"Tomorrow's battle will decide things," Yokichi predicted.

"You always say that," Oyoshi muttered, and looked to his armor.

"You won't need armor tomorrow," Yokichi said. "At least, you'd better not."

"Don't worry," Oyoshi said. "You won't have to get the lord's sword dirty."

The two men smiled, and Itsuho smiled with them. Although he had only been in the army a short time, it already seemed an old joke. He and Oyoshi were archers, assigned to cover the arquebusiers--including Yokichi--as they reloaded their matchlocks. Even with his limited experience Itsuho knew that Oyoshi's assurances were optimistic; close-quarters fighting would follow the volleys of gunfire.

Though Itsuho still counted fighting better than working the fields, it was not an inviting prospect. If his target stood far off, he did not need to look into his eyes--or come within range of his sword.

Itsuho shook off such thoughts. Death in battle was honorable; so was fighting--and killing.

Oyoshi's conversation made it difficult to banish black thoughts. "I heard that they almost ordered us to retreat, because of the head."

Yokichi laughed.

"Surely not," Itsuho said, but Oyoshi nodded.

"It was that bad. The scowl was so hideous, I heard the daimyo could hardly bear to look at it."

"What about the eyes?" Yokichi asked.

"One was closed. The left, I think."

Itsuho shook his head. "I heard it was the right."

"Ah, our young friend has something to contribute at last," laughed Yokichi. He and Itsuho were of an age. "Tell me, what do you think of the head?"

Itsuho shrugged. Yokichi wanted to tease him as a superstitious farmer, despite the fact that he wasn't particularly superstitious. "I think that the samurai has more power in death than he did in life."

"Have you heard who it was?" Oyoshi asked.

Itsuho shook his head. "I'm not even certain that Mizuno knows."

"Oh, you can be sure he does," Yokichi said. "He always presents the daimyo with the head of the most highly ranked samurai he killed."

"Even when it's that unlucky a head?" Oyoshi said skeptically. "That seems dangerously prideful."

"Only if you believe in luck," Yokichi said. "And who could deny that Mizuno is a prideful man?"

Itsuho shuddered. He had only seen the samurai Mizuno from a distance. Even knowing that the man was fighting for the same daimyo, Itsuho found him a terrible sight. He looked half-mad, shouted like a demon and, to further intimidate his enemies, wore gaki hara do. The armor was formed in the shape of a naked torso with the flaccid breasts and bulging belly of a hungry ghost. Mizuno was not the only samurai to sport such armor; it seemed that many of the best warriors favored that style.

Or perhaps it was because of the armor that they were the best warriors. Itsuho almost made the suggestion just so he could watch Yokichi's reaction, but Oyoshi intervened.

"He frightens me," Oyoshi said seriously. "Ever since he took that head, it seems that he fights like a madman."

"Surely we must all be a little mad," Itsuho said.

"There is madness, and then there is madness." Yokichi sounded like he might possibly be serious. "If we were samurai, we would understand these things."

"We're practically samurai," Oyoshi said. "And who knows? If we distinguish ourselves in battle...?"

"Especially those of us who wield the traditional weapon of a samurai," Itsuho added, quite pleased that it took Yokichi a moment to notice the jab. The three laughed, and Itsuho almost succeeded in forgetting his fears before sleep claimed him.

The next morning, Itsuho felt sick. The feeling always preceded a battle, so he was now used to it and, since he had so far fulfilled his duty despite the queasiness, he no longer feared he was a coward. He had never felt sick enough to vomit, so he was spared the jests he would otherwise be forced to endure. His sickness was his secret and, perhaps, a good luck charm. After all, he had not been killed or seriously injured in battle, so perhaps whatever made him sick also protected him.

Itsuho was not superstitious, but he still took comfort from such thoughts before facing an army of men bent upon killing.

"Your mon is scratched," Oyoshi observed in greeting, and Itshuo glanced down at the marred heraldry lacquered on his armor.

"Better the mon than my body," Itsuho replied, suppressing a shudder at how close the blade had come to striking flesh. He feared death, but even more he feared disfigurement. Death was honorable, but there was nothing honorable in his uncle's twisted leg and hobbling limp.

"Don't be flippant. It isn't your armor."

Oyoshi was a very precise man, and occasionally decided that his approach to life must be foisted upon others. "I know it's not mine, but I plan to wear it for some time to come. And if the daimyo asks, I will happily account for every scratch."

Oyoshi grunted and checked his quiver. Itsuho reminded himself he had already checked his three times over, and suppressed an impulse to check a fourth time. His equipment was fine; he was prepared. He did his best to ignore the roiling of his belly.

The ashigaru ko gashira and the teppo ko gashira called out for the spearmen, archers and arquebusiers. Itsuho and Oyoshi joined their squad, jogging out to what would soon be the edge of the battlefield. They took up their position behind the arquebusiers.

Itsuho rather liked the arquebuses, which was part of the reason he had originally begun spending time with Yokichi. It seemed he had always known how to shoot arrows; now that he had begun a new life in the army, he thought he should learn new, exotic skills rather than continue to practice old ones. He wasn't yet confident enough to voice this desire to his lieutenant, who had mentioned the possibility of sending him out as a skirmisher. "You have the sharpest eyes of any man in the squad, and a steady hand," Itsuho had been told, and he had accepted the compliment silently.

Yokichi winked at him. "Remember, we are the most important men in the army, and you must keep us safe." The lieutenant of firearms growled at him, but said no more. Yokichi always held his tongue when it was important, and the officers were aware that too tight a fist could spoil morale.

"I wonder if they will come out," Itsuho whispered to Oyoshi.

"Of course they will. There is no honor to starving, and the men who hold the castle have refused to meet our conditions."

"I didn't realize that we had offered terms."

Oyoshi nodded. "A handful of honorable suicides could end this."

Itsuho prayed he would never need to consider suicide, even as he prayed for a favorable outcome to the day's battle. He did worry at the enemy's apparent confidence. The honorable deaths of a few men were certainly preferable to the defeat of an army and the deaths of many more. Perhaps Yokichi had overstated their advantage.

Or perhaps the enemy commander had simply heard about the head. Perhaps he was too superstitious to see reason. Itsuho hoped that was the case.

And even now, the enemy banners were visible, moving across the field. The force looked small, but Itsuho was still uneasy. The approaching army marched to the aid of the men besieged in the castle. Itsuho did not like the thought of being pinned between the mobile enemy army and the unyielding castle walls. But if wiser men than he said that this was the way to defeat the enemy, win the castle and break their lord's rival, then who was Itsuho to question them?

"They will be tired," Oyoshi said. "They marched very far. It is a desperate thing, and desperate men make mistakes."

Itsuho nodded, thinking that desperate men might also fight harder.

As if to reassure him that not only desperate men fought well, the samurai Mizuno let loose a fearsome war cry. No one doubted that he would be the first to engage the enemy.

Itsuho amended his thoughts. Mizuno would be first after the arquebusiers and the archers.

And then the first gunshots rang out. Itsuho snapped to attention, took aim on the enemy, and loosed an arrow.

"Well?" Oyoshi asked, and Itsuho nodded. They ruled it good luck if they struck a man with their first shot.

The second round of arquebusiers fired, and the archers maintained their covering fire. Men shouted, horses cried in fear and pain, metal clashed with metal, wood and flesh. Itsuho took aim again, almost enjoying the precision. The battlefield was already chaotic, but he could impose some kind of order. He could choose his target, not yet physically threatened himself.

Perhaps it should have seemed a cowardly way to fight. But the bow was an old weapon of the samurai, so how cowardly could it be?

His arm grew tired with the repetitive motion, the fire in his muscles replacing his nausea. Itsuho looked to the banners, trying to gauge how they fared. The enemy banners, of which the smaller force had fewer to begin with, seemed more reduced than their own. Perhaps Yokichi would be proven right after all.

Beside him, Oyoshi swore. Itsuho followed his gaze and watched as one of their standard-bearers was cut down.

"The bastard!" Oyoshi cried. "He is mad."

It was Mizuno, his armor stained red with blood, who had slaughtered the standard-bearer. Even now he wielded his sword wildly, not seeming to notice or care whom he killed, so long as he killed.

"Why--?" Itsuho began.

"Because he is mad. He must be."

Itsuho grimaced. Oyoshi regarded him for a moment, his mouth a hard line slashing his face. Itsuho nodded, the slightest of movements. A true warrior did what was necessary and put off thoughts of the consequences until after the battle.

Oyoshi took aim, and they both watched as the arrow flew true and struck Mizuno.

"That's impossible!" Oyoshi exclaimed, for Mizuno still stood, still fought, hardly seeming to notice the arrow which had pierced his skull.

Itsuho shook his head.

"He should die. Why doesn't he die?" Oyoshi demanded.

Itsuho cast his eyes about the rest of the battlefield. Mizuno's madness seemed to have spread. He saw other samurai--men from both armies--hacking wildly about, never bothering to differentiate their targets.

They all wore gaki hara do. Chilled, Itsuho fired at one of the enemy warriors. Like Mizuno, the samurai failed to react to the hit.

"They are possessed!" Oyoshi said. "Or--or--what else?"

Itsuho shook his head. He was not a superstitious man, but there were some things that he could not explain. The madness on the battlefield was one such thing.

Yokichi looked back at them. For the first time since Itsuho had known him, he looked truly frightened. "I should not have mocked the head."

Any illusion of order on the battlefield dissolved. Men broke and ran from the demons in their midst. There was no thought of discipline: military tactics did not deal with such situations as this. Mizuno and the other hungry ghosts shrieked and chased their prey.

"Fall back!" the firearms lieutenant yelled, a command echoed by the other officers.

Itsuho eagerly complied, running back toward the siege fortifications. He clutched his bow tightly; he did not want to face the hungry ghosts at all, but if he had to do so, he would much rather do it at a distance. His arrows might be useless, but his sword was surely a worse option.

The arquebusiers fired as they fell back, though their missiles had no more effect than the arrows. Rather than be pinned between the rushing army and the castle, some of the foot soldiers and cavalry broke right toward the river, or left toward the forest. Hungry ghost warriors pursued them as well.

Yokichi swore--at least, Itsuho assumed that he swore, but he could not hear the words over the din of the battle. He threw down his arquebus and drew his sword to face the oncoming horde.

"River or trees, river or trees?" Oyoshi repeated over and over.

Yokichi engaged the nearest hungry ghost, though he had to know it was hopeless: he was no swordsman, no match for a mortal samurai let alone a demon. He cried out as the ghost's katana bit through his armor. Itsuho watched blood spurt, and Yokichi fell to the ground. The attacker hacked at his body, more interested in blood and sport than a quick kill.

Itsuho took aim and loosed another arrow. It struck Yokichi in the throat, ending his cries.

"Trees," Itsuho said. He had no real hope of surviving this day, but he would rather be hacked to death on dry land than dragged to the bottom of the river.

They both turned at the great cry that suddenly rose up behind them. The castle opened, pouring forth warriors. They all wore gaki hara do, already covered with blood.

"All those people," Oyoshi whispered. "A massacre."

Itsuho shuddered. Even if the castle had fallen after a battle, rather than negotiations, the daimyo would not have slaughtered the inhabitants. The hungry ghosts, it appeared, were less discriminating.

"Trees!" he yelled, breaking their unpleasant reverie. Itsuho ran, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder at their pursuers. He outpaced Oyoshi, but he could not afford to think of that either.

The sounds of battle seemed to fade the instant he plunged into the darkness of the trees. But ahead he heard a scream, which trailed off into a pain-filled gurgle. The hungry ghosts were still about and he could not afford to stop moving.

Itsuho prayed. If hungry ghosts were real, then perhaps benevolent forest kami were real as well. Perhaps they would look kindly upon him.

As he moved through the forest, he continued to hear the sounds of death. They became less frequent the farther he moved from the battle, however. Perhaps the hungry ghosts could move only so far...no, that was too comforting a thought to indulge. More likely there were fewer killings because there were fewer men left to kill.

Itsuho continued on. As darkness fell he realized that, even without the supernatural attackers, spending the night in the forest, alone and undefended, could be a dangerous prospect. But he could not continue, and sank exhausted to the ground.

Itsuho woke with the dawn. For a few blessed moments, he could not remember where he was or how he had gotten there.

Then he thought of Yokichi, and grieved.

Returning to the battlefield was madness. Itsuho had never dreamed he would be a deserter, but he doubted there was an army left to desert. Though he was not sure of his exact location, Itsuho remembered marching past villages. Surely he would be able to find one of them.

His trek through the forest was uneventful, though he started at the smallest noise, or momentary lack of noise. After the first hour, Itsuho noticed the rumbling of his belly and the dryness of his throat. He concentrated on those discomforts, rather than the possibility that he would stumble upon a hungry ghost.

Itsuho found the edge of the forest and a village during the afternoon. The villagers looked apprehensive. At first, he assumed they were concerned that they would be accused of aiding a deserter, but then he noted another man. He also wore armor, but by his mon he had been part of the other army.

He sobbed when he saw Itsuho and embraced him like a brother. Itsuho could not speak for joy: someone else had survived.

"His story is a strange one," an old man said to Itsuho.

"But true," Itsuho said. "I was there as well."

"All dead," the other soldier said. "All dead. All dead."

"Not all," Itsuho said soothingly. "We two are alive. There are surely others." He hoped it was true, hoped that Oyoshi was still among the living, though he doubted he would ever find him. Itsuho intended to put as much distance between himself and that cursed battlefield as possible.

"The war is over, then?" the old man prompted.

"There is no one left to fight."

That seemed to reassure the villagers. Itsuho could well remember what it had been like to live as a simple farmer, suffering at the whim of the daimyo. It was one reason he had left that life behind. He wanted to warn them that they were not safe. They needed to know about the massacre in the castle, and the demons which stalked the land.

But Itsuho said nothing. What could he possibly add to the strange story they had already been told? These people knew enough about the dangers brought by powers greater than themselves. They would fear the ghosts or not, and nothing he could say would change their opinions, or their situation. He could simply wish them good luck.

Luck. Perhaps he would prove Yokichi right. Perhaps he would become a superstitious farmer after all.