by Ben Stevens
‘And the other members of the White Tigers, who would of course have received exactly the same order from this officer…?’ asked my master quietly.
Kuratomi looked down at the table.
‘I… I can say now that almost every other member of the White Tigers must have been killed. No one of that unit remains alive except for the man nicknamed the ‘Mountain Killer’ – and the officer who commanded the unit. He was found, more dead than alive, after a particularly fierce battle on the mountain which took place just before lord Matsushita and I declared our truce.
‘Although it seemed likely that he would die from his injuries – for several months following that battle – he in fact survived, and now leads a somewhat… different life to the one he had before…’
‘So the Mountain Killer remains on ‘active duty’, as it were, refusing to believe that the war is over, and sabotaging and otherwise disrupting any attempt to build this road over the mountain, from one region to the other,’ clarified my master.
‘Yes,’ said Matsushita. ‘And this road, when constructed, would reduce the travelling time between our two regions by at least two days. Currently, of course, it is necessary to go around the mountain…’
‘And when numerous notices, tacked to trees and so on, declaring how there is now peace and tranquility between your two regions failed to have any effect, you hired a ninja to enter onto the mountain and capture this errant soldier,’ declared my master.
Both daimyo stared at him with a shared, startled expression.
‘If you know this, Ennin-sensei, then you’ll naturally know what fate befell that ninja, after the Mountain Killer had captured him,’ suggested Matsushita then.
‘I do,’ returned my master, his tone equally as solemn. ‘He was discovered at the foot of the mountain by a farmer, stark-naked and bound hand and foot, his ninja clothing, weapons and other, specialized equipment lying in a pile beside him…’
I exhaled slowly as I heard this. That this ninja appeared not to have suffered any physical injury would hardly be of any consolation to him, of course. The shame caused by what the Mountain Killer had done to him – this specialized assassin, this master-spy – stripping him and then dumping him tied-up for a passerby to eventually come across, would be truly unbearable.
It had also ensured that this ninja would never be hired by anyone again. His career was finished; now, whenever his name was mentioned in inns and such places across Japan, it would only cause drunken fits of laughter, along with the slow shaking of heads by more sympathetic listeners…
‘And now you wish for me to go to this mountain, and to somehow persuade this giant samurai that the war is over – indeed, has been over for some two years now – and that the notices and so on that he must surely have seen, tacked to the trees, are not merely deceptive enemy propaganda...
‘And,’ continued my master, with a somewhat fatalistic shrug, ‘to make him believe that I am not merely an agent dispatched by you, lord Matsushita, to trick him into shameful surrender. Or else just to try and capture him, and bring him bound to your castle – something he clearly believed was the ninja’s primary objective…’
‘That is so, Ennin-sensei,’ returned Matsushita simply.
‘We will pay you handsomely, whatever you – ’
‘Thank you, lord Kuratomi, but my fees are fixed,’ interrupted my master, his tone slightly brusque. ‘I do not arbitrarily raise them, merely because the person or persons employing me happen to be wealthy.’
‘No, no, of course,’ mumbled Kuratomi, appearing a little shamefaced.
‘I accept this case, and will travel to this mountain shortly, accompanied by my servant Kukai,’ said my master then, indicating me as he spoke. ‘I have been interested in this alleged ‘Mountain Killer’ for some time now; and having heard about the unfortunate fate which befell the by-now erstwhile ninja, I travelled to the region governed by you, lord Kuratomi, suspecting that once you heard I was here, you would probably pay me a visit, accompanied by lord Matsushita…’
‘It is as you say,’ remarked Kuratomi, somewhat needlessly.
‘Well, my lords, the next time we meet, I hope I will be able to inform you that construction of this mountain road can be commenced. I take it you will have teams of laborers working from both sides of the mountain, and meeting more or less in the middle – and I know already that this mountain is somewhat ‘broad’, rather than steep.’
‘Again, Ennin-sensei, you are absolutely correct,’ declared Matsushita.
As bows were exchanged, the daimyo then departing accompanied by their bodyguards, I felt a slight sense of reservation grow in my chest. If this ‘Mountain Killer’ was as formidable as his legend suggested – a giant of a man who could nevertheless move as soundlessly as air – and who had utterly ruined the reputation of a previously famous ninja, through nothing more than the application of abject humiliation…
Supposing (I had to admit the thought)… supposing my master would finally meet his equal, his match, in such a man…? And the Mountain Killer then succeeded in doing to my master exactly what had been done to that now truly pitiful ex-ninja…?
Such a thing would be the utter ruination of my master. His own reputation would be destroyed; from being a man by now admired the length and breadth of Japan, the adventures I had so-far written about having become almost legend, he would instantly descend to being nothing more than a laughing stock…
‘Come, Kukai,’ said my master. ‘We will pack our few belongings, pay our bill and leave this inn – and then see if we can’t change this Mountain Killer’s mind…’
2
‘Stupid men,’ murmured my master, shaking his head and talking almost to himself as the mountain slowly came into view ahead.
‘Master?’ I said, my voice showing my confusion.
‘These daimyo,’ returned my master. ‘These rich and powerful men with all their land and their castles, whose desire to start these ridiculous wars and battles is usually born out of nothing more than their arrogant greed to have yet more territory, more money, so that who knows how many other men then have to die, often in great pain and terror…’
It was rare to hear my master speak like this – so scathing – and in the next moment he again shook his head, as though to dismiss what he’d just said.
‘Well, it’s always been thus and doubtless always will be, the entire world over,’ declared my master.
With these words spoken, my master and I then turned our attention to the mountain steadily beginning to dominate the horizon. It was a mass of green framed by an almost perfectly blue sky.
As my master had said, the mountain was not so very steep, its sides more gently sloping. Certainly, with sufficient manpower, trees and such could be felled, and a road thus constructed to run across it in a reasonably short space of time. But I could see that to have to travel around this mountain – as those travelling between the two regions governed by the daimyo named Matsushita and Kuratomi currently had to do – would be a tedious and time-consuming chore.
Yet with the Mountain Killer lurking somewhere within that mass of green, there was no other choice. Everything was now dependent upon my master to try to change this situation.
At the very foot of the mountain – as you started to move up a narrow, rocky path towards the first of the bamboo groves around the base – were a series of allotments. Those few men and women working on them stared at my master and me as we passed; till one elderly woman, missing most of her front teeth, declared –
‘You know what’s up there, do you? Don’t be foolish – they’ll find you just like they found that so-called ninja…’
My master uttered no reply, merely giving a wan smile as we walked by. Soon enough we had passed beyond the allotments, and at once found ourselves within a large and shady bamboo grove. We moved through this, until my master gave a slight murmur, and put his right hand in front of my stomach, thus bringing me to a halt.
�
�Master?’
‘What do you see in front of you, Kukai?’
‘Err – more bamboo… and some distance beyond, where this grove ends, the start of many bushes and trees,’ I returned, slightly confused by the strange question.
‘And on the floor?’
‘Leaves, collapsed lengths of bamboo, soil…’ I listed hopelessly.
My master gave no reply, instead picking up a long, thick branch that had fallen from one of the few trees which grew among the bamboo. Holding this branch with both hands, he then banged the furthest end of it hard against the ground just two or three feet away.
I gave a slight cry of surprise, the ‘ground’ immediately falling away, exposing a yawning hole some ten feet deep. This had been covered (I quickly realized) by ferns resting upon the flimsiest frame of thin lengths of bamboo, soil and so forth then being scattered on top to complete the disguise.
‘Dear oh dear!’ called out my master then. ‘Just who were you intending to catch with that poor attempt at a trap, Oyama?’
‘Master?’
‘That is his name – Oyama,’ returned my master, his voice suddenly again low. ‘I had already made my own enquiries to find that out before those two daimyo even visited us with their request.
‘I’m almost certain that Oyama is currently watching us, but wants to see whether those traps he’s set here and there will deter us from venturing further onto this mountain – his ‘domain’, as it were,’ my master continued. ‘But I believe I can sufficiently irritate him with my disparaging comments, concerning the traps he has made, that he will feel obliged to address us directly – which is when I intend to seize the chance of making him see the error of his ways.’
As always, I understood little but just had merely to follow my master and watch as events unfolded. Only this time, I knew that my master was playing for very high stakes indeed. His very reputation rested upon his outwitting this so-called ‘Mountain Killer’ – the man I now knew was called ‘Oyama’…
We continued on, as I began to feel that a pair of eyes was observing me from somewhere. With this, I began to feel increasingly worried, although I did my best to keep my expression entirely placid. My shoulder-blades itched, almost expecting to feel a knife or shuriken – that deadly throwing star – bury itself between them at any moment…
We had left the large bamboo glade behind us, now venturing through a mass of trees and bushes. Then my master again put his hand in front of my chest, and finding another stout branch used the end of it to tug at something on the ground just a few feet away.
Instantly the branch was pulled right out of his hand! It went soaring high up into the air, pulled by a stout length of rope that had been tied to a branch at the top of one of the trees and then pulled taut to the ground – something which had made the stout branch bow but not break. The end of this rope had been tied like a noose, which in a split-second would tighten when something pulled against the inside of it, thus dislodging whatever kept it on the ground, the bent branch suddenly straightening and making the rope shoot up into the air…
‘I used to enjoy making such traps myself,’ called out my master jovially, adding, ‘that is, back when I was a boy!’
‘Who are you?’ demanded a low-pitched voice, which at once seemed to resonate all around us, as though it was the very trees themselves which were speaking. ‘Do not think I admire you for having spotted these traps; as you so readily state, they are indeed somewhat crude in design. But they work as an initial line of defense, at least, against intruders coming onto this mountain. After that, I tend to take a rather more direct approach…’
‘Yes, yes,’ said my master dismissively. ‘I’ve heard the story of the ninja, of course. You would have done better to have killed the man, the shame and ruin you caused him through your rude discourtesy…’
‘Am I supposed to feel sorrow or pity?’ demanded the voice. ‘He came here, sent by the daimyo Matsushita – the one who is obviously employing you, along with this other man stood beside you – to capture or kill me. What would you have had me do?’
‘Perhaps listen to what the ninja may have attempted to tell you, just before you gagged and undressed him,’ retorted my master. ‘That he was employed – just like me, Ennin, and my servant, Kukai – by both Matsushita and the daimyo named Kuratomi.’
‘You lie,’ said the voice flatly. ‘My lord is either dead, or a prisoner of Matsushita’s. But so long as I remain alive, I shall obey my orders to the letter and never allow this mountain to be overrun by Matsushita’s forces.’
‘If you would care to accompany me,’ said my master, ‘I could take you to your lord Kuratomi, who would tell you all of what I am now saying himself. And you would realize that the two daimyo have been at peace now for more than two years – that is, the twenty-four months you have spent living like some kind of wild animal – and that now they desire only to build a road across this mountain, which will further link their two territories together in peace and harmony – ’
‘You lie!’ cried the voice, so that I at once stiffened with anxiety. ‘You intend only to trick me off this mountain, so that Matsushita’s forces can then swarm unopposed all over it. I believe my lord was defeated; possibly he is dead, or a prisoner. But I was given my orders as an elite samurai of the White Tigers, and I will never, ever abandon my post.
‘Shame on you, Ennin, for having attempted to trick me so! I had heard of you even before this war broke out, all those months ago. We admired you, the samurai of this region. We heard stories of your various adventures.
‘That you should now have allowed yourself to be bought, like some cheap whore – ’
‘Enough!’
This time it was my master who bellowed, his voice thick with barely-controlled anger.
‘You hide in the undergrowth, and say things like that to me?’ continued my master. ‘Show yourself, now, and I will make you take back such words…’
A dagger came flying out from somewhere, the blade burying itself in the trunk of a tree just inches away from my master’s left ear.
‘Go away, Ennin,’ said the voice, again sounding low and almost ponderous. ‘Just take your servant and leave, before I decide to deal with you both more severely. I have listened to what you have to say, judged it to be just a tissue of lies, and so now I grow weary of this charade.
‘Just leave – please. For both our sakes.’
There seemed to be little more my master could do; and at least this way, I reflected secretly, he could return from this mountain with his honor still intact.
And after a few moments, my master abruptly turned and began walking back in the direction we had come, so that I had to walk quickly in order to keep up with him.
‘Stubborn fool!’ hissed my master, his voice as generally exasperated as ever I’d heard it.
Then, in a slightly calmer, indeed almost resigned tone, he said –
‘And yet… and yet…’
A few moments passed, until I ventured to ask –
“And yet’, master…?’
My master sighed, and continued –
‘And yet one small part of me cannot help but admire that man Oyama’s martial spirit, which refuses to give in and surrender, no matter what. He was given his orders, and still he obeys –’
At once my master stopped, as though suddenly struck dumb.
‘Of course,’ he said then, after several seconds of silence had passed. ‘Of course – these is a way to do this in the proper fashion.
‘But I just hope…’
With these vague words, my master then walked on even more quickly, heading back towards the allotments at the foot of the mountain…
3
We returned just two days later – only this time accompanied by a priest…! I was completely bewildered. My master had spoken quietly with the daimyo named Kuratomi, after which we had travelled to a nearby temple; and there my master had conducted a discreet conversation with the aging pri
est.
Then –
‘Come, Kukai,’ my master had said. ‘We will return to the mountain with the one person who can possibly persuade the samurai Oyama that he can finally rejoin civilization.’
This meant the priest, obviously, though I quite failed to see how any religious influence could be expected to alter the Mountain Killer’s iron will. And why this priest, in particular?
I have described the priest as ‘aging’, although that wasn’t entirely accurate. He was perhaps not much over fifty, but the lines on his face showed that he had suffered greatly at some point in his life – a bout of severe ill-health, perhaps…
We three (I, my master and this mysterious priest) walked past the allotments and entered into the shady bamboo grove. We had not gone far before that low-pitched voice sounded, once again seeming to come from several directions at once.
‘You try my patience now, Ennin. Perhaps I should deal with you as I dealt with that ninja… You bring a priest here, thinking that will persuade me to leave this mountain?’
‘A priest now, Oyama,’ declared the Buddhist jushoku abruptly, ‘but the change of kimono and such aside, has my appearance really altered so much that you fail to recognize your commanding officer?’
At once there was a crashing sound from nearby; I turned to see a massive figure bounding through the bamboo, knocking aside everything in his path. His hair was exceptionally long, matted and filthy, his eyes – indeed, his whole expression – wild. His kimono was covered in dirt and stuffed in places with straw. And the two swords of the samurai hung from his belt.
I stood as though frozen to the spot, certain that this giant (he must have stood almost seven feet tall) was about to pull his long sword and hack the three of us to pieces. But instead the giant threw himself at the feet of the priest, who stood there smiling gently, looking down as Oyama babbled –
‘Sir, a thousand apologies… I did not know it was you… Forgive me… But, sir, you are now a –’