Samurai

by Jason Hightman

  “Somewhat,” said Taro. “I am certainly familiar with your messes.”

  Simon could see his father had no clue what all this meant. Then he noticed a dim figure behind one of the screens, but the shadow seemed to step away, its shape dissolving. Was the boy back there?

  “Sir, the one who should be explaining himself,” continued Taro, “is you.”

  “I told you. I was hunting a Serpent. I thought the boy was in jeopardy.”

  “Which Serpent?”

  “It is a killer from Zurich.”

  Taro looked to the others, who turned grim. “A second Serpent? In Japan?”

  “We’re not sure.” Simon broke in. “We may have killed him at sea.”

  “May have killed him?” Taro grunted. “You mean you may have let him go?”

  Aldric bristled. “We don’t often make mistakes. This one’s clever. And he had a great deal of information about the boy you protect.”

  “Kyoshi.”

  Aldric nodded, recognizing an offer of kindness in the giving of the boy’s name. “He may still be in danger from the Zurich beast. We’d like to see to it he’s kept safe. We’d like to know…where such a boy comes from.”

  At this, Taro looked startled, though he quickly hid it. And then to everyone’s surprise, the boy stepped out from behind one of the opaque, painted screens. “You mean you don’t know?” asked the boy, in English.

  “Kyoshi,” scolded Taro, and the other men leapt into action, moving around the boy protectively. “You were to stay out of the way.”

  Simon looked at the boy, who seemed ashamed at disobeying Taro, but his eyes were filled with curiosity. Simon could see him well now. He took him to be about eleven years old.

  Taro stood, and frowned again at Aldric. “Meet your nephew,” he said.

  Nephew?

  It was a most interesting morning. It seemed the Japanese side of the Order had some things to learn as well—they acted surprised to be unknown to the St. Georges. Simon’s head was filled with wonder at their remarkable situation.

  They’d been led to a second room in the secret base, dark and filled with Japanese scrolls. As the leader Taro spoke, and Kyoshi watched from the side, Aldric and Simon stood surrounded by the other men.

  “You are not alone in hunting the Serpent,” said Taro, and he hit a switch. The room lit up, with gleaming Samurai swords, suits of armor, rifles and spears, and devices Simon had never seen before.

  “The Asian Order of the Serpentkillers has existed for centuries, though its origin is unknown. We may even have crossed paths before. Certainly we knew of your Hunters since your Medieval Age, when someone from the European ranks pursued a Dragon here and required help. It is said this partnership was highly difficult, but little else is known. The Hunters always protected the island, and I am the logical extension of that great cause.”

  Simon passed a quick glance over the other warriors. Their eyes were active with thought, and gentle when they found Simon’s gaze, but certainly bore no respect for him, a mere boy. They obviously understood English, but they were content to let Taro alone do the talking.

  “The first Samurai of this secret group were men of valiant honor, who let nothing be known of their work. Our world fell out of touch with yours. The strict adherence to our code of purification meant that anyone who discovered us was brought into the fold, or eliminated by death. I can tell you these early times were filled with treachery, and our oral history tells of many betrayals by foreigners coming into our formation. But we have heard from no one in your Order for many, many years.”

  He regarded Aldric for a second, tapping a steel claw-like weapon on a display table. “And we have had no need of support outside of ourselves.”

  Like the men, Kyoshi said nothing, standing completely still. It took effort to notice him in the room, in his black school uniform, leaning against the dark wooden wall.

  Taro indicated the scrolls on the table. “The deathspells of the Asian Serpents are recorded here, some translated from the European spellbooks, some original. We are the caretakers of these works, which were once maintained by monks, who have all passed away.”

  “What are these?” asked Simon, drawn to several tiny silver bullets, warm to the touch.

  Taro clicked his tongue. “I’m telling our life story. It doesn’t interest you?” Annoyed, he took the bullets from Simon and replaced them in a case. “The bullets contain serpentfire. The fire is held in check by an ancient Magician-forged metal. Same with the swords, same with the arrows, which I’ll thank you not to touch. The tamefire is the safest way we have of killing the Serpents.”

  “Tame…” pondered Simon. “I’ve never heard of tamed fire.”

  Taro looked weary. “The word is…well, a bit hopeful. The fire is a necessity. Using Dragonfire against the enemy is superior to deathspells—though the fire rarely behaves as intended.”

  “You were saying?” prompted Aldric. “How did we get from medieval Japan to today?”

  Taro took the interruption with a slight smile. “People here in Japan passed down the work of the Hunt to their children, and their children’s children, and we five here are the last of them. We are the remnants of the Samurai in the Modern Age.”

  There was no boasting in the way he said it.

  “Although, without a true leader, we are more aptly called ronin,” he added. “Not that we are waiting for anyone to fill the job.”

  “But how do you…” Simon spoke up again without asking permission, and saw Taro’s surprise. “How do you hunt the things? You can’t see them, can you?”

  Taro looked to Aldric, perturbed, perhaps. “For a good, long time, this was a great difficulty. We followed the codes given to us in the old scrolls. We hunted in the dark, of course, looking for the Dragonsigns, the wrinkles and creases in nature, the storms, the pestilence, the anger and hopelessness that grows around such animals. When we thought we’d found one, we watched. If the Thing was seen to spread evil, a decision would be made, and we would cut him down.”

  “You must’ve done a pretty good job.” Simon said. “We haven’t noticed much evidence of Dragons in this part of the world.”

  Aldric gave him a look. “Well, you know the reason for that, Simon. For centuries, we only had one of the Saint George books. It made little mention of Asian Serpents.” He turned to explain this to Taro, who seemed disdainful of arguing in front of strangers. “It’s our own ancient collected knowledge. It wasn’t until we recaptured the White Book of Saint George that we learned there were so many here, and others whose ancestors must have left this region a long time ago, like the Dragon of Zurich,” he added.

  “Strange that a Serpent from so distant a place would take interest in Kyoshi now,” said Taro, “since we keep to ourselves. But if he were not with us, we’d be lost. Kyoshi is our guide, you see. Long ago we found him. He was on television, on the news, after a terrible fire here in Kyoto. He was ranting about having seen a Serpent-like man who had started the inferno. He was a very small child back then. We were tracking the beast, and naturally, we came to the boy. He had seen…what we could never see.”

  “You…see them, too?” asked Simon solemnly. Kyoshi looked at him, nodding.

  Taro glanced down with pride. “We had searched for such a person for centuries…and there he was.”

  Kyoshi nodded again, serious, looking the very picture of obedience.

  “Yeah,” muttered Simon, looking at Kyoshi questioningly. “There he was. I just don’t get where he came from.”

  Taro seemed embarrassed. “We might better answer that question with more comfort, back at our house,” he said.

  Aldric nodded, as his eyes moved toward the tree nearest him. The bonsai was twisting, its branches seemingly alive, as it shriveled and bent low, the earth around it now spitting forth little worms.

  “I think,” said Aldric, “the Ice Dragon may be making an appearance after all….”

  Chapter 17

  A
TRAVELER TO THE ORIENT

  UNBEKNOWNST TO THE DRAGONHUNTERS, Visser, the Ice Serpent, was sitting in a nearby teahouse, enjoying the unfolding of the morning and the soft movement of the light as the sun rose higher.

  It was not as entertaining as Columbo, but his television was gone.

  Shivering from the cold, he shaved some frost off his hands onto the floor.

  There had been an earthquake or two earlier, which he had accidentally caused, his magic spilling out of him in old age with no rhyme or reason, but he felt certain the Dragonhunters hadn’t noticed it. At the time, they were battling one another in speeding cars and wouldn’t even have felt the tremors. And the fog could be reasoned away as well.

  True, his presence was causing the bonsai trees in the Japanese café to crack and twist strangely, but the St. Georges and their Asian counterparts were in their secret base far below him, and Visser felt it unlikely his magic had strayed so far down. He prided himself on his elaborate knowledge of them, but he was certain they had no awareness of him.

  A black beetle crawled out of his teacup, and he quickly scarfed it down before anyone noticed. The Japanese woman at the other end of the café looked at him strangely, and for a moment he thought he might have to torch the place, but she went back into the kitchen and left him in peace.

  He rolled the beetle around in his mouth, and after a moment, other insects and worms wriggled up from his stomach and gently over his throat to tickle his tongue, playing about, creeping sweetly and nicely. They wrapped themselves over each other, and rubbed their little feet and tiny antennae over his teeth. Everyone warm and happy in there, he thought. Each elegant, crawling thing a shade of perfect black or white.

  Thus satisfied, he turned his attention to the street, waiting for the Samurai to emerge with the St. Georges. There were many little wheels spinning in his plan, and he wanted to keep track of them all. This is how we do it, my little friends, he thought, addressing his insects. First we bring the Hunters together, and then we bring the two strongest Dragons, and then we watch the humans die in the most poetic possible way. We’ve created a beautiful Dragon alliance in the process. Two powerful Dragon Houses would unite, and he would be the mastermind of it all. The matchmaker. He would be remembered for the renewal of his entire species. Who knew how long it had been since the last Dragon was born?

  He was growing impatient. The irritating Japanese with all their ceremonies. They must be holding things up.

  With his quivering, frosty hands, the Ice Dragon lifted from his pocket a small rat, a useful tool of Serpents, and he set it down to run outside toward a crack in the street. Then he reached out with his mind, and tried to see through the rat’s eyes as it descended underground to a tunnel. The Ice Dragon was weak, and the sorcery more difficult than he expected, but in a few moments, he could make out the meeting of the Dragonhunters, and he heard them speaking of…him.

  Then the rat seemed to get caught, wriggling in some kind of narrow space, and Visser sighed. My luck as usual. I’ll have to see to this myself.

  “This Ice Dragon may be following us.” Taro looked at Aldric with disdain. “But you’ve made things even more dangerous,” he said. “You forced us to come here, and possibly expose our hiding place, after that scene you caused at the school.”

  Kyoshi looked as if he wanted to be somewhere else. He placed a well-manicured finger over his lips, regarding Simon’s shoes as if they were marked with fascinating hieroglyphics.

  “You might have been less obtrusive,” continued Taro.

  Aldric raised his voice, “We were trying to be open and forthright—”

  As they chattered on, Simon watched as the boy pulled a little paper swan from his pocket, and then pulled a smaller swan out of the larger one. Gazing playfully, but without a smile, in a funny little move, he made the smaller swan look as though it had been eaten by the larger one, hiding it in his hand.

  The other men were watching, finely attuned to the boy, but Taro and Aldric were still arguing. “Would it not have been better to speak at a different time, with less of an audience?” Taro asked.

  Aldric gave him a scathing look, pointing to a white rat wriggling in a crack at the wall near Taro’s feet. “Audience?”

  “A spy,” said Taro, and he pulled out his pistol.

  “Too late,” said Aldric. The rat was gone.

  “How long was it there?” asked Simon.

  “Too long,” said Aldric, looking around in alarm. “The Thing’s found us.”

  Simon turned in fear as the awful crackle-sound of a fire slipped into the room.

  There was a shuffling beyond the wall—the Dragon had scuttled away, but he’d left a gift.

  Shapes were moving behind the Japanese screens, and all of the Samurai drew their guns, protecting Kyoshi in their center. The boy folded his arms, trying to be calm, and watched, with no attempt to fight for himself.

  The shapes behind the screens now burned with light. They had been embers that had glided in from cracks in the wall and had come together to form men made of fire.

  “Firespawn,” said Aldric, as Taro called out, “Embermen.”

  The shapes were stooped and very thin, made of ashes and ember, not at all the threatening fire-monstrosities that had eaten the ship at sea, but rather, the work of a tired old Dragon almost devoid of power.

  But harmless they were not.

  The screens began to burn, as the shapes clawed their way through, fiery skeletal hands ripping the beautiful Japanese screen-paintings of flowers and ancient scenes.

  “Reeeek? Reeeck?” cried the old firelings incomprehensibly, in creaking voices of sizzle and hiss and dying sparks.

  Withered, drooping faces made of ash, and flickering with half-dying light, began emerging from the ruined sitting room. “Youth…death…” uttered the first embered face, and the second echoed, “Youth death, youth death…”

  Hungrily, these old men of fire lunged for Kyoshi—young, weak, and without a weapon. Simon instinctively stepped in the way, even as the Samurai moved in.

  “Youth-death, youth-death—burn burn burn burn—”

  There were eight of the fire-wretches, and Aldric slashed two of them apart almost instantly, but their ashen bodies collapsed into pools of fire, spreading, as if gaining strength somehow from Aldric’s anger. Simon buried his sword in another rippling piece of fire-flesh, but as the Creature recoiled, the fire drew itself up the blade and singed his hand.

  He cried out and dropped his sword—which another firespawn promptly snatched, and swung the sword, aflame, at Simon’s head. He ducked, as Taro fired a barrage of gunfire into the old fireling.

  “Your swords!” cried Aldric. “You must use your swords!” He swung his own at a sprinkler plug in the ceiling, and water showered down upon them, but it only slowed the wraithlike creatures’ momentum for a moment.

  Throwing Kyoshi behind him, Taro continued shooting, and his bullets passed through the groping firelings. They were cowed only a little by the show of force, but the shots broke apart a huge ceramic planter filled with water. The liquid spilled around the feet of the firelings, bringing a sibilant hushing of ash and water. But the firelings simply stumbled forward, spreading fire as they came.

  Aldric leapt over a pool of flame to head toward the elevator, calling for his son, but Simon did not join him. Taro and the Samurai were headed out a back way with Kyoshi—and the last one out, the big man, looked back at Simon as if he were crazy for not coming. Simon figured they knew a safer exit and, sweeping up his fallen sword, he rushed after them. Aldric stared, a moment’s hurt at not being followed, and then charged back across the flames to Simon.

  The Creatures were still crawling toward him, writhing on the watery ground, pulling themselves forward, as Simon ducked down a stairway after Taro.

  Aldric followed, and the flames took the stairway behind them, as everyone rushed into the circle to their cars.

  Aldric could see the damage to Taro’s armore
d sedan. Arrows stabbed into it everywhere. “You can take ours,” he shouted over the fire.

  Taro looked at the forlorn Citröen, and instead, pushed Kyoshi into his own car.

  “I’ve seen your driving,” he said, and his sedan quickly tore away.

  Simon slashed a stray fireling that was trying to get the sword back from him. Aldric kicked the wounded firespawn back, and the emberman burst into a small explosion, setting the giant tree afire.

  Simon leapt into the driver’s seat of the Citröen, shoving Fenwick out of the way, but Aldric pushed him aside. “But I got us here,” cried Simon.

  “You’re too cautious!” yelled Aldric, and he laid on the accelerator so hard Simon nearly flew into the backseat. The Citröen raced around the burning circle, and Simon watched flames lapping at the car windows. Fenwick screamed a high-pitched wail, and the car flew through the fiery wall, down the tunnel.

  Flames parted from the front windshield, turning to an icy frost, and Simon could see Taro’s black sedan racing up the tunnel ramp and back onto the streets of Kyoto.

  Simon shot a look back. The fire was disappearing under a shower of frost!

  Now, up ahead, Simon could see an old man, alone on the street. He blurred into the Ice Dragon of Zurich, turning the corner, appearing as a stooped, ugly black-and-white Serpent.

  “There! He’s there!” called Simon, but Aldric had already seen it, turning the steering wheel to follow him, right behind Taro.

  The Citröen took the turn, but the old Serpent was gone.

  But the Creature had cast a spell that sent rows and rows of riderless motorcycles roaring out of a dealer’s shop. There must’ve been fifty high-speed motorcycles rushing straight for them.

  With the same pitch as Fenwick, Simon screamed.

  Squealing, Taro’s car veered so it was side by side with Aldric’s.

  The motorcycles zoomed toward the cars, a huge flock of them, one of them speeding directly over Simon’s car, its wheels leaving a black smear on the windshield, as it rolled over the battered roof and clattered away.