by Adam Baker
He pulled dried fruit from the side pocket of his backpack and chewed.
‘So what happens now?’ asked his father.
‘I wait.’
‘How does your leg feel?’
‘Numb.’
‘That smell. It’s getting worse. Maybe you should check the wound.’
‘Why? There’s nothing I can do about it.’
His father nodded. He stood up. ‘I should go,’ he said. ‘A little while longer, then your work will be done. Will you be okay?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
He bent and took Masaie’s hand.
‘I’ll see you soon.’ Then he was gone. Masaie found himself alone on a ledge looking out over moonlit fields.
The samurai snapped awake as dawn light shafted through the mouth of the mountain cave. He was angry with himself. He must have drifted to sleep during the night and was lucky not to freeze to death.
‘Come on. Get up,’ he said, shaking his companions awake.
Tameyo opened his eyes. He looked exhausted, utterly unrefreshed by sleep. Ariyo had the gaunt, haunted look of a condemned man who had woken in his cell and realised his day of execution had arrived.
‘Daylight,’ said the samurai. ‘We need to get going.’
They crawled from the cave and stood on a ledge. The men shivered. They stretched, rubbed their eyes and looked around to assess their situation. They were two thirds of the way up the mountain.
Ariyo pissed from the ledge into a precipitous drop below – a stream of urine plummeting into the abyss.
They looked up at the summit and saw the peak wreathed in wisps of wind-blown snow like it was the smouldering cinder-cone of a volcano.
‘Not far to go,’ said the samurai, searching for encouraging words. ‘We’re nearly at the top.’
Thunder rolled around the surrounding peaks. A rumbling concussion. It reached a crescendo and died slow. Tameyo looked terrified.
‘Thunder,’ said the samurai. ‘It’s just thunder.’
‘We shouldn’t have come here. The mountain gods are angry.’
‘If the gods were angry we’d already be dead. We could have died yesterday. Fallen to our deaths a hundred times over. We might have frozen in that cave, but we survived. The gods are smiling on our endeavour, urging us on.’
Tameyo didn’t seem convinced.
‘Think about it,’ said the samurai. ‘If the gods despise intruders, they will hate the general more than us. Perhaps we are their instrument of revenge.’
They lashed blankets round their bodies and hooded them over their heads. They tied rope round their waists, shouldered their packs and wrapped torn linen round their blistered hands to act as mittens. The men shuffled along the ledge and they began to climb.
* * *
They reached the summit late afternoon – a jagged ridge. They waded across a snow shelf, bent into the driving wind until they reached the thin blade of rock which topped the mountain. They sheltered for a while just beneath the ridge. Each time they lifted their heads they were slammed by a merciless wind. They huddled together and warmed frozen hands while they braced themselves to face the hurricane and begin their descent.
The samurai looked down. He could see the village, a tiny cluster of houses far below. Delicate threads of hearth smoke from their chimneys. He looked south to wooded hills and the distant agricultural plain. Beyond the horizon lay the Freshwater Sea and Kyoto itself. He wondered what the Emperor and his mother were doing at that moment. It was noon. Maybe they were knelt on cushions in one of the palace gardens while servants poured tea. Maybe they were eating a little fruit and enjoying the sun.
The three men sat in silence a while.
‘Is this how the gods see the world?’ asked Tameyo, raising his voice to be heard over the wind roar. ‘We must seem so small to them. Smaller than ants.’
The samurai uncorked a flask of water and passed it to his companions. They drank deep. The liquid in the flask had partially frozen and they could feel a chunk of ice rattle inside the bamboo bottle each time they tipped it back. They handed the flask back to the samurai.
‘How are you feeling?’ he shouted to Ariyo.
Ariyo had complained his feet hurt when they stopped mid-morning to sit on a ledge and chew dried food. He had torn more linen, unlaced his leather shoes and bandaged his toes.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, without meeting the samurai’s gaze.
‘Your feet still hurt, don’t they? I can see it in your face, the way you move.’
‘I’m all right,’ he said. His voice sounded hollow like he had already given in to death. He stared straight ahead, seeing but not seeing. ‘All downhill from now on, neh?’
‘Yes. If we make good time we could be out of the snowline by nightfall. Lower altitude. Less wind.’
‘Yeah,’ mumbled Tameyo, sitting with his knees pulled to his chin. ‘And look on the bright side. We’ll be dead in a couple of days. Won’t have to make the return trip.’
He huddled into his tunic.
‘Let’s head down,’ said the samurai. ‘We should find shelter. We’ve done enough climbing for one day. We deserve a little rest.’
‘There’s no air,’ said Tameyo. ‘Can’t seem to get my breath.’
‘Get up,’ said Ariyo. He slowly turned and looked at Tameyo. He subtly straightened as if he were tapping some reservoir of revitalising, life-giving anger. ‘I’m not going to freeze on this mountain because of your lazy hide. I want to be warm. I want to be done with this nonsense and back in Kyoto warm, fed and fucked. The Emperor is a man like anyone else. I won’t die for him. I intend to live.’
‘All right,’ said the samurai. ‘Hang on to that. Whatever it takes to get you through the next few days.’
He stood up. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, holding out his hand. Tameyo reluctantly allowed the samurai to help him to his feet.
* * *
They descended from the summit. They made good time until Tameyo suddenly froze with fear while clinging to a rock face.
‘I can’t move,’ he shouted.
The samurai and Ariyo worked their way back up to the ledge. Tameyo was a couple of arm-spans away. To reach them he would have to shuffle along a narrow lip of stone with his face pressed to a rock face which offered virtually no handholds.
‘I can’t do it,’ said Tameyo. ‘I can’t go any further.’
They had traversed plenty of treacherous obstacles since setting out to conquer the mountain but Tameyo seemed to have reached some kind of internal breaking point. He couldn’t take another step.
The samurai held out his hand. ‘Four paces,’ he bellowed over the relentless wind. ‘That’s all. Shuffle sideways four paces and we can reach you.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can. This is nothing. Think of everything you’ve overcome these past couple of days. This is nothing at all. A few of steps and you’re done.’
‘No.’
‘You’re roped to us. You can’t fall. If you slip, we’ll catch you.’
Tameyo reached down and fumbled at the rope knotted round his waist like he was attempting to untether himself.
‘What are you doing?’ demanded the samurai.
‘Go on without me. I’m finished.’
‘Stop,’ commanded the samurai. ‘Just stop. Look at me.’
They locked gazes, the samurai trying to instil strength and calm in the stricken man through force of will.
‘There’s a cave down below. We’ll make camp. All you have to do is take a few more paces. You’ve come this far. You can manage the last few steps.’
Tameyo looked down at the ledge he would need to traverse to reach his companions. It was little more than a crease in the rock.
‘If a cripple like me can make it across,’ said the samurai, ‘so can you.’
He held out an encouraging hand. Tameyo reluctantly shuffled closer. He stepped onto the narrow lip. His heels hung over a vertiginous drop onto jagged boulders.
Wind tore at his clothes. His crudely mittened fingertips scrabbled the rock face as he searched for a handhold.
‘That’s it,’ said the samurai, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. ‘Keep coming.’
‘I can’t,’ mouthed Tameyo, so tired, so far gone, he couldn’t voice the words. He looked over his shoulder at the fall behind him like he wanted to step backward and be done with it all, topple backwards into blissful unbeing like an exhausted man throwing himself down on a soft bed.
‘Don’t,’ shouted the samurai. ‘Don’t look down. Just move.’
Tameyo rested his forehead against the rock face and closed his eyes.
‘You thought there would be daemons,’ said the samurai. ‘Well, here they are. They don’t come at you directly, breaking rocks and breathing fire. They’re sly. They slide into your body when your guard is down. They sap your strength, your will. So expel them. Drive them out. Think hard. Your wife. Your daughters. You want to see them again, don’t you? Get angry. Get defiant. And move, damn you.’
Tameyo slowly, painfully, shuffled along the narrow ledge, sobbing with the effort. Ariyo held the back of the samurai’s tunic so he could reach forward. Tameyo stretched out and gripped his hand, allowing himself to be pulled to safety. He collapsed against the samurai and held him for support. The samurai lay the exhausted man on the ledge.
‘Show me your hands.’
Tameyo held out one of his hands. The Samurai unwound bandages and exposed black, swollen fingertips.
‘All right. We’ll use the rope. Lower you level by level then follow on foot. Don’t worry. It won’t be long now. Then we can properly rest.’
He turned to Ariyo. ‘We better find shelter. Won’t be doing much more climbing before nightfall.’
‘You said there was a cave.’
‘I said it to give him a little hope. I’ll stay here. Go ahead. See what you can find. Any kind of fissure or alcove. Some place we can rest.’
Ariyo nodded. He untied the rope lashed round his waist, lowered himself from the ledge and began to explore the precipitous crags below.
* * *
The sky began to darken as evening fell. Ariyo couldn’t find shelter so he dug into snow banked on a ledge and created a small ice cave using his knife as a trowel. He shaped the excavated snow into a little wall in front of the cave mouth to act as a wind break and fetched the samurai and Tameyo. They climbed inside and huddled together. Tameyo shivered uncontrollably so they hugged him, slapped him, tried to get him warm.
‘We’ll be safe here,’ said the samurai. ‘It’s a good place to stop a while. The castle is directly below us. We can’t descend much further without being seen.’
He handed round the remains of the dried fruit. Tameyo refused the food.
‘You must eat,’ insisted the samurai.
Tameyo reached out with bloody, blistered fingers and took a piece of apple. He put it between cracked lips and slowly chewed.
‘Someone needs to stay awake,’ said the samurai. ‘I’ll take first watch. You two get some sleep.’
* * *
Next morning the samurai crawled from the snow shelter and shielded his eyes against harsh daylight. He stretched and took a deep lungful of fresh air, glad to escape the foetid humidity of the shelter. He ate a mouthful of snow then rubbed ice over his face to shock himself alert. He pulled the blanket tight over his head for warmth, belly-crawled across the ice-dusted plateau until he reached the edge and looked down.
The castle was laid out beneath him. Snow-crusted rooftops, a cobbled yard and a massive perimeter wall. He watched sentries wrapped in furs pace the battlements. Smoke curled from roof hatches. He could see servants in the courtyard, young lads forking hay from a cart and carrying it to the stables.
He tried to gauge the layout. The yard was ringed by barracks, storerooms and domestic dormitories. The large central tower was almost certainly the general’s quarters. The tower was five storey’s high. The interior would be a labyrinth. Multiple rooms on each floor, tight corridors and stairwells. It would be impossible to navigate once he was inside and would be full of soldiers, courtiers and servants. If he broke into the tower he would be discovered and killed almost immediately. There was no way of launching an attack without securing a detailed plan of the building.
* * *
The samurai crawled back inside the ice shelter.
‘We’re right over the castle,’ he said. ‘This is a good vantage point. We can watch troops come and go.’
Ariyo gestured to Tameyo lying curled in blankets at the back of the cave. ‘I can’t wake him.’
The samurai crawled over to the sleeping man and tried to rouse him.
‘Wake up. Hey. Tameyo.’
No response. The samurai shook the man’s shoulder.
‘Tameyo. Wake up.’
He bent forward and put his face directly over the sleeping man like he was leaning in for a kiss. He studied the Tameyo’s mouth and saw a faint wisp of steam escape parted lips.
‘He’s still breathing.’
The samurai sat back, contemplated the sleeping man for a moment then viciously slapped his face. Tameyo shifted but didn’t wake. The samurai repeatedly slapped the man until he groggily raised his arms to defend himself. Tameyo struggled to sit up then lay back and drowsed. His eyelids drooped like he wanted to go back to sleep.
‘Hey,’ said the samurai gripping the collar of Tameyo’s kimono and pulling him upright, eye to eye. ‘Wake up. You’ve got to wake up. If you give in to the cold, you’ll die. Don’t let it take you. Concentrate. Come on. Wake up. Be here with us now.’
Tameyo struggled to focus and gave a bleary nod.
‘Get up. Get out on that ledge and walk around. Jump up and down, whatever it takes. Get your circulation going.’
The three men squirmed from the ice tunnel and stood on the plateau pulling their clothes and blankets tight around them. They hooded their heads and masked their faces, enjoyed the light and space as best they could, despite the cutting wind. The samurai slapped Tameyo’s back and shook his shoulders. He tried to shake the man alert. Ariyo stood at the lip of the ledge and looked down.
‘Don’t get too close to the edge,’ advised the samurai. ‘We’re fine back here. But if we move forward we will be in view of the castle below. The sentries will spot us.’
Tameyo stared, hollow-eyed, at the landscape spread out before them. Despite the thin snow flurry, they could see for miles. They looked out over woodland and distant hills.
‘That’s our route,’ said the samurai. ‘The road we followed from Kyoto. The road you will walk on your way back home. Remember that tavern? The one with the girls? Food. Drink. A warm hearth. You’ll be back there soon, sitting by the fire with a full belly.’
Tameyo didn’t reply. Ariyo looked up. Flakes of snow caught in his beard. ‘Wish we made this expedition in spring,’ he said.
‘No point wishing,’ said the samurai. ‘We all face a test, sooner or later. A moment when we find out who we truly are.’
Ariyo grimaced in irritation like he was too tired, too cold, for platitudes. ‘Wish it was warmer. That’s all I’m saying.’ He broke some snow from the lip of the tunnel mouth and sucked it.
‘Shouldn’t eat too much snow,’ said the samurai. ‘Do you more harm than good.’
‘Well, if you’ve got a bottle of saké about your person feel free to pop the cork. Otherwise why don’t we just stand here and be quiet a while?’
They huddled in the cave and waited for darkness to fall.
‘I imagine Masaie will be getting himself in position about now,’ said the samurai. He turned to face his miserable companions. ‘If it’s any consolation, this battle will be over soon. Our hardships will be at an end, one way or another.’
‘Do you have a plan to get close to the general?’ asked Ariyo.
‘I have an idea.’
‘And your girl? Are you sure she’ll play her part?’
‘Yes. Sh
e’ll see it through.’
They sat a while.
‘Promise me something,’ said the samurai.
‘What?’ asked Ariyo.
‘When you flee this place take the girl with you. Understand? That’s your job. You and Tameyo. That’s what I need from you. Get her out of here. Get her to safety.’
‘I’ll do what I can.’
‘You’ll have to move fast. Leave Etchū soon as possible. Once the alarm is raised, they’ll block every bridge and road, close every border crossing. You’ll have to run ahead of them. You’ll have to keep to the wilds.
‘Yes.’
‘Please. Get her to safety. Promise you won’t abandon her.’
‘You have my word.’
The samurai glanced at Tameyo and saw his head nod towards his chest.
‘Hey.’ The samurai kicked his shin. ‘Wake up.’
Tameyo shifted but didn’t open his eyes.
‘Let me sleep,’ he mumbled.
‘No. Open your eyes.’
‘My head hurts.’
The samurai crawled to the tunnel mouth and stuffed snow into his flask. He shook it and stuffed it down the front of his robe to speed the thawing process. He returned to the cave, held the flask to Tameyo’s lips and forced water down his throat. Tameyo choked and spluttered. The samurai slapped him fully awake. He looked at the samurai with bleary hatred.
‘Angry? Good. Hate me. Throw a punch if you want. Just get that heart pumping. You have to stay awake, you hear me? Your wife. Your daughters. Picture them. They need you. When this is done, they will need you.’
* * *
The samurai sat at the mouth of the ice cave and watched sunset turn the landscape red. From his high elevation he could see the trees cast long shadows. He took calm breaths, as his master taught him. He reduced his consciousness to the sensations around him, the immediate moment. The mournful whisper of the wind. Distant shouts of command from the castle below.