Jet Black and the Ninja Wind. Leza Lowitz

      CHAPTER 10

      雨の匂い Ame no Nioi

      The Smell of the Rain

      The wind blew stronger. Masakichi had to walk into its resistance, but his pace did not slow. The further he went, the faster he moved, soundlessly and forcefully. The earth smelled like rain. He had to find a way out. Alive.

      His grandfather Jinzaemon had taught him how to find a straight path, even in the wind. Jinzaemon was born in 1848, twenty years before Japan first opened its doors to the West. He had taught Masakichi all about ninjutsu. “If you want to go straight against the wind, find a path in its folds and pass through it,” he had said, although he’d never actually taught his grandson how to find it. Still, Masakichi had begged him.

      “Even if I teach you where the path is, you won’t be able to see it because the wind is always changing. If I show you the path in the wind one minute, the wind will shift and the path will disappear the next.”

      “Then how do I find it?” Masakichi had asked, worried he’d never be able to do it.

      “You must find it anew each time,” his grandfather smiled. “The only way to see the path in the wind is to become the wind itself. You have to be able to move like wind. Once you can pass through a narrow space or flow smoothly over a rough road just like the wind, then you will be able to see the path within it.”

      It wasn’t until Jinzaemon died, not long after, that Masakichi had been able to see the path in the wind. He was ten years old. Jinzaemon was eighty and had lived a very long life.

      Seventy years had gone by since then. As he swallowed, Masakichi’s parched throat ached, and he realized he was now the same age that Jinzaemon had been when he died.

      Ojiisan Jin would have told me to be tougher, Masakichi thought, although he knew he couldn’t have ignored Hiro’s feelings the way his own grandfather might have ignored his. He had to go rescue the dog. He had to check on the village. He knew he was taking a risk by entering enemy territory, but Aska was family, and Hiro would not be able to carry on if anything happened to her.

      Compared to Jinzaemon, Masakichi was sentimental. That was his nature. And a fundamental ninja rule was not to go against nature—especially your own.

      “Be impassive,” Jinzaemon had taught his grandson. “If you are swayed by passion, your judgment falters. Then you get involved in situations you would normally avoid. If you do that, one day you’ll end up in the enemy’s trap.”

      “Yes, Grandpa,” Masakichi had said earnestly.

      “The ninja is not heroic. It’s completely different from what you read about in comics and novels. It’s unpolished and dirty. We have to let the samurai or Wa worry about honor and beautiful deaths. Understand?”

      “Yes, grandpa,” Masakichi said, his lip trembling.

      “Good. Let them say what they will about us, but we have no laws to protect us, no lords to serve, no one to give us weapons or food or shelter. Ninja have to use whatever they can to survive. And that means we need to be decisive enough to use our master, parents, family, friends—even our children if necessary. Wakaru-ka? Do you understand?” His blue eyes cut into Masakichi’s like ice.

      “Does that mean you will kill me someday?” Masakichi asked anxiously, staring straight at his grandfather’s face, which transformed into the face of an oni, the huge black devils that ate little children in his picture books.

      “Yes! If necessary, I will use anybody—even you—to survive,” Jinzaemon said. Masakichi’s eyes watered. Jinzaemon softened his tone. “But it will never come to that. I would never allow such a dangerous situation to occur. So you don’t have to worry. You are the most important thing in the world. You’re the jewel of the Kuroi family. It’s my job to protect you. And that I will do with my own life, if need be.”

      When Jinzaemon had finally smiled, Masakichi had felt relieved.

      The smell of the rain came back to him now. Jinzaemon had taught him so many important things. Yet Masakichi knew he couldn’t live in the past, in those words. To do so would take him out of the present, and that could be fatal.

      The words of Zen priest Rinzai echoed in Masakichi’s mind. “When you meet the Buddha, kill the Buddha! When you meet your ancestors, kill your ancestors! When you meet a disciple of the Buddha, kill the disciple! When you meet your parents, kill your parents! When you meet your kin, kill your kin! Only thus will you attain enlightenment.”

      He knew he lacked the severity that Jinzaemon had possessed. His grandfather had been as disciplined as a Zen priest. Masakichi understood why he couldn’t be that severe. He didn’t have absolute faith in ninjutsu. Masakichi knew that even if he had followed a strict discipline, even if he could move like the wind, he stood no chance against modern weaponry. His grandfather had been innocent, relying only on the power of his will, strength, and skills. But this was the twenty-first century. The invention of electricity had been the beginning of the end for the ninja. He meant what he told Jet, even though she had doubted him.

      There was no use for the ninja anymore.

      The smell of rain swept up from the earth like a tidal wave. Masakichi rubbed his nose as if trying to get rid of the smell. Now that Jet was here, however, maybe things would be different.

      A new day had come.

      The rains, too, would eventually clear.