“Who’s there?” he demanded.
As his eyes chased the movement, a figure reappeared and disappeared, a shadow with a horned helmet, a flared armor tunic, and jutting swords. It was larger than any man, a giant. Power radiated from it in waves that boomed and pulsed.
“It’s the spirit. He’s come for you.”
Terror filled Hirata. He didn’t care that the spirit could give him the powers he craved. He only wanted to run away. But his legs were numb as stone; they wouldn’t move. He clawed the air with his hands. They turned numb and useless, too. He spun as he toppled. He sprawled on his back across the altar stone.
The trees above him leaned inward, their trunks like the sides of a funnel, the sky at the far, narrow end. Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano extended their arms around the altar, hands touching. They stared down at Hirata, their lips moving as they chanted. Their voices sent pressure waves crashing against his ears. Veins of fiery light crossed, linked, and dissolved around him. His heart thumped so hard that he thought it would explode.
“Stop or I’ll die!” he screamed.
The men’s faces, bent over him, shone with exultation. The moon expanded and contracted in rhythm with their chanting. With each expansion it grew larger, exerting a force that sucked Hirata toward the sky. He felt himself rising through the funnel of trees. As he reached the treetops, his point of view suddenly inverted. He was looking down at the clearing. He saw himself lying on the altar, enmeshed in fire-veins, his face a mask of panic, surrounded by Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. He tried to call to them, but they didn’t look up. They didn’t know that his spirit had left his body.
The universe upended in another disorienting shift. The moon filled Hirata’s vision. Black clouds streamed across it like ink on water. They gathered into the shape of a samurai in full armor on horseback. It was the warrior from the forest. His image enlarged as Hirata rose into the sky and the moon expanded. Now the warrior charged his mount toward Hirata. His form took on definition. Hirata could see the plates of his helmet and armor tunic, his eyes glowing above the iron face shield. He drew his sword, which shone as if forged from lightning.
Hirata screamed again. He heard the faint, feeble sound from his earthbound body. The men’s chanting followed him as he rose faster and faster. Another deep, garbled voice joined theirs, speaking unintelligible words. It was the warrior’s. The noises mixed into a cacophony that grew louder as he accelerated. The earth fell away beneath him. He saw Edo, the castle, and the hills shrink in a landscape of mountains and rivers and lights from distant cities, then the islands of Japan floating in the sea, dwarfed by foreign continents. The men’s chanting pursued him as he whirled through the vacuum of space.
Celestial bodies appeared—a gigantic ball of red, swirling gas; an orange-and-black-striped orb encircled by a sparkling ring. Stars magnified into white suns with molten, turbulent centers. Hirata’s acceleration suddenly reversed. Now he was falling. Planets and stars streaked by him in columns of light. The chanting rose to an inaudible pitch. Below, the earth soared up to meet him. Mountains raised jagged peaks. Wind shrieked in his ears. Friction burned him as the round gap in the trees around the clearing in the forest swallowed him. He landed with a crash that shattered perception, extinguished thought in silent, empty blackness.
* * *
EXCRUCIATING PAIN BURNED down Hirata’s left arm. A tiger with teeth made of fire was gnawing on it. He moaned and writhed. Hands restrained him. Voices called his name. He awakened to find himself lying on the cold, hard altar stone. The circle of sky above the treetops was pale blue with morning. Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano pinned him down, their anxious faces bent over him. Hirata raised his head. He was back in his body, alive. When he tried to wiggle his feet and fingers, they obeyed. He gasped with relief.
“What happened?” he said, wondering if his experience had been a hallucination.
“Nothing.” Tahara sounded disappointed. “You just screamed all night.”
“Didn’t you see the warrior?” Hirata demanded as he sat up. His arm still hurt terribly.
“No. You mean you did? This is the first time we’ve managed to evoke him in months, and he appeared only to you.” Vexation tinged Kitano’s voice.
“What happened? Did he tell you anything?” Tahara asked eagerly.
Hirata described how he’d been transported out of his body, into the cosmos. “Something’s wrong with my arm.” The rest of his body was stiff with cold, but the pain burned and throbbed from the tiger’s fiery fangs. He pushed up his sleeve.
The skin on his arm glowed as if from flames underneath. The other men exclaimed. Tiny bright lines appeared within the glow. The pain went from excruciating to unbearable. Hirata rolled off the altar stone onto the ground. He frantically scraped snow against his arm. The snow melted and steamed. As the cold penetrated his skin, the glow faded; the pain eased.
Deguchi crouched, pointing at Hirata’s arm. Tahara said, “Look!”
A line of precisely written characters adorned his skin from bicep to wrist. Hirata stared in amazement. They were bloodred, but when he touched them, they were smooth, dry, and painless, like a tattoo. “Did you do this to me while I was in the trance?” he demanded.
“No. It’s a message from the spirit,” Kitano said.
Hirata saw that Kitano was speaking the truth. All three men beheld the message with genuine awe. Repulsed and horrified, Hirata tried to rub the characters off. Tahara restrained him and read the message: “‘Bring Lord Tokugawa Ienobu to the shogun’s garden at the hour of the cock, the day after tomorrow.’”
In the moment of stunned silence that ensued, a breeze disturbed the forest.
“This is the first time the spirit has sent a written message,” Tahara said.
“How did he communicate with you other times?” Hirata was so distraught that he could barely get the words out.
“He spoke to us,” Kitano said.
Hirata remembered the voice he’d heard. The characters wavered before his eyes. He felt nauseated.
“Ienobu is the first person he’s mentioned by name,” Kitano said, “except for—”
Tahara silenced him with a glance.
“Except for me? The spirit mentioned me?” Nobody answered Hirata, but he knew he was right. Fresh shock hit him. “What did it say? When was this?”
“Three years ago,” Tahara admitted. “He asked us who our fellow disciples were. He told us to invite you to join our society.”
Now Hirata knew why they’d invited him even though they were reluctant to share their secrets. The message branded on his arm gave him a clue to what the spirit wanted with him. “He needs someone who moves in the inner circle of power. The three of you don’t. You can’t do things for him there. But I can.”
“More or less.” Tahara’s casual tone sounded forced. Hirata could tell that he and the others resented the fact that although they’d learned how to work the magic spells, Hirata was the one for whom the spirit had special plans.
“Well, I won’t meddle with Lord Ienobu,” Hirata said. “We can’t know what will happen as a result. I won’t be responsible for bringing harm to the shogun’s nephew.”
He rolled down his sleeve, covering the message, and started to walk away. Deguchi stepped in front of him. The men’s aura began to pulse threateningly.
“You have to do it,” Tahara said. “The spirit commands us.”
“Why can’t he do things for himself?”
“He’s disembodied energy,” Kitano said. “He knows everything because he can go everywhere and spy on everyone, but he has no physical form, and he can’t act on humans or communicate with them except during rituals.”
“Who is he, anyway?”
Tahara parted with more information as stingily as if he were squeezing blood from a vein. “He’s the ghost of a soldier who died on the battlefield at Sekigahara.”
That was the battle at which Tokugawa Ieyasu had defeated his rival warlords; later, he’d become the fir
st Tokugawa shogun. Hirata remembered that the spirit’s armor had looked bulky and old-fashioned. “How does that qualify him to decide what destiny is and how it should be fulfilled?”
“He’s not the one who decides,” Kitano said. “He’s only a conduit between us and the gods of the cosmos.”
“And they said I should trot Ienobu into the shogun’s garden as if he were a puppet? Oh, well, then. Of course everybody has to do what the ‘gods of the cosmos’ say.” Hirata pushed past Deguchi.
The men blocked his exit from the clearing. “You took an oath when you joined our society,” Tahara reminded Hirata. “You swore to abide by all its decisions.”
“I have a say in our decision about whether to follow the ghost’s orders,” Hirata retorted, “and I’ve decided I won’t.”
Tahara smiled with all his charm. “All you have to do is arrange for Ienobu to walk through the garden. What could it hurt?”
“Are you serious?” Hirata stared. “Have you forgotten about Yoritomo? No, I won’t do it. I’m quitting the society.”
“Sorry, but we can’t allow that.” Tahara’s eyes were steely above his smile. Deguchi’s blazed with anger.
“How are you going to stop me? Kill me?” Hirata laughed. “Who’ll be the ghost’s errand boy then?”
“No, we’ll kill Chamberlain Sano,” Kitano said.
Horror sent a chill through Hirata’s blood. Rage enflamed him. “I won’t let you near Sano!”
“The only way you can protect Sano is by doing the spirit’s bidding. But how can we convince you?” Tahara felt under his coat and pulled out a small object, which he held up for Hirata to examine.
It was a flat, rectangular wooden tag with a white string looped through a hole at one end, the kind sold at Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines. Worshippers wrote prayers on them and tied them on fences or posts outside the buildings. This tag had a sword artistically drawn on it in red ink.
“Memorize this,” Tahara said, and tucked the tag back under his coat. He smiled as he and his friends stepped aside and let Hirata go.
21
THE RISING SUN lightened the sky over Edo Castle from black to muddy gray. Outside the women’s quarters, vapor filled the air, as if the earth had exhaled a clammy, disease-laden breath. Inside, Priest Ryuko stood at the threshold of the shogun’s mother’s chamber.
“You sent for me, my lady?”
“Yes! You certainly took your time getting here.” Lady Keisho-in made shooing gestures at the attendants who knelt around the pillow-covered bed on which she lounged. “Go, go! My dearest priest and I have private business to discuss!”
The attendants hastily left. Priest Ryuko knelt by Lady Keisho-in and took her hand. She wore a rich red brocade robe that snarled with gilded dragons, and so many ornaments spangled her puff of dyed-black hair that it looked like a pincushion. Thick white makeup, and scarlet rouge on her cheeks and lips, hid some of the ravages of age. But Priest Ryuko noticed the food stains on the robe, the veined, loose skin on the hand he held, and her stale, old-womanish smell. He felt repugnance mixed with affection.
“Is something wrong?” Through the thin walls he could hear the chatter quiet down as news of his presence spread and the women pricked up their ears to listen.
“‘Wrong?’” Lady Keisho-in snorted, in a manner more suited to the commoner she was than to the highest-ranking woman in Japan. “I would call it a disaster!”
Although he knew Lady Keisho-in had a tendency to exaggerate, her anxiety disturbed Priest Ryuko. Her mood and her well-being had such a great impact on his. Their fates had been intertwined for more than twenty years, since a series of incidents in the women’s quarters had first brought him here. Minor vandalism that included broken makeup jars and torn clothes, and anonymous letters that contained insults, threats, and malicious rumors, had thrown the ladies and servants into an uproar. The shogun blamed the trouble on fox spirits masquerading as humans. He asked the abbot at Zōjō Temple to send an exorcist. The abbot sent Ryuko, a handsome, personable priest who’d enjoyed great success with women before he’d taken his vow of celibacy.
Lady Keisho-in’s face had lit up with smiles the moment she saw him. She and her attendants followed him as he marched through the women’s quarter, chanted prayers, and burned incense sticks. They giggled excitedly. He had been afraid the exorcism would fail and he would be punished. But when he walked down the line of women, shouting at the fox spirits to come out, and waving incense smoke over them, a young lady-in-waiting broke down in tears. She confessed that she was responsible for the incidents.
The other women fell on her. They hit, scratched, and kicked her until the palace guards came and took her away, to have her put to death. The other women cheered. Priest Ryuko backed away, shocked by the violence and his success.
“My hero!” Lady Keisho-in dimpled at him. “Don’t be in such a hurry to leave.”
Now she clutched his hand so hard that he winced. “I’m so afraid!” Her rheumy eyes were round, moist.
“Of what?” Priest Ryuko saw that her fear was real, not a ploy to get attention and enliven a dull day. Fearful himself, he urged, “Tell me.”
“It’s that damned astronomer. Have you heard about his pronouncement?”
Priest Ryuko nodded; his spirits sank. He hadn’t known that Lady Keisho-in had heard, and he’d been hoping she never would. She got upset so easily, and although she was healthy for her age, a bad upset might kill her. And that would be the end of Priest Ryuko, too.
“Yes, I’ve heard,” he said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded.
She was so much like the shogun, Priest Ryuko thought. She’d handed down to him her moods, capriciousness, and quickness to take offense. “Because I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.” He also didn’t like to be the bearer of bad news. “Nothing will come of it.”
“That’s all you know! What rock have you been sleeping under? Haven’t you heard the latest?”
“No.” Priest Ryuko had been so preoccupied with Sano and the murders that he hadn’t consulted his usual sources of gossip. “What’s happened?”
“The Council of Elders had a secret meeting about the astronomer’s pronouncement last night. They think the astronomer is right.”
“How do you know this?” Priest Ryuko asked. Rumors had run rampant since the earthquake, few of them true.
“I had it straight from a friend who’s a secretary for the Council.” Lady Keisho-in had many friends who cultivated her favor because of her influence with the shogun. “He said the elders talked about which high-ranking person the gods are displeased with. Guess who most of them think it is?” Her watery eyes bulged with outrage; she jabbed her finger against her bosom. “Me!”
At first Ryuko was surprised that the elders would give the astronomer’s pronouncement such a dangerous interpretation. Then he realized that they craved an explanation for the earthquake; they didn’t want to believe it was an accident of nature. Blaming someone would make them feel in control, as if by punishing the culprit they could prevent more earthquakes. They probably also wanted to avoid being blamed and punished themselves. Ryuko recalled things he’d seen happen to people accused of unbalancing nature’s forces. Some had been banished, others injured or killed during exorcisms. But none had been linked with a catastrophe as big as the earthquake. None had had as far to fall as Lady Keisho-in.
“What are they going to do?” he said.
“They talked about making my son send me away, in order to appease the gods.” Lady Keisho-in cried wildly, “Can you believe it?”
Speechless, Priest Ryuko shook his head. The world had gone insane since the earthquake. What would happen next? Animals would talk and men fly?
“They’ll stick me in some convent at the end of the earth, and I’ll lose my home and my place in court, and never see my son again!” Lady Keisho-in wailed.
The elders must be so desperate to restore normalcy, order, and pea
ce—and protect their own skins—that they would jump on the astronomer’s pronouncement, dare to accuse the shogun’s mother, and risk death. And perhaps they wanted to kill two birds with one stone—mend the breach with the gods and get rid of Lady Keisho-in, who had more influence over affairs of state than they liked. Priest Ryuko tasted horror and bile as he saw his own lot take a turn for the worse.
He’d feared that Sano’s investigation into the murders would expose the secret he’d hidden from Lady Keisho-in. He’d feared losing her patronage and his influence with the shogun. But now she herself was in danger of taking a fall.
“Have you spoken to your son about this?” Ryuko asked. “Can’t you persuade him to stand by you?”
“I’ve tried to talk to him, but he’s always too busy or too ill to see me.” Lady Keisho-in uttered a sound of despair. “His own mother!”
Priest Ryuko suspected that the shogun didn’t know his mother was trying to see him. Someone must be keeping them apart, and Ryuko had a good idea who it was: Lord Ienobu, who wanted to secure his position as the shogun’s heir and didn’t trust Lady Keisho-in not to interfere.
“The earthquake isn’t my fault. I’m innocent. This is wrong, wrong, wrong! What should I do?” Lady Keisho-in burst into tears; she tugged Priest Ryuko’s hand. “Tell me!”
“First you must calm down,” he said, stalling because he didn’t know what to do. “Let me give you a massage.”
She nodded, opened her robes, and flopped on her back. She loved massages. With sensuous, soothing motions, Priest Ryuko stroked the sagging flesh on her stomach. Soon she began to sigh with pleasure. As he gently kneaded the withered sacs of her breasts and rubbed their brown, droopy nipples, her sighs turned to purrs. She undulated, arching her back. He slipped his fingers between her legs. She gasped, thrust her hips, and gave excited little cries until she reached her pleasure. She moaned and relaxed.
“I can count on you to take care of me,” she murmured.
As she drifted off to sleep, Priest Ryuko covered her with a quilt. He sat beside her, musing on their relationship. Everyone thought it was a matter of a greedy climber servicing a foolish old woman sexually as well as spiritually in exchange for her patronage. But Ryuko was genuinely fond of Lady Keisho-in, never mind that she was flighty and stupid and too old to be attractive to him. They had a strong, human bond. She was the grocer’s daughter who’d given birth to a shogun; he was a village peasant boy who’d made his fortune as a Buddhist cleric. They would always be two commoners against the aristocrats.
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