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Introducing the Immortal Samurai Clans.
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Introducing the Immortal Samurai Clans.
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Lying on his back, the samurai drew in a deep breath before opening his eyes. The air smelled like a long-lost memory. The taste of wet earth and distant flowers breezed over his palate, but something rotten tainted this moment – decay and death lingered on his senses. His hand instinctively felt his chest for the blade protruding from his mortal wound. He recalled looking down and seeing the steel point coated in his own blood. He had been skewered from behind, but it was a good death, an honorable one. He had taken six lives before fading into the beyond.
The light blinded him only for a spell as his eyelids cracked open and he sat up. The fatal blade was gone, as was the blood that ran down his chest. Confusion struck his normally composed mind as he realized his armor was different – not the typical karuta worn by his clan, but a white metal, accented with strange-colored markings.
He clambered to his feet, patting himself and feeling the bizarre textures of his helmet. His hand rested on the hilt of his katana, faithfully strapped to his hip, waiting to serve its master.
Before drawing his sword, the samurai scanned the battlefield, but there were no corpses or any remnants of combat. He recognized the terrain, but the forest to his right was thicker, and the snow on the distant mountaintops was absent.
What happened here? How much time has passed? he thought. He drew the katana, sharp edge down as it should be, and the familiar scrape of metal crescendoed into a high-pitched tone as sharp as the blade itself. Then all was quiet again, except the far-off birds and insects providing a serene soundscape.
His focus was on the unique qualities of this foreign katana, light, strong, and bearing an inscription. He held it up to read, but his predatory eyes caught movement in the distance. His focus shifted to a figure kneeling in the distance.
Between heartbeats, he realized the motion he detected was the snap of an arrow being loosed in his direction. He could not see the incoming projectile, but his training took command. He spun on his heels, raised his left shoulder to receive the impact. Hopefully the arrow would deflect off his shoulder armor, but something miraculous happened. The arrow halted mid-flight and fell harmlessly to the ground. Snap! Another arrow was bolting toward him, but this too stopped as though hitting an invisible barrier and dropped to the earth.
The samurai did not waste this opportunity and charged his adversary with his katana held aloft for a kill strike. The other samurai, clad in similar white armor, slung his bow and readied his sword to meet the challenge. The two samurai rushed toward each other. Their war cries echoed across the ravine, and their eyes glowed with bloodlust. The gap between them shrank, and no force could stop the inevitable collision of these two mighty warriors.
Except…
A large and lofty Japanese crane alighted between them and spread her wings as though telling them to halt and sheathe their weapons. Even though samurai are not typically known for letting waterfowl interfere with soldiering, these two combatants recognized the divine significance of the intervention.
The two samurai slowed their pace and lowered their katanas. They approached her from opposite sides but kept watch over each other’s movements. The crane’s body and wings were snow white. Like most of her kind, she displayed a gray throat, black secondary feathers, and the top of her head was crowned with a patch of red. However, she was no ordinary crane, but a spirit animal known as a kami.
“Your weapons are not to use against each other.” Her voice was soft yet powerful. “They are gifts – meant to unite you.” The samurai exchanged respectful nods of a temporary truce and slid their katanas into their scabbards. They knelt before the crane and bowed their heads respectfully.
She cocked her head and asked, “Do you remember your names?” Perplexed, neither samurai could recall who they were. The crane continued, “What about the daimyo you once served?” She waited, but once again no answer came from either warrior.
The first samurai finally spoke. “Oh, great tanchozuru, forgive me. I am lost in my thoughts. I no longer know what is real.”
“Understandable.” She glanced over the two samurai. “After two centuries of being trapped between life and death, one is apt to forget a few things.” The two samurai shared a mutual mixture of doubt and belief. “Come. Follow me,” the crane instructed as she took flight and soared to a nearby bluff overlooking more of the ravine.
The samurai ran alongside each other without trading a single word. Upon reaching the bluff, they followed the crane’s gaze down into a lush gully being trampled by at least a thousand black souls. The samurai crouched low and surveyed the column of fiends slogging along the riverbank. “I can smell their evil from here,” the other samurai commented. “Who are they?”
The crane sidled up next to them. “They are the reason you have been resurrected.”
The first samurai scrutinized the battle-stained weapons brandished by the wicked ones. His eyesight was far keener than it once was. “They troop to war.”
“Yes,” the crane confirmed. “Before you is but a sliver of the Forgotten One’s unstoppable army.” She bowed her head. “The bodies of many innocent lives clutter their footprints.”
Questions overflowed the samurais’ heads, but the first query was of a tactical nature. “Are there more soldiers like me?” the first samurai asked, then corrected, “Like us?”
“Many,” the crane replied. “All of you chosen because of how dedicated you have been to the virtues.”
The samurai pulled his katana out partially so he could finally read the inscription at the base of his blade. The engraved kanji represented one of the seven virtues of Bushido, the code all samurai lived by. He read it aloud. “Honesty.”
The other samurai checked his sword as well and nodded. “Honesty.”
Both samurai removed the masks that guarded their faces and looked upon each other. They knew their masters were long deceased and any former rivalries had no place in the days fighting forward. Once enemies, these warriors were bound by something powerful and true. From this moment on, these men were brothers.
The first samurai hinted a smile then turned to the crane. “Tanchozuru, we shall join the others to engage this threat. How many strong are we?”
“If everyone survived the transition back to the living….” The crane looked over the two. “Two thousands.”
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