Siinji - Or, Ankūro and the City of the Golden Boughs

20

Part 5
20

Do not mourn a loss,
Unless the loss is certain.
Hope always remains.
- Rasakūn.

Tuccé had no idea where they had come from. At first, the strangely dressed swordsmen seemed to appear from nowhere and, before he could even react, before he could cry out in fear, the old woman had cut two of them down. He could do nothing but await his ignoble death. A death he had feared would come at the end of a knife from some disgruntled person he had insulted. Not here, on this pit of an island.

He closed his eyes as more figures emerged, awaiting the cruel strike, but it did not come. Opening one eye, he saw the figures flash past him, their outlines, matching the shades of the forest around them, seeming to blur and disappear. And he stood alone, the path ahead empty, tantalising. He considered running.

Then he looked behind. The old woman fought like a demon, slashing and slicing anything within reach of that sword stick that he had had Kōshitō make for him to give to her. But the figures tried to avoid White Eye, they circled and parried the old woman's blows, until one caught hold of Yurivno.  That figure lost his arm, the blood fountaining outwards, giving a pink tinge to everything.

Tuccé bit his lip. It seemed obvious that Yurivno was the target here and, as White Eye presented a wall created by her body and the movement of her blade, Tuccé saw the chance to reach the cowering Kannai. Gripping her arm, he pulled her away. Looking up the empty path, he knew what he had to do.

"Run, Yurivno!" He had to place himself in front of her as he shouted, trying to make her understand. "We have to run! There's too many!"

She appeared frozen in fear, looking around her at bodies piling up on the ground, eyes so wide, so terrified. The old woman continued to fight and now her opponents stopped trying to evade her blows, but countered. They seemed to know they could not take Yurivno while the old woman lived. Seeing yet more figures arriving, from the way they had come, Tuccé could waste no more time. There was only one path to safety.

"Go! Go!" Shaking his head as Yurivno finally looked at him, he pulled her along and then pushed her forward, up the dirt track.

She began to run, then, as fast her Kannai legs could carry her. Glancing at the old woman, Tuccé knew he couldn't help her, he was no fighter, no warrior. As he turned to follow Yurivno, he felt something hit him in the stomach. He had never felt pain like it and wondered if this was what death from a sword felt like.

As he tumbled to the ground, his hand moved to his stomach, in the hope that he could hold his insides from cascading from his body, but he felt no blood. No innards. Looking up, he saw the figure retract their leg, placing it back upon the ground. The figure had kicked him. Kicked him as hard as a mule. Tuccé's hands scrambled to his sides, pushing himself away from the figure, and his fingers closed around something. Something solid. A sword.

Kicking his legs against the ground, Tuccé continued to push himself backwards until his back came up against the bole of a tree. With nowhere else to go, he raised the sword, holding it in both hands and prayed to the Patrons that their attackers would not see his trembling.

"Oi!" A word Tuccé had heard so often from White Eye, only this time, it came from another.

The figures all pulled back, retreating from both Tuccé and White Eye, leaving only one standing in front of them all. This one did not have his face covered and Tuccé could see a scar that crossed from one cheek to the other, almost splitting his nose. The man had lowered his sword, holding up a hand and, for some insane reason, White Eye followed suit, as though they only played a game of swords, with rules and etiquette.