Raven's Sword

by Raven's Sword (retail) (epub)

  ‘May I ask why a noble swordsman such as yourself honours me with your presence?’

  ‘I need your counsel,’ said Tengu.

  The Holy Man invited her to sit.

  ‘What is on your mind?’ he asked.

  ‘Fear of death. I imagine some of the other swordsmen have approached you and confided similar fears. What did you tell them? How did you put them at ease?’

  ‘What scares you about the prospect of dying?’

  ‘Non-existence. Eternal darkness.’

  ‘Is that how it was before you were born?’ he asked. ‘Blackness? Horror?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘One day your life will end, but don’t think of it as death. Think of it as a return to the state before you were born. It is not a calamity. At the end of lives we go home, that is all.’

  Tengu mulled his words. The Holy Man ate some fish. He pushed the palm leaf towards Tengu and invited her to share his meal.

  ‘Of course, one of the best ways a person can ensure they meet the end of their days with equanimity is to ensure that their life has meaning, that their brief existence has made a difference to the world. If you were to die right now, if you were struck by a snake as you walked back down that path, would you die knowing the handful of days you have lived so far had purpose?’

  ‘No. I haven’t achieved anything yet.’

  ‘What if I were able to offer you a chance to serve the Emperor himself, to make a decisive stroke on his behalf, and write your name in the Chronicles?’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘General Yukio has been travelling the length of this fractured province in the hope of persuading as many local lords as he can to pledge allegiance to the Shōgun. It is folly. It is evil. He is leading the folk of Honshu away from the Emperor, pulling them deeper into disharmony and chaos.’

  Tengu sighed with disappointment and got to her feet.

  ‘So you are an emissary of the Emperor and you wish me to kill the General, is that right? How many of the tournament contenders have you approached? Or have you chosen me for this overture because I am young and easy to manipulate? I came here hoping to find some kind of wisdom, some kind of solace. I was wasting my time.’

  * * *

  Tengu joined the crowd behind the rope barrier and thought about life and death as she waited for the final bout to begin. The fight space suddenly seemed claustrophobically small. The swordsmen had spent long years honing their skill and the battle about to be waged on these broken flagstones would be the culmination of that work. A life was about to end, a universe of memory and learning extinguished by a sword thrust. The awful event should be accompanied by an earthquake that would split the mountains, shake the palace walls in Kyoto, but instead it would pass like a leaf drifting to the ground unseen in a deep forest glade.

  NoName stood at the centre of the arena, a black rag tied round his head. Although he was prepared for combat he already seemed relaxed and triumphant. Clearly he knew the General’s Champion was dead and believed whatever fight he faced today would be a formality. Mouse stood behind the rope barrier, half hidden by the crowd, and waited to be called to fight. He looked terrified. There were six heads staked around the killing ground and he couldn’t take his eyes off the remaining wooden post, the freshly whittled spike awaiting the loser’s neck. Tengu studied the man’s poorly concealed anguish. He had, no doubt, spent the night wracked with indecision. He was a soldier, bound by oath to serve the General and now the Champion was dead it was his duty to offer himself as a substitute, but a fierce desire to live must have encouraged him to abandon his armour and flee. If he took to the road he would have no food, no shelter and nowhere to go. He would be reduced to begging and petty banditry but at least his head would remain attached to his body. Evidently his sense of honour had won the battle and he had elected to stay.

  A murmur passed through the crowd as Kotau walked down the path from the village road. He stood and surveyed the crowd then with slow, imperious ceremony, climbed the steps onto the tavern porch and took his customary position at the rail. He was accompanied by the Priest. Tengu studied the new arrival. He wore the same yellow robes as the Holy Man Tengu encountered early that day, but his robes were clean and new. When he conversed with Kotau she glimpsed, despite his age, a full set of teeth.

  Chikaaki stood at his son’s side and addressed the crowd.

  ‘Honoured guests,’ he said, bowing to the General and bowing to the Priest. ‘As you may well have heard, one of the swordsmen due to take part in this final contest has taken his own life.’ Chikaaki bowed to the General again, acknowledging Iezane’s suicide as an act of desertion, an unauthorized departure from his regimental duties. ‘He was a soldier, sworn to serve, and his life was not his to take. No doubt this shame will pursue him in the next world, but the outcome of the tournament now hangs in the balance. Will the winner of yesterday’s combat be declared victor unopposed, or is there someone here who will contend for the title? Is there one last entrant willing to stake their life?’ He glanced around the crowd, making sure not to look Mouse in the eye. He waited for the lad to raise his hand and volunteer but he was wracked by indecision and didn’t step forward. ‘Is there anyone here, a last brave man, who is prepared to test his blade against this veteran warrior?’ prompted Chikaaki. Tengu watched Mouse wrestle with his fears. He tried to raise his arm but it seemed locked to his side, his fist balled so tight his knuckles were chalk-white.

  Tengu closed her eyes and suddenly felt her father at her side. The old samurai took her when she was a foundling child, taught her to read, taught her to value stillness and observation, and later he taught her how to use a blade. He didn’t want her to become a sword master but she was committed and had an aptitude so he reconciled himself to her vocation and gave her systematic tuition. The samurai had died in battle the previous year but she still talked to him when she was alone. Sometimes she would ask for counsel and interrogate the answering silence. But today she truly felt his presence. As she stood with her eyes closed she could feel him standing to her right, knew it with such certainty she was tempted to reach out and touch him.

  This is it, he said. This is your moment. You’ve fought many men as you have travelled from province to province but have remained anonymous. If you win this bout you will gain honour and prestige. Word of your exploits will spread. Challengers will seek you out, duels will be fought, and accounts of you many victories will spread throughout the province and beyond. This is a chance to become a legend.

  Tengu raised her hand.

  ‘I volunteer,’ she said. She ducked beneath the rope, walked to the centre of the arena and stood in front of NoName with a hand on the hilt of her sword. ‘I will fight this man.’

  Chikaaki looked her up and down.

  ‘You were the Monk’s lad, neh?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Mouse looked faint with relief, elated that fate had offered him a reprieve. He would live to see the sunset. No doubt he would give heartfelt thanks to the gods at the village shrine later that day.

  Chikaaki looked to Kotau for guidance. Kotau blinked agreement for the bout. As long as there was a final fight to bring the tournament to close, it didn’t matter who died at NoName’s hand.

  ‘Very well, then,’ said Chikaaki. He handed her the Champion’s red head rag. ‘Prepare yourself to fight.’ She wrapped the band round her head and knotted it tight.

  Tengu stretched, cracked her knuckles then took position at the centre of the arena opposite NoName, ready for the start of the duel. He stood with his right hand resting loosely on the hilt of his sword and centred himself, becoming so still he didn’t seem to be breathing. She was reminded of a wonder once described by her father, the perfect likeness of an armoured samurai created by a backstreet artisan in Osaka. The statue was clothed, had hair, pink skin and eyes varnished wet as if it were a living thing. The armoured plates hid an elaborate brass skeleton. When a secret lever was pull
ed, clock springs released, gears whirred and ticked and the automaton drew its sword with a downward slash intended to split the skull of anyone standing within range.

  Tengu shook her head to dispel the intrusive thought and brought her mind back to the present. She was familiar with the state of heightened awareness swordsmen entered each time they prepared to hazard their lives, those heartbeats when they stepped outside of time and stood in a strange silence beset by memories, yearnings, phantom smells and dancing light. It was as if combat occurred in a place halfway between this world and the spirit realm.

  Tengu mirrored NoName’s posture. Both of them were skilled in Iaijutsu, the art of turning the draw of a sword into a killing strike. Some contenders such as the Ronin had received traditional martial training: they drew their sword, stepped back and only then, with their weapon drawn, were they ready for combat. But for experienced duellists like Tengu, the fight began the moment they laid a hand of the hilt of their blade. They spent countless hours turning the act of unsheathing their sword into an eye-blink killing stroke that would conclude the fight before it truly began. They could draw their weapon in a forward flick which would leave the tip embedded in their opponent’s chest. Or they could whip the blade clean of its saya in an arc of blurred steel, re-sheath, then watch at their leisure as their opponent’s head, with its frozen expression of astonishment, fell to the ground then bounced and rolled.

  Chikaaki stood between them, checked both fighters were ready, then held aloft a brass bell to commence the bout. He drew breath intending to shout To the death, but then NoName suddenly relaxed, lowered his sword and approached Tengu. He bent and peered at her face.

  ‘You’re a girl,’ he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. He looked her over then turned to address the crowd. ‘She’s a girl,’ he said, and laughed. Tengu backed away from him, face flushed with shock and shame. She looked around at the staring faces of the crowd and watched their expressions slowly turn from awe to disgust. She drew her sword and pointed the trembling blade tip at NoName’s face.

  ‘Fight,’ she shouted. ‘Fight me.’

  NoName brushed her blade aside, pushed her chest and sent her sprawling on the stones. The crowd cheered her fall. She looked around at the ring of women, children and old men that surrounded her. She started to scramble to her feet but NoName kicked up her robe-skirt, exposed her backside and gave her a kick which laid her out once more. The crowd burst into laughter. Tengu got to her feet and clutched her sword. She lashed her sword at the circle of laughing faces and made the crowd jump back.

  NoName addressed Chikaaki.

  ‘The girl is mine,’ he said. ‘Have her put in my hut.’

  Tengu stood at the centre of the ring, paralysed by humiliation and horror, overwhelmed by the ridicule of the spectators around her. She struggled to breathe. She was drowning in their laughter. Her grip on the sword grew weak and it began to slip from her grasp. Kotau took the weapon from her numb fingers and slid the bamboo saya from her belt sheath. He took her by the arm and the crowd parted as they left the ring. She allowed herself to be led towards NoName’s hut with its promise of solitude and darkness.

  She sat against the back wall, hung her head and watched with blank indifference as the tournament reached its conclusion.

  Chikaaki craned his head and spotted Mouse sitting at the head of the river path, awed by flowers, trees and birdsong, euphoric he was still alive to experience them.

  ‘You there,’ shouted Chikaaki. Mouse leaped to his feet in shock. ‘Come here and fight.’ Mouse stood frozen in horror that his reprieve was about to be snatched away.

  ‘Come here,’ insisted Chikaaki. ‘Your master is dead. You must fight in his place.’

  The young samurai’s leggings darkened as he lost bladder control then pitched forward in a dead faint.

  ‘I declare this tournament is over,’ shouted Kotau, deciding to bring proceedings to a close rather than let them drag on any longer. ‘It seems there are no more worthy contenders. We have a clear victor,’ he said, extending his arms in the direction of NoName. ‘All those present salute you, noble sir. No one can doubt you are indeed the greatest swordsman in the province.’

  * * *

  NoName returned to his hut and pulled the curtain closed. He slumped against the wall and slid to his knees. His hard, defiant expression softened to trembling relief. The death-terror he had suppressed for the last three days hit him in a wave and robbed him of all his strength. He closed his eyes and stroked the rough brickwork as if the sensation of cold, abrasive stone beneath his fingers reassured him he was alive. Tengu sat on the other side of the hut with her knees drawn to her chin.

  ‘I should have joined a temple,’ he said. Tengu was an insignificant girl so he could confide in her the way a person might tell their deepest troubles to a dog. ‘That’s where my life went wrong. That was the fork in the road. I walked out of my village with a head full of heroic tales. I wanted to be a great warrior. What a fool. I should have taken another road, gone to the temple and begged to become a novice.’

  ‘Ask the old man for saké. Wine will fortify your spirits.’

  ‘So I hear.’

  NoName reached beneath a blanket and pulled out a bottle. He uncorked the flask, put it to his lips and drank it dry.

  ‘You didn’t intend to win, did you?’ she said. ‘Part of you hoped to die quickly and be done.’

  ‘I’ve killed two dozen men and I’ll kill plenty more before I put away my blade. You are looking at the greatest swordsman who ever lived.’

  ‘But a splinter of your soul is disappointed by victory and despairs that you are still marooned in this world.’

  NoName pulled another bottle from beneath the blanket and drank.

  ‘So why fight?’ asked Tengu. ‘Life is so short. A few brief moments of light in an eternity of nothingness. Why throw away something so far beyond value? Present yourself at a temple. Plenty of warriors spend their later years in contemplation. There’s no shame in it.’

  ‘You’re a girl. You won’t understand. The only worthwhile thing a man can do in this life is make a declaration, demonstrate his worth to the heavens. Maybe no one will see or care. Maybe no one will remember. But we have a brush in our hand and a blank page, and must use the moments we have been given to paint our picture. This is who I have chosen to be. This life, this sword. Don’t ask me to betray myself. I don’t want to live if I have to give up who I am.’

  ‘So why not go outside and revel in your victory? The villagers will be so scared they will let you take anything you wish. Have a feast. Choose your pleasures.’

  ‘Perhaps later.’

  Light shafted into the hut from a high window. A chrysanthemum sat in a cup on the sill.

  ‘That’s the Emperor’s flower, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You visited the Holy Man in the graveyard. He’s taken a keen interest in the tournament. Someone has given him regular reports or perhaps he has hidden among the trees and watched the combat himself.’

  ‘He represents more worldly interests than it might appear.’

  ‘Did he ask you to kill the General?’

  ‘I have no interest in his intrigues.’

  ‘If you try to ravish me, I’ll tear your eyes out,’ said Tengu.

  ‘Many a child has said the same.’

  ‘I mean it.’

  ‘And how exactly would you stop me?’

  ‘I’ll draw the whole valley with my screaming.’

  ‘Folk may hear your cries but I doubt they would come to your aid. You are alone in this world, girl.’

  They sat in silence a while. Tengu watched a square of sunlight crawl across the floor while NoName drank his wine. He examined her sword.

  ‘This is a fine blade,’ he said. ‘At least it was, years ago.’

  ‘What will you do with the iron sword?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t possess it.’

  ‘But if they offer it to you as a prize?’

 
‘Then I would sell it. Only city folk think a magic sword will help them. They are merchants. They buy and sell. They assume every aspect of life has a price, is a thing to be bought and sold.’

  ‘The best swordsman I ever saw was an old man from the west,’ said Tengu. ‘He fought in a market square. His opponent had a sword, whereas he had a club whittled from an oar. He ducked his opponent’s sword then broke his opponent’s jaw with the club. He could have taken the injured man’s sword, but he said he didn’t need it and went on his way.’

  ‘Why do you persist in this nonsense, girl? You were born to be a wife, a mother. Have you ever seen a crazy man flap his arms and try to take to the sky? People feel the same pity and disgust when they see you with a blade in your hand.’

  Tengu hung her head.

  ‘I don’t know what I am any more,’ she said.

  ‘You can leave. I won’t stop you. But where will you go? What good are you to anyone? You can stay in my service a while, if you wish. You will be fed and you will be under my protection until I grow tired of you. Otherwise, you can take your chances on the road. I have one question for you, though. Did that crippled monk know you were a girl?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He didn’t object to your masquerade?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then he must have been a long way from all that is holy.’

  Later that night Tengu pretended to sleep. She watched, through half-open eyes, as NoName pulled back the door curtain and looked out at the deserted arena. He contemplated the heads staked around the quadrangle, their profiles silhouetted against the stars. His face was locked in a rictus of terror. He gazed at the slack faces, filled with horror to think one day soon he too would be inert meat. She lay in the shadows and watched him wrestle with doubt and fear. Eventually he pulled himself together, wiped the sweat from his face and glanced at Tengu to make sure his terror had been unobserved. He lay on the mat angry at himself for his weakness.

  Tengu listened until his breathing grew slow and steady, then crawled across the floor and slipped out into the night.