Chapter 2: Wandering in the desert of hope

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Maybe basking in this unforgivable world, I can become stronger. I will plunge those who dare to tarnish my purpose into the depths of misery. They will all come to comprehend my divine mission. I cannot let you down, for it is not the way you want to see it. If only I could rely on hope, to give me guidance…

Tired, the land underneath his feet was withered and brittle. He kicked the earth and watched the dust clouds pick up and hover around him. There was no wind to move the dust much further. In his field of vision he could see nothing but brown.

His clan had been born from the desert itself. Many legends told of how his clan came to be. Some say, they were fire demons who were granted human form. Others say they were born from the volcanoes in the North. It was even thought that the sand gods gave birth to their clan. No outsiders knew of the true origin of this clan. It was certain that they had been ruling the desert before anyone else who had settled in the desert. Anything that touched the sand was treading on their kingdom.

The boy sighed deeply; he was of the family of the leader of the clan. His father had pride in the fact that he had the strength to fight armies with only a handful of warriors. Weakness in the village was not tolerated. You did not see many people exchanging casual conversation and being together as family. In this village, the men trained their bodies and pushed their limits all in the hope that they could win the favour of his father.

The boy was brought up with the pride of battle and the harshness of the desert. Although young, he was worthy to be called a warrior. Battle and his clan were the only true purposes he had in his life, he knew no better.

He continued to walk; the sun beat down on his arms and caused his skin to look even more olive in tone. His hair was black, long and unkempt. His brown eyes seemed to go with the tone of his skin. He wore a type of ragged scarf, very light brown in colour. It covered the lower half of his face to protect his air passages from inhaling a lot of dust. It also aided in hiding him.

Being the son of the clan leader was only made worse by his sister, the eldest child in the family. A tyrant in the form of a female, she had high expectations of her brother, higher than their father’s in fact. She expected him to fall in line and do as he was told. He was not part of the family in her eyes, he was merely another warrior. Even when he fought his best, even when he excelled more than the rest of the warriors of the clan, his sister took no notice. He sometimes felt that it would be simpler to just leave his family and blend in with the common folk of the village. He would feel less pressured in that respect to always live up to the expectations.

Arriving on top of one of the sand dunes, something catches his swift eyes. At the bottom of the dune are what seem to be the remains of a recent battle. He quickly slides down the dune to go get a closer look. There are many corpses scattered around. Bodies were cut and the sand stained with the fresh masses of their blood. Although to an outsider something should seem a miss. The bodies were ridden of their armor, equipment and there were no weapons to be found. The bodies were barely clothed too. Also, it would seem all the corpses found here belonged to the same clan. The boy knew the answer to what seems a baffling scene.

The clans of the desert thrived on war and battle; this was their only true income. This is why after a battle is over; they would take the enemies belongings and equipment for themselves. It would also be apparent to the boy that these clansmen were ambushed by a more cunning and stealthier clan. These poor souls also didn’t seem to hail from the desert; they seemed to be outsiders which explained why they had been defeated so easily in a land so unfamiliar. Alas there were no spoils for the boy to bring home, so he dashed across the massacred bodies and carried on his path. He was slightly more cautious as he was aware that he could have been attacked at any given moment, especially at the scene of so recent an attack. Once again, the duties of his clan flooded into his mind once more. He tried to rid himself of these thoughts by trying to overcome them with something more pleasant.

He shook his head and looked at the sun: “You should stop dreaming Chozanshi; it’ll only leave you disappointed. You’re the son of the clan’s leader; you can never run from that which is in your blood.”

Chozanshi made his way up another dune with his arm held before him to shield the sun’s rays from his eyes. From this dune he’d have an even better view of where he stayed and where the enemy was. War was a complex thing, from birth he always had enemies placed before him. The enemies of his clan were his enemies, even though he had possibly never met them and they had never made much impact in his life.

It was a simple and uncaring life Chozanshi craved, something many other desert boys of his age also desired. War and battle was infused into his bloodline from the very beginning. Although he did not dare to admit it, he enjoyed cutting down his enemies, the rush of victory made him want to carry on with his life. It was something sickening, yet so pleasurable at the same time.
Once at the top of the dune he shut his eyes, even when away from everyone he felt compelled to draw his blade and train. It was as if the voices of his family and trainers would ring loudly in his head.

He reached behind him and grabbed the black hilt of his blade, this was a katana. There was an engraving of the symbol for fire inscribed on it, the flame of the desert, the flame needed for war, the flame to lead an army. The eternally burning pleasure for battle, infused into his blood.
As like anyone from his clan, or anyone hailing from the desert, it was only right for the children to have the knowledge on how to forge their own weapons. This blade was made by Chozanshi himself, somehow some of his own reikon flowed through the blade.

He held the weapon out ahead of him, what followed seemed like a dance. He thrust forward and seemed to hold a fight with the air before him. He spun around and as he moved he kicked up the earth, clouds hovered around him and all you could catch was the glint of his blade splitting the clouds.

He had the title “Sand reaver” which was what the soldiers called him when they saw him train this way, they would believe that once he was truly in the motions of fighting and the dust clouds collected from the swiftness of his step. You would never realise when he had delivered the killing blow. He was like the unseen flame, cutting like the sand and as harsh as the desert.
Chozanshi continued to train like this till the weather grew cooler, he was lost in the motions of swinging his katana. His mind was emptied of thought and of dreams; there was nothing but him and the blade in his hand. That was how it should be. Thoughts and dreams could only disappoint.

If one traveling across the desert did not see Chozanshi, one would think that was a small sand tornado. In the distance a noise could be heard coming closer and closer. It was the sound of hooves, hooves of a black stallion approaching Chozanshi. He felt the vibrations in the earth and stopped dead, he knew who was coming and he could only presume why. The stallion stopped and a figure hopped off the horse. In the darkening sky the figure was more of a silhouette. Thin and tall, the figure walked briskly up to him.

Chozanshi did not move nor was he worried about what kind of danger this figure would bring to him. He knew this one all too well, although he could not help feeling uneasy in the presence of this person. He had the strong desire of wanting to run away and escape.

He suddenly felt a hand fly across his face and deliver a stinging blow. He held his hand over where he was hit and glared into the very familiar person’s eyes. This was, to Chozanshi’s dismay, his elder sister. One of the people he had come to fear in the recent years of his life.
“You missed yet another training session! How do you expect to be ready for our next wave of attack on the forest you insolent boy!”

The strength of Chozanshi’s sister was something many feared; he dared not stand up to her.
Chozanshi looked at his sister in the eyes, even in the lack of light he could see her glaring down at him, her hatred for him very clear. He knew not to anger her any more, he spoke clearly and without any tone of defiance: “I was training myself out here too Hotaru.”

He could only back away, from what only seemed to be more hurtful commands. This wasn’t what Chozanshi liked to endure at all. Chozanshi would have preferred to brave the deserts for a week than put up this kind of behaviour. Only this woman, his sister Hotaru, would be able to put this kind of fear into him. Not even his father could induce this kind of fear into the very foundations of his heart.

The woman bit her lip as she proceeded to slap her younger brother again: “You are not excused from training! You think you are some type of hero, don’t you? Having the family title makes you exempt from doing what every other soldier does, doesn’t it? Well, you are wrong! How dare you even consider that a thought worth thinking, you foul being!”

Hotaru was angered by the fact that their father would blame her for failing her duties to keep her brother in check. This was part of the reason that fueled her very hatred towards her brother these days. Duty has changed this older sibling, it may have made her stronger, but it seemed that the flames of her spirit were tinged with a jealousy so intense.

Chozanshi’s face burned more than ever. His sister’s confrontational relationship with him was something that left only a bitter taste in his mouth. He even wondered at times if he could even consider her family anymore. She held the title of “sister” but now she acted in no way like one that Chozanshi knew. He bowed before his sister, as low as he could on the dune. She glared down at him, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

The poor boy’s heart was racing, so hard one would think they could feel the heart beats as ripples in the sand.

Many a thing passed into Hotaru’s head, but she knew she had to change Chozanshi. Somehow this change must bring Chozanshi down to a more controllable level. It would be a great challenge for her. “Now, I expect you to follow me back to the house. I expect speed and you shall go to father and excuse your stupidity. I shall personally make sure that you attend training tomorrow or else you will have me to deal with. Understood?”

Chozanshi remained in his bowed position, he merely nodded at this command. He waited until Hotaru had mounted her steed again and had galloped off back to the village. Only then did he get up and watch his sister leave. He thought briefly how he had never had a good relationship with any female. He could not remember his mother; his sister was a tempest to live with. He didn’t even have a care giver that had left any maternal impression on him. He shook his head; his sister’s voice ringing in his ears reminded him that he was expected home soon. The king of the desert was waiting. The sooner the better so he placed his katana on his back into the scabbard and began to run, living in the desert all his life he had become so accustomed to the sand giving way underneath his feet. It was to his advantage to have such stamina. He focused on his breathing, attempting to get the thoughts out of his head yet again. The more he thought, the more he realised that his life was less than ideal. It was a thought that frightened him so the less he thought of it the better he felt. Thinking truly had no place in the wars of the desert.
As the cold wind passed his face and the twilight sky finally showed itself, Chozanshi could finally see his village on the horizon. This was home; this was his prison. He had been always been bound to this place. If only, somehow, he could find some hope deep within the sands of the desert in order to find freedom. So that he could set out on to his own journey of adventure, that is what his heart truly craved. For now, he would fight for this, his hope, his true purpose.

He finally was starting to near his home; he just needed to follow the more visible path. At this point there was an ancient road coming from the gates of the village. Chozanshi took his time looking at the engravings of this ancient marvel. Chozanshi, following the road, as he drew much closer the towering walls had begun to overshadow him. The Village gates had two great statues each on each side of the gate. They were created to represent the gods of the volcano and desert. This signified the union which was said to be the creation of people of this village. Chozanshi was finally at the gates of his village now. One would think, from the outside, the walls make it look a pyramid only made up only to the half point. The village’ walls assembled like two of these half pyramids but together. If looked from above it would form a star shape. The village was built in such a way that the King was safe in the epicenter.

No other buildings, besides the king’s dome shaped palace was visible outside the village walls. As Chozanshi neared the greatly reinforced gates he gazed upward, his eyes passed the gate and looked to the much taller walls. The walls had windows gazing out to the desert. They were closed shut. Above the windows were small figure barely recognizable in the limited light of this time of day. It was one of the village’s guards which had been posted to oversee this south gate. Chozanshi knew that Hotaru must have entered before him, and thus the guard must have been expecting him too. Chozanshi called to the guard above: ‘‘It is I, the prince of the desert and the fire that scorches its sands!”

The guard seemed to vanish from Chozanshi’s sight. The eyes of the two statues of the gods lit up. Their light seemed too concentrated on Chozanshi and after a few seconds the light disappeared. The mighty gate finally started to open only slightly, Chozanshi stepped forward. Two warriors of the village came out to escort their majesty in and, very likely they would be with him all the way back to the palace. They stood side by side by Chozanshi.

They wore plates of armor on their arms, and were tall men. They had the same type of scarf Chozanshi had which also covered most of their faces. The top of their heads were covered with turbans. They wore similar pants to Chozanshi but their knees and boots were protected by more pieces of armor. A lot of the armor seemed different, and most of it did not match the other pieces. Some a sparkling silver, others a sand hazy piece of work. This was most likely taken from the different warriors they defeated in battle. They looked to be strong clansmen, their skin the same as their prince. The small party finally sets off into the village; the gate began to close behind them.

Chozanshi did not need this kind security within the village’s walls, for no one would dare try and cross the King of the entire desert. This sanctuary, or prison to Chozanshi, was the safest in the entire desert kingdom. Not even the greatly controlled city was this safe. These guards were truly ordered to make sure Chozanshi made his way to the palace without any thought of escaping into the shadows of the city. The young prince could not help but keep his eyes locked on the ground; he did not feel like letting people see the clear fear in his eyes. The guard’s security made him seem weak to others; this was an insult to his pride. It made it seem like all his training he did was worth almost nothing to his family.

Anybody who even dared to try and reach the leader would have to deal with the warriors who lived around him. If you managed to get into the palace, then there was no way that you would get out. With this being the ruling desert village, this structural design had been a necessity. Chozanshi’s father had changed the village in many ways for the better and there was no way that the people were going to allow any harm to come to him.

Chozanshi was now on the path to the palace, the guards were still walking by his side. The village itself was like maze. If once again, someone were to look from the top, the inner walls of the village were built with the intention to confuse a stranger. The village was divided into four sectors. Your caste determined which sector of the village you belonged to. Chozanshi was currently walking through the more rural sectors. Within the maze like walls, there were houses made out of the most abundant resource of clay. The people of this sector were not poor or in need of resources, they were warrior caste, but their rank was not of the ones who deserved a more privileged sector. The people of this sector were happy not to fight and rightly they were often not selected to join battle. The people of this sector all knew that, even though they were the lowest caste, they would live happier lives than most. Happy long lives for that matter.

After going through many different paths and turns, Chozanshi’s party finally arrived at the palace gates. These were of a more ornate design than any other building in the village. Many who visited the city would marvel at its design. Its circular form and dome shaped roof were unseen in most of the architecture of the island of Pekura. The same statues of the gods outside of the village gates were here by the palace’s gates as well. Atop the palace gates two guards stood alert, dressed in a dark red uniform with a helmet which obscured the face of each.

When the two uniformed warriors noticed Chozanshi’s party approaching, they quickly stood on their guard, and bowed deeply before him. Chozanshi turned to see that his temporary bodyguards had all but disappeared. This did not surprise him in the slightest. “Welcome home young master Chozanshi,” both warriors said in unison, this greeting was the same every time he returned home. They even greeted his sister in this manner, though she always complained about how they referred to her by her first name.

“Good evening,” Chozanshi said plainly. They began to pull open the palace gate that allowed him entry into his home and then he began to walk in. Whilst in most houses one would notice things such as faded curtains, in this house the materials used were only the finest. The family too wore nothing but the finest clothing and armor as well.

As the gate began to close, he turned around and cleared his throat. The two men at the gate looked at him. Chozanshi scuffed his foot on the floor and nodded: “Thank you.”

This was a sentiment he felt compelled to give the men, he felt that it would somehow make them feel a little more proud to stand there if they felt acknowledged. He knew he would like to feel acknowledged for something more than just his bloodline.

Chozanshi was right, the warriors stood there at the gate almost flabbergasted at this comment from the son of their leader. Not once had they been praised for their work but tonight it had happened. Small acts of kindness were something that this village did not often see, coming from the head family in particular. This was a place of warriors, of ruthless cunning but certainly not petty pleasantries.

“There… there is hope in this desert,” the one man commented as he stood tall yet again before the gate.

The other warrior nodded as he took his position yet again and looked between the village pathways and noted the blue gleam of the forest: “I believe so too, though does he? I wonder…”
Chozanshi was in the palace now. He stood in one of the four entrance chambers on the ground level. Inside, this so called sanctuary was much more different compared to the rugged sandy buildings seen outside. The inner walls of the palace were a resplendent white, decorated with richly coloured tapestries and the floors were covered in carpets of red and blue. Chozanshi looked around the room; there were three red doors in this room. Out of the middle door came one of the Palace maids. She wore a white kimono with a red sash. This maid seemed to have fairer skin and a hairstyle fitting for one of her caste. Chozanshi knew this woman very well and he knew that she was here to take him to his father.

The maid took Chozanshi through a few rooms and they headed upstairs making their way to the King’s room. He came before the door to the King’s room, red like all the others. The door was already half open, and Chozanshi could hear Hotaru and their father talking. Chozanshi had only peeked into the room, not going in as he did not feel he should enter yet.

“Chozanshi, you may come in my son.” said a deep and mellow voice.

Chozanshi clenched his fists tightly as he took a deep breath and stepped inside the throne room. He was met by a familiar sharp scent of fire from the fireplace in the room. The King preferred to have his fireplace light the dark room up. This room was like a place of reflection for Chozanshi’s father, who was found here on many a day, plotting and making decisions which affected his village. The King’s room was one that contained the finest of furniture and decor. He was sitting on his throne, Hotaru stood behind their father glaring down at Chozanshi as always.
“He missed yet another training session father; he surely is not worthy to lead a troop of men as you were saying. He is not even remotely sorry for playing truant!” Hotaru said firmly, her tone rising in agitation.

Chozanshi was caught by surprise and looked at his father, he had not heard about him leading anything. This was indeed the first time he was hearing this: “Father?”

Chozanshi’s father was a tall and muscular man, his skin was bronzed from time in the sun and in his face you could see that time had already began to leave its impression on the man. He was clean shaven and his eyes were dark and fiery almost in the light of this room. His hair was drawn back tightly in a similar manner to what Hotaru’s was. It was just as dark as his eyes. One could see the definite likeness between the King and his son. He wore a basic outfit at this moment owing to the fact that it was his time of rest; it was a black outfit that men who would attend training would wear. He wore a crimson cape though with gold detail of a dragon on it. This very cape was indicating his royalty; this was the image of Takeo who led this village to glory at all costs.

“Father, what is this about leading them?” Chozanshi asked tentatively, he could see that asking about this was only inflaming his sister even more.

Hotaru snarled: “You shouldn’t talk to Father like that, what is this sudden insolence in you? Father, I apologize for his lack of respect.”

Takeo held out his hand to indicate to Hotaru to be still, as a father he knew how hard she tried to please him. He admired how she went over and above her duties to bring the family name pride. He was proud to acknowledge her as his first born. He then looked at his son, no leader ever wanted a second born son but he had one. A son, who looked like his own reflection of youth and honour but with a greater heart than his, the King could not deny it.

“I believe we give him the chance, but it is not to be taken lightly. No son of mine should fail in a task that is given to him personally by the King. What have you got to say about this Chozanshi?” Takeo asked his son with a stern tone, he had hopes that his son would at least be a proud leader of an army even of not able to take the throne.

This was prince’s fate; he could only gaze into the fireplace and wonder. The desert was open and free, but this fire was controlled and would die out if not fueled properly. The prince could only hope he could wake up…with at least a bit of freedom…