The origin of Akodo Kojiro

I am Akodo Kojiro and I am the sort of man you should be afraid of.

It is in the vast central plains of the Empire where I was born, along with my brothers and sisters to what can only be described as an ordinary bushi Lion family. Both my mother and my father served in the Lion armies with honor until they were gifted a village of their own. It was this semi-retirement that allowed them to build their family.

Even as a child it I was filled with a an anger that was only released in bursts. My siblings learned that I could easily be given over to it and forget myself in a haze of red. I cannot count the number of times I came to while standing over a brother or sister that pushed me too far with their taunts and teasing. Their noses would be bloodied, sometimes a black eye, but the time I broke my brother's arm? To say that my father was proud when he learned of this is an understatement.

Despite our different paths, my parents raised all of their children in the ideals of the Lion clan. We were taught strength, to persevere, and what honor means. All of the world made sense, and I was proud to be a Lion, to be at the center of the Empire, and to even ignore the cruelty...until I was sent to train in Yama. My father called in many favors for me to train with the Matsu family there, to see my potential fulfilled.

Life in the mountains taught me much more.

I had been there for several months, training in the high altitude and guarding shipments of ore from the mines. Nothing much had happened in that time. A few small time raids, a few shipments tipped but never taken. Mostly, I was bored with it all. I wanted to fight, I wanted to taste the experience of battle, to know for myself the glory of battle from the stories my father told us at night.

I was not subtle about it. The others training for their ganpuku and our samurai trainers seemed to watch, almost fear as I got closer to my own.

Except for one. He was much older and towards the end of his time. He was scarred but not broken and carried himself with a calm which would infect those he passed time with. The other teachers would seek his council waiting for an answer when it came to troubled or unfocused students.

He decided that I would accompany him on a trip up the mountains. We were there to guard the mule train as it wound from village to village collecting ores.

Ours was the long trip, taking us away from the dojo for months. When I was informed of this, it was by the Lady Akane herself during a rare trip into the training grounds. I later came to find that the old samurai was one of her most trusted advisers.

Three weeks later, we were at the first village in the foothills. The air was cool and our breath puffed in the air. Behind us was the caravan a hundred mules long. Riding close the old samurai sat relaxed his saddle, a pipe in hand and watching me. My eyes were scanning the ground, trees, and the few glimpses of sky for signs of ambush. He chuckled as he plucked the pipe from his mouth.

"You will see enough battle, young one," he told me. "You will see enough death. The question, young Lion is will see enough life?"

"Since when are Lion philosophers?" I asked.

"Since we are the right hand of the Empire," he said. He pulled on reigns and wheeled his horse around to face mine. He held my gaze steadily, never letting me waver from his eyes.

"It does no harm in giving ourselves over to contemplation. We are its sword. To ask if our wielder is worthy of us. Or better, to ask if we wield ourselves in the right manner."

I gave him a withering look at this answer and yet we continued on our way as if I had never reacted. There was a lesson I had yet to learn.

There were many villages we visited together. I watched as the old samurai demonstrated a patience that I never suspected any Lion of possessing. The mules were never a bother no matter how stubborn they became. No village man was too lazy or slow to pack their wares that it invoked his temper. Even I found that my barbed words had no effect. My temper had yet to find restraint and I would lash the beasts and threaten villagers with blade.

He would shake his head at my outbursts and then smooth things over with a few whispers or a bottle of saki stashed away somewhere in his saddle bags. Later on the trail he would admonish me with a gentle wash of words.

"They are not men," he said of the mules. "They do not respond to threats as men do."

Or, "Do not forget that they fear death," he said pointing to the villagers. "You would do well to remember that blades are for killing and poor motivators when it comes to getting backs to lift or legs to move."

I must have heard that at least once a day after the first week on the trail.

There was something about the old samurai's patience that was infectious because not once did my rage survive those words. Not once did I turn on him despite my old habits from home. The rage that dwelt within the deepest recesses of my soul ebbed away on the road up the mountain.

By the time we reached the top, the rage was gone and I was empty. Hollow. I couldn't feel it or find it no matter what happened. That first night it was missing, I came to the fire where the old samurai was sitting, smoking his pipe and informed him of the transformation.

"That was the point, Kojiro-san," he said.

"The point?" I asked.

"Yes. The lady Akane wanted to expel you from the school. You were out of control fighting with the other students and causing too much trouble."

Shock filled me. I couldn't feel anything for the next few moments.

"I can see from your face that you didn't realize that is how the others saw you. Do not trouble yourself too much about the others. They don't understand what you are yet," he said.

I remained silent staring into the fire. I was going to be expelled? I fought too much?

"What am I?" I asked after several moments passed.

"You are a berserker. You have the soul of a Matsu. I know not how you came by it, young Akodo, but the fire that fills your blood? It comes from my family. I know it well."

All I could think about was getting expelled from the dojo. My family wouldn't forgive me. I couldn't forgive myself if it came to that.

"What can I do?" I asked.

The old man smiled and got up from his stump by the fire.

"Let me continue your training. Do not be so blind as to think we were out here for my health. If you do as I instruct, you will retain your and your family's honor," he said.

I nodded my assent in silence and then went to bed.

The next day, he woke us before the dawn and started teaching me meditation.

"This is to teach you focus. You may feel empty without the rage ever present in your mind but you are not. Your rage is still present. You must first find it. And then learn to harness it."

This was the new routine. Each morning meditation until the sun came up and then the trail. Despite these new exercises, I continued to find that part of me felt missing or numb. Numb like a limb that I had laid on for too long. The old samurai nodded when I told him but said nothing.

The following morning, he was awake before me. At some time in the night, he had woke and started to work. In the dark, I couldn't make out what it was and only with Lord Sun rising did it start to make sense. A target. The old samurai's armor. Built up with twine, sticks, branches, and whatever else he had managed to stow away on his horse.

From deep inside, the fire stirred as I sized it up.

And there must have been a certain look in my eye as the old samurai stepped back from his work.

"Hold yourself, young one. Before we begin, you must first start with the meditation. Then we will talk about this next step."

"Hai," I said, sinking into the lotus position.

I found my rage waiting for me as I practiced what the old samurai taught me.

Like I imagine what it feels like to wrestle with a demon, I wrestled with my rage. With my eyes closed my rage came to me as a great serpent, coiled at my feet. It swayed back and forth, watching me, watching my movements. As I would move, it would strike at me. When it would land a bite, I that place would go numb with fire. A fire that only rage can set.

But there were patterns to its movements. Patterns I learned long ago, watching my father and brothers practice.

This time, I struck the serpent. It withdrew, hissing and shrunk ever so slightly.

Hours passed as I worked to free myself from the rage. For every strike, it shrunk. Until finally the serpent remained still. Reaching out, it slithered up my arm and laid against it, the tail wrapping itself my arm and disappearing under my skin. As it did so, I felt strength and power course through me. I felt control over it, and that there was a deepening of self because of that.

I opened my eyes and saw the sun was setting in the opposite sky and my master standing beside me.

"It is done."

"Good. I suspected that all it would take was the proper motivation," he said.

"Now, step here and ready yourself. You will strike this dummy and release your wrath upon it. Roar as a Lion can only roar!"

I will not go into what it felt like releasing my pent up rage for the first time in months. The next day, we repeated this same exercise. And again, the day after that. The trail became less bothersome, the mules less stubborn and the villagers less lazy. After two months on the trail, we approached the turn around point. A village near the peak in a treeless and blasted land. A place where only the ice and snow grows.

An isolated place. Far from the rest of the world. The village is sustained only through supplies, the soil frozen since the mountains were made.

Up there however, the iron, gold, and silver is plentiful. The Earth Kami have much a sense of humor in putting their best in places not so easily traveled.

When we arrived, the village was in chaos. The meager housing was half destroyed, the smelting forge little more than ashes. We couldn't find anyone alive at first.

"Take the mules back down the trail and wait for me. This is not something you are prepared for," he said.

"But master..."

A single swipe of his hand silenced me and sent me on my way. The sounds of combat came from behind as I made my way back down the trail. There was no helping it. I left the mules and rode back to the village.

Only to find my master and his blade broken on the ground. Looming over him another man, armed with the raw iron from the earth.

It looked up with my approach, a rictus grin frozen on his lips that had once been a man. There were no words spoken as it stood, staring into my eyes. We remained locked in a contest of will without words. Holding the raw iron as a tetsubo, he extended one arm towards me, his palm flat for the first second and then flexes it, waving me towards him. Deep inside my mind and my soul, something breaks open and pours into me.

This is what used to be my anger. But it is different. It has been...transformed. Not rage, nor wrath. I still do not have a name for this emotion. It is a pure thing, as pure as we can have in this world. The world folds open as a origami rose reveals petals. I perceive what the zazen masters have spoken of timeless motion and effort. I am at one with the Universe.

My hands draw my blade and my feet propel me forward with a speed I have never known.

The rictus man is unable to react quickly enough. My blade strikes severing an arm. He screams and attempts to scramble back, but he is not fast enough. I am on him again and again I hue his other arm. He falls back and continues to scream until my blade removes his head.

Having bundled my master's sword with the rest of his daisho, I sent some men from the closest village to clean up the remains of the first. I went with them to make sure that the monster did not have any brothers to cause more havoc. It did not.

I spent another week with the men clearing and pointing out the remains of their fellow workers so they could gather them up for the pyre. It was cold and we seemed to share more than just food as we crouched around the cooking fire each night and morning. Here my eyes and my heart was opened to the plight of the people of my lands, of the empire as a whole, if I am to adhere to Bushido's call for honesty.

It may be my caste's fate to die but at least I am treated with deference, with a modicum of respect as I rode the path up this mountain. These men and women who scratch out a meager existence often time clinging the skin of the world with little more than rope and prayer are barely recognized. How small am I compared to those who can do so?

"Samurai-sama?" a villager ask.

"Yes?"

"There are no more bodies. There is nothing but rubble here."

"I understand. We will leave in the morning."

"Yes, sama."

He turns his back to me and makes for the sleeping pallet set near the fire.

"Thank you for your help," I say.

Stopping suddenly, he turns around to look at me.

"It is by your order we do this. No thanks are needed," he says, bowing deep enough to kiss the earth.

"Look up and address me as a man," I say motioning him up with a hand.

He hesitates for a moment and looks over his shoulder to the others sleeping around the fire. No one seems to notice our conversation. He shrugs and does as I say.

"Nonetheless. You and your companion's work these last few days could not have been easy. I am grateful for the assistance. Hopefully this distraction does not put your village behind in its quota."

He shakes his head, a sad look coming over his visage.

"It will have some impact sama. But my wife and the wives of these men are used to helping when misfortune strikes."

I nod in thought as his words echo through my mind.

"When I return to the daimayo's castle, the quotas will be lowered to account for this. No war is going on, no iron is worth the spilled blood that has happened here."

He looks at me with shock. I wish I could tell say why, but that is the fact of the matter. It was shock at my words and nothing else.

"If you say so, sama."

He turns around after bowing again and returns to his bed. And the next morning we left. My mule train was where I left it in the next village down the trail.

Before departing there, I made sure to thank the entire village for their work and help. It certainly will not be something they forget, I think. Weeks passed as the journey down the mountain was as uneventful as the way up had been. At the bottom, I gave the mules over to the tradesmen who would convert it into more useful items.

Back at Lady Akane's castle, I was questioned at first until I showed them the daisho which had been with me for the last several weeks. Within minutes I was shown to a private room. Despite a rumble of momentary rebellion in my heart, I lowered myself in a deep bow as the Lady entered the room with a few assistants.

"Rise Kojiro-san," she commanded.

She takes a seat on some cushions opposite me.

"It seems to have returned without your master. You need not repeat the story. It has already reached my ears."

I nod and seat myself as she gestures to the cushions behind me.

"That said, I do have to ask if he was able to make progress with your lessons. Your temper was something which got the better of you before."

"I have become its master. It is like my sword. Another extension of myself."

She whipped open a fan of deep blue. I can hear the metal hidden in the folds of paper. She smiles at me as she fans herself. The smile is as cold as the paper is blue. I resisted the urge to shiver as her gaze remained unbroken with mine. As a few minutes passed one of her seconds leans down and whispered into her ear. She nods without breaking eye contact. We continue to do this for what seems to be hours. Water is brought only for her. I am given nothing and can ask for nothing as I was given no leave to do so.

She continues to work; papers are brought and signed as our eyes continue to stare into one another. Food is brought and ate. Candles are brought and lamps are lit. The day ends and I finally blink. Lady Akane laughs happily, and I note the unconcealed pitch of irony in her voice.

"Then it is settled. Kojiro-san. I am happy to count you as one of my servants. Samurai...rise and return home. Await my orders there. There is much I can do with a weapon such as you."