The Snow Empress

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Now Reiko felt as if she’d truly broken loose from everything familiar. Ainu territory was the loneliest place she’d ever been. She experienced a city-dweller’s fear of nature untamed by man and the fear that she wouldn’t find Masahiro. All that connected her to him was an invisible trail of scent. She clung to Wente as the sled bumped over ice. Her body was stiff from the cold. The full moon rose; the sky darkened into cobalt that quenched the sunset. More stars than Reiko had ever seen glittered like crystals. The cold intensified. How would she and Wente survive a night in this frozen kingdom?

  Woods abruptly immersed the sled. The moonlight on the snowy trail didn’t penetrate the thick shadows among the trees. The trail was a tunnel roofed by the starlit sky, a road to nowhere. Reiko was beginning to dread what she would find at its end, when a clearing opened ahead of her. Wente called to the dogs and dismounted from the sled as it coasted to a stop. The dogs barked at a hut that had materialized as if by magic. Reiko clumsily rose as Wente ran to the hut.

  “What is this place?” Reiko could hardly believe that a man-made structure existed here.

  “Men come here when hunt,” Wente said.

  The hunting cabin was padded with thatch and blanketed with snow, a shelter from the cold. All day Reiko had refused to acknowledge the probability that the dogs would find Masahiro’s dead, frozen body. Now relief rushed through her. She staggered toward the hut, calling, “Masahiro! Masahiro!”

  Wente lifted a mat of thatch from the wall. The dogs, still tethered to the sled, lunged at the doorway she uncovered, frantic to reach the quarry they’d tracked all day. Wente looked inside, then turned a somber face to Reiko.

  “Not here,” Wente said.

  Disappointment wounded Reiko even as she refused to believe. “He must be! He has to be! Masahiro!” She scrambled into the hut. In the dim moonlight that shone through the doorway she saw dirt mounded against mat-covered walls, a fire pit filled with cold ashes. The hut was vacant. Reiko sagged to her knees, too anguished to cry.

  Wente brought the dogs into the cabin, and they eagerly sniffed around. Kneeling by the fire pit, she sifted ashes through her fingers and smelled them. “Hunters not gone long.”

  Reiko supposed she could tell how recently they’d burned their fire, but what did it matter? Masahiro wasn’t here. The dogs barked and growled, worrying at something they’d found in a corner. It was a stack of floor mats.

  “They smell boy,” Wente said. “He sit there, sleep there.”

  That didn’t comfort Reiko. “But where is he now?” she cried. Against her will, she pictured him lying in a snowdrift, eyes closed, motionless. Yet she imagined his chest rising in slow breaths. The stubborn hope of saving him refused to die.

  Wente left the cabin, and Reiko hurried after her. “We have to keep looking. Let’s go!”

  But Wente untied the bundle of provisions on the sled and carried it into the cabin. “We stay here tonight. Morning come, we go.”

  “We can’t wait that long,” Reiko said, aghast.

  “Night cold, dangerous.” Wente unpacked the food, the bedroll. “We need warm, eat, sleep.”

  “I don’t care!” Although chilled to the bone, Reiko said, “I must find my son before it’s too late!”

  “Tomorrow.” Wente’s manner was sympathetic but firm. “Dogs need rest.”

  The dogs lay on the cabin floor, huddled together, exhausted. Reiko gave up because her life depended on their good health. She helped Wente fetch sticks from the forest to build a fire. Wente struck an iron fragment against a quartz stone. Sparks ignited wood dust. She lit a wick in a ceramic oil lamp and set the lamp on the edge of the fire pit. Desolate, Reiko stared at the floor. The lamp’s flame illuminated grimy black patterns on the mat, from spilled ashes. They looked almost like written characters…

  Wente started to walk across them. Reiko cried “Wait! Don’t!” and pointed at the floor. “It’s another message from my son. He wrote it in ashes.” She read: “Mama, Papa, I met some nice native hunters. I’m going home with them to their village. Masahiro.”

  A huge, blissful relief overwhelmed Reiko. Her nightmarish picture of Masahiro dying in the snow changed to a happy scene of him fed, protected, and accompanied to a safe place by natives. He’d cheated death again!

  “Village not far,” Wente said. “We get there tomorrow.”

  She built a little fire and fed the dogs, who soon fell asleep. Reiko and Wente drank hot herb tea and ate soup made from lily-root starch dumplings and dried salmon. The food, the bright, crackling fire, and the snoring dogs soothed Reiko, as did the certainty of seeing Masahiro tomorrow. Although the cabin was far from warm enough, she fell into a snug, contented doze. But Wente was restless; she kept going to the door and peeking at the night.

  “What’s the matter?” A danger that hadn’t previously occurred to Reiko now scared her fully awake. “Are there bears outside?”

  Wente shook her head and sat down, but she had a tense, listening air. A moment later she was up again for another peek.

  “Something is wrong,” Reiko said. “Tell me what.”

  Sano, Hirata, Marume, Fukida, and the Rat lay in a row under the palace, peering through the lattice. Nightfall had diminished the activity inside Fukuyama Castle, and the grounds were empty except for two soldiers walking up the path to the front entrance. Fukida whispered, “How about these?”

  “Too low in rank for our purposes,” Sano said.

  “Pretty soon it’ll be too late to get anybody,” Marume warned, but in a few moments along came Captain Okimoto. “Aha, that’s more like it.”

  Marume burst through the lattice. Sano and the other men followed, swords drawn, and charged at Okimoto. “Hey, what—,” Okimoto said, as he halted in surprise.

  Sano and his men surrounded Okimoto. Hirata seized him from behind, stripped off his swords, and pressed an arm tight across his throat.

  “Let me go!” Wheezing, Okimoto grappled with Hirata’s arm; he kicked the air while Hirata held him effortlessly. The sentries at the palace door came running to his aid.

  “Everybody drop your swords or he dies,” Sano said. Weapons hit the snow: The men were friends of Okimoto’s. “Good. Now open the door.”

  The sentries reluctantly but promptly obeyed. Marume and Fukida ran up the steps. Hirata propelled Okimoto, who dragged his feet and choked out, “What do you want?”

  “To speak with Lord Matsumae,” Sano said. “You’re going to help us get to him.” Backing through the door, he called to the sentries, “Don’t even think of following us.”

  He and his men marched Okimoto through the palace. They met soldiers who exclaimed, drew weapons, and blocked their way until Sano shouted, “Stand back! We’ve got your captain.” Hirata squeezed Okimoto’s throat harder. Okimoto made strangling sounds. “Let us pass, or we’ll kill him.”

  They breached the chamber where Lord Matsumae howled in his bed, still wrapped in the quilt and rope. Two male servants held his head. His face was covered with blood that ran from his mouth in red trickles. He snarled and growled at the servants as they pried his jaws apart. The doctor stood by, holding a ceramic cup.

  “What’s going on?” Marume said.

  The doctor looked more worried about his patient than frightened by the sudden arrival of the escaped prisoners. “Lord Matsumae tried to bite himself to death. We’re trying to give him a sedative potion.”

  He poured liquid from the cup into Lord Matsumae’s mouth. Lord Matsumae roared and spat out the potion. His lips and tongue were cut. Tekare obviously hadn’t given up trying to kill him.

  Okimoto cried out, “My lord!” Hirata released him, and he knelt by Lord Matsumae and broke down in tears. Sano saw that this mean, tough man truly cared for his lord, whose dire condition had shocked him. He said to the doctor, “Can’t you cure him?”

  The doctor shook his head regretfully. Sano said, “Let me try.” He motioned everyone else away from the bed and crouched by Lord Matsumae. “
Tekare, listen. I’ve found out who killed you.”

  She snarled, baring bloody teeth at Sano. “I already know. It’s him!” She chomped on Lord Matsumae’s lip. His voice screamed as more blood flowed.

  “No,” Sano said. “He’s innocent of everything except punishing other people for your death. It was your sister who murdered you.”

  “Wente?” Scorn laced Tekare’s voice. “She’s too weak and timid. She’d never have dared lift a finger against me.”

  Sano had at least distracted her from her attack on Lord Matsumae; now he had to convince her. “She was with you the night you died. She ran into the forest and you chased her.”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Your old friend Daigoro told me. He was there. He saw. Do you want to know why Wente ran?”

  Tekare frowned, confused. “Because she was upset. Because she wanted to get away from me.”

  “That’s what she wanted you to think, but it’s not the reason. She was luring you to your death.”

  Even though Sano could see that he’d shaken her, Tekare said, “That’s ridiculous. Wente isn’t smart enough to think of using a spring-bow.”

  “She didn’t need to be smart,” Sano said. “She had an accomplice who was. They conspired to murder you. One to set the trap, one to make sure you triggered it.”

  “No!” Convinced now, Tekare wailed in outrage. The sister she’d thought inferior, whom she’d tyrannized all their lives, had defeated her. As her body convulsed inside the quilt and strained at the ropes, her hold on Lord Matsumae lapsed. His voice said, “See, my beloved, it wasn’t me. I’m innocent.”

  “Would you like to know who Wente’s accomplice was?” Sano asked.

  Tekare sobbed and cursed. “She won’t get away with this. I’ll haunt her into her grave!”

  “Who?” Lord Matsumae surfaced to ask the question.

  “It was Gizaemon,” Sano told him.

  Lord Matsumae’s spirit reclaimed his features from Tekare. They went blank with shock. “My uncle? He would never hurt anyone who mattered to me.”

  Captain Okimoto also looked shocked. “He would never betray our lord.”

  Hirata held up the toothpick. “You all know this belongs to Gizaemon. He dropped it when he was setting the spring-bow. I found it. He’s guilty.”

  “My uncle. He was like a father to me. I trusted him with my life.” Lord Matsumae had the expression of a child who’d been skipping along a path when suddenly a sinkhole opened under him. His voice echoed up from a well of loss. “And he took from me the woman I love.” Fury enflamed him. “He’ll answer for what he’s done. Bring him to me at once.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Sano said. “He’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  Tekare resurfaced. “Where is Wente? I demand to see her.”

  “Wente ran away this morning,” Sano said. “Gizaemon wants to kill her so she can never tell anyone that they conspired to murder Tekare. He went after her.” Sano didn’t mention his wife; Lord Matsumae and Tekare wouldn’t care about Reiko. “My men and I will hunt them down. But we need your help. We need sleds, dogs, and troops.”

  “We also need guides,” Hirata said. “Let the two native men come with us.”

  “Whatever you want,” Lord Matsumae said. “But I’m going with you.”

  “So am I,” Tekare said through him.

  Sano didn’t like the thought of them running wild. “That’s not a good idea. It may be a long journey. You’re in poor health.”

  “If we don’t go, neither do my troops, my sleds, my dogs, nor the barbarians,” Lord Matsumae declared. “And you won’t get far by yourselves.”

  If Sano wanted to save Reiko, he had little time to waste arguing and even less choice. “Very well.”

  “If anyone’s going to deliver those two murderers to justice, it’ll be me,” Lord Matsumae said.

  “Me,” Tekare’s voice echoed.

  “We’ll leave at dawn,” Lord Matsumae said.

  “Dawn is too late,” Sano protested.

  “Traveling through Ezogashima in the dark is too dangerous,” Lord Matsumae said. “We must wait until daylight. In the meantime, we have preparations to make. Untie us.”

  “I afraid they come find us here,” Wente said.

  “Do you mean Lord Matsumae’s men?” Reiko asked.

  Wente nodded.

  That fear had diminished for Reiko the farther they’d traveled from Fukuyama City. “We didn’t see anyone following us. Maybe they don’t even know we’ve left the castle. Or maybe they don’t care.”

  Reiko thought it possible that the troops didn’t consider two women worth chasing. The only person certain to care about her was Sano. She felt a pang of sad yearning for him. He probably didn’t know she was gone, and she had no idea what had happened to him.

  Heedless of Reiko’s reassurances, Wente paced the cabin, twisting her hands. Reiko began to feel nervous herself. “What makes you so sure they’re coming?”

  Wente hesitated, clearly torn between her wish to keep a private matter private and the temptation to unburden herself. She sighed. “He no want I get away.”

  “Who?”

  “Gizaemon.”

  “Why would he be after you?”

  Kneeling by the fire, Wente bowed her head and spoke in a barely audible voice: “So I no tell.”

  “Tell what?” The fire had burned down to sullen red embers, but the sudden chill Reiko felt didn’t come from physical coldness.

  “That he kill Tekare.”

  “Gizaemon is the murderer?” Reiko was more confused by Wente’s revelation than stunned by it. The man had been Sano’s favorite suspect; that he should turn out to be guilty didn’t come as a shock. “You knew?”

  Wente nodded mutely.

  “Since when?”

  “The night Tekare die.”

  Reiko’s confusion turned to incredulity. “And you didn’t say anything?” She moved closer to Wente, who avoided her gaze. “Do you realize how much trouble you could have prevented if you’d told back then?”

  Miserable, Wente hung her head. “I sorry.”

  “Sorry isn’t good enough!” Yet even as Reiko wanted to harangue her friend and vent her frustration, she sensed something more to the story, something bad. She probed for the rest. “How do you know Gizaemon killed Tekare? Did you see him set the spring-bow?”

  “No,” Wente whispered. The air around her seethed with secrets, like flies around rotten meat.

  “Then how?”

  “It was mistake,” Wente said in a plaintive tone.

  That was what she’d said when Reiko had first asked her about the murder. Now Reiko knew Wente didn’t mean she’d thought Tekare’s death had been an accident. “Tell me what happened. This time I want the truth.”

  Gazing into the fire, Wente muttered, “One day I fight with Tekare. Japanese ladies no like noise, tell Gizaemon. He make us stop fighting.”

  The sticks in the fire pit were burned white, shaped in a hollow like a rib cage. In this, among smoke tendrils that twisted around red sparks, Reiko saw an image of Wente and Tekare punching and clawing and shouting at each other, and Gizaemon forcing them apart.

  “He hear what we say,” Wente continued. “He understand I mad at Tekare because she treat me bad. Later, he come see me. He say we can fix it so Tekare never hurt me again. I say, how? He tell me, just do what he say.”

  A breath of astonishment rushed from Reiko. Not in her most far-fetched dreams could she have imagined a Japanese plotting the murder with a native. Certainly not a conspiracy between that surly, tough samurai and this meek, gentle woman who had nothing in common—except the desire to be rid of the same person. Horror stole into Reiko.

  “Next day he tell me bring Tekare outside castle after dark,” Wente said, “to path in woods. Say make her chase me toward hot spring. He say I not go all the way to spring, should stop by big oak tree. Hide in woods until she pass me. Then
I run home. That’s all.”

  Wente’s tone reflected the surprise she’d felt that her problems with Tekare could be solved with so little effort on her part. Reiko was surprised because the story wasn’t playing out as she’d expected. The idea of murder didn’t seem to have been discussed by the conspirators.

  “So I do what Gizaemon say. Tekare make it easy. While we eat dinner, she scold me, argue with me. I go outside castle. She follow. I bring her to path, I run. Happen just like Gizaemon say. But next morning—”

  Memory spread a shadow across Wente’s face. “Tekare dead. Then I know why Gizaemon make me bring her to path.” She turned an anguished gaze on Reiko. “So he can kill her!”

  “You never suspected?” Reiko said, amazed.

  “No!” Wente pounded her fists on her knees. “I think he just meet Tekare in woods, talk to her. Maybe scare her, she leave me alone.”

  “You didn’t wonder why Gizaemon would bother to help you?”

  “I think he feel sorry for me,” Wente said, as if mere pity could have induced Lord Matsumae’s uncle to put himself out for a member of the race he despised. She insisted, “It was mistake.”

  Her mistake, which had proved fatal to her sister.

  “I just want be free of Tekare! I no mean for her die!”

  Reiko realized that Wente bore far less responsibility for the crime than Gizaemon did; she was more guilty of naïveté than murder. But Tekare was dead whether Wente had intended it or not, and Wente’s actions had contributed to the awful consequences of the murder.

  “You should have told!” Reiko said, furious at Wente. “You owed that much to your sister. However badly she treated you, she didn’t deserve to die. You deserved to be punished!”

  Wente cringed, humiliated by Reiko’s lashing. “I want tell. Gizaemon say if I do, he kill me. I try make up for what I do.” Remorse and pleading filled Wente’s eyes. “I try help you find son.”

  Reiko finally understood why Wente had been willing to take the risk, to befriend her. It wasn’t just because Reiko had protected her from Lady Matsumae. Wente blamed herself for what had happened to Masahiro; she wanted to atone for that as well as her sister’s murder. The lost boy and his desperate mother had given her the chance. But Reiko suspected her of another, less noble motive.