A/N – and now for something different. I like history, and here's a hopefully refreshing historical case study (historical not necessarily meaning BORING!)
The Demon Sword
„(...) before the tenth year runs its course, the blade is to be disposed of: locked away in a sealed dungeon or thrown into a walled-up well, not to be touched by a beam of daylight or a ray of moonshine ever again (...)"
(Wetlands' Judicial Procedures, Vol. 2)
„ Name: Hoshigaki Kisame
Classification: S-rank
Team: Seven Swordsmen (Samehada)
Missions completed: 3 D-rank, 68 C-rank, 154 B-rank, 78 A-rank, 29 S-rank
Status: Missing nin"
(an excerpt from Kirigakure's official data on Hoshigaki Kisame)
„(...) in addition, 250 gold pieces will be given to Goya-dono for continuous research in the field of weaponry (...)"
(The Great Treasury Book, Vol. 5)
Many years ago, on my first self-appointed field research, I came across an interesting legend. The story was given to me by a remarkably old lady inhabiting a small dwelling in one of those nearly deserted borderline villages on the northern islands of Mizu no Kuni. The woman kindly instructed me how to reach a nearby cave complex of some historical significance, warning me to avoid the wide road that apparently led straight to my destination. When I asked her why I shouldn't take the direct route, she answered with utmost earnestness: "A court blade is running loose on that road. You might lose your head." I was so intrigued by her curious remark that I instantly pressed her for more information and proceeded to spend a disappointingly uneventful night on the "possessed" road.
Several years later, I was studying some judicial books of the pre-shinobi era when I stumbled upon a set of instructions which immediately brought back the memory of the old woman's story. My discovery was a description of an official procedure which was to be followed in dealing with overused executioner's swords.
In short, the document stated that no weapon used in formal executions should be kept in service for longer than ten years, as it would eventually – fed by felon blood – develop self-awareness and seek victims on its own. The proper disposal of such weaponry included walling it up in an isolated location. The old legend was thus borne out by the official data – in the woman's story, a court blade had turned into a bloodthirsty monster that decapitated solitary passengers on the road.
I was delighted with the discovery – it provided a refreshing link between the dry world of legal documents and the mysterious expanse of human imagination. Still, little did I know that such a subaltern nugget of information would eventually deepen our knowledge of Kirigakure's history.
The history of the Mist Village is foremost a history of warfare. The blade is the central point of a Kiri man's identity, not excluding inhabitants of civilian background such as myself. I must confess that the ways of shinobi have always excited both my professional and private interest. Who were these men who took on the moor and carved themselves an existence in the deep mist, harbouring the hostile energy of the inhospitable terrain to their advantage?
We know so little of our ancestors. What information we have has been arduously pulled out from the foggy depths of human memory.
The work of a historian boils down to guesswork.
It was with guesswork that I approached the task of investigating the history of The Great Seven Swords, entrusted to me by the Fifth Mizukage, who has finally acknowledged the benefits of fully understanding the nature of the legacy which the previous generations bestowed on us. Had that need been recognized sooner, I dare say the Mist Village would have saved itself some gross internal tragedies.
The Great Seven Swords comprise a formidable set of ancient weaponry, and are therefore more than mere shinobi tools – they present priceless archeological artifacts. Each representative provides valuable insight into the system that has governed the village for nearly a century. Still, one stands out from the seven as a most unique sample.
Samehada, the „Shark Skin" – the only one from the lot which developed sentience, and a conscious mind of its own.
When the doors of the Kage Tower's archives finally opened before me, I promptly dived into research, hoping to find out the master, or masters, who forged such singular pieces.
It wasn't an easy mission. Even though every child on The Islands knows the legend of the Great Goya-dono and the Seven Swords, Mizu no Kuni's scholars are reluctant to accept distorted remains of an ancient nursery rhyme as firm evidence. The old song speaks of Mist's primary national hero – an unlikely individual who had allegedly used the first three swords to unite the Founding Clans, and the next four to defend the young country against other shinobi nations who formed at the time.
In the context of the legend, Goya-dono is presented as a true man of myth – a warrior figure larger than life, capable of fighting off entire countries on his own, a mysterious swordsman who wielded unlikely weaponry of mystic powers.
Some do not see the problem in the characterization of the founding figure, and do not question his existence, relying on the idea that if the mystical swords exist, then their user could have existed as well. Proponents of such theory stress the inhuman powers which other Kages have demonstrated throughout history. These scholars fail to acknowledge the glaring inconsistencies.
First, the existence and actions of all Kages who have ever ruled are corroborated by numerous documents: chronicles, missives, mission reports, ordinances, treasury accounts... We know who they were, what they looked like, who their counselors were, against whom they fought, whom they helped. In case of Goya-dono, we have never really moved past his given name.
Second, there is firm evidence that the role of the new-formed village's leader was given to Byakuren-sama, the eldest son of the then-prominent Karashi clan. Wouldn't it be expected that the leadership was given to Goya-dono – the unbeatable hero?
I have to admit that I had always doubted the worthy fellow's existence. For that reason, it took me by surprise when I stumbled upon his name in one of the first documents from the Military Archive I took upon myself to study.
In the missive dated in the third year of Kirigakure's official existence, Kage's Secretary informs the Treasurer that a sum of 100 gold pieces will be allocated to Goya-dono for further research. A short, curt message, perhaps, but it opened countless possibilities.
Research on what? Who researches? Scientists, explorers... Not warriors.
A striking idea hit. What if Goya-dono was no shinobi? Was it even possible?
I've poured over hundred documents, looking for the man's name more carefully than for his swords.
I found him in an unlikely historical piece of evidence – a rich merchant's daughter's diary, where the young lady notes down: „Today I've finally seen the notorious Goya-dono. Frankly, I don't know what causes all the fuss which follows him. A hunched-back elderly man with a limp. Polite and humble, yes – fascinating, no. Now, Byakuren-sama's a different case."
The idea of a legendary hero doesn't invoke a picture of a „hunched-back elderly man with a limp". Polite and humble?
Now, if our mysterious man was not a ninja, what was he?
And why did Byakuren-sama and his council keep allocating certain impressive sums of money to him during the first five years of the village's existence – as can be seen in the first few Great Treasury Books?
The answer was held in that primary source of information – the ancient nursery rhyme – but we were too blind, or rather too proud to see it. I didn't come upon it before I ran into another short excerpt from a later volume of one of the Great Treasury Books, which said:
„(...) in addition, 250 gold pieces will be given to Goya-dono for continuous research in the field of weaponry (...)"
Continuous research in the field of weaponry...? Of course.
Was it possible, unbelievable as it is, that the great Goya-dono was no blade-wielding hero, but a blade-making one? A swordsmith, to be blunt?
A genius one, with brilliant ideas and matching skills to turn them into reality?
The Great Seven Swords have one striking common distinction – there's a logic behind their ideas. Simple in thought, brilliant in execution, they are all based on the features of more basic shinobi tools. Nuibari, ghastly and yet splendid – a terrifying needle combined with lethal thread; Shibuki – a sturdy iron blade lined up with explosion tags – could it be simpler?; and the ones which probably came from a later, more sophisticated phase in which the swords' creator started experimenting with chakra: Kiba - imbued with wickedly sharp lightning teeth; Hiramekarei – capable of storing chakra and converting its shape.
Glorious pieces of weaponry, without doubt, but still... Not quite on the extraordinary level of Samehada – the living one.
It is probable I would have never guessed at its secret, if I hadn't got the chance to inspect it and its older brother Kubikiribocho personally.
With the old islander's legend in mind did I inspect the Kubikiribocho, fascinated by its name and its connotations. Decapitating Carving Knife. Shaped like a giant butcher knife, in appearance it definitely was everything I would expect from a former executioner blade. Intended for two-handed use, broad blade, decapitation-friendly cut-outs, not to forget its restorative ability – fixing itself through feeding on iron found in victim's blood. A nice touch, I thought – but the sword lacked one crucial detail to fit into the reused executioner's sword theory perfectly.
Infamous executioner swords were to be disposed of after official usage, decidedly not to be sold to unsuspecting customers. For that reason they were always, inevitably marked to be easily recognized. The mark being a specifically shaped pommel. A skull-shaped pommel, such as can not be found on the hilt of Kubikiribocho, but which most certainly graces the hilt of Samehada.
The tell-tale pommel offers a remarkable story, corroborated by the judicial practices and folk-tales of Mizu no Kuni.
An overused executioner's blade accidentally experimented on, imbued with chakra-contorted cells of a living creature - a sea predator none the less. Developed a consciousness of its own and went wild.
Could there be a more appropriate weapon for an overused executioner himself?
The story of the sword provides such a blunt symbol of the story of its wielder, and the tragedy permeating its village.
Should those who know Samehada's story be surprised that the village executioner himself – Hoshigaki Kisame – developed a consciousness of his own after decades of work? And transformed into a Tailless Demon, fed by victim's blood?
I would say the moral is that we create our own monsters, and shouldn't be all too surprised when they 'break bad'.
But that's just a sentimental civilian speaking. Merely guesswork.
(Hamasaki Daiki, The Misty Depths – a Historian's Memoir)
Disclaimer – as you already (should) know, Kirigakure and the Seven Swords are intellectual property of Masashi Kishimoto. However, I played with the village's history, adding Goya-dono and Hamasaki, the Historian into equation. Also, the legend regarding overused executioner's swords (being walled up - if not, turning into monsters) is not mine. I came upon it in Psi u trgovištu (Dogs in a bazaar) by Ivan Aralica, one of my favourite books, and it fitted so nicely with the Samehada, down to the pommel!