Moth by India Millar

Author:India Millar [Millar, India]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Empress Publishing

Twenty

Sand trickles through my

Fingers. It is the feel of

Your touch on my palm

We stripped the men of their possessions.

Four of them were dead, the fifth still unconscious from my blow. Affording Takeshi the respect he had earned, I gave him the final say in what was to be done with the man who lived.

“Tie him up. I noticed the men carried strong cord with them, no doubt to bind their prisoners. I will tie him quite loosely, so he will be able to get away eventually.”

“Shouldn’t we finish him off?” Touma asked hopefully. I smiled at his bloodthirsty enthusiasm.

“No. He is no danger to us, not now,” Takeshi said firmly. “One does not kill a fallen enemy, Touma. It is not the way.”

My skin prickled at Takeshi’s words. I needed him to account for the dramatic change in his behavior. What, I wondered, had happened to the meek, calm man with no memory of his own past? Even more did I wonder at his obvious knowledge of the code of bushido.

I decided against asking him at this precise moment. I knew that Touma was listening intently, and if—as I fully expected—there was much in Takeshi’s past that would overturn Touma’s new hero-worship of him, I did not want to disillusion my son. At least, not until I absolutely had to. I also fully expected Takeshi to be curious about me. For who had ever heard of an anma who could fight as if she were a trained warrior?

We had much to say to each other. But now was not the moment. Instead, I spoke crisply before Takeshi could say anything.

“Takeshi is quite right, Touma. To kill a man in a fair fight is one thing. To murder a fallen man who cannot fight back is a coward’s way.”

“But they would have killed us,” Touma protested. I sighed; we did not have time to enter into a discussion about the code of bushido. The right time would surely come, but it was not now. In any event, Touma had lost interest. I heard him pulling one of the bandit’s clothes about, and then he crowed with triumph.

“Look, Keiko! This one had a fat purse.” There was the chink of coins and Touma muttering under his breath. “He has seven silver ichibuban and lots of bronze coins. And look—a gold koban! At least, I think that’s what it is. I’ve never seen one before. We are wealthy!”

I frowned at his excitement. This was a dead body he was robbing; surely he should feel guilty? Then I remembered the matter of fact way he had spoken to me about the difficult life he had led in his village and I relented. He’d not had of the soft, comfortable upbringing that I had enjoyed. Even though his father had been relatively wealthy compared to the rest of the villagers, Touma must have gone hungry often.

Although it caused me a pang of conscience, I had to admit that he was right. The bandit had no further need of his cash, whereas we were in great need of it.

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