Gloria Oliver (25 page)

Though he’d intended to continue traveling until nightfall, he wasn’t able to hold out quite that long. With his shoulders screaming in pain, he got off the road a couple of hours before sunset.

He dumped the basket on the ground and then wiped away the sweat covering his face. He fell to the ground and then sat. Carefully, he removed his shirt, being mindful of the tender spots on his shoulders.

He stared at the loaded basket with growing annoyance. He had half an urge to kick it for what it had done to him, but felt too tired to get up to do it.

After resting for a while, he was able to work himself up to get some dinner. As he rummaged inside the basket, his gaze happened upon the hilt of his boken. With a groan, he recalled Mitsuo’s instructions and his own promise to follow them.

With a louder groan, he took out the boken and placed it in his sash. He got his food and ate, staring off and on at the weapon at his side.

Calling himself a fool over and over for ever having promised to practice without knowing what he was getting into, he finished his meal and stood up. He slipped the boken from his sash and took his first stance, already dreading what the exercise would do to his aching shoulders.

As he warmed up to the routine, a foolish grin grew on his face as he found that, to a small extent, the exercise seemed to be relieving his discomfort. As darkness closed in around him, he stopped and dropped exhausted to the ground. On hands and knees, he made his way to the basket and used his discarded shirt to wipe the sweat from his body. He took out his other set of clothes and changed into them, hanging the other pair to dry. He missed taking baths, but out here he wouldn’t even get the choice of hot buckets of water. He wasn’t too thrilled at having to live in his own filth, especially as bothersome insects hung around him expecting a sumptious supper.

After that, he took out his blankets and spread them on the leaf-strewn forest floor. Lying down, he dropped instantly to sleep.

The next morning, he opened his eyes to the bright light of a new day. Rubbing gently at his sleep-covered face, he yawned and then stretched. He flinched as his shoulders protested at the movement.

A bit of a morning chill was still hanging about, so he found it hard to get motivated. He gave a long, sad glance toward his basket, knowing what it had planned for his shoulders that day. He sighed.

Making himself sit up, he grew still as he saw his breakfast was already set out for him. He jumped to his feet and looked all around but saw no one. He then stared at what had been left.

A broad grin crossed his face as he spotted a small silver bell on top of the half-wrapped rice cakes.

Wondering where Asaka and the others might be, he sat back down and reached for his breakfast. They were still with him. He wasn’t really totally alone. In the city, you were never alone; no matter how hard you tried, there was always someone around close by. Out here, in the wilderness, there was no one.

And it was eerie. At least knowing someone had been by pleased him more than they would ever know.

After he’d eaten, he placed his new bell with the one Miko had given him the night before. He folded his dried clothes and was about to put them away when his gaze fell on the chafing straps of the basket. His eyes shifted from the straps to his blankets and back. With a small grin, he took out the knife they’d provided for him and carefully cut two long strips from the thickest of his coverings. He put everything away except the strips. Those he wrapped around the higher section of the straps. He put the wrapped bands on his shoulders. Rising to his feet, he painstakingly rearranged them a little, trying to make the weight from the basket sit as comfortably as it could on his shoulders and back. Satisfied with his work, he took a moment to get his bearings and then headed off to the road.

Before stepping out onto the path, he spent a few moments listening to the sounds around him. Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, he peeked out past the line of pines and bamboo and made sure there was no one coming from either direction. He saw nothing. He ventured forward.

The walking was pleasant in the remaining morning hours, but turned hot and humid as the day wore on.

His shoulders complained at the long stretches between rests, his legs not too far behind. He ignored them both as best he could.

A small afternoon shower drove him into the shelter of the trees for a half-hour. It eased the heat while coming down, and even heartened the crickets into chirping; but the day became much more oppressive once it was gone.

Toward evening, he came upon a large shrine, the type often used by travelers to rest. He hesitated as he went by, knowing the place would provide a warm and dry place for him to spend the night—a much more pleasant prospect than the forest floor. He looked around the outside of the building and saw no sign of anyone. He drew closer to the open-walled structure.

Finding the inside empty, he decided it might be all right to stay. He made a small offering to the spirits and asked for a safe night.

He ignored the fire pit in the middle of the floor and walked to the back. He set out his bed there, making sure he had a sure way to escape if necessary. He ate a quick meal and then practiced with his boken for a while before going to bed.

The next few days went much the same. The daily rains increased, and Toshi took shelter in the roadside shrines whenever possible. The rainy season had arrived.

More than once, he was forced to hide as occasional travelers and a samurai or two on horseback passed through. With some regret, he had already been forced to avoid two small mountain villages. As he’d skirted them, he’d watched the simple people as they went about caring for the wide rice patties at the outskirts of clusters of thatched huts. He’d forced his heart to harden at those times. A longing for any kind of company kept trying to sweep over him, but it would have been much too dangerous for him to give in. With stubborn fortitude, he followed the route marked on his map.

He knew his companions were keeping up with him. Every morning he would find breakfast nearby and, on occasion, some extra supplies. He never woke when they came though, his daily exhaustion dragging him under until morning. So, though mentally he knew his companions were keeping up with him, in his heart he still felt alone.

The day grew ominously darker. He eyed the clouds warily as they built up in a dark wall across the sky. The packed-dirt road he was on appeared more traveled than some of the others. Fortunately, he’d yet to spot anyone on it.

Harsh laughter from the other side of an upcoming curve brought him to a startled stop. Realizing someone was coming, he dashed off the road into the safety of the woods. He crouched behind a large clump of bamboo; the plants hid him from view yet still allowed him to keep an eye on the road.

The laughter drew nearer and split into three distinct voices. Toshi saw three men on horseback round the bend, leading a fourth horse behind them. He ducked down farther behind the bamboo as he noticed the set of swords strapped at the men’s sides. Judging from their dirty clothes and ungroomed appearance, he knew those men were ronin, masterless samurai. These were definitely men he didn’t want to meet.

He held his breath as the three crossed before him. He swallowed hard as he got a look at the horse following them. It looked to be in better shape than those the three men were riding. An expensive bridle and other gear were strapped onto its back. He could see a set of samurai swords wrapped up in an expensive bag of silk hanging from one of the saddlebags. A bead of perspiration ran down the side of his face. Those men were less than dirt. Not only were they ronin, but thieves and murderers as well. He thanked the gods for having warned him of their coming. If they were willing to prey on samurai, they would have never hesitated killing him where he stood.

He waited a long time before removing himself from his hiding place. Stepping back out onto the road, he noticed the sky looking even more threatening than before.

He walked faster, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the three ronin as possible. He also hoped he might find a shrine before the downpour that had threatened all day came down.

A light sprinkle was falling when he spotted a walled shrine a little ways off the side of the road. With a spurt of speed, he headed for it as the rain increased.

He stopped before the open doorway and peeked inside. Seeing and hearing nothing in the building’s dark interior, he took off his worn sandals and went in. He shook off what water he could, and then took off his hat, coat and basket and set them against the corner nearest the door.

Hoping to start a small fire as a chill took the air, he approached the pit in the middle of the room and felt around inside it. To his surprise, he found a stack of wood already prepared for lighting. Not daring to question his good fortune, he dug around in his basket for the flint and steel Miko had provided for him.

After a few strikes, he was able to coax his sparks into a warming fire.

“Thank you, stranger. I had been planning on trying to light it in a little while, but now you’ve saved me the trouble.”

He looked up, body tense, trying to penetrate the gloom still covering most of the room. Seeing nothing, he crawled backwards away from the pit, back toward his belongings.

“I’m sorry,” the thin voice said. “I hadn’t meant to startle you. You have nothing to fear here. I’m only a helpless old man. I can’t harm you.”

He looked in the direction of the soft male voice where it originated in the back of the shrine. As the fire spread in the pit, he was able to catch a glimpse of the speaker. He was an ancient-looking man who sat in the corner dressed in dark robes. In his hands, he held a large, beaded necklace, which in many ways resembled the man’s shaven head. Normally, he would have relaxed in the presence of a priest, but this man was not as expected. He was unusual, just like the priest he’d met on the island not long ago. The ancient old man’s eyes were white.

“You’re being so quiet,” the old man said. “I bet you’re looking at my eyes. Go ahead; feel free. I don’t mind. They’ve been like this for a very long time.”

“Can you see?” He knew the question was rude, but he just hadn’t been able to stop himself from asking.

“I can see, but not in the way you think,” the priest replied. “I haven’t had sight like other men for almost twenty years. And though the other would make things more convenient, I believe this way is best.” The old man smiled, several gaps showing in his yellowing teeth.

Toshi shook his head, not sure he understood the words. Quietly, he began putting on his hat and coat, thinking it might be prudent to seek shelter elsewhere.

“This is going to be a very stormy night. The spirits must surely be angry at someone. This storm has been building up since late last night.”

“How could you know—” He stopped, knowing he had no business talking to the old man.

“It is but one of the gifts of my brand of sight,” the blind priest said. “As men, there are a lot of things we don’t see because we can see. Having your sight taken away, however, can open your inner eye. And it can make you aware of all sorts of information your eyes had ignored all along.”

The old man wiggled for a moment and then brought out a small bag from a pack sitting behind him.

“I’ve already filled the pot hanging over the fire with water. If you wouldn’t mind putting some of this in it, I’d be honored to share my tea with you.”

The offer was tempting. It’d been almost a week since he’d had some tea. Toshi started thinking perhaps there was no real reason he shouldn’t stay. Chances were he wouldn’t be able to find shelter before the rain came in earnest. Here, he would be dry and warm. And, truly, there was little the blind man could do to place him in danger. And it’d been so long since he’d spoken to anyone at all.

“Yes, honored sir, I would be happy to.”

He put his hat and coat back by his basket and then came over to take the offered tea powder.

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here. A young man like you really shouldn’t be traveling alone.

These roads aren’t as safe as they once were. A shame, really.”

He hesitated, not sure if the priest expected an answer or not.

“You’re not a runaway, are you, boy?”

The old man smiled and removed a small jar from his bag. As Toshi stood somewhat uneasily before him, the priest raised the jar. The white eyes rose with the old man’s hand. Toshi saw his smile falter but then almost immediately flicker back on.

He took the offered jar, not sure what to make of the priest’s odd expression. He distracted himself by preparing the tea.

“You don’t talk much, do you, boy?” the old man asked.

Toshi glanced over at him, still waiting for the water to heat up.

“Actually, honored sir, I have a bad tendency to talk too much.” He noticed the blind man’s eyes were staring right at him, as if he were somehow trying to read Toshi’s mind.

Attempting to shrug the odd thought away, he turned his back on the priest and walked over to his basket. Rummaging inside it, he brought out some of his food.

“I have some fish with me, honorable sir. You would honor me if you would have some.”

A small, unwanted chill coursed down his back as he found the man still staring at him.

“You are very kind, young man.”

He cut and took him some dried fish and a couple of rice cakes before going to check on the tea. He watched the old man put the food away, but wasn’t surprised. Buddhist priests didn’t eat in the evening.

When the tea was ready, he looked around but found no cups. Before he could ask the old man if he had any, he found the priest already holding two out to him. He took them and ladled out tea for both of them.

“Please, come sit by me,” the old priest said. “I want to look at you while you eat.”

He stared at the priest, wondering if he was joking. He thought of saying no, but could find no good excuse with which to do so. Grabbing his dinner, he sat meekly down beside the old man.