by M. H. Bonham
He listened carefully. The quiet conversation didn’t sound like demons. He could hear Ikumi’s gentle laughter to a male voice and heard a calm response from a woman. A male and female demon? Was that even possible?
Even as Akira thought this, he brushed his fears aside. Ikumi knew many things, and he was certain she would recognize a demon if she saw one. He mustered his courage and gripped the door panel to open it.
Sliding the door back, he waited for Ikumi to rise and bow. To his relief, there were no demons there. He saw two young samurai, a man and a woman, who looked his age or a little older. They both stood and bowed as well. Akira bowed first to Ikumi then to the strangers.
“Akira, this is Naotaka Jiro and Naotaka Kasumi Neko,” Ikumi said. “They are samurai from Nanashi daimyo.”
“Pleased to meet you, Takeshi Akira-sama,” Kasumi said.
Akira held his breath as his gaze fell on her. As a son of a daimyo, Akira seldom had time to meet many of his own age, other than peasants. He was too busy in school and training to pay much attention to girls his age, so Kasumi’s beauty startled him. She had dark hair, combed exquisitely back in a style he had never seen on other samurai women. Her large, almond-shaped eyes gazed at him from her smooth and flawless face. If she wore makeup, it did not show. He had seen some girls in town wear makeup, looking like kabuki dolls; he found that look unattractive. Kasumi’s kimono, of the palest blue silk, rippled like water as she rose.
“Pleased to meet you, Kasumi-san,” Akira said quickly, hoping that his stunned silence went unnoticed. He turned to Jiro, who was a bit older than either of them but whose hair was in the style of a younger samurai. Jiro’s dark eyes studied Akira intently as he bowed. Like Akira, he wore a traditional kamishimo of deep green, but unlike Akira’s clothing, it bore the crest of Nanashi: a horned beast that Akira took to be a demon. “And pleased to meet you, Jiro-san.”
Jiro bowed only a little, much to Akira’s chagrin. Was Jiro of a more high-ranking family than Akira? It didn’t seem likely. Before Akira could call attention to the affront, Ikumi spoke.
“Akira-san, Jiro and Kasumi’s father is one of Nanashi’s samurai. We are to show hospitality to them.”
Akira nodded. Visiting samurai were common, but Akira was unused to samurai his age. He sat cross-legged before the table as Ikumi poured him some tea. A serving girl brought rice cakes and red bean cakes to each of them. Akira took a sip of the hot green tea as Kasumi beamed at them.
“It’s so wonderful to be here, Ikumi-sama,” she said. “You won’t believe how dreary it’s been in Kyotori, what with the shogun’s preparations for battle.”
“Lord Nanashi is sending his best samurai to fight,” Jiro said. “They’re the best in all the islands.”
“Tsuitori samurai are great warriors,” Akira said quickly, thinking of Rokuro, Takeshi and a number of samurai he had seen training near his home.
Jiro’s cold gaze met his. “Really? I was unaware that the samurai of Tsuitori had any skills. Are there songs or stories about great Tsuitori warriors in this little province?”
Akira’s mouth went dry as he bit into the rice cake. It tasted like sawdust. He took a drink of tea, wishing it were sake instead. He looked at Ikumi, whose face was unreadable, then at Kasumi, who stared in shock at her brother.
“Please forgive my brother,” Kasumi said. “He—”
“Forgive what?” Jiro interrupted her. “I wanted to know if Akira had heard of songs about great warriors in this land. After all, no one else has heard of them.”
“Jiro!” Kasumi gasped.
Akira raised his hand. “We have many songs about Tsuitori samurai. I’m not surprised that an insignificant province such as Naotaka wouldn’t have heard them—perhaps you should ask the shogun’s musicians to tell you some of the stories when you’re on Kyotori-jima.”
Ikumi raised her hand to her lips to hide the small smile as she bent to pour more tea. “More tea, Jiro-san? Yours must be becoming cold.”
Jiro said nothing, studying Akira’s expression. Kasumi frowned. “Jiro-san, would you like some tea? Ikumi-sama has offered you some.”
Jiro grunted, which Ikumi took as a yes, and she began to pour the tea even though he did not hand the cup to her.
#
The tea continued with Ikumi and Kasumi talking to each other and ignoring Jiro. Jiro had faded to a sullen silence, preferring to watch Akira with narrowed eyes. Akira pretended not to notice the other samurai’s anger. Instead, he focused on Kasumi and Ikumi’s conversation. Despite himself, Akira found his gaze lingering on the beautiful young samurai woman. It surprised him that she wore a sash with a katana and wakizashi as he and Jiro did. Women samurai tended to carry the short blade, the wakizashi, and usually a fan used for fighting, but very seldom had he seen a samurai woman with a katana. He had seen some samurai women use naginata, but those were not carried into a home.
Looking from Kasumi’s laughing expression to Jiro’s dour one, Akira couldn’t quite see a familial resemblance. His mind went back to her family name, Naotaka. He had heard that some old samurai families still practiced polygamy, and Naotaka was an old family. Jiro’s name suggested that he was a second son. If that were so, then Jiro was unlikely to inherit much land, if any at all. Given that their daimyo was Nanashi, the right and title to lands came down from him, not Naotaka. Samurai were seldom used as couriers except for the most important information, but maybe Jiro and Kasumi weren’t very high ranking after all.
Akira frowned, trying to make sense of this. As he did, he caught Kasumi’s concerned gaze. He looked into her eyes, and instead of lowering her eyes demurely as he had seen so many other women do, Kasumi continued to meet his gaze. “Are you all right, Akira-san?” she asked.
Akira was speechless. He had never met a woman so forthright, other than Ikumi. Was this how other samurai women behaved?
“I’m certain he is simply pleased to have company,” Ikumi said. “We don’t get many visitors on Tsuitori.” She paused. “More tea?”
“Thank you, Ikumi-sama,” she said. Ikumi knelt down beside Kasumi and began to pour.
At that moment, a low rumble like thunder shook the room and the table, causing the teacups to shudder and slosh. Akira, Jiro, and Kasumi struggled to their feet as they heard screaming outside.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The teacups rolled and shook off the table, spilling their contents and shattering on the smooth cherry wood floor. Akira was the first to the door, his hand on his katana. The shaking was so severe, he wondered if the goddess who slept in the mountain had awakened. But he had not felt the characteristic rumbles that came before the smoke and flames.
As Akira threw back the wooden door, he drew his katana with a swift move. He moved aside so the others could stand beside him if need be, but what he saw made his sword grow heavy in his hand. People ran through the courtyard, their arms held over their heads as though shielding them from some frightful bird. The clear sky filled with ominous, dark clouds, and a long creature flitted among them, breathing fire.
Akira had never seen a dragon before but instinctively knew this was one. At this distance, he could tell it was huge, but he couldn’t discern much else. It flew rapidly without wings—for dragons were magical creatures—swimming through the air in the same way a fish would swim through water. The storm clouds had rolled in from the sea, making the light muted on the dragon’s bluish scales. It dived through the clouds and turned around.
Just as Akira was about to clap his hands in delight, the dragon’s demeanor changed abruptly. Its head snapped around, and it turned on the little town of Yutsui, outside of the estate. Akira stared in shock as the saw the flames leap from the dragon’s maw and heard screaming coming from the town.
“Akira!” Rokuro’s voice snapped him out his shock. Akira saw the old samurai running toward him with two bows and quivers in his hands. He thrust one bow and quiver at Akira. “Come on, boy. I’ve alerted the other samurai. We have
to fight this creature.”
“Jiro and I have bows too,” Kasumi’s voice interrupted them. Both Akira and Rokuro turned to see a determined face on the woman samurai. “I’m good with a bow,” she said as Rokuro met her gaze. “Where is Takeshi-sama?”
“My father is not due back from the shogun’s for another fortnight,” Akira said. “Rokuro is in charge of the guard until then.”
Rokuro nodded to Kasumi and Jiro. “Get your bows. There may not be much left of Yutsui if we don’t hurry.”
Ikumi spoke up. “What about armor?”
Rokuro shook his head. “No time. Do you have a bow?”
Ikumi nodded. “I do.”
“Can I leave you with the estate?”
Akira watched the interaction between Rokuro and Ikumi curiously. All his life he had never seen his mother handle a weapon, but her eyes steeled, like those of a hawk. Her voice was surprisingly fierce. “I can defend the estate alone if I have to.”
Rokuro nodded once and turned to Akira and the others. “Let’s go.”
#
Akira had never fought alongside other samurai, except in training. He certainly had never fought beside anyone his age, let alone a woman. Kasumi stood beside him, her kimono tucked into trousers like a tunic. She carried a finely lacquered recurve bow and a quiver of arrows.
The samurai who lived on Takeshi’s estate had joined Akira, Rokuro, Jiro, and Kasumi. Takeda, Isamu, and Kazuo were there, as well as twenty ashigaru. Most did not have time to put on full armor, but a few managed to strap on breastplates.
Akira glanced behind as they left the estate on foot. The large ironbound gate swung shut after he and the other samurai passed through. While horses would’ve made the travel easier, Rokuro forbade them, saying that a dragon would scare the animals into a terrified frenzy.
As they ran through the pine forest toward the town, acrid smoke filled their nostrils. Akira could hardly see ahead through the haze that grew thicker as they made their way along the road. He could hear the screams of people, the bellow of the dragon, and the sound of combat ahead.
Tension filled each samurai’s face as Akira glanced around. Sweat streamed down his brow, and he wondered what hope they had of killing the beast. They broke into the clearing and, through the choking smoke, saw the dragon as it tore into two of the peasants’ oxen.
The peasants had fled. All around, the straw-thatched huts were on fire. The flames roared as they spread from house to house in a small firestorm. Akira saw the bluish gray dragon in the smoky light as it held a squealing ox in a talon. It lowered its serpentine head and bit hard into the unfortunate ox’s back. With a final squeal, the ox went limp and the dragon feasted, tearing bloody chunks of flesh with its razor-sharp teeth.
“Get ready!” shouted Rokuro above the flames’ roar. He nocked an arrow on his bow. Akira and the other samurai and ashigaru did likewise. “Fire!”
The arrows flew from their powerful bows and hit the dragon. But much to Akira’s dismay, the arrows bounced off the dragon’s scaly hide. The dragon’s head whipped around, and it saw the samurai and soldiers. The oxen forgotten, it turned and charged at the men.
“Go! Get out of here!” Rokuro shouted as the dragon bore down upon them. The ashigaru scattered, firing fruitlessly at the dragon as they did so. Akira stood his ground beside Rokuro, even as the other samurai shot at the beast before retreating. Rokuro gave Akira a hard shove as he brought his bow up to shoot. “Go! You must live!”
Akira ignored the old samurai and continued to shoot without effect. As the dragon charged, he tossed aside his bow and drew his katana. Unlike the bokken he normally practiced with, the katana was a very sharp blade; Akira doubted the dragon’s scales would be so tough as to deflect it.
The dragon screamed as it bore down on the two men. At that moment, Rokuro shot and the arrow flew into the dragon’s mouth, piercing the soft tissue and embedding itself in the jaw.
The dragon halted and bellowed, pawing at the shaft and ripping it out of its jaw. Dark blood flowed from the wound, and Rokuro tossed the bow aside and drew his katana. Both young and old samurai stood ready for the attack. But instead of attacking, the dragon leaped into the air and vanished in the smoke.
Akira lowered his own sword slowly. He turned to Rokuro in wonder. “It’s gone.”
Rokuro shook his head. “It’ll be back. And we may not get such a lucky shot in.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The samurai spent most of the day helping the peasants extinguish the fires in Yutsui. Not all the town had burned, and although many were homeless, there was enough room to bring those without roofs into the Takeshi estate. Akira and Rokuro made certain the guards provided the peasants with enough supplies to make shelters for themselves and enough rice to eat.
Akira returned home, sweaty and dirty. His clothes stank of smoke and were muddy from his helping the peasants move to their new, temporary homes. At one point, he had helped a peasant family pitch one of the tents when it was obvious they had no idea how to do it. Jiro and Kasumi had been with him the entire time, and he had endured Jiro’s constant jibes and insults when he had pitched the peasants’ tent and carried their things in.
“Look at the great future daimyo!” Jiro laughed, pointing at Akira. “Wallowing in the mud with the pigs and peasants.”
“That’s not funny,” Kasumi said, and much to Akira’s surprise, she took some buckets from the hands of an old peasant woman, despite her protests, and carried them inside the tent.
#
After Akira washed and changed into clean clothes, he walked into the dining room, where they had tea earlier that day. The shattered cups were gone, replaced by a new teapot and cups with a pale green glaze. Akira looked around. Seated at the low-slung table were Kasumi and Jiro, but Ikumi, Rokuro, and all the other samurai were not present. He bowed to them in greeting. Kasumi and Jiro stood and bowed, though Jiro’s bow was not much more than a head nod.
“Where’s Ikumi?” he asked as he seated himself at the end of the table.
Kasumi nodded. “Ikumi-sama said that she had some things she had to do. She made certain that the servants brought us dinner.”
The servant woman bowed to Akira, poured miso soup into a bowl, and handed him a tray of rice cakes. She then offered slices of fish with pieces of pickled ginger to him. Akira thanked her then realized the woman serving him was one of the peasants whose home had burned. He had helped pitch a tent for her. At one time, she might have been pretty, but the years of hard labor and age had crept up on her. Akira guessed she was maybe his mother’s age.
“Thank you for helping us, Takeshi-sama,” she said.
Akira blinked. He had seldom heard anyone use his family house as his name, nor had he ever been addressed as “Lord.” He was speechless but nodded when she poured more tea then slipped out of the room.
“She recognizes you,” Kasumi said, and she smiled as Akira looked up.
“Peasants,” Jiro scoffed. “You ruined a good set of clothing with them.”
Akira shrugged. “It seems little when others suffer.” He drank his soup and began eating his rice with his chopsticks, taking bits of fish and ginger to mix with it.
“When will Takeshi return?” Kasumi asked, changing the subject. “Surely he would be notified of the dragon?”
“Rokuro sent a messenger,” Akira said. “He’s with Shogun Kyogi, which means it will take the better part of a fortnight for him to return.”
“What can he do?” Jiro said.
“Jiro!” Kasumi turned to her brother.
“What?”
“That’s not polite!” Kasumi frowned and Akira watched the interaction between brother and sister curiously. “You apologize to Akira-san.”
“Why should I?” Jiro said. “Akira shook in his sandals behind Rokuro, letting an old man take on the dragon when he should’ve.”
Kasumi inhaled sharply and was about to speak when Akira raised his hand. “So, Jiro, you have
fought dragons before?” he asked mildly.
“I have,” Jiro said.
“It was a small one, and he had a number of retainers with him,” Kasumi said.
“But it was a dragon, and it actually killed several of my ashigaru before I slew it with my katana,” Jiro said.
Akira frowned. Jiro had fought and killed a dragon? He considered Jiro thoughtfully. Jiro didn’t look like a dragon slayer, and even if it were only a small one, it would’ve still been dangerous.
“Have you ever slain a dragon?”
The words broke Akira from his reverie. “Have I what?”
“Slain a dragon,” Jiro said. “Surely you’ve seen dragons in this backwater place?”
“No,” said Akira and now wondered why. He ignored the slight on his home because the question was valid. In his seventeen years, he had never seen a dragon, even though sailors from other lands said dragons lurked in the waters outside Tsuitori and in the volcanic mountains in the center of the island. But Akira had never seen them.
“Maybe the gods and tutelary spirits here keep the dragons away,” Kasumi offered.
“Bah!” Jiro laughed. “Next you’ll be telling me there are Tengu here.”
“There are Tengu,” said Akira. He felt anger well deep in his chest. Jiro was obviously a fool who spoke about things he knew nothing about.
“I’ve never seen them,” Jiro said.
“Just because you can’t see a spirit doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” Kasumi said.
“Well, if there are, they do a bad job keeping the dragons away. Too bad you have no dragon slayers here.”
“I’ll kill the dragon,” Akira said.
“You?” Jiro’s gaze narrowed. “You’ll kill the dragon?”
“I am samurai and I’m one of the best fighters in the islands,” Akira said.