Winter Raven (Path of the Samurai Book 1) Read online

  ‘So what about you?’ asked the girl.’

  ‘What about me?’ said Ariyo. He paced back and forth and peered into undergrowth.

  ‘How did you find yourself in the stockade?

  ‘Why do you care?’

  ‘It’s a long journey. I’d like to know who is walking by my side.’

  ‘I killed a man.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We met in the street. We’d both been drinking. He wouldn’t step aside and neither would I. A few angry words, a little push and shove. He slipped, hit his head on cobbles and that was the end of him.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like a capital offence. You didn’t intend to kill him.’

  ‘He was the nephew of a treasury official. I didn’t expect any justice and I didn’t get any.’

  The samurai found a small Buddhist prayer pillar hidden in undergrowth near the falls. He tore away a couple of maple branches to expose the weathered figurine, knelt in front of the pillar and prayed.

  * * *

  The samurai continued to hack through undergrowth. He slashed through a curtain of bamboo and emerged onto a forest track. He held up his hand and brought the company to a halt. He crouched and inspected churned soil.

  ‘Bandits. Or soldiers. Lots of them. They passed along here a few days ago. See? Overlapping prints. They headed up this path then marched back down later on.’

  They cautiously followed the track. As they turned a bend the samurai brought the group to a halt once more and mimed hush. They hid in bushes. The girl pushed forward and took position next to the samurai. They could see a small hamlet through the trees – four huts arranged in a semi-circle. Stacked lumber and half-cut logs. Evidently the place was home to an extended family of carpenters. There was no movement. No people. No dogs, pigs, or chickens. An air of ominous desolation hung over the clearing.

  ‘Wait here,’ said the samurai. He pushed through the bamboo and reached the clearing. He walked into the centre of the hamlet and looked around. There were domestic items scattered on the ground. A pot lid. A crushed basket. A discarded sandal.

  He signalled for the others to join him. They emerged from the undergrowth and surveyed the abandoned buildings. No one spoke. No need to discuss the massacre which had obviously taken place. They could smell death. A stench, a buzz of flies, carried on the air from behind trees to the east. None of them felt inclined to investigate.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ said the samurai.

  They continued up the forest track and left the village behind.

  ‘I think we’re being followed,’ the girl told the samurai. ‘I can’t be sure. Just a feeling. Someone has been watching us since we entered the forest.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the samurai, looking round at undergrowth. Gut instinct told him they were not alone. ‘Yes, I think you might be right.’

  She gestured to the village behind them. ‘Bandits?’

  ‘They must be desperate. Or extremely stupid. Most bandits learn to tithe local farmsteads rather than destroy them. Seize a little rice, snatch some livestock. It’s not in their interests to wipe everyone out.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll take us on?’

  ‘Not right now. But when night comes, when we set camp, we should be ready.’

  The convicts laboured through thick underbrush. Daylight was waning and the forest began to fill with threatening shadow.

  ‘It’ll be dark soon,’ complained Tameyo. ‘We should stop.’

  ‘A little further,’ said the samurai. ‘Let’s try to find ourselves a decent place to spend the night.’

  They kept walking. The girl kept pace with the men. At the outset of the journey she worried she might be an encumbrance and slow the company down but she was pleased to have kept up with the group and to have carried her share of the supplies.

  She glimpsed something between the trees; the weathered beams and stonework of a partially collapsed building. ‘Is it some kind of palace?’ she asked as they drew closer.

  ‘I can’t imagine anyone would build a manor house this deep in the wilderness,’ said the samurai.

  They hacked through bamboo and found themselves in front of the vine-draped façade of a temple. The stone walls were cracked and crumbled by subsidence. Bark roof shingles were scattered on the forest floor.

  ‘They must have hauled these blocks for miles. It must have taken hundreds of men,’ said Tameyo, stroking one of the walls.

  ‘Look,’ said Masaie. ‘Full-grown trees through the flagstones. The place has stood here for generations.’

  The samurai looked up. Light was failing. ‘We should stop here for the night,’ he said.

  ‘This place?’ said Masaie. ‘No. Anywhere but here.’

  ‘These walls will give us wind-shelter. This is a good place to build a fire and rest.’

  Masaie fingered the leather pouch hung round his neck. He regarded the ruins with undisguised dread.

  ‘Must have been built by the ancient clans,’ said Tameyo.

  The rest of the party shifted foot-to-foot and looked around. They were exhausted but reluctant to make camp in such grim surroundings.

  ‘Time we cooked and ate,’ said the samurai, using the prospect of food as an enticement. He climbed steps and brushed creepers aside. He ducked through the arch and entered the interior of the ruined building. The convicts reluctantly followed his lead.

  They found themselves in a vast roofless hall. Forest grass and stunted trees erupted from beneath buckled flagstones. A huge stone monkey lay on its side, sinking into the ground like it was slowly descending to the centre of the earth. The girl stroked weathered pine beams discoloured by moss and lichen.

  ‘Looks like a temple to Sarutahiko Ōkami,’ said the samurai. ‘He who dwells at the junction of the eight roads to heaven.’

  ‘We might be the first people to set foot in this place for a dozen lifetimes,’ the girl said, kicking at leaves littering the floor.

  The samurai picked a corner spot, the intersection of two semi-intact walls. ‘This is a good place for a fire. Good shelter.’

  The convicts threw their packs on the ground. Masaie carefully unhitched the consignment of explosives and laid it on flagstones well away from the planned fire. The samurai picked up a branch and tried to snap it with a stamp of his foot. He stumbled. The girl pretended not to notice as he struggled with his disability. She broke a couple of branches over her knee and began to build the fire. She scrunched some dead grass, crouched and sparked a flint. It took a while for the wet sticks to catch light. They steamed and popped in the flames.

  Masaie and Ariyo checked out the roofless hall. A gnarled tree had erupted through the centre of the floor splintering flagstones. Tendrillar roots snaked across the slabs.

  ‘No time to set traps,’ said Masaie.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Seems we’ll be eating dry rations.’

  ‘Yes.’

  They looked around at deepening shadows.

  ‘Ever seen a ghost?’ asked Masaie. ‘I have. Felt them all my life. Moving around and through me. Spirits. In the street, in the barracks. I feel them.’

  ‘Do you feel them now?’ asked Ariyo.

  ‘Yes. We’re not alone.’

  * * *

  The company sat round the fire and warmed their hands.

  ‘We’re being followed,’ said the samurai. ‘We’ve been tracked ever since we entered the forest.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Tameyo.

  ‘Instinct tells me someone is out there, watching us, right now.’

  ‘We’ve made ourselves very visible,’ said Tameyo, gesturing to the fire. ‘We’re practically inviting them to attack.’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ said the samurai. ‘If there’s to be a confrontation, let’s choose the time and place. So keep calm. If I’m right, if there are hostiles watching us from the forest, they’ll attack later tonight. They’ll watch us eat and settle to sleep. They’ll wait a while and make their move. But we’ll be
ready.’

  Droplets of water hit the campfire with a hiss. The samurai looked up.

  ‘Here comes the rain.’

  Night fell. The commander and his men were soaked in the saddle by torrential rain and leant forward to shield their faces from the downpour. They urged their horses onward down the forest track.

  ‘We need to stop,’ shouted Tadasue, struggling to be heard over the deluge.

  The commander turned in his saddle to face his companions and wiped water from his eyes.

  ‘They’ll stop. The assassins. They’ll take shelter from the rain. That’s why we must keep going. This is our chance to overtake them.’

  ‘The horses are dead on their feet, Commander-sama. They have to rest.’

  Raku mulled it over. The imperative to keep moving pitched against the need to rest their horses. He reluctantly nodded assent. ‘We’ll stop. But just for a couple of hours.’

  They continued onward down the track, peering around in the failing light, looking for cover.

  * * *

  They rode through woodland, ducking low branches as the horses picked through the brush. They reached a rock face. They rode parallel with the rocks a while until they found an overhang wide enough for the men and their horses to shelter from the rain. Tadatoo found some sticks, broke them over his knee and built a fire.

  ‘A waste of time,’ said the commander, watching the man work. ‘We aren’t going to be here that long.’

  ‘The horses need rest, a proper rest. And so do I.’

  Raku normally wouldn’t accept such insolence from a subordinate. If a regular infantryman dared to speak to him in such a manner he would have had him executed on the spot. But Tadatoo and Tadasue were a couple of Motohide’s most experienced men. Veteran troops that had risen up and out of the ranks and were now part of an elite cadre that could be entrusted with a covert mission. They had earned their autonomy.

  Tadatoo knelt next to the woodpile, struck a flint and tried to spark damp tinder. The commander stood at the cave mouth. It was too dark to see much. He listened to torrential rain beat the forest leaves.

  ‘Every minute we waste, our quarry gets closer to the general,’ he said. ‘You can bet the assassin won’t rest until he has reached his objective.’

  ‘And if our horses collapse under us?’ asked Tadasue. ‘What then? Travel on foot with packs on our backs? We have to pace ourselves.’

  Tadasue and Tadatoo sat close to the flames and warmed their hands. The commander paced a while then sat beside them. He stared into the dancing firelight and waited for the rain to stop.

  * * *

  They rode into a village. Relentless rain had turned the square to a quagmire. The horses stood ankle deep in mud. The ponies shook their heads, tried to get water out of their eyes and ears.

  The commander jumped from his horse. The hamlet was deserted. The villages had retreated to their homes. ‘Imperial business,’ he shouted. ‘Come out of your houses.’

  Doors remained closed. The commander walked to the nearest house and climbed the plank-steps. He pulled back the tatami curtain that screened the doorway.

  ‘You in there.’

  A family clustered round a fire – women, children and an old man. Their scared faces were lit by flame-light. Raku stepped inside and stood over them.

  ‘I’m looking for a samurai,’ said Raku. ‘A man with one arm. He’s most likely travelling with friends.’

  ‘We haven’t seen him,’ said the old man.

  ‘Have you seen anyone at all? Any strangers come through here?’

  ‘No one. Just you.’

  ‘You’re sure? Could you have missed them?’

  ‘Ask at the inn,’ said the old man. ‘It’s the other side of the square. If anyone passed by, the folks at the tavern would know.’

  Raku left the hut. He pulled the curtain back across the doorway and headed across the square.

  * * *

  Raku pounded the wooden door of the tavern until the innkeeper opened up. ‘Imperial business,’ he stated.

  They stood in the doorway and shook water from their cloaks. The innkeeper knelt, bowed and pressed his forehead to the floor. He relit the fire and brought water.

  ‘Don’t you have any wine?’ asked Tadatoo.

  The innkeeper disappeared into a backroom and returned with a dusty shō of saké. He emptied the bottle into a kettle and hung it over the fire to warm.

  ‘Do you have any food?’ asked Raku.

  The innkeeper brought salted fish. They ate.

  ‘Sit,’ said Raku.

  The innkeeper nervously knelt beside them.

  ‘We have horses. They need to be fed.’

  ‘I have some oats. Not much. But some.’

  ‘Good. Feed them later.’

  The men propped their feet in front of the fire and let their leather boots steam dry while the innkeeper poured saké and handed round bowls

  ‘Has anyone passed through here lately?’ asked Raku. ‘Any strangers?’

  The innkeeper hesitated, reluctant to get involved in city affairs.

  ‘There were some men here last night. They didn’t have much to say. They ate, they spent the night on the floor and then they left in the morning.’

  ‘Describe them.’

  ‘They wore ordinary travelling clothes. Some of them carried old swords but that’s nothing unusual round here. No one travels without a weapon.’

  ‘What about the men themselves? What did you make of them?’

  ‘A couple of them had scarred faces. Old soldiers, perhaps. They paid. They didn’t cause any trouble.’

  ‘How many of them were there?’

  ‘Three. And a cripple.’

  ‘A cripple?’

  ‘A man with one arm. He was with his daughter.’

  ‘And they were here last night you say?’

  The innkeeper nodded.

  ‘You know the roads round here,’ said the commander. ‘How far could they travel in a day?’

  ‘Not far. Most roads are impassable.’

  The commander drained his cup and got to his feet. ‘Feed the horses. We need to get going,’ he ordered.

  The innkeeper hurried away to comply. Raku turned to his men.

  ‘We’re gaining ground. We’re almost upon them.’

  * * *

  They climbed back in the saddle. The rain didn’t let up. The track leading from the village began to flood. Hooves churned mud. Raku’s newly dried clothes were soaked once more.

  ‘They’re only a few hours ahead of us,’ said the commander. ‘We can close the distance.’

  ‘So what’s the plan, Commander-sama?’ asked Tadatoo. ‘You wanted to overtake them, reach the castle and warn the general. Have you changed your mind? Do you want to take them on?’

  ‘We have a chance to surprise them, a chance to wipe them out. We can’t waste this opportunity.’

  ‘Three soldiers and a cripple,’ said Tadasue, mulling the odds.

  ‘Don’t discount the cripple. He is a veteran shinobi. His companions will be easy to overcome. He is the true threat.’

  ‘A shinobi with one arm,’ said Tadatoo. ‘What can he do? He’s not a daemon. He’s just a man. A crippled man.’

  ‘Never underestimate a dedicated bugeisha. It’ll be your last mistake. He doesn’t fight for a wage. The sword is his life, his Way. He will have put dozens of men, experienced warriors, in the ground. Men who were supremely confident of their skill with a blade. Men like you.’

  * * *

  Raku looked up. Clouds had begun to disperse and the moon shone clear.

  They reached the forest. Their horses shied and refused to enter the undergrowth. Raku left the track and found a break in the treeline. Bamboo had been cut back with a sword creating a dark passageway into the woods.

  ‘Seems our friends have been kind enough to make a path.’

  Raku pulled a torch from his pack. Wood bound with rope and dipped in tar. He lit it with a flint, ge
ed his horse and advanced into the forest holding the flame above his head, Tadatoo and Tadasue following behind.

  The samurai and the girl explored the spectral ruins. They crept among deep shadows and pools of silver moonlight. They walked across the acre of buckled flagstones that had once been a grand hall. The girl imagined the hall roofed and restored, the space filled with incense and candlelight and hundreds of robed men bowing in obeisance to their monkey god.

  ‘This must have been a monastery,’ said the samurai. ‘Maybe they cleared some of the forest for farmland. All gone now, of course. Trees grown back. Fields overwhelmed by bamboo. You can’t oppose nature. You can hold it back a little while but it wins in the end.’

  The samurai found a couple of lengths of bamboo, tore away stalks and tossed one to the girl. The girl probed a broken flagstone with her foot.

  ‘The ground is uneven.’

  ‘Novice swordsmen often practise barefoot with broken pots scattered on the ground Any moment of inattention is instantly punished.’

  ‘Did you train like that?’

  ‘My feet still bear the scars.’

  They faced each other. The samurai swung at her head. She blocked. She swung at his right side. He blocked. They danced backwards and forwards trading blows. She felt awkward striking a man with one arm, a man who had to defend one-handed, but he would expect nothing but her most intense, competitive attack.

  The samurai’s missing arm left him vulnerable to attack from the left. She exploited this disadvantage, made him work to block a succession of strikes. It was no longer a fight between teacher and pupil. They were both novices, both learning how to survive.

  A feint, like she was about to swing at the samurai’s ankles, then she swung at his head. It was a killing blow intended to lop his head from his shoulders. He blocked the blow without effort, twirled the staff and brought it down in a blur coming to a halt gently resting against her neck. She smiled, acknowledging defeat. They resumed their fight.