Before the moon reached its first quarter, they were a short distance from Hawk Pass—less than half a day’s journey, Sakai Masaki, who had gone ahead to scout, reported.
The forest grew closely around the path, live oak and horn-beam, with cedars and pines on the higher slopes. They made camp under the trees; a spring provided water, but they had to eat sparingly, for the food they had brought with them was all but exhausted. Takeo slept lightly, and was woken by one of the guards calling, “Lord Otori!”
It was barely dawn, the birds just beginning to sing. His eyes opened, but he thought he was still dreaming. He glanced, as always, first at the horse lines, and saw the kirin.
It stood beside Tenba, its long neck bent down, its legs splayed out, its head close to the horses, its white markings gleaming eerily in the gray light.
Takeo stood up, his limbs stiff and aching. Hiroshi, who had been sleeping not far from him, was already on his feet.
“The kirin is back!” Hiroshi cried.
His exclamation woke the others, and in moments the kirin was surrounded.
It showed every sign of being delighted to be among them: It nuzzled Shigeko, and licked Hiroshi’s hand with its long gray tongue. Its coat was scratched in many places, its knees grazed and bleeding; it favored its left hind foot, and its neck was marked with rope burns, as if it had made many attempts to break loose.
“What does this mean?” Takeo said in consternation. He pictured the creature’s flight across the unfamiliar countryside, its long awkward stride, its fear and loneliness. “How could it have escaped? Did they let it go?”
Shigeko replied, “It’s what I was afraid of. We should have stayed longer, made sure it was happy. Father, let me take it back.”
“It is too late for that,” he replied. “Look at it; we cannot give it to the Emperor in this condition.”
“It would not even survive the journey,” Hiroshi agreed. He went to the spring, filled a bucket with water, and allowed the kirin to drink, and then began to wash the matted blood away from its wounds. Its skin flinched and shuddered, but it stood quite still. Tenba whickered gently to it.
“What does it mean?” Takeo said to Gemba after the creature had been fed and orders given for their journey to resume as soon as possible. “Should we press on to the Three Countries and take the kirin with us? Or should we send some restitution back to Miyako?” He paused for a moment, gazing at his daughter as she soothed and petted the animal. “The Emperor can only be insulted by its escape,” he went on in a low voice.
“Yes, the kirin was greeted as a sign of Heaven’s blessing,” Gemba said. “Now it has shown it prefers you to His Divine Majesty. It will be taken as a terrible insult.”
“What can I do?”
“Prepare for battle, I suppose,” Gemba said calmly. “Or take your own life, if you think that’s a better idea.”
“You foresaw everything—the outcome of the contest, my surrender of Jato, my victory. Did you not foresee this?”
“Everything has a cause and an effect,” Gemba replied. “A violent occurrence like Taku’s death has unleashed a whole chain of events—this must be one of them. It’s impossible to foresee—or forestall—them all.” He reached out his hand and patted Takeo on the shoulder, in the same way as Shigeko patted the kirin. “I’m sorry. I told you earlier something was amiss. I have been trying to hold the balance together, but it has been broken.”
Takeo stared at him, hardly comprehending. “Has something happened to my daughters?” He took a deep breath. “My wife?”
“I can’t tell you that sort of detail. I’m not a sorcerer or a shaman. All I know is that something that held the delicate web together has been snapped.”
Takeo’s mouth had gone dry with dread. “Can it be mended?”
Gemba did not answer, and at that moment, above the bustle of preparation, Takeo heard the sound of horse’s hooves in the distance.
“Someone is riding fast toward us,” he said.
A few moments later, the horses on the lines raised their heads and whinnied, and the approaching horse neighed back as it cantered around the curve in the path and came into view.
It was one of the Maruyama horses that Shigeko had given to Lord Saga, and its rider was Lord Kono.
Hiroshi ran forward to take the reins as the nobleman came to a halt; Kono jumped from the horse’s back. His languid appearance had quite gone; he looked strong and skillful, as he had during the contest.
“Lord Otori, I am glad to have caught up with you.”
“Lord Kono,” Takeo returned. “I am afraid I cannot offer you much in the way of refreshment. We are about to move on. We will be across the border by midday.” He did not care if the nobleman was offended now. He did not believe anything could redeem his position.
“I must ask you to delay,” Kono urged. “Let us talk in private.”
“I cannot believe you have anything to say to me now.” Unease had turned to rage. Takeo could feel it building up behind his eyes. He had acted for months with supreme patience and self-control. Now he saw all his efforts about to be destroyed by a random event, an animal’s uncontrollable preference for its companions over strangers.
“Lord Otori, I know you look on me as an enemy, but believe me, I have your best interests at heart. Come, give me a little time to deliver Lord Saga’s message to you.”
Without waiting for Takeo to reply, he walked a short distance away to where a fallen cedar provided a natural seat. He sat and beckoned Takeo to join him. Takeo glanced toward the east. The edge of the mountain was stark black against the glowing sky, already limned with gold.
“I will give you until the sun clears the peaks,” he said.
“Let me tell you what has happened. The triumph of your visit had already been dimmed a little by your early departure. The Emperor had hoped to get to know you better—you made a strong impression on him. Still, he was contented enough with your gifts, especially this creature. He was concerned when it became more and more restless after your departure. He himself went to visit it every day, but it fretted, and would not eat, for three days. Then it ran away. We pursued it, of course, but all attempts to catch it failed, and finally it eluded us altogether. The mood in the city changed from delight that our Emperor had been blessed by Heaven to derision, that Heaven’s blessing had run away, that it was Lord Otori whom Heaven favored, not the Emperor and Lord Saga.”
He paused. “Of course, such an insult cannot be overlooked. I met Lord Saga as he was leaving Sanda; he immediately turned around. He is barely a day’s ride behind me. His forces were already mustered; his special troops are always prepared, and they have been waiting for just such an eventuality as this. You are completely outnumbered. I am instructed to tell you that if you do not return with me and submit to the natural outcome of the Emperor’s displeasure, that is, you will take your own life—I’m afraid the alternative of exile no longer exists—Saga will pursue you with all these warriors, and take the Three Countries by force. You and your family will all be put to death—except Lady Maruyama, whom Lord Saga still hopes to marry.”
“Is this not what he intended all along?” Takeo replied, making no attempt now to control his rage. “Let him come after me—he will find more than he expects.”
“I cannot say I am surprised, but I am deeply sorry,” Kono said. “You must know how much I have come to admire you…”
Takeo cut him off. “You have flattered me many times, but I believe you have always wished me ill and tried to undermine me. Perhaps you feel in some way that you are avenging your father’s death. If you had any true honor or courage, you would challenge me to my face, instead of conspiring in secret with my vassal and brother-in-law. You have been an indispensable go-between. You have insulted me and wronged me.”
Kono’s pale face had gone even whiter. “We will meet in battle,” he replied. “Your tricks and sorcery will not save you then!”
He rose, and without bowing, went t
o his horse, leaped onto its back, and pulled roughly on its reins to turn its head. It was reluctant to leave its fellows, and fought against the bit. Kono drove his heels into its flanks; the horse bucked and kicked in response, unseating the nobleman, who fell ignominiously to the ground.
There was a moment of silence. The two guards closest drew their swords, and Takeo knew everyone expected him to give the order to kill Kono. He himself thought he would, needing something to release his rage, wanting to punish the man on the ground at his feet for all the insults, the intrigue and treachery that had hemmed him in. But something restrained him.
“Hiroshi, fetch Lord Kono’s horse and help him mount,” he said, and turned away so as not to humiliate the nobleman further. The guards lowered their swords and returned them to their scabbards.
As he heard the hoofbeats fade away down the path, he turned to Hiroshi and said, “Send Sakai ahead to inform Kahei and tell him to prepare for battle. The rest of us must get across the pass as quickly as possible.”
“Father, what about the kirin?” Shigeko said. “It is exhausted. It will not be able to keep up with us.”
“It must keep up—otherwise it is kinder to kill it now,” he replied, and saw the shock come into her face. The next day might see her fighting for her life, he realized, yet she had never killed anything.
“Shigeko,” he said, “I can save your life and the kirin’s by surrendering now to Saga. I will take my own life, you will marry him, and we will still avoid war.”
“We cannot do that,” she replied without hesitation. “He has deceived and threatened us, and broken all the promises he made to us. I will make sure the kirin does not lag behind.”
“Then ride Tenba,” Takeo said. “The two of them will encourage each other.”
He took her horse, Ashige, in exchange, and sent her ahead with Gemba, thinking that she would be safer there than in the rear. Then there was the question of what to do with the packhorses, and the lavish gifts from the Emperor and Lord Saga that they carried. They could not keep up with the other horses. Reflecting that the Emperor was already irredeemably offended, Takeo ordered the bales and baskets to be left beside the path by the little rock shrine at the spring’s edge. He regretted the loss of the beautiful objects, the silk robes, the bronze mirrors and lacquered bowls, thinking how much Kaede would have appreciated them, but could see no other solution. He also abandoned the palanquins, and even the ornamental suits of armor that had been Lord Saga’s gift. They were heavy and impractical, and Takeo preferred his own armor, which had been left in Kahei’s charge.
“They are an offering to the gods of the mountain,” he said to Hiroshi, as they rode away. “Though I do not believe any gods will help us now. What does the blessing of Heaven mean? We know the kirin is just an animal, not a mythical creature. It ran away because it missed its companions.”
“It has become a symbol now,” Hiroshi replied. “That is the way human beings deal with the world.”
“This is hardly the time for philosophical discussions! We would do better to discuss our battle plan.”
“Yes, I have been thinking about it ever since we came this way. The pass is so narrow and difficult that, once we are through, it will be easy to defend our rear against Saga’s men. But will it be undefended now? I keep thinking, if I were Saga, I would have closed off your escape route before you left the capital.”
“The same thought had occurred to me,” Takeo admitted, and their fears were confirmed within the next hour when Sakai returned to report that the pass was filled with Saga’s men hidden among rocks and trees, armed with bows and firearms.
“I climbed a tree, and looked back toward the East,” Sakai said. “Using the far-seer I could make out Saga’s army in the distance, pursuing us. They are flying red war banners, and Saga’s defense troops at the pass must have seen them too. I sent a scout around—Kitayama will get through if anyone can—but he has to climb the mountain and descend the other side before he reaches Lord Miyoshi.”
“How long will that take him?” Takeo asked.
“If he gets there before nightfall, he’ll be lucky.”
“How many in the pass?”
“Fifty to a hundred. We did not have much time to count.”
“Well, we are more or less equally matched,” Hiroshi said. “But they have all the advantages of the terrain.”
“It is too late to take them by surprise, but can we outflank them?” Takeo inquired.
“Our only hope is to bring them out into the open,” Hiroshi replied. “We can then pick them off—you and Lady Shigeko must ride at full speed while we cover you.”
Takeo brooded in silence for a while, then sent Sakai up ahead with the order for the guards to halt well before the pass, and to conceal themselves. He himself caught up with Shigeko and Gemba.
“I must ask for my horse back,” he said. “I have a plan to bring them out of hiding.”
“You will not go alone?” Shigeko questioned, as she dismounted from Tenba and took Ashige’s reins from her father.
“I will go with Tenba and the kirin,” he replied. “But no one will see me.”
He rarely displayed his Tribe skills to Shigeko, or even spoke of them to her, and he did not want to explain them now. He saw her look of doubt, swiftly controlled.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Nothing can harm me. But you must ready your bows and be prepared to shoot to kill.”
“We will try to disable them rather than take their lives,” she replied, glancing at Gemba, who sat silent and impassive on the black horse.
“This will be a true battle, not a friendly contest,” Takeo said, wanting to prepare her in some way for what lay ahead, for the madness and bloodlust of war. “You may not have a choice.”
“You must take Jato again, Father. You should not go without it.”
He took it from her gratefully. A special mount had been made for the sword, for it was too heavy for Shigeko to carry. It was already on Tenba’s back, just in front of the saddle. The sword was still in its ceremonial dress and looked magnificent. He tied the kirin’s silken cord to the horse’s neckstrap, and before remounting he embraced Shigeko, praying silently for her safety. It was about midday and very hot; even here in the mountains the air was still and heavy. As he took up Tenba’s reins in his left hand, Takeo glanced upward and saw huge thunderhead clouds banking up in the West. The horse tossed his head against the clouds of biting midges.
As he rode away from the group with the kirin, he was aware that someone was following him on foot. He had given orders that he was to go alone, and he turned in the saddle to command whoever it was to stay behind.
“Lord Otori!” It was Mai, the Muto girl, Sada’s sister.
He halted for a moment and she came to the horse’s flank. Tenba swung his head toward her.
“Maybe I can help you,” she said. “Let me go with you.”
“Are you armed?”
She drew a dagger from inside her robe. “I also have throwing knives, and a garrote. Lord Otori plans to use invisibility?”
He nodded.
“I could also use it. The aim is to make them show themselves so the warriors can get them?”
“They will see a warhorse and the kirin, apparently alone. I am hoping curiosity and greed will make them approach. Do not attack them until they are in the open and Sugita has ordered the first shots. They must be lulled into carelessness. Take whichever side seems to have fewer men hidden and kill as many as you can. The more confused they are, the better for us.”
She smiled slightly. “Thank you, Lord. Each one will be some consolation for my sister’s murder.”
Now I am committed to warfare, he thought with sorrow as he urged Tenba forward again, and let invisibility descend on him.
The path became steeper and rockier, but just before the pass itself it leveled a little and widened. The sun was still high in the sky, but had begun its descent into the west, and the shadows were beginni
ng to lengthen. On either side the mountain ranges, emerging from the dense forest, stretched away; ahead of him lay the Three Countries, covered now in cloud. Lightning flashed in the distance, and he heard the roll of thunder. It made Tenba throw up his head and tremble; the kirin walked as calmly and gracefully as ever.
Takeo heard the distant mewing of kites and the flutter of birds’ wings, the creaking of ancient trees, the faraway trickle of water. As he rode into the valley, he heard the whisper of voices, the slight rustle of men shifting position, the sigh of bowstrings drawn back, and even more ominously, the tap of a firearm being loaded with powder.
For a moment his blood chilled. He had no fear of death; he had brushed with it so many times it held no horrors for him. Moreover, he had convinced himself that no one would kill him until his son did, but now a barely realized dread surfaced, of the bullet that killed from afar, the iron ball that tore roughly through flesh and bone. If I am to die, let it be by the sword, he prayed, as the thunder rolled again, though if I die by the firearm it is only justice, for I introduced them, and developed them.
He could not remember ever using invisibility on horseback before, accustomed to keeping his warrior skills quite separate from those of the Tribe. He let the horse’s reins fall on its neck and took his feet from the stirrups so no sign of a rider would be discernible. He wondered what the watching men were thinking as the horse and the kirin progressed through the valley. Did it look like something from a dream, or some old legend come to life? The black horse, mane and tail shining as brightly as the decorated saddle, the sword on its flank; and the kirin, tall and unfamiliar, its long neck, its strangely patterned skin.