Raven's Sword

by Raven's Sword (retail) (epub)

  ‘I’ll get rid of the horse,’ said Chikaaki when they returned to the shrine. ‘I’ll lead it far from here and set it loose. Have a last look around and make sure we haven’t overlooked any of the lord’s possessions. Rake the ground when I’m gone. Don’t leave any hoof prints.’

  Chikaaki left, then Kotau and his mother sat on the porch and ate. The inn looked the same as it always had, the ruins were unchanged. Nothing seemed out of place. Maybe, if they tried hard, they could convince themselves the events of the day were a fast-fading dream.

  Chikaaki returned the following morning. They followed their usual daily routine for the next couple of days, didn’t speak of the lord, didn’t look at the disturbed soil near the vegetable patch. They began to convince themselves that life could continue as it had before. Then trouble came.

  Era and his companions Sadamu and Genta walked into the village and headed for the shack that served as a tea shop. They sat by the pit fire and sipped tea. They smiled and acted polite but the villagers knew killers had entered their midst. Some ruffians were loud, boastful buffoons easily placated by flattery and a bowl of noodles. Era and his friends were different. They exuded a soured nobility, carried themselves like gentlemen fallen on hard times. They sat with the quiet calm of the truly dangerous. He and his dead-eyed companions regarded the villagers as if they were slabs of meat.

  ‘I’m looking for a friend of mine,’ said Era as the tea master tipped a kettle and refilled his bowl. The tea master was a farmer but he had the largest house, so most evenings he played host to the village menfolk in return for a little rice he could cook up and share around.

  ‘We’ve seen no strangers lately.’

  ‘He’s a large fellow. He wears a ring around his neck. Think hard.’

  The tea master rehung the kettle over the fire slowly and deliberately to buy thinking time.

  ‘Do you mean his Lordship, Makoto-dono? Do you mind if I ask how you come to know the fellow?’

  ‘We’re childhood friends.’

  ‘Is that right? Where are you from?’

  ‘Somewhere in these parts. I forget. Our family fell on hard times when I was a child and we moved away. I found myself back in the region, wondered what became of my old friend and decided to pay him a visit. Have you seen him recently?’

  ‘He passes through now and again.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where I might find him?’

  ‘No,’ said the tea master, raising his voice a little as if prompting the other villagers to follow his lead if they were interrogated, ‘I’ve no idea where he might be.’

  ‘How about you folk?’ said Era, looking round at the other men. ‘Have you seen Makoto-dono?’

  The menfolk shook their heads and didn’t meet his eye.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said Era. ‘Do you mind if we stay here tonight? You wouldn’t begrudge us a stretch of floor, surely?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Good. Thank you for your hospitality.’

  The tea master handed round bowls of rice. The men ate and the villagers laughed and chattered among themselves. The tea master remained watchful.

  ‘What’s on your mind?’ asked Era, feeling the tea master’s gaze.

  Conversation dwindled to silence.

  ‘A woman was murdered some days ago. A widow. She vanished from her home. No one knew what became of her until a bad smell rose from the trees at the back of the house.’

  ‘These are evil times, my friends,’ said Era. ‘Bandits roam the highways. Nowhere is safe.’

  ‘Three strangers were seen in the valley before she died. A lad spotted them near the dead woman’s house. He said one of the men was missing part of an ear.’

  Era instinctively touched his mutilated ear lobe.

  ‘You see that man by the door?’ said the tea master, pointing to a bearded man with his back to the wall. Era looked.

  ‘Yes, I see him.’

  ‘He’s a tanner.’

  ‘A fine and necessary profession.’

  ‘He was also a member of General Akitane’s infantry in his younger days. See those scars on his arm? He didn’t get those tilling a field. And the man sitting directly behind you is a rice farmer, but he also spent time in Akitane’s infantry. He was so adept with a spear he was tasked with training new recruits. I, on the other hand, used to be in the service of General Motohide. Akitane and Motohide were rivals, so I might well have faced these men on the battlefield and gouged their skin. But times change and here we are: a room full of old soldiers.’

  ‘It’s an honour to share a room with men who have served with such distinction,’ said Era. He tried to project confidence but shifted with unease.

  ‘You came to terrify some poor farmers, is that right? To push us around? To rape our womenfolk? Is that why you’re here? You made a big mistake, my friend. You looked at the men in these parts and assumed, because they were polite, peaceable fellows, that they were weak. You should have kept walking.’

  ‘Thanks for your hospitality,’ said Era. He drained his cup and set it down. The three strangers stood up but the tavern menfolk blocked their path to the door.

  ‘You’re outnumbered two to one,’ said the tea master. Hand over those knives tucked in your belts.’

  ‘This knife?’ said Era, patting the knife tucked in his sash. He whipped the knife from its sheath and slashed at the tea master’s face. The man twisted clear and kicked Era’s legs from under him.

  Genta kicked the fire. The villagers shielded their faces from the cinder burst and jumped to avoid the burning logs which tumbled across the floor.

  Sadamu dived head first through the window.

  Genta bull-charged the wall and smashed clean through the bamboo weave. Era got to his feet, gripped his knife and ran. He made it to the doorway but the tea master clubbed him with a kettle and he hit the floor among the burning logs.

  He woke in a cage. A small livestock pen had been brought into the tea house and he had been dropped inside. He mopped blood from his eyes. It was still dark. The wall had been patched with planks of wood. The tea master sat by the fire with five other villagers, each of them armed with a knife or an axe.

  ‘You had better cut me loose,’ said Era. ‘My companions will be back soon enough, and they’ll bring friends.’

  ‘You have no friends. The time you spend, the company you keep, is measured by your own personal advantage. Your companions will weigh the cost of liberating you from this room and decide it is more than they are prepared to pay. Loyalty, honour, friendship. These words mean nothing to them. As far as they are concerned, you are already dead. I imagine they are on their way out of the valley already.’

  ‘You humiliated my companions today. They won’t take the matter lightly. You’re waiting for them to come through that door. But what about your families? Your wives and children at home, all alone? What if my friends make sure each of you regret this night for the rest of your lives?’

  The menfolk shifted with unease.

  ‘Your friends will run,’ said the tea master. ‘They will have left the road already and be cutting a trail through the hills.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Era like he was trying to plant doubt.

  ‘If your friends wish to liberate you from this room they will attack under cover of darkness. Come sunrise tomorrow, folk will start to beat the bushes and look for them. So whatever they intend to do, they’ll do it tonight. So we’ll just sit here, sip a little tea and wait for morning.’

  The tea master poured himself a fresh bowl of tea and drank.

  * * *

  Genta and Sadamu hid behind a stack of wood at the edge of the village. They raised their heads and studied the tea house.

  ‘There are plenty of men inside,’ said Genta. ‘See the smoke? They’ve lit a big fire. I count four men on watch outside. They’re posted at each corner. They can see every approach.’

  ‘We can’t help him.’

  ‘We could make a bow and
fire some burning arrows into the roof. We might be able to snatch him in the confusion.’

  ‘No. Let’s get out of here. I feel bad for Era, but he should have run faster, fought harder.

  They hurried between the markers of the graveyard.

  ‘Look,’ said Genta. He grabbed his companion’s sleeve and dragged him to a halt. A fresh lily had been laid in front of the little obelisk at the centre of the grave-plots.

  ‘Travellers leave flowers. It must have been left by someone passing through.’

  ‘The local lord?’

  ‘I suspect so. Making his monthly round, collecting his tithe. That’s a freshly cut flower. He passed this way a few hours ago.’

  They contemplated a trail of fresh hoof prints on the road.

  ‘We should head into the hills,’ said Sadamu. ‘There’s no point risking our necks.’

  ‘But this peasant chief carries the iron sword. It’s close. I can feel it.’

  ‘We shouldn’t tempt fortune. We should leave the province and try our luck elsewhere.’

  ‘But think of the sword,’ said Genta, gripping his companion’s shoulder. ‘We’ve spent years tracking it from place to place and now it’s within our grasp. We can’t walk away now.’

  ‘It’s too risky.’

  ‘But we have to try. If we don’t, if we simply run from the valley, we’ll regret it for the rest of our lives. We’ll spend every day wondering if we could have made our fortunes simply by holding our nerve.’

  Sadamu thought it over. He gnawed a knuckle, his face contorted with anxiety.

  ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘We’ll try for the sword. But they’ll send out a search party at sunrise. We’d better be off the road by then.’

  The two men hurried down the track. The track wound through woodland and brought them to the ruined shrine. They left the stone-strewn path and walked on the grass verge so Chikaaki and his family couldn’t hear them approach. Acha and Kotau had spread laundry on the stones to dry while Chikaaki sat in the shade and watched them work.

  ‘It might rain later,’ he said, looking up at the sky. Kotau glanced his way and yelped in surprise to see two men standing behind his father. The vagabonds had knives tucked in their obis. Chikaaki turned, recoiled with shock and stumbled away from the men.

  Genta walked to the centre of the courtyard and looked around. He was dressed in rags but had the straight-backed authority of someone high-born. Both men, despite their tattered clothes and weather-worn skin, had the air of gentlemen travellers.

  Genta stood in front of the stone deity, contemplated the impassive visage, then turned to face Chikaaki.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if our arrival startled you. Please forgive us. We are looking for a man, the lord in these parts. He has a big beard and a big belly. He wears a ring around his neck on a chain.’

  ‘We’ve seen no one for days,’ said Chikaaki. He bowed deeply. ‘I’m very sorry. Can we offer you some hospitality? Some tea? Some food perhaps?’

  ‘You know the man I’m talking about, neh? Lord of the five villages. He owns some land upriver. A tea farm.’

  Chikaaki frowned like he was trying to recollect.

  ‘A short man?’

  ‘Tall. Fat. With a beard.’

  ‘That could describe many of the travellers that pass this way. The farmers, the merchants.’

  ‘Have you had many customers these past few days? Think hard.’

  ‘No. It has been very quiet.’

  ‘No one at all? Not a single person?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Are you sure about that? Because there are some fresh hoof prints further down the road.’

  ‘I’m quite sure.’

  Genta pointed at the lily lying at the foot of the stone effigy.

  ‘I see someone has made an offering to the gods.’

  ‘We make our devotions every day,’ said Chikaaki.

  ‘How about your family? Perhaps I should ask them.’

  ‘They will tell you the same thing. We’ve seen no one. No one at all.’

  ‘Why don’t you bring us some of that tea? We could both do with a drink.’

  Chikaaki clapped his hands. His wife and son ran to the inn and brought out a table. The men knelt at the table, while bowls were laid before them and Chikaaki poured tea.

  ‘It is a great honour to have such esteemed guests,’ he said. ‘May a humble servant ask how long will you be gracing us with your presence?’

  One of the vagabonds drained his cup and set it down with deliberation.

  ‘My name is Genta,’ he said. ‘This is my compatriot, Sadamu.’

  ‘It is a profound privilege to meet you.’

  Both men had scars but Sadamu had the deepest wounds. A gnarled fissure ran the length of his face as if he had taken a blow intended to cleave his head in two. He was watchful. He looked Chikaaki and down, inspected his wife and stared down his son.

  ‘I’m a landed gentleman fallen on hard times,’ said Genta. ‘My estate was snatched from me by a cruel turn of fate. I pray that you never experience a similar turn of fortune.’

  Sadamu pushed his bowl aside, leaned across the table and locked eyes with Chikaaki.

  ‘So where did the chief go?’ he asked. His voice was gruff and broken as if, at some point in his tempestuous life, he had taken a crushing injury to the throat. ‘We know he was here. He visited the village down the lane, then followed this road west and didn’t return. He must have passed this way. He must have ridden right to your door.’

  ‘We have seen no one. Please believe me.’

  ‘Don’t lie.’

  ‘Perhaps he rode past while we were down by the river.’

  ‘I’ve got a nose for lies. I can smell them out, like rotting fish. The man was here, I know it. He didn’t simply ride past. He was here, at the tavern, in your company. The more you deny it, the more certain it becomes. So drop the pretence. What did he say? Where did he go?’

  ‘Please, Sadamu-dono. I’m telling you the truth.’

  ‘I could make threats, neh? Explain in blood-freezing detail all the things I will do to your family to persuade your tongue to wag, but why put me to the trouble? We both know how this ends. We will draw our knives and after the screaming is done you will tell us everything we want to know. Why not save me the trouble? I’m going to ask you again. Where is he?’

  Chikaaki looked down at his hands.

  ‘I have a duty of confidence,’ he said. ‘Our guests come here for pleasure. A little respite from their cares. We are a sanctuary.’

  ‘You’re testing my patience. The lord came by to collect his monthly tithe. You know the man, and I suspect you hate him. You work hard and this parasite rides by and takes whatever he wants because he has a title and a sword. He’s no better than a bandit. Wherever he goes, he’s got a saddle sack full of rice he doesn’t deserve. We’ll split it with you, I promise. Just tell us where we can find him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sadamu-dono. I haven’t seen his Lordship. We’ve been waiting for him. He’s due any day now, but he hasn’t come by. I wish there was more I could tell you.’

  ‘I have a thirst for wine,’ said Genta. ‘Fetch some saké.’

  ‘We have none. So sorry.’

  ‘What kind of tavern doesn’t have saké?’

  ‘This is a poor area. The folk that come down that track are farmers heading to market. We offer them tea and a mat by the fire. That’s all they can afford.’

  Genta unhooked a purse from his belt and slapped an iron coin onto the table.

  ‘Go to the village. Buy wine. If they have none in the village, go to the town. If there is none in the town go to Kyoto, sail to China, fight dragons, wrestle gods, just don’t come back dry. In the meantime, perhaps your wife would be kind enough to prepare a bath. It’s been a long journey. My feet are sore.’

  Chikaaki slumped in resignation. Maybe other men would have refused to leave the strangers alone in the house wit
h his wife and son, and taken the beating that came with their intransigence, but if he challenged the men they might rape his wife out of spite. There was nothing he could do.

  Kotau pulled the tarpaulin from the tub in the backyard, fetched water and lit logs beneath it. He tested the water with his elbow. The shock of Makoto’s death was still raw and, as he prepared the bath, he was repeatedly jolted by memories of the dead man staring up at him through blood-tinged water. When the bath was hot and scented he bowed to Genta, beckoned him to the tub and rolled up his sleeves.

  ‘The spa is ready for you, sir.’

  Genta stood beside the bath and stripped. Kotau brought a bucket and helped him scrub with sand and scoops of cold water. He knelt and scoured dirt from the man’s chest, back and legs with the edge of a broken scallop shell while Genta looked down at him. Each stroke of the shell revealed a strip of pink, flushed skin. When Genta was finally clean he climbed a wooden step and lowered himself into the steaming bath with an appreciative wince at the heat of the water. He let the heat soothe his limbs.

  ‘Bring your mother,’ he said. ‘She can wait on me as well. Sadamu can amuse himself for a while. Maybe you can draw some fresh water for him later. Help him smell sweeter.’

  Genta lay back in the water while Kotau massaged his muscles head to toe. Kotau swiped a small knife against a whetstone, lifted one of his guest’s legs and trimmed the calluses from his feet. He abraded the sole of the foot clean with a pumice stone, then turned his attention to Genta’s face.

  Genta tipped his head back and closed his eyes as if daring Kotau to cut his throat with the blade. Kotau soaped the man’s jowls, steadied his trembling hand and began to shave Genta’s chin. Each stroke trimmed away the vagabond’s scraggly beard and exposed fresh skin. The blade rasped as it scoured the nape of Genta’s neck. Kotau repeatedly flicked the blade to shake off stubble-flecked droplets of foam. When he had finished shaving Genta’s face he dried and boxed the blade, then massaged a little soapnut oil into the man’s skin. Acha hung back with a wooden tray and handed him the toiletries.

  ‘Move the screens,’ said Genta, sinking chin-deep in the water. ‘I want to look at that great stone face.’ Kotau dragged the modesty screens aside so Genta could gaze at the statue on the other side of the courtyard. ‘So who is he? He looks grim.’