The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass (10 page)

“It will be dangerous,” Reigen said. “If you are killed, don’t come complaining to me.”

“If I am killed . . . ,” Seikei began, and then realized this was Reigen’s idea of a joke.

“It will be dangerous for your servant as well,” said Reigen.

“I will send her away,” Seikei replied.

 

 

Easier said than done. “Oh, I
see
,” Hato said when Seikei told her she could come no farther. “I’m good enough to nurse you back to health, and fetch food for you, but now you think you have no more use for me, bye-bye Hato. After I left my job to serve you? I will have no way to support myself except to beg. This is my reward for loyalty.” She broke into tears.

Seikei turned helplessly to Reigen, who shrugged. “Better to let her come along until something frightens her,” Reigen said.

Despite her tears, Hato overheard. “I may not be a kami,” she said, “but I will remain as true to the emperor as you are.”

Suddenly Reigen understood. He pointed at Seikei. “
He
is not the emperor,” he said.

“Ha,” replied Hato. “Now you’re just trying to trick me.”

“No, really—” Seikei added, but she cut him off.

“Don’t you think I saw that when you clapped your hands,
he
came to rescue you?” Hato said, nodding in Reigen’s direction. “Do you think kami appear for just anyone?”

“He’s not a kami,” said Seikei. He looked at Reigen. “Are you?”

Reigen pursed his lips. For some reason, he gave no answer.

Hato threw up her hands. “That’s good enough for me,” she said. She gave Seikei a serious look. “There was a rumor in Kyoto, you know, that you have abandoned your duties. When I found you, I knew that you must be on some kind of quest. I wished only to come along, to serve you. I do not care where we are going, or what dangers we may face. I pledged to keep your secret, and I have. How can you send me away now?”

Seikei looked at Reigen. “You can’t,” Reigen said. “Let’s be off.”

 

 

The road was more crowded today. As they drew closer to Nagoya, they saw more pilgrims heading for the Atsuta Shrine. It was one of the holiest places in the land. Some thought it was second only to the great shrine of Amaterasu at Ise. Seikei had told Hato to leave the Kusanagi scroll as an offering at the monastery, but he wondered if it might have been better to present it at the Atsuta Shrine.

In addition, several more groups of mounted samurai passed the travelers during the day. All of them, Seikei saw, wore the entwined-shrimp emblem that belonged to Lord Ponzu.

Reigen noticed them too. “We may have to defend ourselves once we reach Nagoya,” he told Seikei. “Did the shogun send you here with no weapons?”

“I had to leave my swords in Kyoto,” Seikei said. He was too ashamed to admit what he really did with them.

Reigen pointed to a wooded area next to the road. “We’ll go in there,” he said.

Hato followed, because she suspected they were trying to give her the slip. The ground was thick with fallen leaves. Some of them still retained their color; most were brown and brittle. Only a few of the brightest ones still clung stubbornly to the branches of the trees overhead.

Reigen walked deeper into the forest than Seikei thought necessary and it made him uneasy. By now they were long out of sight of the road. Their footsteps crushed some of the dried leaves, making a crackling sound, but otherwise the woods were eerily silent. If Reigen wished to kill them, now would be—

“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

R
esuming 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.”

“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”

W
hy would you—” Seikei started to ask.