“Shh!” Masahiro said.
The house was so small, any noise could wake someone. Containing her excitement, Taeko reached under Masahiro’s robe and grasped his erect penis. He stifled a moan. Taeko wished she could see him naked in the light, touch him all over his body, and admire him, but they had to make love in a hurry, under the cover of darkness. Masahiro touched her between her legs. More than ready, she flopped back on the quilts, and he climbed on her. When he entered her, they both gasped with pleasure.
The first two times, it had hurt, and she’d bled. The third time she’d experienced an incredible, wonderful feeling. Now, as Masahiro began to thrust, she held him tight while she soared toward rapture.
Masahiro started to withdraw.
“No!” she whispered, holding him tighter. “Stay!”
“I can’t hold off any longer.”
“It’s all right!”
He groaned, thrusting faster. His body tensed; he shuddered and panted. Taeko screamed as the ecstasy rocked her like waves from the sea.
A little girl’s voice called from down the corridor, “Mama!”
A woman’s drowsy voice answered. “What?”
“I heard somebody scream. And Taeko is gone.”
“Oh, no,” Masahiro groaned.
Quick footsteps approached. As Taeko and Masahiro disentangled themselves, the door to their hideaway opened. Light poured in from a lantern held by Taeko’s mother. Astonishment opened her eyes and mouth wide. Masahiro covered his penis with his hands. Taeko pulled her robe closed.
“Taeko! Masahiro! What are you doing?” The surprise on Midori’s plump face changed to dismay. She grabbed Taeko’s arm, yelled, “Get up!” and dragged her out of the room.
The children came running—Masahiro’s nine-year-old sister, Akiko; Taeko’s eleven-year-old brother, Tatsuo, and six-year-old sister, Chiyoko. Then came a small, lithe, beautiful woman wearing a teal silk night kimono, her hair in long black braids, her expression anxious. It was Reiko, Masahiro’s mother.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
* * *
MIDORI GLARED AT Taeko, who hung her head. Masahiro, standing in the doorway of the storeroom, hunched his shoulders, rubbed his shaved crown, and avoided Reiko’s eyes. Although a man of seventeen, a patrol guard in the Tokugawa army, he acted as if he were still a child and Reiko had caught him misbehaving.
“Oh.” Enlightenment dawned; Reiko’s heart sank.
“Your son was having sex with my daughter.” Midori grabbed Taeko by the shoulders and demanded, “How long has this been going on?”
“Since last fall,” Taeko said in a weak, frightened voice.
Midori shook Taeko, then flung her away. “I told you never to let a man touch you! You could get pregnant!”
Reiko said, “Akiko, Tatsuo, Chiyoko—go back to bed.”
“But, Mama, I want to hear,” Akiko said.
She was always curious, always challenging authority. Reiko had herself to thank for that. As a child she’d been the same way. But the business at hand wasn’t for children. “Go!” Reiko said. “Take Tatsuo and Chiyoko with you!”
Akiko’s expression turned sullen. “Yes, Mama.” She reluctantly accompanied the other children to their bedchamber.
Reiko sighed, aware of the hurt beneath Akiko’s sullenness. It seemed that she was always pushing Akiko away or abandoning her in some fashion. When Akiko wanted Reiko to play with her, Reiko was busy. When Reiko went somewhere, Akiko wanted to come, but Reiko told her to stay home. There were always good reasons, but Akiko was too young to understand. She obviously believed Reiko didn’t want her or love her, although it wasn’t true. Their relationship had grown more difficult as the years passed and the number of perceived slights mounted up. Reiko thought their troubles stemmed from a terrible experience she’d had while pregnant with Akiko. It probably hadn’t helped when Masahiro had been kidnapped and Reiko had gone off with Sano to rescue him while leaving Akiko, then an infant, behind. On some level Akiko hadn’t forgotten or forgiven her mother. Reiko needed to fix her relationship with Akiko, but this wasn’t the time. She and Midori turned their attention to Taeko and Masahiro.
Taeko whispered, “We’re in love.”
“Yes,” Masahiro spoke up, moving close to her. “We want to get married.” They smiled fondly at each other.
In hindsight Reiko understood why they’d gotten so serious. The house was small, Masahiro and Taeko were constantly together, and they didn’t have other friends. Shunned by their peers because their fathers were in disgrace, they’d turned to each other for companionship. And Masahiro was unhappy because he’d been a patrol guard for two years since he’d attained manhood at age fifteen, and it looked as if he would be forever. It was a bitter blow for an intelligent, ambitious young man whose peers were marrying, having families, and getting ahead. Stuck in a prolonged, unnatural childhood, he was bored and frustrated as well as virile.
Midori brandished her lantern at Masahiro, as if to strike him. “You know you’re not going to marry her! You seduced her by tricking her into thinking you are!”
Anxious to prevent a scuffle and a fire, Reiko grabbed the lantern from Midori and hung it on the wall. Taeko looked at Masahiro with fearful uncertainty. Masahiro said angrily, “Yes, I am!”
Reiko hated to disappoint them, but she said, “Masahiro, you can’t. We’ve talked about this.”
“Oh, yes, I’m supposed to marry into some rich, high-ranking clan that can help us financially and politically. But I’ve been betrothed four times. Every time, the other clan has backed out because Father keeps getting demoted.”
“I’m sorry.” Reiko hated that Sano’s problems with Lord Ienobu, Chamberlain Yanagisawa, and the shogun had affected Masahiro’s future.
“I’m not,” Masahiro declared. “Father and I will keep fighting Lord Ienobu. We’re not giving up.”
He was fiercely loyal to Sano, but Reiko took issue with their quest to prove Ienobu was a murderer. The cost to their family was so high. She, too, hated Lord Ienobu and the fact that he’d gotten away with two murders, but she’d begged Sano to take the deal he’d offered. She was a mother, and honor mattered less to her than her children’s welfare. But Sano had refused. Lord Ienobu had gotten fed up with Sano, rescinded the offer, and banned Sano from court. Reiko was angry at Sano for being such a stickler for Bushido. Sano was angry at her for asking him to sacrifice honor for peace. They fought about every little thing—when they spoke at all.
“No important clan will have me as a son-in-law,” Masahiro said, “but I don’t care. I’m glad.” He put his arm around Taeko. “I can marry anybody I want.”
“Anybody except her,” Midori retorted. “Because her father is a traitor.”
Taeko’s father, Hirata, had been Sano’s chief retainer for almost twenty years. He was a mystic martial artist, one of the best fighters in Japan. Six years ago he’d joined a secret society of fellow mystic martial artists and later confessed to Sano that they’d lured him into a plot against the Tokugawa regime. The exact nature of the plot was known only to them, but Sano had reported Hirata to the shogun. It was his duty, no matter that Sano was in disfavor himself or that his family and Hirata’s were close friends. That was Bushido. Now Hirata had been missing for more than four years, the army was searching for him and his comrades, and there was a warrant for their arrest and execution. Anyone who married into his family would be deemed parties to his treason and share his punishment. That was Tokugawa law. Reiko thought Sano was being too hard on Hirata at the expense of Midori, the children, and twenty years of friendship. Sano thought Reiko was too lenient toward a traitor because she, as a woman, didn’t understand duty. And now Masahiro was involved with Taeko! Reiko saw Hirata’s family bearing the brunt of her men’s actions. She grew even angrier at Sano on account of her friends.
Midori pulled Taeko away from Masahiro. “We’re leaving.”
“I don’t want to!”
�
�You can’t stay in the same house with him.”
Midori and her children had lived with Sano’s family since Hirata had disappeared. Back then, Sano had still had friends in the government, and he’d convinced them to make Hirata’s wife and children his wards. They’d initially been hostages kept under house arrest—bait to lure Hirata so that he could be captured. Because years had passed and Hirata hadn’t shown up, they were now free to move about as they pleased. Sano fed, sheltered, and protected them as best he could. All the more reason that Reiko thought Sano should have accepted Lord Ienobu’s deal—he might have worked out a pardon for Hirata.
“But where will you go?” Reiko asked in alarm.
Woe filled Midori’s expression as she remembered that her family had disowned her and Hirata’s family had disowned him. Anyone who aided them risked being named parties to treason and executed. “I don’t know. I’ll find someplace.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” Reiko said. “Wait, we’ll work things out somehow.”
“Wait for how long? Until Masahiro gets Taeko with child? Is that what you want?”
“Of course not.” The last thing they needed was an illegitimate pregnancy. Reiko felt a stab of sorrow at the idea of a baby. She’d had a stillbirth four years ago. A part of her had never stopped mourning, although she tried not to let it show. Any little thing—the sight of a baby or a pregnant woman—could evoke painful memories of the circumstances of the stillbirth, which had been almost as traumatic as the baby’s death. And there had never been time to recover. Reiko was too busy, in charge at home while Sano and Masahiro were working. With fewer servants than when they’d lived at Edo Castle, she did housework, took care of Akiko, and helped Midori with her children. Now, while trying to cope with the problem of Masahiro and Taeko, she felt the empty ache inside her and fought tears.
“How could you let your son seduce my daughter?” Midori burst out. “Why didn’t you control him?”
“How could I?” Reiko spread her hands. “He’s a grown man.”
When samurai boys turned fifteen, they acquired all the duties and freedom of adults. Masahiro, like other honorable young men, respected his parents’ wishes, but if Reiko had told him to leave Taeko alone, he probably wouldn’t have listened. He could be just as stubborn as Sano—or herself.
“He lives under your roof,” Midori said. “You and your husband are responsible for what goes on here. How could you let this happen? Haven’t you hurt us enough already?” She was furious at Sano for reporting Hirata, Reiko knew. Midori had begged Sano to give Hirata another chance, even though Sano had already given Hirata many chances. “I hate you all!” Midori cried.
Reiko also knew that although Midori blamed Sano’s family for the fact that hers was homeless and disgraced, Midori blamed and hated Hirata—the husband who’d abandoned her and her children—most of all. “I’m sorry,” was all Reiko could say.
Midori’s anger dissolved into misery. “You’ve taken care of us when nobody else would and look how I’m acting! I don’t deserve your kindness. I just don’t know what to do!”
Taeko and Masahiro looked shaken; they realized how much worse they’d made a bad situation. Reiko took Midori in her arms and patted her back. She felt just as helpless; she didn’t know what to do, either. Along with the baby she’d lost her confidence, resourcefulness, and bold, adventurous spirit. She felt overwhelmed and afraid all the time, and now she was in charge during this new crisis.
“I’ll make sure that Masahiro and Taeko are never alone together again. All right?” Reiko aimed a stern glance at the couple.
Midori nodded, weeping against Reiko’s shoulder. Reiko understood that this was just a temporary solution to one problem. The bigger problem was Hirata. Only heaven knew what had become of him or what would happen when he was caught.
Every problem that both families had stemmed directly from Sano’s stubborn commitment to honor.
6
Month 4, Hoei Year 2
(April 1705)
A TRILL OF birdsong pierced the black silence in which he floated. Falling water splashed in the distance, a cool breeze swept his skin, and wind chimes tinkled.
Hirata opened his eyes to soft, pale light. He was lying on a futon, alone in a small room. Through the open doors he saw a veranda with red railings and wooded hills veiled with fog. Twisted pines clung to rocky cliffs above a waterfall that cascaded like a spill of liquid silver. The breeze tinkled brass wind chimes hanging from the eaves. A red bird perched on the railing and trilled. The view had a serene, unearthly beauty.
Hirata had never seen it before, nor this room.
Confused, he kicked off the white quilt tangled around his legs. He was naked. Although his mind was fully alert, he couldn’t recall what he’d been doing before he fell asleep. He jumped out of bed. A white cotton kimono lay folded on the tatami.
Who had left it there? Whose house was this?
Hirata put on the kimono, then ran outside. The red bird flew away. The veranda jutted over empty space. On hills that sloped down to a valley were dark pines and trees with pink and white blossoms. Hirata searched for familiar landmarks and found none. He leaned over the railing and peered upward. The house was part of a temple built on a cliff. The tiers and spire of a pagoda rose above the curved roofs of other buildings.
What temple? How had he come to be here?
Into his mind seeped a dim memory of flashing blades, a sword battle with … Tahara and Kitano.
The rusty floodgate between past and present creaked open. He’d tried to kill Tahara and Kitano, to shut down the secret society and end its treasonous scheme. Details of the battle were hazy, but he knew he’d lost.
“Then why am I still alive?” Hirata said aloud.
Birdsong echoed across the valley. Hirata remembered lying strapped to a table in a cave while Tahara and Kitano chanted a spell, pressed a leather mask over his face, and fed fluid through a metal tube into a vein in his arm—some bizarre, unheard-of medical procedure. The smell of sweet chemicals was the last thing Hirata remembered.
What had they done?
Hirata flung open his robe and examined his body. It looked normal, with the long, puckered, familiar old scar on his left thigh. He pushed up his sleeves. On his left forearm was a small, round discoloration where the tube had pierced. He felt fine, but his eyes couldn’t tell him if he still had his martial arts skills, his supernatural powers.
Merciful gods, had they taken those away?
Hirata drew deep, slow breaths. Meditation aligned and amplified the mental, spiritual, and physical energies in him. Power flowed through nerves and muscles. He pointed his finger at the wind chimes. Each slender brass cylinder began to spin, one after another, on its string. Hirata exhaled with relief. Then he felt the pulse of an aura, the energy that all living things emitted. His trained senses identified its source as human. Each human had a unique aura that signaled his personality, health, and emotions. This one was a strong, booming, familiar cadence that struck fear into his heart. Reaching instinctively for his sword, forgetting that he was unarmed, Hirata whirled.
Two samurai, dressed in white martial arts practice jackets and trousers, strolled out onto the veranda. Their conjoined aura dissipated. They, unlike other creatures, could turn it on and off. They weren’t armed, either. They didn’t need weapons to kill.
“Somebody’s up and around,” said Tahara, in his voice that was both smooth and rough, like water flowing over jagged rocks. His deep black eyes twinkled. His left eyebrow arched higher than his right, lending his strong, regular features a rakish charm.
“It’s about time.” Kitano’s mouth moved, but the rest of his face was an immobile mesh of scars. Cuts sustained during a long-ago battle had severed his facial nerves. He was in his fifties, with gray hair and a robust physique that seemed impervious to aging.
“Where am I?” Hirata demanded.
“At the Sky Mountain Temple in Chikuzen Province,” Tahar
a said.
He and Kitano studied Hirata with an intense, eager interest. Hirata realized that someone was missing. “Where’s Deguchi?”
Deguchi was a Buddhist priest, the fourth member of the society. “Don’t you remember?” Kitano sounded concerned.
Now Hirata did. Deguchi had fought on his side in the battle against Kitano and Tahara. Memory served up an image of Deguchi’s dead, broken body. Hirata’s heart sank.
Tahara smiled as if relieved that Hirata’s wits were intact. Kitano’s eyes crinkled in his paralyzed face. Hirata also remembered that they’d all been injured during the battle, but the other men seemed as fit as himself. “How long was I unconscious?”
“Oh, about a year,” Tahara said.
“A year?” Hirata was horrified. “What’s happened to my wife and children? And Sano?”
“Damned if we know,” Kitano said. “We haven’t been back to Edo in all that time.”
“We’ve been on the run,” Tahara said with a spark of anger. “After you told Sano about our society, he reported us to the shogun. There’ve been troops hunting us. We’ve had to keep a low profile, which means no contact with anyone in Edo. And it’s no easy task, lugging an unconscious man all over Japan. You should thank us for keeping you safe.”
“‘Safe’? You ruined my life!” Because of them he’d lost his family, his relationship with his master, and his honor. “What did you do to me while I was unconscious?”
“We healed you,” Kitano said. “We gave you plenty of good food and exercise. We kept you in good shape.”
They’d used their mystical powers to manipulate his body. Hirata pictured himself eating, practicing martial arts, and going through the motions of daily living like a sleepwalker. He shuddered. “What else?”
They watched him; they seemed to be waiting for something. Then Tahara spoke in a tentative voice. “General Otani? Are you there?”
General Otani was a samurai who’d fought in the Battle of Sekigahara more than a century ago. His side had lost to Tokugawa Ieyasu, who’d unified the warring factions of Japan, founded the Tokugawa regime, and become its first shogun. General Otani had died on the battlefield. Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi had stolen an ancient book of magic and learned a spell to summon his ghost. The ghost had granted them, and Hirata, supernatural powers in exchange for services. General Otani had one goal—destroying the Tokugawa regime and avenging his defeat at Sekigahara. He couldn’t do it alone; he was disembodied energy. He needed human help, and he could only be seen by and interact with the secret society members while they were in a mystical trance.
The Iris Fan Page 4