Raven's Sword

by Raven's Sword (retail) (epub)

  ‘It is our home,’ said Chikaaki, bowing once more. ‘It has always been our home.’

  ‘They say your father built the tavern.’

  Chikaaki recited his family history in a sing-song voice as if he had told the story countless times.

  ‘My father was a simple man, settled in his ways, but the inn was remote and struggled for custom. Most folk who wanted to be entertained headed downriver to the hot spring. He could hardly make hot water erupt from the ground by force of will so he decided to draw customers by building a bridge across the river. It would be one of the only crossings for miles and would guarantee a steady flow of travellers passing his door. He hired men and worked all summer. He had no idea how to design a bridge. His first two attempts to span the river failed. Each bridge stood less than a day. They collapsed at high tide and the timber had to be salvaged from the mudflats downriver. The third time they built the bridge they waded deep and stacked rocks mid-stream, then drove pilings. They built the bridge strong and, when word got around that there was a serviceable river crossing, a stream of merchants began to use the road, pleased to be fed and entertained. Our tavern has prospered ever since.’

  The lord looked around the courtyard to assess exactly how prosperous the tavern had been. He knelt on their best cushion and drank tea. Chikaaki and his son sat in attendance.

  ‘May I ask what brings Makoto-dono to our humble inn?’ asked Chikaaki.

  ‘Bandits,’ he said. ‘Armed vagabonds. There have been sightings on the road to Toyama. The villagers are nervous. They have armed themselves and travel in pairs. They are safe grouped together in the hamlet. But you folk, out here on your own. You are a long way from help.’

  ‘We have seen nothing.’

  ‘Folk are worried about you. What about that family out by the river? they ask. We sleep under your protection, Makoto-dono. Safe from cutthroats, safe from harm. But what about the people who live beside the shrine? What if anything were to happen to them? That’s why I’m here. To extend my hand. To offer my sword.’

  ‘Our household is too insignificant to attract bandits. We have nothing to steal.’

  ‘You have a wife. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, would you?’

  ‘We have nothing, Makoto-dono. Nothing at all.’

  ‘You are simple, kind folk. You don’t understand the depths to which many of these bandits have sunk. Some depraved men might slaughter you all just for the sport. But don’t concern yourselves. I will do what I can to protect you. If I hear reports of strangers in the valley, rumours of anything amiss, I will head here straight away to ensure you are safe.’

  ‘Thank you, Makoto-dono. We are profoundly grateful.’

  ‘And if it were up to me, I wouldn’t mention remuneration. Those of us that live by the warrior’s code distain any talk of money. It’s ugly, vulgar. But what of the village folk? They pay a tithe, because that is the way of the world. They believe in tradition. It gives their lives rhythm and meaning. I can’t reject their tribute and disrupt the order of their lives. It would be an insult. It would be a dereliction of duty.’

  ‘We don’t have anything to give you. A little rice, that’s all.’

  Makoto pointed to the bean rows at the edge of the courtyard.

  ‘You have a few vegetables, I see.’

  ‘That’s all we have in our store. It was a cold winter, and there have been very few rains since spring. It’s been a hard year.’

  ‘You are luckier than most. You have fish from the river, all the fish you can eat. Besides, that’s a fine crop. You underestimate your skills as a farmer. That’s an enviable haul.’

  Chikaaki bowed in submission.

  ‘Maybe we can spare the Makoto-dono some beans.’

  ‘And maybe I can impose on your hospitality once in a while, if we are to deepen our friendship. They say you know how to restore a wearily traveller. Send them on their way invigorated. Maybe you could perform the same service for me once in a while.’

  ‘Of course, Makoto-dono. It would be our honour.’

  ‘Let’s toast this pact,’ said Makoto. ‘Fetch some saké.’

  ‘We have no wine,’ said Chikaaki, bowing low. ‘Please forgive this disgrace.’

  ‘More tea, then.’

  Chikaaki refilled his bowl.

  ‘Does our esteemed guest have news of the wider country?’ asked Chikaaki. ‘We hear so little news.’

  It was a reliable conversational gambit. It flattered any visitor that they were worldly and well-travelled.

  ‘Bad tidings, my friend. The province is in a lawless state. It has been a year since General Motohide was assassinated and still no successor has taken his place. Thieves make the roads almost impassable. Starving, dispossessed soldiers reduced to banditry. So far none have ventured into this valley, but who knows, neh? I only hope I am around to drive them away when they arrive. We live in dark times, my friend. Dark times.’

  They sipped tea a while. The lord noticed Kotau was contemplating the stone deity.

  ‘You look grave, my lad,’ he said. ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘Forgive my son,’ said Chikaaki. ‘He is a dreamer, prone to strange fancies. Pay no attention.’

  ‘A thinker?’ said the lord. ‘Tell me what’s on your mind, boy. Don’t be shy.’

  ‘I was thinking about history, Makoto-dono,’ stammered Kotau.

  ‘History. Excellent. Go on, share your thoughts.’

  Chikaaki reluctantly nodded permission for Kotau to speak.

  ‘When I was a child a barbarian with skin black as charcoal rode by here on a horse and stopped to ask for a bed for the night. My father tried to drive the creature away with a broom but later relented and let him eat a bowl of rice by the fire. The man had scrolls in his saddlebag. He showed us strange pictures of the sun and planets. He said the stars were suns like our own, some so far away they still seemed bright long after they had burned out and died. The dark man slept under the eaves. At dawn he unrolled a mat, prayed in the direction of his god, then rode away. Sometimes I think about those distant stars when a traveller brings tidings of the wider world. A visitor might pass through the village and carry news that the Emperor has died and a child has taken the throne. Yet we have no way of knowing if it is a recent event, or something that took place many years ago. The child Emperor might rule, grow old and die before news of his accession reaches the furthest regions of the kingdom.’

  Chikaaki squirmed with embarrassment.

  ‘So sorry, Makoto-dono,’ he said. ‘Forgive an ignorant peasant child.’

  ‘There’s no need to feel ashamed. Your son is a born philosopher, just as I am a born warrior. We cannot choose our nature. Your boy is fated to question the world, to probe the mystery of our short and turbulent existence, whereas I am cursed to be a man of action, to defend this valley with a sword eternally gripped in my hand.’ The lord ruffled Kotau’s hair. ‘Yes, lad, you have learned an important truth: a man can’t put his faith in stories. He should only believe what he can see with his own eyes.’

  The lord knocked back more tea like he was willing himself to feel drunk even though he didn’t have wine.

  ‘You have a bath, is that right?’ he asked. ‘A tub for your visitors? I would very much like to soothe my tired muscles. I have spent a long day in the saddle.’ He got up and stretched. He plucked a lily from the scrubland at the edge of the quadrangle and laid it before the stone effigy.

  Chikaaki clapped his hands to spur his wife and son to action. They got to their feet, crossed the yard to the wooden tub and pulled back the tarpaulin. The bath was made from seasoned oak slats and iron ferrules. The underside was protected by a sheet of nailed copper. Acha brought buckets of water from the river and filled the tub. She set a table beside the bath and laid out towels, a robe, a razor and soap. Kotau lit a fire beneath the tub and manoeuvred screens for privacy.

  Chikaaki walked to the scrubland next to the shrine to make sure the horse was tether
ed and had plenty of grass. Kotau took his father aside when he returned and said:

  ‘He wants mother to attend him. He doesn’t want you. He wants her.’

  They stood in silence a while and weighed their options. Acha was a handsome woman so whenever a male traveller stayed at the inn she kept out of sight and Chikaaki dealt with their needs. It took a lot of humour and tact to deflect the attentions of an amorous pilgrim. It was a long-honed skill, but it was easier if she stayed in the back room of the tavern and didn’t arouse any passions.

  ‘Tell him it would be best if I shaved him,’ said Chikaaki. ‘Tell him I have a steady hand.’

  ‘I tried. He wants her.’

  ‘Well, don’t worry. Your mother has looked after plenty of travellers over the years. She knows how to deal with them.’

  When the bath was full and scented with dried flowers the lord unlaced his clogs, kicked off his stockings and walked behind the screen. Acha rolled up her sleeves.

  ‘Best prepare dinner,’ Chikaaki told his son.

  The cooking pot had almost boiled dry so Kotau refilled it and fetched rice.

  ‘It looks like it will be a warm night,’ said Chikaaki. ‘I suspect our guest might want to sleep outside.’ He laid a mat beneath the eaves of the cabin in preparation then stood beside Kotau as he tended the pot. He put a hand on his son’s shoulder.

  ‘His Lordship will move on at first light and the tavern will be ours again. All we have to do is wait. Simply smile and do as he asks.’

  ‘He’s treating us like dirt.’

  ‘He’s the local chieftain. He does as he pleases. It’s the way it has always been, and there’s no use wishing the world was different. Serve his needs and this will be over soon.’

  Kotau opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by an awful scream. They ran to the tub, pulled back the screen and found Makoto slumped dead in blood-tainted water. Acha stood beside him with a razor in her hand.

  ‘It was an accident,’ she said. ‘I slipped.’

  Chikaaki reached into the tub and tilted the lord’s head to see if he could be revived but his throat was cut and he had already bled white.

  ‘This is bad,’ murmured Chikaaki. ‘This is very, very bad.’

  Acha stood transfixed by her own bloody hands. She tried to wipe her fingers on her robe.

  ‘I was shaving his chin,’ she said. ‘My hands were shaking. He coughed and shook his head. It was an accident, a simple accident.’

  The body of the lord slid further into the tub. His sightless eyes stared up at them through pink bathwater.

  ‘What will they do to me?’ said Acha. ‘The magistrate and his men? They’ll take my head, won’t they? They’ll beat me and rape me, then cut off my head.’

  Chikaaki took the razor from Acha’s hand and threw it aside. He held her while Kotau paced the yard and massaged his temples.

  ‘We should flee,’ said Kotau. ‘Bag up our food and take to the river. We could be out of the province in two or three days. It’ll be hard. We might have to go to the city and beg. But at least we’ll be alive.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Chikaaki. ‘We should try to stay calm. Makoto was alone. I doubt anyone knows he came here. We should erase all trace of the man and, if anyone asks, tell them we haven’t laid eyes him.’

  ‘He might have told the villagers he intended to pay us a visit.’

  ‘In that case we tell them he didn’t arrive. You heard what he said. There are plenty of bandits roaming the hills. Who’s to say some brigands didn’t ambush him on the road and take his money?’

  ‘Do you think anyone would believe us?’

  ‘No one cared for Makoto. He had no true friends and I can’t imagine his family regarded him with much affection. He was a fool and a parasite. But he was the local chieftain. A magistrate will come to the valley, whether they find a body or not. Searches will be made. There will be interrogations. The next few days will be difficult, the most difficult of our lives. We must be very careful.’

  Chikaaki fetched a coil of rope, tied it round the dead man’s chest and used it to haul him from the water. He rolled Makoto onto the mat that would have been his bed.

  ‘Drain the bath. Scrub it down. And wash the blood from the tiles.’

  He gripped the mat and used it to drag the body across the flagstones to the vegetable patch. He fetched a spade from one of the outbuildings.

  ‘Gather his possessions together. His shoes, his clothes, everything.’

  Kotau collected the dead man’s clothes and bundled them together in his shirt.

  ‘Acha,’ said Chikaaki, clapping his hands to break her reverie. ‘Change your robe. It has blood on it. It will have to be burned. Put on fresh clothes, then watch the road. Let us know if you see anyone coming this way.’

  Chikaaki and Kotau dug a trench beside the vegetable patch.

  ‘We had better dig it deep,’ he said. ‘It’s been a hot summer. There will be more hot days to come.’

  They rolled the dead man into the grave. The corpse stared up at them with dull, unfocused eyes. They took turns to shovel soil into the pit. When the grave was full they smoothed the soil, trod it down and scattered leaves to disguise the freshly turned earth. Chikaaki dug a second hole for the man’s possessions. Kotau stood with an armful of clothes and watched him work.

  ‘Take a last look around,’ said Chikaaki, wiping sweat from his brow. ‘Check there’s nothing we missed.’

  They walked round the yard looking for any trace of Makoto’s visit. Chikaaki found the man’s sword propped in the shadow of the tavern doorway. He snapped the bamboo saya over his knee and tossed the pieces into the pit. He bent the sword round a tree trunk and threw the twisted blade into the hole.

  Acha released the bath stopper and watched red water wash across the stones and trickle between the cracks. She fetched buckets of clean water from the river and sluiced the flagstones clean.

  ‘Clear everything away,’ said Chikaaki, gesturing to the toiletries and screens. ‘It won’t be long before Makoto is missed. Folk will come by searching for his Lordship and ask if we have seen him. We’ll say we haven’t seen a soul for days. And when they come, make sure they speak to me and only me, understand? Keep quiet. Act dumb. Don’t say a word.’

  ‘What about his horse?’ asked Kotau. They could see the chestnut flank of the horse through the trees. The placid animal was roped to a tree, ripping and chewing tufts of grass. ‘Shall we kill it? Eat it? There’s a lot of meat on an animal like that. We could salt it and pack it away somewhere for the winter.’

  ‘No. That’s the kind of greed that could get us beheaded in the village square.’

  ‘Why? If we’re careful, if we bury the carcass, why should anyone find out?’

  ‘They will. We’ll try to erase every trace of the animal, but we’ll miss something. We’ll throw the bones in a pit but a dog will dig them up. It will be best if we just turn the horse loose. Someone will find it sooner or later, but there will be nothing to link it to us. It will take me a day to lead it far from here. If I leave now I can be back by tomorrow evening.’

  He put on a cloak, kissed Acha and Kotau goodbye, then left.

  Kotau’s mother stood silent and traumatized. He put an arm round her shoulder.

  ‘Everything will be all right,’ he told her, gesturing to the familiar ruins. ‘See? Everything is back as it was.’ The tub was back beneath its tarpaulin and the flagstones had been rinsed clean of blood, but Acha’s attention was fixed on the poorly disguised grave near the vegetable patch.

  ‘Here, sit down’ said Kotau, steering his mother towards the fire. ‘Let’s have something to eat.’ She knelt, near catatonic with horror, while he spooned steaming rice into a bowl. He put the bowl in her hands.

  ‘Go on. Eat.’

  Acha started to eat, but spilled her bowl in fear when she heard a commotion in the undergrowth. Chikaaki thrashed his way from the trees, crossed the courtyard and dumped the saddle in front of th
em. He was breathless with excitement.

  ‘Look,’ he said, unlacing one of the saddlebags. ‘Look what he was carrying.’ He pulled a silk bundle from the bag, laid it on the table and unfolded the fabric. Inside was a long, black lacquered box with a gold clasp. Acha leaned over the box and saw her reflection as clearly as if she were looking into still water.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t open the lock. I could lever the clasp, but I daren’t damage the box. It’s heavy. It must contain a great treasure.’

  ‘Where did Makoto get such a thing?’ asked Kotau. ‘Whatever is inside, this box belonged to a true aristocrat. His monthly tithe wouldn’t begin to cover the cost. Do you think he stole it?’

  ‘Makoto? He wouldn’t have the courage to rob anyone. His cowardice was legendary. We can’t keep this box, whatever it is. We have to throw it in the river.’

  ‘We should leave here,’ said Kotau. ‘Pack some food and take to the road tonight. I’ve never set foot beyond the valley, but with this amount of coin we could go anywhere and do anything. We could travel to a different province, buy some land and hire workers. Or we could go to Kyoto, buy a shop and establish ourselves among the merchant guilds. We would have a house – a proper house with proper furnishings. We could hire servants and entertain our neighbours like genteel folk.’

  Chikaaki thought it over.

  ‘The very first thing we need to do is cover our tracks. That will give us time to think. Take the saddle, both of you. Fill the bags with rocks and throw it in the river, make sure it sinks deep.’

  ‘But it’s made of leather. Plenty of military officers would be proud of a saddle such as this.’

  ‘That’s why we have to get rid of the thing. We can’t keep it and we can’t sell it. It will attract too much attention. Throw it in the river.’

  Kotau and his mother did as they were told. They dragged the saddle to the riverbank, filled the pouches with pebbles and rolled it into the water at a spot where the river ran deep.