Friday, April 25, 2014

Thirteen Troubles

I've just recently finished the outline for the second book. I should get on top of that my next off day. Until then, I was trying to explore another section of my world. I've got Europe and even America figured out. There are other elements, though. Africa, Asia, South America, places to venture and explore.

Maybe this has the potential to be something more.

The wind howled and the heavens roared. Lightning tore the air sharper than any fangs. It was a day inhospitable for man or beast, where the bright Hour of the Rabbit was as black as that of the Rat.

And yet she dared tread. Her wooden sandals clacked with purpose against the worn wood of the bridge as the black river surged beneath. The wanderer's eyes descended to the frothing waters where the kami dwelled below, a river god driven mad by time. It raged and hungered, with no regard for who or what its target might be. The quick glance left the wanderer frowning. If she fell in, she would be lost.

She resolved to not fall in. Down she knelt in the middle of the bridge, where the old timbers crested at their highest. Before her she set her blade, its scabbard old and scarred. Behind she left to the wind, whipping her hair one way before throwing it another. The wanderer closed her eyes.

And then waited. The storm faded and the tension trickled, until she was left with Nothing. No fear, no worry, no yesterday, nor tomorrow. She didn't know if long hours had passed or mere minutes. All was Now, and there was Peace in it. She was briefly aware of wet feet smacking against the bridge, of angry growls, and twisting forms, but they were Unimportant. They were passing and transient, the briefest of flickers in grand Eternity.

That impermanence almost got her killed. Down came a claw and up leapt a sword, leaving behind red steel, realization, and a lonely stump. The wanderer's eyes were open, focused on a slimy creature of sickly green. The beast was a kappa, and its screech was ended by a simple slice of the sword. The monster's head rolled quickly across the bridge, back down to the river from where it been born. Its bare red pate and the surrounding petals resembled a lotus blossom rushing downriver. It was a beautiful sight.

If only it was the last. More kappa leapt from the water, the embodiment of the river god's rage. A dozen sorrows, some big and others small, many proud but a few shrinking, stood before her. They were terrible and pathetic to behold, with puffed chests and bent backs, the sorrows of a dozen lifetimes given grotesque form. The river would only be at peace once they were all vanquished.

"I am Fuko! My style is nameless, and my surname forgotten, but they still spell misfortune for you!" Her blade bit the air, flinging off blood in a red line. Her dark eyes dared them to cross it. "Let us see how the fury of a river god fares against that of man!" With that her sword slipped back into its sheath, held to the side as her knees bent low. She entered iaijutsu, needing every split-second the fast-draw style could grant her. With body tensed and sword ready, Fuko waited.

She didn't have to wait long. The kappa leapt and ran across the bridge, their war cries mingling with their screams. Three times did her blade leap, and three times did life leave their clumsy bodies. Kappa tumbled in halves and pieces, their fearsome eyes gone dark. But still they came. Claws rent her hakama, others tore at her arms, and yet her sword still sang. The scent of the storm slowly faded, only to be replaced by that of meat and blood.

When it was all over, Fuko slumped against the bridge's railing. Sweat and blood ran rivers along her body, staining her already ruined clothing. She paid it no mind. Clothing could be replaced. Victory could not. The wanderer had won another battle in a long, unending line. It was a pattern she couldn't keep up. Perhaps the next would be her last, or perhaps it would be far down her winding road. The timing didn't matter, honestly.

A woman who fought monsters was destined to die. Fuko opened her eyes just in time to see lightning flash across the sky. The storm hadn't ended. The battle wasn't won. There had been twelve troubles on the bridge, but a thirteenth lurked just below. Fuko twisted. Her iaijutsu had been fast, but now her movements were far too slow. Claws wrapped around her chest and pulled her through the brittle railing.

As resolved as she was, Fuko fell in.

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