Refraction | Part 2 | Multiverse
3) How the Ninja Made his Bread
The Ninja left the cave the next day never to return. It had become his home, and the leaving lay heavy upon his heart, but he knew that destiny did not mean for him to remain a hermit. Before he left he placed his practice weapons on the wooden racks he had built for them, there to stay until the next student made his way here and discovered them. His final act there was to remove from the darkness of the cave a long, flat wooden lockbox. The Ninja pulled the lockbox into the sunlight that bathed the clearing in front of the cave’s opening. He sat quietly for a while on the Master’s rock. Seeing things from the old man’s point of view. Then he took the key the Master had given him and opened the ornately carved lock. He lifted the heavy lid slowly, within he found the tools of his new trade, wrapped within black cotton. He unwrapped the swords, the black cotton revealing itself to be a shoulder slung gunny whose cleverly concealed pockets were filled with all sort of deadly tricks. The swords themselves could be tied to the gunny across the back, fitting neatly into two socks, concealing them while leaving them accessible.
Travel Mode, thought the Ninja.
The Ninja clumsily attached the gleaming black sheaths to the ebony cloth. He threw the gunny over his shoulder, reaching back he could feel the ties that would free the weapons. He would practice loosing and attaching the swords he decided, as well as studying the bag and it’s contents in order to understand how else it’s construction was built to aid him.
He placed the scrolls of his training into the lock box and turned the key, sealing them in. These were deadly secrets and it would not do for just anyone to have them. He replaced the lockbox in the back of the cave, placed the key in a small pocket on the front of the gunny. The pocket was sown onto the inside of the strap right where it crossed his sternum, the key fit neatly into it. As the Ninja walked down the path away from his former home, he could feel the small golden prize pressing comfortingly against his chest.
It was not long before the Ninja had the opportunity to earn his new name. He arrived in a village by a river late in the afternoon on a winter day. Cold and hungry, the Ninja inquired at the edge of town about an inn and was led to a homey, two-story wooden building near the riverbank. He thanked the boy who had showed him the establishment, then knocked on the heavy door. A voice within bade him enter. He pushed the door open and stepped into a warm room, a fire burning in a central hearth. He chose a table near the fire, ordered tea and food, then sat quietly meditating on the dancing flames. He ate his meal and drank his tea, asked about a room for the night, if a bath was possible. Both were available to him, and the price was acceptable. A group of villagers had quieted when the Ninja entered the room, but their conversation soon grew in volume again as they became accustomed to his silent presence.
The Ninja gathered from their conversation that the town had fallen to the abuse of a group of pirates that traveled on the river. The pirate leader had taken a shine to the daughter of the village doctor. The villagers had refused to let him take her captive and the pirate band had been raiding the hamlet periodically ever since. The village stores were nearly empty, the livestock had been stolen or slaughtered, and the townspeople were weary of fighting. The debate this evening was whether or not to let the pirate have the young woman. If it would be too little too late, or if it would solve the problem once and for all. The Ninja listened as he finished his tea, then rose, gathered his belongings, and followed the innkeeper up the stairs to a small cozy room. He disrobed and walked down the hall to bathe. It was during his bath that the emissary from the villagers first arrived. Humbly and quietly he petitioned the Ninja. The towns people had seen the gunny, and knew what it held.
“Kill the pirate for us,” said the emissary, “We will gladly give you what we have, for if you do not destroy this man, he will have it all, and more. His attentions will surely ruin us.”
The Ninja sat in the hot water, shrouded by steam.
“I wish only for the room and my meal.”, said the Ninja. Then he rose from his bath, dried himself, returned to his room and slept.
The Ninja awoke hours before dawn, dressed and meditated. His heart thumped powerfully in his chest at the thought of the task that lay before him. Although he had trained for years, he had not yet put his steel to flesh, and the idea of it at once sickened and excited him. He stretched his muscles, slung his bag over his shoulder, and climbed out the window of the room. He left the village with out leaving a trace and made his way up the riverbank until he came upon the place where the pirates had their long flat boats harbored for the night.
There were five boats in all, four of them in a rough square around the fifth, creating a sort of floating fortress. There were three pirates on the decks, two of them pacing the length of the boats, the third sitting quietly on the gunwale, ponjaishing the already gleaming barrel of a Nambu .50 caliber machine gun. The man with the gun seemed completely absorbed in his task. So the Ninja turned his attention to the two men on patrol. They walked they decks in opposing circles, passing each other on the shore side and again on the river side. Their pattern left a window open for the Ninja to exploit. He watched the movement of the two men. Waiting for the perfect time to move. The two men passed each other on the near side of the boats, walked to the far ends then turned and made their way back toward the river side. The Ninja stood and began running silently toward the boats. He reached the river bank, focusing himself on his technique, lifting his body’s weight above and away from himself. He hit the river at full speed, stepped across its surface once, twice, three times, the smallest ripples moving outward from where his feet touched the water. He stepped onto the near boat and disappeared into the shadows created by a stack of wooden barrels. The three guards on deck had no idea that they had been boarded.
The Ninja made his way soundlessly toward the center boat. Around him on deck lay the evidence of a feast, empty bottles of wine, bones of the villagers’ livestock. The Ninja crept below deck, finding a number of pirates unconscious, in the uncomfortable positions of men who drank themselves to sleep. At the head of a long low table sat the Pirate Leader, his head thrown back, snores pouring out of his open mouth. The Ninja picked his way through the sleeping bodies until he stood in the shadows behind Pirate Leader, considered his many options. He decided the best way to deal with people such as these men was a method of fear. He reached behind him with a motion that had become increasingly smooth with practice, loosed his kitana from it’s sheath. He stepped forward bringing the ponjaished steel down in a powerful arc. The Pirate leader’s eyes popped opened in the moment that his head was cleaved from his body. The Ninja followed through with the strike, spun and speared the head before it hit the floor. There was a huge gush of blood from the neck of the Pirate Leader that quickly abated to a tiny trickle. The Ninja placed the head in his gunny, in order to give it to the townspeople as proof of his work. He flicked his wrist powerfully, snapping the Pirate’s blood clean from his blade. Then, working silently and methodically in the night, The Ninja finished his work on the boats, returned to the village, leaving his proof in the square, and his character drawn in the dust.
The townspeople rose from their beds to find The Ninja had gone. On the ground near the well, a platoon of pirate heads, twenty eight strong, arranged in neat rows, their lifeless eyes like glass beads reflecting the morning sun.
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