Shadow of the Oni Page 2
“The prize is within!” The savage fight was right behind him. Three of his bodyguards survived, and the Ichiro were bringing their swords and spears raging straight towards the stairs. “Hold them! Hold them, and our power is saved!”
Hurtling the maiden’s head aside he strode up the stairs and into the waiting hall. Frantically fighting on foot, the last three bodyguards ran back to stand on the steps beside Saburo. Below them, the badger samurai joined with a dozen Ichiro priests and peasants armed with spears. A hedge of spear points surged forward, jabbing and lunging at the Akaishin on the steps above.
Saburo stood shoulder to shoulder with a masked bodyguard. The man held his sword on guard, ready to fend off attack as the enemy massed below. He gave a swift nod to Saburo.
“It is as good a day to die as any, Saburo san.” The man flicked a dark glance at the headless body of the shrine girl lying at his side. “I would that it were for better purpose, and for better cause!”
Saburo’s sword never wavered.
“A samurai’s soul is found only in duty! A samurai’s only duty is loyalty!” The man’s back was straight - his face set. “There is no life. There is no death. To a samurai, there is only duty!”
The serpent samurai had gathered the last of the priests. Spear in hand, he led a charge straight up the stairs, with badger samurai beside him and priests flooding up the steep slopes beside the steps and making savage thrusts with their long spears. Saburo and the Akaishin bodyguards met them blade–to-blade, trying to hack their way past the spear points and attack. They were driven back step by step, spear blades ripping into their armour. A priest went down, then another – and then an Akaishin samurai. Blood ran bright across the stairs.
Inside the hall, great dark beams all but shut away the light. Deep within, an altar stood surrounded by charms and paper prayers. A pentagram – the kitsune seal – had been inscribed on the stone floor, gouged deep about the altar and filled with salt.
Atop the altar, a protective cradle surrounded a heavy earthen bottle painted with protective charms. The bottle seemed to pulse with darkness – throbbing to the light shed by Lord Akaishin’s axe.
The man moved forward, then suddenly recoiled as a shield of light sprang up from the pentagram. The warlord looked down at the pattern with his sneering mask, and brought his weapon forth before him.
He slowly wiped the slaughtered shine maiden’s bloody robes along his axe. The weapon seemed to drink in the blood. The blade glowed with a hideous dark red light.
Lord Akaishin cast aside the robes and stroked his hand along the haft of his axe.
“Homage to the fire and darkness! Homage to the Lord of Blood!” He swirled the weapon, its light growing ever more intense. “Eh! Eh…!”
He gave a massive kiai shout, and struck the axe down at the pentagram. The blade smashed through the shield and shattered the circle about the symbol. The shield of light flashed and died, leaving a mass of sparks trailing in the air. Red light flooded from the axe blade and out into the pattern, hissing and crackling the salt into ash – charring prayer papers and withering the prayer ropes that bound the altar.
Lord Akaishin hissed in triumph. He moved forward through the ashes, opening his arms towards the flask upon the altar.
“No blade will slay me. Death shall not halt me. The blood of Oni shall flow in my veins…!”
A female voice suddenly screamed out from the darkness. A young badger shrine maiden in human form came lunging from the shadows, stabbing at Lord Akaishin with a short uchi-ne javelin. The warlord twisted aside, seizing the girl. He flung the maiden to the ground and pounded his axe into her chest, wrenching free the blade and kicking the small body aside. He raised his bloody axe and roared in lust. There were no more barriers between himself and his prize.
Lord Akaishin whirled and strode towards the altar – toward the terrible flask. He reached out his hand – and suddenly an impact slammed clean through him. The point of the girl’s javelin jutted from his throat – driven by the furious strength of the maiden’s dying throw.
He staggered – incredulous – falling to his knees. His hand reached impotently for the flask upon the altar. Choking on his own blood, the warlord crashed face down to the ground.
Behind him, the shrine maiden saw her enemy fall – and then she died.
On the steps outside, the strange battle had turned into a storm of carnage. The Akaishin bodyguards had managed to plunge down amongst the untrained spearmen, cleaving wildly into them with their swords. Saburo cut down the serpent samurai on the steps, then looked back inside the hall in time to see Lord Akaishin fall.
“My lord!”
The last of the Ichiro samurai charged up the stairs. Saburo met two men blade-to-blade, parrying one man’s sword and cutting instantly over into the man’s arms. He thrust up through the badger’s neck, wrenching free an instant too late to stop a sword cut to his own thigh. Metal scales blocked part of the blow, but a savage cut sliced into Saburo’s leg. He staggered backwards and whipped his own sword down in a massive blow that blasted down through the badger samurai’s helmet and clean through the skull beneath.
The last Akaishin bodyguard reeled back with two spears plunged through him. Saburo lurched forward and cut both spearmen down. More men came at him. Exhausted, he fought in a blur of steel, finally slicing through a priest who charged madly at him through the haze of blood. Saburo cut, then wildly whipped about en garde, staggering back amongst a sea of corpses.
The courtyard was suddenly silent. Saburo staggered, turning in a daze.
There was nothing around him but corpses splayed across the ground.
The shrine priests and servants were dead. The maidens slaughtered. The Ichiro samurai had been cut down, their blood mingling with the Akaishin.
Silence.
At the distant river, the waters swirled. Wind blew over the grass, the fallen banners and the corpses. Bodies drifted down the river, turning slowly in the current. But no living soul stirred.
Saburo staggered up the steps of the shrine, half falling – leaning bloodily upon his sword. He was pierced with arrows, bleeding. His clan was gone, the army destroyed. There was nothing all around him except for a wilderness of death.
The man collapsed, then slowly dragged himself to sit upright at the head of the steps, looking out over the carnage below. Saburo stared about himself in shock and desolation – his senses ebbing. He drew off his helmet and let it fall.
“If your lord has ten thousand retainers – follow.
If the lord is reduced to a mere ten men – follow.”
Saburo gazed at the fallen men and banners at his feet.
“And if he shall be reduced to none…. Follow.”
The man had a yoroidōshi, an armour piercing dagger, in his belt – sheathed on the right with its handle to the rear. Dazed, Saburo wrenched at the bottom of his breastplate. He drew his long dagger, preparing to follow his lord into death.
A sudden, dark, deep inward draw of breath seemed to come from the temple hall.
The rivers of blood flowing down the shrine steps changed direction. The flow slithered up past Saburo and into the darkness of the hall. It flowed thickly from the corpses, moving in nightmarish streams up into the shrine.
From the darkness, the slow, dragging voice of Lord Akaishin spoke into the silence.
“Kuraika no Saburo. Last retainer of clan Akaishin…”
Saburo turned, eyes open wide. In the shadows of the hall behind him, the huge, sinister outline of Lord Akaishin stirred.
Lord Akaishin crouched in the dark, wrapped in a terrifying, evil power. Arrows and a javelin jutted from his armour. The rivers of blood flowed across the floorboards of the shrine – and into the black shadow that was Lord Akaishin.
The shadow dropped something from its hand: the empty flask taken from the altar. Lord Akaish
in had drunk the demon blood. He stirred, lifting his masked, fanged head.
Saburo bowed.
“My lord!”
Lord Akaishin slowly flexed his armoured fists.
“In death and life, the bond of lord and retainer shall never be broken.” The dark voice hissed – now unearthly with power. “In blood we have fallen. In blood we shall rise again.”
The dark, dripping figure slowly arose.
“Kuraika nō Saburo – you will follow.”
The young samurai bowed – lost and pale.
“Yes, lord.”
Saburo rose to his feet – still blank with shock. All about him, blood flowed upwards – on into his lord.
Around them, the orchards shivered as dark clouds gathered up above. The river flowed across the corpses – onward through a land filled only with the dead.
Kuraika Saburo numbly arose, walked into the reeking hall, and bowed before his lord.
Chapter 2
Distant thunder rumbled far off on the horizon. The clouds were low – the skies black, hanging just above rough ridges of rock far off to the east. The day was still warm – the road dust hot underfoot – but the sun was sinking ever lower.
A broad gravel ford crossed a wide, shallow river. Sickly reeds dotted the banks – wilted grass covered the nearby plains. Deep in the grass, ancient helmets rusted. The winds blew, gusting hard through grass and old, dead trees.
Four figures came walking along an overgrown path that led towards the ford. To the fore was a fox spirit bearing a long orange spear. She was engaged in discussion with her companion – a samurai in armour laced in fashionable sakura pinks. A little rock elemental floated just above them, apparently following the argument blow-by-blow, nodding in agreement with the fox.
Behind then came Nezumi Chiri – a beautiful white rat spirit with long hair streaming in the wind. Tsunetomo Tonbo walked beside her – a massive, patient samurai clad from head-to-toe in heavy armour. Across one shoulder he carried a tetsubo – a spiked iron staff longer than he was tall. Chiri’s air elemental – a little creature that glittered like a sapphire dragonfly – rode atop the tetsubo, wagging her wings and thoroughly enjoying the ride.
Overhead, the dark clouds roiled.
Kitsune Sura walked merrily along, thoroughly enjoying her day. The fox spirit was in her humanoid form – hair tied back into a long pony tail, rusty orange and tipped with white. Her long fluffy tail streamed joyously in the wind. She walked with Kuno at her side, deep in a long, ongoing discussion. Chiri and Tonbo followed behind, both looking thoughtfully at the gathering clouds above.
The wind blew hard, and lightning shivered through the distant clouds. Sura revelled in the chaos of it all. With straw hat strapped to her pack and spear held tight, she whooped with laugher as the breeze tugged wildly at her hair.
Kuno tried to keep his dignity, even in the flailing wind. He was doggedly continuing an ongoing discussion, and was not allowing himself to be distracted. Kuno hastened after Sura, waving one hand and demanding her attention.
“…no no no no no no no! You keep saying that! Forgive me, Sura san, but I do not appreciate the difference between Taoism and Zen. Both say that misery comes from the illusion of differences – the illusion that you have, and I have not. Surely the two religions are the same?”
“What? No way are they the same!” The fox gave a great, careless toss of her hand. “Zen is a branch of Buddhism. All that lovely esoteric thoughtful stuff you hear, that’s just the surface. The core is all tied up with illusions and lotus flowers and gods and all kinds of weird goo goo!”
Kuno made a noise of exasperation. “Whereas Taoism is all concerned with magic and secret formulas!”
“That’s Taoism Taoism! Neo Taoism! Some sort of idiotic foreign magic cult.” The fox waved her tail. “I’m from Taoism – the original font of happy thoughts!”
Kuno hastened to interrupt. “…that then became a system of magic and alchemy!”
“And longevity potions, geomancy and feng shui!” The fox circled a finger next to her temple. “I cannot help what a bunch of humans run off and do with a perfectly simple, pleasant idea!” Sura walked along backwards, gesturing with a hand as she talked. “I personally just happen to be an enthusiast for the Tao Te Jing and Zuan-Zhi!”
Kuno was decidedly annoyed. “But you can’t say you’re a Taoist if you’re not actually a Taoist!” He pointed a finger at the fox. “You’re a priestess! How can you say that you’re adopting some parts of an official body of thought, and simply discarding others?”
“Easy! Because I’m a genius! The Tao that can be Tao’ed is not the Tao!” The fox seemed utterly unconcerned. “Organised religion is just an excuse for not thinking!”
Kuno immediately looked prim.
“Organised religions are schools of gathered wisdom.”
“They’re mental crutches! I’m a fox! Foxes always know all the answers!” Sura stepped nimbly past what seemed to be overgrown horse skeletons lying beside the path. “I kinda agree with some of the Taoist stuff – so that’s my jumping-off point.” She led the way down towards the great, wide river. “Look – the idea is, sure, you should read all this stuff. But words and books are just supposed to kick your own thoughts into action. You’re supposed to figure things out for yourself!”
They reached the edge of the river – a great wide gravel ford, with the water only knee deep. Kuno – fully armoured and stoic – prepared to march into the water as he was. Sura, on the other hand, simply unhitched and stepped out of her hakama, throwing the garment merrily across one shoulder. She tugged off her socks and sandals and slung her sandals from the shaft of her spear. Her loin cloth was printed with little fox paws. Happily pantsless, the fox splashed into the river, giving a whoop of joy as she felt the water ice-cold against her shins.
Kuno irritably hastened to follow her, armour clanking as he caught up with her mid-stream.
“You shall not escape so easily! You have still not answered my inquiry about the difference between Tao and Zen!”
Back on the banks, Chiri and Tonbo were removing their sandals and socks, preparing to cross. It had been a long day of walking. Tonbo – huge and heavy in his iron armour – looked at Kuno, shook his head and sighed.
“Don’t get her started.”
The rat spirit drew back her long white hair, where her air elemental Bifuuko could gather it all up and fussily tie it into a pony tail. Chiri looked over to Sura, and shrugged.
“He is getting her started.”
“I hate it when she gets started…”
Out in the river, Sura strolled through the water with Kuno. She pulled her favourite soup spoon from her belt – a decidedly kitsune eating utensil - and waved it in front of his nose.
“Okay, look – it’s all about perceptions of the world of phenomena. You know - matter, time, space, events, fuzzy caterpillars – that sort of thing!’ The fox swirled her tail. “Zen basically says ‘There is no spoon!’ Taoism says ‘There is definitely a spoon – but we are all the spoon’. And as for old Zuan-Zhi …”
Sura smacked Kuno on the bridge of his nose with the spoon. The samurai batted her irritably away.
“Stop that!”
“Did that hurt? That’s because it’s a spoon!” The fox shook her head in admiration. “Zuan-Zhi had a lovely grip on reality.”
Sura splashed happily onwards, up onto a little gravel island. She let Daitanishi settle on her hand.
“See - Zen is based on Buddhism, and Buddhism is based on a pretty pointless leap of faith! Buddhism believes that the whole world is an illusion. You, me, phlegm, bad haircuts…. It’s all just an invention of the mind!”
Kuno stood tall. “Ah! And that mind is the Buddha mind!”
“Eh - supposedly. We are all the one person, and that one person is the Buddha. One awareness, but it deludes itself with a belief in separate being.”
Kuno flicked a glance at the fox. “I am aware of this. You do n
ot agree with this belief?”
Sura pranced a few steps forwards, reaching the far bank of the river. She posed with tail fluffed and ears pricked high.
“Hello! Do you see me? Do you see this fox? This is style! Tonbo’s hairdo – that is not style. Two completely separate things. No illusion!” She hopped up onto the grassy banks. “Now Taoism says we are all part of the one unified system, but that it has definite parts and manifestations – the real is the real!” She stamped her foot against the grass. “You feel the ground because the ground is demonstrably there! The Tao is in everything!”
Kuno frowned. “Ah. I see…”
“And Zuan-Zhi would have told us all to quit fussing about something we can’t possibly understand!” Sura breathed the beautiful scents upon the air. “Thrill to the differences! Enjoy the smell of rain on hot dirt!”
Now up and out of the river, Kuno tramped his feet. He dubiously inspected Sura, who remained barefoot and was delighting in the feel of grass on her bare soles.
Kuno watched, and scratched at his chin.
“So you are a Taoist priestess? But surely Lao Tzu tells you to eschew greed, to stop being a slave to lusts and desires. Yet I know you well, and you never cease to crave rich foods, fine wines and long mornings lying in bed!”
Sura had her head back, savouring the feel of wind against skin.
“I said I was a Taoist! I didn’t say I was a good Taoist!”
“Hmph! Shouldn’t a priestess be a good example?”
“I am! I’m a good example of a bad Taoist! I just joined up for the exorcism – and because the robes look really cool!” Sura suddenly turned and laughed in delight. “Ha! Look at the bird!”
A hawk was flying into the wind – flapping madly and moving a handspan forward before being slowly blown one handspan back. The bird looked decidedly put-out. Sura ran over to get a better look, tail whipping out behind her in the breeze.
Kuno saw Sura’s delight, and could only shake his head in wonder. The floating rock elemental looked at the man and seemed to give a shrug.