The Ring of Water - Chris Bradford [30]
Perhaps the merchant’s job offer had been more than persuasive. Or maybe the temptation of the reward for his head had finally turned Ronin against him. Whatever, Jack was now fighting for his life …
He blocked the samurai’s thrust for his heart and whipped the end of his staff round at Ronin’s head. Jack had the advantage of the bō’s length, but Ronin proved the more skilful warrior. Dodging Jack’s assault, he brought the hilt of his sword down upon Jack’s fingers. Crying out in pain, Jack lost his grip on the bō before reeling from an elbow strike to the jaw.
Stunned, Jack was left defenceless as Ronin drove his blade straight through his side. He crumpled to his knees. Jack felt no pain, but an ominous patch of dark red instantly stained his ragged kimono.
‘He’s bleeding! He’s bleeding!’ the young wife squealed, in a mixture of horror and delight.
Jack, too shocked to fight back, clutched at his wound in a futile attempt to stem the flow.
‘Behead him!’ she screeched, her beautiful face contorted with murderous glee.
‘Only real samurai deserve such a death,’ replied Ronin.
Jack collapsed to the earth, letting out a last gutteral moan.
‘Is he dead?’ asked the merchant, peering over his wife’s shoulder.
Ronin prodded the body with his toe and got no reaction. ‘Yes,’ he replied, flicking Jack’s blood from his blade before resheathing it.
‘Then what are we waiting for? Dinner’s ready,’ said his wife imperiously.
‘Perhaps we should take care of the body first?’ suggested Ronin as his employer followed his heartless wife.
‘We can do that later,’ tutted the merchant. ‘Just get him off the path. The crows can pick at his remains.’
Ronin rolled Jack’s lifeless body into the ditch. Then he strode after his new master.
18
ONRYŌ
Jack lay at the bottom of the ditch, no longer breathing, his eyes rolled back with only the whites showing. The point where Ronin’s sword had penetrated him was an oozing red mass. Hana’s concerned face appeared out of the encroaching darkness and she knelt beside Jack’s lifeless form.
‘Jack!’ she gasped in shock, pressing her hand against his sodden wound. ‘You’re not dead … are you?’
The corpse’s head lolled towards her, then grinned. ‘For a moment I thought I was.’
Hana breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You looked really dead.’
‘I’ve had some practice,’ replied Jack, sitting up and rubbing his jaw where Ronin had struck him. Hana took this as a joke, but Jack was actually referring to his ninjutsu training, which included feigning death as one of its hidden arts.
Hana, her fingers thick with Jack’s ‘blood’, began to lick them appreciatively. ‘Such a waste of red-bean manjū.’
Peeling his clothes away from the fake wound, Jack removed the remains of the steamed buns and checked Ronin’s sword thrust had not pierced his flesh as well.
‘That was some fight,’ said Hana.
‘It had to look convincing,’ replied Jack, getting to his feet. ‘But I didn’t expect Ronin to attack with such ferocity. Now where’s the rice flour he bought?’
Hana produced a small cloth bag and began to douse Jack’s hair and face with it until he was deathly white.
‘How do I look?’ asked Jack.
‘Like you’re ready for baking!’ smirked Hana.
Jack shook his head with dismay. ‘I thought so. This is stupid. Who’s going to believe I’m a ghost?’
Stifling her amusement, Hana turned serious. ‘They will. Everyone fears an onryō.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Jack as they made their way to the merchant’s house. ‘Otherwise we’re all in serious trouble.’
Ronin’s plan relied upon the superstitious beliefs of the merchant and his wife. An onryō was a vengeful ghost. And Ronin had explained that anybody who died unjustly or by violence could become an onryō if they weren’t enshrined after their death. These angry spirits haunted the living and caused great misfortune. The only way to exorcise an onryō was to satisfy its reason for revenge and bestow upon its remains a proper burial.
Hana and Jack waited in the treeline until all the lights had been doused.
‘Almost time to go,’ whispered Hana,