“Maybe you are right,” Masahiro said with palpable insincerity. “Alas, we will never know. Let the dead rest in peace.”
“To tell you the truth, Shigeru,” Shoichi said, watching his nephew carefully, “negotiations are under way for a formal alliance with the Tohan. We would agree to establish legally the current borders and support the Tohan in their expansion into the West.”
“We should never make such an alliance,” Shigeru said immediately. “If the Tohan move into the West, they will encircle us completely. Next, they will absorb what’s left of the Middle Country. The Seishuu are our defense against that.”
“Iida plans to deal with the Seishuu-by marriage if possible and, if not, by war.” Masahiro laughed as if with pleasure at the prospect.
“Who in the West threatens war against him? He imagines enemies everywhere!”
“You have been ill. You are not completely informed about recent events,” Shoichi replied blandly.
“Lord Shigeru should think about marrying again,” Masahiro remarked, apparently changing the subject. “Since you have retired from the political stage, you should enjoy your simple life to the full. Let us find you a wife.”
“I have no desire to marry again,” Shigeru replied.
“My brother is right, though,” Shoichi said. “You must enjoy life and regain your health. Take a trip, look at some mountain scenery, visit a shrine, collect some more ancient tales.” He smiled at his brother, and Shigeru saw their mockery.
“I will go to Terayama to my brother’s grave.”
“It is a little early for that,” Shoichi said. “You will not go there. But you may travel to the East.”
47
Very well, Shigeru thought. I will obey my uncles. I will travel to the East.
He set out the next day, telling Chiyo and Ichiro he would visit the temple of Shokoji and spend a few days in retreat there, praying for the dead. For the first part of the journey he rode, taking Kyu and several retainers with him as companions. He left men and horses at the last small town before the border, Susamura, and went on alone on foot, like a pilgrim. He stayed for two nights at the temple, Shokoji, and on the third morning rose before dawn under the full moon and walked through the mountain pass, directly east, following the twin stars called the Cat’s Eyes until the sky paled and he was walking directly toward the rising sun. Its light fell across the browning grass of the plain; there was little sign now of the ten thousand who had died there, though occasionally bones of horses and men lay in the dust where foxes and wolves had been scavenging. He could not help recalling how he had ridden here with Kiyoshige, how the young horses had galloped eagerly across the plain-and the scenes of torture they had found on the other side in the border village. Now all this country belonged to the Tohan: would any Hidden have survived here?
He saw nobody on the plain, only pheasants and hares. He stopped to drink at the spring where he had rested with Kiyoshige, remembering how the tortured man Tomasu had come crawling toward them, wordlessly imploring them to help him. It was past midday by then and very hot. He rested for a while beneath the shade of the pines, trying to keep from his mind images of a boy with Takeshi’s face dying slowly above a fire, until the sense of urgency drove him on. He followed a fox track that went almost straight across the tawny surface toward the mountains that lay to the north of Chigawa. Mostly, he slept outside, only for the hours between moonset and dawn while it was too dark to see the path in front of him. He followed mountain tracks, frequently getting lost, having to retrace his steps, occasionally wondering if he would ever return to the Middle Country or if he would perish here in the impenetrable forest and no one would ever know what had become of him.
He avoided Chigawa itself, taking the track to the north, and then turning south again. He met few people on the path, but as it bent back around Chigawa, there were signs that a large group of men had recently traveled along it. Branches were broken back; the ground was smoothed out by their feet. Shigeru did not want to meet whoever they were coming back; he was looking for a way to strike out to the East, but the terrain was very wild, with many jagged outcrops of rocks, steep ravines, and thick forest. It seemed he had no alternative but to follow the track all the way to the pass.
He turned a corner to see something pale in the undergrowth. A dead man lay there, his throat recently cut, his barely clothed, emaciated body still warm. Shigeru knelt by him, saw the rope marks on wrist and neck, the callouses on his knees, the broken nails and scarred hands, and realized who was ahead of him. This man had been a miner, one of those forced to work in the silver and copper mines that riddled the district around Chigawa. Part of a group being moved from one mine to another, he must have collapsed from exhaustion and been cold-bloodedly dispatched and left unburied.
He was Otori once, Shigeru thought, one of the thousands that looked to me for protection, and I failed them.
He dragged the body farther up the hill, found a crevice, and buried it there, piling the entrance with rocks and praying before it. Then he went in search of water, both to ease his thirst and to cleanse himself. He found a pool where water had oozed between rocks and decided to sleep for a while to give the mining party time to outpace him.
