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THE FLOATING WORLD

  (The Poison Lotus Book 1)

  By

  Elijah Stephens

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Liquid Heaven Productions™

  The Floating World

  Copyright © 2013 by Elijah Stephens

  Ancient Japan

  The Poison Lotus

  The Rise of the Last Rebellion (Book 2)

  The Lotus and the Sword (Book 3)

  The White Rider

  Historical Epics

  Otherworld

  Prophets of the Wasteland

  Hellrunner

  Pride of the Britons

  Futuristic Science Fiction

  Infinity Point™ Anthology Volume 1

  Dynasty Zero

  God of the Machine

  Diabolos

  Anamorphosis

  The Violent Awakening

  The Moonlight Child

  Paranormal Science Fiction

  The Pattern Volume 1

  The Overlap

  The Harvest of Area 51

  The Apocalypse Internal

  The Pattern Volume 2

  Frankenstein’s Shadow (Part 1)

  The Shepherds of Arcadia (Part 2)

  The Dark Crown Goddess (Part 3)

  The Golden Door (Part 4)

  The World Within (Part 5)

  Asylum (Part 6)

  Short Story Compilation

  Ghost Dance

  Poetry Compilation

  The Woman Clothed with the Sun

  Non-Fiction

  The Cycle of the Infinite:

  Metaphysical Handbook for the Sublime Oddity of Creation

  Being and Non-Being:

  The Alchemist Guide for Transpersonal Psychology

  The Royal House of Terra:

  A Semiotic Introduction to Comparative Mythology

  Sin-eaters:

  Ascension Principles and the Shamanic Tradition

  Reviews are greatly appreciated and there are plenty of free eBooks available at my website: www.liquidheavenlive.com

  * * * * *

  THE FLOATING WORLD

  * * * * *

  Over the birdsong gliding on the air and the clatter of their musical chant, the waterfall hummed with the burning consistency of the stars. A rising wave of butterflies fluttered as ethereal as smoke, disappearing into the lush forest at the edge of the stream. From his perch on a smooth rock, Musashi watched them fade. He turned a red-laced handle in his loose grip and the blade reflected flowing water across his eyes like the gleaming Sun. His long black hair caught the wind as scattered footsteps echoed in the forest nearby and the aroma of demons filled the air with the scent of blood.

  Something warm crawling down his arm dropped from Musashi’s fingertips, and in a matter of seconds the rock was painted with a crimson web that led into the water and swam away with the stream.

  * * * * *

  “If she was raped, my honor dies with her.”

  Musashi’s eyes studied the rattan mat by his feet.

  “Do you understand? Truth is in the eyes...”

  The samurai finally stood to meet the Daimyo, but his gaze was still off to one side.

  “And a promise is made in blood. If you betray me –”

  “I’ll find her. By my heart, she will survive an angel.”

  The Daimyo drew a short sword from his belt. “By your heart, you said?”

  As the sunlight faded, a young girl in a modest blue kimono slid the door open. She walked in carrying a wicker lantern and glanced at her lord before quickly looking to the ground.

  The Daimyo was curious. “What’s your name?”

  “Michiko,” she said as meekly as a mouse.

  The Daimyo handed the short sword to Musashi by the red-laced handle. A majestic dragon was engraved on the hilt. “Leave us alone and find my angel pure, or in your heart you will learn what pain is. A worthless death for someone without honor, wouldn’t you agree?”

  As Musashi slid the door shut behind him, the Daimyo caressed Michiko’s silken hair.

  * * * * *

  The sullen moon sat high above, an eye against the eternal expanse of night. A peacock tiptoed across the vibrant lawn and its feathers danced with an emerald hue. Musashi crossed its path like a gust of wind and froze, lost in recognition of a fellow child of light. The tuft on the bird’s head bobbed almost in greeting as it lifted its luminescent tail, displaying waves of shining turquoise that peered through watching orbs. The samurai reached into the pouch strapped to his waist and tore off a piece of bread. He threw it to the ground, but the peacock chirped and disappeared into the lavender underbrush after its mate, leaving Musashi alone with the moon.

  * * * * *

  The treetops twisted with a heavy wind that passed through green stalks rising in the springtime air. Tulip petals swayed around a dozen mercenaries on a path crossing between a bamboo grove and a dense forest. The bounty was split long ago, except for the girl. The Daimyo’s daughter, Kokoro, was the real treasure. Gold can be taken from anyone, but a beautiful virgin gives reason to destiny.

  The breeze fell and the hooded leader stopped. Without a sound the rest were on guard, brandishing razors of all shapes and sizes. On thick jungle roots that weaved like massive pythons through the forest, a panther stalked them with its ears back. As the leader’s hand touched his sword, gauging his target with silent breath, the animal’s cheeks curled above a grin with gleaming fangs.

  A dragon’s growl like thunder moved the leaves in the wild shade and sunshine broke between the shadows at the hooded man’s feet. After a cascade of purple orchids showered him, the whistle of a passing blade took off his hand and split his face. Having appeared as nothing more than a blur, the assassin dove into the bamboo thicket. The mercenaries followed, yelling warcries with rusted voices. With a clash of metal, screams were cut short, rising and falling like a hummingbird’s wings.

  Kokoro was left alone, so she leapt from her sandals and turned to run. She froze mid-stride when the panther landed on the path in front of her. Taking a lungful of fresh blood as it regarded the corpse, the large feline floated to Kokoro on heavy padded paws. Staring into its looming black eyes, she could feel its warm breath against her. She opened her hands and the massive panther rested its head on her palms.

  As the clang of steel grew louder and red drops splattered the leaves around them, a passing raincloud turned the sunlight gray and the forest shook as if riding a quaking Earth. Her guardian lifted a paw and rested it against her. From shoulder to shoulder, Kokoro felt the weight of each furry digit claiming a claw that could take her life, but it was merely urging her to run.

  Slivers of wood shot into the air around a warrior who tumbled from the forest, holding his guts in his stomach as he came tripping onto the path, in search of the leader’s weapon. The sky opened with pouring rain and he landed on his knees, reaching for the dead man’s sword and realizing too late that his hand was still attached. The feral eyes of the assassin found him through the bamboo. While covered in blood, he sank his katana through the killer’s throat and pinned him to the ground.

  Musashi’s hair was shining like a beetle’s back as the remaining mercenaries stepped from the forest. He pulled his blade from the cadaver and backed up as if courting a dance. He struck like spinning lightning and his opponent blocked the first pass of the whirlwind, but the rest that followed took him to pieces. As the second man went after Kokoro to use her as leverage, the panther caught up and sank its fangs in, lifting him into the air for a mouthful of flesh.

  She felt warm blood streaming down her face like tears, but her scream came out as a whisper when the human assassin dropped to
one knee, holding his gore-drenched weapon at his side. “I am Musashi, your servant always,” he said with his eyes on the ground. She studied him curiously to reveal whatever spell engulfed him. Even when she pulled three small blades from the flesh of his back, he didn’t seem to notice. “By my heart, you will always be safe.”

  As rain slid down her polished face, Kokoro put her hand under his chin, gently lifting his head and staring into the lucid reflection of his looming black eyes. She was glowing like the glint of steel when she replied with a sigh, “By your heart, I guess I won’t need to wake up now.”

  * * * * *

  The monsoon tore into the land with angry desolation. Passing torrents beat upon them until they reached the base of a heavy waterfall. The forest wasn’t enough protection, but behind the flowing water was a cave for animals seeking refuge. The cool darkness was calmly lit, giving their skin a bluish tint. He put the weapon with the red-laced handle beside a boulder, then he made a suitable seat for Kokoro before kneeling.

  “There’s no need for you to be coy,” she said. “You saved my life.”

  He looked wounded. “I bleed to know that you’re alive.”

  “We’re alone now. They would have tortured me, they could have killed me. I’m alive because of you.”

  The samurai was suppliant, eyes averted.

  “Why can’t you look at me?” she wondered.

  “It isn’t my duty to study your flawless –”

  “If you looked long enough to notice, why do you have honor now, only at my feet?”

  His eyes grazed the short sword. “If you had been violated, I was told to murder you.”

  “My father...” Kokoro’s stare reflected inward. “I was broken long ago, at his hand, and this jealousy that pervades you is weak.”

  Musashi looked up finally, meeting her gaze. “Jealousy is not shame.”

  “And shame is not honor.”

  With his refusal to be her equal, she left the rock and sat beside him. The raging water and the sound of eternity eased their hearts. As she put a warm hand against his cheek, he seemed to purr.

  “You saved me,” she said, with their faces close enough to gauge subtle breath. “I am in your debt. If I am your honor, don’t fear this,” she pulled his hand to her chest and looked into his eyes. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Terror is a web in our lives. It starts out as fear in a pure heart and resembles blood on the tongue, then it strangles the flower with its delusions.”

  “It means that time is short. I hate my father because I fear him and the way he thinks. Nothing will change that, but you are not his weapon. His fears don’t control you.”

  Musashi’s mind drifted with the burrowing thunder outside. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Kokoro’s eyes fluttered. “Why?”

  “Because I’m a samurai, I was meant to die by my existence. My life has only been for your survival.”

  “And yet your arms hold my salvation, you keep me warm.”

  “I only kept you breathing.”

  “You have an amazing skill, I don’t mind the blood.” Kokoro studied his face with her hands, rolling his features on her fingertips. Somehow, the sadness was still far below the surface. “You have a pure heart, I don’t mind the pain.” She put her hand upon him and he melted against her touch. “And I would kiss you, if you wanted me to.”

  * * * * *

  Musashi opened his eyes and felt the freezing rock beneath him. He bolted to his feet, unaware that he had fallen asleep. For a moment with his guard lost, he searched for a weapon against the unknown fiends that lurk in every moment. Kokoro stirred on the hard ground. Though she didn’t seem to care about the cold, his arms had left her along with his comfort. She cradled the breeze that sent a chill through her and opened her eyes to the sky beyond the mouth of the cave.

  * * * * *

  “I trust you splattered their insolence?”

  “Yes, master,” Musashi said with his eyes on the ground.

  The Daimyo threw open her kimono before greeting his only child and took his time checking her for sexual intrusion, for the bruises and scars that would have become increasingly apparent after such a long journey. “She was stripped of her purity when she was very young,” he said of the unnamed disrespect for her privacy. “I’m glad that she wasn’t stolen from me. Was she a bother on the trip back?”

  The samurai’s head was low, his face dirty. He paused, letting the loaded question hang in the air for a moment inept to words. “No.”

  “Your reward will be generous, I’ll plan a festival and everyone will praise you. Now give me the sword. Did the nightmare follow you? It is the curse of the dragon for the soul to burn with the pain it causes.”

  Musashi handed him the polished weapon, red-laced handle first to be polite. The Daimyo took it and lifted his daughter’s face to meet his.

  “Are you all right, my child?”

  Kokoro nodded.

  “I can only trust your eyes, my dear. Has anyone touched you?” When she flinched, the Daimyo drove the blade into her stomach, pulling it to one side and tearing her open. “I told you to honor me.”

  Musashi flew forward with lightning following close and shoved his sword through the Daimyo. His ribs cracked and his eyes were vacant when he fell facedown, still breathing but lost for this world, paralyzed in fear forever.

  Her blood was pouring from her like an avalanche, but Kokoro barely let out a scream before Musashi caught her, making sure to hold the blade in place to keep her from unnecessary pain. The serrated tip shredded on exit as well, so he held her tight enough to feel his heart. Kokoro shook lightly in his arms, her eyes already falling as he tried to catch her one last time, even if she could only make out the edge of his looming black eyes.

  The panther’s warmth protected her as she faded away.

  * * * * *

  The waterfall hummed with a crashing consistency and mist rose from the pond below, throwing a rainbow across his path. The web of Musashi’s blood painted the rock in a vivid display as he stared at the base of the chaos, turning the red-laced handle in his grip. Loud footfalls pounded through the forest on all sides like lurking demons, but the Daimyo’s nobles had only come to exact revenge for being left as wandering souls. A ronin’s life is entirely devoid of respect, so for honor he would have to die for them.

  A slow death, to be sure.

  * * * * *

  ACT ONE

  THE FLOATING WORLD

  Crickets in the night air were buzzing with a chorus of insects. Wind blew through the trees, rustling the leaves while the sway of life pulled back and forth like the tide. A raccoon walked across a high branch and passed a quiet ninja. It regarded him with little curiosity before continuing on its way. In the forest far below, footsteps cracked the dry leaves and the assassin leaned forward to glimpse his prey through the obscure darkness. Dressed in black to blend with the shadows, he tightened his grip on his sword as men trained for stealth traversed the wilderness far from any path.

  * * * * *

  The three masked ninja stopped, breathing hard in the noise of nature as they climbed onto a fallen tree to check the area for wandering eyes. “This better be worth it,” one of them said nervously. “I gave up a good job.”

  “We weren’t meant to work as bodyguards,” said their leader, who was clutching a bundle of cloth within in his shirt.

  “What do you think it opens?”

  “I only care how much it’s worth.”

  “It’s enough to bring men to war, apparently.”

  “Did you hear that?”

  The men hesitated with their hands on hidden weapons. “Could we have been followed?”

  “Impossible, no one knows what we’ve done.”

  “Almost no one,” said Shinji Onozawa, stepping from behind a tree. “You were the only three on nightwatch who went missing tonight. When they discovered that t
he key was stolen, it wasn’t exactly a mystery who took it. I assume you’re getting paid well to betray the Daimyo.”

  “Virtue is useless when it is blind to itself, you follow a twisted sense of loyalty to become a servant. Are we going to have a problem with you?”

  “Only if you don’t give it back. I got your attention to provide you with the opportunity to redeem your ill-decision.”

  “We’re not going back to live like dogs to the Imperialist sheep.”

  “You’re not invited back, I’m offering to spare your lives. You are indefinitely banished from this province.”

  “By whose decree?”

  “Mine,” said Shinji.

  “You serve Hideyoshi like a mindless beast.”

  “At least I serve something greater than myself. You were given the chance to know civilization and you’ve chosen to be thieves.”

  “We could split the payment four ways, if you ran back to your lord and told him that you couldn’t find us.”

  “I won’t do that.”

  “Why not? Hideyoshi would believe you.”

  “His trust is why I won’t. I’m looking for something more valuable than jade.”

  The leader faked a smile as he reached for the sword on his belt. “Then you should have been born a samurai.”

  With a flash of movement, Onozawa threw a shuriken into the ninja’s hand and the others hurdled the fallen tree to get away. Shinji unsheathed his katana and followed, tearing a wide gash across the injured man’s chest and letting him bleed out on the forest floor to become food for its inhabitants. When they reached a clearing near a river, Onozawa pulled a three-pronged sai from his belt and tossed it into the ground, pinning an escaping ninja’s heel. Then he slashed him open and let the fountain of blood glow in the moonlight.

  The last thief didn’t want to be stabbed in the back and turned to face him in the stream. “You hold your blade like a samurai.”

  “Well, it is a samurai sword,” Shinji said over the sound of rushing water.