Raven's Quest Page 6

  Karasu was nearing the mountain village in Kiki Province where Furuki Jun, their father’s First Samurai, now lived. Mizuki communed with her twin frequently through the special gift they shared and she had sent him to that place. She felt his apprehension, his regret at leaving his Temple home, but he left anyway. He had answered her cry for help and she knew she was right to ask so much of him. He would need to take their father’s place now until Hayato was well enough and free. Karasu was the only hope of that freedom, but he would need the Samurai’s help. The help of Jun and another. Mizuki thought of the enigmatic sailor she had seen on the dockside. She felt sure it was he she had seen in her dreams. Somehow Karasu and the foreigner had to meet and make an alliance. As yet she knew not how.

  She sat, lost in silent contemplation, staring at the scene below, when the door to the chamber opened.

  “You gaze at your new home. It is a great city is it not?” a deep male voice asked.

  Mizuki turned and bowed low. “It is a poor city I think my Lord,” she returned not trying to hide the contemptuous tone.

  Lord Kurohoshi’s eyes narrowed briefly and then he smiled and joined her at the window. “You should try to like me Mizuki. Soon you will be mine and I would much prefer to bed a willing wife rather than have to force you to love me.”

  “You killed my father and have imprisoned my brother. It is difficult to feel love for you. You promised I could see Hayato every day, but as yet I have not left these rooms,” Mizuki accused and met his eyes with defiance.

  Anger briefly flashed over Kurohoshi’s face and his mouth hardened. “You are in isolation. No other man may see you until after the wedding ceremony,” he said lowly.

  “But surely my brother…,” she protested.

  “No! Not even your brother,” Kurohoshi interrupted with irritation. He sucked in a deep breath and fought to master his temper. Exhaling slowly he forced himself to smile benignly. “Do you like your clothes?”

  Mizuki stared up at him for some moments before answering. He frightened her and despite her revulsion of him she dare not anger him further. She turned her gaze to the view from the window once more.

  “Yes, they are very fine,” she replied at length, knowing that the numerous splendid kimonos and yukatas he had gifted to her were the best quality, made from the finest hand woven and embroidered silk. “You are very generous my Lord.”

  Kurohoshi leant forwards and with a finger turned her face to his. He bent and kissed her lips.

  “Nothing is too fine for my beautiful princess,” he said softly and stroked her raven black hair with his right hand. Mizuki forced herself not to shudder though every nerve in her body rebelled against his touch. She lowered her head to hide the loathing in her expression hoping he had not seen. But Kurohoshi saw the gesture as modest shyness and approved.

  “When we are married, you may see your brother,” he offered and kissing her forehead he bowed to her and left the room.

  When he had gone, Mizuki ran to her bathroom and pouring water from the ewer into the bowl scrubbed her face with a cloth to remove any trace of the man she hated. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and wondered how long she could withstand this. She felt suddenly afraid that Karasu may not be in time. That he may be caught and imprisoned along with Hayato and then she would be alone with a monster. She should have felt guilty for selfishly thinking of only herself, but at that moment her horror at the thought of being the wife of Lord Kurohoshi, paled the possible fate of her brothers into insignificance.

  ELEVEN

  A moonless night and ink black. The heavens studded with an infinite number of stars, yet their miniscule pinpricks of light barely gave illumination to the land below. The darkness was almost complete with the high volcanic peaks oppressively closing in around the narrow valley, their flanks clad in dense forest that echoed with the sounds of nocturnal beasts.

  Karasu cautiously made his way down the rough cart track glancing up to the stars every now and then to ensure he still followed the path and had not wandered from it. The sliver of sky above the rough road was the only reference he had. A screech of an owl made his heart race briefly and he halted listening with his head cocked to one side. He felt no presence nearby and tried to persuade himself that he had no reason to fear, that he was not being stalked by something hungry and deadly. Still, the panic remained, barely controlled, beating drum-like in his chest. He could hear his shallow breathing loud above the silence around him and he let his mind drift to Mizuki in a desperate need for company and reassurance.

  I am here Brother. Her thoughts clear and calm in his head. Relief flooded over him.

  It is late, I am sorry Sister, but I…, I am afraid, he divulged feeling a fool while doing so. He knew his terror to be irrational, borne of childhood imaginations and horror stories invented to prevent him from wandering far; it was a fear that his closeted life in the Temple had not enabled him to dispel. Yet there were real dangers out here at night. There were bandits in the mountains and big cats that some say came from the time of darkness, when winter gripped his homeland for centuries.

  You are safe Brother. Use your sight. You can sense danger if it is nearby. Do not be afraid, Karasu. I will stay with you if you wish, Mizuki transmitted across the gulf between them. You are close to Jun now.

  Will he come with me? Are you sure I am not wasting my time. He has denounced the ways of a warrior. You said so, Karasu queried pushing away the conviction that his sibling must think him cowardly and foolish. He did not sense such emotion from her, but his own shame told him it must be true.

  He will come. He has denounced the Samurai ways only because our father is dead and he is unwilling to serve Kurohoshi. He needs persuading that is all, Mizuki reassured.

  Persuading? How will I do that? He might not even recognise me. It has been six years and I was only a boy.

  He will recognise you and you will persuade him. He will force you to.

  Karasu considered her reply and turned a corner in the lane. Up ahead he could just discern the flickering of torchlight and the smell of burning wood assailed his nostrils.

  You are there Brother. I will leave you. Goodnight.

  She was gone, leaving his head like a phantom spirit drifting to another plane, another sphere of existence. As always he felt terribly alone, as if a part of him had died, the Sennjo part, the part that was Kami. He took in a deep breath and ploughed forward towards the village ahead.

  As Karasu approached a dog started to bark and a dark figure stepped out from behind the stockade wall that surrounded the settlement. He saw the faint glimmer of steel and understood that this was an armed sentry, that Furuki Jun had not given up his warrior ways totally, that his father’s faithful general had taken measures to protect himself. The traveller speculated that a good many of the battle’s survivors resided here also, though it seemed odd that Lord Kurohoshi had allowed them to live. He stopped dead at the sentry’s challenge.

  “What is your business here stranger?” the voice called and Karasu saw the steel blade glitter once more as it was moved into an attack position.

  “I have business with First Samurai Furuki. I am Oyama Karasu. Furuki-san fought for my father, Lord Oyama Naoki.”

  Silence.

  “Lord Oyama is dead. His son was taken prisoner by Kurohoshi. General Furuki has renounced the Samurai ways,” the sentry shouted back a little louder than he needed to.

  “If that is so then why does he need a sentry? Yes my father is dead and my brother is taken along with my twin sister. I must speak with Furuki Jun. I need his council and his help,” Karasu countered.

  “Let him pass,” a deep voice from the darkness called.

  Suddenly a light flared and a torch thrust forwards towards Karasu’s face. He held a hand to the glare and squinted towards the man holding it.

  “Yes you are My Lord’s son. I see the likeness. But it has been many years Karasu-san. You wear the garb of a ronin priest. What does this mea
n? Can you use those swords you wear?” the man asked a hint of mockery in his tone.

  “Ask me into your home and I will answer all of your questions General. I also have some of my own.”

  The First Samurai snorted a laugh and lowered the torch so that his face could be seen. Karasu saw the man he remembered from his childhood. A man scarred by battle, the jagged evidence running from what was left of his right ear to the corner of his mouth causing the skin to pucker and distort his lip when he smiled. It made his smile appear to be a leer. His black hair was now shot with grey, but other than that and the fact he was dressed in a soft cloth yukata rather than the hakama pants and armour Karasu remembered, he had not changed.

  Karasu bowed. “It is good to see you Jun-san,” he said and grinned in reply to derisory snort.

  “This way Ronin,” Jun instructed and leaving the sentry behind guided his visitor to a simple, wooden house built in traditional Ashiman style.

  Inside a futon lay alongside a low table upon the tatami mat floor. They removed their slippers at the door and Karasu stood politely waiting for his host to invite him to sit. But the General did not immediately do so. Instead he observed the young man before him whilst preparing two glasses of saki wine.

  The lad had the look of a priest, book learned, quiet and soft. He was dressed in the black haori jacket and hakama pants of an outcast priest, he had two katana stashed in his belt, but Jun doubted the boy knew how to use them, although he knew some priests were fine swordsmen. Karasu appeared nervous and perhaps he was. His fine featured, pale face and almond eyes were an echo of his mother and the thick, straight black hair and his lean physique an inheritance from his father. Jun remembered both with respect and fondness and he felt saddened for the young man before him. He thought the lad must have left his Temple home in search of answers. Driven by grief upon hearing the news or maybe he had sensed his father’s death. Everyone knew the Lord Presidor’s youngest son was Sennjo. That was why he had been sent to the Temple. It had broken the Lord’s heart to part with the boy, but he had no future elsewhere.

  “You heard of your father’s death then,” Jun said handing his guest a glass of rice wine and gesturing for him to sit at the table.

  “Yes.” Karasu sat cross legged upon the floor, adjusting his katanas to allow him more comfort. The General smiled to himself. The boy looked so awkward. He tried to remember how old the youngest son was. He was sure it could not have been more than twenty. A boy still. He sat opposite and took a sip of wine.

  “You have left the Temple then and become ronin. Why?” he asked at length.

  “Could you tell me how my father died Jun-san?” Karasu answered with a question of his own. He was not ready to divulge his reasons for being here yet. The First Samurai considered him for a moment and then obliged. He saw no reason not to. He told the young ronin of the battle, his father’s death and his brother’s capture. He told him that Mizuki and Hayato were taken by Lord Kurohoshi to Hana-Shi-Ku and that the city of Kyo-To-Shi was under the rule of a garrison of Samurai loyal to Kurohoshi and a minister from his government.

  “How did you survive and get away?” Karasu asked.

  “Huh, many of us did not. We were outnumbered and outgunned. They had twice the numbers of rifles we had and though we had many fine warriors our swords were not a match to their superior weaponry. There were so many of them Karasu. They swarmed down upon us like angry bees. It was only a matter of time.

  “When your father was killed I was by his side. He did not die straight away. I saw the light fade from his eyes. At that moment I knew I had no master. I did not know that Hayato had been captured, but something of me died with your father. I carried on fighting, but I did not care anymore. Then I saw your brother, wounded and beaten. It was over. We could have fought to the death, but there seemed no point. Too many men had already perished. Kurohoshi offered me a deal. He would spare my life and that of my men if we denounced your father’s name, turned our backs on the house of Oyama and pledge allegiance to him. I agreed, but I fight only for your father. They did not guard us; they thought we were too few to bother with. There are only about two hundred of us left. So in the dead of night we left and came here. This is the village I was born in. This house was my father’s house.”

  “You ran away!” Karasu accused.

  Jun’s head snapped forward angrily. “Not like you think. You think I have no honour; that I have no courage. It is not so. I would never fight for Kurohoshi and so, like you I am ronin, masterless. I will bide my time, and then, when things have died down, when Kurohoshi becomes complacent, then I will strike. My men and I will avenge your father and your brother.”

  “Hayato will be dead by then and Mizuki will be married to Kurohoshi and…,” Karasu paused and fought back the rising passion. He was angry with the General and it was not worthy of his priestly upbringing.

  “You are right to be angry. It sounds to you that I have turned my back upon your family to save myself. But believe me Karasu, it is not so. However, you must understand that I had to do what was right for my men first. Now is not the time for acts of vengeance. I am sorry about your brother and sister, but there is nothing we can do for them yet,” Jun appeased, his tone sympathetic.

  “So, are you going to tell me why you have come here? Why you have left the Temple. Your father would not be pleased,” he tried again after a lengthy silence stretched between them. A silence in which Karasu fought with his temper and finally understood that he did not possess enough patient virtue to ever be a worthy priest. He put down his wine; he had barely touched it, and placed both hands upon the table.

  He stared at them for a long time before he spoke. “I intend to free both my brother and sister, to help Hayato regain his birthright and to save Mizuki from a fate worse than death. I have come here to ask for your help.”

  Jun laughed hollowly. “Have you not being listening to what I have said? It is too soon and we are too few. You, and no doubt I, will be killed attempting it. I know how you must grieve, but do not even contemplate what you ask. It is a vain hope boy.”

  “My mind is set Jun and I want you to come with me. If you truly loved my father and if you honour him still, you will do this.” Karasu stared at his host with fire in his eyes.

  “You must be mad boy.”

  “I do not think so. I think, together we can free my family and restore the name of Oyama in Kiki Province,” Karasu continued with conviction.

  “What? Even if we were successful in liberating Hayato how on earth do you expect to restore him to power?” Jun demanded exasperated.

  “There are plenty who will rise to our banner. They fear Kurohoshi now, but when they see they have a leader again, a rightful heir at the head of his faithful Samurai, then they will join us and fight.”

  The General gawped at his former master’s youngest son with incredulity. He had to admit the lad had optimism. Ill considered, rash and inexperienced optimism. Jun started to laugh and continued until tears rolled down his face.

  “What is so funny?” Karasu questioned, irked that he had not been taken seriously.

  “You are! Look at you. You come here demanding that I and my few remaining men join you in some harebrained scheme so that you can restore your family name and honour. It would be worthy of praise if I could believe that you were even capable of wielding those swords you wear at your waist, but I very much doubt you are. You have never known violence in your life. You have been cosseted in your secluded Temple for the past, what, five or six years? In which time, no doubt, you have become very learned, speak seven or eight languages, understand mathematics, can read and play music. But, and this is what is important, you have not learned how to kill a man in cold blood. Have not plunged that steel you proudly carry, into the belly of another living soul.

  “You pledged your life to serving Kami and following a pure path. You are no warrior. You never have been. Go home boy. Leave the fighting to those who can and for when the tim
e is right,” Jun finished with a flourish of his arms in the air.

  Karasu gazed at the floor and bit his bottom lip. He understood why First Samurai Furuki felt this way. In many ways the man was right. He had no experience of soldiering and what he asked must sound like suicide, but it was something he had to do. The conviction that it was his destiny grew stronger by the day, as if more than his family and the people of Kiki Province depended upon it, more than the whole of Ashima even. Quite why he felt this he had no idea. If he voiced that conviction then Furuki Jun would definitely think him mad, but he had to convince the General to join him.

  “Test me,” he said finally and watched the older man’s response.

  “Test you! How?”

  “I will fight. Whomever you chose from your men, I will fight. Even you if that is what you wish.”

  “What! Have you truly taken leave of your senses? Come Karasu, you need not humiliate yourself. I understand the pain you must feel, the need for revenge, but….”

  “This is not about revenge. It is not about family honour alone though I admit, it is important for me to save my kin. This is about what is right for Ashima. I will not be humiliated. Test me. Choose your best swordsman. If he wins then I will leave. If I win, then you and your men join me,” Karasu persisted.

  Jun stared at the young man before him. The passion in his speech was evident and admirable even. The lad truly did believe he was doing this for his countrymen. So, against his better judgement, Jun agreed to the fight believing that Karasu would be easily defeated, publically degraded and forced to return to his Temple with his tail between his legs. The General admired the boy’s guts, but knew it would come to nothing and though he did not want to embarrass the son of his former master and ruler, he could see no other way of persuading him of his folly.