Samurai Son (14 page)

Puzzled, Akira bowed too before stepping out of the hut.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Tenko watched Akira as he started down the path toward the shore.
 
He turned to Neko and said, “Reveal!”

At once, the calico began to shift form.
 
She grew into the woman samurai.
 
He held out a rough woolen kimono, and she stepped into it as she became human once more.
 
“What manner of sorcery is this, old man?” Kasumi said.

“Naotaka Kasumi Neko,” Tenko said, his smile not diminishing, “you look just like your mother.”

“You know my mother?”
 
Kasumi stared at him.

Tenko shrugged.
 
“I am an old man.”

“Why didn’t you let me go with him if you knew what I was?”

“You can’t do much, little Neko-sama, as a housecat.”

“That is just one of my forms, old man.”
 
Her voice was throaty, like a growl.

“Does Naotaka know what your mother is?”

“No, he doesn’t.
 
Nor does anyone know what I am,” Kasumi said.
 
“Except you.”

Tenko waved to the table.
 
“I have forgotten my manners.
 
Would you like some tea and rice cakes?”

“No, thank you, Tenko-san,” she said.
 
“How do you know my mother?”

“Ah, that is an interesting question, little Neko-sama,” he said, smiling.
 
“I know you feel something towards Akira, yes?”

She stared at him.

“I thought so,” he said when she did not answer.
 
“Akira can handle the dragon.
 
There are others who watch and wait to see if he can.”

“You mean Jiro?”

“No, I mean
others.
”
 
He set down the teapot.
 
“Are you sure you will not have a cup?”

Kasumi frowned.
 
“Others?
 
How so?”

“You are not the only one who is not quite human on this island, my little Neko-sama,” he said.
 
With that, he waved his hand.

Kasumi suddenly found herself in darkness.
 
Her eyes dilated and she looked around and saw that she was in her room at the Takeshi estate.
 
She took a moment to calm herself before changing into her silken kimono.
 
She sat on her futon, worried for Akira and wondering what she should do.

#

Akira stared at the stone in his palm.
 
True to Tenko’s words, the stone glowed a bright blue when he faced due south, toward where Tenko said the dragon was.
 
Despite not getting any sleep, Tenko’s tea had revitalized him, and Akira walked through the forest quicker than before.
 
Although he missed the little cat’s warmth, he was glad she would be safe with the old man.

As he continued to walk, he pondered Tenko.
 
He suspected the old man knew many things about him, his mother, and his family.
 
Then there was the stone that glowed in his hand.
 
Akira had never seen magic before—not true magic.
 
Yet here was a stone glowing in his palm.
 
He wondered now if the hawk talisman held magic too or if it was simply a piece of ivory.

Tenko was more than a simple peasant.
 
He seemed to be able to see deep within Akira’s soul.

“You can defeat the dragon, Akira-sama.
 
The way to do it is to become that which you already are.”

Akira wasn’t sure what that meant, but something within him told him that Tenko was right.
 
Yet how could he really defeat the dragon with just his katana and wakizashi?

He continued walking through the pine forest along the path the peasants used to walk to the southern shores.
 
The sky slowly grew brighter, and the stars faded against the ever-lightening backdrop.
 
The pine needles and sand crunched under his sandals as he walked over the crest of a small hill, through a copse of bamboo, and onto the beach.

The shrill cry from a gull caused him to look up.
 
To the east, he could see the red glow from the sun on the horizon.
 
He watched as the sun rose, a fiery orange ball over the ocean, turning the island’s mountains to a bright pink.

Akira turned and looked at the beach.
 
The golden sand danced with life as ghost crabs scuttled across it.
 
The waves rolled gently to break along the sand and rocks.
 
In the distance, he could see larger jagged rocks poking up from the waves.
 
He turned and glanced at the pebble in his hand.
 
It glowed bright blue when he stood looking at the rocks.

Akira took a deep breath and walked slowly in the direction the stone indicated.
 
As he walked, he saw they weren’t just stones, but a large cavern complex where the waves had eroded the volcanic rock there over the years.
 
He continued to walk, his right hand on his katana, his left holding the pebble.

As he approached, he saw movement and looked.
 
For a moment, he thought the cavern had moved, but what had
really
moved was something on top of the cavern.
 
Akira halted and stared.

He was face-to-face with a sleeping dragon.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Akira stood before the great dragon, his hand on his katana.
 
The dragon’s coils wound themselves over the briny rocks and through the caverns covered with seaweed and kelp.
 
Its blue scales glistened in the morning light, and the water droplets on its hide threw colorful rainbows across the sand like a million crystal prisms.

The dragon slept.
 
Its head lay against its massive, taloned feet.
 
It snorted once in a cough-snarl that for a brief instant exposed the razor-sharp teeth beneath the mask.
 
Both grotesque and beautiful, the dragon’s head bristled with whiskers, and two horns sprouted from behind its ears.

Akira caught his breath, unable to quell the trembling of his legs or the pounding of his heart in his ears.
 
What had he been thinking when he boasted to the others that he would kill the dragon?
 
The creature was huge, at least several hundred feet, and had terrible teeth and claws.
 
It could pounce on him in a moment and swallow him whole.
 
What’s more, the dragon had to have terrible magic that could make the earth tremble, bring torrents from the sky, and call the wind demons to destroy the town with a single blast.
 
His katana would be useless against such a beast.

Yet as fearful as Akira was, the dragon fascinated him.
 
He had heard stories of the
Ryu
—the dragons who created all things—who had brought forth all life as the people of Tsuitori knew.
 
The dragons were greater than the gods themselves.
 
Akira knew this.

What was he to do?
 
How could he destroy a thing of such magnificent, terrible beauty?
 
Akira reached out slowly, gingerly and touched one of the scintillating scales.
 
It was pleasantly cool to the touch, like water, hard yet fluid.
 
He drew his hand back and stared at the scale.
 
It had changed color where he had touched it, turning from blue to red.
 
He watched as the scale melted back from red to yellow to green and finally to blue.
 
Droplets of water appeared on the scale as if the dragon’s skin were weeping.

Akira then felt the dragon’s eyes on him.
 
Akira turned to see the dragon watching him with cold, hard eyes like shining jewels beneath heavy lids.
 
Had it been watching him the whole time, or had he woken it?
 
Did it know that he was there to kill it?
 
Would he kill it?

The questions confounded Akira’s brain.

Little man, why do you come here?

Akira stared into those eyes and was caught.
 
He felt the fear chill him like the sea spray.
 
He knew he could not lie to the dragon.
 
“I have come to kill you,” he said lamely.

A low growl issued from the dragon’s throat.
 
Akira blanched and trembled.
 
But the growl became a burble, and the burble became a chuckle.
 
Akira bit his lip.
 
The dragon was laughing at him!

You, little boy?
 
You are the best that Tsuitori can send against me?

Akira frowned.
 
He was samurai.
 
He had trained as a warrior.
 
Yet the dragon didn’t think him much of a threat.
 
He nodded slowly, wondering how quickly he could pull the sharp katana from its scabbard.
 
Could he do it before the dragon turned its scaly head and snapped him up like a fish or breathed flame at him?

The lump in his throat grew.
 
He wanted to run, but the dragon’s gaze and the terror of shame held him fast.

“Perhaps not,” Akira said.
 
“But I am here.”

The dragon looked at him curiously.
 
Where is your lord, little man?

Akira choked back a retort, keeping his expression stoic despite the flush he felt creeping into his face.
 
The dragon didn’t consider him a serious opponent despite the katana and wakizashi at his side.
 
“He is
elsewhere,
” Akira said coldly.
 
And suddenly he became angry.
 
Jiro’s laughter rang in his ears as he stared at the dragon.
 
This beast mocked him.
 
The rage that grew inside him counteracted any terror he felt.
 
He heard himself say the words, but it sounded as though someone else spoke them.
 
“He considers you but a trifle.”

The dragon reared up, snarling at the obvious affront.
 
Akira drew the katana, holding it high over his head in a defensive stance as the beast glared down at him, lashing its tail like a whip.
 
Despite the panic growing in Akira’s belly, he steeled himself.
 
He was samurai.
 
He would not run.

A trifle?
 
The creature snorted, steam billowing from its nostrils.
 
Akira caught a whiff of brimstone and backed up a few steps.

“Yes, he says you are
without honor,
” Akira said.
 
“You are lower than ronin.”

More steam issued in jets from the dragon’s nostrils, but Akira charged and was no longer where he had been a moment before.
 
A shriek issued from Akira’s mouth—not human, but more like a hawk’s cry.
 
He leaped forward, letting his instincts guide the blade, just as Rokuro had taught him.

But the dragon was quick.
 
It turned and snapped at Akira as he lunged at the creature in midair.
 
The razor-sharp teeth bit, missing completely.
 
Somehow Akira had twisted and flown over the dragon.
 
He slashed at the dragon’s neck, and the katana bit deep.
 
Hot blood issued from the wound and sizzled on the hardened steel blade.

The dragon roared.
 
Akira screamed again, his voice less human and more birdlike.
 
He was still holding the katana, now bloody, but he was no longer standing on the ground.
 
Akira looked up at the sky and screamed again, feeling strong wings on his shoulders propel him upward toward the cerulean sky.

His thoughts were no longer quite human.
 
Akira, the young samurai, would’ve been terrified, but Akira was not human anymore.
 
Before him was his ancient enemy—a creature who had killed so many of his own kind.
 
He screeched in rage.

Have I lost my mind?
Akira wondered.
 
The sun on his feathers, the beat of his wings, and his acute eyesight told him this was very real.
 
The dragon leaped up after him.
 
The dragon’s magic allowed it to fly without wings, being a creature of the elements.
 
Akira had no such powers, but his new wings seemed to know how to fly without his knowing what exactly to do.

Akira turned in midair, folding the wings ever so slightly, and plummeted toward the dragon.
 
His feet, he saw, were no longer human, but great raptor claws.
 
Yet he was still part human; his hands, chest, and body were still his own.
 
He held the raptor claws outstretched and he swung the katana hard as he hit the great dragon.

His talons sank into the hot, scaly flesh, and the dragon whipped its head around to snap at him, but Akira was already slicing with the katana.
 
It caught the dragon by the throat and cut deeply.
 
Blood sprayed everywhere as the creature screamed in pain and rage.
 
It thrashed, throwing Akira to the ground below.
 
Akira’s wings barely slowed him as he hit the ground with a hard thud.

Akira’s vision swam.
 
The dragon still thrashed above him, and Akira thought to strike again with his katana, but he no longer held it.
 
Then the dragon seemed to melt away, turning a paler and paler blue until it vanished into the sky.

Akira did not know how long he lay there, his kamishimo muddy and torn beneath his breastplate and thigh guards.
 
Had he just imagined becoming a bird-man of some sort?
 
He closed his eyes and recalled the feeling of freedom as he flew with the sun on his wings, bearing the katana down on his adversary.

“Takeshi Akira-san,” a familiar voice came from above him.
 
He looked up but all he could see were sun and sky.

“Sensei?” Akira murmured.

Rokuro sensei stood over Akira.
 
He held the katana, still covered in dragon’s blood.
 
“Stand, Akira-san.”

Akira’s head swam as he slowly rolled to his knees.
 
His gorge rose and heaved as he held himself up on his hands and knees.
 
Rokuro said nothing as Akira vomited until nothing remained but bile.
 
Akira felt a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder.

“What you did, boy, was beyond anything I could have taught you.”

It took some time for Akira to comprehend the words.
 
The sensei pressed a clay cup into Akira’s hands as he slowly sat up.
 
“I’m so sorry, Sensei,” he whispered.
 
“I was prideful.”

“Akira!” Ikumi’s voice wailed.

Akira turned his head to see his mother among the crowd that had gathered.
 
All stared at the boy, fear and awe betraying their normally stoic faces.
 
The crowd parted for Ikumi; no one would dare block the way of a samurai.
 
He saw the fear in her unpainted face surrounded by wild and mussed hair.
 
Her kimono, too, was dirty, as though she had hastened from their estate.

Rokuro held up his hand to stop her and turned back to Akira.
 
“Can you stand?”
 
He had laid the sword beside Akira and offered a hand up.

Akira drank the tea, washing the bitter bile taste from his mouth, and took the sensei’s hand.
 
“What did you see?”

“I saw a Tengu fight and slay the dragon,” Rokuro said with an expression Akira had never seen on the sensei’s face.

“A Tengu?”
 
Akira shuddered as he thought about the forest spirits.
 
Had a Tengu possessed him, even for a short while?
 
He looked askance at Rokuro as he walked slowly toward his mother.
 
“What has happened to me?”

He had asked Rokuro, but it was Ikumi who spoke.
 
“It was something I’ve feared,” she whispered softly.
 
“Let us speak no more of this until we return home.”