Samurai Son Read online

  Akira felt the same but knew better. Something had happened, something big. For the first time in his life, he saw Rokuro’s brow furrowed with worry. The normally stoic sensei looked almost fearful. Akira’s mind kept wandering back to who might come for him. Were Rokuro and Ikumi concerned that other samurai might come to kill him?

  Akira wondered too where Jiro and Kasumi were. He wanted to see Jiro’s startled face when Akira told him that he had killed the dragon. Akira also wanted to see Kasumi again.

  Rokuro and Ikumi dismounted. Their horses seemed unusually skittish and pawed the ground nervously. Even Akira’s own horse flicked its withers as though something were bothering it. He patted it slowly, hoping the bay wasn’t as nervous as it appeared. Akira slowly dismounted, looking around the estate as if for the first time. Soldiers and samurai were everywhere and looked as if preparing for a siege.

  “Come on,” Rokuro said. “You have to get inside.”

  “Why?” Akira didn’t mean to sound so stubborn, but he didn’t understand what was happening. An ashigaru ran past them, carrying weapons; another samurai in complete armor strode out from the armory, battle ready. The estate was bustling, yet the only activity was human. Akira stared at the pines near the house. The wind was unusually still. The animals that normally ran in the estate—dogs, rabbits, squirrels, even the occasional rodent—had disappeared.

  “Akira,” Ikumi snapped.

  Rokuro put his hand on her forearm in an oddly intimate gesture. “Ikumi-sama,” he said softly, “it’s time for Akira to know.”

  Ikumi’s eyes widened but she said nothing.

  “Ikumi-sama?” Rokuro’s face softened slightly. “I must protect you until Takeshi returns.”

  “Yes,” Ikumi said. “Find Tenko. He will know what to do.”

  “Tenko?” Akira blurted out. Both turned to him.

  Ikumi’s face was unreadable, which frightened him a bit. “Do you know Tenko?”

  “I—I saw him in the forest,” Akira stammered.

  “Get inside,” Rokuro said. “I’ll come when the compound is secure.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Akira followed his mother inside, uncertain what had happened. Once inside, she bade him to wash up and find some clean clothes. As he entered his room, he found that servants had already laid out clothing for him and the room beyond had steaming bathwater.

  He undressed and tossed aside the bloody armor and the padded undergarments and finally peeled off the sweat-soaked, silken clothing plastered against his skin. The hot water the servants had poured did little to relax him, and he scrubbed himself down with rice bran and more expensive soap. His mind was so preoccupied, he didn’t notice when the servants slipped in to retrieve his bloody and sweaty armor and clothing, leaving the two swords and the obi he used to tie them to him and a fresh set of clothing and scabbards.

  He allowed his mind to wander back to his fight with the dragon. Akira had never been one to lose his temper, yet the dragon had inexplicably angered him. His original intention, despite his boast to Jiro, was to simply make the dragon leave. It had seemed a reasonable plan, but maybe his prideful statements to Jiro had made him choose otherwise. Then it happened.

  Rokuro had said he had seen a Tengu fight the dragon. Akira shivered in the cool air as he dried his damp skin and fumbled with his clothing. Had he really turned into a Tengu? Why? Had it anything to do with his training with the Karasu-Tengu? Another shiver ran through his body. And who was looking for him? Would other samurai try to kill him now?

  The thought terrified him, but Akira knew the thought of other samurai coming to kill him wasn’t quite right. Tsuitori was an island. His father was daimyo over this island. All his father’s samurai were here in the estate, guarding it. But from what?

  He wanted to understand why his mother was so fearful and why Rokuro had locked down the estate. He didn’t see Kasumi or Jiro in all the commotion either. It worried him. He had no feelings for Jiro, but he did like Kasumi, and he feared that somehow the woman samurai might be in danger.

  Akira picked up his swords. They hung from the bloody obi, their black lacquered scabbards reddened with blood. Dragon blood or his blood? The dragon had dark blood, but Akira had thought it was black, not red. He put his hand on the katana’s hilt, feeling the cloth- and sharkskin-wrapped tang. He pulled it from the scabbard and saw the dark blood along the blade. He had not cleaned it.

  He pulled a cloth from the chest in his room, sat cross-legged on a mat on the floor, and began to methodically clean the blades. Something in the motion of cleaning the weapons soothed his mind. As he finished the wakizashi, he heard a voice at the door.

  “Takeshi-sama, your mother wishes your presence.”

  Akira sheathed the blade in a clean scabbard and wrapped the bloodstained obi around his waist. He walked out of the room and looked around, as if for the first time. The hallway was empty and dark. The servants had disappeared as if frightened. Only the light at the end of the hallway, muted by the shoji screens, indicated there was anyone besides himself here.

  Emotions roiled inside him. So many questions filled his head that he couldn’t separate them all. He wondered if Ikumi would even answer them.

  When he appeared in the dining room, he saw the table had food and chopsticks set for three people, but only Ikumi sat there. He bowed to his mother, who nodded slowly, before taking his place at the table. The servants came in and poured him tea, but he didn’t look at them. He was focused on Ikumi, but whenever he tried to meet her gaze, she would lower her eyes and pick at the fish and rice before her. Akira noted that she had hardly touched the food.

  “Where are Kasumi and Jiro?” he asked. The silence swallowed his words, and he simply stared at his mother. After sufficient time had passed, he paused again. “Mother?”

  Ikumi shook her head. When she looked up, he could see she was holding back tears. “I don’t know.” Her voice, almost a whisper, was hoarse.

  Akira stared at her for a moment. “Who is coming for me?”

  Ikumi looked up. She sighed heavily. “Tengu.”

  “Tengu?” Akira could feel his skin grow clammy. He stared at her. “Why? What happened to me today?”

  “It was something I hoped to stop.” Her voice was barely audible. “I hoped that, because you are half human—”

  “Half human?” Akira stared. “What do you mean?”

  “Akira, you are half Tengu.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Silence ensued. Akira instinctively grasped his katana’s hilt but did not pull the blade from the scabbard. He looked around in panic as if he could see spirits come from the ceiling and walls but saw nothing but shadows from the oil lamps. “I’m what?”

  “You are half Tengu.”

  Akira shook his head as though trying to shake the words from his mind. “No, I can’t possibly...”

  The door slid back, and Rokuro came in. The old samurai was in full armor. “Get in your armor,” he said grimly. “They’re coming.”

  Both Ikumi and Akira leaped to their feet. “There’s no time,” Ikumi said. “If they’ve broken through the perimeter, they’re here.”

  A loud screech made the house tremble. Large, heavy footsteps clattered on the roof like hail. Akira stared upward at the ceiling, wondering if the rafters would break from the weight and noise.

  “It’s too late,” Rokuro said. “They got past our samurai.”

  Ikumi shot a quick look at Rokuro, pulled a katana and wakizashi from beneath the table, and strapped them on. “We’ll have to fight them, then,” Ikumi said. “Who else is here?”

  No sooner had she finished her words then something crashed through the rafters above. Akira drew his katana and backed up alongside Ikumi and Rokuro. Dark shapes spun around in the rafters. He felt as much as heard the inhuman screams of creatures above him, and his mouth went dry in fear. Russet and black feathers whirled around them as winged creatures descended, landing hard and smashing the table to bit
s.

  Akira stopped and stared. These were the Tengu from legends. They had heads of birds. Two had the russet feathers, golden eyes, and hooked beaks of raptors; the third had the head and plumage of a raven or crow. Just like the Karasu-Tengu that trained him. Their bodies were human, with thickly muscled chests, arms, and legs. Their legs tapered not to human feet, but to bird talons. Behind their shoulders, huge wings the same color as their head plumage stretched and beat the air, causing a small windstorm in the dining room. They also had tail feathers behind them. They wore little except loincloths. One of the hawks was a female with bare breasts, but she held a no-dachi in her hand that made Akira freeze in terror.

  The female turned to Ikumi, and words seared into Akira’s brain as she spoke. Stormdancer, we come for you and your son.

  “No,” said Ikumi. Akira glanced at his mother, shocked to see her with her katana and wakizashi ready for battle. “You will not take him. He is a samurai’s son.”

  He is Tengu, the female said. He proved his true nature when he destroyed the dragon.

  “Mother?” Akira said, his voice barely a whisper.

  “Silence, Akira,” Rokuro growled.

  Ikumi’s eyes narrowed. “That was a trick, wasn’t it?” she said, her voice cold. “There have been no dragons on Tsuitori in a thousand years. A thousand years, the Tengu have kept them away. Why now? Why allow a dragon to come, Windstorm?”

  A russet male Tengu cocked his head at her. We cared little about your dalliance with mortals, Stormdancer, but we do care about your son. The creature’s eyes strayed to Akira.

  “No!” Ikumi shouted and attacked. Lightning fast, she whirled around, cutting into the closest Tengu, Windstorm, with her katana. The Tengu shrieked as the samurai blades cut into her chest and face. Red blood poured onto the lacquered floors, and with a final shriek, the Tengu disappeared.

  The two other Tengu attacked. The raven Tengu whirled a naginata at Rokuro, while the russet male attacked Akira with a bo. Akira wielded both swords as his mother had done and used the blades to parry and catch the staff as it swung around to strike him. The russet Tengu swung the bo again, but Akira blocked it. A quick twist and the Tengu caused Akira’s wakizashi to spin out of his hand and stick itself into the wall nearby.

  With that, the Tengu clacked its beak, and Akira backed off into a defensive stance, his sword held high above his head, parallel to the ground. Akira couldn’t tell if the creature laughed at him or not. The Tengu tried several thrusts, and Akira retreated, trying to circle. Akira watched the strikes, and just as the Tengu brought the bo back for another, Akira attacked with an overhead strike.

  Akira didn’t completely catch the creature unawares. The Tengu drove the bo forward and as Akira was making the downward cut, it slammed the bo end into Akira’s jaw. The impact of the staff broke Akira’s jaw, knocked teeth out, and smashed the young samurai’s nose. But his blade had hit the target.

  Even as the pain exploded in Akira’s head and large black spots burst into his vision, he saw the sword cut downward, cleaving itself into the Tengu’s shoulder bone and cutting into the creature’s chest. But even as he did so, Akira heard the Tengu laugh a harsh laugh. And the creature became whole before his eyes.

  In those final seconds of horror, he glanced around and saw Ikumi held at naginata point by two other Tengu. Rokuro was lying in a widening pool of blood. Akira’s vision grayed then blacked out. He fell unconscious and knew no more.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Kasumi awoke to cold and darkness. The last thing she remembered was sitting on her futon after the sorcerer Tenko had somehow transported her to her room in the Takeshi estate. She shivered beneath her blankets as she lay on the futon. Something wasn’t right.

  Had she fallen asleep after being transported here? She couldn’t remember. She sat up, looking around, her senses tingling as she did. She wrinkled her nose as she took several breaths of air into her nostrils. The place stank of magic.

  It hadn’t before, which left Kasumi puzzled. She smelled the magic in the air and on her clothing. Being a magical creature herself, she knew when magic had been used against her, and this time it had been used to make her sleep. But why? And who would know she was magical? Not even Jiro knew of her powers or her special abilities. Her father had not, when he had taken a were-tigress to be his mate, so many years before.

  Kasumi frowned. She changed into a tunic and loose-fitting pants and tied the obi around her waist with the katana and wakizashi. Something had gone terribly wrong. She wished she had brought her armor with her.

  “Kasumi!”

  Jiro’s voice echoed in the eerie stillness of the night. Kasumi pushed the door open and looked down the hall where light was coming from.

  “Jiro, what is it?” With her heart hammering in her ears, Kasumi ran down the hall and halted at the dining room.

  Jiro knelt beside the body of Rokuro, pressing his fingers against the cold flesh to find a pulse, but Kasumi knew the old samurai was dead. The blood pooled and congealed on the floor from what looked to be several cuts by a sharp blade. Overhead, the wind blew through the hole in the rafters and roof. She could see the sky beginning to lighten and the dark velvet curtain of night lift. The wind caused the oil lamps to flicker and cast shadows on the walls.

  “Ninja,” said Jiro. “Who else would do this dishonorable thing?”

  Kasumi looked around the room, her senses alert. The stench of magic was so overpowering, she couldn’t sort out anything. Then she saw it: russet feathers in a darkened corner. “No, not ninja, my brother,” she said. She stooped down and picked up the long feather. “Tengu.”

  #

  Akira awoke sitting up as the first rays of dawn glowed through the forest’s canopy. His jaw hurt, but much to his surprise, when he moved it and ran his tongue against his teeth, he found them to be intact. When he tried to touch his face, he found his hands were bound in front of him. He looked down and saw his clothing torn and bloody. As he expected, the katana and wakizashi were gone from his side.

  He was sitting with his legs stretched out and bound at the foot of a great fir tree. His hands were tied in front, but when he looked at the ropes and the knots, they looked unfamiliar to him. He had lost his sandals and tabi somewhere along the way, and his feet were bruised and dirty as if he had been made to walk barefoot over rocks. He looked up into the canopy and around the forest, trying to get a glimpse of his captors.

  “They won’t show themselves, not yet.” Ikumi’s voice came from his left side, and he craned his neck as far as he could to see his mother tied up in a similar fashion not far from him.

  “Are you all right?” he blurted out.

  “About as fine as anyone can be, being a prisoner of the Tengu.” Ikumi’s voice sounded tired.

  “Where’s Rokuro?”

  “They left him. He was not moving when they took us.”

  Akira fought back the tears that welled in his eyes. Could Rokuro be dead? The idea of the old samurai dying was inconceivable to him. “I don’t understand. Why would they come for me? Why would anyone think I’m half Tengu?”

  “Akira, I am Tengu.”

  Akira’s eyes widened. He shifted around to try to see her expression. “That can’t be. You’re human. You don’t look like a bird or...”

  “Or a monster? No,” Ikumi said.

  “I didn’t know there were women Tengu.”

  She smiled grimly. “How do you think young Tengu are made?”

  Her bluntness surprised him. Akira shrugged. “I never thought about it. Maybe I just always assumed that the Tengu were always there.”

  “A valid assumption,” Ikumi said, “for Tengu are immortal. Tengu never die and seldom mate. It is a long and lonely life most Tengu lead. We long for companionship and yet seldom find it, even among ourselves. You see, Akira, most Tengu can’t love.”

  “But you don’t look Tengu.”

  “Akira, I chose to be human. I took this shape because I no
longer wanted to be a Tengu.” She paused. “You see, I fell in love with your father.”

  “How?” The word escaped his lips before he could stop it.

  “That is a long story,” Ikumi said, “but it appears we have time for it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “The forests of Tsuitori are filled with spirits,” said Ikumi. “Some of those spirits are Tengu, especially those who live in the northern forests. One day, a young samurai rode through the forest. I watched him from the treetops and fell in love with him the moment I saw him. He was so handsome and strong. I took on the form of a hawk and followed him as he rode through the forest. I couldn’t imagine a braver or stronger samurai.”

  Akira nodded. “That was Takeshi?”

  “Takeshi.” Although he couldn’t see her face, Akira could hear the smile in her voice. “He was not daimyo then, just the daimyo’s son, as you are. When he rode out of the Tengu forests, I ached to follow, but I had no idea why or that I loved him. So I settled back into the large yew tree at the edge of the forest and waited.

  “The next morning, Takeshi rode into our forest, and my heart sang. Once again, I followed him as he rode through the Tengu forest. At that point, some of the other Tengu noticed him, and they planned to play a trick on the young samurai, but I bade them not to.

  “Day after day, Takeshi rode his horse in our domain, and I prevented the other Tengu from troubling him. Eventually they grew bored and went to do their mischief elsewhere. Takeshi rode his horse in the forest with me flying not far from him. A few times he caught a glimpse of the red hawk who flew overhead, shadowing his position.

  “He did not always ride alone either. Sometimes a servant would ride with him or another samurai. One day Rokuro rode with Takeshi.

  “They had stopped at a stream to water their horses. Takeshi had spied me in a tree watching him intently.

  “‘Rokuro sensei,’” he said. ‘That hawk has followed me each time I ride in this forest.’