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The Ghost of Musashi
The mountain stream swirled crimson as Kaidan washed the blood from his hands. The blood eddied in the current, a floating stain diluting as it dashed across the rocks downstream. The four winds remained silent as reproach to a world that murders its own. The cedars and pines stood still, tense.
Kaidan muttered prayers of purification as he shook the last of the blood and water from his hands. The icy water numbed his fingers, but absorbed in his thoughts and chanting, he barely registered the sensation.
"Yamabushi," Akio called from the far bank. Dirt covered his knees and sleeves. "I have completed the rites. Shigekazu's spirit may now find its final peace." He clutched his prayer beads, an imitation of Kaidan’s habit.
Kaidan nodded. Akio laid his impromptu walking staff aside and kneeled like Kaidan by the water to cleanse his hands with water and purification chants.
"You are looking more and more like a Yamabushi everyday, Akio." Kaidan regained his feet, exposing the grass stains on his outer robe. Their garb was identical, save for a few minor differences like Kaidan’s cream-white vest. Only his travelling robe, shell horn, and broad hat distinguished him as a Yamabushi. Kaidan leaned on his iron-banded staff to gather his concentration.
Akio smiled a tight smile, offering a nod as he continued to cleanse himself in the stream.
"We must return you to civilisation soon before your heart turns wild like mine." Kaidan stepped into the creek, walking from stone to stone with absolute poise. His final step to the other bank was unsupported by a stone—he tread lightly, barely rippling the flow.
"I’d enjoy learning the ways of the wild one day, Yamabushi." Akio completed his cleansing.
"Those ways are not for you until you master the secrets of Mikkyo and understand every facet of life as a Shugenja. Only then should you truly choose." Kaidan smiled wistfully. "Besides, there are other choices to make. It’s best to understand what you lose before coveting what you hope to gain."
Akio nodded, falling in step with Kaidan as he walked toward the grave mound.
Despite their position on the lower slope, glimpses of the fertile valley beyond were clear through breaks in the forest canopy. The cedars here were sparse, the product of ad-hoc logging by the outlying hermits and farmers.
"How has Yumi been since the battle with the Smoke Dragon?" Kaidan asked, gazing toward Mount Akiyama, with its ghost blossom peak, and the village of Kyuusai spread at its base.
Akio blushed but didn’t falter in his stride. "She has devoted herself to martial training. Yumi insists on becoming a great warrior, much to her father’s chagrin. She aspires to bushido and the skills of a samurai."
"In this, I agree with her father." Kaidan smiled to himself, faintly shaking his head. "I never thought I’d be agreeing with old Keiji. The Heavens have a cruel sense of humour."
"Yamabushi, what’s wrong with aspiring to the sword to protect that which you cherish?" Akio said quietly.
"Nothing. It is the aspiration to the samurai code that concerns me."
They reached the burial mound, their morning’s labour. Freshly turned earth was obvious before the trunk of a lone oak. Kaidan had carved the man’s name into the wooden grave marker—Shigekazu—a proud local farmer, strong in his faith, according to Akio.
A brown sparrowhawk swooped down to perch on the grave marker.
"Tsubasa, no!" Kaidan waved the bird away.
Tsubasa fluttered his wings a few times before finding a new perch on the lowest oak tree branch.
"Do not disrespect the dead, Tsubasa." Kaidan shook his head.
"Who do you suspect killed Shigekazu, Yamabushi?"
"What do you think, Tsubasa?" Kaidan eyed the sparrowhawk, tilting his head slightly as if hearing an answer. Tsubasa screeched once—a short, piercing cry that echoed through the forest.
"There are Shinichi samurai nearby."
"Surely not?" asked Akio.
"Never trust the samurai, especially those with personal vendettas—the samurai code of bushido does not consider those below it. The Bear of the Shinichi has harboured a grudge since that farce with the dragon. It would not surprise me if this was his brutality at work."
Kaidan and the sparrowhawk turned as one, their attention focussed on the lower slope.
"What?" Akio followed their gaze.
Kaidan crouched and pressed his palm into the soft earth near the grave. Heavy thuds of men, the groaning of tree roots, and the garbled whispers of Shigekazu’s shade tingled up his arm. "Warriors approach."
Akio readied his makeshift staff. He looked tentative and ungainly.
"Akio, to the stream."
Kaidan jogged down to the stream, with Akio shadowing him.
Chanting the Mikkyo Sui mantra, Kaidan invoked the element of water to aid him.
"Akio," he said. "You must stand your ground here to draw their attention. Have no fear, but do not give my position away by looking at me."
The young Shugenja nodded. Sweat gathered along his brow.
Sparing Akio a final glance, Kaidan dropped to the ground and rolled lengthways into the shallow stream. The chill water broke over him for a moment before resettling into its natural flow.
Kaidan watched with water-warped vision the timid Shugenja peering into the water. From the outside, he’d appear to be submerged like a spectre from the Spirit World floating between life and death.
He gestured at Akio to back away from the stream. As he did so, one of his sleeve ties drifted like an eel on the current.
Kaidan watched Akio move back as he heard the reverberating footsteps of men in armour. They appeared at the creek’s edge. Four samurai wearing diverse unmarked armour. Ronin—samurai for hire. They were intent on Akio, who had retreated out of his view. Kaidan glimpsed Tsubasa regarding him from the middle branches of an overhanging pine. The sparrowhawk’s yellow eyes were wide with curiosity.
Kaidan sprang from the stream as the first of the samurai began a tentative crossing. Exploding in a blinding spray of water, Kaidan unleashed a flurry of kicks before whirling his staff around, knocking the warrior face-up into the shallows, unconscious. A heartbeat later, when the spray subsided, Kaidan stood balanced one-legged on a stone in the centre of the stream, his battle staff poised to the side in an outlandish fighting stance. Despite the water dripping from his robes, his clothes were merely damp, not saturated and clinging to his body.
"Ha! Yamabushi, your tricks won’t fool us." The samurai at the centre of the trio raised his katana above his head, adopting an aggressive battle stance. His armour was dark green, his helm antlered.
The others spread out, assuming the fighting stances of their regions. The samurai in efficient grey chose defence, holding his sword ahead, while the other, decked out in composite blue and brown, wielded his katana point down as though stalking the earth.
Kaidan muttered Mikkyo incantations woven of Fu and Sui—air and water.
"Look out!" called Akio from behind.
The grey ronin stepped forward, a clumsy feint to disguise the blue-and-brown warrior’s strike. Kaidan easily caught the blade with the end of his staff, driving it deep into the earth with supernatural force.
He remained balanced on one foot.
As the samurai struggled to free his half-buried blade, their leader sprang at Kaidan, slicing in two quick motions at the Yamabushi. Kaidan blocked the first, hopping into the air to avoid the sweep at his leg. His landing on the stone sent ripples coursing through the stream that were snatched by the incessant flow.
The blue-and-brown samurai abandoned his sword, pulling a shorter wakizashi blade from his belt. In tandem with the grey-clad warrior, they pressed Kaidan with a series of blows, forcing him to retreat onto another stone.
Kaidan spun his staff in a sudden frenzy of motion, reversing the samurai onslaught. His spinning took on a supernatural bent as his chanting grew louder. The whirling staff fanned gusts of wind at the samurai, increasing i
n intensity until they barely held their ground.
Still twirling the staff, Kaidan ducked to snatch a pebble from the stream. He tossed it with accuracy, striking the pine tree Tsubasa nestled in. The tree shuddered.
Kaidan took hold of his staff with both hands, abruptly cutting short the cyclonic gale.
A rain of pine needles floated toward the ground on a lazy zephyr. The samurai paused, still dazed from the gale, staring up as the pine needles began falling to the earth. Amid this arboreal shower, Kaidan somersaulted forward in one giant leap. He landed in the centre of the samurai’s formation, again remaining in a one-legged stance.
As the pine needles continued to fall, the samurai slashed and parried as an ill-coordinated team, pitting their skills against the Yamabushi. Their strikes, while individually precise, were poorly timed, resulting in momentary pauses. The pauses gave Kaidan time to counter-attack, block, and swing. The samurai fought more cohesively as the duel raged on, timing their strikes enough to force Kaidan to hop back once, twice.
With the continued rain of pine needles, the warriors' agility progressively dulled. Their battle dance of quick steps, back and forth, scored a star-shaped trail in the gathering needles. At last, when the rain subsided and the earth was piled ankle-deep with the tiny green needles, the joints and recesses of the samurai’s bamboo armour were stuffed and inflexible.
Taking advantage of their sluggishness, Kaidan stunned the henchmen with two successive blows, following up with a snap across the knuckles that disarmed the antlered leader.
Tsubasa continued to observe from the bough of his near-naked tree.
The Yamabushi planted his feet and swept the samurai’s leg as he made a clumsy attempt for his knife, dumping him to the ground.
Kaidan glanced up at the sparrowhawk. "Did you enjoy that?"
Tsubasa appeared to nod.
Turning his attention to the warrior, Kaidan planted the butt of his staff firmly on his chest plate, pinning him. He kicked off the samurai’s helmet, revealing a pinched face and hair without a top-knot.
Akio splashed across the stream and then waded through the pine needles to join the Yamabushi. "He’s been disgraced."
The samurai spat, catching Akio on the vest. Scowling, Akio wiped it with his sleeve.
"Who sent you, ronin?" Kaidan ground the staff harder into the man’s chest.
He grimaced, clenching his teeth.
Kaidan invoked the earth element, Mikkyo Chi.
"Who hired you?" The grinding intensified, splintering the ronin's chest plate. Bamboo cracked and the samurai’s face reddened as he gasped through gritted teeth.
The pressure increased, snapping bamboo and buckling the armour into the man’s chest.
"Shinichi," the samurai spat. "The Bear."
Kaidan relaxed his grip on the staff. Some of the redness faded from the samurai’s face.
"Your orders were to kill me and me alone?"
The man nodded, his eyes slitted from the pain.
"Did your men kill the farmer, Shigekazu?"
The samurai nodded again.
"Why?" Disbelief was plain Akio's on his face.
Kaidan placed a hand on Akio’s shoulder. "Answer him, ronin."
"We were told he knew where to find you," the samurai spat. "He said nothing."
Kaidan took up his staff, striking the man across the side of the head. The smack was the sound of a struck log. The ronin slumped back, eyes and tongue lolling in his head.
"Did you kill him?" Akio’s eyes were as wide as bowls.
"No, that is not our way," Kaidan said, adding, "if it can be helped."
"What will be their punishment?"
Kaidan rubbed the beads of his prayer necklace. "Gather up their weapons. They will be left to ponder their mistakes."
Kaidan reached down and retrieved a fistful of dirt and then carried it to the stream and chanted over it. He then applied the mud to the foreheads of the prone warriors while Akio slipped their swords from their belts.
Written on their faces were the characters for murder, dishonour, and contemplation.
"Their spirits are doomed to restlessness in the next life, but I offer them a chance for a kinder fate. They will not be able to wash these stains from their skin unless they take drastic action. Every night the mud remains, they will relive their shames in nightmares. With enough restless nights, they may choose to atone for their mistakes."
Akio nodded, glancing at the armoured men sprawled in the dirt with clumps of pine needles piled around them. The muddy characters on their foreheads would be hard to conceal. As he contemplated their fate, water gushed over the rocks in the stream—a constant in the background, breaking the silence that pervaded the forest.
"Come, Akio."
Together, they followed the coils of the stream, descending towards the valley. Kaidan glanced back at his foes, still subdued, and predestined to murderers' fates in Yomi, the lightless underworld. The scent of pine infused the area. It would haunt these murderers' dreams.
"This is why I do not wish Yumi to emulate the samurai," Kaidan said.
"I don’t understand," said Akio.
"With enough training, anyone can become a slave to the arts of death, but it is the arts of life that enrich our spirits and the world in which we live." Kaidan paused. "Yumi’s mother understood this."
Akio nodded. He struggled with a half dozen weapons bundled under his arm.
As Kaidan strolled along the stream, he spotted a small toad sunning itself on a rock. With a slow, deliberate motion, he scooped it into his palm. The toad croaked once but appeared tranquil as it stared up at the Yamabushi.
"Hello, little Gaeru." Kaidan bowed slightly to the amphibian, stroking it with his thumb. "We should return to Kyuusai. It has been weeks since I’ve looked upon its broken tiles from my mountain."
"Yes, Yamabushi."
"We must also rest this evening and perform the rejuvenation rituals. My ki is depleting. I will instruct you on some of the techniques."
"Thank you." Akio bowed awkwardly around the swords he carried.
"You can dump those under that boulder." Kaidan pointed to cleft beneath a rock thrust out from the earth. Tall grasses fringed most of its perimeter.
Following Kaidan’s suggestion, Akio stashed the swords away but he paused and tested the weight of the green-scabbarded katana.
"What are you doing?"
"I will gift this to Yumi, after it is cleansed of the ronin’s taint."
"It is a fine sword," Kaidan agreed. "But have you not heard what I’ve said of the samurai and their code?"
"Yes, Yamabushi, but this is finer than anything Yumi could hope to obtain. She will need a katana of quality, whether she abides by bushido or not. Order me to throw it aside if you must, but my heart tells me Yumi should make this choice. She is smart and capable."
Kaidan muttered to himself, stroking the toad fervently. It croaked its discomfort. The pair followed the creek in silence, winding their way through the sparse forest of the lower slope. The burbling water was a constant companion, interrupted by the toad’s protesting croaks.
The Yamabushi was the first to break the long silence, some time after the sun had peaked in the sky.
"I knew a samurai who believed himself invincible. His name was Miyamoto Musashi."
"The legendary Musashi?" Akio was stunned.
"Musashi lived a long, turbulent life. He agitated people, intentionally goading them into fights. He grew so irritating with his incessant duel challenges that a Kappa cursed him to itching sores. Musashi challenged that Kappa clan at Narahito Bridge and defeated their best warrior, although he did have a substantial advantage."
"What was that?"
"The largest Kappas are no bigger than a child, and water-dwellers besides. Although to be fair, Musashi did defeat the Kappa champion in two duels, the first on the bridge, the second in the river. I imagine the second duel was considerably more even."
Akio t
ested the weight of the katana again. It was heavy in his hands.
"Musashi was not known for his humility," Kaidan continued, "and when he foolishly capered after defeating the Kappa, the clan chief laid the curse upon him. Ironically, Musashi’s disgusting appearance aided his many victories, and he went on to become the greatest samurai in the land."
"So how did you know of him?"
"I only knew him after his death ..."
To be continued in Circle of Tears ...
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About the author:
Shane Jiraiya Cummings lives in Perth, Western Australia. He has been acknowledged as "one of Australia's leading voices in dark fantasy", had more than sixty short stories published in Australia, USA, and Europe, and his work has been translated in Spanish, French, and Polish. Shane has won two Ditmar Awards, and he has been nominated for more than twenty other major awards including Spain's Premios Ignotus.
Shane is an Active Member of the Horror Writers Association and former Vice President of the Australian Horror Writers Association. When he is not writing, Shane is an editor and journalist by day and sword fighting instructor by night.
In his youth, Shane was trained in the deadly arts of the ninja, and the name Jiraiya (lit. "Young Thunder", after the legendary ninja Jiraiya) was bestowed upon him by his sensei.
More information on Shane (including his free fiction) can be found online at https://www.jiraiya.com.au.
Interact with Shane on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shane-Jiraiya-Cummings/401910315831) or rate and review his books on Goodreads (https://www.goodreads.com/jiraiyac).
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You can find Shane's other e-books at all good online retailers:
Novellas:
Phoenix and the Darkness of Wolves (Damnation Books). ISBN: 9781615720552
Requiem for the Burning God. ISBN: 9780987076809
Print version first published in the anthology Cthulhu's Dark Cults, ed. David Conyers (Chaosium). ISBN: 9781568822358
Collections:
Apocrypha Sequence: Deviance. ISBN: 9780987076830
Apocrypha Sequence: Divinity. ISBN: 9780987076847
Apocrypha Sequence: Inferno. ISBN: 9780987076854
Apocrypha Sequence: Insanity. ISBN: 9780987076861
Shards. ISBN: 9780987076816
Print version, illustrated by Andrew J. McKiernan (Brimstone Press). ISBN: 9780980567724
Available from Brimstone Press: https://www.brimstonepress.com.au
Chapbooks:
Shards: Damned and Burning, illustrated by Andrew J. McKiernan (Brimstone Press). Free download from Brimstone Press: https://www.brimstonepress.com.au
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