The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year - Volume Eight (32 page)

The last came out in a shriek of rage and malice. For Hiroshi's part he didn't know what she was, but he knew she wasn't human. A
kami
, or perhaps a demon in – somewhat – human form. When she came for him again he had his uncle's
wakazashi
out and ready. "Stay back, monster!"

She hissed like a snake and struck at him. Hiroshi dodged and struck back. It was only the feel of the blade as it struck something solid that told him of the hit. The rag and bone creature did not cry out. It merely stepped back, confused. "Mine!" she repeated.

Hiroshi took a deep breath and a firmer grip on his sword. "You've been in the dark too long, Grandmother. Don't force me to strike you again!"

She looked at Hiroshi, or rather at his clothes, then looked at the sword again. "Mine," she said again, "soon enough. I can wait."

She cackled with laughter and then spread out her arms like a kite. In answer the breeze there swelled into her rags and she lifted off into the darkness. In a moment she was out of sight in the deeper black of the caves.

Hiroshi waited for a bit, sword at the ready, but she did not return. He finally put the blade away.

"Well," he said. "That was very strange."

He didn't like to think of himself as a fool, despite what the creature had said. He had already met one monster on his short journey, and it seemed likely that there would be others. He wondered if the beautiful music was being played by another monster to lure him down.

"If so, it worked. But for what purpose? And why is the music fainter now than when I kneeled at the well?"

"Because it's farther away, of course."

Hiroshi's previous encounter with the clothes thief must have left him more shaken than he'd thought, because he immediately reached for his sword. After a moment he took his hand off the hilt, feeling foolish. The speaker was a small man in the robes of a Buddhist monk. He sat crosslegged on the stones, tending a small fire upon which steamed a small kettle. Before him were cups and a ladle and a bamboo whisk for making tea. A traveler's bundle served as a rest for his back.

Hiroshi bowed. "
Gomen nasai
, Honored Sir. I did not see you there."

"Obviously. I was about to have some tea, young man. Would you care to join me?"

The mention of tea made Hiroshi realize he was starting to get hungry. "Yes, thank you."

The monk prepared their tea in silence, though perhaps introductions would have been more in order. Hiroshi shrugged and pulled out two of the rice cakes he'd brought with him and offered one to the monk, who politely declined. Hiroshi then ate both of them, though he remembered his manners enough to let the monk take the first sip of tea before he began.

He also studied the man as closely as manners would allow without staring. His initial impression of small stature was on the mark. The man was tiny, even shorter than Hiroshi himself, though otherwise looked more or less human. Part of Hiroshi was wondering if the monk would suddenly grow fangs and attack him, but mostly he wondered what the man was doing there in that place, and what he knew about the music. He held off asking for as long as he could, but that wasn't very long at all.

"Excuse me, but what did you mean about the music being farther away?"

"Just that it is. You're much farther from it than you were."

That wasn't very helpful, though Hiroshi didn't say so out loud. It was more than a little irritating.

"I don't understand. Will you explain?"

The monk didn't say anything for a while, but merely sipped his tea. Hiroshi's annoyance faded. The monk seemed very tired, and very sad, as if the whole subject pained him.

"When you dream, where do you go?" the monk asked finally.

Hiroshi frowned. "I-I don't know. Some say the spirit wanders, aimless. Others say you don't go anywhere, and dreams are just stories you tell yourself while you sleep."

The monk nodded. "Men believe many things. Some of them are true. Now then, where do you go when you die?"

"The River of Souls. Perhaps to be reborn."

The monk nodded. "Now, then – where are you now?"

Hiroshi looked around, but the scene had not changed. He was in a cave far underground. His reasons for being there were perhaps not as clear as they could be, but he did know that much, and said so.

"You know less than you think. Go home, Hiroshi."

Hiroshi blinked. "How do you know my name?"

The monk sighed gustily. "How do you not know mine?"

Hiroshi just stood in silence. "I don't understand. You haven't told me your name. I should have asked, but I didn't mean to offend you –"

"I am not offended. I do regret the time you're going to make me waste." The monk carefully packed away his tea supplies and hoisted his bundle. "Shall we go?"

"I can't ask you to come with me."

"You can't ask for me
not
to come with you. I choose what I do, as do you. I hope in time you will choose better."

Hiroshi had no answer for that, because he didn't understand a word of it. He merely picked up his sword and set out once more in the direction of the music, or as close as he could discern. The monk walked a few feet ahead, his staff making a rhythmic jingling sound from the small bell attached to it. Hiroshi thought at first that the sound would interfere with the music, but the jingle of the bell was so steady and constant that it was soon as lost as the sound of his own heartbeat.

This is a very strange cave,
Hiroshi thought, even as he realized how foolish a thing it was to believe this place a simple cave. Hiroshi thought of stories he had heard about the Dragon Palace, where a simple fisherman once dallied with a princess in ageless luxury for centuries under the sea while his true home and all he knew turned to rot and dust. Except this was not under the sea, so far as Hiroshi knew, and the monk was certainly no princess.

The music was still faint, but by long practice at listening, Hiroshi was beginning to hear it better. "It's a
koto
being played," he said. "It's lovely."

The monk nodded, looking glum. "Yes. Akiko is very gifted."

Hiroshi was so surprised he stopped walking. The monk merely glanced at him over his shoulder, waiting patiently for him to catch up.

"You know who's playing the music?" Hiroshi asked.

"Of course. So do you."

That was just more nonsense from his odd companion, so far as Hiroshi could see, and he didn't dwell on it. Something he did dwell on was the simple fact that the music was getting louder. Another strange thing, since Hiroshi was certain they hadn't traveled more than a bowshot from where he and the monk had taken tea together. He mentioned it to the monk, who seemed even more dispirited.

"We're much closer now."

"How can that be? We haven't walked very far."

"It's not in how far you travel. It's in deciding to make the journey."

"I'd decided that when I climbed down the well!"

"If you say so. I think rather that you were traveling away as much as toward. You didn't know where you were going. Now you do."

"Akiko? And you say I know her? How?"

"You grew up together."

"But I haven't grown up yet," Hiroshi said, though the admission pained him a bit. "And there are several girls in my village but I don't know anyone named Akiko."

His companion merely grunted. "Nor did she know anyone named Hiroshi."

"Sir, I don't understand any of what you're saying."

"You certainly don't. Else you wouldn't be here."

Hiroshi didn't know if he'd been insulted or not, but he rather thought so. He gritted his teeth but kept his voice level. "Then, Honored Sir, would you be so kind as to tell me where I
should
be?"

"Home, of course."

"Very well – as soon as I find the music, I'll go home. I have to know what it is and why it calls to me, else I'll never be content."

The monk nodded. "You're not seeking music; you're seeking an answer. I wondered if you understood that. Very well then, I will help you find Akiko. Yet whatever happens, afterwards you will leave this place. You don't belong here. Do I have your word?"

Hiroshi hesitated, but he saw no good alternative. "Yes."

"Well, then. You have mine. Only time will tell what either is worth."

T
hey walked for hours across what looked like the bones of a longdead river. Hiroshi was amazed at how large the field of stones was and wondered if they would ever see the end. Now and then they came to a pile of white stones, standing alone in the flat rocky
nothing
of that place. He asked about them, but the monk merely said "stones" and nothing else.

Also, now and again, Hiroshi could have sworn that he heard the sound of children playing. He asked about that too, but the monk merely said that the children were always there. Hiroshi saw no children, but he let the matter drop. It was enough to know that what had appeared to be a cave was now a vast empty riverbed of stones, and overhead was a darkness that might have been stone or might have been a night sky without stars.

In fact, neither said anything at all for the rest of their walk, until the monk pointed to something rising from the stone field in the distance.

"She's there."

Hiroshi looked closer. It was a hill by the riverbed. He hadn't noticed it sooner because it didn't rise very far from the rocks at all. That was because it began beneath the level of the riverbed itself, at the bottom of a low, sloping valley. Hiroshi saw the way down marked by two stone lanterns. They cast a blue glow through the shadows of that place. Corpse lights drifted past on the wind.

He stopped for a moment, listening closely. The music was much clearer now, more than enough to discern the instrument. Almost enough to discern the song. Hiroshi listened as hard as he knew how.

"I-I know that song. It's called..." His voice trailed away. He couldn't remember, but he knew that was the only reason. He knew the song's name. He had known it long ago and now forgotten. And yet he was equally sure he had never heard that song anywhere but down the dry dead well. "Perhaps it doesn't matter." Hiroshi turned toward the entrance to the valley.

"It's guarded, of course."

"Guarded? By what?"

"Three monsters. You'll have to face all three to reach Akiko. I'm not going with you."

Hiroshi nodded. "That would be best. Still, do you know how can I defeat the guardians?"

"I didn't say you could defeat them. I said you had to
face
them. You do have a knack for misunderstanding your situation, young man."

"Honored Sir, with all respect, you have a knack for meaningless answers."

The monk smiled again. "Pass the guardians first; then tell me what I have said is meaningless."

Hiroshi considered. He did not want to fight the monsters. He was afraid, and he didn't pretend otherwise. He just knew that he had to go forward now. Not out of pride he didn't have, or the bravery he didn't feel. It wasn't even for the music anymore. Maybe the monk was right – he wanted an answer. Something that would fill the empty ache he felt every time he heard the music, that he knew he always would feel even if he never heard the music again.

It's not as if I can stop listening.

Hiroshi unsheathed his sword and stepped past the stone lanterns alone. Their glow faded behind him much sooner than he had expected. As in the first part of the cave the light was very faint but he still could see – barely. He moved slowly, carefully, trying to step quietly over the smooth gray stones.

It didn't help. The first guardian was waiting for him before he had gone a dozen steps.

"Go home, boy."

Hiroshi stood face to knee with a gigantic
oni.
It towered over him, a good eight feet tall. Its skin was redder than blood, its teeth like tusks, its hair like the mane of a guardian lion. It carried in its right hand a gigantic iron club.

For several long moments Hiroshi just stared. He couldn't raise his sword, he couldn't run, he couldn't do anything.

"I asked politely enough," grunted the
oni.
"Now it is too late."

The creature swung its club. Too late, Hiroshi tried to dodge. He didn't get the full force of the blow, but he got more than enough. His vision exploded like a Chinese rocket, and for a moment all he could see was white drifting stars. The first thing to come back to him, even before his vision, was his name, and it wasn't Hiroshi.

My name is Yojiro
...

The rest of his former life came back to him then. Part of him remained Hiroshi and did not forget. Yet now he remembered being Yojiro too. Growing up in the shadow of Fuji-san, and the people he had known there. He remembered being a young samurai, full of life and promise. He remembered the lesson he'd been taught in both humility and the transience of a life, the day he had died in battle. All this was known to him in the instant before he opened his eyes again, knowing himself to be Hiroshi, and knowing that he, once, was Yojiro.

The
oni
was nowhere to be seen.

Hiroshi sat up, gingerly feeling the lump on the side of his head. "I think I am still alive, yet I don't understand how that can be. Why didn't the ogre finish me off? I was no match for him!"

Hiroshi didn't question the new memories that came to him on the
oni'
s club; he knew they had come to him for a reason. He didn't know what that reason was, but he was certain he wouldn't find out sitting there on the stones. He got to his feet, slowly, and looked around for his sword. It was lying some distance away. There was a nick on the blade where it struck a stone on landing.

That will take some time to polish out. Uncle will be cross.

No help for it now. Hiroshi carefully sheathed the sword, then remembered to examine himself for any other injuries he might have missed, but there didn't seem to be any. That seemed strangely fortunate, but Hiroshi wasn't sure if it was anything of the sort. The other young man's memories were still strong in him, and he still didn't know what they might mean. There was also a curious gap in those memories, curious because of the vividness of all the others. Someone he could almost but not quite remember.