by Nick Lake
When the game finally came to an end – with five dogs dead or dying in the dust – the crowd began to disperse. Even so there was a cordon of attendants around the shogun, stepping forward to take his bow, or his quiver, to lead away his horse, to congratulate him on his marksmanship. Taro began to despair of ever reaching the shogun, but Hana seemed to know instinctively who to talk to, and she led the way to a tall, harassed-looking man in grey clothes.
‘My friend here has come with a message from the abbot of Tendai monastery,’ she said.
The man glanced at the shogun, who was pointing to one of the dead dogs, acting out with boyish enthusiasm the arrow shot that had brought it down. ‘Come to the throne room at dusk,’ he said. ‘We won’t get him inside until the sun has come down.’
CHAPTER 13
IT WAS THE dog that warned him.
Most dogs had been taken already, by the collectors who worked for the shogun in Edo. It was said that he played a game with them, shooting them with arrows, but this was commonly held to be a tall tale, something not to be credited. Enki thought that the shogun – who was a boy like him – probably loved dogs as much as he did.
If I were shogun, I would make every dog in the land my pet, he thought.
This particular dog – a lowly mongrel, its parentage unfathomable – had never been taken, though the officials had seen him on their travels. The reason was that he had only three legs. Enki understood that, too. If he were shogun, he wouldn’t want a crippled dog.
But he was glad that the dog had been left behind, because he – like the shogun – loved dogs. He loved to pet them, feel the rumble of their breathing through their chests. He loved to bury his face in their fur, feel the comfort of their warmth and softness. He loved to throw sticks for them to fetch – even a dog with three legs would try to catch them in the air, and more likely than not he would fail, but he would always bring the stick back eventually. Enki admired that kind of determination.
Anyway, on that day the dog – Enki just thought of it as the Three-Legged Dog; it would never have occurred to him to name it – was limping up the hillside for its stick when it stopped suddenly, sniffing the air. It began to tremble, then urinated – but not with its leg cocked, to mark its territory, more as if it had no choice.
Enki was suddenly afraid. Many of the other families had already left the little village, terrified of the smoke that was on the horizon, farther uphill. But Enki’s parents, and others, had scoffed at this.
‘Fire doesn’t run,’ they’d said. ‘We’ll have plenty of time to move, if we need to.’ Not that they could afford to, of course: all their wealth was in the rice that grew around the village, on flooded terraces. This was what they used to pay their taxes. Enki had been young when his parents explained that the wealth of lords was measured in koku because one koku was the measure of rice a samurai required to live for a year, and the lords were allowed to claim this rice from their peasants.
Their parcel of land was one koku – a small amount to live on, when a third of it had to go to the daimyo, who in these parts was none other than the shogun himself.
Enki approached the dog, which was whining, turning round and round. He bent to pet it, feeling the trembling of its muscles through its fur. The dog snapped at his hand with its teeth. With a cry, Enki pulled his hand back; quick, but not quick enough – blood ran from his fingers. He backed away from the dog.
His first thought was of the dead. There was a rumour, from the next village, that a couple of the people who had died in the last month had come back, the flesh rotting from their bones. These revenants staggered to their homes in straight lines, for the dead cannot turn corners. The people in the next village, so they said, had been forced to rearrange the stone paths between their homes, to make them twist and turn, and so keep the dead out, though Enki didn’t understand why the dead couldn’t simply take a straight way over grass, or rice fields.
So Enki’s first thought was that he would look up and see a man with the skin and muscle falling off, lumbering towards him.
He looked up.
That was when he saw liquid fire, bright red, rolling like a wave down the hillside. Above it, like dark clouds, coiled the body of the dragon, its head wreathed in steam.
When the fire touched rice plants, trees, birds and huts, they burst into flames, only to be consumed by the redness. Enki was amazed – he had never seen something like a tree burning, would not have expected even that they could. His mouth dropped open as he saw the speed with which the fire ate the world. It flowed redly towards him, and when it touched the dog the rear half of the animal simply disappeared, smoking, and Enki learned that dogs can scream, before the rest of it vanished into ashes.
It was true, Enki saw. Fire didn’t run. But it did flow, and it flowed very, very fast.
He turned, screaming a warning.
The words were not even out of his mouth, his other foot not even on the ground, when the fire caught him.
He wasn’t able to witness it, but had he seen himself die he would have learned that a person, just like a tree, can burst into flames.
CHAPTER 14
‘DO YOU SEE them?’ whispered Hana.
Taro nodded. He and his friends were standing at the rear of the throne room, and Hana was talking about the objects that hung on the wall at the far end, behind the shogun’s chair.
A mirror, a chain of jewels and a sword.
Each of the items looked simple enough, but Taro was still awestruck to see them, something he had never thought he would do in all his lifetime. These were objects from legend, not things you could just see, hanging on a wall. These were the Three Treasures, the possession of which gave the right to rule over Japan.
The mirror and the jewels were the very ones that had been used to lure Amaterasu from her cave, in the story that Taro had been reading back at the monastery. And the sword? That was Kusanagi, the legendary sword taken by Susanoo from the tail of a dragon. Later he had given it to his sister Amaterasu, the Goddess of the Sun, a gift of apology for ruining her crops and killing her attendant.
Each of these objects was priceless, and the three of them combined were a treasure of unimaginable value. They had been given by Amaterasu to her son, who was half god and half human, and who had become the first emperor. And from that day, they had remained with the imperial family of Japan, until the last of the god-emperors was drowned in the famous battle between the Heike – the protectors of the emperor, who was only a boy at the time – and the ambitious Genji, when the Genji stole the throne.
It was a story Taro knew well, since he had grown up in the place where the final battle between Genji and Heike had taken place, where the Heike had perished, their ships burned and sunk – his fishing village of Shirahama. On the beaches of his home, it was said that the giant crabs that appeared in summer, bearing crosses on their backs, were the spirits of the Heike returned for obon, since the mon of the Heike was a cross.
In Shirahama there were many who still mourned the Heike and prayed for the true emperor to return.
But when they slaughtered the Heike, the Genji had taken the Three Treasures, and so they had claimed rightful rule over the country. And so, for the generations and generations afterwards, as the Genji gave way to other families, and the whole imperial power base gradually slipped, the Three Treasures had hung on that wall, behind the ruler. And when Hideyoshi, the father of the boy who sat on the throne, had defeated all the other daimyo and named himself imperial regent, protector of the land, the first thing he had done was to parade down the streets of Edo, showing the Three Treasures to the populace, to tell them he was anointed by the gods. Taro hadn’t even been born when it had happened, but he’d heard about it all his life, even after Hideyoshi died young, leaving his son to rule.
Right now, looking at the Three Treasures, Taro had an odd feeling of fate, and connection. All three objects had been seized by the Genji off the shore of Shirahama, his own village, five hun
dred years before. He remembered seeing the crabs, the ghosts of the Heike, when he had returned to Shirahama the previous year, remembered how he had seen his mother’s ghost at the same time. He wondered now if the wreck he had dived to, trying to find the Buddha ball, could be one of the Heike’s ships – he thought it was likely. It would certainly explain why the people of his village had a superstition against diving or swimming there.
The bad karma from such a slaughter, even one that took place so long ago, would pulse down the centuries like blood through veins.
He remembered how Heiko had talked of the famous Hoichi, who had been haunted by the ghosts of the Heike, made to sing the ballad of their destruction over and over again, until a monk painted the Heart Sutra all over his body – emptiness is form, and form is emptiness – to hide him from the sight of the dead and from evil spirits. Which was exactly what Shusaku had done, with his tattoos, to make himself invisible to other ninjas.
The treasures, Shirahama, the Heike, the Heart Sutra.
Connections – but what did they mean? It seemed to Taro that he would understand something, if he only stretched his mind.
The room began to spin, as a feeling overtook him that he had come to this room not to see the shogun but to see the Three Treasures, which seemed to throb on the wall.
‘Whoa,’ said Hiro, as he caught Taro under the arms, propping him up.
‘Do you need blood?’ asked Hana, concerned. Taro didn’t know what she planned to do if he said yes. Offer him her neck, maybe.
He thrust away the thought, concentrating on the shogun instead of the treasures. ‘I’m all right,’ he said. ‘Honestly.’ He wondered how much longer they would have to wait. Two men were standing in front of the shogun, arguing. Taro assumed they had brought some kind of dispute before him. The boy looked bored, more than anything – though the man who they had talked to outside, the chamberlain, Hana said, would occasionally lean in from behind the boy and whisper something in his ear.
Taro sighed, leaning against Hiro even though he didn’t really need to.
But just then something happened that snapped Taro abruptly back to full alertness.
His father walked into the room.
The real one.
His real, true father. Taro suddenly found it a little difficult to breathe.
Lord Tokugawa, the most powerful daimyo in Japan, had entered the hall through a partially hidden doorway behind the shogun. Now he came to stand next to the chamberlain. Taro would have known the Tokugawa mon anywhere – it had been carved into his own bow, the one he had grown up with – but it was the face that told him for sure, the face that was more like Taro’s than that of the gentle fisherman who had brought him up. Taro had only seen that face once before, on a ship off the coast of Shirahama, and then he hadn’t known it was Lord Tokugawa, so it was as if he was seeing his father for the first time.
The shogun turned in his chair, acknowledging the man who must be Lord Tokugawa with a curt nod. Lord Tokugawa bowed, an icy smile on his lips.
The daimyo protect the shogun, thought Taro. But Shusaku says Lord Tokugawa wants to be shogun himself. He wondered what was going through his father’s mind; what it cost him to smile at the boy shogun like that, all the time nursing his ambitions. With Lord Oda dead, there was little to stand in his way, if he wanted the shogunate to himself. Taro half wondered why he didn’t just seize it, killing the boy and claiming the throne.
My gods, he thought. I’m starting to think like him.
Again, Taro wished he had Shusaku with him, to advise him. Part of him was worried that Lord Tokugawa would know him as soon as he was called forward. That he would recognize his features, mirrored in Taro’s face, and know he was his son.
He can’t possibly, he told himself. He thinks you’re dead.
He turned to Hiro. ‘Do you think he’ll know who I am?’ he whispered.
‘Why would he?’ said Hiro. ‘He’s never seen you before. Not since you were born.’
Taro nodded. Still, his hands trembled when he was finally called forward. He was uncomfortably aware of the Buddha ball, which he had hidden in a fold of his cloak. He was sure the shogun would want it as much as Lord Oda had, if he knew the power it contained – and that made his hands shake all the more. But the shogun took his trembling for nervousness in the face of power, Taro could tell from the faintly patronizing cast of the boy’s eyebrows.
‘So,’ said the boy. He had pretty, feminine features. ‘You have a message for me?’ His high voice was still that of a child.
‘Yes, my lord,’ Taro said. He looked at the shogun’s entourage, to check what he was supposed to do. Then he approached slowly. He took out the scroll from his cloak, and a young boy almost ran forward to take it from him. The boy returned to the shogun and handed over the message.
The shogun casually broke the seal, unrolled the scroll, and read it. He frowned, sighed, then handed the scroll to Lord Tokugawa.
‘The abbot will not refuse me again,’ he said darkly. Then he turned to Taro. ‘But enough of that. The abbot also says that you are considering my challenge. To kill the dragon and claim the reward I am offering. Do you intend to take it up?’
Hana glared at Taro. He ignored her and bowed. ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘And these are your companions?’
‘Yes.’
The boy peered at Hana. Taro felt a fist clench in his stomach, as Hana stiffened. She’d cut her hair short and was wearing simple clothes. Surely the shogun wouldn’t recognize Lord Oda’s daughter?
‘You look... familiar,’ the shogun said to her. ‘But also different. I wonder...’
Taro pressed his nails into his palms.
Behind the shogun, Lord Tokugawa leaned forward, staring intently at Hana – too intently.
Time seemed to bend, and stretch.
Hiro, at least, was thinking. ‘My sister works... on a certain island,’ he said. ‘She is a very accomplished girl. When she asked for permission to visit the shogun today, with her brother and her friend, who is going to kill the dragon, why, of course they were happy to grant her request.’
The shogun straightened his back, coughing. ‘Ah,’ he said, and Taro saw that Hiro’s gamble had paid off. The shogun was only twelve, at most, but that was old enough to visit pleasure houses, it seemed, if you were the leader of the country.
Lord Tokugawa leaned back into a standing position, disinterested again, or seeming so.
The shogun steepled his fingers. ‘You say you wish to claim my reward,’ he said.
Taro nodded.
‘So what are you doing here? Come back when you have killed the dragon.’ He turned, dismissing them.
Taro stood up. The shogun was not looking at him but his anger had been building up in him since the first dog was pinned to the ground, and he couldn’t stop it coming out now any more than he could stop himself from breathing. ‘In that case,’ he said loudly, ‘I will see you again soon.’
They were following one of the many corridors, disheartened, when there was the sound of a throat being cleared behind them. Taro turned, and couldn’t stifle a gasp when he saw Lord Tokugawa standing there, hands clasped in front of him.
‘I— My apologies, my lord,’ said Taro, bowing low, as one should to a superior. Beside him, Hana and Hiro did the same. ‘I was not expecting—’
Again, his heart was beating a rapid tattoo in his chest. This was his father. He was addressing words to his father. Surely the man would hear himself in his voice, see his eyes in Taro’s face.
‘It is I who should apologize,’ said Lord Tokugawa. ‘I startled you. It was not my intention.’
‘My lord is most gracious,’ said Hana, her head still low.
Panic raced through Taro’s mind like a trapped rat. Had Lord Tokugawa recognized Hana, even if the shogun hadn’t, and come to confront them, to take her into custody? Taro wasn’t sure what the daimyo would want to do with the daughter of his fallen enemy. Kill her, probably, so
that she could never have any claim to her father’s land and troops.
He glanced out of the open window beside them, saw the infinite rooftops of Edo, stretching to the horizon. Wood and tile and mud, crazily packed together, sliced in every direction by gleaming rivers like blades. A crane flew overhead, calling. A stork settled on a nest. He wished he were a bird like them and could fly away.
Lord Tokugawa didn’t lay a hand on Hana, though, or seem interested in her in any way. It was Taro he was looking at. ‘You’re going to try to kill the dragon,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Taro.
‘You will fail.’
Taro’s mouth flapped uselessly. Hiro answered for him. ‘He looks like a boy, but he’s stronger than you think,’ he said.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lord Tokugawa replied. ‘It’s a question of the weapon.’
‘Weapon?’
Lord Tokugawa smiled – Taro thought it looked like the smile of a wolf. For a moment he had considered asking the daimyo if he knew where Shusaku might be, since Lord Tokugawa had employed the ninja in the past. But seeing that smile, he thought it might be a very poor idea. ‘The only weapon that has ever killed a dragon is Kusanagi,’ said Lord Tokugawa. ‘True or false?’
‘True,’ said Hana softly.
‘Indeed so,’ said Lord Tokugawa. My father, my father, my father, thought Taro. He was standing right next to his true father, and yet he could be miles away, for all the good that it did him. Part of him wanted to embrace the man, but it would be madness. He’d be run through in seconds, or worse. He could see the katana at the lord’s waist. ‘Does it not strike you as strange, therefore,’ continued Lord Tokugawa, ‘that the shogun does not simply take down Kusanagi from the wall and present it to his strongest samurai, so that they may kill the dragon?’
Taro thought about this. Actually, it did seem a little strange. But he wasn’t concentrating – he was looking at Lord Tokugawa’s face, wondering if this was what he would look like when he was older.