Black Wind

by F. Paul Wilson

  "You seem to have forgotten," he said when Hiroki had quieted down, "that the Seer had predicted losses after the initial victories. You should have been ready for this, should have expected it."

  But he could not blame Hiroki for his reaction. The seemingly endless cascade of victories during the first six months of the war had lulled them all into a false sense of security. There had seemed to be no limit to what Japan could accomplish. He too had begun to doubt the bleaker portions of the Seer's vision.

  But no longer.

  "There is a bright side to this defeat," Shimazu said. "It will strengthen the Imperial Forces, leaving them more wary, less cocksure." He pointed to the reports in Hiroki's hand. "Leave those here. They will be burned later. It won't do for the public to know about this setback. Our people have become almost blasé about military victories. They are not prepared for a defeat of this magnitude."

  "Steps will be taken to soften the blow," Hiroki said.

  "The Emperor, especially, must be protected from this news. I believe the best course of action is to play up the successful capture of the two Aleutian islands, Attu and Kiska. I know that expedition was a mere diversionary tactic, but it is now the only positive result of Operation MI. All reports must emphasize that Japan has a foothold on the North American continent and all US citizens tremble with fear."

  "Yes," Hiroki said, brightening for the first time. "An excellent approach! I'll instruct the Minister of Information immediately."

  "And how goes the search for the scrolls?"

  "I am meeting with Yajima this afternoon on that very subject."

  "Good."

  Shimazu smiled inwardly. He knew that Yajima had requested to see Hiroki a number of times since the beginning of the war and had been refused. But that had been before the battle of Midway. Yajima and the search for the secret of the Kuroikaze had suddenly increased in importance in Hiroki's mind.

  Good.

  Now, if he could only divine the significance of his latest visions with the Seers' drug. The past two times under its influence the mists had parted to reveal a child, an infant boy. Some great importance seemed to be attached to him, a focus of power. Who was he? And why so important?

  * * *

  Hiroki bit back a cry of shock as Yajima entered his office later that afternoon. It had been almost a year since he had seen him and he had changed so drastically. The former characteristic fullness of his face was gone, his round cheeks were now hollow and sunken. His once plump body was thin to the point of emaciation, and a black disk covered his left eye.

  They bowed, and as Yajima seated himself in the chair across from the desk, Hiroki noted that the fourth and fifth fingers on each hand were missing.

  "Welcome, my old friend," he said through a tight throat. "You've… changed."

  Yajima's smile was skeletal. "I am drawing nearer to my goal. Yet I must confess that the nearer I get, the more impatient I become. You know how I have longed to move beyond the Fourth Circle in the Order. For sixteen years I have denied myself the honor."

  Hiroki was stunned. If Yajima had decided to move up in the Kakureta Kao, he would no longer be able to search for the scrolls.

  "I'm sure you will bring as much honor to the Order beyond the Fourth Circle as you have within it. When do you join the Fifth Circle?"

  "Why, not until we have found the scrolls," he said with a puzzled expression. "Was that not our agreement?"

  "Yes," Hiroki said, bathing in relief. "But your hands… your eye..."

  That skeletal smile again. "Ah. But I can turn a page as well with three fingers as with five, and I can read with one eye as well as with two. And I can walk as well without toes as with."

  Hiroki hadn't noticed Yajima's feet when he came in, and he had no desire to look now.

  "I felt," Yajima continued, "that I was cheating the Order. I could not give up one of my senses entirely and continue to search effectively for the Kuroikaze scrolls, but I could forgo portions of my senses. This would leave me better prepared to join the Inner Circles after we found the scrolls. I have been fasting, as well." He smiled again, horribly, beatifically. "It is all working out so well."

  Hiroki swallowed. "Yes. That is quite evident. But I feel ashamed. I have not been bearing my share of the burden of the search. That is why I called you here. I wish to take a more active part."

  "But you have done much already. You have provided me with funds and have opened doors that would have otherwise remained closed to me. And you are so busy with the war and matters of state. Everyone in the Order is proud of you and the honor you bring to us all. What you are doing is so close to the Emperor's heart. I would feel less than worthless, a selfish traitor if I dragged you away from your duties."

  "I assure you, old friend Yajima, that finding the Kuroikaze scrolls is a matter of state. Now tell me, how close are we?"

  "Very close. I have traced Monk Okamoto as far south as Onomichi."

  Onomichi . . . that was indeed far south, on the Inland Sea.

  "You don't think he might have hidden the scrolls on one of the islands, do you?"

  Hiroki was relieved to see Yajima shake his head slowly. The Inland Sea was dotted with countless little islands. If they had to search each one of those…

  "Nor do I think he crossed to Shikoku or Kyushu. The old temple records I found in Onomichi tell of a monk of the Order stopping for a night's rest, and mention that he was so weak and sick that they urged him to stay longer but he pushed on. I feel…" Yajima closed his remaining eye as if watching a vision playing against the inside of his lid. "I feel he finally stopped in Hiroshima."

  Hiroki wondered if Yajima had tried the Seer's drug—tried it more than once—in his quest for the scrolls.

  "Then that is where we will search."

  " ‘We'?" Yajima's sunken features lit. "You will come with me?"

  "Of course! You have borne this burden alone for too long."

  "But your work here for the war—"

  "I know." Hiroki sighed with what he hoped was genuine-sounding reluctance. "I will have to return here from time to time, but when I do, my heart will be with you as you search."

  Yajima leapt to his feet. "We will find it soon. I know it. And then the Emperor shall have a weapon that will devastate all who oppose His Divine Will." His voice softened. "And I shall be free to take my place in the Inner Circles of the Order. To start the final road toward the Face."

  They agreed to meet in Hiroshima at the end of the week and begin their search of the temples and shrines there. After his old friend left, Hiroki sat and stared at the blank white wall across from his desk.

  Yajima, Yajima. You poor man. How can you be so anxious to allow yourself to be whittled away?

  The future of Japan was here, in this office, where the spoils of war were being divided between the service chiefs and the industrial giants. And as Hiroki faithfully executed his duties in seeing that the windfall of resources opening up in Indochina and the East Indies was put to proper and efficient use for the good of the Empire, he made sure that a share of those riches came to the Order, if not in outright cash, then in the form of interest in the financial and industrial concerns exploiting the new resources.

  He gained, too, but in a less material way. Hiroki did not intend to lapse into obscurity after the war. He would be owed many favors Japan. He would be independently powerful. He would no longer need the support of the Kakureta Kao. But he had not reached that stage yet. He still needed the Order behind him to maintain his present post.

  And to cement that support, he needed to be with Yajima when the scrolls were unearthed.

  AUGUST

  The pains started low in her back and radiated around to the front. Sporadically at first, then with a definite rhythm.

  False labor! Meiko thought in a panic. It must be! It's not my time yet!

  She had grown so large over the past month, so unwieldy with her big belly and her swollen ankles, yet still she had clung firm to
the hope, the belief that this was Matsuo's baby. But with these pains and the sudden gush of water as her membranes broke, she could deny the reality no longer.

  She told Matsuo to get the midwife. The concern on his face was mixed with joy, wonder, and anticipation. She prayed she would see that same joy when this day was over.

  The pains continued, becoming stronger, closer together. The midwife, Michiko, arrived. She banished Matsuo from the room, then began to prepare her for labor and birth. She bathed her and then tied two silken cords to her futon. When the pains became worse, strong enough that they might force her to cry out or moan in pain, Meiko grasped one or both and pulled as hard as she could until the contraction passed. For birth was a private affair and not to be publicized.

  As the contractions grew and coalesced, the midwife moved the baby's tiny pallet bed to the side of Meiko's futon. She plumped up and straightened the new, freshly stuffed quilt and coverlet Meiko had made herself. Meiko stared at it during a respite from pain, and felt her eyes fill with tears. So tiny. Soon the life inside her would be lying there. How sad and empty she would feel to be separated from the little one who had been kicking and turning so actively within her these past few months, but how good finally to see and touch that little one. She knew she would want to cuddle and clutch the baby to her all through the night, but also knew that a baby must have its own bed. It would be a bad omen for a child to come into the world and not have its own bed.

  Pain blurred the thought, and soon the contractions ran together until finally, with the midwife's prompting, came a final searing pain she thought would tear her apart, and then it was over. Relieved and almost empty, she lay gasping and drenched, waiting for that sound, that dear sweet sound that had to come any second.

  And then a choking, vibrato wail filled the room.

  "Is the baby all right?"

  "Yes," the midwife said. "He's beautiful."

  "Let me see him! Oh, let me see him!"

  "Just let me clean him off."

  Meiko heard the sound of splashing water amid the cries, and then Michiko was kneeling beside her and offering a struggling, towel-wrapped bundle. She saw the jet black hair matted onto the big round head, saw the skinny neck and the tiny fingers clutched under his chin, saw a little ear and tiny nose and gleaming brown eyes as the infant was turned her way…

  ...saw the red birthmark flaring up from his left eyebrow toward his hairline.

  Meiko wanted to cry out, wanted to push the baby away and hide him from sight, but could not. He was hers. She loved him instantly and would shower him with all the tenderness and devotion he deserved. He was hers…

  …and Frank's.

  Lighter contractions ensued and Michiko went to work while Meiko clutched the infant to her. The afterbirth was soon delivered, leaving Meiko with a final, empty feeling.

  She sensed movement about her and looked up. Michiko was at the shoji, sliding it back.

  "A boy!"

  Matsuo darted into the room, wide-eyed and beaming. He knelt beside her, his hands moving spasmodically in the air as if he wanted to do something with them and didn't know what. He glanced at the bloodstains on the futon, only partially hidden by the coverlet, and his smile vanished.

  "Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine."

  Please don't hate me.

  Matsuo looked at the midwife, who smiled and nodded in agreement, then back at Meiko. His proud grin returned.

  "And our boy? Is he as perfect as his mother?" He reached for the baby.

  "Matsuo…" Meiko began, but didn't know how to finish.

  She couldn't hide the truth and it would be unforgivable to try even if it were possible. She released the child and held her breath, watching Matsuo's glowing face as he held up the squirming bundle. She saw his face change, darkening like a sunny garden falling under a cloud, saw the smile melt away, the warm loving eyes turn to stone.

  "Oh, Matsuo," she said through a sob, feeling as though her heart were tearing in two. "I didn't know. Truly, I didn't."

  With stiff, wooden arms, he handed the baby back to her. She tried to read his face. She found no message in his usually mobile features, frozen now into a mockery of calm. But his eyes—grief there, and such pain, such crushing hurt.

  Without a word, he turned and left the room.

  * * *

  "You may raise him here," he told her the following morning as they sat at the low table and sipped tea.

  Thank the gods, Meiko thought as she held the sleeping child in her arms.

  If Matsuo were a traditional Japan man, he would have banished her from the house. As it was, he had left the house.

  He had disappeared yesterday and stayed away all night. Meiko had spent the night alone, crying at times and cursing her fate, but all the while staring at the gentle new life lying in its tiny bed next to hers, listening to him breathe, watching him squirm.

  With the light of the new day, Matsuo returned, unshaven and bleary-eyed. She tried to catch the odor of sake on him, but found none. Nor the perfume of another woman. Had he merely wandered the streets all those hours? She hesitated to ask.

  "That is very generous of you," she said, searching his face for a clue to his feelings.

  "I thought about it all night. The child is blameless. He can live and grow up with us, but I cannot allow him to have my name."

  Meiko bowed her head. That was only fair. It was more than fair.

  "I know how you must—"

  "No!" he snapped. "You cannot know how I feel. How could you? I've been by your side every day, watching you swell, feeling a baby I thought was half mine kick and turn under your skin, thinking of names, thinking of his future, wondering how good a father I'd be. Yesterday you gave birth and today you have a son. Yesterday I waited and paced and sweated in the outer room and today I have nothing."

  Meiko could hear the pain in his voice and it cut through to her soul, for she was the cause of it.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Please believe me."

  "How could you not know?"

  "The possibility crossed my mind only in the last few months."

  "And you said nothing to me?"

  "How could I? Besides, I didn't believe it was true. I didn't want it to be true. If you believe nothing else, believe that."

  He stared at her, his face a mask.

  "I was his wife!" she cried. "In all ways! And I loved him as a wife should love a husband."

  Matsuo pointed to his temple. "I can accept that here"—he pointed the finger toward his belly—"but not here." He slammed his hand against the floor, startling the baby in her arms. "Am I never to be free of Frank Slater?"

  "Neither of us are to be free of him. It came to me as I waited for you to come home: The boy is a sign from the gods that neither of us must ever forget Frank Slater or what we did to him. How we raise this child will somehow mend and heal the damage we did. I am going to name him Nakanaori."

  Nakanaori… reconciliation.

  The name had come to her with the first light of day.

  "We will never see Frank Slater again," Matsuo said.

  "I think we will." Meiko believed it. "I think Nakanaori will bring us back together one day and undo all the wrongs we have done to each other."

  Meiko watched Matsuo's eyes unfocus. He seemed to be peering into a place far away and long ago. Was he seeing a frightened boy running from him when he needed his help, or was he seeing a grown man nailed to a tree?

  She looked away and took comfort from the baby warm against her.

  NOVEMBER

  HIROSHIMA

  Hiroki leaned over Yajima's shoulder and read once again the fragment they had unearthed as it vibrated in his old friend's trembling, mutilated hands.

  "... and he shall thus be deprived during the course of two days of his entire senses: He shall have no feeling on his skin or in his deeper tissues anywhere upon his person, no sensation in his tongue and eyes, nor in his ears, nor in his nostrils. Thus sha
ll he become a focus for the Black Winds. When his sleep ends, the Black Wind will rise and blow until he sleeps again. Woe to the enemies of the Son of Heaven who dare to ..."

  That was all there was to the fragment. Yajima turned to him with a shining eye.

  "Do you see, Hiroki? It mentions the Kuroikaze by name!"

  Hiroki nodded. His elation was tempered by exhaustion. For months now he had joined Yajima at intervals to sift through the many shrines large and small in Hiroshima and its northern suburbs, following scant clues down blind alleys. When Hiroki was not searching, he was hurrying back north to Tokyo to consult with Shimazu, manage his post, and keep abreast of developments in the war.

  And those developments were not good. The Americans had invaded the Solomon Islands last month, an archipelago of swampy, disease- and insect-infested coral lumps due east of New Guinea, the southeast extreme of the Empire. They had established beachheads on Guadalcanal and Tulagi, had even gone so far as to build an airstrip on the small corner they held on Guadalcanal. Despite regular bombings and suicidal frontal assaults by the Japanese infantry, the Americans were holding on and consolidating their positions.

  It was only a tiny chink in the Imperial armor, but it made Hiroki more anxious than ever to find the lost scrolls. Against the logic and reason of his everyday dealings with the military, he had come to see the Kuroikaze as the key to the war.

  This tiny, ancient Shinto shrine at the base of Mount Futaba with its weathered, crooked torii looked to be just one more dead end. But a torrential rain had begun outside and this had seemed to be as good a place as any to wait out the storm. It had yielded the first hard evidence that their fifteen-year quest would not end in total failure.

  "Yes, I see," he said. "But where is the rest?"

  He and Yajima had combed the rear chamber of this shrine but had found only this long, thin scrap of parchment among its records.

  "We shall find the rest if the rest still exists. If this is all that is left, perhaps it is enough."

  "But it doesn't tell us how to raise the Kuroikaze."