Black Arrow

by I. J. Parker

  They emerged into a clearing. Fitful clouds scurried across the nearly full moon, which cast a gray light on the scene. The icy wind tore at their straw capes; the horses snorted, and the breaths of men and beasts hung in the air like ghostly exhalations. Akitada pulled back on his reins and stared at the wooded hillside ahead. The shapes of grave markers marched up among the trees like lines of ghostly soldiers. In their midst, he had been told, was the entrance to the tomb of the Uesugi chieftains.

  “There it is,” he said, controlling a shiver of nervousness. “Tora and I could not have found the place without you, Doctor.”

  “I gather ginseng root on top of the burial hill,” replied Oyoshi. “It grows particularly well in these parts, with large, fleshy roots. My patients claim it helps them.” They kept their voices low even though the graveyard was deserted.

  Akitada glanced curiously at the huddled figure on the donkey. “Don’t you believe in the curative powers of ginseng?”

  Oyoshi chuckled. “It’s enough if they do. If a sick person has faith in its efficacy, then that person will feel better shortly.”

  “I wish I had some of that special ginseng from China that makes you live forever,” Tora muttered. “What if the old lord’s ghost comes after us?”

  “If he does, he’ll save you a lot of hard work,” Akitada said dryly.

  Tora reached for his amulet inside the shaggy bearskin.

  Oyoshi said with a sigh, “Living forever is a curse, not a blessing.”

  Tora shuddered visibly, and Akitada snapped, “Pull yourself together.”

  “Only the spirits of the dead make me nervous,” Tora said defensively.

  “Ssh!” Akitada raised his hand. He thought he heard sounds: dry branches cracking and small creaks. They held their breaths and calmed their mounts, but there was only the wind in the trees.

  Akitada felt as tense as Tora, but for different reasons. In the murky grayness, the dim shapes of the grave markers stood in their patches of snow like a frozen army watching over the tomb in their midst. The image reminded him of their danger as they trespassed on the sacred land of ancient warlords. He took some consolation from the fact that the snow had been trampled by those who had attended the funeral. Their tracks would be lost among the old ones.

  Pushing aside the sense of impending disaster, he said briskly, “Come. Let’s get it over with. Bring your tools, Tora.” They dismounted, and tied up their horses.

  Walking across the clearing and climbing uphill past the silent markers, they found the entrance of the tomb. The large stone doorway, its moss and lichen scarred by the recent opening, was almost as wide and tall as a man. When Akitada went closer, he saw that it was inscribed with sacred texts and the Uesugi crest. Marks in the muddy ground showed that the stone pivoted outward.

  “Come here, Tora, and see if you can lever it open.” Akitada said.

  “Amida!” prayed Tora, but he obeyed, selecting from among his tools an iron truncheon he had picked up in the constables’ armory.

  It took a while. Akitada and Oyoshi waited, stamping their icy feet and moving their arms to keep warm, while Tora muttered prayers and magic spells under his breath and probed the door to the burial chamber of the late Lord of Takata.

  Around them the ancient pines and cedars stirred and creaked as the wind blew through them, and Akitada felt doubly like a trespasser. Not only was this Uesugi land, the final resting place of their dead, but it was a spirit world which should be inhabited at this hour only by shifting shadows and strange sighs of the wind.

  “Hurry up!” His voice sounded unnaturally loud.

  Tora grunted, leaning all his strength into the iron bar. The space between the stone doorway and its frame widened with a harsh grating sound. Tora muttered another prayer, then put his hand inside and pulled. Akitada went to help him, and with more jarring and scraping, the great stone moved outward. A dark tunnel gaped before them.

  Tora backed away.

  “Come on” snapped Akitada. “Surely you don’t expect me to finish the job.”

  “Look!” Tora choked and pointed. “It leads straight to hell.”

  “Nonsense.” But when Akitada peered down the tunnel, he saw faint firelight flickering deep inside. Behind him, Tora was shaking so badly that his teeth chattered.

  “All right, stay here.” Akitada took up the lantern, struck a flint and lit it, then ducked into the tunnel. The air was moist and cold, and it smelled of the earth. The tunnel was built of granite: Cut stones formed the walls and large slabs the low ceiling. He had to walk with his head bent. Under his feet were more stones. His lantern threw weird moving shapes against the wall beside him, as if shadowy creatures moved on either side.

  The tunnel was not perfectly straight, but curved slightly to the left. After a few paces, Akitada found the source of the flickering light. The tunnel suddenly widened and arched up into a small chamber, and here rested a sarcophagus. Offerings of food for the dead lord had been placed at its foot between two burning oil lamps. The oil in the dishes was getting very low. Soon eternal darkness would descend on the tomb.

  He heard steps behind him and turned. Dr. Oyoshi joined him with his case of instruments and looked around curiously. “I knew they built this,” he said. “Years ago. They said Lord Maro requested it. Look at the paintings.”

  Akitada, having bent over the coffin to see how it opened, straightened up. The chamber was taller than the tunnel, and high on each wall and on the ceiling were panels of white plaster. Each panel was decorated with ancient directional symbols: the black tortoise of the north, the azure dragon of the east, the red bird of the south, and the white tiger of the west. The colors shone fresh in the light, and on the ceiling sparkled gold stars: astronomical constellations.

  “I have heard tales of the ancient burials of the first emperors that must have been something like this,” he said. “Uesugi thought highly of himself.”

  Oyoshi chuckled. “Maybe. Or maybe he wanted nothing to do with the Buddhist rites that insist on cremation because that’s what the Buddha chose. Lord Maro was a strange man.”

  “I am told he went mad and had to be confined. We need help with this stone lid.” Akitada called for Tora.

  Tora slunk in, looking green and panicky, but he did as he was asked, and together they shifted the stone lid enough to reveal the corpse.

  Tora clutched his amulet and recited a string of “Amidas.”

  “Go back and keep watch outside,” Akitada snapped. “We can manage the rest.”

  Tora disappeared through the tunnel. Sounds of retching, interspersed with fervent calls upon the Buddha, reached them faintly.

  The smell of death and decomposition was very slight. For once the season had favored them; the cold stone had kept the body fresh and pliable.

  The doctor placed the lights. Together they lifted the wrapped corpse and stretched it out on the stone floor. Oyoshi unwound the silk wrappings. The emaciated form of a very old man appeared in the uncertain light. His protruding ribs resembled a bamboo cage, and the face, peaceful in death, was, with its sunken cheeks, toothless gums, and deeply recessed eyes, more skeletal than the body. Air currents surged through the tomb, stirring the thin wisps of beard, and for a moment it looked as if the dead man were about to speak.

  Akitada crouched, watching as Oyoshi, on his knees next to the body, began his examination. In the flickering lights, the scene reminded him of gruesome paintings of the demons of hell in a Buddhist monastery.

  Oyoshi was thorough but respectful of the dead man. After verifying that the body bore no obvious wounds, he began his inspection with the head, first feeling the skull for soft spots. These might mean that Lord Maro had been bludgeoned. Next he examined the eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouth for signs of bleeding. He inserted a silver probe into the dead man’s mouth and studied it, and he looked closely at the thin neck. Then he went over the rest of the body, all the way to the old man’s bony feet with their yellowed toenails.

/>   Akitada, impatient and disappointed, asked, “Nothing?”

  Oyoshi sat back on his heels and shook his head. “No wounds, no signs of poison, no evidence of strangulation or smothering. No bruising. The condition of the body is consistent with the disease of old age.”

  Akitada cried in frustration, “But there must be something. Everything points to murder. Why else kill Hideo? And why the suspicious behavior of Makio and Kaibara during the banquet, and now Toneo’s disappearance? None of it makes any sense unless the old lord was murdered that night.”

  Oyoshi looked at Akitada. “You are worried about the boy, aren’t you?”

  “I am worried about a lot of things. One of them is this needless exhumation of a body. It is a sacrilege and a capital offense. You and I, Doctor, and Tora also, will lose our freedom and perhaps our lives if anyone finds out about this. Let’s finish and leave.”

  Oyoshi nodded. “You took a great risk. You are a man with a soft heart. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on you. It is an admirable quality.”

  “And you are a foolish old man,” snapped Akitada, turning away. “Go ahead and wrap him up again. If you say he died of natural causes, so be it. Tora, come help the doctor!”

  Tora did not answer or appear. Faint sounds came from outside. The doctor’s donkey brayed, and a horse gave a frightened whinny.

  Akitada said, “I wonder what Tora is up to.”

  They listened, but all remained silent. Akitada regretted having come unarmed on this excursion. Spurred by a sudden sense of urgency, he helped Oyoshi wrap the body and then bent to lift it into his arms.

  A shout came from the tunnel entrance. “Come out! You are surrounded.” It echoed crazily among the stones. Akitada almost dropped the late Lord of Takata, but instead slid the body back into the open coffin. Oyoshi helped him push the heavy lid across, and Akitada extinguished the lights.

  The voice came again. “Who are you and what are you doing here? Come out.”

  They had little choice. There was no sign of Tora. Perhaps he was dead. For all they knew a small army of Takata warriors waited outside.

  Akitada sighed. “Take your instruments, Doctor, and let’s go before they decide to close that stone door.”

  They emerged cautiously. There was no sign of Tora, but the snowy woods held no army either. Looking around, Akitada felt relief and wondered if—overwrought by thoughts of danger— he had imagined the shouts.

  When their ghostly visitor materialized it looked as if one of the grave stones had come to life and started walking toward them. The figure became vaguely human when it reached them: an armed man, holding a sword, and pushing back his helmet.

  Kaibara.

  His eyes were on Oyoshi. “The good doctor,” he sneered. “What a surprise! Have you taken to robbing tombs now? And the tombs of your betters, too. Tsk, tsk! A capital crime. You should have been more careful.”

  Akitada stepped from the shadow.

  Kaibara’s jaw slackened.

  “Let me explain, Kaibara,” said Akitada, adopting a reasonable manner. They had been caught red-handed, and he was desperately searching for an adequate reason for their presence. “I wanted to spare the family’s feelings, but there was a suspicion that your late master was murdered, and we had to investigate. It would be best if we kept the matter to ourselves.”

  Kaibara’s eyes went from Akitada to the open tomb and Oyoshi’s instrument case. A slow, crafty smile came into his face. “Is this so? A blasphemous insult to the late Lord of Takata. And a highly illegal proceeding, I believe. Loyalty to my master unfortunately makes it impossible to accede to your Excellency’s request.”

  Oyoshi walked up to Kaibara angrily. “Listen here, Kaibara,” he cried. “Don’t be an infernal fool and—”

  Kaibara was quick. With the flat side of his sword he dealt the older man a vici6us blow across the face. Blood spurted briefly, and Oyoshi cried out and fell. Placing a foot on Oyoshi’s chest, Kaibara raised his sword with both hands to strike down. “Pray to be reborn, pill peddler!” he cried.

  “No!” Akitada leaped and grabbed for Kaibara’s sword arm. Kaibara was hampered by his armor, but he twisted away and lashed out with his other arm to punch viciously at Akitada’s chest. Akitada gasped for breath but held on, determined to protect Oyoshi. He shouted, “Drop that sword!” and twisted Kaibara’s arm back. Kaibara grunted and turned. Akitada saw the murderous fury in the other man’s eyes, knew that the next stroke would be for him, and suddenly the struggle for the sword had turned into a fight to the death.

  It had not occurred to Akitada that he was in danger of being killed. He had feared charges of trespass, sacrilege, grave robbery, and other serious offences involving recall and trial, but not cold-blooded murder. He put all his strength into disarming Kaibara, but as he adjusted his stance to gain leverage, he slipped on a patch of ice and landed on his knees.

  Kaibara laughed out loud. He stepped back and bared his teeth. “This is much the simplest way,” he snarled. “Begging on your knees won’t help you now, dog official.” He raised the sword again. The blade flashed dull silver in the moonlight.

  Oyoshi screamed for help, and the blade hissed as it cut through the air. Akitada flung himself aside, scrabbling desperately on the muddy ground. Kaibara followed, loomed above him again. Akitada’s fingers closed around a dead branch. He parried the stroke as it came. The branch slowed the blade but it bit into Akitada’s arm near the shoulder, and the pain, when it came, was paralyzing. Kaibara straddled him, his body monstrous in the heavy armor, the sword raised for the fatal stroke. Akitada thought of how he had failed Tamako and his unborn child and closed his eyes.

  He felt a crushing blow to his chest. A giant hand compressed his rib cage and he could not breathe. And then the night was shot through by flames and stars and a suffocating blanket of fog. His last thought was, “So this is what it feels like to die.”

  But death was slow in coming. Sounds penetrated the fog. Someone was shouting and cursing. The crushing weight was lifted from his chest, and he tried a deep, shuddering breath, savoring the cold, fresh air, savoring even the sharp pain. He welcomed it, because it meant he was alive.

  “Here, move him on his side and let me get a look at that shoulder.”

  Oyoshi sounded strangely tongue-tied. And he was making spitting noises.

  “It’s all my fault. I wish I was dead.”

  Akitada opened his eyes. Tora was peering down at him with a stricken expression. “Don’t be an idiot,” Akitada muttered. “You’ll have to close the tomb.”

  Oyoshi snorted. “Good! You’re conscious. Sit up, sir, so I can bandage your wound. Kaibara got you, I’m afraid.”

  With Tora’s help, Akitada struggled up. He gritted his teeth as Tora and Oyoshi eased the gown from his shoulder. “Kaibara. Where is he?” Tora stepped out of the way, and Akitada saw the lifeless form of the steward on the ground nearby. “Did you kill him, Tora?”

  “I got here too late.” Tora sounded bitter.

  “But who ...” Akitada’s eyes went to Oyoshi. The doctor’s face was puffy and covered with blood. His eyes were almost swollen shut.

  “Don’t look at me,” Oyoshi mumbled through cut lips. “He collapsed on top of you before he could strike again.” He tied the last knot of the bandage and stood up. Tora helped Akitada put his arm back into his sleeve.

  Wincing with pain and clutching Tora’s arm, Akitada staggered to his feet. Kaibara lay prone, his arms and legs flung out, and his face turned sideways. His helmet had slipped and a dark puddle of blood was seeping from under his face.

  When he bent closer, Akitada saw what had killed the man. From the narrow gap between the top of the armor and the helmet guard protruded the long shaft of a black arrow crowned with a black eagle’s feather. It had hit Kaibara’s neck in one of the few instantly fatal places on the human body.

  * * * *

  FOURTEEN

  THE FISHMONGER

  H

&n
bsp; itomaro walked through the tribunal gate with a light step, returning the guard’s brisk salute and smiling with satisfaction at the trim appearance of the constables sweeping the courtyard. Kaoru was doing a fine job with them.

  After the stormy weather, the skies had cleared and the sun sparkled on many small icicles hanging from the eaves of buildings. Hitomaro glanced toward the far corner of the tribunal compound where a small wooden house stood. Private yet convenient, it would make a fine home for a tribunal officer and his spouse. Today he would ask permission to live there with Ofumi. The place was humble but in good repair, and in time they would furnish the two rooms to their liking. They would save their money and buy some land where they would build a larger house and raise a family.