Echoes of a Shattered Age (3 page)

“I don’t want your help,” the child sobbed. “Just go away.”

“And how do you intend to help your grandfather? Do you know how to treat his wounds, or are you strong enough to move him? Let me help you, little one. I know you have no reason to, but you must trust me.”

The little boy looked into the stranger’s eyes for a moment, then bobbed his head.

Mateo kneeled over the older man and immediately recognized the flickering life in his eyes. “Sir, my name is Mateo Masin, and I have come to help you and your grandson.”

The old man just smiled and nodded his head, but when Mateo moved to ask for help, he held up a trembling hand and cast a concerned look at his grandson. Reading the old man’s pained expression, Mateo went to the boy. “I need to talk to your grandfather, okay? Would you please give us a minute?” The child looked at his grandfather, who nodded, and then back to Mateo. He offered a reassuring nod, despite the hopeless situation for the boy’s grandfather. After a moment the boy hesitantly moved back to the doorway of their little house and watched them.

“Me grandson only five years old, but him understand much.” Grampa winced through a spasm of pain. “Him not like the other children ere, and dat is part of the reason that I was carin’ for him.”

Mateo noted the old man’s use of the word
was
. “Me time as his guardian is done,” The elder continued. “I do not know you, but I can see your heart through your eyes, and I feel dat you are a good man. I also feel that the boy need a new and younger teacher for his next stage of life. Maybe dat why this happen. I ask you, take him as your own and train him. I know you don’t know my grandson or me, but a man know a warrior when him see one, and I see it in you.”

After a fit of thick coughing, the old man gritted his teeth through the pain and continued. “He’s only five, but a lot faster and stronger den anyone his age. Him have a purpose and it must be fulfilled. I ask you … please to take … care of him and … raise him as your own.”

Mateo’s brows knitted together. The old man hadn’t much time left.

“This is much to ask of you, but I have … no time left, and I … am sure you were ere at dis time … for a reason.” Mateo looked into the old man’s eyes, at the flickering life.

“I’m leavin’ dis world, but … I still … watchin’ you … and me grandson.” Mateo did not doubt that, and with a sigh, he accepted the old man’s wish. Grampa smiled and motioned for his grandson.

The boy, still crying, made his way to his grandfather’s side.

“Kenyatta,” Grampa began, and his voice broke as a thin line of blood streamed from the corner of his mouth. “My time ere … is about to end … and don’t be cryin’ bout dat now. I have lived … a full life and … I prefer to leave this world … fighting for a cause worth … dying for. You are … that cause … and I have fulfilled … my … obligation to your parents.” He coughed again, a gurgling wet cough, and Mateo knew he was choking on his own blood. He hated the helpless feeling of watching this man die and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Dis man … will take care of you. I know you don’t know him … but … you will do as he says … and listen to him … as if he were me … or your parents. I know you been tru a lot … in your short life wit your father, mother and now me … but you will be … strong … and we all will be … watchin’ ya … from the other side … of the veil of life. Ya hear me boy?”

“Yes, Grampa.” The little boy sobbed.

The old man then whispered into Kenyatta’s ear something that only the boy could hear, then leaned away and closed his eyes. The young Kenyatta sat on his knees and stared at his grandfather as tears streamed down his round cheeks. Mateo Masin moved back and allowed the boy this private moment. It surprised him that the child seemed to be so strong, sitting next to his dead grandfather.

The young Kenyatta looked into Mateo’s eyes. Much pain was there, but there was also strength. There was more to this child than just the physical pain, or the regular mundane trials. This boy was different in the same way as his own son. Mateo had never been able to pinpoint what was so different about his son Kita, but this child held that same strangeness. Before he could attempt to train this boy in any way, he would need to first understand him. He thought of Kita, his son of the same age as this boy, and hoped that a ray of fortune might later shine through the tragedy in little Kenyatta’s life.

* * *

Later that same day, Mateo had introduced a nervous and distracted young Kenyatta to his wife and son, who was only a few months older than Kenyatta. After a long lunch—which Kenyatta barely touched—Mateo explained all that had transpired leading up to his taking the little boy with him. Mateo was reminded once again how much he loved his wife when she took Kenyatta by the hand and left for a few stores to buy some extra necessities and some clothes for the boy. She had immediately taken him in with the family and given him the emotional support that he needed. They helped Kenyatta arrange and perform a ritual funeral and burial. After a two-week long trial with local law in regards to the boy’s relocation, it was discerned that the child had no living family to take care of him. Then, after acquiring written and verbal testimonies from nearby witnesses, the family with a new member in tow left to return home to the Philippines.

***

Chapter Four

When Akemi returned home, she found Kenjiro outside the house practicing the sword. “I haven’t seen you unsheathe Kenzo for some time.” Kenjiro said nothing, just continued. “I’ve never felt anything like what I’m feeling now. But whatever it is, it’s powerful.”

“That’s why we must be ready,” Kenjiro replied evenly, never breaking his rhythm. “I am arming Kenzo as you have taught me.”

“With the power to slay a demon?” Akemi was surprised. “Then we do share the same suspicions. You surprise me, brother. I, too, believe that whatever is trying to break into this world is in fact, demonic in origin. I don’t think it’s found a way into our world yet, but I believe the veil is thinning as we speak. Whatever is coming through to this world is powerful, Kenjiro.”

The samurai paused and looked at her.

“Very powerful,” Akemi said.

“Then we must be ready,” Kenjiro repeated.

Akemi drew her sword out of its sheath and examined it. “It has been a while since Sekimaru has tasted the blood of a demon. I think it’s time to renew that thirst, that it might be quenched once again.” She left her brother to his ritual and went back to the hills. She would ready Sekimaru as Kenjiro did with his sword, but the ninja demon huntress had a different way of doing things.

* * *

After Kenjiro completed his moving meditation, he inspected his sword. He and his sister had seen many battles together, shared many victories. They’d fought together their whole lives, and so their skill complemented one another.

The samurai thought back to ten years ago when he’d been given the task of forging his own sword. At the young age of fifteen, he was already a warrior of notable skill, with strength and endurance well beyond any of his peers. His parents had begun his training at the age of five, not unusual for children born of a warrior family. After only a day, his teacher had requested to move him to learn in the advanced class, which brought his parents pride, and himself confusion. Kenjiro hadn’t felt as capable as Sensei had perceived him to be, but it was not his place to question.

What older students were expected to grasp in one month, he was expected to have mastered in that same period of time. Though every person was different, it was considered unthinkable for a practitioner to expect to achieve mastery inside of a decade. Kenjiro had reached mastery within seven years. Sensei was also adamant about Kenjiro learning Bushido, an ancient code of ethics that the samurai adhered to since even before the Age of Technology. Kenjiro remembered the day he began his lessons alone. Sensei purposely separated his young pupil from the rest of the students because of his rare abilities.

“Ego is a dangerous trait that is born in all of us, Kenjiro,” the master lectured. “Some of your classmates admire and envy your abilities, which can lead to jealousy. This could interfere with their progress as well as yours. Remember this Kenjiro: Although your innate abilities exceed that of anyone in your class, it is your soul, your very being, that is your true strength. There is always someone physically stronger, but it is within yourself that you will find that true, elusive and intangible power that you seek. Power without perception is useless. Do you know what I mean when I say this?”

“I’m not sure, Sensei,” the young Kenjiro had replied.

“Come.”

They went for a walk in a nearby garden overflowing with diverse types of vegetation, from weeping willows to bonsai trees to small, green shrubs. Purple flowers bloomed and emitted a sweet smell. As they crossed an arc-shaped bridge, Kenjiro looked down at the many smooth multicolored rocks that carpeted the floor of the stream below. He liked picking the rocks up to feel their smooth texture before throwing them back into the water and disturbing the koi fish that browsed the stream bed. The sound of Sensei’s voice brought Kenjiro’s thoughts back to the present.

“What do you see around you?” Sensei asked.

“I see nature, Sensei,” Kenjiro replied.

“And what about nature? Why do we often say we see nature, when we are in fact a part of it? Why is it when we take a retreat to a park, or go to the mountains or the forest, we feel relaxed and refreshed, and once we come back to this place that we call civilization, we are renewed? In fact, why is it that we call going to the mountains, or the forest, a retreat?” The child shook his head, confused.

“This,” the master continued, “is because humans have separated themselves from nature. We once lived complex lives that were very different from today. The machines that we once used in our daily existence had no spontaneity, no vigor. We as humans have struggled to regain that spontaneity and vigor that we almost lost, so many years ago.”

“People did just as their machines once did. They got up, performed their daily functions and went home to sleep. In some cases, perhaps I should refer to the relationship between people and machines differently. Instead of saying people and their machines, perhaps I should say machines and their people. People created these artificial workers to make their lives easier, but as a result, life grew even more complex than the people of previous ages could have ever dreamt it would be. Life and artificial life had interwoven themselves into each other. Though life is different now than it was, we as a species are still struggling to understand life, and live it without the unnecessary complications we are so adept at creating.”

Sensei spread a hand out to encompass the garden. “Kenjiro. When you see nature, what do you see?”

“I see something that is beautiful and simple, Sensei.”

“Explain,” Sensei said in an approving tone.

“When I look at nature, I see things going easy, like everything is doing what it does without having to think about it. It just does what it does. Everything seems to happen as it is supposed to, and there is nothing forcing anything to do anything. Flowers always bloom, fish always swim through the water perfectly, and birds fly just as if the sky picked them up and carried them away.”

“Good, Kenjiro,” Sensei replied, smiling at the child’s simple explanation. “I said earlier that power without perception was useless.
Now
do you understand what I meant by this?”

“I think you were meaning to say that every living thing is able to work in life perfectly without any limits or distractions.”

“Close,” the teacher nodded encouragingly. “Watch that bird.” Sensei pointed to a bird roosting in a tree. “Do you see what it’s doing?”

The young boy nodded uncertainly.

“It is waiting patiently,” Sensei continued. “Scanning for food. From its perch, it can see everything below with more detail than we can.” Just as Sensei finished speaking, the bird crouched, then leaped from the branch and glided downward. Several feet from the ground it spread its wings and evened out its angle, scooping up a cricket while avoiding impact with the ground by mere inches.

“You see, Kenjiro? Without an outside influence it would never miscalculate and collide with the ground, because it need not calculate at all. It simply
does
. Without thought. It is in tune with itself and its surroundings. Unlike most humans who stumble through life, the bird acts according to the flow of life using its innate qualities, intelligence and instincts.”

“For example, a bird is born with the ability to fly, but must be taught by its parents to utilize this ability, and after a short time, the bird learns to fly. After some time and guidance from its parents, the bird masters the art of flying and soars with grace and perfection. This is unlike some humans that you may have seen who even after decades of walking remain clumsy and can be seen stumbling about.”

“You are not like that, Sensei,” young Kenjiro replied.

Akutagawa smiled, holding up a finger. “This is because I have learned to banish the ego, Kenjiro. Ego is involved in almost everything we as humans do, and that is sometimes the reason we stumble through life. We want to look perfect when we walk, we have to sound extra intelligent when we talk, we must behave this way or that way. I am not, however, implying that we just do whatever we wish and say whatever comes to mind without tact, but it is often because of ego that mastery escapes us.”

Sensei looked at his student. “You must strive for perfection without ego, young one. Such a task at your age would be easier than as an adult. You are rare, Kenjiro, but you will discover that there are others not unlike you that are on a similar path to self-discovery.”

“I don’t understand,” Kenjiro said.

“You will, in time. For now, train without ego, train for the goal of emptiness and selflessness. Only then will you truly be able to master yourself.”

A few years following his and his master’s walk, Kenjiro was given the task of forging his own sword. Weeks of failed attempts passed until he was able to successfully forge a simple sword, but the master was not satisfied. “Not bad,” Akutagawa congratulated. “This sword will serve you well for now, but in the real battles to come, you will need a sword far stronger than that one.” Kenjiro, looking even more confused, tipped his head in inquiry.

“Sensei, people say that the Age of Technology will return and that there is no need to fight in battles using swords and physical fighting; those are the times of the past. Machines will do it all again as they did before. Why do I have to forge a stronger sword that was only used in a time that we read about in school and that people say will return soon?”

The master chuckled and replied, “Live on, my young student, live on.”

After three more years of hammering and smoothing, healing small burns and squinting from the bright light of the molten coals over which he worked the metal that would be his sword, Kenjiro had finally realized his life’s greatest achievement. He had forged the strongest blade seen in generations. The master inspected the weapon carefully. The curved blade was weighted perfectly, and as sharp as if a laser had tuned it during the times of technology.

“Excellent work,” the master observed. “As strong as I have ever seen. I could never have forged such a sword. This one will serve you well, Kenjiro. More than just steel was used to create this. A bit of you and much more went into the conception and creation of this weapon. You would do well to name it and forever keep it by your side.”

The young student looked at his new sword with a wide, gleaming smile of pride. “I told you,” Akutagawa scolded, “simply do. Do not involve ego or all of your efforts are lost.”

Kenjiro responded with a nervous nod, and looked at his sword once again. “Its name is … Kenzo.” He looked to his master barely in time to see the startled look that came over his teacher’s face before it was quickly replaced with a smile of approval.

“Very well,” said Sensei with a bow to the sword. Kenjiro gently laid the sword atop its stand, stood up, and did the same.

As he lost himself in his remembrance of those past days, Kenjiro had not noticed that his sister had left. He chuckled as he looked in the direction that Akemi had last been standing. How ironic it was that one of the very people the master had referred to as having similar abilities would turn out to be his own sister. He eventually had come to realize that in some ways, Akemi’s abilities exceeded his own. He felt no jealousy or envy. He was happy that he had such a strong sister—even if she was a ninja—and that they could fight side by side. He would have had it no other way.

***