“My teacher.”
She waited a few moments for him to continue, and when he did not, she prompted him. “What happened to him?”
“He set me free. He said it was time for me to join other people. He said I had learned all I needed from him.”
“What happened to him? Would you tell me about him?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m sorry.”
Ken’ishi smiled. “Ask me again tomorrow. I am too tired tonight, and the story is long.”
She nodded. “Then would you play more? What songs do you know?”
“I learned a song when I was in the capital. I think it is called ‘Cherry Blossom Moon.’ ”
Her eyes glittered. “Oh, could you play it?”
He nodded, then raised the flute again and began to play. This time the notes were thick and smooth and melancholy, filled with bittersweet longing. As he played, Kazuko arranged Hatsumi on her futon. All the while, her eyes were upon him, and the feelings this evoked took form in the music, altering the cadence and accents of the notes of the song. As he played, his mind drifted elsewhere, and the music flowed from the wellspring of his soul. He did not see her settle herself onto her futon, but even in his half-aware state, he felt her gaze fixed on him for a long time. When the song ended, he became aware of his surroundings again, and she was asleep.
He picked up his things and turned to carry them into an adjoining room. Hatsumi peered at him with her single, open eye. The swelling and bruises on her face masked her expression.
Ken’ishi felt a pang of sympathy. She looked as if she must be in agony. He put his things down and knelt beside her. Not wishing to wake Kazuko, he spoke quietly, “Hatsumi, is there anything you need?”
Her open eye glared at him for a long moment, then she rolled painfully onto her side, turning her back to him.
Ken’ishi was taken aback. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, he stood up, gathered his belongings again, and retired to his room. As he prepared himself for sleep, he could not dispel from his mind the look in Hatsumi’s gaze. The more he thought about it, the more he believed it looked like hatred.
Eleven
“When one has made a decision to kill a person, even if it will be very difficult to succeed by advancing straight ahead, it will not do to think about going at it in a long roundabout way. One’s heart may slacken, he may miss his chance, and by and large, there will be no success. The Way of the Samurai is one of immediacy, and it is best to dash in headlong.”
—Hagakure
Yasutoki crept up the shadowy path. The shadow of Ono Fortress threw the footpath into almost complete blackness. His bamboo basket hat concealed his identity but restricted his vision, making his travel up the rocky footpath more difficult. The fortress squatted like a behemoth on the summit of Mount Ono, just north of the city of Dazaifu. Through the bamboo along the path, the patchwork sparkle of the ancient city gleamed down the slope of the mountain to the south. The city had been founded six hundred years ago. For centuries, it had been one of the richest, most powerful cities in the land, a center of trade, learning, and government, fattened and buzzing with trade from lands across the sea. The ports of Hakata Bay, the cities of Hakata and Hakozaki to the north, funneled most of the trade through Dazaifu. To defend against possible attack from foreign lands, the massive fortress on Mount Ono had been built. A huge central keep, thick stone walls over seven ken tall, and a tremendous stone embankment that circled the entire construction, a distance of several ri. The silhouette of this magnificent fortress stood like a terraced black monolith on the mountaintop high against the starlit sky. The moon behind the huge structure made the whitewash on the upper tiers glow with a silvery light.
But in the darkness, the antiquity of the fortress was invisible. Like the rest of the city of Dazaifu, it had fallen into decline and disrepair. Its former glory and influence had fallen victim to the trudging centuries and the winds of political change. The rise of the Minamoto clan and the formation of the Bakufu, the Shogun’s military government, had led to the decline of Dazaifu’s importance both militarily and politically. After the Mongols had risen to power in China, trade had diminished. In the daylight, the fortress’s cracked plaster and crumbling corners were readily visible. For Yasutoki, this was a symbol of Dazaifu’s decline, and the result of how the Minamoto clan and the Hojo regents had betrayed their homeland. These days, this island was considered little more than a troublesome backwater, a land favored by ronin and samurai lords who wished to carve out a domain for themselves far away from the intrigues and pageantry of the capital, and far from the iron fist of the Shogunate. There were some advantages in that, however, Yasutoki supposed.
The governor here was still ostensibly in charge of the defense of southwestern regions of the country, but all of his power had been usurped by the Shogunate. In only a few short decades, even the Minamoto clan had fallen prey to the power-hungry, corrupt Hojo clan, who were now the true rulers. More than anything, Yasutoki wanted to see the fall of the Shogunate. His ancestors, the Taira clan, had been loyal servants to the Emperor, the divine ruler, the Son of Heaven, but the Taira clan had been cast down by the ambitious, ruthless samurai general, Minamoto no Yoritomo, a man who had killed his own brother to consolidate his power. Just over a hundred years ago, one of Yasutoki’s ancestors, Taira no Kiyomori, had been given control of Dazaifu. Thirty years later, the Taira clan had been destroyed by Yoritomo, and the power of the Emperor was crippled, replaced by a new tyranny founded on lakes of blood. But scattered, splintered remnants of the Taira clan survived, and into one of those hidden, forgotten pockets Yasutoki had been born, and he had been raised to hate the Bakufu. Much like the man he was waiting to meet here on this dark, secluded path.
He paced back and forth on the path, rubbing his arms to dispel the night chill. The moon had come up not long ago, and in the dim light, he could see both directions down the path, in case anyone approached. The monks of Kanzeonji Temple chanted far down the mountainside below.
He thought about the mysterious ronin again. Earlier this evening, before sneaking out of his house, he had dispatched two of his spies to find the man. With luck, they might discover something by the time Yasutoki reached Lord Nishimuta’s estate. He must see about recruiting this man as quickly as possible. The plans he had set in motion might require him to use a hired sword in the near future. It was always best to have contingency plans, and plans within plans. His network of spies and informants was extensive, and many years in the making. He had people in Dazaifu, Hakata, Hakozaki, and Imazu, not to mention a few in Kyoto and even the Shogun’s headquarters in Kamakura, who kept him apprised of events in the great seats of power. Of course, it would be troublesome if the ronin ran off with the beautiful young maiden, Kazuko. That would make him much harder to find. And Yasutoki already had plans for her.
Where was Kage? His irritation grew with each passing moment, increasing the chance that he would be discovered loitering in the darkness by some passerby. The path’s seclusion reduced that chance, but. . . .
“No need for such nervousness, ‘Green Tiger,’ ” purred a voice from the darkness within a couple of paces of him.
Yasutoki started, and his heartbeat leaped into a gallop. He clutched his chest and tried to control his breath. “Kage, I presume.”
The leaves of the underbrush rustled faintly, and a black silhouette slid onto the path. The silhouette was clad in clothing so black that the edges seemed blurred and indistinct. A chill run up Yasutoki’s spine. The figure’s appearance seemed more like the flow of liquid shadow than the movements of a man. He wondered if this man had magic at his disposal that might enhance his abilities, then rubbed his eyes and tried to blink the shadows into solidification.
The man’s voice was quiet and controlled, just loud enough for Yasutoki to hear. “I was pleased to hear from you, cousin.”
“So you agree to my request then?”
�
�For a man who makes his way through politics, you have little patience.”
“My apologies, Kage. It is simply that these are matters of importance and could not wait. Besides, you are late.”
“On the contrary, I have been waiting here since before nightfall. But I could not show myself to you before now. A group of nuns was meditating at the shrine near one of the branching paths down the slope. I waited for them to leave, but then a drunken samurai came up the path to take a piss. Now, there is no one who might overhear our conversation.”
Yasutoki nodded. “You have great skill. Do you have great loyalty as well?”
“Loyalty to whom? You? I think not. The Taira clan? The Taira clan is dead. My loyalty lies with me.”
“But do we not share a . . . distaste for the same people?”
“Yes, but that does not mean I will put my own life in mortal danger without good reason.”
“The destruction of the Bakufu is not reason enough?”
“Not quite. I require other payment as well.”
Yasutoki scowled. He had hoped this man would help him on the strength of their ancestral bonds and a mutual hatred of the government. His voice was cold as ice. “How much?”
“We shall see. Before I agree to do as you ask, there are some things I must know.”
Yasutoki sighed and tried to sound conciliatory. “If the answers to your questions are within my power to provide, I will.”
“What do you ask me to do exactly?”
“I want you to provide me with information about all the lords on this island. I want to know how many samurai they keep as retainers, and I want to know their prowess. I want to know how many peasants or other troops they can levy. I want to know their general state of readiness. If their lands were attacked tomorrow, how well could they respond and how quickly.”
“That is powerful information. And valuable. Who is it for?”
“That is none of your concern!” Yasutoki snapped.
“Then my price just doubled,” the man said calmly. “How will you send me payment?”
“Through family channels. How will you accomplish your mission?”
“Through whatever means necessary. I will have expenses. They must first be determined.” Yasutoki heard the smirk in the man’s voice. “This is valuable information. Others might wish to pay for it.”
Yasutoki hissed. He lunged at the shadowy figure and in an instant had encircled the man’s neck with his arm. Yasutoki held him now with a needle glinting in the starlight, poised for the thrust into the man’s right eye. His voice turned dark and deadly. “Enough banter! Listen to me, Kage. I have had enough of your vagaries. If you work for me, you work only for me! Do you understand? Betray me, and you will die.”
Words fought their way through the man’s clenched throat. “It is unfortunate that you resort to violence against a kinsman.”
Before Yasutoki realized what was happening, a vise-like grip twisted his arm away from Kage’s throat. The man writhed out of his grasp and buried a hammer-like foot in Yasutoki’s belly, doubling him over.
The man’s voice was cold and thick with menace, like an angry serpent with its fangs exposed. “You forget that we were taught the ways of secrecy and combat in the same training hall. And you have not kept up your training. You have been soft for too long. Nevertheless, your offer intrigues me, so I will not kill you. I will send word of my price before the new moon. If it is acceptable, then I will commence.”
Yasutoki stood up, gasping, holding his burning belly, and took a deep painful breath. He adjusted the chinstrap and straightened his basket hat, which had been knocked askew in the scuffle. “Very well. You may have bested me here in the dark, but you would not be wise to underestimate my power if you betray me.”
“As you say,” said the shadow. Then it seemed to flow away down the path, until it merged with other shadows under the leaves and disappeared.
Yasutoki stifled the anger that had overwhelmed his self-control. His plans were too long in the making to be betrayed by one of his own people. He could not allow such a thing. Perhaps he should hire a spy to watch his spy. In the meantime, the evening was growing colder. The warmth of his room at one of his lord’s houses in Dazaifu sounded good now. He had a long trek still ahead of him. He trusted his personal servants to “forget” that he had been gone most of the evening, but pushing his luck was best avoided.
He made his way down the path, going over his plans for the immediate future. Tomorrow he would continue his journey to the estate of Lord Nishimuta no Jiro. He had a message from his lord to convey to Lord Nishimuta. Lord Nishimuta would be pleased to hear confirmation of the budding alliance between the Nishimuta and the house of Yasutoki’s lord. Both estates were minor, but the two greater clans were powerful, and an alliance between them would strengthen both. Yasutoki toyed with the idea of sowing the seeds of destruction before the alliance was even complete, but he decided against it. Increasing the power of his lord would increase his own power, even though his ultimate goal was the destruction of all samurai lords loyal to the Shogunate.
The footpath before him was black and difficult. This made it the perfect choice for his illicit meeting, but it was difficult to traverse in the dark of night. More than once his slippered feet skidded on loose dirt, but he kept his balance. That is, until his feet slid into a soft, heavy lump lying across the path. He suppressed a cry of surprise as he tumbled face-first over the obstruction onto the stony path beyond. Anger flared again, and he tasted dirt in his mouth. He rolled to his feet, casting his senses in all directions for evidence of anyone who may have perceived him. He heard only the songs of night creatures. At his feet was a dark, motionless mass, a human body. The head and feet lay obscured by the grass on either side of the narrow path so that he could not tell which end was which. After another quick check for witnesses, he knelt beside the body and peered as closely as he could in the darkness.
A pale, bearded face, with a samurai’s hairstyle, stared with dead eyes at the starry night. Yasutoki could smell the sake. The man’s mouth hung open, and Yasutoki looked closer to discover the cause of death. Was his throat cut? No. Had he been strangled? No, his throat appeared to be unharmed. No stab wounds on his body and no bludgeoning injuries on his skull. Wait. A shiny black trail of blood seeped from one ear, congealing like black jelly in the ridges of his ear, trickling toward the back of his skull. Yasutoki grunted in appreciation of the assassin’s skill. Surprising a samurai and delivering a needle thrust through the ear and into the brain required incredible skill. His new retainer was indeed worthy. He just had to make sure he could be controlled.
But Yasutoki had to get away from here as soon as possible. When this body was found, a citywide investigation would commence right away. He might not be allowed to leave Dazaifu. Or worse, he could have been seen leaving the house tonight, and he would then have to answer too many troublesome questions. His position and high rank would help him shed any substantive accusations, but his lord would not look favorably upon him if he were late reaching Lord Nishimuta’s estate. He could not afford that.
Why had the assassin left the body here in plain sight? Such sloppiness was inexcusable, unless he had meant the body to be found. He had meant for Yasutoki to find the body, as a warning. He had known that Yasutoki would find and examine the body and make the proper deductions about the assassin’s proficiency. He had also correctly predicted Yasutoki’s initial reaction, to get away quickly, and even the secondary reaction, to stop and better conceal the body. A faint smile stretched Yasutoki’s reptilian lips. With a wiry physical strength he usually kept hidden, he stepped over the body, lifted it by the hands, fighting against the growing stiffness in the limbs, and dragged it off the path into the blackness. He concealed the body under a bush as best he could, and went on his way.
Twelve
Now the swinging bridge
Is quieted with creepers . . .
Like our tendrilled life
&
nbsp; —Basho
Ken’ishi sat beside a broad, placid lake. The far side of the lake was swathed in the red-orange conflagration of a sunset or perhaps a sunrise; he could not remember which it was. Flocks of birds filled the air like wind-driven clouds, adjusting their paths as if they were single entities. Behind him was the mountain where he had been raised. He did not need to see it to know it was there. It weighed down upon his shoulders like a past life, always following him wherever he went. He looked onto the flawless surface of the lake and saw its reflection. Strangely, the lake did not give him his own reflection.
Ripples on the water drifted across his field of vision, distorting the image of the mountain. The ripples were formed from the wake of an oshidori, a mandarin duck, swimming calmly across the water. It was a brilliantly colored drake. With iridescent purple, green, white, and chestnut plumage and the feathered crest on the back of its arched neck in full array, it was a beautiful creature. Ken’ishi watched its course for a time. The drake seemed to be looking for something, and it grew more and more urgent, its bill turning this way and that way.
Heavy footsteps walked up beside him. He looked up over his shoulder and saw that it was the oni bandit chieftain, Hakamadare. He thought it curious that he felt so calm. Cradled in its huge, misshapen hands, the oni held another duck, a female. The oni sat beside Ken’ishi and placed the duck on the ground, releasing it. The duck waddled toward the lake. The drake saw her and began to paddle for shore. The two birds met at the water’s edge. The drake shook the water from his fine, beautiful clothes, and the modestly garbed female stepped up to him and bowed. Her colors were plain, muted browns and grays, less ostentatious than the brightly colored drake, but the drake did not care. He preened himself with his bill, then laid his head against her delicately arched neck.
The oni’s voice was rough, but unhurried, unthreatening, almost playful. “Go now, little ducks, before I eat you.”
Heart of the Ronin Page 12