Samurai Son (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Akira stopped before the room where he knew his mother would be entertaining guests.
 
He wanted a bath, but there was no time.
 
Instead, he washed up quickly at the basin and donned a new tunic and kamishimo.
 
He chose to wear brown and red with images of a hawk woven into the silk.
 
It was his favorite clothing, even though Ikumi disliked it for some reason.

He hesitated as he heard the polite conversation within.
 
Surely Nanashi would’ve sent terrible demons instead of humans?
 
Akira tried to imagine the monsters sitting across from his mother, their terrifying claws gripping the fragile teacups.
 
Or maybe they wouldn’t partake of tea.
 
Akira suspected that demons drank not tea, but blood.

He listened carefully.
 
The quiet conversation didn’t sound like demons.
 
He could hear Ikumi’s gentle laughter to a male voice and heard a calm response from a woman.
 
A male and female demon?
 
Was that even possible?

Even as Akira thought this, he brushed his fears aside.
 
Ikumi knew many things, and he was certain she would recognize a demon if she saw one.
 
He mustered his courage and gripped the door panel to open it.

Sliding the door back, he waited for Ikumi to rise and bow.
 
To his relief, there were no demons there.
 
He saw two young samurai, a man and a woman, who looked his age or a little older.
 
They both stood and bowed as well.
 
Akira bowed first to Ikumi then to the strangers.

“Akira, this is Naotaka Jiro and Naotaka Kasumi Neko,” Ikumi said.
 
“They are samurai from Nanashi daimyo.”

“Pleased to meet you, Takeshi Akira-sama,” Kasumi said.

Akira held his breath as his gaze fell on her.
 
As a son of a daimyo, Akira seldom had time to meet many of his own age, other than peasants.
 
He was too busy in school and training to pay much attention to girls his age, so Kasumi’s beauty startled him.
 
She had dark hair, combed exquisitely back in a style he had never seen on other samurai women.
 
Her large, almond-shaped eyes gazed at him from her smooth and flawless face.
 
If she wore makeup, it did not show.
 
He had seen some girls in town wear makeup, looking like kabuki dolls; he found that look unattractive.
 
Kasumi’s kimono, of the palest blue silk, rippled like water as she rose.

“Pleased to meet you, Kasumi-san,” Akira said quickly, hoping that his stunned silence went unnoticed.
 
He turned to Jiro, who was a bit older than either of them but whose hair was in the style of a younger samurai.
 
Jiro’s dark eyes studied Akira intently as he bowed.
 
Like Akira, he wore a traditional kamishimo of deep green, but unlike Akira’s clothing, it bore the crest of Nanashi: a horned beast that Akira took to be a demon.
 
“And pleased to meet you, Jiro-san.”

Jiro bowed only a little, much to Akira’s chagrin.
 
Was Jiro of a more high-ranking family than Akira?
 
It didn’t seem likely.
 
Before Akira could call attention to the affront, Ikumi spoke.

“Akira-san, Jiro and Kasumi’s father is one of Nanashi’s samurai.
 
We are to show hospitality to them.”

Akira nodded.
 
Visiting samurai were common, but Akira was unused to samurai his age.
 
He sat cross-legged before the table as Ikumi poured him some tea.
 
A serving girl brought rice cakes and red bean cakes to each of them.
 
Akira took a sip of the hot green tea as Kasumi beamed at them.

“It’s so wonderful to be here, Ikumi-sama,” she said.
 
“You won’t believe how dreary it’s been in Kyotori, what with the shogun’s preparations for battle.”

“Lord Nanashi is sending his best samurai to fight,” Jiro said.
 
“They’re the best in all the islands.”

“Tsuitori samurai are great warriors,” Akira said quickly, thinking of Rokuro, Takeshi and a number of samurai he had seen training near his home.

Jiro’s cold gaze met his.
 
“Really?
 
I was unaware that the samurai of Tsuitori had
any
skills.
 
Are there songs or stories about great Tsuitori warriors in this little province?”

Akira’s mouth went dry as he bit into the rice cake.
 
It tasted like sawdust.
 
He took a drink of tea, wishing it were sake instead.
 
He looked at Ikumi, whose face was unreadable, then at Kasumi, who stared in shock at her brother.

“Please forgive my brother,” Kasumi said.
 
“He—”

“Forgive what?” Jiro interrupted her.
 
“I wanted to know if Akira had heard of songs about great warriors in this land.
 
After all, no one else has heard of them.”

“Jiro!”
 
Kasumi gasped.

Akira raised his hand.
 
“We have many songs about Tsuitori samurai.
 
I’m not surprised that an insignificant province such as Naotaka wouldn’t have heard them—perhaps you should ask the shogun’s musicians to tell you some of the stories when you’re on Kyotori-jima.”

Ikumi raised her hand to her lips to hide the small smile as she bent to pour more tea.
 
“More tea, Jiro-san?
 
Yours must be becoming cold.”

Jiro said nothing, studying Akira’s expression.
 
Kasumi frowned.
 
“Jiro-san, would you like some tea?
 
Ikumi-sama has offered you some.”

Jiro grunted, which Ikumi took as a yes, and she began to pour the tea even though he did not hand the cup to her.

#

The tea continued with Ikumi and Kasumi talking to each other and ignoring Jiro.
 
Jiro had faded to a sullen silence, preferring to watch Akira with narrowed eyes.
 
Akira pretended not to notice the other samurai’s anger.
 
Instead, he focused on Kasumi and Ikumi’s conversation.
 
Despite himself, Akira found his gaze lingering on the beautiful young samurai woman.
 
It surprised him that she wore a sash with a katana and wakizashi as he and Jiro did.
 
Women samurai tended to carry the short blade, the wakizashi, and usually a fan used for fighting, but very seldom had he seen a samurai woman with a katana.
 
He had seen some samurai women use naginata, but those were not carried into a home.

Looking from Kasumi’s laughing expression to Jiro’s dour one, Akira couldn’t quite see a familial resemblance.
 
His mind went back to her family name, Naotaka.
 
He had heard that some old samurai families still practiced polygamy, and Naotaka was an old family.
 
Jiro’s name suggested that he was a second son.
 
If that were so, then Jiro was unlikely to inherit much land, if any at all.
 
Given that their daimyo was Nanashi, the right and title to lands came down from him, not Naotaka.
 
Samurai were seldom used as couriers except for the most important information, but maybe Jiro and Kasumi weren’t very high ranking after all.

Akira frowned, trying to make sense of this.
 
As he did, he caught Kasumi’s concerned gaze.
 
He looked into her eyes, and instead of lowering her eyes demurely as he had seen so many other women do, Kasumi continued to meet his gaze.
 
“Are you all right, Akira-san?” she asked.

Akira was speechless.
 
He had never met a woman so forthright, other than Ikumi.
 
Was this how other samurai women behaved?

“I’m certain he is simply pleased to have company,” Ikumi said.
 
“We don’t get many visitors on Tsuitori.”
 
She paused.
 
“More tea?”

“Thank you, Ikumi-sama,” she said.
 
Ikumi knelt down beside Kasumi and began to pour.

At that moment, a low rumble like thunder shook the room and the table, causing the teacups to shudder and slosh.
 
Akira, Jiro, and Kasumi struggled to their feet as they heard screaming outside.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The teacups rolled and shook off the table, spilling their contents and shattering on the smooth cherry wood floor.
 
Akira was the first to the door, his hand on his katana.
 
The shaking was so severe, he wondered if the goddess who slept in the mountain had awakened.
 
But he had not felt the characteristic rumbles that came before the smoke and flames.

As Akira threw back the wooden door, he drew his katana with a swift move.
 
He moved aside so the others could stand beside him if need be, but what he saw made his sword grow heavy in his hand.
 
People ran through the courtyard, their arms held over their heads as though shielding them from some frightful bird.
 
The clear sky filled with ominous, dark clouds, and a long creature flitted among them, breathing fire.

Akira had never seen a dragon before but instinctively knew this was one.
 
At this distance, he could tell it was huge, but he couldn’t discern much else.
 
It flew rapidly without wings—for dragons were magical creatures—swimming through the air in the same way a fish would swim through water.
 
The storm clouds had rolled in from the sea, making the light muted on the dragon’s bluish scales.
 
It dived through the clouds and turned around.

Just as Akira was about to clap his hands in delight, the dragon’s demeanor changed abruptly.
 
Its head snapped around, and it turned on the little town of Yutsui, outside of the estate.
 
Akira stared in shock as the saw the flames leap from the dragon’s maw and heard screaming coming from the town.

“Akira!”
 
Rokuro’s voice snapped him out his shock.
 
Akira saw the old samurai running toward him with two bows and quivers in his hands.
 
He thrust one bow and quiver at Akira.
 
“Come on, boy.
 
I’ve alerted the other samurai.
 
We have to fight this creature.”

“Jiro and I have bows too,” Kasumi’s voice interrupted them.
 
Both Akira and Rokuro turned to see a determined face on the woman samurai.
 
“I’m good with a bow,” she said as Rokuro met her gaze.
 
“Where is Takeshi-sama?”

“My father is not due back from the shogun’s for another fortnight,” Akira said.
 
“Rokuro is in charge of the guard until then.”

Rokuro nodded to Kasumi and Jiro.
 
“Get your bows.
 
There may not be much left of Yutsui if we don’t hurry.”

Ikumi spoke up.
 
“What about armor?”

Rokuro shook his head.
 
“No time.
 
Do you have a bow?”

Ikumi nodded.
 
“I do.”

“Can I leave you with the estate?”

Akira watched the interaction between Rokuro and Ikumi curiously.
 
All his life he had never seen his mother handle a weapon, but her eyes steeled, like those of a hawk.
 
Her voice was surprisingly fierce.
 
“I can defend the estate alone if I have to.”

Rokuro nodded once and turned to Akira and the others.
 
“Let’s go.”

#

Akira had never fought alongside other samurai, except in training.
 
He certainly had never fought beside anyone his age, let alone a woman.
 
Kasumi stood beside him, her kimono tucked into trousers like a tunic.
 
She carried a finely lacquered recurve bow and a quiver of arrows.

The samurai who lived on Takeshi’s estate had joined Akira, Rokuro, Jiro, and Kasumi.
 
Takeda, Isamu, and Kazuo were there, as well as twenty ashigaru.
 
Most did not have time to put on full armor, but a few managed to strap on breastplates.

Akira glanced behind as they left the estate on foot.
 
The large ironbound gate swung shut after he and the other samurai passed through.
 
While horses would’ve made the travel easier, Rokuro forbade them, saying that a dragon would scare the animals into a terrified frenzy.

As they ran through the pine forest toward the town, acrid smoke filled their nostrils.
 
Akira could hardly see ahead through the haze that grew thicker as they made their way along the road.
 
He could hear the screams of people, the bellow of the dragon, and the sound of combat ahead.

Tension filled each samurai’s face as Akira glanced around.
 
Sweat streamed down his brow, and he wondered what hope they had of killing the beast.
 
They broke into the clearing and, through the choking smoke, saw the dragon as it tore into two of the peasants’ oxen.

The peasants had fled.
 
All around, the straw-thatched huts were on fire.
 
The flames roared as they spread from house to house in a small firestorm.
 
Akira saw the bluish gray dragon in the smoky light as it held a squealing ox in a talon.
 
It lowered its serpentine head and bit hard into the unfortunate ox’s back.
 
With a final squeal, the ox went limp and the dragon feasted, tearing bloody chunks of flesh with its razor-sharp teeth.

“Get ready!” shouted Rokuro above the flames’ roar.
 
He nocked an arrow on his bow.
 
Akira and the other samurai and ashigaru did likewise.
 
“Fire!”

The arrows flew from their powerful bows and hit the dragon.
 
But much to Akira’s dismay, the arrows bounced off the dragon’s scaly hide.
 
The dragon’s head whipped around, and it saw the samurai and soldiers.
 
The oxen forgotten, it turned and charged at the men.

“Go!
 
Get out of here!”
 
Rokuro shouted as the dragon bore down upon them.
 
The ashigaru scattered, firing fruitlessly at the dragon as they did so.
 
Akira stood his ground beside Rokuro, even as the other samurai shot at the beast before retreating.
 
Rokuro gave Akira a hard shove as he brought his bow up to shoot.
 
“Go!
 
You must live!”

Akira ignored the old samurai and continued to shoot without effect.
 
As the dragon charged, he tossed aside his bow and drew his katana.
 
Unlike the bokken he normally practiced with, the katana was a very sharp blade; Akira doubted the dragon’s scales would be so tough as to deflect it.

The dragon screamed as it bore down on the two men.
 
At that moment, Rokuro shot and the arrow flew into the dragon’s mouth, piercing the soft tissue and embedding itself in the jaw.

The dragon halted and bellowed, pawing at the shaft and ripping it out of its jaw.
 
Dark blood flowed from the wound, and Rokuro tossed the bow aside and drew his katana.
 
Both young and old samurai stood ready for the attack.
 
But instead of attacking, the dragon leaped into the air and vanished in the smoke.

Akira lowered his own sword slowly.
 
He turned to Rokuro in wonder.
 
“It’s gone.”

Rokuro shook his head.
 
“It’ll be back.
 
And we may not get such a lucky shot in.”