A man with a sword stood behind Shozuki now. He looked unkempt, hairy like a ronin, with a thin scraggly beard. The silken wrappings of his katana hilt were darkened with use. Another thinking himself a big man with a sword, probably a ronin in the employ of the oyabun who owned this establishment.
Chiba’s teeth clenched. He downed his third cup of saké.
In the third round, Chiba found himself with most of a Jade Gates spread collected in his hands. He only needed one more card to complete the set, which would defeat everyone else at the table and win him all the side bets. The whore was as good as his. Sweat that was not from the heat beaded his forehead. The gamble was that if he did not complete the set, he would beat no one. But he could still feel Fortune’s warm flutter on his back, spreading into his chest like a golden butterfly.
Suddenly one of the dockworkers hooted with victory and laid down his cards, revealing a set of Imperial Gardens, ending the round and claiming all the wagers.
Chiba threw down his cards. “Shit! Idiot!” Having lost all his side bets, he now had less money than he started with.
The winner’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward. His lips peeled back into a mirthless grin. “Didn’t somebody tell you to shut up?”
“Idiot,” Chiba muttered, then emptied his saké cup. The gazes around the table fell heavy upon him.
The ronin edged forward. Chiba’s vision swam.
“Hey!” He pointed a wavering finger at the sword. “You know how to use that thing or is it just for show?”
The man crossed his arms and pursed his lips.
Shozuki smiled like a shark. “I’m sure your fortune hasn’t turned completely, Mr. Brown Leaves.”
Chiba tapped his empty cup on the table. “It’s still there. I can feel it.” The fluttering of Fortune intensified the yearning in his loins. A serving girl refilled his cup from a heavy earthen jar. He eyed the sensual curve of her neck as she knelt next to him. His ears burned as he wondered how much her favors might cost.
Shozuki dealt the next round, his fingers dancing, and the players placed wagers and side bets.
Chiba clamped his lips between his teeth. There in his hand was a nearly complete Jade Dragon. He only needed one more card to quadruple his winnings, a card that no one ever wanted. It would come up soon or be discarded. He pushed the rest of his silver forward, suppressing the smugness of his grin as best he could.
Shozuki’s eyebrows rose. “Oho! A bold move so early, Mr. Brown Leaves.”
Chiba did his best to keep his face neutral. The watchful gaze of the warrior awled into Chiba. Chiba waited for his card to come. He would have the supplies, a whore—perhaps two!—and coin left to spare. His brothers would be pleased.
Abruptly, Shozuki revealed his hand—the Heavenly Serpent, part of which would have completed Chiba’s own hand—with an apologetic look. “I’m very sorry, sirs. The fortunes favor the house this round.” His arms arced out and swept up the coins in the center of the table.
Chiba lurched to his feet. “Shit! You cheated me!” He clutched the hilt of his knife.
Shozuki’s eyes narrowed. “Now, Sir Brown Leaves, I’m sure you don’t want any trouble.”
Chiba threw his cards onto the table. “You stole it all!”
The warrior’s sword came half out of its scabbard.
Shozuki’s voice grew low and grim. “Now, sir. I’m sure you don’t want my friend’s blade to see the light fully. If it does, it must drink blood.”
Chiba pointed a wavering finger at the warrior. “You don’t scare me!”
The warrior took a step forward, hand on his hilt.
“Think you’re a big man with that oversized fillet knife, do you? Think you can back me down, do you? Back in my village, there’s a filthy ronin who’s a lot like you. Thinks his big, fancy sword makes him a constable! I figure the wretch found it on an old battlefield or something.”
“Whatever, lout. Now get out.” The warrior took another step forward.
“Filthy ronin got to stick together, eh? You got cranes on your scabbard, too? Maybe you stole yours from the same place!”
Even through his blurry vision, Chiba saw the warrior’s expression change from barely restrained rage to suppressed surprise.
Chiba staggered toward the door, rage sizzling in his gut like a hot coal. “Bah! Listen to me, all of you! Nothing but thieves here, stealing honest men’s money.” He spat on the floor and backed toward the door.
The glint of steel disappeared back into its scabbard as the warrior and Shozuki exchanged strange glances. Chiba’s rage drove him on hot, wobbly legs out into the night.
* * *
Chiba did not remember the alley being this long, but there was only one way out. He would have to sleep in the boat tonight and leave on the morning tide. The beating his brothers would give him would be painful, but he would survive. It would be a long time before they let him come back to Hakozaki to sell the fish. He kept looking back over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. That ronin in there might not take well to insults.
The only living creature behind him was a dark, rag-eared tomcat yowling his lust into the indifferent world. A nice, heavy stone would silence the noisy bastard.
The sound of a foot shifting against the earth ahead stopped him. He turned back just in time to see the board before it slammed into his face. Something snapped in his nose, shooting blinding pain into his eyes, exploding through his head. The ground rushing up smashed the breath out of him.
Through tears and pain he glimpsed a shape standing over him, board in hand.
Chiba blubbered through smashed, bloody lips. “I have nothing! No money!”
Stars blurred behind the black silhouette. “Who are you?”
“Why do you care? Are you going to kill me?”
“Answer my questions, and maybe I’ll let you live.” A mask muffled the man’s voice. Steel glinted with starlight in the man’s other hand. “Who are you?”
“I’m Chiba, from Aoka village! Just a simple fisherman!”
“A ronin with a sword and a crane motif. Do you know any such person?”
“I know such a man.” Chiba smiled through teeth that tasted like blood. “Are you going to kill him?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“If you’re going to kill him, I’ll tell you anything you want to know! I’ll take you to his house! I’ll hold him down while you put a blade in his guts!”
The figure sniffed. “I doubt that will be necessary.”
This lonely moth saw brightness
In the woman’s room—
Burnt to a cinder
— Issa
The earth seemed to pull at Ken’ishi’s flesh as if he were embedded in it. Dew moistened his clothes, a single droplet glistening over his eyes on an unruly strand of hair. He blinked. An uguisu warbled somewhere overhead. The light filtering through the forest canopy was dim and gray.
Could it be morning? Had he slept here all night?
He sat up, shivering, rubbing his arms. The dew on his clothes wet his hands. He would give much at this moment for a cup of fresh tea and a bowl of warm rice. Low mist ghosted the surface of the pond. The forest echoed with the sparse call of morning birds. He groaned with the stiffness of his muscles and stood to stretch. A great fuzziness filled his mind, like wads of unraveled linen stuffed behind his eyes, as if he had just awakened from a night of too much saké.
A few more moments of stretching, eye-rubbing, and a splash of water in the face helped dispel the confusion.
The uguisu chirped again.
Ken’ishi found the bird on a branch as it watched him warily. “Good morning, Mr. Uguisu.”
The bird chirped at him.
Ken’ishi froze. He swallowed hard before he spoke again, and concentrated on speaking with as much precision as he could in the tongue of the small birds. “Are you energetic today?”
The bird chirped again.
“Can you understa
nd me, Mr. Uguisu?”
The bird leaped off his branch and disappeared into the trees.
Ken’ishi could not understand the bird. The bird could not understand him. He sank to the earth again, crosslegged, scratching his head. He had spoken the tongues of birds and animals for as long as he could remember, and now …
He realized that what had disquieted him about the pheasants last night was that he had not understood their speech, and worse, he had not paid enough attention to notice the loss.
How long had he simply failed to pay attention?
He stood again, brushed the soil and moisture from his clothes, and turned his feet back toward the village. As he walked now, he paid close attention to the sounds of birds filtering through the forest. Komadori, starlings, the screech of a distant sparrowhawk farther up the mountainside. He understood none of it, even when it came into his ears as clear as a wind-chime. The more utterances went past his ears, ungrasped, the heavier the stone in his belly became. He imagined this must be how it felt to go deaf or blind. Except that he had been deaf and blind for some time and not bothered to notice.
What a fool he was!
He exhausted his mind trying, but the understanding had evaporated like the dew. Perhaps the strange old man had enchanted him somehow …
But no. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had not understood any bird-speech for some time. He had not bothered to listen either, too preoccupied with his own longings, wishes, and worries.
He puzzled over it all the way back to the village.
When he reached the village, the fishing boats were already out. People were doing their morning chores. Kiosé would be cleaning up after the inn’s breakfast patrons. He found her busy wiping down a table. When she saw him, she tucked away the rag and approached him. “Would you like to eat something, sir?”
“Kiosé, you won’t believe this!” It all came out like an expulsion of held breath. He explained to her how he could not understand the birds anymore, perhaps not even animals. No matter how he tried to control his voice, to keep it calm and even, a strange sense of panic welled up in him.
Throughout his exposition, she glanced up at him with a different kind of confusion. When he was finished, she said, “I’m sorry to hear this has happened to you, sir. Would you like something to eat?”
The stone in his belly grew colder. She was still angry with him. Perhaps if he just explained things, she would understand. “I went out in the forest to think about … I met this strange man, and we talked about life and things. I don’t know what to do yet. You’re very good to me.”
She stiffened, a frown on her face. “Thank you, sir, but—”
“First, I must figure out why this has happened—”
“Sir—”
“—and then we can talk about what to do about—”
“Sir—”
“Yes?”
“Um, I don’t understand why you’re telling me all this. Would you like something to eat?”
She had never been cruel to him before. He had never imagined that she could be, but her words struck him like a cold fist in the stomach. “Kiosé!”
Her eyes bulged up at him, then she drew back. “Do you know me, sir?”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Kiosé, don’t joke with me. I’m sorry for what I said.”
She shrugged off his grip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. And I don’t … I don’t do that anymore, in spite of what you may have heard.”
Ken’ishi stepped back again. He searched her face. There was no recognition in it.
“Would you like something to eat?”
“No, I … I suppose not.”
“Then please excuse me.” She bowed and hurried away into the kitchen.
Ken’ishi’s mind reeled as if he had been struck with a bokken over the ear.
* * *
Ken’ishi sought Little Frog in the boy’s favorite places to play—there were many—until he ultimately discovered the boy alone, arranging concentric rings of sea shells along the beach near the docks.
Ken’ishi found his mood lifted by the sight of the boy. He waved. “Good morning.”
The boy glanced at him but a moment before returning to his work.
Ken’ishi approached him. “What are you making?”
“Shells,” Little Frog said.
“Many, many shells.”
Little Frog grunted the kind of assent that children give to adults with whom they are not particularly interested in speaking.
A cold hand touched Ken’ishi’s neck. “Little Frog, do you know who I am? Do you know me?”
Little Frog stuck a dirty finger in the corner of his mouth and looked at Ken’ishi for a long time.
“Do you know me?” At no point in the boy’s short life had Ken’ishi wished more for Little Frog to smile at him and say, Da.
Little Frog picked up a shell and gave it to Ken’ishi, then went back to his work.
All Ken’ishi could do was thank him and walk away, his throat tight and his brain spinning.
This flesh you have loved
Is fragile, unstable by nature
As a boat adrift.
The fires of the cormorant fishers
Flare in the night.
My heart flares with this agony.
Do you understand?
My life is going out.
Do you understand?
My life.
Vanishing like the stakes
That hold the nets against the current
In Uji River, the current and the mist
Are taking me
— The Love Poems of Marichiko
Ken’ishi trudged back from the beach. Had he been enchanted somehow? How could he have been erased from the memories of both Kiosé and Little Frog, like a drawing in the sand washed away by the tide? He had been enchanted before, and this was beginning to feel similar. Nevertheless, he was still in full possession of his faculties. He must explore the extent of this strange situation.
He found Norikage in his office, brush in hand, writing something, surrounded by piles of hand-bound books and scrolls.
When Norikage saw him, his eyes bulged. “Gods and Buddhas, where have you been? I had to let Chiba’s brothers beat him senseless—not an unpleasant task, I assure you—but you have to keep order—”
Sweet relief punctured Ken’ishi’s sack of worry, and he nearly collapsed with the release.
“What is it?” Norikage said. “You look like you’ve just seen another monster.”
“I fell asleep in the forest. Something strange is going on.”
“Such things seem to follow you. Tea?” Norikage gestured to the pot beside him.
“I would be obliged.”
Norikage poured for him. “So, you fell asleep in the forest. What about the other three days?”
“Three days! How long have I been gone?”
“Four days. Are you telling me you don’t remember?”
Ken’ishi ran a hand across his cheeks and felt a greater growth of stubble than he should have had if he had been in the forest only one night. “I was asleep. I talked to this strange old man. Kiosé … doesn’t remember me any more.”
Norikage raised an eyebrow.
“Neither does Little Frog. And I can no longer speak to birds and animals. I have lost their tongue somehow.” A spike of remembrance of a furry, rust-red face, grinning up at him, tongue lolling. Akao, slain these three years by the oni, Taro. If Akao were still alive, Ken’ishi might not be able to speak even to him.
The magnitude of what he had lost pummeled him again, all through his own indifference, his own negligence. To have lost something so dear, perhaps little by little, perhaps so long ago, without even realizing it was gone …
Norikage put down his brush again. “You, my friend, need breakfast and a writing lesson to take your mind off your troubles.”
“Not now.” His stomach was too sick to feel hungry.
“You must distract your mind from the downward spiral. All those problems will still be there when we’re finished. I’ll wager you haven’t eaten in four days. I’ll have Hana bring us breakfast.”
Norikage had said ‘Hana,’ not ‘Haru,’ but for a moment Ken’ishi was uncertain. His memory flashed with Haru’s beautiful face, her coquettish giggle and flashing green eyes, with sensations of love and confusion, the earthy smell of a fox den, the feel of her cool, wet nose, and the succulent juices of raw rabbit flesh. Oh, yes, he remembered well how enchantment felt.
Too shaken by all of this, he could do nothing but accede to Norikage’s wishes.
* * *
A commotion outside interrupted their writing lesson after only half an hour. Ken’ishi put down his brush, picked up his sword, and gave Norikage a curious glance.
Another gusting chorus, this time clearly of laughter, prompted a raised eyebrow from Norikage.
They went out together and found a throng of villagers surrounding a man who was juggling a rainbow of small balls. The juggler’s rhythmic song rose high.
An acorn tumbled down and down,
And he plopped into a pond.
Out came the loaches,
“Hello, little boy! Come play with us!”
Children clapped with delight at the man’s exaggerated expressions and gawky dancing. The performer made a variety of silly facial caricatures while he gamboled and juggled, made all the more comical by his enormous, prominently hooked nose, slightly reddened as if by the sun. He was garbed in a profusion of brightly dyed rags and tatters and rattles, such that he resembled a cacophonous swirl of flower petals. He moved with such precision and grace that Ken’ishi could only stare along with the rest of the growing crowd.
The little acorn tumbled down and down
And he had fun, but he soon began to cry,
“I want to go back to the mountain!”
The loaches didn’t know what to do.
From somewhere within the mass of tatters, the Raggedy Man produced a number of wooden cups and added them to the cloud of arcing objects.
Little Frog had joined the group of children at the front, laughing and clapping along with the rest of the crowd. Ken’ishi felt the sudden urge to pick him up, hold him higher so the boy could see.
Sword of the Ronin (The Ronin Trilogy) Page 7