“The Trial of a Samurai”
				    By Jason Rawley







				   CRW 2000 – 4070
				   March 9th, 1999







	The day’s last rays of sunlight sprinkled down through the treetops of the Kuigya 
forest and tickled the snow-covered earth.  A warm aura blanketed the entire area, just as 
night began to swallow the sun.  Slowly the yellow burning sphere sank, spilling its final 
few beams, which made the clouds purple with grief.  It was quiet and serene, save the 
occasional chittering of a resident creature.
Without warning a figure appeared in the mist, making his way quickly through 
the surrounding trees.  It was a strong Japanese warrior, fierce, yet graceful.  The young 
samurai sprinted like a cat, all the while stealing glances over his shoulder and snapping 
small twigs underfoot.  His face was tight with concentration; his eyes everywhere at 
once.  A low hiss in front of him caught his attention and he stopped dead in his tracks, 
hand immediately on his sword.  From the shadow of a large oak emerged a wretched 
creature that growled furiously at the samurai.  It was hunched over and hideous, and 
snarled through terrifying fangs that stabbed awkwardly from its jowls.  With a sharp 
bark it lunged at the young warrior.  In one swift and perfect motion, the samurai drew 
his katana and sliced cleanly through the creature’s neck.
Gripping his blade with two hands, the samurai spun around, aware of other 
monsters converging on his location.  They had followed him with bloodhound accuracy 
for miles.  Swiftly they descended upon him, desiring the taste of his flesh on their 
gnarled tongues.  The young samurai let them get within ten feet of him, then exploded 
into action.  Like a raw bolt of lightning, his sword flew, shredding the creatures into 
twitching mounds of death.  Their gray-red blood peppered the ground, turning the snow 
a sickening pink.  To the samurai it was a violent contradiction.  He closed his eyes, 
struggling to slow his racing heart and control his breathing.  His hands had almost 
finished guiding the angry blade back into its scabbard when another beast appeared.  All 
at once the samurai was aware of its presence, but he didn’t open his eyes until it lurched 
forward at him, claws extended for the kill.  Reflexively, the samurai swung the saber, 
which disagreed with the monster’s head and proceeded to disconnect it from its body.  
But in the frame of a second, its age caught up to it.  The sword shattered.  To the 
samurai it was the sound of hope being dashed to pieces.  His heart sunk.  So, tonight 
shall see the end of me, he thought to himself.  He took one last, sad look at the sword’s 
hilt and tossed it sideways in front of him.  All this running, all this time, spent on 
nothing, he said in his mind, so shall I meet my fate soon.  The howls of more creatures 
were not far away.
	The great weight of destiny was in the warrior’s feet, but still he trudged ahead, 
hunting desperately for a miracle.  Without a sword he had no chance of slaying any 
more of the beasts, and they would come in much greater numbers.  Then, off in the 
distance he spotted the smoldering remains of several fires.  To him they were the tattered 
banners of hope.  He quickened his pace three-fold.
The trees gave way to a large clearing from which he could clearly see the 
ominous shadow of a great fortress.  From many of the windows came thick streams of 
smoke.  A battle had just been fought and it seemed the owners of the fortress had lost.  
Cautiously, the young samurai approached.  The bloodstained bodies of slain soldiers 
littered the courtyard and the acrid stench of death hung heavily in the air.  It was 
instantly apparent the men in the fortress began to lose once their enemy penetrated the 
reinforced gates.  Whoever they were, they had managed to cut down an entire army in 
minutes.
The samurai searched the dead bodies, eager to find a weapon.  He was shocked 
to find there were none in the courtyard.  Only four hardly used cannons stood upright, 
saluting the sky, and they were nothing he could wield toward the creatures with success.  
Determined to find a sword among the dead, the samurai entered the main hall of the 
tower.  Inside, several more samurai had been killed, running to meet their foe.  At least 
they died valiantly, meeting the enemy head-on, the samurai thought to himself.  He 
checked each body up and down the hall and still saw no sign of a weapon.  So, the men 
who did this also steal from the dead, he thought.  They must have missed finding a sword 
somewhere.  He checked each room along the hall, some of them host to banquets and 
feasts, some of them decorated with majestic family banners, all of them vandalized.  At 
last he found what appeared to be the armory.  Just as expected, it was empty as well.
Outside the fortress walls came the piercing cries of more monsters.  The samurai 
ran up the grand staircase to the next level.  He made his way slowly toward a window.  
From there he watched the filthy horde of beasts gather at the forest’s clearing.  Each one 
of them gazed up at him in perverted delight.  They knew they had beaten him; it was 
only a matter of time before they tore the meat from his bones with pleasure.
	Feeling the spiny ache of defeat in his throat, the samurai hung his head.  Why 
don’t they follow me in here? He asked himself.  Scanning the battlefield below, it 
immediately became apparent.  They must think there is still an army in here that would 
help me, he answered himself.  Now they are waiting for my next move.  It will only take 
the few hours of the night for them to figure out there is no one else in here.
The young warrior continued up the stairs, stopping at each floor with only 
halfhearted attempts to find a new katana.  After what seemed like years of walking up 
the staircase, he reached the top floor, the royal level.  Something was different here; 
there were no billows of smoke nor stink of death.  He noted that what looked like the 
bravest men he had ever seen were killed at the entrance to the level, vainly trying to 
protect who or what was inside.  Almost hesitating he stepped inside the kingly 
chambers.  There, on the floor, sitting on her knees and hanging her head low, was a 
beautiful Japanese princess.  The royal robes she wore were a regal mix of white and 
scarlet and completely unscathed amid the ruined fortress.  Her hair was a pure jet black 
and her small lips were the crimson red of soft rose petals.  She seemed sad beyond her 
years and watched the floor in front of her with dreary green eyes.  The young samurai 
knelt before her in respect.  She did not seem to notice.  Minutes passed in deafening 
silence before he spoke.
“My child, you seem sad,” he said almost as a question.  
“My kingdom is lost, my father is dead, and I am banished to this place to starve,” 
she answered, looking up at him.  He stared at her, mesmerized; the world outside 
seemed to disappear.  
“This is a great tragedy to happen to someone so young,” he said, surprised at the 
slow pace of his voice.  Somewhere in his eyes he could see she wanted to smile at him 
and run and sing and leap for joy.  “Who did this?” he asked.
“A great storm of bandits came upon this place,” she said, her voice trailing off.  
He could tell she did not want to discuss it and was about to apologize for asking her in 
the first place, but before he could she continued, “Tell me, why are you here?”  It took 
him a second to remember who he was and the situation he was facing.
“My name is Yoshimuharu,” he replied, “and I am a ronin.  Once I served the 
house of Taikamara, but they are all long since dead.  After my master was killed I 
became a drifter, a sword for hire.  A long time ago I looked for adventure, and one day I 
found it.  Monsters called the Onokara were terrorizing some farmers and mutilating their 
fields.  I tracked them to their lair in the mountains and slew their master, Kyrajima.  
Now, the Onokara have made it their duty to curse me all my life.  Wherever I go, they 
follow, like a disease.  No one who is around me more than a day will live.  In the last 
few days they have decided to end the game early and kill me.  I have slain so many of 
them and have run for so long, I don’t know much of anything else.”  He was shocked at 
the agony in his own voice.  It was a pressing weight he was finally getting off his chest.  
Then he remembered his manners.  “What is your name, little rose?” he asked.
“Senshuno Matahachi, a governor’s daughter,” she replied.
“Matahachi,” he echoed, “such a wonderful name.  Your parents must have been 
proud of you.”  He stood up and made his way toward the window.  Parting the silken 
drapes, he peered outside.  The stars sparkled like jewels floating in the black sea of the 
night sky.  He knew he had to leave before the night ended or the Onokara would kill her 
as well.  If only he could find another katana, he might stand a chance.  Suddenly, he felt 
her by his side.  She was holding one of his rough hands in hers.
“Where are these Onokara?” she asked him quietly.  He took her small hands in 
both of his and pointed them toward the spot where most of the Onokara were hiding.
“They become part of the shadows of trees,” he told her, “and leap out on 
whomever may be passing by.  Just a few hours ago they broke apart my sword and now 
I have nothing to fight them with.  I came to search this place for a weapon but there are 
none to be found.  In the morning they will wait for me to come out, and if I don’t they 
will hollow this place out looking for me.  It is very certain I will die.”
“Poor samurai,” she said, gazing back up into his eyes, “your spirit has been 
broken along with your katana.  I am sorry this has happened to you, perhaps in another 
life you would settle down with a wife and be a loving husband.”  It was a dream 
Yoshimuharu had held in his heart for a long time, to finally stop fleeing the evil and 
enjoy life as it was.  “Come with me,” Matahachi said suddenly, standing in front of him, 
“we can leave this place of misery and make for ourselves a new existence.  You don’t 
have to face them; there is a secret trail out the back.  We can escape, you and I.  Maybe 
to the Hajine Mountains and build a house.  You could even be a farmer and never have 
to face your death at the hands of an abomination again.”
Yoshimuharu’s mind reeled at the idea.  It would be so easy to just flee.  He could 
even fake his own death, what with the bodies around the fortress.  The Onokara would 
be content and never hunt him again.  He could live peacefully, tending a farm with a 
princess for a wife.  
Matahachi could see it in his face.  “What’s the point, of being brave,” she 
quizzed him, “if all it does is curse your life.  Do mice take up the sword and bravely 
seek the serpent who would devour them whole?  It is man’s own foolish pride in things 
that lead him to destruction.  To be able to say `I slew this monster’ or `I cut down that 
pestilence’.  You should live to enjoy peace, instead of taking pleasure in chaos.”
Yoshimuharu considered her words.  But his heart pulled at him; this was not 
right.  He could not abandon himself for something else.  Yoshimuharu put his hands on 
Matahachi’s shoulders and concentrated his eyes in hers.
“My little flower, it is tempting to run and hide with you,” he said lovingly, “but I 
cannot deny myself.  It may seem foolish to be noble, but it is who I am. I cannot run 
from myself, Matahachi.”  His words sounded sharp in the air.  Matahachi seemed to 
stare straight through him and into his very soul.
“I know now,” she said, barely audible, “you must be who you are, and no one 
else.  It is unreasonable to ask a person otherwise.  And so you are noble, my 
Yoshimuharu, a warrior among warriors.  I must help you in anyway possible.”
“Thank you, little flower,” he said, “it means everything to me.  I appreciate your 
offer, but I must not involve you in this.  Tomorrow morning I will go out and fight with 
my bare fists, but I will fight.”
“No,” she said, a look of surprise beaming from her face, “not with your fists.”  
She pointed behind him and he spun around.  During the course of the night the moon 
had risen high and was shinning brilliantly through the far window across the room.  
There, standing in a perfect circle of moonlight, was a white katana.  Its handle was made 
of pearl and the scabbard was plated with gold.  Yoshimuharu ran to it, amazed.  The 
sword nearly leapt into his hand as he reached for it.  No craftsman in all of Japan could 
create a blade more perfect than the one he held. How could I have missed this? 
Yoshimuharu thought to himself.  It must be a gift from heaven.  Matahachi walked over 
to him and put her arms around his waist.
“You are a powerful man,” she said calmly, “to create a sword by will alone.  But 
how many of the Onokara are there?  Will you be able to slay them all come morning?”  
He ran to the window and scanned the courtyard, calculating his strategy carefully.  The 
mighty canons below caught his eye.
“I have a plan,” Yoshimuharu said, “and I need your help.”
“Anything for you,” Matahachi replied, “my brave samurai.”

Yoshimuharu crept out silently into the courtyard.  The enormous, thick walls 
would keep the Onokara from spying on his plans, but he had to work quietly.  After 
having toiled several hours he returned to the tower and the royal level where Matahachi 
waited.  She smiled for the first time since they had met when he appeared in the 
doorway.  Without a word, he took her soft hands and led her to the window.
“The canons are loaded tight with shrapnel and will tear apart everything in the 
clearing between the orange leafed trees and the last oaks of Kuigya forest,” he said, 
pointing at the area below.  “Soon I will walk out to meet the Onokara there and a great 
fight will ensue.  I need you to hide yourself in the tower with a torch, and as soon as I 
give the signal, run across the courtyard and light the canons.  They are all set to fire at 
the same time, about eight seconds after being lit.  Hopefully, I’ll be able to keep most of 
them inside that zone while you make it to the canons.  I’ll give you a kit of flint to start 
the torch once the battle has begun.  But until then it’s imperative that you not be 
discovered.”  Matahachi nodded her head.  Yoshimuharu felt great faith in her, so much 
that he trusted her with his own life.  He took her into his arms and held her tight as they 
watched the final dying hours of night from the fortress window.
With an unheard roar the dawn of morning began to split apart the sky.  
Yoshimuharu emerged from the fortress walls and planted his feet firmly in the frosty 
earth.  From the shadows of trees the Onokara came, like a swell of darkness overcoming 
the light.
“Today is the last day I run from you!” Yoshimuharu barked at the snarling 
monsters.  There were over forty of them gathered for the showdown, but Yoshimuharu 
gripped the moon-born saber and felt a rush of energy sweep through his body.  It was 
now or never, and he was ready.  They rushed at him in almost assured victory.  
Yoshimuharu gritted his teeth hard and slashed at the closest beast.  The katana sizzled 
with electricity as it cleaved through Onokara flesh.
Fire dripped from the torch Matahachi held as she watched the war unfold.  
Yoshimuharu was only a blurred flash from where she was, but she could still tell it was 
him.  He was leaping around the clearing with all the fury and strength of a tiger.  
Suddenly, he flipped the blade around and held it just below his eyes.  That was the 
signal.  Matahachi smothered the stabbing fear in her lungs and tore off across the 
courtyard faster than she ever imagined her feet could move.  In a matter of seconds she 
made it to the steely canons and their chalk-white wicks.  She skidded to a halt in front of 
them and brought the torch around to set aflame the main wick.  The torch had gone out.  
Matahachi looked at the ashen stump and felt her heart tremor.
Yoshimuharu grunted in agony as another Onokara raked its talons across his 
body.  Some had briefly gotten through his defenses and gashed madly at his chest and 
back.  The pain was so intense it numbed him, but still he fought on.  I cannot hold them 
here for much longer, Matahachi, he thought to himself.  Please hurry!
Pulling the flint kit from her scarlet robe, Matahachi struggled to re-light the 
torch.  She knew she was not supposed to make so much noise, but she had to get the 
canons to fire or Yoshimuharu would surely die.  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she 
smashed the flint across the metal shard time and time again.  Come on, please, she 
pleaded desperately.  Finally a single spark jumped onto the canon wick.  It began to 
burn.  Bolting to the main gate, she cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled, 
“Yoshimuahru, get out of the way!”
Realizing that he had a matter of seconds, Yoshimuharu ran the end of his sword 
through the nearest creature as he dashed from the clearing.  Just as he threw himself 
behind a large oak, the canons exploded.  Blood sprayed everywhere as a dark cloud of 
metal death consumed the clearing.  Small shards lodged in his arms as he raised them to 
cover his face.  After the maelstrom passed, he opened his eyes.  The dying wails of 
Onokara rung in his ears.  His plan had worked; they had all been killed.
Matahachi rose carefully to her knees from the icy dirt where she was hurled 
moments before.  Although unhurt, her eardrums cried in anguish.  Immediately her mind 
ran to the samurai, frantically hoping he had made it to safety in time.  Standing up, she 
was suddenly snatched from behind.  It was an Onokara who had heard her thrashing the 
flint and had come to kill.
Yoshimuharu was on his feet the instant he caught Matahachi’s shrill scream.  
Bounding over the annihilation from the canons, he entered the courtyard, katana in hand.  
The princess dangled from the grip of the towering monster.  The Onokara and the 
samurai locked their gaze.  Slowly, Yoshimuharu put his sword on the ground before 
him, knowing the beast would rip Matahachi to ribbons the instant he saw any attack.  
Yoshimuharu, his heart heavy with the thought of losing Matahachi, looked lovingly into 
her sad, green eyes.  Some unspoken communication passed between them.  All at once, 
Matahachi yanked her torso hard to the right, leaving the creature’s head exposed.  
Before anyone’s heart could beat, Yoshimuharu grabbed the sword by the handle and 
flung it violently into the Onokara’s skull.  Matahachi fell from its grasp as the 
abomination collapsed and died.

	After spending the day bandaging their wounds and burying the dead soldiers, the 
princess and the samurai gathered what little supplies they could scrounge and headed 
towards the nearest town.
	“I do love you, Yoshimuharu,” the princess said, taking him by the hand.  
“Neither of us has a home or a family.  What are we going to do now?”  The samurai put 
his arm around her waist as they set off down the forest path.
	“Let’s go build you a kingdom.”