The village lay strewn across the shoreline, a vast swathe of rubble and debris. Broken timbers stabbed up at the sky like accusing fingers. The cracked pillars of a toppled torii lay in the dirt like shattered bones. A little shrine sagged against the side of the hill as though pushed over by a tremendous hand.
Gazing down on the scene from the hilltop, Shintaro Oba was awed by the destruction on display. The samurai was no stranger to such scenes. He’d been there when the forces of the Shogun razed the castle of his clan and left it burning in the moonlight. But that devastation had been wrought by an entire army. This had been done by a single creature. At least, so his companion claimed.
Kawajiri Ujio stroked the neck of his horse, trying to ease the animal’s agitation. A smoky, reptilian odour hung in the air, a scent that was noxious to both rider and steed. “Lord Torogawa wanted you to see this for yourself before I take you to him.” He pointed down at the smashed village, indicating a spot just beyond the fallen torii gate. “One of the monster’s tracks. The others have been washed away by the tide.”
Oba could see the outline of an impression, but it was vague at this distance. “I want a closer look,” he said. He kicked the ribs of his horse and urged it down the path that circled down to the destroyed village. His steed resisted, only reluctantly obeying his command. The horses bred by the Hoshin clan were known for their boldness, yet that musky reptilian stench had them as frightened as rabbits. Even Kawajiri, a far more accomplished rider than Oba, was having troubles keeping his mount under control.
Finally, the two samurai reached the spot. Oba’s expression was grave when he studied the impression. There was no denying it looked like a track, but the vastness of its size was incredible. Their horses might lie side by side in that track and still have room to spare. The size of a creature that could leave such a footprint was beyond anything Oba had seen before, and he’d seen many monstrosities since he’d started hunting demons across the provinces of Mu-Thulan.
In shape, the track was wide with a broad heel. There were three long, clawed toes at the fore and an impression that might indicate a fourth. The depth to which it was sunk into the earth told of a tremendous weight. Oba saw the crushed fragments of a stone Jizo statue at the bottom of the track, pulverised by the creature that trod upon it.
“I confess, at first I thought this couldn’t be what you claimed it was,” Oba told Kawajiri. “I thought it must be enemies of your clan trying to ruin Nokoshima and using an old legend to hide their actions.” He shook his head as he gazed across the shattered village. “Now I’m ready to believe what you’ve told me.”
“Lord Torogawa expected you’d need convincing,” Kawajiri said. “In Nokoshima Province, all of us have heard the legends, but few more than half-believed in them.” He swept his hand across the destruction around them. “Three villages have been annihilated. Now we believe. Now we know Honengyo is real.”
***
Once before, Oba had been admitted into the presence of Lord Torogawa. On that occasion, he’d been drawn into the struggle between the Hoshin clan and a pirate gang that was preying upon their ships. He’d helped end that menace, defeating the sorcerer leading the pirates and his shark-demons. But he was an enemy of Shogun Yoshinaga, while the Hoshin clan were loyal vassals. With such a state existing, Lord Torogawa had been unable to provide any official recognition of the samurai’s service. It had been strain enough on the clan’s honour to allow Oba to leave without turning him over to the Shogun’s agents.
Now, despite the obligations of feudal loyalty, Lord Torogawa sought Oba’s help. He’d sent riders looking for him throughout the neighbouring provinces until, at last, Kawajiri was able to beg his help and bring him to Nokoshima. It was a testament to the daimyo’s desperation and need that he should risk the ire of the Shogun by asking help from an outlaw.
Oba sat on the floor of the reception room, facing towards the raised platform on which Lord Torogawa and Chamberlain Hidetoro Kayama reposed. Behind them, picked out upon a silk banner, was the mon of Clan Hoshin. The suggestion in the design, of a great beast rising from the sea, now took on a much more sinister meaning.
Kawajiri and two other Hoshin samurai sat to Oba’s side, their swords laid out on the floor beside them. Opposite the samurai, on Oba’s other side, was an old man in the yellow robes and black sash of a priest. His head was shorn down to monkish baldness, but a long moustache drooped from his upper lip. The priest kept his head bowed, but Oba could feel his eyes studying him with almost intense scrutiny.
“You do our clan honour by accepting our summons,” Hidetoro greeted Oba. “Please understand that we wouldn’t have presumed upon you if things were otherwise than they are now.”
Oba nodded to the chamberlain. As an enemy of the Shogun, it would be unseemly for Lord Torogawa to speak to him directly, so the daimyo’s intentions had to be conveyed through the medium of Hidetoro.
“Across a conflict of loyalties, debts of honour must be acknowledged,” Oba stated.
“Yes, you helped us before,” Hidetoro replied. “Though your Clan Sekigehara were supporters of the Emperor, you defended our province from an Imperial sorcerer.” He looked back at the daimyo before continuing. “Though we are loyal to the Shogun, we couldn’t return good for ill. It would have been a stain upon our clan to do so.”
“And now you ask me to come back,” Oba said. “To help you again.”
“We could think of no one else,” the chamberlain sighed. “Your sword, the Demon-Killer, has prevailed against many foes…”
Oba held up his left hand while his right dropped to the bone-hilted uchigatana lying beside him. “Against demons, Koumakiri has powers that bypass their infernal protections. But against monsters that don’t come from the realm of Kimon, it is only a sword.” His eyes narrowed as he looked directly at Lord Torogawa. “Is this Honengyo a demon, or is it some other manner of being?”
Lord Torogawa gestured to the priest. The old man shifted forwards so that he sat between the raised platform and Oba. “Honengyo is as old as the mountains and the sea. He was here before the first Yamajin arrived to build their huts. He was here when the Koropokguru still dominated the land, before the first kings drove them into the wilderness.” The priest pulled at his moustache. “There are some who believe he is a god, to be venerated and honoured. Others hold that he is a monster to be feared and despised.
“For many hundreds of years the priests of Mount Odo have paid tribute to Honengyo as the guardian of Nokoshima. Once a year, when summer fades into autumn, a sacred cow is tied to a raft and set adrift for Honengyo. When he accepts our tribute, he drives fish from the deep ocean into our waters and the province prospers.”
“But this time, something has gone wrong,” Oba surmised. “Now, instead of improving your fishing, Honengyo is destroying your villages.”
“Three villages have so far been razed by the monster,” Hidetoro stated. He made a chopping motion of his hand against his palm. “One after another. All in a row. After the first, we evacuated the people from their homes. The next village that lies in his path has also been evacuated, but beyond that is the town of Hokkashiri. To lose the town would devastate the province. We’d be unable to maintain the prosperity the Shogun expects. Our clan would be uprooted and sent to a lesser province. Perhaps even disbanded.”
Lord Torogawa threw back the sleeves of his kimono. “I will not let that happen,” he said. “It is my prayer that your experience hunting and destroying demons can overcome Honengyo, whether he is a god or a monster. If the task is beyond you, then know that I have marshalled my forces at Kuroyama, the village that Hidetoro spoke of. Whatever my samurai may accomplish by force of arms, we will strive to achieve at Kuroyama.”
“Each time, Honengyo has allowed twelve days to pass before his next attack,” Hidetoro explained. “That means there are four days left before we can expect him at Kuroyama.”
Oba nodded and turned back to the priest. “These sacrifices you made to Honengyo I feel must be the key to this crisis. The last was made before the first attack?”
“Immediately before,” the priest confirmed. “Four monks took the offering down to the shore at Imori. What happened there, we don’t know. The monks have been missing ever since. It has been agreed they must have been Honengyo’s first victims.”
Oba pondered the priest’s words. “Without evidence, it could be reckless to agree on anything,” he said. “I would see this place at Imori.”
“What do you think to learn?” Hidetoro asked.
“A clue to why a monster that has only brought prosperity to your people before now brings destruction,” Oba said. He laid his hand across his swords. “Something happened to change things. As you’ve seen before, ruthless men won’t balk at inflicting the worst misery to achieve their ends. It may be that your enemies are at work again.”
“Another of the Emperor’s sorcerers?” Hidetoro shook his head, aghast at the suggestion.
“It may be another onmyoji,” Oba said, recalling the pirate-wizard. “If so, I will seek him out. Whoever’s behind this, whatever they’ve done, I will put an end to this.” He cemented his vow by lifting up Koumakiri. He drew the blade a few inches from the sheath, then slammed it back again. The metallic sound echoed through the room.
“Your commitment pleases me, Shintaro Oba,” Lord Torogawa said, again defying convention by acknowledging the outlaw. “You do honour to your ancestors.” He lifted his hand, displaying four fingers. Slowly he lowered one of them. “One day is spent already. In three more, Honengyo will attack. I will meet him at Kuroyama with my army. I doubt our chances for victory, but we will not run from this fight.” He shook his hand before him. “Three days, that is all you have to prevent the battle.”
***
The destruction of Imori was every bit as complete as what Oba had seen at the other village. There was only a slight difference. Here there had been no evacuation, and the ruins were infested by crows drawn by the stench of the bodies entombed in the rubble.
“Only a few escaped the attack to tell what happened,” Kawajiri told Oba as they walked down what had been Imori’s main road. The Hoshin samurai paused and bowed respectfully at the toppled mess of the house they were passing. “They said that Honengyo rose from the sea during the night. His roar split the darkness and the earth trembled from his steps. Many in the village were awakened by the turmoil, but they were frozen in shock as the monster strode through the surf. The survivors were those who had sense enough to run the moment they heard the roar. Too late did the other villagers recover their senses. Some tried to hide in their homes, others sought to flee into the hills. All of them were crushed beneath Honengyo’s feet.”
Oba nodded. He could see the image of clawed toes stamped into the crushed buildings, silent testament to the colossal beast that brought them to ruin. “Where on the beach did the monks make their offering to Honengyo?” he asked his guide.
“This way.” Kawajiri directed him towards a weathered outcropping of rock. There was a faint suggestion of carving about it, as though it had been crudely sculpted ages ago, then worn down by the elements into its current shape. Oba thought of the savage Koropokguru. Before humans had driven them into the forests, the dwarfs had been fisherfolk who dwelled beside the sea. Perhaps this had been one of their shrines. Something revered by the dwarfs. Maybe it was connected to Honengyo. It was possible that the tradition of making offerings to the monster wasn’t the invention of Mount Odo’s priests.
Oba inspected the area around the rock, his eyes roving across the tide pools and clumps of seaweed thrown up by the surf.
“We checked the beach for miles,” Kawajiri said. “In both directions. We could find no trace of the monks.”
Something in one of the tide pools caught Oba’s eye. A flash of colour moving beneath the water. He darted forwards and caught the thing in his hands. He pulled it up from the pool and studied it in the open air. “When you searched, there might have been nothing to find,” Oba said. He held the creature he’d caught out to the other samurai. “Now there is.”
The thing in Oba’s hands was a crab, no different than the crustaceans common to any beach. It was the scrap of yellow cloth caught about its legs that made it remarkable. There was no mistaking it as coming from a monk’s robe.
“Then, they were here,” Kawajiri nodded.
“I think they still are.” Oba turned the crab around so that its flailing claws couldn’t nip at his arms. “They’ve been here for some time. Long enough to draw scavengers.” He tossed the crab back into its pool.
“The tide would have washed up any bodies by now,” Kawajiri objected.
Oba began removing his armour. “Not if someone didn’t want them to be found. I’m convinced that they’re still here.” He set his arm guards down in the sand and began undoing his cuirass. “If they are, I’ll find them. It would be useful to know how they died. It might tell us who killed them… and why.”
Oba stripped down to the cotton fundoshi that girded his loins. He handed Kawajiri his uchigatana but kept the smaller wakizashi. “Keep a watch for me,” Oba said. “I can hold my breath for three minutes. If you don’t see me come up for air, then you’ll know I won’t be coming up at all.”
“May the Dominance grant you luck,” Kawajiri told him, invoking the name of the supreme god.
Oba turned and marched out into the waves. He used the side of the rock to steady himself as he trudged through the water. Once it was deep enough, he kicked away and began to swim. He ducked his head under the surface, straining his eyes to peer at the bottom. He dove and swam, navigating the marine growths that sent feathery tendrils up from the bottom. Several times he resurfaced to suck breath back into his burning lungs. Then he dove down once more to continue his search.
The sun was beginning to fade from the sky and Oba knew he couldn’t continue the hunt much longer without light. He mustered his reserves for one last dive and plunged once more towards the bottom. This time, his vision was rewarded with a glimpse of bright yellow among the weeds. He swam towards the suggestion of colour, drawing aside the clumps of vegetation.
A grisly sight was waiting for him. Four monks stood suspended in the water, their tattered robes billowing around their pale bodies. Their flesh was ripped and torn, ravaged by the sea creatures that continued to pick at their remains. But to Oba’s eyes there were other injuries, ones that struck him as too deep and regular to be the work of marine vermin. Certainly, it had been no fish that had tied their feet together and fasted the ropes to large stones. This was murder.
Oba could feel his lungs crying out to him for air, but he was determined to make a closer study while the light was with him. This was the end of the third day. If he waited, he would need to linger in Imori until morning. Twelve hours wasted that he couldn’t afford to spare.
Defying the demands of his body, Oba swam around the corpses. His eyes locked upon a dark shape that protruded from one of the monks, almost hidden by his tattered robes. The samurai reached for it before he recognized what it was. Jerking his hand back in alarm, he recovered from his close call. Taking the frayed robe, he used it to grip the object and work it free from the cold flesh.
He could feel his body screaming at him for air. Spots danced before his eyes and a dreadful pounding rumbled in his ears. Still, Oba wouldn’t give up. He used his short sword to slash way the section of robe he’d wrapped about the object. Only when he had a secure grip on it did he kick his way up to the surface. He gasped for air as he breeched the water. Then he shouted to Kawajiri on the beach. “I found them!” he cried. “And I found something else!”
Once Oba was back on shore, he showed Kawajiri the weapon he’d removed from the dead monk. It was a steel star, its edges sharp as that of a sword. Even after being submerged for weeks, there was still a greenish residue on its points. Oba warned the other samurai to be careful. “It’s coated in poison resin,” he said.
Kawajiri looked at the object with increased loathing. “A shuriken. Then the monks were murdered by ninja.”
“Every ninja clan uses a shuriken of a shape distinct unto itself so that they might boast of their prowess.” Oba shook his head. “Of course, with ninja, the only dishonour they know is to fail in the task they’ve undertaken, so they aren’t above trying to implicate another clan for their crimes when it suits their purpose. The pains they took to hide the monks makes me think this shuriken was left by accident. The ninja didn’t want their involvement to be known.”
“Do you know which clan that shuriken belongs to?” Kawajiri asked.
Oba stared at the murderous implement. “I’ve seen this before. This kind of shuriken is used by the Kokuryu.” He looked away from the weapon and his voice grew solemn. “The Kokuryu ninja clan serve the Shogun. If they’re here, then it means Yoshinaga sent them here.”
***
The fishing village of Kuroyama had been transformed into an armed camp. The bell in the watchtower clamoured as the inhabitants were driven from their homes by armoured samurai. A long line of refugees with bundles slung across their backs hastened up towards the hills. Behind them, groups of soldiers took over their huts to employ as barracks. Pavilions and tents sprouted along the beach as more soldiers built their bivouacs.
“I didn’t realize Clan Hoshin could muster such a force,” Oba commented as he gazed down upon the army.
Kawajiri’s expression was dour. “Many of these are samurai and ashigaru from allied clans,” he said. “Others are ronin paid from our treasuries.” He pointed to the half-dozen catapults lined up along the top of the cliff, then gestured to the enormous ballistae arrayed at the edge of the village. “Craftsman were hired from five provinces to build those weapons.” He turned and indicated three huge ships lying at anchor in Kuroyama’s waters. “The Shogun allows each clan only a single atakebune.” For a moment, a smile flickered on his face. “Though we’d yet to sell or scuttle the pirate ship your sword won for us in summer. The third warship was loaned to Lord Torogawa by Lord Tsugimoto of Shinanno.”
“Your clan has spent much gold and many favours preparing for this fight,” Oba stated.
“Every weapon at our disposal has been called upon.” Kawajiri clapped Oba on the shoulder. “We’ve even asked the famed Shintaro Oba and his Demon-Killer to help us.”
Oba frowned at the accolade. “I can only strive to be worthy of your trust.” His eyes roved across the gathered army. It was the largest fighting force he’d seen since the destruction of Clan Sekigahara. To think any beast could stand against this many warriors was incredible, yet he’d seen the footprints left by Honengyo and the devastation the monster could wreak.
A strange spire of rock projecting from the bay attracted Oba’s attention. There was something familiar about it. As the waves rolled back and exposed a little more of it, he saw why. Though farther out in the water and more eroded, it had the same suggestion of ancient carving about it. He drew Kawajiri’s attention to the rock. “It looks like the outcropping at Imori,” he said.
“You think it’s a koropokguru idol?” Kawajiri asked.
“When our ancestors took this land from the dwarfs, what could be more natural than to build their settlements in the same places?” Oba scratched his chin as he continued the thought. “The shore must have been farther out then and the rock stood clear of the water. There may have been other idols present at the other villages Honengyo destroyed, ones that were completely submerged.”
Kawajiri followed the speculation. “You think these idols have something to do with Honengyo? That in some way the Kokuryu are using them to draw out the monster?”
“We know the monks went to the rocks at Imori to render tribute to Honengyo,” Oba said. “If they could manage such a thing for the good of Nokoshima, perhaps others could use it to work evil.”
“Then, we have to stop Honengyo here,” Kawajiri growled. “Because there’s a stone very much like this in Hokkashiri. The ‘lucky dragon’ the sailors call it. It sits right in the heart of the bay.”
Oba felt the weight upon his shoulders increase. If there was any doubt that Honengyo would avoid the town, now he had none. Whatever the ninja had done, he was certain it would be repeated at Hokkashiri. “Our hope now is that the Kokuryu have to perform the same rite to lure Honengyo from the sea at each village.”
“That would mean they’re already here,” Kawajiri said. His eyes hardened as he looked down on the mass of warriors. “With so many ronin and samurai from other clans, it will be hard to unmask who is a ninja.”
“They might be disguised as a common ashigaru, or even a camp follower,” Oba cautioned. “Nor could you neglect to look among the warriors of your own clan.” He raised his hand to stifle the outraged protest Kawajiri was going to make. “Ninja are masters of deception. One of their spies might lurk unseen for years, loyal and faithful in all respects, until that moment when his true loyalties are called upon by his clan. Never underestimate their cunning. It is a mistake few men are fortunate enough to make twice.”
“How will we find them if we don’t know where to start?” Kawajiri asked. “We can speak with Chamberlain Hidetoro, get his help trying to find the Kokuryu, but what if they remain hidden?”
“We’ve one advantage,” Oba said. “They don’t know we suspect their involvement. If we can’t find them, then we can still keep vigil over the idol. Tomorrow night, if the pattern holds, they must commit the ritual that brings Honengyo out of the sea.”
The two samurai descended from the heights and made their way through the armed camp. At every side they passed warriors inspecting their armour and tending their weapons. Ashigaru gunners practised with their tanegashima matchlocks, peppering their cliffside targets with bullets. Sohei warrior-monks from Mount Odo chanted prayers over their broad-bladed nagintas. Companies of ronin sharpened their swords and strung their bows, eager to prove themselves in the coming battle and perhaps earn for themselves a position in Clan Hoshin.
“Any one of them might be a ninja,” Kawajiri whispered. “How can we hope to spot them?”
They were walking away from the bivouacs of the warriors and into the clustered tents of the camp followers. The smell of food cooking was everywhere, but there was an undercurrent of perfume wafting from the pavilions of geishas. Professional sword-sharpeners had ready work for themselves as they honed the edges of the katanas awaiting their attention. Armourers mended the neglected gear of mercenaries, pounding out dents and patching tears.
Oba’s attention was drawn to the tent of a fortune teller. An old woman with a crooked back beckoned to those walking past, encouraging them to attend the divinations of her mother. This was an even more ancient crone with a bulbous nose swaddled in a heavy cloak. She was poised behind a bamboo table. The ill-favoured prophetess read the future by drawing joss sticks from a clay jar. Her hands proved thick and hairy when she did so, calloused from hard work.
“That one,” Oba nudged Kawajiri. “She has a man’s hands.”
“Not much there to be a ninja,” Kawajiri told him. He pointed at the rug on which the prophetess sat. Oba saw at once what he was referencing. The crone’s body was truncated, her dimensions reduced by some horrible accident. From the knee down, her legs were missing.
Oba had to concede that the Kokuryu might employ a cripple as a spy, but not as an active agent in a scheme such as they were now engaged in. Yet, as he walked away, he couldn’t help glancing back. For just a moment he thought the younger hag was watching him. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn’t shake the impression that he’d seen her before.
“There’s something wrong with those two just the same,” Oba said. Then he sighed. “If I was sure what it was, I’d act. But if I’m wrong, all I’d accomplish is to warn the Kokuryu that we know they’re here.”
“We’ll speak with Chamberlain Hidetoro,” Kawajiri assured him. “He’ll help ferret out these ninja. Wherever they’re hiding.”
Oba couldn’t share the younger samurai’s confidence. He’d come against ninja of different clans before, but none had been so ruthless and cold-blooded as those of the Kokuryu. “One day to catch them. If Hidetoro’s men can’t do that, it’ll fall to us to stop them.”
“We can set a hundred samurai to keep watch on the rock,” Kawajiri suggested. “Make it impossible for them to carry out this ritual.”
“No,” Oba said. “We can’t do that. Right now, we have an idea of their plans. If we make the ninja suspicious, they’ll change those plans. Then we won’t know where or when they’ll strike.” His hand closed around the bone-hilt of Koumakiri. “Just the two of us. If Hidetoro can’t find the Kokuryu first, then we’ll have to lie in wait for them and hope our presence goes unnoticed.”
Oba stared out to sea. He pictured the monster that even now was lying off shore, waiting for the call that would bring it rampaging into Kuroyama. “If we can’t stop them, Lord Torogawa’s army must face Honengyo.”
***
Night hung over Kuroyama. The camp was eerily silent now when compared to the previous evening. Gone was the murmur of carousing warriors guzzling sake to bolster their boasts. The music of flute and samisen were silent, the songs of geishas absent. Many of the tradesmen and specialists had decamped over the course of the day, retreating inland in advance of the coming battle. Everyone knew that time had run out. Before morning, Honengyo would appear and try to destroy the village.
Oba had a clear view of the rock spire from where he lay hidden. An overturned fishing smack was his shelter, its side propped up so that he could see across the beach. Kawajiri was similarly concealed only a few yards away. There were dozens of the boats lined about the shore. The others had been soaked in oil, intended to be used to create a wall of fire when the monster arrived. Oba hoped that the ones they hid beneath would be camouflaged by the others.
Hidetoro had sent dozens of samurai and retainers to prowl the camp, trying to sniff out the ninja. Their efforts had only unmasked a few thieves. The Kokuryu remained free. The chamberlain harboured the horrible thought that the martial build-up at Kuroyama might have made the conspirators bypass the village and move ahead to Hokkashiri. This hideous prospect was one he didn’t dare suggest to Lord Torogawa. At this late date, there wouldn’t be time to move the army, even if they were sure.
Oba was convinced the Kokuryu were here. If their intention was to ruin Clan Hoshin, then crushing this army would be an even greater coup than destroying Hokkashiri. Whatever clan assumed control over the province would benefit from having the town intact. The villages would be easy to rebuild, Hokkashiri much less so. No, Honengyo would be set loose here. Oba was sure of it.
Many hours passed before the samurai gained confirmation. The moon was retreating into the west when Oba saw motion on the beach. The strange figure he saw seemed unreal. At first, he thought it must be a child, such was its stature, but the proportions were off. No child had such broad shoulders and stocky build. It took a moment to realize that what he was looking at wasn’t human at all, but one of the koropokguru.
The dwarf moved stealthily, but seemed clumsy beside the figures that moved alongside him. If Oba’s notice hadn’t been drawn to the koropokguru, he doubted he’d have seen the black-clad shapes that stalked towards the water. They, at least, were human in their dimensions, though the realization offered no comfort. Oba knew they could only be Kokuryu ninja.
Carefully, Oba squeezed himself under the edge of the fishing smack. The sound of sand shifting under his weight made him freeze. He kept his eyes on the advancing ninja, watching for the least sign that they were aware of him. Every moment, he expected one of the assassins to spot him as he crawled out from his shelter. He wanted to pass warning to Kawajiri in case the young samurai had failed to spot their enemies, but there was no way to do so without betraying their location. All he could do was wait and hope his luck held.
Oba emerged from beneath the boat and crept around behind it as the Kokuryu continued to approach. He saw now that one of the ninja was carrying a small raft. Another carried a black goat, the animal’s mouth and legs securely bound with leather thongs. Between them was the koropokguru, his misshapen body swathed in the same black raiment as the ninja, except for the masking folds of the fukumen across his face. Oba saw in the ugly countenance the visage of the ‘crippled crone’ telling fortunes, her seeming infirmity explained by the dwarfish physiognomy. Prowling behind the others were two guards, one armed with a sword, the other with a sickle and chain.
Unable to coordinate with Kawajiri, Oba evaluated which of the enemies presented the most immediate threat. Arrayed in a loose kimono, he knew he’d be without the security of armour to defend against the vicious blades of his foes. He decided upon the ninja with the kusarigama, knowing that if the killer could befoul his sword with the chain, it would leave him easy prey to attack by the other assassins. He closed his right hand around Koumakiri, easing the uchigatana from its sheath. His left clutched at the sand. Tense seconds passed while the samurai waited for his enemies to draw closer.
The leading ninja and the dwarf passed the concealed samurai without noticing him. More wary than his companions, the swordsman caught sight of Oba. He hissed in alarm and lunged for the samurai. Oba dodged aside as the deadly ninjato slashed at him, its keen edge pitted with spots of rust to ensure even a slight cut would poison the blood. He didn’t pause to engage the killer. His left hand swept forwards, casting a fistful of sand into the ninja’s eyes.
Oba didn’t confront the blinded enemy, but bound past him to rush the ninja with the kusarigama. He caught his enemy before he could react. Koumakiri struck the assassin’s shoulder, crunching down through his black jacket. The cleaving blade bit deep into the chain armour beneath the cloth and ripped into the man’s body. The ninja made a feeble cast of the kusarigama, but his throw missed Oba. Wrenching his blade free, the samurai left his enemy writhing in the sand and turned to meet his other foe.
The swordsman started towards Oba, then darted aside, the eyes above his mask glaring at Kawajiri as he erupted from beneath his shelter and charged towards the assassin. “Stop the others,” he called to Oba. “I’ll handle this one.”
Oba felt guilty leaving Kawajiri. He knew the samurai was brave and skilled with the sword, but those attributes counted for little against enemies as treacherous as ninja. At the same time, he knew he had to stop the Kokuryu from carrying out their plot.
The other ninja and the dwarf were wading out into the surf. The assassin with the goat laid the animal on the raft. When the killer turned to stare at the pursuing samurai, he was surprised to find that she was a woman. A familiar voice snapped a command to the ninja who’d been carrying the raft. “Stop Oba! Kill him!”
Yasune Meiko! Oba knew now that she’d been disguised as the daughter of the fortune-telling crone. He’d last crossed paths with the vicious spy on Cripple Mountain, when the Kokuryu were extracting gold for the Shogun’s treasury. Now he once again found himself confronted by the ruthless ninja.
The killer dispatched by Meiko drew his sword and rushed towards Oba while his comrades pushed the raft ahead of them into the waves. Oba could just make out the blackened blade of the ninjato as the assassin advanced. He held its blunted tip beneath the water. When he drew closer, he tried a variation of the ploy the samurai had used with a fistful of sand. Whipping the ninjato up suddenly, he sent a spray of saltwater into Oba’s face.
The samurai was expecting such a trick, and turned the instant the killer started to move. He spun around just in time to block the attack that followed. Steel rang as Koumakiri met the assassin’s blade. The ninja pressed his assault, straining against Oba’s strength, trying to force his way past the samurai’s guard.
Oba felt the ninja try to trip him while they struggled, but the water retarded his efforts. Suddenly, his enemy changed tactics, jumping back and ending the resistance against Koumakiri. Oba stumbled forwards. As he did, the ninja drew down his mask and spat a mouthful of ink at the samurai. This time, he wasn’t able to dodge the blinding attack, and he cried out as the spittle stung his eyes.
For an instant, Oba should have been helpless, but he denied the ninja the moment his low trick had gained him. Even as he cried out in pain, the samurai threw himself forwards, plunging under the water. He sloshed his body from side to side, letting the ink wash away as he swam beneath the surface. His vision was cleared when he drove himself upwards.
The ninja was waiting for him. The assassin sprang at him, bringing his sword slashing downwards in a double-handed stroke. Alarm flashed in the enemy’s eyes when he saw his mistake. Before, Oba had gripped Koumakiri in both hands. Now he held the uchigatana in only one. While underwater, he’d drawn the shorter wakizashi. It was this blade that he now plunged into the assassin’s side, ripping it free with a vicious twist. The ninja sank into the waves, his face contorted in an expression of shock.
Oba turned from his vanquished foe and started back towards the raft. Meiko and the koropokguru had progressed far in the time it had taken him to overcome the rearguard. They were out near the idol now, both of them clinging to the sides of the raft as they treaded the water. Oba sheathed his swords and started swimming towards them. It was against the possibility of having to swim that he’d left his armour behind. Now he strove to gain the most from that decision.
Meiko saw the samurai striking out through the waves. She reached onto the raft and ripped away the thing binding the goat’s mouth. The animal began to bleat in fright, protesting its rough treatment. “The potion,” she snarled at the dwarf. The koropokguru drew a clay jar from beneath its jacket and tendered it to the ninja. She forced its contents down the goat’s throat. Her companion grew agitated the more she poured.
“No!” the dwarf protested. “Too much! Too much!” His hairy hands tried to pull the jar away. Meiko didn’t hesitate. She pulled back and slashed the koropokguru’s throat with the edge of a shuriken. He reeled back with a bubbling cough before sinking into the deep.
Meiko emptied the jar and flung the vessel away. She pushed the raft out towards the open sea. She watched it as the waves carried it off. “You’re too late, Oba,” she declared, turning back to the samurai. “I’ve used more of the potion than before! Honengyo will smell it and come for his offering faster than he ever has!” Her voice dropped to a vicious laugh. “Then the poison in the koropokguru’s brew will enrage the monster. He’ll make straight for Lord Torogawa’s army and destroy it utterly!”
The ninja swam around to the idol. She climbed up onto it, steadying herself on the slimy perch. Oba saw the bloodied shuriken clenched in her hand. “Try to reach the raft, samurai,” she taunted him. “Just try!”
“You’ll die, too, when the monster comes,” Oba shouted at Meiko.
“There’s no shame in dying for the Kokuryu as long as my mission is a success,” she retorted. The shuriken flew from her hand. Oba dove under the water as the missile came towards him. The sudden attack had given him no time to prepare, no chance to charge his lungs with air, but he knew he couldn’t risk surfacing while Meiko was watching for him.
Once again, Oba forced himself to ignore the demands of his burning lungs. He swam below the surface, striking out for the sunken idol. With every stroke, his body weakened, the agony in his lungs increased. But he knew that every push brought him nearer to his goal and the confrontation that was his only hope of survival.
Oba reached the far side of the rock spire. More intense than the agony of holding what little breath he had was the necessity to restrain himself, now that he could breathe again. Instead of sucking down a great gulp, he restricted himself to slight inhalations that would go unheard by the enemy crouched only a few feet above him.
Meiko continued to look for him where he’d been. She had another shuriken at the ready, poised to throw it the moment he showed himself. Warily, Oba reached up to the rock. He waited until a rolling wave drew himself higher—and then he struck!
The samurai’s hand locked about the ninja’s ankle. Exerting his full strength, he dragged her from her perch and sent her plunging into the water. Oba drew his wakizashi, ready to face his enemy the moment she showed herself. He paddled at the waves, ready for the least sign that might betray the ninja.
A tingling at the back of his neck made Oba swing around just in time to avoid the throwing star that sailed past his nose. Meiko had copied his own tactic, staying underwater and swimming to the other side of the idol. While he’d been searching for her, she’d regained her original position.
“There’s no escape for you,” Meiko spat as she drew another shuriken from her sleeve. “This is the last time you’ll interfere with the Kokuryu!”
Oba saw death in the woman’s hand, but before she could send the poisoned blade hurtling towards him, the sea outside the bay exploded in violence. From the depths arose a sight to stun even a ninja.
***
Honengyo! From the footprints and destruction wrought by the monster, Oba had formed a rough impression of the beast. Now that he saw it, however, he found his imaginings were sorely lacking. This could only be one of the primordial behemoths vanquished by the gods at the beginning of the world. Locked away in the deep places until the Time of Wrath should set them free again.
Oba realized he was gazing upon something beyond any demon or monster, but one of the dreaded kaiju.
The creature was gargantuan, perhaps two hundred feet tall if the water he rose from was as deep as Oba estimated. Honengyo’s shape was bipedal, two enormous legs supporting his bulky body. A pair of powerful arms swung from sloping shoulders, their clawed fingers pawing at the air. A long tail, as thick around as the Ten-Thousand Year Chrysanthemum in the Emperor’s garden, thrashed the water behind the colossus, churning the waves into foam. The whole of the behemoth was covered in thick grey scales like an immense lizard, gradually fading to white on its chest and belly. The head was reptilian, pulled forwards in a fanged muzzle, two yellow eyes set deep into its heavy skull.
Oba could see the raft with the goat tied to it caught in Honengyo’s fangs. The monster made a lurching twist of its neck, throwing the raft forwards and then snatching it from the air. He didn’t bother to chew the tiny morsel, but gulped it down whole.
Almost at once, the change could be seen in the mammoth reptile. The yellow eyes blazed with fury. Honengyo threw his head back and bellowed, the shrieking ululation ripping across the sky. The long tail slammed into the water, sending a great wave rolling towards the shore.
That wave smashed over the rocky spire. Meiko was thrown over the side, plunging into the water beside Oba. For the moment, the samurai couldn’t spare any attention for the ninja. It was enough trying to maintain his own grip on the idol while the waves spilled over it. Then he felt her arm curl around his throat from behind. Viciously, she drove his head against the rock, trying to smash his skull.
Another great wave rushed over the idol as Honengyo trudged towards the shore. Oba’s fingers dug at the rock, grasping at the holes left by centuries of erosion. He clung to the ancient idol, well aware that to lose his grip would see him washed out to sea and towards a watery grave.
Meiko’s grip tightened, threatening to choke him. Feeling his consciousness fading, Oba twisted his head and bit down on the black-clad arm. He tasted the ninja’s blood in his mouth, bubbling over his teeth. The sudden attack was enough to break her hold. As her grip loosened, another surge crashed over the rock. Meiko was swept away from the idol. Oba’s last sight of her was a dark shape being washed off into the distance.
Oba knew he’d suffer the same fate if he remained where he was. Rallying his strength, fighting back both exhaustion and injury, he pulled himself up onto the spire of rock. His hands found holds in the pitted surface, securing his place as more waves crashed against the sunken idol. Each successive surge was weaker than the one before. The reason was obvious enough. Honengyo was moving away. Lumbering towards the shore.
From the rock, Oba could only watch as the kaiju approached Lord Torogawa’s army. The first who stood in the behemoth’s path were the warships. Each atakebune raised anchor and rowed itself into position. On the decks, scores of bowmen took aim, their arrows soaked in pitch. Faintly, Oba could hear the shouted command. “Loose!”
Flaming arrows sailed across the water, a burning volley that clattered against Honengyo’s scales. The monster paused in his advance, lowering his head to peer down at the warships. A second volley peppered his face and chest, the blazing arrows extinguishing themselves with a fiery hiss as they fell into the water. The kaiju drew back and emitted a thunderous roar at his antagonists.
A third desperate volley was loosed against Honengyo, but with as little result as the others. The kaiju rushed at the nearest atakebune. His clawed hand slammed down against the deck, crushing archers and shattering timbers. The other hand came around and snapped the mainmast, leaving it to crash into the sea. Frantic bowmen continued to shoot at the monster while sailors abandoned their vessel and dove into the turbulent sea.
Honengyo roared once more and pressed down on the stricken ship. The atakebune was plunged under the surface. As water rushed into the holds, it lost its buoyancy and hurtled to the bottom, sucking down with it those who’d remained aboard.
The other warships tried to turn away and escape the fate of their comrade. The manoeuvre drew the kaiju’s attention. Roaring, Honengyo seized one of the fleeing vessels. Even as men dove into the sea, the monster pulled at the atakebune. The sound of groaning timbers rang out as the tortured ship tried to resist the tremendous pressure being exerted upon it. At last, the behemoth’s primal strength prevailed. The superstructure cracked apart as Honengyo ripped the warship in half. The segments bobbed in the waves as they drifted away from each other.
The last atakebune took on sail, trying to retreat from the bay. Honengyo’s long tail rose from the sea and slammed into the warship. The impact pulverized every man on the deck and snapped the masts as though they were twigs. Stricken a mortal blow, most of its soldiers and crew dead, the mangled atakebune floated listlessly in the spot where it had been struck.
Honengyo turned from the demolished warships and continued to plod his way towards the village. Samurai, some distance up the beach, raised their bows and loosed. Their burning arrows weren’t intended for the kaiju but for the oil-soaked boats arrayed along the shoreline. Oba thought of Kawajiri when they ignited and wondered if his friend had been able to get away, if he’d won his fight with the ninja. Certainly, it was a grim image to think of his body lying there being consigned to the snarling flames.
The kaiju paused when the beach before him erupted into a wall of fire. His eyes glared furiously at the barrier. A snarl of anger rumbled from his throat. Honengyo lashed his tail in the waves, throwing up debris from the bottom.
Any hope that the fire would hold the beast back vanished when Honengyo charged up from the surf. He plunged through the flames, their burning kiss unable to penetrate his scaly hide. The monster kicked burning boats into the village as he smashed through them, scattering the ronin hidden among the buildings.
Samurai officers called for a different kind of fire as they directed ranks of ashigaru gunmen to shoot the hulking reptile. Hundreds of matchlocks crackled as they peppered Honengyo with bullets. The behemoth was startled by the stinging barrage. The guns fared better than the bows, leaving shallow divots in the thick hide. But it wasn’t enough to turn back the beast. Honengyo rounded on the ashigaru and charged their position. Soldiers were trampled under the kaiju’s feet, obliterated in the blink of an eye.
Before the massacre could be complete, the catapults on the heights took action. Their arms sprang forwards and hurled massive boulders down upon Honengyo. The first stone startled the monster, slamming into the ground a few yards away and spraying him with sand. The second was more true in its aim, striking the monster in the side. The impact knocked him down. A third boulder smacked into the kaiju as he tried to rise. The behemoth slumped back against the earth, stunned by the impact.
Oba could hear the fierce war cries as a troop of cavalry galloped towards the stricken monster. Back-banners bearing the mon of Clan Hoshin snapped in the wind as a hundred samurai charged Honengyo. Each warrior held a long spear with a vicious barbed head, a design called a ‘dragon cutter’, and used by the conquerors of Po against the giant lizards that infested the islands. The riders kicked their horses, forcing the animals past the repugnance the kaiju’s scent provoked in them. Closing upon Honengyo, they stabbed at the beast. Many spears broke against the thick scales, but others pierced the monster’s hide, drawing blood from the flesh beneath.
The attack roused Honengyo from his stupor. His wrathful roar panicked the horses, breaking the tenuous discipline their riders had maintained. Samurai were thrown onto the sand as their steeds bucked and bolted in every direction. Some warriors clung to the necks of their mounts, desperately trying to stay in the saddle.
Honengyo snatched at the fleeing horses, grabbing up several in his claws. He rose to his feet, his side festooned with dozens of spears. The kaiju glared at the catapults as their operators hurried to rearm the weapons. With another bellow of anger, he threw the captives caught in his claws at the siege weapons. Screaming horses and wailing men slammed against two of the catapults. The brutal impact smashed their frames and collapsed them. Crewmen cried out as dislodged boulders and broken timbers crashed down on them. The survivors fled from the position, running off into the hills.
A triumphant growl rumbled through Honengyo’s fang-filled maw. The huge reptile lumbered onwards, stomping on the reeling samurai in his path. His eyes narrowed with suspicion when he saw the ballistae ahead of him.
Oba held his breath, anticipating this phase of the conflict. The gigantic crossbows were the last weapon in Lord Torogawa’s arsenal. If the dragon cutter spears had been able to pierce Honengyo’s hide, then there was every reason to expect those of the ballistae to perform even better. The question that troubled him was whether it would be enough.
The kaiju paused a moment, seeming to consider the same question. Honengyo raked one of his claws down his side, tearing loose the spears embedded in his flesh. Another shrieking roar shook Kuroyama as the reptilian colossus stormed towards the men who dared to oppose him.
Oba could see Lord Torogawa standing before the ballistae. In the daimyo’s hand was his war fan. He used this to signal the crews, snapping it closed as they launched their attack. Twenty feet long, the huge arrows were sent hurtling across the beach, their steel heads gleaming in the moonlight.
Honengyo snarled in pain as one of the giant arrows pierced his leg. A second struck his belly, the white scales turning black as the reptile’s blood seeped out from its wound. The beast bent down as he reacted to the attack, and the third shot slammed into his chest. Even out on the rock, Oba could hear the meaty impact of each hit. Honengyo’s pained howls echoed into the night. The kaiju slumped down onto his knees, his body shuddering from agony pulsing through it.
Cheers rose from the ballistae crews and those warriors who’d yet to flee the battlefield. Lord Torogawa appeared sombre, watching the stricken beast. He unfolded his fan, signalling for the weapons to be reloaded. Stirred from their exhilaration, the soldiers hurried to crank the windlasses and rearm the ballistae.
Honengyo roared at his enemies and staggered back to his feet. Blood streamed from his wounds, but now the kaiju appeared oblivious to either hurt or pain. He charged towards the ballistae, his claws raised as though eager to rend the tormenting machines between them.
A group of Lord Torogawa’s retainers hurried the daimyo away. The crews of the ballistae held their ground. One managed to crank off a shot as Honengyo rushed them. At such range, the arrow ripped clean through the reptile’s leg. The kaiju staggered, but his rage was undiminished. He crouched before the ballistae and shattered them beneath his clawing hands. He threw handfuls of debris at fleeing soldiers, smashing their bodies as they tried to escape.
Honengyo stood amid the carnage, his long tail swatting the tents and pavilions lining the beach. His eyes focused upon Kuroyama. He threw back his head and screeched wrathfully. Then, limping on his injured leg, the monster attacked the village. Houses that had withstood typhoon and earthquake crumbled under his assault. Warriors sheltering in the structures were massacred as the kaiju expended his rage. Pounding feet flattened entire buildings, obliterating the men inside them. Scaly hands ripped into huts and threw the rubble across the countryside. The monster’s tail battered entire streets, whipping through them like an avalanche.
When Honengyo turned from Kuroyama, only death remained there. The kaiju stared at the destruction as though pleased by what he’d done. His clawed hands reached to the ballista arrow in his belly and wrenched it free, casting it aside as though no more than a nuisance. As the monster lumbered back into the sea, he pulled out the other arrows and dropped them in the surf.
Oba’s last view of Honengyo was when the kaiju reached the deep water outside the bay. The reptile drew back and voiced one final, triumphant roar before submerging. Returning back to the depths from which he’d been called.
***
It was some hours before Oba felt strong enough to manage the swim back to shore. With every stroke, he neared the horrible devastation wrought by Honengyo on Lord Torogawa’s army. Parts of the beach were black with crows as the scavengers picked at the carcasses of men and horses. Here and there, he could see people moving through the havoc, searching for the wounded or trying to find the bodies of the noble dead.
He made landfall very near where he’d first fought the Kokuryu the night before. The sands were black with soot from the boats, but of the ships themselves there remained only charred outlines. Oba wondered again about how Kawajiri had fared in all that had happened.
While his thoughts were on his friend, the samurai was surprised to see his armour tied in a bundle and lying on the beach. Oba walked towards it, perplexed by how it had gotten there and who had left it.
That mystery ended when Kawajiri emerged from behind a pile of debris. The samurai’s kimono was bloodied and he had a gash across his scalp, but from the way he moved, Oba judged that his friend had suffered less injury than himself during the night.
“You beat the ninja, then,” Oba congratulated Kawajiri.
“I killed him,” Kawajiri corrected him. There was gravity in his voice, grimness on his features. “We only killed them. Their mission was a success.”
“We learned what they were doing. Lord Torogawa can take precautions to keep it from happening again.” Oba pointed out to the sunken idol. “Tear those things down. Then they won’t know where to go to call Honengyo again.”
Kawajiri shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He waved his hand at the destruction scattered along the shore. “They accomplished what they set out to do. The pride of Clan Hoshin has been humbled. Lord Torogawa will atone for what has happened here.”
Oba bowed his head. He knew what atonement meant. For such a failure, the daimyo would perform seppuku as the only way to regain his honour.
“Clan Hoshin has been humbled,” Kawajiri said, bitterness in his voice. “Lord Torogawa will die.” He clenched his fists. “And Chamberlain Hidetoro will be the new daimyo.”
Oba blinked in disbelief. “Hidetoro? How do you know this?”
“Because that was what the Kokuryu were sent to accomplish,” Kawajiri said. “When Lord Torogawa allowed you to leave Nokoshima, Chamberlain Hidetoro informed the Shogun. Yoshinaga considered it to be an act of disloyalty and so arranged all of this to punish both Clan Hoshin and Lord Torogawa.” Kawajiri’s hand closed about the grip of his sword. “As for how I know this, Hidetoro told me after Honengyo returned to the sea.” Slowly, he drew his katana from its sheath. “I was to wait here, to see if you had survived. If so, he ordered me to kill you.”
Oba studied his friend, evaluating the samurai’s condition and comparing it to his own. Whatever gap there was between their relative skills was more than balanced by his own fatigue. More, Kawajiri wasn’t a loathsome ninja. Oba couldn’t countenance employing trickery against him. Their contest would have to be an honest fight.
“I regret it had to be this way,” Oba said as he drew Koumakiri. He held the sword before him. “I ask only that, if you win, you cast my sword into the sea. Take my head to Hidetoro as a prize, but not my sword.”
Kawajiri was silent a moment, his eyes staring at the ground. “I can promise you nothing,” he said. “Fight well if you would preserve the legacy of your clan.” With a shout, the young samurai sprang at Oba. The katana flashed downwards in a vicious sweep.
Oba side-stepped the attack and retaliated in kind. The heavy uchigatana crunched into Kawajiri’s ribs. He sagged against the biting steel, his katana falling into the sand.
“You let me strike you,” Oba gasped. He’d seen Kawajri fight before. He knew his friend knew better than to leave himself exposed in such a manner. He rushed to the wounded samurai and lowered him to the ground.
“It is better… to die… than to owe… one’s loyalty… to a traitor,” Kawajiri coughed as blood bubbled into his mouth. He grasped Oba’s arm. “Thank… you… for saving me… from such… dishonour.” The samurai continued to look up at him, but there was no vitality left in his eyes.
Oba stood over his dead friend. When Clan Hoshin’s retainers found the body, they’d believe Kawajiri had died trying to fulfil his duty. They’d never know he’d died to preserve his honour.
Sheathing Koumakiri, Oba turned and faced the sea. “If you ever rise again from the depths, Honengyo, you’ll find a daimyo in Nokoshima worthy of your wrath.”