“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.
He was not trained in fighting with a naginata, but guessed it was not so different from the heavy oak staffs used in stick fighting and he was very good at that. Swinging the weapon out in a wide arc he then reversed into the opposite direction while running at the two remaining sohei who were coming for him with their swords. He saw their eyes widen in shock, saw that one was Kojo, saw him jumping aside, and the other raising his sword to deflect the halberd’s blade. But Tora’s force was too great. The sword went flying, and Tora slashed his belly. The man fell, clutching himself.
Turning on his heel, Tora saw Kojo running out of the shelter and followed. A violent fury had seized him at what they had done to the wood gatherers, and this red-hot energy had not left him throughout the battle. He seemed to fly across the rough ground, down the rutted mountain road after the fleeing figure.
He caught up with Kojo where the road made the turn and roared, “Coward! Stop and fight like a man!”
The other, not having much choice in the matter, did stop soon after. Kojo still had his sword and the courage of despair.
Kojo! The one he had wanted to kill with his own hands.
Too late Tora realized that the sohei had stopped among trees and shrubs. The naginata was of little use here because he could not slash with it. This battle would have to be fought close up, and Tora no longer had his sword.
Mere details, he decided in his fury.
Holding the naginata straight in front of himself, he charged. Kojo jumped aside and laughed. But he was now at the very edge of a ditch. Hoping that he did not realize this, Tora changed his grip and charged again. This time Kojo slashed at the naginata with his sword and severed the wooden shaft. He laughed again, stepped back, and fell.
Tora was on him instantly. Using the splintered end of the naginata shaft on Kojo’s neck to pin him down, he watched the sohei choke out a gurgling scream and drop his sword to claw at his neck. Tora snatched up the sword and hacked off Kojo’s head.
Then he took a couple of steps and his knees buckled. He collapsed, and sat on the ground, hunched over, breathing heavily, and waiting for the pain. There must be pain. He felt sure he had been wounded though he did not know where or how badly.
The pain came, but it was in his head. It pounded viciously so that he held on to his head for fear it would come apart.
When the throbbing eased a little, he recalled Saburo. He had last seen him stretched out lifeless in the wood shed. He was either dead of badly wounded. And Tora had left him there with at least one sohei still alive.
He staggered to his feet. Carrying Kojo’s bloody sword he headed back.
All was quiet around the hut and shed. Tora heaved a sigh. How would he explain Saburo’s death? What could he say to his mother, unlikable though the woman was? What would his master say? He had been disobedient once too often. Perhaps he, Hanae, and Yuki would become homeless and masterless.