A quote from one of the books Dad assigned us springs into my head. To become the enemy, see yourself as the enemy of the enemy. Musashi Miyamoto, my namesake. I grimace. That’s about as helpful as thinking of a line of Shakespeare in response to a math question.
What would the enemy of these hornets be?
Then a breeze kicks up. The insects get tossed around a little, but their buzzing never stops, and they quickly regroup. The breeze grows stronger and faster until it is serious wind. I can feel it flapping my cheeks and trying to rip off my clothes as it increases into the kind of Category 5 hurricane force that rips trees out of the ground.
Yet, for some reason, the wind doesn’t move me.
The blast smacks the hornets, though. It’s like they’ve been hit with a giant fly swatter. They tumble willy-nilly back into the tunnel, some sticking to the chocolate, others blowing out of sight.
When the wind dies down, I sit up and stare numbly ahead. I’m not more than twenty feet from the end of the tunnel.
I stumble out into a pine forest—with the trees right side up. The air smells sweet and green. My hand is now swelling up nicely, as puffy as an extra-large marshmallow held over an open flame. Perfect. I hope I’m not allergic to hornet stings. I’ve never been stung by one before. Bees, yes. Poisonous oni scorpion, yes. But never a hornet.
I sit down right in the middle of the path again and take a swig of water, feeling my lungs open up and my heart begin to beat normally. Thank goodness that’s over.
And that wind—where did it come from? I felt it, yet I wasn’t blown away. How was that possible?
The wind was the hornets’ enemy. But I guess it didn’t have anything against me.
I wipe the sweat off my face with my shirt and take in my surroundings. This looks a lot like the forest by my house. A lot like it.
“Hello?” I call experimentally, half expecting to hear Inu’s answering bark and to feel his big paws clap against my chest. I wouldn’t even mind his breath, which normally smells like old tuna, or his slobber all over me. My throat tightens.
Nothing. Not even an echo.
I examine my wound. Do hornets leave their stingers behind, or is that just bees? I guess there was a reason Dad wanted us to learn all this stuff.
No stinger, just a red mound. Too bad there’s no snow around here. Some of that cold stuff would feel so good about now. I’ll just have to deal with it. I hold my hand above my head, remembering that, at least. Swollen limbs need to be higher than your heart so the blood can drain out. The wound throbs, but hey, at least now I’m not worried about my rib.
I walk forward slowly, my head spinning. Oh no. This stinger has some kind of poison, doesn’t it? I don’t know what to do. Or if there’s anything I can do.
A movement amid the trees catches my eye. An animal?
“Inu?” I call. “Is that you? Come here, boy!” My voice cracks, and I fall to my knees, even dizzier. “Inu, come!” All I want is to feel his soft fur under my fingers. “Inu, please!” My words fade to a whisper. “Inu.”
Nobody’s here. I’ll never see my friends again. Never step through my front door, or hug my grandmother, or pet my dog.
My hand throbs hotly as I cradle it against my stomach. There’s no Mom here to draw the poison away. No Dad to teach me what to do. I’m alone. More alone than I’ve ever been. I bow my head, and tears drip off the end of my nose into the dirt.
I stay like that for who knows how long.
A form emerges from the trees. I barely manage to lift my swimming noggin. “Inu?” No, not my dog. A man. “Who—?”
“Hello, my grandson.” Ojīchan, in his young, strong form, stands before me, wearing loose brown pants and a cream-colored kimono top. His silver hair is tied back, and his eyes, the same blue as mine and my father’s, gaze down with concern.
I blink hazily, wondering if this is another mirage. “Are you really here?”
“I’m as real as the sun when it’s on the other side of the earth.” My grandfather holds out his hand.
I take it and he pulls me to my feet. “But I’m not asleep.” I pat his steel-cable-like arm.
“Does it matter?” Ojīchan grabs my wrist, examines my palm. “Giant hornet venom. Very painful.”
“Tell me about it.”
I wince as he prods my swollen flesh with his fingertip. Abruptly, he brings my hand to his lips and blows on the wound. The pain disappears immediately.
“Thanks.” I breathe out in relief, thinking, Where have you been all this time? I could have used your help before this….
Hmm. Maybe he did help me. I tilt my head at him. “Did you send the wind that blew away the hornets?”
His mouth twitches. “I do still have some special powers, here in this world. And when you thought of the enemy of the enemy, I decided to assist.”
“Well, thank you. What were those things doing to me?” I clutch my stomach. “It felt like my insides were being turned into goop.”
“They were.” Ojīchan removes my helmet and dabs my sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “Their fanning wings heat up their prey’s internal organs, turning them into sludge so they’re easier to eat.”
“Oh, I see.” My voice sounds faint and faraway. “They were turning me into a Xander smoothie.” I knuckle a water drop out of my eye. “But why didn’t the wind blow me away, too?”
He gently replaces the helmet. “This.”
“The helmet?”
He nods. “It protects you from the earth elements. You know what those are, don’t you?”
I shrug. “Ojīchan, I don’t want a quiz. I want a nap.”
He chuckles. “Come on, Musashi-chan.”
Musashi. Ojīchan has called me that in other dreams, too. He’s the only one who uses my middle name. I like being associated with the great warrior. I hide my pleased smile and flip through my memories. Did Dad teach me about the elements? If he did, I don’t remember. “Just tell me.”
Ojīchan crosses his arms and waits, looking so much like my father that my throat closes all over again. “It’s important that you use your own brain to make these connections.”
“Of course it is,” I mutter. At last, I pick the answer out. Earth elements. “Fire, air, wind, water?” I hold my breath, watching Ojīchan’s face.
“Excellent!” He slaps me on the shoulder, almost knocking me off my feet.
“So when I’m wearing the helmet, those elements can’t affect me?” I think about the events before this. “I definitely should’ve worn it in the flood, then. Man, you should’ve appeared earlier!”
He shrugs. “I’m not clairvoyant, Musashi.” Ojīchan glances over my head. I turn, but nothing’s there. Nothing I can see, anyway. “And you have Fudō-Myōō’s rope? Guard it well.”
I clap my hand to the rope, and Ojīchan takes a step back, as if he’s afraid of it. “Does the rope do special stuff, too?” I’d almost forgotten about it.
“That and your helmet are the only things that will help while your powers are gone,” Ojīchan says.
“I also have my sword.”
“While you are powerless, the sword is useful as a regular weapon, but that’s all. Its special powers come from you.” Ojīchan taps my helmet gently. “The rope’s powers come from Fudō.”
I reach up to palm the helmet’s cold metal. “And the helmet’s powers come from Kintaro….”
“No, Musashi. This is a Momotaro helmet. Passed from generation to generation.”
“This was yours? And my father’s?”
His expression darkens momentarily. “No. Only mine.” Then he smiles proudly. “But now it is yours.”
Interesting that he didn’t leave it to my father. “Ojīchan,” I say, “is it true what Dad says? That he was a weak Momotaro?”
I almost don’t want to hear his answer. I’ve always thought my father was pretty much perfect.
Ojīchan’s smile fades, but he still looks kindly. He puts his hand on my arm. “Xander, th
ere’s no use dwelling on the past. We are warriors, not time travelers. All of us do the best we can. We learn, and we teach others. He has been a very good teacher…. Tell him I said so.”
I nod mutely. I hope Dad is still alive when I’m done with this quest. And everyone else, too.
With that thought, my malaise is shaken off. “I have to get going. Do you know how to find the baku?”
But Ojīchan is fading away. “Good luck, Xander Musashi!”
It’s only after he’s gone that I remember he never told me what the rope can do.
This trail is completely uneventful. And not in an entirely good way. I pay little attention to the landscape and reach the summit of this mountain peak in five minutes. But the instant I step onto it, yet another peak comes into view. My heart drops. If my life had chapter titles, this one would be No Hope.
Stop and think, Xander. Assess the situation. I look around and listen. I hear frogs (maybe) and crickets (probably) and birds cawing. Or maybe not. The birds sound like they’re gargling gasoline. Probably oni birds, then. Not great.
Night is falling quickly. One second ago, I could see my shadow, and now it has melted into the ground. Luckily, the moon is rising, one of those moons that looks like it’s close enough to touch, bathing everything in a silvery light.
ARROOOOOOO, some creature howls, and branches snap. Then I hear the high-pitched squeal of prey trapped by a predator.
Okay, then. Time to find shelter. I push my way through a copse of bushes off to the right of the path. “Ouch!” The plants have thorns. Of course they do. I’m Xander Musashi Miyamoto, and I’m here to find the least favorable conditions possible, always. Well, hopefully no hunting creatures will follow me here because animals don’t like to be scratched up, either.
I wish I’d brought Peyton’s backpack. How was I supposed to know this would be more like an actual world than a dream world? As I push branches out of my way, my fingers touch something soft. A berry. I pick it and raise it to the light. Gotta make sure there’s no face on it.
I take a tiny bite, and it’s sweet and raspberry-ish. Yes! I pick a bunch by feel, using my shirttail as a bucket, then sit cross-legged in my little den to eat.
Something short crashes into my campsite on two legs. Before I can react, the thing sprints over to me and punches me in the stomach. “Ooof!” I huff. “Hey!”
It steals most of my berries, then keeps running. Monkey? my brain thinks. “Wait!” I yell. Maybe it’ll be my friend, like Jinx. The thing pauses, looking back at me as it stuffs berries into its mouth.
It’s a baby. Like a human baby, but not quite. It’s got glowing red eyes, and it bares little sharp fangs in a hiss when the moonlight hits its face. Then it turns and jumps for a tree, clambering up and away.
As I watch the monster, I see something else in a tree—a long, sinewy, furry tail. I also hear the low chuffing of a very large cat passing nearby. And another high-pitched squeal and a growl that makes all my hair stand on end.
I’m so out of here.
I crash through the bushes back to the path, heading up the trail to the next peak. I don’t know where I should go, but anyplace would be better than here, with a huge cat or feral monkey baby.
Then I detect a very different noise. At first it’s so faint I’m not sure whether I’m imagining it. As I walk closer, the sound of music floats to my ears. Voices, singing in unison.
“Momotaro-san
Momotaro-san
o-koshi ni tsuketa kibidango
hitotsu watashi ni kudasai na.”
Momotaro-san? They’re singing about me. That’s not the least bit creepy. Too bad I don’t understand the rest of the words.
They must know I’m here. Does that mean they’re a welcoming committee?
Yeah, right, my suspicious mind thinks. I’m never lucky like that.
The sound’s coming from the left, off the path. I creep toward the source, peeking through the trees and bushes.
In a clearing ahead, a group of five people sits around a blazing fire, singing. They’re dressed in dusty kimonos, as if they’ve been traveling a long way. A cooking pot hangs over the flames.
There’s a small house behind them. No gold on this thing, just super-old-looking, weathered wood. A cabin or shack, really.
They appear to be camping. Somebody must have said, Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s go to Weird and Treacherous Dream World for a relaxing weekend! And then four others said, Yes, let’s! Super strange.
It’s also strange that I don’t smell any smoke. And it doesn’t seem any warmer here, despite the large flames.
The person nearest to me turns with a welcoming smile, as if she totally expected some boy to come crashing out of the woods. I was right after all.
It’s a woman. She has medium brown hair, medium brown skin, and is generally of medium build. Average, like me. “Hello, weary traveler!” the woman calls, her voice as merry as an elf’s. Not that I’ve ever heard an actual elf, mind you, but it’s what I presume an elf would sound like.
I walk forward, looking in all directions for any sign of trouble. Weapons, sneers, even a stray burp and I’m vamoosing.
But I don’t detect anything dangerous. They’re just people, with nothing that seems unusual about them. Other than their choice of vacation destination, that is.
The woman rises, extending her hands. The rest turn toward me, smiling. Two women and three men. They seem to be college age. But then, all adults under thirty pretty much look the same age to me. When they’re over thirty, they’re just old.
“Hi.” I keep my distance, just in case.
“Warmest greetings!” they chorus, each of them waving. They sound like an animated e-card.
The smell of the stew finally wafts over to me. It reminds me of one rainy day when I was sick with the flu. I’d slept for hours, feverish and achy under a pile of blankets, and when I finally woke up feeling better, the scent had made its way up to me. I just lay in bed, snug and warm, waiting for Obāchan to bring me my bowl of food, comforted by the fact that someone was taking care of me.
I’m overcome by homesickness now. Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink them away. This is no way for a warrior to act, I scold myself. I should keep going all night long. Everyone’s depending on me.
The woman takes my hand in both of her warm ones. She looks totally normal. Black hair. Japanese. Not a monster. Not a ghost. “Come sit with us and have some food. You must restore your strength.”
“Yes, come sit,” the others chime in.
She pulls me toward the campfire circle. Still wary, I resist, removing my hand from hers. “What’s that you were singing just now?”
She blinks at me with her medium-toned brown eyes. “An old folk song.”
“Oh.” I want to ask her if she knows I’m Momotaro, but that sounds impossibly egotistical, like I’m a Hollywood actor marching in and demanding special treatment at a restaurant. Dad and I saw that happen once.
“Come on. The stew will get mushy.” She tugs at me again, and her friends gesture for me to sit. There’s a glint in her eye that tells me she already knows my name but doesn’t want to say.
My stomach growls. I am hungry, I admit. I haven’t eaten properly since Kintaro’s house, and that was at least twenty-four hours ago, though my sense of time is all screwed up here. “Thank you, that would be wonderful,” I say politely (Obāchan would be so proud!), and let myself fall into a cross-legged position next to a very tall, very thin man with a protruding Adam’s apple.
The lady who’d helped me kneels opposite. She picks up a brown lacquered bowl from a stack and uses an iron ladle to spoon out some stew. It bubbles merrily, sending its deliciousness into the air. I hold out my hands to accept the bowl, but she puts it down on the ground in front of me, then hands me a pair of black chopsticks. “Best to let it cool down first. I’m Marigold, by the way.”
“Marigold?” I echo. I’d expected her to have some kind of Japanese name. “I’
m Xander.” I sniff the stew appreciatively. The meat in it seems both familiar and unfamiliar, but it’s not beef or chicken. I consider asking her what it is, but Obāchan has taught me that it’s rude to ask about things like that unless you have food allergies. If you are invited to dinner, you are coming for the company, not the food, she always says. The food is secondary.
Marigold nods, touching the black velvet choker ribbon around her neck. The other woman in the group has a matching choker. The three men all have huge Adam’s apples, and I wonder if they’re related. “Nice to meet you, Xander.” Marigold looks at the others and they burst into giggles.
“Momotaro-chan,” the second woman whispers.
There it is. “How did you know who I am?” I blow on my soup.
“We follow the news,” Marigold says.
I narrow my eyes. “What news?”
She gestures at the moon. “We have our ways.”
A corner of my mouth turns up. “You get a newspaper here?”
They all laugh again. “We hear gossip.” Marigold touches my arm. “Don’t worry. Very flattering gossip.”
“I’ll bet.” Obviously they’re laughing at me, thinking Momotaro is some kind of clown. Oh well, at least I’m getting fed. I touch my steaming soup with my finger. Ow. What’d they cook it with, lava?
The man to my right shakes my hand. “I’m Kai.”
His grasp is a bit too firm, like he’s trying to prove he’s stronger than me. I shake back, pressing his fingers together as hard as I can, which is harder than I could a few months ago but only about as hard as a broken clothespin. Then the others in the circle take turns saying their names. I nod, trying to pay attention, but something moving in the soup catches my eye.
Xander and the Dream Thief Page 17