Arisada caressed the side of a large rock almost as tall as a man. “Do you know these stones were left in this area more than twelve-thousand years ago by the last glacier?” His voice became hushed, moved by the immensity of time before him. “This park is an enduring monument to the perseverance of your kind. Even in the midst of this chaos, even as their lives are consumed by pain and despair, they toil to keep beauty alive. It is for this reason, I love humanity.”
“This place reminds me of Nagasaki, my birthplace.” Yearning gripped Tatsu, disturbing in its intensity.
“Like our ancestors, our roots are always with us,” Arisada plucked a winter-dried lavender bloom from its slender stalk. “Pity our memories can’t wither like this flower.”
Tatsu shrugged off the mesmerizing promise of the peaceful garden. He grabbed Arisada by the shoulder and pulled him around face-to-face. “What do you want to tell me?” he asked with a forced anger. Oh shit, the fluid feel of Arisada’s taut muscle moving under his fingers was sending all thoughts straight into his prick.
“Perhaps there is something you want to tell me first,” Arisada evaded. “When we first met, you wanted to kill me. Now, your enmity is all but gone. Why is that?”
Tatsu dropped his hand as if burned. “You’re mistaken. I despise your kind.” But even to his ears, his voice lacked conviction.
“But not me, right?”
“Wakatta, makes no sense, but I do not hate you,” Tatsu murmured. “I am asking you, Saito-san, as one warrior to another for your help.”
“What do you want from me?” Oh how he longed to hear Tatsu say, “Your love.”
“Help me find Bana Murtagh.”
“Why?”
“He’s my friend.”
“You can do nothing for your friend. He is kyūketsuki and no longer feels any loyalty to humankind. Leave him alone.”
“Wakatta.” Tatsu’s nod was unconvincing. “My family’s murderer. He’s here somewhere. I’ve seen you kill rogues in your Clan. them. Some honorable goal motivates you. Dozo, please, extend that same honor to my quest for fukushū. Do you know anything about the monster I hunt?”
The vampire’s eyes flickered red with suppressed anger. Anger at Tatsu’s obstinacy. Anger at himself for being forced to lie to the boy. He heard the unforgiving harshness in his reply.
“I cannot help you.”
“Cannot or will not?”
Arisada shrugged off the question. “Stay out of Tendai. Some of my kind would like nothing better than to drain the blood of a hunter.”
“Were you following me?”
“No. But others saw you. You were lucky. Not all of my Clan is your enemy.”
“I can take care of myself,” Tatsu’s sea-green eyes glared ice at the vampire.
“Baka, reckless boy. I am second-in-command of Tendai, yet even I cannot prevent your death if you persist in this foolish action.”
“The blood debt commands I do this.”
“You think killing will bring you peace?”
“I don’t care. I will do what I must to restore my father’s honor.”
“I know firsthand the tragedy of revenge. The futility of it. I have seen how it destroys the ki, the spirit. Will you continue this even at the cost of your own soul?”
“My life means nothing if I don’t.”
Arisada’s eyes deepened to goldenrod with sorrow. “Never say your life means nothing, koibito. It means everything to me.”
“Don’t say that, I—”
“Is killing that easy for you now?” Arisada made an impatient gesture with his hand.
“And it isn’t for you?”
“Make no mistake, young one. I brought terror-filled death to thousands. Some would label me a serial killer. But know this, each time a human dies by my hand, it diminishes my tamashii, my soul. I only kill to feed, yet those acts make me a monster. A monster who can never atone.”
Tatsu shook his head in disbelief. “No, you are good. I see it in your eyes. I feel it in your ki, in your warrior’s spirit, when we sparred. You may have killed, but so have I. The difference is you only kill to survive.”
“You are wrong, Cobb-san. For decades after I turned, I murdered thousands wantonly often for no reason except that I could. I made no effort to control myself such was my rage. Now, every death takes a part of my soul. But you have a choice.”
“I cannot turn back.” Conflict ate its way through Tatsu like acid through rice paper. Could he give it all up? Would the spirit of his father rest if he stopped right now?
“Wakarimashita. I understand. If you give me your word you will not enter our territory alone again, I will do what I can. Do not expect to hear from me unless I have news.”
“Domo arigatō gozaimasu.” Tatsu remembered his manners, offered a short bow but made no promise. He was not leaving his revenge in the hands of this vampire. A confusing mix of hurt and gratitude was followed by the irrational impulse to touch Arisada in some gentle way.
Arisada sensed it, shifted closer, looked into that slightly flushed face, the clenched jaw muscles, the swallowing Adam’s apple, eyes feverish as their owner fought against conflicting emotions. The vampire felt the blood color his eyes as he brushed aside the tumble of chocolate-brown strands over Tatsu’s forehead. He fought the ugly sign of his need until he knew his gaze was golden again.
In an utterly gentle stroke, Arisada trailed the backs of his fingers over one downy cheek. His nostrils flared at the pheromones rolling off the boy’s creamy skin. Pure sexual need. Tatsu shivered at the delicate brush of those fingers.
Fakku, why did that touch turn him on so much? Tatsu fought to deny his arousal but his traitorous cock was already a throbbing weight in his groin. “Stop that,” he forced a growl yet leaned slightly into that touch.
A smile tugged at the corners of Arisada’s lips at Tatsu’s struggle. “Your body is honest. You grow hard for me.”
“Bullshit, I have no desire for you. You’re kyūketsuki and my enemy.” He stepped back, shaking his head with unconvincing denial. But he blushed at the lie.
“I’m not your enemy. Centuries ago, we were lovers. You are the reincarnation of Koji Nowaki, the one I adore.”
“Like hell. I am not the reincarnation of anybody especially your so-called lover from hundreds of years ago.” Tatsu blustered. He tried anger to crush his arousal. Knew it wasn’t working. Something visceral in him needed Arisada, had needed the vampire from the moment they met.
“You are Shinto, are you not? You believe in reincarnation?”
“Mochiron, of course. I practice my mother’s religion. But reincarnation is not as simple as you say.”
“Still, I know you.”
“I am a hunter, I kill your kind. One day I may kill you.” Tatsu’s threat sounded feeble even in his own ears.
“Perhaps I should kill you. You did betray me after all.”
“That was not me.…” Tatsu’s retort trailed off as another wave of desire obliterated the final remnant of his hostility. He gazed at Arisada’s face, the delicate upslanted lids and long lashes framing those deep golden eyes. The wide mouth with those pale lips. He ached for the sweet press of that mouth, the taste of those lips.
The kyūketsuki’s restraint threatened to slip its cage at the need radiating from Tatsu. Being this close to his beloved was too dangerous. The vampire abruptly turned down the narrow path. “Please, walk a little further with me.”
Tatsu still tingled with memory of the vampire’s caress. This was all wrong. Kuso, his body went nuts every time he was around Arisada. Still, he followed Arisada up a steep hill into a grove of willow trees. The grey fog wafted in and turned the glade into a mystical bower.
“This forest reminds me of my life at Mii-dera before Taira no Kiyomori destroyed it,” Arisada’s fingers grazed along a mist-drenched branch. Coyly, he turned to watch the young hunter’s reaction. The sight of Tatsu’s mouth agape in surprise sent the vampire into deep laughter.
The unexpected sound, so carefree, delighted Tatsu even as his mind reeled at the thought of the vampire’s incredible age. Completely stunned, he stared wide-eyed at the vampire. Miidera, home to one of fiercest sects of Sōhei warrior monks.
“Mii-dera? Just how old are you?” he stammered feeling foolish. Every child in Japan knew the of destruction of that famous temple. And that how the last of Mii-dera’s warrior monks committed seppuku.
“I was born the year Go-Shirakawa became emperor, around the modern date of 1155. That year began the loss of my family’s fortunes as many clans fought among themselves for power. And yes, Cobb-san, I was Sōhei. As was Koji Nowaki. I have existed for eight-hundred years.”
“So, you’ve seen centuries of human history? What have you learned from it?” Tatsu changed the subject in an effort to distance himself from the devastating pain of Arisada’s confession.
“Yes, eight-hundred years of witnessing humanity at its worst and at its best. Throughout my indecently long life, I learned that love is the only thing worthwhile. The Universe does not dictate who we love, just that we love.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Dread filled him even as he asked the question.
“My story has everything to do with you,” Arisada sighed. “For most, life in that time was harsh, short, brutal. You worked in the fields, became a soldier or a servant to a noble family. If lucky, you married and had children before you turned twenty. If you were exceptionally fortunate, you lived to be venerated for your old age at fifty. I was the son of a noble family that chose the wrong side in a civil conflict. To save me from execution, my father sent me to Mii-dera when I was nine.”
In the quiet, droplets of mist gathered at the ends of willow branches and fell with individual plops into the koi pond. Arisada stared into the widening circles on the surface as if strange spirits moved beneath the dark water. Then he glanced at Tatsu. Lifetimes of suffering reflected from those golden eyes.
“Do not judge my story by today’s morality. Same-sex bed partners was an acceptable part of society. There was no shame in it. In the monastery, our first sexual experiences were with an older man. But it was Koji Nowaki, four years my junior, who showed me the joys of love.” The sharp planes of Arisada’s face softened. “You cannot imagine my happiness. For five years, we reveled in the pleasure of each other’s bodies. I believed we shared a unity of mind and spirit. I was wrong.”
Shivers rippled over Tatsu’s skin at the yearning in this confession.
“My Nowaki-kun was a beautiful boy, a true bishounen just like you. He had your eyes, the color of jade. Such unusual, beautiful eyes. His hair was also different—a deep chestnut with touches of gold. His smile was brilliant with full lips and perfect white teeth. Dimples too, as I imagine you have when you smile. He grew unusually tall for that time. Taller than me. Still, he moved with the grace of a young deer and fought with the bravery and strength of a tiger.”
The vampire’s gaze clouded as he looked into the distant past. His voice quivered with repressed grief. “I loathed him at first—of peasant birth, so angry, so ignorant. But then he became the most precious thing to me, more precious than my faith and my brethren. Perhaps that is why he was taken from me in such a cruel manner?”
“Taken from you?” Unable to tear his gaze from the vampire’s face, Tatsu watched the eyes turn terrible with anguish. The sense of an immense history about to be revealed filled him with a sick foreboding. He did not want to hear Arisada’s grief over the loss of his lover—a traitor, no less. Yet how could he not?
The Temple of Mii-dera, Nipon, Summer 1170
Sōhei novice Saito Arisada despised the scraggly boy on sight. He sneered with disgust as he watched the worthless mongrel struggle and howl with rage. The child kicked shamelessly at Hanshi Michinaga Kiyosura’s legs. The Masterteacher ignored the blows and dragged the squalling brat over Arisada.
“You will be his senpai. Mold him as I have molded you. Make him worthy,” Michinaga-sensei ordered as he threw the filthy child down onto the bathing hall floor. “First, clean him.”
Arisada’s hands clenched against his anger. How could his sensei order him to turn this gaki, this brat, into a suitable acolyte for the Sōhei? Wasn’t he, Saito Arisada, destined for a worthy position among the Sōhei? Wasn’t he, at fifteen summers, on his way to becoming a respected cleric and fighter of Mii-dera?
Revulsion filled Arisada as he regarded this clawing and spitting savage. Why was he charged with taming this feral boy who had no name?
The child’s thin, scabrous body clearly crawled with vermin and reeked of urine and feces. With a shudder of disgust, Arisada grabbed the front of the youngster’s threadbare kimono and tore it from him. He threw the naked child into the stone bath and held him under the freezing water. The youngster fought like an alley cat, clawed Arisada’s hands and arms, bit him, spat in his face, wasted precious oxygen to shriek vile profanities.
As his anger escalated, Arisada repeatedly forced the boy under the freezing water almost drowning the youngster. Finally, realizing his emotions were ruling him, Arisada relented. He pulled the boy out by his neck and threw him onto the stone floor. The child crouched naked, wet, shivering.
Arisada could see the defiance boiling from those alien green eyes. “Dress.” He threw an old robe at the youngster who glared pure poison at him, but pulled on the garment.
“Follow me. Do not speak without permission. Always address your superiors as sensei.”
“But I’m hungry. When do I eat?”
That whining tone infuriated Arisada. His hard across the face. slapped the boy to the dirt. Undaunted, the youngster glared up, shivering inside the roughspun, too-large, kimono.
“You will address me as Saito-senpai every time you speak to me. Otherwise, you will do what is asked in silence. You eat when you are told, sleep when told, shit when you are told. Do you understand?”
The scruffian’s jaws clenched. He gave a small shrug in acknowledgement but the defiance did not leave his eyes—those strange, memorizing, green eyes.
“First, though, we are going to rid you of that disgusting, lice-riddled mane of yours.” He did not tell the youngster to follow him, merely turned and stalked off. This was the first test. If the boy ignored him, Arisada would strangle him and toss the body outside the gates.
He stalked away, expecting the boy to stay curled on the floor. He was disappointed to hear the youth trotting behind him still muttering obscenities. Arisada’s rage threatened again. He knew he was not acting honorably. With effort, he suppressed his anger and resolved to tame this feral youth. Tame him or kill him.
Perhaps this would not be too odious an experience, Arisada hoped. The kami had given him one of lower status—one who would be subjected to Arisada’s every order, who would accept training and bow before Arisada’s wisdom and status. In his youthful arrogance, Arisada dismissed the twinge of compassion in his breast.
No one, including the boy, knew his true age—perhaps eleven summers? Brigands had slaughtered his family. Illiterate, starving, his body riddled with vermin, he would not have survived into manhood. Michinaga-sensei named him Koji no Nowaki, which simply meant orphan of Nowaki, the village where he was discovered beside a still-smoldering hut.
So many times Arisada despaired of ever making Nowaki into a true Sōhei. Rather than showing gratitude for his new life, Nowaki resented it. When not being sullen, he railed against the restrictions of the monastic life. He became angry when woken the hour before daylight, and grumbled every night when not allowed to eat until he had finished all his duties.
However, by his fourth year, Nowaki had accepted his life as an acolyte. He absorbed and then excelled at every skill imparted by the Sōhei masters. But most of all, he emulated Arisada, his sensei, in all things involving the arts of war.
Saito Arisada was one of Mii-dera’s most skilled warriors, He excelled with the naginata and the longbow called a daikyu. He had long been acclaim
ed a true Master of the art of weaponless fighting called Budo. Many acclaimed Saitosensei’s prowess was even superior to that of Hanshi Michinaga. Yet, Arisada’s pride in his own fighting accomplishments, was far exceeded by his pride in his novice, Nowaki.
The young orphan boy had surpassed all other acolytes in fighting skill, able to use every length sword and master every technique for wielding the long, halberd-like mikoshi. He embraced the skills of warfare with a ferocity that impressed even the seasoned Sōhei warriors.
One day, Nowaki’s sparring opponent stepped on a Mamushi, the most lethal viper in Nipon. The snake struck at the monk’s naked leg. Before those fangs touched skin, Nowaki had sliced off the fanged head before continuing his upward cut to send his opponent’s sword flying through the air.
From then on, Nowaki was called Mamushi the Viper.
Arisada was smitten by Mamushi the Viper. He believed Nowaki perceived the social issues of the country with a maturity far beyond his age. During their philosophical debates, Nowaki analyzed the political and military climate with rare intelligence. The boy’s admiration of the Taira Clans—whose actions threatened the peace of all Nipon—appeared to be driven by a rare perception of politics coupled with youthful enthusiasm.
With increasing boldness, Nowaki also voiced his resentment of the traditions of Mii-dera, which for years had avoided committing military support to any of Nipon’s Clans. He advocated success in warfare as the only true measure of honor. Like many warrior monks throughout the land, he had begun to covet power, wealth and prestige, the worst characteristics of far too many Sōhei.
By contrast, although Arisada was one of the most feared warriors of Mii-dera, he also was one of the most spiritual. He followed the Pure Land teachings, Buddha’s gentle way of seeking enlightenment and peace. He despaired for the incredible suffering of the people and often argued with Miidera’s leaders for more aid for the peasants.
Eternal Samurai Page 20
