By Guy Umeo Yamato

"...so they told you I know something of the stories of the Long Eared One, eh?"

"Well, perhaps I will tell you something, but first you put that thing away. You'll not steal my voice! Heh heh heh!"

(muffled sounds, presumably placing recorder back in case)

"Now, you probably want to hear something new, yes? The others...they have been telling you all the stories of his life...so I will tell you something no one else knows. I will tell you of his end."

"Oh yes, I know that story well for it was told to me by my grandfather when I was a boy, just as his grandfather told it to him and his before him. Right out there it was that he told me."

(annotation indicates subject pointed out toward harbor)

"I thought we were just going fishing again, but when we got out to the nets, my grandfather, he just sat back and he told me this tale."

The rain continues to pour down just as it has for the last seven days. Mist streamers, like the unquiet spirits of past warriors, flow past us in a grim parade heralding the future. This day I stand with the forces of Lord Noriyuki as we await the landing of the invaders. For two days now, we have camped here at the base of the mount, and I am beginning to hope that perhaps they won't come. Maybe the messenger from the Komori Shinobi was wrong. Maybe the gods have turned them back with the storm.

Whatever the reason, we will only wait here one more day. Many are growing restive. Especially those in Lord Hikiji's camp. They dislike being so far from home and on the land of those who until recently were enemies.

We were woken this morning by the crash of a cannon. Some had landed in the dead of last night a little to the north. They must have been pushed off course by the storm that turned back the others. Now they hold a hill behind our lines.

It is still raining so that I cannot tell what time it is, though I think it to be around noon. It has taken us until now to turn our forces and get arrayed for attack. They have not fired their devil gun since the dawn. I can not say if this is fortune or ill luck for that first shot fell upon the pavilion of Lord Noriyuki. I do not know whether he will live or not.

I go now to join the forces of Lord Hikiji. It is they who will lead the attack...

...I can hear mocking voices in the mists...

...the mud sucks at my feet like the hands of the dead...

...I will not be stopped...

...I know fear...

...

"A giant led the invaders and where he walked, the warriors fell like the rain which washed their blood down to the sea. Only one stood his ground and faced him."

"Yes, it was Miyamoto Usagi. Fully a minute they stood there facing each other across the field. What they said to one another, no one knows. Then with a scream of bitterest hatred, they rushed upon each other."

(a long pause)

"What happened then? Well, just as they met, the invader's devil gun spoke for the second and final time that day. When the smoke cleared, neither could be seen. Then the warriors of the young lord surged forward over the field. They were eager for vengeance for the harm done to him, and pushed the invaders back into the sea"

"No. No body was ever found. It is said that the young lord gave him a heroes funeral though."

"You know, there are those that say he still lives. A hermit up in those mountains they say. There are even those who claim to have seen him walking up there. I don't know, I have never seen him, but it is said that after that battle, no bandits ever troub..."

(end tape)

Towards evening, the rain lets up. By then, the last sounds of battle had died away. All that can be heard across the field is the rustling of furtive movement. The peasants and the crows have come to loot the dead of what few things they yet possess.

From the forest to the north, slowly walks a figure, bent and leaning heavily on a staff. Where he treads, the others fall silent and back away. In his wake, whispers and hurried departures.

Straight to a pile of bodies he shuffles, where he pauses to sniff the air. A single grunt is all he utters before beginning to search among the fallen. Then, straightening from his work, he lifts a single body. Turning back to the mountain, he sets the body upon his shoulders. Soon the crows return to their feast with raucous cries of joy.

Far up in the mountains, in a clearing by a still pond, there is a stone. And every year, the cherry trees blossom and fill the air with the sweet perfume of life. And every year, the blossoms fall and cover the stone. Yet still, if you brush aside the flowers, you can read the words written there.