Chapter (4) RED DEMON

RED DEMON

       The nine-year-old Akihiro Ikeda walked carefully along the narrow strip of land between the rice paddies. Stopping at a lush green paddy Akihiro gripped the knees of his Hakama, pulling them up so that he could kneel down on the narrow path. Dropping his head closer to the water Akihiro stayed very still. In a few seconds the first of many tiny Rice fish appeared from their hiding places among the rice plants. Where the paddies were already planted, the water flow was slight and the mud settled out, leaving several inches of clear water. Akihiro stayed watching the little fishes for several minutes. His great grandfather had told him how the fish had been used for centuries to help to keep the mosquitoes and flies under control by eating the eggs and larvae. Although the little yellow fishes had short life spans, and lived no more than a couple of years, they were prolific breeders. The bodies of dead fish and the constant flow of fish excrement into the mud helped to fertilise the growing rice.

       The old man walked with slow and deliberate steps as he steered the small wooden plough through the soft watery mud. His long grey beard wafted gently in the early morning breezes that tumbled down the valley sides in the spring. A single strand of worn rope linked the man and the huge ox pulling the plough. It was hard to believe that this frail old man could control a huge beast with such delicate movements of the rope. Akihiro liked to watch his great grandfather as he worked the rice paddies. Akihiro lived with his parents, grandparents and great grandfather, in the wooden family home, which had sheltered generations of their family for several hundred years. The valley was surrounded on three sides by high, wooded, mountains. Here and there along the bottom of the valley, and on the slopes, wooden huts housed the, forty or so, inhabitants of the village. A single track led into the valley between high rock walls of the gorge. The water that flowed from the mountains and fed the paddies eventually flowed into a wide stone strewn stream. The track crossed the stream by an ornate wooden arching bridge. The villagers hunted hares and deer on the valley slopes. Where there was enough flat space the valley slopes were covered in man-made rice terraces, constructed by twenty generations of Ikeda family members. Akihiro Ikeda was the fifth generation of firstborn sons to know the peace and tranquillity of the valley, but it hadn’t always been so.

       “Ojiisan.” “Grandfather.” Called Akihiro. The old man stopped and looked across the muddy field at the boy. The old man’s face visibly changed, pleased to see the boy, his mouth formed a wide grin.

       “Ojiisan. It is such a fine day, please come and tell me a story.” The old man moved slowly towards the huge Ox, he placed a hand on the animals neck feeling the thick neck muscle twitch beneath his touch. bending slightly he spoke quietly into the animals ear. The beast flicked his tail then bowed his head and stood silently without moving. Akihiro watched, and waited with practiced patience. The old man came to the edge of the paddy in slow deliberate steps and the boy bowed in respect.

       “Akira.” "Little Prince.” This was the name the old man had chosen to call the boy. “Have you been practicing your writing today?”

       “Hai, Ojiisan.” The boy held out a hand to help the old man step out of the mud onto the narrow pathway. The pair moved slowly along the path, the boy following the old man, who walked slowly and with difficulty without his stick to aid him.

The old man lowered himself to the floor, sitting with some difficulty on a large patch of dry grass. Akihiro sat cross-legged and straight backed, facing the old man.

       “Akira, I think it is time for you to know more of your ancestry. This story is one which you must remember, and when you are old like me, you will retell this story to your own grand children.” Akihira made a single nod of his head.

       “Hai, Ojiisan.”

       It was a warm spring day, one hundred and ten years past. Samurai Takeshi Ikeda stood firmly on the terrace of his family house. Takeshi kept his left hand resting on the white hilt of his sword with his thumb on the Tsuba. His right hand he kept tucked inside the folds of his Haori. Every day Takeshi dressed as though he were still at the court of his Lord Shogun, and was an impressive figure in his bright red Haori and matching Hakama made from the finest silk. The tall warrior had the face of a man some twenty years younger. Takeshi was an accomplished horseman, a deadly Bowman and an impressive fighter with Swords and other weapons. His bravery was legendary. Takeshi had fought in the ranks of his Lord Shogun Tokugawa, for fifteen years, under the flags of Ii Naomasa, the Red Demon. Takeshi had suffered many wounds, from many battles, but he always healed quickly. When the Red Demon troops went into battle they wore traditional Samurai armour painted blood red and as they advanced at running pace they instilled fear into their enemies. The Shogun had been impressed with the bravery and loyalty Takeshi displayed, and had allowed him to be released to come home to defend his family village against the many groups of thieves and bandits that roamed the mountains. Many of these groups were the remnants of defeated rival armies.

       Takeshi watched the wind move the soft white clouds across a bright blue sky. In the rice paddies the women of the village were bent over planting the seasons new rice seedlings. Takeshi allowed himself a satisfied smile as he observed the scene being played out before him. The villagers working the paddies could look up and see their protector, in his bright red robes, standing sentinel.

       “Takeshi san.” Takeshi had heard the old woman approach but didn’t move a muscle.

       “Hai.” “Yes?” He replied without turning, his eyes always watching the hills.

       “Takeshi san. It is time to eat.”

       “Hai.”  The old woman turned to leave, still bent in a bow of reverence to her master. Takeshi turned and followed the old woman into the house, stopping just inside the opening, he turned to face outwards and with deliberate action raised his arm and gripped the bamboo and paper screen. Takeshi waited a second then in a single smooth movement he slid the screen across to close the opening.

Takeshi sat, in the customary cross-legged style, on a cushion as the old woman laid a bowl of soup and dumplings in front of him. He raised both arms and shook the sleeves of his Haori so that they retreated away from his hands. The old woman returned and poured a little Saki into his cup. Takeshi nodded approval but did not speak. The old woman knelt at the side of the room with her head almost down to the floor while her lord and master consumed the meal in silence.

There had been news of raids, by bandit gangs, on other villages in the surrounding valleys. The bandits took whatever they could find and killed the villagers without remorse. A few villagers that escaped had found their way to Takeshi’s village.

       On a day like many others Takeshi was striding through the village when a man in rags appeared running towards him. The man fell, prostrate, at the feet of Takeshi.

       “Wagakimi.” “My Lord.”

       “Tsuttatsu.” “Stand up.” Said Takeshi quietly. The wretched man raised himself and stood before Takeshi but kept his head bowed looking at the floor.

       “My Lord, the bandits have destroyed our village.” Takeshi stroked his bearded chin with his right hand.

       “And when did this happen?” He asked the man.

       “My Lord, yesterday in the early morning.”

       “How did you escape?”

       “My Lord, I hid in the reeds by the river. They didn’t find me.”

       “What is your name?” The man moved uneasily.

       “Shinji Noka my lord.”

       “Shinji, stand up straight. Do you know who I am?” Takeshi asked the man. The man shook his head, still afraid to look straight at Takeshi.

       “I am Takeshi Ikeda. Samurai General of the Red Demon troops.”

       “My lord Takeshi.” The man again fell to the ground on his knees with his head on the floor.

       “Stand up Shinji. You will call me Takeshi. Walk with me, I want you to tell me everything you know about the bandits that raided your village.”

       “Hai Takeshi san.” The tall Takeshi strode confidently along the path with the hunched over Shinji trotting by his side recounting all he could remember.

       Having learned all he could from Shinji, he summond an old woman to come near.

"Take this poor wretch and feed him." 

"Hai Takeshi san." returned the old woman, taking hold of the poor mans arm and turning him away and leading him back towards a bamboo hut. Takeshi sat for a long time considering what the poor man had told him, all the time formulating a defensive plan. During his years in Lord Tokugawa’s armies, Takeshi had earned a reputation for being a good strategist. The next morning Takeshi sent for the elders of all the families in the village. After a ceremonial cup of Saki, Takeshi laid out his plan to protect the village against the bandits. He had learned from Shinji, the bandits had both horsemen and ground troops with military training. The easiest place to defend would be the narrow entrance to the valley and the bridge over the river. Takeshi’s plan was simple. He, Takeshi, would stand firm on the bridge to face the bandits. Men from the village would hide, high up on both sides of the gorge with piles of rocks which they would throw down onto the bandits to disrupt their ranks. A few, three, of the villagers could fire a Bow and Takeshi wanted them behind the trees on the gorge sides. These village bowmen were not expected to kill many, but they would distract some of the bandit archers.  They would need a way of knowing when the bandits approached the valley. A man on a horse would wait outside the valley some distance from the entrance. Another man would watch from high on the hill, armed with a bow and an arrow. When he saw the bandits on the horizon he would fire the arrow down to the pathway where the man on the horse was waiting. On seeing this signal the horseman would race back as fast as possible to warn the village of the bandits approach.

       During the following days Takeshi prepared his Samurai Armour, he positioned a Bow and quiver of arrows by the bridge, and supervised the collecting of large rocks and getting them into position behind the trees on the gorge.

Then the day arrived when the horseman came galloping back into the village

       “Takeshi san, they come, they come.” Takeshi grunted, and walked quickly back to his hut. By the time the villagers had taken up their positions on the hillsides Takeshi, with the old woman, had dressed in his war armour and stepped outside onto the veranda. Villagers fell to their knees to see their protector dressed in his blood red armour. Tucked into his belt Takeshi had the long, curved Katana Sword favoured by Samurai. Tucked into his belt on his right side was a matching Tanto, a much smaller straight sword. In his right hand he held the long Naginata, a spear with a curved blade on one end, in his other hand he carried his war bonnet with it’s long white horns.

       Takeshi strode quickly through the village stopping only when he reached the bridge. At the centre of the bridge Takeshi stopped, rested the Naginata against the hand rail, and using both hands positioned his war bonnet and face mask, on his head and tied the ribbons to hold it in place. The morning sunlight glinted red off his armour. Takeshi took the bow and tied the quiver to his belt. Then he took a stance and waited.

       Some time passed before the he heard the sound of horses galloping. Takeshi lifted his bow and placed three arrows in his bow hand with a fourth ready on the string. As the first horsemen rounded the gorge and came within range of his bow Takeshi loosed of the first four arrows with lightening speed. Three horsemen fell dead and a fourth was wounded. Even before the bandits had stopped Takeshi loosed off another three arrows and again killed two more bandits. The rest of the bandits stopped their advance. The leader came forward to the bridge.

       “Who are you who stands in my path?”  Takeshi raised his bow and aimed directly at the man on the horse.

       “I am General Takeshi of the Red Demons. I am here to stop you or to die.” The look on the bandits face betrayed the fact that he knew of Takeshi and the Red Demons.

       “Are you ready to die?” Cried Takeshi.

       “Do you think you can stop us? You are but one man, we are a hundred fighting men.” Takeshi had some respect for a man brave enough to stand and offer a challenge.

       “I will not kill you with my bow. Go back to your men and leave.” The Bandit turned his horse and retreated towards his men. Twenty or so Horsemen stood at the front and several dozen foot soldiers stood waiting behind them. Takeshi lowered his bow, lifted his Naginata and waved it high in the air. This was the signal the hidden villagers had waited for. Before they knew what was happening, a hailstorm of rocks rained down on the foot soldiers. Many fell unconscious to the ground several had broken bones. Bowmen in the bandits ranks turned and fired arrows at the invisible enemy. The village bowmen took steady aim from their vantage points and their arrows were joined with more from Takeshi bringing down a dozen more horsemen. The bandits were in disarray and had nowhere to hide on the narrow gorge. Two horsemen attacked the bridge where Takeshi waited. Using his Naginata he cut the front legs of the tightly packed horses causing them to fall forward throwing the riders straight onto the bridge in front of Takeshi. They were quickly and easily dispatched. The two horses stumbled past Takeshi braying wildly. The remaining bandits dismounted, four of them started to run at Takeshi. Four more arrows flew from his bow and killed the bandits in seconds. The end of the bridge was now cluttered with dead bodies. The leader of the bandits was shouting orders and a group of foot soldiers drew their swords and attacked the bridge. Takeshi stripped off his quiver and dropping his bow Takeshi took a stance with the Naginata killing five more but with the sixth the blade breaks as it tears through his helmet. Arrows fly at Takeshi from the gorge, several hitting his armour. Takeshi draws his long sword and strides forward. The sword flashed in a zig zag cross over style, waterwheel and butterfly, cutting down eight more men. Striding forward again Takeshi repeatedly wielding his sword with masterly precision and killing nine more men before the blade snapped at the hilt and fell into the river. Without a moment’s hesitation Takeshi lifted a sword from the ground and drew his Tanto. Takeshi was now armed with two deadly weapons. As more bandits fell dead or were mortally wounded, the others started to back away and the attacks became less frequent. Having seen the ferocity with which Takeshi slew his enemies many of the bandits turned tail and ran away. The leader was still on his horse and, crying loudly, he attacked Takeshi with his sword held high. The sword came flashing down, Takeshi deflected the blow and spinning round he sliced open the horseman’s side. In that moment a bandit threw a spear and it struck Takeshi in his right knee.  Takeshi stood his ground as more bandits tried their luck and died from his swords. The rest of the bandits turned and ran. When the fight was over Takeshi stood on the bridge. He had fifteen arrows sticking out of his armour, three of which had penetrated through to his body. A large spear was lodged in his right knee. When the bandits could no longer be seen the villagers came down from the hills and approached Takeshi.

       “Takeshi san. You are wounded.” One of the villagers called out, and a small group of men came forward to carry Takeshi back to his hut.

       “Did Takeshi live?” Akihiro asked the old man.

       “Yes but the wound in his knee left him with a bad limp.” Replied the old man.

       “And what happened to Takeshi afterwards?” Asked the boy. The old man gave a wide smile.

       “When he was healed Takeshi placed his armour and silken robes in a carved wooden box. Then he took a wife and settled down to the life of a rice farmer.”

       “Did the bandits return Ojiisan.”

       “No, they never came back, and their stories of the Red Demon Samurai spread far and wide and so other bandits stayed away.”

       “Akihiro...Akihiro..” His mother’s voice called out across the paddies. Akihiro jumped to his feet.

       “We must return now Ojiisan.” The old man held out a hand for Akihiro to help him up.

As Akihiro went into his house he bowed respectfully to the old man.

The old man limped down the path to his hut. Mounting the few steps he dragged his right leg up each step. Inside he approached a large wooden box covered with ornate carvings and opened it. Carefully he lifted a red helmet with white horns and held it up to gaze at it.

“Hello my old friend.” He said.

Reviews

[wordman]

well i didn`t know you was a story teller,you made me believe

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Hi Wordman. It's a new genre for me. Thought it was time I grew up a bit as a writer.

[wordman]

well i can understand but we always come back home

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

I'm still exploring this new world of writing. I love writing funny stuff so I guess I'll always do it.

[wordman]

it usually comes natural,what you write

[Tony Jordan]

I've read quite a few Jack Reacher books on the bus and I can say in the beginning it was Lee Child's ability to paint fight scenes which first got me hooked. Sadly that became old fast but this reignited my love of the fight, the battle scene - when well told.
I saw you asking Coyote who the old man was and I thought it was the Red Demon but could it be?
Very well penned - your enthusiasm for the subject matter comes across loud and clear M.E.

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Many many thanks Tony. It's one of my pieces that gave me huge pleasure to write. I'm so pleased you enjoyed it.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you for sharing this amazing story. The powerful description brought me in and I was held to the last words. I love myth and tale. The story had the feel of realistic people and times. I liked the old man and his story. A outstanding story my friend.
Coyote

[MAD ENGLISHMAN]

Thank you friend. It does in fact contain true facts. the Red demons formed part of Tokugawa's armies. I really enjoyed doing the research for this story. The question is.. Who was the old man really?

[Coyote Poetry]

A outstanding story. I did enjoy and you are welcome.