The governor waved a hand good-naturedly. “Indeed, Tadesuke, you have won the wager,” he said. “I should have known that anyone you chose as a son would let no obstacle stand in his way.”
While they were talking, Seikei had been eating sushi, trying not to finish the entire plate of them too quickly. But he was so surprised at what he heard that he said, “You mean you didn’t think I would arrive here? Why not?”
“Well,” said the governor, “the fact that your father sent you with a ninja as your guide ...” Instead of finishing the sentence, he rolled his eyes.
“I warned Tatsuno to watch out for Seikei, and I think he knew I was serious,” said the judge.
The governor shook his head. “You can’t trust any of them,” he said. “They’ll steal the pillow from under your head if they catch you sleeping.”
“He saved my life,” said Seikei.
The governor was so surprised, he nearly spilled his wine. “You must be mistaken. Is he waiting outside for a reward?”
“No, he disappeared,” said Seikei.
“A trick of theirs,” the governor murmured.
“That reminds me,” said Seikei, turning to the judge. “Throughout our journey, Tatsuno showed that he could escape from almost any danger. How was it that you were able to catch him back in Edo?”
The judge smiled. “I have a few tricks of my own,” he said. “When you chased him through the alley, I knew he wouldn’t be expecting to meet me at the other end.”
“That’s the only way to catch a ninja,” the governor explained. “Take him by surprise.”
“And are you ready to do that now?” the judge asked Seikei.
“Do what?” Seikei responded.
“Catch another ninja.”
Seikei must have shown his befuddlement, because the governor added, “That’s why your father and I have had such a nice reunion these past few days. He came here as soon as he realized that the ninja who killed Lord Inaba must be at the O-Miwa Shrine.”
“Then you did know that all along,” Seikei said to the judge.
“Yes,” the judge replied. “You probably noticed that Tatsuno understood that too.”
“But then ... why did you send me to the papermaker in Shinano? And to Lord Inaba’s domain?”
“Well, as to the papermaker ... it never hurts to check for proof of my conclusions. I can be wrong, you know.”
“I doubt it,” said Seikei.
“The papermaker did confirm my suspicion, then?” asked the judge.
“Yes, he said the paper was made for the O-Miwa Shrine. He also told me not to go there.”
“Sound advice,” remarked the governor.
“I had other reasons for sending you on that journey,” said the judge. “I wanted you to learn more about ninjas. Did you observe Tatsuno closely?”
“Yes,” said Seikei.
“What did you conclude?”
“That he is a great deal more skillful than he appears to be,” said Seikei.
“A good lesson,” said the judge. “You said he saved your life. I hope you told him you were grateful.”
“Well ... I did express my thanks.”
“Did he tell you about the fox?”
“He said only that the killer was a ninja named the fox. But I ...” Seikei hesitated.
“Yes?”
“I began to think that Tatsuno himself was the killer.”
The judge considered this. “No,” he said, “I believe the killer had already gone to O-Miwa Shrine by the time we met Tatsuno.”
Seikei was taken aback. He seldom questioned the judge’s reasoning, but this conclusion puzzled him.
“Well,” Seikei asked the judge, “if you already knew where the murderer was, why did you want us to find out who Lord Inaba’s enemies were?”
“Didn’t I explain that?” asked the judge. “I thought it must be obvious.”
“Even I can see that,” said the governor.
“You see,” the judge told Seikei, “the true murderer is the person who paid the ninja to kill Lord Inaba. That is the person we want to find.”
“But the ninja—”
“Is only a servant,” finished the judge. “It would be as if we had found the blade that cut Lord Inaba’s throat and said that was the murderer.”
Seikei sat down on a mat, trying to take all this in.
“And so,” said the judge, “I sent you to discover who might have hated Lord Inaba enough to want to hire a ninja to kill him. Did you find anyone like that? Someone who might have reason to want Lord Inaba dead?”
Seikei looked the judge in the eye. “Yes. Many people,” he said. “I should start with myself.”
“More wine,” the governor called to a servant.
19
AT THE SHRINE
By the time Seikei finished telling the story, it was late afternoon. He had left nothing out, admitting his own stupidity in telling Lord Inaba that no one knew where he was. The governor and Judge Ooka had listened raptly, commenting only a few times.
The governor shook his head in disapproval when Seikei described how he met with the farmers to hear their complaints. “It is their duty,” said the governor, “to obey their lord, even if his actions seem harsh. He may have a motive we do not know about.”
Before Seikei could reply, the judge spoke up: “But the lord has a duty to protect and preserve his people. What are they to do if he fails in his duty? In the past, some angry farmers have formed small armies and fought the samurai. Appealing to Lord Inaba with a petition seems quite reasonable to me.”
“One thing leads to another,” said the governor grumpily.
However, when Seikei told of being imprisoned by Lord Inaba, the governor growled. But his anger turned to laughter and applause when Seikei related how he had escaped. The judge was less demonstrative, but Seikei saw from his face that Lord Inaba would someday pay for his treatment of Seikei.
But Seikei wanted more than that. When he had finished the story, he said, “I suppose Dr. Genko and the rest must be dead.” He looked at the judge and governor, hoping they would disagree. But the governor nodded slowly. “It seems likely,” he said. “Of course some may have escaped if the samurai were not diligent in their duty.”
“Lord Inaba must be punished for that,” said Seikei.
The governor coughed and looked away. The judge spoke softly: “I’m afraid no one can punish him for that. He has the right to rule his domain however he wishes.”
“But that’s ... that’s unfair,” said Seikei.
“It is the shogun’s command,” the judge replied.
Seikei sat in miserable silence, regretting everything he had done.
Finally the governor said, “You probably accomplished what you set out to do. Take pride in that.”
“What do you mean?” asked Seikei.
“Well, these farmers—or some group like them—no doubt hired the ninja who killed old Lord Inaba, wouldn’t you say? So if they were punished for one thing instead of another, what’s the difference?”
“No,” Seikei said firmly. “They couldn’t have hired the ninja. They were too poor. And so were all the other people in Lord Inaba’s domain.”
“How about that doctor you mentioned?” asked the governor. “He could have put away some money over the years.”
Seikei shook his head. He wanted to think of some way to excuse himself so he wouldn’t have to listen to the governor any longer.
The judge spoke up. “You told us that you were an enemy of Lord Inaba.”
Seikei looked at him. “Yes,” he said. “Do you think that was wrong of me?”
“No,” replied the judge, “but I suspect you have let your anger confuse you.”
Seikei blinked. The judge’s advice was always correct, so Seikei must have missed something. It was true, he was angry at Lord Inaba. He wanted revenge, and it was also true that such a desire could affect one’s judgment. He must calm himself and think.
&nb
sp; “You have done well,” the judge told him. “Take a bath and sleep soundly tonight. Remember that by completing your journey you have helped me win a wager with the governor.”
“Oh, you’re not going ahead with that, are you?” said the governor.
“Of course I am,” replied the judge. “It is very clear now that the path will lead us to the O-Miwa Shrine. And you promised me your permission to visit the mountain if Seikei arrived here safely.”
“Those priests,” the governor protested. “You know they don’t want anyone on that mountain of theirs. They will complain to me; they will send letters to the shogun.”
“Someone else is already on the mountain,” said the judge. “We must find him. Surely the priests will not protect a killer.”
“They will if he’s a ninja,” said the governor.
The next morning, Seikei felt considerably better. He’d slept a long time and when he awoke had a breakfast nearly as good as the ones at Judge Ooka’s house. Someone had taken his old kimono and replaced it with a handsome fresh one that had the governor’s crest on it. Next to the new kimono were the contents of Seikei’s old one—a few coins, Dr. Genko’s eye frames, the black-and-green stone Tatsuno had given him, and the writing kit.
Seikei felt a pang of sorrow at seeing the eye frames, and once more vowed silently to avenge those who had trusted him. Picking up the stone, he cradled it in his hand, wondering why Tatsuno had given it to him. It felt warm—strange for a stone—as if it held something alive. Of course it was said that every object in nature had a kami within, but this kami must be very active. Seikei slipped it inside his new kimono.
Finally he looked at the writing kit. Seikei saw that only one of the thin, finely made sheets of rice paper remained, and he resolved to use it to write a poem worthy of the gift. That, however, would have to wait.
The governor appeared as Seikei was finishing breakfast and presented him with a marvelous gift: a pair of swords. Real ones. Nothing had been said the previous day about Seikei’s losing his wooden sword at Lord Inaba’s castle. It was a disgrace, but because he’d defended himself until being knocked unconscious, it was excusable.
Seikei bowed low, thanking the governor. “You are worthy of them,” the governor said. “I hope you keep them ... a long time.”
“I will always keep them,” said Seikei.
The governor looked a little distracted as he bade the judge and Seikei farewell. “Better if I don’t go with you,” he said. “You understand, Tadesuke.”
“We will return soon,” promised the judge.
The governor had also provided Seikei with a fine horse to ride, and the judge still had the trusty steed that was used to carrying his weight. “The governor was very generous to give me these swords,” said Seikei.
“They once belonged to me,” said the judge.
“Really?” said Seikei. “Then I am doubly honored.”
“Long ago, he won them from me in a wager,” said the judge.
“And now you have won them back?”
“No, he was just being sentimental. He thinks you’ll be killed.”
Seikei was too shocked to respond at first. Then he cleared his throat and asked carefully, “Why does he think that?”
“Because you completed the task I set for you. That won for me the prize in our latest wager: his permission to go onto Miwayama, the mountain at the 0-Miwa Shrine.”
“Yes,” said Seikei. “To catch the ninja who murdered Lord Inaba.”
“Oh, no, we could never catch him there. He is far too powerful there.”
“But you caught Tatsuno before.”
“This ninja and Tatsuno are not one and the same,” the judge cautioned. “And even if they were, the ninja will draw power from the mountain.”
“How?”
“Tatsuno didn’t tell you? This is a sacred mountain. The shrine, unlike other shrines, has no dwelling place for its guardian kami. The mountain itself is its dwelling.”
“Yes, he did tell me,” said Seikei. “I remember now.” Tatsuno had also told him things about the ninjas drawing close to nature. Seikei wished he had listened a little more carefully.
“You’ll see when we reach the shrine,” said the judge.
The journey took them most of the day, even on horseback. When they finally reached it, they saw that the priests at the shrine were preparing for the New Year’s festival. Banners were fluttering from poles to welcome the toshikami, the divine spirits of the incoming year. A simenawa, or sacred rope, hung across the top of the torii gate that marked the entrance to the shrine. From it dangled strings of folded-paper figures. Seikei recognized them: butterflies.
People from nearby villages had already arrived to bring gifts of food and drink for the kami of the shrine. Each person who could afford it wore a new kimono. After leaving their offerings at the sanctuary, the people would stay to watch the dancing, plays, and festive ceremonies that were part of the New Year festival.
The shrine itself seemed small to Seikei. Surrounding the main building were several lesser structures where priests and travelers ate and slept. But the main building itself looked oddly shortened, for although it had the usual place for people to pray and to leave their offerings, it ended where the most sacred part should have been. At that point, at the base of the mountain, there was only another simenawa rope stretched between two wooden poles.
Beyond was woodland—groves of pines that grew denser as they gradually rose to the clouds. A gray-green mist wafted down from the summit, which was impossible to see from the shrine itself. The cone-shaped mountain was not a high one, but Seikei felt chilled at the sight of it. There was a forbidding spirit about it, something that said people should not go there.
A young priest came to meet Seikei and the judge after they had left their horses at the shrine’s stable. He wore a high black mushroom-shaped cap and was dressed in a long brown kimono with sleeves that were so full, they reached nearly to his knees. “The governor sent a messenger yesterday to tell us you were coming,” he said. “I am sorry we cannot welcome you as Your Honor deserves, for the festival is taking up so much of our time.”
“We understand,” said the judge. “Really, all we need is a place to spend the night before we go onto the mountain tomorrow.”
The priest shook his head. “No one is permitted to climb the mountain beyond the edge of the shrine,” he said.
“Yet some do go there,” the judge replied. “I believe someone is on the mountain at this moment.”
“If that is true,” said the young priest carefully, “he has received the permission of the kannushi, the head of the shrine.”
“Then we must obtain his permission too,” said the judge.
20
THE KANNUSHIS PEAKS
They waited two days before they were admitted into the kannushi’s presence. Seikei was astonished that anyone would dare insult an official of the shogun so flagrantly. If the judge wished, he could call on the governor to send samurai warriors to enforce his orders.
Nor did Seikei understand the judge’s reaction. He acted as if he’d come to the shrine to take part in the weeklong New Year’s festivities. He and Seikei spent their time with the people of the village watching the plays and dances that were part of the celebration. Along with everyone else, the judge partook of the sticky-rice patties called moshi-moshi. He even took a turn swinging the wooden mallet used to pound the rice before it was formed into patties.
Seikei admitted that the taste of the moshi-moshi reminded him of the ones he had enjoyed as a child. During the New Year, even his father the merchant had relaxed. Once, Seikei recalled, Father had actually danced in public at their local shrine.
But those days were in his childhood. Now he had to think of serious matters. After the long journey that had led Seikei to this place, he was eager to finish the task. He would not be able to return to Edo with the judge until the person who hired Lord Inaba’s murderer had been discovered. And with
the murderer himself on the mountain overlooking the shrine, Seikei found the delay in chasing him almost impossible to bear.
“What if he escapes?” Seikei asked the judge on the morning of their second day of waiting.
“Who? Oh, the ninja?” replied the judge. “He won’t leave the mountain while we’re here. I told you—that’s the source of his power.”
“Do you think he is too powerful for us to defeat him?”
“I think that is what the kannushi must be trying to decide,” said the judge.
“And what will you do if he decides not to let us go onto the mountain?” asked Seikei.
“Let us see what he says first,” the judge replied.
The next morning, the young priest told them, “You are to be honored. The kannushi will admit you to his presence after morning prayers.”
“Thank you,” said the judge. After the priest left, the judge said to Seikei, “Clearly the kannushi has made up his mind.”
“What do you think his decision will be?” asked Seikei.
“I think it will be a wise one,” replied the judge. “The shrine would not have survived so long if its kannushis had not made wise decisions.”
After the prayers, the judge and Seikei remained in the shrine’s prayer hall as others in attendance left. The young priest led them to a small room to one side of the hall.
Inside, seated on a mat with a teacup in front of him, was an old man dressed the same as the young priest, except that his garments looked as if he’d been wearing them for many years. The closer Seikei approached, the older the man seemed to be. His skin was dry and thin, like an old manuscript that was flaking away. His skull was bare, and his face so emaciated that Seikei thought that he must not have eaten anything for years.
The young priest motioned for Seikei and the judge to sit. As they did, the kannushi raised his eyes to them. Seikei saw that although the life force had drained from the rest of his body, the eyes were still keenly alive. They were like the last two glowing coals in a fire that had almost gone out.
In Darkness, Death Page 11