I. Parker - The Old Men of Omi

Saburo said no more. Together they reached the path again and followed it for a short while until the trees started to thin and light could be seen.

“All right,” Saburo said in a low voice. “From now on we creep.” He left the path and Tora followed. With great care, they reached a promontory, and there just below them, was a fair-sized wooden hut with a wooden shelter a little farther along the road . Smoke rose from an opening in the roof of the hut. The shelter contained stacked firewood. The narrow road passed in front of these buildings, probably the same one that also passed the hermit’s dwelling at the other end of the valley. The road disappeared around another rocky outcropping like the one Tora and Saburo lay on.

There was no sign of life other than the smoke, though the sun was already high. They watched in silence for a while, then Tora said, “Are you sure they’re all there?”

“They were yesterday.”

“Maybe they left?”

“It’s possible.”

“Shall we go down to check?”

Saburo hesitated, then nodded. “Careful. They could be coming out.”

“Right.” Tora got to his feet, checked his sword, and rubbed his sore head. Even his eyes hurt. What was wrong with him? He had had the headaches for more than a year now, but they had never happened as often or been as long-lasting and severe.”

“Wait,” Saburo hissed.

Tora turned and looked.

A couple had appeared on the road. They were poorly dressed and both had large, woven baskets slung over their shoulders. The man also carried a toddler.

“Wood gatherers,” said Tora.

“More like wood thieves.”

The couple halted by the shed. The man put down the toddler and both took off their baskets and carried them to the wood piles in the shelter where they started loading them. The toddler staggered to his feet and explored his surroundings.

“This isn’t good,” Tora observed.

“We can’t get down there fast enough to warn them.”

They watched with growing anxiety as the child made its circuitous and frequently interrupted way to the door of the hut. His parents had cast an occasional glance his way but seemed unconcerned.

“They don’t know anybody’s there,” Saburo commented.

Tora said hopefully, “Maybe they’re right.”

“You forget the smoke.”

The child crawled up the steps to the door and sat down on the small porch. For a while nothing else happened. The parents had almost filled their baskets.

Tora gritted his teeth. “They have enough. Why don’t they leave well enough alone, get the kid, and head home?”

But they stacked their loads precariously high. Then the man helped the woman put on her basket. Its heavy load bent her almost double. The husband crouched, slipped on his own basket, and rose.

They could not hear it, but one of them, or perhaps both, called out to the child to come. The toddler was an obedient boy. He got up, climbed laboriously down the three steps, and turned to run to his parents.

At that moment, the door of the hut flew open and one of the sohei appeared on the threshold.

“Too late,” groaned Tora.

Things happened quickly after that. The sohei alerted his companions who came out, armed with swords and naginata, and started after the couple, viciously kicking the toddler out of their way. There were five of them.

“Come,” cried Tora, and started down the side of the mountain.

It was a long way down. They slipped and slid, holding on to branches, cursing, vaguely aware of the violence that was playing out below them. Once Saburo tumbled past Tora, who caught him before he fell.

There was no point in being quiet any longer; the warrior monks were otherwise occupied and paid no attention to the hillside. As Tora and Saburo got closer, they could hear pitiful screams and the bawling of the child. They could no longer see the scene when the screams stopped and only the child still whimpered. They were now in some woods on the valley floor.

Tora drew his sword and ran, dodging trees and shrubs, aware of Saburo’s rapid breath behind him.

When they reached the road, they saw a pitiful scene. The child was softly whimpering where he had fallen while his father lay much too still between the two baskets of wood that had spilled their contents all across the road. The sohei and the woman had disappeared.

Tora bent to check the child. His eyes were open but blood was coming from his mouth and nose. He was breathing in gasps and making an enervating mewling sound. Saburo was ahead, bent over the man.

“How is he?” Tora asked when he reached him.

Saburo straightened. “Dead. The kid?”

“Bad, but alive.” Tora stared at the body. The young man lay on his stomach. A puddle of blood was slowly spreading under him. Tora started to bend down, but Saburo stopped him.

“Leave it. They slashed his throat.”

Of one accord they turned their eyes toward the shed. From this position they could not see much of the inside, but they heard voices and a woman’s pleading.

Tora made a move, but Saburo caught his arm. “Careful,” he warned.

They crept up to the wall of the shelter from behind it.

Inside, one of the sohei shouted, “Give it to her! That’s right! Punish the thieving bitch good!”

Someone laughed. Then another cried, “Harder! The bitch is enjoying it too much.” More laughter.

“Slowly!” hissed Saburo, and they started for the corner.

Just about then, the woman screamed shrilly. A burst of laughter followed, and Tora pushed Saburo aside and jumped around the corner.

The scene was familiar. The old woman had described it when she had told them about the gang rape of the porter’s wife. Tora rushed past the nearest sohei and used his sword to slash the bare buttocks of the animal who was belaboring the woman under him.

It was an almost fatal mistake. He heard shouts and the hissing sounds as swords slid from their scabbards. Desperately, he jumped aside, falling down among pieces of firewood. A naginata whistled past his thigh.

After this there was only chaos. Tora tried to get up, slipped on a log, saw the blade of the naginata coming at him again. Raising himself on one knee, he used his sword to deflect the blade and felt the blow all the way to his shoulder. His arm went numb and he fell again. Somewhere a man screamed, and he gave Saburo a fleeting thought. But the naginata was not done with him, and this time he knew he could not manage to block it with the sword. In a desperate leap he jumped past the blade and seized the shaft with both hands. He tugged, and the sohei stumbled forward. Tora gave him a vicious kick in the groin, then pushed his short sword into his belly. The sohei screamed and fell.

Before Tora could get a clear picture of the situation, two other sohei came for him with their swords. His sword arm was still numb, but he grabbed the fallen naginata and swung it at them. They retreated. Tora dropped the weapon and found his sword, seizing it with both hands. He charged them, aiming at their bellies. As he had expected, they separated, thinking to slash at him when he missed them, but he ducked, swerved, and buried his sword in the belly of the man to his right. With no time to retrieve it, he kept moving. How many were left? Two were down, one was coming after him. Where was Saburo?

Then he saw him. He lay near the front of the shed. No time! He had to get out of the way of that sword.

Unarmed, he stumbled over the naginata . Its owner was still curled up and groaning, but he snatched at Tora’s leg and made him fall. Tora’s hand caught the naginata and seized it. He kicked out at the sohei and stumbled to his feet just as a sword missed his left shoulder and struck the sohei instead. The sohei on the ground screamed only once but so horribly that his fellow froze just long enough for Tora to put some distance between them and turn.