Set in Motion.
He walked. It wasn't as if he liked it much, but he couldn't afford a mule, let alone a horse or palanquin. He had left his village two years ago, no longer a boy but hardly a man, gripped by wanderlust and bitter resentments fermented into a potent brew. From Okayama to Akita and back again- an aimless but driven wandering. It was August and he was going back to Edo now; he liked Edo, a busybody sort of place where one could get laid, drunk, and into a good brawl for less than the cost of a decent meal.
"God, I hate summer," the Man-Boy thought to himself, squinting up the road from beneath his tattered straw travelling hat. "The sweat and the stink and the bugs-" His thoughts were cut short as he noticed the small cloud of dust announcing a large palanquin coming up the road toward him. "- and all the loaded assholes kicking up the horseshit."
As the Man-Boy and a small cluster of other travellers looked ahead, the palanquin was preceeded by a seedy, hare-lipped man wearing a white ro jacket over his kimono and stomping in scratched laquered sandals while he tried to cool himself with a dirty silk fan.
"Make way! Make way!" cried the man, looking disdainfully at the commoners ahead of him. "Make way and bow down for his venerable Lord Taishi, samurai and keeper of the secrets of the Taishi-Ryu! Make way!" Four laborers accompanied by four guards carried a polished, silk-curtained litter in the wake of the forerunner.
The sound of sandals scuffling to the side of the road and the rustling of fabric and luggage as bodies bowed low met the Man-Boy's ears. He stopped in his tracks, the only indication he had heard the crier, one hand on the butt of his unusually heavy blade, the other resting lazily in his kimono. Something caught in his side-vision then, and it suprised him; another man, no more than a few years his elder, if his elder at all, stood beside him, face shadowed by a straw hat. He had unslung an oddly-shaped parcel from his back and was carefully peeling away the rough flax wrappings to reveal a bizzare, cumbersome-looking axe.
The crier had reached him now and, whether from boldness or stupidity or both, was shouting into his face.
"You juvenille little bastards!" the hare-lipped man screamed. "Show some respect and get your pox-ridden asses out of the road!! When the guards catch up-"
"Fuck you too," said the Man-Boy stoically, the hand in his kimono flashing out like a firecracker and burying a dagger into the center of the presumtious man's throat, "because you're not even worth my effort." His eyes crinkled in disdain as blood spattered on his already grimy clothing and skin.
The body gurgled for several seconds, then dropped at dirt-encrusted sandals. The man with the axe glanced at him for half a moment. Two pairs of eyes met for a heartbeat, and the two nodded. They watched as the palanquin halted, the bearers stared, and the guards charged. They waited.
He hardly could recall it, like most fights. The rush of adrenaline gave him a high like nothing else. His body moved seemingly of its own volition in an electrifying dance. Duck, parry, slash, block, thrust, feint- it was terrible yet pleasurable, and blood mixed with sweat and dirt as his blade wove patterns in the summer heat. He could sense his new ally near him, swinging his axe with a heavy grace that contrasted his whip-thin body. The stranger's jaw was set, and his novel weapon shattered the swords, flimsy armor, and bodies of two guards in quick sucession, leaving only heaps of gore and broken bones behind.
His clothes now soiled beyond any hope of resoration by steaming, sticky blood, the Man-Boy withdrew his blade from the body of the last guard and looked behind him towards the decorated palanquin. The servants had fled long ago, and the fine carrier was lying broken on its side; Lord Taishi, a firm-looking man of middle-age, had crawled out with minor bruises and stood standing stock still, staring in apparent shock at the rapid slaughter of his guards by the two young vagabonds. Noticing the young man with the oversized blade regarding him, the samurai drew his sword and assumed a defensive stance.
"Wh-what the hell do you want?!" Taishi shouted, his panic obvious. "W- what is the meaning of this?"
Gingerly wiping at the blood streaming out of a cut on his forehead, the Man-Boy's eyes darted to his new partner. His silent ally nodded, conceding the final rival. Sauntering forward, the Man-Boy, not without caution, stopped several feet away from the old samurai. He wiped his forehead again.
"What do I want?" said the bloody renegade airily, "Not much really....Y'know, Pops, I'll be honest with you, I don't even want your money or nothing, I just really hate you "samurai". Especially you overblown, pampered-asses who need to be carried in pillowed palanquins and lord it over everyone else. Now, I don't know about the other guy, but-" He was cut short by Taishi's enraged snarl. The older man was running toward him, sword forward, face twisted with fury.
He was ready for it. During his bizzarely sudden conversational outburt, the Man-Boy had been observing his opponent, gleaning what he could from the other's stance and form and anticipating what his foe's movements might be. As the samurai came in for a high strike to his left, he ducked and pivoted to the right; taking his sword in both hands, he swung as hard as he could without losing his balance, severing the samurai's left leg at the mid-calf and delivering a deep gash to the right.
Agony wracked Taishi's body as he fell to his knees and sensed his blood soak into the ground around him. He heard a soft 'click!' and his young attacker stood up- not with his overgrown double-edged sword, but with a much slimmer, lighter blade. Taishi realized with horror that the larger weapon was still buried in his leg. The Man-Boy approached him, and his arm suddenly snapped out, sending Taishi's own sword flying as the flat of the slender blade hit his wrist. The wounded samurai stared up at the bloodied figure above him. "Who a-are you...?!" he rasped.
The Man-Boy crouched down in front of the older man. Grabbing the Lord's silk vest, he pulled Taishi's face close to his. "Just a plain old peasant boy who got sick of being kept down by shit like you," he whispered contemptously, sliding his blade cleanly through the samurai's heart and out his back.
Withdrawing the blade from the dead man's body and retrieving his larger weapon, the Man-Boy turned, his silent ally the only other occupying the road- any other travellers having long-fled at the sight of the carnage. The other young man, blood drawn in spatters across his kimono, watched him quietly, leaning on his re-bound axe.
"That's an interesting blade you use," the stranger said suddenly.
The Man-Boy's snapped up from examining his stained garments at the other's sudden words. "Thanks. Yeah...it's pretty unique."
"Where did you accquire it?"
"Heh, I stole it a couple years ago or so." He shrugged a little sheepishly.
"You use it well," observed the other.
"You're not so shabby yourself with that axe of yours," said the Man-Boy. He had noticed that this stranger had not a scratch to account for and even his straw hat was still in place.
"Thank you." The stranger paused for a moment. "But I must ask...what drives you to stand up to the samurai caste so?"
"You heard me," the Man-Boy growled, "They're all just useless, self- serving bastards who fill their pockets by tweaking dusty kata and murder innocent people on a whim. It's disgusting, it's not allright to sit around on your fat pretentious ass pretending you could survive five minutes in a real fight unless you're a samurai."
The young stranger looked thoughtful. "Well spoken, friend...it is clear to me we share the same spirit. Have you ever thought of putting your skills, your justified vendetta, on a more organized plane?"
The Man-Boy cocked an eyebrow skeptically. "Ok, no offense, but just who the hell are you?"
"My name is Anotsu Kagehisa," the young man said, pausing to remove his travelling hat- revealling a narrow, attractive face, long dark-brown hair, and piercing black eyes. "and I consider myself a bit of a revolutionary. And may I ask your name?"
"Magatsu."
"Magatsu...?"
"My only name; I'm the son of peasants," he said fiercly, almost proudly.
"So why don't you choose a family name for yourself? You obviouly act no more like a peasant." Anotsu looked at him pointedly.
Magatsu considered. "Yeah, it would be nice, I'll admit." He thought for several moments again. "Taito," he said at last, "Taito Magatsu, I like the sound of that."
"A good name."
"You know," Taito Magatsu said, wiping absently on the now-clotted cut on his head, "sort of after that guy, Taishi, we got...that was the first time I've ever taken down a samurai in the open like that- I think I want to remember it."
"As worthy a reason as any." Anotsu pasued and looked at his new acquaintance again. "So you are going to Edo?"
"Yeah...but not in this state." Magatsu looked down at his bloody kimono and sandals disparagingly.
"Me neither," remarked Anotsu, glancing at his spattered garments. "There's one more teahouse up the road before the gates, though...." He looked at Magatsu again, a considering smile simmering on his lips. "And, well, we might stop for a bucket of water and I could perhaps lend you my spare kimono; the stains on mine are not too bad...."
"And the catch?" Magatsu asked, not missing the obvious emphasis on the words 'could' and 'might'.
"You hear me out. I told you, I'm a bit of a revolutionary, and I see the same fire in you...we could help each other."
Magatsu cocked an eyeborwn again. Anotsu may be a good fighter, he thought, but he suspected the young man a bit off in the head.
Anotsu expected the reaction, and though it stung his pride to resort to what seemed like recruiting, he saw vast potential in the lanky renegade before him. "How about...if you do decide to borrow my kimono, and I'm still talking by the time we get to Edo, I sit us down to some unaju and kokeshimizu for your time and this vile heat?"
Crazy or no, Anotsu's offer of a savory, civilized lunch and a clean kimono was undeniable to the tired young man who couldn't remember his last change of clothes and who's best meal of late had been a half-cooked turtle he had trapped and some stolen rice. He gave a condescending grin. "Allright, Mister Anotsu Kagehisa, you've got me hooked. I'll hear you out...if only for the unaju." His grinned widened in spite of himself. "Last meal I had was day-old somen this time yesterday. I'll say this about you, you know where to get a poor bastard where it counts; feed him and he'll follow you to hell."
"So you accept?"
"Start talking, boss."
He walked. It wasn't as if he liked it much, but he couldn't afford a mule, let alone a horse or palanquin. He had left his village two years ago, no longer a boy but hardly a man, gripped by wanderlust and bitter resentments fermented into a potent brew. From Okayama to Akita and back again- an aimless but driven wandering. It was August and he was going back to Edo now; he liked Edo, a busybody sort of place where one could get laid, drunk, and into a good brawl for less than the cost of a decent meal.
"God, I hate summer," the Man-Boy thought to himself, squinting up the road from beneath his tattered straw travelling hat. "The sweat and the stink and the bugs-" His thoughts were cut short as he noticed the small cloud of dust announcing a large palanquin coming up the road toward him. "- and all the loaded assholes kicking up the horseshit."
As the Man-Boy and a small cluster of other travellers looked ahead, the palanquin was preceeded by a seedy, hare-lipped man wearing a white ro jacket over his kimono and stomping in scratched laquered sandals while he tried to cool himself with a dirty silk fan.
"Make way! Make way!" cried the man, looking disdainfully at the commoners ahead of him. "Make way and bow down for his venerable Lord Taishi, samurai and keeper of the secrets of the Taishi-Ryu! Make way!" Four laborers accompanied by four guards carried a polished, silk-curtained litter in the wake of the forerunner.
The sound of sandals scuffling to the side of the road and the rustling of fabric and luggage as bodies bowed low met the Man-Boy's ears. He stopped in his tracks, the only indication he had heard the crier, one hand on the butt of his unusually heavy blade, the other resting lazily in his kimono. Something caught in his side-vision then, and it suprised him; another man, no more than a few years his elder, if his elder at all, stood beside him, face shadowed by a straw hat. He had unslung an oddly-shaped parcel from his back and was carefully peeling away the rough flax wrappings to reveal a bizzare, cumbersome-looking axe.
The crier had reached him now and, whether from boldness or stupidity or both, was shouting into his face.
"You juvenille little bastards!" the hare-lipped man screamed. "Show some respect and get your pox-ridden asses out of the road!! When the guards catch up-"
"Fuck you too," said the Man-Boy stoically, the hand in his kimono flashing out like a firecracker and burying a dagger into the center of the presumtious man's throat, "because you're not even worth my effort." His eyes crinkled in disdain as blood spattered on his already grimy clothing and skin.
The body gurgled for several seconds, then dropped at dirt-encrusted sandals. The man with the axe glanced at him for half a moment. Two pairs of eyes met for a heartbeat, and the two nodded. They watched as the palanquin halted, the bearers stared, and the guards charged. They waited.
He hardly could recall it, like most fights. The rush of adrenaline gave him a high like nothing else. His body moved seemingly of its own volition in an electrifying dance. Duck, parry, slash, block, thrust, feint- it was terrible yet pleasurable, and blood mixed with sweat and dirt as his blade wove patterns in the summer heat. He could sense his new ally near him, swinging his axe with a heavy grace that contrasted his whip-thin body. The stranger's jaw was set, and his novel weapon shattered the swords, flimsy armor, and bodies of two guards in quick sucession, leaving only heaps of gore and broken bones behind.
His clothes now soiled beyond any hope of resoration by steaming, sticky blood, the Man-Boy withdrew his blade from the body of the last guard and looked behind him towards the decorated palanquin. The servants had fled long ago, and the fine carrier was lying broken on its side; Lord Taishi, a firm-looking man of middle-age, had crawled out with minor bruises and stood standing stock still, staring in apparent shock at the rapid slaughter of his guards by the two young vagabonds. Noticing the young man with the oversized blade regarding him, the samurai drew his sword and assumed a defensive stance.
"Wh-what the hell do you want?!" Taishi shouted, his panic obvious. "W- what is the meaning of this?"
Gingerly wiping at the blood streaming out of a cut on his forehead, the Man-Boy's eyes darted to his new partner. His silent ally nodded, conceding the final rival. Sauntering forward, the Man-Boy, not without caution, stopped several feet away from the old samurai. He wiped his forehead again.
"What do I want?" said the bloody renegade airily, "Not much really....Y'know, Pops, I'll be honest with you, I don't even want your money or nothing, I just really hate you "samurai". Especially you overblown, pampered-asses who need to be carried in pillowed palanquins and lord it over everyone else. Now, I don't know about the other guy, but-" He was cut short by Taishi's enraged snarl. The older man was running toward him, sword forward, face twisted with fury.
He was ready for it. During his bizzarely sudden conversational outburt, the Man-Boy had been observing his opponent, gleaning what he could from the other's stance and form and anticipating what his foe's movements might be. As the samurai came in for a high strike to his left, he ducked and pivoted to the right; taking his sword in both hands, he swung as hard as he could without losing his balance, severing the samurai's left leg at the mid-calf and delivering a deep gash to the right.
Agony wracked Taishi's body as he fell to his knees and sensed his blood soak into the ground around him. He heard a soft 'click!' and his young attacker stood up- not with his overgrown double-edged sword, but with a much slimmer, lighter blade. Taishi realized with horror that the larger weapon was still buried in his leg. The Man-Boy approached him, and his arm suddenly snapped out, sending Taishi's own sword flying as the flat of the slender blade hit his wrist. The wounded samurai stared up at the bloodied figure above him. "Who a-are you...?!" he rasped.
The Man-Boy crouched down in front of the older man. Grabbing the Lord's silk vest, he pulled Taishi's face close to his. "Just a plain old peasant boy who got sick of being kept down by shit like you," he whispered contemptously, sliding his blade cleanly through the samurai's heart and out his back.
Withdrawing the blade from the dead man's body and retrieving his larger weapon, the Man-Boy turned, his silent ally the only other occupying the road- any other travellers having long-fled at the sight of the carnage. The other young man, blood drawn in spatters across his kimono, watched him quietly, leaning on his re-bound axe.
"That's an interesting blade you use," the stranger said suddenly.
The Man-Boy's snapped up from examining his stained garments at the other's sudden words. "Thanks. Yeah...it's pretty unique."
"Where did you accquire it?"
"Heh, I stole it a couple years ago or so." He shrugged a little sheepishly.
"You use it well," observed the other.
"You're not so shabby yourself with that axe of yours," said the Man-Boy. He had noticed that this stranger had not a scratch to account for and even his straw hat was still in place.
"Thank you." The stranger paused for a moment. "But I must ask...what drives you to stand up to the samurai caste so?"
"You heard me," the Man-Boy growled, "They're all just useless, self- serving bastards who fill their pockets by tweaking dusty kata and murder innocent people on a whim. It's disgusting, it's not allright to sit around on your fat pretentious ass pretending you could survive five minutes in a real fight unless you're a samurai."
The young stranger looked thoughtful. "Well spoken, friend...it is clear to me we share the same spirit. Have you ever thought of putting your skills, your justified vendetta, on a more organized plane?"
The Man-Boy cocked an eyebrow skeptically. "Ok, no offense, but just who the hell are you?"
"My name is Anotsu Kagehisa," the young man said, pausing to remove his travelling hat- revealling a narrow, attractive face, long dark-brown hair, and piercing black eyes. "and I consider myself a bit of a revolutionary. And may I ask your name?"
"Magatsu."
"Magatsu...?"
"My only name; I'm the son of peasants," he said fiercly, almost proudly.
"So why don't you choose a family name for yourself? You obviouly act no more like a peasant." Anotsu looked at him pointedly.
Magatsu considered. "Yeah, it would be nice, I'll admit." He thought for several moments again. "Taito," he said at last, "Taito Magatsu, I like the sound of that."
"A good name."
"You know," Taito Magatsu said, wiping absently on the now-clotted cut on his head, "sort of after that guy, Taishi, we got...that was the first time I've ever taken down a samurai in the open like that- I think I want to remember it."
"As worthy a reason as any." Anotsu pasued and looked at his new acquaintance again. "So you are going to Edo?"
"Yeah...but not in this state." Magatsu looked down at his bloody kimono and sandals disparagingly.
"Me neither," remarked Anotsu, glancing at his spattered garments. "There's one more teahouse up the road before the gates, though...." He looked at Magatsu again, a considering smile simmering on his lips. "And, well, we might stop for a bucket of water and I could perhaps lend you my spare kimono; the stains on mine are not too bad...."
"And the catch?" Magatsu asked, not missing the obvious emphasis on the words 'could' and 'might'.
"You hear me out. I told you, I'm a bit of a revolutionary, and I see the same fire in you...we could help each other."
Magatsu cocked an eyeborwn again. Anotsu may be a good fighter, he thought, but he suspected the young man a bit off in the head.
Anotsu expected the reaction, and though it stung his pride to resort to what seemed like recruiting, he saw vast potential in the lanky renegade before him. "How about...if you do decide to borrow my kimono, and I'm still talking by the time we get to Edo, I sit us down to some unaju and kokeshimizu for your time and this vile heat?"
Crazy or no, Anotsu's offer of a savory, civilized lunch and a clean kimono was undeniable to the tired young man who couldn't remember his last change of clothes and who's best meal of late had been a half-cooked turtle he had trapped and some stolen rice. He gave a condescending grin. "Allright, Mister Anotsu Kagehisa, you've got me hooked. I'll hear you out...if only for the unaju." His grinned widened in spite of himself. "Last meal I had was day-old somen this time yesterday. I'll say this about you, you know where to get a poor bastard where it counts; feed him and he'll follow you to hell."
"So you accept?"
"Start talking, boss."