Legacy
By: Mokona-Midoki
Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai 7. The only thing I own is the kid. That's it. Don't sue me. I wouldn't be able to pay you.
It was early morning, the sun having barely risen over the hills to touch down upon the rice laden fields. The harvest would soon be upon the small village, and everybody would be needed to work. But before that occurred two figures made their way up the hill, slowly but surely climbing.
It was a woman and a young boy. The woman was small, not even topping five and a half feet, but had a determined look in her eyes that said she was not to be taken lightly. The child lagged behind her, obviously still half asleep.
"Come now. It's just a little bit farther."
"But Momma, my feet hurt!" The young child complained.
The woman laughed. "Oh no! You can never be a hero if you can't even walk up a hill, you know."
The little boy got a fierce look on his face. "But I will be a hero! Watch me!" He took off like a shot up the hill.
His mother watched him go with a smile on her face.
As she crested the hill, she found her young son on his back, breathing hard.
"Here we are."
They had come to what was unmistakably a set of graves. Four mounds of earth and four swords stuck, one for each man who had died a hero.
She stood facing them, hands on her hips. "It's that time of year again." She turned towards her son. "Alright you! Let's get on with what we came here for!"
He jumped to his feet. "Okay!"
It took them no longer than ten minutes, and by the time they were done, each grave had fresh flowers, incense, and three rice balls placed before it.
Standing back, mother and son admired their work.
"Good job! They all would be very happy."
"You think so Momma?!"
She grinned. "Of course!"
--
They now sat in front of the four graves, the boy with his knees pulled up to his chest, and the mother with her legs crossed in front of her. She began to tell the story she told him every year. The one of the seven greatest men she had ever known.
"Not so long ago, right here in this very village, the people were terrorized by the nobuserei who wanted everything they had. The rice, the women, everything!"
The little boy had obviously heard the story before, but he didn't care. It was his favorite after all.
His mother made a wonderful story teller, doing all the voices, and motions, gesticulating widely with her arms.
The boy made a wonderful audience, gasping, cheering, booing, and laughing in all the right places.
He listened wide-eyed, and excited as his mother told him of how the Lady Kirara, her young sister Komachi, and the peasant Rikichi traveled from their small village to the large city to find the samurai who would protect them from the evil bandits.
"Then suddenly,
guess who appeared?"
"The samurai!" The boy yelled.
"That's right!"
"And with one swing he saved the baby from the robber!"
The story continued long into the day, but the pair only paused to eat lunch, and move slightly so that they were out of the sun.
"And then do you know what happened?"
"What?!"
"They fired the ballista! It flew through the air to hit the bandit ship straight on!"
"Wow! Hey mom?"
"Yes?"
"Can I have a ballista?"
"No. Absolutely not."
"Awww…."
Finally, when evening shadows fell across the land, she finished her story.
"And then, finally, the war was over and everybody was able to live happily ever after. The End." She sat back waiting for his response.
The boy looked over at the four graves. "Were they really as great as you say?"
"Yes they were. I should know."
"And it all really happened?"
"Yes. It's all true."
"Wow…" He was silent for a moment, thinking about the story he had just heard once again. "Hey mom?"
"Uh-huh?"
"When I grow up, can I be a samurai?"
She smiled. "Well I don't know…being a samurai is hard."
"I'll do it!"
"You have to protect the weak,"
"I will!"
"You have to live by honor,"
"I'll be the most honorable person ever!"
"Sometimes you won't get paid for your work,"
"I don't mind being poor!"
"And you must always follow your own path. You can never let anyone decide your fate for you. We create our fates, we are not controlled by them." She looked at him, serious. "Can you do that?"
He nodded, a serious look in his large eyes.
"Well, then I think you'll make a wonderful samurai." She smiled at him.
"You promise?!"
"I promise."
"Alright!!"
She stood, dusting herself off. "C'mon. Let's get back to the village. It's getting late. You're father will be expecting us home soon."
He ran down the hill, already fending off foes and rescuing helpless villages from evil villains.
She stayed a while longer, standing before the four graves.
Her eyes softened, and her smile became wistful and longing.
Reaching out, she placed her hand on the hilt of the largest sword.
"Because of you, we can live in peace once again this year. My son can grow up without the threat of war, or poverty. You gave your lives for us, we being farmers with nothing but rice. You saved this country, and you saved me…thank you."
"Momma! C'mon! We're going to be late!!!"
Komachi turned to where her son stood at the bottom of the hill. "I'm coming Kikuchiyo! Don't be so impatient!" She turned and walked down the hill towards her son and her home.
Above the village, four graves stood. Four swords, one for each of the heroes that had given their life for the village. Indeed they were the most honorable and noble samurai of all.
The End
Footnotes: One of the greatest series of all time. Nuff said.
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