Imako

Ishio of the Seino clan looked like a demon atop his black mare. Horns twisted upwards from his helmet to form a crescent and the jagged blade of his lance jutted from its shaft like a monstrous fang. His intimidating presence coupled with his reputation as a fierce warrior has earned him the title of “The Beast of the North”. Heavy droplets of rain filtered through the canopy and plinked off the visor of his helmet as thunder rolled overhead. The thrill of the chase had numbed Ishio’s mind to the passage of time. When he had begun his pursuit the sun filtered through the clouds casting a dull gray light on the forest floor, but now the sun was setting and it would only be a short time before the night and rain would shroud the his prey’s escape. His horse trotted along the path looking and listening for any disturbances in the foliage. A flock of birds all took flight simultaneously from a tree in the distance and Ishio’s heart skipped a beat. The chase was back on. A man wearing a tunic darted from one thicket to another. Ishio brought his horse beside the thicket and trotted by as the man weaved through the vines and stumbled over rocks. Ahead of the thicket, Ishio spotted a clearing and decided that this was the time to take a gamble. The messenger was tired and prone to making mistakes, so if Ishio flushed the man out of the thicket, he might run toward the open space.

“This is your last chance,” Ishio announced. “Identify yourself.”

The man in the thicket looked up at Ishio and his face was alight with an odd mixture of terror and determination, and said nothing. Ishio’s horse paced along the underbrush as he locked gazes with the man waiting for a response. The man looked as though he might be seriously considering giving up, but the longer they waited the more Ishio thought the man was just using this time to catch his breath. “Too late!” He said as before spurring his horse and charging into the tangle of vines and saplings. The man hopped back and slipped on the wet ground. Ishio thrust his lance toward the man as he was regaining his balance and purposefully missed. He wanted the man alive. Ishio jerked up on his reins and his horse reared up on her haunches. Before her hooves came down with two wed thuds, the man was already making a mad dash toward the clearing.

A deep breath filled Ishio’s lungs as he plunged the shaft of his lance into the mud and spurred his horse into a full gallop. He stood up in his stirrups grasping the reins with only his right hand as clods of dirt and pine needles flicked into the air behind him. Ishio grabbed the man by the tunic and was preparing to dismount when his horse jerked out from under him and Ishio’s forward momentum threw him from his saddle. Ishio was so focused on not letting go of the man that he forgot he was still holding onto the reins. He and the man slammed into the mud, slid a couple feet, and reached the end of slack on the reins. The ropes yanked his horse’s head to the ground and her legs began flailing wildly. A hoof crashed into Ishio’s breastplate and a flash of searing pain enveloped his torso. He would have screamed in agony and frustration if he could breathe. The man thrashed in the slick mud trying to free himself of Ishio’s iron grasp. He reached into his tunic and quickly pulled out something that glinted like steel. He slashed in wide arcs and the first two hits clanked against Ishio’s lacquered wrist guard. The third slash found its way under his armor and cut a deep gouge just below his elbow. This time Ishio managed to roar with pain and instinctively drew his hand to his chest, releasing his opponent. He prepared himself to grapple with the man and liberate his knife, but he had already taken off. Ishio got to his knees and coughed up the taste of copper.

His horse had gotten to her feet and was walking in wide circles. She limped on her right foreleg and let out a sharp breath with every step. Ishio was certain she would have darted away if she were not lame. As Ishio got to his feet, she lay down in the mud. He approached her as quickly as she felt comfortable and cursed the man under his breath. Her charcoal coat glistened with moisture and her eyes were wide with panic.

“Shhhh Kazeko, shhhh”

Kazeko snorted a warning at Ishio

“Shhhh Kazeko shhhh” Ishio persisted. He approached her slowly trying to suppress another cough to avoid any sudden movements. Kazeko lowered her head and sighed as Ishio rubbed her forehead gently. He grabbed his bow, inspected it for damage, and silently thanked himself for stringing it before the chase. He found his quiver and was sure some arrows had spilt out of it in their tumble, but was glad none of them ended up in Kazeko’s hide. Muddy footprints trailed from where the man stabbed Ishio and led toward a thin patch of trees. Warm blood soaked the cloth around his elbow and he hoped that he could still draw his bow. He ran as fast as his shallow breathing and sharp pains allowed through the trees and began to lose hope. Up ahead there was only another clearing and even more trees, but no sign of the man. Ishio’s armor felt heavy and he needed to tourniquet his arm. His light jog turned into a walk, which turned into a stagger.

“Grrrraaaaaaaaghhh!”

Ishio’s scream echoed off a distant cliff face and Ishio unbuckled the chinstrap of his helmet, which was beginning to strain his neck. He removed the heavy helm and briefly enjoyed the cool air on his cheeks and forehead. He was beginning to undo the straps on his shoulder plate when he saw a white blotch scaling the far away cliff. He squinted and set his helmet on a nearby rock.

“Hah! The fool!” Ishio could not believe his luck. Adrenaline boosted his mood and he resumed his staggered run toward the rock face. It would be a wild shot, but not as wild as chasing the man up the cliff. He would shoot the man down if it meant his own death. When he reached a vantage point where he could get a clear shot, the man was immobile on his foothold trying to find a grip to lift himself further. Ishio estimated that he was only about ten feet from the top.

“Looks like you’re stuck up there!”

The man looked down at Ishio and back up to the top of the cliff.

“Time for second chances is over, you stuck my arm and my favorite horse is lame! I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you though; I have a little bit of motivation to help you to the top!”
Ishio pulled an arrow from his quiver and drew his bow with his stabbed arm locked causing the right side of his chest to flare up with pain once more. He released the arrow and the wind took it to the left of his target. It clinked off the rock face, tumbled end over end, and stuck into the ground.

“Must be slippery up there, hold on tight!”

The man took a leap of faith and grabbed onto a jutting stone above him. His feet lost purchase and he dangled thirty feet in the air. As Ishio drew his second arrow, he accounted for the wind. Just before he released the string, he felt a rib crack and pulled his bow up. The arrow flew above the man’s head as he got another foothold and scrambled three more feet up the side. The intense throbbing pain brought Ishio to a knee. He spat blood, grunted as he got to his feet, and pulled another arrow from his quiver. The man was only seconds away from reaching the top. Ishio cleared his mind and knocked the arrow. He took aim and drew the bowstring back; his face was solid stone determination. The man grabbed the precipice of the cliff with one hand and lifted his leg to his last foothold. Ishio released the bowstring and watched the arrow fly true. He collapsed to his knees in agony as the projectile plunged into the man’s back. He dangled for a second on the precipice like a pendulum, lost his hold and tumbled for twenty feet before hitting the cliff’s graded edge. His arms and legs flopped as he bounced for thirty more feet. Ishio was not sure if the snapping sound he heard was the arrow or one of the man’s arms – probably both.