Cloud of Sparrows (16 page)

He turned away from his uncle and slowly went down the steps. If Shigeru didn’t attack him during the next heartbeat or two, there was an excellent chance his command would be obeyed.

Genji’s form, silhouetted in the doorway, began to shrink. His back was exposed! Now! It was time to complete the purification of the Okumichi bloodline. Shigeru’s muscles tensed and released. He leaped forward silently and at high speed. Or at least, his body did. His fractured mind, filled with leakages as it was, went elsewhere, and at its own distorted pace.

Shigeru was with his father. They were astride horses on the edge of the cliffs at Cape Muroto. Lord Kiyori was younger than the Shigeru in the armory, and Shigeru was as young as his own son at the time of his death.

“You will speak of things to come,” his father said. “You will see them as clearly as you see the waves below.”

“When, Father?” Shigeru asked. He could hardly wait. His older brother, Yorimasa, might rule Akaoka Domain after their father, but if Shigeru was the one with the vision, he was the one who would be respected the way Lord Kiyori was. Yorimasa wouldn’t be so arrogant then, would he?

“Not for a long time, and be glad of it.”

“Why should I be glad?” Shigeru pouted. This was not what he wanted to hear. It only meant Yorimasa would continue to lord it over him. “The sooner I can see the future, the better.”

His father looked at him for a long time before speaking again.

“Don’t be impatient, Shigeru. What will happen will happen, whether you know of it or not. Believe me, it is not always better to know.”

“Knowing must be better,” Shigeru said. “Then no one can take you by surprise.”

“Someone will always take you by surprise, because no matter how much you know, you can never know everything.”

“When, Father? When will I see things to come?”

Again his father looked at him in silence. Shigeru thought he wasn’t going to say another word, but he did.

“Cherish the days before then, Shigeru. You will be very happy. In the flower of your manhood, you will fall in love with a woman of great virtue and resolve. It will be your good fortune that she will fall in love with you as well.” His father continued to smile, though tears now streamed down his face. “You will have a strong, brave son and two beautiful daughters.”

Shigeru didn’t care about any of that. He was six years old. He didn’t dream of love. He didn’t dream of sons and daughters. He dreamed of being a real samurai like his glorious ancestors.

“Will I win many battles, Father? Will other men fear me?”

“You will win many battles, Shigeru.” His father wiped away his tears with the wide sleeve of his kimono. “Other men will fear you. They will fear you very much.”

“Thank you, Father.” Shigeru was very happy. He had received a prophecy! He promised himself he would always remember this propitious day, the sound of the waves, the feel of the wind, the movement of the clouds across the sky.

“Listen to me, Shigeru. This is very important.” His father reached over and gripped his shoulder. “When your visions begin, someone will come to visit you. Your first impulse will be to kill him. Do not strike. Stop. Look into your mind. Pay attention to what is there.” His father’s grip tightened. “Will you remember to do this?”

“Yes, I will, I promise,” Shigeru said, frightened by his father’s intensity.

Now, with his sword thrusting at Genji, that promise made long ago illuminated Shigeru’s being. In the next instant, a keen blade the length of a man’s arm would plunge into Genji’s back, sever his spine, perforate his heart, and burst out of his chest. Shigeru looked into the sudden brightness of his mind and saw what he least expected.

Nothing.

Shigeru stopped. He had taken just one step toward the doorway. Genji had just turned away. An instant had passed, no more.

Shigeru listened. He heard nothing except the slight sound from Genji’s footsteps and the songs of the birds in the woods. He looked. He saw only the inside of the armory, Genji’s back, the doorway-framed view of the monastery’s courtyard.

The visions were gone.

Was it coincidence, or had Genji’s presence somehow canceled them out? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. His killing drive had vanished with the visions.

He let the swords fall from his hands and walked out the front door. The two samurai on each side moved back a few paces and bowed. He noticed they kept their hands on the hilts of their swords and their eyes on him as they did so. Shigeru began stripping off his clothes as he walked around to the back of the kitchen, where the bathhouse was.

“Where’s Sohaku?” Shigeru asked the samurai who followed him. “Tell him I need to borrow clothing appropriate for an audience with Lord Genji.”

The samurai said, “Yes, sir,” but kept following him.

Shigeru stopped and the samurai stopped. “Go ahead, do as I say.” He dropped the last of his clothes onto the ground. They would be burned. No amount of washing would make them clean again. Shigeru spread his arms. “What do you think? That I’m going to run away like this, naked and covered with shit in the middle of winter? Only a madman would do that.” He laughed and continued on. He didn’t look back to see if the samurai followed.

When he got to the bathhouse, he was not surprised to see the tub already filled with steaming water. Genji had always been an optimistic lad.

Shigeru washed himself thoroughly three times outside the tub. Only when he was certain of his cleanliness did he lower himself into the water with a sigh of pleasure. He had not had a bath for how long? Days, weeks, months? He couldn’t remember. It would have been extremely enjoyable to soak in the soft heat for a length of time. Under other circumstances, that is exactly what he would do. But his lord awaited him. Shigeru heaved himself out of the water.

Steam rose from his body as if he were a volcanic vent in the earth. New sandals had been placed on the ground. He put these on his feet, threw a towel around his body, and went into the residence wing of the temple. There, two monks helped him into his borrowed clothing. Extending from his shoulders were the stiff wings of the
kamishimo
jacket he wore over his kimono. Over the bottom of the kimono, he wore wide-legged
hakama
pants. The formality of the attire was just right for an audience with his lord in the field. He was almost ready.

“Where are my swords?”

The two monks looked at each other.

At last, one of them said, “Lord, we were not told to bring you weapons.”

Both monks were tense, as if they expected a violent reaction. But Shigeru just nodded meekly. Of course, after all that he had done, he would not be permitted anywhere near Genji with weapons. He followed the monks out to where his lord waited.

“Stop,” Genji said.

Shigeru halted. Perhaps he was not even to enter the tent. He did not see another place set up for his execution. That didn’t necessarily mean anything. Genji may have decided against a formal act. The two samurai who had accompanied the lord from Edo might simply cut him down here and now.

Genji turned to Sohaku and said, “How dare you allow an honored retainer into my presence half naked.”

“Lord Genji,” Sohaku said, “I beg you to be cautious. Five of my men have been killed or maimed at his hands.”

Genji stared straight ahead in silence.

Sohaku, having no other choice, bowed to him, then nodded to Taro. Taro ran off to the armory and returned with two swords, the long katana and the shorter wakizashi. He bowed to Shigeru and presented the weapons to him.

As Shigeru placed them in his sash, Sohaku shifted his seated posture ever so slightly. When Shigeru drew his sword against Genji, Sohaku would throw his body in harm’s way. This would give Hidé and Shimoda, the only other armed samurai in attendance, a chance to kill Shigeru, if they could. At least, they would impede him, and the monks could swarm him en masse before he reached Genji. Although Sohaku was abbot of a Zen temple, he did not find much comfort in Zen. Zen taught one how to live and how to die. It said nothing about the afterlife. Now that he was about to leave this world for the next, Sohaku said a prayer of the Honganji Buddhist faith in the silence of his heart. Namu Amida Butsu. May the blessings of the Buddha of Infinite Light be upon me. May the Compassionate One show me the way to the Pure Land. Even as he prayed, Sohaku watched Shigeru’s every step toward their seated lord.

Shigeru knelt upon the mat before the dais and bowed deeply. This was the first time he had seen his nephew since the rule of Akaoka Domain had passed into his hands. Normally, such a meeting would be a highly formal one, in which there would be an exchange of gifts, and Shigeru, like every vassal, would pledge his life and the lives of his family to the service of the lord. But this was far from a normal occasion. For one thing, Genji was now lord because Shigeru had poisoned the previous one, his own father. For another, he had no family to pledge, since he had butchered them all three weeks earlier. He kept his head pressed against the mat. He didn’t know what else to do. This was a trial. It had to be. He kept his head down and awaited the sentence of death.

“Well, Uncle,” Genji said softly, “let’s get this over with so we can really talk.” In a louder, more regal voice, he said, “Okumichi Shigeru, for what reason did you seize control of the armory of this temple?”

Shigeru raised his head. His mouth dropped open in astonishment. Why was Genji talking about such a trivial matter?

Genji nodded as if Shigeru had spoken. “I see. And what led you to believe the arms were not properly secured?”

“Lord.” Only the one choked word came out of Shigeru’s throat.

“Well done,” Genji said. “Your zeal in protecting our weapons is an inspiration to us all. Now, for the next matter. As you know, I have received the high honor of ascending to the sovereignty of our ancestral domain. All other vassals have sworn their allegiance to me. Do you do so now, or do you not?”

Shigeru turned to the assembly. Their faces were as astonished as his own. Sohaku in particular looked as though he were in the throes of a heart seizure.

Genji leaned forward. Again he spoke softly. “Uncle, make the usual move and we can finish.”

Shigeru bowed down to the mat again. Then he lifted his head and reached for his swords.

The entire gathering rose to its feet as one, and as one leaned in his direction. All but Genji.

His voice was angry. “You men came here to practice the ways of the Zen masters of old, to clear your minds of delusion, and to see the world as it really is. Yet you twitch and jump around like lice-infested outcasts. What have you been doing for the past half year?” He glared at them until they resumed their seats.

Shigeru pulled his swords from his sash, scabbards and all. Bowing and raising his weapons above his head, he walked on his knees to the foot of the dais. It was all he had to offer in the way of a gift. He could think of nothing to say, so he said nothing.

“Thank you,” Genji said. He took the swords and placed them on the dais to his left. Then he turned to the right and picked up another set of swords. Shigeru recognized them right away. They had been crafted by the great sword smith Kunimitsu, late in the Kamakura period. No one had worn them since the carnage at Sekigahara, when they were recovered from their ancestor Nagamasa’s dying hands.

“A time of great danger is upon us.” Genji held the swords out to Shigeru in both his hands. “All karmic debts will be paid. Will you stand with me in the battles to come?”

Not since he was a child had Shigeru’s hands shaken when holding a weapon. They shook now as he accepted the totem blades.

“I will, Lord Genji.” Shigeru held their ancestor’s swords high, and bowed low.

Dread chilled Sohaku’s blood. His lord had just accepted the allegiance of a man who, with his own bloody hands, had brought their ancient lineage to the brink of extinction. A murderer of father, wife, and offspring. The most unpredictable, most dangerously volatile lunatic in all the domains of Japan.

With one inexplicable act, Lord Genji had doomed himself and all who followed him.

Emily sat at Zephaniah’s bedside. His hand in hers was cold and heavy. It was also more rigid than it had been an hour ago. His face was as smooth and carefree as a sleeping infant’s, and as gray as a stone carving of one. Perfumed sheets enfolded him. In the four corners of the room, sandalwood incense burned constantly. They did not diminish the putrid fumes rising from the decaying flesh. The malodorous presence was made heavier instead, more cloying, more suffocating, by the futile aromatic cloak. She trembled, on the verge of nausea, and fought down the bile that rose in her throat.

“It has been given to me in a visioning,” Cromwell said. He no longer felt any pain. Indeed, he no longer felt his body at all. His senses had been reduced from five to two. He saw Emily floating above him, radiant. Her hair, bright as spun gold, formed a halo around her exquisite face. He heard the rolling thunder of the approaching angelic host. “I shall not die of this wound.”

“You are blessed, Zephaniah.” Emily smiled at him. If the thought brought him comfort, she was glad for him. He had spent the previous night screaming in wordless agony. His present calm was a welcome change.

“Angels are not like us,” Cromwell said, “better humans in form, with white wings. No, not at all. They are inconceivable. Brighter than the sun. Explosive. Deafening.” At last the words of Revelation were being made clear to him. “By fire, and by smoke, and by brimstone. As it was written, so shall it be. Murders, sorceries, fornications, thefts. This place is cursed with them. When the angels come, the righteous shall be lifted up, the unrepentant burned, torn apart, buried.”