Fools and Their Games
8 September 1998
by Jason Postma

Jinjiro stood next to Marako, wishing he could see as well as she could through her strange Gaijin device. All he could make out was that the approaching shapes did not move as men, and he could see that they were too thin.

"Skeletons" Marako said. Jinjiro could see Naoki and Kataji nodding in agreement, as if they had known the shambling walk at first sight. Jinjiro felt his pulse quicken. The dead were walking. He wondered for a moment if he would see a familiar face, then dismissed the thought. They were skeletons. Whoever they had been, they had been a long time ago.

As the creatures approached, Jinjiro could see that each had its face covered by a porcelain mask. Their fearlessness seemed to add to their air of purpose, but in some small way relieved Jinjiro.

"The masks. Removing the mask is a sure way to kill them again." Came Naoki's voice. Jinjiro looked back. The dead were moving faster than he had thought. They were on the edge of bow range now.

Jinjiro and Marako spared each other a single glance, then reached for their bows as one, drawing and loosing. Jinjiro's shot went wide, and he could see that Marako was relying unconsciously on Motoko, and her shot missed as well. There was no time for a second shot, as the dead were upon them. A group of frightened miners armed with hammers, picks, and shovels stood behind the samurai.

Jinjiro's sword leaped into his hand and he ran forward to face the nearest skeleton, the fastest of his companions–no–Ozaki got there first.

The young man showed truly amazing speed as he wielded the sword of the Usagi with both hands, knocking the porcelain mask from an already collapsing skeleton. Jinjiro felt a certain sense of envy–his own family's sword may never be recovered. He turned to face his opponent once again, flipping the skeleton's mask with away with a deft flick of his wrist before it had even raised its sword to attack.

Here was a battle that required some finesse–some skill. Jinjiro was gladdened at the thought. Being recognized for his skill was one of the things Jinjiro craved above all others.

He turned to see how his companions fared. Naoki was striking with his left arm. Jinjiro quickly switched the grip on his own weapon, smiling at the thought of a contest. He separated another skeleton from its mask, waiting arrogantly almost to the last moment. This was easier than any battle man-to-man, or even when he had fought the Nezumi.

A third dead fell almost as quickly, feebly trying to attack but far too slow. Jinjiro turned again to see his companions, and his smile froze on his lips. Ishi and Takehai were in trouble. Blood pooled beneath both of them and the dead they faced seemed unearthly strong. Jinjiro cursed his own ego and leapt to help his companions. He was a fool for thinking this some game.