Samurai Son (31 page)

Chapter Sixty-Three

The sun hung low in the sky when Akira sensed a presence nearby.
 
He had traveled for hours eastward without trouble.
 
He had stayed away from the roads intentionally to avoid the possibility of human contact and drawing attention to himself.
 
A young samurai would certainly garner ninja attention.

Even so, twice he had come upon signs of human habitation.
 
He had crossed a road leading to a village similar to Yutsui.
 
Just as the road curved, he could see the peasants’ squat huts.
 
The other time, he had crossed a road near a small travelers’ shrine to the local kami.
 
It was not much more than a few moss-covered stones stacked to shield a poorly carved, ivory effigy of some unknown god or goddess, and the shrine looked abandoned.
 
Even so, Akira laid a bit of a rice cake as an offering before moving on.
 
He hoped the kami in this place would take pity on him, renegade though he was.

It was then his Tengu senses screamed a warning; a sudden stab, like cold pain, shot through him.
 
Akira’s pulse quickened and throbbed hard in his neck as he walked into the silence of the evergreens.
 
There, beneath the dark boughs of lodgepole pines, he could see the small path that wound its way through.
 
He took a slow breath in, allowing the thick, drowsy air to fill his lungs.

He held his naginata in a defensive position, blade to one side, high above his head.
 
Akira stepped slowly, carefully placing each foot on the ground so not even a pine needle crackled.
 
He looked around, seeing nothing in the boughs above him or behind the dark, scaly coniferous trunks.
 
The fear continued to gnaw him as he continued forward.

A whizzing blade passed by his ear and lodged into a tree trunk.
 
Akira turned and dropped low as two more shuriken whirled over his crouched form.
 
He ducked behind the pine boughs and stared in the place where the knives had come from.

Ninja.
 
Only the ninja used such throwing weapons.

He glanced at the polished blade stuck into a tree.
 
Sharp and deadly, it gleamed with a diamond-shaped blade.
 
If it had caught him in the head or neck, it might have killed him, but more likely would’ve incapacitated him or at least slowed him down.
 
Then the ninja would’ve come like wolves on a fallen beast.

The forest was silent.
 
He looked around and saw no movement.
 
Akira waited, measuring each breath with five beats of his own heart.
 
His sweaty hands gripped the naginata, his arms shaky from the tension.

A small sound jerked Akira around, and he saw the needles whirl in the dirt like a dust devil.
 
Akira leaped forward, swinging the naginata’s blade as the ninja pounced, throwing a chain with balls at the end of it to catch and entangle Akira’s weapon.
 
The chain partially wrapped around the shaft, and the ninja pulled, but Akira knew better than to rely on the naginata.
 
If he held on, the ninja could move Akira anywhere he wanted to, using the caught naginata to direct Akira’s actions.
 
Akira slammed the sharp blade into the ground and backed away.
 
The naginata was useless now, but then, so was the ninja’s weapon.

Akira turned to see three more ninja with various odd weapons appear.
 
They drew their ninjato and various strange weapons: kamas, sai,
nunchaku
.
 
Akira turned and ran.

#

Akira pelted through the forest, his heart pounding faster than his footfalls.
 
He scrambled over roots and deadfall, through low-sweeping boughs and snags, and ran deeper into the safety of dark lodgepole pines.
 
At first, he heard his pursuers’ footfalls behind him, but as he ran, the sound grew distant and ceased altogether.
 
Only when he could hear nothing other than his labored breathing and his heartbeat did he stop.

He paused and coughed, his voice sounding unnaturally loud.
 
He tried to slow down his racing pulse, but he couldn’t control it the way he could when he was Tengu.
 
What else couldn’t he do?
 
Now, without his full Tengu abilities, he began to think about what he had become used to over the short time he had been with them.

A small noise caused Akira to turn around in time to see the glint of steel.
 
A ninja leaped at Akira, swinging the naginata.
 
Akira scrambled away, reaching behind his back for the no-dachi.
 
As he did, the ninja swung the naginata down on him.

At one moment, Akira was certain he’d be cut in half by his own naginata, but in the next second, Akira had drawn the great sword and parried the naginata’s sharp blade.
 
The metal chattered along the no-dachi’s blunt edge, and Akira lashed out with a front kick.
 
His foot impacted the ninja in the gut, and the man screamed, nearly dropping the naginata as he doubled over.

The no-dachi guided Akira’s hands.
 
He brought the long sword down on the man’s neck.
 
The man’s body toppled over as the head rolled away, but before Akira could stare at the horror, the sword whipped his arms around, forcing him to turn against two more ninja.
 
Unlike the man he had just dispatched, these ninja were dressed in peasant clothing.
 
But Akira was not fooled.
 
The men carried ninjato, and one had picked up Akira’s naginata.

Akira raised his blade in a ready position, but no sooner had he done so than the sword dragged him forward.
 
In his surprise, Akira’s hand opened, and he felt the blade slide from his grasp then stop.
 
Through no conscious action, his fingers closed back on the hilt, and he stepped forward, swinging the sword against the two ninja.
 
The first one parried with his naginata.
 
A sharp crack resounded through the forest as the blade shattered the naginata’s toughened wood.
 
Pieces of the pole arm flew everywhere, and the ninja screamed as the no-dachi buried itself in flesh and bone.

Akira sensed two shuriken whirling toward him.
 
He turned and parried the two throwing stars with the no-dachi and leaped upon the other ninja.

A sudden flash and the smell of sulfur filled his nostrils.
 
Akira found himself cutting air with the long sword.
 
He looked around.
 
The pines were silent again, and he could see no movement.
 
He frowned, not wanting to put the no-dachi away for fear there were more ninja.

That’s very wise of you, but I believe they are gone,
spoke a voice in his head.

“What?” Akira shouted, his fingers fumbling on the hilt.

Chapter Sixty-Four

If you drop me, you’ll have no protection,
the voice said.
 
But I believe the ninja are gone.

Akira pushed back his unruly mane and rubbed the trickle of sweat from his eyes.
 
The voice came from nowhere and sounded familiar somehow.
 
“Windcatcher?” he asked, wondering if the Tengu had followed him here.

No, those infernal creatures are gone too,
the voice said.
 
And good riddance.
 
I was wondering when you would come to your senses and leave them.

Akira frowned.
 
“Who are you?
 
Why can’t I see you?”

It’d probably be more appropriate to ask who I
was, the voice said, a hint of amusement in the tone.
 
And as for
seeing
me, your eyes are open and you can see me just fine, unless those birdbrains muddled those too.
 
It’s going to take months to undo all the damage they did to your training.

Akira craned his neck to look around.
 
A warm and comforting feeling washed over him, and tears filled his eyes.
 
“Sensei?
 
Rokuro sensei?”

A soft, bitter chuckle touched his mind.
 
Yes, boy, that’s who I
was.

“Was?”
 
Akira didn’t like the sound of that.
 
He continued to look around, unsure of himself.
 
“You mean you’re a spirit?”

Of a kind,
Rokuro said.
 
When the Tengu killed me, they took my spirit and gave me a new body of sorts.

“A body?”
 
Akira looked down at the no-dachi.
 
The blade gleamed unnaturally in his hands.
 
“You’re my sword?”

Yes,
Rokuro said softly.
 
The Tengu thought I deserved more than to leave this world for a higher plane.
 
They felt I still had work to do here.
 
So they captured my spirit within the metal of this blade.

Akira blinked, holding the sword out from him.
 
Other than the pale glow along the edge of the blade and the pattern folds within the steel, denoting a fine blade, Akira could see nothing unusual about the no-dachi.
 
The sharkskin and cloth grip felt firm; the tsuba was in the form of a coiled dragon, elaborate yet functional.
 
The sword, for all its size, felt light in his hands, and he swung it around effortlessly.
 
It was a fine blade, but did it really hold his sensei’s soul?

You doubt my words?
 
Akira felt himself flinch at the reproachful voice.

“No,” Akira said hesitantly.
 
“I guess I’m not used to having a sword talk to me.”

Like you’re not used to a bird-man talking to you?

Akira smiled wryly.
 
“I guess you’re right.”
 
He paused and looked around.
 
Despite the disappearance of the ninja, Akira felt in great danger.
 
“We need to get to the Imperial City,” he said.
 
“Otherwise we’re likely to be attacked again.”

I wonder why the Tengu chose Kyotori,
Rokuro mused.
 
They do not choose their paths without purpose.

Akira laughed bitterly.
 
“How much did you learn of them?”

What little I could.
 
Remember, I’m a sword.

“Oh,” Akira said, not disguising the disappointment in his voice.
 
“I was one of them.”
 
He wondered what a sword could possibly learn when he had learned so little.

Where’s Ikumi?

Akira shook his head.
 
“Gone.
 
They turned her into a bird for punishment.”

Silenced ensued.
 
Akira glanced around at the dark pines, their shadows long with the approaching evening.
 
He wanted to use his Tengu magic to see if any other ninja were nearby but stopped himself.
 
Instead, he became still and listened carefully, holding the no-dachi ready.

When he decided he was safe enough for the moment, he took a small rag out of his sleeve and wiped the blood from the blade before sheathing it.
 
The no-dachi hung low across his back but felt lighter than before.
 
Perhaps it was some magic he didn’t understand, or maybe it was Rokuro’s spirit.
 
Akira walked slowly through the shadowed pines, wondering how much farther it would be to a settlement.

It’s another day’s travel to Kyo,
the sword spoke in his head.

Akira grimaced at the answer.
 
He didn’t need his old sensei reading his thoughts every minute.

Why not?
 
You seem to have questions I can answer.

“Well, it’s a matter of privacy,” Akira muttered.
 
He didn’t like sharing his thoughts so intimately with someone else.

What are you so worried about?
 
I’ve heard it all,
Rokuro said in an amused tone.
 
Like I don’t know about your dalliances with those Tengu bitches?

“Sensei!”
 
Akira gasped.
 
Much to his chagrin, the sword chuckled.
 
Akira drew the blade.
 
“I ought to leave you here, bury you in the forest.”

A waste of fine steel.

Akira sheathed the sword in disgust.
 
Still, if it were another day’s walk to Kyo, he had a good chance of making it if he didn’t run into any more ninja.
 
That was a worrisome
if
because Akira knew that without his Tengu powers, he was nothing more than a man.

He walked in silence for some time, unable to shake the feeling of being followed.
 
As the long shadows blanketed him in darkness, he looked up through a gap in the forest canopy and saw the first stars wink overhead.
 
Akira continued walking but soon became tired.
 
His body ached from both the walking and his earlier fight with the ninja.

He had stopped next to some deadfall and larger pines.
 
He wasn’t fond of deadfall because he knew there’d be insects and other nasty things that would disturb his sleep.
 
He eyed the trees around and saw that they were all coniferous.
 
As a Tengu, he could alight on the top of one and sleep soundly; as a mortal, he had no such luxury.

Akira walked several paces away from the deadfall and sat down beneath one of the bigger lodgepole pines.
 
The air was warmer this time of year on Kyotori than it was on Tsuitori.
 
He pulled out his flask of water and took a long drink, wondering why the Tengu had dropped him here instead of his home.

Perhaps they just like causing trouble,
Rokuro chimed in.

Akira snorted and unwrapped a rice cake and dried fish from his rations.
 
He bit into the sweet cake and sighed.
 
He wanted to go home so badly, he ached.
 
But what was there for him now?
 
His mother was gone, a prisoner of the Tengu; Rokuro was dead—

I am
not, the sword said.

“But you’re not alive either,” Akira said softly.
 
“What do I have left in Tsuitori?
 
Why am I fooling myself into thinking that things will be the same when I return?”

He heard the sword sigh and found himself wondering if calling the sword Rokuro made sense.
 
After all, the sword carried the spirit of his dead master, but it wasn’t actually Rokuro.

What would you name me?
 
Rokuro’s voice sounded amused.

Akira moved from a sitting to a kneeling position, and he drew the no-dachi again.
 
The metal gleamed in the darkness.
 
“I don’t know.
 
A great warrior should have a great blade.”

You consider yourself a great warrior?

Akira frowned.
 
The sword’s tone was light, not challenging, but he still felt annoyed by the question.
 
“I could be a great warrior,” he whispered.

Yes, you could.
 
But you don’t practice nearly enough.

Akira snorted.
 
“You wouldn’t be pleased with my practice even if I did it every waking moment with the exception of eating.”

You sleep far too much,
Rokuro said.

Akira laughed.
 
It was the first time in a long time Akira felt human, not Tengu.
 
He felt warmth emanating from the blade that held Rokuro’s spirit within it.
 
Despite knowing that his former sensei had died defending him, Akira was very glad at that moment to have Rokuro with him in some form.
 
He missed the old man terribly.

The sword didn’t reply to his thoughts; for that, Akira was grateful.
 
Somehow he had to sort out why he had returned to the world of men when he had very nearly become Tengu.
 
He sheathed the sword and wished he could make a fire and boil hot water for tea, but he knew that was folly.
 
The ninja out there would home in on his fire like wasps to sugar.
 
He curled up under the tree and fell into an uneasy sleep.