“I outrank your master,” Sano told the Matsumae troops. “I override his orders. Stand back!”
Whether the troops respected his authority or they didn’t really want to kill comrades with whom they’d served the same clan all their lives, they obeyed Sano. Lord Matsumae shrieked in Tekare’s voice, “I’ll kill him myself!”
He rushed at Gizaemon. Detective Marume grabbed Lord Matsumae. Even though Marume was bigger and stronger, Lord Matsumae almost broke loose. Fukida helped restrain him. Tekare cursed and clawed at them.
Furious, Sano drew his sword on Gizaemon. “Let my wife go.”
“Sorry. She’s my way out of this alive.” Gizaemon jerked his chin at the soldier who had Reiko, at his other men. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
They backed into the forest behind Reiko, their shield. Sano said, “Where do you think you’ll go?”
“Plenty of hiding places in Ezo territory for someone who knows how to survive here. I do.”
Sano saw that Chieftain Awetok and Urahenka had sneaked up on Gizaemon from the rear. They-poised bows and arrows to shoot. Other native men held the bear on a leash. “Pardon the natives if they think you’ve worn out your welcome in their land.” Sano nodded in their direction.
Flicking a glance backward, Gizaemon said, “My men and I can hold those brutes off long enough for us to reach the coast.” His army had assembled, their sleds and dogs ready to go; they pointed bows, arrows, and lances at the natives. “We’ll hop a ship.”
“To where?” Sano asked. “You’ll be a wanted man everyplace in Japan.”
“Then I’m damned whatever I do.” Sardonic and reckless, Gizaemon said, “Might as well make a run for it.”
“Surrender, and I’ll pardon you for both murders and everything else that’s happened,” Sano said.
“Even if I trusted you, which I don’t, a true samurai never surrenders,” Gizaemon declared, as Sano had guessed he would. “Now listen: If I don’t get out of this village alive, neither does your wife.”
Despair paralyzed Sano because he couldn’t move against Gizaemon without dooming Reiko. But if he let Gizaemon go, Gizaemon would only kill her later. The natives stood firm, ready to shoot. Lord Matsumae howled and fought the detectives. Sano saw the troops getting restless. This stalemate was too volatile to hold. Reiko’s eyes begged Sano to do something, anything. Never had he felt so helpless.
A twanging sound shivered the air. A loud thump followed. The man holding Reiko screamed. He let go of her, dropped the sword, and clutched his right eye. From it protruded a short arrow with a feathered end. Blood poured down his face. He wobbled, then fell dead.
As exclamations of astonishment swept the spectators, Sano looked in the direction from which the arrow had flown. On the roof of a hut stood Masahiro. He held his bow aloft. He laughed in triumph.
A huge, weighty blackness lifted from Sano. Light rushed back into the world; his being pulsed with joy. His son was alive! He wanted to fall to his knees, weep, and thank the gods. But he had no time for that, nor to marvel at how Masahiro had made such a perfect shot. Reiko, set free, ran toward Sano. Gizaemon yelled, “Catch her!”
His troops chased Reiko. As she dodged them, Sano ran after them and hacked at them with his sword. Hirata and the detectives joined in with him. Lord Matsumae’s troops battled Gizaemon’s. Native men and women wielded spears, clubs, and knives against any and all Japanese troops. The bear marauded, growling and snapping at whoever crossed his path. Masahiro fired more arrows, as did native boys on other rooftops. The forest resounded with war-cries, colliding blades, and agonized screams.
As Sano fought to reach Reiko, she slipped on ice and fell. Gizaemon threw himself at her, and she rolled away just in time. She sped away, but a soldier grabbed her from behind. He lifted her off her feet and spun while she kicked and her arms beat the air. Sano lashed out his sword. It cut the soldier across the knees. He howled, dropped Reiko, and collapsed. She ran, but a pack of other troops headed her away from Sano, into the war raging amid the village. Lord Matsumae shouted incoherent orders in his own voice. He shrilled curses in Tekare’s and cut down his own troops with his sword. Gizaemon came barreling toward Sano.
Fury locked Gizaemon’s face into an ugly grimace. Eyes crazed with desperation, he looked madder than Lord Matsumae ever had. He swung his sword wildly at Sano. They slashed and parried so fast that their swords were a cyclone of blades through which they moved. Hirata and the native men joined forces and attacked Gizaemon’s army. Native women banded with Reiko and fought the soldiers pursuing her. Gizaemon’s men dropped dead from arrows fired by the boys. Sano barely noticed the chaos. In the space between cuts, there was no time to think. His body lunged, ducked, and pivoted, operating on sheer instinct. The din of metal clanging on metal deafened him. He never saw the critical misstep that decided the outcome.
One instant Gizaemon was savagely fighting Sano. The next, Sano felt his blade cleave flesh and bone. Gizaemon roared. He clutched his right wrist, which spurted blood; the hand was gone. Sano had sliced it clean off. It lay in the snow, fingers still gripping Gizaemon’s sword. Gizaemon stared at his amputated hand in horror.
The sudden victory shocked Sano. His heart was still thudding wildly, his lungs heaving, his muscles still tensed for combat. But all around him the combat fizzled as Matsumae troops noticed that Gizaemon was done for and couldn’t divide their loyalties any longer. Hi-rata and the Ainu men surrounded Gizaemon. He dropped to one knee in a circle of their swords and spears pointed at him. He gazed up at Sano, defeated yet too proud to beg for mercy.
Sano felt himself roughly elbowed aside by Lord Matsumae. Lord Matsumae brandished a sword already red with blood from Japanese men that Tekare had killed. Her aspect masked his face, clearer than ever. Sano could even see her tattoo around his mouth.
“He’s mine,” she said.
Gizaemon beheld his nephew with a tragic, despairing expression. He was already pale from blood loss, half dead. Lord Matsumae swung his sword and decapitated Gizaemon.
As blood spewed from Gizaemon’s neck and his head hit the ground, Lord Matsumae uttered a high-pitched, ululating cry. His back arched, and a horrible grimace of pain twisted his face. His muscles spasmed; his sword dropped. His toes pointed and sprang him up from the ground. A human shadow wrenched free from him. It had the shape of a naked woman. A cry went up among the spectators. Lord Matsumae fell limp, unconscious. The shadow gained substance and detail until Tekare appeared in the flesh.
Sano stared in amazement. She was glorious, brown-skinned, with full lips like an exotic flower in the intense blue tattoo, long, wavy black hair, and dark, deep, knowing eyes. Her nipples were erect, her muscles as strong as a man’s yet sleek, supple, and feminine. Tekare surveyed Gizaemon and smiled with private satisfaction: She’d had her revenge at last.
She swept a triumphant gaze across her audience that stood entranced, silent, and motionless. Then she turned and walked toward the forest. The trees ahead of her shimmered like a painting on a sheer silk curtain blown by the wind. A thunderous crack shook the earth as the portal opened to the spirit world. Tekare walked through the shimmering trees. She disintegrated as if composed of a million particles of light that winked out rapidly one by one. The shimmer abruptly ceased; the world was quiet. Everybody gazed at the forest, where Tekare had vanished.
Captain Okimoto cried, “Lord Matsumae!” He rushed to his fallen master, shook him, and patted his face. “He won’t wake up.”
Troops flocked around Lord Matsumae. Joined by their fear that he was dead and they were masterless samurai, they’d forgotten that they’d been fighting to kill one another. Sano knelt, put his ear by Lord Matsumae’s nose, and felt his neck. “He’s breathing, and his pulse is strong.”
Chieftain Awetok spoke, and the Rat translated: “‘When the spirit of Tekare left him, it was a shock to his system. He’ll sleep for a while. Then he’ll be fine. Take him home.”“
A few troops
loaded Lord Matsumae onto a sled. Others gathered up their slain and wounded comrades, some twenty in all. Natives knelt beside and mourned their dead. Urahenka sat with Wente cradled in his lap. Sobs shuddered through him. The air filled with the sound of weeping.
Sano took charge. He said to Chieftain Awetok, “On behalf of the Matsumae clan, the Tokugawa regime, and myself, I apologize for what your people have suffered. I’ll see that you’re compensated. In the meantime, I’m calling off the war.”
Chieftain Awetok nodded in acceptance if not forgiveness. Sano looked anxiously about the village and heard his son’s voice call. He saw Masahiro and Reiko running toward him, hand in hand. Masahiro broke loose from Reiko. He launched himself at Sano. Sano picked him up in his arms. They both laughed with joy. Tears blurred Sano’s eyes. It didn’t seem fair that so many people had died and suffered today and he was so happy. But the balance of fate could tip tomorrow. For now he just celebrated his miracle.
“Papa, I knew you were in Ezogashima. I knew you would come,” Masahiro said.
Sano was touched because his son had such faith in him. “How did you know?”
“I saw you.”
“Oh, you did?” Sano smiled fondly, thinking what a good imagination Masahiro had, glad that it had comforted him. “Where?”
“I was out hunting in the woods with my new friends yesterday. And suddenly you were in front of me. You were with detectives Marume and Fukida and the Rat. Don’t you remember?”
An eerie sensation tingled inside Sano as he remembered the vision he’d had in Fukuyama City.
Masahiro playfully punched his chest. “I waved at you, Papa. You waved back. You saw me, too.”
35
In his chamber in Fukuyama Castle, Lord Matsumae lay in bed, his gaunt body swaddled in thick quilts, a nightcap on his head. He stirred and yawned. His eyes, gummy with sleep, blinked open at Sano, who knelt beside him.
“Welcome back to the world,” Sano said.
“Chamberlain Sano.” Lord Matsumae sounded confused but lucid. “Where am I?”
“At home.”
Lord Matsumae raised himself on his elbows and squinted at his surroundings. “The last thing I knew, I was in a native village. Let me look outside.”
Sano rose and opened the window. Another huge snowstorm had buried the garden up to the veranda railings. Masahiro was having a snowball fight with Reiko, the two guards who’d helped him escape, the detectives, the Rat, and the Ainu concubines. They laughed as they pelted one another. The precarious harmony between the natives and the Japanese had been restored—at least temporarily. The deaths on both sides were forgotten for now.
The sunlight bleached Lord Matsumae’s whiskered face. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Five days.”
“… Merciful gods. What’s happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
Alarmed recollection deluged Lord Matsumae’s gaze. “I killed my uncle Gizaemon. Because he killed Tekare.” He gasped. “Tekare. Where is she?”
“She’s gone,” Sano said, “to the spirit world.”
“Gone.” With an expression that combined bereavement and relief, Lord Matsumae sat up and examined himself, flexing his arms and hands that he alone now controlled. He touched his face that belonged only to him.
“Yes,” Sano said. “She’s at peace.”
Lord Matsumae echoed, “At peace. As I wish I could be.” A breath of despair gusted from him. “I’ll love her and miss her all my life. But I’m glad she’s gone. Uncle Gizaemon was right about her. When she was with me, I did terrible things that I didn’t want to do but couldn’t help myself.” Shame colored his woe. “I disobeyed the shogun’s laws, forsook my duty, and let my domain go to hell. I massacred innocent natives and declared war on them. I’ve treated you abominably, and I put your son to death.” He regarded Sano with puzzlement. “After what I’ve done to you, how can you sit talking calmly with me? Why don’t you kill me?”
“Fortunately your men thought better of following your orders to kill my son. There he is.” Sano pointed out the window at Masahiro. “As you can see, he’s alive and well.”
“No thanks to me,” Lord Matsumae said, still guilt-ridden. “I must atone for what I’ve done. I’m turning my domain over to the shogun. Please allow me a few days to settle my affairs and say good-bye to the men who’ve served me faithfully even when I was mad. Then I will commit seppuku.”
Sano saw that his remorse was genuine; Lord Matsumae was his decent, rational self again. But those weren’t the only reasons that Sano said, “Ritual suicide won’t be necessary. I’m going to advise the shogun to pardon you and let you stay on as lord of Ezogashima.” He didn’t know how much influence he still had over the shogun, but it was worth a try.
“But I must take responsibility for my actions.” Lord Matsumae sounded adamant instead of ready for an easy way out.
“You weren’t responsible. Tekare was.”
When Sano had first come to Ezogashima and discovered what Lord Matsumae had done, when he’d watched Lord Matsumae in action, he’d never imagined wanting to pardon the man. A big part of Sano hadn’t believed in spirit possession even though he’d personally seen evidence of it. But after he’d watched Tekare cross over to the spirit world, after he’d learned that his own vision of Masahiro had been real, his mind had accepted that Ezogashima was a place where the impossible happened. Now he was convinced that Lord Matsumae had truly been possessed, his actions beyond his control, and was innocent by reason of temporary madness. And Sano had another reason for keeping Lord Matsumae in control of Ezogashima.
“But I’m at fault for letting Tekare gain control of me while she was alive,” Lord Matsumae protested. “People have suffered because of my mistake. I shouldn’t be allowed to escape with no consequences.”
“You won’t,” Sano assured him. “You’ll pay restitution to the families of the people you killed. You’ll give better trade terms to the natives. You can also give them more freedom and protect them from Japanese who prey on them.” Should someone else take over the domain, heaven help the natives. A new lord would exploit them worse than ever.
“Very well,” Lord Matsumae said, uncertain yet grateful. “I’m forever in your debt. If there’s anything I can give you, just name it. A banquet? A hunting trip? A ship to take you home? All the furs, gold, and medicinal herbs in my storehouses? Can I persuade you to stay for a tour of Ezogashima in the spring?”
A lord beholden to him was enough reward for a man in Sano’s shaky political position, and Sano had been away from Edo too long. “I won’t say no to the ship.”
Three days later, a blue sky graced Fukuyama City. Sunlight sparkled on an ocean flecked with tiny whitecaps. In the harbor, Matsumae sailors inspected the ship while troops carried supplies aboard. Peasants in rowboats, armed with axes, chopped away the ice that had frozen the waters close to shore. The castle astrologer had predicted that the favorable weather would hold long enough for Sano and his party to reach home.
Detectives Marume and Fukida walked up the gangplank. “When we get back to Edo, I’m going to jump in a hot bath and stay there until spring,” Fukida said.
“I’ll join you,” Marume said. “We’ll add a few girls, a little music, and a lot of sake to liven things up.”
The Rat followed them, loaded down with a bundle of native goods he’d purchased in town. “I’m never coming back here again. The next time Chamberlain Sano needs a translator, let me know, so I can make myself scarce.”
On the dock a crowd had gathered to see the ship sail. Commoners from town mingled with Fukuyama Castle troops and servants. Apart from them Hirata stood with Chieftain Awetok, who’d accompanied him back to the city.
“Thanks to you and your master for solving the murder and making peace,” Awetok said.
Hirata remembered the many natives killed, the families in mourning, and the Ainu who’d lost both the women he’d loved. “I’m sorry for everyt
hing. I hope Urahenka will be all right.”
The chieftain frowned as they thought of the young man they’d left at the village. “He’s like a blade trying to cut a stone wall. Either he learns to control his anger toward your people, or it will destroy him. Time will tell what becomes of him, and all of us.”
The Ainu had escaped extinction, but Hirata feared that the day would come when they wouldn’t. He felt sad for them, for the richness of their culture that was threatened by his own kind. “I want to thank you for your lessons. They’ve opened a whole new world to me. If only I didn’t have to leave.” But he felt pulled toward Edo and knew his ultimate destiny waited for him there. “I wish I could stay and learn more.”
Amusement crinkled the chieftain’s stern face. “You can leave Ainu Mosir, but Ainu Mosir won’t leave you. She’s part of you now. She will teach you.”
Nearby, Lady Matsumae and her attendants bowed to Reiko. Lady Matsumae said, “We wish you a safe trip.”
Reiko could tell that Lady Matsumae wouldn’t cry if the ship sank and she drowned. “Thank you. It was kind of you to come and bid me farewell.”
They exchanged looks as frigid as the northern sea. Reiko thought Lady Matsumae had probably come to make sure she really left. Nothing that had happened had changed Lady Matsumae. Still bitter about her daughter’s death, she still blamed Tekare. Her bitterness was a poison that couldn’t hurt Tekare but would ruin her own life. Reiko supposed she had a lesson to learn from Lady Matsumae even as she disapproved of the woman’s attitude. She looked toward the ship that would bear her away from Ezogashima.
Masahiro scampered around the deck, chattering to Sano, who leaned on the railing and smiled at him. Stuck in Reiko’s heart like a barbed fishhook was her anger at Lord Matsudaira for kidnapping her son and sending him to a narrowly avoided death. As she boarded the ship, Reiko felt the same need for revenge that Lady Matsumae did, that Tekare had felt toward the Japanese. Where it would take her remained to be seen.
Sano Ichiro 12 The Snow Empress (2007) Page 28