Kuroba Asashin's Arc

Chapter 8 of 44

They rode until the ridges gave way to a shallow valley thick with jasmine and eucalyptus. The smell hit before the sight. Ona reined in first and pointed. A wooden roof showed through the trees, tiled in old gray, one corner sagging where a beam had gone. Kuroba stopped the wagon. Tish stood up in the bed to see. Stone pathways ran up to a wide porch. Kanji for peace hung over the door, framed by climbing roses gone half wild. "Someone lived here," Tish said. "Not lately." Ona swung down with an arrow loose in her fingers. Kuroba stepped past her and put a hand on the door. It opened without sound. Inside the floor was swept. That was the first thing he noticed. Dust on the sills, but the boards were clean. A training hall opened past the entry, wide and dim, light coming down through a hole in the roof. An old man sat cross-legged in the center of the floor. He was bald, with a white beard down his chest, a plain black robe, a walking stick across his knees. A sage-green lizard the size of a dog lay curled against his hip. It lifted its maned head when they entered and watched them with one orange eye. The old man did not turn. "Come in," he said. "Shut the door. The wind takes the leaves inside." Kuroba pulled his mask down and stepped onto the boards. Ona and Tish followed. He knelt three paces from the old man and set the odachi flat beside him. "Forgive us." The old man opened his eyes. They were clear. "Kenji." he said, introducing himself. "No apology necessary." He stroked the lizard's mane. "You carry a long blade and a wound that just closed. And two women who do not flinch at doors. Sit." Kenji told it plainly. He had built the hall forty years ago with six students. They taught farmers. Then the sector wardens came through and named the dojo a gathering place. Three of his students were taken in the night. Two left the country. The last one died on the porch. Kenji stayed. None could overcome him. He swept the floor every morning. He fed the lizard. He waited for someone to walk through the door who could use the building for what it was made for. Bandits and raiders have steered clear of the dojo because of the legend of Grandmaster Kenji. He’s too old to fight now, but the stories of his past strike enough fear into potential intruders to keep him safe these days. "I am too old to teach," he said. "But the roof holds over most of the floor. The well is clean. The name on the door is still true." Kuroba looked at the hole in the roof, the swept boards, the kanji above the door. He looked at Ona. She nodded once. He looked at Tish. She did not look away. He turned back to Kenji and put both palms flat on the floor. "Then we'll stay," he said. "And I'll teach here." Kenji closed his eyes again. The lizard set its head back down.