A Child's Blood

The stench of blood and piss was everywhere. Columns of smoke were rising above the town. Some of the buildings were still smoldering, their dark skeletons tinged with orange. An eerie chorus floated through the thick air as dogs yelped in the distance. Dozens of flies dispersed from a peasant’s corpse, its neck half-severed, as the warrior stepped over it, making his blood red armor clink slightly. All around him were more corpses: a macabre display of severed limbs, bone-deep wounds, and puddles of blood. The warrior hardly noticed them. Peasants, he thought as he made his way to the castle, his bodyguards trailing behind.
         He walked over the drawbridge, gazing up at the impressive ramparts. They were four times the height of a man, surrounded by a deep moat, and built with huge, perfectly fitted stones. All along the moat stood Plum trees, their pink blossoms drifting in the wind. Passing under the first gateway, he could see three figures kneeling in the courtyard ahead. One was wearing armor, his cuirass of the traditional box-type style, made of reinforced leather covered in blue lace. Beside him were two boys, both wearing robes of white and pleated pants of violet. Neither of them reached the shoulders of the man in height, and one was a hand shorter than the other. The three were unarmed, their faces blank and dirty. There was an empty space in front of them.
         “Konda Masayuki, captain of the watch,” a guard said as he approached.
         “What shall we do with him?”
         “He is a warrior. Let him have a warrior’s death.”
         “What about the children?”
         There was silence as the warrior thought.
         “Let them follow their father.”
         The warrior stepped in front of the prisoners. He nodded to one of his bodyguards, who bowed and raced off into the nearby residences. Shortly after, a squire appeared and shuffled hastily to the warrior in red. He bowed low, offering up a small object wrapped in white cloth with both hands. The warrior took it solemnly. He took a few steps forward, stopping in front of the man in blue armor. He held out the object with both his hands. The man took it and carefully removed the white cloth. It was a knife. Its black-lacquered scabbard was edged with a butterfly pattern in gold. No words were needed. The man bowed low then, his head almost touching the dusty ground. The warrior returned the bow. Then the man in blue stood up slowly and took a few steps forward, into the center of the empty space. The warrior’s bodyguards were now standing around the space, forming a rectangular perimeter. The man faced back and spoke softly, his voice a husky whisper.
         “Be brave, my sons. Be men,” he said to the children, who nodded weakly.
         “It is my honor to die for the Otomo clan.”
         Then the man turned and knelt once more. There was the metallic tinkling as the warrior in red stepped up behind him. The man undid the straps of his cuirass and lifted it over his shoulders, before placing it aside. He then loosened the robes he wore underneath, exposing his torso and abdomen. Behind him, the warrior in red unsheathed his sword. A high, sweet note rose through the air as the blade came alive, sunlight glinting off its delicately curved steel. The man took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
         There was total stillness in the courtyard.
         Then the man’s eyes came open and he plunged the blade into his belly, puncturing the left side. Blood ran from the wound, down his legs, onto the dirt. Then, twisting the blade with both hands, the warrior pulled it across the entire breadth of his stomach in one quick horizontal stroke. His blood ran in cascades now. He twisted the blade again, this time giving it a quick diagonal pull upward. As the man completed the final cut, his guts spilled out of his wounds. The man’s expression changed not once throughout the entire procedure. Seeing weakness – and an almost invisible flash of pain – cross the man’s face, the warrior in red planted his feet and, with a cry, brought his blade down. There was an almost musical note as it sliced through the man’s neck, leaving just a small fraction of the throat uncut. There was an eruption of red as blood continued pumping through the ruptured arteries. The man’s body fell forward, still clutching the knife.
         Then, again, there was stillness.

* * *

         It took a while for the space to be cleaned and cleared. The warrior watched as the body was removed by two servants, handled with great care. His bodyguards stood as statues, eyes focused on the body.
         “A good death,” one said, breaking the silence.
         “Indeed,” responded the warrior.
         The boys were waiting in a nearby guardhouse. At the order of the warrior, they were escorted back into the courtyard by one of the guards.
         “Your father died with honor. Which of you wishes to go next?”
         The taller of the two boys looked into the warrior’s eyes, and nodded. He faced his brother and said, “Watch closely, little brother, and do as I do.” With that the boy stepped forward.

* * *

         The smaller boy watched with sharp eyes as his brother loosened his robes and unsheathed the blade. The red-armored warrior stood behind, sword raised over his head. Then the boy saw his brother pull the knife into his belly. He took careful note of how his brother twisted the knife, using his shoulders to support his wrists. Next came the horizontal cut across the belly using the strength of both arms, the left pushing, the right pulling. Twist the knife once more in preparation for the final cut. And finally, the diagonal upward cut, used to loosen the bowels. The boy saw his brother complete the final cut, and the flash of reflected light as the warrior’s sword lanced down. The boy closed his eyes, trying to remember everything. His thoughts were interrupted by a low, dry voice.

* * *

         “Boy, it is your turn.”
         The warrior gazed at the last of the three prisoners. The child was thin and small. His hair, held in a warrior’s topknot, was short – and that was all it will ever be, thought the warrior.
         “Die with honor. Just like your father and brother.”
         The warrior saw one of his bodyguards leading the boy forward. The boy knelt and loosened his robe, which slid completely off his small shoulders and fell to the earth. The warrior saw the glint of steel as the boy unsheathed the blade. The scene was almost comical: the knife was almost as long as the boy’s forearm, and it looked more like a short sword in his hands. There was total silence all around the courtyard as all eyes fell on the boy and the knife. Taking a deep breath, the boy drove the knife into his belly. Suddenly, the warrior’s vision fogged. He realized tears were streaming down his cheeks and he wiped them off, trying to clear his sight. The boy was now pulling the blade across horizontally. The warrior stared at the boy’s face, which shone with an inner fire, eyes blazing, jaws set. Not a single trace of pain or fear crossed the child’s face. Halfway through the cut, the boy’s arms started to waver. Blood was now pooling around him. With one final burst of effort and will, the boy completed the horizontal cut, still wearing his mask of determination. The warrior knew the boy had no energy left to even begin the last cut. With one last glance at the boy, a lump forming in his throat, he stepped in and brought down his sword.

* * *

         The sun was setting as the boys’ bodies were carried away from the courtyard. The castle and the town beyond were bathed in red. The warrior stared at the limp bodies of the two boys. He was torn between pride and guilt. The boys had died as warriors. But he was the one who had ordered it. One word from him, and they would have been spared. Yes, they would’ve lived, he thought. But in death, they achieved what no warrior could ever hope to achieve in life. Behind him, he heard a bodyguard spit and grunt.
         “Children…” he heard the man mutter.
         Children…the warrior thought to himself as the sun sank slowly into the horizon.