Child of Vengeance

by David Kirk

  “My lord?” asked Munisai, surprised that the young lord had spoken. He looked to Shinmen, but it was Lord Nakata who spoke.

  “Forgive my son, Munisai Shinmen. Being young, it is unknown by him how men should properly comport themselves,” he said, and turned to his son, who had returned to lighting incense sullenly. “Look upon this man, Hayato—here is one named the Nation’s Finest! Do you not understand what that means?”

  “You flatter me, noble Lord Nakata,” said Munisai, bowing. “But that title refers solely to swordsmanship and nothing more. There are much finer men than I within our land. Even so, if something has been done that is unsatisfactory to either yourself or your heir, it would be shameful if it could not be spoken of and rectified.”

  “It has been a fine day’s work, Munisai, indeed. We live on in a world that is less one enemy. But … there is the issue of the castle,” said Lord Shinmen.

  “My lord?”

  “The castle of the late Lord Kanno, which was promised by Lord Shinmen to our clan as a most wonderful and splendid gift and a sign of our enduring alliance,” said Lord Nakata.

  “The ruins of my castle, now which are still ablaze outside,” said Hayato. The young lord was all petulant fury as he looked at Munisai.

  This was the first he had heard of any plans for the castle as a gift, but Munisai nevertheless bowed once more to the lords and said, “What happened with the castle was regrettable, my lords. But in the context of the situation an entirely necessary regret.”

  “Are you certain of that, Munisai?” asked Shinmen.

  “Yes, my lord,” said Munisai. “If you would allow me to explain?”

  “Please do.” Nakata nodded.

  “Very well,” he said. “My Lord Shinmen led the main body of men up through the valley, while I led a covert force around the rear to try to take the Lord Kanno and the castle itself. Unfortunately our ruse was spotted earlier than I had hoped, and Ueno was more cautious also. We had managed to pass the gate of the stronghold, but a fight ensued with a hundred men or thereabouts to my threescore. Furthermore, Ueno had a chance to barricade himself and the Lord Kanno within the armory of the clan. My men could not hold indefinitely, and neither did I want to prolong an uphill battle for my Lord Shinmen, so time was of the essence—we needed to extricate the lord from the armory as soon as possible.

  “I believe there is no faster way to encourage men to leave a building than the prospect of burning, and so we set a fire that in our zealousness unfortunately grew out of control. But it worked, and once the boy lord was in my custody, the Kanno samurai could not fight on with a sword to their lord’s throat. They surrendered, in the castle at least, and that is how the day was won, my lords.” Munisai finished speaking, and then bowed low once more.

  “A stirring account, my honorable Munisai, and I salute your daring,” said Lord Nakata, nodding his head once. “But I have to raise a question with you—surely there must have been another entrance to the armory you could have sought, rather than resorting to arson?”

  “There were none that were visible, Lord,” said Munisai.

  “That does not mean an absence of exits, however. Indeed, in our many castles there is always an abundance of passages into each and every room. So it follows that there must be in Kanno’s also, no?” said Lord Nakata.

  “So it may be, Lord,” said Munisai.

  He wanted to point out that if there had been a secret entrance, Ueno and Kanno might have used it to escape, but he held his tongue. It would be a futile argument. He could see now what the intention here was—Lord Shinmen had made a mistake, and now Munisai was expected to take the blame for it. This was duty.

  “It holds, therefore, that you owe our esteemed guests a formal apology. Do you not agree, Munisai?” asked Shinmen.

  “Indeed, my lord.” Munisai nodded. “If you should wish it, my immolation by seppuku is humbly offered that my dishonor might be expunged with my blood.”

  “No, no, Commander. That would be quite unnecessary. It is felt that your simple words would be enough,” said Nakata.

  “Very well, Lo—”

  “Coupled,” continued Nakata, “with a tithe from your yearly stipend to help pay for arrears, of course.”

  Munisai made no outward reaction, but inside he seethed. Money was little more than a concept to him, but to be so publicly indebted to anyone, let alone the Nakata, galled him. Nevertheless, he swallowed that shame and bowed low once more.

  “That is the least that could be offered. My estate shall be informed at once. Furthermore, my sincere and humble apologies for my brash and destructive actions are offered to you both, your clan, your ancestors, and to all the descendants you have and may yet sire,” he said, and then lowered himself farther so that his forehead was on the ground as he waited for Nakata to speak.

  “Very good, Commander Munisai, they are of course accepted,” the old lord said eventually.

  “Rise, Munisai,” said Shinmen, and Munisai obeyed.

  “Forgive me further, my lords, but my attention is required else—”

  “I wonder why,” said Hayato, looking at no one, “I am even surprised at this. It’s not as though Munisai Shinmen wreaking destruction with flame is without precedent, is it?”

  Something froze behind Munisai’s breastbone. Hayato stared only at the cherry of the burning stick of incense in his hand. He did not see his father turn to him and try to wordlessly communicate the danger of speaking slander in front of court. Neither did he see Lord Shinmen, who knew the truth behind such slander, look at the swords at Munisai’s side.

  “And now he comes offering apologies covered in the filth of a battlefield,” continued Hayato, either oblivious to the sudden tenseness or feigning it, smoke coiling around his face. “Does the honorable Munisai not know how to present himself, or does he find contentment in reeking of dung?”

  The numb potential for fury passed in Munisai; he realized then that Hayato was a brat and nothing more, picking around at whatever insult he could think of without knowing which was the true one. A great weariness and exasperation came in its place, to such an extent that Munisai committed a fundamental sin and let some of his true self show. He could not stop himself from fixing his gaze on the young lord until Hayato had no choice but to return it hesitantly.

  “Apologies are offered, Lord Nakata,” said Munisai, “if the very idea of war discomforts you so. Sometimes I forget the delicate spirit of city dwellers differs from that of warriors.”

  He might have gotten away with it had the koto player not sniggered. But the music’s rhythm broke for a jarring second; the woman raised a delicate hand to her face, composed herself, and then continued playing. Hayato turned bright red, and looked at the ground. His father squinted his piggy little eyes harder at Munisai. Shinmen’s face had grown cold and still. Munisai turned to look at him.

  “With your permission, my lord?” he asked.

  “You may go, Munisai,” Shinmen said, voice somber.

  Munisai bowed once more, rose, and strode off. There was silence as he left, though in some of the downturned faces he thought he could see amusement. There was little doubt the story would be passed around the camp before long. What that would reap, he didn’t know, but at that moment he didn’t care.

  Outside night had fully fallen, but the cooler air did not refresh him. He was exhausted and angry and he could not deny that he felt betrayed, and over much more than what had just happened. That he felt such shameful selfishness only angered him further, and he stalked off toward what was left of Hayato’s castle.

  They had won, and so the drinking had begun.

  Around the glowing embers of the castle bands of men had formed, growing larger as time wore on and final duties were seen to, shouting and laughing with friends old and new. The stores of the fortress had been raided before they could burn, and so now great cauldrons of rice and soup and vegetables were cooking and barrels were being smashed open with mallets the length of
bodies.

  Kazuteru held his arms out wide as he sang a bawdy old song of victory his father had taught him in his childhood, weaving his way through the groups of men half looking for someone he knew. Though he clutched a bottle of sake in his hand, he was not drunk. Truth be told the drink was bitter and he could stomach no more than a few mouthfuls of it; he carried it merely because he did not want to look out of place among the others. His body thrummed solely with the intoxication of being alive and having survived.

  He thought of his father as he sang—the man had died in a war of his own some ten years ago, and the song was one of the few things he had left his son. The little wealth bequeathed to him and his mother had quickly vanished and his mother had been too proud to seek aid from anyone, and so the pair of them had endured with shrunken stomachs in a house that was pawned piece by piece.

  But now Kazuteru was a man, and more than that a warrior who had lived through his first battle. Soon his stipend would increase as he rose through the ranks, and so finally he would be able to provide for his mother and ensure that she lived in comfort in her aging years. Fine silk, fine food, a maid or two maybe … Why not? It was a night for dreams and glory.

  Lingering sensations danced around the inside of his head though, terrible memories of the day—the sound of the man with the twisted leg, the sight of Kanno’s cavalry charge tearing down the hill in one fearsome arrowhead, the warmth of his piss streaming down his legs as he stood frozen in terror before those horsemen—but the young samurai curled his lips into a smile and banished them, singing louder and spinning as he walked.

  They had all earned it, this one night, to forget the rules and decorum and etiquette that governed their lives. Men clapped him on as he sang and strode, older men who would have snarled at him and called him a fool at any other time. He passed men in fine kimonos bent double vomiting through mouths warped into numb grins, others stripped almost naked pouring buckets of hot water down themselves, long since clean and dousing themselves for no other reason than that it felt good and because they still could.

  But time went on and the song had many, many verses. Kazuteru did not know much beyond the first three. He paused, took a wincing slug of sake—most of which he let dribble down his chin—to try to induce memory or inspiration, and as he opened his mouth to sing again, a hand pushed him in the chest hard enough to cause him to stagger backward.

  It was Munisai, still in his armor, face pinched into a dull fury and looking at Kazuteru with mirthless eyes.

  “You,” he said. “Come.”

  The samurai jerked his chin at the darkness beyond the burning castle and marched off toward it. Kazuteru hesitated for a few heartbeats, shocked both at his commander’s sudden appearance and that he had been singled out. He wondered what he had done wrong.

  “Do not keep me waiting, boy,” said Munisai, neither stopping nor turning.

  No one around Kazuteru had noticed, no one leapt to his defense. He felt suddenly alone among those he had thought his comrades. He knew there was nothing to do but obey, and so he skittered after the man and fell into a nervous pace a respectful distance behind him.

  It came to him as they walked—the dagger. Lord Shinmen must have said nothing at the time for fear of spoiling the ceremony any further than Kazuteru already had, but he had not forgotten. Munisai must be here to enact some form of punishment upon him. The commander’s swords were at his side still. Kazuteru looked at them fearfully. Surely he would be spared for so small an error?

  Though was it a small offense? Kanno had been a lord, after all, Ueno a general too … He could not tell, and it was impossible to glean any hint from Munisai. The man did not acknowledge him further, merely led Kazuteru toward the edges of the camp until they came to a burning brazier. A pair of guards stood by it and they moved to challenge Munisai, but when they recognized who approached them they bowed low.

  “Nothing to report, my lord. All is calm, sir,” said one, his eyes cast low.

  “Very well. You are relieved. I’ll take your post,” said Munisai. The two guards looked from him to Kazuteru, guessed whatever it was they guessed, and then scurried off, bowing.

  When they were entirely alone, Munisai turned to face the young man and looked him up and down. He flexed his shoulders, rolled his head, and nodded.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he said.

  The commander was bracing himself for something. Kazuteru bowed his head, kept his eyes upon the ground, and with a voice that seemed fragile and weak tried to save himself.

  “I apologize wholeheartedly, my lord, and beg your forgiveness,” he said, his stomach churning. “I did drop the dagger, but I cleaned it as best I could, and I thought that that would be sufficient for what … But obviously … I apologize, and await your punishment.”

  Munisai said nothing. Kazuteru swallowed drily, and carried on guessing.

  “Perhaps it was the song. Perhaps I was too loud and boorish, and brought disgrace upon you by acting the savage. I apologize for this a hundred times and beg your—”

  “What song? What dagger? What are you going on about?” interrupted Munisai, irritated.

  Kazuteru allowed himself to look up. Munisai had turned away from him and was slowly unbuckling his armor with some difficulty. The samurai favored his right hand, his left arm sluggish and stiff. A great weariness seemed to come into Munisai the more he struggled. When he finally managed to remove the cuirass, it slipped from his grip and dropped heavily to the ground. There was a ragged tear through the layers of Munisai’s underclothes, darkened by blood.

  The commander slowly rolled the kimonos off his shoulder, and exposed his flesh to the night. A vicious-looking gash stretched from just under his left armpit to the base of his rib cage near the spine.

  “A desperate fool jumped me from behind in the battle for the castle,” said Munisai in explanation, and as he spoke Kazuteru watched the split flesh flap and distort painfully. “Got his blade under my armor while I had my sword up parrying. If he had kept his head he would have thrust it straight into my heart, but he was an idiot and he failed and now he is dead for it. Nevertheless, the wound has closed poorly. It doesn’t feel right. You’ll need to reopen it and clean it.”

  “Lord?” the young man asked, dumbfounded.

  Munisai produced a small bag and threw it to Kazuteru. The young samurai opened it and found a folded paper sachet of salve and a clean roll of bandages inside.

  “Lord, I have no experience with medicine. You should visit a healer.”

  “Who do you think I got that from?”

  “But … why didn’t they treat it?”

  “There are others far worse than me for them to tend to. I can bear this, so I did. That is duty,” said Munisai simply. “Now, you need to open the wound once more, remove the dirt, apply the salve, and bandage it. Do you understand?”

  Kazuteru said nothing, and Munisai lowered himself to kneel with his back to the fire. The young samurai reluctantly sat down behind him and examined the wound closely. He could see the lopsided way the flesh had bunched together, probably where the tightness of the armor had pressed against it, and along it there were angry red eyes that were still open and weeping. It looked to him like someone had poorly sewn an overflowing sack of meat together and it was slowly coming undone.

  “Get started, boy,” said Munisai.

  Kazuteru hesitated, more nervous now than when he had thought punishment was coming. He thought of trying to conjure an excuse, but he knew there was no escaping an order from his commander, however bizarre it was. The young samurai ran his fingers along the wound. The surrounding flesh tensed in pain, but Munisai made no sound. The man was perfectly still and silent, staring into the night.

  Not knowing what else to do, Kazuteru reluctantly drew his shortsword and placed it to the worst of the wound.

  “Forgive me the pain, Lord,” he said, and pushed the blade down.

  Again, Munisai tensed, but he remained silent. The
elder man began breathing in long, slow breaths that rose and fell, and after a spell Kazuteru found himself breathing in unison. It was calming. Kazuteru worked quickly, his sword, still battle-sharp, cutting through the clotted mess of flesh with ease. He was relieved to see the wound fall back to a far cleaner and straighter-looking line, but through this the white bones of rib winked back.

  When he had cut all he dared to, he wiped the sword clean of blood and returned it to its scabbard. Munisai didn’t move or speak. The guards had had a flagon of water with them, and from this Kazuteru filled a jug to rinse the wound before applying the poultice. The powder was greenish and foul smelling, but as he filled the wound with it the bleeding stopped almost instantly. That was promising. Then he began to wrap the bandages around Munisai’s torso.

  At the touch of the cloth, Munisai took a deep breath and seemed to rouse himself as if from a deep slumber.

  “Is it over?” he asked quietly.

  “Almost, Lord,” said Kazuteru.

  It was but a few more moments of binding, and then Kazuteru knelt backward onto his haunches. Munisai flexed his shoulder experimentally. A slight grimace played across the corner of his mouth, but the man grunted approval. He gestured for the water that was left in the jug, and drank slowly from it, staring into the glowing coals of the brazier. Kazuteru waited silently for a long while, but eventually he found the nerve to speak.

  “Why me, my lord?” he asked.

  “You were the first man I found by himself,” said Munisai simply, “and you have my thanks.” He turned then and looked at Kazuteru, really looking at him for the first time. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen, Lord. Eighteen in the autumn.”

  “That’s old enough,” said Munisai, and looked back to the fire once more, his voice wistful. “And how old do you suppose that young Lord Kanno was, earlier today?”

  “Nine, I think, Lord.”

  “Nine years old. That’s old enough too. Do you know what his death poem was?”