Not me.
When I realize the girl expects me to lead the way, I shrug and begin tip-toeing through the bones for the cave entrance.
We are almost there when a growl echoes through the cavern.
While much of recorded history tends to depict Kings, Queens, and other persons of renown as being masters of their own fate, a closer examination of the facts oft reveals chance played an equal if not dominant role in their achievements...
—An Excerpt from
The Real History
, by R. Lander (1918)
K
itsune and I whirl around and see the Oni are on their feet. They hold studded iron clubs that are as long as I am tall.
I can’t believe this is happening to me. As if plane crashes, giant monsters, and angry prehistoric birds were not enough. Now I’m trapped in a bone-littered cave with carnivorous ogres!
What luck.
“Strike them down, Raymond-sai.” Kitsune says.
“What?” I shout in disbelief.
“The sword. Take Kusanagi and lay waste to your enemies as did your forefather, Kintaro.”
She gestures emphatically to the sword in my hands and I realize its presence is the only thing holding the Oni at bay. They are held mesmerized by the weapon, and a definite look of caution, if not outright fear, is unmistakable in their beady, yellow eyes.
The gaze of the oni closest to us bounces between the sword and my face as if he is deciding something. At last, his countenance wrinkles into a snarl and he takes a step forward.
“What are you waiting for, Raymond-sai?” Kitsune asks, now frantic. “Strike them down!”
I know she wants me to draw the sword, but I cannot. I’m frozen with fear.
The oni moves in closer. One step. Then two. Beads of cold sweat pop out over my entire body. My heart pistons in my chest.
The ogre takes another step.
He is smiling now. I see bits of blood and meat caught between his fangs. He probably smells my terror as much as he sees it in my face.
Kitsune screams for me to act. Seeing that I’m going to be useless, she picks up a large femur from the cavern floor and goes on the attack. She rushes at the oni, a war cry in her throat.
She swings her weapon at the oni. He catches it effortlessly and backhands her. She lands among the bones, her mouth bloodied, stars in her eyes, a large bruise already forming on her left cheek to mar her otherwise perfect complexion.
The Oni in the rear bellow with deep, gravelly laughter.
The lead oni steps by her and closes the distance between us. I hear the sword clacking in its scabbard and realize that I’m trembling.
I raise the sword and point it at the ogre in warning. The sword’s tip wiggles uncontrollably with my shaking. Any fear that the oni’s eyes once held is now gone. Perhaps that’s because I’ve failed to unsheathe the sword. It’s the black, studded scabbard sticking out at him rather than the blade.
He looks at me and shakes his head. He says something in a deep, bass tone that I cannot understand and the Oni behind him laugh.
This reminds of the scene in The Lord of the Rings books where two bumbling orcs, Shagrat and Gorbag, argue over Merry and Pippin, their hobbit captives. It was the only time when reading the books that my suspension of disbelief was interrupted. The scene comes off as comedic, and doesn’t fit in at all with the overall tone of the novels.
But there’s nothing funny about what’s happening to me right now.
Judging by the bones littered on the cave floor, these Oni are killers. Cannibals even. And I’m about to become dinner!
Bear, my friend, oh please, I need you!
Before I know what’s happening, the oni reaches out and seizes the scabbard in one of his massive, red fists. I jerk back reflexively and the blade comes free.
So does the oni’s arm.
The oni staggers backward in shocked disbelief, but the limb gripped around the scabbard remains behind. The appendage seems to hover in the air for the briefest of moments before both it and the scabbard drop onto the bone-littered cave floor.
I look down. I’m amazed to see the blade covered in the oni’s green blood. Somehow the sword sliced off the oni’s arm as it pulled free of its sheath.
At last realizing what has happened to him, the bleeding ogre howls in agony. He turns and runs deeper into the cave, paying no heed to his brothers as he rushes past them. They watch him go, then turn to stare at me. Or rather, at my blood-soaked sword.
I hesitate in a moment of fear and indecision. Then, taking a gamble, I raise the sword above my head.
That’s all it takes.
The Oni sprint down the throat of the cave after their felled brother.
When they are gone, I collapse to my knees and cry.
I don’t know how long I stay that way. I only know some time passes before, through a haze of tears, I register that Kitsune’s up and moving somewhere along my vision’s periphery. I feel her slip the sword and its harness onto my torso as she helps me to my feet. Then she ushers me outside the Oni’s cave into open air.
My daze clears somewhat and in the fading twilight, I see we are high up on one side of a lush, green valley. The valley is divided by a raging river—the same one that almost killed me, no doubt!
Kitsune releases my shoulders and takes my hand.
“Come on!” she says.
I stare at her blankly.
“I—I—”
“Follow me, Raymond-sai!”
I nod in understanding and allow Kitsune to pull me toward a winding forest trail leading down the mountain side.
We enter the woods just as the last of the sun disappears beyond the far ridge. The roars that always accompany nightfall in this inhospitable place begin and we quicken our pace.
Often called the Excalibur of
Japan
, Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi (also known simply as “Kusanagi”) is an infamous samurai sword said to be one of the Three Imperial Treasures. According to legend, the warrior Susanoo found Kusanagi in the corpse of the eight-headed dragon, Yamata no Orochi, after slaying him. It is said that the sword held magical properties, and continued to hold sway over beasts and monsters due to its former association with the dragon.
The whereabouts of Kusanagi are currently unknown. It is rumored that a replica of the blade was commissioned by the Emperor Sujin after the original sword was stolen by a Chinese monk during the sixth century. However, the story goes on to claim the monk’s ship sank at sea. Considering the fantastic nature of the tales associated with Kusanagi, one has to wonder if the sword ever in fact existed at all.
—Excerpt from
The Three Sacred Treasures of Japan
, by Haruo Yamada (1958). English translation, Katey Alegre (1964)
K
itsune is unbelievably fast and it’s all I can do to keep up with her.
In my defense, I’m more than a little tuckered out from the constant running for my life that I’ve had to do since my plane crashed in this land of monsters!
As we flee down the mountain side in the fading light, I trip and fall constantly. But every time I stumble, Kitsune returns from her place out in front to haul me up and get me moving again.
Our surroundings darken and pairs of hungry, luminous eyes begin appearing in the foliage along the trail. The animalistic grunts and growls sounding all around us creep in closer, drowning out the fading song of the forest cicadas.
We reach the valley floor just as the blackness becomes total. I stand there, a trembling statue, frightened beyond belief. Between roars, I hear Kitsune rummaging in the darkness, taking forever to do who knows what. I would ask her, but I’m terrified the sound of my voice would draw the attention of all those things going bump in the night!
I feel Kitsune’ small, cool hand take mine and I step forward as she gives it a tug. Her other hand comes to rest on my shoulder. I stoop as I feel her pushing down on me, urging me to do so.
I take a few more steps in this hunched position, then pause, feeling the air change around us, noting how the echo of sound is different here.
“Sit,” she whispers, and I do. “We will be safe, here.”
I hear her fumbling in the dark, and then the flash of a small spark almost blinds my dilated pupils as I hear two pieces of rock knock against each other.
Another strike. Another spark.
Then another.
Then a tiny fire ignites within the small mound of moss and twigs resting on the ground before Kitsune. She leans over and blows on the fire, giving it life. The blaze takes and begins to grow. As it does, she piles on more twigs and broken timber until we have a full-fledged camp fire burning.
For a moment, I gaze at Kitsune and see her eyes burning as they reflect back the fire’s light. The effect is exactly like when the headlight beams of Mom’s car shine into Bear’s eyes when we enter our driveway at night. I rub my eyes and look at her again. This time, her eyes carry only their normal darkness.
I don’t know if what I saw was merely my imagination playing tricks on me. But I take in the pensive way Kitsune is staring at the fire and I begin to think its light is more for my benefit than hers.
I shake my head to clear it, then I take a look at our shelter. The first thing I notice is that it’s man-made. The walls at our sides and the low ceiling overhead are all made of rotting, wooden planks. I see several circular iron bands that might have once ringed wooden barrels. There are several rusting, metal tools littered about, including the frame of an antique, hand-held lamp. But it’s not until my gaze falls upon the deteriorating wooden-spoke steering wheel that I realize our shelter is actually the remains of an capsized boat—probably a galleon of Old World Europe. The smoke of our fire rises into the night through a chimney hole bored into its up-turned belly.
How the ship came to be here in the middle of a freaking forest is way beyond me.
“Do not be afraid,” Kitsune says. “It is as I told you. We are safe in here.”
She must have misread the shock in my eyes. After a few moments, I regain my composure.
“Are you from
America
?”
She frowns in confusion.
“Forgive me, Raymond-sai” she says. “I do not know this amr-eet-ka.”
“
America
,” I say with emphasis.
“Amreetka,” she replies.
I smile. “Close enough. It’s the coolest place! There’s Xbox and movies and best of all, music! Not like this dump!
“But what about you?”
“I was born here on the island. I’ve lived here my entire life.”
“But you speak English—?”
“Yes,” she replies. “As well as Japanese, Portuguese, and dongsk tunga, what you might call Old Norse.”
For a moment, I’m bursting with excitement.
“So you do have contact with the rest of the world, then?”
She shakes her head and I deflate like a leaky balloon.
“Then...how...?”
She gestures at our shelter. “You are not the first outsider to shipwreck on the island.”
“You mentioned an island before. So that’s where we are? On an island?”
“Yes. One of the largest in a chain. We Toho refer to them collectively as the Kaiju Islands, or more simply Kaiju Island, in honor of those who rule them.”
“Excuse me? Toho?”
“I’m a member of the Toho clan. Once we roamed everywhere, our number equal to that of the stars in the sky!
Kitsune slumps her shoulders.
“But the outside world changed and we found we no longer had any place in it. We retreated back and back until our only foothold in this world is here at the labyrinth’s edge.”
She falls silent and I grope for a reply equal in magnitude to her story.
“Uh...that...sucks?”
Stupid! Stupid!
“Forgive me,” the girl says. “I do not understand.”
“I mean, I’m sorry.”
Kitsune nods.
“But we Toho have a prophecy. It is foretold that three warriors will reopen the way to the out-world and return our race to its former glory.”
“Sure,” I say. “Why not?”
Prophecies? This girl is absolutely nuts!
“The first warrior has already come.”
Her gaze moves to the sword strapped across my back.
“You carry his blade, Kusanagi.”
At her mention of the sword’s name, the scabbard at my back becomes hot for a moment, as though it were a living creature radiating body heat. But the sensation quickly fades, and like the sight of the fire-light reflecting in Kitsune’s eyes, I chalk it up to my frazzled imagination.
“A shooting star foretold of the warrior Kintaro’s coming an age ago,” Kitsune says, her eyes fixed on mine. “And then, two nights ago, another star fell from the sky to crash on the island—the one you arrived in.”