The Cursed Spring

Moonlight latched onto the katana once Isshin, the samurai mage, unsheathed it, ready to battle the evil spirit of the cursed spring—the sharpness of the unsheathing sliced through the wind’s aromatic whispers. Standing in the shadow of the sakura tree, the samurai mage breathed slowly and steadily…strengthening his resolve. Wisps of steam quivered over the surface of the hot spring before him. The simmering water was painted with the moon’s melted reflection. Slowly and softly, the sakura leaves drifted onto the grass, their pinkish hue glowing in the moonlight. The sorcery coursing in Isshin’s veins engulfed him in a nebulous magic cocoon. The sakura leaves detected this enchanted energy…and soaked it into their soft texture.

Isshin’s hakama, his samurai garb, flapped in the blowing wind. Underneath all the strength and power, a part of him felt scared. This was the most daunting challenge he had yet faced. Uncertainty crept down his spine…he was unsure if he would survive this night. But there was no other way…his pride would not allow him to back down. He couldn’t bear to become a disgrace to his ancestors’ spirits. For centuries, his family had protected this island from all threats, physical and magical. This was his destiny, to stand under the sakura tree and face the vile spirit that haunted the hot spring.

Shifting his pose, he brought the katana before him…to see his eyes reflected in the blade. Isshin thought about all the eyes that had seen their reflection in this blade, handed down for centuries. He felt connected to this departed kin, the protectors of his home. His heart strengthened further as he thought about the victims of the cursed spring…innocent farmers driven to irreversible insanity. Suddenly, their pain channeled through him. Their suffering became his suffering. His eyes welled up with thick beads of tears…thicker than the ones trickling down his forehead. He let his tears and sweat fall on the blade, which began to glow with the moon’s radiance.

Closing his eyes, Isshin looked up at the starry heavens and invoked his ancestors, the samurai mages of the past, to grant his blade with the power of the moonlight. He gently placed his palm over the blade’s flat side and slowly swept it along, making the katana glow brighter. Once done, Isshin breathed deeply, raised the moonlight katana over his head, and sliced the air in a circular arc with lightning quickness. The arc of frozen moonlight zipped through the air and struck the hot spring’s surface…instantly freezing the water. The steam dissipated, and Isshin quickly sliced his palm with the katana, spreading the blood over its blade. Ice turned to fire as Isshin leaped into the air, holding the katana downward as he came down, thrusting it into the frozen spring. The inferno raged as Isshin flipped back onto the grass. The hot spring was on fire; a blood-curdling scream rent the air asunder.

When the smoke had cleared, the hot spring was back to its simmering state…but in the middle, Isshin saw a pool of blood scattering over the water. The blood evaporated, becoming a steaming, red cloud suspended over the hot water. Wailing and sobbing filled the air as the cloud morphed into…the shape of the evil spirit. Its cloak was spattered with blood, and the skin was a leathery black. But its eyes were windows to fire and brimstone…of revenge. Screeching angrily, the evil spirit conjured a sword of blood and slashed at the samurai mage. Adrenaline and lifelong training made Isshin deflect the strike with perfection. His heart hammered in his chest…and he let his fear and resolve flow through his hands and into the sword, which glowed with the pinkish hue of the sakura leaves. But the evil spirit raged most terrifyingly.

Whirlwinds of slashes overwhelmed Isshin as he pirouetted, deflected, rolled, and jumped, his mind at the heights of focus. One misstep could cost him his life. And so he endured as the sounds of slashing and clanking swords spread through the air like wildfire. Katanas of Sakura and Blood clashed with a harmonious rhythm, forging the orchestra of terror. Isshin’s breathing became sharp and ragged, his arms aching, as the evil spirit relentlessly continued with its whirlwinds of slashes.

He had to act soon, or his life, and those of countless others, would be in grave jeopardy. Seeing death loom ever so closer over him and his people gave him the strength that gathered into a singular explosion of power. He deflected and dodged with feigned exhaustion, making the evil spirit believe that he was almost drained out. But Isshin contained the singularity of gathering energy…his last resort…until finally…he found the opening to unleash it.

The evil spirit paused and raised its sword, going for the death blow. And it happened then. Isshin released all the power of the Sakura locked within him into a single deflection. An expanding sphere of pinkish light engulfed them as the evil spirit staggered. Guided by sheer will, Isshin leaped in the air and swung to hold the evil spirit by the neck. Suspended above the hot spring…Isshin sliced with his katana…splashing the hot spring with black sludge that burst out of the evil spirit’s neck.

The samurai mage fainted with this last effort and fell into the hot spring. The evil spirit screamed into the night…before becoming an ash cloud that the wind scattered into oblivion.

The black sludge dissolved in the hot spring. The remnants of the evil spirit showed the unconscious samurai mage fleeting flashes.

He saw the murder of the terrified woman…under the Sakura tree. The culprits washed their blood-stained hands in the hot water spring before burying the body under the sakura tree.

Isshin spluttered as he opened his eyes. Coughing and flailing his arms, he slowly regained his balance and fumbled for the edge. Clambering out of the hot spring, he sprawled on the grass, his katana falling out of his hand. Through bleary eyes, he saw the moon, which had witnessed the wrong done to the woman whose blood had cursed the spring.

Anger rushed through his veins as he got to his feet and swore to find the culprits, even if he had to hunt them to the ends of the earth.