by Ben Stevens
As the hubbub of conversation arose from the rest of the table, the choicest morsels being put onto plates and the delicious sake being freely dispensed, the Demon King again addressed my master –
‘I have not had the pleasure of seeing you fight, yet – but I am told you move like the wind, and have a punch like the kick of a horse.’
This seemed to summarize my master’s ability quite succinctly (I’d thought almost exactly the same thing earlier), but my master smiled in apparent embarrassment and shook his head.
‘I fear I have been praised too greatly,’ he declared.
‘Well, tomorrow I look forward to seeing you in martial combat, anyway,’ continued the Demon King, the convivial smile now disappearing, the glittering eyes becoming a little dark. ‘And I have chosen someone I hope will make a more worthy opponent for you, also.’
‘Indeed?’ said my master, his expression carefully impassive. ‘And may I know who this opponent is to be?’
‘But of course,’ returned Jubei readily. ‘One of my finest fighters – indeed, perhaps the finest fighter I have ever seen. So much so that I have him employed as my personal bodyguard.’
Here, the Demon King indicated the burly samurai who was sat next to him, immobile as stone. Only this man’s eyes moved, to now stare at my master, as Jubei said then –
‘This is Takahira, and he will be the man you are required to fight tomorrow. I wish you luck – for regardless of how well you have fared until now, you have yet to face an opponent like Takahira. Of that I can assure you.’
All trace of the polite young samurai who’d requested that we follow him to see his lord was gone. The figure who was sat as still as stone, his eyes fixed upon my master, was purely and simply a fighting machine – of that I was certain.
And suddenly, I was equally certain that the Demon King wished for this machine to really damage my master. For my master had played into Jubei’s hands, the tension between the two of them obvious, and now my master was set to be properly challenged for the first time.
The samurai named Takahira would be an entirely different proposition from those other men my master had fought up until now.
This I knew instinctively.
‘He knows, he knows…’ repeated my master, his expression brooding. We were back in our room at the inn – for my master had brusquely refused Jubei’s offer that we stay the night in the castle.
‘My explanation that I have attended this tournament out of some absurd desire to recapture my lost youth did not fool him for a moment,’ said my master then. ‘Obviously, I did it as a way of getting close to him – and I think he knows just why…’
My master’s gaze was fixed and distant; as he continued talking, it was almost as though he was speaking just to himself –
‘He suspects I was at the temple of the Yamabushi that night, for this somehow became something of a rumor after the temple was burnt to the ground, and most of the monks massacred… But does he know that those three daimyo came to see me, with their desperate plea?
‘And there is something else… Sesshu, who so nearly succeeded in destroying the Imperial lineage before I was called in to save the Empress, was in league with the Demon King. This I know for certain, not least because that evil monk had previously stayed at Jubei’s castle on several different occasions.
‘Had Sesshu succeeded in his aim of becoming Emperor, he would certainly have offered every assistance – financial and otherwise – to Jubei, and darkness and despair would have swept across the whole of Japan. As it was, I succeeded in checking Sesshu’s foul plan, with him then being banished to a remote island – something for which, I’ve no doubt, the Demon King now seeks vengeance.’
My master shook his head, and turned to face me. For the very first time, I read something almost despairing in his expression. He looked suddenly older, and greatly tired.
‘Sometimes you grumble that I keep things from you, Kukai, or allow you to draw the wrong conclusion from some set of clues or facts, before informing you of the right answer,’ he said. ‘Well, this time you may as well know that I have absolutely no plan of action; no idea at all how to proceed. All I know is that what I have done so far has served to draw me close to the Demon King – but as to what to do now, I have no idea. Except to fight this bodyguard of his tomorrow.’
‘Master…’ I began.
Let us just go from here, now was what I wanted to say; but one look at his face told me that this would have been entirely the wrong thing to utter. Despite the exhaustion showing, there was also as much determination in his expression as I had ever seen.
For all his self-confessed lack of a definite plan concerning exactly how to try and deal with the Demon King, I knew then that my master would see this martial arts’ tournament through right to the very end…
However this ‘end’ might come.
3
The fights commencing the following morning were all observed by the Demon King. He sat at the far end of the Great Hall, having emerged from behind a colossal wooden door with his bodyguard Takahira in close attendance. All of us gave him a bowed greeting before the fighting began, with the usual samurai of the Demon King acting as judges.
The fighters were anxious to impress the daimyo named Jubei, of course, and so their matches were even more bloody and vicious than they had been before. On one occasion, two men hit each other at exactly the same moment – and both pitched backwards, having simultaneously knocked each other unconscious. This appeared to cause the Demon King a certain amusement.
On a couple of occasions – after a particularly lively bout – Jubei motioned one of the samurai judges over to him, before whispering something in that samurai’s ear. The two men who’d fought (both winner and loser), were then chaperoned out of the same door through which my master and I had followed the bodyguard named Takahira the previous evening.
I understood that these men were the ‘lucky’ ones – the men deemed by the Demon King to be potentially suitable as soldiers in his army. No wonder he had such a feared military force…
Finally my master’s name was announced; and Takahira also advanced into the centre of the Great Hall. They seemed to be the only two men who would be fighting. Always before several pairs of men had fought at the same time – but not now. Those competitors still left were grouped together along the hall’s stone walls, silently watching as my master and the Demon King’s samurai bodyguard faced off against one another.
An order from Jubei himself that the two fighters bow – which they did, their eyes never leaving their opponent…
And then the explosive order ‘Hajime!’ –
Begin!
Still the two men stood completely still, both of them stripped to the waist.
Both their eyes fixed upon the other’s face…
With the speed of a striking snake, Takahira sent his cocked right fist hurtling towards my master’s ribcage. My master shifted his body in that lightening, ninety-degree movement of his… but this time found that Takahira had also spun round so that the two men were again facing each other – and then Takahira’s left fist cracked into my master’s jaw.
A murmur of admiration arose from those men watching; for until now, my master had seemed all but invincible. Still, my master appeared to have ridden the blow, and I assumed that Takahira realized that to attempt to follow it up with another strike would be unwise. That said, Takahira had certainly drawn ‘first-blood’, and I glanced at Jubei to see him give a slight, contented nod.
The men again faced each other, absolutely still. This was in stark contrast to most of the other fighters, who tended to circle around one another, looking for an opening – a weakness. But for such advanced fighters as my master and the Demon King’s bodyguard, I understood, such movements were merely a waste of energy. Not even their eyes moved: they were locked, fixed, searching for that sudden, mental moment of weakness that would allow them to strike.
When this ‘strike’ occ
urred, it was all so fast that I scarcely registered it was my master who had this time thrown the blow. Except it was not with his fists – but his leg or, more exactly, the inside of his left foot. For it was this which swept the ankle of Takahira’s right leg in a blur of movement, and caused the samurai bodyguard to fly up into the air before crashing onto the wooden floor.
This alone would have ended the fight in my master’s favor – the rules were quite precise, and any fighter being thrown or otherwise ‘upended’ onto the floor was automatically declared the loser – but with a spine-chilling roar my master than raised up his right foot and made to stamp down on Takahira’s face.
With what was almost a cry of fear, Takahira began to raise his hands but it was futile – there was no way of preventing the catastrophic damage which the heel of my master’s foot would surely cause to the samurai’s face…
Except, at the very last moment, my master ‘pulled’ the blow. Stopped it barely half an inch short of Takahira’s nose, and then replaced his foot back on the ground. Everyone assembled in the Great Hall seemed to exhale at the same time.
My master stepped back, as the samurai slowly rose to his feet. For a few moments he stared as though utterly bewildered at his conqueror – and then he bowed, deep and low, his eyes staring down at the floor. In every way, he had just conceded that my master was the superior fighter. Still, he had managed to land a blow on my master, and he would almost certainly have beaten every other man gathered in this hall – but today, in my master, he had finally met his match.
And my master returned the bow, albeit less low and with his eyes remaining fixed upon the samurai. Then he straightened, and stared at the seated Demon King.
‘Was there anyone else, my lord?’ he asked, his voice resonating throughout the hall.
Again another muffled gasp, this time at the barely-veiled insolence. My master had just almost casually defeated the Demon King’s personal bodyguard – and here he was now, apparently asking for further opponents.
Really, he was playing an exceedingly dangerous game. But what a magnificent sight he was! Stripped to the waist, his upper body lean and taut, covered with a slight sheen of sweat. His fists clenched and ready – for anyone.
The Demon King stared back at him for several long moments, wearing a cold smile. Then he nodded, and his own voice reverberating in the Great Hall said –
‘Yes, Ennin-sensei – perhaps there is…’
As the beaten Takahira walked over to return to his master’s side, he was completely ignored by Jubei, who instead beckoned over another samurai and whispered something in that man’s ear.
That samurai nodded, bowed and then went over to open the large wooden door situated behind where the Demon King and his retinue were seated. He closed it behind him, and all was still in the Great Hall for several long minutes. No one dared break the ominous silence; my master stood there, waiting, his breathing slow and steady. The vanquished samurai Takahira stared shamed down at his feet, the Demon King sparing him just one single, contemptuous glance.
Then, from behind the closed wooden door, there came an odd snorting, a snuffling, the sound of which somehow immediately chilled my blood. It sounded like the sort of noise a large, wild hog might make, and yet…
The door opened, and there stood one of the most repulsive – to say nothing of frightening – creatures I have ever seen in my life. Well, I say creature; it was in fact a man. At least, it had the general shape of one – but that was all. He was barely five foot in height; yet, I swear, almost the same measurement in width. He wore nothing other than a cloth wrapped around his waist, tied up between his legs. His arms and legs were huge – almost too big even for that grotesque, outsized body.
And his face served, perhaps, to explain the pig-like snorting noises. For the nose was basically a snout, the eyes narrow slits, virtually hidden beneath thick lids. His scalp, just like all his body, was entirely absent of hair.
The samurai stood behind him had a thin stick, with which he was alternately pushing and then whipping this hideous creature forward. Really, this samurai seemed half-scared to death, and I was hardly surprised. Had this half-man, half-beast suddenly decided to turn upon him, he would have torn the samurai to pieces within seconds…
But as the pig-like beast saw my master, he snorted and moved forwards more quickly –
‘Wait,’ said the Demon King, holding up his hand but not even looking round to glance at the beast.
And wait the beast did. It seemed even he obeyed the daimyo without hesitation, just as everyone in this region did.
‘Well, Ennin-sensei,’ said Jubei then, a thin, superior smile playing on his cruel lips. ‘And how does this opponent suit you?’
My master transferred his gaze from the hideous half-man to the daimyo. I could see that he was struggling to keep his expression neutral.
‘Now?’ was all my master said.
‘If you so wish.’
‘Then let us begin.’
Jubei lowered the hand he’d been holding up while speaking, and with a snort the creature moved forward onto the wooden floor. I realized that I was unconsciously cowering back tightly against the stone walls of the Great Hall – then, looking around me, I realized that all the hardened fighters gathered here were doing exactly the same thing.
They clearly thought the same as me, for all their undoubted toughness, strength and fighting ability. That is – that to fight this creature would merely be to commit suicide. Within seconds, he would tear the strongest human adversary limb from limb.
And yet here was my master, about to engage in combat with this snorting, inhuman nightmare?
‘Hajime!’
The daimyo shouted the instruction suddenly and the creature started towards my master with an eager snort. This time my master did not move like lightening to either side, but instead stepped directly into the creature’s path, so from a close position sending a volley of blows almost too fast to see in a direct line from the creature’s jaw down to its stomach.
I have no doubt that these blows would have flattened any human adversary, no matter how powerful. Yet the thing merely cackled with horrible, snorting laughter as it picked up my master, held him above its head – and then sent his body crashing towards the wooden floor.
I yelled out in shock and horror, certain that my master was about to have every one of his bones smashed to pieces. Yet as he landed I saw that he rolled slightly, his right arm shooting out at approximately forty-five degrees to slam palm-down against the wooden floor and thus (I realized) absorb most of the impact.
He was up in a moment – yet I saw from the expression which flashed across his face that he’d still suffered significant pain upon his landing. Technically my master had lost the fight – he’d taken a fall – so why did no one call out that this bout was finished?
Instead, I saw only the Demon King looking eagerly on as the thing again lurched towards my master, its awful paws looking to grab hold of his body and then hurl it up in the air once again…
This time, my master did that lightening step of his to one side, before sending a colossal kick with his left leg straight into the thing’s stomach. But the creature trapped my master’s leg with one arm, holding it against his repulsive body; and with the other arm gave my master a mighty, open-handed blow against the side of his head.
My master staggered, yet somehow managed to get his leg free and fall back out of range, even if just for a couple of moments. The thing again started forward, a drooling grin on its repellent mouth. Clearly, the half-man, half-beast was enjoying itself. It easily absorbed the volley of blows my master again directed at it, this time to its head, and taking hold of his upper left arm, and the thigh of his right leg, he again hurled my master up into the air.
My master ‘broke’ the fall upon landing, by rolling and slamming down his arm – yet I saw he could not take too many more throws like that one. As he got to his feet he winced and cradled one side of his
chest, as though something had been torn, ruptured or broken.
And again that thing started towards him…
I made up my mind suddenly. My hand darted inside my kimono, searching for the knife which I always secretly carry on my person…
No way would I allow this beast to destroy my master – I would stab it to death first…
Yet even as my hand grasped the knife’s handle, my master gave a wild yell that caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise, and sent a mighty punch directly into the centre of the beast’s throat. This throat was almost impossible to see, as the beast’s colossal jaw usually met his upper chest with no discernible neck. Yet as the thing had again advanced on my master, he’d lifted his head slightly with that arrogant smirk showing on the lipless slit that passed for a mouth – and in doing so had exposed his one weak point.
Yes, that was surely what it was. For now the thing gave a hideous shriek, before falling to its knees clutching the area my master had struck with the sort of savage ferocity only a man who is in imminent danger of losing his life can summon.
The thing now emitted a series of hoarse croaks, and I and everyone else watching gave a cry of horror as blood began to spray out of its mouth. Then it toppled face downwards, where it lay quite still.
My master stood watching, his chest heaving with exertion and the sweat dripping from his face and body, as the samurai who’d driven in the half-human thing with a stick hurried over and knelt by its side.
Some moments passed… then the samurai looked over at Jubei and said –
‘I think… I think he’s dead, my lord…’
Slowly, the Demon King rose from his seat, his face darkening with fury.
‘Ennin…’ he said, his voice thick with cheated rage. ‘Ennin… did you not know that to kill your opponent in this tournament is strictly forbidden?’
‘What would you have had my master do?’ I heard myself cry out. ‘Your vile creature was doing its very best to destroy him!’