Earth: Giants, Golems, & Gargoyles by Rhonda Parrish

Author:Rhonda Parrish [Parrish, Rhonda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Anthology
Publisher: Tyche Books
Published: 2019-05-18T16:00:00+00:00

THE ODA HEAVY cavalry are magnificent. Their armour is glossy and beautifully appointed. Their weapons are ancient and perfectly maintained. When they rise in their stirrups and bow to the priestess, the poacher suddenly understands why the statue didn’t rattle. This isn’t an ambush.

“My lady Hiroko,” the leader says, curbing his horse. “The long nightmare is over. I have survived, you have survived, and you have Lord Oda’s treasure. The future is glory.”

The priestess recognizes the voice, muffled behind the warrior’s menpo. The mask has a sharp nose and glossy red teeth.

“The future is war, husband.”

“Not for us. You can come home. Lord Oda is waiting for you.”

“My mother isn’t. Your daughter isn’t. Hatano killed them when your Lord took his castles.”

The poacher should have guessed, should have felt it in the earth or smelt it on the wind. The shape of this betrayal is something he can hardly comprehend, but its weight is as obvious as the sky weighing on the earth. The priestess almost screams, “It was your daughter who was supposed to be a Maki for the gods, not me!”

“Return with me. I order it. Lord Oda orders it. Give me that statue and all is forgiven. This is what war is. There are no rules. You and I have both survived. Isn’t that enough reason to come home?”

The priestess unslings the Namazu figurine and puts it gently on the ground at her feet.

“It’s not that,” the priestess says, “it’s that I can’t stand you offering me forgiveness. As though I have done something wrong.”

She looks back at the poacher.

“Will you hold it down, this time?”

As if in a dream, the poacher joins her. He stands his quiver by the Namazu and leans on it with his leading foot.

“This is death,” he says.

“For a shrine maiden,” the priestess says, and pulls the cloth covering from the top of her staff. The poacher finally understands what she is.

The staff is not a Shinto standard, it is a naginata, a glaive tipped with a curving blade that has the sheen and sharpness of coral. She is not a wife or a nun or a spy. She is onna-bugeisha, a noblewoman, a samurai, and the poacher realizes she plans to fight ten mounted men on her own. His throat goes dry.

She kneels, the naginata tucked under her arm so that the weapon stretches far to her right. The blade is as still as the branch of a great oak. The grass blows in waves, and the stalks that touch the naginata’s edge fall away in a sprinkle of stems. With the formal gesture of challenge complete, she rises. She gently kicks out of the bamboo sandals, and her feet touch the earth.

“If you want the Namazu,” she says, “come and get it.”

The horsemen charge, with the priestess’s husband at their head. The poacher draws his bow and prepares to die. With a hundred Ashigaru and their spears, they could survive, but without them the samurai cavalry will mow them down as easily as a pack of hounds running down a pair of rabbits.

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