“We do not need to remind you of your brother’s recklessness in the past. He has been involved in many brawls,” Shoichi said.
“When he was younger,” Shigeru said. “Most young men make similar mistakes.” Indeed, Masahiro’s oldest son, Yoshitomi, had only recently been involved in an ugly fight in the town in which two boys had died. “I believe Takeshi was settling down.”
“Maybe you are right,” Masahiro said with palpable insincerity. “Alas, we will never know. Let the dead rest in peace.”
“To tell you the truth, Shigeru,” Shoichi said, watching his nephew carefully, “negotiations are under way for a formal alliance with the Tohan. We would agree to establish legally the current borders and support the Tohan in their expansion into the West.”
“We should never make such an alliance,” Shigeru said immediately. “If the Tohan move into the West, they will encircle us completely. Next, they will absorb what’s left of the Middle Country. The Seishuu are our defense against that.”
“Iida plans to deal with the Seishuu—by marriage if possible and, if not, by war.” Masahiro laughed as if with pleasure at the prospect.
“Who in the West threatens war against him? He imagines enemies everywhere!”
“You have been ill. You are not completely informed about recent events,” Shoichi replied blandly.
“Lord Shigeru should think about marrying again,” Masahiro remarked, apparently changing the subject. “Since you have retired from the political stage, you should enjoy your simple life to the full. Let us find you a wife.”
“I have no desire to marry again,” Shigeru replied.
“My brother is right, though,” Shoichi said. “You must enjoy life and regain your health. Take a trip, look at some mountain scenery, visit a shrine, collect some more ancient tales.” He smiled at his brother, and Shigeru saw their mockery.
“I will go to Terayama to my brother’s grave.”
“It is a little early for that,” Shoichi said. “You will not go there. But you may travel to the East.”
47
Very well, Shigeru thought. I will obey my uncles. I will travel to the East.
He set out the next day, telling Chiyo and Ichiro he would visit the temple of Shokoji and spend a few days in retreat there, praying for the dead. For the first part of the journey he rode, taking Kyu and several retainers with him as companions. He left men and horses at the last small town before the border, Susamura, and went on alone on foot, like a pilgrim. He stayed for two nights at the temple, Shokoji, and on the third morning rose before dawn under the full moon and walked through the mountain pass, directly east, following the twin stars called the Cat’s Eyes until the sky paled and he was walking directly toward the rising sun. Its light fell across the browning grass of the plain; there was little sign now of the ten thousand who had died there, though occasionally bones of horses and men lay in the dust where foxes and wolves had been scavenging. He could not help recalling how he had ridden here with Kiyoshige, how the young horses had galloped eagerly across the plain—and the scenes of torture they had found on the other side in the border village. Now all this country belonged to the Tohan: would any Hidden have survived here?
He saw nobody on the plain, only pheasants and hares. He stopped to drink at the spring where he had rested with Kiyoshige, remembering how the tortured man Tomasu had come crawling toward them, wordlessly imploring them to help him. It was past midday by then and very hot. He rested for a while beneath the shade of the pines, trying to keep from his mind images of a boy with Takeshi’s face dying slowly above a fire, until the sense of urgency drove him on. He followed a fox track that went almost straight across the tawny surface toward the mountains that lay to the north of Chigawa. Mostly, he slept outside, only for the hours between moonset and dawn while it was too dark to see the path in front of him. He followed mountain tracks, frequently getting lost, having to retrace his steps, occasionally wondering if he would ever return to the Middle Country or if he would perish here in the impenetrable forest and no one would ever know what had become of him.
He avoided Chigawa itself, taking the track to the north, and then turning south again. He met few people on the path, but as it bent back around Chigawa, there were signs that a large group of men had recently traveled along it. Branches were broken back; the ground was smoothed out by their feet. Shigeru did not want to meet whoever they were coming back; he was looking for a way to strike out to the East, but the terrain was very wild, with many jagged outcrops of rocks, steep ravines, and thick forest. It seemed he had no alternative but to follow the track all the way to the pass.
He turned a corner to see something pale in the undergrowth. A dead man lay there, his throat recently cut, his barely clothed, emaciated body still warm. Shigeru knelt by him, saw the rope marks on wrist and neck, the callouses on his knees, the broken nails and scarred hands, and realized who was ahead of him. This man had been a miner, one of those forced to work in the silver and copper mines that riddled the district around Chigawa. Part of a group being moved from one mine to another, he must have collapsed from exhaustion and been cold-bloodedly dispatched and left unburied.
He was Otori once, Shigeru thought, one of the thousands that looked to me for protection, and I failed them.
He dragged the body farther up the hill, found a crevice, and buried it there, piling the entrance with rocks and praying before it. Then he went in search of water, both to ease his thirst and to cleanse himself. He found a pool where water had oozed between rocks and decided to sleep for a while to give the mining party time to outpace him. There was no wind, no sound at all other than the mewing of kites and the clamor of cicadas.
He woke to the same sounds, drank again, and went back to the track. As he came to the pass, he could see all the way back across Yaegahara and as far as the sea to the north. The sun was well over to the west; he thought it would be two hours or so before sunset—but anyway he planned to walk all night, south to the mountains behind Inuyama.
He made the descent quickly in the cooler air, always listening for the sounds of human activity on the track ahead. But he was almost in the valley and the light was fading before he came suddenly on the mining party.
They had stopped to rest by a small pool, presumably for the night. The miners, men and women tied together, some hardly out of childhood, had fallen to the ground where they had halted, and slept as if already dead, like grotesque heaps of corpses. No one had made fire: a group of armed men—five by his swift count—squatted at the head of the line, eating cold food from a shared box and passing a bamboo flask around. They ate in complete silence.
Their hands went to their swords when they saw Shigeru: he greeted them briefly and walked on past them, ready at any moment to turn to meet their attack with Jato. Their glances were suspicious; they did not jump on him, possibly deterred by his sword, but one of them called to him, “Sir, just a moment, please.”
He turned: the man who had spoken stepped toward him, a large soldier with an air of authority, not the sort of person he would have expected to find guarding what was little more than a bunch of slaves. Shigeru felt he knew him, might have seen him once years ago when Iida had ridden away from Chigawa. He stood and waited impassively.
The soldier peered up into his face. Recognition flickered into his eyes.
“Is it you?” he began but got no further, as a disturbance erupted behind him among the prostrate bodies. One of the miners was screaming, thrashing against his bonds, tossing those tied to him from side to side, their bony arms rising and falling as though thrown up by the sea.
Shigeru saw Komori, the man who had saved Iida’s life, the Underground Emperor. He realized that Komori knew him, that this was a ploy to save Shigeru’s life, and, in the instant it took to draw Jato, that he would die here rather than abandon him.
The large man screamed to the others, “It is Otori! Don’t kill him! He must be taken alive.” Shigeru struck him from beh
ind, in the neck, severing the spinal cord. Two others had seized a net, with which they trapped villagers to abduct them into the mines. He evaded their first throw, ducking under it and cutting one of them upward deep into the thigh, opening the main artery of the leg. As the wounded man fell, his net descended over him, enmeshing him. Shigeru rolled backward, using his left shoulder to propel himself out of the reach of the fourth man; he landed on his feet and in the same movement went forward and brought Jato down on this man’s right arm, severing it. The fifth man rushed at him, but the roped miners rose like one shuffling beast and wound themselves around him. He cut vainly at them, but they overpowered him and brought him down.
Shigeru ended the lives of the three who still breathed; then, taking out his short sword, he cut the bonds of the prisoners, starting with Komori.
Many of them were wailing with distress and fear; most of them, as soon as they were released, ran to the pool to slake their thirst and then disappeared into the forest.
Komori was bleeding from a cut under his armpit. It was impossible to tell in the fading light how deep it was. Shigeru washed it as best he could and packed it with moss from around the tree roots. Neither of them spoke at first. Komori’s eyes glittered; he was so thin his bones seemed to glimmer palely through his taut skin.
“We have a few hours’ start,” he said, getting to his feet and wincing. “We are not expected at the mine until tomorrow midday. Lord Otori must be on the other side of Yaegahara by then.” He looked at the dead men, kicked their leader, and spat on him. “None of them will talk!”
“What about the prisoners?”
“They will go home—until they are kidnapped again. This is what life is like for us under the Tohan. They will not want to betray you, but no one knows what he will blab out under torture. That’s why you must go now, as fast as you can.”
“I would take you with me,” Shigeru said. “But I am not going back. I am going on.”
“They will come after you. Moreover, you are heading straight toward Iida himself. He is combing that whole area”—he jerked his head toward the southeast—“searching for those poor wretches they call the Hidden.”
“That’s why I must get to a place called Mino. There is someone there I have to save from Iida.”
“Then while I can walk, I will come with you. I think you will go faster with me to guide you. I’ve never been to Mino, but I know Hinode: there’s an old mine there. Mino is not far away. Loyalty to the Heron! It will be my last act of service to you.”
Komori muttered one last curse as they left the bodies. “How I’ve longed for this day, to see that brute dead. Iida gave us to each other. He has a flair for matching people up like that. He never forgot me, how I made him strip naked and leave his swords behind, and saved his life. This was my reward: to be kept alive in the mines with my own personal jailer and torturer. Never fall into his hands, Lord Otori. Never come into the East again. Unless you come at the head of an army,” he added bitterly. “We should have left Iida in the Ogre’s Storehouse. If you meet him again, make sure you kill him.”
“I intend to,” Shigeru said. “I’m only sorry you have suffered so, through my decision and my defeat.”
Night fell, and for a while they walked as if blind, yet Komori knew the path and did not falter. By the time the moon rose, they had crossed the valley, the pale light casting shadows on the summer grass, picking out the young seed heads. Now and then a fox barked, its mate screamed, and an owl floated suddenly out of the darkness.
Komori started with the same energy Shigeru remembered, and they traveled at some speed, saying little; but as the night wore on, and the half-moon traversed the sky, Komori began to waver; his feet strayed from the path, and several times Shigeru had to take him by the arm and guide him back. He began to babble, believing himself first to be in the mine and then in Inuyama.
“Across the nightingale floor,” he mumbled. Shigeru did not understand him, and Komori seemed gripped by a desperate desire to explain. “That is where you will find Iida, but no one can reach him because no one can cross it.”
Shigeru made him lean on his shoulder, putting his arm around him to support him and feeling the man’s flesh begin to burn as the fever mounted and the blood soaked away. Day was breaking as they reached the next pass. They stopped to rest for a few moments. At their feet lay a steep valley, followed by the next range; he did not think Komori could manage the climb, and wondered how far he would be able to carry him.
“I’m thirsty,” Komori said suddenly, and Shigeru lifted him and carried him down to the river. He set the man down in the shallow water on the nearer bank.
“Ah, that feels good.” Komori sighed, but within moments he was shivering violently. Shigeru cupped his hands and helped him to drink, then drew him up onto the rocky bank into the morning sun.
“Go, Lord Shigeru, leave me here,” Komori pleaded in moments of lucidity, in between trying to impress on Shigeru the path he must take to reach Mino. But Shigeru could not bring himself to abandon him to die alone, so he sat with him, bathing the sweat away and moistening his parched mouth.
Komori said suddenly, “When you come out from underground, the world always looks so bright and fresh, as if it had just been created!”
He spoke so clearly Shigeru imagined he was recovering, but he did not speak again; and before midday he was dead.
There was nowhere to bury him. Shigeru piled rocks over the body as best he could and said the necessary prayers for the dead; he resumed his journey, sick at heart with sorrow and rage for Komori’s terrible punishment, for the sufferings of his people. Komori had said he should return at the head of an army—but he had no men, no influence, no power. All he had was his sword and the boy who waited somewhere ahead of him. Now he let his rage give him the strength to walk day and night toward him.
Finally, he came to the small village, Hinode, a few houses and an inn around a series of hot springs. The air smelled of sulfur, and the village itself was shabby and dirty. He asked about the surrounding district and was told that the only other village nearby was the tiny one of Mino, not much more than a hamlet, on the other side of the mountain, a day’s walk away, where no one ever went and the people were considered strange. The woman who ran the inn would not say more, though Shigeru pressed her and though she was quite happy to take his coins and knew very well what silver was.
He slept for a few hours and set out before daybreak, following the track she had told him about. It was steep and narrow, a hard climb up to the top of the pass, and then an awkward scramble down. The path did not seem much used—the two villages obviously had little contact with each other—except by adders who as the day grew hotter basked on the warm surface and shot away into the undergrowth at his approach.
When he reached the pass, it was mid-afternoon. He realized the weather was changing, dark clouds moving in from the southwest. He was about halfway down toward the valley when it began to rain. As the light faded, a renewed sense of urgency gripped him. He thought he could smell smoke and hear shouts and screams. What if Iida were there? What if he were finally able to confront his enemy? He found his hand straying to Jato’s hilt and felt the sword’s longing to be released. He plunged downward, leaping from rock to rock, ignoring the path, taking the most direct route, until his rushing descent was halted by a huge cedar that rose beside the path on the edge of the bamboo grove, next to a small stone shrine. The straw rope round the trunk gleamed in the dusk.
There was no doubt about the smell of smoke. It filled his nostrils and made his mouth dry. Ahead of him he could even see the glow of flames. An ominous silence had fallen; apart from the hiss of the rain, there was no sound at all. No screaming, no clash of swords, no dogs barking, no birds singing. However, as Shigeru caught his breath, he heard footsteps. Someone was running up the path toward him, running for his life, pursued, he thought, by at least three men.
Shigeru stepped out from behind the tree, and the boy ran
straight into him. Shigeru caught him by the shoulders, peered into the terrified face, and saw the image of Takeshi. He gripped him as if he would never let him go. The boy twisted and struggled, then went still, and Shigeru saw his lips move as if he were praying.
He thinks he is going to die. He thinks I will be the one to kill him. But I have found him! I will save him!