Work 8 : Live Free, My Cursed Heir

Pale moonlight bleeds through the cracked window as the soft whisper of winter air flows takes over the emptiness of this cabin. Just twenty minutes ago, you came through my door, as gently as a parent awakening their babe in the early morning. You spoke quietly and did not need to repeat yourself. I knew your words before you spoke.

I wish you hadn’t found me.

Not due to the revenge you deserve but for the burden I’ll unintentionally give to you, my heir. We are not related but I’ve birthed you into what you are today. Twenty years ago, in my younger days, I was full of ambition, seeking the title of “Strongest Under the Stars.” Armed with my blade, I slew master after master, betrayed ally and family alike, and accepted all challengers. And twenty years ago, I happened upon your village, facing your father. In that event, in spraying his blood across your family dojo and onto your feet, I birthed you in hatred and agony. You looked into my eyes with confusion, tears streaming down your cheeks as you failed to catch your father’s gasping corpse and, in my arrogance, I wiped my weapon clean and told you to find me if you wanted to reclaim his honor.

 From then, I sought battle after battle, climbing the ranks of power and having my name whispered in court halls, shouted by peasants, becoming a myth more than mortal. When I completed my legend and slew the final school of masters, I reached the peak. The mountain top I’d envisioned for years. There I thought I’d have the fame and fortune above all, becoming a god among men.

But what I found… was emptiness. This cabin is the perfect reflection of what the reality title of “Strongest” is. Cold, empty, and alone. In this isolation and loneliness, I found time to reflect and regret. Over time, I would discourage warriors who managed to find me, who rose their blades against me, hungry with the same ambitious eyes I once had. Eyes that were blind to the feelings of those that stood in the way of the goal. I regrettably slew them, feeling more and more dissatisfaction as I removed limb from body, soul from heart.

My plan in this age of lightly salted hair was to die out alone. Like a mythical figure, I aimed to be forgotten, my body withering as my name and title would soon follow as time went on. My hell was earning this title and to die with it, refusing to pass it to another to plague them with. But here you came, bonded to me after that eventful night.

I cannot deny you your right.

I should not deny you your right.

Slowly, I rise from the ground and clasp my sheathed weapon in my right hand. It’s still comfortable to carry. I frown at this.

Sighing, I walk to the door, my heels pressing into the creaky floor as I greet the world outside.

It’s a cold night. The chilled air flows softly, nature waiting like an audience for the moment to come. The trees shake quietly as small bits of snow grace our reunion. I see you, patiently waiting several meters to my left, facing the entrance to watch for my emergence.

How noble, you stand. When others found me, they smelled of greed, a foul scent that clouded their body in a dripping arrogance, nearly masking them entirely. Oh, how their mouths drooled like dogs for raw meat, animals on a hunt for an easy kill. I’m sure that’s what they thought as their heads were removed from their bodies, failing to comprehend the speed of their death.

But you’re different. Around you is stillness, a gentle but noticeable force that makes the world pause for your very movements.

I tug my coat closer to my body, feeling the fur in the inner lining brush against my tattered shirt. I must look a mess right now. But that wont matter for either one of us after what’s to come.

I move slowly, watching you as I position myself within your direct line of sight, several meters away. You nod and draw your weapon slowly, methodically. How many times have you rehearsed this move? How many years have you gripped a blade and swung? I notice a scar across your strong forearm, shining under the moonlight. How many battles have you fought for this? For me? How many birthdays and New Year Days were spent wishing for this reunion?

I wish I could’ve quelled that craving for battle sooner.

Your blade is iconic to me, a cool blue that absorbs the rays of the stars attached to that stark white grip and scabbard. It is the very weapon your father used against me that fateful day. I wonder how many times you’ve used that blade in his absence. Oh, how you resemble him. I feel he’d be proud. I feel proud looking at you as though I were him.

You stand by, holding your blade at the ready as I draw my own, allowing it to hiss against the sheathe once again.

You wait for me to be ready before you take one cautious step forward. I match you and we slowly move forward, blades leading us to each other as though they were pulled by a magnetic charge. A wind gusts, blowing the few free strands into your face but still, you keep your hardened gaze open towards me.

CLANG!

We meet, our blades quickly striking each other and immediately, we jump back, unwavering in our glares. You’re thinking this carefully, I see. I would’ve been disappointed if you mindlessly lunged towards me, no better than a barbarian with a club. No, you’ve understood the pace of battle with an enemy you haven’t understood yet.

Good.

I move forward and, to my surprise, you stand your ground, watching my hands move intently. I’m tempted to use tricks I’ve mastered. Should I make my blade disappear with Death’s blessing and allow it to appear just a fraction of a second before penetration? Shall I allow my sword to drag into the snow and fling nature into your unsuspecting eyes? I look into your eyes and a gasp escapes my lips.

Such firmness. With your eyes alone, you’ve demanded a fight with skill alone. Where our bodies and fate will determine who will be standing at the end of this.

I shall respect this decision, I decide.

Again, our blades collide and with quick strokes to each other, we retreat a few paces once again. The proud feeling inside grows even greater. You’re everything a master would love to see.

In a quick motion, you do something curious. You lift your sword forward and horizontally while your free hand clenches and presses over your heart. The Salute of the Fearless. Your oath to fight until you fall in the face of the end. Normally, one would do this with arrogance, claiming to be untouchable and to taunt their opponent. Seeing you perform this, however, is more of a gentle contract, informing me that the old spirits move you and allow you accept the results of the battle with no judgement. The way the original masters had intended.

You take a step forward, maintaining the salute and, before I can catch myself, I step back. Such power you have. Once more, you step forward and I step back, keeping a tight guard up. I must break this flow you’ve created. At once, I dash forward and cut horizontally. You respond by raising your sword and slashing down. I rolled to the side and flip to my feet, the only damage to exist between us is the marred sleeve you now have.

You observe it, smile, and return to your salute.

Hmph. Most would change after having a flaw in their stance exploited, adopt a new guard. It’s no matter, the next strike will end this.

I dash forward once again, cutting horizontally. You take a half step back, wincing as my blade cuts lightly into your chest. I roll in anticipation of your vertical stroke and once I’m on my feet, I’ll thrust into your neck, ending this duel.

At least, that’s what I expected.

What I failed to predict is that you’d maintain your stance, having baited me into cutting your chest. As I start recover, you turn and slam into my body with a shoulder charge. Now off-balance, I scramble to defend myself but it’s too late. With a proud stomp and all your weight, you release an overhead cut, slashing into my skull, through my left eye, down my shoulder, and into my chest.

I stumble backwards, freeing myself from your weapon as my thoughts flow from my grasp and into the blood leaving my fatal gash. I begin to fall, reaching up to the stars, knowing fully that my time is now complete here. 

Something catches me.

Your face comes into view, tenderly holding my person above the ground, indifferent to the blood that sprays onto your face. As my mouth pathetically flaps open and shut, failing to form words and only offering pained gasps instead, I reach for you with what little feeling I have in my right arm. Gently, you grab ahold of it and squeeze it tenderly, giving me a knowing look as you do.

You’ve known before I did.

I’ve been cut down twice and would never wish it another way.

In these last fleeting seconds, in my cowardice and pride, I can only wish you to live a life untethered from my own.

This is all I feel apt to request as I fade into darkness and prepare to meet my Judge.

 

-          SunBoy