The Clever Hawk

The Clever Hawk

  By Ronan Frost

  Copyright 2015 Ronan Frost

  Part One

  Chapter One

  My stride tracks the irregularities of the forest floor and it no longer feels like I am running, but rather I am stationary and the trail is unfurling towards me, the entire world twisting with every dip and curve. I am not aware of the omnipresent roar bathing my senses until it is suddenly gone, and I return with a sharp displacement and a distinct popping in my ears –

  - and I’m back in that wretched compartment.

  I wish I could shift and ease the muffled agony of cramp in my legs, but the box is designed for a child even smaller than myself, and I cannot budge my gangly limbs folded all akimbo hard up against the walls. In the heavy silence all I can hear are bumps muffled by distance, bleeding through the wattle and daub walls of the castle.

  As I come to my senses, I realize I do not know how long I have slept for. I am trapped here. The Hatakeyama could return at any moment, and no amount of explanation could save me should they see me emerging from the secret compartment into their guest chamber.

  How much did I remember? The clink of chopsticks upon bowls, the smell of rice and marinated fish permeating through the wall. For a time, I had feared my stomach would growl and betray my presence. The choked stream of cramp had worked its way up my legs and into my lower back, and as I listened I had tried without success to accept the pain and absorb it, as my Master had taught.

  “We can’t do it,” one of the family had said, his voice only slightly muffled by the thin wall between us. “The whole plan, it’s foolish. Why risk his wrath?”

  “Lord Date is becoming ruthless; it’s only a matter of time before he comes for our lands. He cares not if we are kin.”

  “But this plan is lunacy!”

  “Quiet, both of you,” another older voice had cautioned. “We will speak no more of it.”

  My curiosity piqued, yet the warning had obviously been enough, for nobody spoke again. In that silence I sensed the spark of friction caused by the heightened nerves and the disparity of opinion. After that, I have only the fragments of the dream in my memory; the sensation of running, damp loam underfoot, and a narrow forest trail, yet the more I sought after details the quicker the dream evaporated. I had not even realized I was tired, it was impossible to believe I had fallen asleep. With no sense of how much time had passed I struggled to think of what to tell my Master.

  I flinched as the false section of wall ripped away and sudden lamplight spilled onto my face, striking my eyes with such force it seemed a physical slap, and my field of view filled with Master Masakage’s face, his eyes small and set far apart and his jaw a weak dimple in the jowls of his cheeks. Despite the superficial lifelessness to those eyes I knew a quick and sharp mind resided behind that gaze.

  “Get out, boy.” His iron hand grasped my upper arm, hauling me to my feet, the slippery texture of his formal kimono brushing against my side. My legs, weakened by both the atrophy of long inactivity and a flooding of fear buckled like cooked noodles beneath my weight.

  Master Masakage’s head rose, his chest expanding, and he looked down upon me with scorn. “You look like an idiot, boy. Speak, don’t just twitch like an imbecile.”

  “My Master… They… They talked only a little…” I managed. My legs found some measure of strength and attempted to stand but still my Master held my upper arm. I was bound to him, his grip tight.

  “That is all?” Master Masakage lifted me higher, skewing me sideways. “They now dine with the father of Lord Date. If there is something I need to know, now is the time.”

  “I…” The blood in my veins sounded a furious rushing roar in my inner ear, and although my eyes were fixed firmly upon the woven reeds of the floor, I could feel his eyes delving deep into my soul. For a moment, I thought of fabricating something, but my mind balked, empty and stupid.

  “They were arguing about something, a plan. But I didn’t hear, I mean…”

  Master Masakage did not blink, his grip about my arm relentless, and it seemed his will sliced into my mind like a blade into the belly of a fish.

  “I think I… I was so tired, that for a moment I might have fallen asleep.”

  “Seven years, boy! Seven years I have wasted! This is how you repay my kindness? I gave you a chance boy, a chance to raise above your peasant origins! I should have known better. The son of a frog is a frog still. It is just as well your kin are but ashes for the shame you would bring them!”

  I reeled to the floor, his words slapping me harder than his thrust. He did not linger to see how I fell, but turned his back and strode out of the door. I picked myself up, finding I had upset the low table in the center of the room and strewn cups and small dishes over the floor. My back gave a pulsing ache from where it had struck the edge but I tried to ignore it, hurrying instead to pick up what I had scattered and straightening the table. By the time I had finished and rushed to the door he was halfway down the corridor. I scampered like a cowed beast, half-running to catch up. From behind his silhouette had an imperious aspect, billowing pants cinched at the waist with a sash that fell to his ankles whipping like a snake, the shoulders of his starched sleeveless jacket exaggerated into points. He did not slacken his pace or deign to look behind, his voice flat and cold.

  “You are no longer needed, boy.”

  I froze in my tracks, sagging inwards, wishing fervently I could wipe myself from this world. If a pit had opened in the earth at my feet I would have unflinchingly thrown myself into its depths. My vision swam as I ground a palm against my forehead, as if that pressure alone could hold back the brimming tears, feeling my face twist into a grimace advertising my deject loneliness and utter worthlessness.

  My feet took me through narrow side corridors, a servant’s route that twisted through the castle. I chose the darkest and least used, so that although sounds of activity were close at hand, I passed nobody. I reached the servants vestibule and stepped down to a section of flooring lower than the main floor and I ducked outside in the chill winter night.

  The cold dashed upon exposed skin and penetrated my thin layer of clothing, drawing instant gooseflesh. With every inhalation came a searing pain in my lungs and a giddy satisfaction of self-flagellation. As the moments passed I realized it was more than that, for as my core temperature waned so too did my misery. Shame bleed away, leaving nothing but numbness. I took a score of steps into the darkness, looking up at the vast dome of an inky black and star-strewn sky. At my back the sounds and smells from the windows of warm orange light in the main building seemed a world away.

  Not wishing to draw the attention of patrolling guards I moved further into the shadows and dropped into a crouch, holding my hands about my ankles, head between my knees. Thoughts spun through my head but none made any sense and I simply waited, fearing to return and face my master’s wrath, knowing the longer I lingered the worse it would be, and the deeper the lines of his cane would be drawn across my back.

  A loud crash from within the castle caught my attention. Lights flared into life in windows, sounds of shouting and in the darkness some distance away a group of people began to run. I knuckled tears from my eyes and saw through the small leaves of a manicured hemlock shrub a confused bunch of shapes dash through the darkness, and what appeared to be someone carrying a bulky load upon their shoulder. They argued between one another in urgent tones but I was not close enough to catch words. After some confusion, they disappeared out of my view and I heard the clink of metal upon metal. Then came the clatter of hooves dancing upon stones and in moments they were up in the saddle and riding four horses straight out of the main gate, huddled low and snapping the reins urgently. No shout of challenge rose
; either the guards at the gate were absent or they too had been taken by surprise.

  The quiet after their passing seemed unnatural. A slight wind lifted and rustled the leaves, and somewhere far off came the croak of frogs. With every instinct and frayed nerve in me crying out for caution I edged toward the snickering and uneasy settling of those disturbed horses left behind in the stables. It was my task to gather information, and such was the peculiar haste of the riders that I knew he would want to know what had happened here.

  This was my chance at redemption. I would discover the cause of the disturbance, report it immediately. Perhaps it might go some way to alleviate my failure.

  I stood there with every hair on my body standing on edge with fear, the cold now forgotten, and pushed open the door. It was dark inside, yet the wave of warmth that washed out carried with it the comforting smells of and horses and straw. Of the stablemaster and his boys I could see nor hear nothing.

  A bright shaft of light came from the castle; I stepped backwards sharply into the shadows again. A bunch of men holding aloft lanterns fanned into the yard, casting a dancing array of shadows as they searched, dispersing like spilling water and shouting at one another. A cry was raised as someone found something at the guard gate, and a second later another man’s voice;

  “The stable doors are open!”

  I backed further into the bushes, away from the light and activity with my heart racing. My place of concealment grew stark with approaching lanterns, and I was fortunate to be slender enough to slip between the bushes and away from the confusion.

  “They’ve taken their horses!”

  Like the gossamer tendrils of a forgotten dream, talk of the Hatakeyama’s plan came back to me. A kidnap. I shook my head and squeezed my eyes closed.

  A hand fell upon my shoulder, fingers tightening into the flesh. Weakened by shock I spun under the pressure, my heart flailing within my chest -

  It was her.

  Instantly, my mind washed with memories. It is odd how the mind can capture a particular moment in time, an image set crystal clear while those events immediately preceding and following are lost. I recalled every detail of that scene, when the summer heat seemed ratcheted higher and higher by the endlessly escalating calls of the cicadas, the air swooning with humidity. I was mid-step, passing by the open doors of the washrooms and chanced to see the laundry girls pounding clothes in a huge wooden tub. Two of the girls were facing away from me, but this girl had glanced aside and had caught my eye: she wore a thin yukata hitched up to her unblemished thigh, sashed loosely about her waist and clinging wetly the contours of her breasts, one hand raised to wipe away some loose strands of hair that had escaped from the knotted bun atop her head. When our gazes met for that fleeting moment it felt like we had shared something. The laughter she shared with her friends yet remained in the corners of her lips, and I felt my own smile reflect hers. The world seemed to pause. Then it was over. My footsteps had carried me onward, past the door, and I had hurried on.

  With her so close, hearing her carefully modulated voice again, it seemed like the intervening months had never happened.

  “What are you doing here? You have to leave the castle! He’s looking for you.”

  My mind would not function, my ears feeling like they were emanating scarlet heat of a furious blush. Her name rang through my thoughts. Aki. She stood a little taller than me, and although I could not meet her eyes I felt her looking down at me.

  “Looking for me?”

  “Look at me! He knows.”

  “Who?”

  “Leave this place, and never come back!”

  “What’s happened?”

  Her voice flashed with impatience. “They’ve taken Lord Date’s father. Run away – now!”

  Then she was gone, simply vanishing into the night.

  A high-pitched ringing in my ears made everything feel suddenly distant. I hardly heard the cries of alarm as word spread, the castle coming alive. The father of Lord Date, abducted? The Hatekeyama had come to petition for peace, yet had taken a powerful bargaining chip. How could I have been so foolish to have missed this vital piece of information? My thoughts spiraled inwards to the undeniable conclusion: this was all my fault. I had to seek out my master and beg forgiveness.

  I set out at a run, forcing my way through the gathered and useless milling of servants and onlookers. I entered a vestibule and slipped off the oversized slippers. It was unusual to see the other pairs scattered about the floor, evidence to the haste overcoming the castle, yet I took the time to arrange the ones I had used neatly and square against the step ready for the next person. I hesitated; my ostensible task in the castle as a messenger boy was also to clean up and I felt the pressure of habit before shaking my head to clear it; this was no time to be rearranging slippers.

  I darted down the corridor just as a group of men rounded the corner. Councilors to the Lord Date. They spoke quickly over the top of one another as they walked, hardly seeing me as I hugged the wall, holding my breath in an effort to seem small. As they passed I caught fragments of conversation.

  “Has Lord Date been informed?”

  “Word had been relayed.”

  “Where are…”

  The voices faded as the councilors rounded a corner. I broke into a run, then suddenly my feet skated beneath me as I came face-to-face with the scarab black of an armored breastplate, so close I could see the individual white threads of the lacing binding plates together. In that moment frozen in time I looked up and saw the stuff of nightmares: the curved curtain of the samurai’s bell helmet surrounding a face hidden beneath a faceplate cast into a permanent scowl.

  I dropped to my knees, hands folded and my head pressed to the ground, expecting a fatal blow that would part my head from my body and wondering in a kind of morbid fascination what it would feel like, guessing I would feel no pain. But the samurai’s stride did not break, and he drove forward as if I were nothing but a fluttering bug. I waited until the creak of articulated armor faded completely before raising my head and staggering upright, this time moving with more care and with a strange tingling sensation prickling all over my skin.

  My feet carried me to the door to my master’s room; it was open. A lantern illuminated a small tatami room lined with shelves stacked with ledgers and scrolls. To the unassuming, the smell of ink and paper associated to a master scribe, yet to my nose it was the heavy air of a tiger’s den.

  I found my feet had slowed. I stood still, and held together hands that were shaking. An enervating dizziness almost made me drop and I had to grab at the wall for support, willpower hemorrhaging from my body, leaving behind an empty shell arranged in the semblance of life like the discarded husk of a cicada.

  And suddenly Aki was in my thoughts. With a flash I recalled the encounter that had set my nerves afire. I tried to keep the image of her face clear in my mind, her jet black hair, almond eyes, and those lips. And then her words bubbled from my subconscious.

  Should I simply run away?

  The thought would never have occurred to me had not she suggested it. Where could I possibly go? I had nothing. That was simply not an option. If Lord Date’s father had been kidnapped, surely my master would take the blame, and that blame would likely pass on directly to me. What was the worst that could happen? I swallowed and forced my ragged breathing to settle. The One-Eyed Dragon had a fearsome reputation; the worst I could imagine was bad.

  That was no reason to abandon my duty.

  And yet Aki’s words had given me permission to think for myself, words I had never heard from anyone, words that broke those invisible bindings around my heart that had held me like a moth to the flame of my master’s will.

  I could escape.

  My eyes shot open.

  It was then I heard the distinct barking command of master Masakage approaching and I saw him appear at the far end of the corridor. At first I thought he had seen me too, but then noticed he was distracted by
a messenger boy who trailed his footsteps.

  I looked down the length of the corridor, judging the distance. It was too late. I could not flee. I slipped into my master’s room and stood in the middle, turning circles, the tatami matting at my feet creaking like thin ice cracking and spidering outwards, announcing my uninvited presence. One, two, three times I spun, looking for a place to hide as my master’s words grew clearer and clearer.

  “…told you before boy, I don’t want another message boy, I want him! How can nobody know where he is?”

  Master Masakage was suddenly at the door. I lay as still as I possibly could and watched from beneath the shelving. Dust was in my nose. With dread I saw a corner of my sleeve still lay exposed; I dare not move for fear the movement would attract attention. Master Masakage paced into the center of the room and then, from the attitude of his feet, I judged he turned his back on me and faced the door. I took a gamble and withdrew my exposed sleeve, bringing it close to my body.

  A boy’s voice came from the door.

  “I’ve searched everywhere, Master Masakage - nobody knows where he is. I… I heard that the last someone saw of him, he was in the stables –”

  My master’s tone sharpened. “The stables? Then the skinny runt was part of it all along! The bastard helped them escape!”

  I almost started from my hiding spot to protest the unjust conclusion, for indeed it seemed my guilt was undeniable - I could add betrayal to the list of crimes that already included stupidity and failure of duty. The aching urge to throw myself at his mercy, to plead ignorance, was almost unstoppable.

  The messenger boy spoke again. “I saw him talking to the girl from the laundry.”

  Master Masakage’s reaction was so vehement it made the boy jump. “Girl! Which girl? Where is she now?”

  “I… I think her name is Aki, sir.”

  “Then bring her! What are you doing still standing here? Go!”

  I heard the door shut with a savage swish-clack and the receding footfalls as the boys ran off. I then saw my master’s feet peeking from beneath his long robe as he stepped across the room, directly toward me. This was it, I thought. Why had I even bothered to hide?

  To my surprise, a hand did not reach down and haul me out. Instead, I heard a thunk as he placed the candle holder on the shelving top and felt the creak of the wood as he slumped onto it, his spread feet so close I saw individual threads in his winter socks.

  I tried to calm my breathing, to take only tiny sips of air, but my lungs burned. The air rasped in and out like the crinkle of a paper lantern and my heart beat a heavy staccato, pumping straight up into my head, coming up against the drum of my inner ear with an incompressible thud-thud-thud. In the silence I felt sure I would be found within moments, yet time passed, and still Masakage did not move. Was he toying with me?

  There was a sudden crash, the sound of a fist coming down, and everything upon the shelf leapt and clattered. I barely restrained a yelp of fear.

  Then there was a choke of indrawn breath.

  I couldn’t believe it. It was the sound of defeat; the old man’s sighs had turned into barely restrained sobs.

  The sounds of a beaten man.

  Surely nobody had ever been privileged to peer into this crack, to see within the impenetrable shield; Masakage was a man who was always right, always in control. Not once had he openly praised me, only occasionally had I gained the merest nod of approval. Other than that, his face was always a mask, as confident as a god. To see this humanity…

  At last he sighed and his feet shuffled back and the shadows within the room skewed mightily as he took the lantern with him towards the door. At the door he paused mid-stride and there was an odd silence, which was then marred by a strange sound, and it took me a moment to place it: the sound of him sniffing the air. Then master Masakage’s feet disappeared and the door slid closed once again.