‘Why not fetch some apples from the kitchen, Father? This is a celebration, after all.’
Chikaaki headed into the tavern.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Acha. ‘We will all move to the manor. I’ll speak to your father and make him understand. It will be for the good of the family.’
‘Thank you,’ said Kotau. He got to his feet, climbed the porch step and looked through the doorway into the kitchen. His father lay slumped against the back wall, his lips flecked with spittle and blood. He shuddered with each inhalation as he battled the poison draining him of life. Kotau took a couple of apples from a basket. His father raised his arms, weak and beseeching. Kotau shut the kitchen door and left him to die.
‘Where is your father?’ asked Acha.
‘He’s lying down,’ said Kotau as he knelt beside her.
Kotau unsheathed his knife, cut the apple into segments and handed them to his mother.
‘It’s wonderful that you have had this opportunity to fulfil your ambitions,’ said Acha. ‘I must admit, you’ve been a great worry to me over the years. You were unlike other boys. Always withdrawn, always playing on your own. You think I didn’t know about that awful place you used to visit? The shack you filled with skulls? I blamed myself for your unhealthy preoccupations. I was a bad mother. Somehow you had become possessed by dark forces, subject to unnatural desires. But now you have ascended to high office and can fill your days with worldly affairs. You can leave all that darkness and corruption behind.’
Kotau sat behind his mother, took a wooden comb from his sleeve and gently combed her white hair.
‘You’ve had a hard life, Mother. So much worry. So much work. But that’s all in the past. Now you can take your rest.’
Acha coughed and massaged her belly. She coughed a second time and spat blood into her hand.
‘What would you like, Mother? You can arrange the manor house any way you choose. You will be the woman of the house. What would give you pleasure?’
Acha grew weak and leaned back against Kotau as he continued to comb her hair.
‘Cherry trees,’ she murmured, looking up at the sky. ‘I’ve always loved cherry trees.’
She closed her eyes and lost consciousness. Kotau stroked her hair as her life ebbed away.
‘You will have a garden, Mother. A beautiful garden with flowers, wild grass, birds in the trees and the endless sound of the river. You will lie beneath it and it will be yours forever.’ He continued to caress her hair as her breath slowed to a stop. ‘Sleep, Mother. Your toil is done. Sleep now, and take your rest.’
NoName had been watching from the trees on the other side of the courtyard. He strolled across the quadrangle and sat against a low wall. He watched Kotau cradle his mother and shook his head in admiration.
‘I’ve done some ruthless deeds in my time, but this is beyond anything I’ve ever seen. It’s almost a shame no one will chronicle this betrayal. It could be the stuff of legend.’
‘I did what had to be done. My parents will understand. They will look on from the afterworld and forgive me.’
‘Well, if you intend to advance your family name you had better give me the tournament prize, otherwise your lineage will end here.’
‘The sword is hidden for safekeeping. Go down to the river and walk north along the bank. There’s an outcrop two bends upstream. There is a shack, a hidden shelter curtained by vines. The sword is inside.’
‘You’ve kept a good distance between yourself and the blade. I didn’t think you were a superstitious man.’
‘I’m not scared of any curse.’
‘But you keep that sword as far from you as possible. It’s worth a fortune but you’re anxious to give it away.’
‘It has given me all I need.’
‘If I reach that shack and there’s nothing inside, I’ll come looking for you.’
‘I’m easy to find. I’ll be in the house on the hill.’
Kotau laid his mother’s body gently on the flagstones. He fetched a spade from the tavern, kicked some underbrush aside and began to dig two shallow graves.
* * *
NoName walked along the riverbank path. The river curved left and then curved right. He found a shack made of branches built against a granite outcrop just as Kotau described. He pulled a veil of vines aside and exposed a dark interior. He took a lamp from his pack, struck a flame then stepped into the cramped hut and let his eyes adjust to the light.
The rock wall at the back of the shack formed a series of natural shelves. Each plinth and alcove had been heaped with animal skulls. Mice and rats, dogs and cattle. Row upon row of empty eye sockets stared back at him. He shivered. It was a place of evil.
He knelt and brushed leaves from the sword box. He lifted the lid, held up the lamp and examined the crude iron blade. He hesitated then caressed the metal. He had laughed at the curse but now he found himself in the presence of the weapon he felt less sure of himself. He closed the lid, tucked the prize into his shoulder bag and left the shack.
He got ten paces down the riverbank track then came to a stop. A crow blocked his path. The black bird cocked its head and regarded him with an obsidian eye. NoName shouted and waved an arm to scare the ill-omened bird away, then an arrow smacked deep into his thigh. He barked in pain and fell against the earth bank beside him. Tengu stood on the other side of the river. She had the Archer’s rebuilt bow in her hand and a clutch of his arrows tucked into the sash round her waist. She didn’t look angry or vengeful. She looked calm.
‘Coward,’ he shouted. ‘Come over here and face me like the man you wish you were.’
Tengu shook her head.
‘I’ve been walking, thinking, pondering who I am. I’m not a wife, not a mother. I’m a killer, and I can no more change my nature than a wolf can be anything but a wolf. I live by my blade, just like you. And I want the iron sword.’
‘It belongs to me. I risked my life to win it. I stood in the arena and faced the deadliest swordsmen in the province. It’s mine by right.’
‘You must have seen dozens of men meet their deaths over the years. Lives brought to an end in squalid tavern brawls, drinkers hacked and slashed over imperceptible slights to their honour. You know full well there is no divine justice, nothing outside our senses. There’s just the ground, the sky and whatever you can take.’
‘But it’s mine.’
‘And now it belongs to me.’
NoName wrenched the arrow from his thigh and tried to climb the bank but his injured leg failed beneath his weight and he slid back down to the path. He limped as fast as he could down the trail towards the shrine while Tengu kept pace on the opposite bank.
‘You plan to rob me like a bandit?’ he shouted. ‘You would stoop that low? You used to be a follower of the Way. You dedicated your life to the craft, committed to an ideal. Do you really want to betray everything you used to believe? What would your Monk say if he could see you now?’
‘He’s dead. He’s in the ground alongside all those other deluded swordsmen who came here ready to throw their lives away for an idea. At least a thief chases something real.’
‘You want to hear me beg, is that it?’
NoName snatched up a rock and hurled it at Tengu. She ducked and the rock landed in the undergrowth. She pulled an arrow from her sash, strung her bow and let it fly. NoName broke into a run, hoping a moving target would be hard to hit. The arrow tore his shoulder before embedding itself in the soil of the riverbank. He snarled in pain but kept running. He got a few paces then stumbled to a halt as if the pain had robbed him of breath.
‘You think I’m scared?’ he said. ‘Scared of a girl?’
He squared his shoulders and faced her head on. His posture was defiant, as if he didn’t think she would have the courage to kill him outright, but she could tell by the almost imperceptible way he shifted his weight from foot to foot he was ready to leap aside if she took a shot.
‘You think you can goad me to waste arrows?’ she s
aid.
‘If you’re determined to stay on that side of the river rather than come over here and face me, then you’ll have to trust your aim. You have four arrows. Four chances to take me down. Go on. Try your luck.’
‘Look at your leg. You’re losing blood. Your strength is draining away.’
NoName glanced down at his thigh for a moment and Tengu loosed an arrow at his head. He flinched aside and the arrow tore open his neck. He stumbled away down the riverbank path with a hand clamped over the wound. He made another attempt to climb the bank and escape the girl but the soil crumbled beneath his feet and brought him sliding back to the path. He got to his feet, acutely aware his only chance of survival was to keep moving. He stumbled towards the bridge.
‘You won’t make me beg,’ he shouted, ‘but I’m ready to apologize. I was unkind to you. I’m sorry. I’ve spent my life in the company of cruel and vicious men. It has corrupted my manners. You didn’t deserve to be treated like a dog.’
‘Do you think you’re the first man to treat me like dirt? I’ve spent my life in the company of warriors. I’ve seen more blood than you can imagine. I’ve been beaten, starved and sold. I’ve spent weeks in an Imperial dungeon under threat of execution. I was there the night General Akitane fell, saw his body with my own eyes. My time with you was a passing inconvenience, like a rain shower.’
NoName stumbled along the path until he reached the log bridge. He leaned on the handrail to keep himself upright and faced Tengu over the short span.
‘If I give you the sword, will you let me go?’ he asked.
‘No. But I’ll let you pray before you die, if that is what you wish.’
‘You hate me because I killed your master. I can’t blame you, but the Monk chose to take part in the tournament. It was a fair fight. It wasn’t personal.’
‘I don’t hate you. But if I leave you alive, you could tell others I have the iron sword and treasure seekers might dog my footsteps. Or you might come after me yourself.’
‘I won’t.’
‘You’re angry, injured and humiliated. Why would I take the chance?’
She strung another arrow. NoName scrambled up the riverbank path towards the shrine. Tengu crossed the bridge and followed him. He shuffled across the quadrangle as quickly as he could. He could see the village road through the trees like a vision of salvation and headed for it with his arms outstretched. He tripped, fell and lay sprawled on the tiles. He lay at the centre of the arena on flagstones stained dark by blood spilled during the tournament. Tengu patiently watched him struggle to his feet. He threw the box at her. It hit the flagstones and the lid flew off. The iron sword clattered and chimed on the tiles.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘You’re a kind girl at heart. Show mercy. Let me live. Just take the prize and go.’
‘No.’
He drew his sword and hobbled towards her with a despairing war shriek. She fired an arrow into his chest. He spun, dropped his sword and fell. She approached him with caution, kicked the katana beyond his reach then stood over him.
‘Do you have any last words?’ she asked. ‘Any final declaration before you leave this world?’
He tried to sit up. He looked down at the arrow lodged in his sternum and lay back.
‘I don’t want to die,’ he sobbed. ‘Not now. Not here.’
‘We don’t get to choose our moment,’ said Tengu.
‘Make it quick.’
She raised the bow, drew back the string and took aim. He locked gaze with the woman who was about to kill him, the unblinking eye staring at him down the shaft of the arrow. His panting breath turned to shuddering gasps of mortal terror. She fired. He made a weird grunt as the arrow punched through his left eye socket and all movement ceased. Tengu was suddenly alone among the ruins.
She looked around to make sure the execution had been unobserved then threw the bow into the underbrush. She reclaimed her battered bamboo saya from the dead man’s waistband, re-sheathed her old sword and tucked it at her hip. The comforting weight of the weapon made her feel whole again.
She gripped NoName’s ankles. His body was still warm as life. She dragged it back to the top of the river path and gave it a kick that sent the corpse rolling and flailing down the bank into the water. He floated face down, arms outstretched, tunic billowing around him, then the current pulled him slow-spinning downriver.
She bunched the material of her sleeve and used it to pick up the iron sword without touching the metal, smiling at herself for indulging the myth of the curse. She placed the blade in the box and jammed the broken lid back in place. She tucked the box beneath her arm, took a last, weary look around the silent ruins and the impassive visage watching over them, and headed for the road.
* * *
The Priest crossed the manor courtyard to the stables. He found the stable lad asleep among the straw. He kicked him awake.
‘Get up.’
The lad scrambled to his feet.
‘Apologies, Excellency.’
‘No doubt you have time on your hands since the death of his Lordship so we will make an addition to your duties.’
The Priest set a lamp on the shelf then shut and bolted the stable door, sealing them both inside. He set a sack down on the floor.
‘Open it.’
The lad tipped out the sack. He retched and recoiled as severed heads tumbled into the straw.
‘You will fetch a pot from the kitchen and boil the flesh from these skulls. You will discuss this with no one. It is a task for you and you alone. You will deliver the skulls to me. I may command you to perform similar tasks in the future. It is your responsibility now.’
‘May I ask why, Excellency?’
‘No, you may not. You will ask no questions. You will perform this task then put it from your mind. And do I need to describe what will happen if you tell anyone else? If you divulge a single word?’
‘No, Excellency.’
‘Then set about your business.’
* * *
Kotau walked through Makoto’s private rooms. He stood over the dead man’s bed mat and looked down at the white cotton sheet. He walked into the anteroom, the room in which he would have dined with his wife, and contemplated the cushion on front of the table which still bore the twin depressions of the dead man’s knees.
He crossed to the bedroom and pulled back a screen. He opened the first of a row of wooden boxes and examined Nana’s clothes. He stroked the delicate cottons and silks, the exquisitely embroidered fabrics, suddenly aware of the dirt beneath his nails and the coarse calluses on his palms.
There were toiletries on a small table. He took a nail pick and tried to clean beneath his nails. He would order the maids to clean and shave him, oil his hair and perfume his skin. He would have them trim his nails and pumice his feet. He would have fresh straw sandals every week.
He walked across the courtyard to the wing in which Makoto’s wife was housed. He found her sitting with her maid, head bowed, waiting to hear her fate.
He dismissed the maid then circled the trembling woman and stroked her hair.
‘What’s your name?’
She didn’t reply.
‘It must have been difficult to be married to that oaf. You had no children. Your fault or his? His, I imagine. Well don’t despair. We will found a dynasty, you and I. We will have many sons, many daughters. You will be revered in life as we grow to greatness, and when this life is done we will lie together in a gilded tomb for eternity. Rest. Pray, if you like. I will see you tonight.’
He walked to the adjoining shrine room. Incense smouldered in front of a brass Buddha. The Priest knelt and contemplated the image. He didn’t turn around as Kotau walked across the room and stood at his shoulder.
‘Are you praying for Makoto’s blessing? Do you hope he will forgive you for letting a peasant sleep in his bed?’
‘He will understand.’
‘Perhaps you are ashamed you failed to commit seppuku, that you remained in this wor
ld while he moved on to the next.
‘I’m a priest. I counsel the living. Whatever waits for us after death, Makoto is beyond my help. You, on the other hand, need guidance.’
‘I am the lord of this place now. Not you. Remember that.’
‘I seek only to serve.’
‘How many men guard this estate?’
‘A dozen, my lord.’
‘Speak to them. Make them understand I was loyal to Makoto and his legacy until an archer put an arrow in my chest. He broke the pact that exists between a servant and his master. He created the disharmony which has enveloped this valley in the past few days. I am here to restore order.’
‘Yes, Lordship.’
‘Make them keenly aware of my responsibilities to the men in my employ. Stay true to me, and they will prosper.’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘Then choose a crime and have one of the men publicly executed.’
‘The sages suggest it is unwise for a lord to rule by terror. Eventually folk grow weary of living in fear. It gives them a fine reason to see you deposed.’
‘Then the sages are fools. They ignore what every ruler has known since time began: split heads don’t plot.’
They left the house and walked in the gardens.
‘Is this where Makoto planned to build his family shrine?’ asked Kotau.
‘He envisaged a row of monumental tombs. As the founder of the dynasty, the man who raised this farmstead to prosperity, his mausoleum would be central and prominent.’
‘Then this where I shall lie,’ said Kotau. ‘I will build a single, mighty mausoleum for myself and my descendants. It will be the wonder of the province. My lineage will last a thousand years and my name will endure until the end of time.’
‘Lord Makoto expressed similar ambitions.’
‘He had no drive, no vision. Tell your men, tell the servants, they are not to speak of him again.’
Raven's Sword Page 21
