Although oni could turn invisible, their passage still left huge tracks in the soft earth of the forest floor. Kneeling along the deer trail, Ishi of Clan Mishimoto estimated that there were six of the demons. They were making their way invisibly around the distant battle in an effort to surprise Ishi’s clan’s forces from the rear. He had to warn his brothers. The young scout knew this forest well. He knew where the twists and turns of the deer trail would take the oni and where they would likely emerge from Whispering Wood Forest to ambush the warriors of Clan Mishimoto. He could tell from the tracks that they had passed this way just minutes before. He plunged into the forest off the trail, hoping to return to the battle in time to report the oni ambush. The hulking demons were too large to move quickly through the thick forest without a trail to follow, but Ishi hoped he was not. If he traveled quickly in a straight line, he could make it in time.

He made good progress at first, but later on he found himself pausing too many times to clear obstructions in his way with his machete. This would not do. It was time to use the magic his paternal grandmother, who had been a mountain mystic before she had married, had taught him. Sheathing his machete and adjusting the rest of his gear, including his longbow, one of his most prized possessions, Ishi searched for a good tree to climb.

To his great disappointment, he found almost immediately that his bow sticking out on his back was not conducive to tree climbing, so he left the weapon somewhat hidden on the forest floor in some overgrowth before returning to the business of scaling his way into the forest canopy. He promised himself he would come back for his bow, once the battle was won and the forces of the Oni Overlord were defeated. Once he had reached the highest branch that was thick enough to support his weight, he checked his bearings to make sure he would be headed in the right direction.

Then, he closed his eyes and listened to the forest. He became the forest. He became one with its spirit. Once he felt his individual ki connect to the flow of ki through the whole interconnected forest, he opened his eyes. He looked at a close-by branch that would never normally support his weight. He stepped onto it with one foot, then the other. His grandmother had called it limbwalking. In this way, Ishi would be able to pick a much quicker path through the Whispering Wood Forest than moving along the ground. Birds and squirrels, including a sleepy owl, were startled at the full-size adult human climbing higher to the very tops of the trees. This was much faster.

Soon, he could hear the sounds of the battle at the edge of the forest. The warriors of Clan Mishimoto were engaged with a large force of bakemono. Three of Ishi’s brothers were on the field, astride their mounts, including his eldest brother Daichi, who was in command, as well as Daigo and Daiki, his lieutenants. From his vantage on the standing at the very top of the canopy, Ishi could see sunlight glinting from his brothers’ silvery deathmasks.

Ishi had five brothers in total, all older than him. The three leading the battle down below had been like their father before them, formally accepted by the Shogun as samurai. The Mishimoto bloodline was a noble one, thus its sons were eligible to be samurai. Eiko, the fourth born brother, hoped to follow after Daigo and Daiki to the formal rank of samurai. Ishi hoped that the Shogun would never become so desperate for samurai that he recruited sixth sons. Ishi understood and appreciated his position in society. As a noble, he was free from the backbreaking labor and poverty of the lower classes, but as a sixth son, he would never be called upon to be samurai lord and bear that heavy responsibility. He was sure he would eventually make his own way in the world at some point, but for now he served Clan Mishimoto as its best scout, thanks to the mystical connection to Nature his grandmother had taught him to forge for himself.

He made his way down to the ground and ended his limbwalking meditation, running out of the forest to reach his brothers, he suddenly wished he had his bow. He was sure he would reach his clan’s forces before any bakemono could get to him, but he felt defenseless with only his machete, which was not a proper weapon.

Some keen-eyed bakemono must have seen him. There was a feral cry from their side of the battlefield. Though they were too far away to engage him in melee, some of their archers fired shots at him. The arrows from their tiny bows fell far short. Bakemono, in general, were of small stature and their bows were similarly small. The enemy forces did include some of the greater bakemono, who were human-sized, but they were bearing the brunt of the clash of forces, pushing back against Clan Mishimoto’s bushi soldiers in toe-to-toe melee.

Ishi had to get his message about the invisible oni to his brothers immediately. He also couldn’t stay where he was, lest the bakemono that had spotted him find the chance to mob one lone warrior tempting enough to charge across the field at him. He grabbed his warhorn from his belt and blew. Yes, it would attract more bakemono attention, but he was closer to the Mishmoto forces and hoped one of his brothers would ride out to get him.

He was correct. Daichi sent Daiki, whose brilliant white steed galloped to where Ishi was at the edge of the forest.

“Oni are coming up from behind!”

“Come,” Daiki extended his hand to help Ishi get mounted up as quickly as possible. The valiant warhorse galloped back to the commander’s line.

When Daichi heard the report about the sneaky oni, Ishi, although he couldn’t see his eldest brother’s facial expression through his deathmask, he could hear a smile in his brother’s voice. “It is good. Those oni have needed to die for a long time. They will find we have a surprise of our own back there.”