A Tarnish of Steel

Gene Hill

theoutervoid@msn.com

Original fiction

Hayasuke, former member of the eight Shinsengumi squad

Rated - R

Some strong violence, frightening and disturbing thematic elements, sexual situations and obscenities

This story is a work of original fiction by the author based upon both historical personages and events (the Shinsengumi, the Battle of Toba-Fushimi, ect) and folklore of the nation of Japan, as well as the authors own idea's and experiences. 

 

 

            "Old eras do not die easily.  Their death throes leave wounds upon both those who killed it, and those who defended it.  Wounds that run deep."

 

"A Tarnish of Steel"

A Tale of Horror in some Twelve Parts

 

By

Gene Hill

 

            The snows come lightly on this night.  Light dust falling from a dark sky.  I walk and feel it fall on my head, the tingle of cold on my skin and scalp.  The flakes are large and slow.  They gather on the heavy sack I carry over my shoulder  They cling to trees and ground and cloth.

 

            When I was young, I loved the snow.  I would wait all autumn just for the first falls to come, so that I could go out and play in it.  I would toss it above my head and run with all the exuberance of youth.  My feet and hands would be numb from hours in it, my mother would chide me for not coming when called, saying my sniffles and sneezes where what I deserved for not obeying her.  My grandmother would just shake her head, a slight smile on her face. 

 

            Sometimes at night I would sit outside with my grandmother under the awnings and watch the flakes swirl in the garden.  White clusters to replace the white cherry blossoms.  We would sip our tea, and maybe nibble some little snack she had made.  But we would never talk.  We would just watch.  One night, I asked her where the snow came from.

 

            "Where does the snow come from Hayasuke?  That is a very old question indeed.  I asked my father the same question when I was your age."

 

            "Did he know?"

 

            "Oh yes dear."

 

            "What did he tell you?!" 

 

            Excitement and anticipation filled my voice.  The mystery was about to be solved.  Calmly my grandmother took another sip of tea.  No hurry.  I felt as if I would burst from containing my eagerness.  She spoke softly.

 

            "One night, after a great snowfall, we were walking home and I asked him your question.  He looked thoughtful for a second, and then he told me to look in the sky and tell me what I saw.  I looked up and saw nothing but the stars.  I didn't understand.  He was patient with me, as parents can be with children."

 

            She took another sip of her tea.

 

            "'The stars Yoki, don't you see', he said to me.  The stars are fires in the sky, and the snow is their ashes falling to earth."

 

            I was puzzled.

 

            "But grandmother, if the stars are fire, and the snows ash, then why is it cold?"

 

            She smiled.

 

            "Another question that I asked.  Because you see dear, the stars aren't like regular fire that we have.  Their special.  The stars are cold fire.  And the snow is their cold ashes.  Cold ashes, from cold fire."

 

            She stood up with the tea tray and went inside, leaving me to look at the snow falling to the earth.

 

            Just cold ashes from a cold fire, falling on the cold earth.  Cold...

 

            Snow melts so easily in blood.

 

            The memory is startling the way it appears.  Last year was it?  Two?  In the streets of Kyoto.  He had to be barely half my age, yet he had run at me with his blade.  Ran at me in the snow.  Without thought, I cut him down and watched him bleed.  Watched as the steaming red blood melted the snow.  The life left his eyes and became cold.

 

            Cold world.  The cold world of a dead mans eyes.  Blood in the snow.  Ashes of a cold fire.  Dead mans eyes.  Bloody snow.  Cold fire.  Dead...  Bloody...  Cold...

 

            I shake myself from the trance with a start.  So vivid the visions, the memories.  Where am I?

 

            In front of an inn.  It’s small and looks empty.  Yet light comes from within.  Not totally empty.  I walk up too the door and call out.

 

            "Hello?  I want a room for the night!  Anyone around?"

 

            I hear movement from within.  Slow and lazy.  An older man opens the door, holding a lantern.

 

            "My, my, my.  What are you doing out in this weather son?"

 

            "Walking."  I shuffle my feet impatiently.  "Might I come in?  It’s cold out here."

 

            He steps aside to let me pass.  I slip off my shoes and move into the main chamber.  A fires going in the pit, a pot simmering over it, cushions gathered around.  No one else here it seems.  I gently lower my sack.

 

            "Its rather late son.  You’re lucky I'm a night owl; otherwise I might not have heard you.  Want a room you said?"

 

            "A room and a hot meal if I can get it."

 

            "What do you think the pot is?"

 

            "How much?"

 

            He names his price.  I pay it, not caring to haggle.  A wave of hunger has come over me.  He serves me my food, the rice still hot.  I eat in silence with the old man.  He keeps stealing looks at me though.  I pretend not to notice.  He pours us tea after we finish, sitting around the fire.  He clears his throat to speak.

 

            "So friend, where do you come from?"

 

            I stare into the fire as I answer his question, watching the flames dance.

 

            "Kyoto."

 

            "Kyoto?!  My, but you've walked quite a ways then haven't you?"  I shrug.  He falls silent, staring into the flames with me before he speaks again.

 

            "You fought there?"

 

            I nod my head in response.

 

            "What was it like?"

 

            My voice is a whisper.

 

            "Hell."

 

            We are quiet for a very long time after that.

 

* * * *

 

            I ate breakfast with the old man in the morning before starting out.  The snow has stopped but the sky is still gray.  The path is growing slightly steeper now.  Entering the mountains.  I remember my last words with the old man.

 

            "Where are you planning on going?"

 

            I point up the road I've been walking. 

 

            "Where ever this path takes me I guess.  I really don't care."

 

            His expression twisted into one of fear. 

 

            "You mustn’t go that way.  That way leads only to death."

 

            "What do you mean?"

 

            "That mountain is cursed with death.  It’s said that so much blood has been shed there, the streams run red.  What evil it truly is up there, I can’t tell you not, no one knows.  The only people that live up there are crazy or cursed or both.  You mustn’t go that way."

 

            I loop up the road which he tells me to avoid.  It stretch’s off into the dead forest that covers the mountain.  Dark and uninviting.  Perhaps the old man is right, there's a branching path that leads away in another direction.  I could take it and avoid whatever superstition he's feeding me.  Or at least a hard uphill walk.  But still...

 

            I turn and smile for the first time in days.

 

            "Sorry old man, I'll keep going this way.  I've never been one too take the easy way in life."

 

            With that I started walking.

 

            "Thanks for the food and the company!" 

           

            I wave over my shoulder, not looking back.  He calls out after me.

 

            "You'll be sorry, trust me!  You shouldn't go that way!"

 

            He falls silent.  I continue walking, not looking back.  Then I hear him faintly behind me again.

 

            "May the gods watch over you!"

 

            Gods.  What gods in this cold world are there, but cold statues?

 

            I continue walking.