Hirata dodged. Sano missed, but for an instant Hirata’s attention to General Otani lapsed. The ghost seized control, and Hirata hacked repeatedly at Sano. As Sano ducked, his heavy armor threw him off balance. Masahiro lashed his sword and Reiko her dagger at Hirata, but Hirata easily deflected them while battering Sano. Sano spun like a suit of armor hung on a stand for combat practice. He staggered and tripped over his feet. All that held him upright was Hirata’s blows whacking him from side to side. Armor plates and chain-mail links flew off him. His sword broke in two and fell from his hand. Hirata strained against General Otani. The pain in his head was so bad, he felt nauseated. Every sore muscle throbbed as he relentlessly attacked the master he loved. He wept as he delivered a mighty blow.
Sano sprawled on his back. His hand scrabbled in a futile attempt to pick up his broken sword. His armor in tatters, his breastplate scored by cuts, he was too exhausted to stand.
With a loud scream and all his strength, Hirata wrenched his hips. He kicked out with his feet. Stumbling backward, he collided with Lord Ienobu. General Otani halted his retreat and bent his body at the waist with a force that sent a painful spasm twanging through his back. As General Otani propelled him at Sano, Hirata threw his weight forward and landed on his stomach. Yanagisawa and Yoshisato circled him, trying to reach Lord Ienobu, but Hirata lashed his sword at them, and they jumped back. Hirata crawled toward Sano. More muscles seized, tendons pulled. His heart was beating so hard it would burst from his chest.
Kill Sano!
Hirata slowly rotated, as if against a tornado buffeting him. He crawled away from Sano. Elbow and shoulder joints dislocated; bones in his arms and legs cracked. Pain exploded from the injuries. The pressure of the blood in his veins rose so high that a whooshing sound filled his ears and his head spun. He saw, through black dots that swam in his vision, Lord Ienobu cowering in a corner. Perspiration gushed from his pores. General Otani tried to rein him in. He groped on his knees and left hand, dragging his sword with his right, toward Lord Ienobu.
If he could kill Lord Ienobu, the ghost’s aim of destroying the Tokugawa regime would be done for.
His spine snapped like a wire drawn too tight. His arms and legs collapsed under him. He landed with his cheek to the floor. Numbness pervaded his body. His neck and facial muscles were the only ones he could move. He could still breathe and feel the wild beating of his heart, but he was paralyzed.
General Otani bellowed with fury. His attempts to raise Hirata were like punches to the inside of a pillow. They jolted Hirata, but he couldn’t feel them. He moaned because Lord Ienobu was still shogun and General Otani was still inside him. Yanagisawa and Yoshisato moved to his side, keeping their distance, as if from a poisonous snake that they didn’t know for certain was incapacitated.
Get up! General Otani roared. Kill them, damn you!
Lifting his head, Hirata saw a blurry image of Lord Ienobu. Mental energy was all he had left. Aligning it was like trying to gather marbles while his panic scattered them and General Otani stormed in his head. Hirata trained his thoughts as best he could on Lord Ienobu. An energy burst flowed out from him like the faint light of a comet in the sky at dusk. Spent, Hirata dropped his head while General Otani raged.
* * *
LORD IENOBU UTTERED a shrill, ululating scream.
Sano, lying exhausted on the floor, panted as he raised himself on his elbow. He looked from Hirata’s prone figure to Lord Ienobu. Lord Ienobu’s body stiffened; his back arched. His face locked in a pop-eyed grimace. The scream choked off in his throat. His eyes rolled up, and he crumpled. The room was silent except for Hirata’s labored breathing and the sounds of combat outside coming closer. Yanagisawa cautiously nudged Lord Ienobu with his foot. Lord Ienobu lay motionless. His mouth was slack, drooling.
Yoshisato crouched and felt Lord Ienobu’s wrist. “No pulse.”
“He’s dead,” Yanagisawa said in a tone of wonder.
“So much for conquering the world,” Yoshisato said.
Lady Nobuko burst into sobs. “Thank the gods! Tsuruhime’s death is avenged!”
The physician timidly offered his professional opinion. “He must have had a stroke. The shock to his system…”
Sano knew better than to think Lord Ienobu had conveniently dropped dead. As he clambered to his feet, his breastplate, armor tunic, and shoulder guards fell off, the lacings cut by Hirata’s blade. He went to Hirata, knelt, and shook Hirata’s shoulder. “Hirata!”
“Sano-san.” Hirata’s voice was a rasp squeezed out of his inert body. His eyes cracked open, wet with tears. “… I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Sano said. “You’ve made everything right.” Hirata had not only slain Sano’s enemy, he’d saved Japan from Lord Ienobu’s foolhardy ambitions. Hirata, the onetime traitor, was a hero.
A sigh of relief issued from Hirata. “Do you forgive me?”
“I forgive you.” Sano truly did. “Where’s General Otani?”
“… Don’t worry … he can’t make any more trouble.”
Hirata could make a fresh start, Sano thought. “Let me help you up.”
“I can’t move.” Anguish squeezed Hirata’s voice tighter. “I’m paralyzed.”
Reiko gasped in dismay. Akiko said, “Can’t the doctor fix you?”
“… No.”
Sano was horrified by the cost of Hirata’s atonement. In his struggle to overcome the ghost, Hirata had sacrificed his own body. He was still alive, but in a state worse than death. Sano was filled with grief and pity for his old friend.
“You can be shogun now,” Yanagisawa said to Yoshisato. They laughed with exultation.
And here was the cost of Lord Ienobu’s death. Sano rose in protest as power changed hands for the last time.
Lady Nobuko revived, beheld Yanagisawa and Yoshisato with disgust and hatred, and stumbled to Lord Ienobu. She pounded his scrawny chest, shouting “Come back! Don’t let them take over!”
Lord Ienobu grunted, sat up, stretched his arms, and yawned.
40
LADY NOBUKO SHRIEKED, recoiling in fright. Sano, Reiko, Masahiro, and Akiko exclaimed. Yanagisawa and Yoshisato stared, shocked and aghast. Sano stated the obvious fact: “You’re not dead.”
Lord Ienobu wrinkled his brow. He suddenly resembled his uncle. He hesitantly raised his finger, as the shogun had often done when he wanted to ask a question he thought might be considered stupid.
“Speak,” Sano said, startled by the change in Lord Ienobu.
“Who are you?” Lord Ienobu glanced at the other people. “Who are they?”
“Don’t you know?” When Lord Ienobu didn’t answer, Sano realized he was waiting for permission. “You can talk to me.”
“No. I don’t know.” Lord Ienobu noticed the corpses of the shogun and the slain guards; he pursed his mouth. “What happened?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“No.” Lord Ienobu seemed only mildly worried. Hirata had tried to kill him, been too weak, and only damaged his brain, Sano thought. “Who am I?”
With the vexed air of a man saddled with unfinished business, Yanagisawa drew his sword and said, “You’re dead now.”
Running footsteps and excited shouts resounded. The partition between the shogun’s bedchamber and the corridor opened to reveal a squadron of Tokugawa troops. “Lord Ienobu, we’ve beat back the invasion,” the leader said. “The castle is secure.” His voice trailed off as he and his men took in the scene—the dead shogun, the strewn corpses, and Yanagisawa ready to slay Lord Ienobu. “Get away from him! Drop your weapon!”
Yanagisawa froze, let his sword fall, and stepped backward. His face was a picture of outrage because his fortunes had reversed yet again.
“You’re safe, Honorable Lord Ienobu,” the leader said. “We’ll get rid of this filth for you.” He and his troops advanced into the bedchamber.
Reiko and Akiko moved nearer to Sano. Glad that they cleaved to him no matter how Reiko felt
about him, Sano couldn’t believe they’d come so far and gone through so much, and yet now all was lost.
Lord Ienobu looked to Sano. Sano spoke instinctively: “Tell them to back off.”
“Back off,” Lord Ienobu said.
The troops hesitated, confused. The leader said, “What?”
“Tell them that’s an order,” Sano said, “and they should leave us alone.”
“That’s an order,” Lord Ienobu repeated. “Leave them alone.”
His men gaped at one another, then backed away. Sano was stunned to discover that Lord Ienobu would do whatever he said. Everyone else looked just as stunned. Yanagisawa said, “Order them to tell their generals to surrender to my army.”
Lord Ienobu looked to Sano again. He was like a baby chick just hatched from the egg, thinking that the first live creature it noticed was its mother, instinctively accepting Sano’s direction. Thinking fast, Sano said, “Not surrender. Call a truce.”
“Call a truce,” Lord Ienobu said.
“You cast some kind of spell over him,” the leader accused Sano.
“Not I,” Sano said with a glance at Hirata.
“Do as I say, or I’ll have your heads,” Lord Ienobu said. He was apparently capable of phrasing his own sentences as well as parroting Sano’s.
Vacillating between fear of him and suspicion toward Sano, the men glanced at one another. Then they departed.
“Call them back!” Yanagisawa ordered Lord Ienobu.
“Touch your nose,” Sano said.
Lord Ienobu raised his finger and tapped his nose.
Yanagisawa went livid with anger as he comprehended that Sano had sole control over Lord Ienobu and therefore over the regime. “You’ve ruined everything. You always do.” His tone was as deadly as the sword he picked up from the floor as he advanced on Sano. “But this is the last time.”
Sano heard Reiko, Masahiro, and Akiko exclaim in alarm as he reached for his sword—which Hirata had shattered to pieces. “Wait.” He was acutely conscious that Yanagisawa wore full battle gear while his own head was bare and his body minus its armor. “We can work something out.”
Yanagisawa fumed through clenched teeth; he would have spit fire if he could. “Oh, no.” His eyes blazed under his helmet. “I won’t give you another chance to spoil things for me. I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago.”
The weight of his armor slowed his rush at Sano long enough for Sano to snatch up Hirata’s sword. Then Yanagisawa was upon Sano, lashing and shouting, “For twenty years—whatever I tried to do, you were always there to trip me up! Well, no more!”
Sano was too busy parrying to strike back. Although he was the better fighter, he was worn out from his fight with Hirata, and Yanagisawa had the lethal energy of the insane. “This is for all the times you turned the shogun against me!” Yanagisawa hacked at Sano’s head. As he recited old grievances, his blade whistled, carving wild patterns that Sano frantically dodged. “This is for Yoritomo!”
Akiko ran at Yanagisawa, grabbed his leg, and shouted, “Leave my father alone!”
“Akiko, get away!” Sano yelled.
* * *
YANAGISAWA KICKED AT Akiko while hacking at Sano, but she hung on. Reiko was horrified to see her daughter caught in the battle between Sano and Yanagisawa. She screamed and rushed to rescue Akiko. Yanagisawa swung at them. Sano whacked Yanagisawa across the chest. His blade didn’t penetrate the armor, but Yanagisawa faltered; he missed Reiko and Akiko. Reiko pulled Akiko off Yanagisawa, and he resumed attacking Sano.
“I’ll kill you if it’s the last thing I do!”
Sano struck his knee guard. Yanagisawa yelped in pain and staggered. Yoshisato ran to help him. Masahiro chased Yoshisato, tackled him, and brought him down. Holding Akiko so that she wouldn’t run back into the battle, Reiko realized that Sano was bound to lose. Without his armor, already exhausted from his fight with Hirata, he panted as he dodged Yanagisawa’s frenzied slicing.
Seeing her husband attacked by Yanagisawa was different from seeing him attacked by Hirata. Somehow Reiko hadn’t really thought Hirata would kill Sano, and she’d been correct. Something in her had known that Hirata’s loyalty to his master would ultimately win out. Instinct had moved her to defend Sano, not the belief that he was in real danger and needed her help. But now the danger to Sano was real, mortal.
Akiko knew; that was why she’d tried to protect him. Reiko knew, too.
Yanagisawa had often tried to kill Sano. Nothing stood in his way this time.
Reiko felt a sensation like cold water dashed on her, rinsing from her eyes the haze created by her anger at Sano and from her mind the list of his misdeeds. During the past four years, she’d thought of Sano as a source of nothing but trouble. Seeing him up against Yanagisawa in their long-overdue fight to the death put him in a new perspective.
Yanagisawa embodied all that was evil and Sano all that was good.
The harsh light of comparison exposed the unshaded, black-and-white fact that Sano had taken honor too far, but Yanagisawa personified what happens when a man goes too far in the opposite direction. Sano and Yanagisawa had lived their lives in the same political arena; they’d experienced the same pressures and temptations; and Yanagisawa was what Sano would have become if not for Sano’s refusal to deviate from Bushido. Reiko had deplored his honor as a blight on her and her children’s existence, but now she realized that it was the talisman that had kept Sano from turning into Yanagisawa. It was the cornerstone of his relentless pursuit of justice during this investigation and all those they’d worked on together. It was an integral part of the man she’d fallen in love with nineteen years ago.
The husband she still loved in spite of, and because of, everything.
In the cold, lucid air of revelation, Reiko saw a new battle line drawn. It put her on Sano’s side, where she belonged, which she’d never really left. On the other side was Yanagisawa, the real enemy. All the fury and hatred she’d once directed at Sano now blazed at Yanagisawa.
How dare he attack her husband?
If Yanagisawa killed Sano, then Sano would die thinking she wanted to leave him because she didn’t want to be his wife. He would never know that it wasn’t true.
Reiko shoved Akiko into a corner, shouted, “Stay there!” and snatched a sword from a dead guard.
“No!” Sano shouted at her.
He’d said she would never learn to stay out of danger; Reiko would make him thankful for it. Savage with determination, she swung at Yanagisawa’s back while he fought Sano. Her blade grazed one shoulder then the other, cutting the lacing on the armor panels. They hung like broken wings. She sliced the cord around his waist and the shoulder straps of his tunic. As his tunic fell off, Yanagisawa realized what was happening. He rounded on her and lashed.
Reiko jumped back, her right arm spilling blood from a cut so deep and painful that her breath hissed out of her. She dropped to her knees, clutching the wound that immobilized her arm. Her own physical agony didn’t matter. She moaned because she was of no use to Sano now, when she wanted to be, when it counted the most.
* * *
YANAGISAWA WHIRLED TO face Sano again. Sano lashed and knocked his helmet off. Except for their gloves and chain-mail sleeves, they were both vulnerable from the waist up. As they lunged and circled, retreated and trampled the dead, their whirring swords met flesh. Blood spattered. Gashes on Sano’s arms and shoulders burned. Masahiro and Yoshisato wrestled, their feet kicking, metal-plated knees banging, while they clawed at each other’s necks. Akiko was chattering anxiously as she tied her sash around Reiko’s arm. Sano feared that his wife was mortally wounded, his son outmatched by Yanagisawa’s. Lady Nobuko hugged herself, both eyes closed tight, terrified. Lord Ienobu watched with more curiosity than apprehension. Sano raised his sword, backhanding a slice at Yanagisawa’s head. His blade locked in a cross against Yanagisawa’s. His arm was already strained from his battle with Hirata. A muscle inside it twisted. The pain sna
pped open his fingers. His sword dropped.
Unholy glee shone in Yanagisawa’s eyes. As he swung at Sano, he slipped on the bloody floor. Sano hurled himself on Yanagisawa and grabbed the hilt of Yanagisawa’s sword. His weakened right hand slipped off. His left clung. They fell together and landed on the bed. Fighting for control of the weapon, they rolled over the dead shogun. A furious anger boiled up in Sano. Yanagisawa wasn’t the only one with twenty years’ worth of grievances to redress. Something in Sano had known it would come to this—him and Yanagisawa fighting to the death, over the body of their dead lord, to settle their personal scores. It was fate.
Sano pried back Yanagisawa’s fingers until bones cracked and Yanagisawa screamed. He got a clumsy hold on the sword. Yanagisawa swatted it out of his hand and punched his face. Momentarily blinded, ears ringing, nose bleeding, Sano reared back. Yanagisawa sprang and grabbed Sano around the throat. With his left hand Sano scrabbled at the thick, gloved fingers squeezing his windpipe. With his right he clawed at the floor in desperate search for the sword. He closed on a fragment of his broken blade. It was shorter than his forearm, with a jagged break at one end and the sharp tip at the other. He lashed it at Yanagisawa’s head.
Yanagisawa let go of Sano’s neck to protect his own face. He snatched at the blade fragment. Sano stabbed at Yanagisawa’s throat. Yanagisawa caught the jagged end before the tip cut him. Scuffling frantically, he and Sano rolled atop the shogun, each with both hands locked tight around the blade between their bodies. Sano felt its edge slit his right glove while they each hung on and tried to drive the tip through the other. Their legs kicked and scrambled. The blade sank into Sano’s palm. Pain flared. Warm blood spilled.
The Iris Fan Page 32
