“Ghost by the Rock”
The four friends woke up to find the river completely still. Sure, there was the mess that the storm had made, and yet, it was the calm that made them feel uncomfortable.
Clem was the first to open his eyes, and he was surprised that a sleeping Sandy was on top of him. He shuddered, only to remember that he was with his winged friend before he lost track of the events. Apparently Sandy covered the both of them by spreading his wings, and had probably rolled over to him while sleeping. Still, the idea of a man sleeping over him, friend or not, was repulsive, and out of gratitude and comradeship he nudged Sandy with his elbow to move aside.
Sandy woke up to Clem’s arm pushing him, and the first thing he noticed was that they were both dirty with fallen leaves and grime. The storm had been unrelenting even in the forest—well, what the hell did you expect? He slowly stood up, and left Ned cleaning himself up in order to find their other two friends.
Walking along the river bank he noticed a singular figure atop a huge rock at the other side of the river. The man was pale, wearing a long black coat and tinted spectacles, crouching above the boulder and seemingly staring at the current. Sandy continued walking ahead, looking for Denis and Ned, gazing at this stranger, surprised that this man did not notice him despite his large wings. By the time Sandy was exactly opposite the stranger and his boulder, he stopped searching, and looked straight at the fellow.
“Strong is the storm, is it?” hollered Sandy.
The man’s face remained fixed upon the river.
Now we know Sandy was not the talker among his group, but fear got the best of him and he tried to allay it by confronting this man who seemingly had come from nowhere. He pressed on.
“Where are you going, sir?”
For a long time the man remained sil—
“I have just arrived,” the man hollered back.
Dread was creeping through Sandy’s veins. His wings flapped once, revealing tension.
“Eh?” snapped Sandy. “Where have you come from, sir? Are you aware of the ban?”
“What ban?”
“Northerners have not been allowed to pass by this river until the thirtieth of this month.”
“I did not come from the north.”
Clem had arrived at the scene. “Who’s that?” he asked.
“Probably a northerner,” muttered Sandy, without facing his friend.
“He’s got a weapon?”
“I don’t know yet.” Sandy now turned to Clem. “Look for Ned and Denis. If this man proves dangerous, I’ll cross the river at once. You already know the vines area where you can cross this river more easily, right?”
“You’ll manage, then?”
“Sure. Just get the others.”
Clem walked away. Sandy turned to see the man still staring, not at the river however, but at him.
“Where are you headed?”
“I told you, I have just arrived.”
“This is the place you’ve come for?”
“Aye.”
“And what do you intend to do here?”
“Kill you.”
Sandy’s wings flapped again. The man had now stood on the rock he was crouching a while ago, and Sandy found the man’s left hand clutching a sheathed sword. There was no need for interrogation. For all his muddied uniform, it was still evident from afar that Sandy was a Sabeurreinon.
“You threaten the law?” Sandy was furious, yet he stopped himself from drawing his sword, aware that his prospective killer was at least fifty yards away. His wings were now flapping wildly, tempting Sandy to cross the river.
Now he understood why the man was not surprised at his wings. He had come for Sandy… and perhaps for his friends, too?
Sandy let out a cry of rage before lunging into flight. Just you wait, asshole, we’ll see that your trip has been in vain.
He ascended until he was at the middle of the river, and then he dove for his opponent’s side.
The stranger remained standing instead of readying himself for a defense, staring at the same place where Sandy had taken off.
While Sandy neared his target, he wondered, why is this guy not moving? He was aware of certain sword techniques that did not require immediately brandishing a sword when danger was present, but they were so rare that they had become legendary. He had not seen a previous opponent of his do this, and he had only heard rumors of this being actually successful. He had to break this dive… NOW!
Sandy curled himself and broke his fall by heading for the trees at the back of his opponent. He rolled into the dried leaves and the mud, dirtying his uniform once more.
What story was that? Sandy tried to remember. Was it Ukeshiro? Or Dalmas? Who told that story to me in the bar?
He stood up. The stranger had not stirred. This was not the time to remove the leaves off his wings – Sandy had to strike. It could be all over…
The Roseman!
Sandy gasped. He was facing, singlehandedly, the very man he and his friends swore to put down for the honor of the nation. It was the Roseman’s massacres that they were telling in the bar. Who else could pull off such a diabolic technique against fifty men in half an hour?
Where are you guys?
Now the figure turned, ever so slowly, as if he was a statue being moved by some invisible strongman. The face was set, including the smile that seemed to mock just another victim.
By this time Sandy had drawn his blade. He held it with both hands, the hilt placed alongside his left hip, the blade thrust into the air ready to slash or stab the enemy as Sandy saw fit. His right foot supported his weight while his left leg readied itself for the pounce.
The man slowly walked toward him. After a few paces, he stopped.
“You’re lucky that I’ve decided to talk to you after all. So many others have not received the benefit of having known who killed them.”
Sandy scoffed at this humbuggery. He was ready to attack. But the man, whom Sandy was sure to be the Roseman, remained standing only a few feet from him and still clutching a sheathed weapon.
The stranger continued talking. “I see no use talking to my victims, but perhaps you can call me a fan of yours since you will be my most illustrious catch.
“I was sent here to rid your town with Bainfeer-loving idiots like you who would prefer a divided country over a divided self. I, a foreigner of this land, under the mandate of Heaven, shall strike you down, even if all the angels come to your aid. EGO SVM MORS TVA.[1]”
The stranger swung his still-sheathed sword, running towards Sandy, who in turn charged to answer the swing. As the stranger’s sword completed a rotation over his head, the sheath flew away, and he swung again, just in time to block Sandy’s thrust. Sandy, for all his weight, was hurled to the side by the block. The stranger ceased for a moment, to see whether the soldier would stand up or play dead.
This was not a time for games. Sandy composed himself, and almost immediately he put up his sword before him as his enemy had already swung his sword again. Sandy then held his sword upwards, and lunged again, but the enemy was too fast for his attacks. The man ran backwards, strafed, and eluded his slashes by nimbly countering them with his own. His opponent surely knew sword dances, and Sandy, poor guy with wings, was left to protect his balance against sword dances by running sideways and finding a tree where he can lean his back.
He was now being attacked from all sides, in rapid succession. It was the Seven-Petal style, and Sandy now understood why the Roseman was so successful. This style had long been dismissed as impractical long ago as an indoor technique, which was why few, and especially not the Sabeurreini, cared to learn it. The Sabeurreini were raiders, not guards. Fortunately for Sandy, he knew.
But his knowledge was not enough. The Roseman was getting through his defenses by sheer repetition of his attacks. He had probably struck Sandy sixty-three times, and a few of those had already yielded a cut here, a scratch there. And worse, his wings were not spared. Sixty-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-seventy-one-two-three-four-five–
“Ahhh!” Sandy leaped into the air and sliced through the branches, freeing himself briefly… only to find that the Roseman was catching up on him by leaping on the very branches he had cleared out. The glint of the enemy’s sword was enough to make Sandy go lunging again, but he had been hurt, and he needed the air for leverage. My God, am I the longest surviving opponent of this man?
He was wondering where his friends were. He was damn worried. He tried to reassure himself that he would win this fight, or at least get out of it alive. But he also knew that the Roseman had never left any living opponent. The rumor was that he who sees the Roseman’s blade will surely end up knocking at heavens’ gates.
The Roseman somersaulted to reach Sandy while in flight. Sandy countered with a slash to the enemy swing. The man fell, but landed like a cat, and then stood there, waiting for him.
Should I return? Sandy asked himself. He was at a safe distance, still shaken by that last exchange of blows, flapping his winds like a vulture contemplating on his prey. And where the hell are they?
A clash of swords below. And not just two; the intervals between the exchanges were so fast that Sandy had to observe that his opponent was facing more than one of his allies. Perhaps…
“Come down here, bird man!” bellowed Denis. For all the man’s disease Denis pursued their enemy with enough rage as did Ned and Clem. The three had been trading blows with the stranger with almost equal determination. And Sandy should be joining them.
The bird man landed a safe distance from the fight. Seeing this, the three other friends retreated in such a fashion that their opponent now stood at the center. They could attack him at the same time now.
But the Roseman kept his ground. He sheathed his sword, and waited. His eyes were fixed at Sandy, his sword pointed toward Ned at his left, his upper body leaned toward Clem in front of him, while his left foot was ready to defend his back from Denis.
One mistake, and it will be all over.
It was a beautiful morning.
The Roseman crouched, pivoted to face Denis, and swiftly attacked. Ned and Sandy leapt to defend their friend, while Denis himself took a step back to receive the impact of the Roseman’s thrust.
But it was not Denis who took the Roseman’s blow. The enemy had suddenly turned to Sandy at the last minute, and before the bird man could react with a sword slash, the Roseman had run through Sandy’s left wing, using it as cover against the other three while it was falling off.
All four were stunned. Meanwhile the Roseman stood a few feet away, then attacked again.
Like a tiger he swiftly isolated Ned while the other two rushed to attend to their fallen comrade; Ned could only now think of defending himself and surviving this. There was no way he’s going to win this. He was young, and so is the Roseman; but the latter’s speed and cunning was simply too much for him to handle. He had to play dead. It was cowardly, but he had to survive. For Cheesy… or is it Cham?
Stupidly he caught the Roseman’s sword with his hand, and guided the tip to the right side of his belly. Blood gushed forth, and the last thing Ned saw was the Roseman’s lips revealing a thin smile.
Denis had crept up to the scene and he came charging like a rhino with its horn. His sword coming from above, Denis attacked the Roseman, who quickly knelt on one knee and then blocked Denis’s slash, his knee plunging into the mush. With this move the Roseman was forced to lie on his chest, but this move proved to be necessary for him as he kicked into the air and hit Denis’s face.
Denis fell, but before he had landed into the ground the Roseman was already slashing through him. They were deep, and Denis could feel the Roseman’s blade slicing through him. Old wounds were being re-opened, while the new ones were numbing him.
Three down, one more to go.
The Roseman marched back to Sandy’s place, near the river bank. There was Sandy, bleeding and unconscious. With that pool of blood by him, he’ll be dead in minutes. But where was that fourth moron who was with them?
Here I am, fucker.
Clem emerged from behind with his sword and a dagger. He threw the dagger first, which the Roseman immediately thwarted; then Clem shoved his sword into the side of his enemy’s neck.
It could have been over for the Roseman, but he was damn too quick for even that kind of surprise. And he was surprising even with his counterattack. Instead of pulling himself from the sword, he glided his neck by the blade, turning his entire body in the process. Only when his entire neck had been serrated did he move away, and it was only to let his katana clash with Clem’s.
The Roseman smiled.
Then they stood there, the assassin who had become a legend in a matter of months, and the unknown soldier who might end up becoming just another of the former’s kills. Waited.
The Roseman started walking back to the rock where Sandy first saw him. Clem followed, his sword ever ready to strike or block.
No way I’m going back home without his head, thought Clem. I’m not returning without my friends – or him.
He charged.
The Roseman drew his sword just in time to block Clem’s slash, and then slashed at his last victim for today. A huge gash on Clem’s chest finished it all.
There was no need to survey the damage. The Roseman left the execution decree on Clem, then slowly, quietly, walked away.
It was a beautiful morning.
[1] Notice that this Latin statement has seventeen letters. Its opposite, “Ego sum vita tua,” also has seventeen letters.
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