The Untold Story of Scarecrow

Even if samurai's head were to be cut off, he should be able

to do one more action with certainty.

With martial valour, one should become like a revengeful ghost

and show determination, though his head is cut off, he shall not die.

Bushido code

1.

A boy was tearing white bread, sopping it in a small bowl of milk and then putting into his mouth to munch in contentment. As the unbearable heat was raging outside, at this very moment all the youngster could dream of was cool milk. A modest house, inside of which the boy managed to hide from the sun, was built on a mild Tuscan hillside and was surrounded by hundreds if not thousands of olive trees of Frantoio variety, which cropped exceptionally well in 1302 A.D.

The house was built specifically so that people working in olive groves could wait out the most scorching summer heat and go back to the crops after the weather cooled down. The name of the youngster was Enzo and he was the last-born of the well-known land owner Giovanni di Carpini, gardener and traveller extraordinaire. It was Giovanni who had brought bread and milk to the boy, and afterwards, as he was chewing on a slice of his favourite cheese, he laid down on the patch of grass between the summer house and a well, from which a peculiar device used for irrigation was pumping water. Softly clacking machinery was guiding the stream down towards the even rows of olive trees. Giovanni was famous for those kinds of unusual solutions, which he managed to take a peek at during his numerous journeys far abroad. And even though not all of his experiments ended up successfully, he adored discussing his future ideas for other machines to build. One of those devilish devices, as Enzo's nan was calling them, ruined the old lady's laundry and hence currently to avoid her wrath, both grandfather and his grandson had hidden in a worker's tiny house, away from threats and yelling of Giovanni's fourth wife, Mrs. Carpini.

Enzo finished the remaining piece of bread, took the last sip of milk, licking his lips, as if he had just eaten the most exquisite dish, and burped quietly as a sign of his approval. On his tiptoes, he left the house, sneaking towards his grandpa. Old Giovanni, although still robust for his age, was a way past sixty, yet not even one grey hair was in sight in his mussed hair, nor beard nor moustache. The only reminder of his old age was his back pains, nightmares and inability to drink as much wine as he would usually like to. The price of his love for work was paid by his back. The nightmares keeping him awake at night were nothing but the reminiscence of his past, the one he was so eager to forget, drowning it in wine.

Naturally, Enzo was unaware of his grandfather's ailments, since during his grandson's visits, the old man's face immediately softened, as the newly regained strength was beaming from his eyes and his problems, even if they reminded of themselves at all, were vanishing into thin air. Giovanni ascribed this effect to the fact that the youngster shared the same energy and inquisitiveness towards the world around him that the elder had possessed ever since his birth.

Seeking mischief, the boy approached him but as he leaned above Carpini, Giovanni's eyes fluttered open as if he wasn't sleeping at all and the old man took the boy in his arms, enjoying his laughter and letting his beard be pulled by the boy. Eventually, when they sat up on the ground breathless, leaning against cool stones of the well, Enzo sent a piercing gaze of brown eyes towards his grandpa, a pout apparent on his face as he called to him:

"What about the promise? You gave your word, Nonno! I picked olives and helped you prune the trees all day long. Tell me a story, Nonno! Please! Your racconti are the best!"

"Of course, they are. But which story would you like to hear, my dear Enzo? You've probably heard them all."

"I've already told you! I want the story my father forbade me to listen to. Tell me about the land of Nippon, tell me about the scarecrow!"

"Hold your horses, my boy. What if your father finds out?"

"I can keep a secret," the boy exclaimed.

"I know, I know. But this story is different. It may frighten you."

"Grandpa …" Enzo frowned. "Wasn't that you who told me how it goes with fairy tales?"

"Yes?"

"You said that fairy tales can teach us something because all of them are real."

"Did I, now?"

"Yes, all fairy tales are real. Even the ones about a dragon because—"

"—because fairy tales tell us that the dragon can be defeated," they finished in unison.

"Well" Giovanni sighed. "I'm digging my own grave by telling you such balderdash. What the heck. There's plenty of time till afternoon and we can't go home yet anyway."

With that, Giovanni lay back, as his feet shod in sandals were bathing in sun while his head stayed hidden in the shade cast by the well.

"If you're going to have nightmares the way I'm having, don't tell on me to your father."

"You have my word, Nonno" answered the boy solemnly.

2.

This story begins when I wasn't older than you are now. After my mother's, and your great grandmother's, death, my father forgot completely what it meant to be curious of the world around you. He retreated into his shell and was only daydreaming about heaven, devoting himself completely to church and faith. He didn't want to hear about anything else, especially me, because apparently I was still reminding him of his beloved wife. To let go of me swiftly and still earn some favours in God's eye, your great grandfather sent me to study in a Franciscan monastery.

Austere, monastic life strengthened my character. I managed to quickly learn how to read and write, also speak several foreign languages, which were always easy for me. I was able to speak fluently local varieties of those languages before I was even capable of writing them down. I spent almost two years in the monastery, constantly searching for opportunities to learn something new. One of my nocturnal escapades to seek knowledge, and then I associated it with the library, would have ended up catastrophically because creeping at night with a candle in my hand, I managed to cause a small fire in there. The punishment could have been severe; fortunately, my master, brother Theodet, who was always impressed with my linguistic skills, rescued me from this predicament. Theodet just returned from Lyon where he had visited the Holy Father, and as it soon turned out, he didn't come back empty-handed. The pope decided to send him on a mission as an emissary to a far away country called Mongolia. Alongside my master, two other monks were appointed to depart as well. Eventually, I managed to go as well.

During our long journey down the northern track we arrived in Prague, then we headed to Silesia where in Wrocław brother Maurycy joined our ranks. He was supposed to be our interpreter because aside Latin he also knew Rhutenian, and at the time there were plenty of Rhutenian captives in Mongolia.

Provided with some gifts for the chan, beaver and badger's pelts, we headed down the trade path leading us all the way to Kiev, where I learnt how to ride fast but small horses. Down the seashore and through picturesque Cuman grasslands, we arrived in Sarai, the Golden Horde's capital at the time. I will never forget this journey; deserts, picturesque lakes and terrifying mountaintops rising in the horizon. After many months of our trip, the hardships of which put us to a test, we found a golden tent belonging to the chan, who back then was a dangerous and unpredictable Guyuk, and we heard from him only a short but decisive "no". And that was it. The entire point of our mission was in question. We needed to come back, and the mere thought of life as a monk made me nauseous.

During one of my evening strolls, I met a boy who was tending to horses nearby our camp. I asked him if further from his chan's land was maybe yet another, magical country. The boy told me then about a mysterious country island named Nihon-koku, which Mongolians tried to conquer twice, yet they fended from their ships successfully as they were defended by a mysterious kamikaze, godly wind.

After this conversation, I couldn't sleep at all. My head was filled with visions of miraculous Nihon-koku, surrounded with clouds and swept by winds. In the morning, I already knew that I needed to get there, no matter how long it would take or how dangerous it would be. Not knowing what to do, I told brother Theodet about my plans.

"Go," he said. "Bring them Christ's name. I will pray for you. I believe you will find your destiny where you're heading."

3.

What I remembered most vividly from the Land of the Rising Sun is the moment when I saw it for the first time. Appearing from the mist was an incredibly verdant shore with layered, thick forest with vividly green trees growing on top of the jagged cliffs. Faraway fuscous mountaintops reminded me of the backs of sleeping giants.

Seemingly inaccessible for any outsider, the paradise that was Nippon welcomed me in a surprisingly generous way. Soon I managed to be invited to the court by one of generals which were in charge of military power over assigned parts of the country. This sort of warriors, whom the emperor had reign over, were called sei'i-taishōgun, meaning shoguns. My mentor and employer, Yoritsune was ruling a shogunate of Kamakura.

Among other things, shoguns were commanding the troops which were taking part in raids against barbarians. The more of a surprise it was for me then, to have an opportunity presented before me to stay in the court of one of them. Yoritsune, known also as Mitora, which means three-time tiger (he was born in the year of tiger, month of tiger and day of tiger), ordered me to undergo extensive teachings. The key to them was to learn the language, which even though difficult, soon became my obsession, especially in writing.

When after almost two years I was able to talk with citizens of the capital without a problem and I knew almost two thousand kanji characters and two kana alphabets, Yoritsune invited me to his garden. Strolling down the lanes flourishing with plum trees in full blossom and otherworldly-looking cherry trees of shidare-zakura variety, which were the main attraction for the locals during hanami, enjoying the cherry blossoms, the shogun was asking me for the thousandth time about teachings of Saint Francis, and what fascinated him the most, the monastic rule. Afterwards we walked for a while in silence until Yoritsune stopped near the particularly beautiful apricot tree growing in the middle of the garden.

"You're a fast learner when it comes to our world, Sakaki-san" he mused. "I wonder if all your countrymen are similar to you. Always curious, always flourishing like trees after which you were given your name. Tell me, what is your dream?"

Keeping in mind that Yoritsune was asking me the very same question more or less once a month, I answered confidently:

"I dream of writing down the story of the samurai's life, sir."

"Yes. I remember. My answer to your request was always negative. For there's the right time for everything. Just like with blossoming of shidare-zakura trees. Tell me, what do you think about when you look at them?"

I knew it was a test but I couldn't see through his intentions.

"Ah, if in this world there were no such thing as cherry blossoms, perhaps then in springtime our hearts would be at peace," I answered, quoting one of the classics.

"From which tree's bloom it comes, I do not know—this fragrance," he replied with haiku, and then unexpectedly added, "The samurai whose life story you will write down awaits you in Yuutsu village, nearby Yokohama."

4.

Yuutsu village seemed to be desolate. I noticed this only when I left the bamboo forest through which I unnecessarily improvised a shortcut. No one was to be found by the river. I didn't hear either animals nor children playing around. I went past the first line of buildings, which seemed to grow from the green scenery and then I saw them …

The villagers gathered around the main square. They all stood there in silence and when I managed to dart through the crowd to find out what the reason for this gathering was, no one spoke a word to me. Since morning it felt as if it was about to rain, and the heavy air only intensified the atmosphere of tense silence.

Finally, I reached the first row. The crowd was staring at a building in front of which lay three corpses. The ground managed to drench in their blood and a swarm of flies hovered around them. People stood still as if they had noticed the invisible line that was forbidden to cross. One person stepping out of the line was a beggar that was sitting near the well built in the centre of the square. I looked at others gathered around me and decided to chat up a monk with a four-string biwa hanging from his back.

"What's happening?" I whispered, drawing unnecessary attention of the rest of the audience.

The monk shot me an indifferent glance, unfazed by the foreigner speaking his language.

"The wise man of our village, Mr. Otaky, killed in rage three men that his wife supposedly cheated him with," the monk answered. "As of now he's holding her as a hostage. He threatens that he'll kill her along with the baby in her womb. Not so long ago he asked for a horse on which he wants to leave with his wife."

As if answering to monk's words, clopping of hooves on a bamboo bridge could be heard in the distance. The crowd came apart and let in the boy guiding the small steed. The boy went past the well, left the animal in the middle of the square and went back quickly to the rest of the villagers. Once again, the silence took over, broken only with the soft snort of the horse.

All of the sudden the door of the cottage outside of which the bodies were lying opened. The man, with his head completely shaven, stepped outside, holding the pregnant woman in a torn kimono in front of him him; a tantō blade pressed at her throat. His grip must have been uneasy since the blood was oozing from a couple of shallow cuts.

"Hanareta!", he yelled. "Don't you dare approach me! I'm leaving with my wife! I'm leaving and I will finish it on my parents' grave!"

This being said, he shoved the woman towards the horse and when she shrieked excruciatingly, he closed her mouth violently, her scream turning into a hysterical sob. Still, no one dared to move or step in.

The man pulled the woman towards the horse and I noticed in bewilderment that a crane with a beautiful red crest landed silently on the roof opposite the well. The bird stood on one leg, the other tucked between his wings. After cocking its head swiftly a few times, it stilled to the point one could doubt it was real. Mr Otaku lowered his blade and tried to boost his wife to the horse. Exactly then, the crane clattered loudly and took off, flying over the square. Everything happened very fast but I managed to notice that the bird dropped something during its flight. It was a rock, but before it got a chance to drop, the beggar's foot made contact with it as he jumped up. The rock whirred in the air and hit the base of Mr. Otaku's skull. Everyone heard a soft crack. The madman straightened up, dropping the knife. Otaku made a few wobbly steps and fell to the ground, sputtering, scaring the horse. Mrs. Otaku once again shrieked excruciatingly and I was shocked equally as the other witnesses of this unusual spectacle. I stared at the beggar who sported a wide smile and cocking his head clattered in similar fashion as the crane. As if it was summoned, the bird flew over in a sweeping arch from the riverbank and lowering its flight, landed at the edge of the well. The beggar turned towards it, took something out from his ragged outfit and put it directly in the bird's beak. The crowd, awoken by this action, finally gave in to emotions as people rushed towards Mrs. Otaku, who was sobbing violently.

I lost the beggar from my sight but even then I already figured that this must have been the sword master I was looking for, and whose life I was about to convey in a written text. Instead of following the crowd, I took up the chase after the crane that was already in the air. The bird led me out of the city and then turned towards the pine grove growing on the side of a hill nearby. I climbed, not without difficulty, until I spotted the powerful silhouette bending behind one of the tree trunks.

Soon I stood in front of a blind man, not knowing if there's any use in performing gestures going with the greeting, since he was unable to see them anyway. He took off all the ragged clothing, staying in the loincloth only. He must have heard me or registered my presence in some way with his other heightened senses, because he turned around to face me and greeted me as if he was able to tell right away with whom he was talking to.

"Ohayō gozaimasu," he said.

"Kon'nichiwa. Do I have a pleasure to speak with Mr. Yamamoto?" I asked, in a simplistic, a bit naïve, fashion.

A chubby giant smiled warmly and I recall feeling utter disbelief at how white his teeth were.

"No, I have only the honour to accompany him during his journey down his path. Mr. Yamamoto is over there." He pointed before him as if he knew perfectly well what he was pointing at.

I turned around, ready for another greeting, but at first, maybe blinded a little by sunrays, I didn't notice anyone. Once my eyes stopped burning, I saw a midget in the kimono (where an intricately plaited braid was lying), sitting on a branch of the nearest tree, his feet dangling around.

"Welcome, foreigner," he said in deep, manly voice. "I am Yamamoto and this is my companion, Mr. Miyagi. You've already met our loyal bird friend, Tenshi. Mr. Miyagi decided to help resolve the problem in the village nearby. He needed to leave the sword under my care and go there in disguise, otherwise the miserable Otaku, who lost his mind, could have fulfilled his threats."

As he was saying that, Mr Miyagi finished changing his clothes. The giant came to the tree and took the little samurai from it, helping him sit in a basket made out of reeds. It was placed on his back for the smaller man to ride in.

"Since we're all here, I think we can get moving," Yamamoto ordered. "I would be eternally grateful, Sakkai-san, if you exercised your patience and asked not too many questions. The place where we're heading can frighten you, and fear is not the best companion during a journey. Therefore, there's no need to take it with you. Observe and remember what you see, because life is a river and an event which we partake in is only a bubble floating on the water. It will disappear like dew in the morning. The only thing to survive is a good story, so let's get to writing it down."

Just when he finished his speech, the crane, sitting nearby, stopped grooming itself and took off, clattering softly. Broad-shouldered Miyagi-san put the sheathed longsword across his back and shifted his weight to the sturdy bamboo stick, answering the bird in his savage language. Later on, we began our journey by taking our steps towards obscure black clouds.

5.

We wandered for about two days, stopping each time when it started to rain. Only the moments before the first raindrops were hitting the ground, Tenshi was descending, clattering interchangeably with Mr. Miyagi.

On the second day of our journey, in the evening both samurai's bodies underwent a number of hygienic rituals. They braided each others' hair, cleaned their nails, even rubbed the skin from their soles hardened from the miles of walking. Later on, they were meditating and praying quietly, lighting up incenses. I didn't dare ask about any of that.

In the morning I woke up to Mr. Miyagi's panting. I opened my eyes to see the giant performing long katas in an order unknown to me. A couple of meters away from him, his crane was standing on one leg in the grass.

The samurai approached the broken tree trunk of an oak. His sword, from a strange steel possessing a rainbow shine to it, glittered in the sun. He struck once, then again. Miyagi gasped and lunged forward, throwing aside a large chunk of wood cut out from the inside of the trunk. The rest of the oak tumbled to the ground, and after wiping the rainbow blade with his thumb, the samurai sheathed the sword.

I was aware that such long blade couldn't be anything but a No-dachi , a sword meant for the battlefield, but the unusual shades of colour of the steel reminded me of something else. It was a nursery rhyme that children on shogun's court were reciting during particularly severe storms. Sifting through my memory, the words found their way out.

"And just like that, with a powerful blow, the storm will be vanquished by rainbow …" I whispered.

I don't know whether Mr. Miyagi could hear me but he turned around and, facing me, bowed down, gracing me with yet another smile …

Later on that morning, I noticed the first body. The corpses were impaled on the top of a pine tree and lifted about a hundred feet above the ground. The body had started to decompose, yet not to the point of birds feasting upon it. I sent Mr. Yamamoto a questioning glance but the little samurai ignored me completely. It was only worse afterwards. By the end of the day I counted over thirteen bodies we passed by. Each in a different spot and different arrangement, as if some otherworldly power scattered them around the world. The worst thing was the one we found just before the dawn, around the fork in the road. I could examine it up-close.

It must have belonged to a woman once. Her bluish purple limbs were covered in hundreds of small cuts. In several places something punctured holes of regular and, as I suspected, cauterised shape. Few things were missing: eyes, nails, teeth, one breast and couple of fingers. The index finger was cut halfway but not quite, as if it was slashed with an incredibly sharp knife. But the most terrifying thing for me were the foreign patterns drawn on her skin. I wasn't able to decipher them.

Even though black clouds started gathering from the west, not a single raindrop fell from the sky. It was a while now since either of the samurai had spoken a word to me. We were loping unhurriedly down the path as it was gently rising and falling, leading us in twists and turns towards the unknown. All of the sudden, the wind picked up. I looked up and instead of the clouds I saw the slowly rising, distant eye of the storm. The clouds were swirling around, creating the hellish vortex lit up from time to time by a lightning which seemed to appear in an oddly thoughtful way. I couldn't take my eyes off this unusual phenomenon. The wind grew stronger and a fear struck my heart because all I could think of were the lines from the Apocalypse of John.

"It's going to rain, Sakaki-san, and I'm afraid the storm that's coming towards us will frighten you like no other."

As he was saying this, we reached another crater in the valley, and on both sides of the path I noticed vast spaces occupied by rice fields. It was then when I noticed that the warm wind hitting our faces was coming precisely into the vortex in the sky, as if someone was trying to steal something from us. I was going to share my observations with my comrades but the words died on my tongue. Somewhere from the left side I heard a splash, one after another and then some more. I looked in this direction and I couldn't believe what I saw. I was stunned. Something was falling from the sky. At first my mind was denying the truth about what it was, but as this nightmare of rain was only growing stronger and stronger, after a while I couldn't lie to myself any more. It was raining men. Inert as the stone hurled in the air. They weren't screaming, they weren't waving their arms around. They were just spiralling, tumbling down, hitting the rice fields eventually, each body splashing up a fountain of water. I felt tears streaming down my face. I started to wail just the way I did when one of the monks was locking me in the basement as a punishment, threatening me that the devil was waiting there for me. Splashes and loud thuds, the rustle of the wind, and hundreds of flashes in the sky created this devilish spectacle. My hands were shaking, my voice was cracking and then everything stopped.

Hunched a bit, I stood there breathing in a laboured way, my heart pounding as if I had run for the longest of times. Finally, I mustered to look at the samurai. Mr. Miyagi, unfazed, was leaning on his bamboo staff and gazed on the rice fields with his blind eyes. His little companion also refrained from any reaction for a while as if lost in his musings.

"For villagers, draught means death, Sakaki-san" he finally said. "The fear of death pushes them into asking Ame-onna rain demons for help. They are good beings. You might have already seen them without even knowing it as you were walking during the rainy night with a fleeting feeling that a woman with long, drenched hair falling on her face was passing you by. It was Ame-onna, a generous lady of the rain. Unfortunately, just as the opposite of rain is draught, and the storm,asunny day, Ame-onna has one as well. We call them Futakuchi-onna. They are very evil beings. Two-faced demons. Always hungry and murderous. It's easy to confuse them with Ame-onna demons and they abuse this similarity. Sometimes even if villagers pray for rain, with what they ask comes something else as well, bringing the murderous rain. It's time of Futakuchi-onna, who kidnaps people into their kingdom in the sky," he pointed to the vortex above us. "And we're here to defeat them. Isn't it right, Mr. Yamamoto?"

"Hai," answered the blind samurai, pointedly.

"Your role, Sakaki-san, is to write this down in your book and give this story to your people. That's shogun Yoritsune's wish. Do you understand the purpose of your presence here, Sakaki-san?"

I couldn't reply. I felt the overwhelming dizziness and then I fell on my knees into the mud and started to throw up.

6.

On the last day of our journey we reached a small hill with a stone circle on top. Mr. Yamamoto said that this night it would provide a shelter for us. I was soon informed that the sacred stones were witnesses to many battles and samurai believed that ghosts of brave warriors were inhabiting them. Mr. Miyagi attempted with his prayer to convince Kami living in stone to enter his sword.

The prayers lasted till sundown and afterwards Mr. Miyagi sneaked out of our camp while I decided to keep the little samurai company as he started to prepare a modest meal. Invigorated by it, for a moment I forgot about fear and I managed to push aside traumatic memories of the storm we witnessed. With our meal finished, Mr. Yamamoto took out from his bundle two wax balls wrapped around in a cloth, inside of which he added dark, sparkling powder. I had seen similar balls before on the shogun's court and I witnessed how the powder made the balls explode. Fascinated, I observed how the samurai twisted in them two fuses, wrapped them into the cloth once again and then hid it back in the bundle, along with a flint. I had dozens of new questions in my mind but I didn't manage to voice any of them before the arrival of the crane and then reappearance of Mr. Miyagi.

"It's all set," he said.

Yamamoto nodded in acknowledgement and left the stone circle. I followed him and after a while we reached the edge of the hill. Beneath, I saw glistening rice fields, the image scattered with bamboo sticks with corpses of murdered villagers were hanging from.

The little samurai sat down on the grass and corrected his position for meditation.

"Sit down with me, Sakaki-san. Renounce your fear and try to get some sleep. Soon it will be over. We only need to wait for a drizzle. It's the foreshadowing of demonic appearance."

It was then when my cold demeanour crumbled.

"Yamamoto-san," I started shakily. "I'm not sure if I can make it."

"Sakaki-san, courage is about doing right things," he answered calmly. "You're not a warrior and therefore you have other matters to bear. You can leave us but then you will cease to flourish. Your strength doesn't come from either courage or honour. It comes from you, Sakaki-san. Do you understand?"

I said nothing, only nodded in agreement and sat down beside him and then we regarded the rice fields for a long moment. I started to get drowsy and my head fell onto my chest, however, I didn't fall asleep because with growing darkness came the drizzle. I looked up; dozens of warm drops fell on my face.

Yamamoto was still deep in meditation. I turned around and saw Mr. Miyagi with his rainbow sword resting on his shoulder. He took the angular path down to the rice fields. The drizzle falling down from the sky was warm and pleasant. After a while I felt conflicted, not knowing what to do. Finally, even if curiosity killed the cat, I stood up and followed the giant's footsteps.

I didn't dare to follow the muddy path. I was slowly sliding down the grassy slope. Mr. Miyagi was every once in a while disappearing behind the hill and then reappearing, his pace steady, although only God knows how he was able to figure out abrupt twists and turns of the path. Finally, he reached the first rice field. He stopped for a bow according to the custom, as if an opponent stood there before him. Miyagi took off his sandals and stepped on watery ground between bamboo sticks from which corpses were hanging looking awfully similar to ragdolls used in street shows, only the ribbons holding them were cut off. In the meantime, I crawled successfully towards a white stone that was there to indicate the borders of the field.

Thick drizzle was marring the surface of the water the field was flooded with. For a longer while, nothing was happening. Right above us, the same heavy cloud was present, inside of which the black whirlpool was already spinning. Mr. Miyagi shifted his position abruptly. He went around the square patch of field, back to back, as if he was measuring distance and then stopped right in the centre, his sword raised as if to strike. Looking up from my crouched position, I spotted something bizarre. It seemed as if three swirling tentacles lunged from the cloud. They were falling down fast until they suddenly reached an invisible barrier and they dispersed as if they were smoke in the wind. I narrowed my eyes, not knowing what to think about it, but after a moment my attention was caught by three bright spots slowly falling down, the way dandelions in the breeze would.

Blurred spots were growing, gaining some more defined shapes. Feeling blood freezing in my veins, I was not positive if what was descending towards us must have been demons from Mr. Yamamoto's tale. Black kimonos fluttering in the wind, long, wet hair fanned out in the air as of some split tail of a kite. When they were close enough, I saw their hands spreading out from the confinements of their broad robes, tossed up in the wind. This gesture clearly slowed them down and the demons were hovering for a while in the air. Afterwards, their descent was lightning-fast as they landed softly in the field. I saw three nearly identical, pale, almost white faces that didn't convey any emotions whatsoever. If it weren't for thigh long black strands of hair, I could have sworn they were looking like actors from kabuki theatre. They were unreal and inhuman. Only their eyes glowed with the same light as the lightning hidden in the cloud hovering above us.

The demons surrounded Mr. Miyagi, who remained still among the sticks decorated with corpses. He maintained the same pose as before, his arms above his head, armed with a sword. The beasts stopped halfway towards him, performing the same gesture. I could swear that underneath their robes I caught a glimpse of spider legs. I hardly held the cry of fear at the back of my throat. As demonic eyes glowed with new intensity of fire bolts, lighting up an entire field as if it was bright as day, I reflexively closed my eyes, curling into a ball behind the boulder, but even with my eyelids firmly shut I was able to make out the series of flashes brighter than any other light I had ever seen.

Those flashes appeared repeatedly and a roar of thunders typical of storms accompanied them. Finally, everything was once again engulfed in darkness and silence. My heart was pounding furiously, my hands balled into fists. My aching eyes welled up with tears. I don't know how, but I managed to overcome my fear and took a peek from behind the stone.

Mr. Miyagi was still in the same pose, unwavering as if he was a statue or a block of marble. There were broken sticks and corpses lying all around him. The demons attacked the samurai; not all at once by one by one; their limbs quick and agile dashing through muddy ground. Miyagi stuck. Three times the blade was falling, then going up again and I could swear that when the blade struck the first beast, a fountain of sparks fell on the muddy water with a sizzle. The first demon was cut in half with the rainbow sword. The next one lost its head to the blade, and the third received the most bizarre cut I had ever ever seen. Miyagi stood on one leg and lunged forward with his sword, which managed to reach the top of the Futakuchi-onna's head, and the beast stood still. Flooded with excitement, I pressed my knuckles to the boulder so hard they radiated with pain. Soon after that, terrified, I felt something was tentatively touching my back, and I almost crawled out from my skin. I turned around ready to scream but words failed me as I was gaping into the face of a demon.

The Futakuchi-onna was leaning towards me. Long, black hair framing a woman's pale face, her eyes glistening with lightning sparks. Before I managed to do anything, a long spider limb caught me by my throat and wrapped around it tightly, lifting me effortlessly in the air. I choked, tossing myself around. I felt my soul was leaving my body. The demon pulled me towards her face and then her head started to turn in an unnatural angle. Instead of the back of her head I saw another face which opened its mouth widely, resembling a fish snout. A pair of round blue eyes was staring at me intently. I was a moment away from dying in this steel embrace. But then the blade stuck down to the spider arm. The demon uttered a voice like a loud, high-pitched grasshopper chirp. I fell to the ground but out of the corner of my eye I noticed Mr. Miyagi still in the offense. His sword struck from above. He held the hilt with two hands which made the blow more powerful. The demon was literally cut in half, her chirping silenced as soon as it started. Two halves of the Futakuchi-onna creature fell into the water. I got rid of the limp demonic limb resting on me and gasped for air like a carp thrown to the shore of a pond. I hurdled the tentacle away as far as I could, only now realising that it was in some way a mechanical creature, the insides of which resembled the interior of a clock, full of complementary parts.

I'm not sure when it was that I passed out but the last thing I saw was Mr. Miyagi's smiling face, bloody tears streaming down his face.

* * *

I dreamt of monastic gardens where we used to sneak in as children. One day, I noticed in this assembly a girl sporting fair, frizzy hair, curled up like little springs. I noticed her when she was reaching for a ripe apple. I was sitting hidden by the trees, one of books stolen from the library resting on my knees, since reading in confinement of cold walls with only a candle to assist me was never something that brought me much joy. I remember this girl's dress. Tightly fitted, pulled down significantly so her bosom was exposed more than it should have been. I remember the peach tone of her skin, her red lips and the tips of small hand grazing the surface of a fruit but never able to grab it. Till this day, I believe this was the most accurate depiction of what love looks like.

I was awakened by rain. I opened my eyes, unaware of a nightmare that had happened a few hours earlier. I was lying under the tree. Some kind soul laid me underneath a thick branch, profuse leaves making for a natural umbrella letting in scarcely any raindrops. It was dark enough for me to wonder if it was the time before the dawn or the night was about to come.

Finally, my attention focused on the dark silhouette turned away from me. I recognised Mr. Miyagi, who was rising and falling repeatedly a short blade used mostly for seppuku ritual. I gathered myself from the ground hurriedly but then it became obvious those blows were not part of a ritual. He was cutting up something that laid before him. I approached him and recognised the shape on the ground. Now I could calmly take a look at the beast's corpse, the Futakuchi-onna demon… Her long hair was tossed aside, woman's head facing to the side, oddly disfigured. Miyagi was tearing her robe apart in the place where humans normally have a stomach. The beast, however, did not possess it, thick material obscuring the shape of a cylindrical container made out of clear material.

"Enough, my friend," Yamamoto broke the silence, only now betraying his position in the shadows where he was hidden. "You see, Sakaki-san?" he asked, "demons are devious. They put on masks resembling our women. Everything to deceive us."

As if making his point, he ripped the woman's face from the Futakuchi-onna's head and cast it aside. Underneath there was only thick, black hair.

"See?" the little samurai continued. "They wear masks at the back of their head, just like lumberjacks who don't want to be ambushed by a tiger. Demons catch people and take them to their kingdom, high above in this cloud. And when they kill the prisoners, the discard their bodies just like we do with spoiled apples. Then they go back to whatever alive was left."

Yamamoto approached the demon's body and for a while tinkered with the clear barrel that was replacing the beast's belly. I don't know what he touched, but suddenly part of the barrel snapped open and Yamamoto started to take out clumps of dirt and pieces of rocks. I even spotted some bird and mouse remains and an old sandal. Emptying the beast's stomach took a while but eventually the cylinder was cleared out.

"This is where we part our ways and your story ends, Sakaki-san. You will travel back to Kamakura, to the shogun's court and begin to write down my story." Mister Yamamoto ended with a deep bow.

The ever-present smile on Mr. Yamamoto 's face accompanied his courtly bow as well. Soon after that, the little samurai prepared the flint and two considerably big wax balls with black powder. He approached the demon and entered the container hidden in his belly as if it was a walk in the park, then shut the transparent lid. Mr. Miyagi covered the cylinder with the tattered robe and then lifted the demon's corpse with a grunt as he hurled it over his back.

"Tenshi is sleeping now in a safe place. He warned us before of any possible danger and was our guide," he explained, his voice laboured. "Now it's you that has to help me. Come to the rice field," he commanded, as he bent over to grab a bunch of bamboo sticks. "We don't have much time."

* * *

Wading in the ankle high water, we rammed bamboo sticks into the wet soil. On the first one Mr. Miyagi hung the demon's corpse in which stomach's Mr. Yamamoto was locked. The giant gestured towards me to do the same with the other two demonic remains. As soon as we finished, the hot wind intensified. I looked up and saw that among the whirlpool of gigantic black cloud, the familiar flashes appeared, which meant nothing good.

"We need to leave as quickly as possible." Mr. Miyagi grabbed me by the arm.

I hoped that maybe I could manage to take the last look at the little samurai's face, but the courage to do so left me. I nodded, as if I was trying to convince myself to leave this strange place as we both descended into rice fields.

The wind was tossing around the fabric of robes belonging to demons vanquished by the blind man. In ghastly flashes of lightning I had a feeling that Futakuchi-onna and the bodies surrounded them were moving once again. The vortex in the sky was spinning faster and faster, as if his appetite for wind increased once again. Black sleeves of demonic demons were reaching out towards it ready to ascend just like black hair. Once again, I spotted the tentacle darting from the cloud, descending slowly towards the rice field. Demonic corpses rose in unison. Lifted in the air and swiftly leaving the earth behind they hid in the thick fog while the wicked tentacle, fluctuating left and right, started to shrink as if it was a rope being pulled back on the deck.

Mr. Miyagi picked up the pace.

"We need to leave," he said decisively.

We took off briskly, only once stopping on the way by our camp. Mr. Miyagi took his sword from there and a bag with personal belonging of the little samurai. Afterwards, we ran and I felt the fear made me pick up my pace. The blind samurai was not staying behind. Mud and water were splashing around as we were dashing through meadows and fields. Far away, a forest drowned in fog emerged before us. I remember we were half-way through the distance we needed to make for the first line of trees when the most terrifying thunder rumbled. I cocked my head up and saw the incredibly intense flash, as if a fattened flame of a candle, which was put out just as soon as it was lit up. The whirlpool moving the powerful cloud was considerably smaller and was spinning the other way around.

"Is it him?" I inquired. "Did he win?"

"Hai," calmly confirmed Miyagi. "He was a great warrior and the memory of his feats will survive for centuries thanks to your writing, Sakaki-san. Now the demons will leave our world, knowing that we're not afraid of them and we can strike them down. We bought ourselves a lot of time before they even think to bother us once again. But if they come back, we'll be ready."

This being said, he clattered quietly, and a similar one answered him. From the edge of the woods, here came his crane: a symbol of faith that helped vanquish even demons.

7.

When Giovanni ended his tale, the hot Italian sun stopped hurting his eyes and coloured itself the shade of a ripe peach, resembling the tone of the skin belonging to the girl from the monastic garden.

The grandson of the famous was sitting still on the ground, his arms wrapped around his knees as he was regarding Giovanni with his mouth wide open.

"Don't open your mouth so wide or else a fly will make its way in there and make itself at home in your mind," the elderly man said with a smile, as his hand went through Enzo's lush mane.

"Is this where the scarecrows come from?" he asked in disbelief.

"Maybe not quite, but during my adventures in the kingdom of Nippon, I saw them for the very first time."

Giovanni wanted to add something more, but a distant bell ringing interrupted him. Listening it, he got up and, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand, he stared at the black strip of road leading towards his mansion. Accompanied by the clouds of dust, a horseman appeared. Giovanni recognised Flavio Motena, the eldest son of a baker. The rider was heading towards them, so Giovanni, worried about the potential bad news, walked up to him.

The horse jumped over the short rails and hit the grassy path dividing two rows of vines. Flavio, a young man of dusky skin and thick, curly hair, pulled at the reins and stopped not even a meter before Giovanni. Panting heavily, he clung to the horse's back and then as he restored the ability to breathe again, he jumped down and yelled:

"Master! I couldn't find you! They are asking you to join a council meeting."

"Take it easy, Flavio. Who's summoning me and why?" Giovani put his hands on his sides, regarding the boy with scrutiny.

"The news from the city arrived. Strange news."

"Do tell."

"Near Florence …" his voice cracked a little. "Near Florence, dead people are falling from the sky, master. The council wants you to take part in the meeting …"

THE END

Bio: I am a Polish writer and journalist. I published my works, among others, in Polish editions of Alfred Hitchcock Magazine, Schlock Magazine and in Suspense Magazine. My last publications are a 2018 novel: Number of the Beast (post-apocalyptic, science-fiction, horror/ Publisher: Novae Res) and the 2020 collection of stories: Daemon (science-fiction, horror, fantasy/ Publisher: Oficynka).

E-mail: Lucas Smigiel

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