The Tengu's Game of Go (7 page)

The movement, slight as it was, did not escape Kiku. “I can understand that you don't trust us. We treated you very badly.”

Kuro raised his head and said, “Not me. I wasn't there. I don't see why I should have to grovel.”

Kiku made a gesture to silence him. “Those old rituals demand a high price. We have all paid it in different ways. But it was worth it. You will see the power I have drawn from the skull. Gessho was an extraordinary man.”

“In other words, you would do the same thing again,” Mu said, more amused than angry.

“Well, I suppose I would. I am glad we can be honest with each other. Tsunetomo, you may sit up now. My brother understands, and to understand is to forgive.” He addressed Mu again. “Really, Tsunetomo has nothing to apologize for. He agreed to serve me, he was obeying me. Any offense was mine alone. But I thought you would like to see such a warrior prostrate before you. It is quite a pleasing sight, isn't it? I never tire of it. From now on, you and I are as one, in his eyes and the eyes of all his men. You only have to say the word and they will grovel at your feet. They will thrust their swords into their own throats if you command it.”

“Why have you summoned me here?” Mu said.

“So we are reconciled?” Kiku exclaimed. “Come closer so I can embrace you.”

“We needn't go that far,” Mu returned.

“It's what people do!” Kiku's face was more animated now, as though he, too, found their situation amusing. “We embrace to show we are reconciled, and as long as one of us doesn't take advantage of the hug to stab the other in the back, we are friends, from now on, as brothers should be.”

Mu began to laugh. He understood Kiku perfectly, as no one else ever would. He went forward and they embraced briefly. As he held the thin, wiry frame, so similar to his own, he felt he could read every thought that arose within his brother's mind.

“Let's drink!” Kiku clapped his hands to summon servants and wine.

After the first cups were filled and emptied, Kiku told Chika and Tsunetomo to leave, and take the guards with them. The wall hangings rippled as though a mild earthquake had struck, and an assortment of warriors poured out. Like the guards at the gate, many had limbs missing, a leg made from carved wood, a metal hook in place of a hand. Some had lost part of their skull and covered the wounds with a variety of masks, some had terrible scars or had suffered burns that left the skin seared white. Each made a reverent bow to Mu as they filed past him.

“That's just a small part of them,” Kiku said. “Aren't they hideous? My crippled army. Hideous in the eyes of men but beautiful to me. I like looking at their scars and their injuries and contemplating their courage and their endurance, all now dedicated to my service.”

“How do you do it?” Mu asked. He couldn't help admiring Kiku's effrontery.

“Men are not hard to manipulate,” Kiku replied, pouring more wine into Mu's cup. “Especially warriors, who are so proud and so single-minded. Loyalty and courage are everything to them. Give them the opportunity to risk their lives a couple of times a month and they are happy.”

“But who do they fight against?” Mu said, draining the cup and holding it out for a refill.

“That's a very good question. Now that we've wiped out the bandits on land and subdued the pirates at sea, we are running out of opponents. My cripples are getting restless. Their old wounds ache at night and remind them of ancient grudges. Cleaning up a pack of outlaws is all very well, but what they yearn for is the chance to confront those in whose service they got those injuries and who then disowned them: the Miboshi in Miyako, the Kakizuki in Rakuhara.”

“You cannot take on both those forces,” Mu said.

“I think I can,” Kiku replied, “though it would be easier if I had a warrior as a figurehead and a cause.”

Kuro laughed loudly and emptied his cup.

“The warrior would be Shikanoko,” Mu said, after a pause, “and the cause the true emperor?”

“Exactly!”

“But … Shika has even more reason to hate you than I have. If it had not been for you, the Princess would not have died.”

“That really was not my fault,” Kiku said. “It was Kuro's snake.”

“Well, I've lost count of how many times I've told you I was sorry,” Kuro said sulkily.

“I know, I know,” Kiku said. “But wait till Shikanoko sees what we can offer him. The chance to fulfill his destiny, just as Chika's father dreamed.”

“Is that what this is for?” Mu said. “You want to impress Shika and win his respect, and his gratitude?”

For the first time a vulnerable expression came over Kiku's face. “He is one of our fathers,” he said. “He brought us up and taught us everything. Now that I have children of my own I understand what that means. I want to see him and thank him. What's wrong with that?”

“Shika has a son,” Mu said. “A fully human boy, the child of the Princess. I am acquainted with him. He is a true warrior.”

Kiku had gone pale. His hand as he refilled his cup trembled. “I did not know that,” he murmured, and fell silent for a long time.

He is jealous
, Mu thought.
He mocks people for their emotions, but he is no more immune to them than I was, and still am.
Then he wondered if Kiku's emotion was genuine, if he were not acting out something he had learned in order to hide his true motives. What did he truly want from Shika?

“You are deluding yourself if you think Shika is going to treat us as sons,” he said. “If he does return it will be as a warrior, and no warrior family will admit to the taint of blood like ours, Old People from the Spider Tribe, born from cocoons.”

Kiku leaned forward and spoke in a hiss. “I have made my own tribe. I can make or break the mightiest of warlords, even the Emperor. No one is safe from me and mine. My power is based on fear and on wealth—there are no forces stronger than these. Tell Shikanoko I will place all this at his service.”

“You want me to find Shika in the Darkwood?”

“If you don't go I will send Chika, and the outcome may be very different.”

“What do you mean?”

Kiku whispered, “Chika hates Shikanoko.”

Mu was thinking of the vision he had seen when he flew above the land, as if it had been a scroll or a Go board. All the pieces were in their positions, and flames were charring the edges. It was time to act. It was his turn now to be a player and all his training had prepared him for this. The tengu had already told him what he was to do:
Join forces with your brother, find Shikanoko, and offer him these forces so the Emperor might be restored and Heaven placated.

“I will go and find him,” he said.

 

6

TAKEYOSHI

Take woke, the wind rushing against his face. He thought he was still asleep, for he often flew like this in his dreams. But this was many times more real and more vivid. Something gripped him firmly and painfully by the shoulders, the chill air brought tears to his eyes, and, though his vision was blurred, he could see enough to perceive below him the treetops, ranges, and rocky crags of the Darkwood.

He had no idea what had happened to him, and for a moment terror churned in his stomach. He had put all his trust in Kinpoge's father, setting aside his misgivings, above all his suspicions of the sorcery in which the hut was steeped, and accepting the casual spells that Mu and Kinpoge used daily, even though at times they made his skin crawl. He had learned to conquer his distaste and discern the magic, though he would never be able to use it himself. Now he feared Mu had betrayed him, had handed him over to some evil being, maybe like the snake woman he had met in the forest, or had himself been overcome in some epic struggle that he, Takeyoshi, had slept through and in which he was the prize.

He tried to banish his fear and assess the situation, as Mu had taught him.

I am alive
, he thought,
but I have no weapons. The first thing I must do is arm myself.

Blinking hard, he began to search the terrain below for something suitable. At the same time, he was noticing landmarks, trying to orient himself. It was early evening, the moon rising in the east, the evening star just over the jagged mountain peaks. They—he and whatever creature had him in its grip—were heading north. He could see the distinctive cone shape of Kuroyama, wreathed in white-steam clouds. In the west the sky was still pink and orange from the setting sun and the clouds flamed like dragons.

Was it a dragon that carried him? The wings that beat above his head, the gripping claws, suggested it might be. He tried to turn his head to look and caught a glimpse of blue cloth. Leggings? Surely no dragon ever wore leggings, blue or any other color.

A harsh, deep voice sounded in his ear. “Don't wriggle. I don't want to drop you!”

He caught a whiff of its smell, meaty, peppery. So it could speak, and it did not want to drop him?

The tops of the trees came closer. A flock of roosting green pigeons flew out, startled. Take drew up his knees instinctively as they cleared the canopy. The ground rushed up toward him. There was a huge beating of wings as the creature slowed and hovered. He felt it release its grip. He had already spotted the rock he was going to use. He rolled in a forward somersault, grabbed the rock, stood, gauged the distance, and threw, all in one rapid movement.

“Ow!” the creature exclaimed as the rock caught it in the chest. It reached over its shoulder and drew the long sword from the scabbard on its back. Take did not want to reveal how much the sword impressed him. Leaping backward, his eyes not leaving his opponent, he reached behind him for a branch he had noticed in his first forward roll. He picked it up and stood, taking in clearly, for the first time, the sight of the tengu—for he realized that was what it must be.

It looked furious. Its eyes were bulging, its shock of dirty white hair stood on end, and its wings thrashed above its head. He thought steam was even coming out of its nostrils, but possibly it was just its breath in the chill mountain air.

He gripped the branch more firmly, remembering Kinpoge's warning.
Be careful what you hope for.

The sword came whistling down and cut the branch clean in half, sending a jarring pain through Take's right hand. He dropped the branch and jumped backward to avoid the sword's returning stroke.

“There,” the tengu grunted. “I could have got you
there
and
there.
” The sword struck out, and again, in the direction of Take's throat. “You're quick, though, that's good, and strong. I didn't expect you to be able to throw that rock so hard and so far. Now, shift your weight and come forward, under the blade. If you are unarmed, your hands and feet, even your head, must become weapons. Go for the soft parts, the eyes, the throat, the privates.”

Take stood still, his breath panting. He held up his hands. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to attack you. I didn't know who you were.”

“And now you do?” the tengu said, amused.

“You are the tengu who taught my teacher,” Take said. “And I hope you are going to teach me.”

“Well, maybe I am. Yes, it looks like that's the way it's going to be.” The tengu sheathed the sword. “You can call me Tadashii.”

He opened his red jacket and inspected his hairy chest. “Look at that!” he exclaimed. “You gave me a bruise! I haven't had a bruise like that for a century or more. Oh, I am going to enjoy myself! But tell me, how did you get to be so strong?”

“I've been an acrobat all my life,” Take replied. “I grew too tall to be a tumbler, but I've carried adult men on my shoulders, two or three at a time, for years.”

“Hmm.” Tadashii looked pleased. He took Take's hands and looked at them. “Great strength here, too. I suppose you can climb?”

“As well as any monkey,” Take said.

Tadashii pointed at a pine that rose, bare trunked, about sixty or seventy feet tall. It was the last in a line of trees that stopped abruptly on the edge of an old lava flow.

“Climb that!”

Take went to it and shinned up, using his hands, clasped behind the trunk, and his strong toes. When he got to the branches he continued to climb. Above him rose the huge mass, the cloud-fringed cone, of Kuroyama. There was a strong smell of sulfur, and steam rose from vents in the ground. It was how he imagined the entrance to hell. He could see Tadashii far below, and waved to him. Then, smelling smoke and hearing voices, he looked in the other direction. Beneath the sulfur was a rank odor of meat, and some animal scent, like a fox's den.

He could see down into a space between the trees where a group of creatures like Tadashii gathered around several large flat tree stumps. Torches lit their long noses, their beaks, their furled wings. He could hear the clack and rattle of stones.

The branches parted as Tadashii flew up to sit beside him.

“What are they doing?” Take whispered.

“They are playing Go,” Tadashii replied. “I sometimes play myself.” He waved his hand toward the edge of the clearing where a huge, long-nosed fellow sat hunched, contemplating the stump in front of him. “I have a game going on over there, but I've been waiting for what would seem like months, to you, for my opponent to make his move. He's always been a slow player. He's got himself into a bit of a pickle and he's trying to plan a way out. Still, we're some way from the endgame.”

Kinpoge had been trying to teach Take to play Go, but he had not yet grasped its essence or its intricacies. Now, watching the tengu play under the moon and the torchlight, he was seized by a desire to learn to play properly.

“Will you teach me?” he said.

“If we have time,” Tadashii replied. “Let's fly over their heads. I want him to see you. I think it will unsettle him.”