by M. H. Bonham
“What of the Shinobi?” Keiko asked. “They have an entire army that they could bring to our aid.”
“The Shinobi are fickle,” Isamu said in the voice of the Guardian. “They go to the highest bidder, and we have reason to believe that Nanashi has hired them.”
Keiko frowned. The Neko were not a rich clan, even though they guarded the Kimon, the demon-gate, carefully. She knew that Nanashi had much money and more resources to bring to bear than the Neko ever could. “Surely there is an alliance. Surely they would come to our aid.”
“These are troubled times,” Isamu said. “Nanashi has money.”
Keiko swallowed hard and lowered her head. “Then what are we to do? If Nanashi destroys our clan...”
“There are other kami who may aid us.”
“Others?”
“You know of the rival clan of Takeshi?”
Keiko nodded. “They are people with honor.”
“That is because Takeshi is a daimyo with honor,” Isamu said. “But Takeshi can only bring his samurai to our aid. His consort, Ikumi, will be able to help us.”
“I know Ikumi. She will aid us if she can. But I cannot leave here without drawing attention. Naotaka is sworn to serve Nanashi. If I leave, it will garner attention. Even a fool like Nanashi could figure out that I sensed his demon summoning.”
“What about your daughter?” Isamu asked.
“Kasumi?”
He nodded. “She is young, even though she is of age. It is unlikely that Nanashi would see her as a threat.”
Keiko frowned. “She is quite capable, but I worry what would happen if Nanashi suspected anything. He is an evil man, and he will hunt her down if he suspects her mission. Can’t you send a messenger from Neko-shima?”
“It would take far longer than the time we have if what you say is true. What’s more, if we send a delegation from Neko-shima, it will surely be seen. Nanashi may move quickly to attack us.”
Keiko sighed. “Very well, then. She would have to travel with one of her half brothers. It would make the disguise complete.”
Isamu nodded. “Go, then. And may Maneki Neko be with you.” The priest closed his eyes and sagged visibly. “Go, my sister, and do as the Guardian asks. Your daughter may have saved our lives.”
Chapter Six
Akira had just made it through the front gate that protected his family’s estate when he saw Rokuro walking toward him. The old sensei carried two bokken and frowned as he saw Akira enter. “Where have you been?” He wrinkled his nose as he saw that Akira’s gi stained with sweat and dirt. “You’re a mess. Don’t you have any respect for your clothing?”
Akira bowed. “Rokuro sensei. I lost track of time. I’m sorry.”
Rokuro harrumphed and eyed Akira’s bokken in his hand. “Have you been out practicing?”
“Yes, Sensei.”
For a fleeting moment, Rokuro looked pleased, but soon the harsh expression came back. “Okay, let’s see what you practiced.”
Akira had hoped to spend time in the bath before training again, but it appeared Rokuro would not allow him that simple pleasure. Instead, Akira bowed and put himself in ready position. He stepped forward, cutting the air with the bokken in the eight cuts the Tengu had taught him. Then he began the sword kata Rokuro had taught him earlier that week. As he finished, Rokuro raised his hand.
“Yes, Sensei?”
“Let’s try the master/apprentice swordwork,” said Rokuro.
Akira swallowed hard. Rokuro must have been pleased by what he saw, Akira thought. He wouldn’t teach Akira something new until he was certain Akira had learned the basics. Slowly Rokuro showed Akira the movements he needed to make to do a two-man kata. Naturally Rokuro taught him the apprentice first. He did each move slowly so Akira could mimic it before moving on. After an hour of this training, Akira found himself sore and sweaty again. He wondered how long Rokuro would work him.
“No, not like that!” Rokuro said, bringing Akira out of his reverie. “Pay attention! Think! Don’t let your mind wander!”
Akira chewed on the inside of his cheek and tried to mimic Rokuro’s movements, but the elixir was wearing off, and his muscles were growing fatigued. He closed his eyes and tried to follow the movements within his mind’s eye. Suddenly he was knocked off his feet and fell over into the mud.
“Ow!” Akira protested.
Rokuro frowned. “Keep your eyes open. You can’t fight a battle with your eyes closed.”
Akira felt like arguing but instead stood up and brushed the mud off his gi the best he could. He wondered how long they had been training since he had returned from seeing the Tengu. His stomach growled, and he suspected that dinner would soon be ready.
“Again!” Rokuro said.
Akira took a deep breath and walked through the kata slowly. Rokuro watched him as Akira forced himself to put his sword in the exact position Rokuro showed him. Rokuro showed no emotion as he finished each cut and block then stepped back into ready stance and dropped back to his knees, slipping the bokken in his belt.
Rokuro snorted. “Do it again.”
Akira bit his lip. Couldn’t his sensei see that this was the best he could do? He bowed then restarted the sequence. The muscles in his arms tightened up, and his legs screamed in pain. Still he concentrated as he forced the bokken to move where he wanted it to. His movements were clumsy and wooden; he could not believe that he did any better or learned any more by forcing himself to repeat the same exercise over and over again. But just as he finished, he caught a small glint in Rokuro’s eyes. Something within that glint told him that his master might be pleased. But as quickly as the glint appeared, so it vanished.
“Enough!” said Rokuro.
Akira went back into natural stance and bowed low. He waited quietly, his hands in front of his body and his fingers curled into fists.
Rokuro walked around him slowly. “I’m seeing some improvement. I see you’ve been practicing as I have asked.”
“Yes, Sensei.” Akira could hardly keep from grinning. The Tengu had helped him with his training. He wondered how much the Tengu would be able to continue helping him.
Rokuro made the full circle. “That’s good. Keep training. You will need to practice more. You’ve made some improvement, but you can do better.”
“Yes, Sensei.”
“Now go. Your dinner is undoubtedly ready, and Ikumi is waiting to spoil you.”
Akira bowed again and Rokuro gave a shallow bow in response. Akira turned and ran quickly toward home, where he knew his mother, Ikumi, would be waiting for dinner. He took off his sandals and headed inside.
Chapter Seven
Kasumi sat on her pallet and stared through the window into the moonlit sky. It was late when she finished her bath. It had taken several good lathers to scrub the demon scent from her skin and hair. Even though the demon stench had dissipated and her skin was perfumed with the scent of jasmine and lavender, she could not completely remove the memory of it. A part of her could still remember the stink of demon long after she had rid herself of it.
Perhaps this was the curse of being Neko, she wondered. The cats were enemies of the demons. It was an old war started at the beginning of time where the Neko protected the world from the demons who threatened to come through the demon gate.
She had tried several times to sleep, but each time she did, she awoke with a start. She would see the oni as it glared upon Nanashi. Each time in the dream, it would turn its baleful gaze onto her. Its slavering mouth drooled in anticipation of Neko meat.
She forced herself awake each time. This last time, she had woken in a cold sweat and gripped her knees tightly to her chest. Was this dream a warning from the gods? Did the demon know she had seen it. Could it now be pursuing her? Was she truly in danger?
Kasumi couldn’t answer the questions. Oni were very tricky at best. She couldn’t be sure if the oni had seen her or whether her dream were just the work of her overactive imagination. Feeling frustrated and t
ired, she rose and dressed, tying the wakizashi and the katana to her belt as she finished. Keiko would speak to the Guardian, she reminded herself. Keiko was wise; she would find out what course of action the Neko could take. Kasumi would be discharged from her duty, and wiser and greater Neko than she would take on the task of gathering allies.
And yet she wondered what the Neko could do.
Kasumi stepped lightly across the floorboards and opened her door carefully. As she did, she felt a presence close by. It was like a shadow flickering in the oil lamp’s light as she turned and looked but saw nothing as she scrutinized the window and shades. She snuffed the air and caught a scent that smelled like, but not entirely like, demon.
She froze. Had it followed her here? Her hand strayed to the katana’s hilt, and she waited, taking slow, measured breaths. Her senses were on high alert as she tried to listen for movement or smell anything in the air. And yet even as she did get a whiff of something, the scent soon vanished. She frowned. Had she imagined it?
You know you smelled of demon when you came back, she reminded herself. A part of her agreed with the assessment, but another part remained on edge. The fact that Nanashi had summoned even one demon here on Kyotori-jima, Imperial Island, was disconcerting. The demon could be seeking out its old enemy, the Neko, that were on the island, or the demon could be seeking out her. Either way, she was in danger. But then, Nanashi might be using the demon to spy on his samurai or do some other errands. That, too, left her uneasy.
“It must be my imagination,” she whispered to herself. That had to be it. She was edgy after seeing the oni. It would be natural for anyone who had seen a demon to be wary and frightened. Still, she remained unconvinced.
Kasumi stepped slowly toward the window and drew her sword, holding it in a guard position parallel to the ground, slightly behind her body. It would be least noticed there, she thought. She moved one hand to the shades and slid them across.
The moon glowed softly over the horizon as she looked out across the city streets. Shadows moved in the pale light as she shifted her gaze from one street to the next. She drew in a slow breath, letting her cat senses study the smells carefully. There it was again: a whiff of demon.
Kasumi drew back instinctively but saw nothing beyond the shadows in the alleyways. She tried to convince herself that she had carried the demon stench back from Nanashi’s, but she knew better. The smell had already dissipated, but Kasumi knew the truth. There was a demon still out there, somewhere.
There was a chance that the demon knew she had been there. If it did, why did it let her go free? She couldn’t fathom the demon’s reasoning. She closed the shades again and said a quick prayer to Maneki Neko, hoping that the cat of good fortune would keep away the demon.
Chapter Eight
Akira had just entered the hallway when Ikumi, his mother, peered around the corner. She was a lovely woman with dark eyes and long black hair.
She smiled as she saw him. “Get cleaned up, Akira. I won’t have you smelling like a monkey at dinner.”
Akira laughed and made chimp noises at her. He grinned as she covered her mouth to hide her laughter. He ran to his room and grabbed clean clothes before nearly tripping over the servant girl who was carrying a hot kettle of water to the bathhouse.
“I’m sorry, Miko,” he said as the girl nearly sloshed the kettle’s contents.
She bowed but looked somewhat annoyed as he walked into the bathhouse where a tub filled with water stood. Miko walked in, bowed to him, poured the water into the tub, and left. Akira stuck his hand in the water and found it warm enough to bathe in.
He stripped naked and slid into the tub. As he scrubbed himself with rice bran, Akira replayed the events from the day. How lucky he was to have found the Tengu. It was obviously a benevolent spirit, perhaps sent by the gods to help him out. He marveled at the Tengu’s teaching style and at its patience in dealing with his obvious mistakes. Perhaps he was destined for greater things, Akira reflected.
And why not? Akira thought as he rubbed the rice bran through his sweaty hair. I am a samurai, the son of a major daimyo. Certainly the gods would have taken notice of him already.
He winced as he touched the bruises on his arm. Was this how the great warriors such as Yoshitsune were helped by the gods? He would have to get tougher if he wanted to be a great warrior. Obviously the Tengu, the wind kami, thought he was something special. He frowned at the bruises. Did great warriors have bruises from bokken strikes? He didn’t know.
Rinsing himself off, he got out of the tub and picked up the cloth used for a towel. He dried himself as well as he could and slid into the clean clothes Miko had left for him. He was hungry and he looked forward to seeing Ikumi. He wished he could tell her about the Tengu, but he knew the Tengu would not help him unless he kept the training secret.
He finished getting dressed and went back to the dining room, sliding open a shoji screen. The delectable scent of cooked rice and fish filled his nostrils. Ikumi already sat at the table that Miko and the other servants had brought. She smiled at him as Miko poured a cup of tea for her.
Akira bowed. Ikumi was more than just his mother; she was the lady daimyo and held power as surely as his father, Takeshi, did. She answered his bow with a nod and glanced where she wanted him to sit. Akira removed his sandals before entering the room and took his place beside her.
He thanked Miko quietly as she poured him tea and set some rice and fish in front of him. He picked up his chopsticks and began eating.
“How was your day, Akira-chan?” Ikumi asked.
Akira swallowed, wondering how to explain his day without mentioning the Tengu. He drank some tea. “Rokuro is very difficult but I’ve managed.”
“What are you working on?”
“Swordwork.”
Ikumi nodded. “Rokuro is a tough teacher, but you should respect him. He has taught Takeshi and me how to fight.”
Akira looked up from his rice. “You learned under Rokuro?” He hadn’t considered that Ikumi would have learned her fighting skills from the old sensei.
“Not exactly,” Ikumi said with a slight smile. “But he did help me refine certain techniques. They say he is so good that even the kami have come to him for help.” She picked up a sweet rice cake and nibbled on it.
Akira shifted. He didn’t like how this conversation was going, and he wondered if Ikumi guessed that he was being taught by a Tengu. That’s ridiculous, he thought. There is no way she would know that I was training with the Tengu. “I didn’t know Rokuro was so powerful.”
“There are many things you don’t know, my son,” she said. “You need to get better as a warrior, especially if you plan on taking your father’s place as a daimyo some time. There are plenty of samurai lords who would be happy to take Tsuitori-jima from a young samurai.”
“But the land comes from the emperor, doesn’t it?”
Ikumi smiled. “Yes and no. The emperor granted us these lands; as daimyo, your father technically owns these lands. They can be taken away by force by another samurai lord or by the emperor himself. We must protect our lands in order to keep them.”
“But what is the use?” Akira said. “If the emperor decides to take our land away, there is nothing we can do.”
“True,” Ikumi said, “for if we fail to give up our land, we will become ronin, and all those samurai will not respect us.”
Akira shook his head. “But if we give up our land, no samurai will respect us. This doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Akira stared at Ikumi. He hadn’t expected her to agree with him, yet she smiled at him enigmatically. He wasn’t sure if she was joking with him or was serious. “I don’t understand.”
She laughed. “Someday you will, Akira-chan.”
Chapter Nine
It was still dark, but the sky was growing lighter in the east by the time Keiko entered their home. The servants had not yet awoken for their daily chores, and Keiko suspected Kasu
mi still slept. Their home here on Kyotori-jima, Imperial Island, was not as large as their home on Naotaka-shima, but it was large enough and well appointed. However, a cage was still a cage, and those of the Neko line found living under Nanashi’s rule very difficult indeed.
When the truce had been arranged, Keiko had agreed to become a consort to one of Nanashi’s samurai. The samurai, Naotaka, was an honorable man, but Keiko was no more than a second wife. She had not even given birth to a son, which many samurai found desirable. She didn’t understand the differentiation. In fact, the Neko considered girls more desirable.
After all, we are the ones who hunt, Keiko thought. We are the ones who control our clan. The Guardian is female, after all.
She entered the stairwell where stairs led up to the sleeping quarters. She had not stepped on the first step when she saw Kasumi peer down the stairway. Keiko motioned to the young samurai and led her into her private quarters, which looked out over the courtyard garden.
“Walk with me, Kasumi-chan,” Keiko whispered.
Kasumi bowed and followed her mother into the garden.
The oil lamps had already burned out, but there was enough light from the pale sky. Of course Keiko and Kasumi needed little light to see by. The darkened indigo heavens were touched with rosy shafts of light. The crickets were still chirping loudly, and the nightingale was still singing its mournful song. A small path led through bonsai trees and lovely flowers.
Keiko took a few steps, but Kasumi grasped her sleeve and tugged on it urgently. “Did you speak to the Guardian? Did she believe me? What happened?”
“Shh!” Keiko said. “You must learn patience, my daughter.”
Kasumi lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Mother. It’s just I want to know.”
“I understand,” Keiko said. “But there are spies everywhere, even here within our apartments.”
Kasumi looked around, her brow furrowed in confusion. “I see no one,” she whispered.