Jade Palace Vendetta (Samurai Mysteries)

by Dale Furutani

  Kannemori reached over and moved the purple bundle between himself and the samurai. He slowly unwrapped the bundle, revealing a katana and a wakizashi, the long and short swords of the samurai. The swords were in plain black-lacquer scabbards. The tsuba had a pattern of swirling water curled into a wave, the foaming edges of the wave picked out in silver. This tsuba was appropriate for a ronin samurai, for ronin meant “wave man.”

  “These are the weapons I have chosen for you,” Kannemori said. “They are the finest swords I have ever made. I’ve never been able to repeat their quality, although I’ve tried many times. I have kept them for many years, waiting for the proper owner to appear. You are that owner. If you put them into a stream, unfortunately you will find that the leaves will not avoid them. When they touch the edge, however, the leaves will be cut in two. With this sword I captured the technical prowess of Muramasa, but I lack the spirit of Masamune-san. I’m hopeful that you will be able to endow these weapons with some of your spirit. I know that spirit is strong, or the Sensei would not have had the affection he had for you.” Kannemori bowed, then slid the bundle toward Kaze.

  Kaze also bowed, then picked up the wakizashi and placed it in front of Kannemori. “I’m sorry, Kannemori Sensei, but I can only accept the katana. When I accepted the task of finding the Lady’s daughter, she took my wakizashi, the samurai’s keeper of honor, and said my honor belonged to her until I finished my task.”

  Kannemori accepted the short sword back. “I understand,” he said. “I’ll keep this, and when you redeem your honor, you can come and get it from me. In the meantime, it will remind me of who has my masterwork.”

  “Thank you, Kannemori Sensei.”

  “Do you want to see how the katana feels?” Kannemori asked.

  “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “Nonsense! Please don’t be shy. Take it outside and try it for feel and balance.”

  Kaze did as he was directed, and the swordsmith followed him outside. In front of the house, Kaze removed the blade from the scabbard, noting with satisfaction that the scabbard had a ko-gatana knife embedded in it.

  The blade felt marvelously light and lively as Kaze tried different grips and positions. The highly polished blade caught the late-afternoon sun, reflecting fiery flashes across the gray wooden walls of the house. Suddenly, Kaze saw a large fly buzzing by. With a quick flick of his wrist, the blade snaked out and the fly was cut in two.

  Kannemori gave a cry of surprise and bent down to retrieve the pieces of the fly. Looking at his palm, he could see the fly was sliced cleanly in half. “Well, that little trick has named your sword. It didn’t have a name before, but now I think it shall be called Fly Cutter! Prince Yamatotakeru had a sword called Kusanagi no Tsurugi, the Grass-Cutting Sword, because he used it to mow down grass and escape when rebels set fire to a field. It’s fitting that you have a similar name for your weapon, after such a display.”

  “Tell me,” Kannemori said, giving Kaze a big grin, “was that skill or practice?”

  “Merely practice,” Kaze acknowledged.

  “Still,” Kannemori said, looking at the two insect pieces in his hand, “that is an incredible way to test this blade.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Happy warrior!

  So favored by the war Gods

  that seas will recede.

  Kaze walked down the pathway, lighting his way with a paper lantern Kannemori had given him. The lantern was at the end of a stick of wood, allowing Kaze to lower the lantern close to his feet to illuminate the path with the pale yellow light that filtered through its square paper sides. There was a full moon, but the lantern was a welcome aid as Kaze walked paths not completely familiar to him. He passed Gokurakuji, or the Temple of Paradise, and he knew he was coming up to Inamuragasaki Point. To the eyes of the people who named it, this point resembled the stacks of rice straw seen at harvest time all over Japan.

  He had enjoyed a delicious dinner at the swordsmith’s and left with his new weapon. He had discreetly given the remaining gold coins he got from Hishigawa to Kannemori’s wife right before he left, not wanting to insult the master swordsmith by engaging in commerce with him.

  Taking the lantern Kannemori had given him to illuminate his journey home, Kaze had headed toward the sea instead of back toward Hishigawa’s villa.

  Kaze walked to the edge of the cliff at Inamuragasaki Point and stopped. Looking down at the rolling black water that surrounded the base of the cliff, he stood for a moment, gaining a sense of the place and a feeling for its history and importance.

  Looking out at Sagami Bay, he took out the cherry blossom sword that had been stuck in his sash along with his new sword, the Fly Cutter. He held Ishibashi’s sword in both hands for a few minutes and, overcome by the place and its past, he recited some of the story of Nitta Yoshisada.

  “Nitta ascended to the summit of the cliff, the pale moonlight casting dark shadows on the rocks and crannies that gave him precarious purchase for his hands and feet. At the summit he looked down and saw the enemy encampment. To the far north the kiridoshi, or pass, leading into Kamakura was steep and forbidding. A dark fortress stood brooding over this gateway to the city, and, from the fires of the encampment near the fortress, he could see that warriors numbering in the tens of thousands were waiting for his army to act foolishly and attack.

  “Below him the salty sea lapped at the base of the cliffs. On the narrow strip of sand that acted as the buffer between earth and water, a barricade had been constructed. And in the deep water just off the cliffs, countless warships filled with archers were ready. To make an assault along the beach in order to breach the defenses of Kamakura and take the town would be as suicidal as an assault from the north, through the pass.

  “Nitta stood and saw his future in his hands. To the north was impenetrable. To the south was the sea with the barricades and warships. And waiting by the shore, waiting silently, waiting cunningly, was his army—waiting for Nitta’s leadership, waiting for him to give the signal to attack. Waiting, ever waiting, for its chance at victory.

  “Nitta took his gold sword from its scabbard and held it in his hands. He fixed his gaze beyond the edges of the waiting warcraft and closed his eyes in sincere supplication to the Sea God. Then, with the strength of a hero, he flung his gold sword into the sea, crying out that his prayers be answered.

  “The sword flew past the waiting warcraft and was swallowed greedily by the dark waves of the bay, as if the Sea God were accepting this sincere offering from the supplicant. And lo! The waters receded, forcing the warships farther and farther from the point, until finally they were out of arrow range. Nitta’s army saw before it a broad and sandy highway, as wide as seven ri, aimed straight into the heart of the city of Kamakura. Crying his thanks to the Sea God, Nitta descended from the cliff, mounted his horse, and led his army across the sandy highway into the city, earning victory!”

  As the last echoes of the word “victory” were swept up by the sea wind, Kaze reached back and hurled the cherry blossom sword far into the air. In the pale moonlight he saw it twirl lazily against the background of stars as it sank its way toward the water below. It hit with a small splash that formed a silver circle for a brief moment, and then Ishibashi’s sword was gone.

  “Thank you for letting me use your sword, Ishibashi-san,” Kaze said to the spirit of the dead man. “And thank you for letting the sword defend me from the three assassins who attacked me.”

  Kaze prayed that the spirit of Ishibashi would be appeased and at rest, ready to be reincarnated into its next life. He also prayed to the Sea God, just as Nitta had done. He looked to the sea to see if there was some sign that his prayer, like Nitta’s, would be answered. His prayer was that he would find the young girl he was seeking. Though he stood at the cliff side for several minutes, there seemed no change in the ocean, land, or stars that would act as a sign that the Gods had heard his prayer and would grant it. Only the lapping of the eternal waves hitting the cliff below pu
nctured the silence.

  Sighing, he started walking back. Then, on a whim, Kaze walked to Yukiaigawa bridge. Kaze followed Zen, the religion of the warrior, so he was not a Nichiren Buddhist, but he thought that if a sacrifice with a sword was to generate any divine intervention, then the most likely place for this to manifest itself would be at Yukiaigawa, the River of Meeting.

  More than three hundred years before, Nichiren had almost been executed here. The priest was old then and had converted many disciples to his style of Buddhism. But he had angered the authorities and was condemned to death.

  As Nichiren knelt with his neck extended to have his head lopped off, the executioner raised his sword high before bringing it down with the same sudden swiftness and fatal result as the hawk descending on the mouse. When the blade was at its acme, a divine show of force occurred: A lightning bolt came down from the sky, striking the sword blade and breaking it into three pieces, leaving the executioner stunned and senseless on the ground.

  The local authorities were frightened and amazed by this display of heaven’s divine favor to Nichiren. The breaking of the sword was a clear sign that its use to execute the saint was unjust. The authorities sent a messenger to the Regent to recount what had happened and ask for instructions. At Yukiaigawa, the messenger from the local authorities met another messenger coming from the other direction. This messenger had been sent by the Regent, who the night before had been visited by a heavenly apparition in his dream, warning him not to slay the holy Nichiren. The two messengers met at the river and, after exchanging messages, each was in awe of what had happened.

  Surely, Kaze thought, there could be no better place than the River of Meeting to meet someone who could give him information about the girl, or perhaps even to meet the girl herself.

  But as Kaze reached the bank of the stream, watching the black river water in its constant flow to the sea, he reflected that perhaps it was his karma not to have this task made easier by an intervention of heaven.

  He walked along the riverbank to the bridge where the two messengers met. As he made his way, his lantern illuminated the pathway before him just a few steps ahead. His life was like the glow from the lantern. He could see only one or two steps ahead of him, yet his faith in the future kept him moving forward, sure that he would complete his task if allowed to live. He could hear the sound of the water in the river, brittle and cold in the night air. Above him the night sky formed a black canopy pierced by tiny points of shimmering light, the round moon hanging over his shoulder.

  As Kaze approached the bridge, the sound of water faded away and around him darkness started gathering, as if a black fog were rolling over him and darkening the heavens. The stars above grew dim and the moon became obscured, as if behind a cloud. His steps slowed and eventually halted. From the bridge, he heard a sound that he had both feared and anticipated. It was the crying of a woman.

  This had happened to Kaze once before when he was on a mountain path walking through the mist. He took a deep breath, but the air was stale and lifeless. He walked forward slowly.

  There, sitting in the middle of the bridge, he could see the woman. She was dressed in a kimono of white, the color of death and mourning. Her long black hair hung loosely against the kimono, looking like the stroke of a calligraphy brush against snowlike paper. Kaze stared at the figure but could not bring the edges of the apparition into sharp focus. Looking within his soul, Kaze recited a piece of the Heart Sutra. I have no doubt and therefore no fear. No doubt and therefore no fear. No doubt and no fear.

  Repeating the phrase over and over to himself like a mantra, he approached the figure and stopped a short distance away.

  He got to his knees and bowed deeply. When he was done, he looked up at the figure. The figure’s head was bent down in sadness, her hands across her face. Through her fingers he could see the teardrops falling like steady drops of rain. They hit her white kimono, staining the cloth with spreading points of wetness.

  “I am here, my Lady,” he said almost inaudibly. He knew the ghostly figure before him would hear him, no matter how softly he spoke. She straightened at the sound of his voice and took her hands away from her face. Even though Kaze had steeled himself for what he was about to see, he still felt a cold shiver gripping his body, shaking him with an icy firmness that penetrated to his very soul.

  The figure had no face. It had no eyes, no mouth, and no nose, yet it could still cry piteously.

  Kaze made another bow. “I suppose you want news on how my search for your daughter goes,” he said. The sound of sobbing lessened.

  Kaze reached into his sleeve and brought out the scrap of cloth with the three plum blossoms, the crest of the Lady.

  “This is what has led me to Kamakura, Lady. First down the Tokaido Road and now to this place. I must find a secret. People who might have information about your daughter will not give it to me until I perform a service in return, which is to find out what happened to their family member. When I find out what happened to their relative, they will tell me more about your daughter’s location. Because you are visiting me, I know that your daughter is still alive. If she were with you in another world, between life and rebirth, then I assume you would not be coming to me.”

  The figure waved a ghostly arm in a wide sweep, moving slowly, like a piece of wood bobbing on the ocean. Kaze took the wave of the arm as confirmation that the child was still alive.

  “I have not forgotten my promise to you. I’ve not lessened my dedication to find your child. I’ll do my best to find her.” He bowed once again. In the midst of this bow, he could suddenly hear the river rushing beneath him, flowing swiftly past the wooden boards and bamboo that made up the bridge. He knew from that, even before looking up, that the ghost of the lady would be gone. And she was.

  Kaze stood and felt his legs weak and trembling under him. He lurched slightly and grabbed the guardrail of the bridge. He held himself upright until the strength returned to his limbs. He looked about him and saw the lantern sitting on the ground. Its candle was still flickering. He reached out to grab the lantern stick and noticed that his hand was trembling slightly. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment to center himself. When he opened his eyes, his outstretched hand was no longer trembling. He picked up the lantern and, by its pale light, made his way back to Hishigawa’s villa.

  The next morning, Kaze started walking about the grounds of the villa. Elder Grandma’s grandson was a samurai, and a merchant killing a samurai was a serious matter. A samurai could kill a peasant for any reason. But for a merchant to kill a samurai, or to have one killed, would result in severe punishment if it were discovered.

  Because of this, Kaze looked for fresh earth and signs of a new grave as he wandered within the walls of the villa. His eyes were those of the experienced hunter, so he was sure he could detect the after-math of the crime if Hishigawa had had the grandson killed and buried within the villa’s walls.

  His search uncovered an interesting area, although it didn’t look like a fresh burial. It also uncovered another interesting sight. As he was walking around the lake that surrounded the Jade Palace, he saw some young girls sitting on the veranda of the palace, on the side facing away from the main house. The palace was as large as a house in its own right, so it was natural that Yuchan would have attendants and maids with her. These girls were richly dressed in expensive kimono, however, much more opulently than any maid would ever be.

  As Kaze walked by on the shore, the girls stopped talking. Kaze glanced their way and noticed they were not looking downward modestly, as would be proper for young ladies in the presence of a strange man. Instead, they were looking at Kaze boldly, even speculatively. Kaze stopped and rudely stared back at them. They didn’t flinch from his gaze and instead met it.

  Kaze broke into a grin. Then he stuck his tongue out at the girls. They burst into a fit of giggling. Kaze turned and continued his search of the villa grounds, but now he also contemplated the meaning of this en
counter with richly dressed, bold, and pretty girls at the Jade Palace.

  The interesting area was one he wanted to examine in darkness, so he decided he would try to talk to the various guards stationed around the villa to see if he could gather more information. These men viewed him with suspicion, and none would talk to him, except for the barest words required by politeness. Instead of being frustrated by their taciturn response to his overtures, Kaze was impressed by the level of discipline that Enomoto had managed to instill in his men.

  Enomoto gave every indication of being a true swordsman. His men gave every indication of being good, also. Like the young girls at the Jade Palace, this was another element out of place, as nagging as a misplaced flower in an ikebana arrangement. Kaze decided to seek out Enomoto.

  He found him grooming his sword.

  Enomoto sat with his katana held in one hand, and in the other he had a small piece of bamboo. The end of the bamboo bore a small cloth ball that had been dipped in powder. Enomoto was patiently hitting the ball lightly along the length of the katana blade, absorbing old oil on his weapon. Kaze looked at the blade of Enomoto and understood what Kannemori had been saying about the blades of Okazaki Masamune. To Kaze, swords were a thing of beauty and spirituality. Each blade reflected something of its maker and its owner. The blade in Enomoto’s hand was a coldly efficient killing machine.

  Enomoto looked up as Kaze approached and gave a nod of greeting. He returned his attention to his katana. Kaze sat down quietly, waiting politely for Enomoto to finish. When Enomoto had wiped off the powder with a piece of paper, he took a soft cloth and lightly oiled the blade.

  “Here in Kamakura, we are so near the sea that one must oil his blade regularly or it will rust. I notice you have a new sword,” he said without looking up. “It looks to be a fine one.”