In The Service of Samurai

CHAPTER 3

“Toshi-san. It’s time to get up. Toshi-san.”

            His heavy eyelids flickered open as he felt himself shook by the shoulder. A bright silver kimono with glowing gold and red flowers filled his field of vision as Miko knelt at his side. Smiling slightly, glad she was there, he let his eyes close again.

            “Toshi-san, it’s time to eat. Asaka-sama will be coming for you shortly.”

            The demon’s name brought him up short. With a grimace, he opened his eyes and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Rubbing at his face, he gradually became more alert as the scent of freshly brewed tea wove itself around him.

            “That’s much better,” the geisha said. “Now come, let me serve you. We haven’t much time.”

            He draped his blanket about himself and rose groggily to his feet before sidling over to the small table at the corner of the room.

            Serving him tea, Miko also placed in front of him a plate filled with dried fish and rice cakes. To his delight, he also noted she’d brought him a couple of sweet cakes.

            As he ate, he watched the geisha as she rose from the table and headed to the door. Sitting beside it, propped against the wall, was a koto. He watched with some awakening interest as she picked up the long, gently curving, wooden instrument and set it on the floor before her. Miko bowed to him then picked up a pick after sliding small wooden blocks beneath each of the strings over the main body and setting them up in a specific pattern. Long, lonely notes filled the room as she wove her music for him.

            Downing a second cup of hot tea as fast as his throat would tolerate, he listened. With a bit of surprise, he found himself caught up in the music as its sounds turned from sweet melancholy to a brash, more upbeat pace. He became fascinated just watching her play. He slid his plate from the table to set it before him so he wouldn’t have to look away to eat. Miko’s movements were so fluid, so precise, her fleshless fingers handling the instrument almost as if it were a part of her.

            While he sat there, he dared to try and imagine how the geisha might have looked in life. That a spirit could create such beauty dazzled him. He wondered if she were trying to imprison him in some sort of spell. He found that at the moment he didn’t care if she was.

            He continued to eat, lost in the music, until a sudden knock on the door reverberated through the room. Miko stopped playing. The door to the room opened.

            Toshi felt his throat go dry as the still armored samurai stepped into the doorway. He swallowed hard as he forced himself to bow.

            “Come, boy,” the samurai said.

            He darted a glance toward Miko and saw her nod. Hiding himself in his blanket, he stood up and shivered, wondering if he would feel the samurai’s cold touch tonight.

            “Leave it.” A bony hand pointed at his blanket.

            Toshi released a heavy sigh. He let the only warmth he had fall off behind him and walked to the door as the samurai removed himself from the doorway. Asaka walked down the hall, leaving him to follow. The samurai stopped, blocking the way to the exterior door, as splashing sounds rang faintly beyond. They stood there for almost a full minute before the samurai reached to open the door.

            A blast of night air smashed into the boy’s shivering body as the door was momentarily ripped from Asaka’s grasp. As the latter stepped outside, Toshi grabbed for the doorway when the ship abruptly rocked to the left. Nervously, he stared out at the wet, glowing deck. Two columns of skeletal men sat toward the bow of the ship, all holding long oars which they were using to move the flat-bottomed vessel. He looked away from them and their fleshless bodies, a shiver crawling up his spine.

            Stepping out onto the deck, he noticed the overcast night sky. The blowing wind slapped his face. The ship shifted to the right, and he felt his filled stomach knot up inside him. Doing his best to ignore it, he carefully climbed the ladder next to the doorway, following Asaka up. The ship tilted again, but he held on, his stomach knotting up a little more. Reaching the top, he stood uneasily on the glowing deck and waited for the samurai to tell him what to do.

            “You’ll now determine our present position. Do not attempt to lie, for I already know the answer.”

            Hating the fear growing inside him at the words, he glanced behind the samurai as a stooped skeleton approached them at Asaka’s signal. Stopping before the boy, the retainer offered him the map Asaka had taken from Master Shun’s store, and a number of gaijin instruments.

            Trying to keep his footing as the rocking of the ship grew worse, Toshi took the map, avoiding any contact with the skeleton’s hand. His gaze swam before him for a moment. The map’s contents seemed to move with the tilting of the ship.

            Attempting to ignore his sudden dizziness, he returned the map and took a heavy coil of measuring rope with a weight at one end and a round cork on the other. Leaning against the rail, he dropped the weighted end into the rolling waves below. He dared not look at the moving water, which strove to make his dizziness worse, as he tried to get a depth measurement as quickly as possible. The choppy water wouldn’t allow an accurate assessment, but he was sure the samurai wouldn’t care for the excuse. As soon as he thought the bottom had been reached, he noted the marked depth of three fathoms on the rope where the cork bobbed and began to carefully coil the rope up again. He hurried as much as was prudent, his dizziness making his stomach knot up worse than before. Due to the roughness of the water, he decided he wouldn’t try for a speed reading.

            Returning the coil of rope to the waiting skeleton, he next took a large compass. The small bowl-like contraption had a colorful card face showing all the major directions and was submerged in liquid to keep it still. Quickly looking it over to make sure it was in working order, he stood as still as possible to get a directional reading from the bulky instrument. When he was done, he traded it for a cross-staff. With it, he looked up into the cloud-crowded sky, trying to catch sight of the North Star. Finally spotting it as a bank of clouds broke for a moment, he lifted the cross-staff in its direction. He felt his dizziness worsen as he put the long bar of the cross-staff against his eye, his gaze following the rod upward. The ship kept shifting, making the star weave in and out of his sight. He stubbornly kept trying to keep it in view. He slid the crosspiece over the scale to align it against the star and the horizon to find the angle of their latitude, just as Captain Valéz had taught him.

            The North Star wavered again in his vision, and his stomach rumbled. The swirling wind whipped his ponytail up into his face as he handed the cross-staff back. Taking the map again, a few of the other tools, as well as an empty logbook, he sat on the ice-cold deck. He tried to recall all the necessary computations and, though light-headed, tried to do them as best he could.

            He became aware of Asaka’s green stare raking over him.

            After several minutes, Toshi came up with what might be a close answer. He was about to give it to Asaka when his tortured stomach gave up and heaved with all its might. Clamping his hands over his mouth, he tried to keep in the lumpy, burning mess that suddenly rose from inside him. Forgetting everything but his screaming stomach, he ran for the ship’s rail.

            Almost falling overboard in his eagerness to get there, he clung to the railing as his stomach heaved again. Not able to hold back anymore, he opened his mouth and let the burning torrent empty from him to the sea. The acrid smell of vomit filled his nose as his throat burned. His stomach continued to heave long past the point at which it was empty.

            Even in his present misery, he couldn’t help but notice the quiet, overbearing presence of the samurai who came to stand by his side. It occurred to his tortured mind to wonder if Asaka was considering throwing him overboard. Perhaps it would prove to be a kindness if he did.

            “Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I don’t think this ignorant boy is going to be of any use to us,” the steersman said. “It may take a long time, but I’m sure I can eventually—”

            “Silence!” The samurai’s voice roared at Toshi’s side. He ignored it, still trying to stop his heaving stomach, inwardly grateful the shouting hadn’t been directed at him. After another minute, his stomach finally began to settle a little. He closed his eyes, letting the flowing wind cool his face as he tried to disregard the ship’s continuing movements.

            “I asked you for our location, boy.” Asaka’s voice bore down on him.

            Toshi turned his drawn, pale face away from the rail and stared at the map the samurai held out to him. Leaning against the bar, not trusting his wobbling legs to remain beneath him, he carefully took the map and then the other tools and let himself drop to the deck, his back against the railing.

            He stared at the swaying map and rechecked his calculations. Again getting the same answer, he moved an unsteady finger to point out their position, which lay near the coast.

            Trying not to glance at Asaka as the samurai looked over him, he held his finger in place. Asaka took the map, his only acknowledgment of the information being a barely audible humph. Not looking back, the samurai strode to the skeleton manning the ship’s tiller. Toshi tried hard not to care.

            The bent skeleton walked up to him. Though he had no liking for the fleshless grin that approached him, he couldn’t find the strength to move from where he was. Never looking directly at him, the retainer took the instruments from his unresisting hands and walked away.

            Unable to swallow away the acrid taste still in his mouth, Toshi closed his eyes and sat as unmoving as possible on the rocking deck. He drew his knees up and curled his arms around his legs, the cold seeping into him from the deck beneath him. Trying not to moan in his undiminishing misery, he suddenly opened his eyes. He felt someone staring at him. He barely realized it was Asaka, before the latter abruptly reached out for his arm. He cringed at the unavoidable touch, a spear of fear shooting through him. Yet, when the fleshless fingers wrapped around his flesh, no trace of the paralyzing touch reached out for his skin.

            “Get up,” Asaka said.

            Using the rail and the samurai’s pull on his arm for support, he scrambled to his feet. He swayed with the ship’s tipping movements, but Asaka’s firm grip kept him from falling.

            Steering him toward the ladder, Asaka held onto his arm until he started to descend. Feeling a little steadier when he reached the main deck, the boy didn’t wait to be led but quickly stumbled his way to the door. He opened it and tripped inside as his stomach began knotting up on him again. Moaning softly in despair at what might come upon him once more, he shivered, feeling the cold radiating from the walls, assaulting his exposed skin from every angle.

            Hurrying to his assigned room, he careened toward the wall as the ship abruptly tilted to the left. A steady hand kept him from smacking into it, making him glance behind him in surprise. It was the samurai. With Asaka’s firm grip back on his arm, he was led the rest of the way to his room.

            His prison’s blank, glowing walls glared silently at him as he entered. His sickness washed over him. A dead certainty stole over him then, and though the unearthly cold of the ship was mercilessly flowing into him, he didn’t run for his blanket when he was released. Instead, he turned around to face the departing samurai.

            “Asaka-sama, please. I beg you!” He sank to his knees, his hands face down against the floor, and his eyes closed in supplication. “Release me. Take me home. I can be of no use to you. Please, I don’t belong here!” His voice got caught in his throat. “Please, Lord, I beg you!”

            “Worm.”

            Toshi pressed his forehead against the floor’s glowing planks, shooting cold passing through it as it was already doing through his knees and hands. He shut his eyes tighter with a prayer, his heart quickening as he heard the sound most dreaded by his people everywhere. His acrid breath hung still in his raw throat as the soft click of a katana being slightly drawn from its sheath reverberated in the room’s silence. He waited for the end.

            “I will ignore your statement this once. I expect it never to be repeated.” Asaka’s voice was cold.

            He heard the katana click back into place.

            “The only release you will find if you do, is that of your flesh,” the samurai told him. “I will have you, one way or another. If I must kill you and then trap your spirit from rising to its next plane, then so be it. It would mean nothing to me to have you join the ship’s crew permanently and find myself one who has the courage to endure what you do not.” Asaka left, slamming the door behind him.

            Horror and shame poured through him, though he couldn’t explain the reason for the latter. Tears ran freely from his closed eyes to fall on the glowing floor as his mind’s eye cruelly provided him with a picture of himself as a fleshless, moving corpse.