man rubbed his chin. “Well, there was a fight with an oni and some bandits, and this young ronin saved Lord Nishimuta’s daughter from the oni, and—”
“Ronin?”
“Yes, but—”
“And an oni?”
“Yes, and—”
“And what’s this about Lord Nishimuta’s daughter?”
“Well, you see this brave ronin saved her from the oni, killed it, you see—”
“Killed an oni? ”
“Well, yes—”
“Tell me!”
The old man’s eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath. “I’m trying to tell you, you young fool! Just because you’re wearing swords today doesn’t mean you can speak to me that way, boy! I was selling wood to your parents before you were born!”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Taro’s face reddened, and he bowed. “Forgive me. Please continue.”
“And what are you doing with swords anyway? Where did you get them? Fancy yourself a samurai? Going to become a ronin like him? ”
“Of course not! Please tell me what happened.”
The old man took another deep breath and told his tale. Taro listened impatiently. The old man actually admired the ronin he described. Could it be the same one? Who else could it be?
“Do you know his name?”
“He said his name was Ken’ishi.”
Taro’s teeth gritted. “This is the same ronin who murdered Takenaga yesterday.”
Dangai’s eyes bulged. “Murdered! How did that happen?”
“The ronin cut him down in a duel.”
“Was it a fair fight?”
“I . . . I didn’t see. I was in the fields.”
“I would hardly call a duel ‘murder.’ Are you going after him?”
“Yes.”
The old man sized him up for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was grave. “You would do well to go back home, Taro. That ronin is more than a match for you. He is not to be trifled with.”
Taro stiffened.
“And he is not a bad man. A young cock, perhaps, but not a bad man. Killing the oni was a good deed.”
“But still—”
“And I can see you are a young cock like him. Well, good luck. If you’re lucky, he won’t kill you. I have to go tell the grave diggers.”
Taro’s ears burned. “I’ll find him, and he will pay for his crime.”
Dangai nodded and walked away, shaking his head.
Taro watched him for a moment, angry at the disparagement of his abilities. Then he turned and ran on into the foul, smoky haze. The haze grew thicker, nauseating, choking him, until he could only walk quickly, covering his mouth and nose with a cloth, unable to breathe deeply without coughing and retching. But soon he found its source.
A fire burned in the middle of the road, and bloody bodies were scattered about like broken dolls. His stomach heaved at the overpowering stench, threatening to empty his meager breakfast into the dirt, but he clamped his mouth shut and looked around. Seeing so much death made his knees wobbly as he stepped among the corpses, over dark patches of blood soaking the earth and sprays of what looked like tar.
And where was the ronin? He could not have gone far! Taro looked ahead, down the road, but saw nothing.
The sizzle and pop of the fire drew his attention. A blackened skull leered at him from within the flames. His eyes watered fiercely from the heat and the smoke, and he covered his mouth and nose with a cloth again.
Then he yelped as pain lanced through his ankle. A sizzling, smoking, pulsing black rope wrapped around his leg like a tentacle, searing his flesh, squeezing with fearsome strength. It had snaked out of the fire. Something was biting, chewing into the flesh of his leg. He cried out in revulsion, drew Takenaga’s sword, and slashed across the throbbing tentacle, severing it a handbreadth from his ankle. He scrambled away from the fire, with the thing still attached. Blood trickled along the sides of the tentacle, his blood. With the point of the sword, he tried to pry the thing off without hurting himself further, but after a few moments, he knew he would have to use his hands. Sitting down on the ground well away from
“Ronin?”
“Yes, but—”
“And an oni?”
“Yes, and—”
“And what’s this about Lord Nishimuta’s daughter?”
“Well, you see this brave ronin saved her from the oni, killed it, you see—”
“Killed an oni? ”
“Well, yes—”
“Tell me!”
The old man’s eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath. “I’m trying to tell you, you young fool! Just because you’re wearing swords today doesn’t mean you can speak to me that way, boy! I was selling wood to your parents before you were born!”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Taro’s face reddened, and he bowed. “Forgive me. Please continue.”
“And what are you doing with swords anyway? Where did you get them? Fancy yourself a samurai? Going to become a ronin like him? ”
“Of course not! Please tell me what happened.”
The old man took another deep breath and told his tale. Taro listened impatiently. The old man actually admired the ronin he described. Could it be the same one? Who else could it be?
“Do you know his name?”
“He said his name was Ken’ishi.”
Taro’s teeth gritted. “This is the same ronin who murdered Takenaga yesterday.”
Dangai’s eyes bulged. “Murdered! How did that happen?”
“The ronin cut him down in a duel.”
“Was it a fair fight?”
“I . . . I didn’t see. I was in the fields.”
“I would hardly call a duel ‘murder.’ Are you going after him?”
“Yes.”
The old man sized him up for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was grave. “You would do well to go back home, Taro. That ronin is more than a match for you. He is not to be trifled with.”
Taro stiffened.
“And he is not a bad man. A young cock, perhaps, but not a bad man. Killing the oni was a good deed.”
“But still—”
“And I can see you are a young cock like him. Well, good luck. If you’re lucky, he won’t kill you. I have to go tell the grave diggers.”
Taro’s ears burned. “I’ll find him, and he will pay for his crime.”
Dangai nodded and walked away, shaking his head.
Taro watched him for a moment, angry at the disparagement of his abilities. Then he turned and ran on into the foul, smoky haze. The haze grew thicker, nauseating, choking him, until he could only walk quickly, covering his mouth and nose with a cloth, unable to breathe deeply without coughing and retching. But soon he found its source.
A fire burned in the middle of the road, and bloody bodies were scattered about like broken dolls. His stomach heaved at the overpowering stench, threatening to empty his meager breakfast into the dirt, but he clamped his mouth shut and looked around. Seeing so much death made his knees wobbly as he stepped among the corpses, over dark patches of blood soaking the earth and sprays of what looked like tar.
And where was the ronin? He could not have gone far! Taro looked ahead, down the road, but saw nothing.
The sizzle and pop of the fire drew his attention. A blackened skull leered at him from within the flames. His eyes watered fiercely from the heat and the smoke, and he covered his mouth and nose with a cloth again.
Then he yelped as pain lanced through his ankle. A sizzling, smoking, pulsing black rope wrapped around his leg like a tentacle, searing his flesh, squeezing with fearsome strength. It had snaked out of the fire. Something was biting, chewing into the flesh of his leg. He cried out in revulsion, drew Takenaga’s sword, and slashed across the throbbing tentacle, severing it a handbreadth from his ankle. He scrambled away from the fire, with the thing still attached. Blood trickled along the sides of the tentacle, his blood. With the point of the sword, he tried to pry the thing off without hurting himself further, but after a few moments, he knew he would have to use his hands. Sitting down on the ground well away from
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