▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ Chapter 2: The Shugenja 修験者 ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

The trouble with sliding doors made of washi paper was that you couldn’t slam them open to convey anger. I held in my frustrations and gently eased the door aside. After that meaningless waste of time downstairs, I was long overdue for some rest and relaxation. The kid was just where I thought she’d be—flat on the floor with a pile of scrolls. What a bookworm.

The kid had a name, and an expensive one at that: Masami Hashimoto. Hashimoto—they’re one of the most powerful families in Hyuga. To get that wealthy meant they must have cornered a very lucrative area of the market, though for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what. Masami was either oblivious or just didn’t care, and concerned herself more about ancient text that looked like fancy squiggles to me.

“I had thought this place an affluent establishment, before all that ruckus from downstairs transpired. Have you any idea how difficult it is to translate these scrolls with such a clamor about?”

I waved aside the complaint and flopped on the floor. Compared to the hardened dirt my back was accustomed to sleeping upon, this mat made from rice straw was absolute bliss. I let out a breath as I enjoyed the sensation.

“Baka...there’s futons in the other room, you know...” Masami muttered while squinting at a partially faded scribble. I arched my head over for a visual confirmation. It was only early in the evening, but as soon as my backside touched that cotton-padded mattress I’d be out like a candle in a windstorm.

I heard a stomach growl, and for once it wasn’t my own. The kid hadn’t eaten yet

Even scholars need to eat, kiddo.”

Even the elegant sort who spent all day sitting around had to eat from time to time. Usually the problem was that they ate too damn much, and bloated up like the Oyamas. I hate to see a couple from my old stomping ground let themselves go—but some common folk couldn’t just enjoy luxury, they had to engorge it.

“Not hungry.” The human embodiment of a stubborn mule remarked coldly, but I knew better than to take anything she said in that tone at face value. That being said...I was hired to be her bodyguard, not her babysitter. So what I was about to do wasn’t so much from the goodness of my heart as it was from personal self-interest. The self-interest of not having to deal with a whiny, agitated child all night.

I rolled my sleeves up and made my way outside. The Sleeping Duck was renowned for its majestic ponds, stocked with an array of beautiful fish for the wealthy to marvel and toss food at. They would then pay top-market prices for the privilege of being served those same fish. To me, that sounded sorta stupid.

“Think I’ll take out the middleman!” My fingers cut through the cool pond water like a hawk’s talons, clutching themselves around a particularly fattened koi. This carp was white with beautiful red blotches, but more importantly slow and easy to grab. Plucking that bad boy out of the water took more than a little shoulder strength—it had to be twenty pounds!

I was now dealing with a flopping, giant animal that was fighting for its life! How did I kill this thing?

As much as I hated to admit it, this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve used my katana for this purpose. A noble samurai would scorn me, but he’d be the first asking for seconds once I grilled this carp. That summed up samurai and their bushidō code quite well, actually.

I was fairly certain I had hit the koi’s brain with my initial stab, but I wedged it around inside there just to make sure. After that was done and I proceeded to bleed out its main artery with a secondary cut, right where the neck meets the bottom. Blood squirted out in a stream as I pulled the head back, the still-beating heart forcing the red liquid out in spurts.

This whole ordeal might’ve caused a weaker man to lose his appetite. As for me, I was coming down with a bad case of the munchies. While I had done my best to make sure no one was around, there were always prying eyes in places like these. Or even worse, ninjas drinking tea. I made sure to hurry my catch back to the room before being seen.

“B-Baka! How could you?!”

After all that hard work acquiring dinner, this was the thanks I got.

Anger erupted from Masami in a shriek, her eyes started watering as a tiny fist flew in my direction. I was so surprised at this reaction that I didn’t get the chance to dodge, especially not with a giant fish in my hands. The kid could really use some work on her left hook, but I’d save my criticisms for later.

Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, kid.”

Even the dumbest of dogs knew that. If a fetching man came to my doorstep with a meal, you can bet your ryō I wouldn’t slug him across the face for it. I might even roll over and play dead, if I was hungry enough. Might even bark too, and that was far from the worse thing I’d ever done for food. At least no one dies when a dog barks.

“Look at these scales! Have you any concept of how many summers this majestic creature has had?” Masami grabbed the fish from my clutches and nearly fell over from its weight. She then proceeded to pet the thing, or at least that was what it looked like to me. It was just a fish, but the kid was starting to get me curious.

“Two or three maybe? They fatten these koi up with leftovers and serve them when the season’s right. Not a bad cycle.” That was my conclusion in any case. If I owned the Sleeping Duck I’d turn these pretty looking ponds into a fish farm. But then again I’m a bit more practical than most of these wealthy-types.

Masami held a hand up and whispered a short prayer that I didn’t catch. She laid the fish gently atop a blank, rolled-out scroll and began writing strange symbols around it. At least she had the decency to tell me what she was up to.

“As you’ve deemed it before, I am about to do another of my shugenja ‘tricks’. And you’re wrong about the age.” Masami grumbled as she diligently wrote calligraphy in an odd formation. This was only the second time I’ve witnessed her use her power, so I stared intently as if I could puzzle any of it out.

The writing stopped, and again the shugenja placed her palms together in prayer. The characters turned from black to a bright red, and the sound of sizzling reached my ears. The unmistakable smell of cooking fish drifted up my nose, and I let out a breath of air I didn’t realize I was holding back. I was just glad that we were finally going to be able to eat the darn thing.

It was nearly a century old...a hundred summers of life, ended like this.” The disgust in her voice was hardly hidden, and wrought with sadness. “May its spirit swim on in the afterlife.” Even a rugged ronin like me could feel bad over a fattened carp, it turned out. My eyes stared over Masami, who looked quite different in the sun’s waning light.

Long black strands of hair draped down to her stomach; bangs cloaking her forehead right down to the eyebrows. Her skin was white as porcelain, though not flawless—the summer sun was relentless to those with a delicate complexion. She wasn’t particularly fat nor skinny, but she had a babyish face with those chubby cheeks of hers to blame.

As for her physique, there wasn’t much of one. Whereas most Hyugan women were just over five feet in height, Masami was fortunate to be over four. Add that to a non-existent bust and the kid certainly had more room to grow. The red kimono she favored wearing was darker than most of the summer fashions though styled in the ever-popular pink sakura leaves. Appearance-wise it was certainly pretty—especially with the white lily clipped behind her ear.

However...it was too flashy and too long lengthwise for my liking. If you wanted to keep a low-profile and not attract attention, you didn’t wear silk that fishwives would hock their husbands for. You also didn’t want to trip over the lower lining if they decided to chase on after you for it. Those women were nasty, and not just with their mouths.

“Cease your staring this instant! I’ll not hear another word about my attire, either.” Masami stared at me defiantly, knowing just how contentious this particular subject matter was. I had wanted her out of that outfit from day one, and I didn’t mean that in a dirty way either. She gave my robes the staredown in return, and I only just now remembered what I had on.

“Wherever did you come across such an atypical haori? I do hope you realize what the meaning of ‘hypocritical’ means, my Apricot Ronin.” She was talking about my orange kimono jacket—a gift from the Oyamas and a reminder of that bizarre affair. Now would be a good time to talk to Masami about it...but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to worry her. What’s a bodyguard to do?

There’s no need to concern yourself. It looks as if the koi is ready to eat.” A group of ninjas led by a foreign-looking woman...there was no benefit to worrying the kid over such things. I may be new at this bodyguarding business, but I take my job seriously. You can call it ‘duty’ and dress it up with honorifics, but the fact of the matter is—I’m a professional.

“Fine! Excuse me for caring!” Masami’s mood went sour and I whispered a silent apology. This was far from the first time this had happened. I’ve kept the details about my past hidden from my traveling companion, and that didn’t mesh well with her inquisitive mind. But my task here wasn’t to be her friend, but her protector. I often have to remind myself of that.

The smell of good food never lets a foul mood linger long, and Masami’s fit seemed to subside. “Let’s carry on with dinner then, I believe I will retire early tonight.”

It was a plan of action I intended to follow, though it turned out a blissful night’s sleep was too much to ask.

Overstuffed with as much koi as I could keep down, I laid atop my futon not unlike a beached whale. My vision already started to blacken from the corners of my eyes. Sleep’s luring embrace was cooler than a woman’s, but lasted longer and didn’t bring back bitter memories. I wanted to lose myself in it, but unfortunately couldn’t.

Call it a bad habit, but I had lived and traveled alone for most of my adult life. Sleeping atop a futon was odd enough; sleeping in the same room with another person...that was something I had just never gotten used to.

I could have my arms wrapped around a cute geisha’s bosom, and still not be able to dream peacefully.

It was childish now, but I never slept until I knew I was the last one awake. No chance of being attacked or mugged or having my blankets stolen—old orphan habits died hard. And judging from the uneasy breathing coming from Masami, sleep wasn’t going to come anytime soon. I’d wait her out if I had to, but it turned out I didn’t need to wait for very long.

The futon beside me started to rustle, ever so quietly. It was a slow and drawn-out rustling that just didn’t sound right to me. Sure enough, Masami got up and out while trying to make as little noise as possible. If that wasn’t suspicious enough, I felt her gaze against my closed eyes as I faked a deep slumber. She even checked my breathing pattern! Thorough little brat.

After she was successfully fooled, the shugenja started to gather her scrolls and other belongings from the living room. I had to make a choice. Did I confront her now, or did I tail her and see what sort of secrets my pint-sized partner had gotten herself into?

I reluctantly shook off the shackles of sleep and made my way over. I nearly tripped over a poorly-placed bedsheet, and stumbled in like a drunkard. If only I were that tipsy, this confrontation would be so much more pleasant. Masami jolted back in shock—a characteristic of kids who’ve gotten caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“G-good evening, Sjato-san. I’m having difficulty sleeping...” While Masami was sure to be a genius when it came to magical calligraphy, deceiving others was another matter. With her eyes cast downward towards the floor, she shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to another. But the biggest and most obvious tell?

“Sjato-san? What’s with the formality all of a sudden?” I displayed my slyest grin and gave my legs a good stretching. That bundle of uneasiness Masami was holding back was about to turn into action, and the last thing I needed was a leg cramp. With her knapsack clenched tightly in her hands, and that shifting pace growing faster every second—I was in for a nightly jog.

*knock* *knock*

Loud knocks from the front door sharpened up the nerves that my full stomach and respite had dulled. It was late for visitors, and judging by the number of shadows behind that screen door...we didn’t have enough tea ceremony cushions for everyone. Did I let the kid answer, or did I?

This all smelled of trouble and stale fish, but I was only certain of the latter. Even still, I was Masami’s bodyguard and couldn’t allow her to get herself into a potentially dangerous situation. Even...if she was trying to escape from me just moments earlier. We’d need to have a nice, long discussion about that after this ordeal was over.

The door slid open and I started to regret not making for my katana sooner.

The leader of this group had his head shaved at the front and the rest held back into a topknot. In other words, a full-fledged samurai. And like all samurai, he had a retinue of retainers. Five men stood at his back, wielding the polearm weapons called ‘sasumata’—typically nonlethal weapons the police used to capture suspected criminals. These weapons had weird assortments of barbs at the tip, which made them great for grabbing onto kimonos. Didn’t work half-bad on bare skin either, just hurt a whole lot more.

Another figure emerged, squeezing between several of the retainers that towered over her. It was a little girl in a peach-colored kimono with a white obi wrapped around her waist. Her eyes were red and blood-shot, with tears streaming down like raging rivers. Worst of all, she held out her tiny little hand and pointed at me in a very accusatory fashion.

“Otosan! He did it! He killed Gill-sama!”

The man with the bad haircut placed his hands on his sword, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. This lovely living room was getting far too crowded, and I found myself caught between a prison sentence and a half-eaten piece of fish. I had to say something.

Do you have evidence?”

I broadened out my shoulders in an attempt to hide what was likely the corpse of Gill-sama behind me. This was all just an effort to buy myself some time to think. I glanced over at my partner in crime. Masami was digging around in that knapsack of hers, but unless she had a shinobi smoke bomb in there we were out of luck.

The fatherly swordsman replied with a booming voice, in that virtuous tone every man had when his little girl was concerned. “Ai-chan witnessed you murder our family’s ancestral koi! The spirit of my father’s father, the great Yusuke Morita dwelled within it!” The samurai unsheathed his katana and raised it into the ready position.

I slowed my breathing and took a moment to analyze the situation. Thinking in the midst of battle could get you killed, but notthinking before a battle began—that was suicide. Five sasumata-wielders blocked the only exit out of this luxury suite, an oversight the architect didn’t account for. An enraged samurai father stood in fighting stance beside a sobbing little girl.

Behind me was a table with my katana and roughly ten pounds of stale fish. To my right was an undersized shugenja with two slips of paper in her hands and something to say.

“Sjato, press this protective talisman against your brow.” Masami ****** a strip of parchment into my hands, which looked to be covered with strange letters I had no hope at understanding. When I thought of talismans I thought of expensive jewels and ornate medallions, not scribbles on the back of a hot springs brochure.

Let me handle this. Don’t let them know what you are.”

I knew enough about shugenja to know that they belonged to the army. They were too dangerous for the government to let them roam freely—there was a reason why Masami needed a bodyguard in the first place. I wasn’t entirely sure what her circumstances were, but keeping her identity a secret was a priority.

Unfortunately the kid didn’t agree with me. “I’m not a helpless lamb awaiting the butcher! So cease speaking to me as if I were!” A distinct display of dislike arose from Masami’s features. I guess you could call it strong dislike, considering that she shook visibly.

I didn’t have time to worry about hurting her feelings when I was in the middle of saving us both. Her outrage provided enough of a distraction for me to make a break for my weapon. I could feel the sudden jerk of sandals against tatami mats behind me; my opponent would take this opportunity to close distance. I had two options on the table.

Perhaps the most difficult decision I’ve had to make.

While most sane individuals would have gone for the obvious choice, I went for the aquatic animal instead. There was a method to my madness. I had found that unconventional attacks worked best against traditional-minded opponents. And no warrior was more traditional than a samurai.

So needless to say, he didn’t see it coming when I tossed a giant carp into his face. He was getting real intimate with his grandfather’s guts, as the uneaten and less-tasty insides of the koi splattered and flew with the wind. The fishy-smelling stink made even me nauseous, and I was upwind.

Ai-chan screamed at the sight of Gill-sama’s mid-air desecration, and again as fish intestines covered her pink kimono. It was a deafening noise that no doubt woke up every occupant at the Sleeping Duck, which meant Masami and I had to leave fast.

I snatched and drew out my blade in a whip-like motion. Closing the distance between myself and the samurai was easy; halting my katana right before I chopped his neck off wasn’t. The sharp edge rested a hair’s breadth above his collarbone. He was helpless, but still alive.

A few years ago I wouldn’t thought twice about taking his life, but...

The power I had with my katana resting beside this samurai’s neck—I knew it all too well. No honest assassin would ever tell you otherwise. That thrill, that surge of power over another human being. It was euphoric.

And addictive. I like to think I’ve changed, that I’ve expunged that demon inside of me. But I know I haven’t. When he bowed his head in defeat and lowered his weapon, I wanted to finish the job. It didn’t sit right with me to let him live.

Even with his little girl right there, crying her eyes out. What sort of monster was I? The father spoke humbly, a noble yet defeated warrior.

“I don’t know what you are, but you’ve bested me in combat. If you spare my life, I swear to let you and your companion leave here safely. Do you accept?” To his credit he kept a strong and even tone, even as my blade pressed against him.

Being stalwart was an amicable virtue, but being slow off the draw was a sin that would get him killed. Maybe he’d realize his best swordsmanship was behind him, and retire his katana to the sword rack in his family’s shrine. Or maybe he wouldn’t, just like yours truly.

“He accepts, I assure you. We apologize for this disruption and shall be on our way forthwith. Oyasuminasai!” Masami intervened and all but dragged me out. I understood her desire to smooth matters over, but did she really have to wish him ‘goodnight’? It hurt our intimidation factor substantially.

I lacked the faith Masami had in the samurai’s promise and expected those retainers to try and jump us on our way out. But they didn’t move a muscle. Not that I’d give them much credit—it was more out of fear than discipline. Perhaps I was even scarier than I thought.

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