by Walt Mussell
“Maybe he knew something.”
Uji rubbed his chin. “Possibly. Two days ago, Kitayama requested a meeting with Father. They were supposed to meet yesterday at dawn. When Kitayama didn’t show, Toshi and I went to look for him. We found him dead.”
Sweat trickled from Nobuhiro’s brow and he wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his kimono. The heat from the day’s work still weighed heavily within the room. He opened windows on each side. Cooler night air greeted his face, along with the smell of grass. Crickets chirped in the background, their nightly song disturbing an otherwise silent evening. It was later than he thought. How long had he been in the shop?
Nobuhiro indicated a raised platform at the rear of the shop, suggesting that Uji sit down. Uji gave a quick nod and obliged.
Another suspect dead and no closer to the truth.
Nobuhiro walked over to a small hearth, where a pot of water sat warm over a bed of hot coals. He removed the pot with a wooden hook and prepared tea for his brother. Uji had already sat down. He hoped that meant he had time. Nobuhiro prepared a second cup for himself and then walked over to the platform, handing the cup to Uji.
Uji nodded his thanks. His normally stone face dropped its hard edge.
Nobuhiro seated himself, sloshing drops of hot liquid on the back of his hand. He winced but kept it to himself. “Does Father know you’re here and that you’re telling me this?”
Uji leaned back and shifted to a crisscross sitting position, which for Uji meant he was stretching his legs. “Father is aware of it. He approved Toshi and me keeping you abreast of everything.”
The answer stunned Nobuhiro. He sat up straight and looked intently at his brother. “I’m . . . surprised. In our last conversation, he only grudgingly admitted I might be able to assist. What has brought about this change in him?”
Uji shook his head. His eyes conveyed undisguised disdain. “You ask too much sometimes, Nobuhiro. Father has been impressed with your actions. He has shown it the only way he knows how.”
Nobuhiro’s jaw clenched, matching the tension in his body. The only way he knows how? The phrase brought back the barbs of countless shameful displays of a man who only knew how to display embarrassment. “His few words mean little. His manners indicate nothing has changed.”
“Hai,” Uji said, his voice again showcasing a gruff timbre. “He has his issues, but so do you. You are headstrong. Stubborn. It is the one quality of Father’s that you did inherit. True change is achieved over time. Even the slow-moving stream wears smooth the rocks at its bottom. You need to give him more time.”
Nobuhiro’s jaw hardened, matching the stiffness in his heart. “I was gone seven years. Wasn’t that—?”
“And you also need to grow up.” Uji’s eyes opened wide and his voice carried fire. “There are reasons some Buddhist monks meditate by sitting under a waterfall. The same could help you concentrate. Your thoughts and feelings cloud your judgment.”
Nobuhiro stared at Uji. His brother seldom lost his temper.
He never lost his reason.
Uji’s comments settled in Nobuhiro’s gut hard, reminding him of when he had first left. Three days passed before he ate his first meal. He had downed every morsel rapidly, but the food settled like stones in his stomach. He had grown sick and thrown up. He had considered going back. But he had made his decision to leave.
He had needed to move forward then.
He needed to move forward now.
Wasn’t that the reason he left in the first place? Yet the child in him still waged a battle with the old version of his father. He had said farewell to that life when he accepted the role as a swordsmith’s apprentice. Accepting a new station in life meant learning to see with different eyes. Applying those eyes now was required.
Have I been too hard on . . . Father? Did he suffer back then as I did? Am I too hard on his actions now?
Nobuhiro studied Uji. Perspiration beaded on his forehead, poised to stream down his cheeks. His face was impassive. The angry color gone. Uji acted from duty and common sense, but also from an understanding of how his actions were interpreted.
Nobuhiro must learn to do the same.
He took another sip of tea and pursed his lips. “You are right, brother,” Nobuhiro said as he allowed himself to breathe, “but I don’t know if sitting under a waterfall is the way I want to spend my time.”
Uji grunted, using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe his forehead. “When this humidity gets worse, it might not be a bad idea.”
The brothers chuckled, but Nobuhiro considered the point. He needed to meditate, to sort out his thoughts.
He still had not talked with Master Goami, to reaffirm his commitment to his service for another year. He had affirmed it in his actions. He had progressed greatly since the day he had abdicated his samurai life. Prayer offered hope, regardless of his station. Zen, though, offered no answers for his plight.
Where to begin? Where to look? Where to find answers to the meaning of a relationship with his father?
Sen flashed to his mind. Her words. Her beliefs. Her conviction.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe the wisdom in the relationship he sought was something that could be understood by meditating on this Christian God.
Maybe the love of Father and Son from that foreign religion could help him with his own life.
Nobuhiro walked back to the open window and looked in the direction toward town. The marketplace was a sizable distance away, but he heard the low murmur of the night and imagined it was the crowd, milling about the night before the sumo exhibition. The voices sounded happy.
However, Nobuhiro could have sworn he heard a scream.
###
Sen awoke with a pounding headache and her arms numb from being tied behind her. She moved her wrists but felt little slack in her bonds. Her cheek rubbed against a column that had the texture of smooth wood.
Her lips caught the salty taste of dried sweat. Her left temple throbbed from where she had been struck. She longed to massage her head but felt pain each time she pulled her hands to free herself. The rough hemp chafed her hands and she winced as the twine cut into her skin.
She sat up and looked around the room, using her eyelids as best she could to flush the blurriness from her eyes. Partially opened windows allowed in a little light from the full moon outside. A small hole through the ceiling allowed moonlight as well. Still, the remaining darkness grayed her ability to see her surroundings.
Rotting wood and ash saturated the air, overlaying the musty smell of a room that had not been opened often to the outside world. Dust choked her breath, drying her face and throat.
“Uhhhn,” a pained voice said behind her, catching her attention.
“Omi, is that you?”
“Yes,” she responded, her voice dragging out in a low tone.
“Are you badly hurt?” Sen asked, her voice coughing out the words.
“I feel like I collided with a giant Buddha statue. What happened?”
Sen related what she remembered, but it wasn’t much. Omi’s scream. The masked man. The cold edge on the one word he uttered. Pain clouded the few facts that darkness had failed to hide. “Are you tied up also?”
The sound of rope moving against wood cut through the silence. “Yes, and it’s tight. My wrists hurt and I can’t feel much. You?”
“The same.”
“Can you move at all?” Omi asked.
Sen inched forward, sliding along the ground. Her arms pulled back. “I can move a little, but I’m tied to the column.”
“So am I,” Omi said.
Sen struggled against her bonds to no avail. She scanned the room again as her eyes adjusted slightly. Blurry shapes now had dark outlines. Thin rods protruded from the walls in a diamond-shaped pattern. Likely for storage, though nothing indicated what items that might be. “Do you have any idea where we are?”
Omi drew a large breath and then expelled it loudly. “My eyes are still getti
ng used to the dark. There are machines in front of me, but they’re so burned I can’t tell what they were used for. A fire did a lot of damage to this place.”
Sen coughed again as the dust and moldy ash clogged the air. “What should we do? Do you think anyone would hear us if we yelled?”
“Possibly. Do you hear anything?”
Sen strained her ears to concentrate on the outside. Soft voices echoed, but she couldn’t discern anything other than occasional distant laughter. “Sounds like they’re too far away. Besides, what if that man is close by? He might be the first to respond.”
Omi grunted. “We can’t just sit here and wait for someone to find us. I know you can’t reach your own ropes. See if you can reach mine.”
Sen inched back toward Omi and stretched her fingers out, seeing if she could grab on to Omi’s bonds.
“Itai.” Sen drew her hands back. Her forefinger pulsed in tandem with the pain.
“What happened?” Omi asked.
Sen gritted her teeth. “I touched something sharp. Before this night is over, I’ll be covered in blood and bruises.”
“You probably touched something that fell and broke in the fire. Be careful.”
“I have an idea.” Sen moved her hand back slowly in the direction where she had drawn it from earlier, finding the sharp-edged object. She fingered it and found a smooth side. “Got it.”
“What do you have?”
“Whatever it is I cut my finger on.” As best she could, Sen raised the object toward what she hoped was the bonds that held her to the pole.
“Itai,” Omi said.
Sen stopped, relaxing her wrists. Soreness ran through her shoulders and upper arms. “Sorry, I must have poked you.”
“What are you trying to do?”
“This thing I picked up is sharp. I thought I might be able to use it to cut my ropes.”
“Good idea. But since my hands are close by, try mine. Keep it still. I’ll see if I can find it again.”
Sen held her hands motionless, waiting for some signal that Omi had found the target. Fingers brushed along the back of her hand, flowing out to her fingers. A muffled gasp followed.
“Found it,” Omi said.
“Keep your voice down,” Sen replied, irritated.
“Let me poke you and see how you keep your voice down,” Omi retorted.
Sen closed her eyes, holding the object in one hand. Omi’s fingers brushed Sen’s hand again, guiding the object toward the rope fibers.
“Got it,” Sen said and held the fibers tight.
She ran the sharp edge along the rope weave for several minutes, holding her breath as if that would help her concentrate. Her arms grew tired and she willed herself to keep going. The pressure in her head multiplied the pain of each stroke.
Sen’s breath came in gulps. Sweat trickled down her face. She pushed her heels into the ground to gain more pressure, the smell of the room turning her nose. After a few minutes, she exhaled with a loud rush. “Sorry, I don’t know if I’m making any progress.”
“We are, I think. I’m trying to spread my hands and they’re getting farther apart. You’re getting there. Hurry.”
Sen reached out again and felt the rope. It was tight. Omi was pulling on it to increase the tension. Sen went back to work.
“Keep going,” Omi said. “I can feel the rope weakening.”
Sen continued to press, hearing light sounds as tiny strands seem to snap in a slow succession like icicles cracking as the sun melted them. She applied more pressure and—
Crack.
Sen’s hands slid. Whatever she’d held in her hands likely broke.
“I’m free,” Omi cried.
“Great,” Sen whispered.
The tension in her bonds loosened. Omi was trying to free her. She moved her hands closer to provide extra slack. Soon, Sen was free as well.
“Thanks.” She rubbed her wrists where the ropes had chafed them. Her breaths came more easily. She looked up and smiled at Omi, who had come from around the other side.
Her friend smiled back. “Can you move?”
Sen put her hands on the floor and tried to push herself up. The stiffness in her muscles hampered her efforts. Omi knelt next to her and put her own hands under Sen’s shoulders to help her stand. She flinched at the pressure.
“Did you see a door?” Sen asked.
“Over on my side. Let’s go.”
The two of them tiptoed to the door, knowing by the light coming from the nearby window that the door led outside. Sen listened but heard no sounds. If there was someone outside, they were being quiet. She knelt and cracked the door open to peer outside. Seeing no one, she nodded to Omi. They slid the door completely open, the scrape of wood on wood adding to their unease, and ran toward the sounds of the city.
Chapter Sixteen
Nobuhiro pushed the bellows, providing more blasts of air to the already hot forge. The scent of pine greeted his nose, as potent as the incense of any temple. The heat waged a battle with the breeze blowing in from the windows. The sweat on his brow told him the heat was winning.
A rush of cool air reached his back. Nobuhiro turned to see Master Goami. The old man’s smile resembled that of a Buddha. It decreased the years in his face.
“Hard at work, I see. Very good,” Master Goami said. “You worked here late last night and are here early today. You are a dedicated apprentice.”
Nobuhiro recalled Uji’s visit last night. He and his brother had talked a long time. He had felt like family again, like the times when he was young and had followed his brothers everywhere, wanting to be like them. He still admired them greatly.
But he was happy with the path he had chosen.
Still, Master Goami believed he had been working. Nobuhiro had hidden the visits of his brothers for a long time, afraid it would show a lack of commitment. Afraid it would show he hadn’t left his old life. Afraid that Master Goami would reject him.
Fear of uttering words that his own ears had never heard him say out loud.
“Good morning, Master. It was not that much work. Just taking care of the shop. Making sure that everything was in working order. That the tools and equipment were clean.” His chest tightened. It hurt to hide the truth from the man who had guided his steps all these years. He would apologize for his dishonor later. “I didn’t think I was up late.”
“I saw the shop from my room. It was nearly the hour of the rat.”
“It must have been later than I thought.” Nobuhiro looked at Master Goami, hoping that his response would end the discussion. However, the old man’s gaze was drawn toward the platform on the side. Nobuhiro turned and his knees wobbled. Two of the honored chairs were still out as well as a tray with two ceramic cups. He was tired last night and neglected to clean. This morning, he’d failed to notice it.
Master Goami stared at him. “Nobuhiro, who was here last night?”
###
Sen took a sip of water, placing it on the tray in front of her. The liquid cooled her thoughts as well as her throat. Footsteps, fast and slow, sounded in the nearby hall. The castle was busy with activity, as always.
Nobuhiro’s father sat across from her. The old man rubbed the sleep from his eyes and ran his hands over his scalp. Small streams of light peeked in from the open portal behind him. It would be daytime soon.
Toshi sat close by, questioning Omi. Concern radiated from his face, though he tried to hide it. He would be tending to Omi if not for the presence of his father nearby. If only the man had struck Sen first. Omi could have used her skills to fight back.
Had the attacker known Omi was samurai?
“Is there anything else you remember?” Nobuhiro’s father asked. His normally gruff voice was softer than Sen remembered.
She went over the events again in her head, knowing even the tiniest detail could be important. Her head throbbed with the remnants of pain from the blow she took from the masked man. “Nothing.”
Toshi approached, h
is left hand over the swords stuck in his belt. “There have been a few fires in the last year. There was a large fire in the silk garment area, a fire that burned more than one building. There were also some smaller ones that were better contained. Do you think it was could have been the silk district?”
Sen recalled the building, the ash smell, the pegs on the walls, the moonlight . . . through the ceiling. “I don’t think so. The building had no second floor for the silkworms.”
Toshi flattened his lips. “Do you think you could take us to where you were?”
Sen nodded slowly, her attention shifting back and forth between the two men. “I remember where we came out in the market area. I think I can find it.”
“I think so, too,” Omi added, her eyes half closed.
Sen stared at Omi, thankful her friend wasn’t in worse shape.
“Very well,” Nobuhiro’s father said, rising to his feet. “Let’s go now. Time is precious. Are you ready?”
Sen gave a half smile. “It’s my duty. I’ll do whatever I can.”
###
“Who was here last night, Nobuhiro?” Master asked again, his voice rising in tone, though not sounding angry.
Nobuhiro stared at the cups, then he turned toward Master Goami and looked at the ground. His entire face flushed as he dealt with the shame. He should have mentioned his brothers’ visits long before now. To have Master Goami discover them was not the way Nobuhiro wanted to address this, but the time for planning was over.
It was time to admit the truth.
Nobuhiro kept his head facing the floor. “My older brother visited last night. We talked for a while.”
“I see.” Master Goami’s voice was flat. “A surprise visit from family. Why did you keep this information from me?”
“I did not mean to do so. I . . . I worried you might doubt my commitment. That you might think I wished to return to my old life.”
“Is this the first time one of your brothers has visited?”
Shaking his head, Nobuhiro inhaled and steadied his nerves. “No, they have visited many times over the years.”