Casca 19: The Samurai Read Free

his father had said, he was cursed with great curiosity. However, that too was his karma, and one could not fight what one was. Accept and enjoy.
     
    It was three days before Casca left the small cave. During that time Muramasa taught him one word after another. By the time he was ready to go out, he basically understood that Muramasa was in hiding, having been on the losing side of a war. Well, that was a situation he was also familiar with. He had been hunted and enslaved more than once during his long, weary existence.
    He helped Muramasa gather food, taking care to avoid being seen by the occasional peasant or fisherman who came to their section of the cove. As he did, the unnatural paleness of his skin quickly returned to normal as did his strength. He found nothing curious about Muramasa's eating habits. Raw fish and seaweed he'd ingested more than once. Food was food, though he wished now and then for a piece of rare beef. But it was not available, so he had to make do.
    The days turned into two weeks, and by then they were able to make most of their wants known to each other. As always, Casca had a gift for tongues. He found the bandy legged ronin a fascinating man. At times when Casca would be on watch, Muramasa would go through training exercises with the sword that he called a katana . It was hard to recall when or even if he'd seen better or more interesting sword play. Everything was a ritual, but a most deadly one he had no doubt. Muramasa had his share of scars to prove it. Casca knew that it would take many years of training to handle a sword the way Muramasa did. It was not something to be learned with ease. It was an art. Still he felt his own techniques would serve him well enough if push came to shove. They always had in the past. It was during one of these exercises when Casca saw a gleam reflect from behind an outcropping of black boulders a hundred meters away. Then another.
    He was too far away to warn Muramasa without letting those who were sneaking up on him among the rocks know that they had been seen. Sliding down between a pair of black boulders covered with small grayish lichens, he began working his way away from the beach. Moving at an angle, which he hoped would put him to the intruders' rear and flank, he speculated on how many there were. This might be an opportunity to get himself refitted with clothes and weapons that he desperately needed. It was damned uncomfortable crawling around on the rocks with only a loincloth for a cover.
    Standing between the boulders where the surf just lightly touched his feet, Muramasa seemed oblivious to all except his sword rituals. The square angles of his face were forced into stern lines; the corners of his mouth went down in a ferocious scowl as though he were very angry and on the verge of exploding inside. The katana shimmered in the early light as he sliced through bodies that weren't there. Attack, counter, slice, withdraw, and attack again.
    Keeping as low as he could, Casca raised his head. There they were! Now he could see all of them. There were three men who looked very much like Muramasa, except their robes were in good condition and gray in color with an ideogram on the breasts and backs he couldn't recognize. One had a strange looking helmet on, almost like the shell of a turtle secured on his head by a bright blue cloth tied beneath his chin. The other two were obviously lesser types as they followed the turtle helmet's every hand signal instantly. Their heads were bare, the hair having been partially shaved away leaving a peculiar looking scalp lock. All of them had two blades with them a long sword much like Muramasa's in their hands, and smaller ones of the same slender, slightly curving shape, about the length of a Roman gladius, stuck in the waistbands of their robes.
    He would have liked to have warned Muramasa, but to do so would have given his position away. With three of them, surprise was needed. If he could time it right, he'd