Prologue

Prologue

 

Azaka crouched in the shadows behind a stack of crates on the side of the building. He was dressed in the traditional Shau-zun shizoku clothing, dark green and black, with light leather armor dyed in black to conceal its shine. His signature double sided katana was strapped across his back, hidden in a specially made black sheath. His black clothing covered his whole body except for his eyes, which were covered in black ink. He looked out at the dark, unlit street, scanning for any signs of life.

He darted out from behind the crates and toward the opening of the alley way and peered out. The streets were deserted, completely dark except for the distant glow of torches. Nobody patrolled the streets, nor did he hear any noise. He ran out into the street, sliding against the walls and outsides of buildings until he reached the end of the street. The house where his target lay was somewhere ahead.

He slipped through a nearby alleyway on the opposite side of the street and came out on the other side to face a street lined with larger buildings. These were the noble houses. Azaka kept to the sides of the streets as he made his way down to the other end. He needed to find somebody…..

He heard footsteps coming toward him from the end of the street from within the shadows. There were two men, each wielding katanas. As they came into view Azaka shimmied up the side of the closest building and sat perched on a statue that overlooked the street. The samurai came underneath him, speaking in hushed tones.

Azaka waited for them to pass, and when they did he fell from the statue and landed silently on the ground a few feet behind the samurai. The samurai did not hear him, nor did they hear him draw his sword. He held the double sided katana in his right hand, and crept up behind them. He reared back and stabbed, and the blade pierced one of the samurai’s backs and the blade came out from his chest.

He turned the blade to the side into his heart, and as he withdrew the blade he swung his legs out toward the other samurai, who now had no time to react. Azaka caught the samurai in the face and he was thrown back onto the ground. Azaka let the body fall to the ground and he pounced onto the fallen samurai and held the blade close to his neck.

“Do not speak. Speak only after I ask you a question.”

The samurai’s body trembled. He nodded slowly.

“Where is the daimyo’s house?”

The samurai shook his head. Azaka pressed the blade closer, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Okay….. I’ll tell you. He lives up this street and to the right, the third house on the left, over the ridge…”

Azaka smiled beneath his mask. He had what he needed to hear. In one swift movement he plunged the blade into his neck, and the samurai’s head rolled off of his body. Azaka stashed the bodies within a stack of old crates in the alley and then climbed up onto the roof of the building next to him. Then he followed the samurai’s instructions and went down to the end of this street and turned to the right.

The third house on the right lay beyond an iron gate. Azaka fell from the rooftops and ran along what remained between him and the gate, and when he reached it he quickly and swiftly climbed the bars of the gate and slipped over the edge, landing silently on the other side in a crouch.

Ahead lay a long winding path leading to the house, cutting through a small field of grass dotted with small trees and shrubs. He made his way quickly between the trees, pausing each time to check for any sentries. He soon found himself at the main door to the house, but turned towards a set of columns. He shimmied up the heavy, stone column and onto the roof. He ran across the tiles without a sound and came to a narrow slit in the roof and slipped through it.

He landed inside the house in a crouch and upon landing rolled to the corner into the shadows and out of sight.  No sound came from within the house, and the only light came from the windows, the soft, silver glow of the moon streaming through onto the floor. Mounted on the wall next to him hung the ceremonial katana of the daimyo, Himoshiro. The mighty sword’s sheath was shiny and black with intricate designs of a long, purple dragon twisting around the edge and up to the shaft.

Azaka gently picked it up and slowly drew the blade from its sheath. The blade was silvery white, with a fine edge. Another set of carvings wound up along the blade’s edge; a long, twisting purple dragon. He slid it back into the sheath and arched it across his back underneath the fold of his clothes and securing it into the cloth. With the two swords across his back, Azaka made his way across the room and into a narrow hallway leading to the rest of the house.

Upon entering a nearby room, he was startled to see a woman sleeping in a low bed. A man was next to her breathing softly.  He turned and was surprised again to see a small boy, no more than ten years old, sleeping deeply in a bed not too far off. He silently crossed the room and went through another sliding door and found himself in the meditating room.

A bamboo mat lay neatly in front of a large stone statue in front of a wall decorated with plates and scrolls. The candles were unlit and the statues cast long shadows across the room. He went to the desk and picked up a thick scroll. He unrolled it and held it before his eyes, and a wicked smile spread across his face. He had found what he came for. He turned and made his way back to the main room, and was about to exit through the window when he heard a gasp.

He whipped around and saw the little boy from the bedroom standing in the doorway, his eyes wide. His mouth hung open and his eyes were glossed over. Azaka slowly shook his head, threatening and venomous. The boy stood there, staring at the ninja for what seemed like an eternity, until from his belt he drew a small dagger. He held it out before him menacingly, a fire glowing in his eyes.

At this Azaka had to smile. This boy had courage! And he was threatening a ninja! He chuckled and moved forward a step, but the boy only tightened his grip on the dagger. Azaka moved forward again, but the boy before him did not move. From his back he drew his double bladed katana. It was a threatening looking weapon; its fine edge glinting red in the moonlight, and its two sharp blades extending from each end.

He spun the weapon in his outstretched hand toward the boy, who yet again remained still. Azaka admired this boy for his courage, but he had business to take care of, and had no time stand here and intimidate a young boy. He turned and leaped out of the window. His outstretched body was halfway out of the window when he felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder. He landed heavily on the roof, breaking one of tiles and sending a loud crack echoing through the silent night air.

He looked at his shoulder and saw a small dagger lodged in the skin, a fine trickle of blood rolling onto his black clothing. His dark eyes slowly moved from the dagger to the boy standing in the room, a look of horror and shock on his young face. The throw was incredible, as if thrown by an expert! He stood up straight and drew his double bladed katana once again. The funny business was over, he thought. He had received specific instructions not to kill anybody on this mission, but the boy had seen him, and he had had enough.

He stepped back inside through the window and advanced on the boy, faster this time. He moved faster until the boy spoke in a soft, calm voice. “Give me the sword.”

Azaka did not smile this time, but moved faster. At that time, the boy saw the insane glow in the ninja’s eyes, and turned and ran, the ninja right behind.

 

**

 

The boy ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, down the hallway and into a small room to his left. He was not running out of fear or panic, but of purpose. He needed something. He would fight and kill this ninja and reclaim his father’s sword! He turned into yet another room and was soon facing a tall wooden cabinet.

Without slowing he threw open the doors and reached for a long, slightly curving katana. In one fluid motion he turned around, drawing the sword from its sheath and sunk into a crouched position, the katana held ready in his small hands. A second later, the blacked clothed ninja appeared in the doorway.

 

**

 

Azaka turned to face the boy, but now he could not help but be amazed. This boy before him was holding a long, curved katana in front of a cabinet containing a set of ceremonial samurai armor! He recovered from his amazement and once again held his own sword out. This time he would finish this.  

He charged him, his blades spinning like a silver pinwheel. The boy showed no fear now, but held the katana higher. Azaka came in with his blade low, but at once the boy stabbed with the katana. Azaka was caught off guard, and only just dodged the slash when an upward slash cut toward him from out of nowhere. He found himself spinning to the other side of the boy. The double blade came in again, faster this time.

But at that moment something happened that none of them expected. The boy brought up his blade and parried the strike with absolute precision, perfectly executed, and the large katana came back spinning toward the ninja in a wide arch. Azaka was almost too amazed to parry the next blow. He struck again, and the boy parried it yet again.

The clash of the blades rattled the boy’s arms, making him tremble, and the ring of blades rang through the house. Azaka was shocked still as the boy came in for another strike, this time low and quick to the chest. The ninja dodged the strike and leapt back, out of the reach of the enraged boy. He looked into his eyes and saw the rage, the fire, the passion. He spun his blade expertly, as if he had been trained years ago, his slashes wide yet quick and precise; his style so like his father…..

He ran in quickly toward the boy and threw his body against his, tackling him to the ground. The boy cried out as the powerful body was thrown into his, knocking the wind out of him and making him drop his sword in the shock.  A man ran into the room suddenly, holding a short sword. The man looked from his son to the ninja, and back to his son. “Zakoura!” he yelled in alarm. Azaka looked at the man, Himoshiro Matsaru.

The boy, whom was called Zakoura by his father, was beginning to get to his feet.  He ignored the boy, as he was now unarmed, and looked to Himoshiro.  He knew of this man, the daimyo leader in the village. He was known for his close connections with the royal family in Kyoto, but also his prowess with the blade as an elite samurai. He was a very dignified man, who had chosen to raise his family in safety, aside from the feudalism of the royal family and the Shogunate, and to have them raised in this small, quiet village.

He was starting to think of his next move when Himoshiro charged him, his dagger raised high. Azaka just brought up his blade in time to block the powerful strike. Azaka parried two more quick strikes in a row before his was slashed in the arm. His blood sprayed through the air onto the floor, and Azaka retreated a few steps. 

Zakoura, now backing up against the wall, watched in awe as the two swordsmen battled before him. Azaka needed a way to slip through his defenses, but the strong samurai did not seem to have any. His blade moved back and forth so fluidly and quickly, as if they were __? ___. 

He may have been trained in the art of Bushido, thought Azaka, but I have been trained in the art of ninjutsu. When he caught another slash with his blade, he withdrew from his belt a long, coiled chain. In one quick snap of his wrist the chain shot from his hand and wrapped around Himoshiro’s neck. He stepped back, and in another snapping motion he pulled back, and the daimyo leader before him was pulled forward onto the ground.

“Father!” yelled Zakoura. He grabbed the fallen sword and advanced on Azaka, but he spun toward him and slashed. Zakoura felt a searing pain in his chest, and fell to the ground, clutching the open gash on his chest. He fell sideways and onto his head. He saw Azaka pull harder on the chain, tightening it around Himoshiro’s father’s neck, and he saw the life drain from his face.

A tear rolled down the young boy’s face as he watched his father die, and he watched the ninja run from the room. He reached out for the sword again, but didn’t have the strength to grip the handle. Zakoura fell out of consciousness just before his mother’s scream shot through the house, and then all was silent.

          The black sky was illuminated with a streak of lighting, and then there was a clap of thunder. A gentle rain began to fall, and in the window the ninja had disappeared, gone into the rain. As the rain grew to a downpour, the only sound inside the house was a crying of a young boy as he gazed at his father’s body, clutching his sword.

 

**

 

Through the torrent of rain walked a man toward a small building at the end of the street. He wore a brown tunic over his kimono, and beneath the cowl was his small round face and old features beneath a set of matted straight hair. He shuffled down the street with terrible news. Himoshiro Matsaru had been killed nearly an hour ago, slain by a ninja! His body was found choked to death by a chain, and his son was there too, just barely alive with a gash in his chest.

Kana had heard a scream and came over to investigate, and was met with the terrible sight of the two bodies, and to his horror he found Himoshiro’s wife dead as well. He immediately summoned a group of samurai to sort things out, and had arranged for one of his top samurai to take Zakoura to the castle. He had to tell Takaji of this news! He knew that he would be in this particular building, even at this hour of the night.

The daimyo had been killed, killed by a ninja! And he knew why. He slid open the door and stepped inside and took off his robe. He looked around to see only a small handful of men seated at the low tables arranged in rows, and at the opposite side sat Takaji, seated low over a cup of sake. Kana rushed over, breathing heavily.

Takaji saw him coming and looked up curiously.

“What is going on?”

Kana sat down and looked at him gravely.

“What I am to tell you must be kept only to yourself and is of upmost secrecy. Himoshiro is dead.”

Takaji’s eyes went wide and he was about to cry out when Kana put his hands up to silence him.

“How on earth did he-

“He was slain by a ninja. One from the mountains, and I know why. Somehow the ninja found out about the plan.”

Takaji looked curious. “What plan?”

Kana looked around cautiously to make sure nobody was listening, and then continued.

“The Shogun has ordered a mass sweep of the land to kill off all of the ninja clans in the province. It is part of a plan to stop any possibilities of attacks in the future as a new Shogun is to be appointed within the next years. Himoshiro was against the plan to begin with, and I suppose this ninja and his clan wanted him dead in fear of them not going through with this action.”

“Why would a ninja clan want the plan executed? They are to be killed.”

Kana continued. “I think that they want to be the last remaining ninja clan in the province. They are a strange clan I think. I cannot imagine how they found out about this to begin with.”

          “And why would the ninja want to kill Himoshiro?”

“Like I said, Himoshiro has a major influence on the Shogunate. If anyone kept the plan in their hands, it was Himoshiro. With him gone, the plan is sure to go through and be executed. Now, the ninja clan has had its way.”

The two men sat in silence as they mourned the death of their friend, the daimyo, Himoshiro.

“Who have you told?” asked Takaji.

“Nobody save for the samurai. I told them to keep it quiet, at least until morning. The city would go into chaos if everyone found out! Ninjas in Kyoto!”

Takaji looked around. “You are going to be under suspicion; you had better say something, to the Emperor at least or you are to be in serious trouble.”

Kana nodded. “I know. I will tell him at once.”

He was about to stand up when he remembered something.

“Takaji, I need to ask you to do a favor for me. With me being Himoshiro’s friend he told me a long time ago that if anything were to happen to him or his wife he wanted me to take care of his son. Zakoura is badly injured, and has witnessed a horrible tragedy. He must be traumatized. But as I am the ___, I feel that I cannot raise him properly.

I need him to be raised away from the knowledge of the ninja activity. If the ninja’s clan has had its way, then all of the ninja clans in the province will have died off by the time he grows older, all except for the ninja who killed his father and his clan. It will not be safe for him to have knowledge of these ninjas, so I need him to be raised outside of Kyoto.”

Takaji looked at him curiously. “You want me to do this? Raise him away from Kyoto?”

Kana nodded slowly. “There is a small village a ways to the east of here, Tokisawa. It is known only by a few select individuals, so he would be safe and away from attention.”

His eyes softened and he continued. “Takaji, I want you to be his father. Please do this for me, and for Himoshiro.”

Takaji remained silent. He did not know what to say.

Finally he nodded and said with sincerity. “Okay, I will raise Zakoura. Tell me where Tokisawa is, and I will take him there.”

Kana nodded affirmatively and then stood up.

“I will spend the night with Zakoura, and tomorrow morning meet me at the front gate. Wear a disguise, and I will give the boy to you.”

He turned to leave, and as he walked away he said over his shoulder, “Thank you Takaji.”

He began to walk away when from behind him Takaji asked, “Kana, who do you suppose did this? The ninja clan I mean.”

Kana uttered two words, and in those two words he poured his ___ and hate for those who killed his friend.

“The Shau-zun.”

And with that he turned and left the building, pulling his cloak over his body as he walked out into the cold rain. He walked for about fifty feet and was on the other side of the street when he heard a crashing table and a woman’s scream. He turned and saw a dark figure dart out from within the building toward him, and there was a glint of silver.

Kana was then on his back with a large knife in his chest. He gasped for air, but his vision clouded and he sunk into a dark haze. He saw the body of a ninja run over him, and as he reached down to yank the dagger from his chest he saw his eyes, dark and deadly looking. He had a large double sided katana on his back along with Himoshiro’s sword, and Kana died as he saw the ninja run away, back to his clan, the Shau-zun.

 

**

 

Kana was continually hit on his side and face as the samurai wrestled him to the ground. They shouted their accusations at him, but he could hardly hear them.

“We know it was you!” “How could you kill Himoshiro, you b*****d!”

He did not know what was happening. Me, kill Himoshiro! The leader of the samurai came forward and said, “You scum. How could you kill the daimyo! You are a disgrace to us all! Take him away!”

The samurai pulled Takaji to his feet and pulled him away toward the door.

“Wait! I did not do anything! What is your evidence?” he shouted desperately.

“The weapon of his death matches your blade on your belt, and your dagger’s twin blade killed Kana! How could you!”

As they dragged him through the city toward the gate Takaji pleaded with them to reason with him.

“Please, there is one thing. There is something you have to know!”

The samurai stopped and held him up, waiting for him to say something. The rain was heavy and deafening, blocking out the sight of the other buildings.

“Himoshiro’s son, Zakoura, is alone. Someone needs to care for him. Somebody take him to Tokisawa, and let him be raised in peace. Somebody please do this.”

The head samurai nodded slightly and said curtly, “It will be arranged. Now, take this murderer away!”

Takaji was pulled away out of the front gate and into the night. As he was pulled away he cried for Zakoura, so alone and terrified, he hoped that somebody would come through for him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Skye Jules]

All authors start out this way. There is no shame in admitting when you need work. No shame at all. In fact, you can read my "blogs" and find that I'm in the same boat as you.

[Skye Jules]

This may be a blow to your gut, but your prologue is a tad long in word count. Most prologues run from 1000-2500 words. Your's goes over to 3200. In the first paragraph, it's cliched to start out the way you do. There's really no signifigance to your description in your first paragraph. You can casually add in the description like, "I hate you," he bluntly spoke, putting a piece of black hair behind his ear.
Most characters are described through action nowadays. Rarely will you read a book anymore where there is a paragraph dedicated to what the character looks like.
What would really help bring down this word count is snipping the descriptions. There is way TOO MUCH of needless description. You describe the streets and character too much. It's bogged down with so much description, it's hard to keep reading it because it loses my interest some.
However, this has defnite potential. I really like the idea and I enjoy your writing style. It is so well-developed.