Samurai Son (45 page)

Chapter Eighty-Five

Kasumi awoke, still in tiger form.
 
She was lying in a dark thicket under the starry sky.
 
Beside her lay Akira.
 
The young samurai pressed close against her warm body, heedless of impropriety or danger.
 
She sniffed him and found that he was uninjured, as was she, and his rhythmic breathing told her that he slept.
 
His great no-dachi lay beside him, and on a cursory look, she found her clothing and weapons nearby as well.

She took a slow breath and tried to place where they were.
 
By the overwhelming Tengu scent, she suspected they were back on Tsuitori-jima as the demon had promised.
 
She lashed her tail, and to her horror, she saw not one, but two tail tips.
 
Her tail was forked.

The stench of oni pervaded her senses.
 
It is a reminder of your promise,
the oni said.
 
Within a year’s time, you will become a Bakeneko.

Horror filled Kasumi but she could not think of anything to say.
 
In a year’s time, she would allow the demon to possess her.

As swiftly as the demon appeared, it disappeared and with it the terrible stench.
 
Without even thinking, Kasumi
shapeshifted
back into a woman and found herself naked in Akira’s arms.
 
Akira’s eyes opened and Kasumi pulled herself from his grasp.
 
He gasped as she rolled away and stood up, pulling her clothes from her pack and putting them on.

“What happened?” Akira said, his voice hoarse from sleep.
 
“The last thing I remember is the dragon tearing me apart, and now I’m here.”
 
He paused.
 
“With you.”
 
His gaze lingered on her naked form as she slid the tunic on.

“We’re on Tsuitori-jima.
 
I—I made a deal and got us here.”

He cocked his head, birdlike.
 
“A deal?”

“It’s none of your concern,” she said brusquely.
 
“The main thing is that we’re on your island and you can find your father.”
 
She found herself quivering as he stood up.

Akira walked over to her and put his arms around her.
 
Despite herself, she could feel her body react to him.
 
Maybe it was the shock of the demon’s bargain.
 
Maybe she just wanted to be held.
 
He touched her chin gently, and she looked into his eyes.
 
They weren’t dark, the way most men’s eyes were.
 
They were light brown, almost golden.
 
She hadn’t really noticed them until now.
 
His hair, despite being unruly and long, framed his face like a warrior from an ancient time.
 
He leaned forward and kissed her tentatively.

The shock of his lips against hers ran through her, and she eagerly met his kiss with her tongue.
 
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her as his hands removed her clothing and she tore his off with a tiger’s ferocity.
 
The touch of his skin made her want to press him even closer against herself.
 
Teasingly, he explored her breasts with his tongue, sliding down to her navel and below.
 
Then he entered her and she screamed in ecstasy as their lovemaking fell into a rhythm.

She snarled and bit into his chest, drawing blood.
 
He grasped her hands as they partially morphed into claws and held her down as she licked the blood.
 
He tightened against her and screamed as he came with each thrust.
 
Sweaty and shaking, he collapsed against her, and she began licking the salt from his skin.

#

Akira closed his eyes, spent from the exertion.
 
When he opened them again, he saw Kasumi looking up at him with emotion he had never seen with the Tengu women—affection, maybe even love.
 
He kissed her and held her close to himself, letting her warm tongue explore his body.
 
He was surprised that he had felt resistance when he first entered her and realized she was a virgin.
 
He thought it odd that a woman of her age would not have lain with a man before now.
 
Certainly she was more cosmopolitan than he.

He looked into her eyes and was surprised to see that they were not dark as he previously remembered, but a light brown with a hint of green within.
 
She was a bit of an enigma to him—both haughty and vulnerable, confident yet unsure.
 
He kissed her again.
 
“Thank you for saving us.”

She stiffened underneath him, and her eyes grew hard.
 
“I did what I had to do.”

“What happened?” he whispered.

Tears formed in her eyes, and she shook her head.
 
“Get off of me.”

Normally Akira would’ve complied, but he felt something was dreadfully wrong.
 
He could feel her tense beneath him, and her skin shivered and rippled.
 
“No,” he whispered, sliding his tongue into her ear and nibbling against her neck.
 
“Tell me what happened.”

She will not tell you because she has made a bargain with oni,
Windspirit said.

“No, no,” she whispered.

“The oni came while we were fighting?” Akira asked, worried.

“Don’t ask,” she said.

“Kasumi-chan,” he said softly.
 
“I must know.”

“The dragon was killing you.
 
The ninja had cut me.
 
I was dying…”
 
She buried her head in his chest and cried.

She agreed to become possessed by the oni in a year’s time,
Windspirit said,
if the oni would save you both and bring you to Tsuitori-jima.

“You sacrificed yourself to save me?” Akira said incredulously.

Kasumi cried harder.

To save the Neko.
 
If you died, she felt there was no hope for her people or for the world.

“Why?”

Kasumi wiped her face with her hand.
 
“If Nanashi succeeds in destroying my people, the
Kimon,
the demon gate, will be unguarded, and the demon armies will enter and destroy our world.”

Akira swallowed hard.
 
“So you forfeited your life in one year to save me?
 
To save all?”

She lowered her eyes.
 
“Yes.”
 
Her voice was barely audible.

He stared at her, not sure what he should be feeling.
 
He felt guilty now for not changing into a Tengu.
 
He had thought about it while the dragon had attacked, but he knew he would’ve suffered death or a worse fate with the Tengu.
 
He hadn’t quite given up, but he had been so preoccupied fighting the dragon that when he was too weak, he didn’t have enough strength to change into a Tengu.
 
Instead, he had let Kasumi sacrifice herself to save him and her people.
 
Guilt gnawed at his throat.

If you had turned into a Tengu, you would’ve doomed her people,
Windspirit said.
 
It was the only thing that could be done.

Kasumi had sacrificed herself to save his life.
 
By her sacrifice, he owed her much.
 
She was willing to give up her life to rescue him in the hopes of saving her people.
 
Her cause became his cause.
 
He would dishonor her if he left her and her people to their fate.

He kissed her, aware of the hot tears burning his eyes.
 
“Kasumi-chan,” he whispered.
 
“I won’t let the demon take you.
 
I’ll kill it with my no-dachi; you’ll see.”

Kasumi snorted and sniffled a bit.
 
She smiled at him.
 
“You think you can?”

“Windspirit isn’t an ordinary blade.
 
You’ve seen what it does to Akuma.
 
Do you think a little oni is a bother?”
 
Despite the bravado in his voice, he wondered if the no-dachi could take out the demon.

Without question,
Windspirit said mildly.
 
The problem is she gave her word.

We’ll see about that,
Akira said.
 
He kissed her again tenderly, and they made love once more.

Chapter Eighty-Six

Dawn broke cold and cloudy.
 
Akira and Kasumi had slept, their naked bodies entwined under her silk blanket.
 
Akira was awake, thinking.
 
He heard the Tengu calls in the forest, and even the South Wind welcomed him home.
 
He was home, here on Tsuitori-jima.
 
But would it ever be the same?

Kasumi yawned and snuggled closer to him.
 
He ran his hand over her soft hair and paused as he saw a streak of orange along the roots.
 
Her hair was no longer completely black, but tawny, like a tiger’s.
 
He smiled; she, too, was kami but half human.
 
Her presence comforted him in an odd way.
 
They had found each other through fate.
 
Perhaps she could show him how to fit back into the world of men.

That is something you must do for yourself,
said Windspirit.
 
The sword had been oddly quiescent during their lovemaking.
 
Akira wondered what his old master thought about it.
 
A simple diversion, nothing more,
the sword replied to his thoughts.
 
You had best return home and find Takeshi.
 
He’ll be worried sick about you.

Akira sighed and nuzzled against Kasumi’s body.
 
Since his time with the Tengu, he hadn’t felt human until now—now that he was with Kasumi.
 
The scent of her body, the feel of her skin, and the lovemaking had made him feel more human than all the sex with the Tengu women.
 
He knew now what he had to do.
 
Her mission became his when she forfeited her life.
 
It was his duty to save both her and her people from the demons.

Was this what it was to be samurai?
 
To take on a duty, even as hopeless as this?

Samurai means “to serve,”
Windspirit reminded him.
 
The samurai do not just serve our lords, but we should fight for what is good.

A red hawk soared overhead, reminding Akira that they were in the Tengu forest.
 
He stroked Kasumi’s hair until she looked up at him.
 
“Kasumi-chan, we need to go.”

She smiled and snuggled deeper into the covers.
 
“I could lay here with you forever.”

Akira grinned and took her in his arms again, making love to her one more time.

#

Sometime later, they had found a stream and washed and dressed.
 
Akira knew the forest well enough from his time spent with the Tengu to lead her to his family’s estate.
 
As they walked to the road that led to Yutsui, he could see that the workers were out in the fields, harvesting.
 
He stopped and stared at the peasants, trying to come to terms with the amount of time he had been away.

Kasumi must have sensed his discomfort and took his hand in hers.
 
Her skin was remarkably warm and soft, and he turned to face her, wishing he had never met the Karasu-Tengu, wishing he had paid more attention to Rokuro’s training, and wishing he had stayed home instead of going out.
 
He expected to hear Windspirit make a snide comment, but the sword stayed quiet.
 
Perhaps his old teacher knew he wasn’t in the mood to be told how foolish he had been.

We all make mistakes, Akira-san,
Windspirit said in reply.
 
You’ve done well.

#

Despite being dreadfully hungry and having little food, they walked until they entered Yutsui.
 
The town was pretty much as Akira remembered it, only it seemed smaller and quainter next to the Shinobi villages.
 
The smell of cooking rice cakes and fish filled the air, and his mouth watered at the heavenly scent.

As they walked into the town, the people stared at both of them.
 
They must have looked ronin, given their disheveled appearance.
 
His long, unruly hair without the customary topknot and his clothing, faded and worn from their travels, gave him a remarkably different appearance.
 
The oni hadn’t seen fit to give them clean clothing, and his was torn and stained with blood.
 
Kasumi’s clothing was in better repair but dirty from ninja trampling it on the ground.
 
Her hair hung loose and wild about her shoulders.
 
Their swords marked them as samurai, as did their fearsome appearance.
 
They walked toward the main gate of his family’s compound.

“Halt!
 
Who are you?”

Akira turned to see another samurai, a warrior who served Takeshi.
 
The man’s gray hair made him look older than Rokuro, and his silk clothing, brightly colored blue and red, marked him as a higher-ranking samurai.
 
A scar ran from his lower lip to right jaw line.
 
Akira recognized him as being one of his father’s retainers but didn’t remember his name.

His name is Masashige,
the sword replied.
 
He may not recognize you.
 
Treat him as a subordinate; you are heir to Takeshi.

Akira frowned.
 
He didn’t want to treat anyone poorly.
 
“Masashige-san, it is me, Takeshi Akira.”

Masashige’s eyes widened.
 
For a moment, he scrutinized Akira’s face then bowed.
 
“Takeshi-sama, your father has been searching for you.”
 
His eyes fixed on Kasumi.
 
“Who is this?”

“She is Naotaka Kasumi Neko…”
 
He paused as he saw the man’s eyes narrow.
 
“You are to treat her honorably, for without her, you would not be speaking to me.”

Masashige gave her a half bow then turned back to Akira.
 
“Your father will be pleased to see you.”

#

Akira strode into the courtyard before his father’s house with Masashige and Kasumi beside him.
 
The door opened and Akira saw his father step out of the house with a younger man at his side.
 
His father had aged significantly since he had last seen him.
 
Takeshi’s hair had a large shock of gray at his temples that Akira didn’t remember.
 
His skin held wrinkles and worry lines from stress and the years.
 
He had lost a fair amount of weight too; Akira never remembered seeing his father so thin or pale.
 
He wore a simple black hakama and tunic of muted blue.
 
The only thing that marked him as a major daimyo was the hawk crest.

For several moments, the two men stared at each other, neither moving.
 
Akira felt jittery but controlled the urge to fidget.
 
He felt self-conscious about his clothes, his hair, and even Kasumi.
 
Despite everything he had been through, he felt as though he were a ten-year-old looking for his father’s approval.
 
The feeling angered and embarrassed him.

“Akira-kun,” Takeshi said softly.
 
He opened his arms and walked toward Akira.

Akira resisted the urge to run to him.
 
Instead, he walked slowly and met his father’s embrace.
 
“Father, I have missed you.”

Takeshi gripped his son’s shoulders, and Akira could feel a quiet sob escape his body.
 
Akira felt helpless as he hugged his father.
 
He had always thought of Takeshi as being strong and powerful, but the man here appeared frail and weak.
 
He wanted to tell his father about everything but just stayed silent while the older man held him.

#

Hiroshi watched the exchange, keeping his face carefully neutral as the two embraced.
 
He tried to remember his mother’s tenderness or his father’s kindness when he was young, but the ninja had taken him early from his family on Shinobi-jima.
 
He had flashes of memory but little else.
 
Most of his childhood recollections were in the ninja compound, training to be a warrior, spy, and assassin.

His parents had been relatively poor, even though they were part of the Shinobi clan.
 
He remembered the sea breezes and running barefoot to the dock with his mother to see his father.
 
He recalled crying when the splinters stuck in the flesh of his soft feet and how he wailed as his father pulled them out carefully.
 
They probably didn’t have enough to buy sandals for him at that time.

His parents gave him to Shigeko because it was a great honor to be picked to be one of the genin.
 
Yet watching Takeshi and his son, Hiroshi wondered if he had lost something vital in his life.
 
He had great respect for Takeshi, despite his being a samurai daimyo, but he wasn’t Hiroshi’s father.

Akira looked half-wild with his long, unruly hair; bloody clothes; and great no-dachi.
 
Hiroshi could feel the tingle of magic around the large sword and suspected the blade was enchanted, at the very least.
 
The woman who stood beside Akira was lovely in a very exotic way.
 
Her hair wasn’t completely black but had touches of orange running down her smooth locks.

Neko,
he thought.
 
Hiroshi had heard that those of the Neko clan had variations within their hair, mimicking the fur of certain cats, both large and small.
 
She met his gaze with a glare, similar to the fierce looks he had seen samurai give him from time to time.
 
She was as disheveled as Akira, and he wondered what adventures the two had been through.

He heard a small trill not far to his left.
 
Waiting until the Neko woman was preoccupied, he slipped away and followed the soft sound until it took him around the house and to the garden.
 
There, a ninja waited for him.

The ninja slipped a small scroll into his hand and vanished with a puff of smoke.
 
Hiroshi opened the scroll and read it.
 
He paused and read it again.
 
He frowned, slipped it into a special sleeve pocket, and walked back to the gathering, wondering how quickly the samurai would take his life if he obeyed his orders.