World Red

The air held its breath for mere seconds, releasing an exhausted gust of autumn wind in exhale. Surabhi, a woman of slender form and sharp features, noticed the shift in stillness, and paused long enough to appreciate a growing feeling of tension. She froze, feeling an urgent need to assess her surroundings. The area was sparsely populated, and most inhabitants never bothered to make contact with those passing through. Much of the surrounding landscape was dirt or gravel, with a few patches of grass and formerly-mighty flowers trampled into the ground; no landmarks or points of interest for anyone to spend much time here. And yet, there was that nagging feeling of being observed.

Two wooden structures serving as single-room houses stood to her right, with a fire pit area with stones for chairs shared between them. Many yards behind them was a thatched house with a lit candle in the window, but no sign of an observer. She continued ahead, slowly approaching a dilapidated and long-since abandoned storefront, but became aware of heavy breathing and a wavering body just beyond it.

Cautiously, she drew her weapon of choice from the leather strap attached to her bag and stepped backward and slightly sideways, keeping safe distance as she rounded the corner. There was a shimmer of light from a sword that Surabhi instinctively reacted to, her hand shooting up and steadying what appeared to be a metal case into a defensive stance in front of her face. She relaxed her arm as her eyes fell upon the sword’s master.

A child in his mid-teens stood with a wide gait, a sword extending from his right arm, at the ready to disarm or possibly kill Surabhi as she walked by unsuspectingly. He wore his black hair in a long pony-tail held in place by a red and gold band. His clothes registered with Surabhi as Eastern in appearance. He was far from lower-class, Surabhi noted as she evaluated the boy, and yet he stood in a deprived area of the Unclaimed Lands, evidently poised for a fight. She stared at him suspiciously, unsure of why a well-off resident would resolve to act as a common thief. Her weapon lowered.

“You will find that I carry no money. You would be better off finding a job.”

The assailant took a step forward, clarifying his position.

“I have come for something else, something that you will agree is too much to ask. That is why I brought this.”

The boy held his sword higher, a glint in his eye to match the one dancing on the edges of the metal. It was clear to Surabhi that this speech had been given in practice many times before. “But then,” the boy continued, “I know you do not value life. I only assume that you value your own.”

Surabhi had been confronted many times before, but never by a child. For the first time in many years, she was taken genuinely off-guard. She gave into her surprise, letting out a small chuckle as she replied.

“I value my life,” she said, “though perhaps not to the extent that you value the sound of your own voice.” The boy seemed frozen, unsure of how to respond, allowing Surabhi’s uncharacteristic look of surprise to slowly slide from her face as she assessed the situation.

“Your request for my life is a common one, as is my denial of it,” she finished neatly.

“This is no request!” the boy responded sharply, pointing his sword at the woman. “I suggest you draw your weapon!”

Surabhi took a long, scrutinizing look at the child.

“I think you should go home, surely your mother is worried”, she replied instead, though she still held her weapon folded in its case.

The boy’s eyes flashed and, for an instant, showed sadness - distress, even, at the mention of his mother, but that emotion was quickly replaced by fury.

“Do you not take me seriously?” he demanded, infuriated by his opponent’s casual attitude. “Where is your weapon? Do you shamelessly attempt to talk your way from death? Must I dishonor myself by killing without a fair fight?” Surabhi gave the boy a slightly humored look.

“You do not want a fair fight from me unless you wish to be returned to the earth. Lower your sword and we will say that you won.”

“Why do you speak in this way?” he pushed, unprepared for talk of non-violence. “This is not a game!”

Surabhi did not answer except with an expression of confusion. The boy glowered, raising his voice.

“If I must kill you without a fight, I will.”

With that, the boy moved the sword threateningly to point at Surabhi’s face, falling two feet short of touching her nose. He paused, still awaiting her reaction rather than jumping into battle. This hesitation further convinced Surabhi that this was a child who didn’t know what he was getting himself into.

She responded with a relaxed demeanor, tugging the end off of the metal case and dropping it to the ground. Inside was a weapon unlike any Yukio had seen, a mix of wooden and metal parts which Surabhi unfolded and twisted together to create a long rod. A thin sheet of metal ran along the top and bottom of the largely wooden pole, with steel at its core for sturdiness and bamboo wrapped around the middle for easy handling.

With her weapon finally ready, the boy took a wild swing at Surabhi, who easily blocked it.

“What may I call you?” Surabhi asked as the boy re-positioned himself for another attempt. He jutted the sword toward the woman’s stomach; she easily dodged it. He smoothly turned the direction of the blade toward her left leg, but it was blocked.

“If you are destined to take my life, what might you lose by sharing your name?” she pressed on. “I would introduce myself, but it seems you already think you know who I am.”

The boy stopped his attack for a moment to wipe his free hand on his pants.

“My name is Yukio” he stated matter-of-factly. He resumed his battle stance as he continued; “son of Takeshi Miyamoto. Perhaps you know now why I bother with you?”

Surabhi was quite certain of why he was there; it was obvious to her that, as the newly-of-age head of his household, the boy was seeking revenge for some wrong. The boy took another swing at the woman while she thought, which was again blocked effortlessly.

“You use good technique, Yukio, but not for a sword,” Surabhi noted, then added, “And not for a true battle. I’m sure you’d do well in competitions, but you aren’t a killer.”

The boy scoffed, shaking his head as he readjusted his sword. He wiped a hand on his loose black pants, ruining the otherwise spotless outfit.

“In theory the movements are the same,” she continued. “Each sword stroke has a proper technique and purpose, whether in practice or in battle.” She blocked a well-placed swing at her shoulder, raising her arm as she twisted her wrist to counteract his blade with a metal edge of her pole. “You know the theory, clearly, but in practice ‘proper technique’ isn’t always going to win. People don’t play by the rules when it’s life or death.”

Yukio’s eyes were manic, wide and dilated in a way Surabhi had seen many times.

“Remind me,” Yukio sneered, “which of us enjoys the sound of their own voice?”

Surabhi continued blocking Yukio’s movements as she spoke, ignoring the snide comment. “That is what makes your fighting weak,” she elaborated. “You do not appreciate the tenacity of the life you are trying to take. You liken your sword to an object used to snuff out a candle.”

The boy seemed both fascinated and disturbed by her comments, and his movements became more careless as she continued.

“Taking a life will mean nothing to you if you never knew its worth. Watching that light dissolve into the darkness will not satisfy you if you are a stranger to its power. Watch your opponents.” Surabhi blocked a wild swing at her head, then waited as the boy again adjusted his sword, loosening and tightening his grip around the handle, sliding his hands up toward the blade slightly before returning them to their original position. “Appreciate your opponents,” Surabhi continued, hoping her voice would begin to calm him. “Learn from them.”

Yukio took another swing at her, abandoning his formal sword training to aim for whatever looked easiest to hit. This attempt was also blocked, as was his accompanying jab at her neck. He let out a huff as her movement caused him to nearly lose his footing.

“I do not wish for you to tell me what you learned from my father, because I could have learned far more from him if he were alive,” he spat.

Surabhi made a few movements to block him while scanning the recesses of her mind for any memory of an Easterner she may have struck down in battle. She could not recall this particular death, but at the same time knew the incident would have happened over ten years ago. Her shoulders tensed as the boy took a wide swipe at her arm. She dodged and jutted forward with her wooden pole to his arm, skillfully forcing Yukio’s arm down, his sword pointing at the ground. Her pole pinned his arm to her leg as she stared into his eyes, inches from his face.

“I am sure his death was regrettable, but stop fighting and think for a moment.” Yukio struggled to free his sword arm, his left hand grabbing at her pole. “Even if you were to kill me, what would that accomplish?”

Surabhi released his arm and took a step back.

“It would bring me peace,” came Yukio’s unhesitant answer, and with that the boy decided to finish the discussion. With a yell he raised his sword skyward to bring it down on his opponent. He was expecting her to block the attack, planning to redirect the blade halfway down, cutting the woman through her midsection.

This was not the most apt move in terms of defense. As Yukio brought down the sword, he felt a blinding pain in his stomach and stumbled backward, the wind knocked out of him. Surabhi had kicked him hard while his arms were raised to strike, and in one swift movement the wooden pole disarmed him, his sword falling to the ground beside him. The boy was momentarily shocked but reached out for his sword through his pain, gasping sharply for air.

“See,” Surabhi said, “that may not be proper technique for a sword battle, but a swift kick can work just as well.”

She grabbed the boy’s weapon from beside him and motioned for him to leave with a dismissive wave of her pole.

“You have lost; now go.”

The boy still struggled to regain his breath. His eyes were watering and his face was red from the strain of his defeat. Without further hesitation he pulled a concealed weapon from his pocket - a dagger - ripping it from its casing with newfound fervor. He stabbed carelessly at the woman who took a step to the side as Yukio got up, surprised by the child’s determination. He reminded her so much of herself.

“I give you one last warning,” she said, allowing her rod to absorb a violent swing from the dagger. “You have one last chance to leave unharmed,” she cautioned him as she took another step back. The boy did not seem able to hear her, his mind beyond reasoning or compromise.

“You need to rest,” Surabhi said, trying a different approach. “You will fall unconscious if you continue to push forward with your breathing as it is.” Yukio futilely took another stab at Surabhi. She sighed, regretting what she was about to do. Swiftly she swung her pole down and to the side, one smooth motion to connect with the back of Yukio’s legs. He fell to the ground with a gasp of pain, landing solidly on his knees as he dropped his dagger.

She threw her bamboo pole well out of reach and gripped Yukio’s sword tightly. It slowly dawned on the boy that their match was over. He leaned forward, still on his knees, so that his hands were flat on the ground before him. This was a stance Surabhi knew well; her opponent was defeated, and he knew it.

Struggling to regain his breath, his eyes red from physical strain and body shaking, he focused his eyes on the gravel below him. His black pants were now covered in the gray, gravelly dirt that surrounded him.

Surabhi was left standing, studying the glimmer of the boy’s sword.

“This one has never killed before, has it?” Yukio seemed to not realize at first that he was being spoken to. After a moment of silence his head began to clear, but he didn’t answer, refusing to humor his enemy.

“If that is the case,” Surabhi said, still admiring the weapon, “then you are the oldest child in your family, I assume? But then you would have been training your entire life, which doesn’t seem to be the case.” Yukio again scoffed, though his eyes remained on the ground.

“That would mean,” Surabhi continued, “that you have recently lost an older sibling. If that is true then this is an especially sad situation that you find yourself in. Did you not learn enough about loss from your family to keep you from wanting to fight?”

Yukio’s face gave no indication of how right or wrong she was. He was doing his best to remain still, refusing to give her any additional satisfaction from her win.

Surabhi felt the weight of the weapon in her hand. She enjoyed the feel of these swords, and continued to study its workmanship as she circled the kneeling boy. Yukio closed his eyes for a few seconds to steady himself as Surabhi walked in back of him. She held the tip of the sword daintily between her fingers while she spoke.

“Did you give any thought to what it would be like to die today?” she asked nonchalantly. Yukio delivered his answer to the ground.

“I thought only of the glory of leaving your body here for your family to find. To consider defeat is to decide it.”

Surabhi grinned and pointed the weapon at the boy playfully. He flinched.

“I used to believe that, too,” she said, and then pulled the sword back up, holding the tip in her hand again.

“There is no honor in making a mockery of my death!” Yukio exclaimed in earnest. His voice cracked. “I have lost, you said it yourself.”

Surabhi’s face showed a flicker of curiosity. Her brows furrowed as she asked, “how old are you?” The child wiped his face.

“Not too young to fall from this world with dignity, if that is what you are implying. I do not need lessons from you.” He cleared his throat and exhaled deeply, finally able to breathe normally. “You can have my life but keep your false morality to yourself. Do what you will.”

Surabhi stopped circling the boy and studied his face. It seemed those were supposed to be his last words on earth - he spoke with finality, and closed his eyes to await his fate. Surabhi watched his lips moving slightly, but she couldn’t tell whether the boy was reciting a silent prayer or simply trembling.

“Perhaps I wish you to learn a lesson verbally instead of physically,” she replied after careful thought. “I would truly prefer you go on to live a meaningful life after this encounter. Your father’s death does not need to condemn you as well.”

Yukio’s prayer continued as though he had not heard her. The woman considered her next action carefully.

“As you wish,” she said with an air of reluctance. She held the blunt end of the sword very close to the back of Yukio’s neck. He bent forward slightly, perhaps to give her a cleaner swipe at her target, but more likely reflexively, inching from the cold metal out of fear.

Surabhi touched the dull edge gently between two of his vertebrae to get a good angle for a clean cut. The boy began whispering, now clearly in prayer, his hands tightly clenching the dirt below him. Suddenly the boy let out a gasp as the sword was moved, putting his hands flat on the ground again for support.