Chapter 1: Takumi

Takumi snapped awake, gasping for breath, the pounding hooves of galloping horses reverberating in his bones. The cold rain was plummeting down, pummeling the ground. So hard that it wouldn’t last for long. A cloud holds only so much rain, and what would last all day as a lazy drizzle would only last minutes coming down like this. He opened his mouth to catch the rain, still thirsty, and now hungry too. Sore, soaked and tired as well. But. Alive. He had survived the battle of Edo.

The battle. His pulse quickened and the lingering cobwebs of sleep sped away, in an instant Takumi was fully awake, alert, aware. The sound of the rain splashing down all around him began to crystallize. The rain began to soften, and as it did the he could hear it splashing into shallow puddles, fudding into mud, shiffing into grass, padding against leather and skin, and pinging against steel. Even rain has so many characters.

The battle had lasted only a day. It was Takumi’s first military action, and he knew he had fought well. Despite having to work with the simple spears given to farmer infantrymen, and being under the command of a puffed-up princeling. The mayor’s son was dead now, taken off his horse by an arrow, and quickly beheaded after that. The flow of the battle had favored the enemy early, and the Tokugawans had seized that fortune and ridden down the peasant infantry with heavy cavalry. The gaps this created in the Torohime lines turned a slight advantage into a decisive one. The lords loyal to Tokugawa rode after the cavalry charges, surrounded by their retinue of samurai, cleaving open the gaps in the line for their own infantry to follow after. The Torohime army began to disintegrate quickly. Well, that wasn’t quite right. The soldiers on the battlefield fought well, in many cases as well as their adversaries. But the Tokugawa charge had targeted the commanding officers and the communications and scouting units, so after the early morning charge and resultant destruction, the Torohime army was crippled. Unable to communicate battle plans effectively, an organized counterstrike or a tactical retreat was impossible. So, as the day wore on, the Torohime army bent under the pressure of the continued assault, and eventually broke. By sundown, the battle was over, the war was over, the stragglers left on the battlefield were there only for pride, or treasure, or some other necessity.

For instance, Takumi was there because of exhaustion, which had led to sleep. Most were there for death, though. The ground was littered with the dead and dying. The weak. But I am alive. Because I am strong...

But was that it? Was that what it boiled down to? No. I live. But I was lucky. And we lost. A failure.

Takumi had realized early on that tactically, the battle would be a disaster. The Tokugawans had the high ground. They had been entrenched in the area for nearly a week. And many of their infantry carried flintlock pistols. No good at a range of ten yards or more, but devastating from short range. The flintlocks took some time to reload, so in the heat of battle, they were only good for one shot. This limited their usefulness, but the impact of that first shot could be dramatic, especially considering the Torohime infantry was armed mostly with spears, and many of those were merely homemade bamboo spears. Takumi had only been grazed when the front lines crashed together, while many of his comrades had been blasted into oblivion.

In the ensuing chaos, Takumi had fought like a demon, until twilight faded into darkness, until he could not make out friend from foe. If they were even different. His own memory was still raw. The details of the fighting seemed distant, blurry. Much of it had been nothing but a blur, truthfully. How could you remember a blur? But there was something important. Something he needed to remember. Minato! We left the village to fight, to make names for ourselves. But we lost our first battle. And now our army has been obliterated. We failed so quickly, just having got here.

He needed to find Minato, and find a way back to the village. He stretched and took stock. He actually felt good. Sore all over, with aching arms and legs, but good. Starving, but good. The sleep, the cool rain, and the water had revitalized him. So the day after a battle is just like any other day. Hmm. He rocked up onto his heels, and surveyed the battlefield in the early gloaming. Men in every direction, splayed on the ground in odd poses. Some crows were working, but only the earliest risers. Takumi considered searching the corpses for food, but decided against it, reasoning that any soldier would have eaten what they had. Why save it and leave yourself weakened during battle? When you may not even survive to eat again anyway, the best course would be to eat everything you had. That’s what I would do, anyway. Not that I’ve ever had any extra food.

So, thirst quenched, stomach rumbling, Takumi stood and and started walking to the last place he had seen Minato.

II

Minato

Minato lay in the mud, face down, moaning softly. “Oh mother, forgive me, mother. You told me to stay. You told me war is for the foolish. For those who don’t value their own lives. How do you always know?”

He had left the village with Takumi to fight for his province. To protect his village. To make a name for himself. To prove himself as a man. But ... the violence and desperation of battle had shocked him, fear had seized him, and he had been an utterly insignificant part of the fight. When the wall of Tokugawa soldiers fired their guns, he had been knocked to the ground. At first, he thought he’d taken a bullet. When he realized he hadn’t, he decided to stay on the ground anyway. It’s only right, he reasoned, no sensible man would take a bamboo spear to attack soldiers armed with pistols. And of course he was right, it was the smart decision. But it was far from the decision he had envisioned he’d make.

After the initial clash, the battlefront swept past him, enemy soldiers pressing deep into the ranks of the village infantry. So he had crawled, slowly, oh so slowly. Nearly paralyzed with fear, knowing that at any moment, a stray soldier from either side could come across him and bury a katana in his back, he proceeded with the utmost caution. When he finally made it to the tree-line, the outskirts of the battle, he stopped, buried his face in the mud, and waited. The stress of the battle and the week long march leading up to it had taken their toll, and, miraculously, with ringing steel and gunpowder blasts resonating in the distance, Minato had slept.

Now, stirred from sleep by the breaking of the sun over the horizon, he could think of no better plan than to beg his mother for forgiveness, and the Buddha for a safe way back to the village. Even though the battle was over, for those on the losing side, the threat was still present. Bounty hunters would be looking for enemy soldiers to capture or kill for the victorious Tokugawans. Many lower ranking lords would be given the opportunity to show their newfound loyalty by turning their clansmen who had fought against Tokugawa over to him. Given all this, Minato considered waiting as long as he could before making a decision, to be the best decision.

The value of this assessment was soon called into question, as a large shadow approached, accompanied by the skrich skrich of wooden sandals in the dirt. Oh Otsu, forgive me. Otsu! His heart began hammering harder as the figure stopped somewhere nearby. But Minato remained still, face-down, in the mud. Surely I look as dead as any of the corpses here! Just continue on your way!

A spear tip slammed down right next to his face, burying itself to the hilt in the dirt, spraying his cheek with mud. Oh no! Refugee hunters! Did I flinch? Will the next strike be through my neck?!

“Look here,” the figure spoke, and Minato nearly fainted, “a survivor!”

Mom, Otsu, I’m sorry. I should never have left the village. His heart still hammered, and his mind raced for a way out of his predicament. Should he fight? Run? Negotiate? Continue to play dead? He would try to talk his way out of it. Not the most likely to succeed perhaps, but the least likely to fail. But no rush. The spear was still suck in the ground, maybe the hunter had seen movement elsewhere. Oh dear Lord, please watch over my mother.

“Minato.”

Oh great Buddha, how does he know my name?

“I survived as well.”

What, this voice, it can’t be? I saw Takumi dive into the enemy ranks. He was surrounded and swarmed under before I hit the ground!

Curiosity won out over fear, and Minato flipped over, to find himself staring up at Takumi. “Takumi! You scared the hell out of me. Not funny, man!”

“Are you hurt?”

“Not funny dude! I thought you were about to kill me!”

“I couldn’t resist. It sounds like you’re alright.”

“I guess. My head is still throbbing, but that’s it I think.”

“Good. Come on, we have to get out of here, as far away from the battlefield as possible. Fast. Understand?”

“Yeah Takumi. Help me up.”

So they started back home, to Takayama village. They had marched a week to reach the battlefield, but that was before they were battleworn, and weary from lack of food. Takumi knew that it would be a difficult hike back, but by the next day, Minato had become desperate.

“Takumi, I think this is as far as I can go. All we’ve eaten these last few days is flowers and grassroot. I can hardly stand. Are you dizzy?”

He was right. Takumi hadn’t bothered trying to snare a rabbit or bird because he didn’t want to start a fire. And the fruit trees and small fields and gardens had been picked clean by passing armies. Minato had slumped down against the trunk of a cherry tree.

“No, but I’m hungry. Soon we’ll find a village and get some decent food. And hopefully some medicine for you. Here, up you go.”

Takumi took Minato’s arm over his shoulder, and they struggled forward, tromping over stands of wild grass, through old pine forests, the mountains towering to their east.

III

The Hunted

Hours later, some time after sunset, they began looking for a secluded spot to make camp. Takumi chose a stand of pines that provided a modicum of cover, and slid Minato off his shoulder.

“Ah, the red berries and grass are causing a slight problem. I’ll be back in a minute.” Minato shuffled away from the trees, to clear out his system.

“Dang Minato, you stink! I can smell that from here. And your butt sounds like a snorting mad warthog.” Takumi was retieing the bandage around his thigh. He had not noticed at first, but when they started their trek, blood had begun to seep out of a short wound. When it began to ache, he realized it was more than a slash; he had been stabbed by a spear. “It won’t be long brother. We’ll find a place to get some rest, and something to help your stomach. Buddha knows you and I both will be thankful for that!”

“Takumi...”

“Just kidding buddy. I know it’s no joke.”

“No, I ... is this ... making something of ourselves? Do you ... feel like a man since the fight?”

Takumi sat on a rock, silently pondering the question. He had had similar thoughts. Even if they had fought well. They had lost. Or had they? Was surviving the real victory? There had to be more to it than that.

“We left the village to come and be heroes, to show everyone that we could make a difference.” Minato paused to squirt out a little more. “We talked about taking the head of the enemy general. About cutting down the foes that opposed our lord. Instead, we mostly cut grass to make a path for the rest of the army. Then they gave us spears to fight against guns with. Guns! Had you ever even seen a gun?”

Takumi had seen a gun, one that his father had kept for a time. But he had never heard or seen one fired. Nor had he imagined the damage they could do. He had imagined something like the impact of an extremely well thrown star. Causing impact damage, or, perhaps, a small hole, similar to a thick stab wound. But they had blown men’s faces off. He had seen a man shot in the throat, and the back of his neck had quite literally exploded. He grunted in agreement.

“And now, through no fault of our own, we are failures, living like bandits. Hrrccchhhhh!”

He’s right. We are failures. But it’s not our fault. Odd. At least my bowels aren’t exploding like his. Yet.

That thought brought just a hint of a smile to Takumi’s face. Minato let an even louder fart loose, and Takumi nearly broke out laughing. Then he froze. That sound had come from behind him. He slid off the rock and peered around the tree.

A horse, not twenty feet away. His pulse quickened, and he shut his eyes tight, just for a moment. When he opened them, the night was brighter than it had before. Not just a horse. A well equipped horse. Spear bound to the saddle, as well as ruck sack and what looked like a battle helmet. But no rider in sight. He decided to creep toward the horse.

“Takumi. I don’t know if I’ll last much longer. I feel like I’m not going to make it home.” Minato still had his pants around his ankles, trying to get the last of the poison out. His deep sincerity was all the more remarkable because of this fact. “Takumi, if I don’t make it back ... If I die ... please take care of Otsu...”