二十三 Part 23 (Bandits)

“Oh no.” Shichi ducked beneath the heads of the other customers. His heart began to pound, knocking inside of his chest as if it were trying to come out. He and Chiyo had left the island behind; he hadn’t expected to ever see the bandits again. What were they doing in Osaka?

“What?” Chiyo said, raising a brow at her friend’s odd behavior.

“It’s them,” he whispered. “It’s the bandits.”

“What bandits?”

“I forgot to mention, ah— well, they really don’t like me,” he said, making sure his head was hidden behind the oni at the neighboring table.

“What did you do?” Chiyo asked with a suspicious hiss, leaning in to leer at the shrinking tengu. Before Shichi could come up with an explanation, one of the bandits raised his voice, calling out in breathless desperation.

“Is anyone a healer?” he asked, easing his wounded companion down onto the floor. “Does anyone know medicine?”

“We have a resident healer, actually,” Fumie said, having come out from the kitchen to inspect the commotion. “Right over there.”

The customers parted in the direction she had pointed, exposing the monk hunched nervously over the table.

“Uh,” Shichi said, his feathers rising in anxiety as he felt the eyes of every person the room. “Hello.”

“You!” The wounded tengu’s voice cracked like a whip. As she attempted to sit upright, a wince of pain halted the motion and one of the bandits eased her back down to the floor. Though she was covered in blood, she still had enough energy to direct a glare in Shichi’s direction. He recognized her as well, more clearly than any other—she was their leader. He had watched her take lives like a child picking daisies. There had been no remorse in her eyes, no regret as she scattered blood and breath with her blade. Now she was the one whose blood had spilled.

Seeing the red soaking through her clothes snapped him out of his fear. Their past disagreement was irrelevant. Whether she had ended one life or a thousand, she was still a person—a person who needed his help. Inhaling deeply, he pushed himself up and made his way through the crowd of customers. Her wounds were already staining the wooden floor, hinting at just how deep they were. The most severe of them ran across her chest, accompanied by a few minor cuts on her side and arms.

“Can we help?” Fumie asked, her head floating next to his in concern.

“In the garden,” Shichi said, keeping his tone even. “I need fresh yarrow—the leaves. As much as you can bring.”

“Of course,” the innkeeper said, her head snapping back toward her shoulders as she hurried away.

“And you,” Shichi said, directing his attention to the two bandits who were crouched beside their leader. “I need you both to bring her upstairs. There’s a clean room at the end of the hall.”

As much as he hated to move a wounded person, the dining area was full of people—of spilt liquor and fish bones. Though he and Fumie scrubbed the room clean each night, there were some yokai who were a far cry from sanitary. Luckily, he had just straightened up a vacant room that morning. The bedding was fresh and the tatami floors were spotless. The bandits nodded, hefting their leader up on each side to lead her upstairs. She was in too much pain to protest, only able to pant as she was lifted.

“So much for dinner,” Chiyo mumbled against her wrist, still sitting at the table.

“Chiyo, can you bring me the sewing kit?”

She lifted her white brows with a flippant smile. “Aren’t you going to ask nicely?”

“Now,” he said, his eyes piercing as they shot back. Chiyo cleared her throat, waving him off with an apathetic hand gesture.

“Fine, fine.”

Once he saw that the kitsune was actually moving, he hurried up the stairs after the other tengu. They had laid her down in the middle of the room, propping her back on a folded futon.

“So . . . you’re a monk and a doctor?” she said, sneering. Blood trailed down the corner of her mouth as she spoke, leaving spots on her feathers.

“You’ll be a bandit and a corpse if you don’t stop talking.” Shichi poured water from the room’s clay pitcher into a shallow bowl. He washed his hands thoroughly, scrubbing free the dirt and dust of the city.

“May I use that?” he asked one of the bandits, nodding to the knife at the tengu’s hip. There was a pause before he handed it over, slapping the handle into Shichi’s palm. With one swift arc, he cut open her shirt and wrappings, parting the cloth to expose the entirety of the wound. He quickly moved to press a folded cloth over the cut, applying pressure to slow the bleeding.

“What happened?”

“None of your—”

“Not you.” Shichi narrowed his eyes at his patient before shifting his attention to the others. “Tell me, please.”

They hesitated, looking at their leader, then each other.

“The— the humans started tracking us. Their police followed us all the way to the city,” one of them explained, her voice nearly shaking.

“There were so many of them. I couldn’t even count the number,” added the other. “Don’t worry, they didn’t follow us here.”

Shichi didn’t know what to think. His instincts told him to pity his fellow tengu, that they had been cruelly hunted and outnumbered. His common sense, however, reminded him that they were criminals—murderers who stole gold and life alike with barely a second thought. It was only natural that the humans would seek them out. Even so, Shichi couldn’t allow any further deaths—not in the name of justice, nor for any reason under the sun. As he recalled the day he had come across the caravan, he was startled by a memory—specifically, a number.

“Weren’t there five of you before?” he asked, slowly lifting his head.

The air in the room grew heavy. Their eyes fell, shadowed beneath the faint glow of the room’s lantern. After a moment, the male nodded.

Shichi was silent, staring down at the compress as he held it against the woman’s chest. He knew what it was like—to be so caught up in trying to survive that there was no time to mourn, to have to carry the weight of one’s losses and fears in the same hands.

“I’m sorry,” Shichi whispered.

A shift of his wrist told him that her bleeding had slowed. With methodical movements, he began to clean the wound, picking out debris, washing off all traces of dirt and thread. He didn’t look up as the door slid open, allowing Chiyo’s shadow to cast over their crouched forms.

“Here,” she said, handing him the kit and bandages, as well as the handful of leaves Fumie had collected.

“Thank you.” Shichi immediately lifted a candle to sterilize the needle. Chiyo opened her mouth, ready to respond with a dry remark, but stopped. The atmosphere of the room was stiff, thick enough to cut with a blade. She decided, at least for that moment, to save it for later.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything else,” she said, shutting the door gently behind her. Briefly, Shichi glanced toward the entrance, then turned his attention back to the task at hand. Even for a kitsune, she never ceased to surprise him.

Once the cut was thoroughly cleaned, he began to suture it shut. His patient’s hands fisted against the straw mats, but she remained silent as he worked. He looped the ivory thread through her skin, making sure it was loose enough before tying it in square knots. The yarrow was cleansed and poulticed over the wound, releasing a sharp, fragrant scent into the air. He wrapped her chest with linen bandages, only able to breathe naturally when the final edge was tucked.

“Will she be all right?” the male bandit asked, still clenching one hand in another.

“As long as we can avoid infection, she’ll be fine,” Shichi said, running a hand over his forehead. “You . . . ah, what is your name?”

“Kazu,” he replied with a nod, then glanced over to the woman at his side. “And Rinka.”

Their leader bristled, shifting her glare to the other bandit. “Don’t tell him my—”

“Her name is Aki,” he continued, ignoring his superior’s command. “And she is very grateful.”

#

Shichi decided to give the bandits a day to themselves—both to heal and to come to terms with their losses. Their leader, Aki, seemed to be agitated by his presence. Similarly, being in the same room as the other tengu made his pulse jump. Whether it was from anxiety or the winter season, he did not know. He was sure of one thing: the less time he spent around her, the better it would be for both of them. He spent the afternoon working in the inn, cleaning the floors and assisting Fumie with preparations in the kitchen.

“Is the soup almost ready?” Chiyo called from the dining area where she sat slumped over a table. “I’m going to die of starvation. Or old age.”

“If you think we’re too slow, you could always lend us a hand,” Shichi said from the kitchen where he washed a fresh batch of brown mushrooms.

“I’d rather just die,” came her reply. Since his arrangement with the innkeeper, Shichi had done a number of chores around the establishment. Chiyo, on the other hand, had spent most of her time lounging and complaining. Staying in Osaka had been his decision, leaving him little to say in the matter.

“Oh,” Fumie said suddenly, looking out into the restaurant. “Your friends finally came downstairs. I wonder if they’re hungry.”

Shichi turned his head, glancing out over the tables. Sure enough, two of the bandits had found seats against the wall. They were both bandaged but otherwise intact. Shichi had only needed to give their injuries minor attention. A closer look told him that they were alone; Aki had not joined them.

“How are you two doing?” the innkeeper asked as she approached their table. “Is your boss all right?”

“We’re fine.” Rinka folded her arms. “She told us to go eat something. I suppose we forgot to, with everything that happened.”

“Well, she’s right! Food is good for your body and your soul,” Fumie said with a knowing nod. “So, what can I get you?”

“Anything warm.” Kazu ran a hand over his weary face. “With meat in it.”

“No problem. Oh, and while I have your attention, there’s the matter of your room.”

“Don’t worry, we can pay. Ah, we’ll probably need to stay for a while—to lay low,” Rinka said. Her eyes trailed to the side as she spoke, briefly examining the other customers. Though her body was composed, there was a nervous twitch on her face as she spoke. From the kitchen, Shichi shook his head, certain that the money they intended to pay with had all been stolen. He couldn’t, however, suggest they be turned away, nor could he deny Fumie her rightful payment.

“Of course,” Fumie said. “I have one condition, though.”

“Yes?” Rinka blinked as she looked up. The innkeeper’s neck was arched as she loomed over the tengu, making her seem uncharacteristically intimidating.

“Every yokai is welcome at Urameshiya,” Fumie continued with a smile. “That said, I’m not a fool. I know you’re thieves. If you lay a finger on my customer’s belongings, or if I find so much as a single cup out of place, you’ll find yourselves in the belly of a shisa.”

The bandit’s feathers ruffled anxiously. She held up both hands defensively, leaning away from the woman’s floating head.

“I-I can assure you that we have no intention of— er, we’ll behave,” she said. Somehow, Shichi believed her. He had gotten the impression that their group only targeted humans, and that gold itself was not their prime motivation. It would be foolish to steal from the only place in the city where they might find sanctuary. He couldn’t imagine either of Fumie’s docile pets actually eating someone, but it was certainly an effective threat to the bandits.

Soon, Fumie had finished cooking, handing Shichi a tray to serve the waiting tengu. He knelt beside their table, serving a multitude of dishes—of golden-eye snapper, grilled with salt until the skin crackled, rice, wakame, and grated radishes. The meat was fresh and oily, which Fumie had insisted would calm a troubled soul. Unable to eat fish, Shichi resolved to simply take her word for it. As he placed the last bowl on the table, his gaze caught the bandits’s hands below its surface. Their fingers were intertwined, with Rinka’s smaller hand nearly covered by the other’s. The monk averted his eyes. With the losses they had just experienced, Shichi was glad to see that they still had one another.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, tucking the tray under his arm.

“No, this is more than enough. I haven’t had a meal like this in ages.” Kazu’s chest swelled as he eyed the fish.

“I know the feeling,” Shichi said pleasantly—his first meal at Urameshiya had felt like heaven, especially after going for so long on scavenged roots. “How are your cuts healing, by the way?”

“Just fine,” Rinka said. “Those herbs you used worked well.”

“I’m surprised that you didn’t recognize them. Your . . . ‘line of work’ must require some occasional healing.”

“We had a medic,” she said, her voice going quiet. “But we lost her in the ambush.”

“I’m sorry.” Shichi’s eyes softened. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“Why?” Rinka asked, locking onto him with an inquiring stare. Kazu attempted to hush her, waving both hands as if she had said something embarrassing.

“What do you mean?” the monk said, taken by her question.

“Why are you helping us?” she continued, ignoring her mate. “We heard what you said, back on Awaji. You think what we do is wrong. You think we’re monsters.”

“It is in poor taste to assume the thoughts of others,” Shichi said, his voice steady.

“Then what do you think?”

“I think that every life has value, regardless of its past actions. That includes human life . . . and yours,” he replied. Rinka’s face fell, locking her gaze on the table. Shichi got to his feet, deciding not to push it any further.

“Has Aki eaten anything today?” he asked.

Rinka shook her head. Shichi let out a short breath, wondering if it was the woman’s pride that had kept her from leaving her room. Shichi would have to bring her something, whether she despised him or not. He hadn’t gone through an entire night of hard work just to have her die of starvation.

“Enjoy your meal, then,” he said with a nod. “Fumie is a fine cook.”

With that, he returned to the kitchen, preparing a pot to boil rice and water. Aki had been more severely wounded than the others—she would need something easy to digest yet nutritious. He sliced a handful of wild mushrooms, adding green onions and mustard spinach from the garden. He had no experience cooking meat or fish—hopefully the bandit leader wouldn’t find the vegetarian meal offensive to her tastes. Though monks avoided meat, most other tengu were quite fond of it.

Shichi announced himself before entering her room, sliding the door open to find her kneeling near the window. She held her katana with one hand, using the other to wipe the steel with an oiling cloth. He tried not to think of the blood that had once been on its blade, instead focusing on the task at hand.

“What do you want?” she said, not looking up from her work.

“I wanted to check on your wound.” He crouched to place the tray on a low table. “And I brought you something to eat.”

“I don’t need it,” she replied, her tone painfully flat. “And my wound is fine.”

“You must eat something. Malnutrition will slow your healing,” he said, not moving from the spot next to the table. When she didn’t respond, he suppressed a sigh. He had never had such a difficult patient—not even Shou’s plethora of complaints could match the woman’s grit. “At least let me check your injury. If it becomes infected, I may not be able to help you.”

“Very well,” Aki said after a long pause. She replaced the sword in its sheath, its handle clicking as it slid into place. He knelt in front of her, setting aside the medical supplies he’d brought before moving to unfasten the bandage from her chest. It draped as he loosened it, falling in loops to reveal the poulticed cut. Gingerly, he felt around the edges of the wound, testing for swelling or tenderness. As he worked, she kept her gaze pointedly averted, reminding him that she was just barely tolerating his presence.

“It’s healing well,” he said. “There’s some inflammation, but it’s normal. Avoid the bath for a few days . . . and please try to eat something.”

“How much do we owe you for the treatment?”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He had no intention of asking for payment, but the fact that their gold was stolen made him even more averse to the idea. She didn’t seem to have a response to this, only going silent once more.

Attempting to fill the uncomfortable lull, he shifted his attention back to her wound. Placing fresh herbs over the sutures, he held them flat as he began to re-bandage her chest.

“I heard you were arrested,” Aki said suddenly, catching him off guard. Slowly, he looked up, wondering how she had learned of his brief capture.

“I was,” Shichi replied, his tone wary.

“How did you escape?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” the monk answered. It was unlikely the bandit would accept a story of how a human had aided a tengu, regardless of the hunter’s intentions.

“I thought monks weren’t supposed to hide the truth,” she said with an arrogant lift of her head. Her attention had finally shifted to him, her pupils dilated in the dim lantern light.

“You sound just like Sagiri,” he muttered, wrapping the final length of bandage around her back.

“Sagiri?” she asked. With his hand on her side, he could feel the subtle straightening of her spine. Somehow, the name had caught her interest.

“My mentor.”

“Oh,” Aki said, her expression dropping. “For a moment I thought you were speaking of Sagiri of Kurohane.”

“She is from Kurohane,” Shichi said, lowering his brow.

“That’s impossible.” The bandit scoffed. “She’s a legend. A god. There’s no way that—”

Before she could continue, Shichi burst into a fit of laughter.

“A god? Where did you . . .” he started to say, but trailed off into another laugh. He of course respected his mentor above any other and had always looked up to her unmatched ability in combat and medicine. It was only the thought of Sagiri’s reaction that made him laugh. To see her face upon being called a “god” would have been glorious. He could clearly imagine the dry, incredulous twitch in her eye—her humorless voice upon saying, “Do not call me that again.”

“How dare you,” Aki said, her voice rising. “The monks of Kurohane are—”

“This Kurohane?” He gestured to one of the symbols on the front of his robe. The haori had two white crests, carefully stitched with the emblem of the temple. Aki snorted, slapping his hand away to finish fastening the bandage on her own. The very idea that he might be telling the truth seemed to offend her to core.

“Unbelievable,” she said. “Your skills in battle were average at best. I refuse to believe that she trained you.”

“She didn’t train me in battle,” he said. It was mostly true—his practice with the shakujo had only been for a year and had focused solely on self-defense. “She trained me in medicine.”

Aki froze in position, her hands still holding the end of the linen wrapping. After a moment, her eyes dropped down to the wound, wrapped with precision and the fastidious use of herbs. She recalled the steady hand he had sutured her with and the control in his voice as he’d worked. The anger in her expression faded, replaced with plain realization.

“I see,” was all she said.

“And how do you know of her, anyhow?” he asked, gathering the old bandages to be discarded. He was truly curious to hear what made his master a “god,” or at the very least, what seemed to impress the bandit so much. Aki didn’t reply right away, taking time to consider her words. It was unclear whether she wanted to humor his question at all or simply refuse him. Finally, she sighed.

“When I was young, there was a human attack on our village,” Aki said, her tone slow as she remembered. “A small group of monks from your temple came to our defense, led by Sagiri. She took the humans down like flies, one after another. I had never seen such speed—such utter fearlessness.”

Shichi listened quietly. He’d only heard a handful of stories about Sagiri’s history in combat. His master had never liked to recall memories of battle, preferring to remain focused on the present.

“She’s the one who influenced me to take up the sword,” Aki continued. “I wanted to be just like her.”

At those words, something in Shichi’s chest twitched. To hear that a blade that had brought such suffering and bloodshed could accuse his master of inspiration made his heart wrench. It would pain her to know such a thing. Aki had taken Sagiri’s aptitude and had twisted it into something dark and ugly—to a sword that was fueled by hate.

“You failed,” he said, achingly blunt.

“What?” The bandit’s eyes widened in a flash. “I can outfight any—”

“Sagiri perfected her abilities to protect others, not hurt them. You’re nothing like her.”

“That’s not—”

“You have a great potential to improve the world around you,” Shichi said, each word icier than the next. “Instead, you choose to devote yourself to petty, selfish thievery. You’re wasting your skills.”

Before he could speak another word, he was thrown to the floor. There was a metallic thunk as she slammed a knife into his collar, pinning the cloth to the floor beside his head. She hovered above him, clenching the feathers on his neck between twisted fingers.

“Preach all you want to the fools downstairs,” she hissed, pinning him with her weight. “But don’t you dare do it to me.”

Shichi couldn’t think of a thing to say. He lay still beneath her, his heart making uneven, panicked thumps. It was difficult to breathe or do anything beneath her poisonous glare.

“Get out of my room,” she whispered, inches from his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, finding his center before giving a curt reply.

“Very well.”

She pulled the blade from the tatami, releasing him as she sat up. Somehow, he managed to keep his hands steady as he gathered the soiled bandages and made his way to the door.

“Sleep well,” he said, then shut it behind him. Just as he placed a hand on his chest in an attempt to calm himself, another voice caught his attention.

“So, you’ve met Aki,” Rinka said, her arms folded as she leaned against the wall. Kazu was crouched beside her, not caring to hide the fact that they’d been eavesdropping. Both of them seemed to find the entire exchange very entertaining.

“Bold words from a monk,” Kazu said, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Somehow, I get the feeling that she hates me.” Shichi smoothed the feathers on his neck.

“Maybe a little,” Rinka said. “But not entirely.”

“And what makes you say that?” Shichi said, turning to her with a raised brow.

“You know the reason she didn’t kill you back in Awaji, right?” she asked.

“Because I’m a tengu,” he answered simply. To his surprise, both of the bandits began to snicker. Before he could question them any further, they walked past, opening the door once again.

“Don’t worry. We’ll make her eat,” Rinka said with a wink. “Night.”

“Goodnight,” Shichi said, barely audible as the door closed in his face. He stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to think. He had never met such people before and couldn’t decide what to make of them—or, more importantly, what to make of Aki.