Samurai Son (23 page)

Chapter Forty-Seven

Hiroshi sat quietly as Jiro told his story to Takeshi.
 
More than once, servants had come with tea and rice cakes, but Takeshi did not eat and his face was unreadable as Jiro told him about the dragon attack.

Hiroshi’s dislike of Jiro intensified as Jiro told his tale.
 
The ninja found the young samurai rude and arrogant—the exact reason the ninja so hated the samurai.
 
As Hiroshi listened to the two samurai speak, he couldn’t help but compare the two men.

Even though Takeshi was samurai and a daimyo, he was less arrogant than the other samurai in the capital city.
 
Hiroshi had thought at first it had to do with Takeshi’s being a daimyo in an outlying province, but over the months, Hiroshi recognized that the man was genuinely humble.
 
Hiroshi wondered why a samurai from a prominent family would be so kind to those under him.
 
Hiroshi had never heard of such a thing.
 
Most samurai he knew were like Jiro—arrogant, proud, and rude.

As Jiro told the tale, Hiroshi guessed that the young samurai embellished his part.
 
Jiro’s role in the dragon fight seemed impossible, and Hiroshi doubted that Jiro could have single-handedly caused an adult dragon to turn and flee.
 
It made him wonder how much of the tale was actually true.
 
Dragons were a constant threat in outlying islands, but they seldom attacked human settlements.
 
The ninja in his homeland had actually made friends with the dragons.
 
They would often exchange shiny gifts for knowledge that could be learned from only the oldest and wisest creatures.
 
The ninja had learned how to fly and make themselves invisible through dragon magic.

Jiro finished the story where he and Kasumi had woken and found Rokuro and signs of a fight.
 
He held up a large brown plume that looked similar to a hawk’s, but it was about the size of an ostrich feather.

“Kasumi thinks Tengu have taken both your wife and your son.
 
She has gone ahead to look for them among the Tengu.”

“Why didn’t you go and search for them yourself?” Hiroshi wondered aloud.

Jiro looked affronted.
 
“Kasumi is older,” he said testily.
 
“She’s also of the Neko clan from the northern islands.”

Takeshi raised his eyebrow.
 
“That explains much.”
 
When he saw Hiroshi’s obvious confusion, he nodded.
 
“The Neko clan are matriarchs.
 
It’s very unusual for the Neko to marry outside of the clan.
 
Word has it they are less human and more kami.”

Jiro nodded.
 
“Kasumi has inherited their legendary fighting ability.
 
It was her decision to send me.”

Takeshi nodded, his face grim.
 
“As she should have,” he said.
 
“The Neko have powers beyond normal men, but if what you tell me is true, then the Tengu have made their move.”

Hiroshi’s eyebrows rose.
 
“You expected this, Takeshi-sama?”

“
Expected
is too strong of a word.
 
I had hoped that the Tengu would’ve left Ikumi alone, but something must have happened with Akira for them to make their move.
 
Perhaps Akira took on the dragon himself.”
 
He turned to Jiro.
 
“Thank you for bringing me this news.
 
Hiroshi will pay you for your pains.”

Jiro hesitated then bowed.
 
“Thank you, Takeshi-sama.”
 
He turned and left.

“You believe this man, Takeshi-sama?” Hiroshi asked after he paid Jiro and the door slid shut.

“He speaks the truth even if he’s rude and boastful.
 
I’m surprised that someone of your skills wouldn’t know this.”
 
Takeshi paused meaningfully and Hiroshi’s mouth went dry with apprehension.
 
“I wouldn’t order you to come with me because it is perilous, but I ask you as a friend.”

Hiroshi stared, panic tightening his gut.
 
Takeshi knows what I am.
 
Somehow, somewhere Hiroshi must have slipped and exposed himself as being ninja, yet Hiroshi knew he had been extra careful.
 
Licking his lips, he met Takeshi’s gaze.
 
“What are we going up against?
 
Why would the Tengu want your wife and son?”

Takeshi smiled without mirth.
 
“Ikumi is Tengu.”

Silence followed as the implications ran through Hiroshi’s mind.
 
“Your son is kami.”

“Yes, but he didn’t know that,” Takeshi said.
 
“We had hoped by keeping his lineage a secret, he would grow up as samurai and learn the ways of men.
 
Ikumi assured me that the Tengu would not seek him out if he showed no powers.
 
Something happened to change that.”

“The dragon?”

“Maybe,” Takeshi said.
 
“Naotaka Jiro is a strong and boastful samurai but doesn’t strike me as one who could kill a fully grown dragon.
 
Something had happened between the time my samurai forced the dragon from the village and when the Tengu attacked.
 
Naotaka’s account was confused, at best.”

“I don’t like him,” Hiroshi said.

Takeshi smiled.
 
“I don’t either.”
 
He paused.
 
“What is Nanashi paying you?”

Hiroshi gaped.
 
He tried to reach into his kamishimo for the flash bombs, but Takeshi already had his katana drawn.

“Go ahead, kill me,” Hiroshi said.
 
He closed his eyes, expecting to feel the bite of the sword.

“No,” Takeshi said softly.
 
He sheathed the katana.
 
“You are a man with honor, even if ninja.
 
What is Nanashi paying you?”

Hiroshi opened his eyes.
 
“I don’t know,” he said truthfully.
 
“Nanashi pays my shonin.”

Takeshi nodded.
 
“Tell your shonin that I, Takeshi Isao, will pay him double if you work for me.”

“But my master—”

“Three times, then,” Takeshi said.
 
“I need my wife and son back.
 
It will be far more exciting than spying on a daimyo.”

Hiroshi swallowed hard.
 
By his discovery, he had dishonored his family.
 
He wondered what he should do now.
 
In every case he had known, ninja who were caught were tortured and executed.
 
Ninja who escaped lived to fight another day.

Yet he wasn’t being captured nor was there a threat of torture.
 
Takeshi offered him something much better than Nanashi.
 
Certainly his shonin would see that as equitable?

Ninja didn’t take sides when it came to warring samurai.
 
Those who had the most money could buy a ninja’s loyalty.
 
The money from Nanashi was fair, but Takeshi was offering three times that amount.
 
Would his shonin accept the amount?
 
He didn’t know.
 
Hiroshi didn’t know all the politics behind his clan’s choosing to serve one daimyo over another.
 
It had nothing to do with loyalty.

Hiroshi felt a sense of loyalty to Takeshi, despite himself.
 
Yes, Hiroshi was ninja and Takeshi was samurai, but Hiroshi had tremendous respect for the man.
 
Takeshi had treated him kindly, even when he knew Hiroshi was ninja.

“What do you say, Hiroshi-san?”
 
Takeshi looked at him curiously.
 
“That is your name, yes?”

“It is,” Hiroshi said.
 
“Is your wife really a Tengu?”

“Yes.”

Hiroshi took a deep breath.
 
“There are legends about the Tengu among my people.”

“I know,” said Takeshi.
 
“That’s why I need you to help me.”

Hiroshi nodded slowly.
 
“I’ll send word to my master.
 
When do we depart?”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Akira Stormhammer awoke beneath blankets, his head pounding furiously as the bright sunlight nearly blinded him.
 
He was alone again, Windstorm nowhere to be found.
 
He rose and stretched, wishing for hot water and a bath, but all he saw was a bucket of tepid water and some cloths for drying.
 
His shoulder blades itched, and when he tried to scratch them, he found two large wings.
 
Touching his face, he felt a blending of human and Tengu features.
 
Feathers, yes, but his head was not quite the sleek shape of a hawk and his facial features hadn’t changed.
 
Maybe they would as he became more and more Tengu.
 
He wasn’t sure if that was something he liked.

He noticed the sashimi and rice laid out on a blanket on the ground.
 
There was hot tea as well, and he sat down beside it, trying to get comfortable.
 
As he did, he thought about how wonderful the previous night had been—and how empty he felt now.
 
Windstorm had been a wonderful lover, yet now he felt only sad and alone.
 
Had she felt anything when they’d made love?
 
Did she even care?
 
And what would a centuries-old Tengu think of a boy who was only seventeen?

He couldn’t help but feel guilty.
 
The knot in his stomach tightened, and he felt as if he had done something wrong.
 
But it wasn’t as if the Tengu had given him much of a choice.
 
They would’ve killed him or worse.
 
He closed his eyes.
 
He wondered what Ikumi would think of this.

Ikumi.
 
The name brought a stab of pain to his heart.
 
She had done everything she could to keep him from learning that he was half Tengu—and had paid a dreadful price.
 
Despite Windstorm’s assurances that if he honored his contract to become Tengu, the Tengu might grant clemency, he still worried.
 
The Tengu in legends could be dishonorable and were prone to trickery.
 
Still, she was alive, and that was something.

He ate in silence, trying to force the thoughts from his mind, but he just couldn’t.
 
What had happened to the people in his father’s estate?
 
What had happened to the samurai and the ashigaru?
 
Did his father’s warriors die valiantly, or did they live only to commit seppuku?
 
He didn’t know, and it troubled him.

Kasumi’s face appeared in his mind, and he felt a pang of regret.
 
He had genuinely liked the woman samurai, finding her both beautiful and mysterious.
 
He had even felt an attraction to her in the short time he had known her.
 
He doubted she missed him now that he was gone; she had known him only a little while.
 
He thought of Jiro and his boast, what had brought him to the Tengu.

Everything seemed so distant to Akira now.
 
Jiro’s insults and boasts seemed ludicrous at best.
 
Did he and Kasumi die in the Tengu attack?
 
He felt a pang of guilt again.
 
Like it or not, it had been Akira’s actions that had set everything in motion.
 
If Akira hadn’t trained with the Karasu-Tengu, if he hadn’t risen to Jiro’s insults and jibes, if he hadn’t so desperately wanted to impress Kasumi, if he hadn’t gone after the dragon himself, he wouldn’t have turned into a Tengu.
 
His mother wouldn’t be exiled as a hawk, and his father’s estate wouldn’t be in ruins.

His mind returned to his old sensei, Rokuro.
 
Had Windstorm told him the truth that Rokuro was still alive?
 
If he were, the old samurai would be searching for him.
 
Maybe Rokuro would mount an expedition to find him.
 
Yet even as he hoped, deep down he knew that Rokuro was dead and these creatures had killed him.

But then there was his father, Takeshi Isao.
 
What would he do when he found out that his son and wife were taken by the Tengu?
 
Akira could only hazard a guess.
 
His father would return, but what could he do against the Tengu?
 
Akira didn’t know.
 
After having tasted the power of these kami, Akira doubted strongly Takeshi could do anything.

He looked down at the half-eaten rice and sashimi.
 
It was all very good, and by all rights, he should be hungry, but his thoughts had taken away his appetite.
 
He didn’t want to be Tengu, not really.
 
He had been happy to be samurai with an occasional yearning for something greater.
 
He had wanted to be a great fighter but not at the cost of his humanity.
 
The sex with Windstorm had been more than he ever thought sex would be, but she really didn’t like him.
 
She was simply using him.
 
He began to understand why his mother had left the Tengu.

Stormhammer,
came a male Tengu voice in his head.
 
He turned and saw Windcatcher waiting for him.
 
The Tengu clacked his sharp beak together and glared down at Akira.
 
Aren’t you finished with your meal?
 
You have training to do.

#

Kasumi dried her long black hair with the thin towels Tenko had provided her.
 
The bathing water was cold, and he had only rice bran to wash with, but at least Tenko gave Kasumi privacy while she changed into human form and cleaned up, putting a shoji screen up where there had been no walls.
 
When she was done, she found he had left a tunic and pants of rough material beside her obi and swords.
 
She dressed quickly and walked out of the hut to find Tenko washing her muddied clothing.

“I am sorry, Naotaka-sama, that I could not give you more fine clothing, but your own clothes are a mess.”
 
He rinsed the fine silk and began to squeeze the water out.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“Your clothes are muddy.”
 
He didn’t bother looking up from the wash.

“No, I mean, why are you helping me?”

Tenko shrugged.
 
“The daimyo’s son has a good heart.”

Kasumi snorted then paused.
 
“You know Akira?”

“I have seen him from time to time.
 
The boy has strength few know about.
 
The Tengu wouldn’t bother with him if he wasn’t important.
 
Something to think about, Neko-sama.”

Kasumi shook her head.
 
She didn’t want to think about Akira except to bring him back home.
 
She didn’t have the luxury of choice, and no matter how appealing the young samurai might be, she couldn’t afford to be emotionally bound to him.

#

They spent most of the day repacking food and planning their next step.
 
Despite Kasumi’s arguments, Tenko made her agree to wait in the hut while he scouted around.
 
“After all,” he said, “some creatures would be too afraid to show themselves to a big tiger like you.”

Hardly mollified, Kasumi watched from the hut as the fox slipped away as the sun set.
 
She held a chipped cup of lukewarm tea that had been steeped in low-grade leaves and mixed with rice to add substance.
 
She walked back into the hut and tried to make herself comfortable at the hearth before falling into an uneasy sleep.