Heart of the Ronin

by Travis Heermann

Akao regarded him for a moment, but in the end said nothing. He walked forward and placed his forehead against Ken’ishi’s knee.

  Ken’ishi reached down to touch the soft fur of his ears, but his hands felt like wood.

  The village innkeeper was reluctant to admit anyone at such a late hour, but the jingle of Ken’ishi’s purse and the fierce look in his eyes helped make the decision in his favor. As Ken’ishi sat in his small room, bathed in the feeble light of the oil lamp, his vision fuzzed with tears. He contemplated death as a release from the swelling pain, a pain that he feared would grow to unbearable proportions. His mind became the emptiness he usually sought only in battle. No thought. No emotion.

  He gazed at his shadow on the rice-paper wall. His dark silhouette quivered in the light of the lamp. The next single moment he noticed was the moment the lamp went out. Some interminable time had passed. The only light now came from the flickering orange fire pit in the common room reaching through the thin rice paper, lighting Ken’ishi’s room with a lattice of orange squares. He felt a twinge of alarm at having been so oblivious for so long.

  He heard a sound from the common room, that of the front door of the inn sliding open. Who would be moving about at this late hour? He picked up his scabbard and approached the door to the common room. He slid the door open a crack and peered out. A small, cloaked figure in plain clothing, carrying a bundle under one arm crept across the room. A dark scarf concealed the figure’s head. The figure looked uncertainly around the empty common room, taking a few steps further. Ken’ishi then recognized the gait of the figure, and all the numbness mercifully protecting him exploded like a lightning strike.

  A small sound must have escaped him, because the figure’s gaze snapped toward him, and the glistening brown eyes behind the scarf confirmed his fears.

  Kazuko moved toward him, the only sound the swishing of her robes. Her voice was a breathless whisper. “Ken’ishi! Is that you?”

  “Yes,” he whispered through the cracked door.

  “Please, I must speak to you!”

  He stepped aside and opened the door. She all but ran into the small room. Before he could speak, she threw herself against his chest. Her fingers twisted into his new robe, and he felt the heat of her face on his breast. Her shoulders shuddered. He closed the door, leaving them in almost total darkness.

  “Oh, Ken’ishi, it’s horrible!” Her voice became a hoarse whisper, and the warm wetness of her tears seeped through the fine silk across his chest. “How could he be so cruel?”

  He said nothing. His arms were rising to embrace her, but he fought the urge, forcing them back down to remain immobile.

  Her words were muffled by his clothing and wracked by sobs. “Please believe me, I tried! When I first spoke to him, he was impressed. I was sure he would. . . . But I don’t know what happened! Oh, Ken’ishi, I’m sorry! Please forgive me! I couldn’t stand it if you thought badly of me!”

  His mouth worked but no sound came forth. The pain and shock of the evening’s events were once again fresh in his mind.

  She pulled back from him and looked up into his face. Her face seemed to glow in the faint light, eyes and tear-tracks glistening. He looked down into her face, falling into her searching dark eyes.

  Then she looked away. “I shouldn’t have come. You’re angry with me!”

  No, wait! he wanted to say, but somehow his anger took hold of his mouth. He said, “You were betrothed, and you didn’t tell me.” And you were a wanted man, and you did not tell her.

  “I didn’t know! I didn’t know until the moment my father made his announcement!” The helplessness in her voice convinced him she was telling the truth. Then bitterness crept into her tone. “The flower-viewing party was more than that. It was never for me.”

  “It was a ‘wife-viewing,’ ” Ken’ishi said.

  “Oh, Ken’ishi, you must forgive me. I didn’t know. I was a fool.” She began to weep, her soft sobs pricking at Ken’ishi’s defenses. She took another small step back. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

  His weapon clattered to the floor. His arms flew out and grabbed her, crushing her to his chest.

  Her soft, lithe body melted against his, and fresh sobs poured out of her. A warm burst of bittersweet tears cooled against his chest, and they stood locked as one. The prickly pain of his loss began to disappear into the spreading warmth of her embrace.

  She whispered, “We could run away together. I can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again! I can’t stand the thought of marrying another man, when I will be thinking only of you!”

  He spoke slowly, the truth taking shape in his mind as he spoke. “We could run away, but we would be hunted. I would be hunted. If we were caught, you might be allowed to live, since I would be blamed for your abduction. But you know as well as I that I would be tortured and executed like a criminal. If we are discovered here, like this, the result will be the same.”

  Another sobbing sigh shuddered out of her.

  “You know I speak the truth.”

  “We could go farther than anyone could look for us! We could go to your homeland. We could go across the sea!”

  “I doubt we would reach the border of this province. And if we could, messengers would be sent to all the surrounding provinces. Someone would see us.”

  “We could disguise ourselves.”

  “I will not hide in the bushes like an animal for the rest of my life. I’m trying to live like a man now! We would be prisoners of our own flight.”

  Her fist released his clothing long enough to strike his shoulder in frustration, and her shoulders quaked with sobs.

  “Please, don’t cry,” he said. He lifted her face to look up into his and smiled.

  “How can I go on and not see you? How can I lie down with my husband and not wish that it were you! Ah, a spear has pierced my belly!” she said, but the despair in her face diminished as she looked into his eyes. “You asked me once what I knew of suffering. I know it well now.”

  “You must remember me with joy.”

  “Don’t say such things. You speak as if you are already gone.”

  “By morning I must be gone.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know. Far enough that I’ll never see you again.” He could not bear to see her and not be able to touch her.

  For a long moment, they gazed into each other’s eyes. Then her lips parted, and she pulled his head down to kiss her. Her voice was husky and moist. “Then this night must be one to remember always. We must make a lifetime’s worth of love in one night.”

  Then her lips rose to his, warm and petal-soft. A moment of panic swept over him. He had never been with a woman before. In moments, his manhood stirred with powerful, throbbing heat, a yearning to . . . he did not know.

  “Don’t worry,” she said breathlessly, as if reading his thoughts. “I’ll show you. I have been educated in the ways of pleasing a man.” Then she smiled like a vixen. “But it was all theory and no practice.”

  He was not sure what she meant, but again she covered his mouth with her own. The softness of her lips, the moist warmth of her breath, the silky smoothness of her skin, the delicate softness of her breasts pressed against him. All sense of caution and reserve disappeared. He crushed her to him, his manhood pressing into her soft belly. She pulled him down to the tatami mats, tugging at first at his clothing then her own. He was free of his trousers, thrusting himself between her soft thighs, his hips grinding of their own volition, with an instinct as old as mankind. Her questing fingers parted the folds of her under robes as his mouth devoured her lips, moved to her throat. The soft flesh of her throat thrust up against his lips, and a soft moan escaped her. Her cool fingers clasped him. Her legs parted, and he magically settled between them, still blindly thrusting against her. She guided him into her, and he plunged deep. A single gasp burst out of them. The look of pain on her face made him pause.

  “No, don’t stop,” she said.

  Wit
hin a few moments, Ken’ishi felt a series of sensations such as he could never have imagined as his entire body convulsed with an explosive climax. But still his body would not stop. His movements slowed for a few heartbeats as he recovered from the shock, feeling the waves of ecstasy diminishing. The look of pain on her face was gone, replaced by something else. Her eyes were a profound cauldron of emotion; he could identify no individual element, except one. Desire. Raw, fervent, desperate desire.

  Her small cries of mounting pleasure drove him on. He tasted her sweat on his lips, heard the desire in her breath, saw the longing in her eyes. She thrust herself up against him, clamping his legs with hers. Then a hot shudder seized her. A whimpering cry of ecstasy breathed into his ear. The muscles of her body gripped him even tighter, bringing him to another climax. He continued to move against her for a few moments, until he realized that he was sated for the time being.

  Then he tumbled off her, still almost fully clothed, gasping for breath, their shared perspiration cool in the darkness. For a long time, neither of them said anything. They lay side by side, looking at each other.

  She spoke first. “You know, I was taught that this is best done without clothing.”

  With amazement and awe, he watched her shed layer after layer of clothing, until the deepest mysteries of female beauty were revealed to him. He could only stare at her, a dry lump in his throat. He stared at her until she blushed, in spite of their intimacy.

  “I never knew. . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “I never knew that such beauty existed in the world,” he breathed. After a long, silent moment, he said, “You’re crying again. Have I offended you?”

  She shook her head, and her voice was barely audible. “No.” She knelt beside him, and began to undress him. He opened his mouth to ask her why she wept, but she pressed her fingers to his lips. “The night is already half done,” she said.

  Twenty

  Because I dream

  Of you every night,

  My lonely days

  Are only dreams

  —The Love Poems of Marichiko

  Kazuko was gone two hours before dawn. She left him with a fleeting kiss and a cloth bundle. As she disappeared into the dying night, he wanted to call after her, Yes, let’s run away together. But something stopped him. Something inside him knew that their love was not meant to be. They had loved each other like a lightning bolt. Bright and thunderous and painfully brief. He worried that she might be discovered sneaking back into the estate. If that happened, Ken’ishi’s time in this world would be short. In moments, he gathered up his meager belongings, put on his old, ragged clothes, and stole out of the inn. He left a few copper coins on the floor of his room and crept out into the night, wishing to leave the village behind as quickly as possible.

  Akao was awake and waiting for him outside when he stepped out of the inn. “Today is new.”

  Ken’ishi said nothing.

  “She had a good smell.”

  Ken’ishi gave the dog’s ears a stroke and strode past. The thought of her amazing scent was as fresh and bright in his mind as the rays of the sun. Intoxicating. In truth, he felt drunk now. His voice was thick, his lips raw from the heat of their kisses. “We must hurry.”

  He broke into a run, and Akao loped alongside him. He hardly noticed the road, caught up in the warmth of bittersweet joy in his breast. His nether region ached with the longevity and ferocity of last night’s use, but he paid it no mind. By their third coupling, she was showing him secrets of how to prolong their ecstasy. He had never known such pleasure was possible. Images of her were seared into his mind’s eye. He would cherish the memory of this night every day of his life, and he hoped he would never see her again. Strangely, he could not remember the name of the man she would marry. He vaguely remembered that announcement being made during the banquet. Why did his mind fail to remember such a simple fact? He tried to remember the later parts of the banquet, but all of them seemed like a useless fog.

  Only when he stopped to rest and drink from a nearby stream did he open the bundle she had given him. A fresh draught of emotion blew through him, as many colored as the wind. Inside was a folded bundle of new clothing, redolent with her luscious scent. Another crisp black hakama and a fine silken robe, similar to the clothes Lord Nishimuta had given him, this one a deep rich maroon, with finely woven patterns of white thread. He laughed bitterly.

  He had traded love for a set of fine clothes.

  As he unfolded the clothes, several small items tumbled to the ground. A fine, lacquered wooden comb. A small, razor-sharp knife. A clinking coin pouch.

  The anger swelled in him again as he gathered everything up, carefully repackaged it, and hid it inside his pack.

  Suddenly the kami began to whisper fiercely in his ears. He stood up and looked around. A man stood on the road about thirty paces from him, facing him. The man was measuring him with his gaze, as if he knew him. Ken’ishi had never seen him before. He was young, perhaps about Ken’ishi’s age, and carried a jitte thrust into his sash with two swords.

  Akao was so startled that he barked once, something he rarely did; he considered barking vulgar.

  Ken’ishi faced the man. Silver Crane hung from his old rope belt. He felt no fear, only the dead despair left by the emptiness in his breast. He waited for the man to speak.

  “You are the ronin called Ken’ishi.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to pay for your crime.”

  Ken’ishi’s lips tightened and his fists clenched. Sakamoto had lied. This man had been sent to kill him. “I have paid for too many things today. I’ll not stand any more payment for Takenaga’s death.”

  “I’m here to take you back.”

  “I’m not going back.”

  “Then I’ll take your head to Lord Nishimuta.”

  “You can try.” Ken’ishi laughed once, harshly. “If you succeed, my head will try to bite him. Come and try. I must be moving on, and I’m in no mood for games today.”

  He drew his sword and held it relaxed at his side.

  Akao began to whine. He spared a glance at the dog. The dog was quivering with fear. Why? This man was no older than Ken’ishi.

  He studied the man. His clothes did not look like those of a samurai. They looked like peasant’s clothes. Another ronin? Why would Lord Nishimuta send a ronin to kill him?

  “My name is Taro,” the man said as he drew the jitte from his sash with his right hand, and his short sword with his left.

  “I don’t care what your name is. You’re a fool. And you’re wasting time.”

  Ken’ishi tried to settle his spirit, to prepare himself for battle, but the emptiness in his breast was so vast that he could not. His spirit rattled around inside him like a pebble in a bucket. He tried to breathe deeply, as he had been taught, but he could not. His chest felt crushed under great weight.

  Suddenly his opponent flew at him, short sword slashing. Only Ken’ishi’s reflexes saved his life.

  His opponent had closed the distance between them, over thirty paces, in a single leap.

  Ken’ishi leaped to the side, spun, and raised his weapon.

  Taro lunged toward him with the short sword, and Ken’ishi deflected it easily, but he was wary of the jitte in the other hand. He had never seen a weapon like that before. It did not look sharp, but it could be used for thrusting, and that strange prong. . . . Taro came at him with a flurry of clumsy blows. His opponent was ill trained, Ken’ishi realized, but the strength behind those blows sent shocks quivering up his arms. What kind of man could leap thirty paces? Had he imagined it? Ken’ishi looked in his eyes and saw . . . nothing. Only blackness. He recoiled slightly.

  “Who are you?”

  Taro drove him back a step with a powerful stroke. “I am Taro. Why do you ask now? Are you afraid?”

  Ken’ishi’s hands stung from the raw power of Taro’s blows. He must release himself i
nto the Void, let go of everything but the Now, but his spirit was too scattered.

  Taro came forward again, this time with the jitte, but Ken’ishi noticed immediately that his intent was not to attack the body, but the blade. He realized then the weapon’s purpose. Ken’ishi pulled his blade away and retreated again.

  Now.

  Reach for the Now.

  Find it.

  Forget all.

  Release.

  Taro lunged, a wild look burning in his eyes, closing the distance in an instant. But all the time Ken’ishi needed existed between instants.

  Ken’ishi adjusted his stance half a step to the side and slashed.

  Taro grunted in surprise. Ken’ishi heard the splatter of blood on the road, and something fell.

  Taro screamed in rage and slashed with the short sword, but the strength in the blow was gone. Ken’ishi batted the weapon away and slashed again. Taro’s body fell to the earth with a soft thud, and blood seeped from a terrible cut across his left thigh. His right arm was now a stump severed just below the elbow, pumping crimson onto the road. The short sword fell from his fingers, and Ken’ishi kicked it far away. Taro’s face was dazed, almost unconscious. Ken’ishi snatched the long sword from the scabbard in Taro’s sash, and cocked his arm to throw it away.

  Takenaga’s blade.

  This young man was from the village. Ken’ishi said, “You are a fool!”

  Taro’s eyes focused on him weakly, but he was losing consciousness. Ken’ishi saw the filthy bandage wrapped around the young man’s lower leg. It was crusted with blood and something else, something dark and unwholesome.

  Ken’ishi sighed. “I’m in no mood for killing today, Taro.” He knelt, grabbed Taro’s limp torso by the collar and lifted him closer. “Listen to me. Go home. Don’t come after me again. I will never come this way again. Let it go.”

  Taro’s eyes rolled back, and his head sagged backward. Ken’ishi snorted, let go of him, and stood up.

  Akao stood about ten paces away. His teeth were bared into a snarl, and his whole body quivered. His tail was tucked between his legs.