Samurai Son

by M. H. Bonham

  “Do you wish me to kill her?” The demon’s voice rumbled low, barely audible, but Nanashi heard it well.

  The daimyo smiled. “How quickly can you get to Imperial Island?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Akira sagged against the ropes and slowly sank back down to the cold ground. By the gray, flat light, Akira guessed it was morning, but it brought him no comfort. He did not know exactly what he had promised the forest spirit, but something had happened. They weren’t going to kill him right now, which at this moment, was preferable. Still, he had a dreadful feeling over what he had actually promised.

  He looked over at Ikumi, who didn’t meet his gaze. She was sniffling a bit as she lay on the ground. Her face was muddied and turned into the dirt. Her fine kimono had been torn, and he could see only a little of the blue fabric through the mud. Had she lost her mind? She looked fragile and broken, a woman who nearly had lost her son.

  He had agreed to become Tengu. But what did it mean for him to become Tengu? Would he become like Windcatcher, half man and half bird? Or would he stay in human form? And why would they care that he was half Tengu, a product of a human-Tengu mating? Why did they even bother capturing him if they were going to simply kill him?

  His eyes strayed to Ikumi again. She looked at him, her dark eyes red rimmed and wild. “Mother?”

  Ikumi blinked, her eyes crazed with fear. She didn’t acknowledge his words.

  Akira frowned. “Why didn’t they just kill me?”

  Silence ensued. Akira looked down at his hands, bruised and bloodied from the fight. “Maybe it was a test,” he muttered.

  Maybe it was all a test. Maybe he was going mad like Ikumi. He looked at his mother. She had always been strong. How could she have lost her mind this quickly? Even as he wondered, he knew the answer. It was the Tengu’s magic. It had to be. It prickled all around him like goose bumps on the flesh.

  Akira never thought of himself as a magical creature, certainly not as a samurai, growing up in Tsuitori. He always knew he was different, even when he was younger. He spent his time dreaming of the dark boreal forests, the bright blue skies, and the wind beneath his wings. Even then, he probably knew he was Tengu, although he didn’t have a word for it.

  The other children had sensed it too. Akira didn’t make friends easily. He had assumed it was because he was the daimyo’s son, but it was now obvious that they had sensed the otherworldliness about him as easily as he sensed the magic all around this place. Without the adult inhibitions and controls in place, children could often see magic where adults could not.

  Akira looked on Ikumi, his emotions roiling. She recognized his Tengu nature while he grew up and fought to squelch it as much as possible. Yet would it have hurt him if she had told him? Akira wondered. When he was younger, yes, he wouldn’t have understood. But he was seventeen now and nearly of age. He tried to think back on the conversations he had with her and Rokuro, but none sprang to mind. It had been a long time since he had thought about flying or about magic. Rokuro’s training had taken up a good portion of his day, pushing him to the point of exhaustion.

  As he thought about Rokuro, Akira felt grief well up inside him. The last time he had seen the old sensei, he lay motionless on the floor in a widening pool of blood. He had to be dead. Akira felt hot tears fill his eyes, and he choked back a sob. Rokuro had been hard but fair. He had done everything he could to save Akira and his mother and had paid with his life.

  Akira knew he shouldn’t weep. Rokuro had died honorably and in battle. But Akira missed the old samurai. He was angry that the Tengu had taken his sensei from him, just as they were taking Ikumi from him.

  “Ikumi,” he whispered. “Mother.”

  Ikumi looked up at her name, but what caused him to quail was the feral look in her eyes. As he stared into them, he realized they weren’t the right color. No longer were they the dark brown he knew so well, but golden, like that of a hawk.

  “Ikumi?” he said again, this time in alarm.

  “Son,” Ikumi replied. Her voice was high pitched, almost a screech. “Find Tenko.” Her words were nearly unintelligible. She held out her hand, and he noticed the russet pinfeathers growing along her arms.

  Akira gasped. “Mother, what’s happening to you?”

  He heard the beak clack, signaling Windcatcher’s return. Akira whirled on the Tengu; the only thing holding back his murderous rage were the bonds. She is being freed, as you requested, said Windcatcher.

  Akira turned back to his mother to see her writhing against the bonds. The feathers grew and her body changed as some bones became longer and others shorter. Her fingers curled tightly and became stubs as the arm bones lengthened and became thin and hollow.

  “No, not like this,” Akira whispered.

  “I’m sorry, my son,” she said in one final gasp. In a flash of light, a large hawk flapped experimentally before taking off into the sky.

  “Mother!” Akira shouted as he watched the hawk fly away. For a moment, Ikumi was a reddish brown spot among the gray clouds; then she disappeared.

  Akira stared into the dark, cloud-swept sky long after she had vanished. He turned his head to the Tengu who stood nearby. “Why?”

  The council has agreed to let her go, Windcatcher replied.

  “But I didn’t want this.”

  It was not your choice.

  Akira stared at the creature, hatred and anger filling him. “I can see why Ikumi left you. You’re evil creatures.”

  Windcatcher clacked his beak. We have fulfilled our end of the bargain. Now it is your turn.

  Akira stared at the Tengu in horror. “No, I never agreed to this.”

  Windcatcher stepped forward and flapped his wings, causing a windstorm of dirt and debris. Akira coughed then choked. He tried to raise his bound hands to shield his face, but he couldn’t, just as he couldn’t breathe.

  Darkness overtook him and he fell unconscious.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Kasumi stared at her half brother. Never before had she been so angry with him. Jiro’s dark eyes were expressionless as they met Kasumi’s defiant gaze. His arms were crossed and there was a slight sneer across his features.

  “Where are you going?” he asked again, his voice dripping with accusation.

  “I’m going to do what you’re not man enough to do,” Kasumi said.

  Jiro raised his hand as if to strike her, but Kasumi was quick. She drew her tanto in a fluid movement, faster than the human eye could catch. Her tanto less than an inch from his throat, Jiro’s eyes widened and he lowered his hand.

  “That is better,” Kasumi said softly. “Don’t you dare try that again.”

  Jiro said nothing but looked at the woman samurai and her dagger. The hardness in Kasumi’s eyes told him everything. She would not hesitate to kill him, brother or not.

  “Now I am going to find Takeshi Ikumi and Takeshi Akira,” she said. “You will go back to Takeshi daimyo and tell him that the Tengu have taken his family.”

  Jiro’s face hardened. “This is not your fight.”

  “No? Then I have made it mine,” Kasumi said, her voice a dangerous growl. “The Tengu have taken these honorable people and have cast a spell on us to make us sleep. I won’t be taken unawares so easily again.”

  “I should go with you.”

  “No.” Kasumi looked at her brother. “You don’t know the Tengu as I do.”

  Jiro nodded slowly. Kasumi knew he had heard the idle chatter how her mother, Keiko Neko, was a sorceress and how she cast spells to woo their father. He would no doubt assume that she, too, was a sorceress and would let it go. “I will go find Takeshi daimyo,” he said softly.

  “Good. Do not fail me, my half brother,” she said.

  He bowed once and left.

  Kasumi did not return the bow.

  #

  Akira awoke to rough prodding. His back, shoulders, and hips ached from lying on the cold, damp ground. He groaned as the prodding became more insistent.


  Wake up! Wake up! Windcatcher’s voice was unrelenting in his head.

  Akira slapped what felt like a bo away from his sore side. “Leave me alone.”

  No.

  Akira realized his hands were free of their ropes, and he opened his eyes. He rubbed his wrists as the Tengu continued to prod him hard with a bo.

  For a moment Akira stared at the bo as it thumped hard against his ribs. His eyes narrowed and he waited for the staff to come back down on his bruised ribs. He rolled at the last second, reaching out and grasping the bo as he did so and pulling the staff out of the Tengu’s hands.

  Akira brought the bo around in a lightning-fast strike that even Rokuro sensei would’ve been proud of. Yet just as the bo would have made contact, a staff appeared in the Tengu’s hands, and Windcatcher parried the blow.

  Very good, young one.

  Akira gasped. “How?” Had the Tengu made the bo appear from nowhere? He didn’t think it likely, yet his won bo had been blocked by the Tengu’s staff. But Akira had no time to ponder this. The Tengu moved swiftly, bringing the bo around in a striking position. Akira danced out of the way, bringing the bo up and parrying it. Strike followed strike. The Tengu drove Akira back toward the tree.

  Akira went for a lunging strike, hoping to get through the Tengu’s defenses. Windcatcher swung his bo around effortlessly and smacked Akira hard in the shoulder. A large whuff noise came out of Akira’s mouth as the staff knocked the wind out of him. He staggered backward, reeling from both surprise and pain. More hits came. Each caused more pain than Akira could possibly imagine.

  Defend yourself, Windcatcher said.

  Akira tasted blood in his mouth. He wondered if he had bitten his lip. He brought up the bo and weakly tried to block, but he hurt so badly that he could barely parry. Windcatcher brought the bo crashing down on Akira.

  Staggering and half blind with pain, Akira dropped his bo. He felt his knees buckle, and he collapsed into the mud. Windcatcher prodded him incessantly with the bo. Akira didn’t care.

  He closed his eyes and let the blessed unconsciousness take him.

  Before he fell unconscious, he thought he heard Windcatcher’s mocking laughter. This is a Tengu?

  “No,” he whispered weakly, though no sound escaped his lips. “I am samurai.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Kasumi stared up at the leafy canopy, her mouth half open and her tongue’s tip touching the roof of her mouth as she breathed in the scents of the forest. She had left the Takeshi estate with Jiro’s promise that he would seek Takeshi daimyo and tell him what had happened to his wife and son. Kasumi knew Jiro wouldn’t do this without a solemn oath and the threat of her magic. While Jiro was samurai, he tended to go by the code when it suited him, but Kasumi knew that deep down inside, he was terrified of her and her powers.

  Jiro didn’t exactly know of her ability to shapeshift into a cat, be it a small Neko or a ferocious tiger, but he knew her mother had been from a clan that lived in the Fire Archipelago, far from the main islands. It was said that people who lived there mated with tigers and dragons to become demon-like creatures, barely more than men. Kasumi smiled wryly. Some legends just happened to be true.

  Kasumi had packed enough food from the kitchen to last her several days. She had taken mochi, sashimi, sushi, and cooked rice as well as red bean curd wrapped in rice. After a while, she would have to buy food or hunt if there were no villages nearby. She carried her pack with food, extra clothing, and her swords. She hoped she would need nothing more.

  She drew in a quick breath through her mouth and nostrils, imitating a cat as they picked up the scent along the wind. She could catch the faintest whiff of Tengu on the breeze. She caught no sign of Akira’s or Ikumi’s scent, but she didn’t think that after all this time she would necessarily be able to pick out two human scents among the Tengu.

  The winds told her that the Tengu had gone north, toward the dark forests of Tsuitori. She took a hesitant step forward then, turning north, bowed low. “Shi Tenno,” she whispered. “Tamon, guardian of the north, I beg you to hear me. I am one of your kami. Grant me safe passage in your realm, for I seek the two Takeshi.”

  She waited, not expecting an answer from the god. Even so, she felt the wind shift from the east to the north. She straightened and walked forward, hoping that the gods would show her a sign where she must go.

  The night wind shifted around her, caressing her hair and face like a lover. Normally cold, the north wind should have chilled her but instead brought her the scents she needed. She could distinctly smell both Akira and Ikumi on the wind.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to the Shi Tenno. With a furtive backward glance at the estate, Naotaka Kasumi Neko padded into the dark forest, eschewing the paths made by men.

  #

  Akira lay in the mud, unconscious, for a long time. How long, he could not be certain, but when he came to, the sun had already set, and the stars shone brightly overhead.

  He was cold and miserable. Every part of his body ached, but especially where Windcatcher had smacked him with the bo. Akira could not remember any of Rokuro sensei’s lessons ever being this difficult. The Tengu were faster than any human, faster than Akira could ever be.

  As he lay there, thinking about his pain and the plight he was in, he remembered Ikumi. The realization made him almost jolt upright, but his aching body screamed in protest. He looked around, his gaze settling on the tree she had been tied to. The ropes were still there, but she was not. She was gone.

  He tried to swallow, but his parched throat wouldn’t allow him even that. Hot tears streaked his grimy face, and he fought to not show his pain, but to no avail. Ikumi was gone, perhaps forever, condemned to be a hawk for all eternity.

  He closed his eyes and wiped a tear away. How could these creatures have done this to him? He was the son of Takeshi daimyo. He was not some kami forest creature like the Tengu. He was simply a man.

  No, he was not just a man. He was samurai. That meant something. As a member of the warrior elite, he had rights and responsibilities. He was not a forest spirit.

  Akira was no longer bound to the tree, but he was too weak with hunger, pain, and exhaustion to do much beyond stagger a few feet. He could have his freedom, if he could just will himself beyond the forest. As he took a few tentative steps, his eyes fell upon something oddly shaped on the rock not far from him. He staggered over to it and found a platter with mochi, rice, and sashimi. Beside the platter was a cup of steaming tea.

  Akira glanced around and, seeing no one present, scooped the platter into his lap and began to eat greedily. He grasped the cup, nearly burning his fingers on it, and drank the tea, feeling the hot liquid warm him inside.

  He set the cup down and wolfed down the rice and sashimi without looking up. He had started on the mochi when he heard a small noise beside him. Looking up, he saw a beautiful woman dressed in a kimono that looked spun from moonlight. Her long, dark hair fell in a single braid that ran from her head to her waist. Her features were pale, as if chiseled from the whitest stone. He gasped, nearly dropping the food.

  She laughed. “So you are Stormdancer’s son?”

  #

  Keiko, my child, you are in grave danger.

  Keiko Neko awoke on her futon in a cold sweat. It was midnight and storm clouds had gathered over Imperial Island. She closed her eyes again, trying to recall the dream she had, but even now, it faded quickly. Maneki Neko had come to speak to her, to warn her…

  Lightning flashed across the sky, and the thunder rumbled shortly after. An ill wind, she thought. It came from the northeast, from the Kimon, the demon gate.

  She took a slow breath in then let it out. Maneki Neko had come to warn her that her life was in danger. The hair along the back of her neck bristled. She stood slowly and wrapped herself in a robe. Glancing at the wall, she saw the slim outline of the naginata as it rested there. The wicked, curved end of the pole arm flickered with each lightning flash. Although it
held a sharp edge, the naginata was mostly for show as Keiko preferred the versatility of the katana and wakizashi.

  Then she smelled it: oni. A low growl rumbled in her throat, and she turned, naginata in hand. With an inhuman cry, it was upon her. Darkness leaped at her, whirling claws and teeth. Keiko screamed with the roar of a tiger. She slammed the naginata’s blade downward, cutting through the darkness. The demon shrieked again, this time in rage and pain as the pole arm buried deep in its arms severed flesh from bone. Black blood spurted across the room, and a claw fell to the floor.

  With a snarl, Keiko changed. Her body became long and tawny with stripes, and she roared as she leaped upon the demon, tearing its body with her fangs and claws. It tried to rake her, but it was no match for her ferocity. She continued tearing it to pieces long after it stopped resisting her.

  Then there was silence. Keiko paused and lifted her head, snuffing the air and listening intently. Despite the overwhelming stench of oni, despite the racket, no one came to her aid. She stepped off the bloody mass that had been the demon and, with a swipe of her claws, moved aside the door and stepped out of the room.

  The hall was quiet except for her labored breathing. Where are the servants? she wondered. Surely someone must have heard this racket. She padded slowly down the hall and found her answer.

  The doors to her servants’ rooms were ripped asunder, and as she peered into them, she could see the bodies lying on their futons in a bloody mess. The demon had gotten to them to be sure no one would try to save her when it attacked her. She shuddered as she stared at the bodies.

  Keiko took a slow and steady breath. The demons knew. Somehow they knew, which meant they knew about Kasumi. She shivered and closed her eyes. Oh, Maneki Neko, watch over my daughter!

  The cat god had come to her in time to warn her. Naotaka was in danger, but she couldn’t help him now. Kasumi was in danger, but she couldn’t dare risk following her to Tsuitori-jima. Keiko couldn’t help anyone now where she was, here on Kyotori-jima.