The Clever Hawk

by Ronan Frost

  Chapter Sixteen

  I felt sick. The vegetable soup sat high and tight in my belly, my body tingling with the warmth of the bath, yet in this comfort I despised myself for my useless display of protest. It was with shamefaced humiliation that bowed and entered Kan’emon’s office. A flush of surprise went through me as I saw Yobutomo sat with him. I could not hold my tongue in my surprise.

  “Where have you been?” I asked. I did not suspect that my loneliness had affected me so, and could not keep the edge from my voice.

  “The yamabushi have free passage to all domains in the country,” he said, at last turning to look at me. “I have been nowhere, but everywhere.”

  “I think you owe me an apology,” Kan’emon interrupted.

  I dropped my eyes and lowered myself to my knees, pressing my head to the reed matting, but I did not speak. All I could hear was my breath as I waited.

  “Kan’emon is not an evil man,” I heard Yobutomo say. “You must try to understand his motivations. You are important to us all; we cannot afford to lose you.”

  “I am nothing.”

  “That is not true!” Kan’emon spoke with such vehemence my head shot up. “There is only one reason you are here and you are a bigger fool that I had supposed if you do not realize –”

  “No, Kan’emon, not now,” interrupted Yobutomo, holding up his hand to silence the other, his voice carrying such cryptic overtones it gave me pause. “For now, let us put this behind us. Tonbo, return to your tasks.”

  I closed my eyes and felt everything swim. My stomach was so tight I tasted acrid bile rising into the back of my throat. In the past, lashings of Master Masakage’s rod across my back had at least paid penance to the self-disgust that seethed in my gut; yet since I had fled I had been untouched, and it left the guilt unassuaged. Was it that dreadful hollowness that drove me to the kaihogyo? Or was it something nobler, the desire to push myself to the edge of self, to wake up to that echo I had glimpsed while running through the forest? In either case, my decision was ruled by the naivety of youth; it was only years later that I would come to fully understand my own mortality.

  “Boy, are you alright?”

  I opened my eyes to find both men looking at me, expecting an answer. I worked my lips. Never had I been able to articulate my thoughts, and this time was no different; despite the surging ocean of emotion within, I could not speak.

  “What’s the matter, are you mute?”

  “Please, Kan’emon. It is his character to be circumspect, a trait we could all perhaps benefit from.”

  Kan’emon gave a humph, and turned to me. “You couldn’t survive one night, how do expect to survive nine?”

  I looked at Yobutomo, not understanding. Kan’emon’s gaze flicked between the two of us.

  “He doesn’t even know of the nine days of stillness?” he asked.

  “The kaihogyo trials are not only about movement,” explained Yobutomo to me. “In the fifth year, the monk must survive nine days without food, without water, and without sleep.”

  Kan’emon’s voice softened as he approached and lowered his massive frame upon one knee, his motions ponderous. “You fail to understand how difficult these trials are. After ten days without food or water, all will perish, that is certain. Indeed, in times past, every monk attempting it died. You must understand that extreme starvation pushes even the strongest of men to the very brink of death.”

  “I may die,” I said, the words coming slowly and with difficulty. “But I might also live. I want to take this chance, or else leave this place and find my own fate.”

  “If you leave, Masakage will find you,” Yobutomo said.

  “Then let me begin.”

  “Now is no time to begin seven years of commitment. With the coming war, it is not safe,” said Kan’emon.

  “Nobunaga is still many years distant,” Yobutomo interrupted. I felt a surge of relief that he had taken up my cause, even if momentarily. “He needs years to gather enough strength to march on Kyoto.”

  “Nobunaga’s territory grows by the month,” said Kan’emon. “Lord Date has aligned himself with Nobunaga, and now, despite decades of hostility, the house of Matsudaira Motoyasu has also joined the growing alliance. Oh yes, Nobunaga has strength enough. The prize of Kyoto draws him. Only there, from the Emperor himself, may he gain recognition for installing a Shogun of his own choosing, a puppet to his will, and once he has taken the city he will not suffer the thorn of Mount Hiei in his side. It is then that we will most surely suffer the focus of his ruthless brutality.”

  “The martial strength of Enryaku-ji is well known,” said Yobutomo. “Even Emperors dare not oppose the warrior monks.”

  Kan’emon shook his head. “Oda Nobunaga dares, and it is the zeal of the warrior monks that may very well be our undoing! For years, we have made the most of our position of power; if ever we found dispute with any of the Emperor’s decisions we have descended into the city and marched through the streets, creating such fear with our presence that our wishes are always granted. I have seen it for myself; it has made the city weak. It will not take much for it to fall into Nobunaga’s hands.”

  “Then what are you suggesting?”

  “I have given you my word that I will protect the boy. But understand me clearly; embarking upon the seven-year trial now is out of the question.”

  “Then I cannot stay,” I said.

  Kan’emon’s fist crashed down upon the low table, launching the assortment of parchments and pots and quills into the air. “Open your ears and listen! This argument is going in circles. We don’t want you dead.”

  “I am already dead.”

  Kan’emon turned his back to me, and I saw the two men exchange glances.

  “Seven years,” Yobutomo said. “That may work to our advantage.”

  Kan’emon pursed his lips and huffed in what sounded like reluctant acquiesce.

  Yobutomo approached me.

  “Should you begin, I cannot help you. Do you understand? You will have no one to help you.”

  I nodded with certainty, clinging to my resolve even though it seemed my world was dropping away around me.

  “For seven years you must run the course alone, mostly in the darkness before dawn. Despite everything, sickness, injury, fatigue, you must continue. If you fail, you must die by your own hand.”

  “I am not afraid,” I said.

  Yobutomo smiled, those deep lines within his face easily accepting the expression, his jet black eyes pools of beatific serenity. He was not fooled. “It is good to be afraid,” he said. “Without fear, there is no courage.”

  Kan’emon’s pacing brought him around the room, where he stopped before me. He did not crouch, but spoke from where he stood, looking down his broad nose at me.

  “No leniency will be permitted; do you understand? Not only must you run the course every day, but you must also take up studies and continue your usual tasks of maintaining the temple. Anytime within the first hundred days you may withdraw without penalty, and go back to your usual tasks. Neither I nor anyone else will look upon you with any less respect. Nothing more will be said of it.”

  I could tell by the sharp look in his eye that he intended to make those days long and hard for me. I also saw a look of confidence; he knew that I would not last.