Masamune shook his head. He didn't know where he was at first. The nausea had overtaken him and he had slipped into blackness. And now that his senses had returned he found an awful heat shining down on him and a dry warm air in his lungs. His hands were gripping hot sand. He slowly stood up on his feet and forced himself to look at his surroundings.

This place looked like Hell. The land stretched for miles in each direction, with jagged rocky hills and sand. A small stream trickled alongside where he stood and a dirt road wound around a steep hill on the opposite end.

The heat pressed down upon his head and shoulders like swarm of bees stinging one after the other. He looked down at his shirt and already the sweat stained the armpits, and though it was loose and billowy, with no hint of a wind it would be like carrying a sack of rice around. Worse yet was his hakama. The thick baggy pleated pants made each step he took like walking waist deep in water. Of all things to be dressed in, traditional samurai clothing was not called for in these parts. Wherever he was. Why he took Roberto's advice at the spur of the moment, he didn't know. Why he listened to a dying old man...

He heard the faint sound of voices echoing on the rocks, not too far away. Masamune's eyes followed the road to where it went around the bend. The voices were talking swiftly, frantically. Three voices he could make out. Two men and one woman. The woman screamed. There was a fourth voice. A cry. It was a baby crying. That was it. The ones he was looking for.

Masamune kicked up dust as he ran down the road. His heart rate raced at a feverish pitch as he ran, fighting against the drag of his sweat soaked hakama. He told his mind to relax a little and the sound of the beating left his head.

He rounded the bend and didn't stop, nearly running over a man on the ground, blood oozing from his forehead and a woman lying next to him, screaming. Both of her hands were pulling tight on both arms of a screaming baby, naked because it's blanket had fallen onto the dusty road. Grabbing both of the child's legs in a brutal tug of war with the woman was a large hand belonging to a man with a red tunic and steel breast plate and helm. Masamune recognized him as a Roman soldier, for in his other hand was his Gladius, and he intended to cleave the child in two.

Masamune didn't skip a beat, drawing his katana in a lightning swift motion and stopping it a mere hair's breadth from the soldier's neck. He opened his mouth to say something, thought for a moment, remembering the Latin he had been taught, and said, "Let the child go."

The soldier smiled at him. "No".

Masamune studied the man's eyes. This was a man he faced, and no more. He had no serious quarrel with him. "One more time. Let the child..."

The soldier swung his sword down. Masamune whipped his sword over to parry. Steel on steel sparked an inch from the child's exposed stomach. Both men held pressure against their blades, the shifting of an inch could take the life of the child. The soldier was almost two heads taller than Masamune. His strength was as least twice that of Masamune's, with pure ferocity behind the pressure on his sword.

The child said not one word as milliseconds passed between the two men. Not a breath was uttered by the woman either. The milliseconds that passed, that felt like hours to Masamune, as it would have to the other man as well. He was trained well, this Roman soldier. No fear or strain showing on his face that Masamune could detect. But this had to end.

Masamune reached deep down into himself, and with the firm belief that he could, pushed the soldier's sword an inch away from the child. Masamune took a quiet breath, gathered the strength within him, and pushed again. The soldier's Gladius was three times thicker than his katana, but Masamune's katana held and he pushed the blade another two inches away from the child.

The soldier's determined face hinted at surprise.

And that gave Masamune the opening he needed. He shoved the soldier's sword to the side - it was clear of the child's body now - and rammed the butt end of his sword handle into the man's face. The soldier jerked back with the blow stunned, and took two steps back from Masamune, giving Masamune another opening. He pivoted on his right foot, and spun a roundhouse kick right into the soldier's head. Metal clanged and the soldier went down in a heap of dust.

Masamune turned to the woman and motioned to the man near her. "Is he okay?"

The woman held the child tight in her arms and walked over to the man, touching him. He moved a little bit. She nodded to him. "You speak Latin."

"Yes." The man on the ground--her husband, Masamune guessed--was starting to come to and stir a little. "Get him up, and start heading down the road. There might be more soldiers."

The woman did as she was told and started to shake her husband.

Masamune grabbed the unconscious soldier and started to drag him off the road toward the stream. Being bigger than him, Masamune had to struggle with the soldier, but managed to drag him fully off the road. He looked up a moment and saw the woman leading her husband around the bend. The husband staggered, but managed to keep up with her.

Masamune tore off the soldier's leather belt and with it bound the soldier's wrists and ankles. He was far enough off the road that no one would see him, but would hear him if he yelled. Masamune was about to leave when a glob of sweat rolled off his chin and struck the ground in front of him. He looked up at the sun, still shining blinding rays down on him and the soldier. The soldier would die of the heat in a matter of hours. Masamune took pity on the man.

A short ways off was a large boulder sitting at the edge of the stream. The shade would keep the soldier safe, and the water would nourish him until he was found. Masamune started to drag the unconscious solider toward it.

Masamune had caught up with the couple and their child at sunset. They had covered several miles, keeping up an even pace. He saw no one else on the road as he chased after the couple. When he did find them, they had set up a small fire a hundred yards from the road.

Upon seeing Masamune, the man got up and greeted him warmly, taking his hand in a firm shake. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much for helping us."

"Yes," said the woman, "You saved our child. Our only child."

The man motioned for Masamune to sit by the fire opposite them. Roasting over the glowing firewood was a small animal, hardly discernable, but it smelled good. The man tore off a piece of meat, placed it on some bread and handed it to Masamune. Masamune calmly took it, but was famished. He tore into the food, looking at the couple briefly to see if his manners had offended them, but it didn't seem to bother them.

The man and woman studied him for a short time while he ate. When he finished, the man handed him a small container of wine and finally spoke, "Where do you come from? I've never seen one such as yourself in these lands. Of course, I'm not familiar with all parts of the Roman Empire. And your clothing. It's not practical for these parts."

Masamune tasted the wine. It seared his throat, and he let it without giving any reaction, so as not to offend them. "I come from a place called Japan. It's very far from here."

"And your sword. It's not like anything I've ever seen."

Masamune drew his katana and held it out for them to see. The intricate details of the blade, from the artistic wood-block pattern of the steel to the smoothly undulating sketch of the temperline, glistened in the firelight. "This blade has been in my family for two generations. It was made by my grandfather after he was baptized. In those sixty years, this blade has never tasted the flesh of another person."

"You're royalty?"

"No, not any more. We were forced to give up our lands after we were baptized because our government did not recognize our religion."

"That sounds so hopeless," said the woman.

"Where I come from, we believe in a Messiah. A man who was born here in this land, and did great things. Performed miracles."

"A Messiah?" The man laughed a little bit. "There is a legend in our culture as well. That of a Savior who will be born to the house of David. But it's just a legend. A tale told hundreds of times to give people hope. It is that, and nothing more."

The man gently took the wine bottle from Masamune and took a long drink, then handed it back to him.

Masamune, too, took a long drink from it. He wanted so desperately to tell the man the truth, about why he had been sent here. He stared into the fire, remembering what had transpired only a few hours ago. He had been accompanying his friend and mentor, a old Portugese priest named Roberto, through the jails. Roberto had been given news of a prisoner who had been brought in: A sailor of a Portugese ship who had started killing his fellow crew members one day before the ship had reached Japan. It had taken twelve men to hold the madman down. Some said he was possessed by a demon for his strength was inhuman and the way he slaughtered his crewmates made his fellow sailors - all seasoned men - sick to their stomachs.

Roberto was someone Masamune had deeply respected and admired. His kindness and compassion showed no bounds. Roberto had been different from the other priests in that he lived what he preached, oftentimes to the ridicule of his own constituents.

On that day, Roberto and Masamune had been arguing the role of Judas in the crucifixion of Christ. The argument was heated and as usual Roberto was winning, and was very close to getting in the last word as he always did, when someone came to them with the story of the sailor. Roberto was moved by the story and immediately ran off to see the sailor, with Masamune in tow.

There, in the small jail cell, was a man sitting calmly on a small stool. Sturdy bamboo poles kept the man in there, separating him from Masamune and Roberto. The man reeked of months at sea and rotting meat. Roberto greeted the sailor, but he said nothing. Turning to Masamune, Roberto asked him to leave them alone for a few moments, so Masamune went into the hallway and waited.

A mere minute or two passed and there was only silence from within the jail on the other side of the door. Then a scream split the silence like the blast of a cannon.

Masamune burst into the jail and saw Roberto on the floor, a piece of the wooden stool's leg piercing his chest. Blood flowed freely from the wound. And the sailor laughed. Masamune looked at him. His face had become pointed and bird-like. And his eyes had turned as black as uncut diamonds. And his mouth... The smile stretch from one temple to the other with a row of rotted teeth.

The sailor's arms stretched toward the floor like sap pouring from the limbs of a weeping willow, and upon touching the stone floor, began seeping into the cracks and crevices. The sailor's entire body soon became like sap and poured itself into the floor until it was all gone. It all happened in just a few scant seconds.

Roberto coughed up blood and Masamune ran to his side. The wound was bleeding profusely as Masamune tried to press down on it as best he could. Roberto shoved his hands away.

"What are you doing?" Masamune tried again to cover the wound. "Roberto, I have to stop the bleeding."

"No." Roberto shook his head. He palmed something into Masamune's hand. It was a dark piece of hemp bound with a spiral of silver twine. "Take this. Follow him."

"Follow him?" Masamune looked at the empty cell. "Where?"

"He goes to the past. To kill a child."

"I don't care about the child. Roberto--"

Roberto grabbed him by his shirt. "Masamune, if this child dies, then our faith will never come to pass. Do you understand?"

"How can he...?

"Masamune, trust me."

Masamune nodded.

"Go. Follow the demon. Protect the child."

"I will."

Roberto motioned to the spot where the demon disappeared. "Stand there, where the demon stood. And the tishur in your hand will do the rest. It will take you to where the demon has gone."

Roberto whipped out his katana and with a swift stroke took down the bamboo bars. The katana was back in its scabbard in a flash. "I will return, Roberto."

"Masamune, be careful when you are there. The demon can take many forms."

"Then how will I know it?"

"You will know the demons by their eyes. Demons have none."

"More wine?"

Masamune was jolted back to the present and saw the pro-offered bottle once again before him. He looked into the face offering the bottle and saw only brown eyes. The same with the woman. He took the bottle and scolded himself silently for even thinking that either of these two, the parents of that sweet child, could even be demons.

There was a rustle and sifting of sand not too far away from them. The man whipped out a short rusty knife. Masamune's hand slowly moved to the handle of his katana.

Just out of the firelight's edge there came the approaching figure of a man leading a donkey, and upon the donkey was a woman. A slight chilly breeze carried with it the sound of a little baby crying.

"Greetings," said the man in the shadows. "We saw your fire from the road."

The man put his rusty knife away and motioned to the people in the shadows. "Come join us. There's plenty of room by the fire."

The man in the shadows shook his head. "We don't want to be a burden to you. Perhaps if we just stay here, near your fire."

"As you wish."

A stiff cold breeze picked up a little bit and the fire grew smaller, shrinking the circle of light. The man in the shadows left the donkey and woman behind and stepped forward, but still staying out of the light. "You have a child with you. Bring him to me."

Masamune felt a strange heat emanating from the side of his hip, growing in intensity like a wind-whipped firestorm. It was his katana.

A second later he pulled it free of its scabbard, not even realizing that he had. The katana's temperline glowed like white fire and the blade itself resonated with a reverberating tone, not unlike the sizzling sound that comes after the breaking of a wave. The light from the sword's glow illuminated the man in the shadows, revealing him to be the sailor. The sailor with no eyes. A demon with no eyes.

The rider and donkey behind him evaporated into a dark mist that slithered toward the demon and enveloped him, stripping his clothing off and transforming into a living armor of ashen gray, almost a chitin-like substance that seemed to flow all over its body like a slowly turning tornado. And in its hand there appeared a sword with thorny projections along the length of the blade. The blade itself glowed red, as if it was a bar of steel drawing its searing heat from a blast-furnace of never-ending fire.

The demon stood there before them, body illuminated by its own sword and Masamune's katana and the dying campfire. Except for the eyes. The dark eyes seemed to swallow all light, and yet in that darkness there was something there. A feeling of hate, driven by jealously and envy, and lust.

Masamune walked casually and stood between the demon and the child and its parents.

And without even a slight acknowledgment from each opponent, both warriors exploded into action, charging right at each other. Their swords connected with a brilliant blinding blue flash.

When the flash cleared, Masamune found himself on the ground, head dangerously close to the fire. And the demon stood a few feet away, smiling. "Care to try again, samurai?"

Masamune looked at his sword. It was still in his hand and undamaged. He answered the demon's challenge by standing up and holding his sword at the ready. And this time the demon charged.

Swords clashed together again. The demon hacked and slashed at him, and Masamune barely got his blade up to parry. Blue sparks flashed everywhere, nearly blinding him, but Masamune tried to look past them and focus on the demon's blade, staying well ahead of it, parrying low and high and to the side, trying to anticipate where the demon was guiding its sword. Each strike of the swords resonated like a huge thunderclap.

The demon swung for his head and Masamune feinted back instead of parrying and the blade passed within a millimeter of his face singeing a lock of his hair and scalding his cheek. But that left an opening and Masamune went for it, slashing his katana upward into the demon's wrist. There was a yellow spark and the misty armor parted revealing flesh underneath.

Masamune whipped his blade around to make another pass at the exposed part, but his sword connected with the demon's.

And the exposed piece of armor began to glide up the demon's arm and began whirling around the demon's chest. Then up to its face, exposing part of a smiling mouth before gliding on to another part of the body.

They parted swords and began clashing anew, sparks and thunderclaps coming one on top of the other. "Getting tired, samurai? I can go on forever."

And Masamune was getting tired. He'd never been in any type of fight this long. He wanted to just give up. The exposed part of the armor kept swirling from place to place on the demon's body and there was no way he could get to it while the demon kept striking at him. There was no way he could fight this demon for a few minutes longer. He was just a man, fighting a creature with supernatural powers.

He jumped out of the way of the demon's sword, and just out of reach. Both warriors stared at each other. The demon seemed quite content, quite relaxed. Masamune was breathing heavily, his sword tip lowered toward the ground. "Just walk away, samurai. Walk away and have a clear conscience about this."

Masamune stared at the demon, breathing heavily, not saying a word.

"Come on, samurai. Make a choice. What's your answer?"

Masamune lunged forward, blade leading the way. The demon was caught off-guard and its eyes followed the point of Masamune's blade as it dove into the center of its chest, timed to strike with the exposed part of the armor.

The demon howled like a thousand wolves baying at the full moon. It dropped its blade and the hot metal flared against the sand and melted it into glass before the blade itself vaporized into ash.

Masamune drove his sword into the demon another inch. "My answer is ‘No.'"

The demon gasped for air. It looked at Masamune. "That . . .was a good move."

Masamune twisted the blade within the demon and it howled some more. He looked at the fire, glowing brightly. "Now, demon, back to where you came."

Masamune used his blade to push the demon toward the fire. It didn't resist. "You've won this round, samurai. But each day I suffer my master's punishment for my failure this night, I will plan and plot, and if he wills it, I will come back for you."

With those final words, the demon reached its hand out toward the fire, and upon touching it, its hand started to melt into a bubbly black pus that started to take over its entire body, and like dust into a whirlwind, the demon was sucked into the fire and the entire fire died in an instant.

Darkness surrounded them, but above the stars twinkled. Masamune looked up at them, then the exhaustion took him over and he fell to the ground.

He didn't pass out, but lay there in silence, as did the woman, the man, and their child. The sun came up an hour later and they walked toward the road together in silence. Upon reaching the road, Masamune eyed one direction and the man the other. Finally, the man spoke, "Thank you, for saving our child."

Masamune nodded and they started down the road away from him. He watched them go and as they neared a bend, about to vanish out of sight, he thought of something and called out, "Wait!"

They stopped and turned to him.

Masamune had to ask the question, and he did, "What is the name of your child?"

The woman smiled at him, cuddling her baby, and answered him back. "His name is Judas, Judas Iscariot."

And they rounded the bend and vanished out of sight.

Masamune stood there, not believing what he has just heard. He looked down at his sheathed katana. That sword had saved Judas Iscariot? That sword saved the Betrayer? His family's sword . . .?

He whipped the sword out and spied a large boulder. Walking over to it, he lifted the sword over his head and held it so that the flat end would strike it, shattering the sword. He closed his eyes and brought the sword down with all of his might.

And it stopped. Something stopped him.

Masamune opened his eyes and standing before him was Roberto, holding the katana's blade with both hands. "Let me break the sword, Roberto!"

"No, Masamune."

"It has defiled my faith! The child I saved--"

"--has a destiny to fulfill." Masamune stopped pressing against the blade. "Think about it Masamune. Judas will make a choice. A powerful choice. But ask yourself what will happen if he doesn't live to make that choice."

Masamune backed away from Roberto, leaving the priest still holding the katana. "Then . . . then all of our history will never be. But Judas..."

"If not Judas, then someone else perhaps? Do you want to think of the possibilities? If someone else serves as the Betrayer? The thought frightens me, as it should you."

"But what I did . . ."

"You preserved a history that had to be. That, for us, already happened. And saved us from what could have been." Roberto smiled at him. "Take your sword back, Masamune."

Masamune reached out and took back the katana. "Has my future already been decided?"

"No. You have the benefit of hindsight. But what you do from now on will be entirely your doing." Roberto motioned toward the tishur tucked into Masamune's belt. "You can take my hand and before I move on I will lead you back to the moment when you left. Or, you can go where the tishur takes you. One path is easy. The other much more narrow. What will it be?"

Masamune didn't spend another moment thinking about it. He looked at the tishur on his belt and pulled it out. "As samurai, we serve our master in all things. No matter where. No matter how difficult. No matter how often death dares to claim us. I can think of no life more noble than that."

He held the tishur in his hand and looked up. Roberto was gone.

"Thank you, my friend. For your guidance. Now it's my turn to walk that path." Masamune gripped the tishur tight, determined to go where it lead him. "One day, we'll meet again. And maybe then, you'll let me have the last word."