TARO by Blue Spruell

Author:Blue Spruell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Momotaro Kintaro Urashima Taro, Japan myth legend folklore fairy tale historical, Samurai, Sword sorcery, Action adventure, Boy hero, Coming-of-age
Publisher: Indie Author Project
Published: 2021-05-25T00:00:00+00:00

8 Giri [義理], “right reason,” duty encompassing a moral obligation, loyalty, honor, and self-sacrificing devotion.

6

THE MIRROR AND THE SHADOW

太

Musashi Province

Summer, Year of the Rat

Walking the lee shore of Sarushima, sweating miserably in the sticky heat, Tarō kicked at the surf and sand in anger and frustration. The boat carrying Master Yagyū and Kamehime was long gone, and there was not another soul in sight. Over the steady crashing of the waves, red-faced macaques chattered in the jungle of spiky palms and bushy sea grape trees growing close to the beach. One monkey ventured from the tangled shade of the jungle, curious about their visitor as he stumped past in his dark mood, but Tarō paid no heed, so the monkey retreated once more to the shady jungle.

The beach gave way to an outcropping of rough black rock where the air smelled especially fishy from kelp baking in the sun at low tide. Where the sea had washed over the rocks, it left tide pools filled with myriad sea creatures—starfish, sea cradles, snaky anemones, hermit crabs, mussels, clams and sea urchins. Gulls targeted the latter, grabbing their black spikes to drop them on the rocks and break them open. Their excited cries pierced the air, as Tarō, driven by hunger, robbed them of their prizes, tearing open the spiny globes to scoop out the salty, buttery, golden treasure.

Soon enough, Tarō grew terribly thirsty, which drove him in search of fresh water. Leaping onto the rocks, he saw the cave yawning in the jungle-covered hillside. A big wave crashed and sprayed close beside him as he bounded off toward the cave, the surf hissing below as it tunneled its way into the rocky point, occasionally spouting through fissures and holes in the rocks.

At the mouth of the cave, Tarō found a pool of rain water and drank his fill like an animal dying of thirst. When he recovered, he stared into the dark grotto. Curious, he made his way inside.

The cave was not deep, but the roar of the surf echoed around him. He turned to take in the view from the mouth of the cavern, the sky a disc of deep blue fading upward from the horizon.

Tarō sighed, his lower jaw sticking out defiantly. Without a care for his breeches, he sat with a thump on the damp cave floor, crossing his legs, fists on his knees, staring out of the cavernous porthole into the distant blue beyond, as the surf roared and echoed again.

All day and night, Tarō sat in silent indignation, listening to the relentless sigh of the surf crashing on the rocks outside, watching the mouth of the cave, where first the fiery eye of the setting sun, and then the cold white orb of the moon, stared back at him. The more he stared, the angrier he grew, his chest rising and falling with shorter breaths as he fumed about his predicament. Yagyū Jūbei’s words haunted him.

“You don’t know yourself, Tokuyama Tarō.”

The sword master’s judgment faded with the returning roar of the surf.

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