Kaguta - Or, Ankūro - The Warrior, The Thief and The Killer

22

Kō

So unexpected,
But only without a thought.
Think and so expect.
- Nuriaki.

Kō had not heard or sensed a thing until those words came to her ears as easy as they came to Saiban's. Before either of them could react, Kō saw a figure move past her face and there she stood. Ankūro. She didn't look any different, save for new scars added to those that the woman had carried before. She stood there, naked as the day she was born, holding the Sansui short sword of Saiban's in her hands, already drawn.

Saiban moved, then, half-drawing the long-bladed great sword. A flick of Ankūro's wrist and the butt of the scabbard caught Saiban in the throat and he collapsed to the ground, fighting for breath, his sword still only half-drawn. Kō considered attacking the old, scarred woman before lowering her spear to the ground and rising to her feet.

"Good sword. Not yours. Don't know you." The old woman crouched before the spluttering Saiban, tilting her head to look at him with that single, penetrating white eye, before looking up to Kō. "Know you."

"I'm ..." After so long, after all the death and the searching, Kō struggled for the words. "I was ..."

Ankūro snapped the companion sword back into its scabbard, dropping it to the ground. She waved a dismissive hand towards Kō, halting what she was about to say, while thumping Saiban on his back with her other hand. Again, she tilted her head to look into Saiban's bulging, incredulous eyes before nodding, standing and walking away, showing both Kō and Saiban her scarred back.

"Fish just caught. Eat." Without saying another word, Ankūro walked into the waters of the pond and disappeared beneath the surface.

Uncertain of how to proceed, Kō crouched beside Saiban. He had started to regain control of his breathing and looked to Kō as confused as she had ever seen anyone. He couldn't understand how the old woman had moved so fast, how she had taken him down with the barest of movements. He had heard what Kō had said about Ankūro, what others had said, but experiencing the woman's skill had demonstrated how out of his depth he truly was.

Saiban's eyes fell to the great sword, fingers reaching for it, but Kō pressed her hand upon his. He had determination, she had to admit. But determination often stood as ally to foolishness. Ankūro could have used the blade instead of the scabbard. His throat could have become nothing but an opening for his blood to fountain forth, desecrating the sanctity of the mountain. She had shown him mercy, but Ankūro's mercy had limits.

With a hand on Saiban's arm, she supported him to his feet, guiding him to the rock beside the pool where the partially gutted fish sat. A little to the side, she saw a small cup and, after sitting Saiban down, she filled the cup with water from the pond, offering it to the man. Ankūro had still not surfaced from beneath the pond's surface.

"That was foolish. Though I must admit, my first thought was to attack, also." Holding the cup to Saiban's lips, she glanced back to her spear, still laid half-in, half-out of the tree line. "Even my memory of her does her no justice."

"I ... never seen ... so fast." Between each of the words, Saiban coughed. He tried clearing his throat and grimaced with the pain. "How is it possible?"

"Live well. Fight often. Not die." Again, Ankūro arrived without Kō or Saiban noticing. She dropped two more fish on to the rock and sat on her haunches, preparing to gut them. "Don't fight again. Mountain not like violence."

She used the knife to point toward the snow-covered peak of Kūmū-Nē and then returned her attention to the fish. Kō hadn't even noticed the large, flat leaves of a plant, that Kō recognised, on the rock beside the fish. An edible freshwater plant, used to wrap raw fish and rice inside, though Kō could not see any rice anywhere.