Heart of the Ronin

by Travis Heermann

She smiled back, timidly.

  He looked around his office at the stacks of documents and books, rubbing his chin. “Now, where did I put that Go board?”

  * * *

  As the afternoon shadows grew long, Ken’ishi found himself on the path leading to the pond that he and Kiosé visited a few weeks before, where Tetta might have gone to fish. He stood on the path for a few moments, pondering. It was conceivable that Gorobei had used this path himself.

  Akao stood beside him, nose to the ground. “No trail here. No humans for a while.”

  “We’ll search again,” Ken’ishi said and strode down the path.

  “Night coming.”

  “I know.” Ken’ishi glanced down. Akao’s hackles stood on end. “What is it?”

  Akao said nothing.

  “Are you afraid?”

  The dog looked up at him. “Something . . . strange.”

  In the failing light, the looming rock face along one side of the pond was a powerful, brooding presence. He had just enough time to make a modest camp a few paces from the water. While he did so, Akao prowled the outskirts of the pond’s perimeter. Before long, a sharp bark from the far side of the pond echoed over the water. Ken’ishi moved around the pond, and as he approached the spot, his nose caught the powerful stench of death, more rotten, more foul than he had ever experienced. He covered his nose and mouth with his collar and followed the odor.

  As he thrust himself between reeds taller than his head, cursing his own noise, he spotted Akao’s brownish shape deep in the reeds, pointing toward the water. After he took a few more steps in the failing light, something purple and distended emerged, lying half in the water. Then he saw the human foot, twisted and swollen. He stepped nearer and clenched his teeth against the unbearable stench. The corpse lay on its stomach, knees half-curled up under it, its head submerged in the muck. Strangely, the body was naked. And even more sickening, between the narrow, purpled buttocks sticking into the air, something red, raw, wet and distended, looking as if some of his innards had been sucked out through the hole.

  Ken’ishi’s guts churned, and he tasted the bile rising in his throat, but he clamped his jaw shut like a band of iron. He stepped back, short of breath, allowing the reeds to hide the horror that lay among them.

  Akao said, “Something strange did this. Scent is . . . wrong.”

  Ken’ishi could not answer. His breath came in short, painful gasps. When it began to slow, he swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat. Then he drew his sword, sliced a thick handful of reeds, and twisted them into a makeshift rope. Steeling himself, he stepped back through the rushes closer to the corpse, moved to its feet, and slipped the rope around the corpse’s swollen purpled ankle, careful not to touch the lifeless flesh. He did not wish to taint his spirit with the touch of the dead. After tying the rope securely, he pulled. The corpse came out of the water with a sickening squelch and a belch of putrid air. He hauled it up onto the bank, flattening a path through the reeds. As he pulled, the corpse rolled onto its back, and he could see the man’s face. Gorobei’s mouth gaped in a silent death rattle, full of muck, eyes eaten to empty sockets, flesh purple and sagging.

  Ken’ishi’s guts heaved, and his knees buckled for a moment, but he fought it down and staggered about thirty paces away, trying to regain control of his breathing, waiting for his thrashing innards to settle. Finally, he regained control and turned back toward the corpse.

  The hairs on the back of his neck rippled erect, putting him instantly on guard.

  Akao faced the water, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

  Ken’ishi took two steps back toward the corpse and spied movement in the reeds near its resting place. Something large squelched and rustled in the tall reeds and dashed back to where the corpse lay. Water splashed, just out of sight behind the reeds, and the tops of the plants still waved with the passing of . . . something. He parted the reeds and looked out over the pond. Ripples spread toward the water’s distant sides. He looked down and saw what looked like two small footprints in the muck. He could not tell the shape of the footprints because they were already filled with water. Another chill trickled down his spine. Something had been standing here. Watching them.

  “Can you scent it?” Ken’ishi asked.

  “Watched us.”

  “Yes,” Ken’ishi said. “It was watching us. . . .”

  * * *

  The patch of indigo sky shone through the opening in the forest canopy above the pond. The shadows among the underbrush thickened. They sat beside their small fire on the bank of the pond, cooking a small pot of rice for supper. Ken’ishi’s gaze swept constantly over the surface of the water, looking for telltale ripples, anything to indicate the presence of whatever had been watching them. He kept his sword beside him and his bow strung. Three arrows jutted from the earth nearby, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

  As darkness fell, Akao slunk away into the shadows. Before the dog disappeared into the forest, they exchanged looks that said, Be careful.

  In spite of his constant vigilance, Ken’ishi listened with contentment to the awakening of the night creatures around the lake, the frogs and insects and other creatures. Evening birds voiced their mournful cries. On a high branch overlooking the water sat a lone crow, its harsh voice calling out to its comrades that all was clear.

  As he watched the black silhouette of the crow preening its feathers, Ken’ishi had an idea. He called out, “Sir Crow, excuse me. Can I have a word with you?”

  The crow looked at him in astonishment for a moment. Then it called back from its lofty perch. “Who speaks the ancient tongue? Who are you? What do you want?”

  “I know it is late, Sir Crow. Please accept my apologies. May I ask you a question?”

  “What for? I don’t like humans.”

  Crows were perhaps the rudest of all birds, and as this one had said, they did not like humans, but Ken’ishi knew they were among the most clever and wise of all birds, and Takao, his foster father, once told him that they were the messengers of the gods.

  “Would you like some rice?”

  Without another word the crow leaped from its branch and glided toward where Ken’ishi sat, landing well out of reach. Ken’ishi smiled inwardly; crows were also easily bribed.

  The crow cocked its head, blinking its beady black eyes. “Rice, you say? Is it ready to eat?”

  “Soon.”

  “Then you may ask your question. But if you lie about the rice, my brothers and I will drive you from these woods.”

  “Very well, Sir Crow. My question is this. Is there something living in this pond?”

  “What a foolish question!” The crow’s eyes sparkled with silent, mischievous laughter. “Of course there are things living in this pond! Fish and turtles and frogs and insects—”

  “Excuse me, Sir Crow. I should have been more specific. Is there something living in the pond that . . . that likes to feed upon human beings?”

  The crow glanced at the pond, then at him, then back at the water, then smoothed its feathers. “Yes.”

  “What is it?”

  “You said one question. Give me the rice now.”

  “Very well.” He got up and scooped a ladle of steaming rice from the pot onto a broad leaf. He laid the small, steaming mound at the crow’s feet.

  “What a strange creature you are!” the crow said. “A man who speaks the ancient tongue! Whoever heard of such a thing! It is too hot!” The crow pointed to the rice with one of its feet.

  “Wave your wing to fan the rice. Sir Crow, I have one more question.”

  The crow seemed to sigh. “Very well. Ask.”

  “What kind of creature is it?”

  “I do not know that, but it lives in the water.”

  “What does it look like?”

  The crow blinked twice as if it could not understand the question. “Bigger than me, smaller than you.” Then the crow gulped its portion down in three great bites.

  “Thank you for
your help, Sir Crow.”

  Without another word, the crow flapped into the air and returned to its perch high above the water.

  By now, the light had all but gone, leaving Ken’ishi with only the light of his fire reflecting from the black, rippling surface of the pond. Stars flicked into view, one by one, like holes pricked in the dark patch of sky. He sat down with his back to the fire, looking over the water, weapons within easy reach. He had no idea what kind of creature might live in the water and prey upon human beings. An oni? He had never heard of oni that lived in the water. A sea dragon? This was a freshwater pond, with no connection to the sea. Perhaps the spirit of the pond itself was evil. The most powerful spirits could take physical form.

  The night darkened, and the moon rose into the patch of sky, casting a trail of silver upon the surface of the pond. Ken’ishi found himself growing sleepy. It would not be wise to sleep alone beside the pond. He must remain alert, or he might disappear like the others. Even if he pretended to sleep, the danger of falling asleep would be greater. And Akao was still in the darkness somewhere, probably watching from a different vantage point. The moon rose higher, and still Ken’ishi did not move. He fought against sleep with every breath, every blink of his eyes. His eyes seemed to shut of their own volition. Several times he stood up and circled around his fire to force himself awake, but when he sat down again his body yearned for rest.

  * * *

  “Come, monkey-boy,” said Kaa. “There is something I must teach you.” His feathers ruffled in the stiff breeze that seemed to flow perpetually across the mountainside and grow stronger on sunny days. This was a sunny day in winter, and the air was cold and brittle. Snow swathed the land, weighing down upon the pine branches like a soggy, bitter-cold blanket.

  The tengu set off down the slope from their mountain perch. The boy pulled his coat of straw close around him and breathed in its dusty, earthy scent. The wind was cold, but in the depths under the forest canopy, it could hardly penetrate. His sandaled feet crunched through the snow as they walked. The birds were quiet today, probably huddled against the winter chill. The boy followed his master’s quick, steady stride and long legs, and he almost ran to keep up. The afternoon passed and the boy grew weary, and still they walked in silence. Curiosity burned in him, but he knew better than to ask. His master would explain when the time came.

  They trekked across the faces of three mountains, into places far beyond the boy’s previous explorations. They entered a valley darkening into shadow as the sun fell behind one of the nearby peaks. The air chilled even more, and still the boy wondered where they were going. He was weary, and his feet were numb with cold, the lack of feeling spreading up through his legs.

  His nose caught a strange, moist smell in the air, and wisps of steam or cloud rose beyond a grove of pine trees in their path. The smell was unlike anything he had ever experienced. A bit like the smell of rotten eggs. Kaa led him along a narrow, rocky path toward the pine grove and the clouds of rising steam. As they grew nearer, the smell grew stronger. The air grew warmer as well, until they passed through the small patch of pines and stood beside a small lake of steaming water, perhaps one hundred paces across at its widest point, nestled in the crook of two mountain slopes.

  The boy felt the warmth of the water on his face even while standing beside it. The water was clear and calm. Tiny ripples spread across the surface as if created from invisible undercurrents. The shapes of the rocks under the surface wavered and shifted with these otherwise unseen forces.

  The boy looked at the lake with mixed feelings of wonder and unease. Then the tengu’s harsh voice startled him. “You do not know how to swim. You must learn. Go into the water.”

  The boy turned to his master. “The water is deep!”

  “Of course it is deep! That is why you must swim! You will swim across, then you will swim back.”

  The boy stared at the water for a few moments, unsure of what to do.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  The boy stepped down the rocks to the water’s edge. The water was so clear he saw the rocks and pebbles sloping sharply downward. He took off his clothes as if he was preparing to bathe, folded them, and left them in a pile on a nearby rock. Except for his meager loincloth, he stood naked and shivering against the winter wind. The warm water seemed now like an inviting place, so he stepped in. He gasped as the water’s heat shocked the flesh of his legs. His feet were too numb at first to feel the rocks underneath, but the heat sent a torrent of prickling ice through them. He took two steps, and the water reached his knees. Four steps more and it reached his waist. Its warmth seeped through his chilled flesh. The invisible currents caressed his skin. A few more steps, and he was immersed in hot water up to his neck.

  “Now, monkey boy. Move further into the water. Move your arms like this and kick your legs.” The boy watched him for a moment, then began to move into the deeper water. The water rose to his chin until he danced on his tiptoes. “Move your arms and legs, fool! You’ve watched how fish swim. You must do as they do!” The boy complied, moving his arms first, then lifting his feet from the rocky bottom to kick them beneath him. To his amazement, his head remained above the surface, and he felt as if he was floating, a moment of exhilaration, until he reached down with his foot and no longer felt the bottom beneath him. A jolt of panic shot through him, and he began to sink. He gulped a mouthful of foul-tasting water. He heard his master shouting at him through the water in his ears. “Relax, monkey-boy! Control yourself! If you panic like an animal, you will die!”

  Something in him knew that his master was right, so he relaxed and slowed his frenzied movements. Magically, it seemed, his head rose from the water again.

  “Look!” the boy cried. “I’m doing it!”

  “Good! Perhaps you will not die after all!” his master shouted.

  As the boy relaxed, able to revel in the sensations of buoyant warmth, small currents under the water rippled across his flesh. Moments later, he noticed that he had moved farther into deep water.

  “Now, swim to the other side. Aim your body toward that pointed rock.”

  The boy turned his head and looked through the wisps of steam rising from the water’s smooth surface. A rock jutted from the water near the edge on the opposite side. The rock stood the height of a man, with the sides near the water level painted in strange colors. He felt a burst of exhilaration and confidence as the pointed rock came closer.

  When he reached the middle of the small lake, the small, underwater currents grew stronger. He felt them pulling at his feet, as if his legs were just barely slipping through the grasp of some invisible watery entity. He ceased moving toward the rock and looked down through the clear water. He could see the darkness of the rocky bottom underneath him, but he saw nothing around his legs but formless ripples.

  His master called out to him, “What is it? Why have you stopped?”

  “Something—!” A mouthful of water cut off his words as he was pulled under. A fresh bolt of panic shot through him, and he flailed under the water, lifting his face to the air.

  His head broke the surface for a moment, and he heard his master’s voice. “. . . or the lake’s water spirits will. . . .”

  All thoughts in his mind fell away, leaving him with a desire as clear as the steaming hot water, a desire to fight, to live. His legs and arms pumped and flailed. A gasp of crisp, cold air, then under the water again. Fighting. Kicking. Swimming. Water swirling around his knees, caressing, sliding over his thighs, tugging so gently, gently enough to pull his face under again. Then sharp pain lanced through his toes as they kicked against the stony bottom. The bottom! In an instant, he stopped fighting, gathered his legs under him, and stood up. His head and shoulders emerged, steaming in the cool air, and he stood on the lake bed, gasping for air, wiping the stinging water from his eyes. His master stood on the far side of the lake, watching him passively. The boy looked around him and saw that he stood about fifteen paces from the tall, po
inted rock.

  “You are alive!” his master called. “The water spirits have found you strong enough to survive. You are a strong swimmer!”

  The boy’s face flushed and a grin emerged. He had done it! He nearly collapsed with relief.

  “Now you must swim back!”

  * * *

  The dream memory flowed away from that long-ago day and through all the days afterward when he returned to that lake and swam back and forth many times, fighting the invisible grasp of the lake’s water spirits with every pass. After his first time, he had brought small offerings of rice and fish for the water spirits to thank them for sparing his life. Then in later dreams, he thought it strange that the steaming lake now had large growths of reeds, and that things were moving through the reeds, parting them with their passage. A rustle from the reeds and the quiet slosh of water jerked him awake. A chill gripped the back of his neck as he realized that he had fallen asleep. He thought he saw the tops of the nearby reeds waving rhythmically, as if something had just passed through, but he could not be sure if the flickering firelight was playing tricks. He cocked his ear, listening for movement, but all he heard was the singsong chorus of the night creatures in the darkness, who seemed to giggle at his foolishness.

  His fists clenched. Fool! Falling asleep like that might have cost him his life! Anger and vigilance together were sufficient to keep sleep at bay for the rest of night. When dawn came, he still sat with his back to the dying embers of his fire, watching the water.

  As daylight returned, so did Akao. Ken’ishi asked, “Did you see anything?”

  Akao responded with a weary huff.

  When the patch of dark sky faded to grayness, swallowing the stars, Ken’ishi stretched his legs and noticed some strange indentations in a bare patch of soft earth just outside the perimeter of the reeds. A pair of strange, blunt impressions, perhaps half the size of his own feet, pressed smoothly into the moist earth, tipped by deep pits that could only have been made by long claws. Whatever left those footprints had been completely out of the water, out of the reeds, and approaching him in full view. A shiver of excitement whispered through him, and he looked at the pond again, feeling something watching him from concealment.