SNAFU: Hunters

by James A. Moore

  The oni reached from above, threading the spears to pluck a black-bearded warrior from among the press. Izō caught a glimpse of long, sinewy arms, segmented and muscular like the body of a worm, then the man was gone, a single shriek the only sign of his passing.

  Black blood rained from above as ashigaru stabbed up into the trees, stippling the soldiers' faces like ink from the brush of a careless artist. The oni's pained snarl was met with cheers from below, but the Akechi warriors' success was short lived as the creature dropped down among them.

  It was perhaps twice the size of a man, its boneless body like a festival drum corded with rings of glistening pink muscle. It had no eyes or ears, only a mouth, wet and toothless, yawning wide at the bottom of its body. Things moved beneath the oni's rubbery skin, the vague outline of bodies struggling within the creature like flies caught in pine sap. Legless, but with five tentacles radiating out like the limbs of a starfish, the oni flailed about, entangling men and weapons.

  To their credit, the ashigaru stood firm. Too close to bring their spears to bear, they hammered at the oni with the butts of their weapons, but with no bones to break or organs to crush, the spears did little damage. One of the soldiers turned to flee, only to be knocked flat by a whiplike blow from one of the oni's long arms and dragged howling into the thing's mouth.

  As satisfying as it was to see his enemies destroyed, the sight conjured a sour tightness in Izō stomach. While it was true Akechi warriors had brought death and subjugation to Hatano lands, they hadn't murdered Izō's lord. The Akechi were but one of many clans sworn to Nobunaga. These men were soldiers, loyal to their lord just as Izō was to his. He grimaced as the oni swallowed another shrieking ashigaru, its body ballooning grossly as the man joined his comrades within. But for a twist of the wheel Izō might have been among them.

  The trouble with killing birds is that you have to be sure they deserve it.

  Izō sighed, shaking his head – no warrior should die like that, no matter what monster they served. He searched the undergrowth for his blade. Although scarred and broken, there were yet powerful enchantments bound to the steel – the work of Emperor Jimmu's famed Yamato smiths, passed down through millennia to protect the people of Japan.

  A glimmer caught his eye and he stooped to see his sword had fallen amidst a small pile of teeth. Izō bowed his head in a brief prayer for forgiveness before retrieving the blade. Lord Hatano would be avenged, but not like this.

  Izō crept around the clearing, careful to present as small a target as possible. Fortunately, the shouts and struggles of the Akechi kept the oni occupied, although from the look of things it wouldn't be for long. Barely a half-dozen ashigaru remained.

  While every oni was different, Izō had hunted ones similar to this. The thing's arms were long and quick despite their size and its mouth was at the bottom of its body. Like a hawk, the thing was made to swoop down on its victims. Izō scowled at the nearest tree, not looking forward to what he needed to do. Unfortunately, the best way to surprise a bird was from above.

  Sliding his blade between his teeth, he climbed, the rough bark scratching his hands. Izō had never fancied himself a climber, but the trees were sturdy with many thick branches spaced closely together – well suited to an oni that relied on surprise. He edged out over the battle, almost losing his grip on the branch as he took the knife from his mouth. Only five ashigaru remained below; their hopeless cries mingled with the oni's happy gurgling. Sweat stung Izō's eyes, and he blinked it away.

  Looking down at the creature, Izō regretted not having committed seppuku after his Lord was murdered. Dying would've saved him a lot of trouble.

  He dropped from the branch, jaw clenched against the scream that threatened to burst forth as he plummeted toward the oni.

  It was just as terrible as he'd imagined.

  The thing's flesh was like cold seaweed, slick and slimy with mucus. Izō could feel the Akechi warriors within, struggles growing weaker as they slowly suffocated. His blade hissed like a sword fresh from the forge as it bit into the oni's flesh. The creature bucked and shuddered, bludgeoning Izō with its heavy arms. Bright flares streaked across his vision as the oni caught him a ringing blow across the head, but he hung on, bringing the blade down again and again. Pale, stinking blood spurted across his hands and face, and Izō clamped his mouth tight against the flood of bile. Even so, the oni would have thrown him had not the ashigaru recovered enough to drive their spears into the thing's arms, bracing against the shafts to pin the flailing appendages to the ground. They wouldn't hold longer than a few moments, but a few moments was all Izō needed.

  He drove the Yamato blade deep, using his weight to drag it down the thing's back. Black veins spread from the wound, the rot of an injury left untreated for days. The thing gave a shriek like a kettle on the boil and Izō saw one of the ashigaru go tumbling as it wrenched an appendage free.

  The tentacle coiled around Izō’s leg. He scrabbled at the oni's back, but the flesh was too slick. He slipped along, expecting to be slammed against tree or rock, but came to a sudden jarring stop as something caught his arm. Izō glanced down to see a pair of hands reaching from inside the long gash he'd opened in the oni's flesh. As the creature tugged, Izō saw arms, shoulders, then a thin, scowling face emerge from the wound.

  The samurai had lost his helmet and his hair was slick with viscera, but his expression was resolute as he clung to Izō's arm.

  "Get my men out," he said through clenched teeth.

  Izō gouged at the oni's side, barely able to keep hold of the sword, let alone aim his strikes. A gout of black blood heralded the emergence of several spearmen. They slumped to the ground, gagging and coughing, slick as newborn foals.

  Izō felt his shoulder pop with a sharp twinge as the samurai and the oni continued their bizarre tug-of-war. He slashed at the thing, sawing with all the finesse of a peasant butchering a tough joint of meat.

  "I can't hold you." The samurai's voice seemed to come from far away. "Give me the blade."

  Izō's gaze crawled down to the sword, then back to the man's straining face. Doggedly, he shook his head then brought the Yamato blade down, driving deep into the creature's body.

  The oni shrieked and Izō was ripped from the samurai's grip. There was a moment of heady weightlessness before he crashed to the ground, rolling twice before fetching up against a tree with a teeth-rattling thud. Pain blossomed bonfire-hot along Izō's back, but he paid it no mind, focused as he was on drawing in gasp after shuddering gasp of the sweet forest air.

  He could hear the oni howling, each furious bellow growing weaker and weaker as it thrashed around the clearing. After what seemed like an eternity, the creature fell silent, its cry disappearing into familiar coughs and groans of battered men. Wincing, Izō sat up and flexed his shoulder, surprised not to feel the sharp stab of broken bone. It seemed he'd earned some nasty cuts and bruises in the tussle with the oni, but nothing that would cripple him. He'd recover.

  If the Akechi soldiers didn't kill him first.

  Izō looked up as a shadow fell over him, meeting the samurai's gaze. The man looked as bad as Izō felt; the man’s armor black with blood and a large bruise purpling his left eye. A few ashigaru milled behind him, leaning on their spears as they limped about, battered but still very much alive.

  The samurai raised an arm, the Yamato blade glittering in his fist.

  "Steel shines ever bright." Izō smiled as it caught the light. "In battle, only men are tarnished."

  They were as good last words as any, he supposed. In a way, it would be fitting for Izō to die by a blade that had killed so many monsters.

  "Thank you for saving our lives. You should've let me finish the thing, though." The samurai knelt, drew his own sword, and held it out to Izō. "Here, it will serve you better than this dull, broken knife."

  "If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer my blade." Izō ran his tongue over his teeth. "I've a fondness for broken things."

 
"As you wish." The samurai shrugged, holding out the Yamato blade. "One old sword is the same as any other, and broken ones are easy enough to find nowadays."

  Izō took the blade, still wary despite the samurai's gratitude.

  "I am Akechi Mitsuhide, and I've come a long way to find you." He offered Izō his hand. "We must speak, but first I thank you for saving my life and the lives of my men."

  Izō made a sour face. Mitsuhide was the general tasked with pacifying the Hatano lands. He'd also been the one that had negotiated Lord Hatano's surrender. "Had I known you were Nobunaga's lapdog, I would've let the oni have you."

  "Then I'm glad you didn't" General Mitsuhide's smile cast the gaunt angles of his face into harsh relief. "I regret the chase, but I needed to capture you."

  "You shot at me."

  "Only a warning. I asked you to stop first."

  "You shot at me."

  "Sorry, it usually works." Mitsuhide shrugged. "Come, our camp is not far from the mountain. You have my word you won't be harmed."

  "Wouldn't be the first time you guaranteed the safety of one of my clan."

  Mitsuhide gave a pained wince. "Your lord's murder casts a shadow over us all."

  "Some shadows are darker than others."

  "If I were going to kill or capture you, why not do it here? You're hardly in a state to resist."

  "I might surprise you," Izō said.

  "Please, come and talk."

  "We can talk here."

  "So be it." Mitsuhide gave a pained hiss as he sat across from Izō, one hand pressed to his ribs. "They say you kill demons."

  Izō snorted then nodded at the oni's cooling corpse. "Is that what they say?"

  Mitsuhide glanced at those ashigaru who'd managed to stand. "See to the wounded."

  Nodding, they limped away, and Mitsuhide leaned close to continue in hushed tones. "Do you know the name Dairokuten Mao'ō?"

  Izō snorted. "The Demon King of Six Heavens? Isn't that what the peasants are calling Nobunaga?"

  "There is truth to the name." Mitsuhide gave a nervous shake of his head. "Nobunaga was always cruel and paranoid, but it has grown worse. There's a shadow about him. He lets his soldiers ravage the countryside, burns monks and priests in their temples. Several of his generals spoke out against the atrocities, and he had them executed. Then there was the betrayal of your lord."

  Izō's grimace was not only for the pain in his bruised ribs.

  "You must believe me when I say I didn't know he would murder Hatano in cold blood. More than that, he laughed as your lord was beheaded."

  "So Nobunaga is vicious and dishonorable," Izō said. "Many lords have done far worse and not been demons."

  "There's more." Mitsuhide glanced over his shoulder, as if to even continue might draw his lord's wrath. "The last time I was in Kyoto, I was passing his chambers late at night and I heard him muttering. Lord Nobunaga is oft given to speaking to himself, so I thought little of it until I heard another voice answer. I swear he was alone in his room, but more than that it was the sound of this thing – like wind blowing through a graveyard. I consider myself a brave man, but it was as if I was a child lost in the dark. I swear by my ancestors that what I heard speaking with Nobunaga that night was not human."

  Izō sucked air through his teeth. Nobunaga's rise to power had been almost uncanny. Powerful as they were, no spirit or oni could've engineered such victories as the Oda clan had won. Sometimes, men with ambition and cruelty often turned to pacts with dark forces to realize their grand desires. If Nobunaga had truly dragged some demon from the twisted labyrinth of Jigoku it would be no mere oni or hungry ghost, but something ancient and unspeakably evil.

  "All the creatures around Kyoto were killed centuries ago. We have no hunters, no warriors skilled in combating these things. I didn't know where else to turn." Tears glittered in Mitsuhide's eyes. "If Nobunaga become ruler of Japan, I fear it will become a living hell."

  "You would betray your lord?"

  General Mitsuhide straightened. "I would save him."

  Izō shook his head. How could he have missed this? He'd gotten so caught up in vengeance that he'd lost sight of what were birds and what were stones.

  "I'll need some new clothes, a few good meals, and no questions from you or your men."

  "Yes, of course. Anything." Mitsuhide grinned. "I'd give you thousand broken swords if you wished."

  "No need," he said with an almost regretful look at the dead oni. "I'm hoping one will do."

  * * *

  They crept like thieves through the darkness, faces masked, armor and weapons blackened, and swords muffled in their sheaths. The night was hot and humid, high summer in the city of Kyoto. They stuck to the back alleys, avoiding the frenzied buzz of conversation and laughter that filled the capital even in the small hours of the morning. Those merchants and drunks who happened to notice a score of armed men pass by quickly found other things to occupy their attention – nighttime killings were not uncommon under Nobunaga's rule, and those who spoke too loudly of them often found themselves next on the list.

  "Our enemy is at Honnō Temple," Mitsuhide whispered. "My lord has always enjoyed despoiling places of worship."

  "Guards?" Izō asked.

  "A few dozen at most. Kyoto is Nobunaga's stronghold, he would never expect an attack here." Mitsuhide was grim. "My army is ready to march on the city should we fail."

  "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." Izō gripped the Yamato blade more tightly. It had been forged in the ancient days to battle demons, but broken and scarred as it was Izō only hoped enough of the old spells remained.

  The temple was little more than a dark blot amidst the gloom, gates locked and barred; a few guards lounged in wan light cast by a pair of lanterns hanging from the eaves.

  Mitsuhide nodded to a pair of his men, who drew knives, but paused when Izō held up a hand.

  "We'll go over the wall, there." He thrust his chin at a section that abutted a nearby building.

  The soldiers looked to Mitsuhide.

  "No questions, General," Izō said.

  After a moment's hesitation Mitsuhide nodded, and the men stowed their blades.

  The wall was twice Izō's height, the tiled overhang looming as they padded up, ropes in hand.

  "Give me a boost," Izō whispered to the nearest man, who knelt and made a stirrup of his hands.

  "All right, up and over. Careful you don't chip a tooth on the wall," the ashigaru lisped as he took hold of Izō's foot. Glancing down in surprise, Izō saw the man had pulled down his mask to show a grin, ragged where several teeth had been knocked out by a hard elbow to the face.

  Izō winced. "Sorry about that back on Kuchisake."

  "I'm grateful, actually." The man's smile grew wider. "Saved me from getting swallowed by an oni, didn't it?"

  "So it did."

  With a soft grunt, Izō leapt for the overhang, scrabbling at the tile for a sickening second before getting a grip on the wall. He dangled there, breath held and ears pricked for the shout that would mean the guards had heard.

  None came.

  He levered himself up and over the edge, suddenly aware of how exposed he was. Trying to hunker down he tied the rope off and lowered it, expecting any moment to feel the cold bite of an arrow in his back.

  The courtyard was of tiled stone in the Chinese style, empty but for a pair of servants carrying a large teapot and tray of sweetened azuki buns.

  Izō dropped to the ground, trying to time his landing so it coincided with the servants opening the door to the central temple. Light spilled from beyond the door, absent the sound of laughter or song that would indicate Lord Nobunaga was entertaining guests. He murmured a prayer of thanks to Lord Hatano and any other of his ancestors who were watching over him, then crept into the courtyard.

  A few soft thuds behind and the Akechi soldiers joined him, weapons bared. They made it almost to the door before the call went up.

  There was a shout from the gate, then
the sudden flare of torchlight. Guards tumbled from outbuildings, unarmored and wild-eyed, but with swords and bows at the ready. The Akechi warriors turned to meet the oncoming rush, and the night was soon filled with the shouts of fighting men and the clash of weapons.

  A young samurai rushed at Izō, bare-chested, hair streaming loose from his queue as he brought his sword arcing down. Izō stepped into the strike, reaching up to catch the man's forearm to rob the blow of its strength. Forming a hard ridge with his free hand he drove it into young samurai's jaw, then hooked his ankle and tossed him to the ground. Spears stabbed down like beaks of hungry storks, and Izō was forced to throw himself flat, scrambling toward the temple door. A hand hooked the strap of his breastplate and hauled him up.

  "My men will hold the courtyard!" Mitsuhide shouted into his ear. "We must reach Nobunaga."

  Together they stumbled for the temple and kicked the door wide. Shrieking servants fled before them, scattering bowls, trays, and lanterns across the woven tatami floor. Flames spread up tapestries and hanging scrolls to lick at the temple's heavy oak beams. In the midst of the chaos sat Oda Nobunaga, hands on his knees, his robes in perfect arrangement.

  "Akechi Mitsuhide." Nobunaga's voice cut through the din like a thunderclap. "I expected this from the others, but you? I thought you were a man of honor."

  "I served the man, not whatever creature sits before me now." Mitsuhide pointed his sword at Nobunaga. "I know what you are."

  "Do you, now?" Nobunaga's expression of placid indifference might as well have been carved from basalt for all the emotion it betrayed.

  "And you've brought a hunter." Nobunaga stood, arms folded in front of him as he looked to Izō. Izō thought he saw a flash of surprise in the demon's eyes as it noticed the broken blade in his hand. "One of Hatano's dogs, I see. That old sorcerer might have proven troublesome. Which reminds me, I never properly thanked you for bringing him to me, Mitsuhide."

  At this, the general leapt forward, katana transcribing a tight arc to Nobunaga's neck. The blow simply stopped, the sword neither rebounding nor shattering. Rather, it was as if Mitsuhide's blade had become mired in the air a hairsbreadth from the demon's neck. The general strained and tugged at the sword to no avail.