The Blade Dancer by Les Welch

Ruko was a whirlwind of death amidst the goblin raiders. His silken robes twirled with every movement. They flashed from crimson to black as he dashed in and out of the goblin ranks. The warrior's slender blade cut through his enemies with the strength and precision of a true spiritual experience.

He blocked every sword and sliced through the goblins that had surrounded him. He rolled and jumped past the dark skinned goblins, finding every weak spot in their defense. They fell to the fury of his sword. He was the last one standing in the grassy field. He flicked blood from off his ancestral sword before sheathing it with reverence.

Ruko walked the path of the sacred warrior. He was held by an oath of his ancestors to protect the kingdom; following destiny with honor, devotion, and passion. This was his life and by his honor he feared no pain or death.

A slight breeze touched the high grass of the Kokiro plains and a sparrow chirped in the distance. The blade’s hilt was warm beneath his touch. He watched the red light of the sun break over the horizon, and inhaled deeply of the death tainted air.

The warrior didn't smile at the carnage surrounding him. It was another battle and the art of battle was his life, but the sword was his passion. Ruko was never truly at peace without the dance. When he danced the dance of battle he and the blade became as one. He felt every sword blocked and every body cut into. The way of the sword was everything. Without his blade the warrior was nothing, and without the warrior the blade was nothing.

He turned when he spotted movement from the corner of his eye. A goblin covered in the markings of a war-chief was crawling from his wrath. Red sunlight gleamed off the warrior's mask. The mask, in the visage of a fearsome dragon, was symbolic of his family's strength. The goblin knew the dragon's wrath, and wanted nothing more to do with it.

"Hold still dog," Ruko shouted in the goblin tongue.

The gray-skinned goblin looked back over his shoulder. His yellow eyes were wide with fear. "Please, let me live. We'll never bother your people again. Just let me live." He fell on his back begging for mercy.

"You and your people are dogs, nothing more. You attack our people in the middle of the night and now you plead like a dishonorable coward when death is upon you." Ruko fingered the hilt of his blade, feeling the bile of disgust fill his stomach. The natural energy between him and the blade felt good. It was a bond much like a mother and her child.

The goblin raised his dirty hands, bruised from battle, to block the deadly sword. It was no use. Ruko's blade sliced through hands and belly with little effort. The goblins hands fell atop a steaming pile of intestines.

Death is not enjoyable. It's just another part of life.

He hardly noticed the fallen goblin amongst the tall grass. He was too entranced by the radiance of the rising sun. Flicking blood from off his long, slender blade, he returned it to its place of rest in the sacred wooden sheath.

Smoke rose up from burning crops and people wept over fallen loved ones. A blanket of black crows covered the fields and farmers were placing goblin heads on crude wooden spikes as a warning to other invaders that may be watching.

Ruko loved the dance of battle, but he hoped this was the last raid before winter settled over the land. The city of Breese could not handle the loss of another harvest, and the goblins were getting bolder each time.

The temple of Breese was nothing but serenity. Candlelight cast Ruko’s shadow against the wall and his footsteps were mere whispers in the quiet temple. Students raised their eyes from daily meditations as he passed by. He paid no attention to their stares. His focus was on the temple’s master.

The hilt’s leather wrapping felt good beneath Ruko’s fingers. The energy of the dance fused between him and the blade. It tingled in his blood and surged throughout his body.

The master’s back was turned to the warrior’s approach. The old man blew a candle’s flame out. A slight tendril of smoke arose from the darkened candle.

Ruko quietly drew his sword and calmed his nerves. He knew this was it. This was the day he would finally prove himself. Ruko leapt at the old man.

Steel clashed against steel. The old master brought his sword up with more speed than the warrior could match. The master pushed the warrior off balance, spun around, and stomped his foot into Ruko’s stomach. Ruko fell to the floor and gasped for air. The master’s crimson and black robes settled as he laid the edge of his blade to Ruko’s exposed throat.

“Your shadow betrays you.” The master pulled the sword back and sheathed it in one swift motion. “And you still move too slow.”

Ruko’s breath was shortened, but he quickly returned to his feet and met the familiar gaze of his master. The dance within faded from his heart as he returned his blade to its scabbard.

“The spirit of a great warrior flows within you and your sword.” The old man turned from the young warrior and relit the candle. “But first you must learn the story of your sword and become one with the spirit within.” He turned to meet Ruko’s gaze.

How am I supposed to do that?

The master’s white brow arched. “You also need to learn to hide your thoughts from your eyes. They speak too many stories about you.”

“But what am I supposed to do?”

The old man sighed. His face wrinkled as though he were disgusted. “Did you not hear me?”

Yes master, but…”

The master backhanded Ruko across the face. Blood trickled from Ruko’s nose, but the warrior was unmoved and he continued to hold the master’s gaze.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yes master.”

“Good! Go and listen to the wind. It shall speak to you when your mind is quiet. You shall find your answers there.” The master turned from Ruko and disappeared into the temple’s shadows.

Ruko left the temple and the city behind him as he walked to Mount Ordeals. A farmer drove his oxen down the road, cracking a whip across their backs and cursing their stupidity. The large beast were more concerned with the flies buzzing around them then the angry farmer. They swatted at the pests with large tails and mooed their discontent.

The farmer, tanned and sinewy from long days in the wheat fields, pulled the oxen to a stop after a short struggle. He pulled a yellowed rag from his pocket and wiped the sweat from off his brow. He nodded to the warrior, nothing more. Ruko returned the quiet greeting.

Crows were busy in the fields. The birds picked at bloodied remains and squabbled amongst themselves. They reminded him of an old Kokiro saying. ‘Nothing feeds life more than death, and nothing helps the grass grow better than blood.’ Death and battle were the things that have made his people strong and Ruko was a product of strength through adversity; all warriors were.

Mount Ordeals was a monstrous peak, rising to the very heavens it lived up to its name. The haze of battle still filled the air, but the mountain would not be blocked from sight. It was the tallest peak in all the kingdoms, like a silent god it looked down upon all its creation.

He cleared his mind of everything. He ascended the treacherous path with no thoughts but the present task. The tree topped peaks were ablaze with light from the midday sun and colorful birds sang their song of life.

I was no more than a mere child the last time I climbed up this far. Father brought me here. That was the day before he died in battle. I can still remember how noble he looked, crimson and black robes stirring in the wind, and the family sword hanging gracefully by his side. He gazed at the open country and spoke to me of life, death, and honor.

He stepped upon the precipice overlooking the countryside. The green lands spread out before him like a map. The old kingdom seemed so small and insignificant from up here.

The wooden hull of an airship glided across the sky. Powerful wind spirits swam around the ship and into the snow white sails. He had grown up with these ships, but their power and gracefulness never failed to stir up awe.

He pushed those thoughts from his mind and sat down cross-legged on the soft grass. The sun’s warm caress felt good upon his face. Ruko closed his eyes to all distractions and let the gentle birds’ song guide him.

Soon the birds quieted in his mind and the soft caress of the wind was lost in his meditation. He was at peace and the world beyond was unimportant. Ruko's father, clad in the white vestments of the funeral pyre, appeared in his mind’s eye.

“Ruko, you must listen to me. I have very little time before I must leave.” His voice came from the surrounding wind.

“Yes father,” Ruko spoke quietly. The love and respect of his childhood returned.

“Our family is tied to the great spirits of the clouds and so is your sword. My spirit is bound to the blade as yours will be upon your passing. That is if you live an honorable life, otherwise you shall walk the world with the other restless spirits, but I know the family honor runs strong in you.” A smile came to the spirits face.

Ruko’s father took a moment to look out over the countryside. His vestments stirred in the wind, reminding him of different times.

“Son you must travel through the sky and into the land of Nod. You will find the place of our blood, sweat, and tears.”

“The Whispering Caverns?” Ruko whispered.

“Yes. Walk the cavern path until you come to god’s altar. Once there you shall know what to do.”

I should have known this all along.

Many questions came to mind, but before he could ask them the spirit disappeared into the wind. A lump filled his throat. He opened his eyes desperately wanting to see his father, but nothing. His father was gone.

Thank you father. May I never dishonor your name.

Ruko returned to the city of Breese and boarded the next ship to Nod. The warrior’s mind was focused and there would be nothing to dissuade him from his path. Not even the pain of death could change his mind.

He leaned against the ship’s rail as airmen opened the sails and prepared for the voyage ahead. Magnificent spirits swam around the wooden hull and shot into the expanding sails. The spirits were a swirl of various colors. The airship, christened The Air Chariot, rose up from the stone platform and pushed forward into the blue sky.

He was lost in his thoughts when someone hobbled over beside him. A wooden cane thumped on the ship’s deck with each hard earned step. Ruko heard the cane, but said nothing.

“It sure comforts my old heart to have a blade dancer aboard. You would think the knights could protect the airways better, but they have not been seen in these parts for months.”

Ruko watched the elder lady from the corner of his eye. The small woman was wearing a frayed linen wrap and a fur overcoat. Her bony hands clutched the weathered cane tightly.

“What has been happening?” I wonder where the knights have gone.

“Pirates have been getting quite bold, but the goblin queen’s reavers have been the worst. Goblin ships attack out of the great blue and return just as quick as they appeared. I’ve even heard tales of an ogre captain that’s allied his crew with the queen.”

The Balkans may be sorry warriors, but they have always protected the people.

“If you ask me the Balkans are growing fat off of our crops and rich from our labor. It wouldn’t surprise me if the knights have overthrown the king and now hide behind their high walls from demon spawn they conjured up with their iniquities…” The old woman continued complaining about the kingdom, and the lack of protection throughout the airways.

Ruko thought about this for awhile before he allowed his thoughts to drift back to the sky. White clouds filled the sky and birds flew in great flocks towards the warm tropic springs of the Summerlands.

The floating islands of Rydia were beautiful from the deck of an airship. Living clouds carried vast forests and deep oceans upon their backs. Ruko often thought to himself that the world was perfect and incorruptible from up above. He knew all too well that it was not. The perfect beauty vanished when landing and the reality of life came back.

The land of Nod was a dark land compared to the Kokiro plains of Ruko’s home. Monstrous pines cast shadows over the sleepy city of Nod. Dark clouds, puffed up from brick chimneys, clung to the buildings. The bright light of tall street lamps cut through the haze as people bustled along snow covered streets.

To be home again. I don’t know how people can live here anymore.

This land of smoke belching furnaces was the last place Ruko wanted to be, but it was his destiny. He would not let his father down, nor would he dishonor himself. The warrior would continue until the task ahead was finished.

Ruko girded his endurance, pushed away the cold bite on his skin, and left the city behind him. The pine forest swallowed him into its dark embrace. The smell of sap was overpowering, but Ruko was thankful to be away from the stench of burning furnaces. Large flakes of snow fell silently from the sky and danced in the wind. Everything was blanketed in white. The tiny crystals were a myriad of colors beneath the light of the moon.

He could not resist the urge to enjoy the beauty. The warrior knew snow was death to many things, but it was also life. It was a reflection of his inner soul. A wolf howled in the distance and brought him back to reality. A triad of howls answered the wolf.

Direwolves.

Ruko loved the dance, but a pack of direwolves was too much. The warrior did not know much of the beasts, but he knew what a pack could do to a single warrior. He was not afraid of an honorable death, but a senseless death was stupid and standing ground against a hungry pack on the move was just that; senseless.

He changed his path. He stayed downwind as much as possible, and directed his journey away from the territorial howls. The warrior continued through the snow, even though he had no idea where he was or where he was going. The snowfall was increasing and the air was growing colder, but the warrior shut his feelings to the bite of winter.

His fingers glided over the sword’s hilt. This blade is my life. It is the only company I need.

Ruko tried everything he knew to escape the direwolves, but they were too smart. Their howls were closing in and he was lost within the dense confines of the forest. The warrior found a large clearing and walked to the center. He looked around, waiting for the beasts.

Today is as good a day to die as any.

Ruko slowly drew his sword and steadied his breath to match the gentle decent of the snow. His breath smoked out in a heavy mist.

“Excuse me,” A young girl’s voice spoke out from behind him.

He didn’t know what she was doing in the middle of the woods and didn’t care right now. Death was upon him and he was preparing to greet it with honor. She was just a burden he would have to protect from the wolves.

“Get up a tree and stay there. This is no place for a child.”

“I know that’s why I’m here.”

Ruko did not look at the girl, but he could see her reflection in his blade. Her eyes were mysterious swirls of blue and black. There was no malicious intent he could see in them, but some strange light beckoned from within.

The ominous howls echoed through the forest. They are getting closer.

“All right.” Ruko turned to the young girl. She was gone.

“Over here warrior.”

The girl waved at him from the forest’s edge. Ruko sheathed his sword and walked into the forest after the girl.

I don’t know how she’s doing it, but those howls are growing more distant with every step.

“You want to know something warrior?” She flashed Ruko a big smile.

Ruko said nothing.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” A moment of silence lingered before she continued. “Well anyway, you really need to be careful in this forest. Those wolves would have torn you to pieces if I had not shown up.”

“Then I would have died.” There was no emotion in his voice.

The little girl sighed. “You could at least say thanks. After all, I did save your life.”

“There is no shame in death.”

“Truly you must not be so grave; life is far too short.”

She skipped along a path that Ruko could not see. Snow barely crunched beneath the little girl’s feet. They weaved around snowcapped trees until the forest opened up into icy flatlands.

He stepped out onto the plains. The sun felt good on his skin. It was much better than the gloomy forest.

“If you follow the sun’s path it will take you to your destination.”

Ruko spun back to the little girl, but she was gone. How did she know where I was going? A rustle in the underbrush caught his attention. A red fox with seven tails ran into the shadows of the forest.

“Kitsune.” His voice was stricken with a childlike awe and came out in a mere whisper. He had always thought the fox spirit was a mere childhood tale.

The snow capped peaks, a boney spine of some forgotten beast from the primal age, now loomed over Ruko. A sinister cavern mouth opened up before him. Sharp teeth-like formations formed a path into the mouth, and small voices echoed from within.

The Whispering Caverns.

He gathered his courage and walked into the cavern and was quite surprised to see it bathed in warm light. Bronze sconces, hanging from water smoothed walls, held the lanterns. Light radiated from off the bronze jaws and reflected from small patches of ice near the cavern’s mouth.

He did not know where god’s altar was, but he trusted his inner feelings to lead him down the right path. Echoing water drops accompanied his thoughts. The warrior did not know what to expect, but when a tunnel opened up into a larger chamber the beauty overwhelmed his senses.

Mosaics of battle clad warriors were carved into the smooth walls, and the cavern’s floor was covered in large black scales. A golden altar dominated the center of the chamber. Elegant wind spirits adorned the top.

The warrior’s blade hummed with energy and Ruko felt as one with all of creation. A quiet tranquility settled over him like a warm lover’s embrace. The dance was long from his mind, yet he felt as one with the blade.

This is truly holy ground.

He stepped forward and bowed before the alter. He slowly drew his sword and laid it upon the altar’s spiritual host. A static energy leapt from the blade and filled the cavern. The mosaics brightened with a dull blue light and smoke rose from the altar in gray wispy tendrils.

Smoke rose into the air and swirled above the alter. Gray tendrils joined together. They wrapped around one another until a large gray dragon sat in the cavern.

The dragon stretched its sinewy neck into the air. It yawned and strutted its tail from side to side. The dragon finally brought its head down to inspect the warrior. Its serpentine face, covered with small white horns, was full of guile and arrogance. A long black mustache flowed down past a chin of fleshy braids. It smiled when the warrior returned its gaze.

He remained silent as the dragon laughed at him. Its breath smelled of ashes and decay. Ruko knew the power of this creature was intense. He could feel it burning into his skin, and he knew death may soon be upon him, but the warrior refused to show any fear.

“I suppose you have need of me?” The dragon raised its head.

“Yes. I must know the story of this sword.” Ruko knew the dragon’s yellow reptilian eyes were studying him. He could feel their power pressing against him. It was all he could do to stand against it.

“What will you do if I choose not to tell you?” The dragon’s scaly brow arched as he revealed a mouth full of dagger-like teeth. A long forked tongue brushed up and down along rows of flesh rending death.

Without a moments hesitation the warrior answered. “I shall kill you or die in the attempt.”

“You are a brave one. It is a pity your fate is filled with tragedy and betrayal.”

“I care nothing for your flippant musings dragon. I will have my story now.” Ruko was ready to reach for his sword and let the dance have its way, but he hardened his patience and waited.

“Humans are all the same.” The dragon snaked its head down to look the warrior directly in the eyes. “All of you are fools lacking the mere patience of a hummingbird. Your kind rushes about building up its walls only to have them smashed down by a stronger enemy. Then the conqueror does the same thing to only be conquered by a different enemy. It’s the same vicious cycle of senseless death and foolish pride that will ultimately be the downfall of your race.”

The dragon snorted in contempt. A ring of ashy smoke burst from his nostrils and disappeared into the air. “If you will only wait, think, and feel before acting you will grow to become a great warrior. If not you will die a miserable and painful death at the feet of your enemies.”

Ruko had nothing to say.

“Good I see you’re thinking about what I said. There may be hope for you yet. Let me spin the tale that you so desperately seek and watch to see how you grow from it.”

The dragon waited, and when Ruko said nothing it spun its tale in the stone of the cavern’s mosaics. The battle clad warriors moved along the walls as the dragon told its story.

Warriors clad in silken robes of crimson and black forged swords in the heat of soot filled furnaces. They sweated and toiled while a great black dragon terrorized the farmlands of Breese. The warriors finished their work and carried the newly forged swords to battle.

They battled the dragon. Swords broke and warriors fell beneath the sharp claws of the mighty dragon. The sun gave way to the moon and the moon gave back to the sun.

“When the moon entered the night sky for the second time the mighty Braxx fell. The last warrior, pure of heart and mind, stood atop the slain dragon. He was the only one able to pierce Braxx’s scales. After killing the dragon Hiroto took the scales and built your families fortress. He then took the bones and forged the strongest blades to ever be held by men.”

The blade and its unique story snatched Ruko’s attention. Ruko knew it could not be wielded by anyone, but himself; a true warrior of the Kyoshi family has always been the one to wield this blade since it first took life. It was not only blessed by the spirits, but it was a spirit.

“Your blade was forged from those moon-kissed bones. But you should know that the blade is nothing without the strength of the warrior to wield it.” The dragon raised its head. Its slanted eyes focused intently on the warrior. “I wonder if you’re the one that should wield it.”

The dragon’s head darted forward. Ruko felt the light brush of the serpent’s mustache and barely escaped its razor filled maw. Ruko quickly regained his footing. He recovered the blade and embraced its spirit.

Ruko’s senses tingled and the power of the dance took control. The sword’s energy hummed. Ruko felt its own thirst for blood as his own.

The dragon smiled before he snapped out again at Ruko. The warrior jumped away and slashed the dragon’s nostrils open. Blood shot from the open wound in a fine mist that spotted the warrior’s face.

“Enough!” The dragon shouted with such force the entire cavern shook.

Ruko’s eyes darted back and forth furiously. He didn’t understand it, but somehow the dragon had stopped the dance. The blade hummed anxiously as the warrior fought with all his might to break free, but it was no use. The spell put on Ruko had more power than he could match.

I guess this is it. At least I fought with honor.

The dragon smiled.

What is it waiting for? Ruko was not certain, but he thought he saw approval in the dragon’s yellow eyes.

“You have proven yourself worthy of the blade and the mantle of warrior. I am honored to have met you son of Kenzo. May the blade always be a part of you and may your honor always be strong.”

Ruko was speechless.

Ruko returned to the city of Nod. The haze was almost impenetrable. Ruko could not decide which was worse, trying to find ones way through an inhospitable forest while being hounded by wolves, or breathing this acrid air. After a moment’s consideration Ruko decided this god-forsaken city was by far the worst of the two.

He quickly booked passage to Breese. Watching the land grow smaller in the distance felt good. The land played an important part in the history of his people, but the land of lotus blossoms awaited him.

A lump filled Ruko’s throat when Breese came into view. He did not know what was going on, but he knew it wasn’t good. Fires belched out black fingers of smoke from the city. The smoke blocked his view of Breese.

Ruko’s brow furrowed with anger. The hot dragon’s breath boiled in his heart and the dance made itself known. Ruko instinctively gripped the blade’s hilt. He ran to the ship’s bow, pushing through people that were trying to watch the city burn.

Another ship, flying beneath the goblin queen’s banner, turned through the smoke and moved towards the kokiro airship. Nasty looking goblins leaned over the rails, barbed swords raised to the heavens. The goblins yelled foul obscenities at the passenger ship.

People pushed and shoved their way to the other side of the ship. A woman screamed as someone toppled over her. Her screams were short lived. The scared passengers crushed her beneath their fear and never even looked down to acknowledge her existence.

Cowards.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Before Ruko realized what was happening he had jumped aboard the approaching ship, sword in hand. Goblins fell to the deadly precision of the warrior’s onslaught.

Ruko killed the small crew with little effort. He scanned the ship and saw nothing, but death.

There’s no more danger here.

Ruko climbed down a rope ladder and joined the larger battle below. Smoke blocked his vision, but the dragon’s spirit guided him safely through smoke and fire. He killed any goblin that dare cross his path.

The courtyard is filled with the dogs. There’s far too many for one ship. I wonder how long the people have been fighting them off.

The dance once again took control. Ruko and the blade were as one. Nothing else mattered. Together, they charged into the goblin ranks.

Streams of blood, goblin and kokiro alike, ran down the smooth stones. Fires burned around the remaining kokiro. They had no where to go except through the jagged teeth of the pirates.

Ruko fought his way through the goblins. His blade was a brilliant flash in the dark smoke. It slashed open bellies and removed impish heads. Soon the goblins were the prey instead of the predators.

The sun set upon the burning city. Dark smoke blotted out the moon. Kokiro killed the few remaining goblins beneath the light of paper lanterns strung above the courtyard. Mothers wept over fallen sons while monks garbed in white robes began the long task of sanctifying and burning every kokiro corpse.

Blood makes us stronger.

A snowflake landed on Ruko’s hair followed by another. Ruko looked to the sky. Tiny flakes broke through the smoke and descended upon the city.

We won the battle, but we’re going to need the courage of our ancestors to see another spring.

“Ruko.”

The warrior turned to face his master. His face was smeared with blood and dust. Ruko knew this moment was to come. It was what he had journeyed and almost died for.

“Yes master.”

I am nothing without you. Ruko casually held the blade. But you are nothing without me. He stared into the master’s eyes, refusing to look away.

“Do not hesitate now. Hesitation in combat brings death, but hesitation in the royal court brings dishonor. Now bring your story and show me what you have learned.”

Ruko gripped the hilt of his sword and approached the master, eager to give the master the dragon’s tale. The blade’s smooth surface reflected the many lights hanging above.

The master’s stern face, hardened from years of disciplined training and warfare, continued to hold Ruko’s gaze. His blade hummed with the same spirit as Ruko’s sword.

They are both from the same moon kissed bones.

Ruko pushed thoughts aside and became one with the sword. The warrior spun at the master, feinted in one direction, then slashed out in another. His deadly precision was only matched by the old man’s speed. Steel clashed against steel and the swords hummed as the warriors, old and young, danced the dance of the sword.

The two were a blur of crimson and black as they kicked, sliced, parried, and jumped from each others attacks. Ruko danced alongside the master’s blade and brought his own sword to the master’s back, but again the old man was faster. The master was a blur to Ruko’s eyes. He ducked below the hissing blade and swept Ruko’s feet out from under him. Ruko landed hard on his back. The dance was knocked out of him, and once again the master had beaten him.

Ruko gazed from the sword at his throat to the master’s face. His old face gleamed with sweat, and in the soft light he looked much older than he had before the fight.

“You have come a long way, but you still move too slow. You may possess the heart of a dragon, but you are still not a master. Work harder!” The master flicked his sword from Ruko’s throat, sheathed it, and walked down a cobblestone alley.

I must strive harder.

Ruko rose up from the ground and sheathed his sword with quiet reverence. He bowed before his departing master. The dance was over for now, but the bond between Ruko and his sword would always be there.

Les Welch lives in Maryland where he spends his time writing and painting. He lives for the day when he has perfected the fine art of story telling. Visit him at http://www.myspace.com/ldw_writer