James Axler – Keepers of the Sun

The two Japanese men stood together, Mashashige slender and every inch an athlete, and his would-be assassin, who was an inch or so taller and looked to weigh a good fifty pounds more. The ronin looked calm and friendly, not at all like someone about to put himself to a hideous ending.

Mashashige clasped hands with his enemy, then went to sit on his throne, the sheath of his plain sword making a faint scraping sound on the polished floor. The ronin walked barefoot onto the rectangle of cloth and knelt, shrugging off his gown so that he was effectively naked from the waist up.

At a sign from the shogun, Takei Yashimoto strutted forward, holding a dagger on a white velvet cushion, a tassel of white silk dangling from the inlaid hilt. Ryan guessed the blade was between nine and ten inches in length.

“The wakizashi ,” Hideyoshi whispered. “And the lord himself is to act as his What is the proper word for a man who is an assistant in a duel?”

“A second?” Doc said quietly. The old man was perspiring, and his face was parchment pale. Ryan noticed that his breathing was fast and shallow.

“Yes. Is word. The lord will be second to ronin and will perform the final act.”

The doomed man bowed to Yashimoto and took the dagger in both hands, laying it on the cloth in front of him, where it drew the eye like a jeweled insect.

“Now he will make short speech,” Hideyoshi said.

It was done in Japanese and lasted about five minutes by Ryan’s reckoning.

Hideyoshi gave a running translation, pattering it under his breath while Ryan and the others crowded close around him to hear what was being said.

“He say good to see many people here to witness his change from life to death asks for prayers for ancestors begs forgiveness for rising against Lord Mashashige and his house regrets he will no more walk through mountains and watch eagles soar and salmon leap and smell blossom on flowering cherry…. ” The ronin turned his eyes toward the little group of foreigners. “Now he say honored that you four here to watch him don’t know right word. Pay for his wrongdoing.”

Finally the speech was done and the room was silent. One of the servants nearly dropped a long pike and barely caught it before it crashed to the floor.

“Now begins,” Hideyoshi breathed.

It was a scene that Ryan would remember as long as he lived.

THE LAMPS THREW a sheen off the sweat that beaded the man’s muscular, hairless chest and shoulders. His hair was long and sleek, tied into a tight knot at the back of the head.

Now the stillness seemed to intensify and darken, filling the hall.

The ronin leaned forward and wiped his hands on the cloth, leaving a gray smudge. He picked up the dagger, looking down at it with a blank, expressionless face, his eyes seeming to stare through the polished metal into the heart of the knife. He transferred it to his right hand and took a deep breath.

Ryan realized that he was holding his own breath, and he tried to relax. But the tension was palpable.

“Goodbye, cruel world,” the man shouted, the echoes ringing off the vaulted roof.

“He’s off to join the circus,” J.B. said so quietly that only Ryan heard him.

Now the man sat back on his heels, tautening the skin across his belly. He reached down with his left hand and touched himself, trying to locate the precise spot to make the first cut. He found it and slashed down with the wakizashi , the sharp point barely brushing the skin.

A bead of crimson appeared, rolling and vanishing into the folds of black cloth across the ronin’s loins. There was the faintest whisper of a sigh from the watchers, like the softest summer breeze through the tops of a sycamore.

“Now,” Hideyoshi whispered.

With a grunt of effort the man thrust the blade deep into his belly, pulling it sharply across from left to right, then upward. There was a flood of crimson across the white cloth.

“May the Lord have mercy on his soul,” Doc whispered, closing his pale blue eyes.