Kunoichi Companion Tales
Download the ebook: [ePub] [Kindle]
Wild Mushrooms
Lieutenant Sugi smiled down at the small garrison across the valley. Twenty infantry and a squadron of light horse commanded by a green boy, guarding the mouth of a valley that led straight to the Takeda heartland. By the following sunset, Sugi knew that his company — a hundred and thirty foot soldiers, twenty archers, a half-dozen musketeers, and thirty mounted samurai — would have won a decisive, glorious victory. This base could serve as the launching point for an invasion of Worth Province itself, a turning point in the endless war between the Hōjō and their longtime enemies the Takeda and their allies.
Because the treacherous Takeda had fallen out with their former friends the Imagawa, and so the bulk of Takeda-sama’s army was on the other side of the province. Leaving this valley all but undefended.
Sugi could taste it, could smell the glory that awaited him, sharper than the scent of the pine fires and the bubbling stew down in his camp. Commendation. Promotion. Marriage to one of his lord’s many daughters….
Out of the thickening gloom stepped two incongruous figures: young girls in the red and white garb of shrine maidens. The taller one was square-shouldered and carried a long walking stick. The smaller one, delicate and pretty. The hems of their red skirts were dark with mud, their demurely gathered hair was escaping its bonds. Everything about them bespoke hard travel. Nothing about them made sense on a battlefield.
Two years before, in the early morning before his first battle, Sugi had gone down to a pond near the camp to relieve himself. To empty what little was in his stomach, if he were honest.
It had been late winter and a chill, predawn mist covered the valley. There was a cherry tree by the edge of the pond, and the still surface had been painted white with fallen sakura blossoms.
And in the middle, standing statue still, had been a white crane. Not black and white, like most cranes, but stark, snow white, and he would have sworn that it was nearly as tall as he was. It had stared at him for what had seemed to him an eternity. His own breath had caught, though he couldn’t tell why.
Then it had stretched out its enormous wings and disappeared into the mist.
Sugi wasn’t given to fancies. He was a good Buddhist; the old gods and spirits had never interested him much.
But in that moment, by that mist-shrouded, blossom-frosted pond, Sugi Takehiro would have sworn an oath that he had been in the presence of one of the kami.
And these two girls, in their miko garb, standing on the edge of what would be a battlefield the next day, popping up like wild mushrooms — they gave him exactly the same feeling. The feeling that he was face to face with the eternal.
It was not an easy feeling.
He smiled to cover his discomfort. “Young ladies, how may I help you? This is not a place for such lovely girls.”
Biting her lip, the delicate one glanced over to the tall one, who gave an impassive nod. Apparently reassured, the smaller girl turned back to Sugi, her eyes decorously downcast. “My lord general, sir. We didn’t mean to be here. We’re on our way from Estuary to the shrine at Picnic Lake. We were told by the priest to follow the road up that valley, there.” She tipped her head past the Takeda garrison. “Those soldiers over there, they were… not very nice.”
The tall, square-faced girl gave a grunt and scowled. “Took our food.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Sugi, solemnly. He lifted his chin. “Would you lovely ladies care to join me and my soldiers for our evening meal?”
The smaller, prettier girl held a hand in front of her mouth. “Oh. My lord. We could not —”
“I insist. And you shall sleep in my tent. I will… guard the door.” He gave a slight bow. Since, after all, they were spirits.
The pretty girl started to object, but the bigger one put her hand on the other’s shoulder. “We’re hungry.”
“Of course, my dears. I am sure my soldiers would be delighted to have you join them this evening.” In his mind, Sugi could see it: these two young beauties (well, one beauty, the other… handsome), laughing and singing with his soldiers on this, the night before their legendary victory. It would become part of his fame. And perhaps…
He smiled at his own runaway imagination. “Come. It smells as if the supper will soon be ready.”
The tall girl bowed — just a touch deeper than he had bowed to them. The petite girl, however, knelt and touched her charming head to the dewy grass. “My lord is too kind to these humble servants. How may we repay your generosity?”
Sugi was about to wave off the question magnanimously, but then had a thought. “Would you ladies be willing to help serve my men their supper? I feel certain such attractive servants will improve their appetites.”
The smaller girl smiled and touched her head once more to the ground. “It would be our honor and our pleasure, my lord general.”
Walking ahead of them toward the center of camp, filled with a sense of his own mastery, Sugi asked, “And what are your names, lovely ladies?”
“Mieko is this humble servant’s name,” said the smaller girl, her voice flute-like and pleasant.
The other girl grunted, “Kuniko.”
The differences in their polish actually delighted Sugi. Bouncing along the path, he burbled, “I am Sugi Takehiro, lieutenant in the army of Hōjō-sama. Not a general; not yet, at least.” He was glad that he had chosen to shave that morning — his sparse facial hair didn’t always make it worth his while, and the soldiers certainly didn’t seem to care. Still, it was best to keep up appearances, and Sugi was pleased to feel that he cut a dashing figure in his armor, which filled out his bulk nicely.
“Sugi-san,” said the bigger girl.
The smaller one sang, “Oh, we are so fortunate to have met you, Lieutenant, sir! Who knows what wild creatures or bandits we might have encountered had we been forced to sleep on the road!”
“Indeed, it is fortunate. These are not safe times. And I can promise you, your path to Picnic Lake will be clear tomorrow; we will be removing those ruffians in the garrison down there first thing in the morning.” He gestured vaguely toward the mouth of the branching valley where the pathetic Takeda fort stood. “You will see what a real army looks like.”
“Sounds exciting,” Kuniko said.
“Oh,” gasped Mieko, “it sounds very scary. Will there be much blood?”
Sugi chuckled, “Remarkably little. It should be over very quickly. If you watch from the top of the hill, you will see the whole battle without having to see — or hear — anything too distressing.”
“The top of the hill?” asked Kuniko.
Sugi gestured behind him. “Yes. There shouldn’t be any danger up there, but I will of course send one or two of my men with you to keep you safe.”
“The lieutenant is very kind,” sighed Mieko.
They were entering the heart of the camp, where Sugi’s troops were lying about, waiting for the food to be ready. Many were wearing nothing but loose robes on this warm evening, and there was the sound of gaming tiles and the smell of liquor, though he had forbidden drink until after the fight. It offended the lieutenant’s sensibilities that they were so slovenly — he had done his best to instill the kind of discipline that the great generals spoke of in their books — but it was, after all, the night before a battle, one-sided as that battle was likely to be. Surely they would make up for their lack of orderliness in the morning.
And of course, the entry of the two young women — and the commanding officer — had an immediate effect. Men started sitting and standing straighter, tightening their robes, fingers brushing at tangled beards.
Yes, this had been a good idea.
Approaching the central fire, where the company cook was tending a cauldron of steaming stew, Sugi addressed his troops. “Men, these two lovely maidens are our guests tonight, turned out by the uncouth Takeda without shelter or food. In exchange for our care, they have agreed to help serve all of you tonight’s supper.” A rough cheer broke out in the camp, to Sugi’s delight.
Mieko blushed very prettily; even gruff Kuniko looked shyly at the ground.
Sugi continued, “We shall treat these young ladies with all propriety, is that understood?”
The men closest to the girls all nodded, but Sugi could see their leers.
“They shall spend the night in my tent, under my protection. Understood?”
The leers turned to frowns, but the men all nodded.
He was, after all, the commander. Why should he have to share?
“Fukashiro, how close is the food to being ready?”
The cook scratched his beard and shrugged, his narrow eyes on the two girls — like every eye in the camp. “Horse meat like this, could cook it till the Hour of the Rat and it would still be chewy. We can serve it out any time, I suppose.”
“Well, then, ladies, may I prevail upon you to help to serve these brave soldiers? I am sure that they would be delighted to have two such pretty ladies serving their supper.”
The men gave a hoarse cheer.
Mieko blushed prettily. Kuniko smirked, and rolled up her sleeves.
All of them men began to gather around the cauldron, and the girls picked up bowls. Honestly, it brought Sugi to mind of two flowers being swarmed by bees. He smiled and stepped back.
He wasn’t hungry anyway — never was before a battle. He’d only throw it up.
As Fukashiro, the cook, was about to dip the ladle in, Mieko shrieked, “SPIDER!”
All of the men looked around, trying to find the creature — several drew daggers; they’d have happily killed a wolf for the pretty girl, Sugi was certain — but Kuniko leaned across the cauldron and patted her fellow miko’s hand. “There’s no spider, silly,” Kuniko chuckled.
Mieko held a hand in front of her face. “Oh,” she murmured, “I am so terribly sorry. I was sure I saw a spider, but it was just a shadow. Please forgive this foolish girl, gentleman, Kuniko-san.”
Around the fire, the soldiers — who had been swearing and belching moments before — forgave her in a wave of nobility that made their commanding officer proud, even as it amused him.
The two girls served out bowls of stew to each of the soldiers pressed around them. Sugi had to threaten one of the archers, who started to toss his food to the ground so that he could go back and get another serving from the beautiful girls; Sugi told him that he must finish every drop in his bowl, or he would have to go hungry.
The archer scowled, but bowed and took his bowl back over his tent, eating as he walked.
Indeed, all of the men seemed to be wolfing down the food as quickly as they could.
Soon, every one of them had passed through the line at least twice; Sugi had sent soldiers with bowls downhill to feed the pickets who were watching the enemy fort across the valley.
When all of the soldiers — pikemen, archers, musketeers, and samurai — had eaten their fill, the pretty miko laughing and flirting with each, they stumbled, groaning, back to their tents. Lieutenant Sugi felt assured that this meal would live in his company’s lore for years to come.
The maids walked toward him; Mieko was holding a steaming bowl of stew in her hands. Her gaze downcast, she held the bowl out to Sugi. “Please, General-sama,” she said, “honor us by joining us in this meal.”
Sugi waved regretfully but dismissively. “I have learned not to eat the night before a battle, so as not to… cloud my wits.” When the girls’ faces crumpled in disappointment, his heart leapt, as he realized he had a way to lure the two innocents back to his tent. “However, I have some excellent sake back in my quarters. I would love it if you would join me in drinking a toast to tomorrow’s victory.”
“My lord,” tittered Mieko.
Kuniko nodded, placing a square hand on the other girl’s shoulder, and said, “Thank you, Sugi-san.”
Visions of glory danced through his head.
Before he managed to take three steps, however, Sugi heard first one loud groan, then a whole series. Men were staggering out of their tents, stumbling toward the woods where the latrines had been dug.
Most didn’t make it that far. They simply fell on all fours and began to vomit.
An abyss opened in Sugi’s empty middle.
Blinking, he looked at the two girls, in their miko garb, standing on the edge of his camp as his men — his entire company — groaned, retching, on the ground.
Kuniko, the big one, stood erect, her walking stick grasped like the quarterstaff he now saw it to be.
Mieko too smiled, but her expression was sad, her eyes ancient and pitying. “It would truly have been best if you had eaten with your troops, Lieutenant Sugi.”
Rage flared through him. “You… You have killed my men!”
Kuniko snorted.
Mieko shook her head. “They will not die, Sugi-san. We merely added something to their meal that… kept anything unfortunate from happening.”
“Anything… unfortunate?” He stepped forward, ready to wring their necks, but Kuniko brought the end of her staff down in line with his throat.
She said, “Your attack tomorrow would have met with disaster. The fort below… is very heavily defended. Behind the ridge above us that you haven’t sent sentries to watch, there are five squadrons of cavalry and four platoons of archers. You would have sent your men walking to their deaths. We have spared them the dishonor.”
Sugi had spent a lifetime mastering anger. Separating himself from his passion. In that moment, everything that he had learned dissipated like smoke from an extinguished candle. Fury flared through Sugi. He would have drawn his short sword, but Kuniko was already advancing on him with her staff, and so he grabbed Mieko as a shield. “Back off, girl,” he growled.
“Please, Lieutenant,” mewled Mieko, “we do not wish to harm you.”
Now Sugi’s fury exploded as laughter. “Harm! I will show you harm, girl!” And he grabbed for his wakizashi, intending to sweep Kuniko’s staff out of the way…
Pain burst from his chest — it felt as if an ogre had picked him up and were squeezing him. He stumbled back from the girl, looking down…
A slim dagger protruded from under his left arm, blood spraying out around it. His blood…
He looked at Mieko, seeking some explanation. He realized that he was looking up at her.
The pretty face was sad again. “I am so sorry, Sugi-san. I truly am.”
White — like sakura blossoms painting a winter pond — began to obscure his vision. He tried to lift his hand to clear it, but the ogre was squeezing too hard.
Face to face with the eternal.
The last thing that he saw was the black eyes of the two girls, staring at him across eternity. Kami…
Then all was white.
As always, Mieko found the sight of her victim’s body sorrowful. She knew that her action had been justified — it nearly always was. That didn’t ease the melancholy that settled over her, however, as she knelt beside him, staring into his astonished, unseeing eyes, and drew her dagger out from his armpit.
Seventy-three. This was seventy-three; the fifty-eighth man, and the thirty-fourth with a knife.
“They always look surprised,” grunted Kuniko.
Mieko sighed, “Yes.” It was true. It was why she, Kuniko, and the others were so good at their job. No one expected death to come in such a harmless-looking package. From her waist, Mieko pulled a cloth to clean the blade.
“Might as well use your tunic. You’re covered.”
Mieko looked down and realized that Kuniko was right. The front of her white tunic was soaked with the lieutenant’s blood. “I should change.”
In the camp around them, the sounds of the soldiers’ groans were growing fainter. Sleep would rescue them eventually. In the meantime, the powerful emetic in the dried mushroom that Kuniko had dropped in the stew while Mieko distracted everyone with the spider nonsense would keep the Hōjō incapacitated until the morning. They would recover.
All but Sugi-san.
Mieko took Kuniko’s warm, calloused hand and stood. “Help me change in the dead one’s tent.”
Kuniko nodded, leading the way to the large, rectangular tent marked with the Hōjō mon. “You just want to look pretty for Masugu.”
It stung that Kuniko always teased her about the Takeda lieutenant. Mieko and Masugu-san were comrades and friends — very good friends.
Yet all of that — all of it and more — was true of Mieko and Kuniko. She would never hurt either of them. And yet…
“I don’t wish to frighten Masugu-san’s troops,” demurred Mieko as they entered the late commander’s tent.
That elicited a snort. “They could stand to be frightened.”
“Yes,” sighed Mieko, undoing the ties on her blood-soaked top, “you already terrify them.”
Kuniko grunted with what sounded like satisfaction. She shouldered off the pack she had been carrying — in situations such as these, they did their best to make Mieko look as tiny and innocuous as they could — and removed a spare tunic.
Mieko used the back of her stained garment to clean her bloody hands as well as her blade, which she returned to its sheath on her arm. Then she traded the soiled top for the clean one that Kuniko held out to her. She turned to put on the fresh tunic, but stopped when she felt Kuniko’s rough fingers touching the top of her shoulder. Mieko sighed, “Dōshi.”
“Hate it that you and Masugu…”
Mieko turned, shocked at the emotion in Kuniko’s voice. As always, none showed on the other girl’s face. “You know that my duty is to Lady Chiyome. And to you. Dōshi,” Mieko repeated. Second soul. She knelt at Kuniko’s feet. “My la—”
“Stop.” Now Kuniko conveyed all of the emotion of a cliff face. “Never call me that. That Kuniko is dead.”
Mieko took Kuniko’s clenched fist and opened the fingers, kissing the palm. “And yet this Kuniko will always live in me.”
Kuniko blinked, her ears darkening. “Poet,” she sneered, but they both knew it was just to cover her delight. “Come on, get up. We need to get you dressed again, so we can signal Lieutenant Masugu and tell him we’re done his job for him. Again.”
Once he spotted the signal just after true dark, Masugu came down into the Hōjō camp with all of his lancers — it didn’t make sense to leave any of the cavalry in reserve, in case they needed to fight their way out. And yet he knew, before they had even approached the perimeter of the camp, that there would be no fighting tonight.
Inuji, his second in command, gave a surprised whistle as they approached the center of the Hōjō encampment. Dozens of enemy soldiers lay on the ground in pools of their own vomit. “Don’t know why we bother,” muttered Inuji. “These kunoichi take out the enemy for us without our even having to draw a blade.”
“Oh,” laughed Masugu, “I’m sure they wouldn’t want to hoard all of the fun.” By the commander’s akunoya stood two familiar figures in red and white — the only people standing in the whole camp.
Masugu would never admit it — not to Mieko, not to Kuniko, not to anyone — but he hated watching them go off on their missions. He knew that they were more than capable of taking care of themselves. But watching them walk, clad in nothing but silk, into an enemy stronghold…
And yet here they stood as always: immaculate. Unharmed. To the uninitiated eye, the living symbols of innocence and purity. Dismounting from Inazuma, he greeted them. “Kuniko-san. Mieko-san. Well done, ladies.”
“Thank you, Masugu-san,” answered Mieko with a respectful bow, and her face was sad (as it always was after a mission), but it made Masugu’s heart flutter nonetheless.
“Inuji,” Masugu told his second, “have the men dismount and gather up the Hōjō arms — especially the muskets and powder.” Those would reinforce the canon and guns already hidden in the fort. As his soldiers dispersed around the camp to relieve the poor enemy soldiers of their weapons, Masugu turned back to the kunoichi. “Any surprises?”
Mieko shook her head, but usually taciturn Kuniko chuckled. “Lieutenant had a nervous stomach. Didn’t eat. Was going to try something stupid. So Mieko had to stick him.” Mieko blushed, and Kuniko chuckled again. “If she hadn’t, I was going to whack him on the head.”
“I know you would have, Kuniko,” sighed Mieko. “But I did not wish him to have the opportunity to get to his blade.”
Kuniko shot him a look — something almost revealing a grin — and Masugu knew it was time to act. “Mieko-san, would you mind showing Inuji where the musketeers are bivouacked?”
Mieko cocked her head for a moment, and then bowed. “Of course, Lieutenant.” And she walked off toward Masugu’s soldiers.
When she was out of earshot, Kuniko arched an eyebrow at him — for her, an extreme display. “Something on your mind, Masugu?”
“Yes,” he said, fighting down nerves comparable to those he felt before a cavalry charge. Ridiculous. He removed his helmet. “I wish to speak with you about Mieko-san.”
Kuniko said nothing.
Masugu took a breath. “I wish to ask her to marry me.”
After a moment, Kuniko grunted. “And what does this have to do with me?”
“A reasonable question,” Masugu granted with a nod. “I… respect you, Kuniko-san. Mieko-san cares for you a great deal. And I do not think you like me very much.”
Again, silence.
“I would like your approval before I ask for her hand.”
Kuniko’s face remained still, but emotion was clearly swirling beneath the surface. Her eyes narrowed. After one breath and another, she said. “Like you or not, I respect you, too, Masugu. Can’t help but respect a boy who’d want to marry a girl who could kill him a hundred and eight different ways. Can’t pretend to know how she’d answer you. But hurt her, and I swear by all eight million gods, I will end you.”
Not approval, exactly, but it would do. “I would ask no less, Kuniko-san.”
—