Brilliance of the Moon (5 page)

“You owe me nothing,” he replied. “You owe God everything.”

Makoto rode up alongside, and I found myself hoping he had not
heard Jo-An’s words. Our horses touched noses and the black stallion squealed
and tried to bite the other. Jo-An smacked it on the neck.

Makoto’s glance fell on him. “Outcasts?” he said, disbelieving.
“What are they doing here?”

“Saving our lives. They’re building a floating bridge.”

He pulled his horse back a few steps. Beneath his helmet I could
see the curl of his lips. “No one will use it—” he began, but I cut him off.

“They will, because I command it. This is our only way of
escape.”

“We could fight our way back to the bridge at Yamagata.”

“And lose all our advantage of speed? Anyway, we would be
outnumbered five to one. And we’d have no retreat route. I won’t do that. We’ll
cross the river by the bridge. Go back to the men and bring many of them to
work with the outcasts. Let the rest prepare for the crossing.”

“No one will cross this bridge if it is built by outcasts,” he
said, and something in his voice, as if he were speaking to a child, enraged
me. It was the same feeling I’d had months ago when Shigeru’s guards had let
Kenji into the garden at Hagi, fooled by his tricks, unaware that he was a
master assassin from the Tribe. I could only protect my men if they obeyed me.
I forgot Makoto was older, wiser, and more experienced than I was. I let the
fury sweep over me.

“Do as I command you at once. You must persuade them, or you’ll
answer to me for it. Let the warriors act as guards while the pack-horses and
foot soldiers cross. Bring bowmen to cover the bridge. We will cross before
nightfall.”

“Lord Otori.” He bowed his head and his horse plunged and
splashed away over the rice fields and up the slope beyond. I watched him
disappear between the shafts of bamboo, then turned my attention to the
outcasts’ work.

They were lashing together the lumber they had collected and the trunks
they had felled into rafts, each one supported on piles of reeds tied into
bundles with cords plaited from tree bark and hemp. As each raft was finished
they floated it out into the water and lashed it to the ones already moored in
place. But the force of the current kept the rafts pushed into the bank.

“It needs to be anchored to the farther side,” I said to Jo-An.
“Someone will swim across,” he replied.

One of the younger men took a roll of cord, tied it round his
waist, and plunged into the river. But the current was far too strong for him.
We saw his arms flailing above the surface, then he disappeared under the
yellow water. He was hauled back, half-drowned. “Give the rope to me,” I said.

Jo-An looked anxiously down the bank. “No, lord, wait,” he begged
me. “When the men come, one of them can swim across.”

“When the men come, the bridge must be ready,” I retorted. “Give
me the rope.”

Jo-An untied it from the young man, who was sitting up now,
spitting out water, and handed it up to me. I made it fast around my waist and
urged my horse forward. The rope slid over his haunches, making him leap; he
was in the water almost before he realized it.

I shouted at him to encourage him, and he put one ear back to
listen to me. For the first few paces his feet were on the bottom. Then the
water came up to his shoulder and he began to swim. I tried to keep his head
turned toward where I hoped we would land, but strong and willing as he was,
the current was stronger, and we were carried by it downstream toward the
remains of the old bridge.

I glanced toward it and did not like what I saw. The current was
hurling branches and other debris against the piles, and if my horse were to be
caught among them, he would panic and drown us both. I felt and feared the power
of the river. So did he. Both ears lay flat against his head, and his eyes
rolled. Luckily his terror gave him extra strength. He put in one great
exertion, striking out with all four feet. We cleared the piles by a couple of
arm spans and suddenly the current slackened. We were past the middle. A few
moments later the horse found his footing and began to plunge up and down,
taking huge steps to try and clear the water. He scrambled up onto firm ground
and stood, head lowered, sides heaving, his former exuberance completely
extinguished. I slipped from his back and patted his neck, telling him his
father must have been a water spirit for him to swim so well. We were both
saturated, more like fish or frogs than land animals.

I could feel the pull of the cord around my waist and dreaded it
taking me back into the water. I half crawled, half scrambled to a small grove
of trees at the edge of the river. They stood around a tiny shrine dedicated to
the fox god, judging by the white statues, and were submerged to their lower
branches by the flood. It lapped at the feet of the statues, making the foxes
look as if they floated. I passed the cord around the trunk of the nearest
tree, a small maple just beginning to burst into leaf, and started to haul on
it. It was attached to a much stronger rope; I could feel its sodden weight as
it came reluctantly up out of the river. Once I had enough length on it, I
secured it to another, larger tree. It occurred to me that I was probably going
to pollute the shrine in some way, but at that moment I did not care what god,
spirit, or demon I offended as long as I got my men safely across the river.

All the time I was listening. Despite the rain I couldn’t believe
this place was as deserted as it seemed; it was at the site of a bridge on what
appeared to be a well-used road. Through the hiss of the rain and the roar of
the river I could hear the mewing of kites, the croaking of hundreds of frogs,
enthusiastic about the wet, and crows calling harshly from the forest. But
where were all the people?

Once the rope was secure, about ten of the outcasts crossed the river
holding on to it. Far more skilled than I, they redid all my knots and set up a
pulley system using the smooth branches of the maple. Slowly, laboriously, they
hauled on the rafts, their chests heaving, their muscles standing out like
cords. The river tore at the rafts, resenting their intrusion into its domain,
but the men persisted and the rafts, made buoyant and stable by their reed
mattresses, responded like oxen and came inch by inch toward us.

One side of the floating bridge was jammed by the current against
the existing piles. Otherwise I think the river would have defeated us. I could
see the bridge was close to being finished, but there was no sign of Makoto
returning with the warriors. I had lost all sense of time, and the clouds were
too low and dark to be able to discern the position of the sun, but I thought
at least an hour must have passed. Had Makoto not been able to persuade them?
Had they turned back to Yamagata as he had suggested? Closest friend or not, I
would kill him with my own hands if they had. I strained my ears but could hear
nothing except the river, the rain, and the frogs.

Beyond the shrine, where I stood, the road emerged from the
water. I could see the mountains behind it, white mist hanging like streamers
to their slopes. My horse was shivering. I thought I should move him around a
little to keep him warm, since I had no idea how I would ever get him dry. I
mounted and went a little way along the road, thinking also that I might get a
better view across the river from the higher ground.

Not far along stood a kind of hovel built from wood and daub and
roughly thatched with reeds. A wooden barrier had been placed across the road
beside it. I wondered what it was: It did not look like an official fief border
post and there did not seem to be any guards.

As I came closer I saw that several human heads were attached to
the barrier, some freshly killed, others no more than skulls. I’d barely had time
to feel revulsion when, from behind me, my ears caught the sound I’d been
waiting for: the tramping of horses and men from the other side of the river. I
looked back and saw through the rain the vanguard of my army emerging from the
forest and splashing toward the bridge. I recognized Kahei by his helmet. He
was riding in the front, Makoto alongside him.

My chest lightened with relief. I turned Aoi back; he saw the
distant shapes of his fellows and gave a loud neigh. This was echoed at once by
a tremendous shout from inside the hovel. The ground shook as the door was
thrown open and the largest man I’d ever seen, larger even than the charcoal
burners’ giant, stepped out.

My first thought was that he was an ogre or a demon. He was
nearly two arm spans tall and as broad as an ox; yet despite his bulk his head
seemed far too large, as if the skull bone had never stopped growing. His hair
was long and matted, he had a thick, wiry mustache and beard, and his eyes were
not human-shaped but round like an animal’s. He had only one ear, massive and
pendulous. Where the other ear had been, a blue-gray scar gleamed through his
hair. But his speech when he shouted at me was human enough.

“Hey!” he yelled in his enormous voice. “What d’you think y’doing
on my road?”

“I am Otori Takeo,” I replied. “I am bringing my army through.
Clear the barrier!”

He laughed; it was like the sound of rocks crashing down the side
of a mountain. “No one comes through here unless Jin-emon says they can. Go
back and tell your army that!”

The rain was falling more heavily; the day was rapidly losing its
light. I was exhausted, hungry, wet, and cold. “Clear the road,” I shouted
impatiently. “We are coming through.”

He strode toward me without answering. He was carrying a weapon,
but he held it behind his back so I could not see clearly what it was. I heard
the sound before I saw his arm move: a sort of metallic clink. With one hand I
swung the horse’s head around, with the other I drew Jato. Aoi heard the sound,
too, and saw the giant’s arm lunge outward. He shied sideways, and the ogre’s
stick and chain went past my ears, howling like a wolf.

The chain was weighted at one end and the stick to which the
other end was attached had a sickle set in it. I’d never encountered such a
weapon before, and had no idea how to fight him. The chain swung again,
catching the horse round the right hind leg. Aoi screamed in pain and fear and
lashed out. I kicked my feet from the stirrups, slid down on the opposite side
from the ogre, and turned to face him. I’d obviously fallen in with a madman
who was going to kill me if I did not kill him first.

He grinned at me. I must have looked to him no larger than the
Peach Boy or some other tiny character from a folktale. I caught the beginning
of movement in his muscle and split my image, throwing myself to the left. The
chain went harmlessly through my second self. Jato leaped through the air
between us and sank its blade into his lower arm, just above the wrist.
Ordinarily it would have taken off the hand, but this adversary had bones of
stone. I felt the reverberations up into my shoulder, and for a moment I feared
my sword would lodge in his arm like an ax in a tree.

Jin-emon made a kind of creaking groan, not unlike the sound of
the mountain when it freezes, and transferred the stick to his other hand.
Blood was now oozing from his right hand, dark blackish-red in color, not
splashing as you would expect. I went invisible for a moment as the chain
howled again, briefly considered retreating to the river, wondering where on
earth all my men were when I needed them. Then I saw an unprotected space and
thrust Jato up into it and into the flesh that lay there. The wound left by my
sword was huge, but again he hardly bled. A fresh wave of horror swept through
me. I was fighting something nonhuman, supernatural. Did I have any chance of
overcoming it?

On the next swing the chain wrapped itself round my sword. Giving
a shout of triumph, Jin-emon yanked it from my hands. Jato flew through the air
and landed several feet away from me. The ogre approached me, making sweeping
movements with his arms, wise to my tricks now.

I stood still. I had my knife in my belt, but I did not want to
draw it, in case he swung his chain and ended my life there and then. I wanted
this monster to look at me. He came up to me, seized me by the shoulders, and
lifted me from the ground. I don’t know what his plan was— maybe to tear out my
throat with his huge teeth and drink my blood. I thought,
He is not
my son, he cannot kill me
, and stared into his eyes.
They had no more expression than a beast’s, but as they met mine I saw them
round with astonishment. I sensed behind them his dull malevolence, his brutal
and pitiless nature. I realized the power that lay within me and let it stream
from me. His eyes began to cloud. He gave a low moan and his grasp slackened as
he wavered and crashed to the ground like a great tree under the woodsman’s ax.
I threw myself sideways, not wanting to end up pinned beneath him, and rolled
to where Jato lay, making Aoi, who had been circling nervously around us,
prance and rear again. Sword in hand, I ran back to where Jin-emon had fallen;
he was snoring in the deep Kikuta sleep. I tried to raise the huge head to cut
it off, but its weight was too great, and I did not want to risk damaging the
blade of my sword. Instead, I thrust Jato into his throat and cut open the
artery and windpipe. Even here the blood ran sluggishly. His heels kicked, his
back arched, but he did not waken. Eventually his breathing stopped.