Sano Ichiro 12 The Snow Empress (2007)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “Would you like to know who Wente’s accomplice was?” Sano asked.

  Tekare sobbed and cursed. “She won’t get away with this. I’ll haunt her into her grave!”

  “Who?” Lord Matsumae surfaced to ask the question.

  “It was Gizaemon,” Sano told him.

  Lord Matsumae’s spirit reclaimed his features from Tekare. They went blank with shock. “My uncle? He would never hurt anyone who mattered to me.”

  Captain Okimoto also looked shocked. “He would never betray our lord.”

  Hirata held up the toothpick. “You all know this belongs to Gizaemon. He dropped it when he was setting the spring-bow. I found it. He’s guilty.”

  “My uncle. He was like a father to me. I trusted him with my life.” Lord Matsumae had the expression of a child who’d been skipping along a path when suddenly a sinkhole opened under him. His voice echoed up from a well of loss. “And he took from me the woman I love.” Fury enflamed him. “He’ll answer for what he’s done. Bring him to me at once.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Sano said. “He’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  Tekare resurfaced. “Where is Wente? I demand to see her.”

  “Wente ran away this morning,” Sano said. “Gizaemon wants to kill her so she can never tell anyone that they conspired to murder Tekare. He went after her.” Sano didn’t mention his wife; Lord Matsumae and Tekare wouldn’t care about Reiko. “My men and I will hunt them down. But we need your help. We need sleds, dogs, and troops.”

  “We also need guides,” Hirata said. “Let the two native men come with us.”

  “Whatever you want,” Lord Matsumae said. “But I’m going with you.

  “So am I,” Tekare said through him.

  Sano didn’t like the thought of them running wild. “That’s not a good idea. It may be a long journey. You’re in poor health.”

  “If we don’t go, neither do my troops, my sleds, my dogs, nor the barbarians,” Lord Matsumae declared. “And you won’t get far by yourselves.”

  If Sano wanted to save Reiko, he had little time to waste arguing and even less choice. “Very well.”

  “If anyone’s going to deliver those two murderers to justice, it’ll be me,” Lord Matsumae said.

  “Me,” Tekare’s voice echoed.

  “We’ll leave at dawn,” Lord Matsumae said.

  “Dawn is too late,” Sano protested.

  “Traveling through Ezogashima in the dark is too dangerous,” Lord Matsumae said. “We must wait until daylight. In the meantime, we have preparations to make. Untie us.”

  “I afraid they come find us here,” Wente said. “Do you mean Lord Matsumae’s men?” Reiko asked. Wente nodded.

  That fear had diminished for Reiko the farther they’d traveled from Fukuyama City. “We didn’t see anyone following us. Maybe they don’t even know we’ve left the castle. Or maybe they don’t care.”

  Reiko thought it possible that the troops didn’t consider two women worth chasing. The only person certain to care about her was Sano. She felt a pang of sad yearning for him. He probably didn’t know she was gone, and she had no idea what had happened to him.

  Heedless of Reiko’s reassurances, Wente paced the cabin, twisting her hands. Reiko began to feel nervous herself. “What makes you so sure they’re coming?”

  Wente hesitated, clearly torn between her wish to keep a private matter private and the temptation to unburden herself. She sighed. “He no want I get away.”

  “Who?”

  “Gizaemon.”

  “Why would he be after you?”

  Kneeling by the fire, Wente bowed her head and spoke in a barely audible voice: “So I no tell.”

  “Tell what?” The fire had burned down to sullen red embers, but the sudden chill Reiko felt didn’t come from physical coldness.

  “That he kill Tekare.”

  “Gizaemon is the murderer?” Reiko was more confused by Wente’s revelation than stunned by it. The man had been Sano’s favorite suspect; that he should turn out to be guilty didn’t come as a shock. “You knew?”

  Wente nodded mutely.

  “Since when?”

  “The night Tekare die.”

  Reiko’s confusion turned to incredulity. “And you didn’t say anything?” She moved closer to Wente, who avoided her gaze. “Do you realize how much trouble you could have prevented if you’d told back then?”

  Miserable, Wente hung her head. “I sorry.”

  “Sorry isn’t good enough!” Yet even as Reiko wanted to harangue her friend and vent her frustration, she sensed something more to the story, something bad. She probed for the rest. “How do you know Gizaemon killed Tekare? Did you see him set the spring-bow?”

  “No,” Wente whispered. The air around her seethed with secrets, like flies around rotten meat.

  “Then how?”

  “It was mistake,” Wente said in a plaintive tone.

  That was what she’d said when Reiko had first asked her about the murder. Now Reiko knew Wente didn’t mean she’d thought Tekare’s death had been an accident. “Tell me what happened. This time I want the truth.”

  Gazing into the fire, Wente muttered, “One day I fight with Tekare. Japanese ladies no like noise, tell Gizaemon. He make us stop fighting.”

  The sticks in the fire pit were burned white, shaped in a hollow like a rib cage. In this, among smoke tendrils that twisted around red sparks, Reiko saw an image of Wente and Tekare punching and clawing and shouting at each other, and Gizaemon forcing them apart.

  “He hear what we say,” Wente continued. “He understand I mad at Tekare because she treat me bad. Later, he come see me. He say we can fix it so Tekare never hurt me again. I say, how? He tell me, just do what he say.”

  A breath of astonishment rushed from Reiko. Not in her most farfetched dreams could she have imagined a Japanese plotting the murder with a native. Certainly not a conspiracy between that surly, tough samurai and this meek, gentle woman who had nothing in common—except the desire to be rid of the same person. Horror stole into Reiko.

  “Next day he tell me bring Tekare outside castle after dark, Wente said, ”to path in woods. Say make her chase me toward hot spring. He say I not go all the way to spring, should stop by big oak tree. Hide in woods until she pass me. Then I run home. That’s all.

  Wente’s tone reflected the surprise she’d felt that her problems with Tekare could be solved with so little effort on her part. Reiko was surprised because the story wasn’t playing out as she’d expected.

  The idea of murder didn’t seem to have been discussed by the conspirators.

  “So I do what Gizaemon say. Tekare make it easy. While we eat dinner, she scold me, argue with me. I go outside castle. She follow. I bring her to path, I run. Happen just like Gizaemon say. But next morning—”

  Memory spread a shadow across Wente’s face. “Tekare dead. Then I know why Gizaemon make me bring her to path.” She turned an anguished gaze on Reiko. “So he can kill her!”

  “You never suspected?” Reiko said, amazed.

  “No!” Wente pounded her fists on her knees. “I think he just meet Tekare in woods, talk to her. Maybe scare her, she leave me alone.”

  “You didn’t wonder why Gizaemon would bother to help you?”

  “I think he feel sorry for me,” Wente said, as if mere pity could have induced Lord Matsumae’s uncle to put himself out for a member of the race he despised. She insisted, “It was mistake.”

  Her mistake, which had proved fatal to her sister.

  “I just want be free of Tekare! I no mean for her die!”

  Reiko realized that Wente bore far less responsibility for the crime than Gizaemon did; she was more guilty of naiveté than murder. But Tekare was dead whether Wente had intended it or not, and Wente’s actions had contributed to the awful consequences of the murder.

  “You should have told!” Reiko said, furious at Wente. “You owed that much to your sister. How
ever badly she treated you, she didn’t deserve to die. You deserved to be punished!”

  Wente cringed, humiliated by Reiko’s lashing. “I want tell. Gizaemon say if I do, he kill me. I try make up for what I do.” Remorse and pleading filled Wente’s eyes. “I try help you find son.”

  Reiko finally understood why Wente had been willing to take the risk, to befriend her. It wasn’t just because Reiko had protected her from Lady Matsumae. Wente blamed herself for what had happened to Masahiro; she wanted to atone for that as well as her sister’s murder. The lost boy and his desperate mother had given her the chance. But Reiko suspected her of another, less noble motive.

  “You didn’t bring me out here just for my sake and my son’s.”

  Reiko said. “You were scared of Gizaemon, especially after Lilac died. You must have guessed that he’d killed her.”

  The chagrin on Wente’s face was her answer.

  “That’s why you were in such a hurry to leave,” Reiko said. “He’s afraid you’ll break down and confess. You wanted to get away from him before he could kill you, too. Now I understand why he’s after us.” Now Reiko became aware that Wente wasn’t the only person in danger from Gizaemon. If he found them, she herself would be caught in the middle, another witness for him to eliminate.

  “I sorry,” Wente whispered.

  But Reiko couldn’t forgive, even though Wente had been good to her. Had Wente turned herself and Gizaemon in at once, Lord Matsumae might have punished them and been satisfied; he might not have gone mad or closed off Ezogashima. Anger churned in Reiko as she built her chain of speculation. Masahiro wouldn’t have been sent here and taken captive. Neither he, Reiko, nor Sano would be in this predicament now. Reiko moved to the opposite side of the fire pit and glared at Wente across the cooling, hissing ashes.

  After a while, Wente said timidly, “We leave when sun rise, better sleep now.”

  Reiko was too upset to sleep, but she was also exhausted; she needed rest. She fetched a mat and lay down on it.

  Wente spread mats and unrolled the thick, down-filled quilts they’d brought. “Come sleep with me.”

  “No, thank you.” Reiko couldn’t believe Wente would suggest such intimacy after what had just happened.

  “Must,” Wente said. “Alone, cold. Together, warm.”

  Reiko saw that the small fire Wente had been able to build wouldn’t heat the room all night. Already shivering, she reluctantly walked over to Wente.

  “Take off clothes,” Wente said as she stripped off her boots, coat, and robe.

  Reiko stared in offended dismay. She wasn’t sexually attracted to women, and she abhorred the idea of touching this one. Wente had blood on her hands, even if not by intention.

  “Clothes off, warmer,” Wente explained with matter-of-fact authority. “Leave on, freeze.”

  Realizing her mistake, Reiko decided that if she wanted to survive, she’d better do as Wente said. She undressed as fast as she could. Shivering violently, she curled up on the quilt-covered mat beside Wente. She flinched as their naked backs touched. Wente pulled more heavy quilts over them, heads and all. Their bodies warmed the dark, stuffy space under the quilt. Wente soon fell asleep. Reiko listened to her soft breathing, smelled her ripe, female odor. As Reiko drifted into sleep, amazement resounded through her. She was in the middle of nowhere, flesh to flesh with a murderess upon whom her life and her reunion with her son depended.

  33

  As afternoon tipped the sun from its zenith, a long parade of dogsleds raced across a snowfield in Ezogashima’s native territory. Urahenka and Chieftain Awetok led, riding so effortlessly that they seemed to fly behind their dogs. Sano hung onto the reins while his sled careened. Hirata, beside him, appeared to have mastered this new form of transportation, but Sano heard curses behind him, looked over his shoulder, and saw Marume tumble off his sled. Fukida stopped to help him back on. The forty soldiers jeered. Lord Matsumae stood upright on his sled, leaning forward, like a figurehead on a ship. He balanced expertly, his body controlled by Tekare, who’d been born to sail the snows.

  Ahead Sano could see the tracks they’d been following since dawn. Long furrows striped the snow. In some places they ran parallel; in others they merged and braided. The tracks left by Gizaemon and his troops had run over those from Reiko and Wente. This morning Sano and his comrades had spotted the remains of a bonfire where Gizaemon had camped overnight. It wasn’t far enough from the Ainu hunting cabin where ashes from another recent fire indicated that the women had stayed there. Gizaemon was hard on their trail. Even it Wente hadn’t killed Reiko, maybe he’d already caught them. As he and the rescue party sped onward, Sano prayed they wouldn’t be too late.

  Reiko and Wente rode along a stream that curved through hilly, forested land. Below them, rapids sparkled in the sun. Dry golden reeds protruded from the ice near the banks that sloped upward through snowbound vegetation to meet tall pines and cedars whose boughs were heavy with icicles. In the distance rose snow-flanked mountains. The air was so clear that they looked close enough to touch. Majestic white clouds floated in turquoise blue heavens. The beauty of the scenery awed Reiko. She thought about how this land had belonged to the Ainu since time immemorial and now they stood to lose it. Sorrow for them coexisted in her heart alongside her eagerness to see Masahiro. She wished she had someone with whom to share her thoughts, but there was only Wente.

  Even though Reiko clung to Wente, her knees hugging the other woman’s body, they hadn’t spoken since last night. Wente’s confession had raised a barrier as impenetrable as a glacier between them. Reiko supposed she should forgive Wente’s mistake, especially after everything Wente had done for her, but she was too angry. Wente brooded, afraid to provoke Reiko by talking. Only the sounds of the river, the wind, the dogs trotting and panting, and the sled scraping the snow filled their silence, until Reiko heard another noise. It sounded like weird, dissonant, yet cheerful music.

  Wente flashed a smile over her shoulder. “Village,” she said, pointing ahead.

  The music grew louder. The dogs barked excitedly and broke into a gallop. The sled veered around a curve in the stream and the village came into view, a group of perhaps ten huts with shaggy thatched roofs and walls, on a plateau above the river. Wente halted the sled at a trail flattened in the snow by footsteps that had trodden back and forth between the village and the water’s edge. She untied the dogs from their harnesses, and they raced up the trail. Reiko ran with Wente after them. They all arrived breathless in the village.

  It appeared empty even though Reiko could now distinguish voices singing to a tune plucked on stringed instruments and the rapid beat of drums. “Where is everybody?” Reiko looked around at the houses screened by hedges made of willow sticks shaved to form mops with long, vertical handles and heads of curly peelings, at privy sheds, at storehouses raised on stilts, at wooden racks hung with fish and skinned deer.

  Wente and the dogs headed for the woods beyond the village. Reiko followed. In an open space under the trees was a crowd of several hundred natives. Over their deerskin coats, fur leggings, and fish-skin boots they wore patchwork robes with geometric patterns. Men beat drums and plinked at what looked like Ainu versions of the samisen; women played bamboo strips held between their teeth to make a humming sound. It seemed to be a party, with a wild, noisy action at its center that Reiko couldn’t see through the crowd.

  “What are they doing?” she asked.

  “Iyomante,” Wente said, “bear ceremony.” Her face shone with happiness. “We honor god of bear, send home to spirit world. Tribes come from other villages, feast.”

  Tattooed women and burly, whiskered men flocked to welcome her home. She exchanged fond greetings with them until they noticed Reiko. Disconcerted, they beheld the Japanese trespasser in their land. Wente spoke, explaining her presence, introducing her to them. But Reiko roved away through the crowd, seeking the only person who mattered to her.

  “Masahiro!” she called.

/>   She emerged into the center of the action. A brown bear lumbered on the packed snow. Twenty or thirty men restrained him with heavy ropes. The bear growled, fierce yet playful. Scores of dogs barked and lunged at him. The crowd sang, clapped, and cheered. Mothers scolded a group of children who edged too close to the bear. Suddenly one boy detached himself from the group. He raced toward Reiko, shouting, “Mama!”

  It was Masahiro. The sound of his voice pierced Reiko with a happiness so powerful it was agonizing. As Masahiro ran to her, he extended his arms, and she opened hers wide. The light around him scintillated, obliterating everything else. He seemed an illusion born of her yearning for him, but then he was in her embrace, solid and real. Gasping as though she’d pulled him out of an ocean that had almost drowned them both, Reiko hugged him fiercely, then held him at arm’s length and feasted on the sight of him.

  He wore the same native clothes as the other children; he could have been one of them. He was thinner than Reiko remembered, his hair long and unruly, but his face was radiant. His eyes sparkled. “Mama, you came! Did you get my messages?”

  “Yes.” Reiko felt her face bloom with the first genuine smile since he’d vanished. It thawed muscles frozen by misery. “They guided mc to you. You’re such a clever boy!”

  She’d wept many tears for Masahiro, but none so violent as these. Sobs exploded from deep within her. They choked her, sank her to her knees, convulsed her body in painful spasms. For so long she’d suppressed her fear that Masahiro was dead; she’d pushed it down inside her and sealed it there with her stubborn hope that she would see him again. Now it erupted, and her spirit released it as though ridding her of fatal poison. She pressed her face against Masahiro’s, inhaling his sweetness. She felt as though she hadn’t breathed since she’d lost him, and now she could.

  “Mama,” he said, patting her back, “don’t cry. Everything’s all right.”

  When her weeping subsided, pure, blissful tranquility filled Reiko. She rose and wiped her eyes. The tears on her cheeks didn’t freeze in the cold air; her whole body glowed with warmth, a spiritual fire rekindled. Reiko smiled at Masahiro. She would never stop smiling. The scene around them was bright with sun and the natives’ robes, jewelry, laughter, and music—a world reborn to color and life.