Musashi: Bushido Code (52 page)

The Flying Horse

Otsū and Jōtarō arrived at the barrier late at night, stopped over at an inn and resumed their journey before the morning mist cleared. From Mount Fudesute, they walked to Yonkenjaya, where they first felt the warmth of the rising sun on their backs.

"How beautiful!" exclaimed Otsū, pausing to look at the great golden orb. She seemed full of hope and cheer. It was one of those wonderful moments when all living things, even plants and animals, must feel satisfaction and pride in their existence here on earth.

Jōtarō said with obvious pleasure, "We're the very first people on the road. Not a soul ahead of us."

"You sound boastful. What difference does it make?"

"It makes a lot of difference to me."

"Do you think it'll make the road shorter?"

"Oh, it's not that. It's just feels good to be first, even on the road. You have to admit it's better than following along behind palanquins or horses." "That's true."

"When no one else is on the road I'm on, I have the feeling it belongs to me."

"In that case, why don't you pretend you're a great samurai on horseback, surveying your vast estates. I'll be your attendant." She picked up a bamboo stick, and waving it ceremoniously, called out in singsong fashion, "Bow down, all! Bow down for his lordship!"

A man looked out inquiringly from under the eaves of a teahouse. Caught playing like a child, she blushed and walked rapidly on.

"You can't do that," Jōtarō protested. "You mustn't run away from your master. If you do, I'll have to put you to death!"

"I don't want to play anymore."

"You're the one who was playing, not me."

"Yes, but you started it. Oh, my! The man at the teahouse is still staring at us. He must think we're silly."

"Let's go back there."

"What for?"

"I'm hungry."

"Already?"

"Couldn't we eat half of the rice balls we brought for lunch now?"

"Be patient. We haven't covered two miles yet. If I let you, you'd eat five meals a day."

"Maybe. But you don't see me riding in palanquins or hiring horses, the way you do."

"That was only last night, and then only because it was getting dark and we had to hurry. If you feel that way about it, I'll walk the whole way today."

"It should be my turn to ride today."

"Children don't need to ride."

"But I want to try riding a horse. Can't I? Please."

"Well, maybe, but only for today."

"I saw a horse tied up at the teahouse. We could hire it."

"No, it's still too early in the day."

"Then you didn't mean it when you said I could ride!"

"I did, but you're not even tired yet. It'd be a waste of money to rent a horse."

"You know perfectly well I never get tired. I wouldn't get tired if we walked a hundred days and a thousand miles. If I have to wait till I'm worn out, I'll never get to ride a horse. Come on, Otsū, let's rent the horse now, while there aren't any people ahead of us. It'd be a lot safer than when the road is crowded. Please!"

Seeing that if they kept this up, they would lose the time they had gained by making an early start, Otsū gave in, and Jōtarō, sensing rather than waiting for her nod of approval, raced back to the teahouse.

Although there actually were four teahouses in the vicinity, as the name Yonkenjaya indicated, they were located at various places on the slopes of mounts Fudesute and Kutsukake. The one they had passed was the only one in sight.

Running up to the proprietor and stopping suddenly, Jōtarō shouted, "Hey, there, I want a horse! Get one out for me."

The old man was taking down the shutters, and the boy's lusty cry jarred him into wakefulness. With a sour expression, he grumbled, "What's all this! Do you have to yell so loud?"

"I need a horse. Please get one ready right away. How much is it to Minakuchi? If it's not too much, I may even take it all the way to Kusatsu."

"Whose little boy are you anyway?"

"I'm the son of my mother and my father," replied Jōtarō impudently. "I thought you might be the unruly offspring of the storm god."

"You're the storm god, aren't you? You look mad as a thunderbolt." "Brat!"

"Just bring me the horse."

"I daresay you think that horse is for hire. Well, it isn't. So I fear I shall not have the honor of lending it to your lordship."

Matching the man's tone of voice, Jōtarō said, "Then, sir, shall I not have the pleasure of renting it?"

"Sassy, aren't you?" cried the man, taking a piece of lighted kindling from the fire under his oven and throwing it at the boy. The flaming stick missed Jōtarō, but struck the ancient horse tied under the eaves. With an air-splitting whinny, she reared, striking her back against a beam.

"You bastard!" screamed the proprietor. He leapt out of the shop sputtering curses and ran up to the animal.

As he untied the rope and led the horse around to the side yard, Jōtarō started in again. "Please lend her to me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I don't have a groom to send with her."

Now at Jōtarō's side, Otsū suggested that if there was no groom, she could pay the fee in advance and send the horse back from Minakuchi with a traveler coming this way. Her appealing manner softened the old man, and he decided he could trust her. Handing her the rope, he said, "In that case, you can take her to Minakuchi, or even to Kusatsu if you want. All I ask is that you send her back."

As they started away, Jōtarō, in high dudgeon, exclaimed, "How do you like

that! He treated me like an ass, and then as soon as he saw a pretty face ... " "You'd better be careful what you say about the old man. His horse is listening. She may get angry and throw you."

"Do you think this feeble-jointed old nag can get the best of me?" "You don't know how to ride, do you?"

"Of course I know how to ride."

"What are you doing, then, trying to climb up from behind?"

"Well, help me up!"

"You're a nuisance!" She put her hands under his armpits and lifted him onto the animal.

Jōtarō looked majestically around at the world beneath him. "Please walk ahead, Otsū," he said.

"You're not sitting right."

"Don't worry. I'm fine."

"All right, but you're going to be sorry." Taking the rope in one hand, Otsū

waved good-bye to the proprietor with the other, and the two started off. Before they had gone a hundred paces, they heard a loud shout coming out

of the mist behind them, accompanied by the sound of running footsteps. "Who could that be?" asked Jōtarō.

"Is he calling us?" wondered Otsū.

They stopped the horse and looked around. The shadow of a man began to take form in the white, smoky mist. At first they could make out only contours, then colors, but the man was soon close enough for them to discern his general appearance and approximate age. A diabolic aura surrounded his body, as though he were accompanied by a raging whirlwind. He came rapidly to Otsū's side, halted and with one swift motion snatched the rope from her hand.

"Get off!" he commanded, glaring up at Jōtarō.

The horse skittered backward. Clutching her mane, Jōtarō shouted, "You can't do this! I rented this horse, not you!"

The man snorted, turned to Otsū and said, "You, woman!"

"Yes?" Otsū said in a low voice.

"My name's Shishido Baiken. I live in Ujii Village up in the mountains beyond the barrier. For reasons I won't go into, I'm after a man named Miyamoto Musashi. He came along this road sometime before daybreak this morning. Probably passed here hours ago, so I've got to move fast if I'm going to catch him in Yasugawa, on the Omi border. Let me have your horse." He talked very rapidly, his ribs heaving in and out. In the cold air, the mist was condensing into icy flowers on branches and twigs, but his neck glistened like a snakeskin with sweat.

Otsū stood very still, her face deathly white, as though the earth beneath her had drained all the blood from her body. Her lips quivering, she wanted desperately to ask and make sure that she had heard correctly. She couldn't utter a word.

"You said Musashi?" Jōtarō blurted out. He was still clutching the horse's mane, but his arms and legs were trembling.

Baiken was in too much of a hurry to notice their shocked reaction.

"Come on, now," he ordered. "Off the horse, and be quick about it, or I'll

give you a thrashing." He brandished the end of the rope like a whip. Jōtarō shook his head adamantly. "I won't."

"What do you mean, you won't?"

"It's my horse. You can't have it. I don't care how much of a hurry you're in.

"Watch it! I've been very nice and explained everything, because you're only a woman and a child traveling alone, but—"

"Isn't that right, Otsū?" Jōtarō interrupted. "We don't have to let him have the horse, do we?"

Otsū could have hugged the boy. As far as she was concerned, it was not so much a question of the horse as it was of preventing this monster from progressing any faster. "That's true," she said. "I'm sure you're in a hurry, sir, but so are we. You can hire one of the horses that travel up and down the mountain regularly. Just as the boy says, it's unfair to try to take our horse away from us."

"I won't get off," Jōtarō repeated. "I'll die before I do!"

"You've set your mind on not letting me have the horse?" Baiken asked gruffly.

"You should have known we wouldn't to begin with," replied Jōtarō gravely.

"Son of a bitch!" shouted Baiken, infuriated by the boy's tone.

Jōtarō, tightening his grip on the horse's mane, looked little bigger than a flea. Baiken reached up, took hold of his leg and started to pull him off. Now, of all times, was the moment for Jōtarō to put his wooden sword to use, but in his confusion he forgot all about the weapon. Faced with an enemy so much stronger than himself, the only defense that came to mind was to spit in Baiken's face, which he did, again and again.

Otsū was filled with grim terror. The fear of being injured, or killed, by this man brought an acid, dry taste to her mouth. But there was no question of giving in and letting him have the horse. Musashi was being pursued; the longer she could delay this fiend, the more time Musashi would have to flee. It didn't matter to her that the distance between him and herself would also be increased—just at a time when she knew at least that they were on the same road. Biting her lip, then screaming, "You can't do this!" she struck Baiken in the chest with a force that not even she realized she possessed.

Baiken, still wiping the spit off his face, was thrown off balance, and in that instant, Otsū's hand caught the hilt of his sword.

"Bitch!" he barked, grabbing for her wrist. Then he howled with pain, for the sword was already partly out of its scabbard, and instead of Otsū's arm, he'd squeezed his hand around the blade. The tips of two fingers on his right hand dropped to the ground. Holding his bleeding hand, he sprang back, unintentionally pulling the sword from its scabbard. The brilliant glitter of steel extending from Otsū's hand scratched across the ground, coming to rest behind her.

Baiken had blundered even worse than the night before. Cursing himself for his lack of caution, he struggled to regain his footing. Otsū, now afraid of nothing, swung the blade sidewise at him. But it was a great wide-bladed weapon, nearly three feet long, which not every man would have been able to handle easily. When Baiken dodged, her hands wobbled, and she staggered forward. She felt a quick wrenching of her wrists, and reddish-black blood spurted into her face. After a moment of dizziness, she realized the sword had cut into the rump of the horse.

The wound was not deep, but the horse let out a fearsome noise, rearing and kicking wildly. Baiken, yelling unintelligibly, got hold of Otsū's wrist and tried to recover his sword, but at that moment the horse kicked them both into the air. Then, rising on her hind legs, she whinnied loudly and shot off down the road like an arrow from a bow, Jōtarō clinging grimly to her back and blood spewing out behind.

Baiken stumbled around in the dust-laden air. He knew he couldn't catch the crazed beast, so his enraged eyes turned toward the place where Otsū had been. She wasn't there.

After a moment, he spotted his sword at the foot of a larch tree and with a lunge retrieved it. As he straightened up, something clicked in his mind: there must be some connection between this woman and Musashi! And if she was Musashi's friend, she would make excellent bait; at the very least she would know where he was going.

Half running, half sliding down the embankment next to the road, he strode around a thatched farmhouse, peering under the floor and into the storehouse, while an old woman stooped like a hunchback behind a spinning wheel inside the house looked on in terror.

Then he caught sight of Otsū racing through a thick grove of cryptomeria trees toward the valley beyond, where there were patches of late snow.

Thundering down the hill with the force of a landslide, he soon closed the distance between them.

"Bitch!" he cried, stretching out his left hand and touching her hair.

Otsū dropped to the ground and caught hold of the roots of a tree, but her foot slipped and her body fell over the edge of the cliff, where it swayed like a pendulum. Dirt and pebbles fell into her face as she looked up at Baiken's large eyes and his gleaming sword.