Inward Flame And External Steel - Part 1
The warm winds of Okinawa rolled lazily over the sandy streets. They rattled loose shop shutters and sent a stack of empty Orion beer cans clattering down the streets, much to the dismay of a group of retirees who were each about to indulge in a fifth can.
It was unusually hot in Okinawa today, even for one of Japan's sweltering August days. Bundles of laundry had been hung out to dry from just about every open window and balcony in sight along the roads of the quiet seaside district. The inhabitants of the homes chatted amicably beneath well-used verandas about the latest Okinawan gossip—a trio of old ladies sipped at ice tea whilst cackling loudly about the promiscuous antics of Mrs Takanawa across the way. Beatrix couldn't tell if she watched them with envy or disapproval.
She winced at the merciless sun beating down on her face as she traversed the populated neighbourhood streets. Her hair clung to her neck with hot sweat, and her skin was already sunburnt in patches despite the thick globs of lotion she'd applied before she'd left Hanzo's shop twenty minutes ago. She rubbed at the band of moisture on her forehead with irritation, only succeeding in getting more of her sweat in her eyes. The sharp beads of sand caught up in the wind didn't do her sore skin any justice either. They stung at her cheeks and neck, further adding to her frustration. She pulled her light blouse over her nose and cheeks in an attempt to protect her skin. She stopped as she realised her efforts were futile, the crafty grains of sand easily working their way beneath her bunched up collar. Ordinarily, she wouldn't allow such minute things to get to her, but ever since she'd woken up in that coma ward, she'd felt anything but herself. She let her hand drop to her side, and her blouse fell back to her shoulders. She needed to get back to her old self as fast as possible. After all, how was she supposed to take on Bill if she was wincing over a little sand and sun?
Holding the thought in her mind, she continued her walk reactionless, just allowing the sand to buffet her face and burn her eyes at its whim. She was supposed to be a weapon, an object of raw power and discipline at all times, not just when she held a sword in her grip. Speaking of which…
Beatrix hitched the leather golf bag Mr Hanzo had lent her further up onto her shoulder, trying her best to look as if she were on a day trip to Chibana Golf Course. The Bokken — a wooden practice katana — she had been training with for the past week slumbered quietly within. Alongside it sat the genuine article, hidden from the gaze of the gossiping Okinawans by the bag's thick leather.
Though the townsfolk didn't relent in conversation as she passed, she could feel each and every one of their eyes on her. It was her bad luck that Mr Hanzo didn't decide to live out his retirement in the capital, a place where the sight of a foreigner was becoming ever more common as more and more of the western world flocked to Japan's smaller islands to taste 'Japan's Hawaii'. Instead, Hanzo had decided to set up home in a more rural part of Okinawa—the real Okinawa as it were. And here, blonde women over six feet tall tended to stick out like a sore thumb.
She relaxed along with the gazes of passersby as she slipped off out of the neighbourhood and down onto the zigzagging paths leading to the beachfront. It was a little more crowded here, hence the decrease in attention towards her. She looked at the various street vendors and their colourful wares and cuisine which was mostly made up of green and yellow vegetables, bitter melon and various soy products. An array of colourful shops also lined the street. She glanced into the first to see something she had to look twice at.
The shelves of the open-fronted souvenir shop were lined with leathery purses that, at first glance, appeared to be shaped and decorated to resemble frogs. A closer look confirmed the products were in fact, actual frogs, gutted, drained, ironed out and fitted with fastenings and straps to lead new lives as handbags. As eager as she was to blend in, maybe Beatrix wasn't quite ready to try out the latest Okinawan fashion just yet. She smirked to herself at the thought as she looked through the window of the next store.
Her mouth felt all the drier as she clapped eyes on a Toshiba cooler stocked to the brim with cans of ice-cold Orion beer. She could just imagine a can of the stuff in her hand as she laid on a deck chair, reclining into the shade as she pulled the ring pull. She would close her eyes as the crisp, citrusy beer would trickle onto her tongue, the harmony of the sweet and bitter perfect as she swallowed, quenching her thirst at long last. Two more cans and her body would start to feel sluggish. She would gaze stupidly at the children playing in their front gardens as she slipped into a heavy slumber. No one would know she was still alive. All the pain of the week's training would just fade out of her cramped muscles, and she'd just fade into…
Beatrix snapped her eyes open, suddenly realising she'd stopped outside of the store. Had she really been considering it? Just dropping everything and living out her days in Okinawa? As if that were possible. She pulled her eyes away from the cooler and continued down the street. Her mind would never be at rest like the carefree people that inhabited these islands. Until those five were all dead, her brain would constantly be alive with thoughts of their demise.
She shook away her disapproval at herself as she neared the railings separating the beach from the street. Impatient, she hopped over them. She landed in the white sand below with a satisfying thud. She looked at the dentless blue sky above, shielding her eyes from the sun with her right hand. It was already a little past noon. Perfect.
Though she preferred to train in the mornings (or rather the concept had been drilled into her), Hanzo had assured her the best time of day to practice in the open was a few hours after noon. With the exception of nighttime, the beaches were least busy at this time of day.
Beatrix patted her leather bag to make sure she could still feel the weight of both swords as she watched a father and son splashing about in the waves a little way off. Though she cared less for the Bokken, carrying a priceless katana around outside was making her a little anxious. Though it wasn't like it'd just magically disappear out of the bag, or she'd somehow lose it down a grate, she still felt the weight of the responsibility of being entrusted with the sword. Or perhaps that wasn't it. Maybe the pressure she felt was in the concept of what her being given the sword meant. Hanzo trusted her to get it done. So far, she'd kept her intentions to herself. They seemed all the more real now that someone else not only knew about them but also put their faith in her ability to carry them out.
She shook the sudden cascade of doubts from her mind. God, who was she anymore? Her mind was all over the place. Is that what four years in a coma does? Ruins all of one's mental conditioning. She grimaced and set a decent pace toward a small cove to the far right of the beach, hoping the negative effect her time out of the field was nothing that a solid month of hard training couldn't iron out. She needed to get out of her head. Focus on the mission. Though she preferred to fly solo, she had to admit that she'd found in the past that having a partner to keep her extra focused on the task at hand had always helped. Someone to confer with, to practice with and talk about the best execution of the goal with. She'd had just that back in the days of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad. Together, they had been six trained killers. All zeroed in on whatever hunt Bill had thrown before them. In a way, they were still with her, still talking to her. Only now, instead of someone to fight, eat and win with, she had someone to hate. Someone to kill.
She slowed as she approached the base of the cove, realising she had been walking for twenty minutes already. She looked behind her.
The people on the beach were featureless from this distance, simple black figures interacting with two great masses of white sand and blue sea. Good. Just like Hanzo had told her, the majority of the sparse beach-goers kept to the main area of the beach, and only a few teenagers and young adults hung around near the rockpools to the east. She would be undisturbed here, her view wide and open so she would be able to see anyone approaching before they ever got close. With a final look each way, she shrugged the golf bag off her shoulder, knelt and unzipped it.
Her heart leapt with admiration as the blade was revealed. She trailed her eyes over the scabbard's polished nurizaya wood and up to the hilt, where she stopped to appreciate the magnificence of the gold and green cord wrap clothing the sword's handle. The katana was truly a beauty, even unsheathed. She picked it up with both hands and gently detached the scabbard from the blade's handle guard. The blade winked in the midday sunlight, dazzling her for a moment as she revealed its full length. She looked at the seal inlaid into the metal, which denoted the blade to be truly an authentic Hattori Hanzo.
She allowed herself a giddy smile. She never thought she'd see the day when she would hold a work of such impressive craftsmanship, the day when she would hold something this precious. She bit her lip, and her smile faded. But that was a lie. At one point, she had been mere months away from holding something far more precious than any material object ever could be. Her daughter. Her precious, innocent daughter, goddamnit. Torn away forever by those bastards that betrayed her.
Beatrix scowled and tightened her hands around the katana's handle, slicing downwards in a clean first swipe. The blade flashed through the air with brilliance. It was so light. So agile. It was as though Hanzo had captured the spirit of a puma and bound it within the blade's very steel. She staggered a little on the sand, her body still used to the heavier motion required when slicing with the Bokken after training for a week with it. It was a little like drawing kanji on rough paper with a pencil and then suddenly switching to silk and a brush—a manageable transition, but not a simple one to perfect right away.
She exhaled to six counts and let the warm wind caress her midriff and neck before launching into a basic set of practice forms. Gradually her body started to adapt to the blade, her feet finding the correct positions faster and faster despite the uneven grains beneath them. She spun and drove the blade upward, stabbing straight through the abdomen of her invisible opponent and leaving his entrails on the ground. She pulled back roughly, swiping for the head to finish it.
'I hope you're not going to engage in combat with a technique that sloppy when you finally come to face Bill.'
Beatrix stopped suddenly, a ripple of shock gushing through her stomach at the sudden interruption and the mention of that hateful name. She whirled around, ready to face whichever of the venomous five had already found her a mere week into her training. She would dispose of them untrained or not.
She froze with relief as she regarded nothing more menacing than a middle-aged man dressed all in white calmly approaching her. Now that she stopped to listen, she could hear his resonant voice, clearly identifiable, echoing off the surrounding cliffs.
'Mr Hanzo?'
The man raised his hands in a gesture of peace as he eyed the sword Beatrix still had raised. She lowered it as he came to sit on a mossy rock a few metres from her.
'Don't you have a restaurant to run at this hour?' she asked, the adrenaline still in her voice.
'That's true, but I also have a son to run it.' He crossed his legs and adjusted the black and white fisherman-style rope tied around his head. 'Right now, I'm more intrigued as to your opinion on this location. The calm and solitude here have certainly aided me over the years in preventing my skills from getting too rusty.'
'You still practise?'
'Naturally. As you know, I swore a blood oath to never make another blade,' he looked away as though adding an internal until recently, 'but that as it may be, I never swore to never pick one up again. That said, I only keep up my practice for the benefit the routine has provided me all my life, not the skill itself. At this stage, it's no different for me than yoga or tai-chi—a simple health benefit.' He raised his hands, 'I hope this cove will offer you a similar solace and comfort in which to practise the art of the sword.'
Beatrix bowed and lowered her eyes to the blade in her hand. 'It's certainly apt. But it's not comfort that I need right now.' She raised her eyes to meet his. 'I can't afford to be so casual, with all due respect. Right now, I need my rage to propel me to full speed in my training. Ordinarily, it'd take me a year at least to get back to the level I was once at. I don't have that kind of time. I need to strike now. Whilst my hatred is hot and pure and not worn by the frustration of carrying it for too long.'
Hanzo tapped his chin thoughtfully. 'Perhaps it's true you shouldn't wait. Hatred is powerful. But you must be careful not to let that same rage become your downfall.' He hopped down from the rock and withdrew a sheathed blade Beatrix hadn't noticed before. 'Rage is dangerous when left to simmer into uncontrolled flame. It cloaks you and begins to burn through the skin of your resolve as sure as your enemy's. True, rage is a fantastic vector for speed, but what is truly worth mastering is speed in tranquillity.'
'Speed in tranquillity?' Beatrix parroted. 'Is there even such a thing?'
'Of course, my dear.' Hanzo smiled. 'But only the most masterful of those who've come before have ever even touched the concept. Don't misunderstand me, though. To achieve such a state, rage also must exist within. But you can only be internally on fire,' he unsheathed his blade and tossed the scabbard onto the sand, 'whilst the exterior must remain as calm as today's breeze and as steadfast as the finest steel.'
He gestured for Beatrix to raise her sword. 'Come,' he said.
She looked at him incredulously. 'Shouldn't we be using wooden-'
'Come.'
Beatrix looked at his face and saw the warmth in his eyes had vanished. His face was expressionless, unreadable and unmoving despite the swirling sands. In place of the warmth, Hanzo's eyes burned like hot coals. Beatrix raised her weapon. She understood she could not refuse his challenge.
/
