The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass

by Dorothy Hoobler

  Seikei turned to look and saw the mountains that lay in the distance. They seemed impossibly far. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “When I was a boy,” said Reigen, “I came down this river from the imperial lodge. Now we must go up to take the emperor from those who have him.”

  Well, thought Seikei, one thing is certain: Yabuta would never imagine we would travel this way. Nevertheless, as the boat headed up the river, he looked back to see if anyone was following them.

  23

  THE KUSANAGI SPEAKS

  Seikei woke up, still exhausted. His arms ached and his hands were on fire with blisters—not surprisingly, for he had rowed for a day and part of the previous night. All the time, he had been feeling more and more resentful. The thought had popped into his head that Risu was to blame for all this trouble. It would never have happened if Risu hadn’t decided that he wasn’t the emperor. And if he doesn’t want to be emperor, thought Seikei, then find someone who does. Reigen was the sort of person who ought to be emperor. Even though Seikei remembered the judge saying Reigen couldn’t resume his duties once he retired, certainly an exception ought to be made in this case.

  All of those were unworthy thoughts, and Seikei knew better than to say them aloud to Reigen. Being angry had only one advantage: It gave Seikei the energy to keep rowing.

  They had arrived at this spot after darkness had fallen. To Seikei it looked no different than virtually any other place they’d passed in the last day and a half. But once again, it had a special meaning for Reigen. He had guided Seikei to a place where the river ran beside a high cliff. Seikei feared the small wooden boat would be broken to pieces on the rocky face of the cliff. Just as they reached it, however, Reigen leaned over the side of the boat and pulled aside some shrubbery growing from a crack in the rock.

  Behind it was a cave, just large enough for the boat to slide into. When the shrubbery snapped back into place, they were hidden from view. It was not comfortable sleeping in the bottom of the boat, but Seikei was so exhausted that he had not stayed awake for long.

  Now, through the green shrubbery at the mouth of the cave, he could see sunlight. Seikei remembered the story of Amaterasu hiding in a cave until the other kami lured her out. He looked at Reigen, who was already awake. He was like Bunzo in that he never seemed to let down his guard. “I didn’t get to ask you,” said Seikei. “Why did you take the mirror from the imperial palace?”

  “I will need it when we find the emperor,” said Reigen. “Let us accomplish that before we correct other mistakes.”

  Seikei wondered if he was responsible for any of the “other mistakes.” He hoped not, for he suspected Reigen’s methods of correcting them would not be pleasant.

  Slowly they edged the boat through the shrubbery again. Seikei saw what he had not been able to in the darkness the night before. Not far away was a dock. Beside it was a shelter where one could sit and admire the view. Beyond that was a stone path that led over a hill. At one time, it was clear that the grass and flowers at this spot had been carefully tended. Now, however, the path was overgrown. Where autumn leaves had fallen, no one had swept them up. It looked indeed as if the place had long been deserted.

  Seikei rowed the boat to the dock and tied it up. Reigen stepped out, looking as if he were using all his senses to determine if anyone else was nearby. He motioned to Seikei, and said, “Stay in the boat. We may need to leave in a hurry.”

  Reigen took a few steps up the stone path. Without warning, a samurai appeared just at the top of the hill. He wore a kosode with Lord Ponzu’s crest on it. The man seemed surprised to see anyone here. As well he might be, thought Seikei. No one else would have arrived by water.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” the samurai called.

  Reigen replied in a soft voice, “We are travelers looking for a place to stay.” He started walking toward the samurai, his hands extended as if to show peaceful intent.

  The samurai was angry. He drew his short sword and waved it in Reigen’s direction. “Get out of here! At once!” he shouted.

  Reigen kept walking toward him as though he were unable to understand. Seikei, watching, held his breath, for he fully understood the danger the samurai was in.

  Reigen’s refusal to obey made the samurai lose all sense of caution. He rushed forward, looking as if he intended to use his sword. The instant he was within striking distance, Reigen drew his own blade. Faster than Seikei’s eyes could follow, he struck off the samurai’s hand. It fell to the ground, still grasping the sword.

  The samurai realized too late that he should not have come so close to the harmless-looking old man. He opened his mouth as if to call for help, but a second swipe of the Kusanagi silenced him for good.

  Now Reigen turned and beckoned for Seikei to follow. Seikei obeyed, hoping more than ever that he would not have to keep his promise to Reigen. As he passed the samurai’s lifeless body, Seikei glanced down and reflected that this would be his own fate should he ever dare to use his wooden sword against the ex-emperor.

  At the top of the hill, they looked down on a beautiful scene. In a glade below was a rustic building that might have been the cottage of a humble mountain family, except for its vast size. The upward-curving wooden eaves had been left unpainted and the roof tiles selected to look as if they were stones randomly picked up in the woods.

  It still seemed deserted, but Seikei knew that was an illusion. Somewhere inside the lodge was the emperor. And Hato. He sniffed the air, but detected no scent of ginkgo porridge. That was a bad sign, he thought. Perhaps someone had already killed both Risu and Hato.

  Reigen walked briskly now, with no attempt to conceal his approach. Three samurai emerged from the house and stood on the porch. They did not look as fearless as the first one, although like him, they wore the crest of Lord Ponzu.

  Reigen stopped and called to them, “What are you doing in my house?”

  “Your house?” one of them replied. “This isn’t your house. This is the emperor’s house.”

  “Don’t you recognize me?” Reigen shouted. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  The three samurai spoke among themselves. “The emperor is inside,” one of them said.

  “I am his grandfather,” Reigen replied. “And this is the Kusanagi.” He raised the sword from its scabbard and held it high. “Do you dare to stand in my way?” he called to the samurai.

  One of them apparently did. He unsheathed his own sword and looked at his companions for support. They hesitated.

  That didn’t stop the bold samurai. “He’s just an old man,” he said, jumping down from the porch and assuming a fighting position in front of Reigen.

  As Reigen’s arm came down, the samurai tried to block the sword with his own. Seikei approved of the tactic, which would have worked had the two been equally matched. But the Kusanagi could not be thwarted. It shattered the samurai’s sword as easily as if it had been made of plaster. Reigen’s blow continued downward and the Kusanagi sliced through the samurai’s arm at the elbow. Blood gushed from the wound and the man fell to his knees. He tried helplessly to stanch the bleeding and then fainted.

  Reigen didn’t give him a second glance. “Well?” he called to the other two.

  They didn’t need to confer to reach a decision. They ran to the end of the porch, jumped, and soon vanished into a grove of trees.

  “They have no honor,” Seikei commented.

  “They serve their master for gain, not for honor,” replied Reigen. “Which do you value more, life or honor?”

  “Honor,” replied Seikei dutifully, “because everyone must die, but honor lasts forever.”

  “Remember your promise, then,” Reigen said, starting up the steps of the lodge.

  Grasping the hilt of his sword to hide his nervousness, Seikei followed. The front door led into a hallway that contained a wall shrine to Amaterasu. A candle-holder beneath it held only scraps of wax. Three corridors led into other parts of the lodge.


  Reigen motioned for Seikei to be silent. The lodge seemed absolutely still. It was as if no one had been there for years. But Reigen seemed to notice something. He cocked his head and then chose one of the corridors.

  Trailing him, Seikei could see that a door stood open at the other end of the hallway. Reigen stepped through the entrance and stopped. Seikei, standing behind him, saw that Yabuta had arrived before them after all.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” the spy chief said. “And since you have defeated my guards, I know that you have brought me what I want.” He looked at Seikei with his cold eyes. “Thank you for delivering my message.”

  Seikei’s heart sank. Yabuta was seated on a mat, holding a knife to the throat of the boy emperor. Risu—or Yasuhito, as his proper name was—had his hands tied behind his back. His face wore an expression Seikei had not see there before: terror.

  “I told him he had the wrong person, but he wouldn’t believe me.” Hato’s voice came from another part of the room. She too had her hands tied. Seikei could not help but wonder why Yabuta had not gagged her as well.

  “This girl,” said Yabuta, “has the odd idea that the boy I hold is not the emperor. Apparently, Judge Ooka’s stepson had been practicing his impersonation even before I suggested it to him. Is that so?”

  “There was a misunderstanding,” Seikei said.

  “Well, let us clear it up at once, shall we? If I am not holding the real emperor, then his grandfather may of course use his sword to kill me. But if this boy is in fact Yasuhito, his grandfather will not want to see his throat slit. And make no mistake, my hand will move faster than he can reach me. Do you wish to see your grandson die?” he called to Reigen.

  “No,” Reigen said in a low voice.

  “Then remove the Kusanagi—in its scabbard, if you please—and lay it on the floor in front of me.”

  Reigen began to untie the scabbard from the obi around his waist.

  “No!” cried Seikei. “You can’t!”

  “I must,” Reigen said. “You heard him.”

  “But Yabuta will use the sword to make himself the ruler of Japan.”

  “Only a descendant of Amaterasu can be the ruler,” said Reigen. “Yabuta can be a shogun, but no matter who is shogun, the emperor reigns.”

  Reigen freed the scabbard that contained the Kusanagi. Holding it in both hands, as if making an offering, he stepped forward and laid it in front of Yabuta.

  When Reigen stepped back, Yabuta shoved Yasuhito away and snatched up the sword. Pulling it from its scabbard, he admired it as keenly as if he were seeing his own image in the shining steel.

  Then his eyes, glittering with triumph, slowly turned in Seikei’s direction.

  24

  YASUHITO SEES

  Now is the time,” said Reigen.

  Seikei wasn’t sure, at first, what he was talking about. Then it came to him.

  Now? Well, of course he was going to die anyway, so why not? Better to die defending one’s honor than whimpering for mercy.

  Seikei drew the wooden sword from his obi.

  When Yabuta saw that, he laughed. It sounded like the cawing of a crow that has found a great hoard of spilled rice.

  “So your arrogant pride persists?” Yabuta said. “I will enjoy stopping it once and for all.” He leaped forward, preparing to cut Seikei in two with the Kusanagi.

  Seikei had been trained in the art of the sword by Bunzo and the actor Tomomi. He had also seen the ninja master Tatsuno use a sword, and gained much knowledge from that. Seikei’s only advantage in this fight was that Yabuta expected him to be completely inexperienced.

  Thus, when Yabuta brought the deadly blade down, Seikei was no longer there. After seeing Yabuta commit himself, Seikei had sidestepped the blade.

  That gave him a chance to strike at Yabuta. Seikei’s maple sword whipped through the air, but unfortunately only gave the spy chief a glancing blow on his shoulder.

  Even that was enough to enrage Yabuta. He swung full force at Seikei, this time using a side-to-side blow. Seikei ducked under it much the same way he had seen Tatsuno do. Seikei retaliated with a thrust aimed at Yabuta’s face. He had hoped to strike an eye, but hit Yabuta’s nose instead. Satisfyingly, to Seikei, it started to bleed.

  He expected Yabuta to become more reckless after that, but the spy chief was no fool. He controlled his anger and began to stalk Seikei. Step by step Seikei moved back, trying to stay out of reach of the razor-sharp Kusanagi that Yabuta swung back and forth in front of him. Finally Seikei was forced against a wall. Yabuta feinted with the point of his sword, and Seikei dodged to one side. This time, Yabuta anticipated the move and he slashed in the same direction.

  Seikei brought up his wooden sword, the only thing he could do to defend himself. Of course if the edge of the Kusanagi had struck it, the wood would have split as easily as a piece of straw. Luckily, Seikei’s sword caught the flat of the blade, diverting it just enough so that Seikei could slip away.

  Trying to gain more space in which to maneuver, Seikei turned his back and ran. The trouble with this tactic was that if Seikei weren’t quick enough, he would be defenseless against an attack. Yabuta’s footsteps sounded uncomfortably near.

  Then Seikei heard a crash and a curse from Yabuta. He turned and saw the spy chief on the floor. Hato had stuck out her leg and tripped him.

  Yabuta was down only for an instant. He jumped to his feet and seemed about to slash at Hato. Seikei instinctively struck downward with the wooden sword. He aimed at the back of Yabuta’s head, but the spy chief realized the blow was coming and ducked under it.

  Yabuta turned, his eyes blazing hatred at Seikei. He took two more sideways swipes, which Seikei easily evaded. Seikei realized the man was breathing hard and carried the Kusanagi as if it were too heavy for him. That was odd, for Yabuta was much younger than Reigen, who had used the sword with ease.

  Trying to see if he could use Yabuta’s weakness to his advantage, Seikei gave up trying to parry his opponent’s blows. Instead, he merely dodged them, nimbly hopping, ducking, or darting aside whenever Yabuta tried to strike him.

  It was a risky strategy, but it seemed to be working: With each blow, Yabuta appeared to grow more exhausted. In fact, it became obvious that Seikei could continue to evade him almost indefinitely. Finally, Yabuta stood, barely holding the sword off the floor, his agonized breaths loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Now is the time,” Reigen said again.

  Yes, Seikei thought. Now I have the advantage.

  He slid forward without lifting his feet, raising his sword as he moved. Yabuta saw the blow coming and tried to lift the Kusanagi to block it. But he failed. Seikei hit him soundly across the side of the head, with a ferocity that he had not known he felt. The blow made a noise like a branch snapping off a tree.

  Yabuta fell to the floor and lay there motionless.

  “Did you kill him?” Hato called out. “If not, hit him again.”

  Seikei looked down. He realized that he was trembling from the fight. He could not bring himself to speak.

  Reigen came and crouched over Yabuta’s body. “He is alive,” he said. “He does not deserve to die so easily.” He rose and looked at Seikei. “Take the sword,” he said.

  Seikei looked, without comprehending, at the wooden sword he still held.

  “The Kusanagi,” Reigen urged again. “Take it.”

  Seikei bent and pried the sword from Yabuta’s grasp. It was, indeed, heavier than he would have guessed. He gave Reigen a questioning glance. “Do you want it?” Seikei asked.

  “No,” said Reigen. “You must return it to the Atsuta Shrine. Will you do that?”

  “Yes,” Seikei said.

  “It is not for you to use,” said Reigen.

  “Was that why . . . Yabuta grew so tired?” Seikei asked.

  Reigen nodded. “Only a descendant of Amaterasu may use it. The kami of the sword began to fight Yabuta.”

  “Grandfather,” came another v
oice. They turned to look at Yasuhito, crouched in a corner of the room. “I want the Kusanagi,” he said. “Don’t give it to him.”

  “You have no need for the Kusanagi, Yasuhito,” said Reigen.

  “But I do. When I read—” He looked around. “I don’t want to say, with them here.”

  “They are loyal to you,” said Reigen. “You can trust them.”

  Yasuhito looked at Hato. “Well, she makes good porridge, anyway,” he said. “But what about him?” he added, pointing to Seikei.

  “He has already read the Kusanagi scroll, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Reigen.

  “Oh, he did?” Yasuhito seemed surprised.

  “You told me to look for it, remember?” said Seikei.

  “I guess I did. Anyway, the scroll said that the real sword was at the Atsuta Shrine, not in the imperial palace. The one in the palace is only a copy.”

  “That is true,” said Reigen. “When Prince Yamato placed the sword at Atsuta, he intended that it would never be used again. So a copy was made to be used in the ceremony when a new emperor comes to the throne.”

  “But I thought because the sword that they gave me at my . . . the ceremony when I became emperor . . . wasn’t real, that was the reason.”

  “The reason for what?”

  Yasuhito looked as if he were fighting back tears. In spite of everything, Seikei felt sorry for him. “The reason why Amaterasu didn’t come to see me during the night I spent in the hut at the ceremony. I waited and waited, because I was going to ask her where you had gone. But she never came. I didn’t fall asleep either, the way Uino said I must have. So that meant . . . that meant I wasn’t really the emperor. Of course, Uino made me act like I was, but then he died this year and I decided I wasn’t going to do it anymore.”

  Seikei stared at Yasuhito. He wondered how the judge would react when he heard about this. “But you mustn’t—” Seikei started to say. Then he felt Reigen’s hand on his arm.

  “This,” the old man said, “is something I will take care of. But not here. This room is unclean now. Untie Hato and let me have the cord.”