The Disfavored Hero (45 page)

“You are ungrateful, samurai!” the tengu complained. “I do not control the circumstances of your family's life. They were things you should want to know! The O-gama could have invented a better vision, it is true; and a pretty lie is succor in time of trouble. But lies are not salvation!”

“Tengu grant cruel favors,” said Tomoe. “So do not lecture me.” She stepped forward and retrieved her knife from between the O-gama's eyes. Those eyes still shined like mirrors, closing slowly. Tomoe brandished the knife threateningly and said, “I have killed bigger demons than you! Hobble away quickly or I'll cut off more of your feathers. I'll send you home bald!” The tengu hopped away like a spry old man. He shed his garment to reveal his blue-tinted wings which had made him look hunchbacked in the ragged kimono. He said,

“It is unfortunate that you feel like that!”

Tomoe rushed forward with her knife. A log was drifting down the river and the tengu made a long, long leap, flapping his damaged wings awkwardly. He landed on the log and balanced himself as the stream took him away from Tomoe's wrath.

“We may spend our whole lives,” said the tengu, “exchanging vengeances like this!” Tomoe hurried downstream, following the log and its rider. She outpaced it and waited on the bridge, thinking to grab the tengu as it went under. But Old Uncle Tengu made another long, awkward, flapping jump which took him straight up into the trees. From there he vanished quickly, melding with the shadows and moving safely from treetop to treetop.

Tomoe's rage faded away, revealing the sorrow that was the true cause of her quick temper. When she was calmed down, she realized that the hour was late. The trip her soul made to Heida must have taken longer than she thought; she'd have to hurry to reach the gardens in time. As she sped along the path toward Isso, she halted only once. She lingered briefly by the whimsical statue where she had previously left the plums. The plums were gone; eaten by the god, pits and all, or stolen by woodland animals. Tomoe said,

“Though I am undeserving of your notice, I have a favor to ask you after all. Keep my father alive an extra day! It is important that I see him one last time, and beg forgiveness that I have been an undutiful daughter. Do this for me and I will never fail to honor rustic gods like you!”

Then she was off once more, toward Isso.

The nighted garden was still. Tomoe saw a note pinned to a tree inside the entrance. It was the letter drafted by Ich 'yama. Beneath it was a second note: “The Mukade Group accepts the challenge.” It was stuck to the tree by means of a six-pointed shuriken.

There was a rustling high in the tree beneath which stood Tomoe. A man clad in ninja-costume—black, tight-fitting clothing, including hood and mask—dropped to the ground behind the woman. She turned quickly, sword slipping from scabbard. The ninja's shorter sword was already drawn, yet Tomoe was too fast for him. Her sword licked outward. The ninja jumped back into the tree when he realized his surprise attack was ineffective. Tomoe's sword slid easily into its scabbard once more. She looked up but could not see where the ninja hid.

Blood trickled down the trunk of the tree and stained the two notes pinned there. The ninja fell out of the branches, landing at Tomoe's feet. Her quick sword had cut him before he regained the tree, perhaps before he knew himself mortally wounded. She reached down to pull the dead man's mask away. She recognized him as a fellow named Fusakuni Sumikawa, one of those etched onto her memory by the ghost of Okio. She had eight left to kill.

In the sky there was a thin cloud-cover. Only the brightest stars winked through. Tana-bata was definitely ended. The new festival was a private one: a festival of death.

The garden was inexplicably colder than the city streets had been. Tomoe took this as evidence of Okio's ghost being nearby, watching, delighting at the destruction of his enemies. Tomoe wondered what influence the supernatural presence might have. Okio should see the vengeance, it was true; but if he desired to be helpful as well as witness, it could go badly, since the help, well-meant or not, was still rooted in Hell.

There was another sound behind Tomoe. She reeled again, hand to hilt. In the darkness it was hard to tell who was coming. It turned out to be the bonze Shindo. He had left his monk's staff somewhere so that the jangling rings would not scare away the hungry ghost of Okio. It was more fitting, anyway, that the steel smithed by Okio be the bonze's only weapon tonight.

“They're hiding everywhere,” said Shindo, looking at the corpse Tomoe made. “Hidemi Hirota is circling around the far side of the garden, searching carefully. Fortunately not all of the assassins use ninja tricks. Some of them fight like honorable samurai, though not so well as yamahoshi. I have already killed four.”

Tomoe did not reveal her amusement regarding Shindo's boast about his mountain sect. Before she could comment on the talents of samurai versus martial priests, they heard a scream of agony. Tomoe and bonze Shindo hurried toward the place of the cry and saw Prince Shuzo Tahara standing over the body of a foe. “He fought well,” said Shuzo, looking at the bonze and then at Tomoe. “But the swords of Okio are vampires tonight!” The three exchanged steady glances, then separated again, scouring the garden.

The stillness was eerie. No nightbird or insect sang. It was difficult to believe nearly forty foe hid among the bushes and trees and well-arranged boulders of the silent grounds. The garden was fairly large; its design was such as to give the illusion of even greater size; there were scores of lurking-places. Moonrise was not much help in lighting the scene, for the misty clouds turned the moon into the dimmest of lanterns. Yet Tomoe, like most samurai, was hard-practiced at night-battle. In schools it was common to learn to fight blindfolded. She could see better than when blindfolded at least!

Veils of mist drifted between trees, looking like specters, tricking the eyes into believing adversaries stood where there were none, and disguising where they really were. Tomoe walked between two large stones, herself a virtual wraith, moving silently; and she came face to face with another: a man stepped out from the darkness with his sword raised, prepared to slay. Tomoe drew her sword casually and took a countering stance. But she was unable to strike. Something held her arms! She backed away from the assassin and he pursued. It was curious indeed that she could not take the offensive. The approaching man was not one of those shown her by the gaki spirit; by some supernatural interference, she was unable to kill any but her allotted portion. In using gaki-magic to reveal to each of his avengers only a fraction of Mukade Group, Okio had inadvertently bound each to slaying
only
those revealed!

The stranger pressed nearer, wisely taking advantage of her evident inability to attack. His sword begain its descent; but suddenly he grimaced, lurched into a rigid posture, than began to collapse. As he fell, Tomoe saw that Hidemi Hirota stood behind her would-be killer. Hidemi had sliced the man down the spine. He indicated the fresh corpse and said, “He was mine!”

“Where is Ich 'yama?” asked Tomoe, realizing the ronin had not been in evidence. Hidemi was reluctant to answer her. She said, “He must not fail to come! There are nine fellows only he can slay, due to limitations accidentally imposed on us by Okio's hellish efforts. Ich 'yama's portion will escape, or kill us, if the ronin stays away.”

“He is here,” said Hidemi, looking at his feet. “Only … he will not come out of the house.”

Shocked, Tomoe asked, “How is that?”

“You arrived to the garden late,” said Hidemi, seeming to evade her query.

“I was detained by a tengu monster,” Tomoe explained.

“You need not excuse yourself to me,” said Hidemi apologetically, for he had not meant his remark to sound disparaging. “Only, you were not here to discover Ich 'yama's decision.”

“What decision is that?”

Hidemi Hirota removed a paper from the fold of his obi. “Ich 'yama left this letter on the door of the house. I removed it when Shindo, Shuzo and I came here at sundown. After we read it, we decided not to enter the house or rely on the ronin. Our enemies have undoubtedly read it too; but they would not have understood its cryptic meaning. I did not understand it myself until bonze Shindo explained.”

“Tell me!” Tomoe demanded.

Hidemi looked embarrassed. “You read it for yourself,” he said. “Ich 'yama waits inside for the Hour of the Ox.”

The Hour of the Ox was the spirit hour, the hour of death. At that time, monks throughout and around Isso repaired to temple yards or hillsides to strike the bosses of huge bells, frightening evil spirits away from the city and comforting the sleeping people. Tomoe meant to ask Hidemi why Ich 'yama would remain inside the house until then; but Hidemi had pressed the letter into her hand and scurried off too quickly to be grilled further.

Before Tomoe could completely unfold the letter, a man's head peered at her over a rock. Tomoe held the letter in her teeth and prepared to be attacked. The man was very handsome and smiled amiably, not offering to come out from behind the rock. She recognized him as Hitoshi Nakazaki and was anxious to kill him for Okio's sake. “Come out!” she challenged, speaking with the letter in her teeth. “Show me how to duel!” Hitoshi Nakazaki only smiled more engagingly, perhaps amused by the way she made challenges with teeth clenched on paper. He watched her but didn't move.

An attack came from behind. Tomoe did not turn immediately to face her unexpected attacker, but blocked the downward cut by raising her sword sideways over her head. Steel rang on steel. She slid out from under the blow as the fellow moved out of range of her returned slice. This second man was Hitoshi Nakazaki's brother Tatsuo. Hitoshi climbed over the rock so that soon both brothers were positioned to each side of Tomoe.

She guessed their plan and wondered how best to counter. They were trained as a pair and did not attack randomly, but alternated one busying her with dangerous feints while the other strove seriously to kill. Their timing was excellent. For the moment she was entirely on the defensive. She blocked to left and right quickly enough to avoid being pierced but was given no moment to instigate an attack of her own.

She blocked them again then hurried backward in an attempt to get them both in front of her. They were too fast and clever for that. Several times she beat off their tandem assaults. Soon she was able to perceive the full and limited scope of their style and skill. They were fair swordsmen, but really excellent only in a few narrowly defined and practiced maneuvers. Finally she understood the means by which she might turn their best skills around, causing them to defeat themselves upon the edge of their own certainty.

Tatsuo attacked on her left. She evaded his cut without blocking with her sword. It was an unexpected defense. To her right Hitoshi had already launched a fierce attack, but this time his timing was incorrect, for he had expected Tomoe to remain stationary and block as she had done several times. The result was that the two men carved into each others' shoulders simultaneously. They looked at one another in stark surprise.

“Brother!” said Hitoshi Nakazaki.

“Brother!” said Tatsuo Nakazaki.

Tomoe slashed twice. Two brothers died embracing, swords crossed between their breasts.
Six left,
thought Tomoe.

One of the brothers' cuts had been close enough to her face to sheer off part of the letter she'd carried in her teeth. She quickly found where the other piece had fallen and held the parts together. A vagrant dart of moonlight escaped the prison of clouds and lit the garden. In this light Tomoe was able to see that the letter was actually one of Ich 'yama's infamous poems. It read:

From her crimson sheath

a white-feathered arrow flies West

Empty dreams of love!

they fill my nights with sadness.

The reference to a crimson sheath might have had a martial meaning, or intended to be lewd; yet what took Tomoe's attention was the fact that the white feathers and the westerly direction were associated with death. Ich 'yama had written a suicide poem! How could the heartbroken fool consider killing himself at this time? He could at least have waited one more day! Shindo, Shuzo and Hidemi had seen the poem already; and they had done nothing about it. Was she to be equally aloof?

If Ich 'yama committed seppuku for love of Tomoe Gozen, then Okio's vengeance would be left incomplete. Tomoe's part in injuring the ronin's sensitivity would cause her to share the burden of that duty unmet. She alone was qualified to convince Ich 'yama he should stray from his resolve … long enough, at least, to complete his other mission.

As she hurried toward the mansion and onto the deck, she heard scuffles among several people but did not see who was fighting who. On the deck one of her own enemies waited.

“You are Matsu Emura,” said Tomoe. He looked more princely than Okio's ghost had indicated when showing heads on pikes. Emura was middle-aged, dignified, richly dressed; and he held his sword well. Tomoe assumed, “You must be the leader of these assassins.”

“I am boss of Mukade Group,” he said. “‘Mukade' means ‘centipede,' symbol of unity, and trouble for a foe.” He pointed to the group's seal printed on his garb's shoulders: a many-legged insect curled into a circle. “Kill one of us, and the centipede has many more legs to count on; but two of the legs you removed were especially dear to me. When you killed my adopted son Ryoichi Nomoto last morning, you sealed your misfortune.”

Tomoe was unimpressed by the threat; but she was impressed by the way the older swordfighter carried himself, held his weapon, inched one foot toward her. Only a life of dedicated practice gave a man such grace. No matter which way she held her longsword, Emura held his in precisely the position appropriate to counter. Because she respected the fact of Emura's skill but had previously found Ryoichi cowardly, she said, “Ryoichi was not a worthy heir for a man of your ability. He did not try to defend himself. He used a girl as shield.”