Ronin (An Interactive Story Event) Part 6

And the votes are in!  The winner is D) The Ronin’s greatest strength is his way with words!  The final installment in the Ronin’s quest begins now!

                The Ronin’s head hung heavy against his chest as the faceless child – the malicious spirit embodied by his stolen memories – laughed in his head.  The sound was deafening.  He could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness.

                The Ronin gritted his teeth.  No, he thought to himself.
                “You can’t kill me,” the faceless child whispered like a hurricane in his head, “without killing yourself.  We are one and the same.”
                The Ronin’s neck muscles ached as he forced his head up.  It felt as heavy as a stone.  At last he was looking at the faceless child.  He reached for the sword at his belt, drawing it out slowly.  The metal glinted in the fading sunlight.  His master’s blade in his hand.  All he needed to do was thrust it into his chest.  End his life the way he should have.  He and the spirit were linked.  Should he die the spirit would die as well.  It was why the spirit had not merely killed him.
                The Ronin planted the tip of the sword in the earth and used it as a cane, forcing himself to his feet.  The children who had once been the villagers of this hamlet starred on at the two of them in silence.
                On his feet now the Ronin glared at the faceless child.
                “You cannot resist me!” the faceless child screamed in his head.  His knees buckled beneath him but he gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands and kept his footing.  He pulled himself back up as the faceless child screamed in his head.  “I will not let you destroy us!”
                “I don’t plan to,” the Ronin replied.
                Pulling the sword from the earth the Ronin flung it with all his strength into the woods.  The blade spun through the air and disappeared beneath the canopy.  The Ronin stumbled forward but stayed on his feet.  The faceless child’s voice suddenly left his head.  The eyes it did not possess followed the sword through the air until it disappeared.
                “You are empty,” the Ronin said to the faceless child.  It turned its blank face back to him but did not speak.  “Our memories define us.  Give us purpose.  Without them, we are empty.  Is that not what you said to me?”
                The faceless child remained silent.  The Ronin took a step forward.  As if an invisible barrier existed between the two of them, the child stumbled backwards.
                “You need a host.  I did not see that before.  I saw you as a curse.  I gave you purpose but our master tried to wield us for his own.  You tried to hold onto my memories when our master tried to bond you to himself.  You did not steal my memories.  You held onto them because you did not want to lose them.  You did not want to lose your purpose.
                “But it didn’t give you the purpose you sought, did it?  That is why you came here.  You stole the memories from these villagers to try to fill the emptiness inside of you.  But it didn’t work.  You couldn’t find the purpose you desired so greatly.  It was always beyond your reach.  That’s why you still retain this form.  You are right, we are both faceless.  But together…”
                The Ronin took another step forward.  This time, the faceless child did not back away.  The Ronin could see tears on the faceless child’s cheeks though there were no tear ducts from which they could come.
                “But…you are a Ronin now,” the spirit whispered in his head, the voice no longer painful.  “What purpose can we have even together?”
                “We will make our own purpose,” the Ronin said.  “Too long has it been defined for us by others.  By our master.  By the daimyo who sent me here.”
                “Purpose…”
                Slowly, a wind began to pick up.  The Ronin glanced in the direction it was coming from.  The limbs of the cherry trees began to flap, sending thousands of pink blossom leaves floating through their air, riding the currents like boats on dozens of lazy streams.
                The Ronin turned back to the faceless child just in time to see it melt away until there was nothing left but an orb of pink light no bigger than a human head.  Then, smaller balls of light leapt from the larger orb, dozens, shooting outwards until they hit the chests of the children gathered all around.  They then disappeared, sliding effortlessly into the childrens’ chests as if there were a hole there waiting to be filled.  When this happened the children were not children anymore.  Within seconds the Ronin was surrounded by an entire village of adults of various ages.  Only a handful of children remained.
                The Ronin turned back to the pink orb in front of him and saw that it had shrunk back down to the size of a fist.  Or a heart.  Slowly, it inched it’s way forward towards the Ronin’s chest.  Realizing what he must do, the Ronin reached out with one hand and guided the pink orb into his chest.
                It passed effortlessly through the Ronin’s armour and he felt warmth run up and down his body.  Then he lurched forward as if a mule had kicked him on the inside of his ribs.  He fell to his knees and cried out.  Then it was done.
                He remained there, on his knees, for a moment.  Finally, one of the villagers spoke: “Are…are you all right?”
                At first, it was if the Ronin had not heard.  Then, slowly, he rose to his feet.  The villagers were still in a half circle, but behind him now.  None of them could see his face.  Slowly, he reached up and removed his helmet.  Black hair cascaded down his back.  Slowly, he turned to face them.
                He had a face.  Blue eyes, black goatee, smooth skin a slightly paler shade of brown, and a nose which had obviously been broken before being poorly reset.  He still held the helmet in his hands but at last he dropped it onto the ground.
                The Ronin turned and began to walk away.  His horse had been scared off by the events that had transpired since their arrival, but it had not gone far.  The Ronin could still make it out beneath the canopy of the trees.
                “Wait!”
                The Ronin turned back and saw a child, one of the few villagers who had been a child when the spirit arrived, holding his helmet out to him.
                “I don’t need that anymore,” the Ronin said.
                The villagers watched in silence as the Ronin stepped into the forest and mounted his horse.  He guided it around so that it was back on the dirt path.  And he began to ride away.
                Where will he go?  What will he do?  He is a Ronin, what is there for him out there in the world?  These are the questions the villagers would begin to ask once the Ronin was out of sight.  He has no purpose, no reason to live, some would still say.  But there were a few who would know the truth.  The Ronin had found his purpose.  Or rather, he would make his own.

The End.