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5

Demons in the Bamboo

I was close.

Even on horseback, it had taken me several days to reach Earth Clan territory and the Niwaki Mountains where the Silent Winds temple was said to be located. The tiny farming community in the valley below the forested peaks stared at me, wide-eyed, as I rode past terraced fields and thatched huts, following the path that snaked toward the mountains. A pair of small children trailed behind my horse, palpably curious and getting steadily closer, until they were snatched away by worried-looking adults. Traveling samurai were likely rare to this part of the valley, members of the Shadow Clan even more so, and farmers naturally gave the warrior class a wide berth. For this mission, I was dressed in the part of a Kage samurai, in hakama trousers and a black haori jacket, the crest of the Shadow Clan on my back. My shinobi gear was tucked into the saddlebags of my horse in case I needed it, though a shadow warrior never revealed himself to outsiders. If I was denied entry at the gates, I would slip over the walls and infiltrate the temple as silently as a yurei ghost, but for now, I was a samurai on a warrior’s pilgrimage, seeking wisdom at the shrines across Iwagoto.

A thin farmer wearing a ragged tunic and a cloth tied around his forehead bowed low as I passed, dropping his gaze to the dirt. I pulled the horse to a stop and glanced down at him, or rather, at the top of his bald head.

“Is the Silent Winds temple nearby?” I asked softly. The man didn’t look up, only bobbed once at the waist, his eyes on his sandaled feet as he replied.

“H-hai, my lord! The temple is right up this path, at the top of the mountain.”

“Thank you.”

I gave the horse a nudge and continued on, leaving the farmers and the village behind. The path became a narrow, twisting trail that grew more treacherous the farther it wound through the forest. I surmised that the monks of this temple rarely received, or encouraged, visitors. Perhaps they simply wished to meditate and study in peace, far removed from the chaos of the world, or perhaps they were hiding—protecting—something.

As night fell and the shadows grew long, the trail nearly vanished, melting into the brush and thick undergrowth, as if the forest itself took offense to intruders. But I had been trained to spot the hidden and the invisible, and darkness was no hindrance for me. I continued, passing bamboo groves and huge trees strung with sacred rope, signifying they were home to the kami.

In my head, Hakaimono stirred. I pulled the horse to a stop and sat, motionless, trying to hear past the labored breaths of the animal beneath me. Around us, the woods were silent and still, evening shadows cloaking all but a few spots of mottled red sunlight.

Very slightly, I opened myself up to the sword and felt the terror in the woods around me, the rapid heartbeats of many living things. Coming toward us? There was a rustle in the bushes ahead, and my horse froze, every muscle taut.

With an eruption of leaves and vegetation, a herd of spotted deer leaped out of the trees and bounded toward me, causing my pulse to spike and my horse to rear up with a squeal. I kept my seat as the animal tried to bolt, squeezing with my knees and pulling back the reins, managing to bring it under control. It snorted and trembled, ears pinned to its skull, as the deer sprang past us and continued into the forest. Hakaimono flared, and I shoved the demon’s presence down, as well.

As the horse calmed, I breathed cautiously and caught the hint of smoke on the wind. I gazed through the canopy overhead, saw a curl of blackness rising over the treetops and kicked the horse into motion. We sped down the trail, Hakaimono pulsing eagerly in my mind, knowing violence was not far away, and death would soon follow.

The air grew hazy and sharp, smelling of burning timber, and my stomach clenched. Looking up, I saw a faint crimson glow against the sky. Small forest creatures, rabbits, squirrels and others, fled through the undergrowth, going in the opposite direction, and my horse began to balk, fighting my orders to continue. Grimly, I set my heels to its ribs and continued, knowing it wasn’t the fire that was spooking it. Something was here, in the forest. And whatever it was, I couldn’t allow it to hinder my mission. I had to get to the scroll.

As we reached a narrow, half-eroded flight of steps through a bamboo forest, a kama sickle flew from the bushes, spinning end over end, and struck my mount in the neck. As the horse screamed and fell, crashing to the steps, I sprang from the saddle and rolled, feeling the jarring impact through my shoulder, then came to my feet several yards away.

A flood of small grotesque creatures spilled from the bamboo forest, cackling and waving spears and crude blades. They swarmed the horse, leaping atop its back, shrieking and poking as it struggled to its feet. Panicked, the mortally wounded horse fled, bucking wildly down the path with its demonic passengers clinging to the saddle, while the rest of the horde spun on me.

Amanjaku? I felt a ripple of both shock and unease, even as Hakaimono flared excitedly at so many things to kill. I had dealt with them in the past, but never in these numbers. How were there so many?

I drew Kamigoroshi as the demons shrieked, baring their fangs, and attacked. One sweep split the first wave in half, severing heads and torsos, and the amanjaku howled as they were sent back to Jigoku. Leaping forward, I dodged a spear thrust at me, stabbed a demon in the eye and beheaded another as I yanked the blade out. Then I was in their midst, and it was nothing but teeth and claws and flashing blades. I gave myself over to the dance of death, Hakaimono’s unrestrained glee surging through my veins.

With alarmed shrieks and howls, the remaining amanjaku scattered into the bamboo forest, their small forms fading quickly from view. Panting, I lowered Kamigoroshi and looked around, wondering where they’d come from, who had brought them here. Amanjaku were minor demons of Jigoku; they couldn’t appear out of nowhere, but the blood magic needed to summon them was a dangerous power that was strictly forbidden throughout the empire. The key component to working the magic of Jigoku was, of course, blood. Sometimes it required other things: souls, organs, body parts, but mostly it called for the life force that ran through all mortal veins. The larger, more powerful the spell, the more blood was required to successfully cast it.

But, the dangerous catch was, it didn’t have to come from the practitioner. Jigoku didn’t care whose blood was spilled, be it man, woman or child, as long as it was human, and as long as the price was paid. Although, as befitting the realm of evil and corruption, the more you cared for the person whose blood was being spilled, the more powerful the magic that came of it. A lover, brother or child whom you betrayed would bestow far more power than a nameless stranger. This was the reason the empire forbade blood magic, why practicing the dark arts was an immediate death sentence. Even a single amanjaku required a blood sacrifice to draw it into the mortal realm; I couldn’t imagine the amount an entire horde would call for.

I didn’t know who had summoned the demons, but I could certainly guess why. After sheathing Kamigoroshi, I sprinted up the trail, heading for the temple and hoping I wasn’t too late.