where Yoritomo gripped it. A broken-off stub protruded above Yoritomo’s hands.
The branch was the one Tahara had thrown.
Flabbergasted, Hirata looked at Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. They were intently watching Yoritomo.
Cheers blared as the crowd noticed Yoritomo preparing to attack Kajikawa. Kajikawa frowned, puzzled and suspicious. Yoritomo was within striking distance when Kajikawa turned, slewing the shogun around with him. Kajikawa saw Yoritomo ready to bring the branch down on his head. Surprise and dismay appeared on both men’s faces. Kajikawa flailed his sword at Yoritomo. It seemed more reflex than deliberate. Yoritomo had no time to dodge or strike back. The blade swiped the left side of his throat.
The crowd’s cheers deepened into groans. Shock altered Hirata’s perception. Time seemed to slow down, as if cosmic forces had stayed its flight.
Sano’s expression filled with horror. His lips parted. He uttered words that were drawn out like the sonorous notes from a war trumpet, unintelligible.
The cut on Yoritomo’s throat was a thin red line that broadened like a river during the rainy season. Blood spurted, gushed, and stained his clothes. His eyes and mouth opened wide. Pain twisted his features. He let go of the branch. It drifted downward through the air, like a feather, while his arms fell to his sides and his legs gave way. A dull sheen spread over his gaze. He crumpled to the ground. The branch landed, bouncing twice before it came to rest.
Reiko pressed her hand to her mouth. Beside her, holding a dagger, Masahiro gaped. Kajikawa’s mouth flexed, forming a smile, then a downturned grimace, smile, then grimace, childlike glee, then ghastly horror. His arm around the shogun loosened. The shogun collapsed like bamboo blinds folding.
A loud bellow, as if from a wounded animal, drowned out the exclamations from the crowd. Yanagisawa staggered down the steps and dropped beside his son. He hauled Yoritomo into his lap. He shouted into Yoritomo’s lifeless face.
Hirata was dumbstruck by the consequences of a trivial action, a branch selected at random and casually tossed. The crowd heaved around him, buffeting him, squeezing him, in a wave of mass shock. He turned to the secret society.
Tahara smiled, as if to say,
* * *
“Yoritomo!” Yanagisawa shouted, cradling his son in his arms. “Yoritomo!”
Dread was a cold iron cage crushing his ribs, his heart. Nobody else spoke. A hush fell over the crowd. The only sound was water dripping. The ice on the trees and palace roofs had begun to melt.
Yanagisawa patted Yoritomo’s cheeks, which had turned pale. Horror sickened him. He pressed against Yoritomo’s neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. “Speak to me!”
Yoritomo didn’t speak or move. Yanagisawa saw nothing but the reflection of his own terrified face in his son’s opaque eyes. Yoritomo was dead.
“No!” Yanagisawa cried.
Disbelief and denial passed in an instant.
All meaning, hope, and happiness in his life vanished.
Grief assaulted Yanagisawa like a storm that exploded up from the depths of his spirit. Past concerns suddenly seemed trivial. He didn’t care that he’d lost his advantage over his enemies, his potential heir to the Tokugawa regime, his chance to rule Japan. All he wanted was his son back, his beautiful, beloved Yoritomo alive again. But all his power, all his clever scheming, couldn’t resurrect the dead. Yanagisawa threw back his head and howled.
Through the storm of his grief screamed a primitive desire for revenge, for someone other than himself to blame.
* * *
Sano stared, open-mouthed with shock, at Yanagisawa and Yoritomo.
He’d never expected Yoritomo to try a sneak attack on Kajikawa. He’d thought Yoritomo was too timid. That the young man had found the courage! That it had been so foolhardy! Pity and regret pained Sano. He wondered what he could have done differently, and he cursed himself for letting this happen.
All the evil in Yoritomo had been laid to rest, but so had all the good.
Yoritomo and Yanagisawa formed a tableau as poignant as it was terrible. Yoritomo’s blood colored the ice around them a bright red, strangely beautiful. Grief reduced Yanagisawa from a ruthless politician to a tragic figure, a father mourning his dead son. Ashamed to witness his enemy’s naked emotion, Sano turned his attention to Kajikawa.
Kajikawa lowered his bloody sword. He looked as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done. He didn’t seem to notice that he’d let go of the shogun, who lay at his feet. Sano himself, and Reiko and Masahiro, were too stunned to move.
The shogun crawled away from Kajikawa, toward the crowd. Now Kajikawa realized his hostage was escaping. “Come back here!” he shouted.
Racing after the shogun, he bent and caught the hem of the shogun’s robe. The shogun strained like a dog on a leash. The silk fabric slipped from Kajikawa’s hand. The shogun scuttled frantically. Sano rushed to help him. Kajikawa hacked at the shogun with his sword. Yells blasted from the crowd. Kajikawa lost his balance, slipped on the melting ice, and missed.
“That’s enough!” Sano said as troops hurried to his aid. “Drop that sword!”
“Stay away! Leave me alone!” Kajikawa whipped the sword at Sano.
Sano dodged. He reached for his sword, but his hand closed on empty air. He and Kajikawa wheeled around the shogun, who screamed while Kajikawa slashed at Sano. Sano ducked and feinted. He tried to lead Kajikawa away from the shogun, but troops surrounded them. As Sano made a grab for Kajikawa’s wrist, the shogun caught hold of Sano’s trousers. Sano stumbled and went down.
Kajikawa shrieked and chopped wildly at Sano. His blade whistled close to the shogun. Sano rolled to avoid the slashes, lunged in an attempt to shield the shogun from them with his own body. Some of the troops attacked Kajikawa while others grabbed for the shogun. Kajikawa whirled and struck at them. Scrambling to his feet, Sano saw Yanagisawa raise his head. Yanagisawa gazed over his dead son, straight at Sano. His eyes streamed. The rage and hatred in them was so intense that Sano felt as if he’d been charred by flames. Yanagisawa eased Yoritomo’s body onto the ground and rose. He ran to one of the soldiers who were holding back the mob. He shouted a command. The soldier gave his sword to Yanagisawa.
The troops lashed their swords at Kajikawa. He parried, evading injury by sheer dumb luck, treading on the shogun. Sano was about to rejoin the fight, when he heard Reiko cry, “Look out!”
Sano saw Yanagisawa charging toward him, yelling words garbled by sobs. Yanagisawa’s face was ugly with rage. He gripped the borrowed sword in both hands over his head. Sano was facing the showdown with Yanagisawa that had been fourteen years in the making, and he was unarmed.
Even as Sano looked around for a weapon he could use, Yanagisawa barreled past him, shouting, “My son is dead. I’m going to kill yours!” He ran at Masahiro.
Through his horror, Sano saw alarm on his wife’s and son’s faces. A moment flashed by, during which the plight of the forty-seven
Sano recognized his dilemma, but he didn’t have time to think about what to do. Hirata broke free of the crowd, ran at Kajikawa, and roared. Mystical power radiated from him like a halo of shimmering heat. Kajikawa saw him, froze, then backed away from the shogun. The shogun crawled toward the soldiers and threw himself into their arms.
The moment passed. The shogun was safe. Sano raced to rescue his son.
* * *
Shrieking curses, Yanagisawa sliced at Masahiro. Masahiro parried with his dagger, but although he was a good fighter for his age, he was no match for a crazed, murderous adult. The force of Yanagisawa’s blows drove him backward. His short blade put him at a further disadvantage.
Reiko screamed and threw herself between Masahiro and Yanagisawa. She didn’t care about her own safety. Her son’s was all that mattered. Masahiro pushed her away, to protect her. Reiko fell. Her left elbow hit the ice so
