Eternal Samurai (37 page)

“Where is my family?” Sadomori bared his fangs.

The man’s eyes bulged at the hideous demon looming over him. “
Oni. Oni
,” he shrieked, and covered his face with his hands. He shit himself.

Sadomori dropped down, driving his knee onto the man’s chest. Heard the sickening crunch of broken ribs. Sadomori gripped the guard’s shoulder and ground the joint until it parted from its socket. A scream rent the night.

“Again, why do Lord Oshahito’s banners hang from the walls of my home?”

The guard writhed as words spilled from his lips. Within moments, Sadomori knew everything he valued—his lands, his family and his honor—was lost. Emperor Kurosaki no Gitako had murdered the entire Ukita line. Sadomori’s wife had slit the throats of her three children including his infant son before taking her own life. His consorts had committed
seppuku
, even as loyal guardsmen died defending his household and his name. All serfs had been sold to the slavers from China.

“When did this happen?”

Only blubbering noises came from the guard’s mouth.

“When?” Sadomori leaned closer, snarled against the man’s neck.

The soldier defecated again. “The week after you left for the mining village. The Shogun decreed you
dassōhei,
a deserter.”

Cold hatred filled him as he realized the monstrous extent of the betrayal. The moment he left on his mission, all he valued was stolen. What a fool he had been! A trusting fool who believed his Emperor valued him. Sadomori’s mind raced, recalling tiny clues and minute insults that should have alerted him. When his vanguard was ambushed by a band of brigands far more skilled than mere outlaws, he should have sensed treachery then. Despite the severe injury to his leg, his duty to the Emperor kept him going.

He considered the law of the land, which dictated all samurai live or die at the will of the Shogun. But to take lives and property without justifiable cause was an act of pure greed.

And to brand Ukita
dassōhei
was unforgivable.

With less effort than breaking a straw, he snapped the young guard’s neck. He would not deign to drink the blood of one who served the Kurosaki name. Unheeding of who would hear, Ukita Sadomori, threw his head back and howled into the night sky.

Dozens of guards poured from the house, brandishing their weapons and shouting at the unknown threat. Sadomori leaped to the top of the high palisade, crouched on its thin edge. His face was a hideous mask, all trace of humanity gone.

“I swear by all Gods, all
kami,
all
oni
, I will exterminate the House of Kurosaki, every man, woman, child. None shall be spared.”

Not a single soul bearing any connection to the Kurosaki house—the Oshahitos, Oyamades and Tanakatas—would escape. Not the highest general or the lowest of the
eta
would live. Sadomori would eradicate every sign of Emperor Kurosaki’s existence.

“Bear witness, oh God of Blood, the last breath of air to fill my lungs will be free of the taint of these names, these vilest of scum.” He hurled the putrid head toward the house. It splattered against the wall, leaving a foul, black stain.

“That is now my new mons, the mark of
kyūketsuki
.” He screamed before disappearing into the night.

Not even time had the power to stand in the way of his revenge.

.

Twenty

The Seattle Quarantine, 2024

T
atsu was drowning, water filling his mouth, lungs burning, breath gone. The wave inundated him, tumbling him deep into the freezing murk. Rocks battered his body, every jar made him cry out. Each time Tatsu broke the surface, another black rush pushed him below. His arms and legs thrashed; all reason gone as he fought for the elusive surface, clawed his way from the abyss of terrors yawning beneath him.

His head broke free. With a gasp, he sucked in a precious lungful of air. His leaden legs kicked furiously away from the undertow that threatened to drag him down into a hell he could never imagine. A wave crested pummeling him under, then another, in unending rolls. Exhausted, he surrendered and sank to the bottom.

“Wake up
Atsilí
!” Sage commanded. Tatsu dragged his eyes open against the weight of the dark water. The Navajo stood before him. Sage’s hair swirled like black seaweed in the green murk of the water. “Fight! It is not your day to die my little Ninja Boy,” he commanded.

“Sage, I want to go with you.”

“
Atsilí
, your journey is not yet done. Someone waits for you. Now swim!” The Navajo, eyes full of sadness and regret, smiled and began to drift away.

Tatsu reached out, his fingers clutching, eager to grasp his boyhood love. As if from far away Tatsu heard Sage’s voice or was it that of another? “Come back to me,
koibito
. Come back. Please, for the love I bear you.”

Tatsu fought for the heaving, distant surface.

“He fights hard, that one,” Fornax commented as he held the struggling Tatsu facedown by his shoulders. He ignored the stench of blood, sweat and body fluids as the injured youth thrashed beneath his hands.

“Please, keep him still,” Dr. Amos cautioned as he debrided the suppurating flesh before spreading ointment over Tatsu’s hands. He began wrapping fresh dressing over Tatsu’s weeping skin. “I cannot believe he is still alive. It is nothing less than amazing. On first examination, I was convinced he would die. But the internal bleeding stopped spontaneously, and the fractured bones are knitting at an incredible rate. As for the burns, I have never seen skin regenerate like this, no sign of scarring. His protective clothing saved most of his back.”

“He must live.” Arisada fed another injection of morphine and antibiotics into the saline drip.

The doctor noted fresh bloodstains on the back of Arisada’s kimono. No use offering aid. The vampire had refused all treatment, declaring he had no time for it until the boy was out of danger.

The physician packed his bag before doing a final check of the readings on the heart monitor. “I’ve ordered more supplies on my private account. No one will know they are for. I shall bring them tomorrow.”

“Domo arigatō gozaimasu, sensei.
Once again my apologies for the blindfold, it is for your own safety.” Arisada offer a small but distracted bow, his eyes already travelling to the patient. Without another word, the doctor left the room.

Fornax lingered at the doorway for a moment regarding his
Seisakusha
, the
kyūketsuki
he respected and loved.

“It is time. Please inform your Major that Cobb is alive but don’t reveal his whereabouts.” Arisada sat on the bed, hands cupped before his face as if praying.

“
Arigatō
, Saito-san. I didn’t like that you ordered me to say nothing to the Major or the Lepers for so long. They are hardened men but still they grieve.”

“
Wakatta,
there was no point in giving them false hope. I will bring the boy to the hunters as soon as he is well.”

“You are in love with this human. He is the one,
neh
?” the smaller vampire stated without judgment or rancor.

“
Ha, hai.
He is the one. I would gladly give up everything including my soul to be sure he is safe.” Arisada brushed a hank of damp hair from Tatsu forehead.

“Sadomori will kill you for this.”

“Perhaps. At least he will try. The only way to ensure my
koibito’s
safety is to for me to kill my
Seisakusha
. Once that is done, I will leave this city forever.”

“What about the danger you pose the boy now?”

“Ironic isn’t it? Even as I wish to protect him, I am the greatest threat to his life. I should have stayed away. To my shame, I could not. But I promise, he will be safe in my care. As much as I detest it, I will feed every day.”

“I do not envy you. A love like yours is a terrible thing.” With a short bow, Fornax left the room. Like the doctor, he was astounded that the boy lived. For the past four days, Fornax had cared for Tatsu during the brief times when Arisada left the house to feed from the runaway indentured hiding at the other end of the island. Fornax knew Tatsu disliked him but as he dressed the boy’s suppurating burns, he became impressed with the young man’s courage. Perhaps Cobb-san was worthy of Saito-sama’s love.

Arisada ignored the agony from his own injured back as he washed Tatsu’s sweat-covered body, He traced the puckered scars on Tatsu’s throat and across his bicep. Obviously, vampire bites, yet Tatsu had escaped infection. Of more concern, was the tattoo over the youth’s right breast. Arisada knew that mons well, yet he believed every member of that family had been eradicated.

His heart thrummed each time he regarded the strength and beauty in Tatsu’s face. More than once, he stopped himself from kissing those sweet lips. The vampire felt no shame when his cock hardened while he cleaned Tatsu’s buttocks and genitals. Arisada ached to have those long lithe legs wrapped around him even for a moment as he buried his cock in Tatsu’s core. But he knew it would never be. He sighed with desperate resignation.

It was almost dawn when Tatsu awoke with a gasp, stared with uncomprehending eyes at Arisada. “My
koibito
, welcome back,” the vampire whispered. Without saying a word, Tatsu slipped beneath the calm waters of his first real sleep.

Arisada laid his head by the youth’s inert arm and wept with gratitude as he gave thanks to whatever
kami
kept the boy alive. Tatsu slept on peacefully, his long lashes lying soft as a baby’s against his pale cheek. One last glance back at his beloved, then Arisada left the room.

The vampire smiled as he showered. Tonight, he would send a message to Dr. Amos telling him his services no longer were needed.

Arisada bolted the steel door and set the primitive alarm at the head of the stairs descending to his basement bedroom. He lit several candles not because he needed the light but for the comfort from the flickering light. Dropping his soiled yukata into a wicker basket, he dove with a grateful sigh under the steaming shower.

Exhausted, he fell onto his platform bed but he could not sleep. With a shiver of dread, Arisada considered Tatsu’s tattoo. Ukita Sadomori wore an amulet with an identical design. The ancient vampire often bragged how he tore it from the neck of a woman he killed in Nagasaki. That woman must have been Tatsu’s mother.

With a gasp, Tatsu jerked awake. Disoriented, he stared at the peach-colored ceiling. Where the hell was he? The infirmary? A hospital? What the fuck had happened to him? The pounding headache doing an imitation of a taiko drum in his head turned thinking into a major chore. Flashes of chasing after a white van. Something vague about dogs. Yeah, he crashed his bike. No, he knew more happened after that but his pounding head refused to cooperate. His mouth tasted foul like rotten eggs.

Sharp stabs of pain shot up his legs and back. Nausea assailed him as he sat up and threw off the thin blanket. Thick bandages encompassed his left hand and more compressed his ribs. Their pressure hurt each time he moved. He scraped the crud out of his eyes, and peered blurrily around the small room.

A clutter of medical equipment including heart monitor, oxygen tank, dressings and medication crowded together on a wheeled metal cart next to his bed. A stand held an intravenous drip bag that fed into his right arm. With fumbling fingers, he plucked out the needle.

Weakness washed through him as he swung his bare legs over the side of the bed, and looked around.

The small room was familiar, comforting, as if he were home in Nagasaki. Walls painted a soft yellow were offset by decorative strips of wood. Oddly, the walls seemed to be e made from thick rice paper.

Tatsu slid from the bed and froze the second his feet hit the floor. He slid his bare soles over the ridged surface. Looked down at a
tatami
made from the traditional rice straw. Okay, definitely not in hospital. But where?

The unmistakable urgency in his bladder said to forget about the where. He staggered into the adjoining bathroom. Pissing felt good. It also hurt like hell. The rawness around his cock slit told him he’d had a catheter in him at some time.

By the time he got back to the bed, his muscles had the strength of overcooked soba noodles. The pain in his ribs screamed at him to rest. But he had to find out where he was, and how he got here.
Kuso
! No sign of his weapons or gear. Cell phone missing too. A plain, cotton yukata hung over the end of the bed. Another mystery. He dragged on the garment, grateful for its warmth.

Tatsu clutched his ribs with his uninjured hand as he willed his wobbly legs to move to the door. He slid it aside before realizing it was a
shoji,
a Japanese sliding door. He stepped into a narrow hallway lined with light green
tatami
that complemented the smoky-grey walls hung with delicate Japanese prints. The house, if that what it was, reminded Tatsu of his home in Nagasaki.

“
Ohayō. Sumimasen.
” He apologized for calling good morning since he had no idea of the time of day. Again in English. No response, no sounds of life.
Kuso
, no weapons! In a strange building with no idea how he got there. “Just keep moving Tatsu,” he muttered “Find some freaking answers.”

He slid aside the door facing him, stepped over the threshold and stared dumfounded. Thin light from the quarter moon filtered through the beveled-glass roof. It cast a silver wash over the perfect, rectangular
ikinewa
, a pond garden. Lines of groomed sand created a balanced symmetry among the rocks and night-blooming dragon-fruit and primroses. Off to one side, a waterfall trickled into a natural-stone pool filled with koi and water lilies.

Delicate murals covered each wall, cleverly hiding the frames of several doors. Fighting nausea and weakness, Tatsu checked each room. One was
chashitsu
, a Japanese tearoom. The low teak table was surrounded by soft brightly colored
zabutons.
Beyond it, he saw an alcove that held a modern kitchen. No windows, no exits. Another door from the garden opened on a second bedroom. Again, no windows, no exits.