them until they noticed Reiko. Disconcerted, they beheld the Japanese trespasser in their land. Wente spoke, explaining her presence, introducing her to them. But Reiko roved away through the crowd, seeking the only person who mattered to her.
“Masahiro!” she called.
She emerged into the center of the action. A brown bear lumbered on the packed snow. Twenty or thirty men restrained him with heavy ropes. The bear growled, fierce yet playful. Scores of dogs barked and lunged at him. The crowd sang, clapped, and cheered. Mothers scolded a group of children who edged too close to the bear. Suddenly one boy detached himself from the group. He raced toward Reiko, shouting, “Mama!”
It was Masahiro. The sound of his voice pierced Reiko with a happiness so powerful it was agonizing. As Masahiro ran to her, he extended his arms, and she opened hers wide. The light around him scintillated, obliterating everything else. He seemed an illusion born of her yearning for him, but then he was in her embrace, solid and real. Gasping as though she’d pulled him out of an ocean that had almost drowned them both, Reiko hugged him fiercely, then held him at arm’s length and feasted on the sight of him.
He wore the same native clothes as the other children; he could have been one of them. He was thinner than Reiko remembered, his hair long and unruly, but his face was radiant. His eyes sparkled. “Mama, you came! Did you get my messages?”
“Yes.” Reiko felt her face bloom with the first genuine smile since he’d vanished. It thawed muscles frozen by misery. “They guided mc to you. You’re such a clever boy!”
She’d wept many tears for Masahiro, but none so violent as these. Sobs exploded from deep within her. They choked her, sank her to her knees, convulsed her body in painful spasms. For so long she’d suppressed her fear that Masahiro was dead; she’d pushed it down inside her and sealed it there with her stubborn hope that she would see him again. Now it erupted, and her spirit released it as though ridding her of fatal poison. She pressed her face against Masahiro’s, inhaling his sweetness. She felt as though she hadn’t breathed since she’d lost him, and now she could.
“Mama,” he said, patting her back, “don’t cry. Everything’s all right.”
When her weeping subsided, pure, blissful tranquility filled Reiko. She rose and wiped her eyes. The tears on her cheeks didn’t freeze in the cold air; her whole body glowed with warmth, a spiritual fire rekindled. Reiko smiled at Masahiro. She would never stop smiling. The scene around them was bright with sun and the natives’ robes, jewelry, laughter, and music-a world reborn to color and life.
“I want you to meet my friends,” Masahiro said, gesturing at two boys who stood nearby. One was about his age, the other an adolescent, his face stubbly with new whiskers. They regarded Reiko with shy curiosity. “Their names are Totkamaru and Wnotok.” Masahiro spoke to them in their language: He’d already picked it up. “I told them you’re my mother.” They bowed to Reiko. “They were hunting with their fathers the day I ran away from the castle. They found me wandering in the woods. They took me with them. And look what they gave me.”
He showed Reiko a little bow and quiver of arrows that he wore. “So I could hunt with them.”
Reiko turned her smile on the boys. “Thank you,” she said with fervent gratitude. “I’m forever in your debt.”
Realizing that she owed as many thanks to someone else, she looked around for Wente. No matter her sins, Wente had at least partially atoned for them by reuniting Reiko with her son.
Wente was talking to a group of men and women, gesticulating frantically. Reiko supposed she was telling them that Lord Matsumae had declared war on them and his army was on its way. They reacted with surprise, disbelief, and questions. As they hurried off and spread the word, music and celebration stopped; fright swept the crowd.
“Mama, what’s happened?” Masahiro asked.
Old men who wore crowns made of woven wood fibers-the tribal elders, Reiko presumed-shouted orders. Women gathered up children. The men leading the bear hauled him toward a big wooden cage. Wente ran up to Reiko, said, “Must hide,” and pulled her toward the forest.
“I’ll explain later,” Reiko told Masahiro as she towed him along with her, after the fleeing mothers and children.
But now she heard dogs barking in the distance, coming closer, from seemingly all directions. Dismay struck her because Gizaemon had caught up with her and Wente. He and his army had made much better time than they. The village dogs growled and keened, sensing the approach of enemies. As the women fled, those in the lead stopped so suddenly in the forest that the others ran smack into them. They screamed. Men yelled in Japanese: “Stop!”
The horde reversed direction. Women and children streamed past Reiko, Wente, and Masahiro. A mob of soldiers, accompanied by dogs on leashes, charged at them.
“Run!” Wente shouted.
She and Reiko and Masahiro raced back to the village. There, more soldiers were rounding up the natives, walking in a tightening circle around the houses, cutting off escape. The bear roamed free while village dogs faced off against the soldiers’ in a frenzy of yowling. Reiko saw the elders arguing with Gizaemon and his commanders, wanting to know what they’d done to deserve a war. Gizaemon barked questions at them while his gaze searched the scene.
“No let him find us,” Wente urged.
She yanked Reiko so hard that Reiko’s hold on Masahiro’s hand broke. Reiko cried “Masahiro!” and saw him caught up in the crowds that the soldiers herded together. She tried to pull free of Wente. “I can’t lose him again!”
But Gizaemon and his commanders were heading in their direction. Wente pushed her into a hut already full of frightened women, babies, and children. Reiko and Wente squeezed in among them. Outside, Japanese men called Wente’s name and demanded that the villagers bring her to diem. Then came the noise of them tramping from house to house. Reiko felt Wente grip her arm. She realized that even though Wente was technically a murderess, she didn’t deserve to die at her coconspirator’s hands. That wasn’t justice, especially if it meant Gizaemon would get away with his major share of the crime.
Soldiers tore off the mat over the doorway. Daylight exposed the women, who cringed. The soldiers yelled “Come out!” and began yanking the women from the hut. Reiko groped along the wall, found the mat that covered the window, and lifted it. “This way!” she called to Wente as she climbed out the opening.
But she heard the soldiers stamp into the hut and Wente scream as they seized her. Reiko hid behind the hut, peered around the corner, and saw two men struggling with Wente, propelling her over to Gizaemon. Natives watched in confusion, but Reiko didn’t see Masahiro among them. Gizaemon called to his troops, “You can stop searching. We’ve got her.”
The soldiers forced Wente to her knees and pulled back her head to expose her throat. Gizaemon drew his sword. A gasp swept the villagers. Wente shrieked and pleaded. Native men charged, brandishing knives, swords, and spears at Gizaemon. But soldiers intercepted and attacked them. The natives battled fiercely, but they were outnumbered.
Japanese blades slashed them. They fell as their women wailed and horror overcame Reiko. Their blood stained their ceremonial robes and crimsoned the snow. The bear roared, driven wild by the carnage.
Gizaemon swaggered up to Wente. Contempt for her showed in his eyes; her eyes were closed, her lips moving in silent, desperate prayer. He was going to slaughter her as if she were an animal. There was no one to save her, except Reiko.
Reiko felt torn in different directions. Common sense told her to run and hide, the mother in her wanted only to find Masahiro, but her honor dictated that she couldn’t stand idle while Wente died. She moved out from behind the hut and called, “Gizaemon-san!”
All eyes turned toward her. Gizaemon paused. “Ah. Lady Reiko.” He sounded pleased to see her, not a good sign. Wente beheld her as if she were a savior.
“Don’t kill her.” At least maybe Reiko could postpone the inevitable.
“You can’t stop me,” Gizaemon said scornfully.
Improvising as fast as she could, Reiko said, “Wente shouldn’t be punished for smuggling me out of the castle.” She couldn’t let Gizaemon know that she knew his real reason for wanting Wente dead. “It’s my fault. I talked her into it.” Reiko resisted the impulse to look for Masahiro in the crowd; she kept her eyes leveled on Gizaemon. “Please don’t hurt her.”
