Spirit of the Ronin

by Travis Heermann

  “If one were to say in a word what the condition of being a samurai is, its basis lies first in seriously devoting one’s body and soul to his master. And if one is asked what to do beyond this, it would be to fit oneself inwardly with intelligence, humanity, and courage.”

  —Hagakure, Book of the Samurai

  Ken’ishi sat in the great hall of the castle with fifteen other volunteers. Captain Tsunemori sat on the dais to the right of Lady Kazuko and gestured toward the volunteers.

  Kazuko looked as if she was sitting upon the upturned edge of a blade, surveying the men gathered here. When her gaze fell upon Ken’ishi, her shoulders seemed to deflate with relief.

  Captain Tsunemori said, “My lady, these are the volunteers you requested. All of them claim to be excellent hunters, skilled in woodcraft.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” she said, bowing to him. She turned to the men. “I have no doubt that you are all as skilled as you claim, but I have need of only three of the bravest of you, men of the greatest strength and prowess.” Her gaze fell upon Ken’ishi again and held there for a long moment. “You have all heard tales of how my servant Hatsumi went mad. Perhaps you have heard tales of how she is roaming the countryside, howling like a wolf in the dead of night. She is not simply mad, however. She has become an oni. We must resume the hunt for her before she causes any more trouble. You well know she evaded us during the previous searches. She can easily hide from a large force, so we will attempt to draw her into the open. We have a witness who has seen her lair.”

  Captain Tsunemori said, “We need three men for this task. Who will volunteer?”

  Sixteen hands rose with a chorus of affirmatives.

  “I commend you all for your bravery,” Kazuko said, “but only three are necessary. Therefore, we will draw lots.” She produced a clay jar. “I have your names all written on wood chips.”

  Ken’ishi thought it wise of her to prepare the lots in advance. No samurai worth his blade would quail from such a task.

  She reached into the jar, her voluminous sleeve obscuring the top half, and drew out a chip. She made a great show of reading the first name: Ken’ishi.

  He bowed low, his ears burning at the sound of his name on her lips. Her contrivance was admirable. She knew there was no one else here who had ever faced an oni besides the two of them. The next two names were men unknown to him, Yahei and Naohiro, but they looked hardy, with a wiliness in their eyes reserved for men skilled in woodcraft and hunting.

  “Thank you all for your courage,” she said. “We will leave in the morning.”

  “Begging my lady’s pardon,” Ken’ishi said. “You are coming?”

  “I will be the bait in our trap,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone that brooked no further discussion.

  Ken’ishi bowed and clamped his jaw around any protest. What she did not know is that he had faced not one but two oni, the bandit Hakamadare and the village yoriki named Taro. Both of them had been terrifying, formidable opponents. Silver Crane could cut oni flesh. But would these two men stand in the face of the horror that would surely come?

  Kazuko stood and departed with swan-like grace.

  * * *

  A thundercloud whorled across Tsunetomo’s face. “I told you, I forbid it. I am your lord.” His fan snapped into his palm as he stalked back and forth in their chamber.

  Kazuko squared her back. “I have three of your greatest hunters to accompany me. And I will be armed as well. She will not have a chance against four of us.”

  “I am angry that you defy me.” He crossed his arms.

  “As this is the first time I have ever defied your wishes, I hope you will find a way to forgive me. In your heart, you know this is the right thing. Hatsumi must be destroyed, and I am the most likely to draw her out of hiding. How is this different than command of the castle troops? You went away to fight. I had to remain here.”

  Tsunetomo tightened his arms. “I should be going with you.”

  “Your prowess at arms is formidable, but you are not a hunter. Besides, any day now, word will come that the fortification project is commencing. With Yasutoki away, you must be here to answer that call.”

  “You sound as if you might be gone for some time.”

  “I will be gone as long as it takes. Hatsumi is my responsibility. I cannot bear the thought of more peasants dying because we fail to act. Why are you so afraid for me when you would gladly sacrifice your own life in battle? Am I not allowed to make the same choice? I love that you wish to protect me. But I am the wife of the one of greatest lords of Kyushu. How much farther might your prestige reach with a wife as fierce as you?” She gave him a little smirk at that. “You cannot refuse me.”

  “That also vexes me. I have taught you too well.”

  She approached him, reached up to stroke his face. “Now that you have seen reason, we must not waste a night together. I leave in the morning.”

  “You are very forward tonight.”

  “Do not men say that battle sets their loins afire? May it not also be so for women?”

  Tsunetomo seized her hand and drew her into his lap. He stroked her lips with his other hand, his gaze devouring her. “I have indeed taught you too well. And it pains me to say it right now, but I cannot very well bed you before you go on campaign. Carnal liaisons before battle bring on the worst of bad fortune. May our loins catch fire after you return.”

  * * *

  Feet thumped on the deck above Yasutoki’s head. Voices called out the arcane commands of a ship at sea. The lantern hanging from the ceiling timber swayed with the tossing of the ship, casting wavering shadows around Yasutoki’s small chamber. The sea breeze wafting through the port chilled him, even here on the cusp of summer. He felt like a doddering old man looking for a shawl.

  Tiger Lily knelt at his feet, wringing her hands, looking pale, dark circles gathering under her eyes.

  “What is amiss with you, my dear?” Yasutoki said.

  Tiger Lily would not look him in the eye. “I am ill, Lord. The sailors tell me it is the tossing of the waves.” Her face was pale, sheened with sweat, her eyes bleary.

  “You have been vomiting for two days,” Yasutoki said with distaste. Such was her illness, he could barely gather himself to bed her.

  “I am sorry, Lord. They tell me it will pass.”

  She was not the only one suffering from this. Several of his bodyguards had helplessly spewed over the side, mortified by the vulgar rebellion of their bodily faculties.

  The ship creaked and heaved, chuffing through the waves with a stiff wind from astern. They were making good way to Kamakura. His hope was that they arrived ahead of the emissaries of the Great Khan. He would request an audience with them as soon as possible. His request might not be granted, but he nevertheless yearned to hear news from them, and to give them some from which the Khan would benefit. Would the Khan persevere in his desire to subdue Japan and destroy the Minamoto and Hojo clans? Yasutoki would see the Taira clan rise again, even if half the country had to burn first.

  “Was young Ishitaka upset that you had to leave him?” Yasutoki said.

  Her face went blank. “I did not tell him.”

  Yasutoki smiled. “What a fantastically cruel thing to do! The mystery will chew him to pieces.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “I thought it would be kinder if I...just went away.”

  “Your age and inexperience betray you. And why would you choose the kinder path? Do you have feelings for our young scion?”

  “Of course not, Master. I do as you command.”

  “You are wise to remember that. When we return to Kyushu, you will have to beg his forgiveness and jump back into his bed.”

  “Master...I... All I want is you.”

  “One such as you cannot afford to love. Without fail, it interferes with what must be done.”

  “One such as me, Master?”

  “A whore. A slut. A common slag.”

  She flinched as if his words were blows.

/>   “Women of the shadows must use every tool—every orifice—to see their mission complete. You will bed those who serve your purpose and discard those who do not.”

  Her hands were trembling. “Yes, Master.”

  “Do you not want to have more power than any other woman of your station?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Do you not want power over men? Puppets you can manipulate with the tug of a string?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Then make them love you. But you dare not love them in return. Or you will not be able to kill them when your master demands it.”

  “I understand, Master.”

  “Good girl. Now strip.”

  Even with insects...

  Some are hatched out musical...

  Some, alas, tone-deaf

  —Issa

  Kazuko rode at the middle of their procession, behind Ken’ishi and before the other two men. The freshly flooded rice fields on either side of the road filled the morning air with a wet, earthy crispness. As they passed an outlying village, the villagers were still planting. Lines of women carrying baskets of seedlings, their robes tied above their knees, marched backward through the calf-deep mud and water to the cadence of drums and the rice-planting song, bending, planting their seedlings into the mud, straightening, stepping back, bending, planting, all in perfect rhythm. It was back-breaking work, but they chanted along with the song as if it were a festival. The chorus of voices echoed from the nearby mountainsides.

  Somehow, today being the closest Ken’ishi had been to Kazuko since their New Year meeting, he felt more at ease than he had in months. Something felt right about it, as if he had returned to where he had first begun. He welcomed her eyes upon his back. It gave him strength.

  He and the other hunters were armored in breastplate, thigh guards, and light helmet that covered only skull and cheeks. Kazuko was dressed in men’s robes to minimize attention, but she was not outwardly armored. However, she did wear a shirt of lacquered iron scales under her robes, similar to the light coat of scales Junko had given him. All of the hunters carried bows, spears, and swords. And Kazuko wore a wakizashi in her obi, had a dagger hidden in her sleeve, and carried a sheathed naginata alongside her saddle.

  In Takeshita village, they found Otsugi, who was beside herself with gratitude. The entire village turned out and prostrated itself around them, weeping and offering prayers of thanks. When the villagers discovered that Kazuko was not, in fact, a man, that she was none other than Lady Otomo herself, a hush of reverence went through them, and they prostrated themselves again like grass blown over by a wind.

  In an explosion of obsequious gratitude and hospitality, the village headman offered them food and refreshment that must have taken sustenance out of the mouths of twenty villagers. While the food was prepared, the headman told numerous tales of the Wild Woman’s blood-curdling, midnight howls that seemed to swing endlessly from mournful to spiteful, of the disappearances—ten, including the woodsman and Otsugi’s brother. Everyone trembled in terror of venturing into the forest. Kazuko listened to his tragic tales in somber earnestness, and vowed to deal with the Wild Woman.

  A dozen sets of small eyes peered through the windows and cracks in the walls of the headman’s house. Bursts of whispering punctuated the tensest moments of the headman’s storytelling. Ken’ishi winked at one little boy, spurring a chorus of tittering.

  “Away with you, you crickets!” the headman called good-naturedly, and the children dispersed—for a while.

  Heaping bowls of rice, daikon, pickled plums, and smoked ayu were laid before them. Kazuko and her hunters ate sparingly, knowing the villagers would not waste a single grain of uneaten rice.

  When the meal was finished, Kazuko presented the headman with an official certificate exempting the village from taxes for the year. The villagers could keep everything they grew this year. The headman’s gratitude overflowed with bowing and weeping.

  Kazuko said, “It is the least I can do for a village so terribly beset.”

  The four of them on horseback, accompanied by Otsugi on foot, left the village to great fanfare. People clutched their prayer beads and besought the Buddha to assist the hunters.

  With the tenacity born of decades of unrelenting toil, Otsugi led them up the steep mountain trails. Sunlight slanted through pines, dappling the trail. Communities of birds sang their greetings and disputes and inquiries to one another, sharing news of nearby hawks or foxes, locations of particularly succulent worms, castigating one another for stealing the best nesting materials, and because it was spring, hatchlings screamed their hunger. The scent of pine needles and verdant earth filled the breezes.

  After half an afternoon’s climb, Otsugi turned around. “This is where I came out of the forest, my lady. The cave is that way.” She pointed with a trembling hand.

  Just ahead, a stream wound out of the undergrowth and flowed under an old, wooden bridge. They dismounted and tied their horses near the road.

  Otsugi bowed low, again and again. “Just follow the stream until you see the...blood on the rocks. May the Buddha watch over you. Then there is a trail that leads perhaps one cho up the slope. The cave is there. Even if she is not in the cave, this is the mountain where the howls come from.”

  Kazuko thanked her, then dismissed her. Otsugi hurried back down the mountain as quickly as her bowlegged gait could carry her.

  Yahei withdrew a stoppered vial from a pouch, soaked a bit of cloth with the vial’s contents, and dabbed it on his clothes, shoes, and hands. Sour stench roiled off him. He offered it to the other men.

  “What is it?” Ken’ishi asked, covering his nose.

  “Boiled boar piss,” Yahei said. “It covers our scent. If she has truly become like an animal, she may smell us coming, unless we smell like an animal.”

  “We shall have to spend a month in seclusion to purify ourselves after this,” Kazuko said. “But it is a worthy sacrifice.”

  “Not you, my lady,” Yahei said. “If you are the bait, she must smell you.”

  Kazuko looked relieved at not having to touch the reeking stuff.

  “If Hatsumi has truly become an oni,” Ken’ishi said, “purification will be necessary regardless of what we use to kill her.” He thought of the rancid, black ichor that had flowed like tar through Hakamadare’s veins.

  He took the concoction, applied it as Naohiro had done, and handed it to Yahei.

  “You must be careful,” Naohiro said, “or else all the local sows will think we’ve come to woo.”

  “Or another boar will come to kill the intruders,” Ken’ishi said. His two near-lethal encounters with boars sprang to mind, one from boyhood, one from last autumn.

  The men laughed, but his comment awoke caution in their faces.

  While they strung their bows, slung their quivers, and unsheathed their spearheads, Ken’ishi listened for the kami, but their silence told him no immediate danger loomed. Birds sang high in the branches above, hidden by pine needles, but he could not spot any to address. Their knowledge of the area might be valuable, but his ability to speak to animals did not mean they wished to speak to him, especially when was with other people.

  Ken’ishi asked, “Is Lady Otomo prepared?”

  Kazuko hesitated, then removed her wakizashi and tied it to her saddle. “I am ready now. Best if I have no visible weapons.”

  Ken’ishi said, “We’ll be close by. You have nothing to fear. Yahei, you go upslope perhaps half a cho and parallel the stream. Naohiro, you go an equal distance downslope. I will stay by Lady Kazuko’s side until we reach the location of the attacks, then hide myself nearby. I will whistle like a nightingale when we are situated.” He offered the sound from his own lips. “At that point, come closer to her, perhaps half your distance. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” they said.

  “Very well.” Ken’ishi led Kazuko into the forest.

  He was thankful for the carpet of pine needles, which muffle
d their footsteps. The rush and gurgle of the water also masked their movement. Deeper into the forest, the undergrowth thinned except by the banks of the stream, where bushes and brambles clustered. Ken’ishi crept along the bank, watchful not only for threats, but also for bloodstained rocks. His zori squelched in the mud and crunched through sand and river pebbles. His bow was in his hand, arrow at the ready.

  Kazuko crept a few paces behind him. Ken’ishi admired the way she moved. Her training since their first encounter clearly had been extensive. She moved like a warrior now, not a young girl.

  They followed the stream for perhaps three cho when they came upon evidence of the carnage Otsugi had described. Rusty-brown stains slathered the riverside boulders as if painted with a thick brush.

  Kazuko clutched a hand over her mouth, then exerted control over herself and surveyed the area.

  Ken’ishi surveyed the scene with an eye honed by his wilderness upbringing. The craft of it all came back to him in a flash of instincts. Thick, dried blood glued a few shreds of cloth to the boulders. Splinters of bone lay in the crevices between stones at the water’s edge, some teeth, a rib. In the soft earth were numerous bare human footprints scattered in profusion.

  A few paces away, Kazuko hissed at him and gestured up the slope. He joined her and squinted up toward where she pointed. In the deepening shadows of the descending sun lay a deeper shadow among some haphazardly strewn boulders, with a faint path wending among the pine boles, beaten into the grass and detritus.

  “If she is in there,” Ken’ishi whispered, “we might kill her in her den. I’ll go check.” But first he whistled the nightingale’s call to the other hunters, receiving the appropriate responses.

  He took a deep breath, and still the kami did not speak to him. Perhaps Hatsumi was not in the cave at all. Nevertheless, he must know.

  Removing his zori, he stole barefoot up the slope with all the stealth Kaa had taught him, the stealth that had once allowed him to sneak up on the tengu, close enough to strike, and then retreat, all without his teacher’s knowledge. He used long, slow breaths to calm his thundering heart. His experiences with Hakamadare and Taro made him wonder whether an arrow would cause Hatsumi much harm, but all the better if he could kill her at a distance. The stories about her were so wild, who knew what she had become?