Hana Mitsurugi regains consciousness. The first thing that greets her eyes is a Japanese kanji character. She squints, following the graceful calligraphy with her bleary eyes. Her whole body hurts, and her mind is worse off, but right now it's the only thing her senses can focus on, and so it's all she pays attention to.
"Virtue." Her cracked lips speak the word aloud. Suddenly she feels thirsty. How long was she out?
"You are in the Tsubaki Shrine in New Troy," a voice reports. This is new. Hana struggles to turn her head and find the speaker.
"You were hurt. You were brought here." Finally the voice has a face, and Hana's eyes perceive a wizened old Asian man. His hair is pure white, and his beard and eyebrows both reach past his chin. He offers first water, then tea, bracing Hana's head with one hand and pouring with the other. The girl drinks both greedily.
"I am the priest. My name is Kuroto Shiro. I have been entrusted the care of the sword you carried."
The sword!
Hana struggles to rise. A war of emotions takes hold of her. "Get away from the evil!" declares a part of her soul. "You have no choice but to take the blade - it is your destiny," a voice whispers. "You are a despicable woman for your secret desire - the sword will accept you, but no one else will," intones a dark presence.
Kuroto Shiro promptly places a white rice-paper strip over Hana's forehead. The voices fall silent. "We will deal with that troublesome curse together," he announces calmly.
----
Together, Hana and Kuroto Shiro practice meditation under the cherry blossoms that adorn the shrine. The walls somehow keep out the bustle and the noise of New Troy, and the calm pronouncements of the priest keep the inner voices at bay.
On the third day, she rises and has taken three steps before she realizes what has happened. She turns, looking at the priest questioningly. He sighs. "If you had walked further, you would reach the chamber where the sword is sealed. It still calls to you. Perhaps I need more direct methods."
"I'm sorry." Hana hangs her head in shame. She has tried so hard. The pressure to conform, to be good - the sword was freedom from all of it. She hides her face from her teacher, and hot tears pour down her cheeks. "Am I really wicked?" she asks herself in the softest voice.
"Catch." She whirls, but even before she can consciously react, she feels her hand grasping a haft of wood. She stares down. In her hand is a bokken, or training sword for samurai. Kuroto Shiro stands ten paces away, carrying a similar sword.
"In your time wielding the cursed Muramasa, your mind was not your own, but your body was. Now, defend yourself!"
He lunges, bokken raised, feet shuffling across the stonework of the temple grounds. His speed is lightning fast. Hana flinches away from the blow, fearing - and feeling the sudden strike of wood on wood. And again, and again. The priest draws away.
"You see?" he says. "Your muscles have memorized every motion of swordsmanship. Martial artists strive to learn their art, then unlearn it to remove their consciousness from the business of fighting. The Tao teaches action without intent. You, my dear, have become a master without realizing it."
He strikes again, and this time Hana watches herself counter, parry, and block. Her feet move, and her eyes follow his own as he guides his attacks. She studies herself in wonder as the old priest demonstrates her unconscious mastery with stroke after stroke.
"What.. What does it mean?" She finally asks.
"It means you have a choice to make," replies Kuroto Shiro. "For example, the hero Dao. He fights, but his goals are incomplete. He walks in darkness, like you did, but he holds himself above it. He is... alone, my child. He seeks balance, as do you. Perhaps you could find it together."
Hana nods slowly, and looks away. Her eyes follow the lines of the wall and end their journey on a signboard, on which is written the Japanese kanji for "virtue".
"Virtue." Her cracked lips speak the word aloud. Suddenly she feels thirsty. How long was she out?
"You are in the Tsubaki Shrine in New Troy," a voice reports. This is new. Hana struggles to turn her head and find the speaker.
"You were hurt. You were brought here." Finally the voice has a face, and Hana's eyes perceive a wizened old Asian man. His hair is pure white, and his beard and eyebrows both reach past his chin. He offers first water, then tea, bracing Hana's head with one hand and pouring with the other. The girl drinks both greedily.
"I am the priest. My name is Kuroto Shiro. I have been entrusted the care of the sword you carried."
The sword!
Hana struggles to rise. A war of emotions takes hold of her. "Get away from the evil!" declares a part of her soul. "You have no choice but to take the blade - it is your destiny," a voice whispers. "You are a despicable woman for your secret desire - the sword will accept you, but no one else will," intones a dark presence.
Kuroto Shiro promptly places a white rice-paper strip over Hana's forehead. The voices fall silent. "We will deal with that troublesome curse together," he announces calmly.
----
Together, Hana and Kuroto Shiro practice meditation under the cherry blossoms that adorn the shrine. The walls somehow keep out the bustle and the noise of New Troy, and the calm pronouncements of the priest keep the inner voices at bay.
On the third day, she rises and has taken three steps before she realizes what has happened. She turns, looking at the priest questioningly. He sighs. "If you had walked further, you would reach the chamber where the sword is sealed. It still calls to you. Perhaps I need more direct methods."
"I'm sorry." Hana hangs her head in shame. She has tried so hard. The pressure to conform, to be good - the sword was freedom from all of it. She hides her face from her teacher, and hot tears pour down her cheeks. "Am I really wicked?" she asks herself in the softest voice.
"Catch." She whirls, but even before she can consciously react, she feels her hand grasping a haft of wood. She stares down. In her hand is a bokken, or training sword for samurai. Kuroto Shiro stands ten paces away, carrying a similar sword.
"In your time wielding the cursed Muramasa, your mind was not your own, but your body was. Now, defend yourself!"
He lunges, bokken raised, feet shuffling across the stonework of the temple grounds. His speed is lightning fast. Hana flinches away from the blow, fearing - and feeling the sudden strike of wood on wood. And again, and again. The priest draws away.
"You see?" he says. "Your muscles have memorized every motion of swordsmanship. Martial artists strive to learn their art, then unlearn it to remove their consciousness from the business of fighting. The Tao teaches action without intent. You, my dear, have become a master without realizing it."
He strikes again, and this time Hana watches herself counter, parry, and block. Her feet move, and her eyes follow his own as he guides his attacks. She studies herself in wonder as the old priest demonstrates her unconscious mastery with stroke after stroke.
"What.. What does it mean?" She finally asks.
"It means you have a choice to make," replies Kuroto Shiro. "For example, the hero Dao. He fights, but his goals are incomplete. He walks in darkness, like you did, but he holds himself above it. He is... alone, my child. He seeks balance, as do you. Perhaps you could find it together."
Hana nods slowly, and looks away. Her eyes follow the lines of the wall and end their journey on a signboard, on which is written the Japanese kanji for "virtue".
