To Slice The Wind

Arakan

Among the bloody corpses that lay still, a shadow was seen ravaging through the dead bodies of the fallen villagers. Under the full moon that emitted a pale glow, a pair of skinny, bony fingers dug through the soft, tender meat of the dead. The stab wounds of the dead men gave the boy a 'pathway' for him to gorge the soon-to-be rotten bodies as he desperately shoved the chunks of flesh into his mouth. His hunger was too immense. If he did not feel pain, he would have penetrated his teeth onto his arms and ripped apart his own flesh to make his hunger disappear. He retched. Again and again, he clasped his throat and placed as much pressure as he could at the tip of his fingers to push the meat down. His other hand tightly pinched his nose, to deflect the horrid stench of the rotten flesh that surrounded him. The boy was too frail to hunt, too weak to travel to the neighbouring village, and too poor to afford to get out of the burnt village on horseback. He gazed at the stars that were aligned beautifully, the only element of nature that put his mind to peace, in fact the only element that made him forget about everything that took place there, then softly prayed.

"If you are truly up there, like Mother used to say, help me God. Give me a sign for me to survive. I refuse to die, even if you decreed it upon me. Save me."

Just days ago, the village was bustling with the laughter of its residents. Kariyama Village. Situated at the edge of the country and along the southern coast of Nippon, it was home to fishermen, farmers as well as hunters who co-existed peacefully despite the territorial disputes of the different factions in the provinces in the other parts of the country. The reason for this lies in the geographical elements that surrounded Kariyama. Squashed in between the sea and the densely forested mountains, the territory would be the last place in the country that the two faction leaders, Matsumoto and Terukada would wage battle. Furthermore, Kariyama was never involved in the political disputes of the country in the last decade, even so, it was considered to be a part of the Terukada faction's territory. Peace was an aspect of the village no one would doubt, especially Arakan. The only child of the village leader, Masaemon and his wife Tsukari. Arakan loved the art of the sword. Captivated by the sharpness of the sword as it glistens under the sun and the strength one would need to possess to handle the heavy katana, the blade of it, folded a thousand times over, he would grip a wooden branch and play-fight with his friends. The twelve-year-old child never experienced the horrors of war and has never seen sheer violence take place in front of his eyes, so the sword for him was a 'cool' toy more than it was a killing tool, at least at that point of time.

"Arakan! Enough playing around, hurry, come here and have your dinner. Your father is waiting for you!"

"B-But Mother... I am still playing with Kito!"

"Enough! All you do is swing that stick around for hours on end. In the boonies where we live, being a samurai under a Lord is just a pipe dream. You should spend your time learning to write, if not, at least follow your Father to catch fish!"

For the third time, Tsukari called out to Arakan. The sun was slowly collapsing into the vast ocean and Arakan finally entered his house, stepping on the wooden floorboards. His right palm was still gripping the wooden stick, his 'sword' that he battled Kito with, his neighbour, for the past two hours. Dirt was smothered all over his barefeet, and his once white kimono was now a shade of dark brown. Upon the sight of his unruly son, Masaemon sighed and shook his head. Before Masaemon settled down as the village chief and a fisherman, he was a foot soldier for the Terukada faction and had participated in multiple battles. Although his prowess with the sword was apparent to the eyes of his superiors, he was never made to attain a higher ranking, let alone serve as a samurai for the Terukada faction. No sane man would allow a countryside swordsman to serve directly under the Lord or lead the way towards unifying the nation. Three bowls of rice, two steamed sea bream and a seasoning prepared by Tsukari laid on the table.

"You've been wanting to be a samurai for the longest time now. You do know that we, villagers of these rural lands, will never be considered as a candidate no matter our abilities. Look at me, I'm now a measly fisherman even after serving Terukada. Son, give it up."

Arakan ignored his father's words. Hie eyes were fixated on the katana on the wall in admiration. It was his father's, the man once titled as 'Masaemon The Dragon'. He enjoyed the hearty meal. It never once crossed his mind that it would be the last time he had a decent meal in the next few weeks. That night, when the populace was fast asleep, Matsumoto's troops crashed onto the shores of Kariyama. The memories of whatever happened that night were forcefully discarded away from Arakan's mind. He refused to remember it, simply because it was too gruesome to remember. 

Matsumoto's approach was to utilize the element of stealth. By having his troops ride small wooden row boats to reach the shore, not a single soul heard the arrival of the soldiers. Arakan was awoken by the sound of a heavy object, as though a large, hollow clay bowl had been forcefully dropped onto the ground, followed by a scream that still pierces his ears occasionally even till this day. His father's head was on the floor and his mother's arms were being tugged by two huge, burly men in rustic metal armour as she screamed like a mad woman. Outside the window were flames that danced atop the roofs of his neighbours, and pandemonium erupted across the whole village. Tsukari's hair was tugged, and her clothes were ripped off, Arakan stood in front of his parents, one was headless, lying on the floor with blood spitting out of his jugular endlessly while the other was struggling against the sheer force of two soldiers. He was rooted to the ground. All the times he swung his sword outside the house had no practicality now. Tsukari who was crying, screaming and at the brink of defilement somehow slipped away from the grasp of her captors. She hysterically reached out for the sharp wooden piece on the ground from the floor panel that was broken when the troops raided the house and stabbed it into her throat. There was no hesitation. She would rather die than let her chastity be stripped away by the men standing in front of her.

"R-R-Run N-now... S-S-Survive."

Arakan could not move. Everyone in the house is dead. The village is on fire. He is next in line to die. With all these thoughts mangling his head, he could not process the action to take next. There was a raging fury that fumed in him, and an ice-cold fear that froze his legs. The floorboards were now a sea of blood.

"Fuckin' hell, could've gotten that bitch if she didn't choose to fuckin' die. Whatcha lookin at? Wanna end up like your father? Filthy orphan!"

The two of them hysterically laughed at Arakan. The man on the right took a few steps towards him and nudged the head of his father using his leg, causing the head to roll slowly towards Arakan who was now on the ground. His knees simply gave up upon seeing the disaster that unfolded before him in the span of a few seconds. Arakan's eyes expanded, and his breathing was unstable. So unstable that he felt as though he was dead in a fraction of a second and lived in another.

That was when his human instincts kicked in. His teary drowned face turned around, and he took off. Arakan screamed as he ran, his throat was in pain from the sheer loudness of his voice. Even so, the blood-curdling screeches of the burning, decaying village overshadowed his screaming. Arakan rushed into the forest, facing away from the sea. The evil men who raided his house did not bother to chase after the boy. He was a kid, after all. Arakan's vision continued to become blurry the further he ran into the forest, a cycle was formed. The worse his vision became, the weaker his legs felt. It continued until Arakan was flat on the floor, his abdomen smashed against the leaf litter beneath him.

The lifeless body of Arakan laid there as if it was a dead deer for days. The flow of time was swimming around his unconscious mind. About two whole days later, Arakan's eyes opened. He survived. He was breathing. He was alive.