by M. H. Bonham
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Akira, don’t—” Kasumi said.
Akira raised his hand. “I can do it.”
“With how many ashigaru? I brought twenty.”
“None.”
Jiro fell silent. His narrow gaze widened. “Really?”
“I’ll kill that dragon,” Akira said. I’ll show you what the son of a daimyo can do.
Kasumi stared. “Are you crazy? That dragon will kill you.”
Akira felt a small thrill course through him. Did she care about him? he wondered. “It’ll be dangerous,” he said, “but danger is not unknown to samurai.”
“He’s bluffing, Kasumi,” Jiro said. “He won’t really do it.”
Akira felt his face flush. “You’re wrong. I’ll take on that dragon; you’ll see.”
“I wonder what Ikumi or Rokuro would have to say about that,” Kasumi said.
Akira felt a lump in his throat. He hadn’t thought it all out, but if Ikumi or Rokuro heard of his boast, they would put an end to it. He was still under age, even if he was the son of a daimyo.
“You can go to them,” Jiro said. “That would give him an excuse to not fight the dragon.” He laughed.
Akira found he had lost his appetite. He smiled coldly. “You’ll regret your words, Jiro. I will make the dragon leave Tsuitori.” With that, he stood up and walked out, not bowing to either of them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Akira returned to his room, pulled out a thicker coat, and strapped on what little armor he had. He wasn’t tired, despite the late hour. The conversation with Jiro angered him. How dare a lower-ranking samurai insult his bravery? If he had been of age, he might have been able to challenge Jiro to a duel or call him in front of the daimyo, where his father could mete out justice.
But the reality was that Jiro was from another house and served another daimyo, namely Nanashi. Nanashi was equal to Takeshi in power, and a duel between his messenger samurai and Akira would bring political ramifications. A samurai could kill a peasant without repercussions, but a samurai killing another samurai outside of war would be judged in court. Often the emperor’s judges chose death by seppuku for the unfortunate accused. While Akira had been taught to not be afraid of death in his samurai training, he didn’t want to lose his life over such a worm as Jiro.
There was also the problem of his duty to his father, Takeshi daimyo. Takeshi had no other heir, and without Akira to continue the family line, the emperor would divide the lands to whichever vassals he saw fit. The name of Takeshi would be gone for all eternity.
Yet the same thing would occur if the dragon killed Akira. Akira pondered this as he wrapped a few rice cakes he had stowed away during dinner in thin paper. Was he being rash by fighting the dragon? Would he burn in the dragon’s flames?
He decided it could not be helped. He had, perhaps foolishly, boasted to Jiro and Kasumi that he could kill the dragon, and if he backed down, he would lose face. Even worse, he could see Kasumi going to his mother and alerting Ikumi. He didn’t need his mother finding out his plan, so he needed to leave now.
Akira opened the chest beside his futon and gazed inside. Within was an ivory Shinto talisman in the shape of a hawk. A Shinto priest had given him the talisman, telling him it would keep Akira safe. Akira looked at the hawk. The bird’s wings were closed, as though it sat on a tree or rooftop. The ivory’s off-white color was dark where the artist had painstakingly carved the feathers. A Shinto priest had blessed the amulet, but Akira had heard that a more powerful shaman or maybe a wizard had imbued special powers into it. Akira didn’t know if it would really keep him safe, but he decided it wouldn’t hurt. He pulled the leather cord over his head and thrust the talisman under his shirt next to his skin.
He knew it might take hours to find the dragon, and he would need something to drink as well as eat. He pulled out a small bottle of sake he owned. He would’ve preferred tea to the rice wine, but tea required a fire and a kettle. While he liked sake very much, he drank from this flask on only special occasions. He wrapped the flask in a cloth and laid it gently in the pack. It would help keep him warm through the night.
Once he had packed everything, he opened the door. Akira had always had sensitive ears and good eyesight, so he used that to his advantage as he quietly walked toward the main hall, which led outside. Akira thought about trying to slide out of one of the side doors but decided against it for fear of attracting more attention. He wasn’t sure if Kasumi would alert Ikumi, in which case, Ikumi wouldn’t expect him to leave by the front door.
Akira listened as he padded quietly along the smooth cherrywood floors. He paused at the room where he knew Ikumi slept and listened but heard nothing. He continued, glancing down another hall, where he knew Kasumi and Jiro stayed in the guest quarters. A few more steps, and he made it to the front door.
He slipped outside, taking a slow breath of the cool, humid air. The night breeze tugged on his silken clothing; already, he was glad he had brought his warmer coat. It wasn’t quite autumn, but the sea breeze spoke of colder weather coming from the north. As he stood quietly for a moment, he could see the flicker of torches along the wall and gate.
Akira cursed himself. He hadn’t really thought this plan through. He had wanted to get his bow from the armory, but he doubted he would be lucky enough to get past the guards there. All he had to fight the dragon were his katana and wakizashi. What’s more, there would be guards along the gate, and they would be loath to let out the daimyo’s only son, especially at night.
He walked slowly toward the gate, keeping his senses alert for anything. As he walked silently, he avoided the light. There were more guards posted around the compound than usual. Rokuro had no doubt doubled the guard because of the dragon. For all Akira knew, Rokuro could be out on one of the walls or giving orders to the guards at the main gate.
Akira crept in the shadows carefully. Once or twice, he heard a twig snap, and he turned around, hand on his katana. But nothing moved, although he thought he caught a glimpse of a little cat as it bounded after something in the dark.
He was almost at the guard station when he heard another soft noise and turned around. This time he felt something rub against his feet. Akira almost jumped until he looked down and saw a calico cat rubbing against him.
“Little Neko,” he whispered, and he bent down to pet her. He wondered where she had come from because he had never seen a pretty calico around home. She had beautiful, sleek fur and was a healthy weight, so he suspected she probably had a name other than the generic “cat” he had called her. Surely her owners would be looking for her, he thought. The cat butted him with her head and began purring as he ran his cold fingers through her fur. “It is not a night for little kittens. Go back home. I have work to do.”
The calico simply purred louder. She reached her paws up and grasped his coat sleeve with her sharp claws and stretched on him. Akira was both amused and annoyed at the little creature’s antics.
“Little Neko, go home.” He gently removed the claws from his coat and set her once again on the ground. He inspected the sleeve for tears, but the cat had done no damage. He stood up and walked forward. Maybe the cat was a sign from the gods. They often meant good luck.
He turned and looked at the guards’ station. The torches shone brightly, and there was a metal drum filled with burning coal next to the station so the guards could keep warm. Two guards were on duty, but they weren’t at attention. They were kneeling down, playing dice. Akira frowned.
He walked up to them while they were engrossed in play. One man, skinny and young—barely older than Akira—with not even a bit of stubble on his face, knelt down and tossed the dice in a ring they had made in the sandy dirt. A small pile of coins lay just inside the little circle.
“Look! I win again!” he said, his voice triumphant. An ashigaru, he wore the body armor with the crest of Takeshi daimyo—a flying hawk.
“You cheated,” said the oth
er ashigaru, an older man with a thick mustache and round face. His armor was more complete but battered, as though he had seen many battles before. “Let me see those dice.” He reached out to grasp them, but the younger ashigaru snatched them away.
“They’re good!” the younger guard said.
Akira frowned. “Should you be playing dice?”
Both men jumped. The older one scrambled to his feet and grasped his naginata while the younger one scooped up the winnings.
“Takeshi-sama!” gasped the younger man. Both guards bowed low.
“No, it’s all right,” Akira said. While he was indeed the son of the daimyo, both Ikumi and Rokuro had been given custody of the estate since he was not of age yet. “Please be quiet. I need to leave the estate for a while.”
Both guards stood up and looked at each other. Then the younger one smiled. “What for?”
“None of your business,” Akira said, but his tone had none of the well-practiced haughtiness he had heard in Jiro’s voice. “Listen,” he said. “It’s just for a short while.”
“Rokuro said no one is to enter or leave without his knowledge,” the older guard said.
“Hmm.” Akira knew his orders would not supersede Rokuro’s. Unless... “It’s pretty cold out here, isn’t it?”
The two guards nodded slowly.
“Do you have anything to drink?” Akira guessed Rokuro wouldn’t allow his guards to have sake, but Akira didn’t care right now.
“No. We’re not even allowed tea.”
“Shame,” said Akira. “Look, I just so happen to have a flask of fine sake I might give you, and I might forget you were playing dice while on duty if you let me out for a while and tell no one.”
The ashigaru looked unsure. They turned and spoke softly to each other. Akira waited what seemed several long minutes before they turned to him.
“Takeshi-sama, we accept,” the older guard said. “Sake?”
Akira dug out the flask. With some reluctance, he handed it over to the guards. The younger guard motioned him to the smaller door cut into the gate. “Hurry, Takeshi-sama,” he whispered as he opened it.
Akira slipped out and felt fur once again at his ankles. He looked down to see the little calico beside him. Before he could turn and tell the guards to wait and let the cat back in, the guards had shut the door.
Akira knew he had no time before one of the other guards saw him from the wall walk. He picked up the little cat and dashed into the woods.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Akira walked for a while in the dark forest, staying away from the road as much as possible. He looked up and could see the first moonrise above the treetops. The gibbous moon meant the next moons would be nearly full as well. The little cat rested in between the folds of his coat. He welcomed her warmth on that chilly night, and he could feel her soft purring as she nestled against his chest.
“Little Neko,” he said softly to the cat as he continued to walk through the forest, “I wonder where the dragon is.”
The cat yawned and looked up at him. Even in the darkness, he could see her eyes glowing at him, reflecting the moon’s light. He walked on in silence. He wasn’t really sure where he was, but he was determined to find the dragon.
After trudging through the forest for an hour, he saw a clearing where the moonlight played among the fields. The second moon was cresting the horizon on the east. He guessed he was south of his home, by the moons’ positions. He looked over a rice field that the peasants farmed for his father. Along either side of a trodden path were sunken, marsh-like lands that in daylight would be green with the harvest. The moons had turned the rice stalks to pale gray. Akira could see a few huts built nearby where the farmers lived.
He was hungry and thirsty now, but as thirsty as he was, he didn’t want to wake the peasants. There was a well not far from the house, and he slipped over to it to lower a bucket into it. As he did so, he looked apprehensively toward the hut, but his thirst got the better of him and he let the bucket go with a small splash.
It was louder than he intended and he paused and looked again at the hut. Seeing no lights, he pulled the bucket up and cupped his hands to drink.
“You!”
The voice came so suddenly that Akira straightened up and half drew the katana before he saw an old, bent peasant standing behind him. The old man had been ready to strike Akira with a stick, but on seeing the swords, dropped to his knees. “Forgive me, Lord! I am but an old man.”
Akira blinked at the peasant and sheathed the sword. “No, it’s all right,” he said in a hurried whisper, realizing the man was terrified that Akira would kill him. “Excuse me, but you startled me.”
The old man looked up. Akira took in his balding head and thinning beard, framing a face more crinkled than even Rokuro’s. “I didn’t know you were samurai, Lord.”
Akira knelt beside the old man and helped him up. He knew his actions weren’t something befitting a samurai, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to hurt the old man, and even though the land was his father’s, Akira didn’t want to treat the peasant roughly. “It’s all right,” Akira said. “I was just thirsty and wanted a drink. I thought everyone would be asleep here, so I didn’t ask permission. It is I who should apologize.” He looked at the well. “Is this your well?”
The old man nodded. “I am called Tenko. Would you like some tea, Lord?”
“I am thirsty,” Akira said hesitantly. “But I must be going.”
“I have fresh rice cakes,” Tenko said.
Akira was hungry. The two rice cakes he had in his pack he had eaten a while back. “What about your family?”
“I have no family,” Tenko said. “My wife died a long time ago, and my grown children live in Yutsui.”
Akira looked up at the moons. It was probably about midnight. He wondered what harm it would do to accept this man’s hospitality. “I would be honored to join you for a little while.”
#
Akira had never been in a peasant’s hut but was immediately amazed by how tidy Tenko’s home was. As Tenko lit an oil lamp, Akira looked around and saw that the house was only one room. Along one side of the hut was a rolled-up futon and a worn pine chest. Along the back wall was a small fire pit and hearth. An opening in the roof allowed the smoke to vent. Beside the hearth were various jars with what Akira assumed were rice, beans, and various foodstuffs. A battered kettle hung over the dying fire.
In the middle of the hut sat a worn table with straw mats that served as seats. Tenko motioned to the table. To Akira’s surprise, he felt sanded-down pine, not dirt, under his feet. He walked in and sat down before the table. The little calico stretched in his coat, and Akira pulled her out while Tenko tended to the kettle full of water.
“Well, little one, I hope our host won’t mind you playing here,” Akira said as he watched her stretch.
Tenko looked over and saw Neko. He smiled. “I have some leftover goat’s milk. If you wouldn’t mind me giving her some…?”
“I think she’d like that.”
Tenko brought hot tea in a cup with a chip out of it and handed it to Akira.
“Thank you, Tenko-san,” Akira said. “I’m afraid I didn’t tell you who I am.”
Tenko lay a shallow dish of goat’s milk down for Neko and smiled. “You are Takeshi Akira, son of Takeshi daimyo and Lady Ikumi.”
The cat began to lap the milk. The old man stood up and turned to place some rice cakes on a tray.
Akira blinked. “You know who I am?”
“What other young samurai dressed in such fine armor with Takeshi’s crest would be on Tsuitori?”
Akira took a sip of the hot tea. It was a low-quality tea, but it tasted good to his parched mouth. He took one of the rice cakes and found it sweet with adzuki bean paste inside. They tasted wonderful. “I suppose it’s pretty obvious.”
“But why, Akira-sama, are you out this time of the night with your little kitten?”
Akira felt his face flush.
/> Tenko smiled kindly. “Eat more, my lord; you look hungry.”
Akira took another rice cake. They were very good. He sipped the tea as the old man sat across the table and watched him curiously. “The dragon,” he said at last.
“Ah,” Tenko said, still smiling. “And you think you can tame it?”
“I don’t know,” Akira confessed. He didn’t understand why, but the old man made him feel at ease. He found himself telling Tenko about Jiro and Kasumi. As he did, he noticed Neko sitting nearby, listening to the story with rapt attention. The little calico swished her tail from side to side.
Tenko smiled again. “I think perhaps you made a boastful statement, Akira-sama, if I may be so bold. A man doesn’t get to be my age by making so many boasts.”
Akira stared at the peasant for his audacity but listened. He knew that, as a samurai, he should be angry at the man, yet he could not be. “I know that, Tenko-san. But I have said I would kill the dragon. I can’t back down; I would lose honor.”
“Yes, you would, though your mother might think differently,” he said, drinking a bit of tea from his own cup.
“You know Ikumi?”
“Oh, yes,” Tenko said. “And Ikumi knows me well. She was not always samurai, you know.”
“I have heard that,” Akira said quickly. He finished his tea only to have Tenko fill his cup again. “How do you know her?”
Tenko smiled again but this time his smile was grim. “She asked me once for a favor, one I was happy to give.”
Akira was about to ask what the favor was when Tenko suddenly stood up. He walked over to the chest and began rummaging through it without explanation.
“Your dragon is indeed a bit south from here, Akira-sama,” Tenko said as he pulled various pieces of clothing and other items from the trunk. “It will take you two hours if you walk straight through the forest to the shore.”
“You saw it?” Akira asked.
“Oh, yes. It is sleeping from the kills it made yesterday.” Tenko frowned and began to look at coins or pebbles he took from the trunk. At this distance, Akira could not tell. “Although your statement was boastful, it was made with good intent. I saw how you helped the Yutsui peasants.”