During the autumn of the 21st year of Muromachi, 1356 A.D., in the northeast region of Kanto, in the country of Japan.

  The young samurai stumbled as he ran between the trees, pushing forward, desperately trying to find a way to escape. He was uninjured, but he moved clumsily and disoriented, unaccustomed to running through the wild forest in the dark, with only a waning moon to light his way. He had fled from his camp in a panic, and was unable to think rationally, frightened out of his wits.

  They are all dead. It killed them, it killed them all. It is going to catch me and kill me too.

  He staggered over rocks, scraping his arm, and ripping his clothing on tree branches in his reckless attempt to flee his nightmare. A twisted root protruding from the ground put an end to his manic escape. He gasped as he felt his ankle twist and he fell, slamming into the ground, his head making contact with a large rock jutting up from the moss and branches covering the forest floor. The impact made a loud knocking sound as it smashed into the cold stone.

  For a moment, he lay there, face down on the ground, dazed and exhausted, his face covered in sweat and tears. The blow to his head interrupted his panic-stricken mind long enough to give him a glimpse of clarity. For the first time since his escape into the dark night began, the young samurai took stock of his situation. A sense of hopelessness quickly rose from his gut as he could feel the fear taking over once again.

  His flight had begun a short while before. He had been resting in the small shelter his men had erected on the side of the road where they had made their camp. He didn’t know how long he had been sleeping, but had awoken to the sound of their screams. The screams of his men dying. He opened his eyes to the face of his uncle, wide-eyed in terror, screaming at him to flee.

  He had run, fled like a coward from the fight. He hadn’t even taken his sword, the one his father had gifted to him when he had first been sent to this place, far from his home in Kyoto. Now he was unarmed, lying face down in the dirt, alone and helpless. He would die, not as a warrior, as had been his destiny from birth, but as a coward, like a dog. The shame made his face burn in humiliation.

  Then he heard it. The sound of something in the distance, a horrible cracking noise, as branches were violently pushed to the side. Whatever had attacked the camp, it was coming for him. He knew that he could not run fast enough. He didn’t even know where he was now, or how far from the road he had managed to get in his short-lived escape. It didn’t matter now. The monster that had killed his guards, and his uncle, would now kill him.

  The certainty of his imminent death brought some peace to the young samurai. He struggled to get up from the ground, but the pain in his leg kept him on his knees. Then, in the darkness, he noticed something odd about the stone that he had fallen head-first into. It was not a natural boulder, but it had a rough shape of carved stone that he recognized.

  In the dark, it was difficult at first to see what it was. The statue was old, eroded, and covered in moss, but it was unmistakably a form, carved from the rock by a human hand. Despite his fear, the samurai felt a calmness enter his body as he stared at the form in the dim moonlight. It was to a jizō, one of the stone guardians of the roads, placed by the monks to protect travelers. This one must have been old, as there was no visible road here. Perhaps, at one time, a path had come past this place.

  He noted with curiosity that there was something unusual about this statue. While jizō varied in appearance, they typically took the depictions of bald monks. The round, smooth head was a signature of their origin and purpose. This one, however immediately stood apart. Atop the shoulders of the small, knee-high, statue, was not the round, hairless, face of a monk. It was not even the head of a human. The jizō before him bore the head and face of a wolf, or perhaps a dog.

  The samurai was at first intrigued, but then, as the noise of his pursuer grew louder he was again reminded of his situation. He felt grateful for the small mysterious guardian. Finally, his mind was once again his own. He was now able to acknowledge his sin, and prepared to accept the consequences of his cowardice. The unexpected appearance of the forgotten statue had cleared the terror from his mind and reminded him of his duty. He was a samurai, not just that, he was, in fact, the military governor over all of Kantō. He had a destiny, and while it may be that he would die this night, it was not conceivable for him to die, unarmed and fleeing like a rat.

  Still prostrated, he offered his prayer to the spirit entombed in the stone statue before him. His silent prayer was one of gratitude, acceptance, and determination. Slowly, painfully, he rose to his feet, and turned to face the approaching menace. His hands were empty, but his jaw was set, and his eyes focused forward. He would face his fate with the dignity of his station. If this was his fate, he must die as a samurai.

  A shadow moved swiftly, closing in on the lone warrior. It lunged forward, the speed and ferocity of its movements were supernatural. In the darkness of the forest, it was impossible to resolve its true form until it was nearly upon him, which happened so fast that its speed through the dense forest would have rivaled a horse across a peaceful plain.

  Then it stopped, still a handful of strides from the warrior. The dark form rose up, giving him a good look at the monster for the first time. Its identity was finally revealed, again filling the young man with terror and dread the likes of which he had never before experienced. The beast let forth a fierce, rage-filled road with such power, that the young warrior fell back, knocked off of his feet again, his injured ankle unwilling to let him keep his stance.

  The attacker was the largest bear that he had ever seen in his life, living or dead. It was a demon in the shape of a predator, easily twice the height of two horses, with forearms larger than his entire body. Its eyes were lost in its pitch-black shape, but large, viscous teeth and blood-soaked maw caught the scant light as the beast roared in anger. The warrior instinctively closed his eyes as the giant bear lunged forward, certain that this time, his life was at its end.

  The bear howled and roared. The sound was something beyond this world, like the cries of a demon in hell. The man couldn’t take a breath, and even the heart inside his chest seemed to refuse to pump his blood in the presence of the screams and cries of hatred and violence. He lost his mind again while waiting for the final blow, but despite the noise, there was no pain.

  Cautiously, the young warrior opened his eyes, expecting to see the flames of hell before him. He had surely been dismembered so quickly that he had not even had time to feel any pain. Instead of pits of fire and demons dancing around him, however, the young man witnessed something far beyond his own imagination.

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  The dark forest was gone; he was nearly blinded by a bright and warm golden light. It was difficult to open his eyes at first, as the light was so bright, brighter than the sun at midday. The light came not from the sky, but from every direction. The air itself was full of brightly glowing dust, as though millions of fireflies had erupted from the forest floor.

  Slowly his eyes adjusted to the brightness, and he realized that he was indeed surrounded by countless tiny floating lights. He could see clearly now, but only for a few steps in each direction. Past the glowing lights, he could vaguely discern the dark forest beyond. Then he saw the bear. It was his first good look, and it stood there, beyond the curtain of light. It was illuminated by the light, and the man could see it staring at him with hatred in its eyes.

  The bear let out another ferocious roar, then slammed a giant claw toward him, but the blow slid through the air. Just as it made contact with the glowing wall between them, the giant’s arm simply slid off and away. The beast kept attacking and screaming, the noise evaporating what little courage the young warrior had managed to collect.

  The bear continued to attack, but each time, its teeth and claws were stopped at the barrier. It cried and growled in frustration, and circled the spot, looking for a way past the lights, but to no avail. Eventually, the samurai relaxed. He realized that somehow, he was being protected. The golden lights were keeping the bear away, keeping him safe.

  Turning to face the statue, the young man again got down on his hands and knees, but this time he offered his gratitude to the spirit that must have inhabited the shrine, for protecting him. His pleas must have been heard, and his new benefactor was guarding him against the demon bear. Throughout the night, he stayed this way, prostrated before the dog-headed stone guardian. The bear did not relent, and continued its futile assault, though over time, the time between attacks slowly increased while the cries of the beast became more subdued, changing from rage, to frustration, and eventually to sad wails.

  Sometime in the night, they stopped altogether, but the samurai did not dare move. Slowly, the sound of the forest returned, the wind blowing through the trees, and the sound of insects returned. Still, the young man did not dare rise. Sunlight filtered through the trees, and the small lights began to fade into the air, and yet still he did not rest, he did not move from his spot, still bowing to the ground

  Only when the sun rose high above the trees did the samurai slowly rise. His twisted ankle was sore, but he was otherwise unharmed. He looked around but there was no sign of the wall of light, nor the demon bear. The bear had slain his entire protection detail, and his uncle, the esteemed general Morofuyu, but the forest was now at peace.

  The depth of his failure pulled down on the young man’s conscience. He had been traveling from his fortress in the mountains of Chichibu, to visit and pay respects to his older brother in Kamakura. They had traveled light, with only the minimum escort, but to have been so easily dispatched by a mere beast was humiliating. Surely, it must have been a demon inhabiting that bear. He must have a cursed fortune to encounter such a monster.

  His father would be distraught by the loss of such a precious retainer, the great general Ko Morofuyu, perhaps even more than the loss of his own son, who was still an untested scion, with merely fifteen years of life, and no achievements. Perhaps it would be better if he never returned from this forest, the young samurai lamented.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off the face of the strange statue. It was a dog spirit, bearing a serene expression. Without thinking, the young man began to clean the statue, brushing off the dirt and moss that covered it with his bare hands. He scratched his palms against the hard stone, drawing blood, but he was eager and determined to do something to repay his benefactor. The simple act helped to clear his mind of some of the shame he felt for his current situation, as well as distract him from the dire nature of his current circumstances.

  He was still alone, in the forest, days away from his fortress. He was barely dressed, without his armor or weapons, or any of the trappings of his station. He did not even know where he was. The beast that had attacked him and decimated his men may still be nearby, but he had no way of knowing if the lights would continue to protect him.

  Rather than ponder his situation, he instead focused on cleaning the statue and the surrounding space, doing what he could to return it to its former condition. He pulled the roots away, and used a branch to sweep the ground surrounding the space, uncovering the remnants of the old road. He stayed there the entire day, but the bear did not appear again. Still, he did not dare to venture beyond the protected space surrounding the statue. Eventually, night fell, and the glowing lights did not return. Perhaps they would appear again if the monster came back, but perhaps not. The young man sat in front of the statue, prepared now, to greet his fate face on, as he should have done the night before, but the bear did not come back.

  He awoke just as the sunlight started to filter through the trees on another day. He had nodded off at some point, exhaustion overcoming his meager stamina. He was weakened; he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in over a day now, and only had a few scant moments of sleep while he was sitting alone in the night. Turning to look at the statue, he was surprised to see that something new had changed in the night.

  At the base of the statue lay a few items that had certainly not been there the night before. They were unfamiliar, but were easily recognizable. One was a long strap, roughly half his height. Wrapped inside the strap along its length were many large round bulges, each about the size of his fist. Beside the strap was a section of bamboo. These objects were similar in appearance to the rations and water containers used by his soldiers.

  Without thinking, he grabbed the bamboo, found the stopper on one end, and brought the bottle to his lips, lifting it so that the water inside poured down his throat. It was indeed a full bottle, and the cool, clear water revitalized his parched mouth and throat. Next, he grabbed the strap, twisting one of the balls to release the rice ball contained inside. he wolfed down the food, it was still fresh, the rice moist and salty. Before he realized it, he had eaten a second rice ball and emptied half the bamboo bottle.

  He cried at the kindness and generosity of the spirit. Again, he prostrated himself before the statue, and he called out to it for the first time, his voice cracking as he spoke.

  “I offer you my most sincere gratitude. I am Motouji, Governor of the Kanto, son of Takauji, of the great Ashikaga house, and servant of the Son of Heaven. I am in your debt, and offer you my greatest regards for your kindness and hospitality. I shall return and build a great shrine here to show my thanks and respect. For as long as I live, I shall be indebted to you, great spirit.”

  He waited, but there was no reply. The statue continued to stare ahead with its inscrutable expression.

  The young samurai left the statue behind, following the old road he had uncovered while cleaning the forest floor. Soon, he came across a village, and from there, he was able to quickly return to his fortress, high in the mountains.

  The young samurai kept his promise, and after returning with a large detachment of soldiers, the remains of his escort camp were located and the casualties were recovered. The giant bear, however, was never seen again.

  Motouji did indeed erect a large shrine around the stone spirit, no expense was spared, and the old road was repaired and soon became a well-known highway for travelers in the region. The stone jizo now greeted travelers from inside a splendid shrine, offering good luck, although no one ever spoke of any miracles such as the those the young samurai experienced.

  Motouji never told anyone of the full story behind the death of the Ko Morofuyu, the great general, nor the details of the night he had spent under the protection of the spirit. His tenure as the governor of Kanto was short, and he passed away of sickness a mere ten years after his encounter in the forest.

  The years passed, and the road was again lost to nature. Without its patron, the shrine was forgotten, but nestled inside the old wooden structure, the stone statue remains to this day. There are folk tales that are still told about a dog-faced jizo, and a demon bear, but they are simply old stories, teaching the virtue of hospitality to posterity, a value still held dear to many people, even in the busy, modern world. Kindness, generosity, and sincerity, remain key elements of the spirit of service for the Japanese people to this day.