Blood Ninja (36 page)

Little Kawabata struck at Taro’s shoulder, forcing him to raise his blade to block the blow, then turned his feint into a sweeping stroke that only just missed Taro’s stomach. He jumped backward just in time. Taro was faster than Little Kawabata, but the leader’s son, despite his bulk, was very skillful.

Their swords clashed several times in succession as they read each other’s moves successfully. Then Little Kawabata found a gap and slashed Taro’s thigh, opening up a thin, shallow wound. The crowd gasped.

Taro gritted his teeth. He moved forward, bringing his sword down in a wide sweep. Just as it neared Little Kawabata—and the pudgy boy almost disdainfully raised his sword to parry the obvious strike—Taro reversed his grip on the sword’s pommel, so that the blade was moving sideways, not downward, its arc changing in a flash. It wasn’t a move Shusaku had taught him—just pure instinct.

Little Kawabata’s block would have stopped the original strike,
but now Taro’s sword came in with a far flatter angle, and it bit home under Little Kawabata’s arm. Taro had to pull hard to recover his sword, which must have cut into a rib.

Little Kawabata staggered backward, a red stain spreading on his side. The crowd fell silent. Taro made a quick feint to Little Kawabata’s injured side and noted the slowness of the other boy’s reactions as he turned and batted away his sword. Moving with complete focus now, Taro made a few more strikes, some more clever than others, designed to wear Little Kawabata out.

A low murmur came from the crowd as the spectators saw the trouble Little Kawabata was in. Taro thought he heard the clan leader shout out, scared for his son.

Little Kawabata’s movements were pained and sluggish, his eyes half-closed. The blood had soaked as far down as his baggy
hakama
trousers. He waved his sword ineffectually at Taro, as if it was very heavy.

Taro felt that the time had come to end the fight. He sent up a final plea to the Compassionate One.

Lord Buddha, make this work—for him if not for me
.

He countered a weak strike from the other boy, then struck with force and determination. His sword flew out in a deadly, straight motion—like an arrow—and buried itself in Little Kawabata’s stomach. The leader’s son blinked once, opened his mouth wide as if to say something, and then toppled forward.

He lay motionless on the hard ground, in a spreading pool of blood.

In a voice that was only slightly shaky, Shusaku called out, “Taro is the winner!”

Taro looked up. Kawabata senior was running over from the benches, his face drained of color. Heiko looked at Taro, aghast. On her face were written excitement, horror, and disappointment, all together. She looked at him as if he were a stranger, as if she had never believed that he would go through with it.

Taro ignored both of them. He had no time to lose.

As Kawabata ran up, Taro bent over the man’s son, who lay lifeless before him. He remembered what had happened at his home, how Shusaku had turned him after he’d been mortally injured. And he remembered what Shusaku had told him about the girl who’d saved him when he was dying—or dead.

He hoped it would work the same for Little Kawabata.

Leaning in close, he bit Little Kawabata’s neck. The boy’s heart was no longer pumping, so Taro had to suck to drink of the blood. It was warm and sickly, with a metallic, rusty taste. He felt a
spreading heat in his body, a sensation of growing strength. He wasn’t sure precisely what to do, but he reached for his sword and drew its blade across his palm. Blood welled up from the wound. Then he turned his hand over Little Kawabata’s mouth.

“What are you doing?” shouted Kawabata, who had arrived at the center of the circle and grabbed Taro’s shoulder. Taro shook him off, pressing his hand over Little Kawabata’s mouth, using his fingers to pry it open. He tensed, feeling the blood dripping, repeating like a mantra in his head the two words
just work, just work, just work
…

Kawabata pulled him roughly out of the way, and Taro fell to his back. He looked up at the artificial stars, still hoping. He rolled until he could look at the boy, with his father kneeling beside him, weeping. Kawabata picked up his son and cradled him in his arms. There was something embarrassing, something personal, about the leader’s uncharacteristic tenderness.

Taro stared. It hadn’t worked.

Then Little Kawabata coughed and shook in his father’s arms. He drew in a deep, rattling breath. Kawabata, shocked, dropped him, and the boy fell once more to the ground. But he twitched and then, his movements jerky, pulled himself into a sitting position. He turned to Taro and bared his teeth.

His canines glinted in the firelight.

Taro and Little Kawabata were helped over to the benches, where Heiko threw herself around Taro’s neck, weeping.

“When you—you killed him …,” Heiko stammered. “I had no idea what you were planning. I thought … And I saw in your eyes how much my lack of faith must have hurt you. I’m sorry. I should have trusted you.”

Taro put his finger to his lips. “I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

Kawabata hovered, fulminating. His red face was streaked with tears and his voice quavered. “This is a disgrace!” he said. “In all the years of the volcano this has never happened before! Taro should be punished. This was meant to be a fight to the death. The rule clearly states—”

“According to the rule, your son would be dead,” said Shusaku. “In fact, Taro clearly bested him. According to our rules, Little Kawabata should still be put to death.”

Kawabata’s mouth flapped, silently. The other spectators had all turned to watch the drama unfolding on the benches. The leader
was about to protest, but Taro cut him off. “Actually,” he said, “I believe that Little Kawabata has acquitted himself of his crime. The rules state that one of us must die. Little Kawabata did. When I turned him, he was not breathing.”

Kawabata stared at Taro. “He tried to kill you. Why would you spare him?”

Taro wasn’t even sure himself. The answer seemed as large as his own nature; as much as anything, he had had a conviction, as integral to him as his bones and muscle and sinew, that he couldn’t cause the other boy’s death. He had not consciously thought about it. “I just … didn’t think he deserved to die. What he did to me was bad, but …”

“But what?” said Kawabata.

“But it wasn’t really him, I don’t think.”

“What do you mean?” said Shusaku.

“His father hates you. So you could say that his anger was not really his own. He inherited it. And that means he was not deliberately cruel. He deserved mercy.”

Little Kawabata was staring at him all this while, and Taro didn’t know what the boy was thinking. Did he hate him even more, now that he had saved him? It would not be beyond him to think of it as a humiliation, to prefer to have died.

But Taro couldn’t worry about such things. He had done what seemed right, to him, and that was all that mattered. If Little Kawabata chose to make it a point of enmity between them, to seek revenge, then that was unavoidable.

Shusaku was staring at him too. “You are a constant surprise to me, boy.”

Kawabata turned away from Taro, and from his son, with disgust. “Mercy is for peasants,” he said. “A ninja does not need it.”

“Nevertheless,” said Shusaku, “you can’t deny that the rules have been upheld.”

Kawabata glared at him, grimacing, and it seemed to Taro that he was trying to think of an argument against the fight’s outcome, but apparently he failed, because finally he nodded. “The matter is
settled, it would seem,” he said. Then he turned and walked away, without a backward glance at his newly turned son.

“Father!” said Little Kawabata, hurrying after him. But his father did not turn around.

As Little Kawabata headed for the cave entrance, he paused for a moment and looked back at Taro. “I—,” he began, then closed his mouth again. He scowled, unable to complete his sentence, and a moment later he was gone.

“Ah,” said Shusaku. “Well, mercy must be its own reward, I suppose.”

That night, as Taro and his friends were discussing and reliving every moment of the fight, Shusaku came into the weapons room. He held up a pigeon in one hand. He released it, and it flew to the roof of the cave, where it found a stone ledge and sat down, preening. He unrolled a small scroll. “I’ve just received this message.”

Taro sprang to his feet. “From my mother?” Even as he asked, though, he was looking at the white breast of the pigeon on the ledge that fussily arranged its feathers, and he could not remember the pigeon Shusaku had given his mother having that patch of whiteness. It had been gray, that one, and flecked with black.

But perhaps I didn’t see clearly in the gloom of the hut
, he thought desperately.

Shusaku looked at him. “No. I’m truly sorry.”

Taro felt as though he had swallowed a lump of ice.

“You’ll find her,” said Yukiko. “I know it.”

Taro smiled wanly. “Yes. I hope so.” He turned to Shusaku. “So what is the message, if it’s not from her?”

Shusaku held it up. “This is from my—
our
employer.”

“Lord Tokugawa?”

“Yes. He requires the …
execution
of a delicate task. Taro, I would ask that you come with me. The mission calls for someone of … shall we say, unique talents. A truly talented ninja guards the premises by night, meaning that whoever carries out the … task … must be capable of moving by day. There is also a certain poetry to your involvement.”

“Oda?” asked Taro.

Shusaku nodded.

Taro looked at the master. “When do we leave?”

Shusaku smiled. “I have informed Kawabata and the other ninja that we leave tonight.”

Little Kawabata was about to enter the cave where his father and mother slept, when he heard them talking. He paused at the entrance, leaning against the rough rock wall. His father’s voice was raised. Even so, Little Kawabata was not sure he would have been able to hear it through the rock had the peasant boy not turned him
.

“… will not tell me how to proceed, woman.”

His mother sounded placatory, wheedling, and Little Kawabata felt disgusted by her weakness. No doubt his father had decided on some hard course of action—one that would intimidate a lesser man—and his mother was trying to persuade him out of it, to keep him safe
.

But Little Kawabata’s father was brave. He would not listen to such blandishments, and he would not turn from difficult duty
.

“You would betray Shusaku?” asked his mother. “And our own employer, Lord Tokugawa?”

“A thousand times over,” said his father, his voice almost a growl
.

Little Kawabata frowned. This didn’t sound like the plan of a valiant man
.

“Kawabata-
san,”
said his mother gently. “Don’t you think it’s time to let Mara go? Why are you still so angry about the past?”

“He stole her from me. She was mine.”

“But … I thought it was me you loved …”

“Then you’re a fool.”

Little Kawabata’s thoughts bumped and turned in his head, like fish in a barrel. His father had been in love with Mara? This wasn’t something he had heard before
.

“But she didn’t love you!” said Little Kawabata’s mother, her voice shaky with shock. “How can you say he stole her?”

“She belonged to me.”

“Nonsense. She belonged to no one—until she met Shusaku. She never promised herself to you.”

“Be quiet,” said his father. “Or I’ll make you quiet.” His voice was laced with deadly threat, and Little Kawabata’s mother started to cry. Despite himself, Little Kawabata felt an urge to go to her, to protect her
.

No, she is insulting your father,
he told himself. But he wasn’t sure he believed it
.

“She didn’t need to promise herself,” said his father, on the other side of the rock wall. “She was a young ninja. I was the leader-in-waiting of the clan. It was a formality that I would be elected!”

His mother was sobbing. She did not reply
.

“I will be obeyed and respected,” said his father, and it sounded like he was talking to himself as much as to his wife. “I will be treated as befits my status.”

“Yes, Kawabata-
san,”
said his mother, her voice cracking
.

“It’s too late, anyway,” said his father, his voice shiny with menace. “I have already sent a messenger to Lord Oda. He is the fastest of the men loyal to me. He’ll arrive at Nagoya castle well ahead of Shusaku.”