The Shogun's Daughter (41 page)

“Thank you, Nephew, I wouldn’t have thought of that myself,” the shogun said with atypical sarcasm. He turned to Lord Tsunanori. “Because you’re a
daimyo
and you have much business to put in order, I give you, ahh, three days until your ritual suicide.” He signaled the soldiers with a firm hand. “Put him under house arrest at his estate.”

The soldiers moved away from Sano, toward Lord Tsunanori. Lord Tsunanori gazed at the shogun and Ienobu with sudden confusion and anger. “Hey, wait.”

The shogun shook his head. The soldiers kept coming. Lord Tsunanori backed away from them, his hands raised. “I’m not finished confessing.”

“I’ve heard enough from you,” the shogun said.

Sano was surprised that there could be more to the crime than he’d thought. “Please let him finish, Your Excellency.”

“I said, that’s enough!” Now that he’d decided to think for himself, the shogun was as touchy about taking direction from Sano as from everyone else.

Lord Tsunanori drew his sword. “If I have to go down, I’m not going alone!”

*   *   *

TAHARA AND KITANO
hung in midair, higher than the treetops, their knees flexed, arms spread, swords in hand. They began to spin as they plummeted, like twin tornados. Wind from them buffeted Hirata and Deguchi. Staggering, Hirata beheld them with frightful awe. They seemed made of air, as if speed had dissolved their substance. Above them, tree branches tossed. Under them, columns of dust swirled. As they touched ground, invisible blades lashed out of the tornados. The tornados separated. Kitano’s circled Deguchi. Tahara’s assailed Hirata.

Hirata’s mind vaulted to a higher level of consciousness. Thought and emotion were jettisoned like obsolete cargo. Mind and body united on a plane where training and instinct melded seamlessly. Reflex commanded his muscles. Hirata dodged blades he couldn’t see. They whistled past his face. His sword, an extension of his arm, flashed in all directions, like a crazed lightning bolt. His blade parried Tahara’s with clangs that sounded like the heavens shattering. Booms caused by their fast motion rocked the hill. Collisions melted steel surfaces. The smell of vaporized metal laced the air. Hirata barely felt the impacts. Mystical forces within him carried their energy from his body like harmless gases.

Deguchi and Kitano battled with equal, superhuman power. Hirata was simultaneously aware of them, Tahara, and everything else around him. He effortlessly avoided trees and rocks. As he pivoted and whirled, his speed caught up with Tahara’s and Kitano’s. He could see the shapes of their bodies and the movements of their limbs. Their faces came into focus, grimacing monstrously as they fought. The landscape blurred into a smear of green, brown, and blue. The fighters existed in a vacuum created by their own motion.

Hirata anticipated Tahara’s next actions right before they happened. A faint, luminescent image of Tahara, like a twin specter joined to his body, preceded him by an instant, whatever he did. The specter dodged to the right. Hirata swung at it, but his blade passed through vacant space. Tahara had changed course. He could see Hirata’s own specter revealing Hirata’s intentions. They feinted, ducked, and leaped within the hissing patterns carved by their swords. Kitano and Deguchi were caught up in the same contest. Despite fast, vicious slicing, no one could score a strike. The men battled furiously in the murky glow from their specters. The air filled with sweet chemical fumes from the energy their bodies burned.

There was a loud crack of steel fracturing.

Deguchi’s broken blade flew spinning into the woods.

The priest jumped into the air and somersaulted backward as Kitano lunged at him. Landing, he reached into the bush where Hirata had cached spare weapons. His hand came out holding another sword. He went at Kitano with undiminished vigor. But Hirata felt himself tiring. His wounded leg began to ache, a sign that he couldn’t keep this up much longer. He launched a dizzying spate of maneuvers at Tahara, forcing him onto the field of swords. Tahara jumped to elude a low strike Hirata. As he came down on the strewn leaves, a blade sliced up the inner side of his right foot and calf. Slashing at Hirata, he started to fall facedown onto the deadly blade tips.

Sword gripped in both hands, Hirata bellowed as he swung downward at the neck of Tahara’s specter. Tahara curled his body in midair, knees to his chest. Hirata’s strike, which should have decapitated him, grazed the top of his head. Blood spilled from the shallow cut on his crown, but he landed on his feet like a cat. He seemed not to feel the blades slash his ankles. Suddenly he was gone.

Hirata felt Tahara behind him, found himself in the sword field, hopping frantically to avoid the blades as Tahara swung at him. Sweat streamed from his pores, draining away precious water, salt, and elixirs. The battle had begun only moments ago, but it had already lasted for as long as many grand tournaments in martial arts legend.

Nobody had ever lasted much longer.

As Hirata’s movements slowed, Tahara’s and Kitano’s figures began to blur again. Deguchi’s was clearly visible: He was slowing down, too. The lights from the specters made Hirata dizzy. Aches burned his muscles. While he fought, Tahara’s blade licked his arms like sharp tongues of fire. Blood flew from him and Deguchi as the battle raged on. With an effort that wrenched a yell from him, Hirata jumped. He grabbed a vine-covered rope. Deguchi jumped, too. They swung high through the air on the ropes, away from their opponents.

Caught by surprise, Tahara and Kitano slackened their speed. Their figures came into focus, then halted. They stared upward.

Swinging down, Hirata and Deguchi slashed at Tahara and Kitano. Tahara dove to the left, Kitano to the right, too late. Hirata felt his blade hew flesh. He heard a cry from Tahara, then Kitano. They fell. Clinging to the ropes, Hirata and Deguchi swung upward again. As they descended, Tahara and Kitano stood. Blood stained Tahara’s surcoat, Kitano’s leggings. If their injuries were painful or serious, their enraged faces showed no sign. They leaped as Hirata and Deguchi hurtled toward them. Tahara caught Hirata’s rope. Chest to chest, they swung. They kicked and butted heads, punching with the hands that held their swords while their left hands gripped the rope, trying to throw each other off it. Kitano swung with Deguchi. The two pairs crisscrossed wildly, like spiders fighting on airborne webs.

Hirata felt his hand on the rope slipping. His nose bled from a blow from Tahara’s forehead. Tahara’s clenched teeth were bloody. Hirata kneed Tahara in the crotch. When Tahara recoiled, Hirata sheathed his sword. He reached down and grabbed the length of the rope that dangled under them. He flung the loop over Tahara’s head as he coiled the end around his right hand. Then he opened his left hand, releasing its grip on the rope.

His weight yanked the loop tight around Tahara’s throat. Tahara squealed as his air was cut off. His legs flailed above Hirata’s head. Hirata drew his sword for the killing stroke.

Tahara slashed the rope above him. The tension broke. He and Hirata plunged to the ground. Hirata landed on his back. Tahara crashed onto him. Hirata felt his ribs crack. Stunned by both impacts, he couldn’t breathe.

Tahara staggered upright. His face bright red, he gasped. A purple bruise circled his neck. He raised his sword in a trembling hand.

Sheer terror pumped energy through Hirata. Wheezing, he drew his sword. Tahara hacked at him. He parried while lying on the ground like a piece of meat on a chopping board. Tahara’s blade was a swishing silver whir directly over him. Through the whir Tahara’s red face grinned, its mouth drooling blood. Hirata didn’t have room to stand up. His arm tired from fending off Tahara, who battered him relentlessly.

Far above him, Deguchi and Kitano swung from their rope, tangled in furious combat. They fell together. Their tangled bodies crashed through the branches and leaves spread over the pit. The pit swallowed them up. A thud shook the earth. Hirata was exhausted. His sword grew heavier every moment. Tahara seemed determined to kill Hirata. He’d either forgotten that General Otani needed Hirata alive or he didn’t care. Enraged by Hirata’s betrayal, fixated on retaliation, he circled around to Hirata’s left side as he slashed.

Hirata spun on the dirt like a broken pinwheel, keeping his head as far from Tahara’s blade as possible. Digging his heels into the ground, he scooted backward so fast that the friction burned his spine. Tahara chased him. Hirata couldn’t look where he was going. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Tahara, who towered at his feet, or the silver maelstrom of their blades clashing. Instinct guided him toward the edge of the clearing, to the hollow tree. He flung his sword at Tahara.

Tahara batted it away with his own blade. Hirata kicked with both feet at Tahara. They grazed Tahara’s trousers. Tahara leaped back, toward the bonfire behind him. Hirata reached into the hollow tree, pulled out the paper bag, and hurled it at the bonfire. Confused, Tahara began to turn, following the motion of Hirata’s arm. The bag, which contained explosives, plopped into the bonfire. Hirata saw the paper go up in flames, saw Tahara recognize the trick.

Roaring with anger, Tahara lunged at Hirata. A tremendous boom lifted Tahara off his feet. A brilliant orange sun exploded in the clearing. Tahara flew toward Hirata, arms spread, sword in hand, his face snarling, like a winged demon. Behind him, white, green, and red fountains of stars detonated and boomed within the sun. Hirata rolled over, pushed himself onto his hands and feet, and sprang.

The blast hit him with searing heat and propelled him like a human rocket toward trees lit by the explosion. The collision wiped out his senses. He plunged into blackness.

41

INSIDE LADY NOBUKO’S
chamber, Reiko paced the floor.

“Stop that.” Lady Nobuko put a hand to her temple. “You’re making my head worse.”

Reiko was too restless to sit. “I’m worried about Masahiro. He should have come back by now.” She wrung her hands, fearful that he’d been captured.

The sound of the door opening halted Reiko. A young woman dressed in white burst into the chamber. She was a maid from the Large Interior. Panting with excitement, she said, “Korika is up on a watchtower! I thought you’d want to know. She’s going to jump!”

Reiko’s breath caught. If Korika killed herself before she confessed that she’d set the fire, then all hope of exonerating Sano was lost.

Lady Nobuko demanded, “What? Why?”

“She said she killed Yoshisato. Right in front of everybody! Then she climbed up on the wall, and the soldiers went after her, and it collapsed, and now she wants to jump off the tower so she can’t be burned to death!”

Korika had confessed in front of witnesses. She’d publicly exonerated Sano! But Reiko’s joy immediately turned to anxiety. Would the news reach the shogun in time for her family’s death sentence to be cancelled? And where was Masahiro?

“Isn’t anybody trying to stop her?” Lady Nobuko asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” the maid said. “There’s a boy on the tower with Korika.”

The news sent Reiko flying out the door. The boy had to be Masahiro. The soldiers would be after him. And if the wall had collapsed, the tower could, too. Fearful for the baby but frantic to rescue her son, Reiko ran through the deserted palace grounds. She was winded by the time she reached the gate. Her back ached as she hobbled down the passage, toward a babble of voices. Around a curve, priests and mourners jammed the long, straight, descending passage. They faced away from her, looking up. Reiko’s gaze followed theirs along the jagged, ascending line of the wall on their left. All that remained of it was a narrow ridge. The tower rose dark against the blue sky. Its skeletal wooden framework enclosed two small figures dressed in white. Masahiro and Korika stood near the sheer drop.

Fright spurred Reiko down the passage. She drew a breath to cry,
That’s my son! Let me through!
Then she saw troops in the procession, among them men assigned to guard her family. They massed below the tower, shouting at Masahiro and Korika. They apparently didn’t want to risk climbing up what was left of the collapsed wall, and the wall on the other side of the tower was too high. If they saw Reiko, they would arrest her. She turned and ran in the opposite direction. She must find a way to make Korika surrender, to save Masahiro.

A strong contraction cramped her belly. Wincing, she followed the passage around the hill to a plank gate set in a partially restored wall. This was one of several temporary shortcuts through the castle, which the workers used during the construction. Reiko pushed open the gate. She limped down a flight of wooden stairs that led between trees and rocks. Through another plank gate she entered a passage on the lower level. A painful twisting, sinking sensation in her belly frightened her. She had to stop and rest; her heart was beating so hard. She was so weak, she fell through the gate to the official district.

Trudging along the main street, past new mansions and some half built, past closed gates and empty guardhouses, Reiko met no one. Everybody had gone to the funeral. The wall on the hillside above her came into view. The section to her left was tall, clad with stone, intact. The section to her right was a spill of earth topped by a rim of stones. Above the rim Reiko saw the heads of people standing in the passage. The tower base rose between the intact and collapsed walls. Its wooden framework resembled a giant birdcage. Masahiro and Korika stood at the edge of the base. He extended his hands to her while she gazed down at the ground. The tower was even higher than Reiko had thought.

Lungs heaving, heart pounding, Reiko held her belly while she trudged toward the tower. A contraction came upon her, more painful than the last. She bent over, moaning.

*   *   *

“PLEASE DON’T JUMP
!
”
Masahiro begged.

“Why not?” Korika sobbed. “It wouldn’t hurt as much as burning.”

Not only did Masahiro need her to confess to the shogun, but his impulse was to save her even though she was a murderess. He had to keep her too busy talking to jump. “How do you know it won’t hurt as much?”