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Dale Furutani

Kill the Shogun

CHAPTER 1

Delicate feathers,

speed, grace, style, and elegance.

Death in an instant.

Japan, the year of the Rabbit, 1603

She looked for something to kill. When she was taken from hooded darkness, it was because something was supposed to die. Her sharp eyes scanned the sky, looking for movement or a patch of dark against either the blue sky or the billowing white and gray clouds.

It was the month of No Gods, and soon it would be the month of White Frost, so the day was not hot. Still, even on a cool day, the sun heated up patches of rock and earth, forming weak thermals that made invisible pillars in the air. Her delicate feathers sought these thermals like sensitive instruments, instinct telling her to use the columns of rising air to loiter in the sky as she sought out her prey. She encountered the buffeting of rising air and banked her wings to spiral into the thermal, constantly sweeping the sky with her bright eyes.

She gave two flaps of her powerful wings, the column of air not being strong enough on a cool day to keep her aloft without effort. Below, the steep hills were densely covered with trees. The fall colors were just beginning to tinge the landscape like the delicate strokes of a kimono painter, touching brush to silk and watching the rich hues spread across the tightly woven, shimmering cloth.

A movement invaded the periphery of one eye and the majestic bird cocked its head to track it. A dove, flying across the treetops. The hawk curled its wing feathers and made a tight bank. With a few beats of its wings, the hunter increased its speed to catch up to the hunted.

The dove was still unaware that mortality was approaching. It was intent on reaching the rice paddies on the horizon, where its own prey, grubs and worms, would be in abundance.

The hawk increased its speed as it trimmed back its wings to plummet down on the dove.

At the last moment, the dove heard the rustle of wind in wings, then the needle-sharp talons of the hawk punctured its body.

With a few slow beats of its wings, the hawk rose higher into the sky, still clutching its dying prey. It made a wide semicircle until it spotted the group of men on horseback, and it started making its way back. One of the men held up a leather-covered arm to the bird, inviting it to return to the perch where it would get a tasty morsel to reward it for its successful hunt.

As the hawk approached the hunting party, its sharp eyes noticed another group of men. This group was hiding in the rocks near the men on horseback. Like the hawk, they were also hunters seeking their prey.

The two men had cloths tied around their heads, covering the bottom of their faces. One slowly raised his head above the rocks so he could get a clear view of the hunting party. The man next to him also rose and held out three fingers with his hand. Then he pointed to the right.

The first man counted three figures from the right and stared intently at the face of his intended victim. Even at this distance, it was easy to make out the features of the man he would eventually kill. He found it interesting that this man, secure in his power and lofty position, was actually a dead man. He simply didn’t know it yet.