Death Before Dishonor Read online

  Terry’s interest was piqued. “There are other headmasters?”

  “Kōchō,” Kintake corrected. “There is only one other today. The Momochi kōchō. The other clans died in the 1800s.”

  “What happened?”

  “Not relevant right at the moment.” Kintake finished his water and stuffed the bottle into his bag. “While you are here, you will be required to learn the mandates of the code that governs taijutsu—Ninpo. We are strict regarding it, and you will have to learn it quickly if you are to be accepted. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, Sensei,” they said again in stereo.

  “Very good. I’m going to recite the First Mandate, and I want you to repeat it. Once you’ve grasped it, you will repeat it aloud until we reach the village. Clear?”

  They acknowledged again.

  “Very good. The First Mandate reads: The Shinobi are creatures of shadow and must remain concealed. A Shinobi must remove all traces of his presence or be dishonored.”

  After Kintake’s first recital, he gave it to them in pieces, sentence by sentence, and demanded that they repeat it back. Once they had grasped it, he set out again with them, repeating it and following again.

  ***

  Kintake and the boys came down the final brae into the village’s basin, nearing a fence surrounding grain crops. A modestly dressed man directing a passel of hogs spotted them, showing at first alarm and then surprise. He left the passel and quickly ran up to Kintake, bowing deeply when he came close. Kintake nodded his head vaguely and waved for the boys to hurry. Terry and Yuri smiled at the man as they trotted by, following Kintake into the village’s first cluster of cottages. The man reciprocated the boys’ greeting—albeit with mortified suspicion.

  Togakure Ryu was a geriatric thing, practically misplaced in time, not at all what one would find in travel brochures, but rather in history books. The construction and the architecture of the village lacked any panache or vitality in modern terms—being composed mostly of wood and colored muted browns. At the center of the village was a large cabin that was orbited by satellite clusters of cottages. Crops and livestock pens were further out.

  The central cabin sported a starkly different design than its satellites. It had a pyramid-shaped roof that was supported at its four corners by carved wooden stanchions whose kanji translated to read: Allow Not Dishonor To Go Silently. The cabin’s front porch faced the river, which was approximately one hundred yards to the west, and opened through a rice paper sliding door. The other three walls exhibited windows with angled panels similar to blinds that offered a view from the inside but not the outside. The exterior was encircled by gardens—floral, food-bearing, and rock. Unlike the rest of the buildings, this one was powered by electricity, identifiable by the thrum of a generator in a covered area to the rear.

  The cottages were simply built, more for utility rather than aesthetics. They were plain and unexceptional and faced every which direction, with front doors facing the rear of one cottage and the side of another. Each one was built nearly on top of the others in their cluster. The clusters, however, were spaced out, situated perhaps twenty yards apart.

  The residents of the little rural village were going about their daily routines and chores but stopped dead in their tracks to honor Kintake as he passed through the clusters—then their eyes followed Terry and Yuri jealously. Kintake and the boys weaved through clusters and villagers along the gravel walkways.

  Nearing the center, Kintake signaled the boys towards a gathering of curious children standing beneath the canopy of a massive, impossibly shaped tree. “Please, wait over there with the other children,” Kintake requested as he stalked off. “I must greet Shinobi-no-mono.”

  “Yes, Sensei,” Yuri replied obediently and sprinted towards the other children.

  Terry watched apprehensively as Kintake made his way across a rock garden towards a group of adults on the porch. Kintake signaled him towards the children once again. This time, Terry followed directions.

  “Hi!” Yuri exclaimed to a boy slightly shorter than Terry. The boy’s hair was cut in a bowl shape that hung to his eyes, and he was dressed in a worn, faded plaid shirt and denim jeans, with a pair of tattered tennis shoes. “My name’s Yuri!”

  The boy wiped his hair from his eyes and angled an empty look at Yuri.

  Terry caught up with his brother. “Yuri, speak Japanese. Not everyone speaks English.”

  “Oh, um…” Yuri tried Japanese. “My name is Yuri.”

  The boy’s face reacted. “I’m Takejiro Saki.”

  “And this is my brother,” Yuri said, exaggerating every word. “His name is Terry. He is older than me. He is twelve. I am seven.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Saki said, looking at Terry and nodding.

  “Nice to meet you too.”

  “How old are you?” Terry asked Saki in a more dialectic—and less proper—Japanese than Yuri used.

  “I’m thirteen.”

  “Cool.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence as the children regarded the two new boys. Then Saki spoke up, “Where are you from?”

  “Well”—Terry searched for the right answer—“I’m from America, but we live in Tokyo now.”

  The eyes of a girl standing nearby, wearing a cotton shirt with a lacy collar and a knee-length skirt with a pair of tattered saddle shoes, illuminated, and her mouth dropped open to speak. But before she could get a word out, Yuri jumped in: “Terry, we’ve never lived in America!”

  “Shut up, dummy,” Terry retorted, dismissing his brother.

  “You’re from America?” the girl asked finally.

  “No!” Yuri blurted out, trying to beat his brother to the punch.

  “Well, kind of.” Terry mooshed Yuri’s face with the palm of his hand, forcing Yuri back a step. “My mom and dad are from New Jersey.”

  “Where’s New Jersey?” the girl asked.

  “Uh, close to New York, I think.”

  “You’ve been to New York before?”

  Terry opened his mouth to reply, but only the sound of Yuri’s words came out: “No, but my mommy and daddy took us to the president’s house before.”

  Terry shook his head. “That’s in Washington, DC.”

  “Really?” She clasped her hands together just below her chin. “I want to go to New York one day and meet the president. I think my father knows him. Father says that the president is an imbecile.”

  “My dad says the same thing, but I don’t think he knows the president.”

  Yuri derailed the topic. “You’re pretty!” he exclaimed, getting awkwardly close to the girl. “What’s your name?”

  The girl put space in between them.

  Terry threw his hands up. “God, Yuri, stay out of people’s personal space. Dad tells you that all the time.”

  Yuri’s face flushed. “Leave me alone, Terry!”

  “It’s okay. We’re not allowed to stand so close to boys,” she said. “My name is Akiko.”

  “Are you here for the camp?” Terry asked.

  Saki, Akiko, and the other children exchanged looks. “What camp?” Saki replied.

  “You’re not here for camp?”

  “No,” Akiko said. “We live here.”

  “You’re from Omiyoshu Sensei’s village?”

  “Yes,” Saki replied.

  “He’s my father,” Akiko interjected.

  Terry’s eyes squinted. “You’re Omiyoshu Sensei’s daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know he had a daughter. How old are you?”

  “Ten.”

  Terry considered it. He wondered who else from their class was coming for the camp.

  “Have you come to train with us?” asked Akiko.

  “I don’t know.” Terry rubbed the back of his head gingerly. “What are you training to do? We came to do taijutsu for the summer.”

  “Akiko, be quiet,” Saki demanded. “The Jonin are watching us.”

  “We came for the sum
mer camp,” Yuri said, disregarding Saki’s and Akiko’s growing uneasiness. “Omiyoshu Sensei is going to teach us karate in the mountains and how to farm. We learn taijutsu. Do you know any karate?”

  The native children became instantly silent and focused their attention on the adults that were suddenly regarding them from the porch. After another moment, Kintake and the Jonin—elder, high-ranking Shinobi—departed the porch and walked briskly across the rock garden towards the children. Saki, Akiko, and the other children bowed deeply, and Terry followed their lead. Yuri, who had his back to the cabin, was clueless and kept talking.

  “Yuri, bow.”

  Yuri cut Terry off, yelling “No, you shut up!”

  “Yuri!” Terry’s face hardened. “Stop being stupid! Here comes Omiyoshu Sensei. Bow!”

  Yuri did.

  “Daughter,” Kintake called to Akiko as he came near, backed by his entourage of adults, “how are you?”

  She bowed again. “I am with honor, father.”

  “I expected no less, daughter,” Kintake replied, acknowledging her, and then he signaled to Terry and Yuri. “Terry, Yuri, come. The brothers did as they were told and approached their sensei.

  The three of them were surrounded on three sides by villagers Kintake’s age and older, perhaps twenty in all. They were a sea of disdain and contempt, resembling an eerie display of gargoyle statues grimacing and growling silently from their perches. The brothers suddenly felt unwelcome.

  Kintake addressed the oldest and most infirm of the group. He was in his eighties and hunched shorter than an average man was tall. His head was wrapped in a line of ragged gray hair, and his face sported a long goatee. He was draped in dark blue robes, and he was missing an arm.

  “Shinobi-no-mono,” Kintake said, “if I may, these are the two youths of whom I spoke.” Kintake placed a confident grip on Terry’s shoulder. “This fine young man is Terry. Terry has a sharp mind and an artist’s dedication.”

  “Hello, sir,” Terry said sheepishly.

  “And this young man is Yuri. Yuri has unparalleled tenacity and a fortitude rarely found in a child.”

  Yuri parroted his brother.

  “Terry and Yuri,” said Kintake, scooping the air with his hand in the elder man’s direction, “I present to you our Shinobi-no-mono—his most holy Hattori Hanzo. Please show our Shinobi-no-mono deepest honors.”

  The boys bowed deeply and resumed.

  Hanzo was staring hard, his eyes all ice, entertaining a cold silence. “Omiyoshu Sensei,” he rasped finally, “you do too much. Do not think that the ancestors and I are blind to your maneuvering.” Hanzo disappeared into the cabin.

  Kintake swished his mouth thoughtfully and then managed a smile as turned towards Saki and Akiko. “Saki-san, daughter, return to your duties and then see Takenaka Sensei. He is near the well; he will instruct you. And please allow Terry to accompany you,” he said, extending an inviting hand.

  Akiko and Saki both acknowledged and bowed in unison and then signaled to Terry to follow before sprinting in the direction of the well.

  “Hey, wait for me!” Yuri yelled. He was beginning to accelerate to follow his brother and the two older children when Kintake grabbed hold of Yuri’s shoulder.

  “Yuri, let them go.” Yuri protested, but Kintake was not fazed. “You will come with me,” he said. “We have much to do before sunset.”

  ***

  “I love it out here, away from the grown-ups!” Saki exclaimed, stopping to catch his breath.

  Terry was bent over next to him with his hands on his knees, gasping for air. They had run quite an extensive distance up an adjacent precipice and down into a neighboring valley. Saki was clearly in much better shape, as he’d managed to outdistance Terry by several body lengths for the entire duration of their run. That was to be expected, however, of a boy who lived in a remote village surrounded by steep terrain. At the very least, the pain of running made Terry forget that he hadn’t wanted to go on this stupid mountain exploit in the first place.

  “Where are we going, Saki?” Terry panted.

  “To get firewood.”

  Terry stood up and used his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. “What’s wrong with all these trees?” Terry looked around at the hundreds of equally spaced trees that seemed to be aligned in perfect rows.

  “Nothing. These trees are sacred; we cannot cut them. Besides, we’re going somewhere special first.”

  “Where?”

  “You’ll see,” Saki said, tapping Terry’s shoulder as he breezed by, accelerating deeper into the valley. “You’re gonna love it too!”

  Terry sighed as he watched Saki bound over several fallen trees and then angle around a rocky outcropping. Terry shook his head and then started off in pursuit of his new friend.

  As Terry slid through the turn about the same outcropping, his shoes lost their grip on the wet forest bed, and he tumbled end over end down the hill. Ten revolutions later, Terry came to rest on some rather uncomfortable rocks and sticks. He didn’t move.

  He welcomed the excuse to catch his breath, this time, inhaling the humid air through his nose and exhaling via his mouth. Saki barely gave him anytime at all when they stopped last; his lungs were burning. But yet Saki was still not content with resting. He approached Terry with an extended hand and pulled Terry to his feet.

  That is when Terry saw that which Saki was excitedly trying to reach.

  The two boys stood just ahead of a great wooden Shinto gate—a torii—faintly etched with kanji that was fading after centuries of wear. To either side were two ailing stone lantern-shaped statues—tōrō. Leading beyond the archway were withered stone steps ascending to a derelict path—the sandō—that led to several obscure buildings. To one side of the sandō, about twenty yards or more, were three small tool-shed-sized structures—chōzuya—that were at one time dedicated to physical purification and worshipful expression. Just inside that were tombs numbering thirty or so that lined either side of the sandō. And, directly following those, to the right of the sandō, was the shamuso; in the shrine's heyday, the shamuso was its administrative node. Just beyond, and obscured by the shamuso, were the haiden and the honden—an oratory hall and the house of the kami spirit respectively.

  “What is this place?” Terry asked.

  “It’s a shrine.”

  “For what?”

  “To honor our Jonin and our greatest warriors,” Saki said rigidly.

  Terry turned his head in Saki’s direction.

  “In the old days,” Saki continued, “the mightiest warriors fought here. Then the dead were buried along the path. My father says that when the winds blow from the northern pass”—Saki pointed to a saddle that separated to mountainous crests—“you can still hear their swords clashing in an epic battle.”

  “Have you ever heard it?” Terry murmured.

  “No. My father said the wind only blows when someone with great honor approaches the shrine.” Saki’s shoulders relaxed. “I guess I am not with great honor—but one day, I will be.”

  “Oh.” Terry was slightly confused. He was not sure exactly where Saki was going with his idea of great honor. “How are you going to do that?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Perhaps in battle.”

  “Battle?” Terry snickered dubiously at the thought as he wiped his nose with his forearm. “That’s kind of like a movie.”

  Saki eyes were fixated deep into the shrine. He shot Terry a faraway look and then managed a smile. The smile made Terry feel somewhat accepted. He was rather hesitant to engage other Japanese children and adults. He felt like an outsider in most circumstances and tended to keep his thoughts and opinions to himself. Questioning Saki’s reference to battles and honor felt as if Terry was crawling out on a very thin limb, but much to his reassurance, Saki’s reaction appeared favoring.

  The small surge of confidence urged Terry to ask another question that had been bouncing around in this head. “Why didn’t Akiko come with us?”


  “Girls don’t get firewood. She had to get water from the well for dinner and then help cook.”

  “Oh.” Terry shrugged. “My mom cooks dinner for us, although Yuri helps her a lot.”

  Silence fell between the boys again. Both were natural introverts, feeling no need to fill the silence with unnecessary conversation. They both remained at the archway and took in the scenery at the shrine, archiving it for later.

  Finally, Saki felt compelled to inquire into Terry’s life. “So, where are your parents?”

  “They had to fly to Kyūshū.”

  Saki suddenly came to life. “In a plane?”

  Terry kicked a stick that laid at his feet. “How else would they fly?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been on a plane.

  “Seriously?” Terry blurted in English instinctively, but he translated it to Japanese when he noticed Saki’s reaction.

  “Yes. But I see them in the sky sometimes. Have you ever been on a plane?”

  “Plenty of times. We go see my grandparents in New Jersey every Christmas.”

  “My grandparents are dead,” Saki said, derailing the conversation.

  “Oh.” Terry ran his hand through his hair. “Where are your parents?”

  “My mother is preparing for dinner and instructing Akiko and the other girls.”

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “My father is dead.”

  Terry’s mouth became a straight, solemn line. “How did he die?”

  “The elder council demanded his life.”

  “Huh?” Terry’s face pruned.

  Saki lowered his eyes and then looked towards the shrine. “We better start getting the firewood. We shouldn’t be out here after dark.”

  “Why?” Terry asked, picking up the stick and flinging it. “What happens after dark?”

  “I can’t say—but if we’re found out here after dark, we’ll be punished—badly.”

  Terry started to ask another question, but just as it was starting, Saki bolted off in the direction they’d come, beckoning Terry to follow.