The Metaphor

Image by Ahbeejieh

Illuminating the garden, the full moon’s ominous glow melted spring green to solemn grey. The soft wack of bamboo against rock reverberated off the leafy bushes and thin trees, the filled hollow tube relinquishing its contents onto the rocky pond below. The sound hitting out against the natural peace surrounding the samurai while he mediated the night away.

Grass reads rubbed together as the slight breeze flittered through their straight stems. Insects creaked their songs to the white orb above. Eyes closed, head clear, the samurai drew in a deep breath. Tasting the smoke of dimming fires, scenting the spice of warm dinners from huts nearby.

“Come out Azami.” His voice calm, relaxed. His eyes flashing open, arrowing to the black shadow between the trees and his looming hut.

For a time the darkness remained unchanged. The passing of seconds pointing to a possible delusion.

No. Never wavering. Never faulting. His eyes remained trained on the shadow. Certainty and confidence shifting his hand to rest on the hilt of his katana at his hip.

Years of samurai teachings honing in on nature’s subtle hints of a hunting predator. Where insects quietened their chanting hymns out of fear. Where tendrils of smoke and spice melded with the unnatural hygienic smell of soap. It was clear to him. She had come.

Soon the dark shadow was just that, the absence of light. Azami accepting his invite and stepping out into the garden dressed in her black garbs. The moonlight glittering off the hilt of her katana strapped tight against her back.

“Greeting Kotarō. It seems our two worlds collide again.”

She had lost her advantage of surprise. None the less, Kotarō knew she had skill enough to regain it. And with no traditions or morals, he knew she had a surprise or two prepared for him.

Kotarō watched her hand slowly move, reaching for her sword. Last time, he had won their battle. This time, he wasn’t so sure. There was a gleam to her eyes. A spring to her step. For she represented the new ways of their people. And maybe, just maybe it was time to embrace change.

Angled pink tips, the only uncovered skin, gripped Azami’s sword as she drew it down low. Refracting the moonlit night with its smooth metal surface. 

The samurai sighed, standing to face the black figure. His ashen blue kimono rippling with his movement. “Must we always do this?” His only answer a slight nod from his opponent. “Very well.”

Before he could fully enter his stance, stars twirled towards him. Sharp and pointed. Glistening with killing promise. But the heave of her chest had betrayed her attack. And on trained instinct Kotarō raised his katana in time to deflect sharp whistling edges.

Samurai attention and focus drawn to her throwing stars, Azami lunged. Jumping to laden her flowing sword with the force of height. Cutting down with the sharp side of her katana. Hungry for his blood. Excited to finally see the conservative traditions he represented, so slow and resistant, gone.

The thunder of metal resonates with each clash of their swords. Each holding the other at bay before Kotarō pushes forward. Diving to meet Azami’s receding steps with his own razored assault.

Dancing with finesse and precision, their swords flickered like the tongues of fire. Their bodies evading and ducking when their blade’s edge was unable to block in time.

Another parry. Another hold. Their flaming stare meeting between the clang of steel. “Azami you are foolish to even try.”

Her face mask muffled her words, but he heard her all the same. “This time agility and stealth are needed, not strength and might. I will be heard.” A tigress growl saw her leg snap out to kick his stance wide.

Adjusting quickly, he pushed her back again, using the strength she had spoken of. Swiping sideways to sear a bloody line across her stomach. The merciless blade met only air.

Momentum and flexibility allowing her to tuck and roll. Flattening reeds of grass under the press of her body. The slight breeze passing above her not from wind, but sword.  Facing the twinkling stars above, Azami watched the katana rise. Before slicing down. Aiming to cut her in two.

Swinging her shoulder left, the pointed end hitting the dirt at her back. The power digging it into the ground. Spinning against the sword, she kicked out. Landing a blow on his face. Flatting his sword. Disarming him. She pressed her advantage. 

Experienced. The sharp pain still forced his grip to loosen. Now disarmed he pulled his wakazashi free from its sheath. Deflecting her attacking slice to the side.

Biting at first. The small twinge in his shoulder soon raged to life. A quick glance as he blocked another swing. Nothing. Just a shallow crimson line. His shoulder was still functional. He pushed on. He pushed back.

Damn him. Damn his short sword. The wakazashi defending the samurai against her quick succession of attacks. Flicking out. Desperately. Her last shuriken flew towards him. Its aim, to distract, as she sprang at him, katana high in the air.

He knew it wouldn’t hit him, drawing similarities from her previous attack. His focus converging on her instead. Dismissing her blow with his own. Simultaneously, his hand snatched at her, gripping her neck in a tight hold. Crushing her airway.

Hissing, she lashed out, swinging her sword to severe his arm. It never made it.

Kotarō slamming her to the ground. Utilising her daze to disarm her..

Blinking to recover, Azami felt his blade’s razor edge pressed tight against her throat. Held taut by his looming weight.

Pulling his wakazashi high into the air, the samurai’s gleaming smile mimicked the shimmering sharp point.

“Maybe next time.” His voice soft like the caressing breeze.

Mesmerised by the finally honed steel, Azami nods in agreement, “Maybe next time…”

***

“I have listened and thought upon both arguments for our Company’s next steps.” The C.E.O’s hand rises in the air to interrupt the heated chatter from his Company’s board members behind him, “I have made my decision.”

A quick swivel on his plush chair and the C.E.O faces the now silent room with a curt nod and respectful smile. It was clear to him - the consequence of ignoring history and traditions far outweighed the benefits gained from the new, innovative proposal.

Chin raised, his eyes seek the board members sitting at the polished oak table. He saw concern and worry flash across most of their faces. He needed to put them at ease. “Our company will not be purchasing Mori Enterprises Ltd.”

“But sir, buying them out will give us access to their market. It will allow us to take our competitors by surprise.” His C.F.O standing with her opinion. An opinion he had shared only moments ago. Quickly he realised though, surprise was a one time thing, and once it was gone, there was never a second surprise. Never a second chance to gain the upper hand. It seemed a lot relied on this surprise. And if they didn’t do it well… The probabilities and mathematics of it all didn’t play out well in his head.

“I am aware of the benefits of taking Mori Enterprises under our umbrella. But I am also aware of the detriment it may cause.” He watched as the C.F.O resumed her seat. “Our company needs to remain focused on its core product. Build our strength and might until we can crush our competitors in our own market. The market our company was born and honed to dominate in. Let us not get distracted by these new trends. By these new markets.”

His words were sharp, and unrelenting, cutting through any disunity. The board members could only nod and agree with his decision. Maybe in the future the promise of new clients and new markets would overcome traditional thinking.

Maybe next time… 

~

Kotarō – A Japanese Samurai that died 17th Century

Azami – Japanese name meaning ‘Word of the Heart’

Katana – Samurai/Shinobi Long Sword

Wakazashi – Samurai Short Sword

Shuriken – Throwing Star

Shinobi - Covert agent or mercenary in feudal Japan

Samurai - Military nobility of medieval and early-modern Japan