Winter Raven

by Adam Baker

  ‘He was sent to this province to defeat his brother,’ said the samurai, from behind her. ‘A cruel test of loyalty. He had to choose between his family and the Imperial House. He couldn’t win. To fail would mean death. Seppuku. Intolerable shame. But success would also mean death. If you study the histories you will find many successful generals died in mysterious circumstances. A great chieftain needs military men to enforce his will but must ensure they do not become a threat to his leadership. If Motohide retook Etchū in the Emperor’s name, he would have returned to Kyoto a hero. And later succumbed to an unfortunate riding accident or sudden illness.’

  ‘So he stayed and fortified his position,’ said the girl, blocking a head strike.

  ‘I doubt he was concerned for his own life. But he feels the weight of his ancestral lineage, the responsibility he owes his favourite wife and their son. He won’t throw them away. Not for the Emperor. Not for anyone.’

  ‘So the Emperor forced his betrayal.’

  A strike to her back. She felt it coming. She span and sank to one knee, sword raised, and blocked the blow. The angle of attack betrayed the samurai’s position a yard to her right. She counter-attacked, scythed her staff at ground level and tried to knock his feet from under him. He skipped to avoid the blow.

  ‘Very good,’ he said, and took the blindfold from her eyes. ‘Yes. There is a lesson you can take from the Emperor’s actions, if you choose to heed it, about the nature of fear.’

  ‘If you fear something too much you can make it happen.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  * * *

  They returned to the camp. The girl snapped their duelling staffs over her knee and fed them into the fire. Later when the convicts were curled asleep the girl and the samurai sat side by side and stared into the flames.

  ‘You enjoyed your time at the monastery?’ asked the samurai.

  ‘Yes.’

  He was wracked by a coughing fit. He got it under control.

  ‘I want you to do something for me. When this is over, when our mission is concluded one way or another, get out of Etchū as fast as you can. Don’t go back to Kyoto. Head south. Travel to Iga, the village of Kōga. Go to The Temple of Suijin. Ask for the abbot.’

  ‘You know the place?’

  ‘The men of Suijin are skilled in the art of ninjitsu. They are warrior monks. Most have been drilled in unarmed combat since childhood. They can kill with supernatural stealth. If you choose to become a bugeisha, then you will need formal training. These men are the best.’

  ‘Why weren’t ninjas dispatched to execute this mission?’

  ‘Because the Emperor and his mother are terrified of them. And rightly so.’

  ‘Have they trained women?’

  ‘No. So you will be the first. Tell them you were my novice. Show them what you can do. Prove you deserve their tutelage.’

  The girl didn’t reply.

  ‘You will be safe there,’ urged the samurai, sensing her reluctance to commit to the idea. ‘I doubt the Emperor will send men to chase you down. You’re just a girl. That’s your greatest weapon. Nobody thinks you matter.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Anyway, you will be safe at Kōga no matter what. They make their own law. They don’t answer to the Emperor. They answer to heaven.’

  The girl thought it over.

  ‘Please,’ said the samurai. ‘For my own peace of mind I need to know you will have a future after this.’

  ‘All right. That’s where I’ll go.’

  The samurai nodded gratitude. He pulled the box of ampoules from his pack. His hands were shaking and he was sweating with pain.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked the girl. ‘Can I help?’

  He broke the neck of an ampoule and knocked back poppy resin.

  ‘No. There’s nothing you can do.’ He closed his eyes and waited for the opiate to hit.

  The woods thinned out as they approached the mountain. They stood at the tree line, half-hidden by low branches. Crouching, they used thick underbrush for cover, and surveyed the valley. There were troops camped on the valley floor, a cluster of tents and grazing horses.

  ‘How many men do you reckon?’ asked Tameyo.

  ‘A couple of hundred,’ said the samurai.

  The village and surrounding farm plots lined the valley wall. There were stepped rice terraces, irrigation channels and animal pens. They could see a shrine, a handful of houses and what appeared to be a modest tavern. Smoke curled from roof-flues.

  Looming high on the mountainside above the valley was the castle itself – the closer they got the more formidable it seemed. Vertiginous mist-shrouded cliffs rose to an unassailable rampart part-veiled by cloud.

  The Dragon’s Lair.

  When they first heard the castle’s name in Kyoto they scoffed thinking it was the product of rural superstition. But now, as they gazed up at the bleak fortifications, they understood the dread the mountain could evoke, the visceral conviction that the crags were home to daemons and monsters. The upper reaches of the mountain, the ridges and outcrops surrounding the summit were white with ice. Driving wind blew wisps of snow from high crags making the mountain smoke like hot coals.

  The travellers couldn’t get closer to the hamlet without crossing open ground. They would be visible to villagers and sentries patrolling the castle battlements.

  The convicts grew restless and retreated into the woods to pace and stretch. The samurai and the girl remained crouched in undergrowth so they could observe the valley.

  ‘See that cart?’ said the samurai. There was a four-wheeled wagon behind the tavern. ‘That’s the one that was travelling the castle road a couple of days back.’

  ‘You think it brings them supplies?’

  ‘Consignments of fresh food, at a guess. I’m guessing they make a delivery every day or so.’

  ‘You want me to hitch a ride, yes? Get inside the castle.’

  ‘Do you think you can do it? You’ll be on your own. You’ll have nothing but your wits.’

  ‘I can do it.’

  ‘We’ll be relying on you.’

  ‘What about the others?’

  ‘Masaie stays here in the forest with the explosives and waits for the signal to attack. Tameyo and Ariyo will come with me and climb the mountain. I estimate it will take two or three days for us all to be in position. Then, when I give the signal, we make our move.’

  The samurai got to his feet and mustered the men. ‘This is where we part,’ he declared.

  Masaie leant against a tree to rest his leg.

  ‘You understand what you have to do, neh?’ said the samurai, addressing Masaie. ‘You must stay hidden until the time comes.’

  ‘Understood.’

  Masaie held out his hand and dropped his debt stone into Tameyo’s palm.

  ‘Look after this for me, would you? If anything happens to me take it back to Kyoto. Free my wife and son.’

  Tameyo nodded.

  ‘Will you be okay?’ asked the samurai, gesturing to the Masaie’s leg.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m feeling better.’

  ‘When the hour comes you need to be ready. It’s vital you play your part otherwise the plan will fail.’

  ‘I won’t let you down.’

  The samurai turned to Tameyo and Ariyo. ‘You two are with me a while longer, I’m afraid. How do you feel? Ready to climb?’

  The men didn’t reply. They looked up at the mountain. It looked like a wind-blasted hell.

  The samurai turned to the girl.

  ‘And you understand what you have to do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m asking a lot. It worries me. You’ll be alone. But I’ve taught you as best I can, given our short time together. Hopefully enough to keep you alive.’

  She nodded. He couldn’t think of parting words that that would fully convey his emotions so instead he laid a hand on her shoulder and smiled. He turned away. Tameyo and Ariyo followed him and they were soon lost among trees. They
skirted the edge of the forest, planning to leave the cover of the woods and approach the mountain once they were out of sight of the village and castle.

  The innkeeper’s wife found Commander Raku trying to dress. Her initial instinct was to back out of the room until he made himself decent but she saw he needed help. He had managed to pull on his hakama using his stumps but hadn’t been able to tie the waist string. He had shrugged on his kimono but been unable to tie the sash.

  He stood while she secured his clothes feeling like a child dressed by its mother. He explored his emotions. Why am I not angry? I am a samurai. Why am I not enraged by this humiliation? He was still in a state of shock. Everything around him, the room, the woman helping him dress, his own mutilated body, felt unreal. The head wound had caused his face to swell and his vision to blur. Maybe I am dead. Maybe this is a place of subtle torment. Maybe my soul is marooned in this grey netherworld, doomed to drift incomplete through this place of drab ghosts forever trying to complete my mission, forever struggling to reach my goal. The eternal punishment of those failed in their duty during their lives. He swayed like he was about to topple over. The innkeeper’s wife held his arm to steady him.

  ‘You are sick, Commander-sama,’ she said. She didn’t truly believe the injured man was a great soldier but called him commander as a courtesy. It wouldn’t be the first time a madman had stopped at the tavern a while then moved on. Plenty of lunatics and mystics walked the rural roads. They deserved compassion and a little basic hospitality. They were repellent, filthy and wretched. But they had once been somebody’s brother, somebody’s son.

  ‘You should rest, commander. Rest for many days.’

  ‘It’s imperative I reach Etchū. Does anyone in this village own a horse?’

  ‘You should ask downstairs.’

  The tavern was busy. Raku could hear laughter from the room below. He stepped into rope sandals and headed for the door, unsteady like he crossing the deck of a storm-tossed ship.

  ‘Wait,’ said the innkeeper’s wife. She left and returned a moment later holding a wooden mask. She gestured to his face: the bloody, swollen mess, the crusted blood and crude stitchwork. ‘A gigaku troupe stayed here, years ago. They left this.’

  Raku examined the blank mask. It was white with delicate red lips.

  * * *

  The tavern was busy. As darkness fell the men of the village came to the hostel seeking warmth and company. They sat round the fire. They laughed and talked.

  The room turned quiet as the stairs creaked and sandaled feet slowly descended from the upper room. The villagers had heard there was a horribly disfigured stranger in the room above the tavern. Whenever they had asked the innkeeper about the stranger, asked him to describe the man’s horrific injuries, the innkeeper simply shook his head and said: Monstrous. Monstrous. They waited with a mix of fear and excitement to see if the stranger’s face was as grotesque as the innkeeper had implied.

  The innkeeper’s wife provided a supporting arm as Raku negotiated the steps. A murmur of unease from the villagers. Eyes regarded them from behind the white perfection of a mask.

  Raku sat with his back to the men. The innkeeper set a cup of water in front of him.

  Raku lifted the mask. He clamped the cup between his stumps, lifted it to his mouth and drank. The villagers craned to catch a glimpse of the stranger’s nightmarish visage and flinched as Raku pulled down his mask and turned round to face them.

  ‘Who wants money?’

  No one replied.

  ‘Money. Coins. Coins you can use to buy cattle and land.’

  Silence.

  ‘Etchū. North of here. There’s a castle on a mountain. They call it The Dragon’s Lair. Money, lots of money, for the man who can get me there in three days.’

  Raku looked round the room. ‘What do you want? Any of you? A plot of land? Cows? This is a chance to change your miserable lives. Something for your children, your grandchildren.’

  ‘Hush now,’ said the innkeeper. ‘You’ve been housed, nursed and fed. Don’t go spinning tales.’

  ‘I am Commander Raku of the Takeda clan, sworn to General Motohide of Etchū. Look at me. Look into my eyes. You know it’s true.’ He stared the tavern keeper down. The man averted his gaze.

  Raku addressed the tavern crowd once more.

  ‘The Dragon’s Lair. Get me there in three days, and I’ll put a purse in your hand. My solemn word. So. Who wants to be rich?’

  A man sitting near the fire slowly raised his hand.

  * * *

  The man sat opposite the commander. Raku pulled off his mask and exposed his ruined face. The man breathed fast, shocked at the sight, but held the commander’s gaze.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Chisato.’

  ‘Raku.’

  ‘You’ll pay me? If I take you to Etchū?’

  ‘The castle.’

  ‘I’ve never seen it. But I know where it is.’

  ‘You have a horse?’

  ‘And a cart.’

  ‘Then you are already a prince in these parts.’

  ‘Money could stoke a lot of envy round here,’ said Chisato. ‘Turn friends into enemies. I might have to head for Kyoto, buy a shop or something.’

  ‘Well, that’s a fine problem to wrestle with. A moment ago you were destined for a lifetime raking dung. Now you’re planning how to spend more money than you’ve ever seen. But like I said. You have to get me to Nakatomi Castle. You have to do it in three days.’

  ‘How much money? Give me a figure.’

  ‘Ten gold ryō.’

  ‘Ten?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Gold?’

  Raku nodded.

  ‘Three days,’ he said. ‘Three days or you get nothing.’

  ‘Then we’d better get started.’

  * * *

  The commander waited outside the tavern while Chisato ran home to hitch his cart. Raku stood shivering in the cold and listened to shouts and laughter from inside the tavern. He needed a piss and walked to the side of the building so he could be unobserved by those entering and exiting the inn. How could he urinate with no hands? Just let it run down his leg? Walk around reeking of piss?

  He wriggled his hakama down using his stumps. He pissed. Then the long battle to raise his hakama once more and pull it over his hips. But what would happen when he needed to defecate? Who would wipe his ass? He leant his forehead against the side wall of the tavern and released a slow, shuddering sigh. The degradation of his condition was overwhelming.

  Three days. Three days, then he could die.

  He heard hoof beats as Chisato pulled up outside the tavern. He rode a two-wheeled cart hauled by a short Yonaguni cross-breed. The farmer tried to help Raku into the cart but Raku pushed Chisato away and hauled himself up without aid. He sat in the wagon on planks dusted with straw. The farmer fetched a couple of flasks of water and some apples from the tavern, stuff for their journey.

  ‘We’ll have to take it slow,’ said Chisato. ‘Hard to avoid pot-holes in the dark.’

  ‘There’ll be a clear sky and a full moon. You should be able to see clear enough.’

  Chisato said a brief prayer to Batō Kannon then he geed the horse and they set off down the road.

  The horse died noon the following day. It plodded down the track then stopped and jerked its head a few times like it was trying to shake off some kind of dizzy spell.

  ‘Are you all right, girl?’ asked Chisato.

  The horse lurched right then collapsed. The cart tipped on its side throwing Raku and the farmer into the undergrowth.

  Chisato crouched by the stricken animal and stroked its head as the creature panted. It foamed at the mouth, its eyes rolled crazy. The farmer reluctantly drew the knife from his belt. Raku walked down the track a little way so Chisato could spend a last few moments alone with the animal. A brief bark of fear and pain from the horse indicated Chisato had put an end to its suffering.

  ‘You owe me
a new horse,’ said the farmer. He strode past Raku and headed down the track, a bag and blanket slung over his shoulder.

  * * *

  Raku and Chisato reached a river mid-afternoon. They were exhausted. They sat on the bank, took off their sandals and soaked their sore feet in the water.

  ‘They will be a boat, sooner or later,’ said Raku. ‘We’ll flag it down. Ask them to take us as passengers.’

  ‘They’ll want payment,’ said Chisato. ‘Not promises. Something they can hold in their hand.’

  ‘What’s that round your neck?’

  The commander gestured to a band hanging round the farmer’s neck on a leather thong.

  ‘My father’s ring. It doesn’t fit my finger.’

  ‘Where did he get it?’

  ‘He found it in the middle of the road when he was a young man. It was just sitting there in the mud. Must have been dropped. He spent the rest of his life looking down. Everywhere we went he checked the ground hoping to find another treasure. He never did.’

  ‘Silver?’

  ‘A little, I think.’

  ‘Then give it to the boatman.’

  Chisato shook his head. ‘It belonged to my father.’

  ‘You have children?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You want to give them a better life?’

  ‘Yes,’

  ‘If your father were here now what would he tell you to do?’ asked Raku.

  Chisato didn’t reply. They sat in silence a while. Then, as the afternoon wore on a single-sailed boat turned the bend. The farmer stood and flagged his arms.

  The two crewmen reacted in terror when they steered the vessel towards the river bank and saw Raku’s white, impassive mask. They wrenched the rudder trying to steer clear and leave the travellers on the bank but it was too late. Raku and Chisato jumped aboard. Chisato quickly assured the terrified crew Raku wasn’t a leper. He took the ring from around his neck and held it up. Silver glinted in the sunlight. The boat’s captain snatched it from his hand.