Chapter Six—Naked Blade

One Year Ago

He had walked for two days. Not a soul in sight, until finally he came to a crusty little farm village. Without the energy to look for water, Shiro dragged his cracked and bleeding feet. One foot… two… one… two…

Civil—li—zation!

With no water for so long, he couldn’t think straight. At first he had resolved himself to travel only at night after finding a rocky outcropping with some shade, but quickly realized that even there, without water, he wouldn’t last long enough to travel only when the sun was down.

With each step, he nearly collapsed. His hand was locked on his katana hilt. He would die before parting with the blade. Daimyō Karage-sama had commissioned the sword for him in Shiro’s honor for saving his daughter from a bandit attack.

The structures were ahead. Sandy-looking brick buildings with round roofs—a style he had never seen before.

He was truly far from his homeland.

There was a figure. A woman? She moved quickly, rearranged something on the ground near the structure. They looked like baskets and clay pots.

“Water,” he said, but no sound came out of his mouth.

Pressing forward, Shiro’s heart began to beat faster. He was saved. Was he not?

A voice.

Where?

To his left? He turned his head. The action felt like it took colossal strength, as if he were a stone statue attempting to turn a neck made of baked clay. His neck burned, felt like cracked leather.

Someone was there. A girl?

She pointed, yelled something, and a man came up to her and took her away.

“Help,” he mouthed, still no sound coming out of his parched lips. His tongue was completely dry. Had he sucked on a piece of cloth, the fabric would come back without any saliva upon it.

His eyes. He could hardly blink. They felt like he had washed his face with hot sand. Perhaps sand was in his eyes now?

Forward…

“Help.”

Was he saying something? Was there even sound coming out of his mouth? His head hurt too much to know.

The world swayed.

There was chattering as the farm folk came to him, surrounding him. A person approached. Another woman, wearing strange garments and a head covering.

She held out an urn. Shiro moved to grab the vessel, to bring the water to his lips. But his arms…

They wouldn’t obey him.

He moved his lips to speak, but couldn’t think of the words. He needed that urn. But would he drop his sword?

Iie!

No, he couldn’t drop his sword. He continued to attempt speaking. “Water.”

They touched him, took him by the arm and moved him toward the structure he had seen the woman working near. It felt like ages, but they finally got him next to something.

Did they want him to sit?

He tried sitting. He couldn’t make his muscles move. His vision was pulsing and darkening, too. Summoning all his strength, Shiro made to speak. The word came out of his mouth. He heard it!

“Kuso…” he muttered through cracked lips, then his energy left him and he collapsed like a sack of rice.