by Hubbert, Jim
He turned and looked at her like a father gazing at a daughter. “That’s a very good question. But if you know too much, you might lose hope.”
“Have you lost yours?” asked Miyo.
He looked away and muttered, “I don’t know.”
“Messenger O…” Miyo suddenly felt a surge of anger toward this man who would tell her almost nothing, though she was sure he must know everything. After all, they both shared a common fate. Wasn’t there much more he should be telling her? But her thoughts were interrupted by a shrill voice. “Lady Miyo! Where are you?”
“Kan! I’m here!” Miyo waved. The boy ran up, out of breath. He gave a short, almost disrespectful nod to the Messenger and prostrated himself before Miyo.
“An urgent message from the palace. A pack of mononoké has appeared in Isonokami, attacking people and livestock!” Isonokami was only twenty-odd ri from the palace. Too close indeed.
“What!” Miyo turned to the Messenger and saw him frown for an instant. “Messenger O? Cutty? What of your vigilance now?” she cried.
“What indeed?” said the Messenger. He hardly seemed surprised. Would he say something like this was anticipated? No matter. Miyo turned to Kan.
“Summon Takahaya immediately. Does he already know?”
“Not yet,” said Kan. “The men are searching for him now.”
“Wait, there’s no time. Tell him what is happening. I return to the palace. He will accompany me.”
“Really? You’re going to defeat the mononoké yourself?” said the Messenger.
“You can’t come with me, can you?” she snapped. How she might take command of the fighting was far from her mind. She knew only that she had to return at all costs; her desperation spoke for her. But the Messenger just nodded, as if it were only fitting. Kan went to look for Takahaya. Miyo called her maidservants together in a state of distraction. Yamatai, the land of her birth and childhood, burning like Iga? She would never allow that to happen.
Never more did Miyo rue her inability to ride a horse. She drove her bearers relentlessly, pressing on by torchlight through the night, moving toward the plain of Makimuku with a hundred soldiers handpicked by Takahaya. Even so, the trip took a day and a half.
When they had crossed the last pass and descended into bright dawn over the Shiki plain, Miyo saw the land she had longed for. Rising above the paddy fields that stretched before them was Mount Miminashi, its heavily wooded slopes like an upended cup; on the left hand, Mount Amanokagu and the Yoshino Range. Miyo realized that she had never left this country before. Seeing it upon her return was like seeing a new land.But there was no time for emotions. Wisps of smoke were rising into the northern sky. The enemy? No, they might be morning cooking fires. Other small plumes of smoke were visible here and there. Miyo could not judge what was happening.
“Permission to send scouts ahead.” Takahaya’s voice came from outside the palanquin. Granted, Miyo was about to say, but then the magatama whispered.
“You have arrived? The enemy is twenty-five ri to the west—about forty, all RET.”
“Can you see them?” asked Miyo.
“The Wasps caught up with them,” said Cutty. Miyo had never seen one of these kinsmen of Cutty, but this was not the time to make enquiries. Miyo spoke in a commanding tone through the wicker screen.
“No need for scouts. The enemy is near Miminashi.”
“My lady,” acknowledged Takahaya.
“Take me to the palace. I must speak with Lord Ikima.” Takahaya began giving the orders. As she listened, Miyo thought, These men can be trusted. They have seen the Messenger in battle and fought the enemy themselves. Yet a hundred of the bravest are no match for forty mononoké. We need more soldiers. But the men from the palace have never seen this foe. Will they break and run?
With their remaining strength, the slaves carried Miyo’s litter over the palace moat at a half-run. By good fortune, the enemy had not yet come this far. But the moment the palanquin passed the gate, a single glance revealed chaos. Everyone was running around as if they’d already been routed, shouldering bundles of clothes and jars of rice.
Miyo could not restrain herself. She lifted the screen, leaned out of the palanquin and roared, “What is the meaning of this?”
The people in the forecourt froze. In Yamatai, there was only one woman who gave commands. Realizing that their queen had returned, everyone threw themselves to the ground, dropping their pots and bundles with a wave of clattering. One scrawny man emerged from the Great Hall. He seemed to want to prostrate himself, but confusion held him back. He lowered his head, but only partway. He looked up from under and spied Kan.
“Mimaso has no words to express his joy at the queen’s return, but if she would conduct a divination to show us how best to flee this urgent danger—”
“You speak of oracles at a time like this? Look at me!” shouted Miyo.
Mimaso sprang to his feet. He kept blinking like a rabbit. He did not know that Miyo had altered protocol completely. His confusion was not surprising, but Miyo had no time for explanations. She began firing questions at him.
“What is all this? Are you running away?”
“I, oh, please, forgive me for speaking directly…” Mimaso blinked again.
“Are you turning tail before you’ve even closed with the enemy? What are your arrangements for battle?”
“Lord Ikima is in charge. He is gathering soldiers.”
“Where is he?”
“He left this morning at the head of his troops,” answered Mimaso.
“Where did he go? How many men? What weapons did they take?”
“My Lady, I have been utterly preoccupied since daybreak preparing to leave the palace—”
“Leave it? You should be making ready to defend it, you, you…” Miyo groped for some earthy term of abuse, but she had never used such language and was speechless. In a calmer tone, she gave Mimaso his orders. “Gather every soldier in the palace. Let the women prepare provisions. Children will collect firewood. Stop making ready to flee. The mononoké are to be killed!”
“By you, my lady?”
Clearly Mimaso was going to be of little help. Miyo called to one of the captains and had him assemble his men, but when she saw them gathered together her face darkened. They had managed to scrape together swords and armor sufficient to equip themselves, but most of them were either aged or children—altogether unimpressive. Still, there was nothing to be done. The best soldiers had gone to Iga, and Takahikoné had taken the rest.
It is well that I brought Takahaya, thought Miyo. She was already mentally in command. She called for him and pointed to the men. “Takahaya! Will you slay forty of the enemy with these?”
“It will be a close thing, my lady.” The rough-edged fighter from Kumaso ran his gaze over the three hundred men assembled and rubbed his jaw.
“We have some war hammers, but for the rest, only swords and pikes. Not the way I’d like to go into battle.”
“We march in support of Lord Ikima.”
“Yes, my lady. I’ll do my best.”
Takahaya had come to Yamatai from Kumaso partly as hostage, to secure the alliance between the two chiefdoms. Takahikoné had showered him with grain and slaves, treating him with cordiality and respect. Perhaps because of this, Takahaya suddenly recovered his enthusiasm. Though he’d hardly slept the night before, he began energetically directing the men to prepare for departure.
Amid the commotion, a war trumpet sounded from the western watchtower. “Fire on the mountain!” Miyo stretched her neck to peer in that direction. Thick, ashen smoke was rising into the sky. This was no cooking fire. Without hesitation, she asked the magatama, “Is the enemy on the mountain?”
“It looks like all the people have fled there,” answered Cutty. This did not quite match her question, but Miyo instantly understood the significance of Cutty’s reply.
“They’re going to burn the whole mountain!” Cutty was silent. Miyo turned to the soldi
ers and shouted, “Takahaya! We march as soon as you are ready!” He waved in response.
The column set out. Breakfast was rice cakes with chestnuts and dried meat, taken as they left and hurriedly eaten on the march. Mount Miminashi was only six ri from the palace, almost within hailing distance. As soon as they were across the moat, the mountain was visible just beyond the river that ran west. Takahaya, riding alongside the palanquin, put a hand over his eyes.
“A large pack of Reapers surrounds the mountain. If they come at us all at once, we’ll be finished.”
“Can we not trap them?” asked Miyo. Takahaya was about to reply, then seemed to think of something. He wheeled his horse and galloped off to the end of the column toward the baggage train. After a few minutes, he returned. “There is one thing we could try, and I don’t even know if it will work. We could lure the enemy, then surprise them with the Hayato.”
“A baited trap,” said Miyo.
“You should remain here, my lady.”
She thought for a moment. “The Hayato for the trap. As for the bait, anyone can go out and make some noise.”
“Just so, my lady.”
“I will serve as bait. The palanquin is conspicuous,” said Miyo.
Takahaya started in surprise, but did not object. “We will pray for your success, then.”
After conferring on details, Miyo had her litter brought to the head of the column. With a retinue of only ten, she moved along the embankment road that ran between the river and the paddy fields. The heat in the palanquin was suffocating, but Miyo raised the screens on all sides. Walking alongside, Kan glanced up from time to time with a look of disapproval.
Mount Miminashi drew closer, seeming out of place atop the flat plane of the paddy fields. Then the strange shapes of the mononoké came into view, skulking about the base of the mountain. Thin shrieks could be heard from the flickering fires on the slopes. Miyo gasped.
How many people had been driven up the mountain? Planting was done, but the fields of green rice shoots were deserted. In this season, dozens of farmers would normally be weeding and fertilizing. Naked children should be running and playing on the levees between the fields.
Miyo looked ahead and noticed red lumps scattered across the fields. Suddenly she realized they were corpses. “Butchers,” she said, her teeth grinding in rage. Then Kan spoke quietly. “Lady Miyo. They see us.”
The nearest mononoké was standing motionless, looking intently toward them, less than two hundred paces distant. Miyo responded sharply.
“Not yet! We must draw as many as possible. Stand fast!” Her bearers closed their eyes in fright and went forward on trembling legs. As she urged them on, Miyo knelt on the floor of the palanquin, braced her back against the roof and pushed. The roof gave way. She tossed the uprights of the litter aside.
As she stood in the sunlight, she looked up at the rock ledge that ran along the top of the mountain. Tiny shapes were visible on its edge. Miyo waved and tried to make them out. She saw the glint of a sword and someone waving wildly, a soldier. He looked somehow familiar.
It was Takahikoné.
He must have gone out to save the peasants and been driven up the peak. A large crowd surrounded him. The flames and smoke were close and getting closer. Miyo could hear screaming and crying.
“Lady Miyo!” shouted Kan. One hundred paces to the base of the mountain. Every one of the beasts was now staring their way. They were probably unable to withstand the fire; nor could they climb the mountain. There looked to be twenty or more.
Miyo took up a war trumpet, inhaled as much air as she could, and blew. A sound like the howl of a huge beast resounded across the fields.
“They come!” shouted Kan. The mononoké leaned on their long arms and rushed forward on all fours, like apes. Kan drew his sword.
There was a scream of fear. The palanquin lurched violently. One of the bearers took off at a dead run. That did it; the other bearers dropped the litter. Miyo was pitched into a water-filled paddy. She felt a flash of rage. “Weaklings!” she yelled.
By the time Kan and the soldiers had helped her up, the mononoké were almost on top of them. They ran. The nearest mononoké did not use the levees but came splashing straight at them across the field. Its scythe flashed and the head of a soldier flew past Miyo. She kicked it out of the way and kept running. “Go!” she shouted, and looked behind her. For a moment she doubted her own eyes.
“Save yourself, my lady!” The remaining soldiers formed a line behind her and held their ground. Miyo stopped reflexively. Kan pushed her forward. “Hurry!”
She ran again. Miyo heard one of her men sounding a deep-throated battle cry into the face of death. She wondered who he was; she realized she didn’t know his name. To Miyo, her slaves, her soldiers, they had generally been nothing more than chattel to her. What a fool she was. If some fled for their lives, others shielded her with their very bodies. All were people, all bound by the name Himiko. But she was only Miyo, nothing more.
The sounds of slaughter behind her lasted only a few moments. Miyo and Kan had run fifty paces on. Again, the heavy drumming of many legs splashed toward them across the field.
“Miyo!”
“No!” she shouted. Kan turned to face the monsters. Miyo yanked his arm with all her strength. Too many had died for her already. She ran, dragging the boy with her. She struggled to breathe. Her heart pounded, her vision darkened, blurred.
It was then that she saw a soldier drawing a bow. “Quick, my lady!” She leapt into the last paddy field. There was a gust of air behind her. She couldn’t help turning to look, and one was there. Face to face with a mononoké. Takahaya’s longbow sang and a steel-tipped arrow pierced the monster’s skull. The mononoké toppled backward into the mud. As soon as they climbed atop the embankment, Takahaya gave the order.
“Burn them!”
Still on hands and knees, Miyo heard the sharp rap of a fire striker, then a sweeping roar. She turned to look behind her and sat down on the embankment.
The field was a sea of flame, burning oil floating on the surface. The mononoké caught in the fire thrashed wildly but made no attempt to escape to the next field. Miyo remembered something the Messenger had told her: the mononoké were able to see heat itself. But because they were so sensitive to it, heat blinded them as if one had thrown a red and swirling blanket over their insectile eyes. Mononoké could not find their way when surrounded by the heat of fire.
Still, about half the enemy had stopped short of the flaming field and were trying to make their way around it. As soon as Takahaya saw them spread out, he gave his next order.
“Attack!”
The Hayato hiding on the riverbank burst over the embankment, screaming their war cry. The enemy was pincered between soldiers and fire. They whirled and used their weapons on the weaker obstacle, the men. Five or six soldiers were cut down, but the rest did not flinch. They gathered around the mononoké, hacking at them and driving them into the fire. The inexperienced soldiers of Yamatai looked on, then joined the slaughter, timid at first but soon fighting wildly.
They were victorious. As the flames ebbed, the piled bodies of the mononoké smoldered in the field and along the levees. Takahaya inspected the battle site and returned to report.
“Twenty-two enemy killed.”
“Well done,” said Miyo.
“Now we must hurry and deal with the rest.” Only the mononoké on this side of the mountain had attacked them; the others remained. As Miyo realized this she stood up quickly, but then someone was shouting, “Look there!”
Battle flags hove into sight at the foot of the mountain. They were long and narrow, not like the flags of Yamatai. They rounded the mountain and moved toward them. Trailing behind them was a force of hundreds. No, more than a thousand. Miyo and the others stared in dumb amazement.
A herald rode forward and stopped before Miyo. “You are from Yamatai? You killed these creatures?” Miyo sensed the need for protocol and looked toward K
an. The boy stepped forward. “Before you stands Himiko, Queen of Yamatai. Who are you?”
“The queen!” The herald dismounted quickly and knelt. “I serve Inumori, Second Lord of Kunu. In accordance with the covenant of the Laws and by order of Shimako, First Lord of Kunu, I bring a force of twelve hundred to put down the mononoké.”
“From Kunu,” murmured Miyo. Bringing princes from the other chiefdoms to witness the fighting had apparently had its effect.
“We killed twenty on the other side of the mountain and came to the aid of Lord Ikima of Yamatai,” said the herald.
“He is safe, then,” said Takahaya with a grin. The herald nodded.
In a few minutes Takahikoné arrived with an escort from Kunu. He dropped to his knees before Miyo. His armor was soot-blackened and split at the shoulder. Clearly he had seen some hard fighting. “My lady, I am filled with emotion to see you here,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“Good soldier, you stood fast in defense of people and country. You must be weary.”
Takahikoné looked up, startled at being addressed directly by Miyo, but quickly looked down again. Miyo thought she detected a faint look of frustration in his face.
Cries of joy rose from the nearby village. Kan peered in that direction and whispered to Miyo. “The villagers are overjoyed. See how they dance.” Miyo looked toward the village. Jubilant at their survival, women and children were hugging each other, dancing and making merry.
Miyo was back in the Great Hall of the palace for the first time in two months. She could hear the distant voices of soldiers celebrating in their night encampments. Near sundown, three thousand troops from Toma had also arrived. They brought word that at this very moment, soldiers and provisions were likely on the way from many other chiefdoms.
