The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass (15 page)

Seikei shivered. A chilly wind was blowing up from Ise Bay. Reigen turned in that direction, walking along the riverbank. At least there were other people here—some fishing, some washing clothes. Brightly colored rectangles were laid out on the ground, for people brought freshly dyed cloth here to rinse in the water. With all the activity, Reigen and Seikei would not be so easy to spot from a distance.

A man with a small rowboat asked if they wished to cross the river. “I charge two ryo per person,” he said, “but for you and your grandson, only three ryo.”

“I would rather have the boat,” said Reigen.

The man did not quite understand. “You do not need the boat,” he said. “I will take you across.”

“How much do you want for the boat?” Reigen persisted.

The man shook his head. “If you take my boat, I have no way to earn a living.”

“You can buy another boat,” Reigen said. “But we need this one now.”

The man looked at Reigen the way he would have regarded a crazy person. He wanted to laugh, but he also wanted to get away from him.

“Tell you what,” the man said, smiling, trying to humor Reigen. “You can have the boat for an
oban.
”

“Fine,” said Reigen. He drew a small bag from his kimono and took out an oval gold coin.

The boatman’s eyes widened. He put out his hand for the coin, and Seikei saw that it was trembling. But when Reigen gave him the oban, the man seemed to weigh it suspiciously. No doubt, thought Seikei, he had never held an oban before. It did not weigh as much as the copper coins he saw every day. Cautiously, he put the edge of it in his mouth and bit down hard. If the coin was really gold, he knew, his teeth would make an impression. He examined it. Finding teeth marks, he slowly nodded and moved aside, indicating that the boat was now theirs.

Reigen stepped into the boat and motioned to Seikei, who promptly pushed it off the sandy beach and scrambled inside.

“I will row from here,” said Reigen. “Since the river flows into the bay, it will be little work.”

Seikei looked back to see the boatman standing on the river’s edge, still staring at them. “You didn’t have to give him an oban,” said Seikei.

“He asked for an oban,” Reigen replied. “I did not wish to waste time arguing.”

“He would have been happy with less,” said Seikei.

“If he is the type of person who is happy,” said Reigen, “he will still be happy tomorrow. If he is the type of person who is unhappy, he will realize I might have given him
two
oban.”

Seikei smiled.

“What he will probably
not
realize,” continued Reigen, “is that if he had refused to sell me the boat, I would have killed him.”

Seikei didn’t smile at that, for it seemed Reigen was serious.

“That is the sort of thing that comes into your mind when you carry the Kusanagi,” said Reigen. “That is why I do not want to hold it any longer than I have to.”

“Where are we going?” Seikei asked after a moment.

“To the imperial lodge in the Suzuka Mountains.”

“But we cannot get there in a boat.”

“I hope Yabuta thinks that as well. I would imagine he has men waiting for us at the checkpoint on the Tokaido Road. Anyone leaving Nagoya in that direction would have to pass through there.”

But you didn’t, thought Seikei, remembering that Reigen had left the road to avoid the guards on the way in.

“See,” Reigen said, pointing. “We are nearly at Ise Bay. The cormorant fishers are out.”

True enough. At the point where the river flowed into the great bay, men were using cormorants to catch fish. They tied long cords around the necks of the birds, who resembled large ducks with hooked bills. The birds, as they would naturally, soared over the water looking for fish near the surface. When they spotted one, they dove swiftly, trying to scoop it into their beaks. Sometimes they disappeared entirely beneath the water in pursuit of their prey. If they were successful, their owners would reel in the cord and take the fish.

“It seems unfair,” said Seikei, “that the birds do all the work and the man gets the reward. Is it true that they cannot swallow the fish because of the cord around their necks?”

“Yes,” said Reigen, “but in the end they will receive a share of the catch. I find it interesting, however, that although many people feel sympathy for the birds, no one ever pities the fish.”

Seikei smiled at the thought. “It’s because fish are . . . well, there are just so many of them.”

“And you cannot tell one fish from another,” Reigen pointed out. “That is what we must be like now.”

“Like the fish?”

“Just so,” Reigen said. “Only we must swim very deep, so that Yabuta cannot see us.”

Seikei half expected Reigen to order him to jump overboard and swim. After what had happened since Seikei left Edo, nothing would have surprised him. Or so he thought.

But that was not what the ex-emperor had in mind. When they entered the bay, Reigen guided the boat along the shoreline to their right. It looked no different from any of the countless other small craft that dotted the bay. Anyone seeing Seikei and Reigen would think they were a grandson and grandfather out fishing.

Seikei still could not understand where they were going. Reigen continually scanned the shoreline, looking for something. But what? Seikei followed the old man’s gaze, but saw nothing out of the ordinary: small villages, docks where boats were tied up, and, higher up the hills, rice paddies, tea plants, and household gardens.

“There is the place,” Reigen said suddenly, and turned the boat sharply. He headed for the mouth of a small river, one of several that emptied into the bay.

“Your turn to row,” said Reigen when they reached it. “We will need strong young arms to take us upstream.”

“How far do we have to go?” asked Seikei.

“There,” Reigen said, pointing.

Seikei turned to look and saw the mountains that lay in the distance. They seemed impossibly far. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“When I was a boy,” said Reigen, “I came down this river from the imperial lodge. Now we must go up to take the emperor from those who have him.”

Well, thought Seikei, one thing is certain: Yabuta would never imagine we would travel this way. Nevertheless, as the boat headed up the river, he looked back to see if anyone was following them.

23

THE KUSANAGI SPEAKS

S
eikei woke up, still exhausted. His arms ached and his hands were on fire with blisters—not surprisingly, for he had rowed for a day and part of the previous night. All the time, he had been feeling more and more resentful. The thought had popped into his head that Risu was to blame for all this trouble. It would never have happened if Risu hadn’t decided that he wasn’t the emperor. And if he doesn’t want to be emperor, thought Seikei, then find someone who does. Reigen was the sort of person who
ought
to be emperor. Even though Seikei remembered the judge saying Reigen couldn’t resume his duties once he retired, certainly an exception ought to be made in this case.

All of those were unworthy thoughts, and Seikei knew better than to say them aloud to Reigen. Being angry had only one advantage: It gave Seikei the energy to keep rowing.

They had arrived at this spot after darkness had fallen. To Seikei it looked no different than virtually any other place they’d passed in the last day and a half. But once again, it had a special meaning for Reigen. He had guided Seikei to a place where the river ran beside a high cliff. Seikei feared the small wooden boat would be broken to pieces on the rocky face of the cliff. Just as they reached it, however, Reigen leaned over the side of the boat and pulled aside some shrubbery growing from a crack in the rock.

Behind it was a cave, just large enough for the boat to slide into. When the shrubbery snapped back into place, they were hidden from view. It was not comfortable sleeping in the bottom of the boat, but Seikei was so exhausted that he had not stayed awake for long.

Now, through the green shrubbery at the mouth of the cave, he could see sunlight. Seikei remembered the story of Amaterasu hiding in a cave until the other kami lured her out. He looked at Reigen, who was already awake. He was like Bunzo in that he never seemed to let down his guard. “I didn’t get to ask you,” said Seikei. “Why did you take the mirror from the imperial palace?”

“I will need it when we find the emperor,” said Reigen. “Let us accomplish that before we correct other mistakes.”

Seikei wondered if he was responsible for any of the “other mistakes.” He hoped not, for he suspected Reigen’s methods of correcting them would not be pleasant.

Slowly they edged the boat through the shrubbery again. Seikei saw what he had not been able to in the darkness the night before. Not far away was a dock. Beside it was a shelter where one could sit and admire the view. Beyond that was a stone path that led over a hill. At one time, it was clear that the grass and flowers at this spot had been carefully tended. Now, however, the path was overgrown. Where autumn leaves had fallen, no one had swept them up. It looked indeed as if the place had long been deserted.

Seikei rowed the boat to the dock and tied it up. Reigen stepped out, looking as if he were using all his senses to determine if anyone else was nearby. He motioned to Seikei, and said, “Stay in the boat. We may need to leave in a hurry.”

Reigen took a few steps up the stone path. Without warning, a samurai appeared just at the top of the hill. He wore a kosode with Lord Ponzu’s crest on it. The man seemed surprised to see anyone here. As well he might be, thought Seikei. No one else would have arrived by water.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” the samurai called.

Reigen replied in a soft voice, “We are travelers looking for a place to stay.” He started walking toward the samurai, his hands extended as if to show peaceful intent.

The samurai was angry. He drew his short sword and waved it in Reigen’s direction. “Get out of here! At once!” he shouted.

Reigen kept walking toward him as though he were unable to understand. Seikei, watching, held his breath, for he fully understood the danger the samurai was in.

Reigen’s refusal to obey made the samurai lose all sense of caution. He rushed forward, looking as if he intended to use his sword. The instant he was within striking distance, Reigen drew his own blade. Faster than Seikei’s eyes could follow, he struck off the samurai’s hand. It fell to the ground, still grasping the sword.

The samurai realized too late that he should not have come so close to the harmless-looking old man. He opened his mouth as if to call for help, but a second swipe of the Kusanagi silenced him for good.

Now Reigen turned and beckoned for Seikei to follow. Seikei obeyed, hoping more than ever that he would not have to keep his promise to Reigen. As he passed the samurai’s lifeless body, Seikei glanced down and reflected that this would be his own fate should he ever dare to use his wooden sword against the ex-emperor.

At the top of the hill, they looked down on a beautiful scene. In a glade below was a rustic building that might have been the cottage of a humble mountain family, except for its vast size. The upward-curving wooden eaves had been left unpainted and the roof tiles selected to look as if they were stones randomly picked up in the woods.

It still seemed deserted, but Seikei knew that was an illusion. Somewhere inside the lodge was the emperor. And Hato. He sniffed the air, but detected no scent of ginkgo porridge. That was a bad sign, he thought. Perhaps someone had already killed both Risu and Hato.

Reigen walked briskly now, with no attempt to conceal his approach. Three samurai emerged from the house and stood on the porch. They did not look as fearless as the first one, although like him, they wore the crest of Lord Ponzu.

Reigen stopped and called to them, “What are you doing in my house?”

“Your house?” one of them replied. “This isn’t your house. This is the emperor’s house.”

“Don’t you recognize me?” Reigen shouted. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The three samurai spoke among themselves. “The emperor is inside,” one of them said.

“I am his grandfather,” Reigen replied. “And this is the Kusanagi.” He raised the sword from its scabbard and held it high. “Do you dare to stand in my way?” he called to the samurai.

One of them apparently did. He unsheathed his own sword and looked at his companions for support. They hesitated.

That didn’t stop the bold samurai. “He’s just an old man,” he said, jumping down from the porch and assuming a fighting position in front of Reigen.

As Reigen’s arm came down, the samurai tried to block the sword with his own. Seikei approved of the tactic, which would have worked had the two been equally matched. But the Kusanagi could not be thwarted. It shattered the samurai’s sword as easily as if it had been made of plaster. Reigen’s blow continued downward and the Kusanagi sliced through the samurai’s arm at the elbow. Blood gushed from the wound and the man fell to his knees. He tried helplessly to stanch the bleeding and then fainted.

Reigen didn’t give him a second glance. “Well?” he called to the other two.

They didn’t need to confer to reach a decision. They ran to the end of the porch, jumped, and soon vanished into a grove of trees.

“They have no honor,” Seikei commented.

“They serve their master for gain, not for honor,” replied Reigen. “Which do you value more, life or honor?”

“Honor,” replied Seikei dutifully, “because everyone must die, but honor lasts forever.”

“Remember your promise, then,” Reigen said, starting up the steps of the lodge.

Grasping the hilt of his sword to hide his nervousness, Seikei followed. The front door led into a hallway that contained a wall shrine to Amaterasu. A candle-holder beneath it held only scraps of wax. Three corridors led into other parts of the lodge.