by M. H. Bonham
A small noise caused Akira to turn around in time to see the glint of steel. A ninja leaped at Akira, swinging the naginata. Akira scrambled away, reaching behind his back for the no-dachi. As he did, the ninja swung the naginata down on him.
At one moment, Akira was certain he’d be cut in half by his own naginata, but in the next second, Akira had drawn the great sword and parried the naginata’s sharp blade. The metal chattered along the no-dachi’s blunt edge, and Akira lashed out with a front kick. His foot impacted the ninja in the gut, and the man screamed, nearly dropping the naginata as he doubled over.
The no-dachi guided Akira’s hands. He brought the long sword down on the man’s neck. The man’s body toppled over as the head rolled away, but before Akira could stare at the horror, the sword whipped his arms around, forcing him to turn against two more ninja. Unlike the man he had just dispatched, these ninja were dressed in peasant clothing. But Akira was not fooled. The men carried ninjato, and one had picked up Akira’s naginata.
Akira raised his blade in a ready position, but no sooner had he done so than the sword dragged him forward. In his surprise, Akira’s hand opened, and he felt the blade slide from his grasp then stop. Through no conscious action, his fingers closed back on the hilt, and he stepped forward, swinging the sword against the two ninja. The first one parried with his naginata. A sharp crack resounded through the forest as the blade shattered the naginata’s toughened wood. Pieces of the pole arm flew everywhere, and the ninja screamed as the no-dachi buried itself in flesh and bone.
Akira sensed two shuriken whirling toward him. He turned and parried the two throwing stars with the no-dachi and leaped upon the other ninja.
A sudden flash and the smell of sulfur filled his nostrils. Akira found himself cutting air with the long sword. He looked around. The pines were silent again, and he could see no movement. He frowned, not wanting to put the no-dachi away for fear there were more ninja.
That’s very wise of you, but I believe they are gone, spoke a voice in his head.
“What?” Akira shouted, his fingers fumbling on the hilt.
Chapter Sixty-Four
If you drop me, you’ll have no protection, the voice said. But I believe the ninja are gone.
Akira pushed back his unruly mane and rubbed the trickle of sweat from his eyes. The voice came from nowhere and sounded familiar somehow. “Windcatcher?” he asked, wondering if the Tengu had followed him here.
No, those infernal creatures are gone too, the voice said. And good riddance. I was wondering when you would come to your senses and leave them.
Akira frowned. “Who are you? Why can’t I see you?”
It’d probably be more appropriate to ask who I was, the voice said, a hint of amusement in the tone. And as for seeing me, your eyes are open and you can see me just fine, unless those birdbrains muddled those too. It’s going to take months to undo all the damage they did to your training.
Akira craned his neck to look around. A warm and comforting feeling washed over him, and tears filled his eyes. “Sensei? Rokuro sensei?”
A soft, bitter chuckle touched his mind. Yes, boy, that’s who I was.
“Was?” Akira didn’t like the sound of that. He continued to look around, unsure of himself. “You mean you’re a spirit?”
Of a kind, Rokuro said. When the Tengu killed me, they took my spirit and gave me a new body of sorts.
“A body?” Akira looked down at the no-dachi. The blade gleamed unnaturally in his hands. “You’re my sword?”
Yes, Rokuro said softly. The Tengu thought I deserved more than to leave this world for a higher plane. They felt I still had work to do here. So they captured my spirit within the metal of this blade.
Akira blinked, holding the sword out from him. Other than the pale glow along the edge of the blade and the pattern folds within the steel, denoting a fine blade, Akira could see nothing unusual about the no-dachi. The sharkskin and cloth grip felt firm; the tsuba was in the form of a coiled dragon, elaborate yet functional. The sword, for all its size, felt light in his hands, and he swung it around effortlessly. It was a fine blade, but did it really hold his sensei’s soul?
You doubt my words? Akira felt himself flinch at the reproachful voice.
“No,” Akira said hesitantly. “I guess I’m not used to having a sword talk to me.”
Like you’re not used to a bird-man talking to you?
Akira smiled wryly. “I guess you’re right.” He paused and looked around. Despite the disappearance of the ninja, Akira felt in great danger. “We need to get to the Imperial City,” he said. “Otherwise we’re likely to be attacked again.”
I wonder why the Tengu chose Kyotori, Rokuro mused. They do not choose their paths without purpose.
Akira laughed bitterly. “How much did you learn of them?”
What little I could. Remember, I’m a sword.
“Oh,” Akira said, not disguising the disappointment in his voice. “I was one of them.” He wondered what a sword could possibly learn when he had learned so little.
Where’s Ikumi?
Akira shook his head. “Gone. They turned her into a bird for punishment.”
Silenced ensued. Akira glanced around at the dark pines, their shadows long with the approaching evening. He wanted to use his Tengu magic to see if any other ninja were nearby but stopped himself. Instead, he became still and listened carefully, holding the no-dachi ready.
When he decided he was safe enough for the moment, he took a small rag out of his sleeve and wiped the blood from the blade before sheathing it. The no-dachi hung low across his back but felt lighter than before. Perhaps it was some magic he didn’t understand, or maybe it was Rokuro’s spirit. Akira walked slowly through the shadowed pines, wondering how much farther it would be to a settlement.
It’s another day’s travel to Kyo, the sword spoke in his head.
Akira grimaced at the answer. He didn’t need his old sensei reading his thoughts every minute.
Why not? You seem to have questions I can answer.
“Well, it’s a matter of privacy,” Akira muttered. He didn’t like sharing his thoughts so intimately with someone else.
What are you so worried about? I’ve heard it all, Rokuro said in an amused tone. Like I don’t know about your dalliances with those Tengu bitches?
“Sensei!” Akira gasped. Much to his chagrin, the sword chuckled. Akira drew the blade. “I ought to leave you here, bury you in the forest.”
A waste of fine steel.
Akira sheathed the sword in disgust. Still, if it were another day’s walk to Kyo, he had a good chance of making it if he didn’t run into any more ninja. That was a worrisome if because Akira knew that without his Tengu powers, he was nothing more than a man.
He walked in silence for some time, unable to shake the feeling of being followed. As the long shadows blanketed him in darkness, he looked up through a gap in the forest canopy and saw the first stars wink overhead. Akira continued walking but soon became tired. His body ached from both the walking and his earlier fight with the ninja.
He had stopped next to some deadfall and larger pines. He wasn’t fond of deadfall because he knew there’d be insects and other nasty things that would disturb his sleep. He eyed the trees around and saw that they were all coniferous. As a Tengu, he could alight on the top of one and sleep soundly; as a mortal, he had no such luxury.
Akira walked several paces away from the deadfall and sat down beneath one of the bigger lodgepole pines. The air was warmer this time of year on Kyotori than it was on Tsuitori. He pulled out his flask of water and took a long drink, wondering why the Tengu had dropped him here instead of his home.
Perhaps they just like causing trouble, Rokuro chimed in.
Akira snorted and unwrapped a rice cake and dried fish from his rations. He bit into the sweet cake and sighed. He wanted to go home so badly, he ached. But what was there for him now? His mother was gone, a prisoner of the Tengu; Rokuro was dead—
I am not, the sword said.
“But you’re not alive either,” Akira said softly. “What do I have left in Tsuitori? Why am I fooling myself into thinking that things will be the same when I return?”
He heard the sword sigh and found himself wondering if calling the sword Rokuro made sense. After all, the sword carried the spirit of his dead master, but it wasn’t actually Rokuro.
What would you name me? Rokuro’s voice sounded amused.
Akira moved from a sitting to a kneeling position, and he drew the no-dachi again. The metal gleamed in the darkness. “I don’t know. A great warrior should have a great blade.”
You consider yourself a great warrior?
Akira frowned. The sword’s tone was light, not challenging, but he still felt annoyed by the question. “I could be a great warrior,” he whispered.
Yes, you could. But you don’t practice nearly enough.
Akira snorted. “You wouldn’t be pleased with my practice even if I did it every waking moment with the exception of eating.”
You sleep far too much, Rokuro said.
Akira laughed. It was the first time in a long time Akira felt human, not Tengu. He felt warmth emanating from the blade that held Rokuro’s spirit within it. Despite knowing that his former sensei had died defending him, Akira was very glad at that moment to have Rokuro with him in some form. He missed the old man terribly.
The sword didn’t reply to his thoughts; for that, Akira was grateful. Somehow he had to sort out why he had returned to the world of men when he had very nearly become Tengu. He sheathed the sword and wished he could make a fire and boil hot water for tea, but he knew that was folly. The ninja out there would home in on his fire like wasps to sugar. He curled up under the tree and fell into an uneasy sleep.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Takeshi stood outside of his home and watched as the workers finished the final repairs. A wave of guilt, anger, and sadness assailed him, and he wanted to punish those who had taken his wife and son. He had lost not just his family but also a good portion of his guard who fought to protect Ikumi and Akira from the Tengu. But how could he make such creatures pay for what they had done?
Hiroshi approached him tentatively. Takeshi smiled grimly but continued to look up at the repairs, as though interested.
“Takeshi-sama,” Hiroshi said softly. “I spoke to both your samurai and ashigaru who were here at the time of the attack.”
“Did you find out anything important?”
Hiroshi shook his head. “They were Taka-Tengu, if that means anything. Why would they want your family?”
Takeshi shook his head but said nothing. How could he explain to the ninja his foolishness in taking a Tengu as a wife? Still, the ninja were said to have supernatural origins…
“May I be so bold to ask if you have had dealings with the Tengu?”
Takeshi frowned. “No, you may not.” He stalked off, leaving Hiroshi confused.
#
Bright sunlight played across Akira’s face the next morning when he awoke, stiff and groggy. He had fallen into a dreamless sleep, and he was glad of it. Being part Tengu meant that his dreams would come with some sort of premonitions. He didn’t relish such dreams because they never were clear or completely understandable.
He had half expected to be dead, his throat cut by a silent ninja blade, but in the morning sun, he could almost forget that the previous day had happened. He got up slowly, his back sore where the no-dachi’s scabbard had dug into him the previous night. He rubbed his stiff muscles, wishing he had removed the sword from his obi before lying down.
You think you were uncomfortable? Think of me, Rokuro’s voice came clearly in his mind.
Akira slid the scabbard off. “Sorry, I didn’t think. I’ve never had to worry about a third sword.” He stretched for a bit, and his muscles responded slowly in the cool morning air. He tried to force them to relax, only to have them knot up again.
“Maybe it wasn’t the best idea I’ve had,” he said to his unspoken thoughts. Did he really expect to be able to fit in the world of men now that he had a taste of his supernatural powers?
A samurai has the enormous responsibility of caring for the lives of his people and the right to take those lives if need be.
Akira nodded. He had known from when he was a small boy that he had a duty as samurai to follow the way of the warrior, the bushido code. Yet now that the Tengu had made him into one of them and released him, what did that mean? He didn’t really know.
Do you have a name for the sword yet?
Akira shook his head. “I don’t even know what to call myself, let alone you. I was Takeshi Akira before the Tengu. I was Stormhammer as a Tengu.”
Then call yourself Takeshi Akira Stormhammer, said Rokuro.
He frowned. “Should I admit that I am Tengu?”
I think you need to acknowledge that part of you exists, the sword said. Akira-san, your mother tried to deny your Tengu half. All it did was bring your desires to the forefront. The Tengu would’ve left you in peace had you never given them any cause to interfere.
“Are you excusing them?”
No, but I understand them. They are a force of nature that can’t be denied when unleashed.
Akira nodded slowly. As much as he hated the way the Tengu had treated both him and his mother, he knew there was no animosity. Still, he did not trust them any more than he dared. They were tricky creatures and quite capable of deception for deception’s sake.
He ate quickly, not wanting to tarry long in this place. If Rokuro’s reckoning was right, he could make the city by sundown.
#
Hiroshi watched Takeshi leave then looked up at the damaged home. He had seldom seen so much destruction except through an actual siege or a badly orchestrated ninja attack. He wasn’t fond of samurai, but Takeshi treated him well, and he wondered why the Tengu would kidnap both his wife and son. Tengu were not so overt in their behavior. They controlled the winds and weather. When they met with people, they played tricks on humans or at least tried to. They didn’t usually attack a household to carry off the denizens. It didn’t make much sense why they would do this.
The fact that Takeshi vehemently denied that his family had dealings with the Tengu was a sure sign that they did. Ninja were masters of subtlety and reading emotions, and Hiroshi had learned the skills well before the shonin assigned him to Takeshi. He had seen the anger and remorse in the daimyo’s face and wondered what the samurai lord could be hiding. It was unusual for samurai to consort with the kami, but there was no shame in it. The emperor claimed his so-called divine rule from the kami lineage.
Still, some clans had kami lineage. The Neko and the Shinobi were two such clans that intermingled with kami frequently. Rumors of oni lineage in the Nanashi clan cropped up at court from time to time. But most of the samurai houses did not have such lineage, and many were glad to serve the emperor. Could a clan such as Takeshi’s have Tengu bloodlines beyond Akira’s and Ikumi’s? Hiroshi found the idea intriguing. If they did, then they could have powerful warriors who could rival even the greatest shogun.
Hiroshi shook his head. A samurai with the power of the wind spirits would be a very dangerous adversary. He wondered if the ninja shonin knew about this. The shonin was very wise and may have already foreseen such possibilities. Still, he wondered if he should find a way to get a message back to the shonin.
He looked again at the damage to the home. The workers had made progress, but they were far from finished. He had overheard Takeshi speaking with one of his samurai commanders about the number of samurai he could still bring to bear if he needed to. Hiroshi wondered if Takeshi were planning on doing something foolish such as attacking the Tengu. Was it even possible? How does one declare war on wind kami? And if one did, how did one find them?
He stared at the devastation and wondered how Takeshi could possibly take on something as terrible as this.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Akira c
ontinued walking toward where he knew the Imperial City had to be. He went through the forest, hoping to break through at some point and catch a glimpse of the lofty towers and the shining walls of Kyo. But the forest remained stubbornly thick, dashing any hopes of Akira’s seeing the great city.
As he walked, something tickled at the back of his mind, telling him that not all was right. He expected the forest to break at any moment and give way to the fertile farmlands and rice terraces. He expected to see villages as he approached the city and the seaport that would have dozens, if not hundreds, of ships docked in the harbor.
It was midday when he chose to sit and eat his lunch on a small jumble of rocks. The wind blew from the south today, and he could smell the ocean along the briny sea breeze. He unpacked the lotus leaf filled with sticky rice and ate it, breathing in the air slowly as he did so. Something nagged his Tengu senses. He popped the last few grains of rice in his mouth, wiped his hands against each other, and started climbing the rocks.
What is it? Rokuro’s voice came to his head.
“I don’t know,” he said softly. He scrambled up on the highest rock and looked around. “Something doesn’t fit. We’re close to the sea.”
Rokuro said nothing but Akira got the impression that the old sensei was pondering this as well. Akira knew they should’ve come across the towns that lined Kyo by now.
Akira took another breath in. He looked up and saw the southern wind spirits dance through the branches of the trees.
“South Wind!” Akira called.
The kami was nearly invisible to his eyes, but he saw it turn and swirl as it heard him call to it. It took the form of a lovely maiden with translucent skin and large eyes. Her long, flowing hair blew behind her as she danced around the tree boughs. What mortal can speak to the kami?