“The girl,” Yamashita called. One of my guards grabbed her roughly and sliced through the ropes that bound her hands. She knelt down and hugged Yamashita. Hatsue was crying.
“Domo
arigato goziemashita, Yamashita-san
,” she said, thanking him.
He slowly pulled her arms away. “
Keiko
,” he said gruffly in response, and gently pushed her away.
Hatsue looked at me, bewildered for a second by her emotions. “Run, you fool!” I ordered. The tone in my voice galvanized her and she leapt across the clearing and down the trail. I watched her go, and then looked across at the Tengu and his people.
I grasped the sheathed sword in my left hand and swung the blade free with my right: a silvery arc of brightness flashed in the morning sun. I threw the scabbard away and focused on the Tengu. The symbolism of throwing away a scabbard is that you’re going to fight to the death. The Tengu knew this but the guards did not. I could sense that some of our captors were unsettled and I wanted to encourage that. If they weren’t afraid, they were going to be.
I pointed the sword straight out at the Tengu. “Prepare, old man. I am coming for you.” My voice was a low growl and I projected all my vengeance across that clearing to push against the Tengu. Did he feel it? Probably. But he was skilled enough not to show it.
“Enough!” he called, and gestured with his fan toward Yamashita.
I stepped over to the bucket and drew out water with a small ladle left there for that purpose. I held out the sword and let the clean water trickle down the blade, one side, then the other, in a ritual act of purification. I set myself in position, working on controlling my breathing, focusing on the task at hand.
Yamashita swiveled painfully and bowed toward the Tengu. Then he faced the knife. He settled back for a moment, seeming almost comfortable, and looked out over the horizon. The morning was washing across the sky in bands of subtle color. I could smell the wetness of dew, feel the cool of the sword handle against my hot hands.
My teacher swiveled toward me and regarded me with the brown eyes that had watched me critically for so many years. There was a calm in them now that I had never really seen before. Yamashita’s head moved to take in the unfolding morning.
“Beauty in the most unlikely places, Burke.”
“
Hai
,” I replied in a choked voice.
“I am glad we are going together,” my
sensei
told me. “The world would be . . . diminished without you.” And he turned away toward the knife.
I raised the sword over my right shoulder in the
hasso
stance. I adjusted my angle in relation to Yamashita and began to breathe deeply. Lights were flashing in front of my eyes.
Focus!
“Please tell me when you are ready, Burke,” Yamashita said quietly.
I hesitated, trying to make sure I was ready.
Calm. Focus. See
the beauty of the sky. Feel the sword’s handle. Listen to the birdsong
. I wished that light would stop flashing.
It was pulsing, just out of the corner of my right eye. I could see it dance on the fingers of my right fist, wrapped around the
katana
. It was a small distraction, but I wanted everything to be right. I wanted my focus to be pure. And that light was throwing me off.
Look at the sky. Ignore the flashing light. Listen to the birds
.
The birds. I realized with a start that the birdsongs had ceased. The world was silent as if waiting for Yamashita’s end. But the flashing light persisted on my fist.
Flaaash. Flashflashflash. Flaaash. Flashflashflash
. I thought it was related to my heartbeat, but it wasn’t.
Flaaash. Flashflashflash
.
“
Nan ja
?” I heard the Tengu ask impatiently.
I watched the light.
Flaaash. Flashflashflash
. I saw Yamashita begin to turn.
“It’s alright,” I told him. And I began to believe it was. “Gimme a minute.”
The Tengu cackled. “I knew that the
gaijin
was weak!” He gestured at some men and they started across the clearing for Hatsue.
“Wait!” Yamashita called. They hesitated and the Tengu watched us expectantly. Then my teacher urged me, “Burke, do not fail me.”
Flaaash. Flashflashflash
. I focused. Dash-dot-dot-dot. The Morse code for the letter B. A small point of light on my hand. Like something from a laser pointer. And with a thrill, I knew:
B
is for Burke
.
“I won’t fail you,” I told him, and my voice sounded like my own for the first time that morning. I shouldered the sword and I saw the Tengu lean forward in anticipation. I knew this was going to be close. I took a deep breath and called “Ready!” so all the world could hear.
Then I moved forward and all hell broke loose.
Hatsue ran from that place of death, seeking life. Her breath sawed in and out, ragged with emotion. Terror gripped her even as her heart thrilled with the idea that she might now be free. Free! She wanted to fly down the jungle trail, like a bird, but her body’s movements were earth-bound, jerky, and tense. Yamashita had warned her that she must keep her strength up for the time when escape might be possible, but she could never understand him—he spoke in almost the same breath of ways to meet death and of the need to be able to flee it. Now, she could feel the strain in her calves and thighs, the muscles tight and thin with disuse.
Her throat was tight with effort; she wheezed as she flew along the winding track through the trees. She stumbled but did not stop, throwing herself headlong into the escape. Tears burned in her eyes, but she merely blinked and kept running. They had told her that she was alone now. There was no hope of solace from anyone else. Her escape rested entirely with her—her ability to run hard and fast, to slip away from the hunters that would inevitably follow. She had no time for fear, she realized. Or guilt. All of her had to focus on one thing. Flight. Forget the last sight of Yamashita, his injuries rendering him pathetic and only his spirit keeping him upright. Forget Burke, the hapless student who had followed his master into a deadly trap. Mourn them later. Thank them for this gift by surviving.
Run!
The trail dipped down, away from the clearing, winding in a series of switchbacks to a ridge, where it leveled out for a time before crossing down into the next valley. She ran, not even feeling the tree branches that whipped across her body as she lurched too close to the side of the trail. Rocks stabbed into her feet. She winced, but ran on. Head for the coast, they had reminded her. Use the trail for a time, but head down to the water.
Hatsue plunged into the jungle to her right, winding her way quickly through the trees and thinking of what she knew of the topography. They were not far from the coast. This part of the mountain territory had small valleys that opened steeply to the ocean. There were cliffs of jagged rock bounding the shore, but the runoff from monsoons had carved pathways through the slopes down to the sea. The trees here were tall, a climax forest with little in the way of undergrowth except for a carpet of branches and leaves from the ancient trees. It was easier on her feet, and she moved quickly, leaving the ridgeline to follow a gully that seemed to lead in a promising direction.
Her excitement grew as she scrambled through the cut in the jungle. The rocky channel grew wider and deeper, a path obviously forged by seasonal water on its way to the ocean. The gully bed was thick with leaves and deadfall, and she continued down it, hoping that it would lead her to the coastline.
Hatsue’s ears thudded with her own heartbeat and the rush of her breath. She was sure that her passage was a noisy one, punctuated by snapping twigs, the skitter of small rocks, and the chatter of leaves. But she didn’t care, surrendering stealth in the interest of speed, of flight, of escape. She tried to listen for the sounds of pursuit, but she realized that this was a waste, a projection of energy behind her, when everything should be focused forward.
The gully wound down the narrow valley. Hatsue’s nostrils flared. The sea! She could swear that a brief hint of salt water had wafted across her path. It made her redouble her efforts. She threw herself down the dry mountain riverbed.
The course turned where a huge rock outcropping jutted out, redirecting the flow. A huge tree sat on the top of the rock, its ancient roots surrounding the rock like an old, claw-like hand. The thought had barely registered, when Hatsue sensed a movement on the periphery of her vision—a fleeting shadow, nothing more, back in the trees above the riverbed.
She froze in panic. Gasping for calm, her eyes wildly searched for movement, her heart hammering in fright.
As Hatsue looked into the jungle, a massive hand, rough to the touch, reached around her and covered her mouth. It dragged her to the ground, smothering her wail of despair.
They say that there’s a zone where time appears to slow down, the rush of events thickens to a crawl, and light seems more intense. You dance within the fleeting space in time, once so brief, that now stretches out to surround you.
Maybe that’s the kind of description people create in retrospect. It sounds so beautiful. Peaceful. Memory often works to soften life’s rough edges.
Not mine, though.
I was moving in front of Yamashita even as my ears registered the
bloop
of the grenade launchers. My teacher was still focused on an inner reality and reaching slowly toward the blade that he would use to disembowel himself. I knocked him over with a brutal nudge—I heard him grunt in pain—simultaneously kicking the
wakizashi
away and out of his reach.
The grenades went off. The explosions were life changing. The whole camp froze for just a moment. It was what I needed.
The two armed guards behind Yamashita were my first concern. They were closest to him and had to be taken out. As I rose up before them, one turned his head in my direction, trying to tear his attention away from the explosions. My sword arced down: a classic
kesa-giri
cut, the angle designed to slice through the neck and across the torso. I put everything I had into it, focusing on using my hips to draw the blade through the muscle and tissue. To cut through a living thing is a fearsome, complex task. I pulled the
katana
in toward me, using the curvature of the blade to guide it through and out of his body. A gout of arterial blood shot out of the guard’s neck. I was already turning on his companion when the blood hit the left side of my head, a spray of thick warmth.
A few more explosions went off somewhere behind me and people had started shooting. The surviving guard’s eyes were still wide with surprise, but he managed to bring his AK to bear on me. I swiveled to present a smaller profile, realizing I had to force the weapon up and away from Yamashita, who was still lying on the ground behind me. But there wasn’t time. I swear I could see the slow tensing of the guard’s right hand as he prepared to squeeze off a burst with the assault rifle.
I cut down, a short chop to his forearm. But my form was off and the blade didn’t slice cleanly through the arm. He shrieked and tried to twist away from the bite of the sword. The action dragged the sword with him. I tried to wrench it free, but it was stuck in the bone. Then, with a snap, the blade broke. A sword like this, so razor sharp, is also brittle. Even as my hand came away with the jagged remains of the weapon, I was working out my next step. I lunged at the man, pushing the assault rifle up and across his body and plunging the stump of the sword into his throat. I heard the tearing sound it made as I drove it home. His eyes rolled up into his head and we both went over. I can still hear him gurgling in my ear as we thudded into the grass.
There was a storm of shots. Out of the side of my eye I could see the Filipinos in the clearing scrambling for cover, emptying weapons at a rapid rate, furious bursts aimed at unseen opponents. There were occasional muzzle flashes from different spots along the clearing’s perimeter, but it was obvious that the attackers had limited firepower. As that awareness grew, the Tengu’s men became more aggressive and began to put out more rounds.
High velocity ammunition makes a
crack
when it comes close to you. Things were starting to snap and zip through the air in our direction. Some of the Filipinos were directing their guns at me. I turned to get Yamashita out of the line of fire.
“Head for the trees!” a hoarse, distant voice screamed.
I was covered in blood and had just killed two men. But God help me, when I heard that voice, my heart leapt and I smiled.
Yamashita was stunned and I dragged him by his good right arm into the undergrowth. Our path went right through the pool of blood left by one of his guards. It couldn’t be avoided; there was going to be blood everywhere before much longer.
I got Yamashita behind a fallen tree trunk that offered some shelter from the gunfire. I wanted to pause for a minute and think my options through.
You’ve got to move! Don’t think! Go!
In the rush, I must have registered the look of fury on the Tengu’s face, his orders to the Arabs around him as they faded back into the jungle. They’d be coming for us. I had to go meet them, but I wasn’t sure how well Yamashita would do in a fight.
I crawled out into the clearing. One of the guards was still spasming slightly. I stripped him of a pistol and a knife: I thought that in the trees most of the work would be done up close. I also grabbed the AK, slick with his blood.
“Stay here,” I urged Yamashita, pushing the assault rifle into his arms. His eyes crossed and struggled to find focus. My teacher had been on the threshold to another existence—so far removed from this world that it was hard for him to pull back into the here and now. I realized he wouldn’t be able to use the rifle in the shape he was in. I handed him the pistol instead, wrapping his fingers around the butt, and took the rifle. “Wait. Stay down. I’ll be back,” I hissed. I looked in his eyes to see whether he was tracking, but it was hard to tell.