by Nick Lake
Startled, Taro’s friend drew his sword in a quick, lithe movement and slashed through the leaves and air that were approaching him.
Taro let the leaves fall to the ground, then grinned at Little Kawabata.
‘Yes, very good,’ said Little Kawabata. ‘But it’s just leaves. Go on – make me take a step forward.’
Taro’s sense of achievement faded. He couldn’t move people – just air and water, fire and earth, the four elements. He had not tried fire yet, but he sensed it would work. Yet try to command a person to do something – to do anything they didn’t want to do – and the ball became useless. It seemed it was one thing to control nature and another thing to control people. What use was power, if it didn’t extend to individuals? He couldn’t hope to defeat Lord Oda with leaves; he couldn’t hope to stand up against the reincarnated body of Kenji Kira with nothing but air.
At first he hadn’t wanted to think about Lord Oda, or about violence of any kind. He remembered those men he’d killed in Shirahama, the emptiness he’d felt afterward. He didn’t want revenge any more, he knew. But Hana had reminded him of how desperately Lord Oda wanted the ball.
‘He won’t stop until he’s got it,’ she’d said. ‘He’ll kill us all – me, Hiro, Hayao. You, if he gets the chance. The only way to stop him is to kill him first.’
Taro had argued, but in the end he had seen it was true. Now he had only to master the ball, so he could do it. He’d help the monks destroy Lord Oda’s remaining army, and then he would go somewhere else. He was thinking of a fishing village, perhaps. He’d mentioned it to Hana, and she had smiled.
‘I will go anywhere with you,’ she’d said.
Peering into the ball, he brought himself again to the spot on which he stood, until he was hovering over his own self, a floating consciousness without form. He reached out with his mind and plucked at Little Kawabata’s legs, as if he were a puppet.
Nothing happened.
Hana was practising sword katas under the trees, and she laughed at Taro’s expression of frustration. ‘Forget the ball for a moment,’ she said. ‘You should focus on your own skills.’ She beckoned with her sword. ‘Come and spar – you look like you’ve become slower since I’ve been sleeping. Slower, and fatter.’
Taro snorted. ‘Look who’s talking! A month curled up asleep hasn’t done your forms any good – or your form, either. . .’
‘Nonsense,’ said Hana. ‘It was beauty sleep.’ She dropped into the sword stance again and whipped out at a tree with a perfect high strike – if anything, Taro thought, she was quicker and more centred than she had been before, almost as if she had carried something of Enma’s realm back to this one, some lingering knowledge of the true nature of things, clinging to her like smoke.
Turning away from her, Taro again concentrated on the ball, trying to make Little Kawabata trip himself up and fall to the ground.
Absolutely nothing happened. He cursed angrily.
The abbot, who was sitting under the tree meditating, looked up. ‘She’s right, you know,’ he said. ‘You would do better to practise the sword. I don’t think the ball will work – at least not for your purposes.’
‘Why not?’
‘The ball belonged to Buddha. Do you think it is in the nature of his conception of dharma to control others?’
Taro thought about the teachings of Buddha, which he had been discussing often with the abbot over the last few days. ‘No,’ he said eventually. The Buddhist way was one of compassion, calm, and freedom from bonds. For one man to be enslaved to another was a violation of the Eightfold Path.
‘It’s one thing to have power over leaves, the wind, the weather even,’ continued the abbot. ‘We already have such power, in fact, when we farm, and when we build boats whose sails catch the air. But people are different.’
Taro sat down. ‘So the ball is useless.’
‘No,’ said the abbot. ‘Nothing is useless. The ball is merely an instrument of dharma, but that doesn’t make it any less powerful. I believe that it will help to further the true way – it just won’t interfere with the way.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Taro.
The abbot stood up. He drew a katana from beneath his robe and held it out in front of him. ‘Pick it up,’ he said. Taro stepped forward. ‘No. With the ball.’
Taro focused, then slowly raised the sword into the air. It was made of metal, and he could feel the true name of metal, and was able to command it. He let the sword hover in the air.
‘Now run me through,’ said the abbot.
‘What?’
‘I said, run me through. Strike.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing. I’m older and wiser than you, and I have quick reflexes, which is more important. Just do it.’
Taro had no intention of hurting the man, but he sensed it would be foolish to disobey, so he compromised – he sent the sword slowly forward, tip pointing at the abbot’s chest. But then he grunted, surprised. The sword stopped in mid-air, as if pressing against a solid barrier of rock, or steel. He pushed. It didn’t move.
The abbot smiled. ‘You can’t do it, can you?’
Taro was really trying now. He felt the muscle of his mind strain as he attempted to force the sword forward. Eventually he gasped, and the sword fell from his invisible grasp and landed with a thud on the ground. He sank back into the grass, looking up at the sky.
‘Useless,’ he said. ‘How can I do anything with this thing?’
‘You can do good things with it,’ said the abbot. ‘I think that’s rather the point.’
Taro laughed hollowly. Actually, there was one positive thing about this – the ball would be completely useless to Lord Oda, too. The daimyo had expended so much time and effort – killed people even – in order to possess it, and it was nothing like he had imagined. It didn’t grant power over the world, not even a little. It only allowed the holder to bring about, perhaps more quickly, the good and right progression of events. It was almost funny.
The murderous Lord Oda had killed Taro’s father – at least, the man Taro had thought was his father – and Shusaku, and all the ninjas of the mountain, just to try to get hold of a ball that was a pure instrument of goodness, and would be as helpful as a rock in his hands.
Still, it wasn’t that funny. Because Taro was now stuck on the mountaintop, close to Lord Oda’s encampment, with nothing but a vampire who had once tried to kill him, a stocky friend, and a girl – even if she was good with a sword. There was Hayao, too, of course, though Taro had seen little of him since Hana had woken. He thought maybe Hiro had said something to him, about Taro’s stupid jealousy, and the man was giving him and Hana some space. He was grateful; and he was grateful still to the samurai for coming over to the cause of the monks. But that didn’t improve their odds much, did it? Some few monks, the meagre survivors of the battle on the mountainside, Little Kawabata, Hiro, Hana, and a traitor who was still weakened by his long haunting.
That was all that stood against Lord Oda.
And Lord Oda didn’t know the ball was useless. He still wanted it.
We’re all going to die, thought Taro.
Just then, as he was thinking about death, a man in a hooded cloak stepped out from among the pine trees. He pushed the hood back from his head and it fell to his shoulders, leaving nothing but empty air where the face should have been. Taro stared in horror at this invisible newcomer, and was just remembering when he had last seen something like it when –
‘Taro, Hiro,’ said the man. ‘It is good to see you. I have had a very long walk.’
Taro stared. He’d seen this figure before. Gods, he thought. Was it not enough with my mother – must they follow me always, these dead people?
It was the ghost of Shusaku.
CHAPTER 63
TARO STEPPED BACKWARDS, holding the ball tight in his hands. His mother hadn’t returned on the shade-boats at the end of obon, and it seemed Shusaku hadn’t either – somehow their spir
its had remained in the earthly realm. And now, just as Taro had saved himself from his mother’s ghost and given her peace, his old mentor had come to haunt him too.
He was about to turn and run when he saw that Hiro was walking towards the ghost. ‘Shusaku!’ his friend said. ‘Shusaku, what happened to your skin? I can’t believe you’re alive!’
‘Wait,’ Taro said. ‘You see him too?’ His friends had never seen his mother, he knew, and neither had Hiro or Hana seen the ghost that had been haunting Hayao, the samurai.
‘What?’ said Hiro. ‘Of course. He’s right there. I just can’t believe it!’ Uncharacteristically, Hiro seemed to be crying. ‘We thought you were dead, Shusaku!’
‘I can see him as well,’ said Hana, walking over to stand with Taro. She bowed to the man in the hood, the terribly burned man who spoke in Shusaku’s voice. The ground seemed unsteady beneath Taro’s feet; he felt as he had when he fell into the ball for the first time, leaving the world behind. ‘We met in the woods,’ said Hana. ‘When you saved me from the bandits.’
‘I remember,’ said Shusaku. ‘Well met, Lady Hana.’
Shusaku came closer. ‘I’m not a ghost,’ he said, and when his mouth moved, the terrible scars on his face creased and folded. ‘The sun burned me, but it couldn’t kill me.’
Hana reached out a hand and touched Shusaku’s face. ‘Those scars. . .,’ she whispered. ‘It must have been terrible.’
He shrugged. ‘It was. Lots of things are.’
Taro’s heart seemed about to grow wings and fly out of his throat. ‘Is it really you?’ he asked.
‘Yes. It’s me. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.’
Taro shrugged away the apology and ran forward to throw his arms around the old ninja. Even the odd, disconcerting feeling of talking to a man whose face you couldn’t see was still welcome. He closed his eyes and wished this moment would go on forever, and Shusaku lifted him from the ground and spun him around.
Shusaku gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘It’s good to see you, too,’ he said. ‘I have thought of you every day.’ He coughed. ‘Those I train do not usually occupy my thoughts so much.’
‘But how did the sun not kill you?’ Taro asked.
The abbot spoke from behind him. ‘The Heart Sutra,’ he said. ‘Interesting. Does it make you invisible to other vampires?’
Shusaku nodded.
‘Ah,’ said the abbot. ‘So the sun. . . Well, the sun is a spirit too. She is Amaterasu, in the Shinto faith. Your tattoos hid you from the sun itself.’
‘That was my conclusion also,’ said Shusaku. ‘She couldn’t see me properly to burn me.’ He pointed to his eyes. ‘Unfortunately, I lost my sight. That is why it has taken me so long to find Taro again.’
Taro realized then that he couldn’t see Shusaku’s eyes – always before he’d been able to see them floating in the air. They were the one part of his body he’d been unable to tattoo, and thus the only part that vampires and other spirits could see. They had been his downfall at Lord Oda’s castle – giving away his whereabouts to the ninja called Namae, who had struck out and cut him down.
‘You lost your eyes,’ said Taro, remembering when Namae cut them out. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Why?’ said Shusaku. ‘You didn’t do it.’
Taro swallowed. ‘No, but you were helping me when—’
Shusaku raised a hand to cut him off. ‘No. Anything I do is my own choice. You may blame yourself for what you choose, but not for this.’ He looked around, then coughed discreetly. ‘Abbot,’ he said. ‘Could I have a moment alone with Taro and his friends?’
The abbot bowed. ‘Of course. You are welcome here, as you know.’ Taro remembered that the abbot and Shusaku knew each other, though the abbot had never said how. He didn’t think it likely that Buddhist monks had many dealings with vampires. But then he also knew that Shusaku had been a samurai before he was turned, so it was possible he had spent time at the monastery, attending sutra readings and the like. Anyway, there were far more pressing questions on Taro’s mind.
When the abbot had disappeared into the shadows, heading towards the ruins of the Hokke-do, Shusaku gestured to them to sit down, then crossed his own legs on the grass. Taro sat down beside him and took his hand, so the blind man would know where he was. Shusaku smiled at him. ‘Taro,’ he said. ‘After I threw you off the ship—’
‘That was you!’ said Taro.
‘Yes. After that, I was wounded by Lord Tokugawa, and I—’
‘By Lord Tokugawa? But I thought he was your sponsor?’
‘He was. But I did stop him killing you on that boat. That’s enough to make any man—’
Taro’s legs almost gave way. ‘On the – you mean – that was him? The big samurai on the boat?’ He’d been standing in front of his father, that night in Shirahama bay, and he hadn’t even known it. His father had almost cut him open, in fact. And Shusaku had saved him. Taro couldn’t imagine the consequences of such an act – it was bad enough that Shusaku was known to Lord Oda as the ninja who had infiltrated his castle, but now he’d made an enemy of Lord Tokugawa, the other of the two most powerful daimyo, and the man who had protected and hired him even after he was turned.
‘Yes,’ said Shusaku. ‘But that’s not our biggest problem. What really worries me is that Lord Oda’s troops are gathering at the base of the mountain. I sensed them as I climbed the steps. I believe they’re readying another attack on the monastery.’
Taro closed his eyes wearily. ‘Gods. How did he find me?’
‘He must have had you followed. Were you aware of anyone behind you, as you came here from Shirahama?’
‘I didn’t come here from Shirahama,’ said Taro. He explained about the trip to the ninja mountain, the carnage they had found there – and his haunting by his mother, which had required Hiro and Little Kawabata to practically carry him here to the monastery.
Shusaku nodded slowly. ‘Perhaps you were followed, and perhaps not. It is possible that Yukiko merely suspected you would return here, when she didn’t find Hiro at the mountain.’
Taro sighed. ‘Lord Oda’s never going to stop, is he?’ He looked at Shusaku. ‘But why did you come, when you knew the army was there? You could have stayed safe. If you’re here with me, you could get yourself killed. I’m not worth that.’
‘You are,’ said Shusaku. ‘But that’s beside the point. Remember the prophecy? You will be shogun one day. I don’t think sticking by you can possibly be a bad plan.’
Hiro laughed. ‘He’s not too bad, once you get used to him,’ he said.
‘Anyway,’ said Shusaku, ‘we haven’t lost everything yet. I believe Lord Tokugawa has a plan. He could have killed me on that ship, but he didn’t – and I don’t believe he does anything by accident.’ He unslung the bag from his shoulder. ‘Lord Tokugawa pressed this into my hands,’ he said, ‘before he threw me overboard with a hole in my belly.’ From the bag he withdrew the large, gaudy golden ball that Taro had found on the reef.
Little Kawabata gasped. ‘Now that’s real treasure!’ he said.
‘But it doesn’t work,’ said Taro. ‘Not like the real one.’ He held up the Buddha ball, much smaller and less prepossessing than the gold fake in Shusaku’s hands.
Now it was Shusaku’s turn to take in a sharp breath. ‘You found it? The genuine Buddha ball? Why didn’t you tell me immediately?’
‘I have it,’ said Taro. ‘But it’s not what you think. It can’t hurt anyone, or make anyone do anything they don’t want to do.’ He told Shusaku about his journey to hell, his meeting with his mother, and his failed attempts to use the ball to subvert the right way of things, or make people perform actions against their will. ‘It lets me pick up weapons with my mind,’ said Taro. ‘But it won’t let me use them.’
‘Interesting. But unsurprising, I suppose. It belonged to the Buddha, after all. Does it do anything?’
‘It can control the four elements,’ said Taro. ‘The wind, the earth, leaves – thin
gs like that. Weather.’
‘Hmm,’ said Shusaku. ‘That’s not quite what I had hoped.’ He leaned forward over his knees, as if thinking. There was silence for a long time, and Taro met Hana’s eye and saw that she was concerned too. It seemed that even Shusaku didn’t know what to do, and he was always the one who knew what was best.
Just then a monk came running into the clearing. ‘The abbot sent me,’ he said, as he neared them. ‘He says there’s a single samurai riding up the east slope of the mountain, bearing Lord Oda’s mon on a flag.’
CHAPTER 64
WHAT SEEMED LIKE only moments later, Taro stood beside Hiro and Hana in silence as they waited. Shusaku had gone with the abbot to meet the messenger. It had been decided that Taro and his friends should stay hidden in the shadows of the hall – it was better to assume that Lord Oda didn’t know Taro was here. No point in endangering themselves if they didn’t have to.
Of course, Taro knew that there was little hope Lord Oda didn’t already know everything. He’d known where the ninja mountain was, thanks to Yukiko, and he’d even seemed to know where the fake ball was hidden in Shirahama bay, given that his ship full of pirates had turned up just after Lord Tokugawa’s. But Taro was willing to stand in the shadows, if it meant there was the slightest chance of protecting his friends from violence.
After what seemed an interminable delay, Shusaku and the abbot entered the hall. They walked close together, and Taro wondered again what shared history they had – though he could think of no way of asking that would not be too direct. He’d learned over the months with Shusaku that the ninja did not respond well to direct questions.
‘Lord Oda has given an ultimatum,’ said the abbot without preamble. ‘We hand over Taro by dawn, or they attack. This time they will destroy us completely.’ He turned to Taro, and hesitated.
Hana leaped to her feet. ‘No! You can’t just sacrifice him.’
The abbot looked pained. ‘We wouldn’t do that,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Of course not. But the monks. . . there are still dozens left. And the scrolls. If we resist Lord Oda, he will crush everything. It will be as if the monastery was never here.’
