Sword of the Ronin (The Ronin Trilogy)

by Travis Heermann

  A deep, clear voice echoed through the practice yard. “Master Higuchi, enough for today.”

  Master Higuchi bowed low to the man striding across the practice yard.

  Tsunetomo was dressed in his customary robe and trousers, garments of impeccable quality, fine silk and cotton, but not ostentatious, his high black cap atop his head, riding like the fin of a shark, his already broad shoulders extended by his stiff jacket. As always, he wore his short sword thrust into his immaculately wrapped obi.

  Kazuko ceased her practice and bowed to him, careful to shift the naginata to her left hand and point it away from him. Carelessness with a weapon was disrespectful in his presence, even during practice. Her father, Lord Nishimuta, had once stripped a retainer of his rank because the samurai had carelessly allowed his sword to point at Lord Nishimuta during a promotion ceremony. Her father had said afterward that he had been lenient with the careless samurai. To do such at thing at court invited a death sentence.

  With a moment of surprise, she found herself admiring her husband’s strong, sure gait, a little bowlegged from much time spent in the saddle.

  Tsunetomo and Master Higuchi exchanged pleasantries, and Master Higuchi bowed to her and excused himself. Then her husband came to her. “Your practice is going well, my dear. I have never seen a woman with your skill and dedication to martial matters.”

  She blushed. “You flatter me, Husband.”

  “Hardly. You are Tomoé Gozen reborn. Strong and beautiful, a warrior angel. Worthy of a shogun.”

  “Now you truly flatter me. Tomoé Gozen was an archer and skilled on a horse. I can do neither of those things.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “Perhaps. Nevertheless, you have but to ask me, and you shall have a horse and teachers.”

  “Thank you, Husband. Perhaps, someday. I’m sure Hatsumi would not approve. She already thinks I am too manly.” She laughed a little.

  The sparkle disappeared from his eyes. “She certainly would not approve. This is actually my purpose for speaking to you.” He hesitated. “I know that she has been with you for most of your life. You are loyal to each other. Nevertheless, even now, she is wailing and weeping uncontrollably in her chamber, and the sound echoes like the sound of a hungry ghost through the halls. It is unseemly.”

  An old, familiar sick feeling resurfaced in her belly. “I will go talk to her, Husband. Immediately.”

  “There is more. I tried to talk to her myself, but she would not see me.”

  Kazuko stiffened. Refusing to see the lord of the domain was a grave insult, punishable by death by lords less kind than Tsunetomo.

  “I can forgive her this, because she is dear to you. But my sufferance is not without limit. Her behavior shames her, and it shames you, and so it shames me. You must deal with this, or I shall have to send her away.”

  Kazuko swallowed hard. She could not imagine her life without Hatsumi in it, in spite of how difficult she was at times. “I will speak to her. Thank you for your forbearance, Husband. Such behavior will cease.”

  “If it does not, I shall have to find a new handmaiden for you. Perhaps one of Lady Yukino’s nieces.”

  “I understand, Husband.”

  “I know you are sensible. I hear rumors as well that she still abuses the servant girls.”

  Kazuko’s mouth fell open. “I know of no incidents since …” Not since Hatsumi had thrown boiling tea in poor Moé’s face.

  “I’ll trust you to look into it. Some of the servant families have served mine for generations. They deserve better treatment.”

  “I will, Husband.”

  “Good, now go and change into a lady’s clothes. We have tea this afternoon with Abbess Mugai.”

  A cold hand on her spine. “Of course, Husband.”

  “I have asked her to say special prayers for us as we wish for a son. I have given a large donation to her temple.”

  A tightening of further discomfort in her belly. “You’re very thoughtful, Husband.”

  “And you’ll speak to Hatsumi right away.”

  “Yes, Husband. Of course.”

  “You’re a good wife. Forgive me now, I must meet with Tsunemori.” Then he turned and strode away, leaving Kazuko with a familiar hollowness in her belly that it seemed would only be filled by a son.

  * * *

  Hatsumi’s distraught weeping echoed down the steep, narrow steps like the disembodied voice of a moaning wind. The upper floor of the castle housed the lord and his wife, with Hatsumi’s and Yasutoki’s quarters on the floor below.

  Kazuko’s heart grew heavier with each upward step. The anguish in Hatsumi’s voice plucked at her heart like the strains of a melancholy biwa. Then anger surged forth. Such suffering, and all for a man who was not worthy to be spat upon.

  Kazuko knocked quietly and announced herself at Hatsumi’s door.

  The sobs diminished to a sniffle. “Is that you, dear Kazuko?”

  “Yes, please may I come in?”

  Another sniffle. “Anything for you.”

  Kazuko slid open the door, letting a bit more light into the dim room. The shuttered windows clamped the room into shadow. Hatsumi lay in a cocoon of blankets and futon in the middle of the floor, only the back of her head visible.

  Kazuko tried to be cheerful as she knelt beside the shuddering lump. “Still in bed, sleepy-head? It’s almost mid-day.”

  “I cannot get up.”

  “Why not?”

  “I want nothing more than to die. Let me lie here and starve.”

  “This is about Yasutoki, isn’t it?”

  A fresh sob, choked back. “He left for Hakata because of me.”

  “Tsunetomo says he is away on business.”

  “I must apologize to him for my shrewishness. I drove him away!”

  “Nonsense! He is a foul, deceitful man! He is unworthy of your love. I know it is painful, but all this pining for him, this suffering, is hurting you. You must forget about him.”

  “He is—He—He is the only man who ever said words of love to me.”

  “I’m sure there will be other offers of marriage. Perhaps Tsunetomo could marry you to one of his retainers.”

  “I’m too ugly! No man will ever look at me!”

  “What a foolish thing to say! There must be lots of men who would find you comely.”

  “I am too old! Men want young girls, beautiful, fertile, bouncy virgins. Girls like—” Hatsumi bit her lip and sniffled.

  Some part of Kazuko twisted inside. “There are certainly men in Tsunetomo’s employ who are looking for a good wife, and you would be a wonderful wife—”

  “I hate men. I hate them! All of them! May oni take them and … and …” Her voice trailed off again into sobs.

  Kazuko sighed and rubbed Hatsumi’s shoulder. “Come, we’ll have some tea, and we’ll discuss who might make a good husband for you. Then I’ll make some inquiries and—”

  Hatsumi spun to look up at Kazuko. “No! I. Hate. Them.” Her eyes were blood-red and wild, shadowed by dark circles, a spot of blood on her lip, teeth clenched so tightly she could have bitten through a steel bar. The face of a living yurei, a hungry ghost.

  Kazuko gasped and shied away from the hellish chill of Hatsumi’s glare.

  Hatsumi turned her back again.

  Part of Kazuko wanted to just leave Hatsumi to her suffering, but her husband’s warnings sprang fresh into her mind. It might even be good to distract Hatsumi with some menial or invented task. It was time to end this. Kazuko shook Hatsumi’s shoulder again. “Come, no more weeping for today. I have arranged a picnic with Lady Yukino, and you must help arrange the meal. Shall I await you in the dining hall?”

  “It’s too hot for a picnic.”

  Kazuko stiffened. Hatsumi’s words were tantamount to refusing a request from the lady of the house. Another grave insult. “You’re too distraught. You don’t know what you’re saying.” She stood and moved toward the door. “I’ll await you downstairs. Please don’t be long.”


  As she shut the door behind her, she took a deep breath. It was unthinkable for a handmaiden to disobey her mistress. Such behavior was unacceptable. Perhaps her husband had been right. She did not want to take any more unpleasant steps with Hatsumi, but if Hatsumi did not get hold of herself soon, stricter measures or admonishment might be warranted.

  Perhaps half an hour later, Hatsumi came down, her hair immaculately arranged, her clothes in perfect order. Two ragged, red eyes and the shadows of despair on her face were the only evidence of her suffering. Her sullen expression put Kazuko on edge. She looked more like a petulant child forced to do some odious chore than a noblewoman’s handmaid. This tension felt all too familiar.

  Kazuko gave Hatsumi a warm smile. “You know, now we have something more in common.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You spent three years telling me how bad a certain man was for me, how I suffered so needlessly because of him.”

  “Yes?”

  “Now I get to do the same for you.” She patted Hatsumi’s hand.

  Hatsumi’s gaze remained on the floor.

  Kazuko squeezed. “I hope it doesn’t take you three years.”

  Hatsumi suppressed a sniffle. “I’ll not survive that.”

  How many times had Kazuko thought the same, with her heart aching and her belly tight and sour? “Best to think about other things for a while.”

  “I apologize, dear Kazuko. I am an insufferable witch.”

  Something in Hatsumi’s tone told Kazuko her handmaiden was just speaking the words. There was no contrition. Time to take a firmer stance. “You need not apologize to me. But you should apologize to my husband. Your behavior was very rude.”

  Hatsumi covered her mouth, eyes bulging. “Apologize for what? What did I do?”

  “He requested to speak with you earlier and you refused him. You angered him.”

  Hatsumi seemed to collapse into herself a little. “Oh, no! I … I must apologize! But … I don’t remember doing that!”

  It was Kazuko’s turn to be surprised. “Perhaps you just didn’t hear him. Perhaps you were crying too loudly.”

  “I was crying loudly? I never do that! It’s unseemly! If I weep, I do it quietly into my sleeves.”

  A chill went through Kazuko. She touched Hatsumi’s hand again. “Oh, Hatsumi, you are not well. The whole house could hear you.”

  Hatsumi blanched and choked. “Jizo save me! They could?” Her eyes flared with panic.

  Kazuko’s mind fumbled for what to do. “Come, let us go for a walk. It has been a trying morning.” She stood and gently pulled Hatsumi to her feet.

  Silent and stiff, Hatsumi allowed herself to be led outside.

  When facing a single tree, if you look at a single one of its red leaves, you will not see all the others. When the eye is not set on any one leaf, and you face the tree with nothing at all in mind, any number of leaves are visible to the eye without limit. But if a single leaf holds the eye, it will be as if the remaining leaves were not there.

  — Takuan Soho, “The Mysterious Record of Immovable Wisdom”

  Ken’ishi sat on the ancient, moss-covered root of a massive tree, wondering about the purpose of the rope, festooned with carefully cut ribbons of white paper, looped around the tree trunk. The tree stood near the entrance of a temple, and the smell of incense wafted over the cool evening air. A bell gonged, calling the priests to evening prayers. People passed by on the nearby street in a bustling rhythm that never seemed to cease, oblivious to his weariness.

  Exploring Hakata all day had left him footsore and thirsty. He had quickly learned to ignore the amused looks from passersby who noticed his wooden sword.

  He had spoken to two moneychangers, four prostitutes, and two street noodle vendors. Their reactions, averted eyes, and hurried excuses of pressing business, told him that they knew well the name of Green Tiger, but they also seemed shocked that he would ask such a question. It seemed that one either already knew the people of the underworld who would grant him an audience, or he would be an outsider trying in vain to get in, like a crow pecking at the outside of an overturned basket.

  Assuming that the thief had been working for Green Tiger, and that Silver Crane was now in his possession, what would Ken’ishi do if he actually had the opportunity to speak to Green Tiger?

  If Green Tiger had stolen Silver Crane, he had gone to incredible trouble to steal the sword, and if the thief three years ago was working for Green Tiger as well, the man also showed great tenacity. What could one samurai with a wooden sword do against such a gangster? Beg for Silver Crane’s return? Laughable. Could he steal it back somehow? He did not know what he would do, but he had to try.

  Earlier, Ken’ishi had even approached a constable, recognizable by the two jitte thrust into his sash, and struck up a conversation as they sat on nearby stools at a noodle vendor’s counter. After discussing the weather and the quality of the vendor’s pork ramen, Ken’ishi said, “In a city like this, you must have a lot of trouble with rough men. Ronin, gangsters, and the like.”

  The samurai stiffened. “Are you saying we don’t run a clean city?”

  “Not at all. But I’m new here, and I’m trying to avoid trouble.”

  “That’s wise, especially if all you have is a wooden sword.” The constable smirked. “Where are you from?”

  “I’ve come a long way. Far to the north.”

  “You do have a strange accent.” His eyes narrowed. “Why so far? Haven’t you family there? A lord?”

  Ken’ishi chose his next words carefully. “My family is dead. A man’s path can lead many places.”

  The constable scrutinized him for a long moment. “What is your business in Hakata?”

  “I came here with an acquaintance, but I’ve already had some bad fortune. I want to avoid any more.”

  “That’s unfortunate. How so?”

  “My sword was stolen, so I carry this one.”

  The constable’s face twisted, and disdain crept into his voice. “It is a … terrible thing for a warrior to lose his weapon.”

  “A disgraceful thing.” Ken’ishi did his best to pretend it had just happened, and he found it easier than expected. The wound was still raw. “I cannot even ask you to help me, because it was stolen by some very rough men. And how does one find a lost weapon in a city like this?” Real despair laced his words.

  The constable looked at him as if Ken’ishi should already have cut open his own belly. “Do you know who took it?”

  “Perhaps some men working for someone you may have heard of. He seems to be infamous in these parts. Green Tiger.” He scrutinized the constable’s reaction.

  The constable returned to slurping his noodles. “A terrible thing for a warrior to lose his weapon. You had best forget about it. Find another. Or maybe become a farmer.”

  “I’m fortunate that they didn’t steal my money, too. What areas should I avoid if I want to stay away from Green Tiger’s men?”

  The constable grunted. “I wish I could help you. Where were you when your sword was stolen? Stay away from that place.” He slurped his noodles faster.

  “How much would it cost for such information?”

  The samurai snorted and tossed his empty bowl onto the counter. “More than a man with a wooden sword can carry.” He abruptly stood and walked away.

  Sitting now against the bole of the ancient camphor tree, Ken’ishi thought about that conversation. He had tried to pretend he had Norikage’s silver tongue, so masterful at gleaning information, often without the other person even knowing, but Ken’ishi could not do it. The constable had seen through his ploy and taken offense. He had not intended to bribe the samurai, but in hindsight he could see that his words might have been taken that way.

  A swallow trilled somewhere in the dense canopy of leaves overhead. Was it calling its mate home for the night, with a hint of warning that a man was nearby?

  “Good evening, Mrs. Tsubame,” he called up into the tre
e.

  A querulous warble filtered down.

  He sighed with a deep, shuddering despair, and put his chin in his hands.

  More incomprehensible birdsong chattered down at him, each note raking frustration across his ears.

  A scratching, shuffling noise led him to peer around the tree toward the outer perimeter of the temple. A darker shadow moved among the foundation stones, in the knee-high space between the earth and the floor. The light of dusk cast shadows deeper and turned colors to gray. There, among the shadows, two eyes reflected the light like tiny mirrors, looking at him.

  A moment later, they were gone.

  * * *

  The way Junko flounced coquettishly and leered at Ken’ishi—as if he were a morsel of meat on a skewer—gave him shivers. There was a hunger in her gaze that went beyond the needs of the flesh, like a vast, empty chasm in her soul that could not be filled by any amount of coupling. She was an old woman, but much like her brother, there was nothing benign in her.

  Upon Ken’ishi’s dejected return, Shirohige greeted him with a grunt. “Thank your fortunes. And thank me as well. I spoke to my contact in the White Lotus this afternoon. They have dealings with Green Tiger. Gangs sometimes need a place to meet, either neutral territory or known points of contact. It occasionally keeps the bloodshed to a trickle.”

  “Will they tell me of such a place?”

  “They might. For a price.”

  “What is the price?”

  Shirohige snorted with a wry grin. “How much do you have?”

  “I’ll go there tomorrow. Tell me where.”

  “I must introduce you. The White Lotus is not much interested in talking to strangers.”

  “Very well. In the morning.”

  “In the evening. These men come out only at night. They’re a bit surly if you encounter them in the morning.”

  “Very well, in the evening. And thank you, Shirohige.”

  “Oh, fear not. I never forget a debt.”

  * * *

  Yasutoki wrapped his robes around him. “Who’s there?”

  “Masoku, Master.”