An: Hello again. Just to be clear I am not so well educated of the Japanese, Roman/European, and Scandinavian cultures so if there is anything that is wrong or misinformed please let me know. I am trying to research as much as I can for some of these stories and it would help to get some feedback. Thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoy.
Something was out there. Oku Mobura knew it.
It was something that haunted him for weeks. A presence- a spirit - that he must have angered. One reported to have worn a white mask.
Despite the strong walls that surrounded the stronghold and the dozens of trained guards ordered to protect him, he still felt as though there was something hiding within in the shadows.
What didn't help was that his recent trades have been attacked. The recent reports he had received gave him terrible news. Viking attack. All of the goods were stolen and no survivors were left.
He clenched his teeth and crumpled the paper in his hands, "d@mn!" He dropped it to the ground in anger. The officer that walked beside him never flinched.
This village is running me dry!
Lord Satake should have never suggested this place. This place was supposed to give him good fortune. In the few months that he had been here It costed him time and money. The only advantage this village had was that it was far from the war.
The wood floors of the porch creaked as he took each step. He knew that something was there, listening. it knew that he was aware.
He turned to the low ranking officer next to him, "keep your guard up. The spirit might return."
The officer nodded and went out into the yard. Mobura slid open the door and went into the warm building. He took multiple turns through the maze that was his dull stronghold. He passed by several guards whose steps followed the same strumming pattern as they walked by.
This night in particular was making him restless. He needed something to take his mind off of vikings and night spirits.
I have to see that scroll again.
Mobura decided to return to his study. A room with shelves filled with scrolls loosely tied together with strings. The white paper was colored by the warm light of the candles that dimly lit the room. Candles which were placed on a table, dripping wax onto pages that had been splayed out.
He took a candle and approached the shelf closest to him. He reached back into the shelf until he found the loose board of the wall behind. He moved the board out of the way and found a small roll of paper that was purposely tucked away from the rest of the scrolls.
Opening the scroll, symbols of a language Mobura didn't fully understand appeared in front of him. He sat down at the table of papers and began to inspect the symbols. The brush strokes of black paint were so vaguely familiar, but the way the sentences were structured were not at all like their own language. It was one of the last things that Lord Satake had given him before he left for the village. Even in the dark of night He remembered the order that was given to him.
Keep it secret.
And the threat that followed afterward.
Or your head will be a nice addition to my table piece.
He kept it secret and still had his head on his shoulders but there was something Mobura never understood. This language was not that of any of the three factions. Not of vikings or of the knights, so where did it even come from? And why did Lord Satake want to keep it secret? Even to him there were some things his lord never told him.
The light of the room flickered, before the candle was blown out by a short breath of wind. Mobura's scroll disappeared into the darkness of the night. For a long time he just sat there, frozen in time. One wrong move and he would be dead.
Mobura cautiously placed the candle wax on the table. He reached into his pocket for a box of matches and took one out. WIth the strike of the stick, heat warmed the tips of his fingers as precious light.
If there was anything at all- a scroll missing, a door opened just a crack, a single hair out of place, he would signal his men. He only saw the scroll in front of him before the cool wind blew out the match. Again he was shrouded in darkness.
Mobura's hands shook, struggling to grab another match. His heart beat in his chest, deafening his ears.
Strike D@mmit!
It took two strikes before light blinded him. Facing whatever lay before him, He held it out in front of him. Nothing but a shadow stood in place. Mobura sighed in relief and looked back to the table.
No!
The scroll! It had disappeared! Like a ghost it vanished from his view. Mobura ran to the table in a panic. He rummaged through every paper to see if he had misplaced it, but no. The symbols were gone. He failed The one order he was tasked with.
"I believe this is what you're looking for."
Something sharp pressed against the neck of Mobura. He dared himself to look at the source of the voice. With the familiar wooden handle of the Naginata a woman held it in her hands. A white mask stared back at him and in her other hand, the very scroll he was sworn to protect. She held it like a prize that she had won.
"You are no spirit," acknowledged Mobura.
He should shout right now. Alert his guards and rid him of this pest. As if what he said was on cue, the masked woman pressed the blade of the Naginata harder against his neck. He sucked in a breath as He felt the blood dip down to his robes.
"Do you seek fortune?" Mobura asked out of desperation.
The woman didn't answer. She only stared through the dark eye sockets of her white mask.
"Land?" He tried again, and still she did not reply.
The small fire was now halfway down the match. Mobura couldn't handle the fact that she wasn't answering his questions.
"You know I could alert my guards and have you sent to a wh@re house,"
The woman tilted her head. She could be contemplating the consequences for all Mobura knew. He hoped the threat would give him something.
"Just one thing," the woman finally answered, "there was a boy that you took from this village, where did you send him?"
So she lives in the village.
This would mean she would have heard the events through gossip, or she witnessed the boy being ripped from his mother herself.
Or maybe...
"I know who you are," he said.
It was all coming to him now. He knew who this nobushi was. She was nothing but a common woman of the village. One he would pass by from time to time. Although he didn't know her name, he could just see her face through the mask.
The woman didn't comment on his statement she only pried, "answer the question," the blade was pushing deeper into his flesh, "or else that head of yours would be on the floor."
Mobura, despite the pain he was starting to feel smirked, "Ah. He would have been sent to the Daimyo in the far south."
She waited patiently for his next line. He took his time to find the words to say.
"But unfortunately the ships were caught up in a viking raid."
He didn't need to finish for her to get the message.
Mobura heard a breath escape from the woman's invisible lips, yet she never loosened her grip on the Naginata. He had gotten to her and It brought him joy to see someone stumble at such news.
The woman breathed in, her chest rising then falling as she breathed out, "I see."
She straightened herself, "thank you for your time Mobura," she said, "but I'm afraid your match has reached its end."
A burning sensation reached Mobura's fingertips. The skin of his fingers practically peeled off as the light disappeared. darkness shrouded him once again as he yelped and dropped the match in pain.
This can't be the end! It can't!
He would have alarmed his guards but the blood from his neck dropped to the floor, interrupting his plea.