Yokai

“The sun burns hot 

On the hands that work. 

The wind blows hard 

On the legs that toil. 

But the moon shines kindly

On those with idle lives.” 

A song rose from the wide rice field. Truly, the hot sun did burn down on those toiling over the crops. Muddy water was low. Dangerously so. A few sun shorter and the plants would die. And come autumn, the farmers with them. Mitikori Kotoba waded a few shaku deep into the field. His sandals sank into the silty mud. Slowly, the man moved the katanas at his side. He sank into a squat, the ends of his straw cloak absorbed the moisture. Mitikori moved the mud to reveal a hand. No wrist attached. The nails were dark. Not from mud but manure. Tengu. 

The aging man stood up, pushing his black hair back from his eyes. He slowly moved to the edge of the pond, keeping his eyes on the tree line. The other workers were unaware. Likely, the yokai had left it there the night before. Seeking a challenge. But not from these farmers. 

Mitikori had brought the hand with him. A finger was missing. Not the work of the tengu, but a gift for Aoyama Chizuru. At least she wouldn’t be wondering what happened to her lover anymore. Mitikori reclaimed the wooden pack he’d left at the edge of the field. The forest hills loomed close in the nearing twilight. Once more, Mitikori’s brown eyes fell on the farmers hard at work in the summer sun. Then to the verdant forest. A long sigh rose from the hungry warrior’s chest. Aoyama-sama was only paying to find his daughter’s lover. However, if the tengu was left alone, it would kill the rest of the small town. 

Mitikori stalked the underbrush of the forest. Sasa hid anything below his waist. There was an unnatural quietness in the air. The worker’s songs had long faded. Now it was getting dark. Long shadows began to form under the canopy. Mitikori paused below a ridge. Branches hung low. The tengu had been eating well. 

Beneath the sasa leaves, Mitikori found him. Chizuru’s lover. A young man by what was left of him. Dark stains on his mouth were washed only by the tears that had once poured from his eyes. Now he laid still. Mocked and desecrated. Mitikori closed his still glossy eyes. The wind was still. Even the gods held a reverent silence. When he rose, Mitikori noticed the long shadow now cast over him. A long squawk came from the treetops. So as not to raise suspicion, Mitikori pulled the straw cloak closer over his body. He slid his three katanas out of the obi. He placed leather covers over the hilts before speaking, 

“Oh, great mountain Karasutengu, why have you done this to my only son. Now I have nothing. You have taken the only thing I held dear.” Mitikori forced crocodile tears from his eyes. “He was a great and powerful warrior, and now you have taken my pride and honor!” There was a great crash behind Mitikori. He turned, cradling the katanas in their wooden sheaths. The tengu’s jet black eyes stared back at him. Its long beak held many scars. Dark feathers covered its neck. The tengu wore armor stolen from the young samurai. As well as talismans from countless others. An elder. The tengu spoke with its cracked voice, 

“I know who you are. Though you may look like an old man, I could taste a Ronshin when you crept up here. You’re going to die with him. No amount of koban was worth this.” A long, chained blade dropped to the forest floor. Mitikori Kotaba rolled his neck. His left hand, half hidden from the wraps he kept on it, found the hilt of Hikarimono. “Die!” The tengu shouted as the chain whip flew through the twilight air. 

Mitikori sidestepped the initial attack. The leather wraps fell to the forest floor as he discarded his cloak and pack. The tengu lifted off the ground, using momentum to keep the chain whip swinging. The Ronshin jumped deftly for a man his age. Now unburdened by his cloak, Mitikori’s dark kimono and hakama swished in the wind with each parry. His wrapped hands held onto Hikarimono and Kurohada with ease and familiarity. 

The tengu was moving up towards the trees. If he let it, the crow Yokai could poach him from the treetops. Luckily, Mitikori had hunted tengu before. 

“You plan to stay up there all night? Hang me up like some cowardly executioner?” Mitikori shouted as he crossed the hilltop. The tengu didn’t answer. It must know what he was doing. The wind stopped. A whistle started from the tops of the pines. Mitikori waited. As the sound grew nearer, he whirled around. Kurohada’s silvery gleam narrowly deflected the chain whip. “Can’t even catch an old man!” Mitikori shouted. Branches began to fall as the tengu cut through them with its sharpened wings. Another strike would be coming. Mitikori had only narrowly blocked the last, he was running out of forest. Once he was in the clear, the tengu could fly in and out of the fight at its leisure. Mitikori lept to the top of a boulder. He spun around, throwing a line of kunai up at the bird-yokai. The blades missed their mark, burrowing instead into the thick pines above. The tengu was gone. Mitikori’s breathing slowed. His eyes darted around the quickly darkening grove. The tengu couldn’t have given up. Not that easily. He’d barely put up a fight. However, in the silence of the trees, Mitikori couldn’t think of any other explanation. His posture relaxed. Not so much as to put away his blades, but enough to ease his back. 

A sparrow called through the pines. Mitikori found his straw cloak where he had left it. Untouched by the vengeful crow spirit. The hairs on his neck rose. Nothing. Not a whisper in the trees. Slowly, the Roshin lifted his cloak. 

“Ya!” Came the familiar cry of a Kodama. The little green, glowing yokai bobbled its head wildly in a dance. That wasn’t the source. Suddenly, the Kodama stopped. It rolled on its back in pain. Tree branches were being severed. The tengu. 

Mitikori dove headfirst into a somersault. He grabbed the small yokai, taking it with him to the forest floor. The little yokai didn’t protest. A steely chain stabbed through the straw cloak, embedding into Mitikori’s wooden pack. Mitikori grabbed the metal chain. The tengu began to yank it back when the Ronshin slashed down with his katana. The metal chain snapped. The tengu narrowly caught itself with its long black wings. 

“Hihiirokane-steel,” the tengu cooed. “Now who’s the coward, old man?” 

“You could come down here and find out,” Mitikori stood between the two yokai. The Kodama had begun to wiggle its head threateningly at the tengu. Accompanied by a few cute “Ya’s!” The tengu whipped the now severed chain around it dove down, beak-first at the Ronshin. Mititkori braced for impact, bringing his twin katana forward. About three shaku away, the tengu suddenly spiraled up. Startled by the sudden change in trajectory, Mitikori attempted to adjust his footing. The chain caught on his blades but still lashed his face. Mitikori stepped back, blood dripping from his right cheek. He needed that chain. 

The tengu spun around in the air, coming in for another raid. Mitikori fetched his bow from the wooden pack. In the trees, finding a clean shot on the tengu would be nearly impossible. However, the old Roshin still had a few tricks up his kimono sleeve. 

He nocked the first arrow quickly. The tengu swung the black whip again. It cut through Mitikori’s shoulder, leaving blood and deep bruises. Luckily, the Ronshin held his aim. The arrow let loose, landing firmly in a nearby birch. The tengu jeered from the treetops. It was preparing for another run. Mitikori was getting too old to simply take hits. He ran a short way to the cover of a pine to soften the blow. The chain severed the branches above, but Mitikori got his next shot off. It once again hit the treetops, burrowing in a spongy birch. 

This time, Mitikori didn’t wait for another air raid. He rushed out into the narrow glade, firing off a final shot into a birch. As the tengu closed in, the Tsuchigumo silk arrows caught it. The once powerful wings were helpless in the unbreakable silk. With a resounding crash, the tengu fell to the forest floor. 

The Ronshin let out a sigh of relief. The Kodama crawled its way out from his pack. Crossing the glade, Mitikori stood over the unconscious crow. Blood soaked into his kimono. A formidable foe. Hikarimono lifted high in the now dusk air, ready to finish the beast. Suddenly, the tengu kicked out the Ronshin’s leg. Hitting the kneecap, the tengu began to gnash at the yokai hunter with its sharpened beak. Sinew and cotton ripped at the ferocious attack. Mitikori let out a battle cry and pried the much stronger yokai off of his shoulder. Heavy blood poured down his neck. He slashed with Hikarimono, inflicting a deep wound on the crow. But unintentionally freeing it. The silk snapped as the tengu lifted off in a whirl. Mitikori cursed his own incompetence. Eclipsing the moon, the tengu’s wings spread to their full length. The yokai hunter stared at death above him. 

Then an explosion deafened the Ronshin. Mitikori dropped to the forest floor on instinct. Tree branches cracked and splintered as the heavy weight of the tengu smashed into the unforgiving logs before the Ronshin. Mitikori stared at the dead eyes. He rolled over to his cloak, stuffing the katanas away. Heavy footsteps approached. 

“Yatta! I got it!” A young soldier, likely only fifteen, charged into the glade. He wore imperial armor. Golden insignia over the obsidian black metal. His hair was short and wavy, the proper style for a Tokiwa recruit. The rest of his platoon pushed into the narrow forest. They all held their teppō aloft as if they expected more tengu. Finally, the wavy-haired boy spotted Mitikori.

“Morning old-timer!” He beamed white teeth at the bleeding Roshin. Mitikori waved courteously with his non-injured left arm. As he stood, he realized his sleeve had been sewn shut with reeds of grass. The injury was hidden now. But not any less painful. 

“You boys certainly look good with those new guns,” Mitikori smiled back. “Makes me wish I’d joined the army.” 

“Ha! Back when you joined, we were still using sticks and stones!” Another boy called. The boys all had a good laugh as they clamored around the dead tengu. 

“So we were. Hadn’t even figured out fire yet!” Mitikori laughed through his teeth. 

“You should head home. Never know if there’s more of these villains around here.” 

“Oh, I feel quite safe with you all watching over me.” Mitikori walked over to the dead crow yokai. “Mind if I take a short trophy. You know, my old lady hardly gives me attention, but if I bring something like this back, well, maybe she’d remember where she left her fancy kimonos.” 

The soldiers had another laugh. 

“Alright, you old pervert, if your old hag needs a really good time, I’m sure me and the boys of the forty-second troop could give her some attention.” 

“If we can finish sorting all the fingers we already got!” Another soldier cut in. 

“I’ll let her know,” Mitikori muttered. He hunched down over the tengu, ripping the top beak from its face. He smiled with as much warmth as he could muster before ambling off into the woods with his prize.