Hi, Lonewriter here. This is probably my number 1 side project right now that I am working on. I had to do a lot of research to even begin to write and I still a lot more to do. Tell me what you think:
Lost Existence
In the age of Azuchi-Momoyama, there is a plot,
To separate the swordsmen from those who are not
Volume 1: 1588; the Foreseen Hell
A village of commoners among commoners, laborers among laborers to whom only the mountains could serve as a nesting place. Me, I sojourned to this peaceful residence, a place of such irreplaceable grace for which, I believed nothing could conquer. And I exist, a wanderer, a ronin with nothing, but my hands and my code. Mountains… beautiful mountains cover the horizon and people here are so benign. Eternal harmony rests within the sun's motions and the moon's fluorescence is a spectacle to behold within a wonder such as this mini metropolis I now live in. Undisturbed, unprovoked by the vanity of such fruitless vehemence as a means to settle past disputes, these people are. Bloodshed is no treaty for these people and neither is artillery. Unity is there weapon and they admire each other with all their hearts. Everyone knew everyone and no one was without content. It had always been that way and I was convinced that it would always be, until that day. The day that would refocus time, the day that let me know that peace could not exist where hate flourished inside a solitary soul. On a journey to Urona's house, that is what transpired to distract me. My cousin Miyaki Urona, a fabled artist who scoured the land for delectable, rare beauty within, that is the one I saw before carnage lit afire on that day. In past times, I was a soldier in the Imperial Army to protect the shogun. However, a crime that was indeed very disgraceful changed it all. The shogun, though it was uncharacteristic of such a man of power, took pity on me. Rather than execute me and do away with my life, he decided to exile me eternally among the mountains of our neighbors. Miraculously I was allowed to keep my sword on account of master Hideyoshi's plea. Him, my sensei, who taught me everything I knew about the Way. Now it was up to me to uphold my oath, so as the gods would not eternally curse me. For it was said by him, that if I should ever use that sword to bring about dishonor, I shall forever be condemned. I didn't mind, for my actions were thus far justified. I saw no wrongdoing of me to be exiled from my homeland, though my pride remained dashed and the honor that I had possessed was eternally crippled and diminished. The spirit of the warrior, the principles of Bushido, the art of life and death are still within me, for I know deception exists even where honor flourishes. I have no need to throw my life away for my ideals just yet. I still have much to do, so I've decided to keep my sword as an existence of the past, rather the present. I thought warring days were blind to me until that day. I thought peace prevailed until that day. Yes, so let me recreate that day.
The sun shone bright as I awoke to the sound of lovely, laborious birds and leaves falling rustling amidst their domain called the earth. It reminded me of this scene in a performance I once saw. Nostalgia is the progenitor of reminiscence, indeed it is. I should've known something horrible would happen that day. The first object I saw when I woke up was my sword. 'How did it get out', I wondered, but decided to dismiss the issue as I placed it back on its proper mantelpiece. Today I was hoping that my students would learn the true value of calligraphy, profound as it was. The actions of life it portrayed were enlightening, though I knew very little about it myself. Funny how art and swordsmanship seem to bond in such queer and unpredictable ways. Yes, queer, I should've known something horrible was going to happen today.
One of my students happened to draw an arrow in his sand. Normally, I would have interpreted it as a bad omen, but I was much too ignorant and fatigued to think about the rules. I saw no harm in expressing the ancient weapons of the many revolutions in the past. Revolutions I was once part of, old as I am. It brought forth rather strapping memories of my youth, fighting men I personally had no quarrel with. I cursed those years, right then and there and told my study to drag something else out of his perpetual imagination. Yes, I should've known something horrible was going to happen that day.
It was after class that I decided to visit Urona. I had recently observed his art and it was him that gave me my job at the local art school. He has helped me out all these years, so in that regards he has served as my cousin, my best friend, and an important reference. It was tragic irony that he would be the scapegoat of a dire future for these citizens, but knowing something was bound to happen, I let what came to me in my mind pass and continued on my visit. Urona lived outside the city limits, far into the mountains. He claims to get the best view of life from there. He claims that inspiration is abundant there. He claims that his ever-present lover will never leave there. Whatever the reason, he never leaves that place. Like me, Urona was once a warrior, but he outranked my position and was sent in the eye of the battlefield. It was indeed an honor, but to us, it just symbolized more death and carnage. He had witnessed it all. He had endured the ever-present calamity and hardship. Whenever our camaraderie turned to the war, our discussion would grow rather fearsome, for he did not wish to remember any details concerning the war and remained rather tacit on the subject. It was no wonder, for the head of the battlefield was the epitome, the leader of all death warfare. Bodies here, bodies there, this monster claimed souls that even the reaper could not fully fathom. This monster was the ordeal of hell that tested your mind, physical being, and the strength of the duty of honor in your spirit, for which Bushido had so much to offer. Urona was justified in not talking about the past, because to me, the past was of irrelevance. Yes, I say that to myself, but still I wonder about my dear cousin, who has been more of a brother to me. Urona persisted on talking about the many excursions of art that had taken place since our last visit, including the latest inspiration he had attained from the trees that he had observed and the various women that he had spied on. He was lecherous, when it came to women. The underside of his bed was riddled with provocative materials for the sole purpose of stimulating his dormant desires. However, when he is out in public, he would more likely shun a woman, than approach her with intent. Any one woman that was sure to entice him and had shown somewhat of an attraction to him was usually received with indifference. So while he was quite carnal with his attitude toward affection, he was lacking the confidence of his communication skills necessary to bed and wed a real woman and attain a wife and kids. Certainly, there have been measures to have Urona wed, but he has miraculously managed to thwart them all.
"So, my lost ally, how's life on the ins and outs? Have you obtained an efficient relationship with a reliable female, or are you still foolishly hanging on to that lone wolf legacy that you carry so closely with you?"
Yes, this was the first thing cousin Uro said as I entered his house. While he was indisputably right about my being bereft of a mate, he was pitifully desperate. I have observed the fact that he would often have clandestine contact with this underground dating establishment. It didn't bode so well with him, because the women were usually unattractive and onerous, equipped with the elegance of a pig. I don't quite comprehend why he persists on finding love or lust through others. I suppose it's just another lecherous adventure to him.
"I'd rather be without than obtain the perverted yearn of company such as you do," I responded, expressing my contempt out of humor.
"Hey, how insulting! I am trying to assist you better yourself and all you can do is exploit my weakness of women?! You know that I cannot resist such curves, the inns, and the voluptuous outs!" He said, withdrawing one among many depraved photos of lust. "Oooo! Me like."
"Uro, your meaningless impiety annoys me. Why don't you just consummate your unbearable desires by courting one of these females? You never know, perhaps she'll oblige your carnal tendency".
"No, I have obligations as an artist that only I may carry. It would be too much to place such burdens upon another."
"Whatever you say, my kin. Your attitude differs from your words. I think I detect a little tension in your expression."
"Enough about me, you need a wife"!
"Uro, understand that my interests are different than yours. I believe in unification of the spirit, not of the flesh. Let us change the subject", I stated, sensing a line being crossed. Ah, Urona, so determined to betroth me. I believe not in love between two beings, between a man and a woman, but rather, I believed in the love of a family, the docile love of a neighborhood. I've stained my hands with too much blood with my foolish sanguinary discipline that I did not have the audacity to request nor the thought that I should deserve a mate of such. Who would want a perilous, pitiless vagabond such as I? One that was honestly worth less than the sash on another man's kimono, bereft of honor or rank. A lowly peasant, who just so happens to be adept in art. I sure didn't want another onus on my hands to endure. In these times, that's all a wife brought a misfit of art such as I, plenty of onus. Enough of that banter, this was when the real talk began.
"Ah, my cousin, in these times, it is easy to let my guard down. To know that there are still enemies, reformists, and even allies out to change the state of peace is unsettling. At times, I find it hard to construct masterpieces and easier to withdraw a sword and cut my own path to freedom."
"But Uro, the war…"
"Peace about the war!! I know full well my oath to the shogun!! It is something I do not wish to discuss with anyone able to breathe! You would do well to keep your mouth shut about it or leave!!" Uro said, spontaneously offended about my even mentioning the war.
I could now detect the palpable anguish that my cousin had felt. Truly all the bloodshed had deeply afflicted him.
"You know their after us, Muyo, you know very well."
"Come what may! As long as I may live an untouched life, I shall remain carefree".
"Muyo, you are living in a fading fantasy! Your ideals of peace are antiquated by the desire of our foes! Your stubbornness will serve as your demise!"
"And how hypocritical are we, my cousin, for telling each other to fight, when we ourselves do not even wish to remember anything about bloodshed?" I asked trying to keep our conversation as civil as can be.
"Don't change the subject! You know it is necessary to defend ourselves. That is why when these devils of the government shall come to hunt for me…" Urona said, revealing what appeared to be a concealed firearm. "They shall be dealt with," Urona finished, cocking the abhorrent pistol that he had regained from his under-kimono.
"Put that away, Uro. Your foolish tool cannot solve any more problems than your twisted obsession of bare women," I said, trying to lead Urona back to his senses.
Uro looked at the gun for a few moments and said, "Yeah… I guess your right in saying that my cousin". Uro began to deposit the treacherous pistol back into the pocket of the under-kimono from which it came. He calmed down, starting to realize the jist of what I had previously stated. Uro, a man whose mind dwelled on the thought of the possibility that one must counter peril with ignorant malignance. What a fool he was! A click is heard and a bang interrupts the benign silence among the mountains of solitude.
"Damn it! I shot myself again"!
"You know at this rate, Uro, your going to have fake limbs in no time at all," I stated, gloating at my kin's impudence. It serves him right to wound himself with such a scornful tool. If there was one object I despised above all, it was those western obstructions called guns. There was no honor in such a monstrosity. It was made by the west in order to bring pain and instant death to the masses. It was nothing, but sudden demise in the hands of humans, another way for them to digress to disgrace and play with the gods. What's more, it was possible to teach anyone to use it. It soiled my spirit, condemning me to the abasement of fellow men. I curse the day humans found a way to manifest their malicious, sinful tendencies in the form of this misconstrued lead. But alas, I cannot blame the western devils for indulging in such dishonorable tampering, for they have not the slightest grasp what honor in life and in combat really was, no matter what claim that they had established on it.
"Well… what are you waiting for?! Stop reprimanding me and get the damn physician," Uro said, his face, a puffy, red cherry of resentment at the misuse of his pistol.
As I exited the cottage and trekked brusquely down the wayward inclined path towards the nearby physician, I thought to myself about why my kin was so insubordinate with his feelings. This had been the 5th time this had happened, following the same exact sequences. This visit would always remind me why I do not come often. This demented aberration seemed to have clouded my cousins soul, for I could not comprehend the torment that he put himself through. Me, I have followed the way of forgiveness and I have forgotten those who have trotted on my feet and upon my beliefs. I have not one contemptuous thought in my heart, however, I still posses the will to shield my honor from those who intended to impose on such personal game. So I retrieved the angel of mercy, yet again, and led him to the fiend that had plans to lead one astray. And by one I mean himself. Poor Uro, I must strain on the little remnant of sense he has left. It seems the slightest sight of me crazes his sanity. I do not know if it is because I am at peace with my spirit or if he is in conflict with his. All I know is that every time I'm around, he reminds me why I don't come around too often. After all, Urona was only 15 when he engaged in battle and now he has all, but 25. What he had lacked in maturity, he more than made up for in ability, forcing our general to place him in the front. It's a shame, the seed from which war takes root in the mind of adolescence. I should've known something horrible was to happen today.
I recapped as I begin my plight back home. I rekindled on the wary feelings I felt and suddenly an anxious wind hit me bringing with it the smell of fire, ashes, and an odor of ill-will. My pace quickened, my heart accelerated. Maybe there was some credence in the content of what Uro was saying, after all. Feeling more and more entombed by the worry that had bombarded me so abruptly, my legs began to pick up more speed, and a terrible run of alert ensued. Over the hill and through the keep, until the sight enticed my body to stop. I shivered with consternated shock. Ashes… ashes in the face of the black sunlight, ashes on the faces of the pillaged, green evanescence of the earth. Who would possess the indignation to implant such devastation escaped my comprehension. The unity that was once renowned amidst my presence had been contravened to be replaced with enmity and damnation. I cursed myself once again. These innocent beings who had offered me their everlasting, benevolent spirits in times of the lowest adversity. I was bound to this place by fate and for it I shall once again attain my sword and secure it. I dissuaded the shock within me and brought forth my rage. Yes, the rage of a deprived man who had lost everything, but had gained a sixth sense. The sense of awareness of the environment and the inner will of others. I hasted to my indiscriminate household, the only one bereft of the destroyer's touch. 'I don't what they are playing at, but they have made it personal' I thought to myself. I lashed out at the doors, bursting into my room, dyed red from color and smell of blood. I grabbed my sword and let the smoke and screams fill my ears and my head, as if my rusted associate was relating to me the scene of the insidious murders and their absolute violence. My sword secured in it's sheath placed in my sash, I retrieved my basket hat, so as to move in discreetness. I violently raced outside, eager to unearth the murderers trail that they had so meticulously veiled. 'This is it' I thought, as I exposed it after only a few moments of stumbling. I closed my eyes emphatically and prayed to the gods. 'Forgive me for the murders I must return. I shall repent.' Thus the artist remains the swordsman and the excursion of hell began.
This was how it all came about in the beginning. My heart filled with injustice in the beginning. Yes, the beginning. It's funny how much art and swordsmanship did have in common. And so the creation encroaches upon the creater. I knew today was going to be a horrible day. Signing off.
DEMASHI MUYONSHU
P.S. There is bound to be another mishap tomorrow, Ja-naru.
By: Stephen Webb
See you on Volume 2!
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