Bamboo Bloodbath and Ninja's Revenge

by Piers Anthony

  —Only to complete the action you contemplated, the man said, smiling. The other warriors laughed.

  Strange. —I sought no more than to explore the region.

  He did not even bother to challenge the obvious lie. —Explore that region, he said, gesturing toward the river. He smiled. —It is virgin territory.

  The girl still bathed, oblivious of the commotion. That, too, was strange. —I sought no more than a glimpse in passing. That, at least, was the truth, not that it mattered. I was parrying his thrusts without comprehending the nature of his strategy.

  —Broaden your perspective, the man said.

  —I do not understand, I said, for the first time employing a verbal device that was to serve me in good stead for centuries. For suddenly I understood, all right; I merely didn't believe. He shrugged this off. —To be quite sure you perform, we shall watch. All of us.

  Oh. That did add to the challenge. Still, it made no sense. Why should they demand the defloration of one of their own by an enemy?

  —She is sick? I conjectured.

  —By no means! Her body is strong and healthy.

  Again, a round of chuckles.

  —Then where is the challenge? I asked, not ashamed to show my perplexity.

  —She may be resistive.

  That meant a rape. No doubt their own men had tried her and been repulsed. A woman trained in martial art? —She is your captive? I asked. —One you mean to torture, to degrade?

  —She is my daughter, the chief said. —My only child.

  I have encountered many remarkable things in my life, but seldom more so than this. —So be it, I said. —I accept your terms. These people were crazy!

  The armed circle parted, allowing me access to the river. I walked to the brink, and stopped. —Hello, girl! I called.

  She did not turn. She continued to wash herself, as she had done throughout. Why such extraordinary concern with personal hygiene? I saw the swell of her breast under her arm, and the strong curve of her spine. —She is deaf? I inquired, trying to fathom the mystery of her and of their attitude toward her. Their chief 's daughter?

  Had my grandfather anticipated this turn of events? The crafty dog!

  —Call her Masami.

  I obliged. —Masami!

  Now she turned slowly.

  She was grotesque. Her teeth were gross and yellow, the skin of her face mottled with a huge purple birthmark covering half of it, her cheeks sunken, and from her crossed eyes burned the light of madness. Cross-eyes were an ill-omen, but I was not much affected, as the ninjas normally utilized the superstition of others for their own advantage. But this was more than that.

  Yet her body was robust, even muscular, and her nails were long. As she moved, the muscles of her torso rippled like those of a samurai. This did not enhance her beauty. Healthy, yes—but repulsive. No man would voluntarily accept such a woman to wife.

  I did not know it then, but I was gazing upon my first example of mercury poisoning. Somehow the girl or her mother had imbibed the poison, and it had damaged her head, not her body.

  —Ninjas did that, the chief said, not smiling now. —They poisoned the spring where we traveled. Her mother was about to give birth; she bathed in it, drank of it. She died; thus the rest of us were warned. Now the child likes water like a fish, and we let her bathe for hours each day; what else is there to do with her?

  —I am sorry, I said, meaning it. —We do not seek to poison women and babies.

  —Then give me an heir! he cried, and I saw the agony in the man. His wife was long dead, and his daughter an idiot; no one would put a child inside her. Yet she was nubile; she could bear. And I was the grandson of the ninja chief, one day to be lord of the Black Castle. I had to admit this was a fitting retribution. If the seed of the Black Castle were united with that of this clan through Masami, we would share the onus of that black deed of the past.

  Why should this clan kill me? If I performed here today, my power would be forever theirs; never would I turn against the kinsmen of my issue. Yet if I did not perform, there would be no leash on their fury.

  How my grandfather must be laughing!

  Or was this his way of making amends? The old man had such a devious mind that it was impossible to tell. Had he anticipated my decision?

  What was my decision? Did I have any way to salvage both my life and my seed? If not, there remained the pellet in my cheek. What did the enemy really want? Obviously they doubted my ability to perform. Certainly in public!

  The water was deep. I was a strong swimmer, as all ninjas are. I could escape them if they did not suspect my intent. I stripped, ostensibly to perform the ritual, but actually to free myself from encumbrances that would hamper underwater swimming. I could hold my breath for five minutes; they would think I had drowned. I took care that no ninja secrets remained in my clothing, for they would surely inspect my garments closely. I had to leave them on the bank, as evidence of my supposed intent to return to them. The enemy would not expect a man to run away naked.

  But now that I knew I could get away, my pride asserted itself. They did not think I could handle the mad daughter. I would make a demonstration. Actually, the chances of her swelling with child after a single contact were small; normally a man must lie with a woman many times before his seed takes root. This is another aspect of the inferiority of the female.

  I stood naked at the shore, staring at the girl. Fleshed she was, but in the manner of a man: lean and sinewy. Her breasts were almost flat, her hips narrow. Only her luxurious hair gave her any sort of appeal, and that primarily from the rear; her ruined face negated all else. Even in the most advantageous privacy, arousal would have been difficult. Here, in broad daylight, with smirking warriors watching, it seemed impossible.

  That angered me. I had, indeed, been shown a challenge. I would despise myself if I let it master me. As a ninja, I was ready to bury myself in human excrement, awaiting the chance to spear an enemy through his nether aperture; why not bury myself in this? I had excellent control over all my body. I could dislocate my joints to escape bonds or squeeze through narrow passages. I could swallow a capsule containing a small blade and belch it up again upon need. But not before had I had occasion to force voluntary control over this particular function. Success would be obvious to every spectator; and so would failure.

  I willed it so. I dared not even shut my eyes to the specter before me; that would be a confession of failure. Masami would fight me, I knew; she was virgin not only because of her ugliness but because of her madness. It was a double challenge.

  Sweat beaded my forehead; I felt the rivulets tickle. My muscles tensed, relaxed, tensed. I held my breath and bore down, making the veins of my skin stand out. Could I do it?

  I heard a murmur among the warriors. By this token I first realized that I was succeeding. In the absence of personal lust, I was forcing an erection.

  At last I stood tall and proud. There was even a smattering of applause. But I had achieved only the first stage. Could I complete the task?

  I stepped into the water. The girl stared at me; evidently she had never before seen this phenomenon. That gave me confidence. But the chill water sapped my control. There was laughter from the shore. Angry, I concentrated again, and managed to raise the standard high once more. That quelled the mirth. I resumed my advance.

  Now came the real trial. The girl was standing. I could not lay her down; we both would drown. At least, she would, in the event I completed the act while holding my breath. And that culmination would not be apparent from the shore. The conditions of this challenge required that the act be so plain as to be undeniable.

  On the other hand, if I took her to the shore, I would have no ready access to the deep water. Twenty swords could transfix me before I got there. I had to remain here, hip-deep, upright, where I could sink out of sight quickly. Then I could swim well away before the warriors realized their noose had slipped. That meant I had to perform vertically.

  It
was possible, with a cooperative woman; I had done it before. With an indifferent female it was questionable. And with a resistive one—

  I put my hand on her. She uncoiled like a striking snake, knocking me back. I splashed in the water, my head going momentarily under as mud swirled up from below.

  The warriors were laughing uncontrollably. Some were slapping their thighs, some were rolling on the ground, and some were emulating the splash of water. I failed to discern the humor in the situation.

  Now was my chance to swim for it. But I did not. I knew my pride was folly, but I intended to perform.

  I stood, dripping. I had lost my erection again. This caused a new outburst of merriment amidst the audience. I bore down, restoring it, and approached Masami again.

  This time I leaped on her, encircling her torso, holding her arms to her sides, keeping her upright, facing me. She could not avoid me; she had to spread her legs to keep her footing. And she threw me off.

  I picked myself up again. If the mirth had been boisterous before, now it was deafening. I could have stalked out of that river, snatched up my sword, and slain another five men before any of them recovered enough to oppose me. But I didn't. I intended to shut them up by conquering the most ambitious challenge: Masami.

  As I concentrated on my erection yet again, I pondered what she had done. She had seemed helpless, yet she had sent me splashing. Some kind of torso throw? I doubted it; I had practiced long and hard on every type of throw known to my trainers, and thought I was proof against them. Some throws involve the legs, others the arms; none was like this.

  I clasped her again, hanging on tightly. This time I paid attention to her bony torso, not the crutch of her legs. She would not catch me another time!

  But she did. A shock ran through my body; my arms loosened, and I fell away, half-stunned.

  She had not moved.

  This was my first experience with the ki. Young and rash as I was, I remained alert enough to grasp two things: I could not, after all, conquer this woman by direct force, and I had been shown a skill of incalculable potential.

  But I had not given up. When direct force does not avail, indirect force often suffices. By yielding to her force I hoped to overcome her.

  I launched myself at her again, this time carrying her backward into deep water. She repulsed me with her power, but I clung to one wrist, twisting it, forcing her head under. Though her ki stunned me, that impetus carried the motion through until I was able to recover somewhat, and now she had to fight the water covering her face. Sure enough, she directed her force at the water, not at me, and that was of no avail. The bubbles burst anxiously at the surface, and the chief, her father, strode angrily through the shallow brim toward us. But then I raised her head, smacked her jaw with my open hand, and dunked her again as she inhaled for a scream. Water flowed into her lungs.

  —Back! I cried. —Back, or she dies!

  And he stood back, for he did not want her dead.

  When I had her semiconscious I propped her up and lifted her spread-legged onto my waiting spear of flesh. Thus I took her, in plain sight of all, in that brief period when she was too dazed by the water in her to use her power. Her very coughing and spluttering sent powerful flexes through her torso that precipitated my fulfillment. When she recovered enough to throw me off—which she did with an impact that deadened my entire body—the deed had been done.

  —Kill him! the chief cried in fury. Though I had done what he demanded, and mingled my seed with his, yet in the end he reacted as a father who has seen his daughter raped.

  The warriors converged, but not rapidly; they showed their reluctance to violate their collective oath. The attitude became them, for integrity uplifts a fighting man.

  "And so I used my escape route," Fu Antos concluded to the geisha. "I sank under the water and swam rapidly downstream, concealed by the muddy water our struggles had made. I had to kill two more tribesmen to complete my retreat, but I escaped unscathed. Two hours later my grandfather's ninjas ambushed the clan, drove off the men, and captured the mad girl. From her I learned the ki. It was not a power subject to instruction; I approached her again and again, and gradually something in me developed the ability to oppose her force, and that was my own ki. Then I knew what it was.

  "Later we sent her back to her father, pregnant with my seed. That enemy family was a branch of what is now known as the Mito clan. In penance for his violation of oath, the chief sent me a lock of his hair and his list of spies. We never made formal peace, but there was no strife between us thereafter. Masami was delivered of a healthy son, heir to their lands and fortune."

  Fu Antos' eyes went briefly out of focus, seeing ancient heroics. "Alas, I did not learn the ultimate lesson: to suspect everybody, even my blood kin. By betraying me himself, my grandfather had sought to educate me in the proper ninja suspicion. Had I mastered that then, and anticipated the perfidy of beauty, I would have married the idiot girl! She at least had no wit to be disloyal. And so I was doomed, fated to be betrayed by my beautiful wife from another clan. Her of the silken tresses. Mitsuko."

  He touched the geisha, letting her feel the ki. "It took me five years to develop my own ki strongly enough to feign death, and centuries to achieve its full potential. But it was well worth it!"

  "Let me go," the girl repeated.

  "Now we finish my business," he said. "From the time of my wife's betrayal, I have been impotent with desirable women. Especially those who most resemble my wife and who therefore arouse in me the strongest conflicting passions. Until this moment! But now I have shrived myself, speaking openly the truth that I hardly let myself think before. Now the curse is off."

  He sent his ki into his member, to stiffen it, and for the first time in three hundred years, that ki failed him. He remained impotent. "Damn that traitress!" he cried, half in fury, half in agony. "Am I doomed forever to embrace only ugly women?"

  "Let me go!"

  Furious, he stood over her. He swept up his katana sword, which he had smuggled in unseen, ninja style. "Slut, traitress, defiler of honor, lovely anus of a pig, abomination, wife—I'll let you go!" he screamed.

  With a single stroke he cut her fair body in half.

  On March 24, 1860, Lord Ii was on his way to the palace of the shogun. He had just reached the Sakurada Gate in the heart of Edo, or Yedo, later to be known as Tokyo, the capital city of Japan. Lord Ii was carried on a palanquin in state, as befitted his rank, surrounded by his retainers. The party halted at the bridge over the palace moat, for the retinue of the prince of Kyushu was already crossing. Meanwhile, the prince of Owai was approaching with his train along the road.

  Lord Ii was not annoyed at this delay. He was a busy man who snatched his rest at such times, and he was glad to see the two princes, with whom he had business. He waited in the broad plaza formed by the conjunction of the street with the bridge, while light snow fell. Only the presence of a few idle peasants marred the tranquillity of the setting. It was not worth the effort of cleaning them out; like weeds, in their cheap oil-paper cloaks, they sprouted wherever royalty moved, hoping for handouts. He seldom even noticed them.

  Suddenly one of the riffraff flung himself across the line of march, right in front of the regent's palanquin. This was a gross affront, not to be tolerated for a moment. The officers of Lord Ii's household rushed forward, drawing their swords; they would make swift example of the oaf!

  Abruptly the places they had vacated beside the palanquin were filled with armed men who seemed to have sprung from the earth—or from the ranks of the peasants, much the same thing. Fifteen, eighteen, twenty men, swords raised—admitted by the careless interruption of the regent's defensive formation. But the troops of Lord Ii outnumbered the intruders by more than two to one, and those of the two princes were converging on either side to lend their assistance. Though caught completely by surprise, and hampered by their poor position, they were well-trained samurais. Quickly they reversed direction and attacked. Their swords re
aped flesh with deadly efficiency. Many fell in the first few seconds, but very soon the tide was turned and the attackers driven off. Men fell into the moat, breaking the thin cover of ice, dyeing the water red with their blood. The palanquin was safe. Then there was a cry: "Yaaaa! Mito!" A lone figure ran along the causeway, waving a gory trophy. It was the head of one of the regent's troops.

  "That's Yonezuka!" someone cried, recognizing the fugitive. "Head of the Mito clan! They're behind this outrage!"

  "Lord Ii will have his head!" another cried. Five samurai detached themselves from the dwindling fray and pursued Yonezuka.

  Two of the Mito clan tried to stop them, but both were already gravely wounded, and it was hopeless. Instead of fleeing, the two knelt on the pavement and deliberately performed seppuku, the ritual disembowelment. The troops of the regent stood and watched, for so sacred was this act of suicide that no interruption was permitted—not even in the case of criminals like these. Meanwhile, the five samurai gained on Yonezuka, who was also wounded.

  A retainer opened the curtain to the regent's palanquin. "Sir, the criminals have been driven off. Is there anything you—" He stared, aghast. Then: "Lord Ii is dead!"

  Indeed he was. The palanquin contained only his headless corpse. "The trophy..." someone cried in awe and horror, realizing the significance of Yonezuka's burden.

  The fighting died away. Seven Mito clansmen lay in their blood, and a little distance away were the twin corpses of the suicides. A score of the regent's men also lay dead in the street or in the moat. The samurai caught Yonezuka, dispatched him, and brought back the head he had flaunted. Then a further horror manifested: it was not the head of Lord Ii.