Lonely Cowboy: май 2012

I draw my weapons and stand ready.
My eyes are closed.
There is silence all around.
I wait. Ready. Prepared.
There is nothing in the world.
There is nothing at all in the world besides myself, my swords, and my target.
Around me on all sides the desert is quiet. The wind doesn't blow. The weeds don't rustle. The sand doesn't shift. All is still.
My swords are the only sound. The cold metal hums in the night, not unlike the faint approach of merchant ships. Mine are a subtler sound. A caress of the air as the sharpened blade slices through anything in its path. The soft give of yielding flesh. The effortless taking of a life.
I focus.
There is nothing in the world.
Nothing to stand between myself, my swords, and my target.
In an instant, everything changes.

Silence becomes cacophany. Still serenity becomes a whirlwind. Every muscle in this mortal body becomes a machine, built and designed and intended for a single purpose.

To kill.

To hold a sword is to dedicate oneself to that purpose.

There is no other reason.

Every strike is a mission. Every step is a strategy. Every twist and turn of the blade is a calculated risk one must take to accomplish a goal. To cut down an enemy is the ultimate triumph. It is an achievement only a few ever manage. There is no greater honor than to weave through an opponent's defenses and sift out a weakness. To exploit that weakness and watch them fall. The epitome of what it means to hold a sword.

I open my eyes, because I can't wait too long.

An enemy is cut down. Another replaces it.

The mission begins again.

I straighten and sheathe my swords as I watch the grove of cactus around me slowly tip and fall into two, sometimes three, pieces. Eight of them all together. The slices through them are flawless, cut with certainty and skill.

They were living things. I know that.

But they're not anymore.

I turn and lift my eyes towards the glow in the distant sky. No sun has yet stirred to wake. It is only the city. The one called Firefly House.

The pit of vice and iniquity.

My target waits within.

I rotate my arm, dimly aware of the sore aches and pains that plague not only there, but across the rest of my body.

Reminders of the battles already fought, and won.

Why do i hesitate? The city has nothing new to offer. I have been witness to tenfold worse in other cities, in other times.

Is it because he's there?

It has been exacly five days since we set out on this quest. It has been even longer since I first crossed swords with him in Kogakyo.

His is already the longest I've spent following any target. Those faces and names from the past, scarcely remembered. Once I had them in my sight, I never let them live long enough to see another sunrise.

Unless it was through the bars of a cage.

Why is he different?

It is a question I ask myself every night as I meditate. Again every morning when I wake.

I consider it again as I turn and make my way towards the glow of the city.

Why did I agree to come on this mission?

I could have cut him down so many times already. He's weak. He's distracted. The concern of strangers has been his focus since before we left. When he sleeps he's exhausted. It would be swift. it would be silent It would be easy.

It would also be hollow.

The wall surrounding the city is no challenge. The metal alloy of which it consists has been beaten and worn by the sand of ages. The foundation at its base is rock, similarly smooth, but with a silver of difference between layers in imperceptible cracks and crevices.

A silver is all I need.

Crouched atop the wall, I look over the city, its darkness marred by pinpoints of colored light. They culminate together into the glow that reaches to the sky, strong enough to suffocate the stars. A blinding light to hide the ugliness beneath.

Perhaps I am waiting to see. Waiting for the opportune moment to test myself.

And him.

How long before he breaks? How long before he realizes this mission is folly and gives up to return tending to his own existence, and that of his student?

From what I have seen demonstrated of samurai and like-minded types over the years, it will be a long time.

If it happens at all.

I agreed to postpone our battle until after he has seen this through.

Perhaps I am waiting to see if he really does.

If he succeeds, a small difference will be made.

If he fails, if he breaks, it won't change anything. The bandits will continue on as they always have. The merchants will exploit the peasantry. The strong among the weak. As it always has been.

But I can't deny the weight on my heart when I consider that possibility.

I move through the city unnoticed. Unseen. Darkness is an ally here, and it permeates all. People see what they want to see, and the idea of a predator lurking within their midst, no more than a street corner away, is not a notion they often entertain.

Finding the inn where the others have grouped isn't difficult. They are asleep on their mats. The mechanical loudmouth. The engineer. The boy. The spear weilder. The street entertainer.

And him.

Often before I have heard the samurai speak of connections.

Is this what they meant? This weight I feel on my heart as I settle down in preparation to rest and keep watch on the inn roof. From where I sit I have a clear view of their windows.

What is this weight?

Is it a feeling?

The determination to watch over him. To make sure he isn't disturbed.

As I traversed the streets I spotted my former employer from Kogakyo.

He will need his strength for tomorrow.

It is not protection. I am only defending what is mine. No one shall cut him down but me.

There is nothing in the world.

Nothing but myself, my swords, and my target.

/bobby./