After Hours: Tales From Ur-Bar

by Joshua Palmatier; Patricia Bray

  “No, but it can be ... reasoned with.”

  “You need to tell the samurai.”

  “I tried. Twice.”

  Her stomach twisted with fear. “Try again.”

  “They will not listen to me. I’m gaijin.”

  Late into the night, the samurai meeting finally ended. As the warriors filed out, Gilga-san asked his chef to accompany Azami back to her room. The predawn silence chilled her more than the air. The wind had died. An ill omen.

  Azami thanked the chef and entered the quiet inn, surprising since the samurais filled every room except hers. Too bad they didn’t pay for their lodging or their meals. Then again, they had come to help. And if she had thought about it beforehand, she should have spent the night in the sake-house. Now who was the idiot?

  She crept up the stairs, slipped into her room and shut the door without incident. The floor creaked behind her. She spun, pulling her kaiken.

  A dark shape stood near her window.

  Brandishing her weapon, she said, “Get out or I’ll make the kappa seem kind.”

  He chuckled. “Well said, Runaway.”

  Caught. Her insides turned to stone. No one to blame but her own fear.

  “Did you really think we wouldn’t notice you? A beautiful koji? Our brothers in the north had sent us a message months ago to keep an eye out for you. We will return you to your proper home when our business with the kappa is finished.”

  She stepped into a fighting stance and held her weapon close. “No.”

  With a ring of metal, he drew his katana. The sharp blade reflected the weak moonlight. “Do you think you can refuse me?”

  If she had her naginata, her odds of beating him would be much higher. The long pole and curved blade would keep his katana from reaching her.

  “No.” She returned her dagger to her belt. Azami had been forced to train in tantojutsu, the skill of the knife. The intended wife of a samurai needed to protect his home and children from his enemies. Educated as well, she’d been taught how to run a household and, in the process, how to think for herself. Unfortunate since she realized she had no desire to become a samurai’s wife. To be, in essence, owned by another.

  The samurai pointed to the floor with his katana. “You will remain here. There will be a guard at your door.” Confident she would obey, he didn’t wait for a reply. He left and ordered a colleague to stand watch.

  No need to confiscate her weapon. She had earned the right to carry it, and it was useless against a skilled warrior. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she considered her options. Azami had prepared for an escape, but her plans hadn’t included an evil spirit. She would bide her time. For now.

  The next morning the warriors talked and laughed as if they faced a kappa every day. When they left to hunt it down, Azami didn’t waste a moment. She pulled a box from under the bed. Emergency escape supplies had been packed inside.

  She changed into the loose pants and tunic that the local fishermen wore, tucked her kaiken into the belt, and wrapped her hair in a tight bun. Donning a fur hat, she grabbed a heavy coat.

  The inn’s owner had been asked to provide a guard outside her door. However, she didn’t plan to use it.

  Taking the rope from the box, she secured one end to the sturdy bed frame and tossed the other out the window. Azami removed the last item from the box—a satchel already filled with all she would need on the road. She dropped the bag and coat out the window. They landed with a soft thud.

  Not waiting to see if the guard noticed the noise, she climbed out the window sill and wrapped her legs around the rope, sliding to the ground. She collected her belongings and ran to Gilga-san’s sake-house.

  Slipping in through the back entrance, Azami surprised the chef, who ordered her to leave. Gilga-san, though, recognized her right away. He brought her to his office and closed the door.

  Exotic antiques and strange metallic objects filled the shelves of the room. Keys of all shapes, sizes, and metals—gold, silver, iron—littered every surface.

  As she perched on the edge of the chair facing his desk, Azami marveled. The room shouldn’t be big enough to hold the massive collection, yet it did.

  Gilga-san half-sat on the edge of his desk. He tugged his braided beard while she explained her predicament.

  When she finished, he rested a hand on her arm. “I can hide you. You do not need to leave.”

  His offer touched her, but the risk was too great.

  “This town is too small. Even disguised as a man, they would find me. You would be arrested.”

  He laughed. “I’d like to see them try.”

  “No. You’ve been so kind to me, I won’t endanger you.”

  “But what about that kappa? I doubt the samurai killed it today.”

  Icy fingers of fear stroked her back, but she considered the alternative. “I would rather lose my life than my freedom.”

  Gilga-san sobered and stared at the red clay tablet that hung on the wall opposite his desk. Pictures had been scratched on it and it appeared as if someone had used a chopstick to poke round dents into the clay before it had hardened. According to Gilga-san, it was an old drink recipe. No one was permitted to touch it.

  He played with the braid hanging from his chin. Then he surged to his feet. “I agree. Losing your freedom is a hardship you do not deserve. Before you go, I have something for you. Wait here.”

  Unable to remain sitting, she paced. She hoped to leave before the samurai returned. If they were busy fighting the kappa, they wouldn’t notice a fishing boat leaving the dock. And if the kappa remained engaged in battle, it wouldn’t bother chasing after her.

  Gilga-san returned with a plain white cup. He handed it to her. She sniffed the warm contents. It smelled like jasmine tea but resembled milk.

  “Your features are too elegant to pass for a man,” he said. “If you truly wish to live as a man, drink the . . . tea and you shall be transformed. However, once done, it cannot be undone.”

  Azami’s hand shook. An impossible offer. A jest? She had never known him to play pranks. No. Deep down in her heart, she felt it. He meant it. She sank into her chair and clutched the cup with both hands, resting it in her lap.

  Afraid to spill it. Afraid to drink it. Afraid to refuse it.

  A knock broke the silence. Gilga-san cracked open the door.

  “The samurai have returned,” a voice said.

  “Stay here,” Gilga-san said to her. “No one will find you.” He left.

  Azami’s thoughts swirled. To transform into a man. To have the freedom and the privileges men enjoyed. To no longer be afraid someone would force her to marry and bear children. She could walk among the samurai in the sake-house without worry. Her problems solved.

  Then her musings went deeper. Would her personality change? Would she desire women? Or would she still desire men?

  It had been easy to wish, but making a choice wouldn’t be as straightforward. Gilga-san slipped into the room. His expression troubled.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Six samurai died, ten injured and the kappa remains at large.”

  “You were right.”

  “Poor consolation, considering the cost.” He eyed the cup in her lap. “They’re searching for you. If you become a man, you can stay here and work for me. Otherwise, I’ll hide you.”

  She stared at the white liquid. Hiding was another form of imprisonment and it didn’t sit well with her. Transforming felt wrong as well. As if she cheated.

  “What do you truly desire, Azami?”

  “A partner.” The words popped out without censure and kept coming. “Someone I can share my life with and who won’t direct my life. Someone who treats me as an equal despite my gender.” Like Gilga-san did. Why? Because she had worked hard for him, sorted out his messy bookkeeping, and helped create a few new drink recipes. She had earned his respect and friendship.

  Sudden understanding zipped through Azami, energizing her. She thrust the cup into his
hands. “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t deserve it. And I’m not hiding any longer.”

  A strange expression crossed his face. Not quite amusement, although gladness did spark in his eyes. He seemed proud and that added to her determination.

  “What are you going to do?” Gilga-san asked.

  “Go fishing.”

  “And you will show this fish the proper respect?” he asked.

  “Unlike the samurai, I do not have a delicate male ego,” she said.

  His deep laughter followed her out the door.

  Her bravado and determination leaked from her as she crept from shadow to shadow, heading west through Hokuga. The idea she could prevail when the samurai could not seemed ridiculous in the cold darkness. Doubt and terror swirled in her chest.

  She scanned the small town, committing its quirks—Toshi’s half completed fence, fishing nets hanging from Futsu’s back door, and the family of cats living under Oda’s bamboo hut—to memory. Fondness for these people pulsed in her heart. She would have been content to serve customers and listen to Gilga-san’s stories until the end of her days.

  When she reached the last building, she gauged the distance to the thin cover of the winter woods. Could she do this? She considered the alternative—dragged back to Yamakage, punished and forced to marry.

  Gilga-san believed in her. It was time to trust herself. Azami shoved her misgivings away.

  As she dashed to the tree line, hurried footsteps sounded behind her. She spun in time to see a figure running after her, hissing her name in a loud whisper. Drawing her kaiken, she slid her feet into a fighting stance. But the man skidded to a stop and held his hands out, showing he was unarmed.

  “Azami, I need to talk to you.” Saburo puffed.

  Bad timing. She lowered her weapon. “Go home, Saburo.”

  “Not until you listen.”

  “No. I lied to you about everything. I’m not koji. I ran away from Yamakage because I did not wish to marry a samurai. Now they have found me, I need to leave.”

  “Then I will come with you,” he said, stepping closer.

  “But I do not—”

  “Wish to become a traditional wife. I understand. All I desire is your company.”

  She sheathed her kaiken and crossed her arms in suspicion. “Have you talked to Gilga-san?”

  “Yes, he told me where to find you.”

  That explained it. “Did he give you a special drink?” Meddling again, Gilga-san was worse than the local matchmaker.

  “No time. He urged me to hurry.”

  This threw her. “Why did you change your mind?”

  He sucked in a deep breath. “I considered the reasons why I love you. You are independent, intelligent, and brave. If I had done this before asking for your hand, I would have realized my error. Rather than lose you, I wish to accompany you.”

  “What about your life and home here?”

  “It is of little concern to me.”

  “I—”

  He rested a cold finger on her lips, silencing her. “You are all that matters.” He cupped her chin and drew her toward him for a kiss.

  Heat spread from her lips and she pressed against Saburo, deepening the kiss and tangling her fingers in his long hair. Her heart beat its approval.

  Shouts intruded. Azami spotted two samurai pointing in their direction and calling to others.

  “Time to go.” She grabbed Saburo’s hand and they raced down the path to the lake.

  With six dead and ten injured, she hoped the warriors wouldn’t follow them right away. Hoped they’d assume the kappa wouldn’t let them escape. A smart assumption.

  Moonlight lit the trail, and, while glad to be able to see, Azami worried they would be visible to the samurai.

  They ran until the sounds of pursuit died. When her breath no longer huffed so loud in her ears, the crash of the waves reached her. Arriving at the lake, they paused. Silver moonlight flashed and danced on the water. The surface undulated as if restless and irritated. Foaming curls of water rushed and pounded on the shore.

  “All those windy days combined with a big moon have increased the tide,” Saburo explained. “I hope the northern path is not underwater.”

  By his nervous glances toward the lake, Azami knew he didn’t voice his true fear. Hand in hand they followed the road that ringed the vast lake, keeping away from the surf.

  “Saburo, I’ve one more ... confession,” Azami said.

  He squeezed her hand in encouragement.

  “I’m not running away. It is a life full of fear.”

  Slowing his pace, he looked at her in confusion.

  “I came here to challenge the kappa.”

  Jerking to a stop, he peered at her in utter astonishment. “But . . . you will . . . it. . . .” He drew in a deep breath. “You’ll die. It’s jisatsu!”

  “It remains the only way I can earn my freedom.”

  He stared at her for so long Azami wondered if she’d lost him.

  “And I cannot leave the people of Hokuga to the mercy of the kappa,” she said, and meant it. “The samurai are unable to see past their code of honor. They will continue to die.”

  Saburo’s shoulders relaxed. “And you won’t?”

  “All I know is I have to try.”

  The gradual infusion of color into the black sky announced the dawn’s arrival. As sunlight swept across the lake, the pressure in Azami’s chest relaxed a bit. Until she spotted a child playing in the rough surf.

  Terrified for his safety, she waded into the chilly water, calling and gesturing for him to leave the water before he drowned. The young boy laughed, but he walked to the bank and sat on the edge, waving her over.

  Saburo caught up to her as she neared the child. She stopped a few feet away and gaped. Not because delight shown on the boy’s face, but because he had greenish-yellow scales instead of skin. And he had a dent on the top of his misshapen head that was filled with a white liquid. Fear’s icy teeth bit into her.

  “Oh, what a glorious morning! No longer boring.” It splashed its webbed toes in the water. “I smell love in the blood. Yummy!”

  Saburo grabbed her arm and tugged her back. “I cannot . . . let’s run.”

  The kappa chortled. “Yes, yes! Run, run. Make it fun.”

  Azami sorted through the story Gilga-san had told months ago, when he had been entertaining guests. Her frantic pulse calmed. “No.” She pulled her kaiken, wishing again for the long reach of her naginata.

  “Oh, what a delight. A fight.” It jumped to its feet.

  Saburo stepped in front of Azami, protecting her.

  Huffing with annoyance, she pushed him aside. “Trust me.”

  To her relief, he nodded and backed away. Azami joined the kappa on the narrow bank. They faced each other. At five feet five inches in height, she never considered herself tall, but compared to the four foot kappa she towered over the creature. The height difference was all part of its game, luring its opponents into a false sense of security. It also waited for her to make the first move.

  She bowed deeply to the kappa.

  “Oh, a proper warrior.” It returned the bow. As it dipped its head, the white liquid poured from the indentation and pooled onto the ground. When the kappa straightened, it didn’t appear to be concerned about its loss.

  Azami prayed Gilga-san’s story had been accurate. Their lives depended on it. She lunged at the kappa, slicing at its neck with her kaiken. The blade narrowly missed as it jumped back. She advanced, thrusting the tip toward the kappa’s chest.

  It retreated a step, but then blocked the next jab. The blow was hard, but not strong enough to dislodge her grip on the kaiken. Confidence flowed through her veins, energizing her. Without the white liquid, the kappa’s supernatural strength and speed were gone. For now. It would regain its powers in time. Already a small amount of fluid had returned.

  She increased the intensity of her attack, striking and slicing without giving the kappa a chance to get close
to her. It blocked and dodged. When she swung her dagger a little too wide, it darted in and latched onto her forearm—the one holding the kaiken.

  It dug its claws deep into her flesh as it pressed close. A burning agony sizzled on her skin. A snap vibrated through her bones. Pain exploded in her arm. The kappa squealed with joy. With one hand, it raked its claws, slashing cuts. Then the kappa clamped its mouth over the bloody wounds. The level of white liquid inside its dent rose at a faster pace as it sucked her blood.

  The horrifying noise galvanized Azami into action. She stomped on its foot and slammed the edge of her free hand into its temple. It jerked with the blows, but hung on. She transferred her weapon to her left hand and jabbed the tip of the blade into the kappa’s ribs. It let go, staggering back.

  Hugging her injured arm to her stomach, Azami changed tactics and kicked it in the chest. It stumbled. She kept after it, using a variety of kicks. So used to being faster and stronger, the kappa couldn’t adapt to this new attack. When its gaze slid to the water, she knew it considered escape.

  Feinting left, she shuffled forward and to the right, hooking the kappa around the neck with her uninjured arm. Azami pressed the edge of the blade against its throat. The scales felt thick, but red blood welled under her knife.

  “Oh, please, don’t kill,” it cried.

  “Why not? You have killed many.”

  “Must eat.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “Do anything for you,” it said.

  “Always?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Give me your word.”

  “Oh, my word is yours.”

  Satisfied, she released the kappa.

  “Azami, no!” Saburo yelled, running over to her.

  “It will be fine. He is an honorable opponent; his word will never be broken.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Gilga-san. Despite his matchmaking tendencies, he’s quite knowledgeable.”

  Gilga-san had also been correct about another one of the kappa’s unique powers. The spirit was skilled in mending broken bones, and in reattaching severed limbs without leaving a scar.