Part 1
Oku looked out towards the blasted, diseased land over the great Kaui Wall as the last lights of the day fadd. Other othan the occasional scream, shriek, or groan, this was the quietest time of the day at this section of the Shadowlands. Soon after the last rays of the sun would fade, the noise would once again crescendo into the hours of the night. Oku hated the screams, because he knew that they may be the death and un-death cries of his compatriots, his clan, his friends. And it might be him screaming tomorrow.
This was the final test in the Gempuku for a Crab, to venture into the Shadowlands and bring back one of the minions of the dark one; to survive, or join the ranks of His dark army.
“No matter how dark it is,” Oku thought, “there is still beauty.” Oku had shown himself to be a quite adept painter. “This is our struggle.” The Crab, though not known for their aesthetic tastes, nevertheless respected the work Oku had created. He had even sold a few works to other clans. Even the Crane and the Royal Family were interested in his paintings. He was quickly becoming one of the most respected painters in the empire. But before he was an artist, he was a Crab. He again looked out into the stretching darkness and sighed, and held back the fear that was threatening to tie a knot in his stomach.
Oku headed back to the holding barracks, where the others taking the test were resting, praying, and gathering their strength for the coming trial. Even the Crab’s stone features could not mask their fear. Oku turned to a shadowed corner, where he had noticed another bushi named Kyushi knelt in a meditative trance. Oku knew the exercise. It was designed to sharpen the warriors’ senses and make him more aware of the sounds, vibrations, and smells around him. Often, you could not rely on your sight in the Shadowlands. Oku silently crept up to Kyushi, noted the low rafter above him, and let his hand fall to the tanto he kept in the folds of his shirt.
With a quick leap, and a twist of his body, Oku wrapped his legs around the rafter, and drew his tanto in mid-leap. At the same moment, Kyushi’s eyes snapped open, and with in a blur of motion, had swept his Katana through the air. When they paused to look at each other, Oku’s tanto was at Kyushi’s neck, and Kayushi’s katana had stopped just short of slicing through the center of Oku’s upside-down head.
“I’ll never understand how you’re able to do that, Oku,” said Kyushi as he withdrew his katana.
“And I’ll never understand how you always catch me,” said Oku as he dropped to the ground, and again folded away his tanto.
They took a moment to smile, and with a bow turned away from each other. Oku moved his hand to wipe away the blood that was collecting from the small cut on his cheek, as Kyushi wiped away the blood that was trickling from the cut on his neck.
Oku, Kyushi, and the rest of the Crab in the holding barracks did not sleep that night. Those that did had dreams filled of nightmare creatures, and woke up in a pool of cold sweat.
An hour before sunrise, they got the call that they were to prepare themselves for exit into the Shadowlands. No one spoke as they collected their belongings, sealed their notes to their families. No one spoke as they moved to the armory, and donned their armor and sharpened their blades. No one spoke as they collected at one of the many secret exits into the Shadowlands.
Everything was ready. The stale light of the Shadowlands morning streamed the old wooded slats of an ancient door that most people and oni had forgotten years ago. The Kaiu who had led them here hadn’t forgotten. The Kaiu never forgot any exit or entrance. The only sounds now were the nervous shifting and the heavy breathing of the Bushi in front of Oku. Oku tugged at his armor, and wriggled in it as though someone had strapped it to him without his permission. “I hate this stuff,” he whispered to Kyushi, who stood next to him.
Kyushi was neither squirming nor breathing heavy, but was white-knuckled from gripping the handle of his katana. He stared outward and without moving his eyes, or changing his expression, asked, “scared?”
Oku snapped, “NO! It’s this blasted armor!” a little louder than he should have. He whispered again “Ok, yes, but I still hate this stuff.”
Kyushi tuned his head to Oku, “I hate this stuff, too. Good hunting.”
“Good hunting.”
A small bell chimed behind them, and the bushi pushed forward through the doors into the grey morning light of the Shadowlands. Each bushi ran off in a separate direction. This was an individual test, and no help was to be given nor received.
Oku gasped as he entered the Shadowlands for the first time. The ground seemed to be nothing but dust on the hardest stone he had ever felt. The air seemed to push him back towards the door, and carried with it an acrid smell of decay. The morning sun seemed harsher here, as if it’s only purpose was to reveal him to his enemies. He had no idea that it would be this terrible, or this beautiful. He heard a scream and then a gurgling…