Read The Ronin and the Green Maiden Online

Authors: Travis Heermann

Tags: #historical fantasy, fantasy, history, samurai, ronin, ninja, fox, green knight

The Ronin and the Green Maiden (2 page)

BOOK: The Ronin and the Green Maiden
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He was an experienced woodsman with a clear direction in mind, but tromping across trackless mountains with a lady was a bit more difficult than doing the tromping alone.

As they walked, he often felt her eyes on him, and the buzzing of the
kami
at those times raised his awareness again that perhaps they were being watched. Perhaps she was not alone at all. Perhaps she was leading him into a trap. But what did he have that anyone would want?

Except for Silver Crane.

The underworld crime lord Green Tiger had gone to great effort to find and steal Silver Crane. Precisely why, Ken’ishi did not yet know, save that the sword was more powerful than he had ever imagined, capable somehow of shaping the flow of destiny in countless tiny ways.

Could she be leading him into some sort of trap to steal Silver Crane again?

“How did you come to be in this wilderness?” he asked.

“I have been traveling from Hizen and lost my way.”

“I should say! You have gone many
ri
out of your way.”

“Alas, I am just a woman, ignorant of the land.”

“Why have you come so far alone? Have you no family in your home province?”

“I have no family there now.”

Something in her tone, in her mien, raised the hairs on his neck. He had encountered too many strange things to overlook the holes in an incomplete tale. Nevertheless, he could do little else but let her keep her secrets. And he had sworn himself to protect her.

“What about you, sir? What of your family? Have you no wife to warm your bed?”

A slash of guilt cut through him, the memory of Kiosé’s dead face, of Little Frog’s savaged body. “There is no one.”

“How long have you been in Lord Otomo’s service?”

“Until the invasion, I was a
ronin
.” He took a deep breath and felt the unfamiliarity of his new path as it unfolded before him. “I acquitted myself well during the battle and was offered a place to serve.”

“A strong, handsome warrior like you should do well in the service of such a powerful lord.”

His ears heated.

“In fact, you should easily find a wife more than willing to bear you a multitude of children.”

Something in her voice made him look over his shoulder. Her brilliant green eyes, flecked with gold, were fixed upon him, with a little smirk playing across her lips.

“Are you a fox?” he said. He had asked one other beautiful girl that question. The memory of how the fox-maiden Haru had once lured him into her den would never leave him.

She laughed with real mirth. “If I were, do you think I would tell you?”

He grunted and kept walking. “Perhaps it would be a point of honor to be truthful.”

“Is not the greatest honor to be true to one’s nature? Would a trickster
kitsune
reveal her secrets to anyone who asked?”

He grunted again.

Her smile filled her words and smoothed over the foolishness he felt. “No, sir, I am not a fox. But you do not trust me.”

“I met a fox once. It did not go well. I met a woman I thought was a fox once. That did not go well either.”

“What shall I do to make you trust me?”

“Twice I have asked you about husband and family. Twice you have not answered.”

She sighed, and for a while there was only the plodding of the stallion’s hooves and Ken’ishi’s footsteps in the thickening grass. “I have a husband. He is ... my curse. He is a cruel man, so large and powerful than none may stand against him.”

“Where is he?”

“I do not know. I have not seen him in a very long time. I just know that he is out there, and that knowledge is an awful, awful thing. When he strikes me—” She bit back her words.

Ken’ishi’s heart went out to her. “Are you running from him?”

“In a way.”

He glanced at her again. Her cheeks were dry, and her captivating green eyes looked off into the forest toward what he could not guess.

* * *

Night fell, and the woods thickened around them. Ken’ishi had long since lost the trail, forcing them to follow the river to the southwest, where he hoped it would encounter a proper road.

He made camp a hundred paces up the slope from the river, lest they attract the attention of a hungry
kappa
. He tied the stallion to a tree and spread out his sleeping mat over the bed of soft grass.

Over a modest fire, he boiled water for rice and tea, and he conversed with her as the starry bowl of night heaved above them. The winter chill made its presence known again in the absence of sunlight, and she huddled next to him. He inched away and sat closer to the fire.

Her warmth radiated through the soft silken robes as he draped his blanket over her shoulders. The slope of her shoulders allowed her robe to part just enough for a deep view of her dainty breasts. He tore his gaze away and sensed a fresh smirk upon her lips.

“You are very kind,” she said.

“I have sworn to protect you.”

“Even from the cold?”

He occupied himself sucking a bit of rice from between his teeth.

She said, “Would you obey me if I ordered you to warm me?”

“You are not my lord.”

“Perhaps not, but would you truly let your helpless charge spend the night freezing, when all it would take is the warmth of our bodies to make us both comfortable?”

“You are playing with me. Stop it.”

“Do I threaten your warrior’s resolve?” Her hand went to his thigh.

“I said, stop it. Please.”

“You do not find me beautiful.” Her lips turned into a pout.

He snorted and stood, turning on her. “What a foolish thing to say! Of course, you’re beautiful! And I think you know it! What do you want from me?”

“I apologize. Please, come sit down. It is wrong of me to flirt with you. You are clearly an honorable man.”

“And you are a married woman.”

“So you fear my husband? If he were to catch us, or discover us somehow?”

“I fear no man.”

“Please, come and sit. I promise to behave.”

He sat beside her again, their shoulders a few fingers’ breadths apart. The space between them filled with enough warmth to rival the fire.

“Yes, I have a husband,” she said, “but it has been so long since I have seen him, and even longer since I truly enjoyed the touch of a man. I am sorry to make you uncomfortable.”

Ken’ishi nodded his acceptance.

For a while they sat and watched the fire. He pulled out his flute and began to play the old mournful songs.

Her eyes glowed in the firelight as she listened, motionless, multitudes of soft emotions dancing on her face.

When he finished, her eyes glistened, deep and warm. “Ken’ishi, I have but one request before I leave you to your honor.”

“What is it?”

“A kiss.”

Part of him wanted to draw back, and part of him wanted to lunge for her, take her kiss, and the rest of her, too. The result was a motionless stalemate.

Her voice grew soft and husky. “Please do me this favor. Just one kiss. It has been so long.”

After a long moment, he said, “Very well.”

Then he leaned forward, took her petal-soft face, and kissed her.

Her warm, soft lips leaned into his, pressing with restrained desperation. She tasted of tea and rice, pine forest and bamboo grove, orchards and wildflowers. He pulled himself away, lest he lose control and devour her.

When their lips parted, she drew away from him, pulled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped herself tighter in his blanket. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Sleep now,” he said. “Perhaps tomorrow we’ll reach our destination.” With his heart hammering in his chest and his loins aching with heat, he lay back on the bed of grass, and waited for his breath to slow.

* * *

The morning dawned cold and overcast with the threat of rain. Ken’ishi awoke with Midori curled up close to him, and he found that her body must have warmed him during the night, in spite of his will to resist. The scent of her hair was a breath of song in his nostrils.

Her demeanor before they set out was one of sheepish reserve, quiet as she arranged her thick, glossy flow of hair. He could not help but notice the soft, fair slope of her neck, her delicate ear, the elegant tilt of her cheek, lips parted by a tender, pink tongue.

This was no peasant woman or low-ranked samurai’s wife. She must be nothing less than an empress in disguise.

They traveled on, but the way grew thicker and thicker. The river banks were choked with brush, all but impossible to pass. A chill mist settled over the lush greenery, numbing his feet and hands to his very bones. Having grown up in the frosty north, he was accustomed to such cold, but Midori was not. She sat astride the horse, shivering, even wrapped in Ken’ishi’s blanket.

Soon, the only clear path was to walk the riverbed. The rocky stretches of river had given way to smooth, pebbled sand, wider and slower than above.

Just as Ken’ishi was about to lead the horse into the water, she called to him, “Stop! It is too cold for you to walk in this icy river. Why not ride before me? We shall travel easier and you will stay dry.”

He thought about this for a moment and could not help but agree. Within moments of walking in this water, his feet would be numb, which would make going even more difficult and treacherous. “Very well.”

The stallion protested until Ken’ishi promised him a bagful of grain when they arrived in the next town.

Midori laughed. “I have never met anyone who can speak to animals. Are a
shugenja
? Or a holy man?”

“No, I just have a peculiar upbringing.”

She leaned around him, waiting for him to elaborate. When he did not, she said playfully, “Ooh, so mysterious!”

“Then that makes two of us.”

She laughed again. “I suppose so. We are two enigmas in the forest of mystery.”

Soft breasts and a warm cheek snuggled up to his back, the hard ridge of the saddle seat the only barrier between their bodies, and he found his heartbeat picking up speed. He could not deny that her allure was powerful, but he had sworn to protect her. Bedding her would make that task far more difficult, even if he ignored the fact that she belonged to another.

“How did he lose his ear?” she asked, pointing to the fresh scar where one of Thunder’s ears should be.

“A barbarian sword. Fortunately the wound healed well, and he has a powerful spirit.”

“What barbarians do you speak of?”

He twisted over his shoulder. “Where were you in the eleventh month? Kyushu was invaded! We almost fell! If not for the typhoon...” His throat caught at the thought of the storm.

She shrugged. “My village is very small. We get few visitors.”

He frowned. How could she not know about the Mongol invasion and the loss of its fleet? “But the storm.”

“There was no storm in my village.”

“You said you were from Hizen.”

“I said I came from Hizen.”

“Bah! I cannot talk to you.”

Along with Ken’ishi’s mood, the sky grew heavier and heavier, turning the forest tapestry of lush green into dark shadows of itself.

They managed only a couple of hours of riding before the first drops of rain began to fall. Ken’ishi’s mood soured at the prospect of being both cold and wet, but then Midori pointed into the dense wall of trees stretching up the mountainside, toward the shadows under a great camphor tree. “A house!”

The shadows suggested angles and walls that meant human construction. Ken’ishi dismounted and led the stallion up the riverbank onto the slope, which was becoming more treacherous with each drop of rain.

The rain had not yet filtered to the forest floor. The thick carpet of leaves and pine needles muffled their footfalls as they approached what appeared to be a woodcutter’s shack fallen into ruin. One corner of the thatched roof had collapsed, and the walls were worm-eaten and weathered. Nevertheless, it might serve to keep the rain off their heads.

“Halloo in the house!” he called, but there was no answer. He tied the horse to one of the roof supports, and investigated the interior. The air smelled of animal dung, rot, and dust. Dust coated everything from the bare wooden floor to the pocked wooden walls, hung in the air at the disturbance of his footsteps. There was however a central pit for a fire.

Midori followed him inside, her face glowing with wonder, as if this place were a palace and not a rank hovel. “Oh, it’s lovely!” She clasped her hands to her chest.

He looked at her askance, wondering if she might be mad.

“Look! Here is a bit of ribbon, and the remains of some fine zori. Doubtless he made them for her. Any wife would have been proud to wear these on her feet. In this house, there was love.”

The artifacts were covered in dust and the grime of years, but there was evidence of a life here once, lives together.

BOOK: The Ronin and the Green Maiden
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