Heart of the Ronin (23 page)

He heard another hiss, and another impact tore between his shoulder blades. He squealed like a wounded rabbit and threw himself into the bushes, his back arched with pain, sobbing. “What have I done?” he cried. “Why are you doing this?”

Again, the tengu was gone. Had the boy not brought water fast enough? Had he displeased his teacher somehow? He stole out of the bushes, his eyes scanning the path above and below, then he hurried down the slope to where the water bucket had lodged in a thicket. He snatched it up and ran back down the slope toward the river. His teacher had never punished him like this before.

As he knelt in the shallows of the river with his bucket, he spared a moment for a concerted look around. No one was in sight. He lowered his gaze to fill the bucket. Then he felt a sudden urge to duck. Ducking saved him from the first stone, but not the second. The second glanced off his back, causing little pain. Anger helped dull the pain of the purpling bruises. He spun and saw his master standing thirty paces away along the riverbank, smacking the tube against his palm, grinning. The old bird was fast.

Kaa said, “You are starting to listen to them. Listen harder.” With that, he spun on his bird-like foot and ran up the trail.

The boy watched him go, puzzled and hurting. Listen to whom? To what? He was afraid to go back up the mountain. He wanted to crawl into a tiny cave with his back to the wall so that he could see anything that came at him. But if he did not complete his chores, his master might beat him even worse. After a while, the churning hunger in his belly roared anew. If he was to be pummeled with stones, he would prefer a full belly. He picked up his full bucket of water and started up the path, wary as a rabbit in the open. Twice on his way up the mountain, stones whizzed from bushes, so fast they were tiny gray blurs. The first time, he managed to spill only a little of the water. The second time, the water went flying, and the bucket went rolling back down the mountain again. With growing stubbornness, he refilled the bucket and stomped back up the mountain.

Somewhere nearby, the boy could sense the tengu laughing invisibly, hiding behind a bush or in a tree. His teacher was such a master of concealment that it was like magic.

It was mid-afternoon before he reached the stone shelf of the cave, and he was so jumpy that he did not want to eat anymore. As the cave came into view, Kaa was sitting in front of the opening with a small fire lit and a pot of rice hanging above it. The boy scowled and winced, trudging with weariness and limping from his many bruises. Kaa stood up. The boy stopped in front of him. The tengu reached out for the bucket. The bamboo tube was on the ground beside him.

The boy bowed curtly and handed the bucket to him.

Kaa took the bucket and threw the water in the boy’s face.

The boy gasped in shock and choked back the mouth and nose full of water.

“You look hot, monkey-boy,” Kaa said. “You should cool off.”

The boy gaped before him, speechless and dripping.

“Now, sit and eat.”

The boy obeyed and took up the bowl. He ate ravenously, and the tengu watched him.

When the boy was finished, he followed another sudden urge to duck. The blow that would have clubbed across his ear hissed over his head instead. The boy leaped to his feet and ran away, stopping several paces from his master.

“Why?” he cried.

“It is the only way to learn this lesson.”

“What lesson?”

The tengu ruminated for a while, and the boy waited for him to speak. “You must listen to them.”

“Listen? Who?”

The tengu continued as if he had not spoken. “You must train yourself to listen to the voices of the world around you, the voices of the kami, the spirits that inhabit every breath of air, every rock, every tree. When the kami speak to you, you must listen. They will tell you when danger is coming, if you know how to listen.”

From that day forward, the boy never turned his back on his teacher. He went around corners and passed trees very carefully, always trying to hear the quiet voices of the spirits of the world. The attacks could come at any time, when he was carrying water, or wood, or sitting in the river bathing. That vicious tube was his nemesis, along with the master's seemingly endless supply of smooth round stones that all seemed to fit perfectly inside the tube.
 
Until he was ten years old, his body wore cratered patterns of red, black, and yellow bruises.

As time passed, however, the number of marks became fewer. In the early months, whatever he was carrying often went flying as he scrambled for safety, but later he managed to keep a grip on his bucket of water or his bundle of wood.

His teacher became ever more ingenious at laying ambushes, sometimes waiting submerged under the water while the boy approached with a fishing spear. Wet stones were easier to hear coming, but they hurt worse. The tengu knew the boy’s habits, where he went and when, attacking sometimes from above or below, so the boy changed his habits, taking different paths up and down the mountain at different times. This spared him some bruises. But as soon as the boy tried something new to outwit his master, the tengu found some new way to trick him. The stones flew so fast that the boy suspected him of using magical powers to propel them and to hide in the shape of a bush or a stone. The boy knew every stone, every tree trunk, and every bush on the face of the mountain, but sometimes those things looked different or out of place, and at those times he was the most wary.

As the marks on his body became fewer, his pride in his ability to avoid them grew. And as his teacher found new ways to inflict pain on him, so his pride in his teacher grew. Kaa was an ingenious old bird, cunning beyond compare. And in those instances of decreasing rarity, the boy was able to match wits with him and avoid the incoming sting. Without a word of instruction, the boy learned the difference between true alertness and mindless panic. He no longer passed by a bush or a tree while thinking of something else. He discovered the Now, and in that Now, he heard the quiet voices of the kami.

One day when he was ten years old, he was sneaking through the forest, his senses and awareness honed to sliver sharpness, and he came upon his teacher laying in ambush behind a tree, facing the direction from which the boy would have come, if not for his awareness of the kami. The boy felt a strange mixture of pity and jubilation. Pity for his teacher, who now would be dead if the boy had been an enemy, and jubilation that his skills had come to match his teacher’s abilities.

The boy turned and stole away again, silent as a passing shadow.

That afternoon Kaa came to him with a strange scowl on his face and placed a wooden sword in his hands.

* * *

Ken’ishi was alerted by a sound like thunder on the road ahead.

Akao stood beside him, bristling, his shoulders hunched into a crouch, a low growl in his throat. “Beware!”

The forest had given way to fields, and dry rice paddies flanked the road on either side. Farmers worked the soil in the warmth of the late afternoon sun. A few moments after he noticed the sound, a column of mounted samurai rode out of the forest ahead, galloping toward them. One in the front carried a banner, lofted above his head. They bore down upon Ken’ishi and his small procession with startling speed. He stepped in front of Kazuko and gripped the hilt of his sword. Akao edged behind him, peering past his legs, growling softly.

Kazuko’s voice was filled with relief and happiness. “No, Ken’ishi, those are my father’s men!”

He took his hand from his sword, but he did not relax. The kami buzzed in his ears like a swarm of cicadas. He stepped away from her, knowing that they might perceive him as a threat to their master’s daughter. These were Nishimuta clan samurai. A few days ago, he had slain one of their brethren. Would news of that deed have reached this far? He thought for a moment about the kind of death that lay in store for him if he was captured, but he did not have long to think before the riders were upon them.

The column reined up. Its leader was a middle-aged man with grim features, whose eyes flicked back and forth between Kazuko and Ken’ishi. “Lady Kazuko, is it you?”

Kazuko bowed. “Yes, Captain Sakamoto.”

“Your return was overdue, so your father sent us to find you. Where is the rest of your entourage?”

“They are all dead. Bandits attacked us. My bodyguards and bearers were killed. Hatsumi and I were the only survivors.” She gestured toward Ken’ishi. “This brave ronin saved our lives. Captain Sakamoto, this is Ken’ishi.”

Ken’ishi bowed deeply.

Captain Sakamoto’s voice dripped with cautious disdain, with an underlying thread of suspicion that put Ken’ishi on guard. “A ronin. Little more than a bandit himself.”

Kazuko’s voice was firm. “Captain Sakamoto, this man is a brave and capable warrior. After the bandits killed all of my bodyguards, he single-handedly defeated them and slew their leader, an oni. Hatsumi and I would have suffered a horrible fate if not for him. He has been our sole protector.”

Captain Sakamoto grunted, and Ken’ishi felt the eyes of all the samurai upon him, sizing him up. Sakamoto said, “Forgive me, my lady. He does not look so fearsome as that.”

Kazuko continued, “I intend to ask my father to take him into service.”

“As you wish, my lady,” Sakamoto said. “Please allow us to escort you home. I regret that we have no carriage for you. I will send one of my men for a carriage and bearers.”

“I have walked this far. I will walk the rest of the way.”

“Is Hatsumi injured?”

“She was badly hurt by the oni during the attack and cannot walk.”

“An oni, eh? What did it look like? Was it Hakamadare?”

Kazuko described the creature.

Captain Sakamoto’s voice gained a tone of respect. “I have heard tales of this monster and his pack of bandits. They have been attacking villages and travelers across several domains.”

Kazuko said, “Yes, Captain. The body has been burned to ashes. Its death was neither quick nor easy.”

For the first time, Sakamoto turned to Ken’ishi. “Then you have done this land a great service, sir. And you have done my lord a great service in the safe return of his only child.”

Ken’ishi bowed deeply and tried to keep his voice from quavering. “Thank you.” A wave of elation such as he had never felt rushed through him like a warm waterfall. His heart hammered in his breast like the clapping of a water mill. Gooseflesh rippled up and down his arms and legs. He turned to Kazuko and said, “Thank you, Kazuko.”

She bowed in return. “It is a meager recompense for the gift you gave me.”

The horsemen took up positions both before and behind the small procession, escorting them the last few ri to Nishimuta no Jiro’s estate.

Ken’ishi could only revel silently in his good fortune. He thanked the sparrow. He thanked Jizo. He walked with as much silent dignity as he could muster, his back straighter, his shoulders square, his chin high, his step confident.

He had never seen horses so closely before, never been able to examine them. He marveled at the muscles rippling beneath the brown coats and wondered at how these strange beasts moved with such grace. Even more, how the samurai rode them with such masterful ease. He imagined himself on horseback galloping across open fields, the wind blowing through his fine flowing robes, Silver Crane freshly polished and gleaming in the sunlight.

The sight of Lord Nishimuta’s estate shattered his daydream and stole the breath from his chest. The magnificent house seemed to hang on the side of a small mountain just off the valley floor, floating on a billowing avalanche of dense foliage, painted gold by the setting sun. A town nestled against the base of the mountain. As his gaze traveled over the gracefully sloping roofs and gables, Ken’ishi thought this must be the greatest day of his life. The moment he first held Silver Crane in his hands had been a profound moment, but the joy and pride he had felt then were quickly subsumed by the trepidation of facing the unknown for the first time. Today he felt his fortunes coming together, and he thanked the kami for their gifts. To find service with a lord such as this was his dream, to serve with courage and honor. Knowing this lord was the father of the beautiful maiden walking beside him made the dream even greater.

In the past few days, he had come to believe that Kazuko would be always at his side. Just like his only friend, Akao, he could no longer imagine his life without her in it. Her smile, her laugh, her scent. His mind slipped back to wondering if she felt the same way about him. The small inner voices of the kami told him that she did. But some part of him also wanted to hear it from her lips, some part of him that would never give itself over until he heard the words, some part of him that would always doubt he could receive such a gift until it was in his grasp. Love. Yes, this must be what love is. He had heard of it in songs and conversation, and had vainly tried to imagine what it must be like. But now he was sure, with a realization that came as simple and clear as the words themselves. He loved her. But part of him also knew that a wealthy lord like her father would never allow a poor, uncultured ronin to have his daughter. Girls were wed to make allies for their families; they rarely had any choice. But perhaps if he proved himself quickly, learned all the rules and manners as quickly as he could. . . . Daydreams filled his thoughts, making him practically giddy with excitement, masking the buzzing spark of the kami whispering to him, letting him forget that something was amiss.

Eighteen

I sit at my desk.

What can I write to you?

Sick with love,

I long to see you in the flesh.

I can write only,

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Love cuts through my heart
 

And tears my vitals.

Spasms of longing suffocate me

And will not stop.

—
The Love Poems of Marichiko

Ken’ishi sat alone in a small room, a single lamp casting huge shadows on the latticed, rice-paper walls. The people of the household muttered and shuffled around him with fleeting shadows on the walls. Captain Sakamoto had ushered him in here and told him to wait. Someone would come for him soon enough. Akao had disappeared into the village to search for food; all the armed men and throngs of people around the manor house made him uneasy. When they parted, Akao gave him a long, mournful look. “Beware, Ken’ishi. Danger. Waiting here.” Ken’ishi’s belly swirled with unexpected misgivings. He did not like leaving his friend alone in a town full of strangers.