Samurai Son (46 page)

Chapter Eighty-Seven

That night, Takeshi held a great feast for his son’s return, inviting many of his samurai to join him.
 
Akira sat beside his father and Kasumi next to him.
 
Hiroshi sat many seats away from them, past several retainers and other samurai.
 
Kasumi watched Hiroshi carefully.
 
The impeccably groomed young man couldn’t quite hide the Shinobi scent.
 
After smelling dragon and ninja, she was certain that Hiroshi had dragon in his blood, and that most likely made him Shinobi.

Hiroshi, too, stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
 
She had caught a glimpse of her hair in the mirror earlier and seen the changes.
 
Did he know what she was?
 
She didn’t know how much the Shinobi knew about the Neko, but if they did know she was a shapeshifter, he would take precautions against her.
 
The last fight with the Shinobi left her shaky.
 
She had nearly died.

Yet to her surprise, she had not become sick since her encounter with the demon.
 
She suspected it had given her some immunity to the demon-sickness.

She felt Akira’s hand touch hers briefly under the table, and she glanced at him and smiled in return.
 
His hawk-colored eyes glimmered with warmth as she met his gaze.
 
They had both cleaned up and now wore kamishimo, hakama, and tunics of the finest silk.
 
Akira had chosen red with golden hawks rising up to the morning sun; she had chosen blue silk with tigers across it.
 
She noted that Akira chose to keep his hair long but had tied it back in a simple braid, not the topknot that would’ve denoted him as samurai.

The food was delicious and they ate in silence.
 
Servants brought tea and platters of sashimi, sushi, miso, rice, udon noodles cooked in broth, skewers of cooked meat, and various cooked and raw vegetables.
 
The smell of fish and chicken made her abandon any manners, and she heaped the food on her plate, seeing Akira do the same.
 
She noted a few raised eyebrows but didn’t care.
 
She had used so much energy as a tiger that she needed food and rest now.

After the dinner, Takeshi clapped his hands, and servants brought forth sake.
 
They poured the sake in small cups and handed one to each of the guests.
 
Kasumi thanked the servant and held the tiny cup in her hand, awaiting the toast.

“To the return of my son and heir, Takeshi Akira,” Takeshi said.
 
He raised the drink and they all sipped the sake.
 
It burned as it went down Kasumi’s throat, at once warming her.

“Now that you’ve had a chance to eat and rest, I want to hear what happened,” Takeshi said.
 
“Tell us what happened to you, my son.”

#

Akira stared at his father for a moment.
 
He looked from retainer to retainer, uncertain what he should say.
 
How much should he reveal in the presence of others?

You will have to tell him most of your ordeal,
Rokuro said.
 
These men are Takeshi’s most loyal men; they will not betray you.

Akira gave a mental nod and began to tell the story, leaving out Windspirit’s special properties, Kasumi’s
shapeshifting
, and his and Kasumi’s lovemaking.
 
He watched his father’s face grow pale as he told him of Rokuro’s death and Ikumi’s fate among the Tengu.
 
He glossed over Kasumi’s bargain with the demon, saying that a kami offered them a way out.

As he told the story, he listened to his own words.
 
It was as though another man spoke through him, as though the warrior he described had to be someone else.
 
He felt so foreign and alone here, after weeks of training with the Tengu.
 
He looked from samurai to samurai, wondering if he had a place here anymore.

When he finished, the whole room was silent.
 
Akira met his father’s gaze, not sure what his father thought.
 
It had been so long since Akira had seen Takeshi that he could not read his father’s expression.

At last Takeshi nodded.
 
“I am deeply pleased you have returned, Son.
 
I only wish your mother and my good friend Rokuro could still be here.”

He is with you, old friend, if not in body, then in spirit,
Windspirit said softly to Akira.
 
Akira chewed his lip and nodded.
 
He glanced at Kasumi, who had stayed quiet the entire time.
 
He hoped he had told the story accurately enough to portray her well; her demeanor was one of thoughtfulness and not irritation.

Takeshi turned to Kasumi.
 
“Naotaka Kasumi Neko, you have my eternal gratitude for helping my son return home.
 
The clans under Nanashi have often been our enemies, but perhaps there is much good there.
 
Is there anything you might want that I could give you in thanks?”

“Takeshi-sama,” Kasumi said, bowing low in deference, much to Akira’s surprise.
 
“My people are in great need.
 
When I came to Tsuitori-jima, I had asked Ikumi and Rokuro for help.
 
My people, the Neko, have been guardians of the
Kimon,
the demon gate, for millennia.
 
That is now in jeopardy.
 
Nanashi has summoned a demon and will attack my people on Neko-shima to open the
Kimon
to fight for him so he may become emperor.
 
My people humbly beg you to aid us, and in return, we will pledge our fealty to Takeshi.”

Silence ensued and Akira stared at Kasumi as she remained bowed before Takeshi.
 
He had known Kasumi would ask for help, but to offer her entire clan’s loyalty, even a small clan, was a great honor.
 
It meant that they trusted Takeshi as a daimyo.
 
Akira looked at his father, who shook his head slightly.

“Neko-san, with a heavy heart, I cannot accept this gift,” Takeshi said.
 
“You would bring my clan and my samurai to war against Nanashi, who is much more powerful than we are.”

That’s not true,
Windspirit said in Akira’s mind.
 
Our samurai could destroy Nanashi’s forces if we wanted to.

“That isn’t true,” Akira said.
 
A murmur ran through the samurai present, and Kasumi glanced up at him incredulously.
 
“Rokuro told me that we have a powerful enough army and greater warriors than anything Nanashi could bring against us.
 
The Neko are guarding us from the demon gate, Father.
 
If Nanashi opens the gate, who knows what will come out?
 
We need to fight the enemy now, before he gets reinforcements—oni reinforcements.
 
We can’t possibly fight against those.”

Takeshi frowned.
 
“Fighting Nanashi is too costly.”

“It will be too costly for us if we wait and fight him when he is more powerful.”
 
Akira glanced around the room.
 
“Father, I have fought kami, dragons, and demons, and I am half Tengu.
 
I know what fighting demons is like.
 
I nearly died.
 
It would be folly for us to fight Nanashi later.”

Takeshi’s eyes narrowed.
 
“You’re speaking out of line.
 
I have not asked for your advice, nor will I be counseled by my son.”

Ikumi and I were willing to send samurai to help them,
the sword said.

“Ikumi and Rokuro were willing to help Kasumi,” Akira relayed Windspirit’s words.
 
“Why won’t you?”

“Enough,” Takeshi nearly shouted.
 
Kasumi slid backward, cringing like a cat who had lost a fight.
 
“I have made my decision.”
 
He turned to Kasumi.
 
“Forgive my rude son, Neko-san, but I cannot help you.
 
Feel free to stay as long as you like before returning home.”

Kasumi bowed and forced a smile.
 
“Thank you, Takeshi-sama.
 
I will relay your message to the Guardian.
 
Please excuse me.”
 
She bowed and left.

Takeshi turned on Akira.
 
“How dare you dishonor me.”

Akira stood up, not caring.
 
The man who sat before him was a stranger, not his father, who had dishonored him before Kasumi.
 
He shut out Windspirit as the sword began to object.
 
He set his jaw.
 
“It is you who has disgraced this family, not I.
 
You refuse to see the sacrifices of others, and because of this, it will be too late.
 
Kasumi saved my life.
 
If I were to abandon her now, I would be dishonored.
 
Kasumi’s people have sacrificed all so humans can live without fear of oni.
 
I thought I knew my father; I guess not.”
 
With that, he walked out.

Chapter Eighty-Eight

Kasumi fled to her room after dinner and began packing.
 
Tears streaked her face as she thrust what few belongings she still had into her ragged pack.
 
She sat down on the futon and held her head in her hands.
 
She had failed in every way.
 
There would be no help for the Neko, and both Keiko and Kanayo would be disappointed in her.
 
She had given her body to a demon who would take possession of her in a year.
 
She felt sick and could taste bitter bile in her mouth as her stomach churned, wanting to heave its contents.
 
There was only one thing left to do.

She drew her tanto and turned the blade toward her body.
 
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her shaking hand as she did so.
 
Even as she did, her breath came out in ragged gasps, and she shook to the point where she could barely hold the knife.

A rap on the door interrupted her concentration, and she laid the knife down.

“Kasumi-chan?” Akira’s voice came from the other side of the door.

Her throat tightened and she stood up and hurried to the door, sliding it open a few inches.

“Kasumi-chan?”
 
Akira peered at her face that she knew was still stained with tears.
 
“Are you all right?”

Kasumi took a quick breath but had not the energy for a retort.
 
“What do you want?” she asked sullenly.

Akira’s hand reached up and caressed her face, as soft and light as a feather.

She sniffled and swallowed hard.

“Kasumi-chan, may I come in?”

Kasumi hesitated then nodded.
 
She slid open the door to admit him.
 
Akira stepped in and she watched as his eyes stopped at the tanto on the bed.
 
“Oh, Kasumi-chan,” he whispered.
 
He walked over to the tanto and picked it up, taking the scabbard beside it and sheathing it.
 
“You don’t want to do that.”

She shook her head, fresh tears falling.
 
“Don’t I?
 
I’ve failed, Akira-chan.
 
I’ve failed.”
 
She buried her head in his chest and wept as he wrapped his arms around her.
 
“I’ll become a Bakeneko within a year, and my people will be dead.
 
The world will be overrun with demons, and Nanashi will be emperor.”
 
She shook with each sob.

#

Akira held her, uncertain what he could say that would make her stop crying.
 
Unlike Tengu women, real women seemed to be weepy and certainly temperamental.
 
He kissed her, tasting the salt of her tears on his lips.
 
“Kasumi-chan,” he whispered in her ear, smelling the faint jasmine in her tawny hair.
 
“I won’t let the demon take you; you know that.
 
And I can help, somehow, I’m sure.
 
I can ask the winds to help me.
 
Even if I am not allowed to use Tengu magic, I am still capable of fighting.”

Kasumi looked up at him, her tears streaming down her face.
 
“I’m to return to Neko-shima to help with the fight.
 
You would come with me?”

Akira nodded.
 
“I would be honored to fight beside such a fierce tiger.”

You would disobey your father?
 
Rokuro’s voice was reproachful.

Yes, because this is right,
Akira replied.
 
Takeshi is wrong.
 
You said we could defeat Nanashi if we wanted to.
 
He’s unwilling to risk our army.

With good reason.
 
Nanashi has probably planned this for some time.

Perhaps,
Akira said.
 
But it won’t matter if Nanashi opens the
Kimon
and lets the demons loose.
 
We’re dead anyway.

The sword said nothing, and Akira realized he had won the argument.
 
The anger and hurt over Takeshi’s response still burned in his throat, but Akira knew he was doing the right thing.
 
That seemed to ground him.
 
He closed his eyes.
 
This is what it means to be human.
 
To make choices and to freely do what I know is right.
 
As a Tengu, there was no right or wrong, just laws that couldn’t be broken.
 
Deep within him, Akira knew that made the difference between him and the Tengu.
 
The Tengu were more than happy to cause misery to people; Akira would not.

He opened his eyes again and ran his fingers through Kasumi’s hair.
 
“We can get passage on a ship to Neko-shima if that’s where we need to go.”

“Are you sure you want to come with me?” Kasumi whispered.
 
Her voice conveyed her amazement.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“This isn’t your fight.”
 
Kasumi looked into his eyes, and at once he was struck by their deep brown.
 
Kasumi had been the key to his humanity all along.
 
He kissed her again, and she wrapped her arms around him as he laid her down on the bed and slid her clothes off, relishing in the silky softness of her skin as his tongue met hers.

“Isn’t it?” he replied between kisses.

“But your father…” she objected.

“Later.
 
Let’s make the rest of the night ours.”

#

Hiroshi had sat quietly at the table as Akira told his story.
 
He had watched Kasumi’s impassioned plea and the argument between Takeshi and Akira unfold.
 
Akira’s story of how Hiroshi’s own people, the Shinobi, had treated Akira appalled him.
 
Indeed, Hiroshi was surprised Akira wasn’t dead.
 
That said much of the young samurai.

Now Hiroshi sat in his room, pondering what he should do next.
 
Shigeko had sent orders for him to kill Akira and Kasumi, yet Hiroshi was loath to do so.
 
It wasn’t as though he hadn’t killed before; he had assassinated an older samurai while the man slept.
 
It had taken Hiroshi the better part of a year to track the man and learn his habits before slipping into his bedroom one night while the man was drunk on sake and stabbing him.

The samurai had deserved it, Hiroshi told himself.
 
The man was the epitome of what was wrong with the samurai culture: arrogant and vicious, he had treated those beneath him worse than animals.
 
Hiroshi had gained access by becoming one of the man’s servants and discovered that the man was a pedophile, taking peasant boys from their families, often with no compensation, and abusing the children for sport.
 
Hiroshi had been glad to kill this man.

But Akira and Takeshi were different.
 
As a ninja, Hiroshi considered himself an outsider, but something drew him to Akira and Kasumi’s plight.
 
Akira had done nothing to truly deserve death; his appearance on Shinobi-jima was the work of trickster Tengu, not his own.
 
The Tengu and the Shinobi had not been fair with him.
 
Shigeko had allowed non-Shinobi to enter the island from time to time without a death sentence.

Being a ninja, Hiroshi had been trained in the subtle art of detecting lies.
 
Few normal humans could trick a ninja’s sense for truth.
 
Only a ninja, or perhaps one skilled in lying, could dupe someone so trained.
 
Even so, it was easy to tell if the speaker had been trained because of the lack of variation.
 
Hiroshi noted that Akira was a novice when it came to lying or obscuring the truth.

Listening to Akira’s story, Hiroshi had picked out the patterns of lies within it.
 
Akira was hiding something about Kasumi’s abilities, about the no-dachi, and about the way they had truly escaped Shinobi-jima.
 
But he had not lied about Shigeko, nor did Hiroshi think Akira would have.
 
After all, most samurai found the ninja despicable, and the behavior seemed to confirm the ninja’s already shady reputation.
 
Hiroshi pondered the fact that Shigeko had lied to Kasumi and kept Akira from her.

Hiroshi knew the ninja had been too interbred for too long.
 
It was common for them to kidnap outsiders and occasionally children to add to their bloodlines.
 
There had been rumors of establishing other ninja schools in the hopes of bringing in new blood.
 
Akira would have been a prize for Shigeko, and if the dragon of the Shinobi thought he should stay, then the dragon would’ve done everything it could to keep him there.

Akira’s poor attempts at lies intrigued Hiroshi, but they were not a matter of concern at present.
 
Shigeko ordered their deaths, and while Hiroshi was Shinobi, he was also Hiroshi.
 
He had believed most samurai to be like the man he had killed: ruthless, cruel, and arrogant.
 
In truth, they weren’t all like that.
 
Takeshi was kind and fair; Akira and Kasumi were noble enough to challenge a daimyo who would destroy an entire people to bring demons into the world.

Hiroshi wondered whose side he really was on.

He stood up, uncertain what he must do.
 
He slid his ninja clothes and weapons in a pack and crept quietly out of his room.