Blood Ninja (18 page)

“‘If noble men came here and married our women, do you think we would be kneeling here in the sand, drying seaweed to make salt?’

“One day, though, Fusazaki met a young woman who flushed with recognition when he told his story. ‘I have a letter for you, from your mother,’ she said. Yet when Fusazaki reached out to take the letter, the woman disintegrated into a wet miasma of sea mist, saying, ‘I am the spirit of the ama who was your mother.’

“Fusazaki read the letter: ‘Thirteen years have passed since my soul fled to the other shore. Many days and months have passed since the white sand covered my bones on the sea floor. The road of death is as dark as the deep water, and I cannot find my way—no one has mourned for me and my karma is heavy on me for the evil I brought to the world by giving your father the ball. My dear son,
please return what your father and I stole to the sea and illuminate this darkness, which for thirteen years has surrounded me.’

“Fusazaki found a local inn, comfortable enough for a long stay, and began the traditional obsequies. For forty-nine days he wore only the gray robes of mourning, and every seven days he paid tribute to the Buddhas and bodhisattvas at the local temple. Every evening he silently called the
nenbutsu
, imploring Amida Buddha to help his mother’s soul find its way.

“After the mourning time was over, Fusazaki returned home and stole the Buddha ball, which his father kept by his pillow as he slept. Then he went again to the beach, where his mother appeared to him once more—this time as one of the
apsaras
of paradise, holding in one hand the
hokkeky
, the lotus sutra. She took the ball and dropped it into the sea. Then with thirteen graceful movements she danced the sacred
hayamai
dance, her feet light on the surface of the water. ‘Thank you for freeing me, my son,’ she said. ‘I look forward to the day when you will be emperor, for you are a fine boy.’

“‘But I will not be emperor,’ said Fusazaki. ‘Father has made another of his sons—my half brother—his heir.’

“The woman stopped dancing. ‘What did you say?’

“Fusazaki repeated the information. His mother’s face turned dark and angry. She was close to the gods then, and her magic was endless. ‘Then at this very moment I place a curse on the house of the emperor. No more shall the emperor have power over this country. Control shall pass into the hands of lords more prone to violence than poetry, and the bloodshed and war shall continue until the son of a diver like me rules this land.’?”

The abbess smiled. “You see, it has long been prophesied that an ama’s son would one day rule Japan.” She bowed to Taro. “Perhaps you are that man.”

Taro was shaken. He sat down on the cushions, his mind reeling. Was it possible? He couldn’t read, he didn’t even know how to act in civilized society, and he was a vampire. Surely such a boy could not grow to be shogun of Japan? Yet two details in particular had struck him. First, the woman who’d married the emperor’s son had come from Shirahama.

The same village
he
came from.

Second, she had recovered the Buddha ball from a royal wreck off the coast. A wreck like the one he had, all his life, been told to stay away from. The one his mother had dived by just before they were attacked.

Taro frowned. Why had his mother been diving there? When asked about it, she’d said something strange—what had it been? He searched his memory. Something about how they were always taking from the sea and—

Shusaku stepped forward. “This changes everything,” he said. “How extraordinary. I knew the boy was special, but this is …” He waved his hand in the air to indicate that he didn’t know what it was. “We need to leave, soon,” he said suddenly. “Taro won’t be safe until we’re at the mountain.”

The old woman nodded. “He would have to be eliminated before anyone else could make a play for the shogunate. That’s if they are aware of the prophecy, anyway, and believe that he is the boy described in it.”

“Wait,” said Taro. “You’re saying people want to kill me because of some old story? I’m just a peasant.”

“I keep telling you that killing peasants is what daimyos do,” said Shusaku.

“No,” said the old woman. “The boy’s right. There
is
something more. Think about it. All those ninja, to kill one boy? It doesn’t make sense.”

“What else, then?”

“It’s all in the story,” said the woman. “I shouldn’t have to explain
everything
.”

Suddenly Heiko leaned forward. “In the story the boy isn’t the only powerful thing.”

Yukiko’s eyes opened wide. “The ball.” The old woman nodded, smiling.

“What?” said Shusaku. “No—that’s just a story. Everyone knows the Buddha ball isn’t real. I mean, I’ve heard of it, but it’s just …”

“A story?” said Hiro. “That’s what
you
said when I told you I didn’t believe in vampires.”

Shusaku breathed out. “Gods.” He turned to the old woman. “You don’t think it’s real, do you?”

“I’ve seen the future,” she said. “I know it’s real.”

The abbess yawned, tired from looking into the Tao, and it was only then that Taro saw something in her mouth—elongated canine teeth, sharpened to a point—and realized …

“You’re a vampire,” he said.

“Yes. It is not only boys who play at assassins.”

Shusaku laughed at Taro. “I wondered when you would realize.”

“You may have noticed,” said the fortune-teller, “that no lamps or
gaku
hang outside my door. You see, I have no need to banish evil spirits from my home.
I
am already here. Of course, the province has become more dangerous of late. Lord Oda is fearful, constantly demanding that I tell his fortune. It is very tiresome.”

“You still do his bidding?” said Shusaku, a little sharply.

“He protected me,” said the abbess. “And I prefer not to take sides.”

“What about the girls?” said Shusaku.

“You saved their lives. It is only proper you should choose their loyalty.”

Shusaku nodded as Taro, bewildered, tried to digest their conversation.

Then the abbess swept a hand over the sand in the tray, smoothing it. “And now I think I should see what I can see of each of your futures.” She beckoned to Hiro. “Come. Sit before me.”

Hiro stood warily and moved over to where she sat.

The abbess took his hand, then sipped at her tea. She chanted for a while, the incense in the room seeming to pool strangely at ground level, then her eyes rolled back in her head. Putting down the tea and picking up the metal bar, she sketched a character in the sand.

“Loyalty,” said Shusaku.

Taro smiled at Hiro. The abbess’s eyes rolled back to normal and she blinked at the big wrestler. “You’re a good friend,” she said. “And I see that you will follow Taro anywhere. But the path will not always be easy.”

Hiro shrugged. “I go with Taro.”

“Yes. Of course.” She turned to Taro. “Might I see the scar?”

Shusaku watched Taro, confused, as Taro folded open the top of his kimono, revealing the semicircle of scar tissue running around his chest and shoulder.

“Gods,” said the ninja. “How did you do that?”

It was Hiro who answered. “I didn’t grow up in the Kanto. I came from inland—from the plain below Nagoya. We fled when Lord Yoshimoto’s samurai advanced on our land. My parents knew nothing of fishing. They borrowed a boat, went out into the bay. They threw blood into the water, to attract the fish. I was with them, and none of us could swim.”

“Ah,” said Shusaku.

“The
mako
knocked us out of the boat. My father was killed by the beast; my mother drowned, I think. But Taro was on the shore that day, playing with his bow. He saw the fin but he swam out into the bay anyway. He got hold of me and swam with me back to shore.”

“Extraordinary,” said Shusaku. “Such courage.”

“I don’t really remember it,” said Taro, embarrassed.

Heiko touched the scar gently. “And this?”

“He went back, after he laid me on the shore,” said Hiro. “He was looking for my parents. He had a knife with him …”

“You’re not saying he fought the shark?” said Yukiko. For the first time Taro could hear a cautious respect in her voice.

“Yes,” said Hiro. “And killed it, and dragged it up on the beach to show me. But the shark had bitten him. He fainted and I ran to the huts, screaming. His father carried him home.”

“I understand now why you wouldn’t abandon him,” said Shusaku.

“Yes. My life is his.”

The abbess smoothed out the sand again. “Of course, your loyalty will cost you dearly. You know that.”

Hiro smiled. “Things that are worthwhile always do.”

“That is true.” She motioned for Shusaku to take Hiro’s place. He hesitated.

“I’m not sure—”

“Come here, Shusaku.”

Shusaku appeared ready to resist, but didn’t. He sat down on the cushion Hiro had vacated, staring at the fortune-teller with his hard, clear eyes. She drank another cup of tea, began chanting, and soon fell into a trance again. With the metal rod she scratched a message into the sand.

When her eyes opened again, she looked down at the message. She trembled lightly. Shusaku too read the character in the sand, then turned away quickly.

“What does it say?” demanded Heiko.

The abbess looked up, eyes brimming, her already lined face seeming to have aged another ten years in as many seconds. “It says …,” she began, her voice uncertain. “It says, ‘Beware. Your eyes will betray you.’?”

She stared at Shusaku. “Be truly careful,” she said, suddenly serious. “I sense danger for you.”

Taro wondered what the relationship between this woman and Shusaku was. She seemed to really care for him.

“Nonsense,” said Shusaku, standing. “I am in no danger at all,
as long as I continue to be watchful.” Taro thought he seemed nervous, though.

“You can’t tell us any more?” Taro asked. “Help Shusaku to avoid whatever danger is coming?”

The abbess shook her head. “Sometimes I see whole scenes, as when I watched you save Hiro from the shark. But sometimes it is only phrases, or ideas, that come through. Joining with the Tao is a bit like dreaming. Sometimes you dream in color; sometimes you remember your dreams, and sometimes you don’t. There are times when I write in the sand, and when I wake I have no recollection of doing it.”

“Which was it when you said I would be shogun?” said Taro.

“It was … in the flow of the Tao. I didn’t see it, but I could feel everything in the world leading toward it. You can no more avoid being shogun than the moon can avoid circling the earth. Though I did see a single scene—you, wielding the Buddha ball. You were not much older than you are now.”

“I keep telling you,” said Shusaku. “The Buddha ball isn’t real.” But his voice lacked conviction, and Taro wondered if he wanted to believe it so he could believe too that he wasn’t in danger. “If it were real, wouldn’t it have shown up by now? Something so powerful could not remain hidden so long.”

The abbess shrugged. “They say that when Tankai died, his official son searched for the ball but could not find it. Fusazaki was suspected, of course. He was a dispossessed son, so he had cause to hate Tankai. And everyone knew that it was his mother who’d recovered the ball from the wreck. Yet when they found him, he was living in the little village of Shirahama near where his mother died, occupying a simple peasant hut, taking
onsen
baths, meditating, and eating raw fish.”

A funny tremor ran through Taro at this mention—again—of the village where he had grown up. Surely these momentous events could not have played out against such a modest backdrop?

“So he didn’t steal his father’s ball after all?” said Heiko.

“It didn’t seem that way to Tankai’s heir, or to the samurai
entrusted with his security. But I don’t know.” The abbess’s eyes crinkled with what could have been a wry smile. “Not everyone who comes into the possession of an object so powerful is tempted by it. Not everyone
wants
dominion over the world.”

The idea, for some reason, gave Taro a faint thrill—the thought that this enlightened noble son, this product of a lord and an ama, could have lived out his final days in a basic peasant hut, while all the while having in his grasp a ball that could allow him to bend the whole architecture of the world to his will.

The abbess yawned again, and Taro could see that the exertion had taken its toll on her. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and her skin was pale. She began to get to her feet, but then, with no warning or preparation, her legs let go and she fell. Shusaku rushed toward her, just catching her head before it hit the wooden floor. He lowered her gently onto the cushions. Heiko and Yukiko too were on their feet quickly, and went to kneel by their foster mother. Yukiko whirled accusingly on Shusaku. “You’ve worn her out!” she said.