The Golden Naginata

by Jessica Amanda Salmonson

  Tomoe could think of no explanation for it seemed that the fortuneteller had been sitting on the right-hand side of the road a moment before, whereas she and the rustic god were now sitting on the left-hand side of the road. Besides that, the face of the rock-carved god was not as pleasant as Tomoe had first thought. As the woman samurai tried to figure these things out, she realized she was mistaken, for the fortuneteller was on the right-hand side of the road after all, although come to think of it, she was really on the left.

  In the next moment, the fortuneteller was sitting on neither right nor left, but was standing in the middle of the road. The rustic god was not at all what it had seemed; instead, it was an ugly red oni devil. For some reason it wasn’t as fierce as oni generally were. It crouched not as to attack, but as though cowering and afraid. When the fortuneteller limped boldly forward, leaning on a long staff, the oni devil withdrew.

  It was rude for someone of low station to block a samurai’s path, so Tomoe’s retainers urged their horses ahead and surrounded the disrespectful woman. Nobody acted as though anything were unusual. Tomoe stopped her horse. The dozen servants stopped walking; the two stopped beating the drums. All watched.

  Despite the fact that the seven retainers had penned the woman between their horses, somehow she was no longer there. She had slipped through them and was walking toward Tomoe. As she came, she took off her belled hat and threw it aside. In this way she revealed that one side of her face was horrible while the other side was unscarred and beautiful. The fortuneteller raised her fighting stick and held it above her head. When she twisted the stick in a certain way, spikes sprung out from both ends, making it a two-way spear. Tomoe still did not move, but only wondered. The fortuneteller spun around to face the seven retainers who were charging down upon her with bared swords.

  The fortuneteller vanished. She instantly reappeared beside one of the retainers who had reined his horse aside. She stuck one point of her stick-cum-spear into the surprised man’s throat, then lifted him off his horse with supernatural strength, throwing him at another rider. She disappeared again, before one of the other retainers could slice her. She appeared behind him, sticking him in the lower back. She lifted him into the air, holding him straight above her head while he thrashed and cried and rained blood upon her face. Then she threw him at another rider.

  Now there were two men knocked from their horses but still alive. When they regained their feet, they attacked together. Her spear, sharp at both ends, took one and then the other. Once more she vanished, reappearing behind an attacker, killing him; and in like manner she killed the other two.

  The servants who had been with Tomoe were gone. She had not seen them run away, but they must have done so. The horses of her retainers were also gone, but the bodies of the men still cluttered the road. In all this while, Tomoe had not moved, had not blinked her eyes. She kept staring at the monstrous woman who, alone and afoot, slew seven horsemen.

  In Tomoe’s obi there was no longsword, but only a short one; and beside it was a shaku from the head of a monk’s staff. Tomoe took out the shaku and rattled its rings at the monster-woman. The monster-woman laughed. The laughter sounded as though it resounded from the depths of hell.

  “You cannot frighten me with that!” said the monster-woman. Her voice was indeed a distant echo, however loud it might be; and it was not pretty, but the deep, grating voice of a powerful demon.

  “I know why the shaku does not scare you,” said Tomoe. “You are the naruka at the bottom of the Land of Gloom, who may never walk the earth. I cannot send you back to Hell because you have never left it. It is unfortunate that you have chosen my friend Tsuki Izutsu as the instrument of your terror. But I will have you soon! I am coming through the gate of Mount Kuji with the golden naginata of Mount Kiji. I will duel you in your own country, and free Tsuki from possession!”

  The deep, ugly voice of Naruka challenged spitefully, “Get me if you can!” She charged forward with the two-ended spear twirling over her head. Tomoe had happened to bring along some red beans, given to her by the priestess Shan On. Tomoe did not remember getting the beans, but all the same, they were from Shan On.

  She threw the beans at Naruka.

  The monster screamed at the beans and pointed one end of the spear at them. All the beans stopped in mid-air, and hung there as a barrier between Naruka and Tomoe. Tomoe said,

  “Tell the swordsmith Okio I will come to see him, too. Also tell my good friend Ushii Yakushiji that I have a special gift for him, better than the spirit-toys and -money, better than the good rice wine. Tell him I am bringing him his heart’s desire, so that he may be happier in eternity.”

  The monster-woman growled like a bear, saying, “You think your enemies reside in hell? I am not your enemy! Okio is not! Ushii is not! Your enemy is … your enemy is …” Naruka began to choke, the eye on the ugly side of her face bulging. She grabbed at her throat as though something invisible were strangling her. Then, to save herself, Naruka vanished. The red oni devil scampered forward to the place where his companion had vanished, running around and around, whimpering like a forgotten puppy. At that moment, Tomoe Gozen awoke in the covers of her futon. She was sweating profusely. Kiso Yoshinake was looking at her, concern in his expression. He said,

  “I did not know if I should wake you. You didn’t make a sound.”

  Tomoe could barely speak. When her heart slowed down to normal, she said, “It is good you let me sleep. A fortuneteller visited me in my dream. She informed me that I must go upon my mission alone, for whoever travels with me will die. Additionally, the dream informed me that I had better seek a special gift for a friend of mine, although I do not know what the gift should be.”

  “If I can help,” said Yoshinake, but he did not finish. Tomoe said,

  “Make love to me again.”

  Yoshinake smiled. “It is the first time you said so. I was sometimes afraid I was a nuisance.”

  “I have been cruel to my husband,” said Tomoe. Perhaps, she thought, she had never told Yoshinake that he was beautiful because of the interference of Okio’s vindictive sword. Now, the sword retired, she could speak her true feelings. “You are pretty as a boy,” she said. “You remind me of a girlfriend I had when I was little.”

  Yoshinake liked to hear this. Tomoe grinned back at him in the darkness of their bedroom. Moonlight made the translucent rice-paper windows glow, so they could see each other. She said,

  “When we fought the lord of Yuwe to win this castle, we were side by side in the last onslaught, eagerness making us bold, even careless. I was aroused to see you then. I am aroused to see you now.”

  He pushed a gentle arm underneath her and lifted her up to him, his eyes glistening with unwept tears. “It means a lot!” he said. When she wrapped her legs around him, they began to play for a long while, and finally copulated. Tomoe held her eyes closed, and saw a field of battle, on which Yoshinake reaped.

  She drew rein upon the narrow road. The horse made snuffling sounds, then stood perfectly still. The sky was darkening. Tomoe had not come to an inn as quickly as she had expected. Ahead, the road curved, and woods impinged upon the bend at either side. It was a perfect place for ambush; and as she had not left Yuwe incognito, it was possible that one or another enemy of herself and Yoshinake would arrange something unfriendly.

  There was nothing visibly untoward in the shadows at the bend. Yet the stillness was perhaps too great; not even the evening’s insects sang. Despite her suspicion, she urged the horse to continue, and pushed her sword a bit forward in its scabbard so that it would be loose and ready. It was a sword untested in her hands, so she did not yet know its reliability; still, she almost welcomed the opportunity to better acquaint herself with its mettle.

  When she reached the bend, four men on horseback parted from the shadows and trees, blocking her path. They were samurai. By the quality of their dress, they were vassals of a wealthy Lord. They seemed to scrutinize her, as though to be sure of her i
dentity.

  “I am Tomoe Gozen of Heida, honored wife of Kiso Yoshinake,” she said, for introductions were common before a duel. The four men did not reciprocate, which was rude. In fact their identities were carefully hidden beneath large hats, and by bits of paper sewn over the clan crests printed on the shoulders and backs of their haori.

  It was unfortunate that samurai of rank should be sent as common assassins; for, no matter the reasons, excellence of encounters, or outcome, there would be no honor for anyone involved. There could only be a dog’s unheralded death or, at best, a dog’s reward of pats and bones.

  “You will die quickly,” warned Tomoe, “unless you give this up.”

  She was hasty in her surmise. One of the samurai whistled some code, for none of them would use voices by which they might be recognized should the prey escape. The whistle summoned more than thirty brigands from the trees. They were on foot. Several were armed with bows and arrows. This motley group’s leader pushed to the fore, chewing on a twig and looking certain of himself. He wore hakama trousers and two swords like a samurai, but Tomoe suspected he was akuto, meaning he might be bold and skillful, but he lacked samurai lineage so that his talents could not win him a clan’s commission. Such men often captained brigands.

  As the akuto wore no hat, his face was visible in the closing shadows of dusk. He was scruffy, unbathed, with a scar along one side of his jaw. Since his identity was of no concern, he was not reluctant to talk:

  “If you throw down your sword and ride away without it, we will let you pass unbothered.”

  “A samurai’s sword is a samurai’s soul,” said Tomoe evenly.

  “Samurai of station have many souls, then,” the akuto retorted, sounding bitter. “You can go home and pick out another.”

  They looked each other eye to eye without wavering. Tomoe said, “What would you do with my sword?”

  “We are brigands after all,” said the akuto. “We will sell it for what it brings. We do not mind being called ‘sword thieves.’”

  “What about my horse?”

  “We do not sell horses.”

  It was obviously no ordinary bit of highway robbery, or the horse would be taken too. Tomoe looked at the thirty-odd brigands, then at the four silent samurai on horseback. She asked the akuto, “Since when do brigands work for vassal samurai?”

  “Since this afternoon.”

  It was an honest reply, but not informative. She guessed the brigands had been approached by the vassals only that afternoon because it had not been known until that morning that Tomoe Gozen had left Yuwe without escort. She doubted the whole lot of them could injure her with swords, but the arrows were perturbing.

  “I will surrender my sword and leave,” Tomoe said, surprising them.

  The chief of the brigands said simply, “Good.”

  Tomoe slipped from the back of her horse. Now, at the same height as the numerous brigands, the arrows were of less concern; also, her horse or one of the other four might prove useful shields.

  She stepped toward the akuto, removing her sheathed sword. She held it forth in both hands so that the brigand chief might take it. He was not very smart about it; for she had offered the sword in such a way that he had to take hold of the scabbard first. Then she withdrew the blade and, before he could drop the empty sheath and draw his own sword, she had sliced him through the forehead. He collapsed without a sound.

  Arrows were unleashed at once, but she had moved away from the spot. She heard her horse give a cry of pain. The beast darted through the circle of brigands, scattering them; then, further along the road, the poor animal fell, thrashing awhile. Tomoe had at the same time charged toward one of the four samurai, menacing the man’s horse so much that it reared, rolling the rider to the ground. He was stuck by her sword before regaining a single breath. She scurried behind the slain samurai’s horse so that it took arrows in its side, the brigand bowmen being that easily tricked.

  The brigands ran about uselessly, confused by Tomoe’s speed and maneuvers. The vassal who whistled commands could not control them.

  Tomoe rushed toward the whistler, keeping her head down, but he reined his horse back. The other two vassals dismounted and came at her quickly, thinking to catch her between them. Because they would not take off their hats, she doubted they could be effective. But, the moment her barely tested sword crossed with one of the others, her weapon broke in half. If she was surprised, the vassals on each side of her were more so, for they had doubtless expected the blade to be the marvelous Sword of Okio. While her nearer opponent hesitated at the sight of the broken steel, Tomoe plunged the half-weapon into his belly, ripping up. At the same time, she kicked the man’s fingers so that he released his sword even before he was dead. His sword went wildly into the air, and Tomoe caught it by the handle on its descent, in time to face the third of the four vassals.

  The third vassal backed away, grabbing his horse by the reins and leaping onto its back.

  The head vassal continued whistling; the sound of it was crazy. The brigands would not obey, presuming they remembered the code in their confusion. They had not been prepared for such a woman. Doubtless they had not been told who it was they were attacking; by now they would have guessed. With their akuto captain slain, there was no one to stop their retreat. The hysterical whistling ceased in an abrupt curse, and the head vassal spoke with his own voice:

  “It is the wrong sword! She does not have it!”

  Tomoe stood by the second samurai she had killed. It did not look as though the other two vassals intended to attack her. Clearly they had been ordered to take the Sword of Okio from her; now they were not certain whether or not it was necessary to press the situation, especially as they had so quickly lost the support of the brigands. Tomoe made their decision for them: she bent to the corpse and tore off a piece of paper which had hidden the clan crest. She revealed to her own satisfaction that the crest was that of the giant Uchida Ieoshi, and these were his vassals. The giant remained obsessed with the destruction of Okio’s last remaining swords. He had never until now been so bold, or careless, as to send his personal retainers to break the blades of his sword-smithing clan’s murdered rival, whose fame survived the grave. Now, if Tomoe escaped to tell the story, Ieoshi would lose face as a “sword thief,” the most derogatory title any samurai could earn. He would be reviled by samurai at every level of life, and never be certain who laughed behind his back.

  “Ieoshi’s ninja spies must have been slow-witted,” said Tomoe, “or he would have been told that I have retired my Sword of Okio. Their stupidity will cost him pride and you your lives; for now you must try to kill me to protect your master’s reputation, and in that you will fail.”

  The two remaining vassals tore off their hats, and their eyes looked panicked. The one who had been the whistler urged his steed back and forth along the forest’s margin, crying out, “Reward and amnesty for the brigand band! Reward and amnesty for brigands!”

  There was rustling about in the leaves. Tomoe knew the brigands would accept the offer unless she acted fast. She leapt over the corpse and rushed forward, but Ieoshi’s two vassals retreated on their horses.

  The head vassal sweetened his offer: “Wealth and amnesty! Wealth! Amnesty!”

  Tomoe tried to get close enough to cut the legs of the horses, but the vassals evaded her too well. She would tire herself out running after them, so the only thing left was to take a stand in the road. She dug her toes into the ground and stood in the young darkness, raising the sword she had taken from the second vassal slain.

  Bowmen and swordfighting brigands stepped out of the woods by ones and twos, looking sheepish or afraid, but willing to risk any trouble for the promise of amnesty and enough reward to begin life anew. Tomoe growled at them in a way she had learned from watching her husband fight. Her eyes glazed in a crazed manner, seeming to shine in the night. Spittle sprayed as she shouted,

  “All will die!”

  It was a trick that always
worked on lowbred men, raised with a fear of samurai wrath or vengeance. The brigands backed away from her crazy challenge and appearance. But the two vassals were shouting not to be tricked, mentioning the increasing size of the fortune the brigands could expect. With such encouragement, the frightened men were not cowed for long. Tomoe ducked to avoid an arrow. She moved sideways and was missed again. A number of swords were pointing in her direction, but so far no one dared rush forth to fight.

  “Baké!” shouted the head vassal. “Fools! Do you stand there hoping she starves to death? Attack her! Attack her!”

  They attacked together in a stupid clutter that would cause them to injure each other as much as their single foe; but it would be, ultimately, a more effective thing than trying her two or three at a time. She would cut a dozen, and a dozen more would cut their own friends by accident; but it would be hard to avoid a wound for herself if they piled themselves upon her like this.

  Before they reached her, Tomoe Gozen was saved by an unexpected miracle. A blue ring of fire fell straight away from the sky, burning the two remaining horses and the vassals riding them, as well as the corpses, and every brigand without exception. There were hideous cries among the brigands, dying in the flames, while Tomoe stood in the center of this burning ring, untouched.

  One of the two vassals fell from his horse, screaming. The other would not let go of his saddle. He and his steed were charred black, from the rider’s head to the animal’s hoofs; they were terrifyingly stout, monstrous in the light of the still-burning ring of blue flames. Everyone else writhed in pain upon the ground or had already been roasted to death; but this one vassal and his mount suddenly reined about and galloped away, hideous specters across the night. Perhaps that last samurai vassal lived long enough to report the failure to his Lord; more likely, he died along the route. To Tomoe, with more immediate concerns, the vassal no longer mattered. Although she had not been burned, the ring of fire persisted, and she was trapped in the middle.