Samurai Son (6 page)

Chapter Ten

“I’m a bird!” shouted Akira as he stood on the very brink of the cliff.
 
He closed his eyes, letting his imagination take hold.
 
No longer the scrawny, ten-year-old boy dressed in dirty play clothes, he looked down on the village in glee.
 
His arms became thin, his bones hollow.
 
His skin prickled and feathers sprouted forth—not white feathers like the chickens in old Kayato’s chicken coop, but red and fiery like those of a hawk.
 
Akira grinned, feeling the rush of wind beneath his flight feathers and the warm sun on his face.
 
A few beats of his wings were all that he needed.
 
And suddenly he was flying.

Flying!
 
Flying over Tsuitori like a great hawk or eagle.
 
Looking down, he could see his father’s estate, the rice paddies and fields of grain.
 
Beyond, he could see the great forest where villagers said demons and kami lurked.
 
And beyond that, the great volcanic mountains where the dragons lived.

Akira cried out not from fear, but from joy.
 
His voice came out as the thin, reedy cry of a hawk.
 
He could see the ocean beyond, blue-green and stretching as far as he could see.
 
He could hunt there, find fish or perhaps a seabird that would fill his belly.

“Akira!”
 
The shout brought him around, and Akira looked down to see his feet slipping on the stones.
 
Suddenly he felt strong arms grasp him and pull him away.
 
He blinked.
 
Ikumi was there.

“Akira!” she said, her face pale with fear.
 
She pulled him close, pressing his slight body against her silken kimono.
 
He caught the scents of jasmine and lavender within the folds.
 
“What were you doing?”

“I was….”
 
Akira hesitated as he looked into his mother’s face.
 
“I was pretending.”

Ikumi’s beautiful face held a scowl.
 
She shook her head.
 
“You were flying again, weren’t you?”

Akira knew he could not lie, even if he wanted to.
 
Ikumi would know.
 
She always did.
 
He lowered his eyes in a downcast expression.
 
“Yes, Mother.”

He felt a touch on his cheek, feather soft, and he looked up to see his mother smiling a sad, wistful smile at him.
 
“My son, I know what troubles you.
 
But trust me.
 
You don’t want to be a bird.”

“But birds are free,” said Akira.
 
“They can fly.”

“Birds are…. animals,” Ikumi said haltingly as though she didn’t quite believe her own words.
 
“You aren’t a bird.
 
You’re a samurai’s son.
 
Don’t forget that.”

Akira nodded slowly, keeping his eyes downcast.

Ikumi traced his jaw to his chin, causing him to look into her dark eyes.
 
“Promise me, Akira-kun, you will remember.
 
Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll remember that you are a samurai’s son.”

“Yes, Mother, I promise,” said Akira, frightened a bit by the resolve in her voice.

“Good,” she said.
 
“Let’s go back home.
 
Maybe Nanaka will have made some red bean cakes for you.”

Akira nodded.
 
Ikumi took his hand and led him down the hill.
 
Glancing back, Akira thought he spied a great hawk land on the juniper tree nearby.

#

Akira awoke startled, silver light in his eyes.
 
The moonlight crept in as the first moon rose over the eastern hills where he had met the Tengu.
 
He stared at the moon as it silhouetted the dark pines along the top of the hill as he pondered the dream.

The incident had happened seven years before, and he had forgotten about it until now.
 
He had stopped pretending he was a bird after the encounter with his mother, although he had often daydreamed about flying long after that.
 
But eventually the dreams of being a bird, of flying over Tsuitori and beyond, had ceased as he focused on taking his place as a samurai warrior beside his father.

His father.

Akira hadn’t seen his father, Takeshi, for nearly a year now.
 
The emperor required the major daimyo to attend court—for whatever reason, Akira couldn’t fathom.
 
Some daimyo had their families there, but Takeshi had preferred to keep his family on Tsuitori.

He frowned.
 
Tsuitori was a large island, but it was east of the main islands and considered too far east to be in the main archipelago.
 
He wondered what the other islands were like.
 
Were they as lush and green as Tsuitori?
 
Akira suddenly longed to see them, to see Imperial Island and the majestic palaces of the emperor, to travel with the winds and see the great Spice Islands in the south or face gaijin in the north.
 
He had heard of islands full of magical beings, including children of Amaterasu, the sun goddess.

He wondered if his encounter with the Tengu had brought those dreams of flying again.
 
The Tengu could no doubt bring him to those places and more.
 
He was certain of it.
 
After all, couldn’t the winds travel everywhere?

With that thought, he lay awake on his pallet for some time before finally drifting back to sleep.

Chapter Eleven

The sea was as gray and colorless as the sky when Kasumi and Jiro set sail on the junk toward Tsuitori-jima the next day.
 
Kasumi stared out at the receding shoreline; she felt queasy over the ship’s roll and also over her mission to Takeshi Ikumi.
 
She replayed the demon summoning within her mind, making certain that she had not imagined any of it.
 
Yet she could not deny the oni that Nanashi had summoned.
 
The oni wanted Nanashi to attack the Neko so the demon gate would be unguarded.

For thousands of years—before even written history—the Neko had guarded the demon gate.
 
Kuan Yin and Maneki Neko had charged the Neko with keeping the demons from this world.
 
The Neko had been mostly successful in keeping the oni out.
 
The Guardian chosen to watch the
Kimon
had passed down her duty from mother to daughter throughout the millennia.
 
The Guardian herself was immortal—except that demons could kill her.
 
There had been five Guardians so far; four had died in battle against oni.

The current Guardian was old, so old that her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren had died of old age many years ago.
 
That was old, Kasumi reckoned, since Neko were already long lived.
 
The Guardian had many scars from battle with oni.

Nanashi was a fool to think that he could control one demon, let alone a whole underworld full of them.
 
Oni were tricky, evil creatures.
 
Kasumi doubted that the oni Nanashi had summoned would do the daimyo’s bidding.
 
She guessed that it would serve Nanashi only as long as it served the demon.
 
Then, when it and its fellow oni were in this world, they would overwhelm Nanashi.
 
They would eat him or perhaps even steal his form.
 
Such was the way of the demons.

The junk’s captain and his sailors were friendly enough to both her and Jiro.
 
Like most sailors, they were strong men with a love of sake and little respect for samurai.
 
These were men whose lives were challenged by sea serpents, dragons, and wind kami; a mere mortal was nothing to them.
 
So when Jiro insisted that they show him the respect due a samurai, the men just laughed and went about their business.
 
When he bared the blades of his samurai swords, the men looked unimpressed, and the captain threatened to throw him off the ship when out at sea.
 
Kasumi offered to help them.

“You’re looking a little green,” Jiro said as he joined her at the railing.
 
Kasumi met his mocking gaze and sardonic smile with bared teeth.
 
He sported a samurai topknot and carried both the katana and wakizashi in his belt.
 
His kamishimo was garish, with bright red silk and yellow dragons across it.
 
He was gangly at seventeen but had learned a samurai swagger well.
 
Kasumi barely knew him even though he was her half brother.
 
He usually did not pay much attention to her, especially because Keiko was Naotaka’s second wife.

She smiled thin lipped at him.
 
“I haven’t been on many sea voyages,” she replied.
 
Neither had Jiro,
she reminded herself.

“I see,” he said.
 
“Too bad you have to learn women’s work; otherwise, you’d get used to the ship hunting dragons.”

A growl rose in her throat, but she suppressed it.
 
Arguing with a fool is futile,
she reminded herself.
 
She looked down at her own clothing, not too dissimilar from a male samurai’s—kamishimo, hakama, and tabi.
 
She looked no more like a painted court lady than he did.
 
Perhaps less so,
she thought in wry amusement.
 
She had not chosen the garish colors he had.

Jiro laughed, bringing her out of her reverie.
 
His laugh was harsh, and she suspected that he had made a joke at her expense.
 
Still, she smiled sweetly and turned her back to him, choosing instead to grip the railing along the gunwale as she tried to keep her balance.
 
The ship moved oddly beneath her feet.
 
As a cat, she would have no problem adjusting to the junk’s sway, but in human form, her two feet were not so adept.
 
She was Neko, she reminded herself.
 
She drew on her power carefully and felt her balance improve.
 
Still, she would’ve had a better time if she removed her tabi.

She walked to the stern and gazed over the waves.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished!” Jiro shouted to her.
 
“You haven’t told me why this shrine is important.”

Kasumi turned around slowly.
 
“I told you, my uncle is very sick.
 
If I do not make an offering on behalf of the Neko clan, he may die.”

Jiro smirked.
 
“You believe in gods?”

Kasumi looked at him.
 
“I believe in kami.”

“Kami!”
 
Jiro laughed.
 
“There are no kami.”

“Don’t say that!”
 
One of the sailors, who had been watching the interaction, made a sign to ward off evil spirits.
 
“There are kami everywhere, boy.”

Jiro looked askance at the sailor, who frowned at the young samurai.
 
Kasumi didn’t hide her grin, grateful that someone else found her half brother as obnoxious as she did.
 
“Really?” he drawled.
 
“Where?”

The sailor pointed to the mainsail.
 
“Look at the sail, my young samurai.
 
What do you think fills it?”

“Wind,” Jiro replied.
 
“Everyone knows that.”

“And what brings the wind?”

“Nothing.
 
The wind just happens.”

The sailor shook his head.
 
“That wind that will bring us to Tsuitori is the West Wind.
 
The kami who brings it here is very fickle.”

Jiro laughed but Kasumi shook her head.
 
“You should not make fun of a wind spirit,” she said.
 
“It is bad luck.”

“Bad luck.”
 
He snorted but, seeing the sailor’s glare, chose to move on.

Kasumi watched him, relieved that the sail was still full and the wind spirit had not been offended.
 
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the wind.
 
“My brother is stupid.
 
He doesn’t believe that which he cannot see.”

She heard soft laughter, musical, like that of a wind chime.
 
He does not even see that which is right before his eyes,
the wind spirit’s voice came to her ears.

Kasumi felt the West Wind twitch her nose as it tugged against her clothing.
 
She laughed, despite herself.
 
The kami was trying to cheer her up.
 
“Thank you, West Wind.”

Little Neko,
the wind said softly.
 
Whither thou
goest
so far from the Neko lands?

She smiled ruefully.
 
Wind kami were talkers who could not keep secrets.
 
The kami often spread news across the world for any and all to hear.
 
“I am going to ask the aid of Kuan Yin on Tsuitori-jima.
 
My uncle is ill.”

And yet there is a shadow following you,
the wind observed.

A shadow?
 
Her brow furrowed.
 
What shadow?

The wind danced around her.
 
The stench of oni clings to you.

Kasumi gasped.
 
What do you mean?

But the wind kami was gone.
 
It danced across the sails and continued eastward, to be replaced by another West Wind spirit.
 
Kasumi wanted to shout out to the kami, but she knew the sailors would take notice.
 
So she resigned herself to staring at the sunlight as it danced on the waves.

The stench of oni clings to you,
the West Wind had said.
 
She pondered the meaning.
 
Could the oni she had seen somehow have tainted her?
 
Could it have touched her in some way she couldn’t sense?
 
If it had, surely her mother, Keiko, would have detected it, she mused.
 
Keiko was a powerful Neko; very little escaped her when it came to guarding against oni.
 
Certainly she would not have sent Kasumi on this mission had she known that the demon had somehow tainted her.

Feeling the bitter taste in her mouth, she turned and headed below decks to be alone in her quarters.