Death at the Crossroads

CHAPTER 17

The next morning, Kaze climbed a tree to observe the camp from a safe distance. He could see the men in the camp standing around the burnt-out campfire from the night before, arguing. From a distance they looked like bunraku puppets playing out a scene in pantomime. Kaze couldn’t hear what was being said, but he didn’t need to.

The man he took to be Boss Kuemon was haranguing the other bandits. He had a sword in one hand, and he was marching up and down like a general trying to instill courage into reluctant troops. He would stop occasionally to point to the woods where Kaze had performed his ghostly tricks the night before. Kuemon started marching in that direction, but then stopped when he noticed none of the men were following him.

He returned to the men and started his speech again. Finally, after much cajoling, first one, then a second, then a third and a fourth man joined Kuemon. No amount of hand waving and fist shaking could make the others join in the search of the woods. Shouting over his shoulder as he marched into the woods followed by the four men, Kuemon finally started the search.

The remaining men stood around looking at each other for several minutes. First one, then the next, started talking and pointing to the woods. Then, as if by general agreement, the men ran into the camp, grabbed as much as they could carry, and scattered into the forest in directions away from the searchers. The only one left in the camp was the young boy that Kaze had spared in his encounter with the bandits on the road, the same youth that obligingly fell asleep while on sentry duty. Kaze laughed out loud and settled into a comfortable position on the tree limb to await further developments.

Kuemon conducted a thorough search of the woods, and it was well over an hour before he returned with his four remaining followers. From his vantage point in the trees, Kaze watched as Kuemon exploded like fireworks shot into the night sky to mark a summer festival. Kuemon started by knocking the youth to the ground, then he tore through the camp, discovering what was missing, then he ran back to the boy, who had just picked himself up, and knocked him down again. With a shaking arm, the boy pointed in the direction the other men had run, and Kuemon and the other four ran off in that direction.

Kaze started climbing down the tree, happy with the results of his actions. With ten or twelve men, it would be a suicide attack, in which the best result would be the loss of the leader. Five was possible. The five bandits would return upset and tired from their long night, the fruitless search of the woods, and now the chase after their erstwhile comrades. And Kaze would be ready.

Back in the camp, Hachiro picked himself off the ground and sat for a moment with his head in his hands. Kuemon’s blows had set his ears ringing. When the other men looted the camp and ran in fear, Hachiro had been tempted to join. Yet his fear of Boss Kuemon was greater than any fear of the supernatural, and he had waited. With the look of fury in Boss Kuemon’s face, he was glad he did.

Hachiro went and picked up a spear. Kuemon told him to guard the camp against man or demon. Kuemon had punctuated his order with a threat to cut out Hachiro’s privates and feed them to the demon if Hachiro was not alert and on guard when he returned. The very thought of the threat made Hachiro squirm.

After Hachiro’s headache subsided, he realized the source of the discomfort in his belly was actually a call of nature, not the threat from Boss Kuemon. Hachiro went and picked up a handful of leaves for wiping, then made his way into the part of the woods the bandits used as a latrine. Although his need was becoming pressing, Hachiro entered the woods carefully, looking at every tree and bush to make sure some dreadful creature wasn’t lurking.

Finally, finding a spot he thought to be safe, Hachiro hitched up his kimono and undid his loincloth. Then he gathered the skirts of the kimono around his waist and squatted down, the spear resting across his knees.

He had just started doing his business when he felt something tickle the back of his neck. He flicked his hand backward to chase away whatever insect was bothering him, but his hand banged against the flat of a sword blade. With a start, Hachiro tried to stand up and grab at his spear. Before he could do so, the spear was kicked out of his lap by a sandaled foot, and a hand on his shoulder forced him back into a squat. “You might as well finish what you started,” a husky voice said from behind him. “It will be a long wait for your Boss to come back.”

Later that day Kuemon wished he had met a demon. It would take a fight with a demon to drain the anger out of him. He did not catch up to the men who took the cash and other possessions from his camp. True, the bulk of his treasure was still hidden in his hut, but it galled him that the miserable worms, who knew nothing of banditry until Kuemon took them under his tutelage, had stolen from him.

His remaining men were dirty and exhausted from the fruitless chase and the search that morning, but they knew better than to complain during the long walk back to the camp. Every scowl, every snort, every curse he made let the men know that this was not the afternoon to complain about anything to the Boss.

The afternoon was almost ended and the red sun was directly in his eyes when Kuemon returned to the camp. Because of the glare of the sun, he couldn’t immediately see who was in the camp as he approached it.

There was a figure standing in the sun with a drawn sword. At first Kuemon thought it was the boy he had set to guard the camp, but as he grew closer he realized that the figure before him was too husky and mature to be the kid. His steps slowed, then he stopped.

His weary men, seeing Kuemon stop, also came to a halt. “Why are we stopping?” one of the men dared to ask.

“Fool! Take out your weapon!” Kuemon matched his order with his own actions, drawing his sword from his sash. Three other swords and a spear flashed in the red sunset as the other bandits brought their weapons to the ready.

The five men advanced cautiously. Kaze noted that they spread out without being told to, so that they would flank him on the right and left. He grudgingly acknowledged that Boss Kuemon had trained his men properly. Kaze was acutely alert to a sudden rush by any or all of the men, but for now he was content to let them come closer, as long as none of them threatened to get behind him.

“Be careful, Boss! He’s the samurai I told you about from the road to Higashi.” The boy, Hachiro, was tied up securely and sitting where he could view events. Kaze hadn’t gagged him because he wanted him to warn the bandits about who he was. He noted a slight hesitation in the steps of three of the men when Hachiro told them who he was. Good. That’s exactly what he wanted: a slight hesitation when the moment of truth came.

Kaze shifted the position of his sword, bringing it to the ready position, with both hands on the handle. This action most definitely caused three of the men to lag slightly behind Kuemon. One of the laggards was to the left of Kuemon, the other two were on the other wing. Kaze waited until the stragglers were a full step behind the other men, then he attacked.

The bandits were surprised by the explosive fury of Kaze’s attack. His initial charge sliced the lead bandit across the shoulder and neck because he was too slow in getting his guard up, but instead of jousting with Kuemon, Kaze used the body of the cut bandit as a shield and immediately turned his attention to the two laggards on his left.

One bandit parried his blow, and the distinctive sound of two Japanese swords crossing clanged out in the camp. Instead of striking another blow at this bandit, Kaze took an arcing slice at the second one, the one with the spear, catching him off guard and cutting him through the side.

Kuemon had now stepped around the body of the dying lead bandit, but Kaze spun around and rushed at the bandit who had originally been behind Kuemon. This bandit blocked the first of Kaze’s blows, but he wasn’t able to block the second, and Kaze’s cut caught him across the shoulder and chest. Kaze had a flash of concern as his sword momentarily embedded itself in the shoulder bone of his latest victim, but he was able to wrench it free before Kuemon and the remaining bandit surrounded him.

Kaze nimbly stepped sideways out of the trap set by the two bandits. When he made a half turn, the two men were now standing to the left and right of him, instead of in front and behind. The two bandits hesitated. Kaze, who was now puffing from his expenditure of energy, welcomed the respite.

Kuemon glared at Kaze with a look of pure malevolence. He had wished for a demon to fight, and now he found one in human form. Kaze expected Kuemon to say something to him. Instead, he said to the other bandit, “If we attack together, we’ll kill him. He can’t handle both of us at the same time.”

Kuemon was wrong.

As the two bandits lunged forward, Kaze quickly stepped backward. The spot where the bandits were converging was now empty, and they both had to alter their path to attack Kaze. Instead of attacking him from each side, they were now both in front of him.

Kaze lifted his sword to protect his head and parried the blows of both men, dropping to one knee under the combined force. Kuemon slipped his blade off Kaze’s sword and drew it back to take a cut at him. As he did, Kaze lunged forward, releasing the pressure on his blade and bringing it forward. The bandit’s blade, now released from Kaze’s sword, sliced through empty air as Kaze’s cut into the bandit’s belly. Hot blood and liquefied stomach contents sprayed out on Kaze as the bandit gave a great groan.

Kaze fell to the earth and rolled away from the dying bandit. With a shout of triumph, Kuemon rushed up to Kaze and chopped down at him. Kaze finished his roll just in time to catch Kuemon’s sword with his blade. Kaze kicked his foot out and caught Kuemon on the kneecap, sending him sprawling to the earth. Kaze lunged forward and stabbed Kuemon in the throat, his blade penetrating the larynx and driving deep into the ground. Kuemon clawed at the blade, cutting his hands and making a dreadful, gurgling sound as his blood spurted into the air from a cut artery. He was pinned to the ground by the sword, but he was still struggling to get up so he could deliver an equally mortal blow to Kaze.

Kaze kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, driving it forward so Kuemon could not get up. Kuemon’s exertions against the force of the blade grew rapidly weaker, until finally the bandit chief lay still.

Kaze was gasping for breath, but every time he drew in a ragged mouthful of air, it held the awful stench of blood and bile. It gagged him, not only with its physical effects, but with its association with the death and decay abhorrent to Shinto. It was a paradox that puzzled him. As a warrior, he was trained to kill or be killed, and he approached each battle with a coldness that sometimes frightened him. Yet, when it was over, he often had regrets at the consequences of his skill.

During the moments of the fight, nothing else existed for Kaze. He felt more alive than at any other time in his life, including when lovemaking. Every pebble under his foot was distinct and noticeable. Every slight glance by an opponent was memorized. Hard breathing by an adversary sounded like a trumpet. It meant his prey was getting tired and would soon make mistakes or drop his guard. Kaze’s mind was wonderfully lucid, racing ahead two, three, or four moves. And the most important thing in the world was winning. It was the only goal, the only existence he acknowledged in a fight.

Afterward, when he had won, the rest of his humanity, which was crowded out by the pressure of the fight, returned. He looked around at the results of his skill and felt a wordless sadness. He understood why so many warriors became priests in their old age.

He had seen other warriors enjoy picnic lunches after a battle, sitting midst the blood, bodies, and hacked-off limbs. That was something unthinkable to Kaze. He enjoyed fighting, but he didn’t enjoy death.

He stood up and yanked his blade out of the neck of the dead bandit. He carefully wiped the blade off on the bandit’s clothes. There were a few groans from dying men and a peculiar snuffling noise. He looked around to identify the source of the strange noise and saw the youth crying.

Kaze walked out of the camp to the spring where he had made the dragon tracks. He stripped off his kimono and sat in the small pool of water. Its coldness surprised him, but he splashed the water against his body and face to erase the stench of blood. He got out of the pool and dunked his clothes in. As he squeezed his garment, a watery red stain spread in the pool. Kaze wrung out his kimono, and, holding on to it with one hand, he tossed it over his shoulder. Still gripping his sword in the other hand, Kaze casually strolled back to the bandit camp, naked except for his sandals and loincloth, as nonchalant as any man returning from a public bath.

When he got back to the camp, all the bandits were finally dead. The boy was still crying, and he watched Kaze approach him with wide, fearful eyes. Kaze strolled over to where the tied-up youth was lying, and he squatted down on his haunches. He studied the boy’s face. It was the broad, blunt face of a peasant. Tears streaked down his cheeks and a bubble of snot filled one nostril.

“What am I going to do with you?” Kaze asked.

The boy made no reply. He was either too fearful to talk or he didn’t understand Kaze’s question.

“I gave you your life once, back there on the road,” Kaze said. “Most people would have understood that the life of a bandit was not for them after that incident, but you immediately returned to this camp. Didn’t you understand that you’re not like them?”

“They never let me be one of them,” the boy blurted out. “I was only allowed to do stupid things, like guard the camp, guide people, run messages, or do the cooking and cleaning.”

“You had a chance to be one of them when you were supposed to stab me in the back, and you failed.”

“I didn’t fail!”

“Don’t try to deny that failure. It’s something to be proud of, not ashamed. That failure was the reason I let you live.”

“I’d have been as bad as any of them!” the boy shouted.

Kaze laughed. “It’s a twisted world we live in when a young man tries to claim how bad he is. If I untied you and gave you a sword, would you try to sneak up behind me and stab me?”

The boy looked at Kaze, confused about what to say.

“Relax,” Kaze continued. “I’m not going to put you to that test. I’ll risk my life, but I won’t play with it. First I’m going to gather up all the weapons I can see, then I’m going to release you. Then I want you to dig five graves and bury your comrades. If you do that properly, you shall have your life as a reward. This will be the second time I’ve given your life back to you. This time don’t waste it.”

Kaze spread his wet kimono out on a bush to dry, and, by the time he was done gathering up the weapons scattered around the bodies, the boy had stopped crying. Kaze cut the bounds of the boy and set him to work digging graves while he waited for his kimono to dry. Kaze found a tree limb, trimmed it to his satisfaction, and started carving a statue of the Kannon.

“What’s your name?” Kaze asked, deftly carving the edge of a robe on the statue he was working on.

“Hachimmmm,” the boy murmured, making it hard to hear.

“What?”

“Hachiro.”

“The eighth child, or did your parents name you Hachiro as a prank, when you were the first son and should have been named Ichiro?”

Hachiro looked blankly at Kaze, and suddenly realized the samurai was making a joke. He gave a small, tentative smile. “No, I’m the eighth child. There were fourteen in our family, although only seven lived.”

“I was a second son, myself,” Kaze said. “Why did you take up the life of the bandit?”

The boy stopped digging. “There was nothing else,” he said. “Soldiers killed my family. They killed my whole village.”

“What soldiers?” Kaze asked, not looking up.

“I don’t know.” Hachiro thought a moment, then he added. “They carried banners that looked something like a spider.”

Kaze froze, then slowly looked up from his carving. “A black banner, with a white diamond surrounded by eight white bamboo leaves, bent in the middle?” he said softly.

Hachiro stopped his work and looked at the samurai, surprised. “Yes! How did you know?”

“There was a tall thin man with a black winged helmet? A helmet with pieces like this?” Kaze put his hands up to the side of his face, still holding the knife with a couple of his fingers. He spread the remaining fingers outward from his face. “He might have had a steel war fan for sending signals to his troops,” Kaze added.

“How did you know? Who is he? Do you know why he destroyed my village and killed my family?” Hachiro was excited and forgot to be afraid.

“He is someone in the service of the Tokugawas, and he came to your village because your District Lord was undoubtedly a follower of the forces loyal to the Toyotomis, the late Taiko’s family. As for why he destroyed it and killed, that was simply because it pleases him. He needs no other reason.”

“Do you know him?”

Kaze’s face twisted into a look of pure hatred. “Yes, I know him. It was Lord Okubo. He was a boyhood acquaintance of mine.”

Despite his consuming curiosity, the samurai’s reaction frightened Hachiro. After a slight pause, he bent down to his work again. Seeing the effect he was having on the boy, Kaze fought to control himself. Finally, after struggling to suppress all the rage the conversation raised in him, he tried to change the subject by asking the boy, “How did you end up with the bandits?”

“They captured me. They told me a farmer’s life was too hard. They said that now the Tokugawas have won, there is no need for new soldiers, so there was no way to better yourself.”

“Then you should not have bettered yourself. The life of a farmer is hard, but it can be long. The men you’re burying all died because of the life they led. If I didn’t kill them, they would have been killed by someone else. They were ruining this District. Perhaps Lord Manase would have put together an expedition to wipe them out when things finally became intolerable.”

“Oh, Manase-sama wouldn’t do that.”

Surprised, Kaze asked, “Why?”

“Because Manase-sama needed my master, Boss Kuemon, for money. Manase-sama has borrowed money many times.”

Kaze stopped carving. “How do you know that?”

“I used to take the money to Manase-sama’s mansion. I was always running errands, exchanging messages, leading people that Boss Kuemon had captured on the road to the mansion, or taking money to Manase-sama.” He stole a glance at Kaze. “Manase-sama may be very mad at you killing Boss Kuemon.”

“If he is, that will be something I will have to deal with. Right now you have to deal with digging those graves before it gets dark. Hayaku! Hurry up!”