Samurai Son (2 page)

Chapter Two

“Practice!
 
Practice!
 
Bah!”
 
Rokuro sensei spit in the dirt as he watched his apprentice.
 
Rokuro’s face crinkled into a deep frown.
 
Normally the color of old parchment, it held a tinge of red from his anger.
 
He slapped the boy’s shins with the staff, causing Akira to wince from the pain.
 
Akira bent his knees in a crouched stance.
 
His muscles quavered as he forced himself into that uncomfortable position.
 
He had pulled a muscle earlier that week in sparring practice against Rokuro, and it took all his concentration to keep that stance.

Looking at the sensei, Akira could hardly believe this frail, old man could deal such a blow.
 
Rokuro was stooped and bent with arthritis, and his hands shook when he handled the bo.
 
Still, he was lightning fast and could hit Akira before Akira could lash out.

“Akira, you are by far my laziest and most worthless student,” Rokuro snapped with such vehemence, Akira winced.
 
“Your kata is atrocious.
 
I’ve seen five-year-olds do their basic forms better than you.”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“You’re sloppy with your bokken.
 
How do you expect to use a katana in battle properly?”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“Is this how a samurai fights?
 
What will you do when you are forced to fight another samurai for your lands?
 
Or fight for your father when another daimyo threatens his?
 
If I were daimyo, I would be ashamed to have such a worthless son.”

Rokuro continued his tirade, which Akira tuned out.
 
He knew the lecture would continue for the better part of an hour, having endured so many of them.
 
It wasn’t that Akira was bad at any of the martial arts.
 
He was actually very good.
 
Some said he was Rokuro’s best student, but no one would know it by the way Rokuro harangued him so.

Akira felt his leg knot up from the stress but dared not shift in the deep stance.
 
He gritted his teeth against the pain, lest he face another one of Rokuro’s “lessons.”
 
The old samurai master was known for scarring his pupils in the name of training.

Even so, his leg muscles began to shake, and sweat formed on his brow.
 
The pain hammered at him mercilessly, but he tried to focus on the world around him.
 
Akira had learned this little trick early on, something most samurai children under Rokuro’s training had not.
 
Akira knew it said something that he was able to endure the rigorous training of the old samurai master when all the other children his age failed.

Akira let go of the pain.
 
Pain was something he could ignore if he so chose.
 
Standing in the courtyard of his father’s estate, Akira could hear the bells and wind chimes tinkle gently in the breeze and smell the briny ocean not far from them.
 
The thick pines along the hilly estate whispered their welcome to him.
 
The hot sun beat down relentlessly; he wasn’t even allowed to wear a hat over his fine black hair or to shield his almond-shaped eyes from its glare.
 
At least the gi he wore was white and not black.

Not far from the courtyard rose the lofty estate Akira’s father, Takeshi daimyo, had built.
 
Its rosewood pillars contrasted against the white walls and blue, upturned tile roofs.
 
Next to the courtyard lay a beautiful reflecting pool.
 
In it, brightly colored orange, black, white, and blue koi splashed to reach up and snatch insects along the water’s surface.

Yet Akira could see none of this.
 
His bare foot shifted on a pebble, and Rokuro’s bo smacked his leg again for moving.
 
This time Akira’s leg shuddered, and he couldn’t control it as he collapsed into the courtyard’s hot sand.

“Get up!” Rokuro said.

Akira took a ragged breath and glared at the sensei.
 
What did he care if Rokuro expelled him now?
 
Even as he thought this, Akira knew he couldn’t allow himself to fail.
 
Such action would dishonor his father.
 
He couldn’t do that.

“Lazy!” snapped Rokuro and smacked Akira’s leg again.

With a roar of anger, Akira leaped to his feet, despite the pain.
 
He swung the bo hard at Rokuro.
 
Rokuro blocked the staff with a parry.
 
Akira swung again.
 
Rokuro parried and countered.

“There!
 
There!
 
That is how you fight!” Rokuro growled.

Akira didn’t care.
 
The blind rage that often threatened to well up did so now.
 
He swung the bo fast and hard, causing Rokuro to back up.
 
The staffs smacked against each other with sharp cracks, and Akira charged forward.

Rokuro feinted and Akira, in his anger, took the bait.
 
Rokuro guided both weapons end first into the dirt.
 
Rokuro swept Akira’s legs out from under him with his foot, causing the young samurai to fall over backward.
 
Akira’s leg throbbed horribly as he stared at the end of Rokuro’s bo, pointed directly at his throat.

Akira licked his lips and tasted sand and salt.
 
He blinked at the samurai master, his own hands empty.
 
Akira’s bo lay just out of reach on the ground.
 
For a moment, he thought Rokuro would drive the end into him.
 
It had been said that Rokuro had killed students who failed to fight admirably.

“Do you wish mercy?”
 
Rokuro’s voice sounded unusually harsh.

Akira bit his lip and swallowed hard.
 
He wanted to run and hide.
 
But he could not escape the bo.
 
Rokuro was too quick.

“No,” he said softly.

“What?”

“No,” Akira said a bit more forcefully.
 
“A samurai does not beg for his life.”

Rokuro pulled the bo back as though to strike.
 
Instead, the old samurai returned to the ready position.
 
“Not bad today, Akira-san,” he said in a gruff tone.

Akira blinked and sat up, wiping the golden white sand from his face.
 
His leg ached as he stood up, and he tested it gingerly to see if he could put his full weight on it.
 
He looked to the main house, where he knew Ikumi would be watching.
 
Ikumi would fret over his injury—she always did—but she would not embarrass him by rushing out and coddling him.
 
Yet when he looked for his mother, he saw no one.

“Where is Ikumi?” he wondered aloud.

“Eh?”
 
Rokuro hovered nearby.
 
“Never mind that.
 
You must still train.”

“But we’ve trained all morning.”
 
Akira rubbed his leg.
 
It hurt so much, he thought he wouldn’t be able to walk.

“Not that it seems to have done any good,” Rokuro snapped.
 
“You’ve hardly practiced in your free time.”

Not that I’ve had any free time,
Akira thought.
 
“Yes, Sensei.”

“Go get some food and meet me back here in two hours.”

Akira bowed and headed toward the kitchens to find food.

Chapter Three

The little cat had curled up in the corner of Nanashi’s apartment.
 
She was the darkest black of any cat, fading into the shadows as though a shadow herself.
 
Once Nanashi had finished, he stood up and walked out the door.
 
The little cat followed him, almost at his heels but far enough away so he would not trip over her.
 
As soon as she got through the door, she shot off down the hallway, sticking to the darkness.
 
Only as she heard the door lock did she glance back.
 
The daimyo had locked the room where he had summoned the demon and walked in the opposite direction down the hall.

The cat swiftly moved down the stairs.
 
She wondered if the demon had seen her, even if Nanashi had not.
 
If it had, why wouldn’t the demon spoken of her?
 
Surely it recognized her for what she was.
 
But oni were difficult creatures at best and did things that were known to only the oni.
 
Perhaps it relished the sport of a demon and Neko war.
 
Perhaps it was simply punishing Nanashi for summoning it into this world.
 
Perhaps having death on both sides satisfied the demon’s bloodlust.
 
She didn’t know.

She ran down the main hall toward the kitchens, which would not be watched as closely as the main doors.
 
She suspected that if anyone actually noticed her, they would think of her as a cat and nothing more.
 
She slipped through the door as one of the attendants entered the kitchen.
 
It was larger than most kitchens she had seen, with a clay stove with an opening for wood and charcoal to heat it and a fire pit for grilling yakitori and other meats.
 
The air sizzled from the heat, and the cat rushed through to escape the smoky air.

She stopped for a moment to beg a piece of raw fish from the cook.
 
The older woman had seen her fairly often.
 
The cook had a wrinkled face with many laugh lines and skin browned by the sun.
 
She wore a rough-woven scarf whose dye had long since faded to a pale blue—it might have been indigo—over her gray hair that she had braided in one long strand.

“Neko!
 
Neko!” the old woman said, smiling and showing her missing teeth.
 
“You want some fish, little Neko?”

The cat knew the game and did a little four-footed dance with her tail held high.
 
She mewed plaintively for the fish.

“Oh, Aiko!
 
Why do you bother with such a silly animal?” another, much younger, cook remarked.
 
She put her hands on her hips and glowered at the old woman when Aiko laughed.

“Don’t you know anything?
 
Cats are lucky!
 
Very lucky!”
 
Aiko dropped the fish to the little cat, who snapped it up quickly and dashed out.
 
The cat didn’t listen to any more of the conversation.
 
She made her way outside through the kitchen’s back door.

She snuffed at the night breeze.
 
Brightly colored paper lanterns hung from the nearby apartments.
 
She wasn’t concerned about the gate or the wall.
 
She simply leaped up and scrambled down the other side.
 
She dashed into the street and along the wooden housing and apartments, decorated with silk flags and brightly colored wind catchers.

The cobblestones felt smooth and well worn to her pads.
 
They smelled clean compared to the heavy incense within the demon room.
 
She could still smell the oni, and turning to sniff her coat, she realized her fur was heavy with the stench of demon.
 
She wanted to stop and clean herself right there, but it was too dangerous.
 
She decided instead to continue.

Not until she had gotten to the familiar alleyways and streets where her family’s apartments were did she slow.
 
The streets were full of beggars, dogs, samurai, and other hazards, and she couldn’t risk getting waylaid with such important news.
 
Only when she arrived at the back door did she pause.
 
Looking around first, she then began to morph.

She became larger than a regular cat—about the size of a small panther.
 
Then her skin and shape began to change.
 
The hair disappeared and her skin grew pink.
 
Her thick body became thinner, and her legs grew long.
 
When she was done, a lovely naked woman with long black hair and dark eyes stood where the cat had been.
 
She flipped open the latch on the door and entered.

“What are you doing?”

Kasumi nearly jumped at the woman’s voice.
 
Before her stood an older version of herself, her mother Naotaka Keiko Neko.
 
The woman wore the regal robes of a samurai wife and frowned as she studied the girl.
 
She sniffed the air, and her frown deepened.
 
“Oni?”

“Yes, Mother, I saw a demon tonight.”

“Kasumi-chan, that was dangerous, child.”
 
Keiko pulled a kimono from the hook that hung just inside the door and handed it to her.
 
“You must be cold.”

“Mother, Nanashi summoned the demon.”
 
Kasumi shrugged into the kimono and tied the belt.

The older woman studied her.
 
“How do you know this?”

“I was there.
 
Nanashi summoned the oni in one of his private rooms.
 
He used sandalwood and cedar and really heavy incense.”

“Why did Nanashi summon it?”

Kasumi shook her head.
 
“He wants to bring in an army of demons.
 
He wants to become emperor.”

A silence ensued.
 
Kasumi saw worry crease her mother’s brow.
 
“There has been talk for many years of Nanashi’s dabbling in the dark arts, but we’ve had no proof.
 
Until now…”
 
Keiko turned and scrutinized Kasumi.
 
“You really stink of demon.
 
You should wash up immediately.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“And where were you when he summoned it?
 
Did the demon see you?”

“I was in my small form, curled up tightly behind one of the baskets.”
 
Kasumi frowned.
 
“Do you think it saw me?”

Keiko shook her head, but she was clearly worried.
 
“Child, demons can see behind things and around things.
 
They can see through our forms.”

“Why didn’t it tell Nanashi?”
 
Kasumi felt her stomach clench as fear gripped her.

Keiko sighed.
 
“My guess is the demon didn’t see fit to tell Nanashi, but that may change.”

“Mother, the demon told Nanashi of the demon gate.
 
The demon wants Nanashi to kill our clan.”

Another silence followed.

“No,” whispered Keiko.
 
“No.”

“Mother?”
 
Kasumi gripped her mother’s arm.

Keiko shook her head.
 
“Go get cleaned up, Daughter.
 
I must talk to Isamu, who can tell us what we must do.”
 
She turned and led Kasumi through the apartment halls to the door to the bathhouse.
 
“Do not say anything about this.
 
I must talk to Isamu first.”

Kasumi nodded and left the apartment.