Heart of the Ronin (46 page)

Taro’s assault was relentless, driving forward with fearful blows and lethal slashes.

Ken’ishi needed a few moments to gather himself, but Taro pressed his awful advantage. Ken’ishi could smell Taro’s infernal breath, like a putrid belch of blood and pain. He noticed the unnatural look of Taro’s right hand. Somehow, it had been healed, but it was not . . . right.

With blinding speed, Taro lunged forward. The jitte swept Ken’ishi’s sword to the side, and the katana slashed toward his chest. He dodged back to avoid the blow, but Taro was too fast. He felt the merest tug at his flesh, and his breastbone felt as if a hand had punched him. Strangely, there was no pain, but the strength seemed to drain from his limbs, and he fell. Hot wetness spread across his chest as he landed in the dirt. He did not need to look; he knew the cut was bad. Silver Crane was no longer in his grasp. Where was it? He couldn’t breathe.

Taro stood over him, silently, primal glee in his eyes.
 

* * *

Pure exultation surged through every fiber of Taro’s being. He had won! The sight of his long-hated nemesis, bleeding and helpless, filled him with such joy and lust as he had never imagined. A shiver of exquisite ecstasy rippled through him.

He sheathed his katana and drew his short sword, then reversed his grip and drove the point of the blade through the ronin’s thigh and deep into the earth, pinning the leg to the ground. The ronin’s body convulsed in pain, and he bit back a scream.
 

“Wait here,” Taro chuckled. “I’ll be back.”

He turned and walked toward the small hut. The door slid closed, and a bar slid into place. He smelled something interesting inside.

“Grandmother, open the door. I’m coming in,” he said, his gravelly voice as good-natured as he could make it. Someone was weeping inside, and he heard the muffled crying of the baby, and desperate whispers. He drew back his fist and punched through the wooden door. The old, thin slats exploded into splinters, and he stepped inside. A young woman clutched her newborn infant to her chest and scrambled back against the rear wall of the hut, but there was nowhere for her to go. The smell of blood in the air was thick in here, and he breathed it deep.

The old woman was sitting on her knees and turned to face him. She bowed low, pressing her forehead to the floor. Her voice was calm. “Please don’t hurt them. They have done you no harm. This child has done you no harm.”

Taro stepped closer to the young woman. Her shoulder pressed against the wall, and she shielded the baby from him with her body. He knelt beside her. Her flesh was pale and glistening with sweat, and her lips quivered with delicious terror.

Taro said, “Let me see it.”

“No!” she gasped.

He reached out and wrenched her body around, enough to glimpse the small pink head wrapped in a blanket. Fresh sobs of terror spilled out of her. He leaned closer and drew a deep breath. The smell confirmed it. Another surge of mirthless glee washed through him, intoxicating. A son! The ronin had a son! Another victim to glut his lust for blood and vengeance! He laughed quietly.

“Leave us alone!” the young woman screamed.

She could not go far, and in any case, he could find her now that he knew the baby’s scent. He would deal with the ronin first. He stood up and gazed down at them for a moment, savoring his victory.

Then movement behind him, a low growling, and he glanced a low dark shape lunge from the doorway. Sharp teeth tore into his right heel, ripping, shredding. He grunted in surprise and pain, and slashed down with his jitte. The weapon had no cutting edge, but it was still a steel rod. The force of the blow tore the dog’s teeth from the back of his leg and swept the animal away. It yelped sharply, and its claws scrabbled against the reed mats as it lunged toward the door, out of reach. It leaped outside, then turned to face him again, snarling, white teeth bared in the starlight. A challenge.

He turned and tried to follow, but his right leg nearly collapsed under him. Blood poured from the ravaged gash in his ankle, slicking the floor, and his foot would not work properly. A sudden storm of rage swallowed the joy and elation he had felt moments ago. Growling, he limped after the dog.
 

* * *

As the creature strode away toward the birthing hut, Ken’ishi grasped the hilt of the short sword with both hands and pulled, but the grinding agony of steel against bone was too much, and his vision went black. It returned but slowly, and he heard a dog snarling nearby.

He propped himself up on his elbows. Agony tore through his chest, and his clothes were soaked with blood. Not far away, Akao faced the creature that was once Taro. It walked with a bad limp now, but his eyes blazed with fury and hunger unabated.

Ken’ishi grasped the hilt of the short sword again, but this time, he did not try to draw it from his leg. The short sword had been driven through his leg almost to the hilt, pinning him to the earth. Gritting his teeth against the agony, he pulled with his hands and his leg, and the short sword inched free of the ground, until it popped loose. Ken’ishi rolled onto his side, with two hand-spans of blood-and-earth-smeared steel protruding from the back of his thigh. He cast his gaze around for Silver Crane, but it was lost in the darkness.

Then he felt its presence, like a clear, silvery voice in the gloom, the whisper of promised salvation. A few paces away, hidden in the foliage. He dragged himself across the dirt toward it, feeling his strength ebb with every movement, his blood seeping away. He spared a glance behind him. Akao snarling, barking, feinting, retreating as the creature lunged after him. The dog moved with a limp, favoring his front leg, but he was still quick, and dodged nimbly away from the creature’s powerful kicks and slashes.

Akao’s snarls sounded like nothing else to other human ears, but to Ken’ishi they were the vilest, most colorful insults and taunts he had ever heard.

Ken’ishi reached the edge of the forest foliage and cast about for his weapon, rustling the leaves and branches. The sound turned the creature’s head toward Ken’ishi, and it took a step toward him.

Then the creature grunted in pain, looked back, and saw Akao’s jaws clamped onto the wrist holding the jitte. Taro jerked away, lifting the dog’s feet from the ground, but Akao did not relent. He snarled and savaged at the wrist with his teeth, refusing to release his grip. The jitte fell to the ground. Taro roared and spun his body, flinging his arm. The force and speed of the movement wrenched Akao’s teeth free, and he went spinning through the air. His body crashed through the wall of the birthing hut in a shower of dust and splinters.

Ken’ishi lunged for the spot where he knew Silver Crane waited. His fingers closed around the familiar ray-skin hilt, and a pulse of warmth shot up his arm and spread through his body. The pain in his leg and chest diminished. Propping himself against a tree, he levered himself upright with his good leg.

Another pulse of warmth shot up his right arm, and his vision cleared. Another pulse, coming in rhythm with the thunder of his heart. He reached down with his left hand, gripped the hilt of the short sword piercing his leg, and pulled with all his might. The grinding pain in his leg sapped his strength, but the sword came free, fresh blood pumping from the wound. The wet blade fell to the earth, and he took Silver Crane in both hands. Another pulse of warmth, a pulse of strength, a pulse of courage. He stood taller, his legs firmer. There was still strength in him.

He was already dead; that was the samurai belief. With no fear of death, anything could be accomplished. He did not fear death, but this thing would not harm Kiosé and the baby. If he had to die to destroy this creature, to protect them, to avenge his friend, he would die.

Ken’ishi limped forward. The creature clutched his savaged left wrist, a stream of gore running under his arm and dripping from his elbow.

With each pulse like the thunder of a taiko drum, Ken’ishi’s strength returned. His wounded leg could almost support his weight, even though pain shot through him with every step. He knew he must find the emptiness, the Void. There was no before, and no after, only the Now. Only the moment of the strike, the perfect strike. He attacked.

The creature drew his katana and blocked the blow in a single lightning motion. But the mirthless triumph was gone from Taro’s twisted, dark-streaked face, replaced by frustration and rage.

Ken’ishi struck again, and again, and again.

Silver Crane’s voice sang in his mind, as clear and pure as a temple bell, and the whispering song lent strength to his blows.

His spirit settled into the Void, and he found the timeless space between instants, and in that instant, he struck again.

The tip of Silver Crane’s blade slashed down through the creature’s face, from forehead to chin, slicing a deep gash between his eyes and splitting his nose and jaw.

The creature grunted and staggered back.

Ken’ishi struck again, and his blow cleft the creature from right shoulder to collarbone. The creature roared in pain, and blood sprayed on its horrid breath.

Ken’ishi struck again, cleaving the creature from left shoulder to breastbone. The creature dropped his sword and staggered back, arms wide.

Ken’ishi sliced across the creature’s belly, and entrails spilled out with a gush of gore. His opponent’s roar diminished to a groan, and he fell onto his back. Ken’ishi circled the body, raised his blade, and severed the head with a single stroke. The body spasmed, then lay still.

The baby was crying, and a surge of relief went through him.

Ken’ishi sheathed his weapon and ran toward the hut as quickly as his wounded leg would allow. Reaching the doorway, in the light of the lamp he saw Akao’s motionless form lying amidst debris from the shattered wall. The women sat near him, picking away the splintered wood.

Limping to his friend, Ken’ishi knelt beside him. Akao’s head hung limply to the side, blood trickling from his nose, tongue lolling, eyes staring. Empty. Tears burst from Ken’ishi eyes. Kiosé’s face was already wet. Gathering the dog in his arms, he lifted him up. His body was limp and broken and lifeless. He carried his friend outside, eyes burning, cheeks hot with tears, and placed him on the ground and stroked his soft ear one last time.

Norikage came running up carrying a lantern, his eyes wide. “What happened? The whole village is buzzing from the noise of the fight. What—?” His gaze flicked to the headless corpse a few paces away. “Who is this?”

Ken’ishi looked up at him, and Norikage’s eyes fell to Akao’s lifeless form. His voice fell. “Ah, my friend, that’s a terrible pity. What happened?”

“He saved us all.” Ken’ishi could hardly speak.

Norikage nodded. “You’re wounded.”

Ken’ishi’s wounds had stopped bleeding, but he could see the paleness of breastbone exposed in the gash across his chest, and his thigh burned like fire. Looking out into the darkness, he saw numerous shapes lumbering toward them from the village, bearing lanterns and improvised weapons like clubs and tools.

Then his strength left him like water from a shattered bucket, and his vision faded into blackness.

* * *

When he awoke, he was in a room filled with light and warmth. He was covered with blankets. His body ached as if a hundred clubs had beaten him, and he was soaked with sweat. He felt bandages wrapped around his chest and leg. He looked up at the ceiling of his own house. Kiosé’s knees slid into his vision, and he felt a cool rag placed on his forehead.

“You’re back!” she said, and happiness filled her voice. “The fever is gone!”

“How long?” he croaked.

“Three days.”

His vision swam and his mouth felt like it was full of sand. “Water.”

She brought a small cup of water to his lips, and he drank from it.

“Is the baby . . . ?”

“He is fine,” she said, giggling, “and energetic!”

He heard the baby mewling and saw a small basket resting in the warm sunlight.

“Akao. Where is he?”

“Norikage gave him a hero’s burial.” She leaned over him, and her eyes glistened with tears. “He was so brave!”

Ken’ishi’s eyes burned. “Where is the other man’s body?”

“His body was burned and his head was mounted on an old spear near the road, as a warning to bandits.” Kiosé’s work-roughened hand touched his cheek tenderly. “Norikage says now that your fever has broken, you will begin to mend.”

“Where . . . is my sword?”

“Over there,” she said pointing. But he already knew where it was. He could feel it. His gaze followed her gesture, and he saw it leaning in the corner, with its mother-of-pearl cranes flying through a black-lacquered sky toward a silver moon on the battered old scabbard. It seemed the cranes were flying away, into the night, toward some shared secret, a secret they would reveal to him, in time. The silver on the hilt gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the open windows.

Indeed, it looked freshly polished.

Sixteen

On this plain of mist

Nothing but flat endlessness . . .

And red-rising sun

—
Shiro

At the urging of her sister-in-law, Lady Yukino, Kazuko hosted a dinner party during the Harvest Festival for all the nobles, high-ranking samurai, and officials of the region. She had even invited her father and was delighted when he arrived. She was surprised with herself that she was so pleased to see him, considering how he had handled her betrothal. During the visit, her father and her husband shared much time together, as if further trying to cement their alliance. Lord Nishimuta no Jiro was valuable to her husband because Lord Tsunetomo needed the support of smaller fiefs nearby to maintain his superior position. Lord Otomo no Tsunetomo was valuable to her father because Lord Jiro needed the protection of a powerful neighbor. And even she, in her ignorance of the ways of ever-shifting politics, knew that she formed the hub of that alliance. Her husband had been pleased when she asked his permission to host the party, and he had been just as pleased with the results. Sake, plum wine, and shochu flowed like a river, and in spite of the drunken revelry, the guests behaved themselves without fail. Fresh rice cakes and vegetables and sweets, delicacies from the sea, summer buckwheat noodles, all kept the guests pleasantly stuffed for the duration of their stay.