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Ten year old Sokaku Takeda crawled into the branches of a tall tree and prepared himself to watch and learn. Mid-morning the Imperial troops sallied forth, and were met with wave upon wave of arrows. The men of the Aizu clan were remarkable bowmen, and the Imperials had good armor, still, the downslope of the vale was covered with screaming men by the time the Imperials reached the bottom and began their charge.
Shooting arrows, the Aizu retreated back into the trees. The cavalry pulled to the sides and let the infantry through, and now the battle became vicious and hand to hand. Columns of troops were separated by the trees, and the Aizu warriors, who had picked a superior strategy, went to work with spear and sword.
Screams, shrieks, orders shouted into the bloody wind. More Imperials arrived, and the Aizu were driven back. Underneath Sokaku's tree several Aizu made a stand.
Arrows thunked into tree trunks and armor, and were slashed out of the air by whistling swords. The swords, normally arcs of brilliantly polished metal, were now thick with blood, slick with the blood of dead men. With no trace of fear, the Sokaku observed as an Imperial Samurai arrived at the small conflict taking place directly beneath him.
The samurai deflected and moved past a spear thrust, and then his own sword was deflected, and a dagger placed just so between the joint of arm and chest. It slipped through the armor and the warrior gave a groan and sank to his knees. For a moment, the battle raged, then the small group of Aizu moved back, and the lone Samurai was left, alone, on his knees, to bleed out his final few moments of life.
The muted roar of the battle wafting through the trees, the ferocious action moved elsewhere, the Samurai looked up. Whether to glimpse a final glimpse of sky, or to see the heavens open to receive him, the result was the same--he went eyeball to eyeball with a ten year old boy. Avidly, Sokaku had studied the techniques used in the battle, and now he was beyond technique, he was in the depths of a departing spirit.
Long minutes passed as the two stared at one another, they shared an eternal moment with widening eyes, then the Samurai's pupils seemed to lose interest, and he gave a final murmur of breath and died. He died in on his knees, proud, not wishing to lay down even in death. Sokaku was amazed at the easy passing of the warrior's spirit.
And though the Samurai was an Imperial--had been an Imperial--he was still a Samurai, and the boy felt pride, for he was a Samurai, too. Then he felt a double dose of pride, for not only was he Samurai, like the brave warrior who knelt beneath him, but he was Aizu, the fiercest of the Samurai. And through the day the battle swelled and receded like storm tossed waters, and again and again warriors fought and the boy held his perch and watched and learned.
Shooting arrows, the Aizu retreated back into the trees. The cavalry pulled to the sides and let the infantry through, and now the battle became vicious and hand to hand. Columns of troops were separated by the trees, and the Aizu warriors, who had picked a superior strategy, went to work with spear and sword.
Screams, shrieks, orders shouted into the bloody wind. More Imperials arrived, and the Aizu were driven back. Underneath Sokaku's tree several Aizu made a stand.
Arrows thunked into tree trunks and armor, and were slashed out of the air by whistling swords. The swords, normally arcs of brilliantly polished metal, were now thick with blood, slick with the blood of dead men. With no trace of fear, the Sokaku observed as an Imperial Samurai arrived at the small conflict taking place directly beneath him.
The samurai deflected and moved past a spear thrust, and then his own sword was deflected, and a dagger placed just so between the joint of arm and chest. It slipped through the armor and the warrior gave a groan and sank to his knees. For a moment, the battle raged, then the small group of Aizu moved back, and the lone Samurai was left, alone, on his knees, to bleed out his final few moments of life.
The muted roar of the battle wafting through the trees, the ferocious action moved elsewhere, the Samurai looked up. Whether to glimpse a final glimpse of sky, or to see the heavens open to receive him, the result was the same--he went eyeball to eyeball with a ten year old boy. Avidly, Sokaku had studied the techniques used in the battle, and now he was beyond technique, he was in the depths of a departing spirit.
Long minutes passed as the two stared at one another, they shared an eternal moment with widening eyes, then the Samurai's pupils seemed to lose interest, and he gave a final murmur of breath and died. He died in on his knees, proud, not wishing to lay down even in death. Sokaku was amazed at the easy passing of the warrior's spirit.
And though the Samurai was an Imperial--had been an Imperial--he was still a Samurai, and the boy felt pride, for he was a Samurai, too. Then he felt a double dose of pride, for not only was he Samurai, like the brave warrior who knelt beneath him, but he was Aizu, the fiercest of the Samurai. And through the day the battle swelled and receded like storm tossed waters, and again and again warriors fought and the boy held his perch and watched and learned.
About the Author:
Al Case has been researching the martial arts for 40 + years. Download his free ebook at Monster Martial Arts. Don't reprint this exact article. Instead, reprint a free unique content version of this same article.
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