Honour

I drew my wakizashi from it’s sheath where it rested at my belt to block the incoming vertical slash of my opponents katana; stumbling back from the impact of the longer and heavier blade. Clumps of snow shaken from the braches of the tree fell and were cut it two as they approached where my neck had been just moments before. I whipped my wakizashi across horizontally in hopes to use the speed of my shorter sword to beat my opponent to his undefended thighs. Instinctively he abandoned his katana, allowing it to remain lazily in the tree and unsheathed his even shorted tanto to intercept the blow. With my free hand I drew my own tanto and spun around hoping to catch my enemy off guard. Mid-spin I was kicked in the back and collapsed face-first in the snow. The cold snow caused pinpricks of pain to danced upon my face and entered my mouth, leaving a cold taste of nothingness as my tongue numbed and my teeth began to ache. I rolled over and attempted to rise again but my opponent’s icy tanto had already found its way to my throat.
“You were better this time, Akira” Hiroshi said as he extended his hand to help me up, “but you need to cut down on that all-style-no-substance fighting style you seem to be working on. Save those kinds of tricks for the entertainers and ninja.” (History)
“How do you do it?” I replied. “No matter what I do I can’t seem to match your speed and strength.”
“Don’t worry Akira, I’ve been a samurai for 20 years and only 5 years ago was I recognized as an elite. Just keep practicing, stay focussed and, most importantly, get rid of those flashy moves until you know how to use them. Don’t worry, your time will come.”
“Yeah, I guess so” I mumbled. “It’s just that when I see you fighting you always look so calm and in control. It is like you don’t fear death at all.”
“I fear not pain nor death, only the loss of my honour. For that is the teaching of Bushido (History) and the way of the samurai. Your honour must be placed before your life. It is the samurai Daidoji Yuzan once said ‘One who is samurai must, before all things, keep constantly in mind, by day and by night.... that he has to die’” (Taisen Deshimaru, Penguin/Arkana). If you don’t begin to whole-heartedly believe that, you might as well keep your fancy move and join the ninja!” (History)
“I know, I know,” I told him. “I’m sorry, lets call that a day.”
“Yes, we need our rest for the battle tomorrow. Our opponent is strong and honourable; they should be fierce foes indeed.”
“Yeah, but I can never sleep before the night before a battle. I get too restless.”
“Just remember that your honour and life may depend upon how well you sleep tonight. This is the real thing tomorrow and if you fall down I won’t be there to pick you back up again.”
“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. It has been an honour sparring with you Hiroshi,” I said as I headed back home”.
I entered my house, and walked directly to my bed. I tried to sleep but couldn’t. Even though it was night the light from the moon and stars reflected off of the snow and illuminated my room. The light shone upon my swords in the corner, hitting my wakizashi in such a way that it glowed brilliantly in the darkness. Above it hung the wooden plaque given to my family after my father died serving the samurai. The room was cold, which didn’t help me get to sleep and, and the crisp air numbed my face masking any taste or smell that may have resided in the air from my senses. It took me a while to fall into a light and fragile sleep; one so delicate even a whisper would break it. But all was calm so I slept, and I dreamed…
I was back in training to become a samurai. I had to fight another fully armed student to the death. If I won I would be a samurai, if I lost…no (Arne, Per). I couldn’t lose. My opponent, Seijuurou, was a devoted but unconfident student- I took advantage of that.
The battle was pathetic. I deflected a few of his sloppy katana attacks with my tanto, kicked him down and disarmed him. Then I drew my wakizashi and prepared to finish the battle. As I swung my sword I could see his eyes. I expected to see his fear, his realization of death. But there was nothing. He just stared back at me with his cold, emotionless eyes (Arne, Per)(History). That day I witnessed how this boy, Seijuurou, who held all the qualities of a true samurai, had died. His honour didn’t defend him; the god Bishamonten (Online Dictionary of History and Traditions) didn’t protect him. He was dead and I was a samurai.
· · ·
That night and the following morning had now passed and I was on the battlefield. I dipped my head to the right to avoid a katana attack and then kicked my assailant to the ground and swung my own katana downwards with one hand to slit his throat. Moving my free hand to the hilt to join my other one I blocked a downward strike. Using my strength to my advantage I pushed my enemy backwards and he tripped over a rock. As he kneeled on the ground before me I couldn’t help but notice his emotionless eyes before I removed his head. Another samurai killed by his own honour. To my left I noticed one of our younger samurai fighting a larger, more experienced enemy. He looked like he needed help, so I began to move over and assist him, but Hiroshi grabbed me from behind. “What are you doing!?!” I screamed. “He is going to die!”
“And he will die a samurai’s death.” Hiroshi said calmly as our comrade’s body transformed into a corpse. “It is what he would have wanted.” (History)
“Of course,” I said coldly. “I’m sure you were just looking out for his best interests.” But Hiroshi was gone, off slaughtering for enemies and looking out for the best interests of his allies.
The battle soon came to a closing, only one side remaining as always (History). Some would say that Hiroshi’s honour let Bishamonten grant us victory. But Bishamonten did not slay our enemies. We did not win the battle from Hiroshi’s honour, won it off the edge of his blade.
· · ·
Hiroshi and I live in the same village so I decided to ask him a question that had been bothering me from some time now as we traveled home together. “Hiroshi,” I asked, “do you ever question the way of the samurai?” He opened his mouth to say something but I continued. “During that battle I could have saved one of our fellow samurai, but you stopped me. He could have gone on to do great things, but you let him die!”
“Akira, why save him? Why save him so he can just commit seppuku (History) that night? A samurai is nothing without his honour, and you tried to take that away from him!"
“But what good is honour when your dead? At least when you are alive you have a chance to regain you honour! When you are dead your honour is useless!” (History)
“Enough!” Hiroshi boomed. “Your life is worthless without honour. Your honour lives on in the memories of you long after you die. Through your honour you gain immortality. Now not one more word, or you will find your punishment more than just harsh words!” (History).
“I’m sorry, Hiroshi. It won’t happen again.”
“Be sure of it” he replied. “Now get some sleep. We ride again tomorrow.”
· · ·
And ride we did. I was back on the battlefield, viewing the enemy army in the distance. When the enemy arrived they sent out a messenger. “You and my master are both honourable samurai,” the messenger recited. “He does not wish to cause unnecessary bloodshed. He requests for this to be decided on the outcome of a one on one fight; your best fighter against ours. The winner keeps this land, the loser leaves.”
“I agree to your terms.” Our commander said. “Hiroshi, show these enemies the skill of a true samurai!”
“With pleasure,” Hiroshi said as he stepped onto the battlefield and awaited his opponent.
“Aoshi!” the enemy commander bellowed and the crowd parted revealing a figure cloaked in black.
“What?” Hiroshi said, truly stunned. “A ninja? You want me to fight this thing?”
“You made a pact; do you dare back down noble samurai? Are you afraid?”
“Not in the least” Hiroshi said, but something was different about him. “I thought I was fighting an honourable samurai. Now that I find out all I have to deal with is a low-life ninja. What god will protect you?” Big words, but I could see the fear inside Hiroshi. There were rumours about ninja. It is said that they can fly, breath fire and even read minds (History). Of course Hiroshi would never admit to believing these, but you could see the idea bouncing around in his mind as he watched the enemy.
“Hahaha,” the ninja laughed mockingly. “For there is your problem, dear samurai. You look to the gods for strength instead of in your own abilities. You use your honour as a crutch; and excuse for your weakness and lack of will to live. Now lets fight, and show your fellow samurai that my blades can pierce your honour as an arrow pierces the air.”
Furious, Hiroshi ran forwards producing a vertical slash. Aoshi blocked it nonchalantly and with his duel wakizashis by placing them so that the formed an X in from of his face. Quickly he withdrew one sword so that he could push Hiroshi’s katana out of the way with the other one. Spinning around 360° he embedded his sword into Hiroshi’s arm, just below his shoulder. Stifling a scream Hiroshi attempted to swing his katana but, due to his weakened sword arm, the Aoshi easily deflected the blow and sent Hiroshi’s katana out into the crowd. “Where is your god now, samurai?” Aoshi mocked. “Why isn’t your honour protecting you?” Suddenly I couldn’t take it anymore. I charged forwards and attempted to stick my katana through Aoshi’s spinal cord. “They have violated the agreement!” Aoshi screamed as he nimbly dodged away from my attack. “Charge!”
“You dishonour me,” Hiroshi said as he ran into battle.
· · ·
I had fled the battlefield, but Hiroshi had found me. I was to commit seppuku, just as any dishonoured samurai was. I was to set my cloths out neatly in front of my and use my sword to cut open my abdomen and pour my spirit-containing intestines out into my clothing. If something went wrong, my ‘best friend’ Hiroshi would stand by to sever my head. So here I was, kneeling in front of my clothing ready to pour out my intestines and release my spirit (History). Grabbing my sword I readied myself to strike. But I did not strike myself; I swung at Hiroshi. “I thought you might do this,” Hiroshi said as he countered my blow, “but I decided I’d let you go. I won’t let you die for me.” I attempted to say something, to thank him, but I couldn’t. So I ran; I ran to the forests of Japan.
· · ·
As I trudged through the snow I though I heard someone following me. Could have Hiroshi changed his mind? No, even after all we had been through I still trusted him. He wouldn’t betray me. But maybe someone had overheard us. The Japanese government was chasing me. Suddenly an object came flying through the sky, breaking my train of thought when I drew my wakizashi to quickly parry it. Looking down at what was thrown at me I saw a metal, star-shaped object; a ninja star. “Ninjas,” I whispered under my breath, “but what do they want with me?” Jumping down from the tree where he rested the ninja threw two new ninja stars at me, which I dodged and deflected, before landing gracefully on the ground. As he landed before me in the snow I recognized him. “Your Aoshi, aren’t you!” I screamed. “You’re the one who tried to kill Hiroshi!”
“Indeed I am boy,” Aoshi said calmly, “and I was wondering if you’d like to join us?”
“Join you?” I screamed. “You are part of the enemy unit!”
“My clan’s services are out for hire,” Aoshi replied, “but I am not an ally to any samurai.”
“So why do you want me to join you?” I asked. “You seem quite capable of defending yourself.”
“You remind me of myself when I was younger,” Aoshi recited. “I too was a samurai, and elite like your friend. However, I was dishonoured. I ordered my squad to assassinate the enemy leader. I did it to lessen the bloodshed, but this is not the samurai way. For this act I was to commit seppuku, just as you are to now. But I refused. I killed my best friend and fled to this forest, where I joined a clan of ninja. Being a former samurai elite I rose through the ranks quite quickly and now am the leader of this clan, 代わりとなる生活様式 (which roughly translates into alternative lifestyle) (Language Tools). You value life over honour as we do, join us!” I opened my mouth to protest but from his robe he reveled another ninja star and embedded it into my thigh, causing me to fall to the ground in pain. “Of course you will not do so willingly,” Aoshi continued, “so you’ll have to join us the hard way!” Then, before I could even more, he connected his elbow with the back of my head, rendering me unconscious. (History)
· · ·
It has been five years since that day. Over the course of time I have grown accustom to the ninja tribe, the Alternative Lifestyle. Even as a captive I felt far more at home here than I ever did as a samurai. Our values and ideologies were identical. Unlike the samurai, they valued like over honour (History). Being fewer in number, and lacking the weapons and training of most samurai they were forced to rely on sneakier tactics like assassinations to stay alive (History). Aoshi has just sent me on one of these assassinations; he has sent me back to my hometown. I am to assassinate the enemy general. Aoshi says this is important, but resources are scarce and he can only spare one man. He also said this would also serve as a test for me, I wonder what he means by that… Regardless, sporting duel wakizashis (courtesy of the clan blacksmith), a dagger, and a sleek black outfit I am ready to pay a visit to my old home.
· · ·
Slinking through the shadows of my hometown that I had known so well, but was so distant to me my entire life, I approached the designated house. As I slowly opened the door, almost daring it to creek, I slunk into the commander’s room. I crept towards the bed, where my target was sleeping with his head immersed under the blankets. I only knew one person who slept like that. Withdrawing the coves I revealed Hiroshi’s face. I began to raise the dagger to plow it through his throat when suddenly his eyes shot open. “So you have joined the ninja now, Akira. Somehow I knew you would. I should have killed you back then, those five years ago.
Startled I almost dropped my dagger. “Don’t move,” I said. “And you’re the enemy general now? No wonder Aoshi said this would be a test for me.”
“You joined Aoshi, Akira? You joined the man who almost killed me? Well can you do it Akira? Can you side with my enemy and kill me as I lay here defenselessly? Please Akira, Give me the right to a fair fight. If you believe your way is right, that my honour and my god cannot save me, than let me battle you. Just like old times, except this time it is to the death.”
“I will give you that right, but I am not worried about your honour. Even if honour could protect you, you lost yours the day you let that man die on the battlefield.”
“No Akira,” Hiroshi replied solemnly, “I lost it when I let you live.”
“Take up your weapons, I’ll meet you outside where we used to spar. But be warned, I’m far stronger than I was before.”
“I hope you speak the truth,” Hiroshi replied, “for your sake.”
· · ·
We met outside, in the winter just like before. It was like the old days, except there was a tension between us; a certain electricity that only forms between enemies of out magnitude. The battle has begun; I drew my wakizashis. Running at each other through the snow I avoided Hiroshi’s opening katana strike but couldn’t sift quickly enough through the snow to avoid his following knee. Falling to the ground I tasted the salty taste of blood in my mouth. Clutching my stomach I rolled to the left to avoid Hiroshi from making a shish kabob with his katana and my face. Jumping to my feet again I tried to take a strike at his exposed back, but he met it my kneeling down and placing his katana over his shoulder. I jumped back and he turned around to face me. “Once again you have gotten better Akira, but is it enough?” Hiroshi questioned as he thrusted his sword at my face.
“We will see,” I said as I evaded his head-level strike. “We will see…” Then I heaved one of my wakizashis at his leg, which he blocked with a tanto and we repelled each other. After putting some distance between us we began to circle one another, looking for an opening. Abruptly I leaped forward with an upward slash with my right hand and spun around 360° to follow it up with a downward slash from my left hand. Hiroshi blocked my first attack and jumped backwards to avoid my second attack. I then extended my leg to hit him in mid air and knock him to the ground. He was using his katana as a crutch as he attempted to stand up, but I kicked him back down and cast it aside. “Hiroshi,” I said, “the wise samurai Tsunetomo Yamamoto once said ‘A person who is said to be proficient at the arts is like a fool. Because of his foolishness in concerning himself with just one thing, he thinks of nothing else and thus becomes proficient. He is a worthless person.’ (Deshimaru, Taisen + Penguin/Arkana). Sounds just like us, doesn’t it. We only concern ourselves with the art of killing; all we can do is fight. Let those words reassure you though, because when you die no one will miss such a worthless person”. Leaving Hiroshi with that to contemplate in the afterlife I treated my dagger to the warm blood of his heart. Then, without another word I left for my home. My real home.