They looked like giant, uncivilized versions of the Rat. Their coarse beards and mustaches were even longer than his. Under bushy brows that grew straight across the bridges of their prominent noses, their eyes were narrow as if permanently squinted against the wind and snow. Their complexions were tanned and creased, their expressions as harsh as the climate.
The one in the middle addressed Hirata in a gruff barrage of syllables that sounded nonsensical. Although the Ezo and the Japanese had engaged in trade for centuries, the Ezo were forbidden to learn the Japanese language. This was a law enforced by the Matsumae clan to protect its trade monopoly. If the Ezo could speak Japanese, they could trade independently with merchants from Japan and bypass the Matsumae middlemen. Now the barbarian made a gesture that meant the same thing in any language: Go away!
Hirata saw the daggers they wore in carved wooden sheaths at their waists. He instinctively grasped the hilt of his own sword. Sano caught up with him.
“It’s time for you to earn your pay,” Sano called to the Rat. “Talk to them. Find out what they’re trying to tell us.”
The Rat gulped and reluctantly obeyed. His eyes lost their characteristic bold gleam as he spoke to his countrymen in their language. He seemed to shrink smaller. Hirata realized that the Rat hadn’t left Ezogashima solely because he wanted to make his fortune in the city; he’d been a misfit among his own kind.
After a brief conversation with the barbarians, the Rat turned to Sano and Hirata. “They say we should go home.”
“I gathered that much,” Sano said. “But why?”
“They say that we’re in danger.”
“From what?”
The Rat conveyed the question to the barbarians. Frowning, they muttered among themselves. The spokesman, whose strong, not unhandsome features distinguished him from the others, repeated his same words in a louder voice, as if that would make Sano heed them.
“We want to go to Fukuyama City,” Sano told the barbarians. “Can you show us the way?”
Again the Rat translated. The Ezo leader looked disturbed. He conversed with the Rat, who told Sano, “He says to stay away from Fukuyama City. If we want to live, we should go before they find out we’re here.”
“Who are ‘they’?” Hirata asked.
He could see from their eyes that the barbarians understood the gist of his question, but the leader only repeated the same warning in a more forceful manner.
“We can’t go on like this,” Sano said to Hirata. With an obvious effort to quell his irritation, he addressed the barbarians: “Would you please give us shelter for the night, or take us to someone who will?”
When the Rat translated, they shook their heads at one another. The leader stepped boldly toward Sano, flung out his arm, pointed at the sea, and shouted a command in a voice both authoritative and laced with desperation.
“‘For your own good, go back where you came from,’” the Rat translated.
“We can’t,” Marume said. “Our ship is wrecked.” He advanced on the barbarians, who ranged themselves against him. “Either help us or get out of our way.”
The Ezo responded with pleas, warnings, or threats. Marume and Fukida drew their swords. The barbarians stood their ground, and even though fright shone in their eyes, they drew their daggers.
“Back off!” Sano ordered his men. “We need these people whether they want us here or not. Don’t hurt them!”
He tried to appease the barbarians while the Rat frantically translated. Somehow, at last, the weapons went back into sheaths; tempers subsided.
“Throw us on their mercy,” Sano instructed the Rat. “Tell them that unless they take us in, we’ll die.”
The Rat spoke. This time, as the barbarians discussed what they’d heard, Hirata perceived resignation in their tones. Primitive though they might be, they didn’t lack human compassion, whatever their reason for wanting to chase off newcomers. They nodded, and the leader spoke to Sano.
“‘Come with us,’” the Rat said with a sigh. As he and the rest of Sano’s group followed the barbarians into the forest, he muttered, “I hope we won’t be sorry.”
The barbarians led the way along a path that paralleled the coast. The trees screened the view of the ocean and served as a windbreak. Hirata was glad the natives had decided to cooperate. The farther he walked into Ezogashima, the stronger he felt its pulse, the more compellingly sounded its call.
A clearing appeared in the forest, and Hirata saw what he first took to be huge, pointed mounds of snow. As he moved closer, he realized they were huts. Pungent wood smoke drifted up from chimney holes. Smaller outbuildings, some elevated on stilts and accessible by ladders, stood nearby. Hirata didn’t so much as hear voices inside the huts as feel conversation stop when he and his party approached. Thatch curtains lifted to reveal doorways. Barbarians peered out, gazing suspiciously at the strangers.
Their escorts made straight for the largest hut at the center of the settlement. The leader entered for a brief time, then reemerged. He beckoned and spoke to Sano.
“He says to come in,” the Rat said.
The pull that the island exerted on Hirata was stronger near the hut. “Shall I go first and make sure it’s safe?” he asked Sano, who nodded. Hirata cautiously ducked under the thatched doorway curtain that the leader held up for him.
He found himself in a cramped entryway, where he dusted the snow off his clothes and removed his boots. The leader ushered him under another thatch curtain and into a room filled with smoky, flickering orange light from a fire that burned in a square pit at the center. An Ezo sat near the pit, hands folded in his lap, on woven reed mats that covered the floor. His long hair, mustache, and beard were white with old age, but his frame was strong, his posture erect. His hands and face were so weathered and deeply lined that he seemed made of gnarled wood. Silver hoops with dangling black beads pierced his ears. He wore a blue robe patterned with the same designs as on the other barbarians’ clothes. Hirata had assumed that the man who’d done the talking on the beach was their leader, but now he knew this man held the authority.
His eyes, which scrutinized Hirata from beneath thick, white brows, reflected the firelight and gleamed with dignified, calm intelligence. As their gazes met, a thought flashed through Hirata’s mind.
Meeting this man is crucial to my destiny.
The Ezo inclined his body in a bow that indicated familiarity with Japanese manners. He spoke in a deep, resonant voice and spread his hands in a universal gesture of welcome.
Hirata hesitated a moment, shaken by his revelation. Then he called through the doorway to Sano and his other comrades, who were waiting outside. “It’s all right.”
Everyone crowded into the hut, knelt around the fire pit. The air steamed with the snow melting on their garments. Hirata sat on one side of their host, Sano on the other. Although Hirata was transfixed by the old barbarian, he hadn’t lost his samurai habit of always taking note of his environment. He tore his attention away from the Ezo long enough to glance around the hut.
Fishnets, hunting weapons, kitchenware, bedding, and household miscellany were piled against dirt mounds that insulated the walls. Thatch curtains covered windows. Pots and tools hung from a shelf suspended from the ceiling above the fire. Additional light and fishy-smelling smoke came from wicks burning in scallop shells filled with oil. In a corner stood a stick, its bark shaved down from the top and hanging in a mop of curly strands. Hirata felt an aura shimmering in invisible waves around it. He intuited that it was a sacred object, the repository for a divine spirit.
“Introduce us,” Sano told the Rat.
The Rat bowed to their host, gave what seemed to be a polite greeting in Ezo language, and reeled off speech in which Hirata recognized only the names of his party. The barbarian elder nodded, replied briefly, and bowed to the assembly.
“He says his name is Awetok, and he’s the chieftain of the tribe,” the Rat explained.
The other barbarians stood by the d
oorway. “Honorable Awetok, why did your men try to chase us off?” Sano asked.
The Rat translated. The chieftain answered, “To save you.”
“From what?” Sano said. “Or whom?”
“Those that control Ezogashima.”
“And they are…?”
Hirata could feel Sano wondering whether the chieftain meant Japanese in the persons of the Matsumae clan, or invaders from China who’d occupied Ezogashima.
Caution glinted in Awetok’s eyes as the Rat interpreted. He spoke, removing two objects tied to his sash and holding them up. One was a metal tobacco pipe such as one might find anywhere in Edo. The other was a bearskin pouch. Awetok opened it and revealed a quartz flint, a fragment of iron that served as a striker, a piece of charcoal for tinder, and dried tobacco leaves inside. The habit of smoking was apparently as popular among Ezo as among the Japanese.
“He’s offering us a smoke,” the Rat explained unnecessarily, adding, “It’s a hospitality ritual.”
“He’s stalling,” Sano commented to Hirata, “but we’d better play along.”
The pipe was filled, lit, and passed. Everyone took a puff whether they smoked or not. Reiko stifled a cough. The atmosphere in the hut grew thicker, acrid. Sano said, “Whoever are the powers that be, why are they a threat to us?”
“Because all outsiders are banned from Ezogashima.”
“I’ll ask him who says,” the Rat volunteered.
After he spoke, the chieftain answered, “We’re forbidden to discuss the matter.”
“By whom?” Sano’s growing impatience inflected his voice.
“I’ve already told you more than I should.”
Sano said, “I’m the shogun’s second-in-command. I have a right to know what’s going on here. I order you to explain.”
“That ought to shake it out of him,” the Rat said. But when he’d passed on the order, the chieftain’s response came in words so adamant that Hirata understood their meaning despite the language barrier. “He says he’s sorry to inform you that your rank means nothing here, and your rules don’t apply.”
Carefully studying the chieftain, Sano said to Hirata, “I think he’s afraid to talk.”
Hirata had to nod, even though he’d seldom seen anyone look less afraid. Awetok’s face was impassive, but Hirata sensed the unmistakable vibrations of his fright. He caught Awetok’s eye. Something less than camaraderie toward Hirata yet more than indifference showed in it. Fascination took root in Hirata as he realized why he’d met the Ezo chieftain.
When one is ready to learn, a teacher will appear.
So went an important premise of the martial arts.
Although Hirata now knew who could help him in his quest for enlightenment, he had yet to discover how.
“What will happen if you tell me what’s going on?” Sano said, oblivious to the conversation’s undercurrent, focused on his immediate problems.
“The same thing that will happen to you and your comrades if you don’t leave before you’re discovered. My people will be put to death.”
“How are ‘they’ going to find out that you talked?”
“They have their ways.”
Hirata imagined that even in this wilderness, those in power had spies and informants.
“Well, that settles that,” Sano said to his group. “We can hardly force these people to talk at the cost of their lives.”
“What are we going to do?” Reiko asked, her face tense with her fear that their missions were doomed.
“In any case, we’re stranded here. Our first step is to survive.” Sano addressed the chieftain: “We humbly beg you to give us shelter and food.”
When the Rat conveyed this plea, controversy erupted among the Ezo. The younger three protested to the chieftain, clearly begging him to refuse.
“They say that taking us in would endanger them,” the Rat said, wringing his hands. “Oh, I wish we’d never come!”
Chieftain Awetok raised his hand, silencing his men. He spoke to Sano.
“He says he can’t turn helpless folk out in this weather no matter the danger to his own people,” the Rat said. “He’ll feed us and make room for us in the huts.” The three younger men accepted the pronouncement with ill will, glowering at Sano’s party. The Rat said darkly, “I have a bad feeling about this.”
But the others in the party exchanged relieved glances. Sano said, “A million thanks for your generosity, Chieftain Awetok.” And Hirata was fervently glad that they had a foothold, no matter how precarious, in this alien land.
Chapter Four
A flash of light and a cold draft on her face awakened Reiko. As she stretched under the heavy bed covers, she opened her eyes to the same thought that had been first in her mind every day for now more than two months: Masahiro is gone. The same grief sank her heart. But as the cloud of sleep cleared, her second thought was, Where am I?
In the dim, warm space that smelled of wood smoke, embers glowed in a fire pit near the thick, lumpy mat on which she lay. Other human forms slept beneath fur blankets. Then she remembered the shipwreck on Ezogashima. This was the hut where the barbarians had put up her and Sano and their fellow refugees. Her next thought accompanied a spring of joy.
Today we’ll find Masahiro!
Reiko reached for Sano, but he was gone from their bed. She’d felt the sunlight and wind when he went out the door. Now she became aware that her bladder was uncomfortably full. She scrambled out from the blankets. No need to dress; they’d all slept in their clothes. Careful not to wake the men, she found her shoes in the entryway. She lifted the mat over the exterior door and stepped into a world born anew.
The sky was the brightest, clearest blue she’d ever seen. Snow quilted the trees, huts, and ground, sparkling in rainbow crystals in the sunshine, deep violet in the shadows. The light dazzled her eyes so much they watered. The air was so cold that inhaling froze her nose. Dogs barked and cavorted in an open space, wolflike beasts with rough black and brown pelts. An Ezo man flung down meat for them. They gobbled and fought over the food. The man spied Reiko and pointed into the forest.
She followed a path to three small thatched sheds. She went inside one, raised her robes, and squatted over the pit. It took only a few moments, but she was shivering and her bottom felt like ice when she’d finished. Outside, she met Sano.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile. “I’m sorry if I woke you. I tried to be quiet so you could sleep a little longer.”
“That’s all right,” Reiko said. “I was ready to get up. When can we go find Masahiro?”
“As soon as I can persuade our hosts to give us breakfast and point us toward Fukuyama City.”
When they returned to the settlement, they found Ezo men gathering firewood from piles, filling buckets with snow to melt for water, and fetching food from raised storehouses. Suddenly they all froze motionless, as if on some silent command. Then Reiko heard what their keen ears already had—the distant barking of dogs, coming closer.
The dogs in the settlement growled in reply. Reiko heard crashes, rustles, and a scraping, whizzing noise from the forest. Down a path came ten hounds, each harnessed to a wooden sled. On each sled sat a samurai, driving his dog like a horse. The men wore swords at their waists, bows and quivers full of arrows on their fur-clad backs, and leather helmets. At first Reiko was glad for this sign of Japanese civilization, but as the dogsleds burst into the camp, Sano reached for his sword. Hirata, the detectives, and the Rat rushed from their hut, alarmed because they’d sensed a threat. The Ezo men grouped together, bracing for an attack.
“I have a feeling that getting to Fukuyama City isn’t our biggest problem,” Sano said.
The riders were youths in their late teens, led by one who wore deer antlers on his helmet. Sano supposed they were Matsumae soldiers who’d found the wrecked ship on the beach, and they’d come looking for survivors. The riders steered their sleds up to Sano’s party and reined in their dogs, who halted and panted, muzzle
s dripping icicles, teeth sharp.
“There’s too many of them to take back to the castle and execute,” Deer Antlers said as he and his comrades jumped off their sleds. “Let’s kill them here.”
Sano realized that the trouble in Ezogashima had come straight to him. “Stop right there,” he said.
They ignored his order and advanced on him. Detective Marume said, “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good fight.”
He drew his sword. Fukida and Hirata followed suit. The samurai aimed bows fitted with sharp, deadly arrows at them.
“Drop your weapons!” Deer Antlers said. He had thick features set in a cruel, hungry grin. “Line up in a row. Prepare to die.”
Reiko moaned softly, but she held her dagger in her hand. Sano knew that although he and his comrades could probably take these men, there were many more where they’d come from; he’d better stop the fight before it started. He said, “I’m the chamberlain of Japan. Put down your bows and kneel.”
Deer Antlers aimed at Sano and said, “Shut up! Do as I said.” But his friends gaped at Sano, exchanged glances of dismay, and lowered their bows.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Deer Antlers said. “We have our orders. Shoot them!”
“Orders from who?” Sano asked.
“Lord Matsumae.”
“I outrank him. You’ll follow my orders, not his.” Sano spoke with all the authority he could muster.
Nine bowstrings went slack. Deer Antlers said, “Don’t listen to him!”
His friends objected: “He’s too important to kill.” “We’ll get in trouble.”
“I’m here on the shogun’s business,” Sano said. “Hurt me or anyone with me, and you’re dead.”
“We’ll get in trouble if we don’t kill him,” Deer Antlers said, his arrow trained on Sano. “Lord Matsumae will kill us.”
One of his men said, “Then you shoot him. When he doesn’t come home, when the shogun’s army comes up here to see what happened to him and finds out he’s been killed, we’ll say you did it.”
The Snow Empress Page 4