1. Dead Trees

THE DIRT PATH, kept clean by mysterious forces and shrouded in mist, wound its way through the silent forest. The quiet was broken by the soft thunk of wood against earth. The mist cleared briefly, and the samurai called Jack broke through the spidery wisps of gray air, waving a hand to clear his way.

It was a cold and gloomy Tuesday. The only reason Jack knew it was Tuesday was because he'd seen a calendar in an inn a few days ago. Of course, that was right before he'd been spotted by yet another group of drooling, uncouth, three-eyed, four-legged bounty hunters. Jack sighed. Jumping up from meals and fighting his way out of bars was getting old fast.

He saw his breath and rubbed his arms as he walked. He wasn't going anywhere in particular, just wandering through this forest trying to find a nice, hollow tree to camp out in. But the forest wasn't looking particularly inviting. The sky was slate gray, threatening rain, or more snow, if the ground was any indication. He stepped off the path and the powder crunched under his sandals. Winter was here, and all the trees were bare and dead. He hadn't seen a single animal all day. And day was quickly fading into night.

He didn't slow down, despite the snow flicking him in the face and the wind playing with his topknot. His "tree" plan, which he realized was kind of a stupid idea in the first place, hadn't worked out at all. He sighed and resolved to do without sleep tonight. Keeping himself warm (relatively) and moving was far more important. He didn't even fear being attacked; he hadn't seen a Wanted poster in weeks.

The darkness was like wool over his eyes. But from where he was in the foothills, he knew that about half a league away the great peaks of the White Mountains began their ascent to the heavens. He stopped next to a scraggly trunk to catch his breath.

There was a noise. A buzzing din coming from far away. It was echoing off the hillside ahead of him. Jack kept going, and it grew louder and louder. And finally, there were small lights in the distance. Jack drew his sword and began to run, for he knew this din. It was the kind of sound only a warrior was acquainted with – the yells, the pounding feet, and the mechanical screeches of a heated battle. Whoever was fighting might very well need his help.

The moon lit his way as he crashed through the trees. Bursting through a clump of bushes, he shielded his eyes and winced. The battle was going on under strobe lights, and it was blinding. Fortunately, he reacted fast enough and ducked . . .

"Aaaaaaah!"

. . . just as an unfortunate young man in cast-iron armor flew over his head and landed on the ground behind him, dead. Jack stared in shock, then narrowed his eyes at where the dead man had come from.

Then he stared in shock again. It seemed the battle was nearly over.

About 50 soldiers, each dressed like the poor human cannonball that flew over him a second ago, lay all around him, still and ashen-faced. Alien and human alike were piled around the clearing. All were dying or dead. About a foot in front of him was a helmet with blood leaking out of it. Stoic as usual, Jack turned the helmet over with tip of his geta. A human face frozen in a scream looked up at him from inside the headgear and he backed away.

There were two combatants left standing: a single soldier, heaving for breath, and an enormous, white-furred mechanical beast. It was roaring dramatically, waving its six clawed arms, stomping about on its two massive, stumpy legs, and blinking its eight eyes. It looked like a combination of a tarantula and the abominable snowman.

The soldier was slashing wildly at the beast, not really doing much damage. Jack narrowed his eyes, gave a battle cry, and ran in to join the fight. He leapt into the air and took off one of the monster's arms with one blow. Sparks flew. The beast roared in pain. The soldier looked surprised at this, then nodded in appreciation and lopped off another one of the beast's arms. The beast roared again, and retreated for a second.

Jack ran to the soldier's side. "Are you the only survivor, or has someone gone for help?" he asked.

"It's just me," came the weary reply. "That damn beast took out my entire battalion. I'll kill this thing if it's my last act on earth."

"MMMRAAAAAAAAAUGH!"

And the beast was on them again. It only had four arms now, but that was plenty. Jack beat back those attacking him, but the slashing was coming from every direction at once, and it wasn't long before he had lost his hair tie and kimono top.

His sweaty hair was down around his bare shoulders and he roared back at his foe, jumping about like a dancer and slashing with an intensity that would have looked random and frantic if not for its grace. The soldier, relieved to be ignored for the moment, put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. The claws came down on Jack in a rain of steel and sparks, and he beat them off one last time. But the claws were like swords themselves, and the soldier was standing way too close.

His last act on earth, as it turned out, would simply be to stand up straight.

The monster had just struck at Jack, only to have the blow deflected. The world went into slow motion as the beast reared up, roared louder and extended all of its limbs at once, to bring them back at Jack again. One sword/claw went flying away low to the left . . . and the poor soldier lost his head quite cleanly on the backswing.

"NO!" Jack yelled.

He gritted his teeth, tightened his grip on his sword, and let that enrage him. It was his fight, now. He was fighting for the honor of all those that had lost their lives here. He wouldn't let their sacrifice be in vain.

And so he took the beast one last time, blow for blow. He sliced. The beast sliced back, catching him in the chest. He yelled. The beast made fists and got off a few good punches. He took a flying leap and side-kicked the beast in the face. The beast roared and smacked him about, ripping the bottom half of his robe to tatters.

Finally, though, Jack pulled all his energies together, leapt high in the air, and with a holler that could have wakened the fallen army around him, brought his sword down clear through the thing's head. It gurgled a death-cry. But it wasn't quite finished. It caught Jack by the leg and hurled him through the air a ways before dropping dead.

Jack had a short, wide-eyed flight over the snowy ground. Then he landed gracelessly, bumping and bouncing like a missed football before coming to rest hard on his ass. There was a nasty crack.

At first he couldn't tell what happened. In nothing but his fundoshi and sandals, he was honestly too cold to feel anything. He stood up and coughed. The snow was coming down, landing on his shoulders and stinging his chest wounds, which were leaking little red rivers over his quivering abs. He was nearly naked, quite injured, surrounded by dead people, and numb in his left leg.

"Must go," he muttered. "Get warm. Take stock."

He looked at nearby corpse. It was the soldier who'd gone flying over his head a while ago. The poor soul had died with his eyes slightly crossed. Jack said a fast prayer for him, hobbled over and stripped the body. He put on everything, from the boots to the helmet, packed his sandals and sword, and limped away dizzily in the direction he guessed the soldiers had come. Perhaps their camp was nearby.

Yes, he thought, with a faint smile. Everything would be fine now.

And then the snow turned into a blizzard and everything was suddenly not fine. The wind was like a knife. It was impossible to see and overwhelmingly, bitterly cold. His limp turned into straggle. He could feel his armor sliding around on his body and knew without a doubt that the sliding was from all the blood. Nothing was clotting – those cuts on his chest weren't settling at all. His left leg was stiff.

After three hours of this nonsense, he was exhausted. He dropped to all fours and began to crawl. The wind whipped his face and rattled through his borrowed armor. Every breath was a struggle as he slowly froze from the outside in. But he pressed on.

His perseverance paid off. Finally, through the howling, pitch-black night, he made out a tiny lantern. There was a big wooden blockade nearby. He looked up – the wooden posts seemed to go up and up forever. Some kind of fortress. He'd made it to a fortress.

"Jusai," he mumbled, blinking like a drunk and scrambling towards the wooden wall. "There must be people. HELP!" he yelled.

The gale just blew the sound back at him. He crawled along, eyes scrunched, keeping the fence on his right, yelling "Help!" and then finally, in desperation, "Tasukete!" until he was hoarse. Until his lips bled.

His arms gave out. The rest of him followed suit. He collapsed into the snow with a grunt, and felt the world turn freezing and dark. It was a fight just to keep his eyes open – a fight that he had no strength for.

Snow crusted on his face. He lay there, hardly breathing, still and silent as a dead tree.

TBC

Translations:

Geta – traditional wooden sandals

Fundoshi – old-style undergarment

Jusai – fortress

Tasukete! – Help!