Heart of the Ronin Read Online Free

know how to use them. Give the swords to me, and I will see that Takenaga’s death is avenged.”
    Yohachi snorted. “But I am the headman here!”  
    “Yes, and the village needs you. You must be alive to lead. I ask again, are you ready to die? Because that’s what it means to wear those swords. If you are not, Takenaga’s shade will know, and he will curse you for a coward.”
    Yohachi gasped and dropped the sword. It clattered on the ground. He had not thought of that. His greed for the swords had made him forget that Takenaga’s spirit was still about, and doubtless angry.
    Taro bent to pick it up. “You are a wise man.” He thrust the sword into his own sash and tied the cords. The two other deputies stared at him as he bent to retrieve the short sword as well, placing it in his sash alongside the katana.
    A mob had gathered around them, but Yohachi could only stare at the face of the heretofore quiet young man. What emotions were churning behind that solemn mask? The determination was evident in his bearing. Taro had meant what he said. He would do everything in his power to find the ronin.
    When the crowd looked as if it had grown as large as it would—some forty-odd farmers and villagers and three deputies—Yohachi looked at the faces of his friends and neighbors, people he had known all his life. “That ronin must be punished for what he has done. We will find him and bring him back. Then we will decide what sort of death is best for him!”
    Agreement murmured through the mob. “Let us go quickly! He has a head start!” Then Yohachi led them down the road in pursuit of the criminal.
     
    * * *
     
    Ken’ishi did not stop running until the village was long out of sight in the forest behind him. The sun-dappled road was deserted in both directions. He stopped beside a small roadside shrine, his breath huffing in and out like a smith’s bellows. He let his pack, bow, and quiver hang loose in his grip, resting one hand on his knee as he tried to catch his breath, the other hand rubbing the painful bruise on his chest inflicted by the hurled stone.
    Akao stopped beside him, his tongue lolling. He looked back down the road toward the village. “Coming.” His deep brown eyes, slanted like a fox, searched the road behind them, his pointed red ears erect, his nose lifted into the wind.
    Ken’ishi nodded. “How far?”
    “Go soon.”
    “I am weak!” he growled. A swirling, leaden sickness in his belly drowned the remnants of his previous hunger. What would his dead father think of his actions just now? Would he be proud that his son had won the duel? Ashamed at the theft of the man’s money? Neither? Both? “I am sorry for my weakness, Father!” he said, choking on his shame. He had fought the duel to defend the honor of his family, then he had soiled it himself just as quickly. For that matter, what would his teacher say? What about his foster parents? He could almost hear his foster mother clicking her tongue at him, as she used to do so often when he made some terrible blunder. Then her disapproval would be followed by some great kindness to show him that his errors were forgiven. Tears of shame trickled down his nose. He missed her kindness now. He missed a friendly face amidst a land full of strangers who did not care if he lived or died. He wanted to throw the money away, but he was so hungry and had been for so long.
    His mind reeled as he tried to conceive of some way to atone for his misdeed. Would robbing the dead offend the kami?
    “I’m sorry, my friend,” he said to Akao. “I couldn’t bring you any food.”
    The dog smiled, then padded closer and nudged Ken’ishi’s knee with his nose. “Not hungry now.”
    Then a new voice piped up, small and high-pitched. “Who’s talking down there?”
    Ken’ishi looked around. He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve, and his gaze stopped on the nearby shrine.
    “Who’s there?” he said.
    No reply.
    Inside the shrine was a