by Susan Spann
He stopped to listen for the footsteps.
Silence fell around him with a weight that seemed to amplify the cold. His nose felt numb, and his ears began to burn. He slipped his hands into his sleeves, hoping to keep his fingers flexible enough to make a fist or draw a sword.
He heard a faint sound in the distance, no longer clearly identifiable as footsteps but too rhythmic to be anything else.
Hiro followed the sound. As the darkness grew deeper, and the ground beneath him less distinct, only years of shinobi training allowed him to continue climbing without slipping or making a sound. Slowly, carefully, he closed the distance between himself and the crunching sound ahead.
The closer he drew, the more the weight and regularity of the footsteps made Hiro suspect he was following a man. The lack of a light or lantern suggested his quarry knew the mountain well.
A stick snapped loudly beneath his sandal.
Ahead, the footsteps stopped.
Hiro froze, right foot in the air. Slowly, he lowered it to the ground.
He held his breath and waited.
The forest also seemed to hold its breath.
After almost a minute, the footsteps started up again. Hiro exhaled in relief and resumed his silent progress up the hill.
As he followed the footsteps, Hiro wondered where his quarry headed. Although he could not see well in the darkness, he knew the burial ground lay far below them on the mountainside.
A frigid wind rustled through the cedars. The branches rubbed across one another like ghostly fingers.
Despite Zentaro’s claims, Hiro doubted the mountain cared about the short-lived, arrogant creatures who trespassed upon its rocky slopes.
The footsteps stopped.
A long, low moaning wavered through the night, the tortured cry of a soul bereft.
Hiro froze in place.
The moan repeated, deep at first but rising to a wail of despair. At the end, it dropped in pitch again and faded into silence.
Hiro reminded himself that he did not believe in ghosts.
He continued, raising a foot each time the wail began and stepping down at the apex of the moan, using the sound to camouflage his movements.
A glow appeared ahead of him, but it seemed too diffuse for a lantern. The color—a pale, silvery blue—looked wrong for fire.
Dense clumps of bamboo grass stood between Hiro and the light. He made his way around the thicket, stepping carefully to prevent rustling the bamboo. As he did, he recognized the bluish glow as hazy moonlight filtering through the trees into a clearing just ahead.
An eight-foot torii stood in the clearing, near a familiar, flat-topped boulder flanked by vigilant stone foxes. The footsteps had led him back to the sacred clearing where he and Father Mateo spoke with Zentaro earlier in the day.
A hooded figure knelt between the posts of the torii, facing the sacred stone.
This was no ghost.
With a moaning cry, the figure bowed its forehead to the snowy ground, arms extended toward the stone. The action gave a muted, eerie quality to the wail.
When the mourner pushed himself back to a kneeling position, his hood fell back, revealing Chitose’s tear-streaked face.
The young man raised his hands in supplication.
“Please take me too. I do not want to live if she is gone.”
Chapter 34
A gust of wind swept through the grove. The cedars creaked and swayed, their branches waving as if in response to Chitose’s prayer.
The young man raised his face. His eyes looked wild, their expression halfway between terror and expectation.
As suddenly as it came, the wind disappeared.
The trees grew still. Their rustling faded into silence.
Chitose waited.
Hiro waited too.
Eventually the young man lowered his hands to his knees and bowed his head. He appeared to be praying until his shoulders began to shake with silent sobs. He curled his hands across his stomach and leaned forward.
“Why?” Chitose’s wail carried through the forest. “It was not her fault!”
The agonized cry woke an answering pain in Hiro’s heart. For an instant, he stood not in a grove of cedar and grasses on a mountain near Hakone, but in Iga, bathed in the blood of the only woman he had ever loved. His soul had made that sound the day Neko died.
Hiro also knew, without question, that Chitose had not killed Masako, and believed the young man had not killed Ishiko either. The exquisite pain in Chitose’s voice testified to his innocence in ways not even Hiro’s skepticism could deny.
The shinobi stepped into the clearing.
Chitose startled and screamed in terror. He tried to rise but slipped and fell. As he landed on the icy ground, he curled into a defensive ball.
“Have mercy!” He shielded his face with his hands. “Don’t kill me! Please!”
“I have no intention of harming you.” Hiro stood beside the shaking youth. “But I will point out, you did just ask to die.”
Chitose lowered his arms. “You’re not a kami.”
“Not even close.”
Chitose struggled to his feet. He brushed feebly at the dirty ice and snow that clung to his trousers. “You’re the foreigner’s servant.”
“Scribe,” Hiro corrected.
“Did you follow me to taunt my grief?”
“I most assuredly did not. However, I am curious. Why did you climb up here, in the freezing dark, to mourn a woman whose body lies across the road from your home?”
“I did not come to mourn Masako.” Chitose’s voice broke on the name. “I wanted Inari Okami to let the mountain spirits kill me too.”
“Until the sight of me changed your mind?”
“I-I was frightened.” Chitose sniffled. “With respect, a samurai would not understand.”
“You think a samurai does not know fear?” Suspecting the young man knew better than to risk an answer, Hiro changed the subject. “You loved Masako.”
Chitose sniffed again, and did not deny it.
“Did Hanako know?”
“She would not have allowed Masako-san to have a suitor,” Chitose said. “We met at night, in secret.”
Not quite as secretly as you believe.
Chitose mistook Hiro’s silence for disapproval. “Please do not tell Father or Hanako-san. It would make them angry.”
“The girl is dead. Why would they care?”
“With respect,” Chitose said, “because our actions angered the kami and cursed the village. We did not go far, but we entered the forest after dark, to keep from being seen.”
“You believe the gods of the mountain killed her—not the yūrei?”
“There is no yūrei. There never was. Our village is cursed by the kami of the mountain, as retribution for our refusal to show compassion to Riko-san.”
A twig snapped in the forest. Chitose jumped and looked around. He drew his hands to his chest as if to shield himself from harm.
Hiro reached for the hilt of his katana.
He watched the edges of the clearing, looking for signs of movement in the shadows.
Nothing moved, and the sound did not repeat.
Hiro relaxed a fraction, but kept his hand on his sword. “Why would the kami blame your village for the crimes of a samurai who did not live there?”
“Have you heard the story of her death?”
Hiro did not answer.
“We did not help her,” Chitose said. “We heard her screams, but did nothing, and she died.”
“And you find a curse from the gods a more likely explanation than a yūrei.”
“At first, I believed in the yūrei,” Chitose said. “Zentaro-san told us otherwise, but nobody believes him. I didn’t either. . .at first, but Riko-san would never have killed Masako-chan, not even as a ghost. If it wasn’t a yūrei, it must have been the mountain gods.”
Overhead, the rustling cedars whispered as if passing judgment on the young man’s tale.
&nbs
p; “You don’t believe me,” Chitose said. “I can tell from your silence. But it’s true. Masako-chaw and Riko-san loved one another dearly. On the night Riko died, only Masako tried to tend her wounds. Hanako would not even enter the room where Riko lay. When Riko died, Masako cried for days. She took offerings to the grave at least once a week, even when it made Hanako angry. Riko’s spirit had no need for vengeance against Masako. Which leaves only the angry kami of the mountain.”
Or a human killer. Hiro remembered the terrified girl carrying the news of Ishiko’s death. “If what you say is true, why did she fear the yūrei?”
“All women are afraid of ghosts.” Chitose punched the fist of his left hand into the palm of his right. “I never should have forced her to meet me in the woods at night. I should have been more patient. I finally had enough money saved for us to run away. We planned to leave in spring. . .”
He punched his fist into his palm again. “I made her meet me in the forest, even though she was afraid. We never went far—we stayed within sight of the houses—I thought it would be all right. And now she’s dead.” His voice cracked. “And her death is all my fault.”
Chapter 35
“Has it occurred to you that a person might have murdered Masako?” Hiro asked. “Maybe even the person who told her not to enter the woods at night?”
“Zentaro-san protects the village. He would never harm us.” Despite the words, a seed of doubt had sprouted in Chitose’s voice.
Hiro gestured to the torii. “If the kami cursed your village, and want you dead, why didn’t they take your life when you asked them to?”
“You interrupted them before they could.”
“You believe the kami fear a ronin?”
Chitose said nothing, but Hiro could feel the young man’s indecision.
Hiro turned to leave. “Angry kami did not kill Masako.”
As he began to walk away, Chitose called, “Please, wait!”
Hiro paused to allow the younger man to catch him.
“I—I don’t know the way back to the village in the dark,” Chitose said.
That makes two of us, Hiro thought.
“I didn’t think I would need a lan—” Chitose paused. “You don’t have a lantern either. We are lost!”
“I believe I can find the way.” Hiro started through the trees, and Chitose followed.
Here and there, a moonbeam pierced the treetops, giving just enough light to navigate. The two men walked through the frozen forest, footsteps crunching through the film of ice that formed atop the snow. Hiro returned his hands to his sleeves. Not that it helped. His fingers burned from exposure to the cold, and refused to warm.
“Do you really think a person killed Masako-chan?” Chitose asked.
“I would not have said so otherwise.”
“But no one goes outside at night.”
“Because of Zentaro’s warnings?” Hiro asked.
“Because they fear the yūrei. That’s why Masako-san and I thought we could meet in safety. We were supposed to meet last night, as well, but when she didn’t come, I thought. . .” Chitose stifled a sob. “I thought Hanako-san stayed up too late for her to get away.”
Hiro considered the recent deaths. Both Ishiko and Masako died outside, at night, though only the older woman violated the yamabushi’s orders not to leave the village. Masako died within earshot of the teahouse—a fact that Hiro found difficult to reconcile if Zentaro was the killer. Surely the girl would have screamed at the sight of anyone emerging from the woods.
Unless. . .
“Could Hanako have discovered your affair with Masako?”
“We had no affair.” Chitose emphasized the final word. “We only met at night to talk. I held her hand, and we kissed, but nothing more. I had no right to dishonor her by expecting more before our wedding night.”
“She was a teahouse girl.”
“She was not a p-prostitute!” Although he stammered from the cold, Chitose sounded angry enough that Hiro believed his words. “Hanako-san would never have allowed Masako-san to sleep in a room alone if she suspected anything. And if she knew for certain, she would have demanded payment. We were careful—”
Behind them, something moved in the forest.
Chitose drew his hands to his chest as if to shield himself against attack.
Hiro froze. He peered into the darkness as his hand crept down to the hilt of his wakizashi. In the trees, and in the dark, he did not trust the longer sword.
A shadow, deeper than the surrounding darkness, shifted between the trees.
As if aware Hiro saw it, the shadow stopped, melted into the darkness, and disappeared completely.
Hiro listened, but it made no further sounds.
The creature—or whatever it was—was gone.
Chitose wrapped his trembling hands around his body. “What was it?
“Too small for a man,” Hiro lied. “Perhaps a fox.”
“A kitsune.” Chitose breathed the word as if in grateful prayer. “A messenger from Inari, come to protect us.”
Hiro continued down the mountain. Chitose followed.
To Hiro’s relief, the younger man did not attempt any further conversation.
Here and there, narrow moonbeams broke through the forest canopy and flowed to the ground in silver streams. The layer of snow beneath the trees glowed pale blue-white where the moonlight struck. Occasionally, a line of tiny tracks revealed the path of a rabbit or a fox.
Hiro kept his guard up all the way to the village, but the shadow did not return.
After leaving Chitose outside his home, Hiro continued past the front of the ryokan, bypassing the door and entering through the shoji that opened directly into the guest room.
Two futons, each topped with a quilt, lay at the center of the empty room.
To Hiro’s disappointment, both his purse and Father Mateo’s still sat, undisturbed, on the wooden table.
“Mateo?” he whispered. “Are you here?”
“Hiro?” The built-in cupboard rattled as the door slid open, revealing the Jesuit. Father Mateo knelt in the waist-high space, atop an extra futon and a quilt.
The priest unfolded himself from the cupboard. “The thief never came.” He drew a breath and held it, as if trying to decide whether or not to continue. “But the yūrei did.”
“You saw the ghost. . .again?”
“I know how it sounds.” Father Mateo ran a hand through his hair. “But I saw her.”
“From inside the futon cupboard?”
“I was not in the cupboard at the time. That is, I was, but I came out.” The Jesuit gestured to the veranda door. “About half an hour ago, I heard that door slide open. I waited for the jingling that would tell me the thief had grabbed a purse, but the sound never came. At first I thought I had made a mistake about the outer door, but then I felt cold air seep in around the corners of the cupboard door. When I opened it to check, the room was empty but the veranda door was open. I looked outside and saw a woman with unbound hair gliding around the corner of the ryokan.”
“Did you follow her?” Hiro asked.
“By the time I reached the front of the building, she had disappeared.”
“Did you see her disappear?”
“I didn’t see her anywhere. She was gone.”
“You saw the thief,” Hiro said, “because ghosts do not exist.”
“A thief would have taken our money.” Father Mateo pointed to the purses on the table.
“She might have lost her nerve.”
“She glowed.”
“A trick of the moonlight. Are you certain you saw a woman?”
“As certain as I am that I see you now.”
“Then the woman you saw was Hanako, Mume, or Kane,” Hiro said, “though Kane probably would have come through the inner door and not the outer one.”
“You are not listening.” Father Mateo crossed his arms. “I know what I saw. I do not want to believe it any more than you do, but that does not chang
e the truth.”
Chapter 36
Hiro stared at Father Mateo, torn between his disbelief and the knowledge that the Jesuit did not lie.
“Did you learn anything in the forest?” Father Mateo asked.
Hiro briefly described his encounter with Chitose.
“Now what do we do?” The Jesuit sighed. “The trap has failed and we’ve made no progress.”
“The trap did not fail completely,” Hiro said. “I believe the thief did come, and that you merely mistook her for a ghost.”
“I did not—”
Hiro raised a hand. “I know you think you saw a spirit, but logically speaking you must admit that a thief is far more likely.”
“Not when I saw a ghost.”
“As I said, if you’re certain you saw a woman, walking upright, it could only have been one of three: Hanako, Mume, or Kane—and we can eliminate one of them right now.” Hiro walked to the inner door and slid it open. He raised his voice. “Noboru!”
When no one answered, Hiro called again. “Noboru! Come downstairs right now!”
Footsteps thumped on the upper floor, down the staircase, and along the hall from the back of the house. The innkeeper appeared, still tying the sash around his robe. “Has something happened?”
Kane appeared behind him. She wore a dark blue robe, and her hair hung braided down her back. The braid looked slightly messy, as if slept on.
“A thief attempted to enter our guest room,” Hiro said.
The innkeeper and his wife exchanged a glance.
“Tonight?” Noboru asked.
“Just now.” Hiro shifted his gaze to Kane. “Can you attest to your whereabouts for the last half hour?”
“I was asleep.” She glanced at her husband. “He was too.”
“In truth, I was not sleeping,” Noboru admitted. “I have not slept well since my mother’s death, and even less so since the theft. I was lying on my futon, trying to figure out how to pay for the exorcism when the priest arrives from Hakone. However, because I was awake I can tell you that no one entered the ryokan. I would have heard the front door creak.”
