Lore

A low red mist clears outside the window of the train carriage that I call home. Very much stationary train, I should add, the wheels stuck fast into rock that has melted and hardened from the heat of the volcano. I throw out the wilted purple flower that I picked last week from the rich volcanic soil on the road into Yama, and then start getting dressed for work. A jester must always be in costume, never revealing themselves as too human, too real.

And me, more than most. I start with the thick bandaging that I wrap around my chest. One rotation, then another. My skin crinkles dark above the folds. And then the trousers cut low and loose around my crotch, the belt pulled in tight at my waist. I pull on the jacket, tucking it in tightly, setting the jagged edges of the collar neat against my shoulders. The red baubles of my hat knock against my face, bright balls that signal my profession. It was my twin brother who gave this costume to me, the day he finally found the courage to leave Yama, to go and join the coastal warriors of Engan. I stayed behind, pulled between my love for home and my cynical anger at the corruption of our leaders. I took over my brother’s role, his work, his life. I even took over his name. The warriors at the palace could not tell the difference. My voice a little higher, my body a little softer, but the differences are too small for those in power to bother to notice.

I set out on to the road, gripping my sword tighter than usual today. The road to the palace feels dangerous, uneasy, as though everyone is waiting for a sign. Perhaps it is the moon that sat heavy and red all night, or maybe it is the low rumbles of the mountain that has interrupted the sleep of the city for the last few days. Children play in the rusty dust of the road and women scream out the prices of the feeble produce that they attempt to sell. I ignore them all, even as the children run about my feet, begging me for a joke. I reach the palace, warriors milling in the quad. Energy fizzes with uncertainty, a new darkness that clogs the corners of the corridors, hooded men glancing anxiously at one another.

By the time I get to the hall, the councillors are ready to meet. I stand at the edge of the room, waiting. If I am lucky, they will forget I am even here. Nik the jester, harmless, good for a few cynical jibes and jests. Little do they know that I hear everything. I can sense their decisions, their bribes, their thoughtless words that led to lives lost, warriors sharpening their weapons. What would they really think of me if they knew how dangerous I could be?

Prologue

The Training Grounds

... to be continued.

Story narrated by an old villager ‘old man Akito ’

Many songs sing of this monster, many stories tell about this hero. Haruto the glutton, monster, Chi no okui, Kushinbo are a few of the names that have been used through the ages. But I knew the man, the man that saved this village. I can’t speak on the stories of him killing 300 men with his sword or destroying Minka town. All I can tell you is about Haruto Kaiba the man I knew.

I met him way back when he was journeying through the country side. His small frame painted a wrong picture of his abilities and his sword was even less impressive. It looked old brittle and rusted. At first I laughed at the sight but as time passed I came to fear the weapon. Haruto never wanted to tell me where he got it from, even though I asked him every time I saw him. The double sided blade with its rusted look and the skull on the end of the hilt were symbols that he came to be know by. I know many called him Chi no okui (blood glutton), but only few knew that, that was the name of his trusty sword. “I always wondered who started calling Haruto that, he was one of the kindest men I knew. He often helped villager is his passing by.

During the time of turmoil back in the days ‘Sakura wars’. This very village were you stand today was saved by him. Many soldiers from the Hanoko clan came to our village demanding food men and women. Many tried to resist but was met with pure evil. Many men that tried to make a stand were cut down in form of their loved ones, even our elders were killed. I tried to protect as many as I could but these hands were not made to fight, “as my father told me”. I gathered as much people I could and hid them in the woods. The gods must have been with me that day. As I was captured by a Hanoko scum, I heard more screams from a distance. It was him he was walking through as if nothing was wrong. The soldiers approached him with pure evil intent. Haruto swung his blade with the speed of lightning. That is the first time I saw the evil of that sword.

As the first slash connected with the attacking soldier. That cursed sword seemed to change. The blood that was left from its victim on its rusted blade. This is when I saw it, the sword started changing. I swear I saw the blood being absorbed. Two soldiers rushed Haruto from behind he moved out the way, his speed that of a shadow. As he slashed them bot with one confident swing. As the slashes continued the rusted sword started transforming, the rust slowly started dissolving the more the blade came in contact with the red nectar that left the soldiers bodies. Haruto made sure to finish of the soldiers he showed no mercy. It was as if the sword demanded it. Some bodies sucked dried and discoloured scared the others. The rusted blade was now gone. I swear, the more that fell to the sword, the faster the blade and its wielder moved. The eerily skull on the hilt had turned red as if it filled with the blood from its victims. The faster he moved the more Hanoko soldiers fell. A dark mist started to form around Haruto. At every swing Chi no oku claimed more blood from its victims. Or should I say drink? I saw droplets make their way to the sword if they strayed too far away. Haruto dragged the his blade over the blood drenched floor and al is could see was the blood being sucked up from the floor. A true glutton, I could not believe my eyes. One of the remaining soldiers tried to run away. But Haruto would not give him that, he launched his trusted blade as an arrow at the fleeing soldier. The last I heard was an eerily scream as the sword pierced the soldiers skull. Haruto was the last man standing that day, as an evil smile took over his face. I would not have recognized him if it wasn’t for his clothing.

That was the first time I was afraid of my friend. There were at least 100 Hanoko soldiers in our village that day, none stood at the end. He was made a hero of our village that day.

“After telling this story I can understand why some call him a monster. But to me he was a friend and a hero.”

The moon was full that night. It had begun to snow the day before but it already lay heavy upon the village and also on the thin branches of the surrounding forest trees.

It was a quiet night. The houses were shut and dark. The place appeared as if abandoned. One would think there should be at least some windows emitting the welcoming glow of fireplaces but there weren't any. None other than those of the tavern, which was at the only entrance to the village (or exit depending on whether one comes or goes). The mountain range prevents access from all other directions. One can only visit this settlement when taking the route north from Skyhill onward. Orient yourself to the west when exiting Skyhill. Ascend to the small but famous Surin with its mysterious trees that never bloom but branch. There turn north until you surpass the tree line. At the Rune 'Remembrance' take the leftmost route. The path from there only has junctions that lead to dead ends in the forest, it will eventually lead you here.

Normally no foreigner would make it that far into the mountains at this time of the year. The small community is about to go into three months of solitude. Some tell stories of how winter solves as many problems as it causes. One has to set their affairs in order. In a winter like this one is all the more dependent on others. Many years fierce conflicts between grim men were settled for good, during the harsh season.

This crystal cold night they began their ritual 'Of the Past'. The celebration 'Of the Present' will take place in thirty days exact and 'Of the Future' will begin another 30 days later.

A shadow approached the village on the long winding trail. In a few minutes it would pass the tavern. The figure was huge but that could be due to the coat and fur against the cold. It leaned on a cane with every second step. Were they hurt?

Every resident was in the tavern that evening. Although there was a solemn aura to the air in the tavern, there was a very sober demeanor among the villagers. No drunken laughter, no tales told to bright eyes, no drinks. Maybe this is not a tavern at all? In a small back room a man speaks to a woman very confidentially. They have neither a domestic nor a business conversation. "I don't know how this will ever end in good terms." "It can't be like this for much longer, I know it won't. - Have you seen him yet?" She shook her head very slightly.

The air in the taverns guestroom became unbearably, not outright nervous but even quieter still, thick. A Child, a girl who would soon turn 5 years old, could not bear to sit any longer. She turned quickly to stand upon the chair she had been sitting on, she reached for the handle of the window, saw the shadow on the up-winding road approaching, with confidence but slowly. She halted, then shrieked: "He is here!" They all gasped in unison. Some reached for a lucky charm or an item that made them feel safe, secure and empowered. (Not few reached where they are used to finding their swords and knifes.)

The man in the back room got to his feet, the women spun around, they both hasted for the guestroom. "Shit!"

The tavern door flung open. Fresh air immediately vented into every corner of the room. The figure stood in the doorway for a second, head bowed. He mumbled something. (A spell?) Then he looked up. He was a man of unknown age, not very young, not very old but his eyes had seen a lot. He appeared to be a stranger to this region. His eyebrows not as thick as those of the villagers, his mouth a little broader, his cheeks not as highlighted.

After a split second he turned to look directly at the child who had stood at the window. "Hello little Akira." She looked to her mother than back to the visitor. "Good evening." She was shy.
"Good evening." He nodded and looked at the community, greeting all.
Someone closed the door. Someone else put the rest of the firewood into the fireplace.

The visitor blew into a little whistle, he had worn around his neck and everyone in the room began a chant. Then they formed a circle around the center of the room and another slightly larger circle around the first and then another until the whole group was in formation. The visitor sat down at the centre and the first person sat down opposite him. The whistle lay between them next to a candle that had been lighted, it smelled faintly of honey, mushroom and something else

A good while passed and no one moved. Their murmurs rose and faded and rose again. The pair at the centre exchanged a few words that no one overheard, for it was not part of the ritual Of The Past to hear about the past of others. It will be all night and until the early morning, then everyone will have glimpsed a fraction of the visitor's past and everyone will have passed on a bit of their own past to him.

When Namio, who was the first to sit across from the shaman, got up to leave the center, the Sourcerer whistled briefly three times. In a compassionate voice, he said: "Namio spoke of his past - Namio, Tree Whisperer.", thereby breaking the trance of the community just enough to enable the next person to sit.

Namio blushed a little, but only his bride-to-be noticed it, as she had been particularly nervous at the beginning of this ritual. She glanced at Namio again and then fell back into the murmur.

PART 2

tbc...