Lord Oda's Revenge

by Nick Lake

  Hiro frowned. ‘If Kannon saved her, why doesn’t she wake?’

  Again the abbot made a gesture of resigned ignorance. ‘Even bodhisattvas are not all-powerful, for there is a flow in the world that even enlightenment cannot allow us to dam, or divert. Kannon may have saved her body, in gratitude for her sacrifice. But perhaps she could not save her soul from making the journey into death. That is a voyage that cannot be reversed. At least, not since—’

  ‘No!’ said Taro. ‘She’s not dead.’ He felt as if he had been struck in the stomach. He touched Hana’s mouth – something he had never done when she was awake. ‘She’s breathing,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve seen men continue breathing, after they have been dealt blows to the head,’ said the abbot. ‘And yet their souls have left them. They do not speak or eat or drink, and eventually they die.’

  Taro felt sick. He looked at the face of the girl he loved, so fragile and beautiful. ‘She won’t die. I—I won’t allow it.’

  The monk put a gentle hand on Taro’s arm. ‘That may not be for you to decide.’

  Hiro, too, reached out to touch Taro, but Taro pulled away from them. ‘Wait,’ he said. He turned to the abbot. ‘Just now you were about to say something, when I interrupted. About the voyage to death being reversed only once. What did you mean?’

  The abbot sighed, but it was a compassionate sigh – the sigh of one who doesn’t want to give false hope. ‘That was a long time ago,’ he said. ‘When the last Buddha was still alive. It’s said that after he achieved enlightenment, but before he ascended into nothingness, he had a ball, which represented all of dharma and samsara, too, and that with it he could order the world as he chose. Once, a demon attacked one of his best-loved disciples and stole away his soul to Enma’s hell. The Buddha used the ball to get him back.’

  Taro smiled. ‘Then that’s what I’ll do.’

  ‘But the ball is just a story!’ said the abbot. ‘It is never mentioned in the Sanskrit sutras, apart from that single time when the Buddha rescued his disciple. No one has heard of it, or seen it, in a thousand years. There’s a folk tale of the amas, which says that it was thrown off a treasure ship from China, off the coast of Japan. But that’s just a legend! People are easily seduced by the idea that something so powerful might be so close, yet so hidden.’

  Taro looked at Hiro, who raised his eyebrows. Both of them had reason to think the story was true – if only because Lord Oda believed it, and so did the prophetess. It was also true, though, what the abbot said about the seduction of power. Taro had never understood why people wanted it – why they wanted control over the world and the doings of men, and were willing to kill to get it.

  But now he saw. Even if mountains and tides were raised against him, he was going to find the Buddha ball. And when he had it in his hands, he would destroy those who had hurt him. And then he would summon Hana’s soul from death itself, and look her in the eyes again. She might hate him, perhaps. She might remember that it was Hayao, and Hiro, who came after her – that Taro had abandoned her.

  And that was all right. Taro hated himself, after all. What was important was that he bring her back. Let her marry Hayao – at least she would live.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Taro. He touched Hana’s cheek again. ‘What will you do with her?’

  ‘We can’t move her,’ said the abbot. ‘We’ve tried. It’s as if she is part of this place now. My idea was to build a new temple around her, and the scrolls in her hands. Already the story of her sacrifice is spreading. People will want to pay their respects.’

  ‘She looks like she might wake at any moment,’ Hayao said. He had come to stand next to Taro.

  ‘Maybe one day, when she’s needed, she will,’ said the abbot.

  One of the monks gathering the bones of the nameless man who had died in the fire, an old one with white stubble, shuffled past, bent over. As he passed by Hana’s head, he touched his own forehead, in respect.

  ‘See?’ said the abbot. ‘She is already a symbol, and an object of worship. She is like the monastery – it may burn, but it can never be destroyed.’

  ‘What about food?’ said Taro. ‘Water?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ said the abbot.

  ‘You talked about men who had injured their heads. You said they starved. What will you do for Hana?’

  The abbot looked confused. ‘I don’t – I mean—’

  Taro took a step forward, feeling a new momentum pulse through him, a fierce compulsion that he knew would agitate his limbs and his mind until he had found the ball and returned to this spot with it. ‘She is not just a statue, or the centrepiece of a temple. Do you understand? She is my friend, and I will wake her up again – I will return her soul to her body. Until then, I want you to keep her alive.’

  ‘You’ve tried to move her fingers,’ said the abbot. ‘You’ve seen how hard it is.’

  ‘Then you will have to think of something,’ said Taro. ‘Drip water onto her lips, if you must.’

  Hayao put a hand on Taro’s shoulder. ‘I will make sure she lives,’ he said.

  Taro smiled thinly. ‘Thank you.’ As if he needed Hana to be even more grateful to the samurai! But he kept the smile on his lips. ‘Just don’t let her body die before my mother’s cremation. I hope to be back before then.’

  ‘Back?’ said the abbot. ‘But you helped to save the monastery – you and Hiro are our honoured guests. And anyway, the sutras must be chanted. . .’

  ‘There are plenty of monks for that,’ said Taro. ‘I’m sorry. I have to leave. If it wasn’t for me, none of this would have happened in the first place.’

  ‘But you fought bravely!’ said the monk. ‘You couldn’t have kept her from the flames.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Taro. ‘I meant that if I hadn’t been here, the samurai would never have attacked. All I have done is bring destruction to your door – you should be glad to see the back of me.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said the abbot. ‘The samurai have wanted to crush us for decades.’

  ‘But it was only when I arrived that they finally tried – it was me they wanted. Wherever I go, I bring danger. I am cursed.’ He thought of his father, of Shusaku, of Heiko and the prophetess. All dead because of him.

  ‘No one is cursed,’ said the abbot. ‘Everyone is blessed equally by—’

  ‘Not if they have bad karma,’ said Taro. ‘Believe me. It’s better if I go.’

  ‘You cannot believe that army attacked the monastery just because of you!’ exclaimed the abbot.

  ‘I do believe it,’ said Taro. ‘It has happened before. And besides, Kenji Kira told me.’

  ‘Kenji Kira?’

  ‘The man Yukiko killed. He was a hatamoto of Lord Oda’s. He attacked the monastery to kill me.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘There is. . . something I have inherited, which makes me important to the daimyo.’ He didn’t want to reveal too much. He couldn’t tell the abbot either that he was Lord Tokugawa’s son, or that his mother, a simple ama diver, might have received from her ancestors the ball of the last Buddha himself, a world in miniature, and with it the power to command the elements. Especially since the abbot seemed to think it was all a story for children. ‘Hiro – tell him.’

  Hiro shifted on his feet. ‘It’s true that people are always hunting him,’ he said eventually, also being careful with his words.

  ‘But an army!’ said the abbot. ‘You’re saying all those monks died on your account?’

  Taro hung his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The abbot sighed. ‘Do not apologize. I am sure your burdens are heavy, but you cannot be responsible for this. The daimyo have wanted us out of the way for a long time. Even if this had anything to do with you – which I am very far from believing – it was only an excuse to finally act.’ He smiled at Taro. ‘There is no need for you to leave. Please, stay here with us. Perhaps you could even take orders. . .’

  ‘No,’ said Taro. ‘I apologize, but I must
go. It is not only the samurai. There is. . . something I need to find.’ And when I have it, I will bring Hana back to life, he thought. And, further down in the darkness of his mind, there was another thought, one he could not admit even to himself, not completely. Perhaps she was not spared, said that thought. Perhaps she was kept here by our karma, because she is the only woman I will ever love. As long as I live, she cannot leave me, and so she is kept in this realm till I die, or till I can make her live.

  ‘Very well,’ said the abbot. ‘When you are ready, an escort will take you down the mountain, in case the samurai are lying in wait.’

  Taro put his hands on Hiro’s shoulders. ‘You can stay, if you like,’ he said. ‘You’ve done enough for me.’

  ‘Nice try,’ said Hiro. ‘I go where you go.’

  ‘I thought you might say that,’ said Taro. He turned to the abbot. ‘You will keep her alive?’

  The abbot sighed. ‘We will try.’

  ‘Good,’ said Taro. ‘Then when I return, I will see her again.’ He bent down and kissed Hana’s eyelids – the first time his lips had ever touched her skin. He felt as if he had been hollowed out, and filled with sharp things. His mother, who had survived an attack by ninjas, and travelled all the way to this mountain, was dead. Hana, who had abandoned her own father for him, was lost to him too, and it felt even crueller because she seemed to be sleeping, and only a call of her name away. He did not know how he could continue in this world, and he wished fervently that Yukiko had killed him, too.

  But then, it had been her intention to keep him alive, to suffer all of this.

  Focusing on revenge, he forced himself to turn away from Hana’s peaceful body, and face the slope that led through cedar trees to the stone path, and farther, once he struck out north, to the sea and Shirahama.

  From this moment, he would not rest.

  He would get the ball. He would avenge these deaths. And then he would stand once again in this spot and hold the ball over Hana’s body, and make her open her eyes and sit up.

  She would hate him, he was sure. She would consider him a coward and a traitor, for leaving her alone to die. He didn’t care.

  She would live, and then he could die.

  CHAPTER 33

  TARO HAD KNOWN that Hiro would want to go with him, of course, but he couldn’t bear the thought of his friend having to suffer his company, or risk his life again on his behalf. What lay ahead could be more dangerous than anything they had faced before, such was the power and lure of the Buddha ball. That was why the next morning Taro rose earlier than the sun and crept out of the monastery on his own. He left a note, assuming that Hiro would have one of the monks read it out to him.

  Dear Hiro,

  I’m returning to the ninja mountain. Please don’t follow me. I have done enough to place you in danger this past year.

  Your friend,

  Taro

  He knew that Hiro would follow him to the ninja mountain – but he also knew that his friend would be safe there, with the ninjas to protect him.

  And anyway, it didn’t matter if Hiro followed him to the ninja mountain, because he wasn’t going there. He was going straight to Shirahama.

  CHAPTER 34

  LORD ODA NO Nobunaga rode south. He had taken his swiftest horse – a stallion given to him by Father Valignano, the priest and spokesperson of the Portuguese. He wore no armour; just a heavy cloak and a katana strapped under it. Only two men accompanied him. He had sent a pigeon to his home province, the Kanto, and accordingly there would be samurai waiting for Taro in Shirahama, ready to take the ball and then kill him. Or just kill him, if that seemed necessary.

  On Yukiko’s suggestion, he had posted spies on the east flank of Mount Hiei. They had seen the boy leave, alone, and Yukiko was certain Shirahama was where he would go, to try to recover the Buddha ball.

  Lord Oda wished to be present, physically, for the boy’s demise. He had sent Yukiko to the ninja mountain. It was the only other place the boy might go – if he did choose that path, which was unlikely, then Yukiko would meet him there, and seize him. He smiled to himself. Taro had stolen his daughter from him, broken his body, turned him into a dark spirit. He enjoyed his vampire strength, but it was undeniable that he was now a tainted thing, his dignity as a nobleman corrupted. He had lost his only child, his posterity, and he had lost his humanity, too.

  So he rode. Shirahama was east, but there was a ship at anchor only five ri to the south, which with a fair wind could carry him to Shirahama before Taro got there. His country was an island – it always paid to remember that. Lord Oda had no navy, at least not yet. The Portuguese had told him that if and when he became shogun, they would help him create one. For now, he used what was available. The ship he intended to commandeer was a pirate ship. The captain was in Lord Oda’s pay and had lent his ship several times before when Lord Oda needed a vessel whose provenance he could easily deny, whose nefarious deeds he could vehemently denounce, even if he had ordered them. Pirates, ninjas, bandits – they were all useful to a daimyo with an open mind.

  He pressed his heels into the horse’s flank, steam blowing from the creature’s nostrils as it pounded down the wooded track. They had crossed a stream a moment ago, then left behind the rice paddies that stretched over much of this land, and entered a forest. Lord Oda glanced around suspiciously. This was the kind of place, even in these civilized times, where a kami might lurk – some ancient spirit of the woods, housed and worshipped at a quiet shrine, dripping in moss. Lord Oda couldn’t stand that kind of thing. When he was shogun, he would burn the Shinto temples, make everyone follow the way of Buddha instead.

  Everyone apart from himself, naturally.

  ‘What was that?’ said one of the men behind him.

  Lord Oda turned without slowing. He saw nervous expressions on the faces of the two samurai. They were glancing around them restlessly, allowing their horses to drop to a canter. He pulled on his reins.

  ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I appear to have made a mistake. I asked for two men to accompany me. I seem to have been given girls.’

  One of the men coughed; the other flushed red. ‘Come,’ said Lord Oda, a little more gently. In truth he was not comfortable himself. For many months his and Lord Tokugawa’s troops had been stationed below the mountain belonging to those troublesome monks. He had heard reports that parts of the country, in his absence, had become unruly – like unsupervised children. This was good land for a kami; but it was good land for an ambush, too.

  ‘Ride harder,’ he said. ‘We will see the ocean by nightfall.’ Right now the spring sun was bright in the sky, riding high above the trees. Lord Oda didn’t know how it was that he could be a kyuuketsuki and yet able to go unharmed in daylight. He had asked priests and wise men, and none of them could answer him. Certainly, though, it was useful. In fact, very few of his men, except some of the more highly placed generals – and that nuisance girl Yukiko, of course – even knew how he had changed, that night in his castle.

  He spurred his horse again and heard the men behind him do the same, the beat of hooves growing faster, stronger.

  And then, suddenly, he was riding the air instead, as the horse buckled and fell beneath him. For one moment he was thrown forward, stomach trying to drop out of his body, then his feet caught in the stirrups and he was snapped back, viciously. He was aware of nothing but a spinning maelstrom of leaves and ground and limbs – he thought it was how the world must look to a taifun, or a tsunami. He and the horse, tied together, went crashing to the earth. He heard things breaking, and he thought one of those things was himself. Then the world slammed into him all at once, stopping him, and all the breath was knocked out of him.

  With a kind of detached curiosity, he looked around. He was lying under the horse, and the horse’s dead eye was gazing right at him, white and huge. Blood trickled from its mouth. Broken neck, he thought. He couldn’t feel his left leg – as he peered down, he saw that it was trapped under the horse’s mass
ive chest. He felt the ground beside and behind him. It seemed he had fetched up against a rock: that was what had smashed into him, unstoppable.

  Something about the experience, he reflected, was humbling. There was a koan in it, if you wanted to look for it – some lesson about the ephemeral nature of life as measured against the immoveable. But Lord Oda wasn’t one for learning humbling lessons.

  Suddenly the pain hit him. He hissed out air through his teeth. If he’d thought pain would be less as a vampire, he’d been wrong. He could feel the shattered bones in his leg – they were pushing against his skin, shards of broken pottery in a leather bag. There was a thudding ache in his head, too, and he became conscious of blood oozing past his ear. His wrist and several ribs were broken as well, he thought.

  ‘Oh, gods,’ said a voice.

  Lord Oda looked up. One of his men stood over him – he wasn’t sure of the samurai’s name.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ said the samurai.

  ‘Of course I’m hurt, you cretin,’ said Lord Oda. ‘Where’s. . . the other one? Your companion.’

  ‘His horse fell too. He – his head hit a rock.’

  Lord Oda grimaced. ‘Can you move this horse?’

  To his credit, the samurai tried – but the stallion had been a magnificent beast in life, and in death it was a heavy piece of meat and bone, something no man could hope to lift.

  Lord Oda sank back against the rock, involuntary tears of pain running down his cheeks. The world had taken on a washing, maritime sort of rhythm, as if he and the whole forest were caught on a rocking tide. Darkness crept into his vision; crept out again. Everything swam murkily. His pain was absolute, and everything. It was the most important thing in the world; indeed, it seemed to have slipped out of him, past the barrier of his skin, and into the world at large – so that the whole universe was one throbbing ocean of pain, and he was just bobbing on it, carried by it.

  Just then there came a shout from somewhere out there in the forest. Moments later two men appeared – peasants, by the look of them. They took one look at Lord Oda and then rushed to help his samurai lever the horse’s deadweight off him. One of them turned to a boy, who had appeared beside them, and told him to run home, to fetch a sheet that they could use for a stretcher.