Emperor of the Eight Islands: Book 1 in the Tale of Shikanoko (The Tale of Shikanoko series) (10 page)

“I am amazed that Your Eminence should concern yourself with my welfare,” Kiyoyori murmured.

Somewhere not far away a child was crying. It had been crying for some time, but he had not registered the sound, partly because it had been so unexpected. Now his blood turned to ice; he thought he recognized it as his son. Disbelief and bewilderment shook him physically. He half-rose, gazing toward the interior of the temple.

“Don’t be alarmed. We will not harm him if you obey me.” The Prince Abbot struck a bronze bowl at his side and, when a monk appeared, commanded, “Bring the child here. Sit down, Kiyoyori!”

Tsumaru was wearing his outdoor clothes, a jacket over a robe. They must have seized him while he was playing … but how was it possible? How had the children been left alone? Had someone in his household been involved?

“Father,” Tsumaru cried, struggling to get away from the burly monk who held him, but the man gripped him more tightly. Tears ran down the child’s cheeks, but he struggled to control his sobs.

“He is a fine boy,” the Prince Abbot said, gesturing for him to be brought closer. “What a slender neck! Can you imagine the ease with which a sword would sever it? In the event he lives, I will make him my acolyte and educate him.”

If I concede to my brother, that will be his only future
, Kiyoyori thought wildly.
If I resist and am defeated he will die before me. I must buy time. I must agree for now. When I get home I will consult with Sesshin; he will tell me what to do.

“It is gracious of Your Eminence to interest yourself in such a worthless child,” he said, the false words scalding his tongue. “If I have your word that no harm will come to him in your care I will do everything you request. I will return at once to Matsutani.”

“I suggest you go tonight, before dawn,” the Prince Abbot said. “I do not want your departure to give rise to unsettling rumors.”

In other words, the Kakizuki are not to be alerted. They are not to suspect that the Miboshi are to be handed a road straight into the capital.

“Father, don’t go!” Tsumaru wept, and then, “Hina! Where is Hina?”

The monk put him down and he ran to Kiyoyori, burying his face against his father’s leg.

“May I ask, where is my daughter?” Kiyoyori said.

“I believe she is at home,” the Prince Abbot replied. “She will be recovering now.”

He could feel the fury building within him. He knelt before Tsumaru and held him by the shoulders, looking into his eyes. “Don’t be afraid. Continue to be brave. Soon you will be home again, too.”

Tsumaru took a deep breath and nodded.

Kiyoyori touched his son’s hair briefly, bowed to the Prince Abbot, and followed the monk to the outer gate where Tsuneto and Sadaike were waiting anxiously. They were joined by several more monks, one of whom carried a bird cage holding two of the same werehawks.

“We are returning to Matsutani,” Kiyoyori said to his men when they looked questioningly at him.

At his own residence he told Tsuneto to assemble the rest of the warriors and horses while he went inside. The burly monk who had held Tsumaru followed him, standing and watching him insolently.

Taro, the steward, was waiting inside the room. In the dim light Kiyoyori thought he saw something in his expression beyond his obvious relief.

“I am leaving at once,” Kiyoyori told him. “Pack my things. I am not sure when I will return to the capital.”

“Shall I prepare some food?”

“Put something together for the journey, but we have no time to eat now.”

Taro bowed, glanced at the monk, and said, “Lord Kiyoyori might wish to wash or use the privy before he leaves.”

“Good idea,” Kiyoyori replied.

“I will bring water and a lamp.”

The monk looked after him suspiciously as if he might scale the garden wall and escape, but Kiyoyori was not followed and for a few moments he was alone in the darkness. Then Taro appeared with a lamp and a jug, set them on a shelf, and helped Kiyoyori with his robe.

He said in a voice tinier than a gnat’s, “I can get your son away.”

“How did you know?” Kiyoyori whispered back.

“Someone came shortly after you left, and told me. He works in the gardens, saw the child arrive, and knew it must be your son when you were called to Ryusonji. He can show me how to get into the temple. I think I can rescue him.”

“They will be watching him day and night, and they will kill him if your attempt fails.”

“They will kill him anyway and you, too, once you have given them what they want. Trust me.”

“Your life will be forfeit to me if he dies.”

“You can take it. I give it to you freely. I did years ago when you gave me the chance to serve you.”

The monk’s voice echoed, closer than he had thought. “Lord Kiyoyori, we must leave.”

There was no time for further discussion, either to give permission or to withhold it. Taro poured the water over Kiyoyori’s hands and held out a small cloth to dry them. His touch was impersonal and he did not speak again. Kiyoyori began to feel he had imagined the whole conversation. His last glimpse of Taro was the man standing on the veranda, the lamp in one hand, the other raised in a gesture of farewell. The first cocks were crowing as they rode away in the darkness.

They were halfway home when they met Kongyo. Kiyoyori brushed aside the man’s shamefaced apologies.

“I have seen my son. He is alive. We have a little time.” He could not say more, for the Prince Abbot’s monks rode on either side of him.

As they descended the last pass into Matsutani they saw the smoke rising in the valley. Kiyoyori urged his horse on and came at a gallop to the west gate. He did not notice the eyes in their niche, though they saw him, saw the monks that rode with him, and noticed how he checked his horse at the sight of the charred beams and the soot-blackened edge of the lake.

His wife came out onto the main veranda, Hina beside her. The child was pale and there were still signs of the bruise on the side of her face. Kiyoyori leaped from his horse and knelt before his daughter, tenderly touched her cheek, and gazed into her eyes.

“I am sorry, Father,” she said. “They took Tsumaru and I couldn’t stop them.”

“Tsumaru is safe,” he said. “He is in the capital at Ryusonji.” For the moment he must act as though it were true, at least until he could get rid of the monks, at least until he heard from Iida no Taro. “You were brave and I am proud of you.”

He rose and looked at his wife, aware that if he spoke he would unleash a torrent of rage and grief. She met his eyes, and he saw a glint of some emotion in them, triumph, regret, remorse, a mixture of all three.

He mastered his own feelings and said, “What have you done?”

“You will thank me. I have cleaned out the nest of sorcery that had infested my—our—home.”

“I may thank you, but the Prince Abbot of Ryusonji certainly will not. He sent these monks to take the scholar and the lady back to the capital in exchange for our son’s life.”

She took a small step back, glancing at the monk and then back at him. He saw her sudden dismay as she realized the meaning of his words.

He turned to the monk whose name he had learned was Gessho. “Those you seek are not here.”

“Where are they?” Gessho demanded.

“The boy took the old man toward Kuromori,” Tama said. “The woman, we believe, died in the fire.”

“Once they are in the Darkwood they are beyond anyone’s reach. As for the woman, show us her bones,” Kiyoyori said, his voice steady. Surely Tora was not dead. He would know if she were.

“There was no trace; the fire was too fierce.” Tama’s chin was raised, her eyes bright with defiance.

She is not dead
, he thought.

The short winter daylight was already beginning to fade. When Kiyoyori did not reply, Tama said, “You must all be weary and it is getting cold. Come inside and I will prepare food.”

“We must search the house and grounds before it gets dark,” Gessho said obstinately.

Kiyoyori fought down the urge to execute the monks on the spot, send their heads back to Ryusonji, and accept the consequences—Tsumaru’s death, unless Taro had been successful, and an assault on his estates from both east and west. Grief threatened to overwhelm him—but surely she had escaped; surely he would see her again. He longed for her, he needed her.

There was no trace of either her or Sesshin. His wife had done her work well. The old man’s room had been cleared out, the books, potions, flasks, bones, powders, and everything else had been burned. Gessho made no effort to hide his annoyance. However, in his search he finally came upon the eyes.

He called Kiyoyori and they both stared at the globes, which still shone, and moved and saw. While the monks, not daring to touch them, said prayers and chanted sutras, Kiyoyori went straight to Tama’s rooms.

“What else did you do?” he said. “Whose are those eyes?”

“The sorcerer had put a spell on Hina,” Tama replied without emotion. “He had to be punished.”

“It was not a spell,” Hina said, as though she had repeated it several times. “Someone hit me.”

“Is he dead?” Kiyoyori said to Tama. “Master Sesshin?”

“No,” she replied. “I told the truth. I spared his life and put him in the care of the last of the bandits, the young one.”

“Shikanoko is his name,” Hina said.

“I sent them both away.” She looked calmly at him. “You would never have given them to the Prince Abbot, would you? Not even for our son’s life.”

“I was trying to buy time,” he said. “I cannot be coerced, but while the Prince Abbot thinks I can, he will keep Tsumaru alive. However, you have left me with nothing to offer him.”

“And you blame me?” she cried. “None of this is my fault! Look to your own actions!”

She had never raised her voice to him before and her accusation fueled his anger. He set guards at the doors to her rooms and took Hina to his own quarters. He wrestled, sleepless, with his thoughts, while Hina cried out in her dreams. He would kill his wife with his own hands; he would have her executed; he would force her to shave her head and become a nun.

He could hear the monks chanting all night as they kept vigil by the west gate. The next morning, a dull, cold day, threatening snow, Gessho let the werehawks out. They circled the roofs shrieking and then flew off toward the Darkwood.

“I will follow them,” Gessho said. “There is nothing to be gained by waiting here. These others will return to Ryusonji and tell our master what has happened. You will hear from him in due course. In the meantime I would advise you to do nothing more to arouse his displeasure.”

“If you find Sesshin and Shikanoko will my son be returned to me?” Kiyoyori asked.

“I cannot speak for my master,” Gessho replied.

“I will come with you and help you find them.”

Gessho brushed this offer away. “As I said, do nothing.”

But this was the hardest thing to do, to wait day after day for news that never came. One moment he thought he must ride at once to the capital, the next that he must go in the other direction to Minatogura to press his own claim at Lord Miboshi Aritomo’s famous tribunal. The thought of how his brother was undermining him in this way made his feelings toward Tama even colder, and he sought neither to comfort her nor to ask her advice. Sleeplessness made him irrational and his men began to fear the edge of his temper and question his judgment.

He had his wife confined to another pavilion, far out in the lake, accessible only by boat.

“You may have some items of worship,” he said. “Spend your time in atonement.”

Her serving women packed up two golden statues, and silks and needles for embroidery. Every day one or other of them was rowed out to take food and keep her company, but at night she was alone.

12

SHIKANOKO

Shikanoko and Sesshin stopped for a few hours on the stream’s bank, huddled together for warmth. At dawn frost covered the blanket they shared and the horses’ manes. They had nothing to eat and the water from the stream was so cold it made their teeth ache.

“Are you in pain?” Shika asked as he bathed the old man’s face, carrying water in the flask the servant girl had thrust into his hands.

“Pain is a transient sensation. It will pass.”

“I suppose hunger is, too, but I don’t know if it is going to pass,” Shika muttered.

“I will teach you to conquer both hunger and pain,” Sesshin said, but his voice was faint.

The horses had cleared the ground of grass and were tearing at the tree bark. Shika saddled them and helped Sesshin onto Risu’s back. He rode with his bow ready, but nothing stirred in the forest, no birds, no rabbits, not even a squirrel. The cedars gave way to ancient beeches and live oaks. Beneath the beeches lay the autumn mast in hard reddish pods. Shika dismounted and gathered handfuls, cracking them open in his teeth, but the kernels were thin and barely nourishing.

“Don’t you have some magic that will tell us where to go or where to find something to eat?”

“My boy, I have suffered a setback. I need to learn the lesson it has for me before my powers revive.”

“Should we return to Matsutani?” Shika wondered aloud. “Maybe Lord Kiyoyori will be back by now.”

“We have been delivered from the Prince Abbot once. We should not put ourselves within his grasp again.”

“Well, he certainly won’t find us here! No one will even find our bones!”

Later that day, after they had left the stream and turned eastward, Shika, riding ahead, came on a small clearing and was able to shoot a rabbit before it reached the cover of the undergrowth. He made a fire and cooked the animal, feeding pieces to Sesshin. A little water had gathered among the roots of two trees twisted together. He helped Sesshin drink and lapped at it himself, until the horses pushed him away. The food made him thirstier. It was going to be another cold night.

“Can you hear water?” he said to Sesshin.

“I can hear a waterfall very far away.”

“We must go at first light.”

“I will teach you a water meditation,” Sesshin said. “Once you master it you can go without water indefinitely.”