The Legend of Sima Bu

[SimaBuMaster]

The Legend of Sima Bu
Written By SimaBuMaster
Original Characters By SimaBuMaster

::Author's Forward::[/i]

First off, Sima Bu is actually a character of mine from a story called "Heroes of China." HOC is a series of novels, not short stories, but for the point of simplicity, I decided to project excerpts from various points in the novels. I will, for each one, either give an introduction explaining the events leading up to it or modify the story itself to include the information. For all the stories, you will need to know that HOC is a war story about ancient China, during a civil war commonly known as the Three Kingdoms era. This is a fictional take on that, with fictional people, places and kingdoms. Sima Bu is an officer--the second-in-command--under the benevolent Lhang Dun, lord of the Han Ji kingdom who seeks to unite China under Dun, fearing that he himself is not a powerful enough leader (a theory that is eventually disproved). Sima Bu is a very intelligent man, very skilled with a blade and a bow, and he's an effective officer, respected by the entire kingdom and then some.





::The Arrows::

Introduction
Bu was sent on a campaign, along with fellow officer Liang Shao and allies Hou Sun and Hou Zhang, in the north to defeat the Hou brothers' father, Hou Zhou, and his sons Hou Xiang and Hou Huang (it's confusing I know, stay with me). Bu led the campaign, along with his strategic counterpart Hou Sun, who he had come to befriend, and charged headstrong into the forests of the north. During the campaign, Sima Bu ordered the Hou brothers to evade the forests by marching east around them while his own men would barely enter on the west side. Entering the forests was a foolish move, as everyone knew about the traps set up by Hou Zhou and his massive troops inside. But simply moving on by meant leaving the troops at large and the traps still uncovered. For Bu's part, it was somewhat foolish to disallow Hou Sun to enter the jungle, but nevertheless it was done. And as Sima Bu plunged deeper and deeper, unknowingly, into the trees, he began to notice that it was a mistake.

The Arrows
Sima Bu glanced down at his steed. The gorgeous black body swayed back and forth as it slowly walked in between the trees and their fingers. Releasing the reigns, he reached for the Sword of Times, still sheathed, covertly. With an army behind him, it was important not to show fear, especially in a place like the Xhu Forest. Bu could smell the fear in his troops, the dropping morale, the rising skepticism. Worse yet, he could smell the foul stench of enemy blood from miles away. It was horrendous, intolerable. Sima Bu's fear turned to rage as he unsheathed the majestic sword and allowed the thin sun beams to dance upon it. He heard the army gasp in amazement. Even after campaigning with General Sima for so long, it was still the closest thing to divinity they could see. It gave them hope, which quickly vanished with the revelation pertaining to the meaning of the unsheathing. When Bu drew his sword, it meant a fight was near. And they were in unknown, unfamiliar, unnatural territory pitted against hidden, native soldiers who were angry at the invaders. The situation could not have been more disheartening.

Pheewww! An arrow launched into Bu's ranks. It struck a man down, who screamed out in pain. Bu cried, "Fire! Fire!" While the enemy unleashed a wave of silent, invisible arrows, a Han Ji task force approached Sima Bu at the helm of the army and stood in a rigid stance each one of them.

"Awaiting the signal, sir!"

Bu wasted no time. "Now, fire!"

The task force presented three large torches each and lit them. The bulbs burst into great balls of red and orange, splashing to and fro. The captain of the task force shouted, "Launch!" In response, every member of the force cast their flames into the forest. Each torch exploded upon contact with the ground, sending fire in all forward directions. Bu's men were temporarily protected, and the enemy was both confused and dwindling in size. Bu restored order to the troops and calmed his horse. "Present volley!" he cried, and a line of archers formed. The general raised his right arm and then brought it down parallel to the ground with his first two fingers extended. The arrows flew through the flames, and by chance alone did a slew of enemy projectiles rain back at them simultaneously. Archers falling by the tens, Bu ordered them back into line. He signaled Liango Shao to the front, who rode quickly.

"Shao! I am placing you in charge of the army! Present archers from the safety of the ranks. Bring shields to the front, and have the foots draw swords. Do not attack, only defend. If you feel outnumbered, retreat, out of the forest to the west, and wait for my return."

Liang Shao, confused and surprised, asked, "Where are you headed, milord? The troops need you!"

"There is an enemy army in there, led by an enemy commander. Chop off the head and the body falls to the ground! I will lead a small force in to take out the head, but there is a strong chance we fail, so--"

"Why do it then? Stay here, lead us into battle! Sir, the men need you!"

Another rain of arrows shot through the fires, but many burned up and lost momentum. Bu retorted sharply, "No! Here, amidst the flames and the trees, we will almost certainly lose! But charging in gives up hope, a chance! The standing army will lose unless the enemy loses morale. By killing the enemy commander, we force them back and go on the offensive. By staying here without my advance we admit defeat! This is a day of victory, Liango Shao! Sima Bu will not have these men die under his command, god damn it!"

Shao had no response. He nodded approvingly and Sima Bu left to gather some men. Meanwhile, Shao brought the shields to the front and had his archers assemble immediately behind them. They fired above the flames in an arch, but chance of success was low.

Sima Bu rode his horse to the right flank of his army and shouted, "Kilao! Present division, haste!" A man came forward with some forty men behind. "Excellent, Kilao, fall back into order. 8th Division Infantry...." Sima Bu looked into the eyes of the soldiers he was now commanding, and then said solemnly, ".... follow me." He turned his horse as it posed for the crowd on its two hind legs. When the steed regained its footing, Bu plunged into the forest. The division behind him let out a rally and then charged in after him.

The branches that might have looked beautiful under different light now scraped Bu as he sped by. The general did not even notice the blood drawn from the sharp tree limbs exposed on his path, for he traveled faster than any man before him and the rush and excitement of the ensuing battle was too great for preoccupation with minor details. A smile even grew on his face as he heard his men rallying behind him, preparing to enter battle. They ran with as much ferocity and intensity as he did, and nearly as fast though unmounted. Finally, Bu slowed his steed to a halt. As his men crept up beside him, he hushed them. Before the commander, through the trees and the ferns and brush, sat a small village comprised of huts and small tents. Bu whispered to the men around him, "This is it. Wait for a moment..."

The men turned to the vilage and waited, though they saw nothing. Bu's eyes dashed from hut to hut, waiting for something unknown. "Wait...." The 8th Division continued to wait, but for what they were unsure about.

Suddenly, Sima Bu gasped and nearly let out a yell, but contained himself. He pointed forward through the leaves and the sound of the men scrambling to get a view could be heard. From one central hut, a lone figure emerged. It was the commander of the enemy army. A grin grew on Bu's face, and he drew his bow and an arrow. Knocking the arrow, he never once took his eyes off the commander. Bu raised the bow and held it parallel to the ground, like a table. Slowly... ever so slowly... he pulled the arrow back and readied himself for a shot, lowering his right eye to the arrow and shutting his left. In his mind, he told himself, You have the shot, prepared, knocked, aimed. Fi--! He was interrupted by a flood of enemy soldiers that emerged from the huts surrounding the commander's. They left the village by the dozens and headed in the direction of the main fray, led by Liang Shao. Though many left, the majority stayed and formed ranks. Bu was frightened at the idea of reinforcements against Liang Shao. There was no way the army could repel something like that. Bu would have to take out the reinforcements before they mobilized and posed a true threat. In rage, he relaxed the bow a bit.

TO BO CONTINUED...

[SimaBuMaster]

CONTINUED...

"Damn it! Alright, men, ready? This is it. Take no prisoners, leave no survivors! Present arms! Charge! Charge! Charge!" As his men rose and shouted in compliance, Bu released his knocked arrow into the army in front of him. His troops assaulted the village huts, laying waste to anything they saw, as the enemy soldiers turned and attempted to mobilize against them. Bu charged in after his men, sword in hand, and rallied them. "This is for our brothers behind the flames! This is for our brothers back at home! This, is for Han Ji!!" The men entered battle and Bu struggled to reach the front. But as he passed a hut, he was tackled by an enemy soldier and forced down to the ground. The two men wrestled each other down a steep hill, colliding with trees and stumps and rocks on the way. One rock sliced into Bu's side, and a river of blood gushed out onto the hillside as he rolled down the hill. Landing at the bottom, Bu shrugged off the painful experience and stood triumphantly over the bruised enemy. With one motion, he brought down the wrath of the Sword of Times and stabbed his foe deep through the chest. He retracted the weapon and wiped it clean of blood. Looking back up the hill, he dreaded the long trek he had in store for him.

But before the tired general could begin the journey back to the village, an arrow buzzed past his ear. Turning quickly, he saw the hidden archer take refuge behind a large tree in the distance. Presenting an arrow of his own, Bu launched it at the side opposite from which the arrow came. Sure enough, the archer exposed himself on that side and collided fatally with the projectile. The man fell, and Bu snickered and cursed at him. But again before he could start up the hill, a second arrow flew at him from behind. Turning quickly again, Bu could not see the second archer and decided to plunge into the area from which the arrows were consistently being launched.

He stumbled into an open area that was lower in elevation that its surroundings. The area formed somewhat of a bowl, with the openness in the middle containing Bu and the edges populated by large trees and ferns. The canopy overhead allowed little light to break through, but that which did hit the center of the bowl. Bu walked to the middle and looked around angrily. "Show yourselves, fiiends! I know there's more than one!"

Slowly, around the edges of the forest bowl, from behind the trees and ferns, at least a hundred archers peaked out from their concealed locations. Bu's jaw dropped. Damn, he thought. It was all a set-up. It was all expected, and Bu's isolation was premeditated and planned. And now he stood in the clearing against an army of trained snipers each with an object behind which he could hide. It was a bad situation, even for the skilled Sima Bu.

The archers drew their weapons and knocked them. The tired general had to think quickly. He did have one ace up his sleeve. The routine would take a long time, leave him breathless and probably slightly impaired, and had no guaranteed success. On his back, Bu wore a cape, designed by Lhang Dun's best strategist before Sima Bu joined Han Ji. The cape had bits of iron and other strong metals woven into it. The cape itself was remarkably light and flexible, but at the same time very strong. It could defend against arrows from a moderate distance, and deflect those arrows so that they did not puncture the wearer. The cape was never tested in battle, but Dun decided to give one to each of his top generals as gifts anyhow. Now Bu stood with the risk of this untested material against his almost certain death. The choice was obvious.

The archers fired, a hundred simultaneous arrows. Bu, in the middle, crouched down and completely covered himself with his cloak. Many of the arrows missed, but still a great handful of them struck, pricking at Bu's body as they hit. Bruised all over, Bu almost missed the good news: never once was the cape pierced. It worked! Now he just had to somehow get out of the cloak and get away. But as he sat, submerged underneath the cape, with the consistent prick of arrow plaguing him, Sima Bu grew frustrated and angry. As the arrows switched from uniform volleys to free fire, Bu emerged from his protective cocoon. The enemies saw that his magnificent Sword of Times was actually sheathed. What a fool! Showing himself without any protection or weapon? Such a laughable concept!

The isolated general's eyes seemed ready to burst with his pent up fury. As an arrow flew at him from a content, confident archer, Sima Bu extended his right arm in its directions. He opened up his first two fingers and closed the rest of his hand. As the arrow slid intoo place, in between the first and second fingers, Bu clenched it and commandeered the weapon before it could reach his face. Bringing the arrow back to him, he spun it around in his fingers until he reached the feathered end of it. Spinning his entire body once, he launched the arrow back at the shooter in a straight line, as if it was fired by a bow. The archer had no time to dodge the missile, but unfortunately had time enough to see it coming. It struck the man between the eyes, and he fell, dead.

Before Bu could celebrate, he felt the onslaught of at least ten other arrows rocketing at him. Sima Bu ducked and dove, catching two arrows on the way. Rolling to the side, he braced himself with his right foot and his left knee on the ground and then fired the arrows at random enemies. Similar to the first man, both enemies fell. Hou Zhou's troops began to falter, a bit intimidated by the ferocity of the legend before them. Bu rolled again, catching and launching more arrows. As he succeeded more and more, the archers lost accuracy and morale. Soon, they were struggling to knock an arrow as it vibrated with fear in their grasp. Sweat rolled down the lot of their faces in the face of this new fire. The confidence that was once widespread vanished without a trace.

Another wave of about ten arrows closed in on Bu. This time, he caught four, two in each hand. Knowing that it was impossible to send all four of the off in straight fashions, he simply spun them all in his fingers until he worked his was down to the points. Then he threw them all simultaneously and they spun like wheels into the enemy. Three of the four hit. Bu felt a strong pressure on his back, and he turned and saw four arrows collide with his cape. He picked up three in a hasty scramble and, with his right hand, he tilted them parallel to the ground but perpendicular to his arm. Then with a side swing, he launched the arrows, sending them off in three random directions, spinning in circles this time parallel to the forest floor. Miraculously, all three hit.

As Bu spun and ducked and threw and dove and kicked and launched, his body moved gracefully as if it all was choreographed. Every arrow he caught was perfectly harnessed, and immediately released. Every move he made kicked up the cape he wore on his back, which somehow always managed to block or even encompass an arrow, allowing Bu to spin and catch it while it was still inside the cape. At one point, Bu spun so quickly that the cape draped over his entire body, save the head, and as one arrow flew at him, it broke into thousands of tiny pieces. Another arrow his and bounced off, and he stopped the spin to catch the arrow and send it off again. It was clear, now more than ever, that enemy morale was scraping the barrel. Bu took the opportunity to bring forth his own quiver of arrows. Holding them in his arms like a baby, Bu crouched down low and then drew a single one with his right hand. He sent it flying in straight fashion towards an enemy he saw in his peripheral vision. Turning about twenty degrees, Bu drew another one and let it fly. He turned some more, drew a third and fired. He continued on with this highly successful technique for all twenty eight of his arrows, spinning, ducking all the while. When he was out, he tossed the holder on the ground. He stood straight and caught another arrow in his hands. Snapping it in his rage, the Han Ji general took the pointed end and fired it at the enemy that shot it. The archer fell to the ground, and then there was silence.

Silence. Bu's right hand dropped to his side, and he released the other half of the broken arrow. Panting heavily, he looked around, ready the whole time for a surprise attack from a straggler. He saw no movement in the ferns or the leaves. The brown tree trunks and the green foliage was stained red. Small streams of blood ran down the sides of the bowl to the valley where Bu stood. On the ground inside the bowl rested at least five hundred arrows, some stuck in the dirt and others just lying on their sides. He had only one arrow left: the Hero's Arrow, that which his father gifted to him, one that he would never shoot on a bow or throw at an enemy. Bu picked up twenty arrows right next to him and placed them in his holder, which he slung over his back again. He cracked the knuckles in both of his hands and stretched out his fingers. He was bruised and weak all over, and slowly began to walk up the bowlside, through the forest and back towards the hill down which he first stumbled.

Before him it stood, a hundred and fifty foot hill. At the top was the village, with his men--hopefully--still in battle with the enemy. There was a good chance that with Bu's leadership and rallies, they fled and lost. Bu hoped that was not the case. He looked at the hill, and saw the path that he left on his way down. Not only was the incline steep, but the dirt was fragile and would not keep. This was no hill, it was a mountain! He had to use the rocks and trees as best he could. He he started up, half expecting another arrow to fly past him. His leg stepped on a large rock that held, but the muscles in his leg were throbbing and painful. He dug into the dirt and grass with his right hand, then dug into higher dirt with his left. His other leg left the ground and plunged into the dirt of the hill. Ahead he saw the sunlight break through the canopy over the village, though he heard and saw nothing about the battle. When his right hand, dirty and brown, released its grasp, it found refuge in the roots of a tree rested below the surface of the hillside. Finally, his foot left the solace and safety of the sturdy rock and was forced into the mud like its brother. Bu ascended slowly and painfully, and he heard the roots snap as he put all his weight into it. They held luckily, but he did not want to wait to see if they would do so for long. He reached up again and found a small rock. The rock itself tumbled out when his hand fell on it, but Bu scrambled to catch it, and he forced it into the dirt, splashing up debris in his face. He pulled himself up higher and found a larger rock, which he embraced thankfully.

Bu was twenty feet up before he knew it. He felt the force of his own hope and faith propelling him upwards as his muscles seemed to give up. Only did his persistent mind keep him going, the will of his character. Root after root, rock after rock, tree after tree, he climbed away from his past and towards his future. He felt the cut on his leg brush past a tree branch and fill with dirt and mud, a feeling worse than a million bee stings. But he persevered, and reached half-way without realizing his accomplishment. He felt only ten feet above the ground, which was disheartening. As Sima Bu grasped for a tree root, the root snapped and he began to slide down to the bottom. His foot braced his body against a small tree, and after his arm got scratched by a big, muddy rock, his hand clasped onto it and he held there. A vein burst inside Bu's arm; the pain was nearly unbearable. As he lay on the side of the hill, attempting to regain his breath and his energy, Sima Bu began to lose all the hope, all the faith, all the perseverance and will he once had. His arms and legs and body aching, he contemplated just letting go, tumbling to the ground and awaiting the cold touch of death. But then he heard it, the most pleasurable sound he could imagine: the scream of a man. At the top of hill, where the village was, it sounded as though the battle was still raging, that his men never gave up! As the general looked to the top of the hill, he saw a body emerge and begin to fall. The man was dead, but as he passed Bu, it was clear that he was one of Hou Zhou's men.

Bu looked down at the bottom of the hill, where the body came to rest, and he finally realized how far he'd gone. He looked to the top, then, with the sun still shining through, and gained all the will in the world. He heard the 8th Division shouting to him in his mind, along with Liang Shao and all the troops back at the fire. Bu reached out and grabbed for the dirt, and then extended his other arm. Grabbing onto the rocks and the dirt, he ascended with much more rapidity than the first half of the journey upward. He climbed feet by the second, all the while the sounds of battle getting louder and louder. He heard cheers and screams, slashes and clashes, thumps and the crackling of fire. Sima Bu moved up the hill with great speed. About a hundred and twenty feet up, with only thirty more to go, Bu was hit with Deja Vu. The light from ahead blinded his eyes, and his vision went to white.

***

Sima Bu stood in the city alongside his best friend and leader, Lhang Dun. They were at the foot of the grand palace in the capital city.

"It's a magnificent city, Bu."

"Indeed, my friend. I hope we see the expansion of this city over the whole of China," replied Sima Bu contently and agreeingly.

"I can't imagine a greater man than you, dear friend, in my army. You are the definition of what a ruler looks for in his officers," Lhang Dun complimented.

Bu looked happily embarrassed, and struggled for the right words to say. "Well, uh, thank you, milord."

Dun turned and began to walk up the stairs to the palace, and Bu followed in response. Dun continued, "You know, Bu, to this day it plagues me, the mystery of Sima Bu." Bu looked at him as they walked, intrigued. "When I first met you, I knew nothing about you save what your father told me. I granted you an advantage. You started high in the ranks because your father knew my father. You proceeded to soar to the rank of Command Strategist, the second highest position in the whole of Han Ji. Apart from your mind, your physical skill is outstanding, uncomparable. You are adept in the arts of sword mastery and archery, and you even know hand to hand combat. I was frightened, at first, to employ you because you seemed like the kind of man that would lead a revolt."

"Believe me sir, revolution is the farthest from my thoughts. I am no leader--"

"And then you tell me that. That you are no leader, that your leadership lacks!" Dun stopped, at about half-way up the stairs. He looked at the sky, which was bright, sunny, and blue, nearly cloudless. He listened to the hustle of civilians doing their every day tasks in the city and then continued. "Bu, you are smart, skilled and damn it all if you aren't the finest leader in the military, better than me even." Bu tried to contest, but Lhang Dun wouldn't have it. "I've seen you in action, leading these men to battle, outnumbered three to one, and come back with a city as your gift to me. These men would do anything for you, travel to any end. They trust you. And it's because of your friendship with me that they remain loyal, not because of anything I do." Dun continued walking up, but Bu stayed for a moment on the step and looked out over the city. He then turned and hurried back to Dun's side and slowed to a walking speed. "There will come a day, Bu, when you will lead these men to the greatest of victories. There will come a day when you will perform the impossible, and make a legend of yourself. And the whole of China will rally behind you. Sima Bu, listen to me when I say this..." Dun stopped, finally reaching the top step and the door to the palace. He walked around to the ledge overlooking the city and the continued. "You are the most important man in China right now. No matter what you do will directly effect the rest of us. All of this, some day, this glory and prosperity, will be yours, some day I guarantee. You are the heir to my throne. For you are the legendary Master Sima Bu."

Bu looked out over the edge, mimicking Lhang Dun, at the city. Viewing the horizon, he said one word: "Beautiful..."

***

The white light dissipated and Bu regained his vision. He blinked a few times and continued on. He was so close! The top was only a few feet away! His arms pushed, his legs pushed, and he flew over the top and onto level ground. In front of him, Bu saw the battle still raging. Some huts had been lit on fire, and many people were dead. But the 8th Division was still numerous and fierce. Bu triumphantly unsheathed the master of all swords and charged into battle. He slashed at one man who raced after him, cutting him down. He stabbed another enemy who nearly killed one of Bu's allies. As the Han Ji infantry noticed Bu, they suddenly realized that he had been gone. They let out a cheer that echoed across the forests and pressed deep into the village, slaughtering the enemy. Bu broke away to find the enemy commander. Up ahead, he saw a group of four or five enemies combatting a host of his own allies. One foe was the commander, who was succeeding with ease. Sima Bu rushed in and slashed one enemy across the chest, and another across the face. He crouched down and cut a man's legs, bringing him to the ground and rendering him defenseless against Bu's sword, which found a home in the man's neck.

Soon, only Bu and the commander remained. Bu wasted no time and attacked the man, sword raised high. The swung, but the shot was deflected. The enemy commander jabbed at his rival, but missed, and Bu swung his sword at the enemy's, forcing it into the ground. Bu tried to slash at the enemy, but he was too quick and recoiled. General Sima dove to the side and pulled out the Hero's Arrow as he did so. Placing the tip between his second and third fingers with his fist clenched, Bu shot his hand forward into his enemy's back. He pulled it out quickly, dropped the arrow and held onto the Sword of Times with both hands. As the enemy commander both screamed and turned, Sima Bu swung diagonally, cutting open his chest and spilling blood onto his deceased torso and the already bloody ground. Bu let out a great cheer, as did his allies. Within no time, the 8th Division survivors showed up around him. The enemy was defeated, Sima Bu had won.

He told his men to attack the enemy from behind, paving the way for a pincer assault led by Bu's men and Liang Shao's men. They left immediately and headed for the battle by the fire. Sima Bu was slow to catch up, but he led a great assault against the enemy nevertheless. Sure enough, Shao's troops attacked from the other side, and before long the battle was over. The majority of Hou Zhou's forest troops were defeated. Bu rejoined with his main army, and the Han Ji troops marched on, staying close to the edge of the forest more than ever. Sima Bu looked up at the trees as he mounted his horse. Once on, he looked at his hands, still dirty from the hill climb. With a stern face, he wiped his hands against each other and then grabbed the reigns of his horse. The black body of the great beast rocked gently back and forth as it walked through the forest. Sima Bu allowed a small grin to grow on his face.