Heart of the Ronin (35 page)

Master Koga entered his room. Taro was waiting for him, as instructed. He had doffed his gauntlets and cap, but still wore the breastplate. Sweat plastered his hair to his face and neck. With the gauntlets removed, Master Koga could see Taro’s discolored right hand. Up to a point just below his right elbow, the entire hand and forearm was a mottled deep red and purple, like a puddle of congealed blood. The nails on that hand were cracked and thick and yellowed. Seeing that hand always made Master Koga feel a little unsettled, because it was so grotesque. Taro said his hand had always been that way, but Master Koga had never heard of or seen a birthmark or deformity like it.

He crossed the room and sat down opposite Taro. The coldness he felt came out in his voice. “You have gone too far. Have you anything to say for yourself?”

Taro bowed deeply, pressing his forehead to the floor. When he sat upright again, he said, “Only that I am sorry, Master. I did not mean to kill him. It was an accident.”

“I do not believe you. I saw your eyes. You would have killed every man on that training ground!” He took a deep breath and regained control of his voice.

Taro’s face turned red, and Master Koga saw the barely restrained tension in his hands. For a moment, he sensed Taro’s desire to attack him and knew that his decision was the correct one.

“As such,” he continued, “there is nothing further I can teach you.”

He waited for his words to sink in, and he met Taro’s angry gaze with a cold, steely one.

Taro’s voice deepened. “But warriors are trained to kill! I am a warrior!”

“I train warriors here, Taro. Today you were not a warrior. You were an animal! You fought like an animal, without control or regard for the rules of this contest. And as a result, you have dishonored yourself and this school. I cannot countenance such behavior. You are finished here. Master Imamura would be within his bounds to demand blood for blood. But we are friends, so I think he will not.”

“But, Master, I’m learning so much and—”

“Enough. My decision is made. Pack your things and leave now. Cause any trouble in this, and I will have you hunted down like an animal.”

Taro’s terrible right hand opened and closed, flexing repeatedly, and his dark gaze burned into the floor.

“Go, now.”

Taro stood up and left the room without another word.

Master Koga sat in silence for a while, deep in thought. Taro had shown such promise in the beginning. His skills with the jitte were impressive. Even then, with the jitte he could disarm most of Master Koga’s students. But something had happened since then. He had become ever more bloodthirsty, often bragging to the other students the terrible tortures he would exact upon the ronin he sought when he found him. His descriptions were terrible to hear, even for a seasoned warrior, and unseemly. What had gone wrong with his student?

Then the first scream tore through the air.

A second followed close behind, a gurgling cry of agony.

Then a third.

Now would be the true test. Calmly, he stood up and approached the rack where he kept his sword. He thrust the scabbard into his sash and tied the cords.
 

A cacophony filled the halls of the school, echoing down the rice-paper passageways. His sword slid easily from the scabbard, well oiled and polished to perfection. The muffled splatter of spewing gore, the tear of sliced flesh and bone reached his ears as he readied himself.

He slid open the door to his chamber. The sounds of battle grew louder. He strode down the hallway toward the training hall. When he reached the training hall, the fight was over.
 

Bodies and pieces of bodies lay like hacked and ravaged dolls, dismembered and strewn about. The air reeked with the stench of fresh-spilled blood and bowels. The polished wooden floor glistened with pools of spreading scarlet. Only two figures remained standing, and one of them had no head. Master Imamura’s head was tumbling to the floor, where it splashed and rolled across the floor through the blood, and his body fell backwards to land with a wet plop, legs and arms twitching. Now only Taro remained standing, holding his ensanguined blade one-handed at his side. His face was split with a wide, gleeful grin, horribly free of any mirth.

His eyes burned from within like red coals. He was spattered and splashed with gore from face to foot.

For the first time in decades, the shiver of ice swept up Master Koga’s back and turned his insides to cold gravel. But he would face it like the warrior he was. There was no more cause or room for words. Now, only battle and death. He raised his sword. He would teach this creature the meaning of skill and technique.

He squared his body to face the bloody figure and waited.

Fifteen paces separated them.

Taro’s face twisted for a moment into something that might have been regret, but it quickly disappeared, like a seashell on the beach engulfed in relentless surf.

In a single leap, he closed the distance between them and brought his scarlet sword down, down, down, crashing into Master Koga’s blade with the force of an avalanche.

The last thing Master Koga saw was the snarling, grinning mouth, with its yellowing teeth and dark red tongue , filling his vision, and the words of the funeral sutras echoing in his mind.

“
I take refuge in the Buddha, I take refuge in the Dharma, I take refuge in the Sangha. . . .
”

Nine

“A warrior should not say something fainthearted even casually. He should set his mind to this beforehand. Even in trifling matters the depths of one’s heart can be seen.”

—
Hagakure

Ken’ishi and Kiosé walked the path leading to the fishing pond. Akao loped ahead of them with his nose to the ground. The path wound inland, through rocky outcroppings, bamboo groves, and thickly gnarled trees. As they walked, Ken’ishi kept his attention on the path, trying to observe any signs that Tetta might have gone this way, or anything else that looked unusual. Kiosé followed along, doing her best to stay quiet and out of the way, as she did so often.

She did so much work for him, even though she spent long days working for Tetta. How she found time to do things for Ken’ishi he did not know. He enjoyed her company and her warmth in his bed. He sometimes wondered why his pleasure was never as intense as it had been . . . once before. He pondered this, and then he did his best to put those memories away, to lock them in a box of iron within his belly. Sometimes Kiosé’s timidity was too much for him to take, but he could hardly chastise her for it. It was how women were expected to behave. Only in their most private moments did he see the inquisitive, passionate spirit that she kept hidden from Tetta and all her patrons. Only with Ken’ishi did she reveal it, like removing the lid from a pot containing a single, beautiful spark. He did not like to think about all the other men, but he felt privileged, because they did not get to see what he saw.

But he had been worried about her lately. She had been acting strangely, and sometimes she was pale and weary looking, as if she was ill.

“Um, excuse me,” she said. “There is something I must tell you.”

He stopped and turned. “What is it?”

She stopped and looked down at the dirt path. “There is something. . . .”

“What’s the matter? Are you crying?”

She flinched.

Had his voice been too sharp? Sometimes he had to be insistent to make her speak her mind. “What is it?”

Her voice was shaky with emotion, and he sensed that sobs were bubbling just below the surface. “I thought you should know. . . .”

“What
is
it?” He grew more insistent.

“I . . . I. . . .”

He crossed his arms and waited impatiently.

“I . . . I am with child.”

His mouth fell open, and he stood motionless, thunderstruck. He had no idea what to say. An avalanche of unpleasant images tumbled through his mind. Images of starvation, and want, and sickness, and suffering. All he could imagine now was how much more difficult her life would become now that she would have to care for an infant. Tetta gave her enough food, but how would he react when one of his best sources of income was put out of service? When she began to grow large, no man would touch her, and not for a while after she had given birth. She would be polluted by the blood for a time afterwards. He hoped that Tetta would not throw her out, or sell her to someone else when he discovered what had happened. Ken’ishi could not yet afford to buy her contract.

She stood motionless, as if waiting for him to say something, but he could think of nothing. He did not wish to hurt her feelings by being harsh, nor did he want to fill her with the false hope that he could rescue her from her plight. Perhaps in few more months, he could. And he felt pity for the child as well. It would be born the bastard child of a common whore. Its existence was already doomed. Did she mean to tell him that the child belonged to him? How could she know that? It could be the progeny of almost any man in the village.

So he said nothing. He turned and continued up the path, stopping when she did not follow him. Her soft weeping brought him around to see her standing in the same place, her shoulders quaking, her cheeks dripping with tears of pain and despair.

He sighed and walked back to her. “Come, Kiosé, brace up!”

She looked up at him tentatively. “You are not angry with me?”

“Angry! Of course not! Have courage, and the gods will smile on you.”

“I have never had courage.”

“Of course you have! You had the courage to tell me of your situation. You could have hidden it.”

“Not for much longer, I’m afraid. The child will be born in the autumn.”

He did not know how she knew. It was one of the great mysteries known only to women. But he nodded sagely. Then he reached out and stroked her head. She almost collapsed against him, seized by a fit of sobbing. He held her for a while until the weeping stopped, then he said, “Come, let’s go.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes, giving him a feeble smile. As she glanced up at him, he saw the mixed fear and thanks in her eyes.

Ken’ishi called ahead, “Akao! Did he come this way?”

The dog’s voice called back from ahead. “Don’t know! Only smell wild pigs.” Moments later, his face appeared from the bushes beside the path, and he stopped to look at them. Kiosé sniffled and wiped at her tears. Akao stepped forward and licked her hand.

A giggle fought with her sobs, and came out victorious for a moment. “He is so smart,” she said.

Akao said, “Of course!”

Ken’ishi chuckled.

She said, “Can you really talk to him when you make those sounds? Can you understand him?”

Ken’ishi nodded. “Perhaps I could teach you.”

She laughed. “No, I am too stupid for that. I can’t read or write.”

“Neither could I, not so long ago. But I am learning.” He laughed and pointed at the dog. “He can’t read or write either!”

Akao barked at him. “Not necessary.”

She laughed again and rubbed the dog’s ears. “It is no wonder that everyone in the village loves him. He is so kind and smart.”

Akao asked Ken’ishi, “What did she say?”

“She said everyone in the village thinks you are smart and kind.”

“They should! True!” His eyes sparkled with laughter for a moment, then darkened. “But some of them hate.”

“Hate? You?”

“Us.”

But Kiosé was oblivious to this dark turn in the conversation. “Where did you find him? Have you been together long?”

“About two years now. And he found me.”

* * *

The world just went on and on, without end. Ken’ishi had no idea it was such a big place. He had walked for weeks, up and down trackless mountains, through valleys and along rivers. He was tired. He rubbed his soiled, bare feet, caked with dirt and bits of fallen leaves. The day was hot, the sun beating down through the treetops onto the leaf bed soaked from last night’s rain, turning the still air into a sticky, oppressive soup. Sweat dripped down his nose. He took out his water gourd, but as soon as he lifted it, he remembered that it was empty. He had already drained it after filling it with rain the night before. He took out the rice cakes wrapped in leaves from his pouch. Two days before, he passed through a village holding a summer festival, and the villagers’ drunken merriment worked to his benefit. They had given him a handful of sticky, delicious rice cakes. These were the last two; he had eaten the rest. He ate one and put the other back in the pouch. He might be hungrier later. But the sticky cake almost stuck in his throat, and he had no water to wash it down. With great effort, he choked it down and felt cheated for a moment at being robbed of enjoying what little food he had.

A flash of unreasoning anger and frustration shot through him, and he kicked the ground. Always he was starving, or nearly so! Always searching for his next meal. He walked the land unprotected from the rain. All of his things were still wet from the day before. He was a warrior, not a beggar! He kicked the ground again, harder this time, and struck a stone. A sharp pain lanced up his leg, and blood flowed from the sole of his foot.

He collapsed on the road, flopping down in a disconsolate pile. His eyes burned with tears and sobs rose in his throat with such strength he could not hold them back. His tears made streaks down his dirty cheeks. He missed Takao and Kayo. He missed Kayo’s kind smile and Takao’s lessons. He missed having food in his belly, and someone he could trust. Someone he
thought
he could trust. But the people he trusted had turned him out. He understood why they had done it, but it still hurt. And he still missed them. They were the only human beings he had ever known, and they turned him away. And the only girl he had ever known wasn’t a girl at all, and she betrayed him, tricked him. Haru was so beautiful. Even now, he remembered the warmth of her cozy den, the smell of her skin, the touch of her nose. Perhaps life would have been easier as a fox, with food to eat and someone to share it with him.