Flight of the Warrior Chapter 14 - The last adventure

The old lady lived in the castle complex of Tsurugajo near the port. It was her duty to go down to the shore well before sunrise to give the fishermen her predictions.

It was common for the area to be cloaked in a blanket of snow this time of year and this morning was no different. She woke and covered her aging joints in layers before climbing slowly up the staircase of the west tower. From here she could listen and feel the coming of the day's weather. She also received other messages that were unrelated to weather but she kept those to herself. They were meant for her. They were private.

She had been excited for some days prior as she expected the arrival of a red headed girl. This girl would want to speak with her, perhaps learn her skills. The thought of a visitor, one she could talk to about the old ways lifted her spirits. In fact, for a while there she had thought about picking up her swords and running through some basic motions. But she was in her seventies and the bones were more fragile than she hoped, the muscles hung loosely on her frame and she limped badly from an old injury. Adventure seemed a thing of the past.

This morning she was anxious. Arriving at the top of the tower staircase she took a moment to catch her breath before opening the crude door. She could feel bad news before she went outside, it seemed to be seeping through every small opening in the door frame.

Being centred and alert was important. The wind would deliver much to her particularly in the first few moments atop the turret. She had to be ready and focus on what she needed. It was very much, she imagined, like a mother who walks into a room full of her children, all yelling at her, pulling at her kimono, demanding that she listen to them and not their brother or sister. Except she had no children of her own.
Once she reached the centre of the small turret, the wind whirling around her head, she closed her eyes to draw her concentration to the fore. Opening her eyes they glowed red and she could see the messengers cloaked in smoke racing through the air, some black menacing and wild, others white and joyous. She waited for a moment till she saw it, and opened her arms inviting. Several messengers trailing black smoke made vain attempts to crash into her but she was too quick and she slapped them away with a carefully placed movement of her hand. They held what she did not care to hear, the threat of war, the coming of the Mongols. There would be time to know the details before the invasion. A moment later she welcomed the messenger she was looking for, grey smoke passing through her body.

She retreated inside. The girl was not coming, she was fleeing the man who had attacked her. She was stuck in a place and trying to call a stranger to help her. And the worst news, Nakano was trying to find her, and he had picked up her trail of jasmine on the wind.

She sat on the first step trying to make sense of it all. This was bad indeed. She had only been able to do so much to keep Nakano away from the girl. She had convinced him in a dream that he needed to go South to pick up the fees he was owed. That if he didn't war would come and he may never see the money. He must strengthen his ties to the nobility of the South, too much time had passed since his last visit. He had taken too many women, there had been too much pleasure and not enough work. He would pay for this. The God of War would not be happy.

There was little she knew she could do to stop him once he was hunting the girl. His passion once flamed would not dim till he found her.

But the girl was not ready, not prepared. She was a warrior yes, and she had some natural talents. Like all warrior women she was proud and strong, but she lacked knowledge that would unlock her skills. That is where Tomoe would come in, she would be the girl's teacher. The girl must not perish, there were too little of her kind around anymore. So few were born with the gift.

So perhaps she would have to go to the girl. As old and frail as she was, she would need to travel, and  to teach the girl in less time than she would probably need. The question was how was she going to get to her before Nakano did? Perhaps she should break her silence and send the girl a message to warn her somehow.

The daimyo would never let her leave for an extended period because of the warnings she provided the fishermen were important to the livelihood of all the villagers. But it was not uncommon for her to go out on the boats from time to time. She would use this as her way to escape. She would ask a local fisherman, a trusted member of her family to take her to the island of Sadogashima where she would have the girl meet her. It was further north for her, but according to the messages she had received was west of the girls location, away from Nakano who was coming from the east. No time to waste.

Getting up as quickly as her tired body would let her, she returned to the turret. Standing in the centre again she drew her concentration inward. Her eyes blazed red, and a mist fell around her. She raised her hands to the sky and the mist turned to rainclouds, the wind increasing in speed her garments billowing around her legs. In a swift motion, her hands came together in a soundless clap and the clouds shot off to the Northeast, racing like thoroughbreds through the sky. Every messenger in its path cleared the way.

Returning inside she did not pause to rest, but continued down the stairs. With each step the list of questions grew. She wondered where the stranger fit into all this? She wondered if she had the energy for the voyage? But most of all she wondered if her message would reach the girl before Nakano did.

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 13 - Hunting

Once he knew in which direction to find her, he urged the black horse a little faster. The beast seemed to have a reserve of energy that was boundless, in fact like a demon itself. It was well capable of the speeds he demanded of it.

When he first came upon the horse it was wild and crazed, having been shot by a bow through the flank. He was unsure at first if he wanted to catch and treat the animal but somehow he had been drawn to do so.

Following the hapless creature for two days, keeping a short distance, he was able to close the gap slowly. Each time he moved marginally and then sustained the distance for another hour, moving only when the horse was comfortable. Eventually he was able to lay a hand on the nose of the thing and with some coaxing remove the arrow.

He enjoyed riding in preference to flying, even though he made slower progress. Atop this preternatural mount he felt more powerful somehow. He certainly had experience of coming upon a battlefield and men and horse alike fleeing from his charge. The black horse would set back its bat like ears, lower its neck and charge with such force that a tremendous wind tunnel was created, making it hard for enemies to stand steady. This provided him with the opportunity to relieve a man of his head.

He smiled at the memory. It was diabolical splendour.

He knew that war was coming, a new threat from across the seas. This did not displease him, but was simply a potential new source of income. A ronin for hire in times of unrest was never without currency.

He was however, concerned that the advent of war may come sooner than expected. He hoped for at least a week with his little Toraneko, to teach her he was her master. Not only did she provide him with physical delectation, he felt there was more to discover. There was much he wanted to know, and he would make her tell him.  How was it that she could fly, or know how to manage the short sword she had some skill in wielding? And more than that, what else did she know?

There was predictability in his daily life, but with her, there was the unknown. A new type of entertainment awaited him. There for his taking.

The little fool had left a trail. He had picked up the scent playing on the wind without too much difficulty but he was perplexed by the direction it was taking him. First the ravine into which he had to fly, and then to the hilltop where a bare hut sat abandoned. He saw the disturbance in the snow where a body had flailed about, and then the trail went cold. He had spent valuable time absorbed in the patterns in the snow. Could two people have made these marks? If so, who was the second person? The man he had seen at the hut? A mentor who had taught her some of the skill necessary to be a warrior? In any case he needed to be on his guard.

It took some time focussing on countless whispers on the wind before he found the one he sought and recommenced the hunt. He was headed to the coast, maybe two days ride between him and the open sea. One day if he flew. He contemplated his options and decided to ride till nightfall, rest, then fly the remaining distance. By then he would know exactly where she had fled.

And where it was he would capture her a second and final time.

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 12 - Running from the shadow

He was much faster than her even carrying her weight so they had been forced into this uneasy partnership.

She had been stoic at first, ashen-faced but stoic. Then she had started to wriggle and began to complain they needed to take a break. She was polite at first, the requests made quietly, and when he whispered they needed to go a little further she would hang her head. Then she started to beg, plead and reason with him. Surely he was tired, perhaps they should stop and get him some food. Maybe if they stopped they would be able to get a sense of how far away the kage was. They may have more time than they thought she had reasoned.

Then she started to lapse in and out of consciousness. Each time she was out cold for longer and longer, and woke groaning in pain. Finally with the small shelter in sight, he moved off the pocket of prevailing wind he had been using to glide over the high passes. Landing as softly as his fatigue would allow, he fell onto his knees in the soft snow. She had been unconscious for a few moments before he landed, but she woke with a start. Almost instantly she clawed away from his grasp and on all fours was sick in the snow.

He was not sure if it was the hours flying or his mind playing tricks but the sight of her struggling to get away from him only to throw up repeatedly broke his spirit. There had to be a way to release her from the curse, but this was outside his area of expertise. It plagued him that the kage had a talent he did not know how to wield, could there be other surprises?

After a while there seemed to be nothing left inside her and he motioned she should come inside the mountain shelter. He had used this hut several times before. It was nothing special, but provided some warmth and protection from the harsh storms that regularly drew up and covered the area. It was also the most direct way west and he knew the area was uninhabited.

She moved slowly and with some relief he noticed her cheeks had some colour. He silently prepared the hearth and she watched him as he made tea and a small dish of rice and beans. She ate little so he encouraged her with every bite.

After eating she fell into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning and murmuring to herself. He found it hard to watch her. So he left the hut and went to check on the weather outside. It would be better to leave first thing in the morning to allow them both to rest, but he did not want to get stuck in a storm and be snowed in for days, losing precious time and allowing the kage to close in on them like caged birds. When he met this man it would be on his terms.

If a storm was coming he would let her sleep for a couple of hours and then wake her to leave again.

Looking at the sky it seemed clear and blue in all directions with light winds. No threatening cloud formations. Then he drew his focus inward to see if there was anything further he could learn, any warnings on the wind. He was struck immediately by the silence. There was nothing, like he was in a void. No messengers flapping around him vying for attention. There was only one vibration far away in the distance that he sensed, hard to make out. He went back inside to check on her. She was sitting up sipping some tea, looking worn.

"Anything?" she asked.

He was not sure what she was asking, what she knew he could see, so he answered, "Nothing close by. But something, maybe bad weather coming our way. We may need to leave."

She got up and moved to the open door, leaving the cup on the table near the hearth.

He looked with amazement at the clouds rushing toward them, they were incredibly close. Where there had been a clear sky before, the area to the south west was almost entirely black. She looked at him stunned, "Was it this close before?"

"No," he replied with uneasy concern. He moved to stand in front of her so she could not see his eyes glowing red as he took his focus inward, and saw instantly a tremendous wind on its way to her. A message, a warning.

Not caring about his eyes he turned to her, "A message for you."

She had gone white, in shock he thought. Then suddenly before either of them had a chance to move, they were immersed in cloud, complete with a strong wind that did not seem to know which direction it was going. Then as if entering a different weather zone, the cloud was gone and a thick mist descended. He could only just make her out so he took a few steps closer, unsure of what was going to happen next. Then as if in a vacuum the whole mist seemed to rush at them and he inhaled sharply.

In a surge of wind the cloud and mist was gone, they were standing on the snow, surrounded in blue sky again.

He glanced at her, and was instantly alarmed. She was kneeling down, grasping at handfuls of snow and rubbing it viciously against her wrists.

"What are you doing? You will hurt yourself." But unable to grab her without causing her pain there was little he could do.

"At least tell me what is wrong?" he pleaded.

"The jasmine, he is following the trail of jasmine." At this she started to wrench at her clothes, to get to bare skin, grabbing handfuls of snow and scouring herself with it.

He came up behind her, grabbed the cloak that had been thrown off and placed it around her shoulders, saying softly, "That is enough. We should go inside."

She stopped raking her skin but sat for a moment looking down at the snow in her hands, her wrists red raw. She nodded and stood up drawing the cloak around her and he led her inside the hut.

"We have to go west to an island off the coast. A woman will meet us there. She said his name is Nakano, he is a ronin. He is some way east from here so we have a small lead, but she warns to not waste a moment. Should he fly he will catch us quickly, at present he is riding a horse. He is following me because I sent you a message and the jasmine..... ," she added almost to herself.

"Do you think you can trust this woman?" he asked.

"I was going to go to her after I met you in the forest. I don't know how she knew I was going to do that. I had heard she has special skills. I wanted to learn from her."

"Do you know her name, where she is from?" It was his job to protect her and he would not go to the island without being satisfied it was not a trap.

"Tomoe I think, she lives in Tsurugajo."

He smiled to himself. She was a famous female samurai. Even Finn with his limited knowledge of bygone conflicts knew of her. She would be quite old now, but certainly a good person to have on side if she could help Bianca. Finally some luck was falling their way.

"We need to go now," she said "If you feel up to it I mean you must be very tired. I can fly myself for a while, although I am not as fast as you."

He nodded. "Let's go then." And he shut the door with the hearth still burning inside.

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 11 - A frank discussion

It seemed he found it hard to refuse her. "You are welcome."

She pulled her knees up to her chest, drawing the cloak around her legs as she was shivered slightly from the chill in the air. "That was my second time sending a message. I was not sure how to do it. I don't know your name...so I had to remember other things about you to make sure I was sending it to the right person..." her voice trailed off and she looked behind her subconsciously, as if checking to see if she had been overheard.

"You did a good job," he said simply, then, "Finn....my name is Finn."

She leaned forward and held out her hand, "Bianca".

He took her hand, it was ice cold. She withdrew it quickly, another shiver invading her body. "You are frozen. Let me see if I can make a fire." He could make fire by summoning it but there was no wood to keep it burning here. "I can go and get some wood," he rose to his feet.

"There is no need, this is a hot spring. I can go in and warm up. I did that last night and it worked well. Will you turn your back?"

He was still thinking about getting firewood, looking at her dumbly and it was a moment before he registered what she was saying. He stumbled over his words, "Oh, I....yes, of course....yes." He was thankful his back was to her as his neck and ears flushed red.

He heard a splash then, "You can turn around now".

He turned slowly. Nervous, like a boy again, on his first day of school. "I am sorry to be so....brazen, but I need to get warm straight away. It will take some time for a fire to throw of enough heat. One night sleeping on that cold rock slab was enough for me."

He sat down again, not wanting to see her body through the water. The light was getting stronger now, the day was starting.

She swam about the pool for a while, no words passing between them. He watched her from the corner of his eye. It was hard not to.

She motioned that he should turn around again and after she was fully clothed she said, "I need your help." He turned to look at her, hair wet and tied back off her face in a bun. Her cheeks were coloured from the swim. He was in trouble now.

Looking down at his feet he said, "You need to tell me why you ran, how you ended up here."

She told him about the message on the wind, he had figured out she knew how to read messages when he had received one from her so that was no surprise. She told him how she had fled to the East, making the mistake that led her to this spot. She explained that she could not take off without running some distance and that although she did not know he was able to fly, she guessed at it and that he might be able to get her out of her predicament. She said she was very sorry to ask him for help, but she could think of no other way out.

He continued to look down at his feet. He would help her of course but he needed some guarantee she would not run from him again. He needed her to stay with him, and he had several reasons for that now.

It was a risk offering her an ultimatum, but he felt he did not have any other choice. "I can get you out of here. You will need to hold onto me, but I can fly some distance with two. We will need to jump off that small ledge over the river." He paused. This was tricky. "I will ask something of you in return."

She bristled. He had used the wrong words. Quickly he added, "I need to find the man who hurt you. As I said when we last met, I believe he will try to find you. I can offer you some protection and meet my obligations to my employer."

"You have made two assumptions." Her voice was very quiet, but he could trace anger in it. "You assume that I wish to be protected, and you assume you are his equal or better." She looked him directly in the eye.

"I don't make assumptions. I hope you want my protection, and I know I can capture him. But I won't leave this place without your assurance." He stood up, getting ready to go. He hoped if she did not think about it too much she would say yes. Rushing her thought process would be his best chance now. "It may rain, we should get out of here before it does. It would flood quickly. What do you say? Do I have your word?"

"You have a plan, a place to go? I need to know that if you are to use me like bait to lure a demon, that it is well thought out."

He felt as if she had hit him square in the stomach. "I take no pleasure from this situation Bianca. This man will not stop, and I am sorry to say this, he will come after you. With me by your side you have more of a chance than if you were alone."

She nodded in resignation. "We will need to set some ground rules. I will also need some privacy at times. Please don't touch me unless you have to. There is a curse, when a man touches me I feel very ill."

"He wants me to always be reminded of him, to always be reminded I am his. As soon as I can figure out how to break that spell.....it is that part that upsets me more than anything. My liberty is a prized possession. That has been taken away so life feels hollow."

"I am sorry," was all he could say.

She stood for some time eyes closed, head lowered as if meditating. When she did open her eyes the bright sunlight of the day had flooded the ravine. They were still standing apart in the same positions but something seemed different. How long had they been standing there?

She picked up her satchel and they moved to the ledge. She slid around to face him so that her back was to the raging river. Then she silently grasped him round the neck, circling one leg in his. He placed one arm around her waist and noticed her face fall to grey before he fell forward and flew out of the opening and down the ravine.

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 10 - Bound to her

He flew through the night.

In his mind he heard her over and over again. She sounded as if all her energy had been drained, and he felt there was also fear in her voice. He imagined she would have to be desperate to call him. His mere presence seemed to make her sick.

Still there was something in those eyes, looking at him, green and bright.

He shook his head. Whimsical thoughts, no time for those now. He had to think about what he might find when he got to her. He felt that she could be imprisoned, there was something in the message that suggested this. He would need to stay focused to ensure he stayed alive.

With her plea came a scent on the wind, just the faintest hint of jasmine. Without it the process of following her would have been laborious. His normal method of tracking was using the messages on the wind, but he had to tap into all of the them and work through them one at a time. Like reading a pile of letters until you find just the right phrase hidden deep in the middle of line after meaningless line, a time consuming task.

As the night passed the scent grew stronger and by the early hours of the morning he came upon a steep ravine cut into cold mountains. He traveled upstream flying close to the water, flicking up at him as if performing some strange sort of dance. The sun was beginning to rise, but in the shadow of the ravine the night was still present.

Passing through a bend in the river he suddenly lost the scent. It had been so strong and then it was just gone. With heart sinking he thought she must have been thrown or fallen into the river. He had been too late.

He turned sharply and returned to the place he had lost the scent. Feeling a sense of sadness he could not understand he looked up the ravine wall, leaping to a small step partially covered in creeper for a moments rest. Jasmine was very strong here. Pushing the creeper aside he realised there was a hidden space behind the rock face.

It took a moment to adjust to the light and he was confused by the heady smell. Then he saw her, wrapped in her traveling robes, on the far side of a small pool. He could see the soft rise and fall of her chest so he knew she was sleeping, and he hoped not hurt.

He inhaled, slowly and deliberately. He needed a moment to slow down his suddenly racing heartbeat, and to make sure they were alone in the place. Looking around the small enclosure he was assured there was no danger.

Moving soundlessly over to her he wondered how she had ended up here. This was at best a temporary hiding spot, and a dangerous one. Any rain and this area would flood and suck everything downward to the river. Tonight the sky had been clear, so no chance of that at least for a couple of hours. But you simply could not underestimate how quickly the weather could change in the mountains.

He sat and looked at her in the dim light. She was cocooned in her cloak, only part of her face exposed. She looked vulnerable, and he struggled to harness feelings that raced away unbridled and dangerous.

It occurred to him that when he had received her message he had wasted no time. He had come straight away. Why?

He wanted to believe that is was because if he stayed with her the kage would eventually appear and it was his best chance of capturing him, appeasing his employer and collecting the handsome salary. But there was an alternate reason.

Then she opened her eyes. Waking quickly she sat up. "Thank you for coming."

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 9 - She asks for help

Running on empty she arrived at the ravine.

She was not sure if it was the exhaustion, but the air was full of messages. Unfortunately she could not make out a single one.  Her head buzzed as if it was a hive full of bees. Her eyes blurred and her normally excellent night vision was failing. She would need to find a spot soon, or she would just drop from the sky like a stone, defeated.

There was no thinking this through. She simply dived down into the ravine. With all senses in overdrive the sound of crashing and tumbling water deafened her. She longed for silence. She flew away from the thunder of the water instinctively toward a bend in the riverbed where she discovered a semi enclosed area, hidden by a wall of creeper over rock. There was a small pond fed by a steady but modest stream of water coming from higher on the wall of the ravine. On one side of the pond was a stone platform, that bent up into a smooth rock wall, beaten by the river in times of flood. Body aching with effort she threw her satchel down on the platform, and fell down next to it.

She was too tired to cry. She was too tired to make a fire, too tired to eat. With dull resignation she crawled to the edge of the pond. Have a few mouthfuls of water, then sleep, she thought. It was the best she could do for herself.

To her surprise the water was warm, and she realised she had come upon one of the hot springs the area was famous for. This was a wonderful stroke of good luck. These hots springs were touted for their restorative powers. Perhaps they would also bring clarity to her adled mind.

She hastily threw off her clothes, and stepped into the spring. She was shaky and uncertain of her footing, but after a clumsy moment she managed to get herself seated so she was fully immersed, just her head out of the water.

Reason began to return. It was then she noticed she had landed in a place where she could not run to take off. Her eyes darted all around her looking for a way she might climb up the ravine wall. Nothing, no hand or foot holds. Rejoining the river and letting the flow take her further down was not an option. She would be crushed up against the jagged rocks and there were many waterfall drops. She would be pounded under the weight of the water.

She held her face in her hands and began to cry. She was cornered by her own stupidity.

After some time she could cry no more. Her mind returned to thoughts of escape. There had to be a way out of here. She looked again at the walls surrounding her, perhaps she had missed something. She got out of the spring and put her clothes on to have a closer look.

She inspected every section of wall. It was wet and slippery and there were no sharp edges. This area obviously became of funnel for water in heavy rains, as the rock was worn smooth. She checked the entry way, perhaps she could climb the creeper, but it fell away in her hands, dropping to the river below.

She sat down next to her satchel. She rubbed her tired eyes. They felt swollen, so she closed them and listened to the noises around her. Water, the crashing heavy sound of water. Then overlaid on this the messages, further in the distance but still discernible. A mass of different sounds, words interwoven and competing for attention. There was nothing there that could help her but she was heartened that for the first time she could hear something of the messages.

If only she had learned to take off with a couple of steps. She had tried many times. In fact the night she was attacked she had decided to go to a clearing she knew and practice.

There was no-one she could ask to show her. The only man she knew who could fly was her attacker. She was not about to call for his help.

It was then that it occurred to her. The tracker might be able to fly. He had been sleeping many miles from the village in the cave, perhaps he had flown there? To add to this clue was also the mystery of the market. How he had been behind her and then in front of her in the matter of a moment?

So if he could fly, perhaps he could help her. She decided to ask.

She had once before sent a message on the wind, to the physician who had helped her when she was wounded. In her haste to leave she had not thanked him, so she had sent a message from her heart on the night breeze. She had no idea he had received it but felt a certain peace come over her. Perhaps an unloading of her conscience or maybe she had actually done it.

She grabbed the jasmine oil from her satchel and dabbed a little on her wrists. She hoped this might help him find her. It was a hopeless gesture, she really did not know how these messages worked.

Standing out near the entrance she pushed the creepers aside. A cool gust jumped up at her feet, thrust up by waves tumbling into one another from the river below. Hopefully this would be enough.

She thought of him, looking at her in the cave, she felt his hand on her scar, she heard his rough voice explaining they could not talk out in the open. I need your help, she whispered, surprised and embarrassed by the emotion in her voice she withdrew to the inner platform.

Now she had to wait. She unraveled the blanket and laid it on a dry patch of the platform. She laid down using the satchel for a pillow, and pulled her traveling robes close to her.

She went to sleep.

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 6 - The first warning

She had flown back to the hut, tears streaming down her face the whole way. She was lost and the man who could help her had thought her a liar. He had tested her in a crude way.

She had tried since the attack to balance her reactions to men. They were not all like him. Some were kind and gentle like the physician who helped her when she was in a desperate state. But here was another example that she should not trust.

She had gone to find him with many questions. Most remained unanswered.

But she had figured out for herself something that had perplexed her. In the trackers presence, particularly when she was close to him, or he touched her, she had felt physically ill at worst and at best dreadfully lethargic. This had never happened before with any man, and there had been a couple. But then she had not been close to any man since the attack with the exception of the Physician and she was already unwell when he treated her.

At first she thought it to be a lack of courage. But sitting with the tracker around his small fire, she had unwittingly recalled what the man had done and said after he had assaulted her.

She had fought for twenty minutes before he threw her against a boulder. Twenty long minutes, ten of those with her jian. But he had a much longer reach with his katana, and with each block she grew tired. He was so much stronger. The slash down her side had been vicious but precise. She had released her grip on her jian to hold her nightdress together. That was all it took. Laughing at her he was upon her in a second. She had struck him with her fist, and the blow hit home opening the skin above the eye. He had smiled. "Toraneko, I like that."

She had been flung, almost tossed as if she weighed nothing at all face down on the boulder. He had been rough, exceptionally rough, her hip and rib bones grinding into the hard stone. She felt as if she was being ripped apart. When he was done, he turned her over and she thought with horror he was going to do it all over again. He pushed the hair back from her face. She wished he hadn't, it was the only thing between her and those dark eyes.

They cut her, invaded her soul. 

So it was to her surprise that after pushing the hair back from her face that he had kissed her, passionately. "Mine now my little toraneko. No other man can have you." He had said this to her in a coarse whisper, breathing the hot words into her lungs he was so close. Making it hard for her to hold onto sanity. She felt as if she was slipping into madness. He was branding her. Searing his mark on her.

At the time she thought he had meant that she would never be able to let another man touch her. She would be so harmed when he had finished with her, that she would never be whole again.

After the kiss and his little speech he had hit her hard across the side of the head. She had rolled off the rock and fallen heavily on the ground, so strong was the blow. She had glanced up at him, trying to push herself up onto her feet. She had learned in training that the ground was a bad place to be, she was vulnerable there. But he was so strong it seemed to matter little what defensive position she put herself in. He had laughed at her again. And she felt a wave of anger invigorate her. As she stood up she grabbed a rock, a little bigger than her hand, and she threw it hard at his head. She aimed for his nose, figuring if she was off target she might still hit. He saw it, managing to move a little but too late to avoid it all together. She heard a sickening crack as the rock hit his temple. He fell to the ground and she ran fast for her jian that lay a few feet away, close to her traveling robes. He had grabbed her ankle somehow and dragged her to the ground. She kicked furiously with her free leg. She heard him say over and over "Fight little toraneko". Then somehow she got her ankle free and had the jian in her hand running away from the boulder, from the man who had taken what was not his, as fast as her legs would carry her.

She had been terrified flying away from him. She knew he was the better flyer and hoped that the rock had caused some sort of concussion. She needed some advantage to fall her way. She did not hear him on the wind again that night and made it to safety. She had been taken in by some kind people. They had helped her and she would always be grateful for that. She had blocked from her memory those words, spoken as bacteria she had no choice but to take in with her breath.

She was back at her hut now and the painful memories had passed. But the realisation had hit her. She was branded.

She had no idea if he had intended to let her live. Perhaps it was a sick game he wanted to play, take her, curse her and then release her. Let her suffer. knowing she would always be his. Then to come back one day, the tracker certainly thought he would. She sat on her bed trying to calm herself.

He was going to come back to claim what was his. She knew she could not go through that again. If the tracker could find her.... she had to leave, and leave now. The sudden urgency of her predicament fired her with action. She had to go.

She packed a few belongings and some food hastily. Her hands shook and she had difficulty putting everything into the small satchel. She almost ran through the door, slamming it behind her. A blast of cold air hit her face, and she felt as if she had been slapped. It stopped her instantly.

It was a warning. This time she felt it with clarity. He is coming for you the wind whispered from the east.

She ran and launched off a small knoll to the side of the hut. She flew low over the valley, then past the small village where she was known, where it was easy for her to be found.

She fled north to the big city, to Edo.

I say no to autobiography, oh alright maybe a little

I was having coffee with a girlfriend recently, discussing turning 40 (I will dock at this number next month) and reflecting on days gone by. As one does...apparently.

She is quite firm in her belief, as are a number of my close friends, that I should write about my life.

It always surprises me when this comes up- how I can have no interest whatsoever in doing such a thing, and they can be so passionate for the affirmative. I pride myself on being able to understand the perspective of others but this viewpoint leaves me...well...clueless.

My reason is twofold.
One: I am bored bored bored by myself. I can think of no more boring way to spend time than grinding out a novella about events I have already lived. Others are infinitely more interesting and that is why I interview people for a living.
Two: Have you visited a book store recently? (I hope so!) Have you seen the discount bin? What is in there? Autobiographies people!

So to appease those of you who think that the retelling of my life thus far would be entertaining I offer you a small story. But be warned, one story that is marginally quaint does not...NOT make a series of these stories strung together any more tiresome than I imagine them to be.

When I was 6 we stayed in a caravan park in Lakes Entrance. Many Gippsland families did and still do the same. Having the Gippsland Lakes on your door step is a marvellous thing, and the region buzzes with activity during the summer months.

One balmy night another family visited our camp or came to stay I am not sure which, but a party of sorts ensued. This meant that there was a BBQ and beer and laughter. The adults slowly got toasted and the jokes grew bawdier and the supervision of children became more relaxed.

This was my moment. I was a crafty child.

I taught myself to pick basic padlocks so I could get to my sisters stash of Femme and Joy Patou perfume. I regularly went AWOL at night, sleeping on top of the giant cement water tank out the back of our house so I could watch the stars, or in the boat that was parked in the paddock, always returning before sunrise with parents none the wiser. I made a 'bug' that tuned into an AM radio frequency, put it in the house somewhere and listened to conversations I was never meant to hear. I would gently remove a corner of the wrapping paper of presents to see what was inside and replaced it exactly as I had found it. I was a spy, doing the unthinkable underneath the noses of the ignorant. And I never...NEVER got caught.

I began to clear up the dishes, swiping abandoned glasses that had the last few warm gulps of beer and plates filled with discarded chop bones. 'What a good child', the visiting parents said.

While the adults were laughing heartily at some 'Rodney Rude' joke I gulped greedily. Right under their noses I drank every last drop of warm foamy beer from the glasses I collected that night.

Later that evening getting ready for bed mum took me to the bathroom block so I could brush my teeth and go to the toilet. I was quite excitable, more so than my usual mum thought. In fact she was finding it hard to control me as I darted back and forth along the corridor having a running race with myself, interspersed with the retelling of the naughty jokes I had overheard earlier that night to any unsuspecting woman who entered.

Mum was horrified.

In desperation she pushed me into a cubicle and turned the shower on. Although I was a quiet shy child when not tanked to my eyeballs, I had quite a set of lungs. I could sing and be heard for quite a distance.

As the cold water fell over me, at the top of my voice I sang

I met him on a Monday and my heart stood still
Da do ron-ron-ro, da do ron-ron
Somebody told me that his name was Bill
Da do ron-ron-ro, da do ron-ron
Yeah, my heart stood still, 
Yes, his name was Bill,
And when he walked me home,
Da do ron-ron-ro, da do ron-ron

In subsequent years we camped at Storm Point, a lonely promontory jutting into Lake Victoria geographically opposed to Loch Sport. No toilets, no running water and no other campers, really only easily accessible back then by water.

Just bush and a few echidnas who apparently don't have an opinion either way on parenting.

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 5 - Following the trail

He decided to have more tea rather than go after her. She was willful, and when angry unlikely to be forthcoming with any further information. Perhaps he would go to her hut later when she had calmed down.

He sat down wearily. The night had been cold and he had received many messages on the wind. Both had conspired to keep him awake for most of the night.

The tea was hot and revived him somewhat. He decided to go over what he knew already.

His employer was a daimyo of the north islands and had risen to power and wealth after the Ōnin war. He had been called to the house two hours after the wife's death. Deep with grief his employer had the composure to leave everything as it had been found. She was beautiful even though her attacker had disfigured her horribly. Slashes like the one he had felt on the girl's side where everywhere on her body, but always north south. The blade puncturing the skin and dragged down in a whip like action, the middle of the wound deepest. The exit point was ragged as if the blade was twisted purposefully as a final insult to the skin. He had felt the woman's wounds and committed to memory the vibration of the blade that had caused such damage. At that point he did not know the murderer's name.

Finn had been an outsider, originally from Europe born from an affair his Nordic mother had sworn she would never speak about. When she was dying he had begged her to say his father's name. She refused. So he decided to travel, to find a place he belonged. He had gone first to Russia, across Mongolia to central China, then the Korean peninsula to seek work. He had found his skill as a tracker and after the war sailed to Japan lured by the possibility of becoming a sabarau. He had found that tracking was more lucrative, and he liked the idea of being anonymous.

It had been six weeks since he had stood in that room with the lifeless body. It was obvious what he had done to her. She must have held her captive for many hours, tortured and finally killed her. The murderer had disappeared without a trace until he had heard a rumour. Further in the mountainous South, a young woman, a westerner, was said to have come to the house of the local nobility, where she had asked if she could be sheltered for the night. She had been wearing a light nightdress that had been slashed down the side under travellers robes. Barefoot and bleeding she had been taken into the servant's quarters. She had a long wound where her nightdress had been opened, clearly made by a sword. The family physician had attended to her. She would not say who had attacked her, and left two days later before she was fully healed. When Finn spoke to the physician he had been almost secretive about the treatment provided and the conversations he had with the young lady. He would only say she should have stayed longer, and that the servants had supplied her with some clothes, food and he had given her a small amount of money. Then she had left. The physician said she was heading further South. Finn knew he was lying, he could feel the discord on the man's breath. She had left quite a mark on the old man, she was obviously beautiful for him to protect her like that. Perhaps she had bewitched him.

He had asked some discreet questions about a red headed woman, a takokujin. She had gone north he heard. And he had been lucky. Passing through a village, eager to find food, he had discovered the place alive with trade. Once a week farmers from the flat lands came up to the foothills to sell their produce. He was sitting on the shingle roof of a dwelling when he had seen her move through the crowded stalls. He noticed that she kept her hood on, said very little to anyone, and bought only a couple of items. She was taller than the other women and not as slight but she walked with grace. Pride he thought. He had followed her for a week, been to her home, a single roomed hut barely space for sleeping quarters and a hearth. On the side of a hill about three miles from the village, she was alone and he felt, dangerously unprotected.

It was then he had heard whispers of other attacks and he had traveled back to the city. What he was told unsettled him. This man had murdered before the daimyo's wife. Three times before in fact. And once after. Five bodies all women of great beauty, and only the red haired takokujin alive to speak of the attack, to identify the man. She was his sixth victim.

He felt sure he would come back to her. She was unfinished business. He was sure this man would protect his anonymity, and Finn knew a little something about that. The murderer was clever in that he had not been seen entering or leaving the homes of the women he killed. All had been heavily guarded by trained men, experienced soldiers. All dead. No one had heard a sound. He had checked and the women all had their tongues, they had not been cut out. There was no sign of a mouth gag or bondage of any kind. There were marks on the wife where a strong hand had held and bruised her wrists, arms, upper thighs. But how had he done all that without her crying out?

In the city and some of the larger villages of the North they had named this man the kage, the shadow. Perhaps by now there were others tracking the kage. It was possible.

He kept coming back to the young woman. She would be able to tell him what he needed to know. Perhaps he could even save her? But he tried to brush away that thought. He was not a hero and his life would be complicated if he was weighed down by obligations other than that of his employer. 

He had also seen she was not defenseless. She was lightening quick with her sword and she could fly. He knew from experience that this was a rare trait in a westerner. But despite these gifts she knew she stood little chance. He had killed samurai, men of the sword. All she had was a shorter jian probably light, and a hand dagger. She didn't stand much of a chance. If Finn could find her this easily, the kage could as well.

He decided he would need to speak with her again. He had to explain why he had touched her. She could be angry if she liked.

But he would keep the rest to himself- why he had turned from her so quickly without a word and sped away. He was not sure what he would do with those thoughts. He would deal with that later. He would see his favourite in the city and she would erase all memory of the green eyes and the skin beneath the silk.


So he went to the small hut on the side of the hill. He knocked politely, but knew as soon as he touched the wood of the door she had gone. 


Yes, he had handled things very badly indeed.

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 4- Folly

She woke very early as the quality of her sleep had been poor.

She had dreamed she was standing at the foot of a cliff, with waves and spray crashing around her. She needed to run quite a distance before she could fly. There was certainly no hope of that on this craggy rock. It was not a safe place to be and her only choice was to climb the cliff. The wind was icy and strong, trying to knock her off her feet so the water could drag her in, and then crash her back against the rock. They seemed to be working together.

Every time she attempted to climb up, making a grab, the rock felt like hot coal in her hand. Ugly burns covered her fingers and palms. The tide was rising silently behind her the waves crashing closer and closer.

Then a man appeared sweeping through the air. He grabbed her on a pass close to the cliff face. She watched the waves coated with spume tossing madly below her as she rose quickly, caught in a strong hold around her ribs that restricted her breath.

But rather than be glad she had escaped this terrible place, she was filled with horror when she saw the face of the man who had saved her. Her scar burned as if it torn open once more.

She had woken way too early. Perhaps an hour to go before the sun peeped over the ridge and began to warm the still cool air. There was no way that sleep would come again so she began her morning ritual. The fire was still burning feebly so she stoked the hearth and prepared her breakfast. She tried to focus on the day ahead.

She planned to go to the forest, and try to locate the man from the marketplace. He had smelled so strongly of cypress she felt sure he had been sleeping there. And when she found him she would ask him... what? Hopefully the words would come.

The flight was quicker than she expected, the wind behind her all the way. The forest was expansive, so she decided to land at the perimeter furthermost away from the village, and sweep towards home. She did not wish to draw attention to herself but carrying her jian drawn. Instead she had a kaiken hidden in the folds of the heavy sash around her waist. It had been her mothers, given to her when she married as good luck. She still had her jian slung concealed in a special leather sleeve. It fit snugly across the line of her spine, the hilt in easy reach just below her left shoulder blade.

Her hands were shaking slightly, hidden in the long wide sleeves of her traveling robe. For a moment, just a moment of clarity, she wondered what the hell she was doing. This was a dangerous place, and she could be voluntarily walking into trouble. She looked up in the tree tops seeing if she could catch a glimpse. She understood that many of the demons discussed in the market square were just myths, but still in this quiet place, she could not dismiss the feeling Tsurube-otoshi lived in these trees. 

She began moving briskly, alert for any noise. Twice she stopped alarmed by movement close by, only to see a bird fly into the air in surprise. She was jumpy.

Cresting a small hill she saw a thin curl of smoke, barely discernible. They were close, maybe one mile away. She crouched down instinctively. She could not be seen from this spot but she felt somehow exposed among the giant trunks of cypress. She took a moment to try and concentrate on the wind. She asked, is there danger? Nothing. She asked once more. Again, no response.

Standing she shook her head looking down at the ground, almost closing her eyes. She was making a mistake again she could feel it. This was stupid, a meaningless chase for what? She turned her back on the smoke, on the possibility of finding the man, and took a step forward. That is all she had time for.

He was only three feet away looking at her with that same impassive expression, hood off this time. It occurred to her that he had been there the whole time she was crouched down. And then she felt the awful heaviness, the same sensation that afflicted her in the marketplace. She was anchored to the spot.

"You have questions for me and I have questions for you," he said, low and rough. "It is not the place to have such a conversation, in the open like this."

Before she could answer he strode off past her in the opposite direction to the smoke. She spun on her heels but did not step forward, still feeling heavy. She was looking in the direction of the smoke, wondering why he was going the other way. "Thieves camp, you do not want to be going there. Four of them, heavily armed. Not the place for a lady."

She stared back at him striding away. There appeared to be a choice, and she needed to make it quickly. Yes she had questions, and if it meant she had to follow him, then that was what she would do. Jolted out of her stupor she jumped forward down the hill. She ran behind him to keep up, following his long strides. After sometime the forest changed, there was more moisture in the earth, she sank slightly with each step. Moss covered stones and fallen branches. There was a dampness in the air. She heard the sound of a small brook, but could not see it. Rounding a dense patch of spruce and cypress where the giant trees were closer together and the light was dull, they came to a place where the earth opened abruptly and the small brook could be seen snaking along the base of a chasm, maybe twenty feet down. The man disappeared behind a large rock and she took the opportunity to pull the small dagger from her sash and reverse it in her hand so it was hidden by her sleeve. This done she stepped behind the rock.

It was a small cave, no taller than the man, and wide enough for them to both sit as he was doing, tending to a fire in the centre. Instinctively she looked to see where the smoke was going. He glanced up from his task and said, "The smoke goes this way, into the hill, and finds it's way out a fissure in the rock about a half mile north. By then it is merely a waft. We are safe. We have not been followed and no-one will find us here. Sit and I will make us tea." He motioned to a small rock, too close to him for her liking but near to the opening so she could run if she needed. She sat down.

In the muted light she could see the shine in his eyes as he looked down poking at the fire. Her body, muscles usually alert and ready to flee were deserting her again. Heavy, so heavy.

He handed her some tea. She sipped it and felt a little less numb. Only slightly. She would need to, must, stay alert.

"I am a tracker, hunting the man who hurt you." She inhaled as if winded. She felt dizzy again.

"He has killed many people. He killed the wife of a rich man. Well he took her, then killed her to be precise. I am to find him and bring him to my employer." He took a gulp from his cup. It occurred to her then how tired he looked.

"Do you know who he is?" her voice sounded croaky. She was unsure of herself. Her mind was befuddled. She felt slightly drunk.

"Yes."

So he was not going to tell her. She looked down at the fire and tried to focus on an ember radiating weakly at the edge of the small pit. This helped her take the focus away from the sickness she felt in her stomach.

"Why did you....touch me?" It was his turn to look away this time. She felt she had won a small battle, and clarity began to return. He was not sure what to say, she could see that. When he did say something his eyes remained on the ground at his feet.

"I needed to know if your wound was from the same blade. It was. You are very lucky to be alive....to still be alive." Now her heart was racing, now she needed to know.

"Will he come back for me? I mean do you think he will?" She did not want to ask the question or hear the answer, but not knowing was a different type of torture.

"You are the first he has left alive. I am not sure why. Was he...interrupted?"

She did not expect to have to relive this memory, particularly in front of a stranger. She closed her eyes and exhaled long and slow trying to prevent the wave of nausea. She wanted to run, to get into the air. One more breath, just one more. She opened her eyes and said simply, "I hurt him before he could get me on the ground. I ran. He did not catch me." He did not need to know the whole truth, about what the man had done to her.

He stared hard at her, a stony disbelieving look. It was then that she saw it, in a flash he reached out to grab her left hand, the one concealing the kaiken. At the same moment he looked to block her raising her right hand to her jian. But she was quick, and rolled back onto the earth behind the small rock she was seated on. Before he could stand and reach for his own katana hanging loosely from his hip in the cramped space, she had drawn and raised her jian, tip below his jaw, kaiken in her left hand low and ready to strike. Crouched below him. She really wanted to run now.

The tea spilled on the ground soaking into the earth and releasing steam into the air.

"A test? You could have believed me!" she was very angry now. "And you could have also introduced yourself at the market..." Her voice trailed off.

"I have to know why he left you alive."

"Right now you should think more about keeping yourself alive."

"True." He laughed. "You do have me at a disadvantage."

She felt hot, anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface. He was laughing at her.

It took her back to that painful memory, clutching at her nightdress as the blood ran slowly from her side. She had been more concerned about her modesty than the pain of the wound. It had made him laugh. Her eyes stung from the memory and she stood up, worn out by it all and placed her jian back in it's leather sleeve. Then she took the kaiken and loosening the sash stole it away beneath a fold, pulling the sash firmly around her waist. She looked like a normal peasant girl. Except she had red hair and pale skin, flushed with a memory she did not wish to recall.

They looked at one another for a long moment.

Then she said, so quietly he could hardly hear her, "It was very foolish of me to try to find you. I have learned nothing I did not know."

She turned and walked out of the cave, quickened her pace to a run and leapt into the air.

He stood staring at the space she had left.

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 3- The unwelcome stranger

She would need to take another trip.

She had heard of a woman who lived on the coast, an eastern prefecture many miles from her own. Locals would come to her seeking advise or an indication if they could fish safely. This woman seemed to have some sort of alliance with the sea, she could predict wind and rain. She seemed to know when the sea would be at it's worst. Perhaps this woman could help her make the connection.

This time she would need to find a way to protect herself in flight. This would be a long trip and she still wore the mark of the last long flight. Although it was fading, it could still be felt when hand passed over skin.

And there was the strange man who had followed her through the village. He could also be a threat.

She thought she had lost him in the marketplace. She was able to do that, to disappear with a few deft movements. She had been collecting spices for the trip, and felt the skin on the back of her neck flush hot. It was then she noticed his gaze burning into her. It made her very uneasy and so she decided she needed to lose him. It was not the first time she had needed to employ evasive tactics. Being an unmarried woman in the town sometimes meant unwelcome attention. They were generally easy to shake. But he was not.

After a series of quick maneuvers he was still there, looking right at her. She was starting to feel warm, sweating slightly from the chase through the throng of people, animals and carts. Rounding a corner into a small corridor between dwellings he had stepped into her path. Abruptly. She had thought he was behind her. She was like a stone, heavy, unmovable. Something held her to the spot. He had reached out to her right side and for a horrible moment she thought he was going to disarm her. But he slipped his hand under her traveling coat and through the silk of her tunic ran his fingertips lightly down her scar to the top of her hip bone. Nowhere near her Jian. It all happened in a heartbeat.

Then he withdrew his hand and turned and ran down the corridor, fast. Incredibly fast and then he was gone. She felt sick, bile rising in her throat. Dizzy she took a moment resting her hot cheek against the roughly hewn wall. It's coolness seemed to bring her back. Then she ran after him. Knowing that it was futile, he would be already gone, lost in the crowd of people, but it made her feel better to do something.

Had he known about the attack, or had he touched her there by sheer coincidence?

That night she tried to recall him, to find a clue.

He was taller than her. She had not seen him before today. He was dressed in brown traveler's robes. He had light hair, dark eyes, maybe they were brown. There was nothing striking in her recollection other than he was a westerner like her. He was wearing a hood the whole time and being so busy evading him she had not noticed as much as she had hoped. But she did remember his smell, cypress maybe. Perhaps he had been sleeping in the forest, but that was some distance from the town, certainly a good half day traveling by foot. The forest was mainly hinoki cypress, the trees not felled for many years as it was thought that Tsurube-otoshi lived there. Woodsman were scared of the monster who, it is told, lurks in the tree tops waiting to drop down and kill anyone who dare enter the forest. She had heard these stories herself, that sometimes the monster's head was not attached and it would drop as a fireball.

Despite the stories she would go there in the morning. If there was no warning then she would take her chances and fly.

Fury had always made her a fast flyer. In truth she was angry at herself. Eating her meal that night she knew this to be true. She could have moved away from him, stepped back out of the corridor and into the crowd. She has lost her courage, her nerve and had stood there like a sack of grain. Sometimes it is our own weaknesses that cause us to be angry with others. She thought it interesting she could know this, but yet still be angry with him.

Easier that way.

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 2- Seeking the connection

It had been months. She had visited her heart place many times and honed her sword skills. She felt strong but yet there seemed so much she did not know and this made her uneasy. The uneasiness made her train harder.

She had overheard some elders talk of the old ways, clinging to a wall like a spy in a backstreet hungry for information. She had come to understand some of  the theory by listening to these conversations but that was a poor substitute and she knew it. Japan was a dangerous place for a woman who did not have the protection of the local Daimyo. She knew that living at her father's farm was tolerated for now but this could change. If she was to protect herself she would need more than just her jian. She would need to understand the messages carried on the wind, in fire, by the earth and on the water.

At times she felt close to a breakthrough.

The first time was in the clearing, she had fallen roughly after overbalancing during practice. Embarrassed she had spent a moment laying on the ground nursing her twisted ankle, her left hand partially buried in the dead leaves that had fallen in preparation for winter. In that moment, chastising herself for her personal weakness, she had felt a tremour through the earth. It seemed to move toward her hand growing in intensity. It took only a second to reach her fingertips. She had jerked her hand away in surprise and instantly regretted it. Two mistakes in the passage of minutes, both costly. Pride bruised and a learning opportunity wasted. She rose hastily and limping slightly moved to collect her things for the return journey, just as a large bough of the tree broke off and fell where she had been sitting. She stared at it, her mouth open in surprise. It was the width of her torso and would have done her great damage.

She had been told by her mother, before she left on her final pilgrimmage back to the Netherlands that when she was ready she would be able to feel things, see things, know things that would help her. She had questioned her mother, did she mean the five senses? Did she mean intuition? She had smiled in the half light, touched her lightly on the cheek and turned briskly toward the gangplank and boarded the sailing ship. She had not heard from her mother since, but had written her countless letters. Local sailors thought the ship had foundered in a storm, but she was not yet ready to entertain she was alone in the world.

Then again it had happened. She was planting some herbs in her garden, her back to the wind. Bent over the patch of earth she had prepared she felt a push on her right side as if the wind had whipped up at that precise moment and spent itself to spin her round. Then it was gone. She responded slowly, feeling pins and needles down her arms into her hands. The first sign of fear. She turned in time to see a band of cloud rise up over a ridge line full of menace and electricity. It was racing as if it knew it could not last long. Heavy rain fell on the ridge behind her, as the cloud unloaded to get over the mountain. Claps of thunder booming all around her. She had run inside. Looking through the shutter, watching the progress of the storm.The air was full of electricity and her hair stood on end.

There had been a couple of times. Much like the storm, she had not understood what the warning was until the moments unfolded. Then afterwards she could see the connection.

What she needed to do was tap into the message. For the message would always be a warning. At least that is what she thought. It would help her, give her an advantage when fighting. She would need it. She had learned once before the hard way that some possessed a strength far superior to hers. She would need other arsenal in addition to her mastery of the jian.

There was a time when she trusted the sword would be enough. She laughed bitterly at her own stupidity. At least that ignorance had not cost her life.

She was susceptible to stubborness, to making the same mistake over and over as if stuck in mud, knowing that if she struggled it will exhaust her and pull her further down, but unable to stop trying or change course. Her pride unable to accept that she had chosen poorly, again.

She repeated to herself, like a mantra, I must not make the same mistake. At least she hoped she would not.

Flight of the Warrior Chapter 1- Swordplay in the moonlight

Welcome to your fortnightly soap.

Turn your intellect off- you won't need it. This is confection, fairy floss, a guilty delight. Escape to another world.

Enjoy.

Chapter 1- Swordplay in the moonlight

She could not sleep and so decides she will fly under the moon to her favourite spot.

There have been many sleepless nights lately and she curses herself that she has not had the courage to go to her place earlier. But then the last trip left a mark, down her right side finishing just above her hip bone. The experience also left other marks, but those were less obvious.

It is cold as she steps out onto the grass, maybe the winter will come sooner after all. There is a slight breeze, it tickles the skin so that the hairs stand up on end, not from alarm but delight.

As she flies she sees little but that spot in her mind's eye. She must get there quickly, it is not safe to be in the air for too long. But this time the trip is uneventful, and she arrives.

The trees sway slightly but beneath them in the small clearing she cannot feel the breeze. A different breeze to that gentle one standing outside her hut. This breeze travels from the oldest place, funnels its way between giant mountains, drawers on power from the frozen glaciers in a distant land. It is a warning on the air. One she cannot read yet, but she is aware of the threat.

Could the wind be whispering to her tonight? If she practices, if she is diligent maybe she will hear.

She takes the jian wrapped in her favourite cloth and unwraps it. She says a small prayer before removing it from the scabbard and the metal sighs as it is drawn. She takes the tassel attached to the pommel and places it round her right wrist. Today she will practice two handed, her right hand, and three fingers of her left.

She moves through the first steps, and notices her body resist. She is stiff, it has been too long since her last practice. It takes some minutes before she feels a flow, a warmth creeping into the muscles and with it she moves more easily. The second rotation is completed and now she moves through the third, and finishes with the stabbing movement, the jianfeng finding its mark glinting beneath the moon as the light catches the central edge. Breathing heavily the sword resting by her side, her hand loosely gripping the hilt, she is finished. She moves her focus inward and can feel her heartbeat at first pounding and crashing heavily and then moving more softly. She can feel her body at last healed from the attack.

She goes to the sotoba, marking the small collection of stones where her father is buried and she nods quietly in deference.

It is then she hears it, a wolf cry. From the west higher on the hill it comes to her delivered on the wind. There is a rising and falling to the howl with a sliding off the note at the end. It is a lonely sound. It is impossible to know how close the wolf is. She holds her breath and listens to see if the cry will be returned, turning her head to the east.

It is not. And the wolf does not cry again. She feels a sadness and is not sure why.

Perhaps now she has visited her place, flown again without incident she will sleep. She has practiced well despite her stiffness. The old slashing wound to her side did not trouble her. She replaces the jian in the scabbard and covers it in her favourite cloth. Before she leaves she stops to listen again.

Nothing, not a whisper.

She leaves with a promise on her lips to return again soon.

Measured

Tomorrow I am going to a funeral. As is only proper tonight I am reflecting on this lovely man and sending my family love and peace.

There are around 300 people expected to attend, a large gathering by any measure. He was very involved in the community and apparently there will be a CFA guard of honour for him.

It does make me wonder in the end what will we be measured by?

Measured

We are
going the distance
taking stock
maximising our profits
chasing the dollar
calculating assets
taking what is ours

We are
holding back the years
counting down the days
pursuing beauty
cutting a fine figure
getting a makeover
developing a taste for the good life

Are we
selling out?
selling ourselves short?
selling our soul?

The years roll by in
but a moment

In the end
what are we meaured by?


Dedicated to Charlie