“What are you looking for?” Hato’s voice cut through the stillness so unexpectedly that Seikei nearly jumped.
Reigen motioned for her to be silent. He was concentrating on one tree in particular—a maple that still held a few of its bright red leaves high above. Reigen put his hand on the trunk and closed his eyes.
As Seikei watched, Reigen’s hand tightened around the tree. His wrinkled skin almost seemed to become part of the rippled bark.
Then there was a crash on the ground behind them. Seikei did jump this time, and turned to look, his heart pounding.
A thick branch had fallen from the tree. Of course there were dry branches on the ground throughout the woods. But as Seikei bent to examine this one, he saw that the wood was still green. He looked up and saw the white scar where it had broken off the tree. There seemed to be no reason why it should have fallen.
Reigen picked up the branch and plucked a few small offshoots and red leaves from it. He held it straight out, grasping it at one end. “This will need a little work,” he said, “but it should make a fine wooden sword for you.”
Seikei saw Hato giving him a look that plainly said, “I told you so.”
After building a fire in a clearing in the forest, Reigen carefully stripped the bark from the maple branch. Then he started to shape it, first heating it in the flames, then bending it into a gentle curve. While Hato gathered dry sticks and branches to keep the fire burning, Reigen asked Seikei, “Do you understand where we are going and what we must do?”
“I suppose we are going to the Atsuta Shrine,” Seikei said.
Reigen nodded.
“And we are”—Seikei swallowed hard, because this seemed like such a daring thing to say—“going to steal the sword called Kusanagi.”
“No,” Reigen said firmly. Seikei gave a sigh of relief.
“The sword is too powerful for anyone to possess,” Reigen continued. “That was why it was placed in the shrine after Prince Yamato finished conquering all the land under Heaven. Since then, the nation has enjoyed the benefits of peace. If the sword is removed from the shrine, war between the daimyos may break out. Disorder may follow.”
Reigen placed one end of the branch into the fire. As Seikei watched, splinters of it burst into flame, then disappeared. The old man withdrew the branch and wiped it with a handful of leaves.
“What we must do,” Reigen said without looking up, “is rescue the emperor before anyone else can take the sword.”
“But if the emperor wants the sword . . . ,” Seikei began.
“He is confused,” Reigen said. “I will enlighten him.”
“Someone must have taken him from the monastery,” Seikei pointed out. “Do you know who that could be?”
“I have an idea,” Reigen said. “Don’t concern yourself with that. Regard anyone who stands in our way as an enemy.”
“How will you rescue the emperor?” Seikei asked.
“I cannot predict the future,” Reigen said. Hato brought some more firewood and Reigen added it to the flames. When the fire was burning nicely, Reigen ran the entire branch through it from one end to the other. Once more he smoothed and polished it with dried leaves.
He held it out to Seikei. “Use it honorably,” he said. Seikei tested it for weight and balance. He was surprised at how good it felt in his hand. Though it would not cut anyone, it would be useful in a fight. The first time he had ever helped the judge solve a case, Seikei had only a wooden sword. Somehow this one felt even better.
15
GATHERING GINKGO NUTS
Resuming their journey, the three of them came to a small village where people made a living selling food and other supplies to travelers. Seikei smelled something that seemed familiar, but he could not at first identify it.
“Ginkgo porridge,” said Hato, pointing to a stand where it was sold.
The woman who made the porridge ladled out each portion with a smile that showed she had few teeth. Seikei tasted the thick, hot liquid, finding that it was nearly as good as the porridge his mother had made when he was a child. “Do you recall a boy about my age having a bowl of your porridge in the past two or three days?” he asked the woman.
“Oh, many people come by here,” she replied. “Men, women, boys, girls. Everybody likes my porridge.”
Seikei nodded. “This boy . . . would have particularly liked it. Maybe he even had more than one bowl.”
The woman cocked her head to one side. “Now that you mention it, there was such a boy. I thought maybe he hadn’t eaten in days. He ate four bowls of porridge. Can you imagine? Even I don’t like my porridge that much.”
“Was anybody with him?”
“Five men. Samurai. They were pretty impatient, I recall. Very amazed that this boy wanted to eat porridge and eat more porridge. Who do you think he was, making them wait like that? Daimyo’s son or something?”
Seikei glanced at Reigen, who had been listening. Reigen asked the woman, “Do you recall the crest that the samurai wore on their garments?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure it was Lord Ponzu’s crest,” she said. “A lot of his men have passed along the road lately.”
“Yes,” said Reigen. “I noticed that too.”
So had Seikei, and he was almost afraid to think what it meant.
When they had moved on, Reigen asked, “How did you know he liked ginkgo porridge?”
“He ate two bowls of it while I was at the monastery,” said Seikei. “One of them was mine.”
Hato hadn’t missed any of this. “So that means,” she said, “that the person you are pursuing on your quest is only a boy?”
“Yes,” said Seikei.
She seemed disappointed. “I was hoping it would be a monster,” she said. “Like the ones heroes slay in stories. I’ve never seen a monster. Or at least a dragon. Don’t heroes usually destroy something that terrifies people?”
“If you are bored, perhaps you should go home,” suggested Reigen.
“You won’t get rid of me that easily,” Hato replied.
“I thought not,” muttered Reigen through his teeth.
“Besides,” Hato continued, “now I can be a great help to you. Other than being the emperor’s faithful servant, I mean.”
“How?” asked Seikei.
“If the person you want to capture likes ginkgo porridge, I can make some,” she said. “Mine is much better than the kind that woman back there sells.”
Reigen was silent for a moment before saying, “In that way, you could possibly be helpful.”
Unfortunately, their progress slowed after that, because whenever they passed a ginkgo tree, Hato wanted to gather nuts. Worse yet, the nuts smelled bad—so bad that Seikei and Reigen didn’t want to walk too close to Hato after she collected some.
“It’s only the soft outer covering that stinks,” said Hato. “It will soon fall off. The nut itself is very mild.”
As Hato hurried ahead of them, Seikei asked Reigen, “What do you think Lord Ponzu’s men plan to do with . . . the emperor?”
“For now, it is safer not to call him that,” said Reigen. “As you know Yabuta has eyes—and ears—everywhere.”
“His name in the monastery was Risu,” said Seikei.
“Squirrel?”
“Because he was so fond of . . .” Seikei gestured toward Hato, bending over to pick up more ginkgo nuts.
“I see. Let us call him that. Lord Ponzu’s men are clearly going to take him to their daimyo’s castle, which is in Nagoya as well. That is no doubt why Lord Ponzu heard of the sword and the legend attached to it.”
“Is it only a legend?” asked Seikei.
“Legends can be powerful,” said Reigen. “They can also be a way of expressing the truth.”
“So . . . do you think Lord Ponzu is planning a revolt to overthrow the shogun?”
“That could well be his intention,” said Reigen. “With the emperor at the head of his troops, in possession of the Kusanagi, he could not be defeated.”<
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“But many people will be killed.”
“Yes,” said Reigen. “That is the nature of war. Those who suffer most will be those who are least able to defend themselves. The farmers, the shopkeepers, people like those.” Reigen gestured toward a group of pilgrims who kept gawking at the sights around them. For those who had never before left the villages in which they had been born, each stage of the road offered a new wonder.
“Why would Lord Ponzu want to disturb harmony and cause so much misery?” Seikei asked.
“It is his nature,” said Reigen. “Some men, whether great lords or small, are satisfied with the land they have been entrusted with. Others look with envy at their neighbor’s land and covet that. But then, even if they are able to take their neighbor’s domain, now someone else’s land is next to theirs. They must move on until they possess all the land—or until someone stronger stops them.”
“The shogun is stronger than Lord Ponzu,” Seikei said. He hoped that was true. But even so, Seikei’s failure to report the story the ronin told him looked more serious than ever.
“Not if Lord Ponzu has the emperor—and the sword—on his side,” Reigen said.
Hato came running up, her arms full of ginkgo nuts. The smell was overpowering, but she didn’t seem to notice. Reigen tied the nuts into a piece of cloth, but made Hato carry it.
As they proceeded on toward Nagoya, Reigen said, “This Yabuta, if he has eyes everyplace, must know of Lord Ponzu’s intentions.”
“Yes,” said Seikei. “He does.”
“We must be watchful of him.”
“Why? He wants the same thing we do,” said Seikei.
“Not necessarily,” replied Reigen. He stopped, shaded his eyes, and looked down the road. “Tell me what you see there,” he said.
Seikei peered into the distance. A line of people had formed. “Samurai are stopping travelers to check their luggage,” he told Reigen.
“Whose samurai?”
Even from here, Seikei easily recognized the shogun’s crest. “It’s all right,” he said. “They are the shogun’s samurai, not Lord Ponzu’s, and we no longer have the scroll.” He was glad now that they had left it at the monastery.
“It’s not all right,” said Reigen. “They are looking for the person who stole the sacred mirror from the Purple Hall at the palace.”
Seikei was amazed. “How do you know this?”
“Because I am the one who took it.”
16
AN OLD “FRIEND”
Why would you—” Seikei started to ask.
“Never mind,” said Reigen. “I must leave you now. Go into Nagoya and find out whatever you can at Lord Ponzu’s castle. I will see you tomorrow or the following day at the Atsuta Shrine.”
Seikei nodded. “But what are you going to do?”
He was already talking to Reigen’s back. Showing surprising agility, the old man had left the road and was hopping from rock to rock on a muddy slope that led downhill toward Lake Biwa. Seikei couldn’t imagine how he planned to get to Nagoya that way, but Reigen had shown that he was resourceful. Seikei’s new sword was testimony to that.
He and Hato passed through the checkpoint and not long afterward reached Nagoya. It was not difficult to find Lord Ponzu’s castle. Five stories high, it towered over the southern part of the city. Guards in each of its four towers glared down at those who approached.
“It will be almost impossible to rescue him from there,” Seikei said.
“You’ve already forgotten my plan,” said Hato. “I will offer these ginkgo nuts at the kitchen. If the boy you are seeking likes porridge all that much, the cooks will certainly need the nuts. Then I’ll ask for a job. I’m really very useful, even though you may not have noticed.”
“Supposing that works—” Seikei started to say.
“I’ll find out where they’re keeping this boy. What’s his name?”
Seikei hesitated. “The last time I saw him, his name was Risu.”
“But he might be in disguise now,” she added. “I understand. Well, I’ll sneak in to see him, and tell him that the emperor is waiting for him. Then we’ll slip away—”
“No, no, no,” Seikei said. “Don’t tell him that.”
“Why not?”
“Well . . . suppose he doesn’t believe you.”
“Even if he doesn’t,” Hato said, “it ought to make him curious!”
Seikei nodded. “Yes, I’m very sure that it would. But you must remember your pledge to me. Don’t tell anyone I am the emperor.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, “but you’re making things unnecessarily difficult.”
“I have my reasons,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t ask what they were.
“Well, I’ll find some way to get him out. Then will you be waiting right here?”
“No.” Seikei strongly doubted that Hato would even get to see the emperor, much less take him out of the castle. But perhaps she could find out something useful. “Listen,” he said. “Tomorrow at this same time, whether you have Risu or not, come outside. I’ll try to meet you.”
“And if you aren’t here?”
“Go to the Atsuta Shrine. Reigen promised to be there.”
“All right.” She bowed very low before Seikei, making him look around to check if people were watching.
“Don’t do that again,” he said.
“I promise,” she replied. “Until we’re safely back at your palace.”
“Yes,” Seikei said. “At the palace that will be fine. Not elsewhere.”
“Good-bye, chrysanthemum boy,” Hato said with a wink. She turned and headed for the castle gate. Seikei breathed a sigh of relief, and set out to find the shrine.
People were happy to give him directions, but it was unnecessary. All he had to do was follow the crowd of pilgrims who were carrying gifts they had brought as offerings. It was like stepping into a river of people that would sweep him to his destination.
Before he even came in sight of the shrine, however, the crowd stopped moving. People milled about and soon the entire street was filled from one side to the other. Everyone was asking what the reason for the delay was.
Then the answer came, creating a buzz through the crowd like a swarm of bees, growing louder each moment. “They’ve closed the shrine! The priests have closed the shrine.” At first this was said with dismay, but then a growing anger crept into the voices. Most of these people had come long distances at a great sacrifice. For some, it was the only such journey they would make in a lifetime. To be stopped just short of their goal was almost intolerable.
Now new questions began circulating: “Why is the shrine closed?”
“How long will it be closed? Who can tell us?”
“Well, young sir, I never expected to see you again.”
Seikei had been listening to the questions from the crowd, and it took a moment before he realized the comment was directed at him.
He turned, and there stood the ronin Takanori. Now, however, he wore a crisp new silk kimono, decorated with the hollyhock crest worn by the shogun’s men. Seikei’s first emotion was anger, because here was the person who had caused him all this trouble.
Then he realized he should beware, for if Takanori was here, Yabuta must be nearby. He searched the crowd with his eyes, but saw only groups of upset pilgrims.
“Looking for someone?” asked Takanori.
“The person you serve now,” Seikei replied.
“I serve the shogun now,” Takanori said with an air of self-righteousness that grated on Seikei. “As you once did.”
“I still serve him,” Seikei said angrily.
“Not wisely or well,” Takanori commented. “After Yabuta found that you did not commit seppuku, he told me you would come here. I did not think you were that foolish, but Yabuta knew. He knows everything.”
“So he sent you to find me?” Seikei said. “What are you supposed to do now?” His hand went to the hilt of his sword and this time he had the sati
sfaction of finding it. Though it was only a wooden one, he was willing to test it against Takanori’s steel blades.
Takanori saw the gesture. He said, “I could kill you right here if I wished.” He was merely pointing out something Seikei should know, not threatening him.
“Why haven’t you, then?” asked Seikei.
“Yabuta wishes to meet you, to talk with you,” Takanori replied.
“What about?”
“Come with me and you will find out.”
“I’m not going to commit seppuku,” said Seikei. “No matter what he says.”
“He knows that,” said Takanori.
Seikei considered the offer. Right now it seemed impossible for him to get to the shrine. Reigen probably wouldn’t be there yet anyway. Seikei had to admit he was curious about what Yabuta had to say. But would Yabuta want information? He would certainly use torture if he thought it would loosen Seikei’s tongue.
On the other hand, Seikei knew nothing important that Yabuta didn’t already know. Yabuta wouldn’t know or care about Hato. Or Reigen? What did Seikei know about Reigen? Really, nothing except that he had taken the sacred mirror from the palace. There was no need to tell Yabuta about that.
Seikei decided. “Do we have far to go?” he asked Takanori.
They didn’t. Takanori led him down a side street to avoid the crowds. As far as Seikei could tell, they circled through the city to a place on the other side of the shrine. Takanori took him to a nondescript shop with no sign to indicate what it sold. As soon as they stepped onto the porch, however, the door opened. Another samurai stood there, looking as if he would swiftly turn away anyone who did not belong.
Takanori and Seikei passed the guard’s inspection and entered. They were in an empty hallway, so bleak that the building almost seemed deserted. Then Seikei caught a whiff of something in the air. He took a second breath. There was no doubt what it was.
Blood. Dried now, not fresh. But there had been bloodshed in this place at some time past.
Seikei could feel fear starting to overcome him, and he fought against it. If the next blood to be spilled here was his, he would bear it as a samurai should. For death, he reminded himself, comes to all. The only way to meet it is with courage.
The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass Page 8