by M. H. Bonham
“Thank you,” Akira said, taking some fish. He ate slowly, watching Shigeko as he did so. If the ninja shonin noticed, she didn’t show it. Her flawless skin and black hair belied her older manner. He wondered if she were part kami, as he was, for she could hear and use mindspeak as well as he could.
“You don’t believe I’m Takeshi Akira?” he asked.
“As much as I would like to believe it, there is no proof.” She smiled. “Unless you care to show me your Tengu powers.”
Be careful, Rokuro warned, barely a whisper in his mind.
“I can’t,” Akira said a little too quickly.
Rokuro’s voice hissed displeasure in his mind.
“Why not?” She leaned forward, her eyes filled with curiosity.
Akira paused. He hadn’t meant to tell her this much. He looked down at the fish he was eating and cursed himself for not having enough sense to be silent. “I’m forbidden to.”
“Really? Why is that?”
Akira shook his head. He thought about lying to her, but with all the subterfuge and lies, he found himself wanting to speak the truth. “The Tengu forbid it. It’s part of my bargain.”
“Interesting,” Shigeko said. She reached over and poured more tea. “What bargain did you make?”
He laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“They let me return to the world of men. That was my bargain,” he said. “Only now it looks like that will end with me being killed by ninja.”
Shigeko laughed, bringing her sleeve up to her face. “Is that what they’ve taught you? That we invite you as a guest to dinner only to have you killed?”
You would if it suited you, Rokuro said acidly.
Akira stared at Shigeko in horror as he saw her pleasant face turn hard. “Silence your sword,” she said in a low growl.
Akira nodded. “Please, Sensei...”
The boy cannot control me; I am still a creature of free will, the sword spoke to her plainly.
“I see,” she said, a slight smile crossing her lips. “Who is this sensei?”
“He was my sensei,” Akira said. “The Tengu killed him.”
“Too bad they didn’t cut out his tongue,” she said lightly. “The ninja are not so different than the samurai, Stormhammer. At one time, we were samurai.”
“You’re ronin?” Akira asked.
She nodded. “Yes, we are ronin. Our people originally came from samurai who were defeated many years ago.”
Akira served rice from the plate and began to eat it. “Why are you talking to me at all? I should be your enemy. Samurai and ninja do not speak to each other.”
“Not true,” said Shigeko. “We speak quite a bit with samurai. Our warriors are for hire to the daimyo who can pay our price.”
“You’re mercenaries.” His mouth became dry.
“Yes,” she said. “We do what the bushido code will not allow a samurai to do.”
Akira shook his head. “You’re without honor.”
Shigeko laughed. “Are we? Who is the man who is without honor? The ninja who is honest about his work or the samurai who pretends to live by bushido and yet hires the ninja?”
Akira hesitated. He could feel Rokuro’s anger at her words, but Akira knew she spoke the truth. “I don’t know,” he said lamely.
Shigeko smiled. “Well, that is a first step, Stormhammer. Know that your father has hired us to help him find you.”
Akira gaped. “My father hired you?”
“He hired one of our men,” she said. “However, I am quite inclined to help him, especially since Takeshi has been good to our clan.”
“You would bring me home?”
“Yes. But our problem is one of identification, Akira. You see, you’re not supposed to be here, but back on Tsuitori-jima. That poses quite a predicament for us. You see, no samurai has set foot on our island for thousands of years.”
“The Tengu brought me here.”
“So you say. And yet you cannot change into your Tengu form or summon the winds, so I have no proof as to who you are.”
He is Takeshi Akira, son of Takeshi Isao daimyo, said Rokuro. Bring him before Takeshi; he will vouch for his son.
“Ah,” said Shigeko. “But how do I know this isn’t a trap?”
Akira frowned. “While it’s true I can’t use my Tengu magic, I still have abilities that exceed a human,” he said. “You already know I can mindspeak. What else can I do to prove my story?”
Shigeko nodded. “Normally we would kill a samurai outright, but if you are indeed half Tengu, then you should be able to pass our tests.”
“Tests?”
Careful, Rokuro said.
“Yes, tests. Three tests that only a ninja or one who trained with the Tengu could perform. If you pass, we will bring you home.”
“And if I fail?”
Shigeko shrugged. “If you don’t lie, you will not fail.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
The evening passed slowly. Despite the good food and the seemingly pleasant company, Akira’s appetite was quite gone. He didn’t expect to be faced with a test of magic, let alone three, now that he had returned to the world of men. Shigeko, seeming to sense his unease, asked him about his homeland of Tsuitori, and for that, Akira was grateful. He didn’t want to talk about the Tengu or what they had done to him.
As the oil lamps grew dim, Shigeko stood up and clapped her hands. Two young women, no older than he was, entered the room. “These ladies will show you to your quarters,” she said.
Akira bowed to Shigeko in respect. “Thank you for your hospitality, Shigeko-san,” he said.
“Rest if you can, Stormhammer,” she said, not returning the bow. “Tomorrow morning will be your three tests.”
#
Akira followed the two ninja women as they led him through a darkened corridor where nightingale floors whispered. The women made no noise on the boards, but Akira’s heavy footsteps caused the floor to chirp like the bird that gave it its name. He had heard of places with such floors, but he had always thought they were intended to alert the inhabitants to ninja or other intruders. His father’s home in Tsuitori-jima had never had such flooring because the island had been so far away from enemies.
The ninja women giggled, and Akira smiled in chagrin. He raised a hand as he stopped. He took a step then another, placing his feet carefully on the boards. One of the women raised her oil lamp to shed more light on him as he walked across the boards, making no sound.
As he approached the end of the corridor, the two women whispered to each other. One turned to him. “We didn’t know you knew the ways of the ninja.”
“I didn’t know you knew the ways of the Tengu,” he replied.
The woman nodded her head and touched a wall. A line formed along the seemingly solid wood, and she pushed the door open. “This is your room.”
Akira looked inside. A single oil lamp that resided on a low table near the door cast a dim light on the room. On the far side was a futon covered with thick blankets. “This is quite adequate,” he said.
“Do you require any company for the evening?”
Akira looked at the women, grateful that the faint light concealed his expression. The offer reminded him of the sex he had had with the Tengu women and how they used it to barter for his compliance. Were the ninja using this as a way to control him? The anger rose in his throat, but he quickly quelled it. It was most likely just a polite offer and nothing more, just as the sake had been. “No, thank you, not tonight,” he said softly.
“As you wish.” The women bowed and left him alone, closing the door behind themselves.
#
It seemed to Akira that no sooner had he lain down than he heard a rap on the door. He woke, bleary eyed and confused, unsure of his surroundings. He had been dreaming that he was back on Tsuitori and Rokuro trained him once more. He looked around. The oil lamps had burned themselves out, and he was in nearly total darkness. But his Tengu senses had taken over, and he coul
d see he was in his room within the ninja’s compound. He ruefully recalled his conversation with Shigeko and wondered what sort of tests he would be given. He didn’t like the implication of what would happen if he failed.
The rap at the door became more insistent, and Akira stood up. “Yes, I am awake,” he said. His breath came out frosty in the cold morning. He shivered.
“Excuse me,” came a woman’s voice. A serving girl pulled open the door and peered in. Hair tied back in a ponytail framed her oval face. Akira saw nothing particularly special about her. Her eyes widened as she saw the lamps were out. She made a sound of disapproval and turned away. Akira was about ready to call after her when she returned with an oil lamp. “I hope this will help you see a bit better,” she said. “Most guests figure out how to blow out and relight the oil lamps, but I suspect samurai aren’t that clever.”
Akira blinked at her rudeness. “Uh, I was tired and fell asleep.”
She snorted and brought in a tray with tea, rice, rice cakes, and a bowl of miso soup. “I hear the Tengu brought you here.”
Akira stared at her. “I didn’t know that the servants were privy to that kind of information.”
The girl frowned. “Servants? Is that what you think we ninja are?”
“You’re a ninja?” Akira said.
The girl laughed. “Did they drop you on your head? Excuse me, but this is Ninja Island.”
“Well, yes, but...”
“But what?”
“You’re serving me.”
“Yes, someone has to do the work.” She sat down cross-legged in front of him and waited.
Akira looked at the food and tea. He doubted seriously that she would serve him. He reached over and poured himself a cup of tea then took the bowl of miso and drank from it. “I’m Takeshi Akira Stormhammer,” he said almost conversationally. “What’s your name?”
“Masako,” she said, meeting his gaze.
Akira set down the miso bowl and picked up the cup of oolong tea, wondering if perhaps this was a test. “And you are a ninja like Shigeko?”
Masako laughed. “I don’t think so. I am a simple genin.”
“Genin?” Akira repeated.
Genin is the word that ninja use to describe common ninja, Rokuro’s voice echoed in his thoughts. Shigeko is a shonin.
“Don’t you know anything?” Masako said in disgust.
Akira felt his temper rise but knew if he showed his anger, he could easily bring a pack of ninja down upon him faster than he could defend himself. “I’m sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t learn much about ninja on Tsuitori-jima.”
Masako snorted. “I would think the samurai would study their enemies.”
“Who says you’re my enemy?”
Her eyes widened and Akira noted he had surprised her. “Is Tsuitori that backward? Everyone knows the samurai and ninja are mortal enemies.”
“Why?”
Masako chewed her lip. “Because it has always been so.”
“Because I follow bushido.”
“Yes, and because we refuse to play by your games.”
Akira cocked his head, birdlike. He winced slightly as he did it, but if Masako noticed, she made no indication. It was a habit he had picked up from the Tengu, and despite the natural feeling, part of him wished nothing to do with those creatures.
You can’t deny that which you already are, said Rokuro softly. Ikumi tried to deny you your heritage, and it led to failure.
“Am I to deny I am a samurai’s son?” he whispered.
Masako tilted her head slightly, and Akira shifted nervously.
Just think to me, Rokuro said. You can be both samurai and Tengu, Akira. They are not mutually exclusive.
I thought that you didn’t like the Tengu, Rokuro sensei, he thought back quickly.
I don’t, Rokuro replied with a tone of introspection. But you can’t deny what you are without leading yourself to ruin. We’ve already seen what path that took.
Akira nodded but realized Masako was watching him intently. He smiled slightly. “This is very good tea,” he remarked casually.
Masako snorted but made no other reply. Akira picked up the rice and added it to the tea to give it more substance. As he suspected, the tea flavored the rice well. He ate in silence, not wishing to cause Masako to be more affronted than she already was.
He turned his thoughts to Rokuro and the sword. Legend had it that swords often had souls or spirits themselves, and the samurai was simply the sword’s instrument. He hadn’t believed the stories much since he often thought it simply a way for samurai to not take responsibility for their own actions. At least that had been Rokuro’s opinion. He wondered if the old samurai sensei were wrong. This sword definitely had a soul.
I’m not wrong, Rokuro said gruffly. Few swords hold souls the way this one does.
So what do I call you? Akira said.
Rokuro sensei, of course.
But a sword needs a proper name, especially a no-dachi, Akira replied.
Rokuro harrumphed.
How about Windspirit? Akira pressed.
How about Rokuro?
Akira picked up a rice cake and ate it thoughtfully. That will be your secret name, he said. That way others can’t control you with magic. They will not know your name.
Rokuro said nothing but Akira sensed his pleasure. He looked up to see Masako watching him curiously. He popped another rice cake in his mouth and let the sweet flavor sit on his tongue for some time. Akira was certain he had kept his face neutral during the mental conversation, but he suspected that the ninja could sense mindspoken conversations, even if she could not hear them like Shigeko. The ninja might even be part Tengu, for all he knew. He couldn’t imagine he had been the only progeny of Tengu and human.
Masako stood up and stretched a bit in a very catlike way. At once she reminded him of Kasumi Neko, and he wondered what had become of her and her quarrelsome brother. Shigeko had said she was searching for him, but he wasn’t ready to believe the shonin ninja just yet. He thought it more likely that the Tengu had killed her as they had killed his father’s samurai. He felt a pang of loss at the thought. He had liked the woman samurai; she was quite skillful and beautiful. Had his life not changed radically since the Tengu, perhaps he might have sought to woo her…
Masako fastened her dark eyes on him again. “So why do you carry a no-dachi?” she asked without preamble.
Akira blinked and looked confused.
“You know, the no-dachi,” she said. “You already have a katana.”
Akira shrugged. “It is my sword.”
“It’s not very useful,” she remarked. “A katana is far less unwieldy.”
“You use a katana?” he asked.
She snorted derisively. “We use ninjato.” She pulled aside the outer kimono to expose two equal-sized swords, one on each side, tied with a slender obi.
“You use two swords of the same size.”
Masako shrugged. “It is how we fight.” She paused. “Are you done? Shigeko is waiting.”
Chapter Seventy
Akira followed Masako without a word through the door. He stepped carefully across the boards, his feet noiseless on the nightingale floor. Masako glanced sideways as he walked next to her. Her face did not betray the surprise he suspected she felt.
Ninja are skilled in the way of the secret arts, Windspirit said in his mind. Keep alert; you know the mind tricks the ninja can use on you through your Tengu training.
Akira nodded imperceptibly. He knew that the sword was right; if the ninja defeated him with their mind tricks, they would kill him for perceived deceit. Their logic would be that someone who trained with the Tengu certainly could do everything a ninja could, maybe more. Yet he was forced to use just his human skills, lest the Tengu take him back forever or kill him themselves.
Would death by the hands of ninja be as terrible?
Don’t think that way, Windspirit said reproachfully. I trained you better than to
have such doubts in yourself.
That wasn’t meant for you to hear, he thought back to the sword.
The sword’s soft chuckle tickled his mind like an annoying insect. But before he had a chance to respond, Masako led him down a stairwell to a panel of what appeared to be cherrywood. He considered the wood; something about it felt unusual. She touched it carefully, and the outline of a door appeared.
Ninja magic, he thought. It was not all that dissimilar from Tengu magic, but it had a touch he did not recognize. Where his power was largely in the wind and storms, theirs seemed to have an earthier feel to it. Could they have a kami magic he did not recognize? Or was this a magic of men?
I have never heard of mortal men having such powers, Windspirit replied.
Masako slid open the door. He followed her to the doorway and looked out, feeling the cold autumn air cut into his nostrils. He shivered again, wishing for warmer clothing.
Before him stood a path paved with precisely cut granite. The path led to a small sitting area where low stone benches sat along either side and gravel, carefully raked into colorful patterns, was accentuated with finely trimmed bonsai and maples with purple leaves. The path wound through this sitting area to a small bridge where a stream chattered, its fluid movement danced along the ice forming along the edges. Beyond the bridge, the path ended, melding itself into the lush grass that had not had a chance to turn brown.
Akira hesitated. On the lawn before the trees that lined the borders of the walled compound were ninja. There were not just two or three or even a few dozen. It looked as though hundreds of ninja were there, all dressed in loose-fitting brown or black keikogi.
Shinobi shozoku, Windspirit said in his mind. The dark colors are their way of hiding or blending in.
Akira could see this. The brown garb looked like something peasants would wear. A trained eye might pick out the inconsistency of the keikogi shape if one were looking for it, but otherwise they would simply blend in with the local peasantry. And the black uniform at night would make them nearly invisible to mortal eyes.