The Snow Empress

by Laura Joh Rowland

  A cold, apprehensive sensation crept through Reiko. She was distracted even though she knew that was Lady Matsumae’s intention. “What are you saying?”

  “You’ve put your trust in the wrong place.” Lady Matsumae was unafraid, her voice stronger now and laced with contempt. “Wente is Tekare’s sister.”

  “I’m aware of that. She told me.” But Reiko recalled her interrupted conversation with Wente yesterday. What would she have learned if they’d had the time to finish it?

  “You don’t seem aware that she and Tekare were on bad terms,” Lady Matsumae retorted. “In fact, they were enemies. The other Ezo women had to keep them separated so they wouldn’t fight. I suppose she didn’t tell you that?”

  Reiko was aghast at this information about her friend and upset because she’d had to hear it from Lady Matsumae. She woodenly shook her head.

  Lady Matsumae laughed again. “Well, I’m telling you now. Maybe this time you’ll listen to me. I saw a quarrel between the two of them, just a few days before Tekare died. They were slapping and clawing each other and shouting.”

  “What were they quarreling about?” Reiko hated to ask.

  “I don’t know; I don’t understand Ezo language. But Wente had the last word. And I know a threat when I hear it.” Lady Matsumae’s smile shone with cruel triumph. “You should be accusing Wente instead of me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Who killed Tekare?” Lord Matsumae demanded. “Tell me who.”

  As Urahenka and the chieftain argued, it was obvious to Sano that someone was innocent and making a sacrifice, but he didn’t know whom. He realized that he had one card left to play in this game of life or death, and timing was crucial.

  Hirata said reluctantly, “I think Urahenka tried to kill me, that day we went deer-hunting. If one of them is guilty, it’s him.”

  That was a card Hirata had kept to himself, Sano thought, probably because he’d been unsure of Urahenka’s intentions and guilt. He’d just played it in favor of the chieftain. But the chieftain seemed dismayed, whereas Urahenka gave Hirata a look of gratitude and uttered a phrase that clearly meant, “It was I.”

  “Good enough,” Gizaemon said. “No need to hear any more. Let’s just execute him and be done.”

  Before Sano could willingly let that happen, he needed some idea of who was guilty or innocent. “Why not let the man have his say?” Maybe that would tell him which Urahenka really was. “Honor his last request.”

  Lord Matsumae tottered, clasped his head between his hands, and groaned. He stumbled around the storehouse, narrowly missing the fire. Tekare’s persona rose up in him. Her features surfaced through his. They blazed with anger at Urahenka. “You killed me, Husband?” The voice was a bizarre combination of Tekare’s and Lord Matsumae’s, speaking native language in a high feminine register and Japanese in a low male one, both filled with incredulity.

  It wasn’t physically possible. Sano stared. But it was real. Although his men looked as shocked as Sano was, the Ezogashima folk seemed unsurprised: They’d seen it before. But Urahenka recoiled, his face gone pale. This was apparently the first time the spirit that possessed Lord Matsumae had spoken to him personally. “Tekare?”

  “Yes, it is I. How could you do it?”

  Urahenka sat speechless, transfixed.

  “Answer me!”

  When he spoke, Tekare’s voice exclaimed in disbelief. Lord Matsumae’s demanded, “Why did you need to get rid of her?”

  Urahenka replied, and shock appeared on their two faces in one. Tekare blurted a question in native language, while Lord Matsumae said, “Her sister! You killed her so that you could marry Wente?”

  Surprise hit Sano. Here was a motive he’d never uncovered. Although aware by this time that the natives were interconnected, he had never imagined a romantic affair between this man and Reiko’s friend. Neither, apparently, had Reiko.

  Urahenka spoke again, this time with defiance. Tekare shouted at him so loudly that she drowned out Lord Matsumae’s weaker voice. Gizaemon said, “She’s asking him how he could be in love with her sister, who’s a dull, plain little mouse. She’s nothing compared to Tekare. Tekare was the shamaness, the most beautiful woman in all the tribes. How could he want Wente instead?”

  Sano wondered if this was another case of his misjudging the natives, thinking them too simple to engage in the tangled relationships that the Japanese had. Adultery must be common to all cultures, must provoke the same emotions in all the parties betrayed.

  Tekare cursed at Urahenka. “She says he deceived her,” Gizaemon said. “He broke their marriage vows. He’s a miserable, worthless cheat.” Lord Matsumae grabbed the whip from Captain Okimoto and began flailing Urahenka. The barbs tore at the native man, who flinched as he stuttered replies.

  “She doesn’t like his excuse that she treated him disrespectfully and left him for Japanese men,” Gizaemon interpreted.

  “Don’t put the blame on Tekare!” Lord Matsumae yelled. “I don’t care that you needed her sister to warm your bed at night!”

  He pointed at Urahenka as Tekare ranted; he shook his head violently and clapped his hand to his chest. You were my husband. And I never give up anything that’s mine! Sano didn’t need a translation to understand. Urahenka shouted back at his wife, angry now himself. That’s why I had to kill you! His motive was clearly the same as for a Japanese husband in his position.

  “How dare you call her a whore!” Lord Matsumae cried while beating Urahenka, who continued trying to justify himself. Tekare’s voice shrilled.

  “She’s angry because her husband says Wente is so good, so virtuous, everything Tekare isn’t,” Gizaemon said. “Urahenka says that when the chieftain decided to come to Fukuyama City and bring her home, Urahenka didn’t want her back. He came planning to kill her.” He flashed a triumphant look at Sano. “Seems it was him.”

  Sano had begun to think so. Maybe if he’d dug deeper into the natives’ personal relationships he would have found out sooner about Urahenka. Maybe all those men wouldn’t have died; maybe Lord Matsumae wouldn’t have declared war. But it was selfish to feel guilt and regret on his own account. He should be glad that matters were being set right.

  Lord Matsumae grabbed Urahenka by his beard. “Tell me how you did it.” From Tekare came a low, poisonous croon. “Before I kill you, tell me.”

  Urahenka looked terrified enough that he would rather die on the spot than risk making his wife any angrier. He spoke. Lord Matsumae translated the words for himself as if trying to believe them—or to tear his own wounds open wider. “You sneaked away from camp every night. You waited near the castle for her to come out. You followed her along the path to the hot spring.” He sobbed. “You got the idea to set a trap for her.”

  Lord Matsumae dropped the whip and pummeled Urahenka with his fists. He and Tekare howled, “Murderer!” as their personalities, voices, and languages blended. “You stole my life.” “You killed my beloved.” Together they cried, “Now you’ll die!”

  Giddy with hysteria, Lord Matsumae drew his sword. “Take him to the execution ground. I’ll do the honors myself.”

  “Well, that’s that,” Gizaemon said, satisfied and relieved.

  Stepping forward, he grabbed Urahenka by the ropes around his wrists and yanked him to his feet. Urahenka didn’t resist; he had the grim look of a man whose fate is sealed.

  “He hasn’t said anything that proves he’s guilty,” Sano protested even though Urahenka had incriminated himself.

  “It’s over, Honorable Chamberlain,” Gizaemon said. “Might as well admit you’re wrong.”

  The chieftain, who’d been watching the interrogation with stoic forbearance, now asked a question. Lord Matsumae answered, in native tongue. Gizaemon laughed and said, “My nephew refused to call off the war. He doesn’t care that the barbarians think he led them to believe he would. He wants them all to share their tribesman’s punishment.”

  Awetok shook his head, defeated but a
s unsurprised as Sano was that Lord Matsumae had refused to make peace. The room filled with Tekare’s laughter. She mocked the chieftain while Lord Matsumae’s voice echoed hers: “You’re so pitiful, so weak. When I was young, you didn’t protect me from the Japanese who violated me. You were too cowardly to fight for our right to rule our own land.”

  Captain Okimoto pulled the chieftain to his feet, prepared to lead him to his death. Now was Sano’s last chance to play his last card, to take one final stab at finding the truth.

  “Tekare!” he shouted. “Listen to me!”

  She and Lord Matsumae raged at her husband: “You didn’t want me to better myself. If I had to die, so should you.”

  “Urahenka’s not the only man you abused who wanted you dead,” Sano told her.

  Lord Matsumae raised his sword. “I’m not going to wait for an execution ceremony. I’ll kill you now!”

  Sano lunged and grabbed him. The troops grabbed Sano, pulling him back. He hung onto Lord Matsumae, who turned on him and fought him. Sano saw only one brilliant, fiery light in Lord Matsumae’s eyes—Tekare’s consciousness. When she snarled, Lord Matsumae’s face belonged completely to her. His body had the soft, pliant feel of a young woman’s. Sano was astounded to think that he was touching a ghost. When Tekare wrenched free of him, his hands felt scorched by her power. He broke loose from the troops and stood between Tekare and Urahenka.

  “Get out of my way!” As Tekare spoke, Lord Matsumae’s voice again echoed her words in Japanese. His hand waved the sword at Sano.

  “Give your husband the benefit of doubt,” Sano said. “The real killer could be someone you’re overlooking.”

  The troops hurled themselves at Sano, recaptured him, and dragged him away from Urahenka. But Tekare frowned, her attention engaged at last. “Overlooking? Who?”

  “You’re inside him,” Sano said.

  Tekare raised Lord Matsumae’s eyebrows in surprise. She glanced down at the male human body she’d taken over, then laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Lord Matsumae was in love with me.” She lifted his hand and caressed his face. The act evoked a disturbing presence of the two lovers together. “He worshipped me.”

  “At first,” Sano agreed, “until you mistreated him.”

  “Who says I did?”

  “This does.” Sano pulled out the book he’d been carrying with him. “It’s Lord Matsumae’s diary. It tells the truth about his relationship with you. Listen.” He paged through the book, reading passages: “‘I notice how other men look at Tekare. Does she smile at them? Do their eyes hold a moment too long?’”

  The troops unhanded Sano and listened with rapt, unnerved attention, as if the voice of their master spoke through him and he was vested with Lord Matsumae’s power. But Gizaemon demanded, “Where did you get that?”

  “From Lord Matsumae’s room.” Sano noted how surprised Gizaemon appeared. Had he not known how things were between his nephew and Tekare? Or had he only been unaware that Lord Matsumae had kept a diary? But it wasn’t Gizaemon’s possible motive for murder that concerned Sano right now.

  “‘My worst fears have been realized,’” he continued, paging through the diary. “‘I saw Tekare and the young soldier.’ ‘They dared to couple right in front of me, as if I were not there!’ ‘She smiled at me as I lay helpless and horrified.’”

  “But it was just a game we played.” Tekare sounded surprised that Lord Matsumae should have minded. “Jealousy excited him. He liked it.”

  “Not according to this.” Sano read on: “‘I raged at her.’ ‘I threatened to send her back to her tribe unless she behaved herself. But she said that if I did, I would never see her again. And I know that my threats are no good. I am at her mercy.’ Does that sound as if Lord Matsumae liked your game?”

  “He loved me.” But Tekare was shaken, uncertain this time.

  “In his own words: ‘I now fear and revile Tekare as much as I love her. She has cast over me an evil spell that has reduced me to a pathetic shadow of myself.’ ‘I must destroy her before she completely destroys me.’”

  “He wouldn’t have hurt me.” Tekare gazed at Lord Matsumae’s hands, flexing them, as if she couldn’t believe he’d used them against her. “He couldn’t.”

  “You didn’t have as much control over him as you believed. Here’s what he said.” Sano read, “‘At night I lie awake, plotting her death.’ ‘Perhaps I should poison her food. Or set a spring-bow trap along a path she walks.’”

  Sano emphasized these last words, then repeated, “A spring-bow trap.”

  Amazement dumbfounded the troops; evidently the idea had never occurred to them. Hirata’s eyes filled with hope. They turned toward Chieftain Awetok, who listened as though he’d understood everything Sano had said and wasn’t surprised.

  “You’re talking nonsense,” Gizaemon said.

  “That can’t be!” Tekare exclaimed in outrage. “Lord Matsumae didn’t write that book!”

  “Don’t take my word for it. Let’s ask him.” Sano called, “Lord Matsumae, are you there?”

  Tekare stiffened as though a current of lightning had run through her. Her face went blank. A second, faint spot of fire ignited in each of her eyes.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” Sano asked Lord Matsumae.

  The man’s masculine cast and posture returned, but before he could answer, he shouted at himself in Tekare’s voice: “Is that book yours?”

  He beheld the diary in Sano’s hand as if afraid that it would bite him. “…Yes.”

  “Did you write those things?”

  “Yes. No,” he stammered.

  “Which is it?” Sano said, at the same time Tekare asked, “Did you hate me that much?”

  “No! I was just confused, scribbling foolish notions. I loved you with all my heart.”

  “You were planning to set a trap for me. Did you?”

  Lord Matsumae’s gaze was full of fear directed inside himself. “I—I don’t know.”

  “Of course he didn’t.” Gizaemon said to Sano, “After he’s been driven mad by grief over the woman, after he’s let you investigate her murder, how can you accuse him?”

  “Grief isn’t the only thing that drives people mad. Guilt can, too.” Sano had wondered if Lord Matsumae had sought to relieve it by punishing someone else for his crime.

  Tekare leaned forward, menacing the man she possessed. The two spirits inside him created an illusion that his body had divided into two separate physical entities. “How can you not know? Did you or didn’t you kill me?”

  Lord Matsumae backed away in a futile effort to escape her. “I mean, I don’t remember!”

  “You deliberately forgot you killed Tekare because you didn’t want her to know.” This theory made as much sense to Sano as anything that happened in Ezogashima. “You were afraid of what she would do if she found out.”

  Gizaemon spat out his toothpick in disgust at Sano. But rage suffused Tekare’s features that masked Lord Matsumae’s. “It was you!”

  Lord Matsume stumbled as he recoiled from the adversary within him. “It wasn’t, my beloved. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t—”

  “Did you kill me?”

  “No!” But Lord Matsumae’s denial weakened as his will eroded.

  Sano urged, “Be an honorable samurai. Take responsibility for your actions. End this madness now.” If he couldn’t kill Lord Matsumae with his own hands, he would settle for coercing him to commit ritual suicide.

  Lord Matsumae began slapping his own face. Tekare’s voice spewed invective. “You killed me! Murderer!”

  His fists beat his chest, his stomach. As everyone else stared in shock, he fell and writhed while the spirit of Tekare screamed, “You’ll pay for my life with yours! Die!”

  He closed his hands around his throat, strangled himself, and banged his head against the floor. His body bucked; his legs kicked. He gasped for air and choked.

  “Stop him!” Gizaemon yelled at the troops as he ran to his nephew’s a
id. “Before he kills himself!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Reiko tiptoed down a passage in the women’s quarters and stopped outside a door that led to the section where the native concubines lived. Through it filtered their voices, conversing in their language. Reiko banged on the door, then shoved it open without waiting for an answer.

  Their conversation halted. Reiko paused on the threshold of a chamber furnished with mats on the walls, thatched curtains over the windows, a table that held wooden spindles, and a loom partially filled with woven cloth. The concubines sat around a hearth, wooden bowls on their laps, spoons in their hands, eating a meal that smelled of dried fish and pungent seasonings. Mouths full, they gazed at Reiko. She was so blinded by anger that their tattooed faces looked identical; she couldn’t tell which belonged to the person she’d come to see.

  “Wente!” she called.

  One of them set down her food and rose. Wente’s shy smile faded as she perceived that Reiko hadn’t come in friendship.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you and Tekare were enemies?” Reiko demanded.

  Fright appeared on Wente’s face. She looked at her companions, seeking safety among them. Eyes averted from Reiko, she said, “How you know?”

  “Lady Matsumae told me that you and Tekare used to fight. Your friends had to keep you apart.”

  The other women clearly didn’t understand what she and Wente were saying but sensed danger in the air, for they scrambled to their feet and exited the room. Wente made a move to follow, but Reiko stepped in front of her. The two of them were alone in the smoky, firelit room that was like a native hut far from any place familiar or comfortable to Reiko.

  “No have time,” Wente mumbled.

  “There was plenty,” Reiko said, although she remembered that she’d been in a hurry to find Masahiro. Her mind veered away from the memory of hopes shattered, from grief. She buoyed herself up with the anger that had fixed on Wente. “It would have taken only a moment to tell me the truth about Tekare.”