his breath and scrambled back to his feet. When he stood he froze.
Akira had come face to face with the Red Ninja.
He tried to run but his feet were nailed to the stairs. How did the assassin get inside? The House on the Volcano was lit up like a forest fire. There were guards patrolling every inch of the house and the gardens, archers were loaded and keeping watch from each sentry tower. There was no way one Ninja should have been able to infiltrate such a fortress. And yet here he was. The sight of the Clan member crushed the breath from Akira’s lungs as he prepared himself for death.
The Red Ninja stepped forward and grabbed Akira by the throat. He lifted the young servant clear off the floor. “You know who I am. You know what I can do,” he said as he studied Akira’s facial features. “Now tell me, where is Okinaga?”
Akira responded with choking noises. He would have gladly told the assassin everything he wanted to know. But at the moment the vice like grip of the Red Ninja was firmly grasped around his throat, preventing him from speaking or breathing.
Akira’s world started to turn black. His vision became narrow. The only thing he could see was the Red Ninja’s dark eyes. As Akira started to lose consciousness he began to accept his own death. He also realised that no one was safe. The House on the Volcano had been breached.
The Red Ninja continued to study Akira’s face. Just before the servant’s world turned to complete darkness Akira saw a flicker of recognition in the assassin eyes.

As Goda was about to tighten his grip around the boy’s fragile neck, he hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to snap the neck of this pathetic little servant. But he didn’t. He felt compelled to let him live. There was a strange voice inside his head telling him to spare the boy’s life; it was like a pinprick in the back of his mind. Goda loosened his grip immediately and threw Akira down the stairs. Tumbling head over heels, the young servant came to an abrupt halt on the stairway landing, gasping for air.
Suddenly the voice inside Goda’s head became clearer. He knew this boy. He had met him before. “What is your name, servant?”

Akira looked up at the Red Ninja and saw confusion in his eyes. What was the assassin doing? Akira couldn’t figure out why he was still alive.
“What’s going on?” a voice shouted.
Akira recognised it as one of Lord Sato’s men. He came running up the stairs with three other samurai. Their swords were drawn, their eyes focused. They were ready for war.
The first samurai leant down next to Akira. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
Akira was unable to speak, he simply pointed to the top of the stairs where the assassin stood unmoved and defiant.
For a split second everything became quiet. Akira’s breaths came in long, ragged gasps. His body was numb. The samurai next to Akira clenched his jaw.
Then the war began.
“Ninja!” the samurai shouted as loud as he could. It was loud enough so the entire residence would know there was a trespasser. Akira breathed a sigh of relief. He would be safe now.
The samurai charged at the intruder, yelling as they did. It was a war cry that would instil fear in the most battle-hardened opponents. And yet the Red Ninja stood his ground.
As the samurai ran headlong up the stairs, Akira suddenly realised they were incredibly vulnerable. They had entered a bottleneck, each one running right behind the next and the assassin had the high ground.
It was then the Clan member attacked. Akira had never seen anyone move so fast. The samurai never had a chance.
As they first guard swung his sword the Red Ninja calmly ducked his head and came up on the other side. Using his right arm and hip he pinned the samurai against the wall of the staircase. In one fluid motion, he drew his weapon from behind his back with his left hand. With unimaginable speed and force he sliced off the head of the second samurai and pierced the heart of the guard pinned against the wall.
After seeing this, the other two samurai looked at each other and hesitated. Their hesitation was what killed them.
The Red Ninja launched himself into the air, clearing the first two bodies. In one wicked swoop the assassin lopped of the next two samurai’s heads. They fell to the floor with a thud and a gush of blood at the feet of Akira, their heads rolling down the stairs.
Akira’s eyes widened in horror, the samurai never had a chance.

Chapter 8

2006-10-18T07:04:00.000-07:00

Musashi stood in the dim light of Lord Sato’s Dungeon. The dark and confined space making him feel uncomfortable. The bizarre events of the night didn’t help matters either. Right now he couldn’t stop staring at the corpse like frame of Itto Isamu. His skin had lost its colour; his eyes were sunk deep into his gaunt face. The Kensai Master looked like he had been dead for days.
A shiver ran down Musashi’s spine. The dungeon was a cold, dark place. The less time spent down here the better.
He looked at the old Kensai Master. After all these years, Musashi was still in awe of his power. He still needed Isamu’s help.
“Master Isamu, you must face Goda. You are the only one who can stop the Clan.”
Isamu’s breathing had become laboured. His head was still lowered. “I am not the only one. Besides, I am not long for this world. The technique of resurrection is like a blazing inferno. No matter how fierce, it will burn out eventually.”
It was then that Musashi realised Isamu had come here to warn him and him alone. He had expired every last drop of his energy not seeking revenge but rather to prepare Musashi for the impending onslaught. “I can’t face the Clan by myself. I’m not ready.”
Isamu slowly raised a skeletal index finger. “You underestimate yourself, Musashi. You were born ready.”
Goosebumps formed on Musashi’s skin.
He looked back down the corridor to where Lord Sato and the servant Akira were standing. They seemed to have retreated further down the corridor of the dungeon, making sure they were as close as possible to the only exit. Musashi could now see his breath in front of his face.
“Master Isamu. This is not my fight. I do not want to be involved.”
For a moment the old Kensai Master said nothing. Musashi could sense he was growing weak.
“It is too late, my son. You are already involved.”
The temperature in the dungeon dropped rapidly. The air was so cold it now stung Musashi’s skin.
Isamu raised his frail hand again, motioning in the direction of Lord Sato and Akira. Without warning, a rusty iron gate slammed shut, cutting the corridor of the dungeon in half. Musashi was now separated from Okinaga and the servant.
Okinaga moved to the iron gate and tried to open it. “Musashi, what is going on?” he asked urgently, as Akira moved closer to the exit.
Musashi did not respond. His gaze was fixed on the Kensai Master. His mind blocked out the biting cold.
Isamu raised his other hand slowly, his palm turned upwards. The dungeon grew colder still. “You were once a bright young Kensai, Musashi. No training did you ever require. No instruction did you ever need. But you never realised your full potential.”
It was at that moment, Musashi noticed the pile of dead samurai at the end of the corridor start to move. A voice inside his head screamed to get out, to run away. But there was nowhere to retreat to.
“Tonight, all that will change,” Isamu continued. “When you left the Kensai order, I knew full well that you would return. The future is difficult to see. But this was not.
Lord Sato started shaking the immovable iron gate in a futile attempt to reach Musashi. “Akira!” he shouted. “Go and get Ichiro. Tell him to bring reinforcements.”
“Yes my Lord,” the servant replied as he ran up the stairs.
Musashi took a small step back as he kept a close watch on the moving pile of dead samurai. “What are you doing Isamu?”
“This is your final test. You will be a Kensai once again,” proclaimed the old Master as he raised his upturned palm higher.
Isamu’s hand started to shake as the dead samurai came back to life. Slowly they stood. All seven of them turned towards Musashi. Some were missing limbs; others were missing their heads. Isamu had cut through them with ease earlier that night. But now, through some other mysterious Kensai technique he was breathing life back into their corpses.Musashi retreated further down the corridor as the dead samurai shuffled slowly towards him. His eyes searched frantically for a weapon. He found nothing. Isamu had turned the corridor into a prison cell. Musashi was trapped.

Chapter 7

2006-10-18T06:44:00.000-07:00

Ichiro, Lord Sato’s personal bodyguard had been ordered by Lord Sato back upstairs out of the dungeon to check on the current situation. Ichiro decided to check on the guards at the front gate.
“What’s the status?” Ichiro asked one of the guards.
The guard bowed. “It’s been quiet sir. No one has come near the gates. I don’t think anyone would be stupid enough to come through here anyway.”
Ichiro had been around long enough to know anything could happen in the heat of battle. “That’s not your concern. Stay sharp. Make sure no one gets in. Is that clear?”
“Yessir,” the guard replied quickly.
Just as Ichiro was about to head back inside, he heard the familiar drumming sound of a galloping horse. The horse was travelling fast and it was getting closer.
Ichiro responded immediately. “I want archers at the ready! Get me reinforcements to barricade this gate, now!”
The Sato Samurai leapt into action. Archers on the front two sentry towers loaded their bows and were poised ready to fire. Fifty others ran to the front gate and braced themselves against it. Ichiro moved to the side of the gate and held his hand up, demanding silence.
The horse came to an abrupt stop. A person wearing a hooded robe dismounted from the horse and walked towards the gate. They calmly knocked.
Ichiro wondered what kind of enemy would knock before attacking. But then he remembered the stories he had heard about the Clan and the strange powers they possessed. “Who goes there?” he shouted through the thick wooden gate, trying to hide the fear in his voice.
“I am Toyotomi Kimiko, daughter of the Toyotomi Hideoshi, Shogun of Japan. I request to speak with Lord Sato Okinaga.”
Ichiro’s muscles relaxed slightly. But what was the Shogun’s daughter doing riding around at night? “Of course, right away. Open the gate!” he ordered.
The gate was opened and Kimiko led her horse through.
“Lady Toyotomi,” Ichiro said his voice full of concern as he bowed. “It is not safe to be travelling at such an hour. Especially by yourself.”
The Shogun’s daughter removed her hood to reveal her stunning face. Ichiro found himself staring at Kimiko’s beautiful eyes. When she spoke he watched her lips move ignoring what she said.
“Samurai?” she asked, wondering why Ichiro wasn’t responding.
“Lady Toyotomi, what are you doing out so late?” he repeated.
Kimiko looked frustrated that he was not paying attention. “I just told you,” she said irritated. “Someone massacred the Samurai at Kumamoto castle. I managed to escape. I came here looking for refuge.”
“You were at Kumamoto castle?”
Kimiko was at a loss. “Yes! The Samurai… they’re all dead!” she screamed as tears fell from her eyes.
Ichiro knew it had to be the work of the Clan. He put his arm around Lady Toyotomi. “You must come inside. It's not safe out here.”

Chapter 6

2006-07-09T04:17:00.000-07:00

Miyamoto Musashi followed Lord Sato down the three flights of stairs he had climbed earlier. Akira and the large samurai who appeared to be Okinaga’s personal bodyguard accompanied them. By now, there were no servants frantically running around. They had all left or taken refuge in some secret hiding spot. The Samurai remained, however. Each bowing their heads low as Lord Sato walked past.
On the ground floor the entourage came to a small room towards the back of the residence. The room was completely empty, except for a spear that was mounted on the far wall.
Musashi scanned the room. Where was Itto Isamu?
“Ichiro,” Lord Sato called, motioning towards the wall.
With that command, his bodyguard stepped forward and removed the spear from the wall. Holding the spear with both hands, he plunged the blunt end into a small round hole in the wooden floorboards. There was a muffled click as a large trap door swung open revealing a hidden staircase leading down into darkness.
Akira briefly left the room, returning with a blazing torch.
Musashi knew where they were going: the dungeon. Every Daimyo had one. They were primarily used for torturing captured spies. If a spy was strong enough he would accept his fate and be tortured to death. But if he was weak, he would talk, hoping cooperation would save their life. The only thing talking ensured however, was a quick death.
Akira held the torch above his head. “Watch your step.”
Down into the darkness they went. Akira led the way, his torch illuminating the narrow staircase. Musashi felt as though he was falling deeper into a strange dream. One that felt incredibly real.
The staircase opened up onto a stone corridor. On each side of the corridor were thick metal bars. Behind them were individual prison cells containing a whole range of evil looking contraptions. Musashi felt a sudden wave of sympathy pain in his gut as he thought about how many spies had been tortured to death down here.
Musashi took a closer look. In one of the cells he saw a whole range of canes and whips, each one slightly different to the next. He saw thin bamboo canes used for whipping the skin. Thick bamboo canes used for breaking bones. Some whips were stiff and made from leather, like the ones farmers used for herding cattle. Others looked like nothing Musashi had ever seen. They contained multiple whip endings. Attached to them were spiked lead pellets. He could not comprehend the pain something like that would cause.
As Akira led the group along the corridor he lit several small candles that provided a dim orange light.
Musashi’s gaze drifted ahead past the servant. Off in the distance he saw an island of flickering light. “Is that…?”
“Yes,” Lord Sato interrupted.
“Why is he down here?” Musashi asked, puzzled.
“Itto Isamu arrived here earlier tonight. He then proceeded to slash his way through the guards on watch. Once he was inside he headed straight for the dungeon and locked himself inside the far cell.”
Musashi was amazed he had slept through the attack. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t awake to help,” he apologised, embarrassed.
“No need to apologise. Isamu was extremely quick about it. By the time we knew what was going on it was too late.”
“Why did he feel the need to lock himself up?”
“For our protection. At the moment he will attack anyone who comes near him. He can no longer control his power to kill.”
Musashi was still confused. “But the note said he was dead?”
Okinaga spoke as though he were reporting from notes he had taken earlier. “He is dead. He has used the Kensai technique of resurrection. It is the most difficult technique to master. Only Isamu and one other Kensai have ever been able to use it.”
Musashi was in awe. “I didn’t know the Kensai could do such things. I had no idea Isamu was this powerful.”
“No one did. Not even his assailant. That is why he was able to get away after the initial attack.”
“Where was he attacked?” Musashi asked.
“Itto Isamu was murdered while he was resting in Kumamoto Castle. Whoever managed to get inside is extremely skilled.”
They continued walking towards the far cell. Akira slowly swung open a rusty iron gate, using considerable effort to do so. Musashi could see a lone dark figure kneeling, his head lowered. “How is this technique possible?”
“Isamu told me that when a Kensai becomes one with his sword it becomes his very soul. Not just a figure of speech, but his actual soul.”
Musashi found this hard to believe. He knew most Samurai considered the sword to be the soul of a true warrior. But he was not one of them. As far as he was concerned the sword was just a weapon. “So your telling me that Itto Isamu was murdered but then he miraculously came back to life through his Katana?”
“Precisely,” Lord Sato said, convinced. “But if you don’t believe me, why don’t you ask Isamu yourself?”

The ghostly figure of Itto Isamu knelt in front of Musashi behind the bars of the cell. He was dressed in plain white pants. His haori – long sleeved jacket – was also white. It was open, exposing Isamu’s chest. Musashi noticed his skin was a grey lifeless shade.
Musashi found himself to be standing alone. The others had stopped several meters back, refusing for their own safety’s sake, to come any closer. It was only then that he noticed the pile of dead Samurai at the end of the corridor. At least seven bodies lay on top of each other, cut down by the uncontrollable sword of the Kensai Master.
“My fellow Kensai,” Isamu hissed slowly, his head lowered. “You have come.”
Musashi bowed, but his eyes remained on Isamu. “Master Isamu, I am no longer a Kensai. I haven’t been…”
“Tonight,” the Kensai Master said, cutting Musashi off. “The Clan has resurfaced after centuries of hiding,” “We thought we had wiped them out. Our arrogance has made us weak.”
Isamu spoke as though it caused him pain. Musashi could not believe he was speaking with a dead man. How did a member of a Clan manage to kill such a powerful Kensai, he thought?
Isamu raised his hand. “Beware the serpent’s bite,” he said. As though reading Musashi’s thoughts.
Musashi stepped back, feeling strangely vulnerable that Isamu seemed to have read his mind. He looked closely at Isamu’s hand. He could clearly see a bite mark.
“Goda, has become a powerful servant of the Clan.”
“Goda,” Musashi breathed. He had not heard that name in a long time.
“He is on a quest. One that he will stop at nothing to achieve.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants what all men want. Absolute power.”

Chapter 5

2006-07-09T04:06:00.000-07:00

Lord Toyotomi Hideoshi: Shogun of Japan rode up to Kumamoto Castle accompanied by his famous five generals, a thousand of his most elite samurai and two Kensai warriors. The five generals rode next to Hideohsi. They followed the Shogun wherever he went. They gave advice and strength to Lord Toyotomi when he needed it the most. Tonight however, everyone was silent as they passed piles and piles of dead bodies.
The Shogun looked up at Kumamoto Castle. It was completely dark. The surrounding area had been turned into a ghost town.
Up a head, a lone samurai ran out of the castle. He ran at a frantic pace, his momentum nearly causing him to fall over. He came to an abrupt halt in front of Lord Toyotomi.
He paused briefly to catch his breath. “There is no one left, My Lord,” he gasped. “There is no sign of your daughter.”
Hideoshi’s heart tore in two but he forced himself to keep his composure. “And what of Itto Isamu?”
“There is no body.”
Hideoshi turned to his most trusted retainer, General Tokugawa Ieyasu. “What do you think?”
Ieyasu took a deep breath. “This must be the work of the clan. The only dead bodies here are that of the Kumamoto samurai,” he said as he scanned the surrounding area. “Only the Clan are capable of such carnage.”
Hideoshi suddenly realised that if an opposing army had invaded they would also have suffered casualties. But there were none. A feeling of horror spread through Lord Toyotomi’s body. From an early age he had been conditioned to fear the Clan. They were deadliest of enemies, an invisible force that could strike anywhere at anytime. But no one had seen or heard from them in centuries. Why would they choose to return now?
Earlier that night, General Ieyasu had informed the Shogun that Kumamoto castle had been infiltrated and Itto Isamu had been murdered. Hideoshi’s first thought was for the safety of his daughter who was staying at the castle. But then he considered the implications of what Tokugawa was saying. Who was capable of breaking into Kumamoto castle let alone assassinating a Kensai Master?
Hideoshi couldn’t help but consider the possibility that his daughter was already dead. He forced the idea out of his head. “I want my daughter found. And I want the body of Itto Isamu found.”
“Yes, Lord,” the five generals said in unison.
As the Shogun’s samurai received their orders from the four other generals, General Ieyasu sidled up to Hideoshi “Lord Toyotomi, I have seen this before. I know who is responsible.”
“Who?”
“A man by the name of Goda.”
The Shogun fell silent. The mere mention of the name sent chills down his spine. There was not a man alive more dangerous than the Red Ninja. “How can you tell?”
Tokugawa pointed to a decapitated samurai. “Goda doesn’t just kill his enemy. He attacks the major bloodstreams of the body.”
Hideoshi studied the area surrounding the dead samurai. It was covered in blood. “So he can pick and choose how to kill an opponent?”
“Yes. But it’s more of a reflex for him now.”
The Shogun paused and weighed up his options. “We’re going to need someone who is familiar with the surrounding terrain. I want you to go to the House on the Volcano and ask Lord Okinaga for help. Take one of the Kensai.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Hideoshi dismounted from his horse and looked up at the dark outline of Kumamoto castle. His daughter was in trouble. He prayed she had not become a victim of the Red Ninja.

Chapter 4

2006-07-03T04:42:00.000-07:00

Miyamoto Musashi stood in the observation room of the House on the Volcano. He was in a state of total disbelief. Lord Sato Okinaga was a shaken man, but he still commanded respect. When he spoke, people listened.

Itto Isamu delivered the message himself.

Every rational bone in Musashi’s exhausted body knew it was ludicrous for Isamu to have delivered his own death note. So why did Lord Sato sound so believable?
Musashi had so many questions. If Itto Isamu was dead, how did he deliver the message? Musashi started to suspect Lord Sato had lost his mind.
“Lord Sato, I mean no disrespect, but how is that possible? Why would Lord Sato come here to deliver such a message? More importantly, how did he deliver it if he was already dead?”
Okinaga was not listening. He had moved to an open window, his eyes moving back and forth surveying his surrounding property. The House on the Volcano was a fortress. The topography of the terrain made it impossible for any army to invade, giving the residence a security that was unmatched.
To add to this, Lord Sato had ordered the construction of a massive stone wall to surround his entire property. The stone wall was twenty metres tall and included four sentry towers, one at each corner.
Tonight those towers were ablaze as the Sato Samurai stood guard having lit up a multitude of torches. Their orders had been simple: create as much light as possible.
The effect was brilliant. The flames had lit up the entire residence. The immaculate gardens within the walls were clearly visible. No one was getting in here tonight without Lord Sato knowing about it.
Despite all these measures, Lord Sato was still visibly unnerved. Musashi could not comprehend what had scared such a powerful man.
One of the Samurai walked over to Okinaga. “Please move away from the window Lord Sato. They’ve used snipers before.”
Okinaga turned around and faced the room.
“We must act now, before it’s too late,” he said addressing his loyal samurai. “Miyamoto,” he said turning his attention to Musashi. “Is it true what they say? Were you once a Kensai?”
Musashi drew a sharp breath. He thought he had buried that part of his life. How did Okinaga know? “ I was very young. I am no longer worthy,” he said bowing his head.
Lord Sato laughed. “Once a Kensai, always a Kensai. You of all people should know that.”
The walls of Musashi’s memory began to crumble as he remembered his time as a Kensai warrior and why it had to end. His eyes became distant as the memory returned to haunt his life once again.
Musashi’s mind reeled back to that day he found himself standing in his father’s dojo. He was only fourteen.

“What are you doing back here?”
Musashi locked eyes with his father, Miyamoto Tessai. It had been over a year since he had run away and met Itto Isamu. He was now a Kensai warrior. His knowledge of the martial arts far surpassed his father and yet he still cowered in his presence. It felt like a lifetime since he had seen his father. He did not know it was possible to hate someone this much, after all this time.
“I want to see my mother,” Musashi said, his voice wavering.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” Tessai replied sternly. “And I don’t want you here.”
Musashi never took his eyes off his father. He could sense the walls of the dojo closing in.
“Where is she?” he tentatively demanded.
“None of your damn business,” Tessai fired back. “We don’t want you here. Now leave before I raise my sword.”
Musashi felt his heart quicken. He knew his father wouldn’t hesitate to hurt his only son. The teachings of Itto Isamu echoed in Musashi’s head: use your hands for self defence only. His hate for his father grew every second. He flirted with the idea of lashing out but since becoming a Kensai, Musashi had learned to control his anger.
Dejected and longing to see his mother, Musashi had given up hope. Just as he was about to leave, a blood-curdling scream pierced through the walls of the dojo.
“Mother!”
Musashi pushed passed his father and ran in the direction of the scream. He ran outside the dojo and towards the house where he had grown up. He slid open the door and ran down the corridor to his parents room. What he saw inside would be forever burned into his memory.
His mother was on her knees, naked and semi-conscious. She was bruised and bleeding. Her hands were tied above her head with a rope hanging from the ceiling. Standing over her was a man he had never seen before.
A rage erupted inside Musashi, giving him strength he did not know he possessed. He rushed toward the man pushing him into the wall.
The man was not impressed. “Fucking kid. Get the fuck out!”
Musashi ignored him. A wooden stick that lay on the floor had seized his attention. It was covered in blood. He held the stick up and advanced towards the man.
“Is this my mother’s blood?” Musashi asked, his voice disturbingly calm.
The man could see the rage in the kid’s eyes. Oh god, this was his Mother? He backed up against the wall. For the first time in his life he was afraid.
“Ahh…”
Before the man could respond, Musashi whipped the wooden stick across his face, splattering blood on the wall. Musashi cried out, bringing the stick down multiple times, crushing the man’s face into a pulp.
Blood was everywhere. Its warmth surprised Musashi.
Somewhere in the distance he could hear his father’s giant footsteps pounding down the corridor. Coming closer. Closer. “Miyamoto Musashi!” he roared.
Musashi was kneeling over the disfigured corpse of a man he did not know. Blood and sweat dripping from his face. He felt like an animal protecting its kill as he heard his father’s call.
Normally he would be scared. But now, as he sat kneeling covered in someone else’s blood, all he felt was anger. The voice of Itto Isamu repeated inside Musashi’s head urging him to be merciful. Everything he had learnt pleaded for control. But it was too late. Hate had consumed him.
“Father!” Musashi fired back, as equally ferocious. “What have you done?”
The footsteps stopped. He could smell his Father’s fear.
Musashi stood, and faced the entrance to the room, blood dripping from the wooden stick, still in his grasp. His father was standing in the doorway, sword in hand.
He could see his father’s eyes take in the crimson scene before him.
“You shouldn’t have come back here, Musashi. Your mother deserved this. She was unfaithful.”
“I know your scared father,” he replied ignoring his father’s explanation.
“You do not understand!”
Musashi looked at his father, taking pity on him. “You are unwell, father. A sickness has spread through your body. You cannot be cured.”
“A sickness? Who do you think you are? You were warned against coming back here,” he threatened as he raised his sword. “Now, you will accept the consequences of your actions.”
He charged forward, screaming as he did. Slicing his sword down wildly.
Musashi stepped to the side and watched the sword move harmlessly through the air before cutting deep into the wall. The sword was stuck.
With blinding speed, Musashi brought the wooden stick smashing down on his father’s hand. Tessai let out a cry of pain, instantly releasing his grip on the sword. As he held his twisted and broken hand, a strange feeling of fear crept into his consciousness. He tried to move away from his crazed son, but it was too late. He felt a bone crunching strike to his knee.
Tessai fell to the floor.
Musashi stood over his Father, adrenalin coursing through his veins. He had dreamt about this day for so long. He had fantasised about his Father begging for his life. He could see the horror in his eyes, the realisation that he was about to die. The moment had finally come.
“Please son. Spare my life. I do not want to die,” Tessai pleaded as he tried to crawl away.
Musashi was not listening. He tightened his grip on the blood-covered stick and flogged it across his father’s face, splitting his cheek open, exposing his jawbone and teeth.
Tessai had never been in so much pain. He did not believe his own son was capable of such punishment. He prayed for death.
“In order to kill you father, I have to become you. I have to be every bit as evil,” Musashi said, as he dislodged his father’s sword from the wall.
Moving over to his mother, he raised the sword above his head. With both hands he sliced downward. Using the skill and precision of a Kensai warrior he cut off his Mother’s head. Unlike her life, her death was painless.
Musashi dropped the sword on the ground, the metal blade clanging against the floorboards. He moved over to his father. “Your death will not be so honourable.”

The voice of Lord Sato Okinaga brought Musashi back to the present, his heart beating loud in his head.
“Musashi? Are you all right?”
For a second Musashi felt dizzy and faint. “I’m… I’m fine.”
“You looked like you were in a different world.”
Musashi took a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain his composure. He was only thirteen years old when he was inducted as a Kensai: the youngest ever. The old Kensai Masters, including Itto Isamu knew that Musashi was unusually gifted. He possessed an understanding of the martial arts that was unparalleled. His skill with a sword was phenomenal.
The most amazing thing about Musashi however, was not his flawless technique but rather his lack any formal training. It was all natural. Every ounce of his ability was derived from deep within himself. It was simply unheard of for someone as young as Musashi with no training or instruction from anyone to become a Kensai.
But Musashi had given up that life long ago. He had been a Kensai for only a short period. He had long since become a Ronin. He was masterless. He had no obligations to anyone. This posed a troubling question. What did Lord Sato want with Musashi?
“I fail to see why this matters?” he responded.
A glimmer of hope flashed in Okinaga’s eyes. “We may have a chance with a Kensai among our ranks,” he said, confidence returning to his voice. “Will you protect us?”
Musashi was taken back by the question. Lord Sato had an entire army of loyal Samurai at his disposal and yet he wanted the protection of one man? “You don’t need my protection.”
“I know the power of the Kensai,” Okinaga continued. “I have witnessed it first hand. We need your help Lord Miyamoto.”
Lord?
Musashi had not been called Lord by someone of Sato Okinaga’s rank in such a long time. It almost felt wrong. Musashi weighed up his options. He didn’t seem to have a choice. If the Clan or anyone else attacked he would fight. It was in his blood. “If you need my help,” he said reluctantly. “I will oblige.”
Okinaga and his samurai smiled. Even the young servant Akira smiled.
“But I have my price.”
Lord Sato laughed out loud. “A Kensai Mercenary! I never thought I’d see the day.”
Musashi failed to see the humour.
Okinaga could hardly contain his excitement. “Musashi, you will be compensated justly. You have my word.”
“Compensation is not necessary. All I want is to know what’s going on.”
“Of course,” Okinaga said eager to please Musashi. “All your questions will be answered immediately.”
The two men bowed to each other. Sealing the agreement.
“Now follow me, Okinaga said. “Itto Isamu wishes to speak with you.”
Musashi did a double take. “Excuse me?”
Lord Sato locked eyes with Musashi. “Itto Isamu is waiting for you.”
Musashi furrowed his brow in confusion. “I thought you said he was dead.”
“He is,” replied Okinaga bluntly.
“How is this possible?”
“Like I said,” replied Lord Sato. I have witnessed the power of the Kensai first hand. And Itto Isamu was a most powerful Kensai.”

Chapter - 3

2006-05-27T02:15:00.000-07:00

Miyamoto Musashi stepped outside his room and was confronted by a large, fully armed guard. Musashi stopped dead in his tracks. The guard was wearing full-length leather armour, which increased his already impressive size.
“For your protection,” explained the young servant. “He is Lord Sato’s best man.”
Musashi shot the servant a worried look. “I did not realise I was in any danger.”
“It’s merely a precaution,” the servant assured. “Now, if you’ll please follow me this way.”
Musashi looked at the guard. He stood tall and staunch as if he were some immovable object. Lord Sato seemed to have put his entire residence on full alert. Musashi began to notice other servants rushing anxiously past them in the hallway.
He grabbed one of them by the arm, an old woman. “What’s wrong? Why is everyone acting so edgy?”
The old woman had the look of fear in her eyes “The Clan,” she stammered. “They are here.”
The young servant sent the old woman on her way. “Ignore her. She is exaggerating. No one is here. The security of this residence is second to none. Now please, we must go.”
Musashi followed the servant escorted by the large guard. They walked down the hallway past more servants. All of them scattering about like rats fleeing a sinking ship. They ascended three flights of stairs; on every level Samurai patrolled, dressed ready for battle. Ready for whatever force would attempt to lay siege.
The house was in total lockdown. It’s guardians on high alert.
The piece of paper, the young servant had given Musashi was still in his hand. He read it one more time.

Itto Isamu is dead. The Clan is back.

Again, Musashi did not believe what he read. Itto Isamu was the most powerful Kensai Master in the land.
How did he die?
The answer to this question was a frightening one. And one that Musashi did not fully understand.
Musashi had only heard about the Clan through stories told by older Samurai. The old Samurai would rant on about wars that raged for centuries without end, wars between the Kensai and the Clan.
Musashi had always thought they were making up the stories to scare little children. A story that was no doubt exaggerated each time it was told. This was apparently not the case.
Now, as Musashi stared at a piece of paper claiming that ‘the Clan is back’ he started to feel a strange sensation. One he had not felt in a long time.
Fear.
He decided to make small talk in an attempt to calm his nerves. “So, what is your name?” Musashi asked the servant.
“Akira.”
“Nice to meet you Akira. Mind telling me where we are going?”
“The observation room. It has excellent views of the surrounding terrain. It is where Lord Sato plans all his strategic manoeuvres,” responded Akira.
Strategic Manoeuvres?
It sounded like Lord Sato was preparing for battle. Musashi did not want to be involved. He was no longer a Samurai. He was a Ronin. He answered to no one.
The trio arrived at a large sliding door. Akira promptly slid it open and then fell to his knees, his face pressed against the floor.
Inside Lord Sato Okinaga was pacing back and forth surrounded by a dozen of fierce looking Samurai. One of them was trying to explain something that sounded like a plan of attack but Okinaga ignored him.
The guard that had escorted Musashi stepped forward and reported. “Lord Sato, we have delivered Miyamoto Musashi as requested,” he said matter of factly.
Lord Sato stopped pacing and looked up. He was an intimidating man, strong, decisive and a cunning leader. He earned the respect of his Samurai through leading by example. He was renowned for his exploits on the battlefield. Tonight however, he looked noticeably spooked. His eyes, usually sharp, were full of indecision. At the moment he was dressed in his black battle armour. He carried his katana and short sword at his side. His left hand rested on them as he strode towards Musashi.
“Welcome Miyamoto,” he announced in a deep authoritative voice that hid his fear well. “I trust you have read the note my servant delivered to you.”
Musashi bowed. “I have Lord Sato, although I fail to see why this concerns me?”
“You must understand,” Okinaga said, his tone becoming serious. “This concerns all of us.”
Musashi wasn’t buying it. He decided to get to the bottom of this right now. “The note, I have some reservations about its authenticity. May I ask who delivered it?” “Miyamoto Musashi,” Okinaga said, pausing to emphasize the importance of the matter “The message was delivered by Itto Isamu himself.”

Chapter 2

2006-05-19T00:51:00.000-07:00

High atop the roof of Kumamoto Castle the Red Ninja watched in amusement as all hell broke loose. The Kumamoto Samurai were put on high alert the instant Itto Isamu’s body was found.
From his vantage point, Goda could see everything. The Kumamoto Samurai responded quickly. Guards were reinforced and search patrols were sent out. Their blazing torches lit up the alleys of the surrounding town. The shouts of the Samurai echoed through the night.
Goda smiled inwardly. The Samurai were scared. Man always feared what he did not understand, what he could not see. Their fear made them weak.
The Red Ninja moved back from the edge of the roof. He knelt down and closed his eyes. Slowing his heart rate, he used an ancient technique known only to the members of the Clan to make contact with his Master. Goda’s consciousness entered a dark place. There, he waited.
A threatening voice spoke from the darkness. “Did you succeed in your mission?”
“Yes, my Master,” replied Goda confidently.
“Excellent,” the voice praised. “What did the old Kensai master have to say?”
“Exactly as we had anticipated. The sword is resting in the Dead Forest. He spoke of a map that showed its precise location.”
“Where is the map?” the voice said anxiously.
“It is hidden,” Goda said, with a smile on his face. “At The House on the Volcano.”
“This may be a problem,” the voice spoke worriedly. “It is a difficult residence to breach.”
“My Lord, I have grown powerful under your guidance. I will not fail you.”
The Clan Master paused for a brief moment, pleased that finally the Sword of Souls would be in their possession. “Good. The Kensai are on the brink of extinction and the Sword of Souls will soon be ours. You are proving to be most useful, my young apprentice.”
The Clan Master spoke from the darkness and meticulously laid out his instructions for the next mission. He spoke with confidence, and excitement.
With the approval of his Master, the Red Ninja slowly brought his consciousness back to his present surroundings. The shouts of the Kumamoto Samurai continued.
Goda was not at all worried about infiltrating Okinaga’s fortress. He had been there before. It felt like a lifetime ago he had memorised every inch of the residence. But he still remembered. He remembered how he was just a spy who worked only for money, a mercenary for hire, a man who wore black. Reconnaissance, espionage, and assassination were his business and his services were not cheap. He remembered that night ten years ago, not only because the payload would have been enough to retire on, but also because absolutely nothing went right. But then again he wasn’t the powerful Clan member he is today; he was just a man, a man who wore black to blend in with the night.
It was ten years ago, but it felt like a lifetime.
Goda remembered he was dressed in the clothes of the Koga Ninja as he moved silently through the night, across the roof of Lord Sato Okinaga’s main residence.
His mission was simple.
On him he carried only his most basic weapons and tools: a grappling hook, a knife and a pair of handspikes. There would be no need for a sword. The instructions of his employer echoed in his head. Do not engage anyone unless absolutely necessary.
Goda paused at the edge of the roof and looked out at the ground three stories below him. He could barely see the perfectly kept garden surrounding the huge house as he scanned the darkness for the patrolling guards.
He was amazed at how different things looked at night. It would be impossible to move around if he hadn’t studied the entire layout of the house and grounds for weeks in advance.
He crouched down as a gust of wind kicked up, careful not to move any of the tiles on the roof. Goda looked skyward and saw the crescent shape of the moon appear behind the clouds. The dull light just barely enough to illuminate the leather armour of the guards. All of them armed to the teeth and ready to die protecting Lord Sato.
As he knelt on the edge of the roof, he studied the movements of the patrol one more time. The guards moved about just like they had done every night for the past three weeks. Their behaviour was now totally predictable.
But something was wrong.
Goda counted the guards. He could only see twenty. Every other night there had been twenty-one. Where was the last guard? He double-checked the count, moving across the roof to make sure he wasn’t making any mistakes.
Again he came up with twenty.
Was the guard sick? Had he been relieved of his duty for some kind of indiscretion?
Goda knew that samurai led a strict life. One little mistake could cost them their life. He had heard rumours of some Lords demanding their guards to perform ritual suicide for something as little as wearing their armour incorrectly. Other Lords simply cut off the fingers of a samurai they had deemed not worthy. While this option spared their life, it greatly diminished their ability to wield a sword. A fate worse than death.
Goda counted the guards again. There were definitely only twenty. Maybe he was hiding somewhere? The last possibility frightened Goda. Weeks of preparations could be undone. He forced the idea out of his head. It did not make any difference he thought. His training had turned him into a ghost; he had learnt how to become invisible. There was no way one samurai could prevent him from achieving his objective.
He turned his attention back to the surrounding garden. It stretched out for more than fifty meters in every direction from the house. In the dark of night it seemed to go on forever. The garden was enclosed by an intimidating fifteen metre stonewall. It made this residence one of the most fortified in the land.
But the real fortification was not man made.
The house and surrounding garden had been built on the side of a semi-active volcano. The volcano was not violent when it erupted, which it had done only once since Lord Okinaga had live here. Any lava flowing down the side of the volcano was re-directed away from the residence by a huge moat. If the moat failed, the stonewall would not. The volcano was the reason Lord Sato Okinaga chose this site to build his home. It was the perfect defence and the ultimate deterrent for anyone considering raising an army against him.
Goda admired the dark silhouette of the volcano as he looked up from the roof to the north. It sat dormant; it’s silence belying its power.
At the southern end of the garden was a natural spring pool. On the other side of this pool and beyond the fifteen metre high wall, was a sheer cliff face. Half man made, half natural, it added to the already seemingly impenetrable security of the residence. Goda knew that Lord Okinaga was the envy of many others in the land who could only dream of the security offered by the volcano.
Goda remembered feeling mixed emotions of excitement and apprehension when he was told he would be infiltrating the famous house on the volcano, a tough assignment even for him.
Ultimately he remained determined. A volcano or any fortification would not deter Goda, no matter how high.
He had easily climbed the northern wall. The stones that made up the impressive fortification had provided perfect hand and foot holds. The climb being made easier by metal spikes attached to the palms of his hands. The spikes, he had discovered, were not only great for climbing, but were impressive weapons as well. They had saved his life once and he had never left on a mission without them since.
Looking out into the darkness, he strained his eyes to see the southern wall but found nothing. He needed to make his way to the pool.
The pool was his target tonight.
His instructions were clear. Complete the mission, return to the rendezvous point and wait for further instructions. Do not engage anyone unless absolutely necessary.
As he listened for the familiar sound of trickling water, Goda waited for the right moment and then dropped to the ground effortlessly and silently. The guards continued their patrol, totally oblivious to his presence.
He moved through the night quickly, nothing more than a shadow. He came to the pool at the southern end of the garden and removed a small bottle from his sleeve. Pouring the contents into the water his mission was now complete.
He turned and surveyed his surroundings, looking for his escape route. He wished he could simply climb over the southern wall, but climbing down the cliff in the pitch black of night would lead to a certain death. He needed to make his way back to northern side. This would be no easy task. The timing was crucial. The guards needed to be in the right positions.
Just as he was about to make his escape, he heard what sounded like a muffled footstep. Goda turned. The next noise he heard was the unmistakeable sound of a spear flying through the air, the deep whoosh breaking the silence of the night. Leaping back, he saw the dark outline of a guard.
It had to be the missing guard, he thought.
No one had ever snuck up on Goda and he was determined to make it the last time.
The guard attacked again. He was fast and strong, his technique forged through years of relentless training. Goda leapt to the side, just barely avoiding the full brunt of the spear.
He needed to end this now.
The guard, determined to finish off the intruder brought his spear slicing down one more time. Goda caught the sharp end of the spear between his palms, his hands protected by the metal climbing spikes. He twisted the spear and pulled it free from the guard, throwing it into the pool.
The guard had made a crucial error in judgement. He should have raised the alarm and waited for reinforcements. But instead, he had acted out of greed. He had attacked in a vain attempt to capture the intruder, hoping to gain the praise of Lord Okinaga for himself.
His mistake was deadly.
Momentarily in shock, the guard presented an opening in his armour. Pulling free his grappling hook, Goda threw it at the guard’s neck, piercing his windpipe.
The guard fell on one knee.
Goda rushed forward and tied the rope tight around the guard’s neck.
There was no time to think. He simply acted.
Leaping to the far side of the pool with the rope in hand he scaled the fifteen metre stonewall with incredible speed. When he reached the top, he jumped.
Goda fell downwards into a dark abyss, rapidly accelerating towards his death. He was still clutching the rope attached to the guard. He couldn’t see how far the drop was but he knew he wouldn’t survive it.
As he fell, the rope tightened around the guard’s neck, still kneeling on the ground on the other side of the wall. The rope turned into a pulley as the weight of Goda falling instantly pulled the guard across the pool and over the stonewall.
As the guard was launched over the wall and the rope became slack, Goda slammed his hand against the cliff face in a desperate attempt to slow his descent. His metal spikes screeching against the rocks trying hopelessly to catch on to anything. Each vibration felt like nails being hammered into his hand. He gritted his teeth and blocked out the pain.
As he continued to fall and pick up speed, time seemed to slow down. He felt like he had been falling for an eternity. Both he and the guard were now falling to their deaths. His only thought was that the second phase of his mission was not complete. He needed to return to the rendezvous point. He needed to live.
Finally the spikes caught on a jagged stone and his descent came to an abrupt halt, the force dislocating his shoulder in the process. The man in black screamed. The noise lost in the howling wind tearing across the cliff face.
A split second later, the body of the guard came flying past as it fell towards the earth below. Goda let go of the rope attached to the guard and watched it slip into the darkness.
He hung on the cliff in the night, his shoulder throbbing with pain, the tendons straining under his weight. He tried desperately to regain his composure.
It had happened all so fast, a matter of seconds. It was just a reflex. Goda shifted his weight and tried to get a foothold on the cliff to ease the pressure on his shoulder.
He felt like he had cheated death.
Goda weighed up his options. He could climb back up to the top and make his way over the stone wall hoping no one had heard the struggle. Or he could attempt to climb down the rest of the cliff. Both options sounded like suicide but he had no choice. He needed to make his way back to the rendezvous point. There he would receive further instructions. This was his top priority.
He looked skyward, craning his neck to see the House on the Volcano. But it was too dark. The wind intensified, chilling him to the bone. Lifting his good arm up, he began the slow and painful climb back to the top, satisfied that his mission was complete and determined to make it to the rendezvous.
Goda shivered as he remembered that dark night. He should not have survived. He should have fallen to his death. Fate it would seem had other plans. He was stronger now, powerful enough to eliminate the legendary Itto Isamu. Never again would he come so close to failure.
Goda moved to the edge of the roof Kumamoto castle and surveyed the terrain below. The cries of the searching samurai were full of panic.
Goda sat perched, like an owl watching it’s prey. He could feel their fear.
He removed a metallic pole that had been secured to his back. The pole was about three feet in length and was covered in leather straps that served as grip.
He triggered a button located near the centre of the pole. Instantly a blade extended from within the pole with a lightning quickness. Goda studied the edge of the blade. It glowed in the moonlight.
His attention returned to the ground below him. The Samurai were still searching for the killer of Itto Isamu: their fear growing with every passing second.
Goda smiled. It was time to reward himself for his excellent work.
With the anticipation of fresh blood he jumped from the roof of Kumamoto Castle.
Landing silently on the ground he moved undetected to the rear of a patrolling Samurai. The Samurai was dressed in full battle armour. He carried on him two swords, one short and one long, the ultimate symbol of a warrior. In his hand was a nine-foot spear.
This warrior was a formidable opponent. However, on this particular night, this unfortunate Samurai never knew what hit him.
Goda attacked, slicing the Samurai’s throat. The cut was so precise, the blade so sharp it took the guard’s head clean off. He fell to the ground; blood spurting from the carotid artery and covering Goda. It was instantly absorbed into his red gi.
Goda moved out into the night. There was still time to play before his next mission. And right now, there was plenty of scared Samurai to satisfy his lust for blood.

Chapter 1

2006-05-12T04:47:00.001-07:00

Miyamoto Musashi awoke from a troubled sleep with sweat dripping off his face. His breathing was heavy. He sat up and tried to calm himself. He was tired of these nightmares.
Musashi looked around and was surprised to find himself in a room. It was still night.
Momentarily unsure of where he was, he stood up to get his bearings. Musashi couldn’t remember the last time he had slept indoors.
As Musashi stood, he felt a dull pain in his leg muscles. His memory suddenly cleared. He was staying as a guest of Lord Sato Okinaga, at the famous House on the Volcano. He had spent the most part of the previous day climbing to the top.
Lord Okinaga was a powerful Daimyo - Master Samurai. Musashi knew if there was any place in the world where he could get a good night sleep, it was here. Although building a house on the side of a volcano sounded like madness to most people, the truth was, this was the best protected house of any Lord.
Musashi rose from his bed, using the sheets to wipe the sweat off his muscular body. He ran his hardened hands through his coarse black hair and sat crossed legged on the floor. He straightened his back and placed his hands together high above his head. He inhaled deeply as he drew his hands inward to his chest and then exhaled slowly as he extended them outwards in front of him. He repeated this process. All the while concentrating on the rhythm of his breathing.
His mind wandered. The events of the previous morning played over in his head: the duel with Sasaki Kojiro, Demon of the Western Province.
Musashi couldn’t get the look of Kojiro’s face out of his mind. The look of a man incensed with rage. It was seared into his memory.
The duel took place on Ganryu Island. A destination agreed upon by both men.
Musashi knew Kojiro was an accomplished Samurai. He possessed incredible skill in unarmed combat and was a master of Kenjutsu – way of the sword.
Musashi didn’t take any chances. He devised a simple plan to break Kojiro’s focus.
He turned up late.
Kojiro’s reaction was as predictable as it was severe.

“ I am Sasaki Kojiro of the Hosokawa Samurai,” the angered Kojiro had shouted. “Master of swordsmanship and rightful owner of the Drying Pole sword. I wish to advise you that I arrived on time as arranged. I take your lateness as a personal insult. You have brought shame to your Master and to yourself. I will honour you with a warrior’s death.”
Musashi jumped out of the small boat he had travelled to the island on, landing in the shallow water. The servant who had rowed the boat slumped over, exhausted.
“I am Miyamoto Musashi. I am no Samurai, I serve no master and I am the rightful owner of this wooden sword I just carved from an oar.”
Kojiro’s rage subsided slightly as he laughed at Musashi’s wooden sword. “And what exactly do you intend to do with that?”
Musashi said nothing. He simply stared Kojiro down.
“You must want to die,” Kojiro scorned, as he unsheathed his sword. “You do not stand a chance against me.”
He pointed his sword at the crowd who had gathered on the island to watch the duel. “These people have come here today to watch me kill you,” he said restraining the anger in his voice. “They will not be disappointed. I have developed a sword style so deadly; I have never been defeated in combat. My sword is made of the highest quality steel. Not once in over 400 years of use has the cutting edge of the blade been damaged.”
The crowd’s excitement grew as they sensed the moment they had been waiting for coming to a head.
Kojiro threw his scabbard to the ground and held his sword in both hands. “So you see Ronin, your wooden sword is as good as useless,” he menaced, rasing the sword above his head. “And you are as good as dead!”
Sasaki Kojiro charged.
Musashi smiled. His mind was focused, his muscles ready. “You have lost Kojiro.”
Musashi stood his ground and raised the wooden sword above his head. As Kojiro charged he brought the wooden sword slicing down a split second before his opponent could react, cracking his skull open.
Kojiro dropped to his knees. A split second later he collapsed in the shallow water. Blood flowed from Kojiro’s skull turning the calm water red. Musashi brought his wooden sword slicing down one more time and finished off his once eager opponent.
The crowd fell silent.
Musashi knelt beside Kojiro and presented a small cloth. As a sign of respect he placed it over his opponents bloodied face. He picked up the legendary sword that had served Kojiro so well, drying the blade on his sleeve before sheathing it back in its scabbard. He walked over to the crowd. A young warrior stepped forward. It was Kojiro’s student.
Musashi held out the sword in both hands. “I believe your master would want you to have this,” he said, bowing as he offered the sword.
The student returned the bow. He was unable to say anything. He simply looked at Musashi, at the Ronin, totally shocked by what a man with a wooden sword could do.

The sound of distant tapping brought Musashi’s mind reeling back to the present.
A voice spoke through the door. “Lord Miyamoto…”
Musashi wasn’t used to being called Lord. The person on the other side must be a servant.
“Lord Miyamoto,” the servant continued. “You have been invited to sit with Lord Sato Okinaga.”
At this hour?
Musashi was honoured but he was totally exhausted. “Please tell Lord Sato that I am not feeling well. But I will be able to speak with him tomorrow morning.”
The servant persisted “I am not sure that he can wait ‘till then.”
Musashi wondered what could possibly be so important. “I understand that I am Lord Sato’s guest but I really…”
The servant interrupted Musashi by sliding open his bedroom door. The servant was kneeling, his face pressed against the floor. In front of him was a piece of paper. “My orders are to bring you to Lord Sato. Please, you must read this.”
Musashi picked up the piece of paper. He did not believe what he read.

Itto Isamu is dead. The Clan is back.

Prologue

2006-05-05T02:22:00.000-07:00

Itto Isamu sat kneeling on a mattressed floor in a room deep within Kumamoto Castle. The Kensai Master has let go of his consciousness. His mind is clear. A single candle lights up the room with ease. The flame is long and still.
Itto Isamu had mastered the art of meditation a long time ago. Through it he could see things no one else could. The past, the present, even the future. He could see through the deceptive nature of people and reveal their true intentions. Itto Isamu had sharpened his mind into a most useful weapon.
Sometimes, however, his mind showed him things he would rather not see.

“You betrayed me, master.”
“No.”
“Open your eyes. You should never have taught me your secrets. You knew this but you continued my training anyway. Why?
Isamu didn’t know how to explain his actions. How do you tell someone they were a sacrifice?
“Open your eyes, master. Your silence proves your guilt.”
“I need you to trust me,” Isamu pleaded.
“Open your eyes.”

Itto Isamu snapped open his eyes. His mind returned to his present surroundings.
A slight disturbance in the room broke the calm. The shadows cast by the candlelight came to life. He feels a presence in the room. A presence he has not felt in what seems like a lifetime.
It was Goda, the Red Ninja.
Isamu began slowly reaching for his Katana. The sword was resting next to him in its scabbard. “Goda,” Isamu spoke, his voice calm. “Only someone as bold as you would dare infiltrate Kumamoto Castle.”
“I disagree,” Goda replied from the shadows. “Only someone as skilled as me would dare infiltrate the Castle.”
“You always were overconfident in your abilities,” Isamu mocked, his hand almost upon the hilt of his sword.
“And you always were too slow, my old Master.”
Isamu felt the pain of an old wound cut open. “I failed you once Goda. I will not fail you again.”
“Then strike me down old man.”
Itto Isamu had had enough. Goda would die right here in this room, by the sword of a Kensai Master.
He visualised the attack. His sword would leap forward and strike in one fluid motion, almost of its own accord. He inhaled slowly. Then, he moved.
Isamu acted fast. Lightning fast. His reflexes were still razor sharp after all these years. He grabbed the handle of his sword, ready to attack. But something was wrong. There was no fluid motion. The sword did not strike. Instantly he felt a pinprick like pain. A burning sensation shot up his arm. He looked down at his wrist and saw two puncture wounds on his hand. He immediately felt nauseas. The room began to spin.
Isamu dropped his sword, its metal blade clanging on the wooden floor. Hunched over, he vomited.
“Quite toxic, isn’t it?” Goda said, his voice cold.
Toxic?
Isamu looked around, confused as to what Goda was referring to. To his utter amazement he saw a black snake slither away.
“This particular snake’s venom is extremely lethal,” Goda continued. “It attacks the nervous system of its prey. Causing death by paralysis. Soon you will lose feeling in your arms and legs. After that, your internal organs will shut down. Your lungs will stop breathing. Your heart will stop beating.”
Isamu looked over at Goda. He was standing in the shadows as he always did.
The black snake that had bit him slithered away slowly. It continued in the direction of Goda. It then slithered up his leg and around his body.
“But as you can see this is no ordinary snake,” Goda said menacingly. “And it possesses no ordinary venom.”
The snake curled around Goda’s body and slithered into his open mouth, disappearing from view. Isamu did not believe his own eyes.
He must be seeing things, Isamu thought. It must be the poison playing tricks on his mind.
Isamu vomited again. He could feel the poison tighten its grip on his body. He started to lose feeling in his limbs. “Goda,” he said, struggling to talk. “What have you become?”
The Red Ninja stepped out of the shadows and stood over the dieing Kensai Master. “I have become more powerful than you could ever imagine.”
Isamu looked deep inside Goda’s eyes. He was truly lost to the ways of evil. But Isamu could sense something else, something more dangerous than just blind malevolence. Goda's destruction had a purpose.
A wicked smile crept across the Red Ninja's face. “Yes old man. You can feel it. You know its power.”
Isamu shook his head in denial. It can’t be true.
Goda leant down and grabbed Isamu’s hair pulling his head back. “The Clan is back.”
“No! That’s impossible,” he cried, struggling in vain to get free from Goda. “We killed you. We eliminated you one by one. The Clan exists only in myth now.”
“The Kensai have become blind. Search your dieing heart. You know it to be true.”
Isamu could not bring himself to believe what Goda was saying. His former student had revived a great evil and Isamu could do nothing to stop him.
“Now tell me, my old Master, Where is the Sword of Souls?”
Isamu eyes widened in horror.
The Kensai were entrusted to protect the sword from evil. For one thousand years they had been successful. The Clan could not be allowed to posses such a powerful sword.
Itto Isamu was not about to betray his fellow Kensai. And yet he felt a strange urge to share this important piece of information with a sworn enemy.
Goda smiled again. “Interesting side-effect of the poison wouldn’t you agree?”
Isamu tightened his jaw, trying desperately not to blurt out the location of the sword.
Goda continued to revel in the demise of his old Master. “It turns out, that the venom acts as both a poison and as a truth serum. Quite a marvel of nature.”
Isamu tried to crawl away but he could barely move. “So you see old man. Before you die, you will tell me all your secrets.”

1st post

2006-05-05T00:31:00.000-07:00

Hello there! A new post is coming soon.