by Walt Mussell
He checked the buckets of clay slurry and water to ensure he had sufficient supply. Next, he ignited the pile of pine charcoal in the forge. The fire took on a life of its own, filling the air with the scent of pine. He stirred the fire and then added more charcoal, hearing the words of his master in his mind. Maintain an even temperature and your fire will serve your work well. The lessons filled his memory like when he was a young child learning to write characters. Learning required discipline. Discipline was one of the keys to great artisanship.
“You stir that charcoal like someone preparing for a tea ceremony.” Toshi’s jovial voice jolted Nobuhiro out of his reflections. Nobuhiro nearly dropped the poker.
He glanced over his shoulder to where his brother stood in the doorway. Smiling, silent, and self-assured. How did he sneak up on him? Nobuhiro struck his hip with his hand and wagged the hot poker at Toshi in mock reproach. “It’s as precise as a tea ceremony, brother, and to be treated with great care. You should know that.”
Toshi nodded. “Something we all learned as children,” he said in a you-don’t-have-to-remind-me voice. “Father’s mentor, an expert at the tea ceremony, ensured that Father mastered the skills. Father taught us well.”
Nobuhiro poked the fire hard and sparks showered the dirt floor. Was Toshi trying to provoke him? “Apparently, our father is still stuck in the past. He thinks me the child he once abused.”
Toshi’s eyes flared. “It’s been seven years since you chose to walk away. What did you expect? Did you think any hurt he felt would have been forgotten?”
Nobuhiro’s stomach tightened like someone who hadn’t eaten for days, a feeling he remembered from that first week after he left. “He felt?” Nobuhiro shoved his hand through his hair.
“Yes.” Toshi’s face hardened into the stony visage characteristic of their father and Uji. “Uji and I understood why you left. You never explained your feelings to Father.”
“What does he know of feelings?” Nobuhiro spat the words. Inside his mind, confusion raged. How could he have explained his feelings to their father? Samurai didn’t talk of such things. Toshi was the only one who wouldn’t ridicule Nobuhiro for his thoughts.
“His skills are not limited to the tea ceremony.” Toshi’s face softened in tandem with his words. “His name, Shige, means layered. He embodies that quality. Have you forgotten Father also composes poetry? He is recognized throughout the area for his work. Such a man is in touch with his feelings.”
Poetry. Memories of their father writing in the evening flickered in Nobuhiro’s mind. He’d left his futon often in the middle of the night and discovered his father alone by the hearth, brush in hand and eyes red. His father had caught him once and admonished him. Still, Nobuhiro found he had no retort for Toshi and nodded his assent.
“And speaking of feelings,” Toshi continued, “you seemed to enjoy meeting a certain young woman at the castle.”
At the mention of Sen, Nobuhiro’s face grew warm. He glanced away briefly before focusing again on his brother. “Yes, she seemed very nice.”
“Nice?” Toshi asked. “When you introduced yourself, that nervous stutter of yours arose like a thieving merchant who’d just received a visit from a tax collector. Uji and I struggled to contain our laughter when we heard it.”
“But what of it?”
“Would you like to see her again?”
Nobuhiro delayed answering, instead turning to look at the fire and adding coal. It was growing hotter. Coming along nicely. Did he want to see her again? His heartbeat quickened in response.
Wheeling back to his brother, he licked his lips. “Yes, but I don’t know how I could arrange it.”
“Don’t worry. I feel you may see her soon.”
Nobuhiro tilted his head. “Why?”
“There are many things you do not know, Sakichi,” Toshi said, addressing Nobuhiro by his birth name instead of the name he received at his coming-of-age ceremony.
Toshi often used the name to tease Nobuhiro. Nobuhiro sighed. A lecture was coming. He was being chided into listening to it.
“A samurai must be aware of his surroundings. He must understand the motivations of friend and foe alike. Those motivations carry success and failure.”
“What does that mean?” Irritation sharpened his response.
Toshi chuckled. “You will find out soon. I must go. Take care, Sakichi.”
Nobuhiro’s upper body tightened. He regretted his harsh words. These family opportunities were few, too few to devalue with pettiness. “My apologies for my earlier comments. Please stay a few more minutes. Would you like some tea?” He walked to the table and grabbed his wooden cup.
“Sorry. I must leave.”
Nobuhiro bowed. “Thank you for coming to visit. It’s good to talk to you.”
No response. He glanced up. His brother was gone, disappearing as if he had been conjured from Nobuhiro’s imagination. Nobuhiro walked to the door and looked out but didn’t see Toshi anywhere in the distance.
His thoughts were broken by the sliding of a door behind him.
“Was someone here?” a smooth, familiar voice asked.
He closed the outside door and turned. Master Goami stood at the entrance that faced the house.
“No one.” Averting his eyes, he returned to the fire. Guilt nagged his conscience at his lie. What would his master think if he knew of the visits over the years by both Toshi and Uji? Would he doubt Nobuhiro’s loyalty to this house or his love for the couple who had sheltered him for so many years? But he wasn’t ready to discuss the visits. “I thought I heard something and went to check.”
“Ahh. Maybe you heard me and just thought the sound was coming from elsewhere. I was up early. I tried to be silent and let my good wife sleep.” Master Goami smiled. “Guess I wasn’t successful.”
Nobuhiro laughed. His master’s mood was lighter than usual. It was the happiest he had seen him since before his master had learned of the death of his daughter and son-in-law, many months ago. Nobuhiro only had lost his best friend and fellow apprentice, Jiro. His master had lost his daughter, his heir, and his hopes for his family’s future.
With his master in such a good mood, Nobuhiro did not want to broach such memories. “Maybe you were quiet. Maybe it was just the wind I heard.”
“Whichever. It is good that you have the fire going.” Master Goami moved quickly. “We have much work to do today. Later, we need to clean up early. A special guest is joining us tonight.”
A guest. That explained Master Goami’s good spirits. Later, Nobuhiro decided, he would mention Toshi’s visit and reaffirm his own commitment to this family. He rubbed his palms together and went to work.
###
“Kaiken, I will not be led by you.” Ishida’s voice carried the thunder of more storms to come.
Kaiken stared at the odious samurai, his face puffed up to a bloated state. His red cheeks matched the small red rope that decorated the hilt of his blade. His muscles tensed beneath his kimono. Were he still in shape, he would be a threat. Yet the foolishness beneath his flab robbed his mobility.
“You dare challenge me?” Kaiken stepped toward Ishida. “I lead this group. I alone have received the Master’s blessing. We’ve met with success.”
Ishida pounded his fist to his chest. “The Master chose me for this group, too. I spit on your definition of success. We’ve done nothing for over six months. How are we serving our lord if we do not pursue his goals?”
“We had to suspend our activities. The fire at the factory and the deaths that happened drew Tokoda’s interest. Why the old man pursues that incident with such zeal, I do not know. His attention has been relentless.”
“You’re too cautious. We’ve accomplished little since then.”
Blood pumped from Kaiken’s quickening heartbeat. Focusing on Ishida, Kaiken still eyed the other two men in the room, Funaki and Michiba. Neither man moved, content to watch. Ishida’s kimono opened, framing a slender patch of skin that led
down his chest. He didn’t protect his own body. His lack of care matched his lack of wit.
“We’ve accomplished not getting caught. The day may come where we slit our stomachs in service to our lord, but that day has not arrived yet.”
Ishida spat. “You are not one who would take that step.”
Kaiken’s ears perked up. Voices from outside approached. Had a magistrate heard Ishida’s bluster? Possibly. Grabbing the katana’s hilt, Kaiken stiffened. Any intruder would be dispatched quickly. The voices passed. Kaiken’s shoulders dropped and rose again.
Ishida maintained his verbal assault. “It’s regrettable that no one entered. You grabbed your sword. Maybe you could have killed someone and added them to your list of martyrs.”
“You didn’t grab your sword. You’re a fool. Fools do not survive.”
“I’ve been fool enough only to follow you. Placing you in charge is the only unwise move our master has ever made. We list about like a boat with neither oars nor wind.”
“Our goals haven’t changed. We’ve created fear in the Christians. We will continue to inspire terror.”
Ishida huffed. “What terror? Master struck a blow for our cause when he arranged for Saga and Shimoto to lead the forces against Haibara Castle. They could have slain two hundred Christians that day. Instead, they killed twenty. For what purpose? Twenty lives that didn’t matter to anyone. Hundreds dead? Christians everywhere would have trembled. Their religion may be banned, but it still spreads.”
Kaiken bristled. It was still there. The kaiken, the dagger, the namesake, hidden and held in place under Kaiken’s right sleeve. Available to strike. To plunge it into Ishida’s throat would bring joy. Later, when Ishida had calmed down, Kaiken could meet him. Alone. Offer apologies. Offer food. Maybe even a geisha for entertainment.
Then Kaiken could stuff Ishida’s blasphemous mouth with metal.
Kaiken bit back a smile. Revenge was best when meted to an unsuspecting enemy.
Kaiken studied Ishida, but the fat man hadn’t moved. Was he providing an opening or baiting a trap? “We may not understand Master’s reason, but we should still follow his plan.”
“The Master’s plan left Saga and Shimoto dead, two of our most prominent members.”
“I admit I do not understand why they had to die, but I won’t question it. Neither should you. As the survivors of Haibara attempt to restart their lives, they will rejoin society. The scars on their necks are an indication to other Christians that they’re believers . . . and an indication to our fellow followers of people who can be monitored.”
“Hundreds can disappear in a country of millions. The story becomes only a myth. To inspire terror, we need more. Churches have been destroyed elsewhere. Other followers are obviously active. Yet we have done nothing since the incident at Haibara Castle.”
“The destruction of many churches is a rumor, yet you believe it. The church in Kyoto was demolished. The regent ordered that personally. Some places in Nagasaki have been destroyed, but this religion remains strong there . . . for now.”
Ishida scratched his head. “Then what are we doing? What is the true purpose?”
Kaiken breathed slowly. What did Ishida understand about the goal? Their master had entrusted Kaiken with that knowledge. To find the one. “The true purpose is the purview of the Master. For now, though, he wants as many Christians as possible alive.”
“Alive?” Ishida clenched his fists and stared at the ceiling.
Kaiken looked across at Ishida. He left his neck open. His stupidity poisons the air.
Kaiken stepped forward and Ishida stopped his pacing. “You forget that we know of several Christians in this area. Some have already been eliminated.”
“More nameless victims who provided society with no benefit. I can find others to make my shoes and fix my roof. It’s too slow. We need decisive action.”
A dog barked outside. Kaiken glanced at a low space in the wall, catching sight of a white dog. A silly community dog was the only one to note their presence. Thankfully, it could tell no one. “We need to find the rest of the Christians first, and then we will proceed under my direction. I alone was given the charge. Who are you to question it?”
Ishida took two steps toward Kaiken, bringing himself within arm’s reach of his rival. Kaiken coughed, expelling Ishida’s foul breath away. One step and it will be over, Kaiken thought. I should have done it when you looked at the ceiling.
“I am Ishida. The Master may have put you in charge of us,” he said as he pointed toward the door, “but out there, I outrank you and you are nothing. Be careful or I will make that permanent.”
Kaiken spit in his face. “Back up now or I’ll cut out your lying tongue. If you doubt my commitment, you’re welcome to challenge me. However, such a fight would be rash.”
Ishida laughed. “You’re afraid to fight me?”
“You’re a good man, Ishida. The group needs you. It needs all of us.”
Ishida chuckled, spreading his feet wide. “You do have some intelligence after all.” His smooth brow disappeared into a topknot that pulled the wrinkles from his face. “We should get to business as soon as our final member arrives.”
Kaiken glanced at the men in the room and listened for the approach of Kitayama, the missing member. More people passed within earshot, but the door remained closed. Kitayama was late again. Kaiken would have to convince him to be on time in the future or else his services would end.
Funaki and Michiba drew closer to Ishida. Had Ishida conspired with them beforehand? Would they support Ishida if Kaiken attacked? Their faces betrayed no emotion. Smart. Definitely smarter than Ishida.
Kaiken inhaled and rubbed moist palms onto the cotton fabric, gaining reassurance from the hidden dagger. Kaiken could step forward, slip it out quickly, and it would be over. “Agreed. We will wait.”
Ishida nodded. Dust brushed Kaiken’s lips and Kaiken wiped it away.
Kaiken heard a brief click and then a drag of metal on wood, the sound of a sword being drawn. Boar snouts! Kaiken’s chest tightened like the muscles of a ninja poised to silence palace guards. A flick of the wrist slipped the hidden dagger into Kaiken’s clenched palm. Ishida yelled and raised his sword high.
A fool to the end.
Kaiken stepped forward and brought the dagger up. The blade cleaved the fat of Ishida’s belly as Kaiken plunged it under his ribs and up to the dagger’s base.
Ishida gulped. His lips parted as Kaiken twisted the blade and then shoved upward. Ishida’s face cringed. He dropped his sword, which thudded on the ground. Kaiken removed the dagger and Ishida dropped to his knees, his face surprisingly placid. Ishida then fell forward, his head slamming into the rotting wood and soot, creating a cloud of dust.
Kaiken looked at the two remaining samurai. They both backed up and bowed.
Kaiken flicked the blade, casting blood on Ishida’s face. The blood’s thick smell cut through the air. Kaiken wiped the dagger on Ishida’s clothes, then stepped over the body and acknowledged the two men. “I trust there will be no further challenges.”
“Hai,” they both responded.
A crack outside drew their attention. Kaiken and the two men drew their swords. A smile crossed Kaiken’s lips. The dead weight was no more. The remaining members were ready.
Kitayama stepped in, breathing hard.
“You’re late,” Kaiken said, resheathing the sword. Funaki and Michiba did likewise.
Kitayama bowed. “I beg your forgiveness, but the Christian woman is moving. Her mistress gave her time off to visit her family. We could watch from a distance. The local Christians would know she is from here and may approach her.
“Good work. Your lateness is acceptable. We took care of one issue without you.
Kitayama tilted his head and looked at the ground as Kaiken pointed toward Ishida. “Dispose of the body. Cover it for now to hide it. Return tonight and dump it outside of town where the dogs can benefit.”
Kitayama said
nothing, but his assent was plain. Kaiken holstered the blade back in its spot. The dagger. The protector. The kaiken.
Christians were fools to follow a deity. Skill and weapons were the only true salvation.
###
Sen’s steps quickened as the familiar thatched-roof house came into view. The nearby workshop on the left side was encircled by a straw rope from which hung paper streamers, just as at a Buddhist temple. Shadows from the workshop painted the house as the sun drew lower in the sky.
It had been many years since she had been home to see her parents. Her mistress had given her the night off to visit. Her last time at home had been much happier. She had dreamed often of this day and looked forward to the reunion. Would the house feel empty? Haru was dead. A pit the size of a castle cornerstone swelled in Sen’s stomach.
She also felt the mantle of her duty now that she was the sole-surviving child. That duty weighed like lead. She paused, knuckles hovering inches from the door. Taking a few deep breaths, she willed herself to chase the issue from her mind and rapped on the doorframe.
The wooden door slid open quickly to reveal her mother. The older woman beamed at her, tears streaming from her eyes. Sen’s eyes also misted and tears trickled down her face. She reached out and cupped her mother’s elbows in her hands. Her mother did the same to her.
She stared into new wrinkles that were now etched around her mother’s eyes. Sen didn’t remember the creases from before, but that was ten years ago. Her mother was a young woman. Had Haru’s death aged her?
Sen stepped back and bowed, then glanced at the threshold. Her throat tightened. Yes, the place did feel empty.
“What is it?” her mother asked.
“I miss Haru. It’s going to be different.”
Her mother smiled. “So do I, my daughter, but home is still home. Haru will always be with us.”
Her mother’s words lightened the load on Sen’s spirits. She removed her shoes in the genkan and stepped into the house.
She stared at her mother again. The woman was still beautiful. Her black hair was tied in a bun. Her eyes sparkled with more tears that outshone the green kimono she wore. Her mother was of average height. Sen was only a few inches taller but seemed like a giant compared to her.
