Thunderstorms spun through the swollen sky, colliding, merging, and splitting again in complex meteorological patterns. Thick, spinning cloud-walls bulged downward, quickening and elongating, dipping toward the ground as though sniffing for prey — but the funnels always retracted before touching down. It was mild weather for the Cracked Lands.
"Not far from here," said the warrior, "there was a land that prospered."
The boy sitting across from him made a skeptical noise.
"...compared to others that bordered the Cracked Lands," the warrior clarified. "It had clean water. Its cattle were relatively free of mutation. Many of its machines still ran, and there were even savants who could repair the simpler ones when they broke down. The daimyo of this kingdom was a young, optimistic man. And his wife was a creature of unsurpassed beauty. An orchid amidst the wreckage."
The boy yawned.
"One would like to think," said the warrior, glowering just a bit, "that this beautiful orchid was neither a weak nor a treacherous soul; that when she took a lover, she did so because something in her true heart drew her to him; that her love, though divided, was at least genuine." The warrior's voice grew quiet, and he stared down at his lap. "A vain and foolish belief, perhaps. But a kind one, to everyone involved."
The boy shifted uncomfortably. He had agreed to carry and polish the warrior's armor in exchange for protection and a few chits to spend every month. Since then, the warrior had not spoken half a dozen words to him that were not an order or curt reprimand. Though he lived and traveled as a vagabond, the man clearly possessed a noble's bearing, and the boy was accustomed to being treated by him as though he were invisible. This sudden, confessional mood was disconcerting.
"The distinction is irrelevant now," continued the warrior, "for take a lover she did. The man she took was the most skilled, the most trusted, of the daimyo's personal bodyguard. They were discovered, of course. They fled, and the daimyo pursued. And the chase led them here." He spread his hands and looked up, into the swirling sky. "Into the Cracked Lands.
"It was the height of the storm season. By the time the daimyo caught up with the lovers — here, in this very circle of stones — all three were nearly dead. The bodyguard prepared to defend himself, but the daimyo knew that if they fought, both would die, and his beautiful orchid would be stranded without guide or protector. Despite her betrayal, the daimyo would not condemn her to death. So he offered instead a pact. If his bodyguard would promise to return to this spot after ten turnings — when the storms would be at their lowest ebb — and fight him honorably, the daimyo would let them both go.
"The bodyguard so promised, and he and the beautiful orchid continued on. The daimyo returned to his home. He did not know if the bodyguard would keep his word, but he was a strong believer in bushido. It was his hope that the bodyguard would also honor the warrior's code, and so uphold his end of the pact. The daimyo was optimistic in this way.
"And now that optimism is justified."
The boy looked around. A stranger had entered the stone circle. The man's head was shaved, like a monk's. His clothes were tattered and colorless. It was impossible to tell his age; his body seemed to have been shrunken and scoured by the strange radiations of the Cracked Lands. He carried only a crudely fashioned spear.
The warrior rose and bowed. The stranger nodded in return.
"My armor, boy."
The boy glanced questioningly at the stranger.
"Bushido does not demand that opponents be armed equally," explained the warrior. "Only that we arm ourselves with the best weapons we have, and wield them with our utmost skill. He has brought his. I have brought mine. Now quickly."
The boy knew better than to question twice. He unrolled the bundle of oilcloth so that the armor was spread out in its proper configuration. He inspected each piece for cracks, helped the warrior to snap it in place, and checked every seal carefully. In this, at least, the boy had learned his task well — for if he was negligent and the warrior was killed, he would have to seek new employment.
When it was finished, the warrior stood before the stranger, encased in gleaming carapace. The armor's dispersal fins were at full extension, humming slightly in the charged air. The armblades were retracted, but the warrior kept his wrists loose, his fingers spread.
The stranger readied his spear. Its blade looked sharp and well-kept.
The two men regarded each other for the briefest moment, long enough for the boy to draw in one breath. Then they charged. The warrior ran straight and swift, while the stranger twisted and slipped through the air like a falling leaf, dodging the subsonics and high-energy photon sprays thrown out by the armor's auxiliary systems. When they met, there was no clash, not even a blur of attack and parry. They seemed to flow through each other, like two drops of quicksilver, and in the next instant they stood at opposite sides of the circle, their backs to the center. The warrior’s armblades slid back into their sheaths with the faintest hiss.
The boy exhaled. The stranger shuddered once, then dropped bonelessly to the hard earth.
The warrior did not look at the body. He returned to the boy and said, "Help me take it off." And the boy did, laying each piece in its proper position on the spread oilcloth, then folding the cloth back into a bundle, as he had been taught.
There had not been a single spot of blood. Not anywhere.
Finally, the warrior went to where the stranger lay. Drawing a short-bladed zashi from his sash, he knelt over the cooling corpse.
"When I first betrayed my lord," he whispered, "I did not understand bushido. But I have perfected my understanding, and now the way of virtue is clear." With a single motion, he reversed the zashi blade and drove it smoothly into his own stomach. He stiffened slightly, and let out a long, controlled breath.
Then he fell forward, laying his body across his daimyo's.
The boy stood still, clutching the heavy bundle to his chest. He was alone in the Cracked Lands.
Soon came the first rumble of thunder.
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