TARO BURST INTO the hall where the monks slept, banging his katana against the bell as he ran past it.
‘Up! Up!’ he shouted. ‘The samurai are coming!’
He heard confused cries, men asking one another questions, their voices blurry with sleep.
‘The samurai!’ he shouted. ‘Get ready to fight!’
The abbot had told him that every monk on the mountain was trained, and every one was armed with a sword. In emergencies, the monks could muster thousands of men in minutes, all deadly efficient fighters.
Taro hoped they had practised often.
Coming to the other end of the hall, he flew through the doors and into the courtyard. At the other end was the smaller room where his mother slept. He entered without knocking. His mother sat up on her bed, blinking at him.
‘Taro?’ she said.
‘You must go,’ he replied. ‘Get out of here. Lord Oda’s samurai are coming.’
‘Why?’ she said.
‘I killed Lord Oda.’ As he said it, he felt sick, as if the deer’s blood had gone bad inside him, or still retained some essence of the deer’s being, and was sloshing around in there to disorient him, and take its revenge. He had provided the pretext. Years, these monks had been here, perfecting their fighting skills, meditating, and assisting the haunted. Now men were coming. Men with guns.
And it was all Taro’s fault.
He was looking down, and was surprised when he felt his mother’s hand on his chin, lifting his face to look at him.
‘These monks have waited for this day for many years,’ she said.
‘They don’t have guns,’ he replied.
His mother nodded. ‘That is true. Well, we will hope for rain.’
He stared. ‘Rain?’
‘Guns use fire. The rain puts them out.’
He still stared. ‘That’s it? You’re just going to hope for rain?’
His mother sighed. ‘Listen. I didn’t tell you the truth before. If I die, I want you to—’
‘No! You’re not going to die. You’re going to leave.’
The door behind them opened, and the abbot entered. ‘It’s too late for that,’ he said. ‘They have surrounded us.’
Taro looked from his mother to the abbot, then back at her. She was more beautiful than ever. In the doorway, two more silhouettes appeared, then resolved themselves as Hiro and Hana. They both held their swords in their hands.
‘We fight?’ he said to them, and to the abbot.
All three nodded.
‘Side by side,’ said Hiro.
‘Always,’ said Hana.
‘They have guns,’ said Taro – he felt like he was the only one who understood this, understood what it meant. ‘Hundreds of men with rifles. I saw them marching up the hill at the head of the army.’
‘Indeed,’ said the abbot. ‘Like the Ikko-ikki, Lord Oda is obsessed with guns. The Portuguese have convinced him that the modern methods of warfare are more effective. That it is easier to kill people from a distance.’
Hiro frowned. ‘They’re right, aren’t they?’
‘They make it easier to kill, perhaps,’ said the abbot. ‘But not easier to live with it afterwards. Better to look a man in the eyes as you kill him.’
‘Are you serious?’ said Hiro. ‘This is going to be a slaughter. Do you have any guns at all up here?’
‘No,’ said the abbot.
‘So basically we’re going to hold off hundreds of gunmen with nothing more than our swords, and our sense of honour?’ said Hiro.
‘Yes,’ said the abbot. ‘But we have years of meditation on our side. Decades in some cases.’
‘Oh, gods,’ said Hiro. ‘We’re going to die.’
The abbot smiled. ‘Do not give up hope just yet. Guns are notoriously difficult to use in battle. They take a long time to reload – that gives us many opportunities to make sorties, to cut and slash into the line. They often misfire, and they don’t work at all in the rain.’
Taro glanced at the night sky, through the open window. It was completely clear.
‘Well,’ said the abbot. ‘We shall attack them when they are reloading.’
‘How long have we got?’ Taro asked him.
‘Not long. They are already on the lower flanks.’
Taro went to stand with his friends, and put an arm around Hiro’s shoulder. ‘Are you ready, my old friend?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Hiro. ‘There are samurai with guns coming, but the monks have been meditating, so I feel much better.’ He touched Taro’s blade with his own, and they made a ting together. ‘Still, better to die together, eh?’
Hana moved to Taro’s other side. She touched his cheek, then looked into his eyes. Quickly she kissed him on the cheek, and Taro smelled jasmine and roses, and felt that he might faint.
‘If we die,’ she said, ‘come look for me in our next lives.’