Dais

Ronin

“You godless b*****d,” spittle clung to the cracked lips of the Elderly man. His head was rumbling as he bobbed his head in time with his words. “Stealing!? From me! I’ll hang you from your toes and let you bleed out beneath the blistering sun!” A young man in his early twenties was shoved before the lord. He tumbled into the shearing stream of light from above in the low-lit room. He regained his grounding but remained on his hands and knees, head bowed to the floorboards. Though the elder maintained the posture of a noble host his face betrayed all he could have possibly appeared to be. His wispy grey beard swayed gently from his chin, in tune with his drooping mustache as he tore his head from side to side under the heat of his rage. He kept his hands folded beneath the long sleeves of his ornate black-gold kimono. “Where have you hidden it? Where is my treasure!?” The old gentleman glared so hard at the boy his eyeballs seemed to press against his sockets. “Kubara,” The lord snapped his fingers and a large, tanned man in ragged trousers and an open brown vest came forth from the darker recesses of the room. “If you will not tell me now,” The old man said slowly, “You will cause yourself a great deal of harm.” The young lad said nothing. Kubara stepped forward and planted a hard kick into the boy’s ribcage, keeling him over with a slight cry of pain. The boy clutched his side and rose onto his knees once more. The lord looked him over, his rage slowly subsiding from its swell. The boy coughed, and gave a slight laugh as he wiped one hand over his downturned eyes. The elder’s bushy eyebrow rose in annoyance and intrigue. “What, I pray, tell me, do you consider to be at all humorous, young Shoto?” A slow, relieved exhale came from Shoto.

“I can’t tell you, you old fool.” Shoto breathed.

“What?” asked the elder.

“I said I can’t tell you!” Shoto reeled his head back and met the cool gaze of the lord’s dark, wrinkled earth eyes with his own metallic black.

“That will not do Shoto. That will not do at all.” The lord’s words hung heavy in the air as they were cast between his teeth. His hands were balled upon his knees and clenching rhythmically, his thick fingernails digging into calloused palms with each squeeze. The lord shot a glance at Kubara and the big man resumed his role, as if startled, and drove his thick knee into Shoto’s head. Shoto toppled off to the side nearing the rim of the scattered natural light. He felt the splinters of the shoddy wood floor rake his cheek as he crashed once more into the boards. He turned his head to the opening in the roof for a moment, catching sight of a gull drifting in the clouded blue sky he rolled once again to his knees.

“I cannot tell you because I do not know.” Shoto glance about the room, Kubara stood with his great arms ready at his sides. Three heads peeked in from the hall in the corner behind Kubara and the Lord. One guard stood at the opposite end of the room, on the same side as the entrance.

“Then it would seem dear Shoto,” The Lord tried to announce calmly, though his rage rumbled beneath his breath like thunder in a distant storm.  “I have no use for you, and I cannot allow you to walk away unharmed.” The Lord extended one hand to the men at the entrance. “Fetch us a sharp knife and some bandages.” The Lord returned his gaze to Shoto as the boy’s hairline began to glisten with damp fear.

“Itoruku...” he began. One of the guards removed a shining tanto from his belt and stepped forward to hand it to Lord Itoruku. “Wait, Lord, I can’t tell you. I can only sho-“ Shoto was cut short as Kubara attempted to drive another foot into his spine. The kick missed and Shoto slid his hand along Kubara’s thick shin before ramming his knuckles into the massive thug’s knee joint. Shoto rolled back as the large man cried out in pain, wrapping his thick paws around his torn muscles. Itoruku rose instantly as the alarmed guards fumbled for their weapons.

“Wait...” Shoto called in a deep, apprehensive tone, casting his gaze about the room, addressing explicitly the anxious men wielding dingy blades. The air hung stale as the tension drifted between the two parties. The moment seemed both an eternity and an instant. Three of the sentries lunged towards Shoto while Itoruku leapt behind the defence of the fourth, who held steadfast before the dais. “Itoruku wait!” screamed Shoto, dread beading his forehead and drenching his hairs. He felt his hands against the back wall, the three guards advancing towards him, two with Katanas drawn and the third holding two ararebo, small iron capped batons, limply at his side as he tramped towards Shoto with a ghoulish grin spread across his face. Itoruku peeked from behind his bodyguard, his face rumpled in a mixture of frustration and panic. Shoto felt his shirt cling to his sweat slicked back as he bumped the wall again, praying to the gods it would fall from its supports, revealing an open beach for a desperate escape. But no such miracle would occur.

“Kill him!” cried Itoruku once more gripping his bodyguard’s leather spaulder and shaking a calloused finger at Shoto.

“Itoruku I can show you!” Shoto screamed in fury. They were too close. The first rogue jumped to Shoto, slashing at him in a downward strike and missing gravely as Shoto leapt aside. The two hardly locked eyes before the man dragged the blade into a sideways sweep where Shoto met the guard’s wrists with a timely grip before his blade had stretched halfway to its mark. The two struggled as Shoto planted his foot partially into the man’s upper thigh, missing the groin but hammering his heel into the hip, causing his rival to stumble between Shoto and the second guard. Shoto twisted with the man and whirled around him just as the second thug stepped to the side and sliced towards him with his old katana. The second guard’s weathered blade bit into the shoulder of his comrade and deeply into the arm of Shoto, splitting his tricep apart in a gush of crimson. He howled out, as did his opponent, grappling with each other, they wrenched their heads away as they tumbled to the floor and the wrestling guard yielded his grip on the sword. As the second guard came upon Shoto once more, stepping over his wounded ally, Shoto lashed out with one wild chop and clipped the old sword into the second guard’s hip. The guard yelled out as blood spat from his wound, but he descended still onto Shoto, striking into the ground beside the boy as he rolled away holding his spewing crimson arm. Shoto tried to stand but a sharp crunch broke into the back of his ribcage, unleashing a wild flurry of pain that seared across his torso as he collapsed into the wood floor again. Hardly a moment had passed, allowing Shoto a single breath before the other baton crashed into his shoulder and a foot found his broken ribs, tossing him onto his beaten back. He shielded his face with his unscathed arm as the ararebo guard landed a glancing blow into the side of Shoto’s head. His vision became blurred, blooming blue and black spots as the edge of his sight dimmed. Shoto heard himself screaming, muffled and muted, though he could not understand what words he spat. Shoto rolled about the floor, his arms still shielding his head in a desperate effort to ward off the assault. “All dawk!” he tasted a coppery tang upon his lips. Shoto realized he was no longer being beaten and, with his arm still wrapped about his face, he dragged himself across the floor and propped his broken body against the wall as the sounds came to clarity. “I’ll dalk...” he cried exhausted. He brushed his lip with the back of his hand and glanced at the large red smear that stained it. “D’oh more..” he could feel the blood pooling against his lower lip and pouring over the brink of his swollen gob. Shoto lowered his arm and continued petting his tender mouth as he glared, battered and beaten, at Itoruku. The third guard held both clubs at the ready and was glancing rapidly from the Itoruku to Shoto, like a rabid dog. Wet crimson crowned the head of his iron caps as he turned, slavering to Shoto, penned rage smoldering beneath his black-brown eyes. His black hair was draped about his face and slick with sweat, long strands streaked across his face, some strands tangled in his maniacal grin.

Itoruku held up his hand and glared directly into Shoto’s shying eyes. Kubara’s groans had diminished to a stunted grunting as the katana guards helped each other on to their feet, the initial attacker leaning heavily on his ally, still spilling some blood down his sleeveless uwagi, darkening his blue shirt at the shoulder.

“Tell me where it is Shoto, if you truly do not know, I will cut out your tongue and brand your eyes so that you may never betray my trust again.” Itoruku threatened him softly, as a mother would persuade a child, though beneath his blanketed tone came a coarse whisper that grated Shoto vexatiously.

“Listen,” Shoto bleated, trails of blood running down his furrowed brow. “I know who has it,” he flicked his eyes from Itoruku to the flaky, club-wielding character pacing quickly back to his corner of the room, frustration emanating from each of his steps. “I just don’t know where it is.” Itoruku’s eye twitched as he pushed passed his bodyguard.

“Who?” he barked, “Who the f**k did you sell it to you filthy rat!?” Shoto breathed in and cringed. He touched his ribs and hastily drew a breath at the agony that engulfed his side.

“A travelling merchant,” he gasped and scrunched up his face. “They were heading to Naapo. They should’ve left yesterday...” Shoto turned away and spoke softer, “Maybe the day before.” Itoruku swept up close to Shoto and arched his back, fury blooming on his furrowed face. “There were no Merchants here, I would have heard of it. You dare lie to me!?” Itoruku’s noxious breath plumed against Shoto’s pained expression. “N-no,” he stammered, “please, they didn’t come to the village.” Shoto’s words tumbled over themself, wading through a thin layer of impatient anger, before he regained his composure. “I met them on the route from Kishinki to Naapo. They didn’t bother to trade with Saibetsu because they thought we were too small a village, I swear.” Itoruku ran his fingers through his wispy chin scruff and thought deeply for a moment. “They said they thought Saibetsu was too risky, that we hold to many thugs.” Shoto said, gingerly wiping his lip and grunting. Itoruku raised his inquisitive eye to meet Shoto’s. Squinted and glimmering, Shoto held his gaze.

“You will take some of my men to them. I want you to find them, Shoto. And believe me, you want to find them too.” Itoruku rose and peered at Kubara. “Taiyo...” he said after a ponderous moment. “Kubara will be unfit for this raid,” the flaky looking guard’s mouth split into a fish-toothed smile and his eyes glimmered in excitement. “You will lead the group. I want you to take everything from these merchants Though, if they surrender, do not kill them. I only want my treasury back.” Taiyo nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes Lord.” Taiyo turned and started for the stairwell, sparing a baleful glance to Shoto as he left. Itoruku motioned for the guards, asking them to escort the wounded Shoto to his home. Shoto was pulled to his feet and swayed against his aide. The guard curled his hand around Shoto’s rumpled collar and steadied him, the guard slowing his pace to account for Shoto’s winded limp while Itoruku stood staring them away.

“Rest well, Shoto-San, rest well, for tomorrow is a big day.”

 

Author's Note

First draft, don't focus on grammar, repetition, descriptive transitioning too much.

Reviews

[Max64]

I get you are trying to place the reader. Japanese words, names, etc. help. But there is no description of the settings. Good descriptiosn of people. I live in Japan, so its easy for me to make faces and places in the imagination, but it may not be so with everyone.