Gloria Oliver

by In Service Of Samurai

  Never loosening his hold on the boy’s arm, the samurai returned to completing his message.

  As the grisly metal face looked elsewhere, Toshi found his eyes and numbed mind free again. He tried to scream so he could wake up Master Shun or attract the watch—anything that might get him away from this demon—but his vocal cords were as frozen as the rest of him.

  He read the note again and again, noticing as the samurai finished it that it lacked a signature. Who was this demon? Studying the family crest again, Toshi thought he might have seen it somewhere before. Was it important?

  The samurai reached down and brought out a hand-sized silk sack from within the lacquered armor. The jingle of coins echoed through the room as the samurai let the sack drop on the counter. He then reached within a small bag at his side and brought out a long bamboo tube. He carefully rolled up the map and placed it inside. Returning the tube back to the bag, the samurai turned his burning green eyes in Toshi’s direction.

  “Come,” he commanded.

  The intense cold that had kept Toshi rooted to the spot lessened. He walked hesitantly around the counter, the samurai pulling on his wrist. His worried eyes swept through the shop, a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him this would be the last time he’d ever see the place he’d called home since he was six. With a sweeping sense of loss, of leaving all he had ever known, he stopped and planted his feet on the floor, not willing to let it all go so easily.

  Without looking back, the samurai yanked his arm, forcing him to pitch forward. Landing hard on his knees, Toshi felt his eyes fill with pain-induced tears as the samurai then pulled him toward the door. The snarling mask, with its glowing eyes, glared at him without the slightest sign of pity or mercy.

  With a soft whoosh , the samurai slid open the shop’s paneled front door and wrenched him to his feet.

  “Now walk.” The samurai’s free hand landed on his sword’s hilt once more, reminding the boy of its silent but deadly threat.

  Toshi looked away, hating the way he felt as he realized he had no choice. He slipped on his old sandals, sitting just on the outside of the store entrance, and stepped out of his old life forever.

  Keeping his eyes on the dirt road, he walked on as the samurai set an easy pace away from the shop.

  As they walked, a thin fog sprang up around them. He shivered, cold inside and out. In an instant, all that he was being forced to leave behind flashed through his mind: Master Shun, quirky and strange though he was; the Kawa family next door and their gaggle of children; the sweet dumplings he always bought during festival nights from the old woman near the temple; his room and his few possessions; the friends he’d made from the gaijin ship. His heart ached.

  Very few lights were on in the bottom floors of the many two-storied buildings surrounding them on either side. A number of the lights in the living quarters on the second floor had already gone dark as well. Only the howling wind and the lonely call of a stray dog disturbed the silence as he was led down the street in the direction of the docks. He shuddered under the warm night breeze as the samurai strolled on as if he were lord of everything around him. Toshi refused to allow himself to look at him, to look at the monster that was ripping him away from all he knew. The scent of the demon’s clinging seaweed wrapped about him as they walked.

  The buildings changed as they approached the docks. The wood-and-paper homes grew smaller as they crowded in side by side. The wail of a hungry child or a quiet, lonely moan occasionally escaped into the street, the smell of human waste and rotting garbage growing ever thicker. The samurai appeared to be oblivious to it all, yet for Toshi these sounds only too clearly reflected the despair and unfairness welling up inside him.

  He slipped a hateful glance at the samurai. Of course, it wouldn’t bother a demon if there was suffering and misery in the world or that he was about to add to it. After all, wasn’t that what demons were for?

  He quickly wiped at the tears threatening his eyes, determined not to show any weakness to this demon.

  Though he hoped for it with every step, the samurai’s cold grip never lessened on his wrist. If only he got a chance to try to escape!

  With unbelieving eyes, as they crossed the last street intersection before the docks, he spotted two samurai of the watch. Hope sprang into his heart, and he tried to scream for their attention as the demon pulled him on across the street. Though he tried and tried, no sound made it past his lips. The two men continued walking away, even as he felt his last chance for freedom being swept away by fate.

  While his soul wailed with despair, his eyes lighted on a rock on the dirt road less than two feet in front of him. He felt an urge to look at the demon beside him, to make sure he hadn’t seen the rock. He forced himself to curb the impulse and kept his eyes glued to his one possible means of salvation. Leaving himself no time for thought, he dropped to the ground and swung one of his legs hard, tripping the samurai. The armored figure fell. Toshi lunged for the rock. Gasping, he felt the bitter cold from the fleshless hand that still held him pour greedily into his bones. He couldn’t feel the rock as he wrapped his fingers around it. His body slowed as he fought with every ounce of his being to lift his arm so he could throw the stone that might gain the attention of the watch.

  Perspiration broke out all over his body from the effort as the flowing cold pierced him to the core. With a silent scream, he watched the two samurai disappear from sight as his arm froze in a throwing stance.

  Hot pain blossomed on the side of his face.

  Unable to move, he couldn’t keep from toppling to the dirt, the samurai’s blow knocking him off his feet.

  A whispered hiss fell on his ear, his vision swimming before him.

  “Fool.”

  He would have cringed from the scorn in the samurai’s voice, but he couldn’t even do that. A hard yank brought him to his knees. He tried his best to ignore the grotesque mask and the glowing eyes before him.

  “If you find someone willing to try to stop me from taking you, I’ll kill them. Their deaths will be on your head.”

  The samurai’s voice was cold. Toshi looked away. He knew the demon would do as he said.

  Another rough yank brought him to his feet. He gasped in pain at the hard pull, the rock he had risked so much to grab falling forgotten from his numb fingers. The samurai’s words continued to reverberate in his mind as he was dragged forward once again.

  Why would a demon be willing to kill to keep him? Why pay Master Shun instead of just stealing him away? This wasn’t the way demons did things.

  He offered no more resistance as the samurai pulled him onto the platform for the docks. He kept looking back, however, trying hard to engrave the memory of the home he was being torn from in his mind. He wiped his face with his sleeve, his eyes burning.

  The majority of the boats tied close to them were long and flat-bottomed, most of them fishing boats. On the dock’s far side were the gaijin ships. Their tall masts and swollen bodies dwarfed all the other boats around them.

  The samurai paid him no attention as he pulled him along and strolled down each of the platforms, gazing at all the ships gathered there. After several minutes, they came across a fishing boat with a small skiff tied to its side. He was dragged toward it, even as he wondered what the samurai was planning.

  Moving through the fishing ship toward the single-oared boat, the samurai left three coins wrapped artistically in paper next to the ship’s tiller. Toshi’s eyes strayed to the small bundle, puzzled by the fact that the coins had been prepared as a gift. It then dawned on him what they were being left for. His brow furrowed. Why would a demon have need of a skiff?

  With his one free hand, the samurai pulled on the rope tied to the small craft and drew it closer to them.

  “Get in.” Flashing green eyes turned in Toshi’s direction with the barked command.

  He tried to do as he’d been told. His legs, though, still filled with the samurai’s unearthly cold, were numb and unrespo
nsive. As he tried to get over the edge of the ship’s rail, he shifted his weight too quickly and fell. Watching in startled fear as the boat beneath rose to meet his face, he felt his arm wrenched from behind. Pulled upward, he was kept from landing face-first into the boat. His legs continued to go down and smacked onto the side of the craft as he dangled there by his arm, but he barely felt the impact. This bothered him more than the fact he could have been hurt.

  The samurai pulled him up further, until he’d gotten his legs into the boat, before suddenly letting go of his wrist. Toshi collapsed to his knees, the thread of cold pouring through his bones replaced by a jolt of warmth from his pumping heart.

  The fog that followed them on the streets slithered from the fishing ship down into the skiff as if it hungered for them. He sat still on the bottom of the craft, trying to dispel the memory of the wooden deck rushing toward his face.

  The samurai lowered himself into the skiff in a fluid drop, barely rocking the boat. Gazing down at Toshi for a moment, he slid his hand onto the shorter of his two swords before whipping it out of its sheath and slicing through the skiff’s mooring line in one smooth motion.

  “If you try to leave this craft, I will cut you in half before you can hit the water.”

  Toshi would have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t thought the samurai would cut him down for it. His body felt so numb and slow, he doubted he could even save himself if the boat suddenly tipped over, let alone try to escape. He felt the samurai’s green gaze staring at him again. He tried his best not to let his own gaze cross its path.

  “Take the oar and row us out toward the middle of the bay.” The samurai waved his hand to the back of the boat.

  He crawled where he’d been told to and stared at the long, angled oar waiting there. Watching to make sure his hands got around the oar, since he couldn’t feel them, he wove it back and forth to get the craft moving.

  As the small boat inched away from the docks to deeper water, he glanced back at the city that had for so long been his home. His gaze grew moist as he stared at the dark mass, no hint showing in the darkness of the bustle and life that had made it so dear to him over the years. And now he was being torn from it.

  The fog grew in intensity. It cut off his view of the city. In a way, it made it seem as if the city had never existed.

  After a time, the skiff picked up speed. Toshi became ever more grateful for the work the demon had given him, as it loosened the numbness from his body. The heat of the work was exhilarating compared to the unearthly coldness that had gripped him before. He stared at the samurai’s armored back, seeing nothing but fog and sea beyond. When he was feeling more like himself, he worked up the courage to speak.

  “Sir, might I ask where we are going?”

  The samurai didn’t react to his question, but remained fixed, facing the prow of the boat.

  Toshi continued rowing and didn’t speak again. He still had no idea as to their destination when his arms began to tire.

  “Stop here.” The samurai made a chopping motion with his hand.

  He stopped rowing, staring at the samurai in surprise, able to see nothing but the swirling fog around them. Keeping his gaze locked on the samurai, he waited to see what he would be asked to do next. An unwanted chill cut through him as he tried his best not to guess at what it might be.

  His attention was drawn to the water as bubbles formed on its surface. The bubbles grew to a writhing mass, a soft glow coming from beneath them. The fog slithered away as if afraid of what was happening in the water. Toshi watched the spot of light beneath the bubbles get larger and brighter.

  His knuckles turned white as he gripped his oar in apprehension. The knocking of his heart in his chest was the only sound he could hear as an eerily glowing rod broke through the surface of the frothing sea.

  The rod rose higher. A crossbeam broke the surface beneath it, long strands of seaweed strung across its length. A tattered square sail followed, a gold-colored replica of the crest he had seen on the samurai’s armor on it.

  While terror welled within at the sight rising before him, he found his gaze inexorably drawn to the samurai. The warrior slowly turned to face him and stared at him with his burning green eyes.

  Toshi shook his head in helpless denial as the samurai stood up and pointed toward the still-rising ship.

  “No! This is not my karma,” he declared. “I won’t go to a cursed ship!”

  The samurai stared at him impassively, the green light issuing from the demon-mask’s eyes brighter than it had been before. “Row.”

  He shook his head again, forgetting whom he was denying while in the grip of his welling fear. He let go of the boat’s oar as if it had burned him. His gaze darted around, looking for a way to escape, and he saw his only option was to dive into the sea.

  He turned, determined to leave the boat. Something solid struck the back of his leg at the knee, folding it under him. As he struggled not to fall over, he saw the samurai’s lacquered scabbard flash ahead of him just before it slammed into his stomach. He fell hard onto the deck.

  Panic drove him to ignore the flaring pain in his leg and stomach, even as he fought to throw himself overboard. He’d reached the side of the boat when his cotton tunic was wrenched from behind and he was yanked back with it. He tried desperately to pull away, his fists flying; but a shot of unearthly cold wove down his spine, draining his resistance as fleshless fingers wrapped around the back of his neck.

  He screamed.

  His terror and desperation multiplied as the cold spread through him. Still screaming, he tried to pry the bony fingers from his neck, but his hands were slapped away. Soon he could no longer move. With a soundless cry of fear, he shut his eyes, not wanting to see what awaited him.

  The flat-bottomed ship had come fully to the surface. Indistinct shapes moving within it silently brought out long poles with hooks and snared the small boat. As the skiff was secured to the side of the larger vessel, a number of fleshless hands reached down into it.

  Toshi fought as he felt half a dozen hands attach to his body and pull him upward. The samurai’s hand left the back of his neck. In panic, he snapped his eyes open to see why the demon had deserted him. He gazed straight into the face of a grinning skull. Empty eye sockets stared into his eyes, a reddish glow flaring for a moment in their depths. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound ever reached past his lips. The fleshless face came closer. The creature’s eyes flared with bright red light. He tried to squirm away, but it was all in vain. His heart threatened to burst from horror before that fleshless grin.

  An arm was thrust between them. Sudden hope flared within him even as his frightened gaze shifted to seek the samurai’s masked face. He didn’t feel the samurai’s hand as it latched onto his. His numbed body was turned around, and he glimpsed the rest of those who were on board. His mind wouldn’t count them; it didn’t want to see them. It shrieked in disbelief as he stared at the white gleaming skeletons before him.

  They stood upright and wore clothes he would have seen on men on any common street. Some wore short pants and sleeveless shirts. Others only wore fudoshi —a long cloth coiled around the body that covered the genitals like a loincloth—and short vests.

  Half-supporting, half-dragging him, the samurai took him toward a door set in the wall of the raised deck housing the tiller. His mind was as numbed by terror as his body was by cold; he didn’t resist as he was taken into the small hallway beyond.

  Ignoring the ladder going below, the samurai pulled him forward, stopping before the second doorway on the right. Throwing the door open, the samurai thrust him inside. Unable in his paralysis to break his fall, he slammed into the glowing floor. The door was closed and bolted behind him.

  The pain of the fall a very faint perception, Toshi gave in to his fear and despair. He scooted to a corner and hugged his knees to his chest, his wide eyes staring at the glow in the room that permeated everything.

  Chapter 2

  Toshi
sat bolt upright, realizing that at some point during the night he’d fallen asleep. He glanced quickly about him, dislodging a thick blanket from his shoulders. He was on a ship—a haunted ship. A chill coursed through him as he recalled all that had gone on before.

  He grabbed the fallen blanket, not sure where it had come from, and wrapped it about him. The thought repeated over and over in his mind that normal walls didn’t glow like a million fireflies. The cold air in the room made him shiver.

  “Would you like some tea?”

  He whipped around, entangling himself in the blanket, looking for the source of the voice. He stared in surprise at a well-dressed woman sitting at the far corner of the room, serving tea. The cut and style of her light-green kimono and her lavishly coiffured black-haired wig with its silver bells told him she was geisha, an entertainer. Yet, unlike any geisha he had ever heard tell of, this one wore a Noh mask over her face.

  The delicate traditional theater mask of white-painted wood was of a handsome young maiden with large almond-shaped eyes, rounded nose and thin, smiling red lips, but its illusion was dispelled as he noticed the woman’s hands and neck were as fleshless as a hundred-year-old corpse.

  “Who … who are you? What … what do you want from me?” He inched away from the geisha, his voice cracking as he spoke.

  The woman looked up at him, soft blue light showing through the narrow, round eye-slits of the mask.

  With surprising grace and beauty in spite of her lack of flesh, the geisha bowed to him and introduced herself.

  “I am Akiuji Miko. Entertainer for his lordship Asaka Ietsugu.”

  Feeling awkward at the unexpected show of formality, he made himself return the bow.

  “My … my name is Chizuson Toshiro,” he said, his mind thinking about how in the rules of the foreigners his surname would have come last, not first. “Though most people just call me Toshi. I was an apprentice mapmaker to Hirojima Shun.” He licked his lips, apprehension filling him to the core.