text: One foot in front of the other. That is where he kept his focus as he made his way down the country road, alone. Had he not, he may have passed out right there. His feet were blistered and raw from running all through the previous night. The hakama he wore were spattered with mud at the fringes around his ankles. The edges of his kimono--tattered from running through thick brush--flowed freely around him. Mementos from his late night escape. He kept one hand clenched tight around the hilt of his sword. This is no way for a Samurai to dress, he thinks to himself. Then I suppose I am officially no longer a samurai... The wind whipped at his face as he limped his way along the dusty road. He began to contemplate the events that had brought him here. How his whole world had turned upside down. Late last evening, Lord Zankoku had called in his top samurai for a council of war. This is not out of the ordinary as the country is locked in civil war. The shogun had passed away two years prior without naming a successor. A power vacuum ensued. Lord Zankoku was one among four other Lords vying for control of the country. As the war continued, Lord Zankoku’s tactics had become more wicked; commanding for whole towns to be decimated--women and children included. The Samurai had conflicted feelings about these cruel methods. This, however, was irrelevant. His honor required unquestioning fealty to his Lord. Luckily, he had not been sent on one of these missions... Yet. Before the Samurai reported to the council of war, he stopped by his family shrine located behind his house on the edge of the woods. He lit incense and knelt before the placard with his late father’s name on it. Closing his eyes, he commences to pray. Father. I need your guidance... my feeling towards my duties are conflicted. Gently he drifts off into a reverie like a leaf on the wind. A distant memory from his youth. The sun was shining bright. He was training with his father in the courtyard of their home.... It was late spring and the scent of white peonies pervaded the air. The two of them stood face to face holding their wooden training swords--their bokken. They were wearing identical white kimonos and red hakama. Eyes locked, their bodies standing as still as statues; sweat building up above their brows. His father then raised the bokken with a swift fluid gesture, bringing it back down with the force of a meteorite strike. The young Samurai steps to the left by three inches. Bringing his blade handle up, pointing the tip down and aslant to the left, resulting in a perfect parry. Had he been any slower, he would have suffered serious injury, but he has been trained by his father ever since he was old enough to hold a stick. “Very good my son. You are shaping up to be quite the swordsman,” he steps closer and gingerly puts a hand on the young Samurai’s shoulder. “I’m ready to fight for our Lord, father. I am ready to bring honor to our family,” the Samurai proudly declares. His father’s brows arch up. “Oh, you think you’re ready? Being a samurai is about more than just flashy swordsmanship. Are you ready to follow orders?” He gazes deeply through his son’s eyes and into his soul. “Yes,” the Samurai says without skipping a beat. His father slowly looks away, drops his hand and begins to meander the courtyard at a steady pace with his hands clasped behind his back. “You will have to follow our Lord’s every command without question. You owe undying fealty to him once you’ve taken your oath. Do you understand my words?” He pauses and turns back to look at the young Samurai. The Samurai responds, “Of course, father. As I have already claimed. I will bring honor to this family,” He brings his right fist to his heart. His father slowly steps up in front of the Samurai. After taking a long hard look into his son’s eyes he asks, “What if he ordered you to kill your fellow samurai, your friends?” “I’m sure it would only be for valid reasons. Maybe they betrayed our lord and country. Yes, that’s it, there is no place for traitors.” His father then asks, “And what if he ordered you to kill me? Hm? Would you still follow his orders?” The Samurai hesitates, he lets his right hand fall back to his side, then says, “That would never happen. You would never do anything to deserve that.” “Are you sure? You would question an order from your lord?” The Samurai’s face tightens as he realizes the contradiction he made. “It’s not a question of whether or not I deserve it. It’s a matter of serving the will of your Lord in the name of honor and duty for your fief. You see? One must be ready to do their duty regardless of their own feelings in the matter. Your fealty to your lord is to be undying. Honor above all else.” The young Samurai stands there for a moment and contemplates the gravity of this lesson. A smile graces his father’s face, then he reassures the Samurai, “Do not worry, my son. I am sure that when the time comes you will honor our family and uphold your duties.” The Samurai’s eyes snapped open to the tolling of the castle bells. It is time for him to report to Lord Zankoku and the war council. He bowed before the shrine and clapped his hands once. Carefully he stood up. Then prepared himself mentally for the meeting ahead and takes his leave from the shrine. The Samurai entered the war room. He saw several other samurai have already seated themselves on the ground. Between them there is a short round table. The table is covered with a map and several crudely carved figures have been placed on top of it in various locations. The carvings of the figures reminded the Samurai of the grotesque creatures from the yokai stories kids used to tell each other on stormy nights. Stories about demons that come out at night and consume entire villages. The Samurai takes his seat and waited for the last few stragglers to shuffle in. Everyone waited quietly at attention. Then Lord Zankoku entered the room. He wore a suit of light armor composed of rectangular metal plates linked together with chain mail and painted black. A golden half-moon shaped metal plate adorns the front of his helmet. Everyone immediately bowed in his pressence. “Rise, my warriors. Tonight we shall deal a mortal blow to our enemies. For we have enemies everywhere as we trudge deeper into this war,” says Lord Zankoku as he scans the room. “Our spies have reported traitors within our borders. It is said that one of our own villages has been sharing food and supplies with the enemy!” One of the samurai seated speaks up, “Sir, I know the spies you’re speaking of. That information is unreliable. They may even be working with-- “ “Who said you could speak?” roars Zankoku. His face contorts into a livid visage. “Get this insubordinate fool out of my sight! Lock him up, I will deal with him later.” Two guards shuffled in and yanked the man up by the shoulders. They griped tightly around his wrists and hurried him out of the room. “Now,” continued Zankoku. “We will deal with the traitors accordingly. Tonight we shall march into the village, slay every last traitor, and burn the village to the ground. This shall serve as a message to anyone else that might be contemplating defying my will.” All of the samurai cheered their agreement. All except one. The Samurai sits frozen to the ground. The order he dreaded had finally been delivered. What was he going to do? I know people that live in that village. They are not traitors. This is outrageous! He had to follow his orders, but at what cost. Where is the honor in murdering the innocent? This has gone too far. I will not partake in this for another minute... That’s it then. I must warn that village. With his mind focused on the present moment, he leaped into action. He was on his feet and before he even realized it, he had drawn his sword out into an arcing motion practiced thousands of times. With one move he severed Lord Zankoku’s right hand. Everyone in the room stared at the gushing bloody stump in awe. Lord Zankoku looked at the place where he used to have a hand, then looked at the hand on the floor. He began to shake violently, a guttural sound building up in the back of his throat. “Kill that bastard! I want his head! Bring it to me! Now!” The Samurai had already departed while everyone was still staring at Zankoku in shock, buying him a bit of a lead. The other samurai started pouring out of the war room, swords drawn. They charged out of the building and began to scour the woods outside the castle. The Samurai was running through the woods. He could hear the others; they were far behind him. It is unlikely they will find him; the woods are pitch dark. He ran through puddles from the recent rain and tumbled his way through thick brush that clawed at his kimono. I must make it to the village. Suddenly he heard a man shout out into the night, “Stop right there!” The Samurai turned to see his old friend and comrade, Haji, with his sword drawn and pointed at him. “Can’t you see this is wrong? Everyone knows those reports are a farce. Those people don’t deserve to be butchered,” proclaimed the Samurai in sharp hushed tones. “I will not have my family name besmirched. Our duty is absolute. You have shamed your family,” Haji said defiantly. The two of them locked eyes and settled into their stances. Their faces were drawn up with great great intensity, but within their minds there was only the calm focus of a warrior. A cool gentle breezed caressed them and as the chorus of nighttime insects chirped on into the night. Suddenly, Haji’s left foot started to slide in the mud ever so slightly. Taking advantage of this development, the Samurai leaped toward Haji and cut him across the midsection like a farmer scything wheat. Haji’s eyes went wide, his hands reached for his stomach in a futile effort to stop the blood. He fell to the ground, dead in matter of seconds. The Samurai realized what he had down. He murdered his own friend. A gyre of shame encompassed his heart. No time to mourn. He turned and continued running. Suddenly his feet dropped out from under him. He tripped over a deep ditch formed by a large wisteria tree that had fallen the previous summer. As he fell, he slammed his head against a rock--knocking him out cold. He woke to the sounds of birds cheerily chirping, making their way about their morning business. As he was coming too, he noticed the scent of smoke drifted upon air. His eyes burst wide open as he realized he is too late. He got to his feet and hurried to the edge of the woods. The village was in sight way off on the horizon. A pillar of smoke rose up from the village, trailing off into the sunrise. He failed. Was it really worth it, he thought to himself. The Samurai limped his way to the road. He no longer cares where he is going. He has nowhere to go. What life is there for him now? His family name will be stricken from the records. All that is left is for him is the shameful life of the wandering Ronin. Focusing with all his might, he walks. One foot in front of the other.