The old man walked through the bamboo forest with the ease of a spring breeze. Sudden sounds of splintering bamboo sliced the tranquillity of the grove. The splintered bamboos fell like thrown blades into the dirt.
"Hiyaa!"
At the sound of the battle cry, the old man looked around over the fallen bamboo stems. A cloud of dust rose above the clearing. Standing up, he strained his eyes. A dark shadowy form danced within the blackstorm like a whirlwind.
When the dust settled, Dairya stood gently sliding his long blade back into its saya with a deep breath. Dairya's dark features suggested that his forebears had all died violently. One look into his eyes would suffice for someone to take a step back. The light in his eyes as piercing as polished steel. Turning to face someone, he would shoot them through with that unwavering challenge in his eyes. When he eventually became aware of this trait, he added a wickedly dangerous glint to his smile, leaving the onlooker apprehensive.
Concealed in the thicket of bamboo shoots, the old man watched the young man, amazed by the display of such superior swordsmanship. So much speed and strength of arms! The voices of the little birds returned to the grove. Even the soft breeze blew through the clearing. With bated breath, the old man studied the profile of the young swordsman. Satisfied, the old man inched backwards and turned to leave. The voices of the little birds fell quiet. Even the soft breeze made no noise as it brushed against the slender necks of the bamboos. The silence was pervasive.
The old man heard no noise, saw no signs, but he sensed the impending danger. With an agility that belies his age, he jumped onto a chopped bamboo, and leaped into the safety of open air. A long blade passed through where he was and cleaved a bamboo in twine. The old man landed to the far right. His entire body was in battle preparedness, as Dairya walked calmly by. Without a glance, Dairya went to retrieve his long blade. The old man's eyes never strayed from him. Once the long blade was sheathed again, Dairya faced the old man.
"You need not die today, old man. Next time jump higher."
"Who do you think I am?"
"A man," answered Dairya as he turned to leave. His tall frame blending in with the bamboo forest.
"Next time we meet, you shall know who I am," whispered the old man, smiling to himself. Next time we meet, you shall call me master, thought Akodo Kage.
It was the first time the two met, but not the last. The second time blades will cross, and the third, first blood drawn. Then once more shall they face each other.
Dairya's Tale, pt.2
"Dairya's Eye"
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Dairya tore through the bamboo forest fanatically, the wind whipping at his back. Bamboo Forest. Each stroke made by a skilled hand. The characters etched into the wall, carved with a sword, and wielded by a superior swordsman. Two words, so simple. His house in shambles, his wife and son missing. Their work so efficient. Their message so clear. Their intent so dangerous.
They appeared as shadows from the edges of his sight, he reacted with the swiftness of the fiery wind. Distant thunder rumbled as heaven and earth met in streaks of lightning. He whipped his long sword to life. Blood flowed onto the wind. And heavy rain felled from the dark clouds. The wind blew even more fierce. In the midst of biting wind and cold rain, there was no mercy in the air.
Dairya charged through the bamboo forest with the fury of the storm behind him, and his burning wrath before him.
Kage looked up into the thunderstorm, his heavy straw cloak hung from his slim shoulders keeping out the rain. The unrelenting wind tugged at his veil, and threatening to overturn his straw hat. His servants dripping wet in the rain, stood by his side like dogs awaiting their master's command. The boy no longer struggled. Still, he kept a firm grip on the boy's shoulders. He turned his calculating gaze towards the woman tied between the bamboo stakes, now soaking wet, her long, silken hair drenched. There was no pity in his eyes. He returned his attention to his purpose. Dairya was coming. He could feel the young warrior's aura of violence in the air. He shivered with anticipation.
Few things in the world daunted Dairya. But the sight of his wife staked and his son in the grasp of the enemy froze him in his tracks. His anger sent his powerful chi along his long sword. The blade gleamed with a force that evaporated the raindrops upon it. Wisp of steam floated in the frenzied wind.
A word from their master. The four Kolat bodyguards drew their swords. Their sensei tokens hung from their sword hilts like charms fluttering in the wind. They moved as one. The Hounds Circles the Deer.
Dairya never let his eyes strayed from the veiled man. Even faced with bared steel. He knew right away where the true danger lies. The veiled man who held his son; held a blade to his heart. He waited until the four warriors closes in. The closer they are, the harder for them to escape the killing reach of his long blade. He focused. His chi filling the length of his blade, extending beyond. Blades Spinning in the Whirlwind.
Kage watched as his Kolat bodyguards felled like leaves in the swirling wind. He smiled wickedly behind his veil. Their lives were his to discard as dirty rags. They had served him well alive, now they served him by dying. Their deaths proved he was not mistaken. Dairya was truly a superior swordsman. Dairya shall serve him well.
"Dairya!"
Dairya looked into the eyes of the raspy voiced man. The heavy rain blurred his vision. But the tone of the voice sounded familiar. He prepared himself , muscles taut, tense as a viper ready to strike.
"Listen to me very carefully, the lives of your wife and son are at stake," slurred Kage, as he watched Dairya threatening to explode any moment. He relaxed slightly as Dairya lowered his long sword.
"I want you to pluck your left eye from its socket," commanded Kage nefariously. He saw the instant shock registered in Dairya's eyes and he smiled with sadistic glee. Before Dairya's resistance set in, Kage moved his right hand onto the boy's head. He watched as Dairya's eyes followed his ominous movement. He slowly lowered his fingers down the boy's forehead, over the eyes. Mercilessly, he asked.
"Your eye or the boy's eyes?"
The question hung in the air like a resounding thunder clap. Dairya wanted to strike at this man who dared threaten his own flesh and blood. His anger raged like a caged animal. He had to chained his rage. He couldn't risk his son's life. Slowly, he raised his left hand to his left eye. His fingers in the shape of a claw dug into his own eye. And he pulled. Blood spilled from his socket like droplets of rain. His teeth gritted tightly, as he held back the scream howling silently in his lungs.
"Come, kneel before me," said Kage confidently. His eyes bright with malice. The boy stilled seemingly in shock, his tears mixed with the raindrops rolling down his pale cheeks.
It took everything in his heart and soul to push his anger into his blade. Silently, he sworn to vengeance. Only then did he obeyed. The sob from his son nearly broke his heart. But he gripped his sword and plunged it deep into the sodden earth. A symbolic vow for revenge.
"Now, call me `Master'"
Dairya looked up defiantly with his right eye. Blood still streamed from his left empty socket. His nerves burned with violence. The rage in his heart threatened to burst out. And he wanted to let it all out. To unleashed his wrath upon this bastard who dared to enslave him. At the sight of his helpless wife limp between the two stakes, and with death hovering above his son - he weakened. There was no choice.
"Master!" The word came out of his mouth like a killing blow. Without emotion - pitiless and merciless.
Akodo Kage's laughter rumbled with the receding thunder. The rain slowed, and the wind grew calm. Only dark clouds remained. Soon the storm will die, he thought pleasantly amused, then lets see how well the cranes fare with the lions.
"Dairya. Go and kill Yoritomo!"
Dairya's Tale, pt.3
"Prelude to a Duel"
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Dairya remained on his knees. His one eye shut, oblivious to the fading footfalls. Cold and wet, he boiled within. Torrents of rage coursed through his throbbing veins. Blood seeped from his fist. As he opened his hand, a crushed eyeball plopped to the ground. He moved his hand over and held his sword with both hands, clenched tightly together. With a tortured scream, he pulled his long blade from the dirt, spitting the muddy earth in a violent splash. All his pent-up anger unleashed from his sword.
Dairya returned his sword to its saya. With both hands, he wiped the blood and tears from his face. A face, grim as a porcelain mask. He walked over to one of the dead Kolat bodyguards and snatched up a sensei token. Tipping his head back, he placed the sensei token over his empty left eye, and tied the token firmly around his head.
Dairya walked out of the Bamboo Forest. The determination in his stride, sure and strong. Less an eye, but with a vow. And the fury of the dying storm raging in his heart.
Kage observed his newest accomplishment from the night shadows. The bamboo branches concealed his small frame. For a brief moment, he thought Dairya would go after them. Then he would've been forced to kill him, thereby ruining years of planning. Deep in thought, the Kage failed to hear the faint footsteps approaching behind him.
"You nearly pushed him over the edge," spoke softly, the exquisitely dressed Chinoko.
"He is as a newly forged blade, my Chinoko," Kage turned; his tone, that of a superior. "Now, tempered in hate and anguish, his soul is as a naked blade. It knows only blood and thunder."
Chinoko asked behind her peachblossom fan, "But his eye? Why damaged your own weapon?"
Kage appeared not to have heard the question. His expression, contemplative. Then he answered condescendingly, "When I first met him, he dared challenge me. I did not like the defiance in his eyes."
"Damaged? No. Sharpened. Believe me, he is much more deadlier," stated Kage confidently, his soft chuckles like crickets chirping.
The fashionable Chinoko bowed her head slightly, her fan concealed the animosity in her eyes. The stillness of the night sky covered them like a blanket, only flickering stars fought the darkness. The crescent moon hung like an old lantern, its light lifeless as the rice paper cover.
For the past ten days, Dairya returned to the bamboo forest. But instead of going to the center clearing, he practiced deep within the bamboo grove. Thick bamboos surrounded him like an encircling army. He wielded a short katana, not his long sword. The katana cleaved the bamboos with fluid ease as he weaved and darted through upward spears of bamboos. Dust rose up in a black storm.
Each swing of his short katana whipped the air into a frenzy. Dust and splintered bamboo twisted in the breeze of his sword swings. Dairya continued to practice with his katana. Until, not one bamboo remained untouched by his short blade. And everywhere, green leaves covered the entire floor of the bamboo grove.
The Mantis house guards stormed through the narrow streets, driving away the people as they go. Loud disgruntled voices can be heard as shopkeepers and customers alike are expelled from the streets. The curious and the angry alike are dismissed. Their inquisitive looks and furious curses bounced off armored heads. It did not take long to empty the streets.
Yoritomo came down the street with a band of samurai. Their demeanor, calm, with an air of readiness. Tsuyu approached his lord, "My lord need not soil his hands. Allow me the honour of this challenge."
"This challenge is not for you," Yoritomo held the bamboo branch up, and pointed it at the young samurai. "This was cut in one stroke. No ordinary display of swordsmanship."
Tsuyu took the bamboo branch with both hands, his head bowed. It was no longer than a hand span. After he examined it, he asked with a frown, "Both ends has been severed, surely it took two strokes?"
"One stroke, pure and simple. Deftly done," Kamoto answered for his lord. He drew his sword and demonstrated as he swung his blade back and forth. "When a strike is fast enough, and the return strike seamlessly meshes with the flow of the first strike, then the two becomes as one."
Tsuyu nodded in understanding, "It would take focus."
"And skill," agreed Kamoto with a chuckle.
Yesterday, a letter was delivered along with the bamboo stick. The letter was a challenge to a duel. The bamboo stick, a measure of the challenger's skill, which a true swordsman would recognize. Yoritomo saw the significance instantly. Already, he knew his enemy - the measure of his skill; but more importantly, his killing instinct. An aura of violence still lingered within the bamboo stick. His challenger must truly be deadly with a sword, thought Yoritomo. He shook himself from his reverie. With a word, he dismissed his retainers. Alone, he prepared himself mentally.
Now, he waited for Dairya. Then the duel would begin.
Dairya's Tale, pt.4:
"Dairya's Duel"
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Dairya leaped from the rooftops, and descended down the street in a trot. Not far ahead, he sighted Yoritomo. He released a roaring challenge from his throat, and advanced. With a single glance, Yoritomo took in Dairya's two swords, one long and one short. Both strapped as if they were appendages, by his side. Yoritomo drew the ancestral weapon of the Mantis into his right hand. And unsheathed the bloodsword with his left. Then he waited. Still as a mountain, and calm as a forest.
Swift as the wind, and fierce as fire. Dairya drew his long sword from its saya. Never slowing down, his momentum carried him forth. He strike with flowing waters. The Wind Fans the Flames. Yoritomo deflected the deadly blow with one blade, and strike with the other. The Mantis Strikes From Behind the Leaf. Dairya spun from the cutting edge of the lethal weapon. He dropped low, and swung hard. The Wind Sweeps South. Yoritomo barely escaped the crippling swing aimed for his knees. The Mantis Leaps Forth. His large form twisted in mid-air. High overhead, he swung both blades downward. Dairya rolled aside evasively. Twin jets of air rushed by where Yoritomo's blades slashed. He landed hard on the dirt, quickly rolled onto his feet. Already, Dairya stood facing him. Both confronted each other with swords extended. Neither moved. Nor breathed.
But both focused. Their hearts beat as one, they breathed as one, and they moved at once. Swords clashed with resplendent speed as movement blurred and the only hint of contact was the cascading sparks. Cold steel clashed with raging spirit. Their samurai spirit struggled against each other every time their blades crossed. Beneath the setting sun, Dairya faltered against Yoritomo's relentless assault. Dueling him was like fighting two different person, both equally strong. The son of storms was a master of the art of ni-to-kenjutsu, the two-sword technique. But Dairya fought with shin-ken sho-bu, the Way of the Real Sword, in his heart. The fact that the mantis lord had double chi bode ill portents for him. Each time he saw a weakness, Yoritomo would consolidate his defenses. Dairya never encountered an opponent who knew his own weaknesses so well, and had the skill to protect himself from them. Only his speed kept him in the duel. Still, Dairya knew he was about to lose. Therefore, he ran.
At first, the son of storms was surprised, and shocked, then outraged. How dare he! Just when I'm on the verge of winning, thought Yoritomo angrily. Impulsively, he gave chase. Victory was his! Yoritomo imagined pulling his ancestral weapon from Dairya's spineless body as his bloodsword stabbed into the craven heart. The duel must end with blood.
"Dairya! Fight me!" bellowed the seething son of storms.
Yoritomo saw Dairya's form disappeared into an alleyway. He followed. The narrow alleyway stretched out before him. Empty. Suddenly, he felt death descending upon him like a suffocating blanket. He turned around. Empty. Then he looked up. Death.
As soon as he heard Yoritomo's name, he knew he was up against one of the elite fighters of Rokugan. The Mantis champion was known for his mastery of the art of ni-to-kenjutsu. Yoritomo, also, had double chi. He had to find a way to defeat Yoritomo. He knew he was faster. His speed would match Yoritomo's double chi. Losing an eye had upset his sense of balance. He trained to recover his equilibrium. Thereby, he found the way. In the bamboo grove, in the tiny spaces between the bamboos, he discovered the path. But he had to choose the right place for the duel.
As soon as Dairya entered the alleyway, he bounded high into the air. He plunged his long sword deep into the wall and pulled himself upwards. He vaulted higher still, landed atop the edge of his outstretched blade. As he stood deathly still, he slowly drew his short katana. Thus armed, he poised. He waited.
Dairya stared into the void with his one eye as he concentrated his hearing on Yoritomo's footsteps. The approach of Yoritomo was like a fleeting storm. One step. Soundlessly, he assailed from high above. Two steps. The short katana gripped in both hands lunged in a downward strike. Three steps, and a turn. The death blow descended like a falling comet. The son of storms reacted with lightning reflexes.
Both weapons streaked upwards, crossing both blades together, he barely blocked the descent of the fatal blow. The impact sent shockwaves along his arms as the short katana pushed past his guard. The lethal blow deflected slightly, felled upon his left shoulder. First blood drawn. Dairya pressed his attack mercilessly.
Yoritomo's blades grated underneath Dairya's onslaught, he retreated. Yoritomo swore through gritted teeth as he repelled Dairya's assault. Then he tried to strike back, only to find the narrow alleyway cumbersome with his ni-to-kenjutsu fighting style. In the tight space between the walls he barely had enough room to swing his sword. It was too damn confining to maneuver both weapons effectively. He felt trapped, but he fought on desperately. He pulled back and threw his bloodsword.
Dairya caught it by its edge and sling it back at Yoritomo. Surprised by the sudden move, he took his eyes off Dairya. He twisted out of the path of the catapulting sword. The Shifting Wind Strikes Suddenly.
Dairya charged the moment he saw Yoritomo's eyes flickered aside. He used his incredible speed to push himself into the air. He vaulted from wall to wall, ascending higher. Descending, he twisted forward. Yortomo looked back. Dairya had disappeared. He looked up, nothing. Then he felt the cold edge pressed against his neck. He lowered his sight slowly upon Dairya. And stared into the sight of death.
"I need your head," avowed Dairya breathlessly.
Dairya's Tale, pt.5:
"Dagger in the Soul"
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Once more, Dairya entered the bamboo forest. This time he walked with the predatory stride of a stalking tiger. The rustling of dried leaves masked his soft footfalls. Blood dripped from the bundle held in his left hand. The stench of death permeated the gentle grove. Not far ahead, his enemies waited.
Face to face, they stood, like opposing armies. Dairya tightened his grip on the bundle. White cloth stained red in blood. To one side his wife stood in the grasp of two black-hooded men. Before him, his son held hostage by a kolat master. He clenched his right hand in impotent fury.
Kage smiled at the sight of the bloody bundle. Wrapped within the bundle must be Yoritomo's head, he surmised. Everything was happening according to his plans. His smile widened.
"Show me Yoritomo's head," the Kolat master commanded.
Dairya tossed the bundle into the air. And he released his killer instinct, his wrath no longer held in check erupted with the violence of a volcano. As soon as the bundle left his hand, with a flick of his wrist, two darts flew aimed at the black-hooded men. He blinked once. Then he drew.
A flicker of the eye. The bundle obstructed his view. As Kage reached out to catch the bundle, he noticed the intent in Dairya's eye. He saw the resolve behind the intent. It was too late. Dairya had already drew. The Serpent Strikes From Behind the Flower.
Dairya's bloodsword swung in a deadly arc. He moved forward with his swing. He scooped up his son in his left arm. Without stopping, his sword swung back with the same deadly grace. One lethal stroke. His darts had flew true. The bloodsword screamed silently for blood. He quickly dispatched the black-hooded men, paralyzed by his darts. No more than a few heartbeats had passed.
Kage reacted with deceptive reflexes, still he barely leaped out of the sword's reach. He swore furiously as he watched his henchmen fell beneath Dairya's bloodsword. Anger clouded his judgment. He drew his long katana with both hands and charged Dairya. The Lion Runs Down the Deer.
Even hindered with his son in his arm, Dairya deflected the blow easily. The Wind Gathers the Clouds. Dust rose up as their blades slashed through the air. Sparks flew when their swords crossed. Kage pressed his attack relentlessly. It appeared as if Dairya would cave under Kage's onslaught. The Wind Bends the Reed. Then, suddenly the bloodsword slipped underneath Kage's guard and twisted the long katana from his grasp. The long katana flipped into the air.
The bloodsword glowed red beneath the setting sun as Dairya was about to deal the deathblow. Even as he strike out, he felt the strike from behind. His weakened blow struck Kage's retreating back as he fled like a wounded animal. Shock convulsed through his body. He watched as his enemy disappeared into the bamboo grove. Blood spitted into his face. Dairya looked down, blood smeared across his son's face. A long katana pierced his own body and deep into his son. He turned, his eye fell upon his wife as she pulled out the long katana. He screamed.
His heart numbed. His spirit sapped. His son died.
"Why?" Dairya asked through blood and tears.
"Because," She held the katana high in both hands, ready to strike. Her eyes detached, cold as a winter night; her voice, held no love, but promised death. "I am …"
"Kolat." The word came out as a rasping whisper. The sound of a lid sliding shut a coffin. Her last breath stolen by an arrow in her lungs. The long katana dropped from her grasp as another arrow struck through her heart. And she fell lifeless to the ground. The master bowman stepped from between the bamboos. Tsuruchi bowed respectfully to Yoritomo as the son of storms stride forth. Dairya's long sword rested in his golden obi.
"So this is why you wanted my head," Yoritomo spoke softly into the dark sky, "do you regret that you took my bloodsword instead?"
Dairya raised himself from his stupor. The blood has stopped flowing from his wound, and so has his tears. He carried his dead son in his arms, the bloodsword still in his grasp. The bloodsword shrieked silently for revenge. In a few heartbeats, he had lost everything. Now, he live for his sword. A sword that called for blood.
"I am not done with the bloodsword, yet."