by Sarah Ash
There were always many people around at this hour; the day watch was coming off duty and the night watch was taking over. She could lose Mai and Mami in the throng, doubling back before they spotted her.
“Sakami!” Shun and Rikyu were crossing the courtyard on their way to the baths with the other archers of the day watch; Shun untied his sweat band, wiping the back of his hand across his glistening forehead. She saw that his brown eyes were clouded with concern. “You need to hear this.”
“I’ll take the gear back tonight.” Rikyu gave Sakami a grin as he hoisted Shun’s bow and quiver on his other shoulder. “But you owe me a bowl of sake, Shun.” Dazzled by his smile, she almost heard the indrawn hiss of breath from Mai and Mami. With any luck the sight of Rikyu going toward the armory would distract her envious shadows…
“I know you like to go out alone,” Shun said in a low voice, “but we’ve had reports of strangers on the mountain paths. The general thinks they may be Red Kite spies.”
“Kites?” The name alone brought back hateful memories. “But the Kites were banished – ”
He put one hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “Just be careful. Yuna can manage without mountain herbs and fruits for a few days. Wait until the general’s assessed the situation. But it must be serious; he’s even talking of reopening the old siege tunnels.”
“Hurry up, Shun!” Rikyu was hailing him from across the courtyard.
The siege tunnels? Sakami just stood there as Shun loped off to join the other archers in the bath house. Oh, no. Supposing the general’s already sent men along the tunnel to check it’s safe? If they’ve found Honou –
Mai and Mami were hovering close to Rikyu, their upturned faces lit with adoration.
As soon as Sakami reached the tunnel entrance, she hitched up her skirt and ran. The sound of her sandals slapping on the earthen floor echoed like a pounding drumbeat in the darkness. Horrible images filled her mind: would she find nothing but fresh bloodstains and tufts of torn russet fur where she had left him? He would attack anyone he didn’t know – and the soldiers would not treat an aggressive fox cub kindly…
She rounded the bend in the tunnel and heard a gruff little bark of welcome. He was still there, in his bed of straw, standing up, straining at the leash with which she had loosely tethered him.
“Oh, Honou, you’re all right!” Her eyes misting with tears of relief, she knelt and laid her offering of food before him. He began to eat ravenously, gobbling up the scraps.
Sakami had changed his straw several times, but from the rank smell she knew she would have to do so again. But his injured paw must be healing well for he stood steady, without holding it off the ground.
He finished and began to sniff around for more food.
“That’s all I could bring today. I’m sorry.” Instinctively, she put out her hand and felt, to her surprise, a wet, rough little tongue licking it. It was the first time he had done anything except snarl and snap at her and she looked at him in astonishment. “Is that your way of saying thank you?”
“Pah! This old tunnel stinks.”
Sakami froze, listening. A man’s voice came echoing through the darkness. Honou’s head went up, his moist nostrils warily sniffing the air.
“No one’s been down here in years.” Another answered him. They must be the soldiers sent to open up the tunnels on General Tachibana’s orders, as Shun had warned her.
“I’ve got to get you out of here – and fast, Honou,” she whispered, starting to untie the tether, her fingers clumsy in her haste.
“Bring another torch!” The voices were coming nearer. Honou bared his teeth and began to make a growling sound at the back of his throat.
“Ssh, Honou, do you want them to hear you?” At last the tether came undone. “Make a run for it.”
But Honou still stood on his straw bed, ears back, softly growling at the strangers invading his territory.
“We’ve got to go.” Sakami, her heart thumping, got to her feet and started off toward the tunnel exit. “Come on, Honou!” What shall I do if he won’t follow me?
A flicker of torchlight lit the tunnel as the men’s grumbling voices came nearer.
“It stinks all right – of foxes. They must have been using the tunnel as an earth.”
Honou paused one moment, the injured paw held off the ground. Then he began to lollop after her, awkwardly, unsteadily. Sakami wanted desperately to call out to him to hurry, but she was afraid that Tachibana’s men would hear her.
“Clear the tunnels, the general said.” The soldiers’ grumbling grew louder. Any moment they would come face to face. Why was Honou still at her side? Was he getting ready to defend her?
“Rocks, mud…and if that means foxes and any other vermin lurking down here as well, then that’s what we have to do.”
Sakami heard a rasp of steel. They meant to kill any living creature they found, be it rat or tanuki…or fox cub.
She clapped her hands sharply. “Run, Honou!” He turned to look at her, his eyes glinting wild in the torchlight. Then, as the soldiers came around the bend, he seemed to understand at last and shot past her, a fiery streak, disappearing into the darkness beyond.
“Who’s there?” The man’s voice rang out roughly. “Identify yourself!”
It was too late to run.
Sakami found herself staring at the razor-sharp tip of a naginata blade leveled at her throat.
Chapter 10
As the early sun broke through the sea mists, Masao hurried out through the damp dawn air to join the other shinobi who had already begun their daily training session. He had not taken part in the morning ritual of exercises in the yard outside the dojo since the raid on the Tide Dragon temple. Slipping into place in the back row, he paused a moment to steady his breathing before joining in.
Each black-clad man moved in perfect harmony with the others, their arm and hand gestures performing the stylized movements of the Kite style martial art: Soaring Wing; Rending Claw; Takadai’s Thrust.
Masao had been practicing these exercises from the age of seven, so he was surprised to find himself lagging behind the others, even struggling to keep up.
“You’re not yet ready,” breathed a voice in his ear. He flinched, losing the rhythm, glancing around to see that Master Yoriaki had soundlessly appeared close behind him. The martial arts master placed one fingertip on the side of Masao’s throat, drawing it across in one stroke. “Zzzip – and you’re dead. Too slow, Masao. You didn’t even sense I was there.”
Masao stopped, breathing hard. “I just need more practice, Sensei.”
“Even if you’re tempted to use the Kite Shadow again, resist it,” Master Yoriaki said calmly. “You haven’t regained enough strength yet to sustain it. You’re a liability.”
Masao was aware that the other shinobi must be listening to the master’s dressing-down even as they continued with their exercises. He felt raw, humiliated.
“I’ve orders for you from Lord Toshiro. You’re to go to the armory straight away.”
Masao opened his mouth to object, and then, realizing the futility of such an action, shut it again. He bowed to Yoriaki, student to master, and left the exercise yard.
At first he kept walking, but when he had gone a little way up the wooded track he paused to look back. And a sudden wave of envy washed through him, so strong it had the overwhelming force of a riptide.
I should be with them, not banished to the armory.
“Good morning, Lord Masao.” The soft voice startled him; he turned to see Yūgiri standing beside him, the morning breeze off the sea stirring his ivory hair which hung loose about his shoulders. Masao noticed he was carrying a basket filled with greenery; he must have been up early to collect medicinal plants. “Why aren’t you training with the others? Were my healing powers not enough to restore you to full strength?”
Masao swallowed; it was hard to admit to his demotion, even to a childhood friend like Yūgiri. “No; you healed me well, Yūgiri. Lo
rd Toshiro has given me a new role.”
“You don’t look very happy at the prospect.” Yūgiri’s pale eyes seemed to pierce straight to the heart of his bitterness.
Masao glanced away, unable to bear his keen scrutiny. “What shinobi warrior would be happy at being ordered to work as a common armorer?” he said between gritted teeth.
“Forgive me; I didn’t mean to pry.” Yūgiri turned to leave.
“Wait!” Masao was ashamed of himself; he owed Yūgiri a great deal for restoring him to health and he felt more than a little indebted to him. Ever since he had experienced the shaman’s healing touch, it was as if a link had been established, as if Yūgiri’s fingers had woven an invisible thread to connect them. Besides, there was something else that was puzzling him. “I’ve never seen you outside the main house before – not since you began your training.”
The shadow of an enigmatic smile passed across Yūgiri’s face. “Lord Toshiro has ordered me and my father to accompany the fleet.”
“What?” Masao wasn’t sure why, but the thought that the delicate Yūgiri should be subjected to the rigors of a warrior’s life on campaign was distasteful.
Yūgiri shrugged. “Just think of me as Manabu’s aide. Don’t underestimate me; I’m much tougher than you think.” And with another serene little smile, he bowed and withdrew. As his slender white-robed figure vanished between the trees, Masao found himself thinking that he looked more like a spirit or a woodland kami than a man of flesh and blood.
Yūgiri sharing his healing essence with other warriors…
A feeling of revulsion, so strong and so utterly irrational as to be shocking, swept through Masao’s mind. What am I thinking? Yūgiri was Lord Toshiro’s personal healer and was honor-bound to do whatever his clan lord ordered.
I’ve no right to interfere in Yūgiri’s affairs; it’s none of my business, he told himself as he began to climb the overgrown path that led up to the Armory, his head still echoing with the ritual chanting of his fellow shinobi. The higher he climbed, the more distant the men’s grunts and cries became, replaced by the rushing of the stream that flowed close to the path.
With every step I take, I’m moving further away from my life as a clan warrior. If I don’t get the chance to practice every day, I could lose my Shadow skills. And when Naoki returns, he won’t want a common armorer as his chief retainer. He’ll choose one of my uncle’s sons to replace me. But with good reason; I couldn’t protect him when he needed me the most.
By the time he reached the armorers’ forge, Masao’s mood was darker than the gathering rainclouds that had begun to drift in over the island. He had expected to hear the ring of hammers and the hiss of steam as Master Kinkiyo plunged a new blade n a trough of cold water, but all he could catch was the murmur of men’s voices. He put his head around the open doorway to see Master Kinkiyo busy with Saburo and the younger apprentices, their faces lit demon-red by the intense glow of the fierce forge fire.
Saburo looked up and grinned. “Come in, Lord Masao.”
Masao nodded. “Call me Masao; we’re working together now, so there’s no need to be so formal.”
“We’re still working on the second iron dragon eruptor,” said Master Kinkiyo. “But we’re not ready to test it yet. Why not go with Saburo up to the fire drug cave?”
Saburo handed Masao a leather workman’s apron similar to the one he was wearing and a strip of cloth to tie around his forehead. “Fire drug’s messy stuff, remember?” he said, thrusting a sack into Masao’s hands and leading him away from the forge.
“A cave?” Masao clambered up the rough, rocky path after Saburo who went nimbly ahead, obviously well used to taking this route. “Isn’t a cave too damp to keep the fire drug dry?”
“There’s a good reason, as you’ll soon see.” Was there a hint of mischief in Saburo’s words?
A couple of dull-feathered crows, disturbed by their arrival, flapped away, cawing raucously. Masao saw the bloody remains of a young rabbit that they had been rending with their black beaks in front of a narrow cave entrance.
“In here.” Saburo bent down to ease himself through the opening.
Masao followed, blinking while his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The air was dank inside and tainted by a foul, acrid stench that issued from the far darkness.
“It stinks.” Masao clapped one hand over his mouth and nostrils, trying not to retch.
“It’s been home to generations of owls. Look down.”
The floor was covered in a thick layer of owl droppings, mottled feathers and dry leaves. “An invaluable source of saltpeter,” Saburo said, squatting down and starting to scrape up the noisome mess with a little wooden rake, “which is one of the three key ingredients of fire drug.”
A faint noise emanated from the darker reaches of the cave that sounded like the rustling of feathers.
Masao was growing more dejected by the minute; he had no real interest in sifting through smelly owl droppings to extract saltpeter. “This is no work for a fighting man,” he muttered.
“My wife always complains that I reek after I’ve been working in here.” Saburo grinned at Masao. “Hand me the sack.”
“You’re married?” Masao had not really stopped to think that Saburo and the other armorers might have lives outside the forge.
“Yes, and we have a little son; he’s just started walking all by himself.” Saburo’s grin widened, suddenly the proud father. “Why don’t you come back for supper? We’d be honored if you’d join us.”
Masao didn’t know what to reply. “Thank you,” he managed. Family life, as far as he was concerned, had come to an abrupt end the night Akatobi castle caught fire. Unable even to look for his mother and little brothers in the panic, he had only survived the blaze because he had been playing truant with Naoki. But then everyone had lost someone that night; Naoki’s mother and older brother had perished in the inferno.
“There’s very little left of use here; we’ve been using up the droppings faster than the owls can produce them.” Saburo got to his feet, brushing the dirt and twigs off his clothes. “We’ll have to find another source soon, or Lord Toshiro won’t get his fire drug.”
Masao, holding the sack and its noisome contents at arm’s length, heard Saburo’s words with a certain satisfaction.
And if that meant I could go back to my rightful place as a shinobi warrior, that would be all for the best.
***
“Is this all you could find?” Master Kinkiyo weighed the sack in one hand. “There’s not enough here for even one blast.” He eased himself down on a bench, wiping the sweat from his gleaming forehead with the back of his forearm. “Lord Toshiro’s not going to be pleased, is he? Looks like we’ll have to put our second plan into action.”
Mystified, Masao glanced questioningly at Saburo, who nodded to his master and went to retrieve a scroll from the shelves where the armorers kept their plans. He spread the scroll open on the table in front of Kinkiyo, holding the corners down with lumps of metal ore.
“A map of the main island?” Masao, leaning over to look more closely by the glow of the forge fire, recognized the contours of the shoreline. The map-maker had had outlined the extent of their lands with different colored inks. Kurozuro Castle was distinguished by the etching of a tiny black crane.
“There’s a cave up the mountain above Kurozuro Castle with a rich yield in saltpeter.” Master Kinkiyo stabbed one sturdy finger at a small mark on the map near the summit. “Bats have been roosting there for years. I should know, because I went there once to see for myself.”
“A Red Kite straying into Crane territory?” said Saburo, looking at his master with one eyebrow raised. “How did you get out undetected?”
Kinkiyo shrugged. “There’s a shrine to Inari up there. I dressed as a pilgrim and went to make my offerings to the goddess with the other worshippers at harvest time. And then I took a detour on the way back.”
“But surely the Cranes will have placed guards all ov
er the mountain.” If Masao were in command of the Cranes’ castle garrison, he was certain that was what he would do. “They’ll be on the lookout for any strangers entering their territory.”
“But if the Cranes don’t know about the saltpeter, why would they waste valuable manpower in guarding it?” said Saburo.
“Wait.” Masao was still weighing up the risks of Master Kinkiyo’s suggestion. “How reliable is this map?”
“And who’s going to be the one to tell Lord Toshiro that – unless we find this cave – we’ll have to make do with enough fire drug for one blast?”
Masao let out a sigh of irritation. He wanted to be fighting the Cranes, not digging around in damp caves for bat droppings.
***
Evening sun pierced the lingering mist, making the damp leaves glisten as the two men came back down the mountain slope. Masao could see wisps of smoke rising from the evening cooking fires to mingle with the low-lying clouds.
“It all looks so peaceful,” he heard himself saying aloud. Beside him, Saburo nodded in silent agreement. Masao was only thirteen when the Red Kites were exiled from the mainland. This island had been their home for the last seven years and he would never forget how hard life had been at first. The wet, unpredictable climate with its frequent sea fogs had made it difficult to grow crops and the exiles had often gone hungry as harvests failed.
After they had scrubbed themselves clean at the communal baths, Saburo led Masao into a part of the compound that he rarely visited: the cluster of houses outside the main complex where the servants and ordinary clan soldiers lived with their families.
“My house is at the end of the lane, by the two plum trees,” Saburo said, pointing. “I’ll run on ahead and warn my wife we have company.”
As Masao approached, he heard voices inside, a woman’s remonstrating, “But he’s one of the young lords, and I’ve nothing but plain food to offer him. If only you could have warned me earlier!”
Masao hesitated on the threshold. He didn’t want to cause Saburo and his family any embarrassment; and yet Saburo had seemed so keen that he should join them for the evening meal.
