The blade hissed and screamed as it plunged into the viscous crimson fluid. A metallic scent filled the air as the pink glow of the metal turned black under the red. When the hissing and boiling screams had subsided the smith withdrew it from his pail and wiped a moist rag down its length. He pinched it between thumb and forefinger clearing the dried blood and knocking the remaining bits of clay from its edge. It reflected his eyes back to him in red. A months labour; in his own image. What would this one’s destiny be, he wondered? How many demons would be slain? How many friends?
“Kagero!” he shouted, “kochira eh.”
“Behind you father.” Kagero whispered in monotone. It would have startled him if he were not used to sixteen years of stealthy introductions. She lowered her head and stretched out both arms to accept the red steel blade being offered to her.
“Test it my little shadow... and get me more blood.”
“Yes father.” she nodded, as she turned to the door. Dropping the sword to her side she walked, retrieving the blood pail from beside a worn anvil. She stepped into the fenced yard beside the workshop. This was the proving area for her father’s work. The fence was tightly packed bamboo sharpened at a height of ten feet. A small opening was cut into the back wall, just large enough to fit the blade testers through. She tossed the bucket of clotting blood out to her side. It appeared to slide along the grass before hitting the wall with a slopping splatter. The metallic smell was stronger here... more sour. The grass had become a purplish black, the consistency of a fifteen foot square scab. Her wooden geta sandals made a ripping sound as she stepped across its tacky surface. Placing the bucket beside the door she held the fresh blade vertically with outstretched arms, staring through it like the sight of a gun. She drew a deep breath through her nose, the tang of rot making her nostrils tighten.
“Oi, Kenzo.”
“Hai.” Shot back Kenzo, muffled by the wall.
“Ikuzo!”
The pulleys squeaked as Kenzo tugged the rope taught from behind the wall. A small door at the rear of the yard slowly rose -once it had freed itself from the black grip of the grass. She released the breath slowly through her mouth and tipped the blade in line with her right shoulder.
The sound of stumps quickly thudding across dirt bled from the dark opening. Kagero drew another breath, this time eyes tightened with nostrils to focus on her target. She knew this one. It was Hiro Yamanaka. Well, most of him. He was still as agile as she remembered, maybe more so considering his current state. The limbless torso of Hiro pushed its fore-stumps hard into the ground, rearing back his head to get a look at his prey. His neck seemed to spasm as his lidless eyes met the blade. Face, pale as the moon, almost looked as though it were smiling at her. She had seen this effect before. They all looked happy once the lips receded enough.
Hiro’s smiling teeth parted as a moan rattled out from between them. She exhaled once more as the sound of a melon splitting cut the air.
“Finished!” she exclaimed as the top of Hiro Yamanaka’s head slid to the ground.
“Hai!” shouted Kenzo, releasing the rope.
The trap door hit the ground with a thud, along with the now lifeless, limbless, lipless, lidless body of Hiro Yamanaka, the last boy in the village of Kagero’s age. Unfortunately for her and her father, Hiro also appeared to be bloodless. She walked back into the workshop as the door clattered behind her.
“That was Hiro Yamanaka.” she whispered, wiping off the blade with a cloth.
“Hai.” replied her father, not looking up from the luminescent steel he was folding. “You knew him?”
“Yes, I did.” She slipped the sword into its scabbard with a click, lowering her head.
“Regrettable... he was only on the wall for three days. I hear he took down twenty before they got him though.”
“He was always very agile.”
“To the end it would seem... both ends... What of the blood?”
“None...” with head still lowered she reached to place the new blade on the rack.
“Don’t bother with that.” said father, finally looking up from his work. “That one is yours.”
Kagero’s head rose to the sheathed blade held out in front of her. It was a fine blade indeed.
“The harvest will be in a few days. You must take Hiro’s place on the wall.”
She had been anticipating this moment.
“Yes father.” With a flick of her thumb she released the blade once more. She was met with her own eyes in cold red steel.
“It’s one of my finest. “, said the old smith putting down his tools to step toward her. “You have put down more lost souls in your sixteen years than most have done in thirty, Kagero. You must show them that not only are Hatori clan the finest sword smiths in the land... we also know how to wield them.” He stepped into the reflection with her, his eyes meeting hers. “I’ve made you a set of armour. You’ll find it in your room. You are to join the wall at dawn.”
She snapped the sword back into the scabbard and spun to face her father. She bowed deeply to him, but said nothing.
At dawn Kagero stepped through the door into the street. The sun hung low in the sky making her armour glow a deep crimson. From eye level it was hard to focus on her. She slipped the horned helmet down over her head. It was a perfect fit. Down the road to her left old men and women stood hunched in the rice fields. It had been a good growing season. Three were born this year, only one was lost to the horde. Father was right. By the height of the green shoots in the fields, harvest would be in no more than a few days. To the right were the gates; Kagero’s ultimate destination.
“Finished!” she heard one shout in the distance. The men on the wall were all in their twenties or older. Many were veterans of at least five years. “Finished” another shouted as she walked up the road. One must always shout finished when the head has been removed, so that others would know it was done. Above that, the guards had one rule: one stroke, one kill.
The opening at the gates was fifty yards across. Beyond them stretched the Great Plains, beyond that, the mountains. The gap was wide, but the only wood heavy enough to narrow it was far outside of the village walls... much too far to consider. “Finished!” two more shouted together. The gap was instead closed by the guards. One man, or woman in Kagero’s case, for every five yards in the front, and four more to form a second line. One dragger was posted on each side to keep the remains from piling up. This was the wall.
Kagero stepped into line to fill what must have been the space left by Hiro Yamanaka. The men nodded to her, each in matching armour, forged by her father, quenched in blood. With the flick of a thumb her sword was drawn. There would be time for introductions later. Assuming any survived to hear them.
Across the bloodstained plains outside the gate, the stumbling hoard approached.
Soon would be the harvest...
