Lord Oda's Revenge (15 page)

‘She is speaking in the language of the dead,' said the abbot. ‘If he can understand her, then he must be close to death himself.'

‘I don't know if he can understand her. He just tells her he loves her.'

‘Hmm,' said the abbot. ‘The problem for me is that she shouldn't be able to get so close. Between Oshi and I, we have equipped the man with charms and scrolls that should keep even the strongest ghosts at bay. I have sutras here that were old when Buddhism came to Japan, and yet they seem to be useless against the
gaki
that has taken hold of him. I fear that if something isn't done quickly, he will soon die.'

Taro sighed. For once Hana was not with Hayao, speaking to him of the old days, of how he trained her to fight when her father feared for her life, but he still resented the pale-faced samurai with the prominent bones. Even so, could he really let the man die, if there was something he could do to help?

‘What do you think I can do?' he asked.

‘I don't know. Usually the bond of a love connection can be broken, with the right tools. In this case, I believe that her karmic bond with Hayao must be strengthened by something – something that enables her to get past any defences I can erect.'

‘But what could that thing be?' said Taro.

‘Again, I don't know,' said the abbot. ‘You see her, and I don't. Observe her closely – stay close to him and to her. You are the only one who can see her – I must believe there is a reason for that. Watch for something, anything, that might help us. And then tell me what you see.'

Taro sighed. ‘Yes, very well,' he said. ‘And then you'll teach me your skill with the sword? What is it – a special kata? A unique way of training?'

The abbot smiled. ‘It is simpler, and infinitely more complicated than that,' he said cryptically. He took a small scroll from his cloak and threw it to Taro. Taro caught it and frowned at it.

‘What's this?'

‘The secret of the sword is in there,' said the abbot. ‘It's all right,' he added, noting Taro's puzzled expression. ‘It's written in hiragana.' Taro cursed Hana – she must have told the abbot about teaching him to read. Suddenly he felt his cheeks heat up with irritation.

‘What about sparring?' he said. ‘Training. Practice. You're telling me the secret of your speed is in this stupid scroll?'

Taro didn't even see anything – one moment the abbot was standing there in front of him with his arms at his sides, and the next there was a dull explosion of pain in Taro's left temple, and then the abbot was holding out a wooden
bokken
sword – one he'd evidently just hit Taro with.

‘Did you see that coming?' said the abbot.

‘No,' said Taro, through gritted teeth.

‘Not such a stupid scroll then, is it?' said the abbot. He turned on his heel and began to walk away. ‘Help that samurai,' he said over his shoulder. ‘It will be good for your karma if you can save his life. And read the scroll. Reading is good for you too.'

 

T
ARO SAT CROSS-LEGGED
on the grass of the plateau, watching Hayao and the ghost-woman as the sun set behind the Ikko-ikki fortress to the west. He had noticed that in the last day or so, the gunfire appeared to have stopped.

He found his attention drifting from the tragic couple to the splashes of colour on the horizon, the burning clouds over the sea. He'd thought that once he found his mother again he would achieve some kind of peace, but to his surprise he was as restless as he had ever been. In Shirahama he had thought that he wanted adventure; the noble, violent life of the samurai. Since then he had learned better than anyone that there was little nobility in it – and a lot of violence. Yet even though he had left the village, and fought and travelled and seen things few people would, he still found himself looking to the horizon. Already he was thinking of leaving here, to look for the Buddha ball.

This lust for adventure,
he realized for the first time,
is like a curse.

Although, beside his mother, what was there to keep him here? There was the abbot and his so-called secret, but what a load of nonsense that had turned out to be. He took the scroll from his pocket and turned it idly in his hands. It was just an old
story about a man and a harp – he was sure he'd heard it before from his mother. Irritated, he dropped the scroll on the ground.

There was a gentle cough beside him and he turned to see Hana, smiling at him. He was sitting down, but his heart was still able to stumble. He smiled back uncertainly. Hana sat down on the grass.

‘The abbot told me you would be here,' she said.

Taro shrugged.

‘He spoke highly of you. Said you were trying to help Hayao.' Her smile was brighter than the sunset.

‘Oh. Y-yes, yes I am.' He blushed. Then he realized that she was probably only concerned for Hayao, not admiring of his charity, and he looked down at the grass.

‘He means a lot to you, doesn't he?' he asked. ‘Hayao, I mean.'

Hana frowned, surprised. ‘Yes. . . I mean, no. He taught me to fight, when my father decided I was no longer safe. He treated me like. . . like I wasn't a girl. I liked him for it. But this thing with the ghost – it's not him in particular. I just think it's sad. Don't you? This girl, she really loved him, and now she's killing him, even though she probably doesn't even want to. It's tragic.'

Taro made a noise that could have been agreement. He was thinking about what Hana had said – that Hayao had treated her like she wasn't a girl. And here he was, mooning over her, blushing at the things she said, gazing at her beauty. He couldn't be less like the thin, pale samurai.

‘He's handsome,' he said, with false absentness. ‘I mean, he must have been. Before the ghost.'

‘I suppose so,' said Hana. ‘Yes.'

Taro felt that he would like the cliff to move closer to him, and drop him off the side. He hadn't known what a mistake it would be to come here. Already he barely saw Hana – she was
always having discussions with the monks that he couldn't possibly follow, conversations about arcane points of Buddhist law. Either that or she was admiring the temples, or joining the monks in painting birds and drawing kanji characters with perfect, sweeping calligraphy.

Doing all the things that, as a peasant, Taro could never do. He wanted to pick up the abbot's idiotic scroll and tear it up, but he just sat there with his hands folded over his knees.

‘So. . .,' said Hana, after a while. ‘What is it you're doing, exactly?'

Wearily Taro pointed to the couple. ‘I'm watching them. The abbot said there must be something tying them together. Some object that is making the karmic bond stronger. But I can't see it, if there is one.' He sighed.

‘Describe her,' said Hana.

‘Who, the ghost?'

‘Yes. Tell me what she looks like.'

‘I don't know,' he said. ‘She has dark hair. . .'

‘All Japanese women have dark hair.'

‘Er. . . yes. Her eyes are large. They are black inside – all black. The whites of her eyes are black too. Do you know what I mean? It's like someone poured ink in her eyes.'

‘Ugh,' said Hana.

‘It's horrible. And she's very, very pale. White, really. Also, she has a beauty spot on her cheek. She has full lips – I wouldn't have expected that, from a ghost. She is a little older than you, I think. Small ears. What else do you want me to tell you?'

‘I don't know,' said Hana. ‘What about her clothes?'

‘She's wearing a blue kimono. Clogs.'

‘What kind of kimono? Silk?'

‘Ah. . . I. . .' He peered closer. ‘I would say no.'

‘And the clogs. Are they worn? I mean, on the bottom. Can you see, the way she's sitting?'

He could. The girl was sitting cross-legged, like him, and he could see where the wood of the bottom of the
geta
clogs had been scoured by contact with the ground. ‘Yes, they're worn,' he said.

Hana nodded. ‘She was not rich, then. What about jewellery? Rings?'

He examined the hand that was stroking Hayao's cheek, and the other, laid demurely in her lap. ‘No.'

‘Hair?'

‘I said she had dark hair.'

Hana rolled her eyes and patted his arm. ‘I was thinking of how it was arranged. Tied up? Down?'

‘Um. Tied up. No, pinned up.' He stood, to get a better view. Hayao didn't even register their presence. ‘There's a clip – like a butterfly.'

‘Made from?'

‘The clip? I'd say. . . ivory. And mother-of-pearl.'

Hana clapped her hands. ‘That's it!'

‘It is?'

‘I have seen such clips. They come from China – the Portuguese bring them by ship to Nagasaki. They are
very
expensive.'

Taro looked at her blankly. ‘And. . .?'

‘And she is not rich. We have established that.' Hana stood quickly and grabbed his hand – something like an electric shock went through him at the soft, unexpected touch. He felt as though a wild animal – a doe, maybe – had just, against all reason, put its nose to his hand. She pulled him to his feet and dragged him along.

‘Where are we going?' he asked.

‘To find the abbot,' said Hana.

‘Why?'

‘Don't you see? Hayao must have given her the hair clip. It is the thing that is binding them.'

Suddenly Taro
could
see. No wonder Hana would never be interested in marrying him – he even
thought
like a peasant. He could not reason in the same way, make observations and draw conclusions from them.

Hana stopped and he ran into her, and for one thrilling moment he had to hold on to her waist, to keep from falling.

‘What's that?' said Hana, looking behind them. ‘Did you forget something?'

‘What's what?'

Hana pointed to the scroll, the one the abbot had given him, lying on the ground where Taro had thrown it. He shrugged. ‘It's nothing,' he said.

 

T
WO NIGHTS LATER
the abbot stood with Taro under the plum tree where Taro's mother spent most of her time. The others had gone to bed, but the abbot had asked Taro to stay awhile, and then had led him out into the courtyard.

‘You did well,' he said. ‘Oshi went to the grave. They disinterred the plum rain girl. In her hair they found a clip, in the shape of a butterfly.'

‘Will Hayao be all right?' asked Taro.

‘I believe so, yes. Oshi spoke to the monk who introduced Hayao and Tsuyu – he is distraught by the whole affair, as you can imagine. He confirmed that Tsuyu began wearing the butterfly clip in her hair soon after she met Hayao. He noticed it at the time, but he thought that by keeping them apart he was doing the right thing, and he didn't know how powerful these tokens can be. He believes now that Hayao gave it to her, as a symbol of his love, during their brief meeting. That's just the kind of thing that would bind her to him even more strongly – it contained a part of him, his love for her, and so it allowed her to come to him, even past the
o-fuda
and the golden Buddha, and all the sutras I chanted.'

‘The clip,' said Taro. ‘What did you do with it?'

‘Destroyed it,' said the abbot. Then he gestured to the shadows at the edge of the courtyard. A man stepped forward – Hayao.

Taro's mouth dropped. He'd only ever seen the man peering into the face of the ghost-girl, muttering. Already the samurai's face showed more colour. He smiled at Taro. ‘Thank you,' he said. He bowed.

Taro bowed back. ‘There is no need. I only said what I saw.' He paused. ‘I'm sorry about Tsuyu. You must have loved her very much.'

‘I did. I do. But she was killing me. I don't remember very much. . . yet the abbot has told me what happened. I am very grateful to you for your help.'