Brenton
itumeleng kganyago
Shea
Always Eighteen
AhmedArtefacts - The Begining
July 16th 2008 03:12
Kitaro.
Kitaro was only two when he was selected. He came from parents of humble origin, corn farmers from the upper island, Bugauda. The island had ties to the Bushido, the samurai who protected the farmers and citizens of the nearby prefectures, and the Bushido themselves were sympathetic to the Go-Juu who had requested him, so the decision to pass him on was made, not lightly, but with a sense of righteousness.
The Go-Juu were situated in the two largest temples in the Norifu prefecture. Little was known of them, as they were vastly secretive, but those who did connect with the wider community were gracious and decent. All that was widely understood was that they held great affinity with the number 50; accepted as a sacred and powerful number throughout Kamato.
Kitaro is six now. It is his birthday, and it is time for him to see that which is his.
“Kitaro!”
He pauses. The voice is gentle, yet commanding. It is that of Sata, his teacher. It annoys him a little as he is playing with Amiko in the sand pit, in his spare time. He pretends not to hear.
“Kitaro!”
“Kitaro,” says Amiko, “You’re being called.”
He surrenders, dropping his small shovel, running off to Sata.
“Sata. I apologise,” he says. He is secretly a little afraid of Sata, who is large, even compared to the other men, and has a booming voice.
Sata nods, slightly. “Follow me.”
They walk a long path, through the trees. It could be shorter, but Kitaro doesn’t mind. He likes to hear the monkey’s yelling across the trees, and seeing if he can spot one, or a bird, or a spider. He likes the smell of the earth.
They arrive at the Artefact house, a secret temple to the outside, half housed underground, near the edge of the island, and the port with the ships that only leave to test if they’re still seaworthy.
Emi, one of the women was there waiting for them. She produced a key and opened the door, before bending over to pick up a lighted oil lamp. She preceded the pair into the room, lighting the lamps as she did.
Kitaro barely stifled a gasp as he entered. The walls were covered with artefacts of every kind. Swords, rings, bracelets, toys, staffs, instruments. Each was mounted on the wall with a brass plate below it, with a name from the temple – including some he recognized, and a symbol indicating the person as a woman or child.
“How many do you think are in here?” said Sata.
“One hundred and fifty,” he said. Sata grinned.
“Why that number?”
“One for every person in the temple.”
Sata nodded slowly. “Close. There are one hundred. Fifty for the fifty women of our halls. Fifty for the fifty children. The men do not possess artefacts.”
“Why not?”
“Because men can be as weak as they are strong. Because each of these objects are powerful, some beyond measure. Come.”
They walked through the halls, towards one of the darker corners. Sata pointed to a small dagger.
“This here is one of the most insidious of our artifacts. If this is driven into the heart of another, it will not harm them, but will instead kill the individual they hold most dear to them. And here,” he pointed to a small shuriken, “is one that will affect any it cuts to seek out and destroy all their blood relatives.”
Kitaro looked on, astounded, shocked.
Sata pointed to a small bamboo flute. “This here is one of the better. It will cause any who hear it’s tune to be incapable of malice while it plays. And this pair of chopsticks; they will cure the disease of any who use them.” He looked at Kitaro. “Fifty of war, power and hatred. Fifty of Gentility, Frivolity and Love. Absolute balance. Do you understand?”
Kitaro nodded.
“Each object is special because it holds the soul of one of the previous Go-Juu. That is why we train you in the meditations. Eventually you will learn to detach your soul from your physical form.”
“Can you do that?”
“I can.”
“Will you turn into an object?”
“No. Our duty now is to protect these objects, until they have all perished. Only then will there be cause to create them anew.”
Kitaro nodded. Shita pointed to another object; a ring.
“This one here. It gives the wearer the gift of tongues and languages.”
Kitaro nodded.
“Read the name.”
Kitaro did. KITARO: CHILD. It was his.
Kitaro tried to concentrate on the meditations, but it was near impossible. He was exited by the prospect of the ring. He wanted to be able to put it on, to touch it, but that was forbidden. He wanted to speak of it, to shout of it, but that was forbidden too. However he would have to try. It was his duty.
Amiko.
Amiko, Kitaro’s friend, turns sixteen in the winter, when the ground is caked in ice and snow.
It was a day like this that she first trudged down the icy path, twelve years ago to discover the artefact that belonged to her. At the time it had been a cup, made of rough clay, that could bring messages to the dreams of those who drank from it. It was more complex than that – different drinks could bare different messages and so on. However this was all to become useless information. Sixteen was the age of adulthood; the age a girl became a woman. She had been lucky. Often, when all the women had their own artefacts, a girl becoming a woman would simply be retired, sent back out into society to be a normal citizen as any other. However, one of the ender women had retired her position, so she would take her artefact, and a new child would take hers.
She knelt on a tatami mat, beside Kitaro, speaking and laughing in quiet voices. Time with Kitaro was valuable. He was fifteen and several months. When a boy reached sixteen, as men could not possess artefacts, they went to be trained as warriors, at a second temple. Sometimes they would return to replace another man who died, or grew old or injured, but usually they would simply disappear and spend the rest of their lives preparing for a role they would die without completing. So time spent with Kitaro was precious.
“Amiko!”
It was Buruko, her teacher. She had been waiting for her to summon her. She snuck a quick forbidden kiss to Kitaro’s cheek.
“I’ll return” she said, standing and hurrying towards Buruko.
The cold bit at them as they forced their way through the forest. When they arrived at the Artefact chamber Hin opened the door with an urgency she had never seen before. They moved together, aware of the sharp, painful cold.
Buruko pointed to an artefact. There was no need for words. Amiko moved close to look. It was a tiny knife, blade hidden behind the handle.
“Disease,” said Buruko. “Infects the victim with a disease that rots the flesh until it kills them. They pass it to all they touch. Its destructive potential is limitless.”
Amiko exhaled a large breath. An adult now, she understood the true burden of her role. She nodded.
“I understand. I can take on the role.”
The others nodded.
Jarvis.
Jarvis Buckingham was the president of the Committee for the Expansion of the Interests of the Great Empire, an establishment of Empirica, whom had been granted, by the parliament, close to limitless power.
Buckingham wore, as did his contemporaries, shining black boots, with long white pants, shirt and jacket. This was matched with a black tie when formality required it, or a red tie on military occasions to symbolise the blood of fallen comrades. His mustache was long, black, firmly waxed, so that it’s perfect curl was undisturbed.
He was as distinguished as his list of achivements. He had personally seen to the takeover of Bilindica and Saviana. He had established the grounding for the manipulation of tribal leaders in Ocianican Islands, and had military interests operating in Islaminica.
As a leader, he was also firmly established with some curiosities. His interest and concern over superstitions of magic and mysticism were a puzzlement to his contemporaries, men of science, who were assured that all power had a logical source, one naturally accessible to all men. It was this aversion that had kept him from reaching into the larger Ocianican Islands, and slowed military progress in some areas where sorcery or other magics were practiced.
“Boy!” he called, and a young Savianic man, skin nearly pure black, around seventeen, dressed impeccably in light yellow, came running to his side.
“Sah?”
“I’d like you to fill my hookah if you will. Bilindic Weed, if you will be so kind.”
“Yas.”
The young man did so. Buckingham took in a good large breath of smoke and breathed it out. It smelt dusky, rich, with barely a hint of cinnamon. The young man stayed in the room, enjoying the smell, hoping his indulgence would be mistaken for obedience. It was.
“Boy, fetch Master Morrow. Tell him he’s to see me, immediately.”
“Yas,” he said, running off. Barely a few minutes later, Master Morrow, dressed similarly to Buckingham, strode through the door.
“Jarvis. What are you after?”
“I’m curious to know something. I’ve been studying something for some time, and I feel we may be getting somewhere. I want to know what you know about the Kamato Nation.”
“Kamato nation?”
“Yes.”
“Militarily strong, but somewhat divided. Bushido Samurai loyal to the emperor run the upper islands, ninja, loyal to their own code control the other islands. The government controls the sea and land military."
“What of Artefacts?”
“Artefacts? Like the mythology.”
“Certainly.”
“They put a great importance of certain objects. There’s an accepted belief that the soul can be detached from the body, and can be housed in objects, even those non living.”
“Is there a science to this? In your opinion?”
“Phasmology is a relatively new science. It couldn’t possibly be said.”
“But it seems plausible.”
“It would seem plausible, yes.”
“In that case, I would propose that we may well be in reach of the tools to gain dominance over the reaches of the world.”
Kitaro was only two when he was selected. He came from parents of humble origin, corn farmers from the upper island, Bugauda. The island had ties to the Bushido, the samurai who protected the farmers and citizens of the nearby prefectures, and the Bushido themselves were sympathetic to the Go-Juu who had requested him, so the decision to pass him on was made, not lightly, but with a sense of righteousness.
The Go-Juu were situated in the two largest temples in the Norifu prefecture. Little was known of them, as they were vastly secretive, but those who did connect with the wider community were gracious and decent. All that was widely understood was that they held great affinity with the number 50; accepted as a sacred and powerful number throughout Kamato.
Kitaro is six now. It is his birthday, and it is time for him to see that which is his.
“Kitaro!”
He pauses. The voice is gentle, yet commanding. It is that of Sata, his teacher. It annoys him a little as he is playing with Amiko in the sand pit, in his spare time. He pretends not to hear.
“Kitaro!”
“Kitaro,” says Amiko, “You’re being called.”
He surrenders, dropping his small shovel, running off to Sata.
“Sata. I apologise,” he says. He is secretly a little afraid of Sata, who is large, even compared to the other men, and has a booming voice.
Sata nods, slightly. “Follow me.”
They walk a long path, through the trees. It could be shorter, but Kitaro doesn’t mind. He likes to hear the monkey’s yelling across the trees, and seeing if he can spot one, or a bird, or a spider. He likes the smell of the earth.
They arrive at the Artefact house, a secret temple to the outside, half housed underground, near the edge of the island, and the port with the ships that only leave to test if they’re still seaworthy.
Emi, one of the women was there waiting for them. She produced a key and opened the door, before bending over to pick up a lighted oil lamp. She preceded the pair into the room, lighting the lamps as she did.
Kitaro barely stifled a gasp as he entered. The walls were covered with artefacts of every kind. Swords, rings, bracelets, toys, staffs, instruments. Each was mounted on the wall with a brass plate below it, with a name from the temple – including some he recognized, and a symbol indicating the person as a woman or child.
“How many do you think are in here?” said Sata.
“One hundred and fifty,” he said. Sata grinned.
“Why that number?”
“One for every person in the temple.”
Sata nodded slowly. “Close. There are one hundred. Fifty for the fifty women of our halls. Fifty for the fifty children. The men do not possess artefacts.”
“Why not?”
“Because men can be as weak as they are strong. Because each of these objects are powerful, some beyond measure. Come.”
They walked through the halls, towards one of the darker corners. Sata pointed to a small dagger.
“This here is one of the most insidious of our artifacts. If this is driven into the heart of another, it will not harm them, but will instead kill the individual they hold most dear to them. And here,” he pointed to a small shuriken, “is one that will affect any it cuts to seek out and destroy all their blood relatives.”
Kitaro looked on, astounded, shocked.
Sata pointed to a small bamboo flute. “This here is one of the better. It will cause any who hear it’s tune to be incapable of malice while it plays. And this pair of chopsticks; they will cure the disease of any who use them.” He looked at Kitaro. “Fifty of war, power and hatred. Fifty of Gentility, Frivolity and Love. Absolute balance. Do you understand?”
Kitaro nodded.
“Each object is special because it holds the soul of one of the previous Go-Juu. That is why we train you in the meditations. Eventually you will learn to detach your soul from your physical form.”
“Can you do that?”
“I can.”
“Will you turn into an object?”
“No. Our duty now is to protect these objects, until they have all perished. Only then will there be cause to create them anew.”
Kitaro nodded. Shita pointed to another object; a ring.
“This one here. It gives the wearer the gift of tongues and languages.”
Kitaro nodded.
“Read the name.”
Kitaro did. KITARO: CHILD. It was his.
***
Kitaro tried to concentrate on the meditations, but it was near impossible. He was exited by the prospect of the ring. He wanted to be able to put it on, to touch it, but that was forbidden. He wanted to speak of it, to shout of it, but that was forbidden too. However he would have to try. It was his duty.
Amiko.
Amiko, Kitaro’s friend, turns sixteen in the winter, when the ground is caked in ice and snow.
It was a day like this that she first trudged down the icy path, twelve years ago to discover the artefact that belonged to her. At the time it had been a cup, made of rough clay, that could bring messages to the dreams of those who drank from it. It was more complex than that – different drinks could bare different messages and so on. However this was all to become useless information. Sixteen was the age of adulthood; the age a girl became a woman. She had been lucky. Often, when all the women had their own artefacts, a girl becoming a woman would simply be retired, sent back out into society to be a normal citizen as any other. However, one of the ender women had retired her position, so she would take her artefact, and a new child would take hers.
She knelt on a tatami mat, beside Kitaro, speaking and laughing in quiet voices. Time with Kitaro was valuable. He was fifteen and several months. When a boy reached sixteen, as men could not possess artefacts, they went to be trained as warriors, at a second temple. Sometimes they would return to replace another man who died, or grew old or injured, but usually they would simply disappear and spend the rest of their lives preparing for a role they would die without completing. So time spent with Kitaro was precious.
“Amiko!”
It was Buruko, her teacher. She had been waiting for her to summon her. She snuck a quick forbidden kiss to Kitaro’s cheek.
“I’ll return” she said, standing and hurrying towards Buruko.
***
The cold bit at them as they forced their way through the forest. When they arrived at the Artefact chamber Hin opened the door with an urgency she had never seen before. They moved together, aware of the sharp, painful cold.
Buruko pointed to an artefact. There was no need for words. Amiko moved close to look. It was a tiny knife, blade hidden behind the handle.
“Disease,” said Buruko. “Infects the victim with a disease that rots the flesh until it kills them. They pass it to all they touch. Its destructive potential is limitless.”
Amiko exhaled a large breath. An adult now, she understood the true burden of her role. She nodded.
“I understand. I can take on the role.”
The others nodded.
Jarvis.
Jarvis Buckingham was the president of the Committee for the Expansion of the Interests of the Great Empire, an establishment of Empirica, whom had been granted, by the parliament, close to limitless power.
Buckingham wore, as did his contemporaries, shining black boots, with long white pants, shirt and jacket. This was matched with a black tie when formality required it, or a red tie on military occasions to symbolise the blood of fallen comrades. His mustache was long, black, firmly waxed, so that it’s perfect curl was undisturbed.
He was as distinguished as his list of achivements. He had personally seen to the takeover of Bilindica and Saviana. He had established the grounding for the manipulation of tribal leaders in Ocianican Islands, and had military interests operating in Islaminica.
As a leader, he was also firmly established with some curiosities. His interest and concern over superstitions of magic and mysticism were a puzzlement to his contemporaries, men of science, who were assured that all power had a logical source, one naturally accessible to all men. It was this aversion that had kept him from reaching into the larger Ocianican Islands, and slowed military progress in some areas where sorcery or other magics were practiced.
“Boy!” he called, and a young Savianic man, skin nearly pure black, around seventeen, dressed impeccably in light yellow, came running to his side.
“Sah?”
“I’d like you to fill my hookah if you will. Bilindic Weed, if you will be so kind.”
“Yas.”
The young man did so. Buckingham took in a good large breath of smoke and breathed it out. It smelt dusky, rich, with barely a hint of cinnamon. The young man stayed in the room, enjoying the smell, hoping his indulgence would be mistaken for obedience. It was.
“Boy, fetch Master Morrow. Tell him he’s to see me, immediately.”
“Yas,” he said, running off. Barely a few minutes later, Master Morrow, dressed similarly to Buckingham, strode through the door.
“Jarvis. What are you after?”
“I’m curious to know something. I’ve been studying something for some time, and I feel we may be getting somewhere. I want to know what you know about the Kamato Nation.”
“Kamato nation?”
“Yes.”
“Militarily strong, but somewhat divided. Bushido Samurai loyal to the emperor run the upper islands, ninja, loyal to their own code control the other islands. The government controls the sea and land military."
“What of Artefacts?”
“Artefacts? Like the mythology.”
“Certainly.”
“They put a great importance of certain objects. There’s an accepted belief that the soul can be detached from the body, and can be housed in objects, even those non living.”
“Is there a science to this? In your opinion?”
“Phasmology is a relatively new science. It couldn’t possibly be said.”
“But it seems plausible.”
“It would seem plausible, yes.”
“In that case, I would propose that we may well be in reach of the tools to gain dominance over the reaches of the world.”
| 45 |
| Vote |
Shared on
Add To: 
Subscribe to this blog
Keep Updated on the Latest New Writing-
