Lord Oda's Revenge

by Nick Lake

  His mother looked at him, surprised. ‘I – that is to say – yes, perhaps I would. There is something. . . peaceful here. I find what the monks say interesting.’

  From the west came a bang – like the one Taro had heard on his arrival. It did not sound especially peaceful to him. He raised his eyebrows.

  His mother rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, the Ikko-ikki do their best to distract us with their guns.’

  ‘They fire them often?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Lord Oda and Lord Tokugawa are laying siege to their mountain. It has been going on for months. It is said that the Hongan-ji, the Ikko-ikki’s fortress, is impenetrable, but the daimyos will not give up. They hate the Ikko-ikki, and it appears that the feeling is mutual.’

  ‘But I—I heard that Lord Oda was dead,’ said Taro.

  His mother frowned. ‘Really? I’d have thought the monks would know, if that was the case.’

  Taro pursed his lips. This was odd. Come to think of it, no one they had met on the walk had mentioned Lord Oda’s death. Oshi had never spoken of it. Wasn’t that strange? One would think that the news of a daimyo’s murder would spread quickly over the country. Was the Oda camp keeping it secret, somehow?

  Well, it was something to think about. Right now, there was an odd expression on his mother’s face, and he realized that if she wanted to stay here, he would need to get some answers quickly. Kenji Kira was still looking for him; the daimyo were just awaiting an excuse to attack the monastery. ‘Mother. . .,’ he began. ‘The night Father was killed. Why did you dive over the old wreck?’

  Her eyes sharpened. ‘I needed to hide something.’

  Taro took a breath. ‘The ball.’

  She went pale. ‘You. . . how do you know about that?’

  ‘Someone mentioned it.’

  His mother seemed to be thinking, weighing things up in her mind. ‘I was hiding the ball, yes,’ she said finally. ‘When I heard the talk of kyuuketsuki, I knew that something evil must be coming for it.’

  Taro flinched at that. Was that how his mother would see him? As something evil?

  ‘But you must promise me to leave it where it is,’ continued his mother. ‘Do you understand? That thing is dangerous. There are people who would kill for it.’

  Taro knew that all too well. But he took his mother’s hand and said, ‘I promise.’ What did the ball matter, when he had his mother back?

  Taro’s mother cleared her throat. ‘Hiro – do you think you could find me a drink of water?’ she asked.

  Hiro nodded slowly. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said. With a glance at Taro, he walked away, towards the main temple building.

  Taro’s mother held on to his hand. ‘Ninjas killed your father,’ she said eventually. She was not meeting his eyes, he noticed. ‘One of them saved you. You said he took you to his mountain, trained you. Do you know why your father was killed? Why you were saved?’

  Taro swallowed. He didn’t know how much his mother knew, but one thing was for certain: If her husband was not his father, she must know it. He remembered the strange, faraway look that had come into her eyes when she saw the mon on his bow, back in their peasant hut before everything changed. ‘I. . . Shusaku thought it was me the ninjas wanted to kill.’ He weighed up what to say next. ‘He believed Lord Oda sent them.’

  His mother sighed. ‘Yes, I thought as much.’ There was a tear on her cheek – though she made no move to brush it away. ‘Taro,’ she said softly, ‘there is something I need to say to you, something about your father. . .’

  Taro squeezed her hand. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Lord Tokugawa is my father, isn’t he?’

  His mother closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Who told you?’ she asked.

  ‘It was the mon on my bow,’ Taro said. ‘Shusaku recognized it.’

  She shook her head. ‘Stupid of him to leave that with you. He always was arrogant.’ But the way she said it was fond, gentle.

  ‘Were you. . . did you love him?’

  His mother smiled. ‘In a way,’ she said. ‘I was. . . attracted to him. You will learn that there are different kinds of love. The love I felt for your father – for the man you knew as your father – was different. Deeper. You must believe that neither of us meant to hurt you. He was a kind man, a good man. When he saw how I had been abandoned, with an infant son. . . he married me, and he never cared what people said about it.’

  Taro smiled. ‘He loved us,’ he said. He was thinking of the way his father had carried him up from the beach, the day he was bitten by the shark.

  ‘Yes. And I loved him. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Mother. I know it.’

  ‘Good. Lord Tokugawa, though. . . I was very young, you must understand that. And he was the heir to a lordship – he came to take the waters, like the prince in the first story of the Buddha ball. Actually, he was always fascinated by that story.’ She paused. ‘Shirahama was Oda territory then too, of course, but his father – the Tokugawa daimyo at the time – had a good relationship with Lord Oda’s father. That alliance was forged a long time ago. So Ieyasu – I mean, Lord Tokugawa – would recline in the onsen springs and recite poetry. He would train at swords with his men. I had never encountered such. . . cultivation. It was quite overwhelming.

  ‘I don’t know what I expected – maybe that he would take me to his castle and marry me. He didn’t. He did leave me with some money, and the bow for you.’

  ‘He wanted an heir,’ said Taro. ‘Someone he could hide from Lord Oda, or anyone else who might harm him.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said his mother. ‘And as a strategy it is not altogether foolish. His other two sons are dead, are they not?’

  A frisson passed through Taro, as he thought of the younger half-brother he had buried on the ninja mountain. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘But I don’t think it was just that,’ said his mother.

  Taro frowned. ‘Then what?’

  His mother spoke almost as if thinking out loud. ‘He really was obsessed with that old story,’ she said. ‘The Buddha ball, and the ama woman, and the curse on the line of emperors. You know the whole thing?’

  ‘Yes. A prophetess told me.’

  His mother nodded, as if this confirmed some terrible suspicion.

  ‘But why didn’t you tell me the story?’ said Taro. ‘Why didn’t I hear it in Shirahama?’

  ‘The Buddha ball is dangerous,’ said his mother. ‘The people who want it are dangerous. I sensed that even at the time, though I was too infatuated with Ieya – with Lord Tokugawa to care. I believe he knew I was the guardian of the ball, the ama who had been chosen to keep it safe. He never asked me for it; he’s too subtle for that. But I wonder. . . No, perhaps it is too far-fetched.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wonder, I suppose. . . whether he didn’t just want an heir his enemies wouldn’t know about. He knew the story, Taro. He knew that the prince’s son returned the ball to the ghost of his mother, and he believed she gave it to the amas for safekeeping. He believed the ball was real. He knew, too, that the same ama had cursed the line of emperors, saying that one day the son of an ama would rule the entire land. He knew and he. . .’

  The ground suddenly felt unstable under Taro’s feet. ‘And he got himself a son with an ama,’ he said, completing his mother’s thought.

  ‘Yes. Not just any ama – a beautiful young woman who had been entrusted with the care of the ball.’ She smiled, embarrassed. ‘I really was beautiful, you know,’ she said. ‘Everyone said so.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Taro. ‘You’re beautiful now.’

  His mother squeezed his hand. ‘I may be imagining things,’ she said. ‘All this may be nothing. But I’ve always thought. . . and when the ninjas came it seemed to me to confirm it. . . I’ve always thought that Lord Tokugawa chose me deliberately. That he came to Shirahama with a single goal in mind – that he came to make a son. A son who would inherit the Buddha ball, and the country, too, and rule Japan in the name of Tokugawa.’


  CHAPTER 14

  FOR SEVERAL DAYS Taro passed the time pleasantly – talking to his mother, sparring with Hiro, enjoying the stunning views and serenity of the mountain. His only sadness was that he saw little of Hana. She seemed always to be with the monks, discussing fine points of Buddhist teachings, or sitting with Oshi and Hayao, trying to draw the ever-weaker samurai out, to get him to respond to her voice. Still, that rat of jealousy gnawed at Taro’s guts.

  On the third or fourth day, Taro was sitting with his mother under the ancient plum tree when the abbot appeared and asked if he would take a walk with him. He began to excuse himself from his mother, but she waved him away with a smile. ‘Go,’ she said. ‘You can’t spend every day talking to an old woman like me.’

  ‘But you’ve a very interesting old woman,’ he said.

  ‘Be off with you,’ she said.

  When Taro and the abbot were alone, the abbot turned to him. ‘You’ve told her you’re a vampire? I presume you weren’t when you last saw each other. She would have mentioned it, I’m sure.’

  Taro coughed, embarrassed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how to.’ He’d spoken at length with his mother about his true parentage, and about his journey to the ninja mountain, but he had still found no way to tell her what he had become, or how he had killed Lord Oda.

  ‘Good,’ said the abbot. ‘In fact, I think it’s better if you don’t. Your mother has achieved a certain. . . serenity here. It would only disturb her. But you can talk to me about it, if you like.’

  Taro told the abbot what had happened to him since he left Shirahama – leaving out anything to do with the prophecy, or Lord Oda. He didn’t want anyone knowing he was Lord Tokugawa’s son. He thought these monks were good people, but who could tell what they would do if they knew they had such a valuable pawn in their possession?

  The abbot listened carefully, offering considered comment and sympathy at key points in the story. Actually, Taro was impressed. He had expected more judgement from the man. As they rounded the main temple building and neared the central tree once again, Taro felt more easy, less burdened, than he had in weeks. It was almost like being with Shusaku again – though as usual, the mere thought of Shusaku sent a pain like a sword blade through him.

  ‘What would you like to do?’ asked the abbot suddenly.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About everything. Your life. Will you stay here? You would not starve – we have plenty of game on the mountain, if you would appreciate something with a little more life than the pigs.’

  ‘I know,’ said Taro. ‘I smelled deer. It’s just. . . I have things to do.’ He was thinking of the Buddha ball. If he didn’t find it, then someone like Kenji Kira might, and that would be a disaster. He’d promised his mother he’d leave it where it was. But he could find it. Make sure it was safe.

  ‘I could teach you,’ said the abbot.

  Taro smiled. ‘I don’t think meditation is for me.’

  ‘I was thinking more of the sword,’ said the old man.

  Taro paused. The abbot had disarmed him with such ease, down there in the wood. It would be good to learn from him, to see if he could increase his own speed. He’d thought, arrogantly, that he must be among the best – but if his fight with the abbot was any indication, he was far from being a sword saint.

  ‘You can teach me what you did down there?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know if I can teach you. I can show you the way. You’ll have to teach yourself.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Taro. But the abbot just smiled enigmatically.

  They were walking past a well-tended rockery, enjoying the panoramic view of the lowlands and the sea, when Taro noticed Hayao sitting with the ghost, Tsuyu, deep in conversation. He glanced at the abbot, who was gazing innocently ahead of him, but Taro wasn’t convinced. He thought perhaps the old monk had contrived to bring him here.

  ‘He’s the other reason I would urge you to stay,’ said the abbot. ‘At least for a while.’ He turned to Taro and stopped. ‘You see her now?’ he asked. ‘The ghost?’

  ‘Yes. She’s sitting beside him. Her head is resting on his shoulder.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said the abbot wistfully. ‘I see the samurai, and I see the empty sky. I see no girl. I can’t help but agree with Oshi that there must be a reason you two met. I think perhaps your destiny is tied up with that of this poor man.’

  Taro bit his lip. He could think of one way in which their destinies might be linked: if Hana were to fall in love with Hayao. But he shook himself, told himself he was being crazy. Right now the man was speaking to a woman who wasn’t there.

  Taro realized the abbot had been talking. ‘Sorry?’ he said.

  ‘I was saying that you might be able to help him,’ said the abbot. ‘I would love to help you with your sword fighting, but I believe you might be able to assist us in our work too.’

  Taro felt annoyed. ‘Why do you want to help Hayao so much?’ he asked. ‘He’s a hatamoto for Lord Oda. Ha – I mean, I heard that Lord Oda was no friend to the monastery.’

  The abbot nodded slowly, then smiled. ‘You are right. First, I must tell you that we would help anyone in such dire need. The man is dying. Would you not feel a duty to prevent that, if you could?’

  Taro looked down, ashamed. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Good. But as I respect you, I won’t lie to you. It does strike me that this could be a good thing, to provide such much-needed assistance to a prominent member of Lord Oda’s retinue. If we save his life. . . Well. Perhaps Lord Oda might be persuaded to look more kindly on us.’

  Taro didn’t think Lord Oda would look kindly on anything, since he was dead. But he kept quiet. For some reason the news was not widely known, and he didn’t want to get into any long and potentially awkward discussions.

  ‘I understand,’ was all he said. ‘What I don’t understand is what you think I can do about it. I don’t know any spells, or sutras, or what have you. I can barely read.’

  The abbot sat down on the grass and motioned for Taro to do the same. ‘You don’t need to,’ he said. ‘Just tell me again what you see.’

  Taro peered at the samurai and the ghost. ‘I told you. She’s sitting next to him. He has his arm round her, and she is leaning her head on his shoulder. They are talking – whispering, really. I can’t tell what she is saying.’

  ‘She is speaking in the language of the dead,’ said the abbot. ‘If he can understand her, then he must be close to death himself.’

  ‘I don’t know if he can understand her. He just tells her he loves her.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said the abbot. ‘The problem for me is that she shouldn’t be able to get so close. Between Oshi and I, we have equipped the man with charms and scrolls that should keep even the strongest ghosts at bay. I have sutras here that were old when Buddhism came to Japan, and yet they seem to be useless against the gaki that has taken hold of him. I fear that if something isn’t done quickly, he will soon die.’

  Taro sighed. For once Hana was not with Hayao, speaking to him of the old days, of how he trained her to fight when her father feared for her life, but he still resented the pale-faced samurai with the prominent bones. Even so, could he really let the man die, if there was something he could do to help?

  ‘What do you think I can do?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Usually the bond of a love connection can be broken, with the right tools. In this case, I believe that her karmic bond with Hayao must be strengthened by something – something that enables her to get past any defences I can erect.’

  ‘But what could that thing be?’ said Taro.

  ‘Again, I don’t know,’ said the abbot. ‘You see her, and I don’t. Observe her closely – stay close to him and to her. You are the only one who can see her – I must believe there is a reason for that. Watch for something, anything, that might help us. And then tell me what you see.’

  Taro sighed. ‘Yes, very well,’ he said. ‘And then you’ll teach m
e your skill with the sword? What is it – a special kata? A unique way of training?’

  The abbot smiled. ‘It is simpler, and infinitely more complicated than that,’ he said cryptically. He took a small scroll from his cloak and threw it to Taro. Taro caught it and frowned at it.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘The secret of the sword is in there,’ said the abbot. ‘It’s all right,’ he added, noting Taro’s puzzled expression. ‘It’s written in hiragana.’ Taro cursed Hana – she must have told the abbot about teaching him to read. Suddenly he felt his cheeks heat up with irritation.

  ‘What about sparring?’ he said. ‘Training. Practice. You’re telling me the secret of your speed is in this stupid scroll?’

  Taro didn’t even see anything – one moment the abbot was standing there in front of him with his arms at his sides, and the next there was a dull explosion of pain in Taro’s left temple, and then the abbot was holding out a wooden bokken sword – one he’d evidently just hit Taro with.

  ‘Did you see that coming?’ said the abbot.

  ‘No,’ said Taro, through gritted teeth.

  ‘Not such a stupid scroll then, is it?’ said the abbot. He turned on his heel and began to walk away. ‘Help that samurai,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘It will be good for your karma if you can save his life. And read the scroll. Reading is good for you too.’

  CHAPTER 15

  TARO SAT CROSS-LEGGED on the grass of the plateau, watching Hayao and the ghost-woman as the sun set behind the Ikko-ikki fortress to the west. He had noticed that in the last day or so, the gunfire appeared to have stopped.

  He found his attention drifting from the tragic couple to the splashes of colour on the horizon, the burning clouds over the sea. He’d thought that once he found his mother again he would achieve some kind of peace, but to his surprise he was as restless as he had ever been. In Shirahama he had thought that he wanted adventure; the noble, violent life of the samurai. Since then he had learned better than anyone that there was little nobility in it – and a lot of violence. Yet even though he had left the village, and fought and travelled and seen things few people would, he still found himself looking to the horizon. Already he was thinking of leaving here, to look for the Buddha ball.