Lord Oda's Revenge

by Nick Lake

  Tied around the pigeon’s leg was a very small scroll. Taro gripped the bird with one hand while he loosened the string holding the message with the other. He unfurled the parchment.

  His lips moved as he deciphered the hiragana, and he was filled with joy that his mother had found someone to write on her behalf, and that he could read it.

  My dear Taro, said the note. I am at the Tendai monastery on Mount Hiei. I am safe, but I would give anything to see you again. With affection, your mother.

  CHAPTER 2

  TARO LEANED AGAINST the wooden wall of the hut that led into the mountain, its floor concealing a tunnel to the mountain of the ninjas. A spring sun blazed in the sky above him, bathing the countryside in a light that was almost granular, so fine and shimmering was its appearance.

  This was a peaceful spot. It was for that reason that he had chosen it as his brother’s last resting place, and he was conscious as he sat in the sunlight that his younger brother’s ashes were part of the earth beneath his feet. It was another constant reminder of Lord Oda’s cruelty – for it had been Lord Oda who had imprisoned the youngest Tokugawa boy, along with Lord Tokugawa’s wife, and starved them to death. But before dying, Lady Tokugawa had begged Taro to take her son’s body with him, and he had been unable to refuse.

  He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth. The blood in his eyelids dyed the darkness of his consciousness red, and he thought that fitting. Blood was part of his being now, something he required in order to survive. The sun was only showing him the truth.

  He sighed, the warmth and the coming of spring ruined by his thoughts. He wished he could simply enjoy being a vampire – but how could he enjoy a condition that required him to hurt others? He could survive on pig’s blood, yes, but it didn’t give him the strength and power he needed to go to his mother, to protect her from men like Kenji Kira. He felt, without knowing quite why, that he would be called on again to fight, even to kill.

  And to do that, he would need human blood. He would need the strength of two men coursing through his veins – his own, and that of his victim’s.

  He heard something so faint a human wouldn’t notice it – a sound like breath, which was made by the stirring of the air as someone far away moved quickly through it. He shielded his eyes with his hand, seeing the dark figure flitting up through the field. It was the vampire he was waiting for. The only other vampire who could move in daylight, because it was Taro who had turned him, giving him his own blood to drink.

  The figure, growing larger by the moment, was the only person he could see, though from here he could see for many ri. The hut was high – higher than the clouds sometimes – and it was half a day of walking downhill before you came to the nearest village. Anyway, the people who lived down there never strayed near the mountain, if they could help it. They knew that unpleasant fates awaited those who did. Taro was glad no one from outside had come upon him since he had returned here – he was not as pragmatic or hard-hearted as the other ninjas, and killing a peasant just for being in the wrong place seemed cruel. On the other hand, he understood the need for secrecy, and realized that if the people of the area knew what was really hidden in the mountain, they would not rest till the vampires were destroyed.

  It would be an unpleasant dilemma, and he was pleased not to have faced it.

  I wish I could be more like him, more fearless and thoughtless, thought Taro, as Little Kawabata came more clearly into view, slowing as he spotted Taro by the hut. Taro would be leaving as soon as he could, with Hana and Hiro – tonight, if possible. He wanted Little Kawabata to know. Once the two boys had been enemies, but a grudging respect had formed between them – even if, as now, Taro was frequently irritated by Little Kawabata’s blithe acceptance of his status as a dark spirit, his unwillingness to scrutinize more closely his actions. Little Kawabata was impulsive, instinctive. This trait was an irritation, but it could also be useful – as when Little Kawabata had taken it upon himself to warn Taro of his father’s treachery, and so had saved all their lives.

  ‘You’ve been hunting,’ Taro said, as Little Kawabata stood before him. The boy’s face was flushed, his movements strong and lithe.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which prey?’

  ‘Which do you think? Vampires are meant to feed on human blood. You might be satisfied with pigs, but I am not.’

  Taro sighed. ‘You risk the whole mountain, if we’re discovered.’

  Little Kawabata raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think that’s likely.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s likely? You’ve been feeding on human blood.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Little Kawabata, flopping down against the wall, raising his face to the sun and closing his eyes, stretching his arms languorously. ‘People don’t expect kyuuketsuki in the daylight – that’s why I went out when the sun was shining.’

  ‘They don’t expect to be attacked at any time of day. It’ll put them on their guard.’

  ‘I thought of that. I knocked the man out first. Came at him from behind with a thick branch. Then I bit his ankle, drew the blood from there. He’ll think it was a snake.’

  ‘Well,’ said Taro, ‘as long as you don’t do it again.’ He had to admit, though, the thing with the snakebite was clever. ‘Especially not after tonight.’ He held up the note. ‘I’m going to find my mother.’

  Little Kawabata didn’t read, so Taro explained the message. The other vampire frowned. ‘You don’t think it strange that the pigeon took so long?’

  Taro did think it strange – though he was so pleased to finally hear from his mother that he had tried not to think about it. ‘Perhaps. You think it’s a trap?’

  ‘I think it’s suspicious. When did you leave Shirahama? In the autumn? It’s spring now. The cherry blossom has nearly reached us already, even this far north. No pigeon takes two seasons to fly from Mount Hiei.’

  ‘I know,’ said Taro, frowning.

  ‘Someone could have caught her, made her tell them about the pigeon. Or someone could have intercepted her pigeon, and worked out what it meant, if it had your name on it. It would be easy, then, to send a fake message – lure you to a place where they could kill you. Lord Oda is dead, but Kenji Kira is still seeking you. A prophetess told you that you’d be shogun – that’s a good reason for any number of lords to take your life.’

  ‘I know,’ said Taro. ‘I’ve thought of all these things. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were,’ said Little Kawabata, with a smile. ‘I’m only saying. . . that you should be cautious.’

  Taro snorted with laughter. ‘You’re telling me to be cautious?’ He could see a smear of blood on the other boy’s chin, where he had fed on a peasant, risking the very secrecy of the ninja mountain.

  ‘Yes, well. I might rush into things, but it doesn’t mean you have to.’

  ‘But if it was you, wouldn’t you go? Wouldn’t you want to see your mother again, even if it turned out to be a trap?’

  Little Kawabata paused, then nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought so. Anyway, Hiro and Hana will come with me – we’ll all three of us have swords. If it starts to look dangerous, we’ll turn back. But the way to Mount Hiei is simple – there’s a road that runs direct to the mountain, for pilgrims. And many inns along the way where no one will look askance at a group of travellers.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to just stay here, am I?’ said Little Kawabata.

  ‘I thought you were worried it was a trap.’

  ‘I am. It sounds exciting.’

  Taro rolled his eyes. ‘We need someone to look after the mountain. Do you think you can handle your father in my absence? He must not know where I’m going – just in case.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Little Kawabata, slightly grumpily. ‘Everything will be fine, don’t worry.’

  ‘And you’ll stick to pig’s blood from now on?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Little Kawabata, with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Whatever you say, Lord Taro. T
he mountain will be perfectly safe while you’re gone, you’ll see. It will be as if you had never been away.’

  ‘Good,’ said Taro. He cleared his throat. ‘I was right, you know. To save your life.’

  Little Kawabata averted his gaze. ‘If you’re going to get emotional,’ he said, ‘I might be sick. Just go and find your mother. I’ll watch over things here.’

  CHAPTER 3

  HANA THOUGHT IT would take the best part of a week to reach Mount Hiei. She had walked some of the pilgrim trail herself, with her father. At one time, she said, Lord Oda had spent a lot of time on Mount Hiei, with the monks, trying to win them over to his cause, which was the unification of Japan. The monks had been unfailingly polite, yet had ultimately resisted his offers. They were a warrior order, well armed, and they did not need to kneel to any of the daimyo. They were themselves one of the great powers in the country.

  Taro hoped this was still the case. If the monks of the mountain retained their independence, then they couldn’t be part of a trap involving his mother. They couldn’t be working with Kenji Kira to destroy him. Of course, it was possible that the monks wanted his death. Perhaps they had heard of the prophecy – that he would be shogun – and they wished to end his life before he could threaten their power.

  Well, it was a risk he was going to have to take.

  They travelled by day, for the most part. It was known to only some that Taro could withstand daylight, and so most people looking for a young vampire would not expect to find him walking the road in the middle of the day. On the third day, they passed close to Shirahama – Taro could even see the bay, gleaming to the west in the late afternoon sunlight, a silver dish against the mossy green of the land. He wondered, still, what secrets that bay held in the embrace of its rocky promontories. His mother had dived on the day his foster-father – the man he had always believed was his father, until Shusaku revealed his true identity – was killed.

  What had she been doing? That she had been diving was not so unusual: She was an ama, one of the women divers who made a living harvesting abalone and oysters from the seabed. But she had difficulty with her ears; the pressure hurt her, and more and more in those months Taro had seen her pale and bleeding. She had promised him she would not dive so often, or so deep, as she once had. And besides, she had been diving that day near the wreck, a place that every man and woman in Shirahama knew was cursed, and potentially lethal. And was it a coincidence that she had gone there on the very day that they were attacked? Taro had wondered about it ever since. Earlier on that terrible day, he and Hiro had heard a rumor of kyuuketsuki farther down the coast. Could Taro’s mother have heard the same rumour, and believed that the bloodsuckers were coming for her? Taro already suspected that the Buddha ball had been passed to the amas for safekeeping – what if that had been the reason for the dive? It had occurred to Taro too that the Buddha ball might have been passed down to his mother – and that she might have hidden it in the waters by the wreck, in the place from which it had originally come. It was a dizzying thought – that down there, beyond the misty haze of the sea-fog, through the leaves of the cedar trees, the ball might be shining under the water of the bay. . .

  He shook his head. If it was there, then it wasn’t going to move – he had all the time in the world to find it, once he had found his mother. For now, he had to concentrate on the most important thing – getting to Mount Hiei, seeing her again.

  Hiro inclined his head towards Shirahama. ‘We could go and visit,’ he said. ‘It’s so close.’ Neither of the boys had returned to their home village since being forced to leave, six months before.

  Taro shook his head. ‘Too dangerous. This is the Kanto – we’re better off on the pilgrims’ road.’ The Kanto belonged to Lord Oda, but all the daimyo respected the right of pilgrims to approach Mount Hiei in safety. It was only by sticking to the road, with its cobbled path, shade-giving trees, and frequent inns, that they would be able to reach the sacred mountain safely.

  As they spoke, Taro felt a raindrop splash on his neck. Dark clouds were massing above. He led Hana and Hiro back to the road, and as they walked, the rain fell heavier and heavier. Soon the three of them were soaked to the skin, rain drumming a constant rhythm on their heads, seeping into their clothes and running down their ankles into their clogs. They plodded on miserably.

  In this way, they walked for half a day, the light dimming steadily. When Taro saw the light of an inn ahead, he knew they would have to stop, even though it wasn’t yet night.

  ‘Oh, good,’ said Hana. ‘Maybe they’ll have a fire. I feel like I’ll turn into a fish.’

  As they neared, Taro could see that the inn was a crude place – just an assemblage of wooden planks. There were no windows. From outside, he could see a smoky interior, thickset men sitting on the ground and drinking from simple cups.

  ‘It’s a tavern,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure it’s a place for a lady.’

  Hana smiled. ‘Well, if I was a lady, I wouldn’t go in.’ She opened the door and sloshed inside, dripping on the floor. Hiro shrugged and followed her.

  Taro blinked when he entered, his eyes smarting. Most of the men were smoking pipes – a habit they’d acquired from the Portuguese and Dutch. There was also a hibachi in the middle of the room, and because the inn had no chimney, the smoke from the charcoal brazier simply hung in the air, a grey cloud that hovered at head height. Hana led the way to a table near the fire. Several men looked up at them curiously, but their gazes didn’t linger for long. No doubt they took the three companions for ordinary travellers, bedraggled by the rain.

  Then, as they passed one of the other tables, Hana gasped and stopped.

  ‘Hayao?’ she said.

  There were three people at the table: a woman and two men. One of the men was in the garb of a Taoist priest, the other a samurai, to look at him. The woman stood between them, her hand on the samurai’s shoulder. It was the samurai who had drawn Hana’s attention. He was a gaunt man, though Taro could tell he had once been handsome. He looked up at Hana, a confused expression on his face. His eyes blinked slowly, once, twice. With a pained, deliberate motion, he brushed the woman’s hand so that it fell away from his shoulder.

  ‘H-Hana?’ he said softly.

  Hana stepped closer. ‘Gods, Hayao, are you unwell?’

  Taro thought he must be. The man was painfully thin, his skin sallow and sick-looking. The woman, too, seemed unwell. She was desperately pale, like an origami person, a person made out of white paper. The samurai didn’t answer Hana – the woman at his side was caressing his cheek, and he closed his eyes as if in bliss. Something about the situation struck Taro as very odd. He wondered if the man was drunk.

  The priest stood. His manner was grave, oddly formal. ‘My lady,’ he said. ‘You know this man?’

  Hana gave a bemused smile. ‘Of course! This is Hayao. He is one of – I mean, he is one of Lord Oda’s retainers. He taught me. . .’ She lowered her voice so that the men on the other tables would not hear. ‘He taught me to ride and to fight. What happened to him?’ The samurai’s eyes were still closed, and he was murmuring something through his thin, grey lips. The pallid woman at his side stroked and stroked his skin.

  ‘He is. . . suffering,’ said the priest. ‘I’m taking him to Mount Hiei.’

  Hana clasped her hands together. ‘That is where we are going,’ she said.

  The priest nodded. ‘I thought this could not be a chance encounter,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we should go somewhere more private, and I can tell you about our friend here. Hayao is known to you – it’s not impossible that you could help. I myself have known him only since. . . his illness.’

  ‘If I can help, I will,’ said Hana.

  The priest edged past the thin samurai, coming round the table to stand in front of Hana. Taro stumbled backwards, a strangled cry on his lips. He held out his hand for something, anything, to steady him – and found himself holding on to Hiro’s shoulder.

  ‘What’s
wrong with you?’ said Hiro. ‘You look like you just saw a ghost.’

  ‘You don’t see her?’ said Taro.

  ‘See who?’ said Hana. Both she and Hiro were looking at him oddly. The priest didn’t seem to know what was wrong either.

  Taro was staring at the woman standing beside the samurai, Hayao. She had not stopped her stroking, and it seemed to Taro that she was also whispering something, something only Hayao could hear. She had not once looked at Taro – or his companions or the priest, for that matter. It was as if she had eyes only for the samurai. She was in love, it was plain to see. But that wasn’t what had shocked Taro.

  It was the fact that the priest had just walked right through her, as if she wasn’t even there – and even now he stood such that part of his body overlapped with hers, revealing her to be no person at all but an insubstantial thing, made of smoke or mist.

  A ghost.

  CHAPTER 4

  SHUSAKU GRIPPED THE rail, feeling his way up the ramp onto the ship. When he stood on the deck, he felt the incessant rocking of the sea, moving the wooden boat gently from side to side, as if to remind its occupants of its power. Shusaku had never felt comfortable on the water. But at least he was able to swim. The same was not true of the sailors – it was better to die quickly, they reasoned, if the boat went down, than to waste time and energy on a false hope of survival.

  Shusaku couldn’t understand men so resigned to the mortal danger of their profession. True, his own profession was lethal enough – but he was different. He armed himself. What these men did – sailing without knowing how to swim – it was like going into a battle without a sword. He felt Jun’s hand, gentle, on his back, pushing him forward. Curse the boy. Shusaku did not like ships.

  ‘There’s a step in front,’ said Jun. ‘Two paces.’

  Shusaku nodded, grateful. It would be humiliating if he tripped. It was bad enough that the sailors and samurai could no doubt detect his fear, his nervousness of the sea. Shusaku had insisted that Jun come with him – the boy was his eyes, and he needed him. To his surprise, Lord Tokugawa had accepted.