by Nick Lake
‘There is no difference between you and Lord Oda,’ Taro spat bitterly. He had thought his father would be a better man, not motivated in the same way by power. In the end, it seemed his father wanted power more than anyone.
Lord Tokugawa flickered forward. His blade met Taro’s, upstretched from an awkward sitting position, and like the big samurai before him he scraped Taro’s sword down to the pommel. Only he didn’t cut Taro’s fingers again – he twisted, and Kusanagi fell to the floor.
‘You would never have beaten me,’ Lord Tokugawa said. ‘A fighter who fights because of sakki, because of bloodlust, can never defeat an opponent who is at one with naige dajo, the totality of things, who has come to see that object and subject are mere facets of the great everything. I know the secret of the sword. You do not. This is why I was always going to destroy you.’
This was not, in fact, true, thought Taro. He did know the secret of the sword – the abbot had taught it to him, the previous year. He knew that he and the sword were one, or that neither he nor the sword existed, which amounts to the same thing, because all existence is an illusion. It was one thing to know it, though, another thing to truly understand it – and enlightenment is a hard thing to come by when you have lost an eye and a hand, when you are injured in the side and the face and the fingers, when you are a ninja spilling blood all over a ninja-proof floor.
But as Lord Tokugawa raised his sword for a final time, Taro lifted his hand. ‘Wait,’ he said. Lord Tokugawa stayed his blade, curious.
Taro was in no position, in this time and this place, to clear the anger and betrayal from his mind, to make himself at one with Kusanagi, even if the sword had been still in his hand. But there was one way in which he had achieved oneness, again and again, in the last few months. There was a shortcut to enlightenment. Smiling, he thought of how he had travelled into death to look for his mother, and again to rescue Hana, and wandered there forever, and when he came out he had not been gone a moment.
‘You can kill me,’ he said. ‘But give me one moment. As a favour to your son.’
Curtly, Lord Tokugawa nodded.
Taro reached his hand into his cloak and seized the ball.
And then, for the last time, he was no longer in the realm of humans and beasts but was falling through the infinite sky.
CHAPTER 52
WHEN HE CAME over the bridge, he saw Shusaku immediately, sitting on the seat of Enma, Horse-head and Ox-face beside him. The ninja seemed at ease, comfortable in his new role. When Taro stepped off the jewel-sparkling bridge, though, Shusaku leaped to his feet.
‘No... Taro... It’s too soon...’
Taro waved a hand. ‘I’m not dead,’ he said, and the bitterness must have been apparent in his voice, because Shusaku took a step back.
‘What’s wrong?’
Taro let his eye rest on the grey expanse of death, colourless sky, and leaden ground, and he felt that this landscape was only an extension of the one inside him. ‘You betrayed me,’ he said. ‘Lord Tokugawa told me. You knew that he’d planned everything, from the start.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Shusaku.
Taro snorted. ‘I’m talking about him conceiving me deliberately, because he needed the son of an ama to get the Buddha ball. I’m talking about him getting the prophetess to lie to me, to tell me I was destined to be shogun, so that I would be sure to go after the ball. I’m talking about him sending me to find Kusanagi, so that he could use it to claim the throne.’
Shusaku raised his hands. ‘What?’ he said.
Taro shook his head. ‘You don’t have to lie any more. It doesn’t matter. Back in the other realm, my father is about to cut off my head.’
‘N-no,’ stammered Shusaku. ‘No, it cannot be.’ Oddly, he seemed genuinely upset. ‘No, I have served him all my life. He welcomed me when my own father pledged to another lord, he kept me on even when he knew I was tainted, I was turned...’
The terrible possibility that Lord Tokugawa had lied to him, again, blossomed in Taro like a malignant flower opening. ‘If you’re telling the truth,’ Taro said, ‘then Lord Tokugawa did not do those things out of kindness. He did them because you were useful to him.’
Shusaku rubbed his eyes. Because of Lord Tokugawa he had lost his sight, he had been burned nearly to death, he had been slaughtered and skinned by Kenji Kira. Taro could only imagine what he was feeling. ‘I’m so sorry, Taro,’ he said eventually. ‘You deserved better from your own father.’
‘Yes,’ said Taro simply.
A cast of determination came over Shusaku’s face then. He pointed into death. ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘There is someone we should talk to. At the least, she can confirm that I knew nothing of Lord Tokugawa’s plans.’
Taro followed. Horse-head and Ox-face turned their heads, silent, to watch ninja and pupil stride deeper into death.
Though Taro had been to death several times now, he could never get used to it – they walked for a period of time that could have been vast, or short, and they crossed landscapes that could have been mountains or deserts or even seas. The experience was of being in a trance, or a dream only half remembered. When finally they stood in the hell realm of meifumado, he was not even sure if they had walked at all.
They passed demons and the dead, locked in eternal cycles of awful punishment. Taro tried to keep his good eye ahead, not to look to the side, but he did, of course he did, and he knew that the images would stay with him forever. Finally they came to a place where a demon was dragging the fingernails from a woman. Shusaku turned to Taro. ‘This is the part of hell reserved for traitors,’ he said. Then he gestured for the demon to stop.
‘Shusaku,’ said the woman, looking up. Her eyes were black and endless with pain.
‘Prophetess,’ said Shusaku.
The woman turned to look at Taro.
‘Ah. And Taro. Has he killed you, then?’
Taro already knew his father was a monster. Somehow, though, this casual confirmation of it struck him like a blow. ‘No. He’s about to.’
‘So how—’
‘The Buddha ball.’
She nodded. ‘You did well to recover it.’
‘I thought it was my destiny,’ said Taro, putting an accent on the word ‘destiny’.
‘Indeed,’ she replied. Her voice was cracked with agony, like a cup shot through with barely visible, jagged lines of stress. Taro noticed, however, that her nails had already grown back. She would suffer this punishment again and again, and before each time she would be made new. ‘My fault, of course.’
‘What about Shusaku?’ said Taro, trying to ignore the ninja – now the judge of death – standing beside him. ‘Did he know it was a lie?’
She looked genuinely surprised. ‘No. Of course not. He always loved Lord Tokugawa, like I did. But we were different. He loved what he believed Lord Tokugawa to be. I knew what he really was, and I loved him anyway.’
‘And what is he really?’
‘Evil. Brilliant. Cold. A man who loves nothing but his own mind.’
‘So you loved him, but you knew he could never love you back?’
She looked at him, infinite tenderness in her eyes. ‘Yes. I think you know how that feels.’
Taro turned away, uncomfortable. In his mind, Hana was always turned half away from him, light falling on her eye, part of her cheek, her hair obscuring the rest. He heard her voice sometimes, indistinguishable from his own thoughts. The sun on rice paddies, the sea at dawn, the dew in the mountains, all carried her scent. ‘Why would he tell me Shusaku betrayed me?’ he asked, turning the subject back to Shusaku.
She shrugged. ‘To hurt you, I suppose. He enjoys that. No – that’s not quite right. He is not a cruel man. He is curious. He likes to see how people react to things. He likes to manipulate. Were you armed when he told you this, were you trying to fight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I imagine he told you to break your equilibrium. To make yo
u angry. To fill you with sakki, instead of calmness. To blind you with bloodlust.’
Taro looked at her. He could see, from her expression, that she had known Lord Tokugawa a long time, that she had seen him do terrible things, many of them, no doubt. All of a sudden he knew she was telling the truth.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He touched Shusaku’s shoulder. ‘Must she stay here?’ he asked. ‘Can’t you forgive her?’
Shusaku sighed sadly. ‘It is not so simple, I’m afraid. She lied for Lord Tokugawa. She is therefore condemned to meifumado. It is a thing I cannot change. There are forces more powerful than me.’
‘He’s right,’ said the woman. ‘Leave me. I will beg forgiveness. It’s all I can do now. And besides – even the lowest can rise again through the wheel of samsara, if they accumulate good karma.’
‘Then I wish you luck,’ said Taro. He realized that he was crying.
‘And I thank you.’
They turned to leave, and Taro linked his arm with that of Shusaku, the man who, along with Hiro, was the closest thing he possessed to family, and behind them they heard her begin to scream.
CHAPTER 53
WHEN TARO SNAPPED into the ordinary realm again, Lord Tokugawa’s sword was still raised. Stupid. How long did the daimyo think it would take to swing that blade through all that dead, slow, treacly air?
There was no anger in Taro any more, no bloodlust. The realm of meifumado still lingered all around him, wisps of grey mist. He had been served an undeniable reminder of the transience of all things.
Thought and action separated by nothing at all, he rolled to the side, over wooden floor that didn’t really exist, through air that wasn’t really there. He snatched up the illusory sword and jumped to his feet – or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the sword entered his hand and he was standing, all at once, because a person observing would have seen no movement.
Lord Tokugawa’s blade moved painfully slowly through the air. Taro watched it with something like contempt. He imagined himself behind the daimyo, and then that was where he was; he allowed Kusanagi to strike out, snakelike, shallow. Lord Tokugawa’s strike was still arcing down in front of him; Taro was not even sure he was yet aware that his target had moved. Kusanagi cut through the ligaments at the back of Lord Tokugawa’s knee. The older man pitched forward, stopping himself from landing on his face by putting out his left hand. Taro heard his wrist snap.
There was a clatter like the sound of enormous drums, as the sword in Lord Tokugawa’s hand fell to the wood. Taro kicked it, and it went spinning off across the floor. A samurai moved towards him. He raised Kusanagi and glared a warning. The man stopped.
He thought himself next to Lord Tokugawa’s sprawling form. He hauled the daimyo to his knees and rested the blade of Kusanagi against the back of his neck.
‘You told me the abbot was one of your agents,’ he said. ‘In that case, why do you suppose he taught me the secret of the sword?’
Lord Tokugawa sucked in breath, surprised. Taro had guessed right. He didn’t know what the abbot’s motivation had been – perhaps he was hedging his bets, uncomfortable with the idea of all the country’s power being in one man’s hands. The monks had always resisted the samurai. Or perhaps it had simply amused him to give Taro the same weapon he’d given to his father.
‘If you knew it,’ said Lord Tokugawa, ‘why did you let me unarm you?’
‘You made me angry,’ said Taro. ‘That was good. It nearly made you win.’
‘Nearly?’
‘But you also lied to me. That was stupid. You don’t really know what the Buddha ball can do, do you?’
Lord Tokugawa looked at him, uncomprehending. It was pathetic, really.
‘I’m going to kill you now,’ said Taro.
‘Please,’ said Lord Tokugawa. ‘Allow me seppuku.’
Taro thought of Kawabata Senior, who had asked the same thing after betraying him to Lord Oda. ‘No,’ he said.
Lord Tokugawa took a long, ratcheting breath.
Taro raised Kusanagi—
—and stopped.
He looked for Hiro; saw him being held by two samurai. ‘Release my friend,’ he said. He beckoned Hiro to come forward. What felt like an eternity later, his best friend was standing beside him.
‘Kill him,’ said Hiro. There was no forgiveness in his voice.
Taro wavered. He still had that image of Hana in his head from when he had been in hell, or that impression of her, because it was an image made of light and sound and smell. He felt almost as if she were trying to tell him something. It was as if there was a word, right there at the front of his mind, on the tip of his tongue, that he couldn’t quite recall.
Just get on with it, he thought. Kill Lord Tokugawa. Run. Get out of here with Hiro. If you’re lucky, you’ll get past all those samurai...
But would they get past them all, even now, even now that he had regained the secret of the sword?
Perhaps not. And even then, if they did escape, or if he laid claim to the throne, what then? A thought that had been lurking at the back of Taro’s mind, in the dark, stepped forward into the light. It was hideous, a grotesque thought, upsetting to him, and that was why he had locked it in the darkness.
The thought was: I took those people from the brothel and made them my slaves. They were addicts, yes, they would have died eventually, but I took away their choice.
Was that what being shogun would be like? Only instead of a brothel where people were fed on by vampires, it would be the whole country... Everyone in his power, everyone forced to do his bidding. Of course, he’d set out to do the right thing, everyone did. But what about the times when circumstances arrayed themselves against him? All it had taken was an attack by yakuza to make him steal the lives from those poor vampire addicts, to turn them into a private corps of bodyguards, totally subject to his will. One little threat to his life, and he had taken away theirs.
His skin crawled with revulsion.
It struck him then that power might not be a good thing, not a good thing at all.
Then, suddenly, and for no reason he could think of, the image of Kenji Kira flashed in front of his eyes. And a voice, echoing in his head.
Anyone who claims the sword pays with the thing they love.
I will remain in your mind forever.
An idea began to form. Could he do this? Would it work? It was worth a try.
He let the blade rest, ever so lightly, on the daimyo’s skin. He could only imagine how cold and hard it felt, how final. ‘Send your samurai away,’ he said. ‘Tell them we are not to be harmed. If you do that, I may let you live.’
Lord Tokugawa didn’t look up, but a shaky breath escaped his lips, the breath of one who has lived by a code of honour, of bravery, all his life, and who has just realized that survival makes honour an object of ridicule, an irrelevance. Taro knew that feeling well. Knew that any living thing will give up all his honour for one more day of life. Lord Tokugawa was no different.
‘You heard him,’ said Lord Tokugawa loudly. ‘Get out of here. Don’t come back.’ Taro watched as the samurai backed away towards the door, vacating the room.
Taro raised Kusanagi a fraction, so that it was hovering above the daimyo’s neck. ‘I am thinking of giving you this sword,’ he said. ‘So that you can be emperor.’
‘What?’ said Hiro. ‘Taro, I—’
Taro raised a hand. He gave Hiro a look they had used all their lives, when they were in difficult situations and could not speak freely. It was a look that said, Trust me.
Hiro shut up.
‘Why— why would you do that?’ said Lord Tokugawa. All the arrogance had gone from his voice.
‘You’re my father,’ said Taro. ‘Despite everything you have done.’ He was surprised to see, then, that a tear was rolling down Lord Tokugawa’s cheek. It hit the wooden floor with a boom. Thin beams of light shafted in through the closed shutters, motes of dust dancing within them, like living things. Silence spre
ad in a thick pool from where the three of them stood.
‘You have conditions,’ said Lord Tokugawa. It wasn’t a question.
‘Yes. First, you will leave the Buddha ball with me. I have tried to use it, to give rain to the rice crops. It only flooded those in the lower valley, spreading death and destruction. If you attempt to use it for gain, to increase your rice yields, it will end in disaster. Also, you will waive the rice tax for all peasants affected by the drought. Your agents will conduct a survey: any who are starving will be allowed to keep their own rice. You will treat the peasants fairly. You will have to, because I will be watching you.’
‘Agreed,’ said Lord Tokugawa, his voice strained.
‘There are only two more conditions.’
‘Yes?’
‘I defeated the dragon. You will give me the rank of daimyo, and a province of my own.’
‘Very well.’
‘I haven’t finished yet. I have a particular province in mind.’
‘Go on.’ Through gritted teeth.
‘Shirahama. It was Lord Oda’s, so you own it now. You will give me the land, the title, and all the wealth associated with it. When I have left here, you will draw up the paperwork. You can send it to me care of the abbot, at Mount Hiei.’
Lord Tokugawa nodded fractionally. ‘Done. And your final condition?’
‘It’s not so much a condition,’ said Taro. ‘More a necessity. You see, I cannot give you the sword. You must claim it.’
‘I must...’
‘Claim it. You must speak the words.’ Somehow, Taro knew this to be true. ‘You must say, “I, Lord Tokugawa, claim Kusanagi from Taro.” Say it.’
Taro’s true father hesitated, almost as if he feared the trick, knew that there must be one. He was the master manipulator, Taro supposed. After all, he planned in years, not weeks or months. He must know that this was foolish, and yet he didn’t want to die, and Taro understood that, too. The urge for survival was stronger than all other things, stronger than honour, stronger than pride, stronger than bravery.
