Island of Exiles sa-5

by I. J. Parker

  Haseo watched him coming back. “Why in such a temper?” he asked lightly. “Did the pretty flower slap your face?” Akitada managed a laugh as he sat down beside him. “Of course not. She is married now and I’m a married man also.

  And you? Do you have a wife and children?”

  “Three wives and six children, two of them sons.” Haseo sounded both proud and sad. “I hope they have gone to my first wife’s parents. She comes from a wealthy family. My other wives were quite poor. And you?”

  “One wife and one son. He’s only six months.”

  “You must miss them.”

  “Yes. Very much.” His need for Tamako suddenly twisted his heart. He had been a fool to desire another woman.

  “Only one wife for a man of your station?” Haseo marveled.

  “She must be exceptional.”

  Akitada nodded. “She is.” And he wished for her with every part of his being.

  The rest of the evening both Toshito and Masako avoided him. After their meal-a vegetable stew thickened with millet-

  they disappeared into the forest together. Akitada watched them with a certain detachment and put his mind to other matters.

  Now that he was rested and fed, and his knee was no longer so painful, he was becoming increasingly nervous about their safety. His eyes kept scanning the highway in the darkening valley below. He could not be certain that the goblin had kept their secret, and even if she had, Kumo would have been notified of his escape by now and would extend the search to the surrounding areas soon enough. He could not afford to let Akitada escape. Ribata’s vine-covered hermitage was not visible from below, but Akitada recalled the tracks they had made through the tall grasses of the valley.

  The trouble was, they had neither weapons nor horses. If Kumo sent armed men after them, as he must surely do, they would either die here or be taken back to the mine to face a worse fate.

  He was glad when night fell, and the possibility of an attack became remote. Candles and lamps were extinguished early and they prepared for sleep. The women stayed in the hut, but Ribata came out with blankets for her guests and spoke briefly to Toshito, who nodded and disappeared on some errand.

  In spite of his blanket, Akitada awoke, shivering, long before dawn. He got up and started moving his body vigorously to warm his sluggish blood. His knee felt much better. Haseo still slept, and there was no sign of Toshito. Eventually, as the night sky slowly paled, he decided to make himself useful and gathered sticks for the fire. When it was burning, he squatted beside it and rubbed his chilled arms.

  A touch on his shoulder made him jump. Masako held out his blanket. “Put it around you until the sun comes up.” He did and watched her heating water for rice gruel, regretting his anger of the day before.

  “How far is it to Mano?” he asked.

  “Half a day’s walk with a shortcut. The road passes on the other side of this mountain.” She left to go back into the hut.

  Only a few hours’ walk? Akitada felt fit enough. Surely Haseo could manage a short journey, one that would become easy once they reached the road. After that-well, they would deal with whatever came.

  Masako returned. “Ribata wants you,” she said.

  When he ducked into the shadowy room, he found the nun at prayer. She sat in the center of the small square space, perfectly straight and still. Dark wooden beads passed through her thin fingers like beans falling through the ribs of a bamboo strainer. He could not see her face clearly, but her lips moved, and now and then he caught a word or cadence from a sutra.

  He sat down across from her, quietly waiting, wondering again about this strange, aristocratic woman who seemed content to lead a simple, religious life so far from court. Good manners and respect for her present status forbade his asking questions. Once he reached Mano and the governor and started an investigation into Kumo’s activities, and those of his fellow conspirators, he hoped that the tangled relationships between the Kumo family, the late prince, and Ribata would also unravel.

  As if she knew what he was thinking, Ribata said, “You should both be able to travel in another day. Then the governor will reconvene the court and Toshito’s name will be cleared.” She sighed and folded her hands around her beads. “Life is filled with pain. But the young people can settle down and raise their family. And you, too, will be eager to return to wife and child.”

  Akitada nodded. He thought of the baby son he had left behind. Children often sickened and died during their first year.

  “Place your trust in the Buddha and all will be well,” said the nun.

  “Yes.”

  He suspected that she was steering his thoughts to his family and smiled in the darkness because she had succeeded. His heart swelled with love and gratitude for the slender girl he had left behind among strangers, far from her home and family. He remembered how she had stood in the doorway, holding their son in her arms. Smiling bravely, she had faced their separation without complaint, certainly without self-pity, her back straight and her voice strong when she called out, “We will be waiting when you return.”

  The sun was rising outside and the first ray crept through the door. It touched Ribata’s sleeve and shoulder, then lit up her pale drawn face. She moved out of its light and looked at him.

  Her eyes were extraordinarily bright for a woman her age.

  “I am happy for you,” she said. Then she reached into her sleeve and held out a flute to him. “And I am returning this to you. I hoped that you would come for it someday.” He took it, uncertain, raised it into the sunlight, and saw that it was Plover’s Cry, the flute she had given him in Kumo’s garden, the flute taken from him by Wada.

  “But how did you get it back?” he asked, shocked.

  “Sanetomo returned it to me. It seems the regrettable Wada had it in his possession. Sanetomo recognized it, of course.” Sanetomo?

  Then Akitada remembered the name, and drew in his breath sharply. Kumo Sanetomo had returned the flute to its owner.

  She must have known what had happened to him all along, he thought, his mind racing at the implications. And Ribata had sent Toshito away the night before. The knowledge of what his errand must be came too late; the damage was surely done by now. In his anger and despair Akitada almost broke the flute in his hands.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  KUMO

  Akitada slowly laid the flute on the floor between them.

  Hot fury at the betrayal churned in his belly and pounded his temples. With an effort he kept his hands from shaking; with another effort he controlled his voice. “Where is Toshito?” There was a moment’s silence, then she said vaguely, “He’ll be back soon.”

  Imagining what this might mean, Akitada clenched his hands. Then he gestured to the flute. “I cannot accept your generous gift after all.” When her eyes met his, puzzled, he added harshly, “And I am not beaten yet.” Rising abruptly, he inclined his head, saw with satisfaction that he had shocked her, and left the hut.

  Outside, the early sun made golden patterns on the ground, and birds were singing, but the valley below still lay hidden in white mist. Masako was stirring the morning gruel in the kettle.

  Akitada looked at her suspiciously. He had met with more female duplicity lately than in his entire previous life. It seemed likely now that she had told Ribata of his mission, and that Ribata had alerted Kumo.

  Haseo was up. He stood at a spot overlooking the valley and shaded his eyes against the sun. High in the translucent sky circled the first kite. The world was dew-fresh and very beautiful.

  Akitada had too recently emerged from continuous night not to feel an almost dizzying fear of losing his fragile freedom again.

  “Haseo,” he called out. “We must leave.” Haseo did not turn. Instead he motioned to Akitada, who repeated, more urgently, “We must leave immediately. I think we have been betrayed.”

  “Ah.” Haseo nodded without surprise and pointed to the foot of the mountain on the far side of the valley. Where the sunlight had
melted away a narrow patch of fog, gray rocks and towering cedars floated like a small island in the sea of white which filled the rest of the valley.

  And there, among the firs and pines, something sparkled and moved. As insignificant as ants at that distance, a small contingent of horsemen wove in and out between the trees and, one by one, disappeared into the misty sea. The scene was surreal, and they would have missed it, if the sun had not caught the shining helmet of the leader and then drawn the eyes to the rider who followed, a colored standard attached to the back of his armor.

  There had been fewer than ten horsemen, but more might follow.

  Akitada felt certain that the man in the gilded helmet was Kumo himself, eager to make an end of their cat-and-mouse game. He turned to look back at the hut, its drapery of morning glories an intense blue in the sun. Ribata had come out on the veranda, a small and frail figure in her grayish white nun’s habit.

  Masako was looking from Ribata to them, a frown on her pretty face. No doubt Toshito was among the horsemen in the valley below, showing Kumo the way to the hermitage, certain that the women would keep their prey distracted.

  Ribata called out, “What is the matter, my lord? Is something wrong?”

  Ignoring her, Akitada turned back to Haseo and said in a low voice, “They will have to leave their horses below and climb up on foot. It gives us a little time. Kumo counts on surprising us, on finding two invalids taking shelter. We must go down the other side of this mountain. Masako said the road to Mano passes there. It’s not far.”

  Haseo nodded. It was like him not to argue or ask questions.

  Instead he said with a regretful grin, “A pity! They’re a mere handful apiece. What I wouldn’t give if we had a couple of swords!”

  As they ran past the hermitage toward the forest, Ribata stepped in their way. “Stop! Where are you going?” she cried, her eyes anxious. “What is happening?” Akitada pushed her aside without answering.

  The forest was still dark and gloomy, but the ground was soft with pine needles and dry leaf mold and they ran quickly, talking in short bursts.

  “How are you today?” Akitada asked.

  “Much better. I suppose that nun was healing me for whoever’s coming after us?”

  “Yes. Kumo. A relative. I saw a golden helmet. Only Kumo’s rich enough for one of those.” Haseo was moving well, but Akitada suddenly felt guilty. He said, “It’s my fault. I brought you into this. Kumo’s after me.”

  Haseo snorted. “You’re wrong. Anyone in the mine might’ve found out. He’s been stealing gold for years.”

  “What?” Akitada almost stumbled over a tree root. “What do you mean?”

  Haseo looked back over his shoulder, missed a step, and slid down the slope. He got back up and continued. “Don’t you know? You were chipping away at those rocks for two days.”

  Of course, Akitada thought. How could he have missed it?

  All those badger holes and baskets of rock with little or no silver in them! They had been after those tiny bits of yellow metal.

  That was why he had pulverized the rocks, and why they had washed the gravel on that sluice. That was why there had been so many guards. Kumo was not mining silver for the emperor, but gold for himself. “Jisei!” Akitada cried. “I forgot to ask you about Jisei.”

  Haseo stopped. “The little fellow in the stockade? What about him?”

  “Someone killed him the night they took me to see the governor. Did you see anything?”

  Haseo cursed softly. “Yes. I was sleeping, but he must’ve cried out. Those two pirates were having some argument with him. By the time I guessed what was happening and got to my feet, he was on the ground and the guards came. They took the two bastards away and put the little fellow on a litter. I thought he was only hurt.”

  “They called it a fight between prisoners, but I think he was murdered. He knew about the gold and was blackmailing someone. That’s why he was so sure he was going home.” Haseo turned away. “Too late now! We’ve got to save our own tails. Come on!”

  Yes, this time Kumo would make certain by killing them. A helpless rage filled Akitada as he plunged down the slope after Haseo. He would make Kumo pay for what he had done to him and to Jisei, make him fight for his gold, but not here. Not in this murky forest where you could find no firm foothold and where he would lie forgotten among the roots of giant cedars while spiders built their webs between his bones.

  Halfway down the mountain, they found a barely noticeable track. Perhaps charcoal burners had come this way and had marked the easiest and most direct path down to the valley. They

  were glad, for the rapid descent over the roughest parts had taken its toll. Going down a hill is faster than climbing it, but not necessarily less tiring for two men weakened by illness and blood loss and hampered by leg injuries. Only the knowledge that, in spite of their bravado, they had little chance against heavily armed men speeded their descent, and they emerged from the dim forest into almost blinding sunlight a scant hour later.

  The view extended southward, across thinly forested lower slopes down to a sun-bright sea where Sawata Bay merged into the infinite expanse of ocean and sky. The highway beyond the foothills skirted the edge of the bay like a pearl-gray ribbon joining two pieces of fabric, one glistening silver, the other deep green. They could see the brown roofs of a town some distance away, and beyond that, farther along the vast bow of the shore, another, larger town-Mano. Fishing boats worked the shimmering bay and a large sailing ship lay at anchor nearby. Above stretched an immense pale blue sky streaked with streamers of thin clouds and dotted with black crows and white seagulls, circling and rising, swooping and plunging into the waves.

  “The road’s empty,” said Haseo. “Maybe we’ll make it.” They trotted down the slope, skirting stunted pines and sending nesting birds aflutter, but Akitada knew that they could not keep up the pace much longer. Both of them limped and gasped for breath, and now, in the warm sun, sweat poured down their faces and bodies. It had been cooler in the forest, but the hard exercise had heated their blood. They chased a lone hare through the dry gorse down the hill, its white tail bobbing up and down before them, mocking their slow pursuit.

  When they crested one low hill, they found another. They glanced over their shoulders and slapped at stinging gnats, and eventually they reached the road and started walking.

  Apparently there was not much travel between the northern mountains and Mano, for they saw only one farmer, driving an ox with a load of firewood, and three women on their way to tend their fields. They attracted curious glances, but their greetings were returned and the peasants hurried on to their chores.

  Then three horsemen came from the south.

  Haseo stopped.“What now? Soldiers? Maybe we’d better hide.”

  “Yes.” They crouched down behind some low shrubs on the embankment. Akitada narrowed his eyes. Only one of the horsemen was armed. The other two seemed to be peasants, unused to riding, because they sagged in their saddles. And the horses, all three of them, were mere nags. They could not be Kumo’s men. He touched Haseo’s shoulder. “Get ready. We need those horses. We won’t have a chance on foot.” Haseo began to laugh. “Wonderful! Look, the guy in front even has a sword. What luck!”

  Only Haseo would consider this a fortunate circumstance.

  Akitada was less sanguine. He had not formed any cogent idea how two half-naked scarecrows would convince a fully armed soldier to give up his weapons and horses to them. At least the soldier’s companions looked negligible. One seemed sick; his body not only slumped but swayed in the saddle. Someone had tied him to the horse to keep him from tumbling off. The other man was frail and no longer young. He clutched his horse’s mane and slipped at every bounce. Neither had any weapons that Akitada could see.

  No, the only dangerous man was the one in the lead. Tall, a good horseman, and young, judging by his straight back and easy movements with the stride of his horse, he wore his helmet pulled forward against the
sun, a breastplate, and a long sword. He was still too far away for them to guess his military rank, but possibly he also carried a second, shorter sword in his belt.

  Then Akitada’s heart started beating wildly with a sudden hope. There was something very familiar about the set of those shoulders, the tilt of the head. “Dear heaven,” he muttered. “Tora?”

  Haseo turned to look at him. “What?” Akitada gave a laugh. “Come on,” he cried, rising from behind the shrub, “I know that soldier.” He started into a stumbling run down the embankment, hardly thinking of his knee now.

  The horseman saw them and reined in his horse. After a moment, he urged it forward again, but now his hand was on the hilt of his sword.

  Akitada stopped and waited, grinning foolishly, chuckling from time to time, until Haseo shook his elbow. “Are you all right? Are you sure you know those people?”

  “Only one of them, and yes, I’m sure.” The three horsemen approached at a slow pace. The two in back seemed to take little interest in them, but the young soldier stared, frowned, and stared again.

  He came to a halt before them. “What do you want?” he asked, not unkindly. “I’ve no money to give you, but we can share a bit of food.”

  “Thank you, Tora,” said Akitada. “That is very kind of you.

  We missed our morning rice.”

  “Amida! Oh, dear heaven! Can that be you, sir? Is it really, really you?” Tora bounded out of the saddle and ran up to Akitada, seized him around the waist, lifted him, and crushed him to his chest. He laughed, while tears ran down his face.

  When he finally put the weakly chuckling Akitada back down, he said, “Sorry, sir. I was on my way to Kumo’s mine to look for you, and here you are. They said you were dead, and I’d started believing it.” He wiped his face with his sleeve.