Heart of the Ronin (3 page)

Yohachi looked hard into the young man’s face. In fact, he had heard Takenaga say those very words, but had never considered their meaning. But he liked the feel of the sleeping steel in his hands. “Takenaga-sama would want someone to use his weapons to avenge his death. This blade will taste that ronin’s blood!”

The villagers standing nearby nodded, and a few voiced their agreement. Already Yohachi felt the power of the sword coursing through him. He stood a little straighter. His fingers caressed the silken cord wrappings, the roughness of the ray skin under the cords.

Taro said, his voice hardening. “Do you truly know how to use those? Or do you claim them because you are selfish? I am Takenaga-sama’s chief deputy. He has no heirs and no immediate family. I am strong, and I know how to use them. Give the swords to me, and I will see that Takenaga’s death is avenged.”

Yohachi snorted. “But I am the headman here!”
 

“Yes, and the village needs you. You must be alive to lead. I ask again, are you ready to die? Because that’s what it means to wear those swords. If you are not, Takenaga’s shade will know, and he will curse you for a coward.”

Yohachi gasped and dropped the sword. It clattered on the ground. He had not thought of that. His greed for the swords had made him forget that Takenaga’s spirit was still about, and doubtless angry.

Taro bent to pick it up. “You are a wise man.” He thrust the sword into his own sash and tied the cords. The two other deputies stared at him as he bent to retrieve the short sword as well, placing it in his sash alongside the katana.

A mob had gathered around them, but Yohachi could only stare at the face of the heretofore quiet young man. What emotions were churning behind that solemn mask? The determination was evident in his bearing. Taro had meant what he said. He would do everything in his power to find the ronin.

When the crowd looked as if it had grown as large as it would—some forty-odd farmers and villagers and three deputies—Yohachi looked at the faces of his friends and neighbors, people he had known all his life. “That ronin must be punished for what he has done. We will find him and bring him back. Then we will decide what sort of death is best for him!”

Agreement murmured through the mob. “Let us go quickly! He has a head start!” Then Yohachi led them down the road in pursuit of the criminal.

* * *

Ken’ishi did not stop running until the village was long out of sight in the forest behind him. The sun-dappled road was deserted in both directions. He stopped beside a small roadside shrine, his breath huffing in and out like a smith’s bellows. He let his pack, bow, and quiver hang loose in his grip, resting one hand on his knee as he tried to catch his breath, the other hand rubbing the painful bruise on his chest inflicted by the hurled stone.

Akao stopped beside him, his tongue lolling. He looked back down the road toward the village. “Coming.” His deep brown eyes, slanted like a fox, searched the road behind them, his pointed red ears erect, his nose lifted into the wind.

Ken’ishi nodded. “How far?”

“Go soon.”

“I am weak!” he growled. A swirling, leaden sickness in his belly drowned the remnants of his previous hunger. What would his dead father think of his actions just now? Would he be proud that his son had won the duel? Ashamed at the theft of the man’s money? Neither? Both? “I am sorry for my weakness, Father!” he said, choking on his shame. He had fought the duel to defend the honor of his family, then he had soiled it himself just as quickly. For that matter, what would his teacher say? What about his foster parents? He could almost hear his foster mother clicking her tongue at him, as she used to do so often when he made some terrible blunder. Then her disapproval would be followed by some great kindness to show him that his errors were forgiven. Tears of shame trickled down his nose. He missed her kindness now. He missed a friendly face amidst a land full of strangers who did not care if he lived or died. He wanted to throw the money away, but he was so hungry and had been for so long.

His mind reeled as he tried to conceive of some way to atone for his misdeed. Would robbing the dead offend the kami?

“I’m sorry, my friend,” he said to Akao. “I couldn’t bring you any food.”

The dog smiled, then padded closer and nudged Ken’ishi’s knee with his nose. “Not hungry now.”

Then a new voice piped up, small and high-pitched. “Who’s talking down there?”

Ken’ishi looked around. He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve, and his gaze stopped on the nearby shrine.

“Who’s there?” he said.

No reply.

Inside the shrine was a little statue of one the Seven Bodhisattvas. Had the small stone god spoken to him? He wondered what the shrine’s significance might be, why people sometimes built these small structures filled with gods and offerings in the most unusual or out-of-the-way places. There was a wooden placard inside with some writing on it, but he recognized only a few of the characters.

Then he noticed a sparrow sitting on the roof of the shrine, watching him with its small black eyes. “Did you speak to us?” Ken’ishi asked. Perhaps the bird could help him. Sparrows were good fortune.

“I did. You surprised me.”

Ken’ishi bowed. “Good day, Mr. Sparrow. I am sorry to have startled you.”

It smoothed its ruffled, pale breast feathers and said with some surprise, “Good day to you, big hairy man. How is it that you can speak my tongue?”

“I learned from my teacher.”

“I have never heard of a man who could understand birds. Or dogs, for that matter. Do you have any seeds? I am hungry.”

It was so difficult to speak to such small birds. Their minds flitted back and forth as if thoughts were branches. “I am sorry,” Ken’ishi said. “I don’t have any seeds.”

“Do you have any stiff grass? I am building a nest for my wife.”

“Again, my apologies. I have none.” But perhaps he could offer the sparrow something, not only to atone for his earlier misdeed, but also because he could certainly use a bit of good fortune. His hair, tied into ponytail, symbolized his status and his nature as a warrior. “Perhaps I could offer you some of my hair.”

“What an excellent idea! An auspicious gift! You are very helpful.”

Ken’ishi drew his knife, sliced away a generous lock of hair from his ponytail, and laid it at the sparrow’s feet.

The sparrow bowed and said, “Thank you, strange big hairy man. I am in your debt. For your kindness, I think I will repay you with a bit of good fortune.”

“Thank you, good bird, but there is no need to repay me. You have helped me to avoid my own despair.”

“Too late. The good fortune has already been granted. You will meet it very soon. I hope you use it wisely. Why were you running? Is something chasing you?”

“No,” Ken’ishi said, “I run from myself.”

“What a silly thing to say! If you run from yourself, you are caught before you raise a wing! Have you any seeds?”

“No, kind bird. I’m sorry. What lies further down this road?”

“My nest is here! What lies down there does not matter to me!”

“Forgive me, I am being rude.”

“If you have no seeds for me to eat, then be gone! You have wasted enough of my time, and I am hungry. I do not live as long as you!”

“Thank you, Mr. Sparrow. I’ll move on.” The demeanor of small birds could shift so suddenly. They forgot kindnesses so quickly and remembered wrongs for so long. In that respect, they were much like people. Ken’ishi shrugged his belongings onto his back, then he paused. He pulled out Takenaga’s coin pouch and plucked out the largest, shiniest gold coin. Then he placed it at the feet of the small stone god and clapped his hands twice, as he had seen others do to get the attention of the spirit of the shrine, bowed, and asked the shrine god for forgiveness for his deed. He received no response. With a heavy sigh, he moved on.

The smells of the forest, vibrant with life, helped to soothe the pain in his belly for a while, but as he walked, the constable’s silken coin purse bumped into him with each step, driving him deeper and deeper into despair. His ears burned with the cries of “Criminal! Criminal!”

He did not feel like a criminal for killing the constable. That had been a duel of honor, and he had offered a chance to decide the duel without death. His teacher had prepared him for battle, but not for the reality—the finality—of it. In his mind, he saw Takenaga’s pale face again, haloed by the expanding pool of blood, gasping, meeting the dying man’s rage- and terror-stricken eyes. Ken’ishi shuddered. He knew the memory of the duel would be burned into his mind until the moment he died, and perhaps carry into his next life. His anger at Takenaga’s insults was gone, drawn away with the departure of the man’s life. But he thanked the kami for his own life.

Takenaga’s coin purse in his hand stirred the cauldron of emotions in his belly. He cocked his arm back to throw the purse into the forest, then stopped. Guilt churned. In his weakness, he had stooped to thievery, and that made him a criminal.

But now with this money he could buy food for himself and Akao, for a little while, and in that time, perhaps he could find someone willing to employ him. Perhaps he could find a way to atone for his misdeed, but to do that, he had to live. Starving to death would serve no one. Samurai could also kill themselves to cleanse the stain of dishonor from their souls, but. . . If another constable captured him, he would be tortured and executed. Would an honorable warrior steal from a dead man? Samurai aspired to be the epitome of strength and honor, but sometimes they were simply evil men who enjoyed bloodletting for its own sake. Like the incident in the capital a few weeks before, where he had seen both the best and the worst of what a samurai could be.

Standing on the road, with Akao watching him expectantly, he hefted Takenaga’s coin purse. He guessed it contained enough money to feed him for a long time. It was easy to see why some ronin stooped to banditry to fill their bellies. Should he give the money to someone he might meet on the road, perhaps a priest or a peasant? But then the thought of eating grubs and roots again tightened his grip on the heavy silken pouch. He looked at it until Akao nudged his leg.

“Go now. Whine later,” Akao said.

Ken’ishi sighed, then put the purse inside his shirt and resumed his way down the path. Was this the weakness his sensei had told him all men possess? The darkness, the demons inside their spirits that make them greedy and cruel. Was this the weakness that his teacher had taught him how to conquer? Had he failed so quickly? Was this kind of evil the reason for his family’s destruction?

As he walked, Ken’ishi heard the sound of a stream gurgling over rocks. Perhaps what he needed now was to sit beside it for a while. As a boy, when his teacher had been harsh with him, he had often sat beside the stream that passed the foot of the mountain where he had been raised. The burbling sound had always calmed him, washing away whatever terrible feelings filled him. So many bad feelings could be carried away by the smooth, serene sound of water sliding over the rocks.

He found the stream and climbed down the rocky bank to sit beside it. This was a pleasant spot. He noticed that Akao was gone, but he did not worry. The dog was stealthy when he chose to be, and had doubtless gone off in search of a meal. Bright green moss covered the moist rocks, and the abundance of bushes and bamboo along the banks gave him a feeling of seclusion. The stream was no more than ten paces across, and the water was clear. He knelt to thrust his face into the cool, gentle torrent, sucking down a great draught. Wiping his face, he stood up. The smell of the moist earth, the gentle gurgle of the water, the whisper of the breeze through the bamboo leaves, the song of a bird singing to its mate, all worked together to dispel some of the shame he felt. The place where he sat was invisible from the road. He would be safe here for a while. When he was calm, his hunger would return. Languid fish slid through the stream, and his stomach rumbled at the sight. The day was far from over, but he no longer felt like traveling.

Soon, however, the sounds of a group of people preceded them coming up the road. His relaxation evaporated in an instant. The sound came from the direction of the village; the angry mob searching for him. He crept up the bank of the stream toward the road, darting from brush to tree. The voices and footsteps grew louder. He stopped behind a thicket, where he was just able to see the nearby patch of road.
 

Before long, the mob came in sight. There was Yohachi, the distasteful village headman, three deputies, one of them carrying the dead constable’s swords, and many more villagers with clubs and spears. Ken’ishi’s chest clenched. He had angered them, like a nest of hornets struck with a stick. There were too many to fight, and he had no more stomach for killing today. Ducking behind his thicket, he waited until they passed, knowing he was fortunate that his presence had not been discovered. Were they following his tracks? Would they see where he had left the road? It was difficult for a group of people to remain vigilant for long periods, especially when traveling. After they had passed, he stole out to the road and studied the earth. The passage of the villagers had obscured any tracks he had left. He was safe, for now, but he could not stay here.

But now he had to be even more vigilant. These villagers would spread the word in the surrounding communities about what had happened. He would become a wanted man. It was no longer safe for him to travel. Everyone in the province would soon be on the lookout for him. What would he do? Avoiding every village would be difficult, especially when he needed food. Perhaps after a while, the fervor would die down and the villagers would sink back into complacency, after they thought that the criminal had left the area. The only thing he was certain of was that he had to get far away from here as soon as possible.

Two

“Warfare is the greatest affair of state, the basis of life and death, the Way to survival or extinction.”