The Ronin

As Satoyama Mitsuyori sat cross-legged in a grove of momiji tress, he admired the beautiful colors of the leaves that surrounded him. Mid November had arrived, and with it the leaves of the momiji had begun to change to vibrant shades of red. He took in the scenery and sighed. So much had happened during the past few months, and Satoyama’s life had taken a dramatic turn. He remembered what life used to be like.

Satoyama was a ronin, or a “masterless” samurai. He used to serve a well-known daimyo, Sukemasa-Heika. He recalled life in Sukemasa-Heika’s grand palace located outside of Edo. It was the life he had dreamt of since he was a young child. It was an honorable life, serving the most powerful daimyo in Japan. Unfortunately, he had failed his duties. Satoyama recalled the horrible night when he had lost all honor.

It was a warm, summer night. Satoyama was in a deep slumber. His lord, Sukemasa-Heika, had thrown an extravagant party earlier that night. He summoned the most talented geishas from all over Japan, and he served the best sake. The party was thrown in honor of Satoyama and his victory against a rival daimyo. Because of the victory, Sukesama-Heika controlled more land than any daimyo in Japan, and he was very pleased because of this. There was a huge celebration and Satoyama had more sake than he should have had. Supposedly, he wound up falling asleep in the lap of a geisha. He was very tired from previous days of battle. The sake and the soothing music flowing from the geisha’s biwa added to Satoyama’s weariness.

Satoyama didn’t remember what happened between then and the time he woke up. All he knew was that he woke up to a blood curdling shriek. Satoyama was alarmed by the sound and immediately drew his katana and tanto. As he crept through the dark hall, he stumbled upon a soft, fleshy object. He lost his footing and tripped into a small puddle. As he peered down at the ground, he realized what he tripped on. There on the ground was the beautiful geisha from the celebration. He eyes were wide open with terror, and her mouth was agape. Her elegant kimono was torn to shreds, and a silver, gleaming shuriken protruded from her chest. The liquid on the ground was her scarlet blood which poured forth from the numerous slashes that covered her once fair body. This was clearly the work of a ninja.