Chapter 1: Encounter
“It is better to be a warrior in a garden, than a gardener in a war” -unknown
Blossoming only for a short time in the spring, the cherry blossom or “Sakura” tree is widely regarded as one of the most beautiful plants on earth. Its billowy white and pink blooms are the inspiration for thousands of art pieces and annual festivals. These trees have been a staple of Japan for hundreds of years. The life of a Sakura tree is often compared to that of a samurai; glorious while in bloom but sadly and too often cut short.
In Kyoto, 1608, its spring, and the Sakura trees are in bloom. The colors and vibrance of the petals are particularly stunning and lush this year. A ronin samurai walks down a path of trees which future generations will know as “The Philosopher’s Path”. His ability to enjoy their splendor is suppressed by his curiosity. Rumors have spread within and even beyond Kyoto of a man who appears only for a week in the spring, speaks to no one, and prunes the Sakura trees. Only, the man does not use pruning shears, but two short swords known as wakizashi’s. An odd tool for a gardener.
The samurai tilts his straw hat up slightly and looks carefully at the branches, examining the cuts this mysterious swordman leaves behind. The samurai strokes his short black beard with a hand so full of scars it almost looks inhuman. “Flawless”, thought the samurai. Most men, even those adept with a sword, would leave evidence of crudely hacking the branches or striking them at multiple angles. Not these. These were cut perfectly clean with one stroke. Not one branch is splintered. This was done by a master swordsman. Even more impressive still, the samurai’s keen eye deduces this mystery swordsman is equally proficient using both his right and left hand.
The two weeks long Sakura Festival is almost over for the year. In two days’, time, a sunset fireworks display will cap off the event. Only two days for the wandering samurai to locate this mysterious swordsman or be forced to wait a year to encounter him again, if ever.
After the brutal civil war that preceded it, The Edo period ushered in an explosion of culinary delights. Street vendors known as Botefuri are quickly becoming synonymous with the landscape of the new sprawling cities. Outdoor markets of sushi, tempura, bento, and other cuisines permeated the streets of Kyoto. One such market caters to the Sakura festival near the manicured trees in question. Surely someone there has caught a glimpse of the gardener with two wakizashi’s.
The market is quite busy with the festivals end so near. The ronin walks down the center of the market. His imposing stature and katana at his hip deter the masses from getting too close or making eye contact with the warrior. “I’m looking for the man with two wakizashi’s who prunes the Sakura trees”, he asked of one vendor. “Sorry, friend”, the vendor replied, adding “At least, I’ve never seen him personally.”. As the samurai makes his way through the market, vendors and customers alike have similar responses. Some say they “knew a friend who saw him”, while some exclaim, “That’s just an urban legend!”.
Disheartened and hungry from his search, the samurai stops to buy a bowl of soba noodles. As he stands on the side of the market to eat, he feels a tug on the bottom of his kimono. Looking down, he sees a child not more than ten years old. The child looks up at the grizzled face of the samurai and says, “I heard a samurai was asking about the gardener with two short swords. I saw him less than an hour ago by the Sakura trees.”. By his tattered clothes, the samurai could see this boy had little worldly possessions. The samurai had little as well.
“What’s your name little one?”, asked the samurai. “I’m Haru. It means spring.”, the boy replied. “Haru, I’m going to give you this bowl of soba noodles, and in return, you will show me where you saw the gardener with two short swords. Deal?”. “Deal!”, shouted the boy enthusiastically. “Thank you, Haru. Here.” The samurai hands the bowl of noodles to the young boy. There’s an animalistic quality to how quickly and veraciously the boy devours the meal. “Thank you, sir, that was delicious.”, said Haru as he licked the bowl clean. “You’re welcome. And no need for the “sir”. I am Kuro. Kuro Amagai.”.
Haru, skipping with the innocence afforded to youth, leads Kuro Amagai to the last spot he witnessed the two-sword stranger. The two arrive at a small clearing within the sea of Sakura trees. “Right here, this is where I last saw him Mr. Amagai.”, said Haru. “Just Kuro, ok? I believe you, Haru.”, said the ronin. A familiar breeze graces Kuro’s face, and he continues, “It’s time for you to go back to the market. The wind is changing, and it may not be safe here.” “I don’t feel any wind, Kuro. And the trees are still.”, said Haru with a curious look on his face. Kuro Amagai furrowed his brow and looked distinctly at one section of the tree line and says, “The wind I’m speaking of is not coming from the weather, Haru. Go. Now.”. Still confused, Haru turns away and runs back to the market not wanting to question the edict of a samurai.
Kuro Amagai begins to make his way through the tree line. He walks cautiously, but with purpose. Looking down, he sees a fallen branch at the base of a Sakura tree. One end of this branch is cut with the same precision he observed earlier that day. The wind grew stronger. He was close. Kuro Amagai pushes through one final dense patch of trees to discover a small clearing with a rocky stream surrounded by Sakura trees. There, across the tiny stream, is the swordsman with two wakizashi.
The swordsman’s kimono is a dark shade of blue with a pattern of white flower petals splashed across its fabric. His hair is pulled back in a ponytail, his eyes affixed to a tree that stands before him. Both of his wakizashi are drawn and by his side. The man extends one arm gently over the crown of his head, then WHOOSH!, the sword comes down swiftly, perfectly slicing a petal-less branch off the Sakura tree. The force from this slash sends a stiff breeze across the stream, striking Kuro Amagai in the face. The gardener swordsman sheaths his swords and looks across the stream. With a sinister smirk on his face, he locks eyes with Kuro Amagai and shouts, “It’s about time someone came!”
“A Samurai should always be prepared for death- whether his or someone else’s” -Stan Sakai
Kuro Amagai stares at the man across the stream, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I’m looking for the short sword Sakura Gardener of Kyoto.”, Amagai remarked. A long pause before the swordsman replies, “No, you’re not.”. Another, even longer pause. “You’re right, I’m not. Not exactly.”, says Kuro Amagai. Kuro continues, “I’m looking for a ghost of war. But not just any war, and not just any ghost. I’m looking for the Hakai Blade who wields two wakizashi in lieu of a katana. Few know his real name. But I know his true identity. The samurai Shinzo Kobayashi”. Kuro Amagai draws his sword, steels his gaze, and readies his stance.
Shinzo Kobayashi folds his arms and leans back against a tree saying, “Ghost? That would imply I’m already dead. Demon of war sounds more fitting. And though I may be a demon, I am still a warrior. A Samurai! And I refuse to fall to anyone’s blade but my own.”
Kuro hears every word of Kobayashi and is left perplexed. “Then why do you not draw your swords? Here I stand before you, my blade drawn with murderous intent, yet you stand there unabashed. Do you not think me a threat, Kobayashi?”
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Shinzo replies, “Take no offense to my demeanor. Simply, it’s not time for us to duel yet.” Shinzo unfolds his arms and walks to the edge of the stream that divides the two warriors and states, “I’ve come here every year since the war ended to enjoy the bounty of these trees. I simply wish to bask in their radiance awhile longer.”
Kuro, unsettled by Shinzo’s statement, replies, “Seems strange that a man with your reputation would care at all about the beauty of a thing.”
Shinzo let’s out a chuckle, “Why does that seem strange? You think a farmer who shovels shit wants to return home to an ugly wife? Do you think a devil detests heaven because of its magnificence?”
Kuro’s temperament waxes and wanes between rage and quiet restraint. He takes a long, deep breath in, stands upright, and sheaths his sword. With a stoic look on his face, Kuro says, “Be in this clearing at sunset in two days’ time. If you show cowardice and flee, know that I will come for you, and I will not afford you the same courtesy I do this day.”
To this, Shinzo Kobayashi picks up a snowball size rock from the creek bed and flings it straight up into the air. Shinzo waits for a moment, and as the rock falls from above he draws one wakizashi from its scabbard slicing the rock in two perfect halves. His sword re-sheaths before the now two rocks return to the ground. Shinzo smiles as he turns his back to Kuro and says, “A man like me has no use for cowardice. I don’t think it’s my resolve you need question.”
Kuro Amagai watches as Kobayashi’s form slowly fades away within the Sakura trees. He thinks to himself how swift Kobayashi’s sword stroke is. If, indeed, he is equally proficient with both hands, it will be apropos to fighting not one, but two master swordsmen.
“No matter. There is only one path before me.”, thinks Kuro. Determination and will being cornerstones of the samurai mantra. Nothing short of divine intervention or death, and maybe not even those, can stop Kuro Amagai from his goal. Still, he will use his time wisely. He has two days to plan and strategize for his opponent.
A short time later, Kuro Amagai, finds himself back in the market district to find lodging for the night. With little money, he decides food takes precedent and buys a bento box of rice, vegetables, and fish. He must keep up his strength for the duel and sleeping under the stars will be nothing new to the ronin.
Sunlight is quickly being replaced by the glow of the moon. Kuro turns down an alley to find a large canopy and few vagrants to share it with. He sits in a corner of the alley, separate from the others and mindful of his surroundings. He hears the drunken belly laughs of two men also sharing the canopy. Their howls becoming more belligerent by the minute.
Kuro ignores the ramblings of the drunkards until he hears a shout. “STOP!”
The voice sounded familiar to Kuro. He looks up and sees the two drunken fools lifting a young boy up by his tattered shirt, pressing him against a wall. “Haru, the boy from earlier.”, thought Kuro.
“PLEASE STOP!”, Haru shrieked.
“You want me to stop, you little shit? Then bring me something to eat or I’m gonna start breaking your fingers one by one.”, said the drunk.
“Enough!”, shouts Kuro. “The boy is under my protection.”
“And who the fuck are you?” said the second and even more drunken fool.
Hesitation being a foreign concept to the samurai, Kuro stands up without a second thought. Taller than most Japanese men of his time at 6’1, his presence alone is overpowering. Kuro resembles a grim reaper more than a man as he walks ominously towards them.
“Now listen you piece of- “, before the second drunk could finish his sentence, Kuro leaps forward, punching the man squarely in the jaw. The man falls to the ground, noticeably losing a few teeth along the way. The first drunkard drops Haru to his feet. Haru slides away, suspecting the fight is not yet finished.
“Now listen man, we’ll be on our way, ok?”, said the drunk with fear in his voice.
“The time for that has passed.”, said Kuro as he grabs the man’s wrist with one hand and the man’s thumb with the other. SNAP! Kuro breaks the man’s thumb with little effort. “AAhhh!” screams the drunk.
“Now, why don’t you go find us something to eat, or your thumb will be the least of your worries.”, demands Kuro. “OK, yea! ok. Get up dummy!”, the drunk says as he corrals his fallen friend. The two stagger away. Kuro’s moonlit silhouette intimidating them as they glance back intermittently.
Turning his attention back to the Haru, “Are you hurt, Haru? Where are your parents?”, asks Kuro. Haru’s face sinks as he tells Kuro, “Gone. It’s just me. My father died when I was a baby, fighting the Tokugawa armies. My mom died last year in labor. So did the baby.” Tears bubble and begin streaming down the boys’ face. Just then, Kuro felt lonelier in this universe than he ever had.
“Come, sit with me as we wait for our new friends to bring us something to eat.”, says Kuro as he puts his hand on Haru’s shoulder. The two sit, claiming a corner under the canopy for the night. Haru’s crying begins to taper off, though his posture is still sunken.
Being more accustomed to combat than engaging the emotions of children, Kuro changes the subject, “Thank you for helping me earlier. Because of you, I found the man with two wakizashi.”
“Is he a friend of yours?”, asked Haru.
Kuro’s left eye twitches. His body writhes making a deeper indentation into the dirt where he sits. He takes a deep breath and remembers the child asks him this question innocently enough. “No, Haru. We are not. I don’t believe he has ANY friends.” “Oh.”, replied Haru, a disappointed look on his face.
Kuro recognizes the sound of foot stomps, crunching the dry dirt as they land. “Here! We got food! Ok?” The two drunkards return to the canopy. The man with broken teeth holding a bento box of food. The drunk with the broken thumb gives him a shove, “Go on dumbass, give it to him.” Kuro accepts the box and hands it to Haru.
Kuro, with spite in his voice says to the men, “Look at this boys’ face. Study it.” The two men do as they’re told. Kuro continues, “If any harm comes to this boy, I will assume it was you two fucking idiots. And I’ll make sure to bring you both down to hell with me, understand?” The looks of dread on the two men’s faces are all the compliance Kuro needs. The samurai points to the open street back to the market. The men turn and stumble their way to freedom.
Haru looks up at Kuro and smiles, wiping the remaining tears from his cheeks. Kuro and Haru eat the contents of the bento in silence. The bustling market grows calm for the evening. The crickets begin to play their nightly song. Moonlight and a few scattered torches emit the only remaining refuge from the dark.
“Thank you, Kuro. Because of you, my belly has been fuller today than in a long time.”, says Haru. Kuro Amagai gives the boy a slight smile and nods. For suffering so much loss at such a young age, Haru still has a kind heart. And Kuro questions if that’s good or bad. Even with the peace and strict feudal laws of the Edo Period, crime, vagrancy, corruption, and malice still exist. The boy will have to fortify his heart and mind to thrive. But perhaps that’s a lesson for tomorrow. This day has been long and eventful.
Haru tries to fight the urge to rest his eyes. The excitement from the day taking its toll on the young child. It isn’t everyday he’s saved by a real-life samurai. Fight as he does, Haru begins drifting to sleep. With a smile on his face, Harus’ head gently lands on the shoulder of the ronin. Koru smiles.
This peace is interrupted with a shiver running down Koru Amagai’s back. His smile quickly fades. As his eyes adjust to the evening hues, he notices a familiar shape in the distance. Kuro’s eyes grow narrow and focused. Cloud cover clears momentarily, allowing for the moon to illuminate Kuro’s vision.
Perched on a roof not more than 60 yards away is Shinzo Kobayashi! Shinzo crouches on the roof as an animal might to stalk its prey. Though its dark and at a distance, the two warriors’ eyes are met. With a frenzy in his eyes, Shinzo grins widely, as if mad. This image depicts his true persona. A monster. Years of beheading farmers and burning villages have forever tainted his spirit. Appreciating the beauty of a cherry blossom will make him no less a savage.
Shinzo stands. Still grinning as he basks in the moonlight. His hand now raised; he extends two fingers. Kuro understands the gesture quite well; two days.
Clouds begin to roll through the night sky casting shadows, suppressing the moon’s light. As the light grows dimmer, Kuro Amagai glimpses the outline of Shinzo’s body streaking away across the rooftops. This is good. This only strengthens Kuro’s resolve. Tonight’s scene is even more confirmation that Shinzo Kobayashi of the Hakai Blades deserves to meet the end of a sword.
Kuro looks down at Haru. The boy is fast asleep and none the wiser. Kuro needs his rest as well. He gently grips the handle of his sword, almost to take it with him as he enters his dreams. His last waking thought is of his sword. Many samurai name their katanas. Some name them after the blacksmith who forged it, or some notable characteristic of the sword. Many believed this gave the sword its soul. Kuro’s katana had no name. And for some reason that he cannot explain, he never questioned why that is until this day.