I slipped the letter inside my clothes and we embraced.

"Some strange fate ties you to this house," he said. "I believe it is a bond you cannot escape." His voice broke and I saw he was close to tears again.

"I know it," I whispered. "I will do everything you suggest." I knew I could not give up this house and inheritance. They were mine. I would reclaim them. Everything Ichiro had said made perfect sense. I had to escape from the Tribe. Shigeru's records would protect me from them and give me bargaining power with Arai. If I could only get to Terayama...

7.

I left the house the same way I had come, out through the upstairs window, down the wall, and across the nightingale floor. It slept under my feet, but I vowed next time I walked on it I would make it sing. I did not scale the wall back into the street. Instead, I ran silently through the garden, went invisible, and, clinging like a spider to the stones, climbed through the opening where the stream flowed into the river. I dropped into the nearest boat, untied it, took up the oar that lay in the stern, and pushed off into the river.

The boat groaned slightly under my weight, and the current lapped more strongly at it. To my dismay the sky had cleared. It was much colder and, under the three-quarters moon, much brighter. I heard the thud of feet from the bank, sent my image back to the wall, and crouched low in the boat. But Akio was not deceived by my second self. He leaped from the wall as if he were flying. I went invisible again, even though I knew it was probably useless against him, bounded from my boat, and flew low across the surface of the water into another of the boats that lay against the river wall. I scrabbled to undo its rope and pushed off with its oar. I saw Akio land and steady himself against the rocking of the craft; then he sprang and flew again as I split myself, left the second self in one boat, and leaped for the other. I felt the air shift as we pa.s.sed each other. Controlling my fall, I dropped into my first boat, took up the oar, and began to scull faster than I ever had in my life. My second self faded as Akio grasped it, and I saw him prepare to leap again. There was no escape unless I went into the river. I drew my knife and as he landed stabbed at him with one hand. He moved with his usual speed and ducked easily under the knife. I had antic.i.p.ated his move and caught him on the side of the head with the oar. He fell, stunned for a moment, while I, thrown off balance by the violent rocking of the boat, narrowly escaped tumbling overboard. I dropped the oar and clung to the wooden side. I did not want to go into the freezing water unless I took him with me and drowned him. As I slid to the other side of the boat Akio recovered. He leaped straight upward and came down on top of me. We fell together and he seized me by the throat.

I was still invisible but helpless, pinned under him like a carp on the cook's slab. I felt my vision blacken; then he loosened his grip slightly.

"You traitor," he said. "Kenji warned us you would go back to the Otori in the end. I'm glad you did, because I've wanted you dead since the first time we met. You're going to pay now. For your insolence to the Kikuta, for my hand. And for Yuki."

"Kill me," I said, "as your family killed my father. You will never escape our ghosts. You will be cursed and haunted till the day you die. You murdered your own kin."

The boat moved beneath us drifting with the tide. If Akio had used his hands or knife then, I would not be telling this story. But he couldn't resist one last taunt. "Your child will be mine. I'll bring him up properly as a real Kikuta." He shook me violently, "Show me your face," he snarled. "I want to see your look when I tell you how I'll teach him to hate your memory. I want to watch you die."

He leaned closer, his eyes searching for my face. The boat drifted into the path of the moon. As I saw its brightness I let visibility return and looked straight into his eyes. I saw what I wanted to find: the jealous hatred of me that clouded his judgment and weakened him.

He realized in a split second and tried to wrench his gaze away but the blow from the oar must have slowed his usual quickness and it was too late. He was already made dizzy by the encroaching Kikuta sleep. He slumped sideways, his eyelids flickering erratically as he fought it. The boat tipped and rocked. His own weight took him headfirst into the river.

The boat drifted on, faster now, carried by the swelling tide. In the moonlit road across the water I saw the body surface. It floated gently. I was not going to go back and finish him off. I hoped he'd drown or freeze to death but I left it to fate. I took up the oar and sculled the boat to the far sh.o.r.e.

By the time I got there I was shivering with cold. The first roosters were crowing and the moon was low in the sky. The gra.s.s on the bank was stiff with frost and stones and twigs gleamed white. I disturbed a sleeping heron and wondered if it was the one that came to fish in Shigeru's garden. It flew off from the highest branches of the willow with the familiar clack of wmgs.

I was exhausted but far too wrought up to think of sleep, and anyway I had to keep moving to warm myself. I forced myself to a quick pace, following the narrow mountain road toward the southeast. The moon was bright and I knew the track. By daybreak I was over the first pa.s.s and on my way down to a small village. Hardly anyone was stirring, but an old woman was blowing up the embers in her hearth and she heated some soup for me in return for one of the coins. I complained to her about my senile old master sending me off on a wild-goose chase through the mountains to a remote temple. The winter would undoubtedly finish him off and I'd be stranded there.

She cackled and said, "You'll have to become a monk, then!"

"Not me. I like women too much."

This pleased her, and she found some freshly pickled plums to add to my breakfast. When she saw my string of coins she wanted to give me lodging as well as food. Eating had brought the sleep demon closer, and I longed to lie down, but I was too afraid of being recognized and I already regretted I had said as much as I had to her. I might have left Akio in the river, but I knew how the river gives up its victims, both the living and the dead, and I feared his pursuit. I was not proud of my defection from the Tribe after I had sworn to obey them, and in the cold light of morning I was beginning to realize what the rest of my life would be like. I had made my choice to return to the Otori, but now I would never be free from the dread of a.s.sa.s.sination. An entire secret organization would be drawn up against me to punish me for my disloyalty. To slip through their web, I had to move faster than any of their messengers would. And I had to get to Terayama before it began to snow.

The sky had turned the color of lead when I reached Tsuwano on the afternoon of the second day. My thoughts were all of my meeting there with Kaede and the sword-training session when I had fallen in love with her. Was her name already entered in the ledgers of the dead? Would I have to light candles for her now every year at the Festival of the Dead until I died? Would we be joined in the afterworld, or were we condemned never to meet again either in life or in death? Grief and shame gnawed at me. She had said, "I only feel safe with you," and I had abandoned her. If fate were to be kind and she were to come into my hands again, I would never let her go.

I regretted bitterly my decision to go with the Tribe, and I went over the reasons behind my choice many times. I believed I had made a bargain with them and my life was forfeit to them-that was one thing. But beyond that I blamed my own vanity. I had wanted to know and develop the side of my character that came from my father, from the Kikuta, from the Tribe: the dark inheritance that gave me skills I was proud of. I had responded eagerly and willingly to their seduction, the mixture of flattery, understanding, and brutality with which they had used and manipulated me. I wondered how much chance I had to get away from them.

My thoughts went round and round in circles. I was walking in a kind of daze. I'd slept a little in the middle of the day in a hollow off the side of the road, but the cold woke me. The only way to stay warm was to keep walking. I skirted the town and, descending through the pa.s.s, picked up the road again near the river. The current had subsided from the full flood caused by the storms that had delayed us in Tsuwano, and the banks had been mended, but the bridge here, a wooden one, was still in ruins. I paid a boatman to take me across. No one else was traveling so late; I was his last customer. I felt he was eyeing me curiously but he did not speak to me. I could not place him as Tribe but he made me uneasy. He dropped me on the other side and I walked quickly away. When I turned at the corner of the road, he was still watching me. I made a movement with my head but he did not acknowledge it.

It was colder than ever, the air dank and icy. I was already regretting that I had not found shelter for the night. If I was caught by a blizzard before the next town, I stood little chance of surviving. Yam-agata was still several days away. There would be a post station at the fief border, but, despite Ichiro's letter and my disguise as a servant, I did not want to spend the night there-too many curious people, too many guards. I didn't know what to do, so I kept walking.

Night fell. Even with my Tribe-trained eyes it was hard to see the road. Twice I wandered off it and had to retrace my steps. Once I stumbled into some sort of hole or ditch with water at the bottom, soaking my legs up to the knees. The wind howled and strange sounds came from the woods, reminding me of legends of monsters and goblins and making me think the dead walked behind me.

By the time the sky began to pale in the east, I was frozen to the bone and shivering uncontrollably. I was glad to see the dawn but it gave no relief from the bitter cold. Instead it just brought home to me how alone I was. For the first time the idea crept insidiously into my head that if the fief border was manned by Aral's men, I would give myself up to them. They would take me to Arai, but first they would surely give me something hot to drink. They would sit me down inside by the fire and make tea for me. I became obsessed by the thought of that tea. I could feel the heat of the steam on my face, the warmth of the bowl in my hands. I was so obsessed by it that I did not notice someone walking behind me.

I was aware suddenly of a presence at my back. I turned, astonished that I had not heard the footfall on the road, had not even heard breathing. I was amazed, even frightened, at my apparent loss of hearing. It was as though this traveler had fallen from the sky or walked above the ground as the dead do. Then I knew that either exhaustion had unhinged my mind or I was indeed seeing a ghost, for the man walking just behind me was the outcast Jo-An, who I thought had been tortured to death by Arai's men in Yamagata.

So great was the shock, I thought I would faint. The blood rushed from my head, making me stagger. Jo-An grabbed me as I fell, his hands seeming real enough, strong and solid, smelling of the tannery. Earth and sky turned around me and black spots darkened my sight. He lowered me to the ground and pushed my head between my knees. Something was roaring in my ears, deafening me. I crouched like that, his hands holding my head, until the roaring lessened and the dark receded from my vision. I stared at the ground. The gra.s.s was rimed by frost, and tiny particles of black ice lay between each stone. The wind howled in the cedars. Apart from that, the only sound was my teeth chattering.

Jo-An spoke. There was no doubt; it was his voice. "Forgive me, lord. I startled you. I didn't mean to alarm you."

"They told me you were dead. I didn't know if you were a living being or a ghost."

"Well, I might have died for a while," he whispered. "Arai's men thought so and threw my body out in the marshland. But the Secret G.o.d had other plans for me and sent me back to this world. My work here is not yet done."

I lifted my head carefully and looked at him. He had a new scar, not long healed, from nose to ear, and several teeth missing. I took his wrist and brought his hand round so I could see it. The nails were gone, the fingers clubbed and twisted.

"I should be asking your forgiveness," I said, sickened.

"Nothing happens to us that is not planned by G.o.d," he replied.

I wondered why any G.o.d's plans had to include torture, but I did not say this to Jo-An. Instead I asked, "How did you find me?"

"The boatman came to me and told me he had ferried someone he thought was you across the river. I've been waiting for word of you. I knew you would come back." He took up the bundle he'd placed by the side of the road and began to untie it. "The prophecy has to be fulfilled, after all."

"What prophecy?" I remembered that Kenji's wife had called him the lunatic.

He didn't answer. He took two small millet cakes from the cloth, prayed over them, and gave one to me.

"You are always feeding me," I said. "I don't think I can eat."

"Drink, then," Jo-An said and handed me a rough bamboo flask. I wasn't sure about drinking, either, but I thought it might warm me. As soon as the liquor hit my stomach the darkness came roaring back, and I vomited several times so hard I was racked by violent shuddering.

Jo-An clicked his tongue as you would to a horse or an ox. He had the patient touch of a man used to dealing with animals, though of course he dealt with them at the moment of their death and then, afterward, flayed their corpses. When I could speak again I said through chattering teeth, "I must keep moving."

"Where are you heading?" he asked.

"Terayama. I'll spend the winter there."

"Well," he said, and fell into one of his familiar silences. He was praying, listening to some inner voice that would tell him what to do. "It's good," he said finally. "We'll go over the mountain. If you go by road they'll stop you at the barrier, and anyway it will take too long; it will snow before you get to Yamagata."

"Over the mountain?" I looked up at the jagged peaks that stretched away to the northeast. The road fromTsuwano to Yamagata skirted around their foot, but Terayama itself lay directly behind them. Around the range the clouds hung low and gray, with the dull damp sheen that presages snow.

"It's a steep climb," Jo-An said. "You must rest a little before you attempt it."

I began to think about getting to my feet. "I don't have time. I must get to the temple before it snows."

Jo-An looked up at the sky and sniffed the wind. "It will be too cold to snow tonight, but it could well start tomorrow. We'll ask the Secret One to hold it back."

He stood and helped me up. "Can you walk now? It's not far back to the place I live. You can rest there, then I'll take you to the men who will show you the way over the mountains."

I felt faint, as though my body had lost its substance, almost as though I'd split myself and somehow gone with my image. I was thankful for the Tribe training that had taught me to find those reserves of strength of which most men are unaware. Slowly as I concentrated my breathing I felt some energy and toughness return. Jo-An no doubt attributed my recovery to the power of his prayers. He regarded me for a moment with his deep-sunk eyes, then turned with a flicker of a smile and began to walk back the way we had come.

I hesitated for a moment, partly because I hated the thought of retracing my steps, losing the ground it had cost me so much to cover, but also because I recoiled from going with the outcast. It was one thing to talk with him at night, alone, quite another to walk close to him, to be seen in his company. I reminded myself that I was not yet an Otori lord, and no longer one of the Tribe, that Jo-An was offering me help and shelter, but my skin crawled as I followed him.

After walking for less than an hour we turned off the road onto a smaller path that followed the banks of a narrow river, through a couple of miserable villages. Children ran out to beg for food, but they backed away when they recognized the outcast. In the second village two older boys were bold enough to throw stones. One of them nearly struck me on the back-I heard the blow coming in time to step aside-and I was going to go back and punish the brat, but Jo-An restrained me.

Long before we reached it I could smell the tannery. The river widened and eventually flowed into the main channel. At the confluence stood the rows of wooden frames, skins stretched on them. Here in this damp sheltered spot they were protected from frost, but as winter's bite strengthened they would be taken down and stored till spring. Men were already at work, all outcasts of course, half-naked despite the cold, all as skeletally thin as Jo-An and with the same beaten look like mistreated dogs. Mist hung on the river, mingled with smoke from charcoal fires. A floating bridge, made of reeds and bamboo lashed together with cords, had been constructed across the river. I remembered Jo-An telling me to come to the outcasts' bridge if I ever needed help. Now some fate had brought me here; he would say the power of the Secret G.o.d, no doubt.

On the far side of the frames a few small wooden huts had been erected. They looked as if one strong wind would flatten them. As I followed Jo-An to the threshold of the nearest one, the men continued their work, but I was aware of their gaze. Each one looked at me with a kind of intense entreaty, as though I meant something to them and could help them in some way.

Trying to mask my reluctance, I stepped inside, not needing to remove my shoes as the floor was earthen. A small fire burned in the hearth. The air was thick with smoke, making my eyes sting. There was one other person inside, huddled in the corner, under a pile of hides. I thought it was Jo-An's wife until he came forward on his knees and bowed his head to the dirt before me. It was the man who had ferried me across the river.

"He walked most of the night to tell me he'd seen you," Jo-An said apologetically. "He needed to rest a little before returning."

I was aware of the sacrifice it entailed, not only the lonely walk through the goblin-haunted darkness, but the danger from robbers and patrols and the loss of a day's fees.

"Why did he do this for me?"

The boatman sat up then, raising his eyes and looking briefly at me. He said nothing, but the look he gave me was the same one I'd seen in the gaze of the tannery workers, a look of pa.s.sion and hunger. I had seen it before, months earlier, on the faces of people as we rode back fromTerayama to Yamagata, the look they threw out like an appeal to Shigeru. They had found in Shigeru the promise of something-justice, compa.s.sion-and now these men looked for the same thins in me. Whatever Jo-An had told them about me had trans-formed me into their hope.

And something in me responded to this, just as it had to the villagers, to the farmers with their hidden fields. They were treated like dogs, beaten and starved, but I saw them as men, with the brains and hearts of men, no less than any warrior or merchant. I had been brought up among people like them and been taught that the Secret G.o.d saw them all with equal eyes. No matter what I became, no matter what other teaching I received from the Otori or the Tribe-despite my own reluctance, even-it was impossible for me to forget this.

Jo-An said, "He is your man now. As I am-as we all are. You only have to call on us." He grinned, his broken teeth flashing in the dim light. He had made tea and handed me a small wooden bowl. I felt the steam rise against my face. The tea was made from twigs, such as we used to drink in Mmo.

"Why should I call on you? What I'm going to need is an army!" I drank and felt the warmth begin to spread through me.

"Yes, an army," Jo-An replied. "Many battles lie ahead of you. The prophecy says it."

"How can you help me, then? It is forbidden for you to kill."

"Warriors will kill," Jo-An replied, "but there are many things they won't do that are equally necessary-things they consider beneath them: building, slaughtering, burying. You'll realize it when you need us."

The tea settled my stomach. Jo-An brought out two more small millet b.a.l.l.s, but I had no appet.i.te and made the boatman eat my share. Jo-An did not eat, either, but put the second ball away again. I saw the other man's eyes follow it and gave him some coins before he left. He did not want to take them, but I pressed them into his hand.

Jo-An mumbled the blessing of departure over him and then pulled aside the hides so I could take his place under them. The warmth of the tea stayed with me. The hides stank, but they kept out the cold and m.u.f.fled sound. I thought briefly how any one of those starving men might betray me for a bowl of soup, but I had no alternative now: I had to trust Jo-An. I let the darkness fall over me and take me down into sleep.

He woke me a few hours later. It was well after noon. He gave me tea, hardly more than hot water, and apologized for having no food to offer me.

"We should leave now," he said, "if we are to get to the charcoal burners before dark."

"The charcoal burners?" I usually woke swiftly, but this day I was groggy with sleep.

"They are still on the mountain. They have paths they use through the forest that will take you over the border. But they will leave with the first snow." He paused for a moment and then said, "We have to speak to someone on the way."

"Who?"

"It won't take long." He gave me one of his slight smiles. We went outside and I knelt by the riverbank and splashed water on my face. It was icy; as Jo-An had predicted, the temperature had dropped and the air was drier. It was too cold and too dry to snow.

I shook the water from my hands while he spoke to the men. Their eyes flickered toward me. When we left, they stopped work and knelt with bowed heads as I walked past.

"They know who I am?" I asked Jo-An in a low voice. Again, I feared betrayal from these men who had so little.

"They know you are OtoriTakeo," he replied, "the angel of Yam-agata who will bring justice and peace. That's what the prophecy says."

"What prophecy?" I asked again. He said, "You will hear it for yourself."

I was filled with misgivings. What was I doing, entrusting my life to this lunatic? I felt every extra moment wasted would keep me from reaching Terayama before either the snow or the Tribe caught up with me. But I realized now that my only hope was to go over the mountain. I had to follow Jo-An.

We crossed the smaller river a little way upstream by a fish weir. We pa.s.sed few people, a couple of fishermen, and some girls taking food to the men who were burning rice stalks and spreading dung on the empty fields. The girls climbed up the bank rather than cross our path, and one of the fisherman spat at us. The other cursed Jo-An for blighting the water. I kept my head low and my face averted, but they paid no attention to me. In fact they avoided looking at us directly, as though even that contact would bring pollution and bad luck.

Jo-An seemed to take no notice of the hostility, retreating into himself as if into a dark cloak, but when we had pa.s.sed them he said, "They would not allow us to use the wooden bridge to take the hides across. That's why we had to learn to build our own. Now the other bridge is destroyed, but they still refuse to use ours." He shook his head and whispered, "If only they knew the Secret One."

On the other bank we followed the river for another mile and then turned off toward the northeast and began to climb. The bare-branched maples and beeches gave way to pines and cedars. As the forest deepened, the path darkened and grew steeper and steeper until we were clambering over rocks and boulders, going as often on all fours as upright. The sleep had refreshed me and I could feel strength returning. Jo-An climbed tirelessly, hardly even panting. It was hard to guess his age. Poverty and suffering had hollowed him out so he looked like an old man, but he might have been no more than thirty. There was something unearthly about him, as though he had indeed returned from the dead.

We finally came over a crest and stood on a small plateau. A huge rock lay across it, fallen from the crag above. Below us I could see the glint of the river, almost as far as Tsuwano. Smoke and mist drifted across the valley. The clouds were low, hiding the mountain range on the opposite side. The climb had warmed us, even made us sweat, but when we stopped our breath came white on the raw air. A few late berries still glowed red on leafless bushes; otherwise there was no color anywhere. Even the evergreen trees were muted almost to black. I could hear water trickling, and two crows were calling to each other from the crag. When they fell silent I heard someone breathing.

The sound came, slow and measured, from the rock itself. I slowed my own breathing, touched Jo-An on the arm, and made a gesture with my head toward it.

He gave me a smile and spoke quietly: "It's all right. This is who we have come to see."

The crows cawed again, their voices harsh and ominous. I began to shiver. The cold was creeping up on me, surrounding me. The fears of the previous night threatened to surface again. I wanted to keep moving. I did not want to meet whoever was concealed behind the rock, breathing so slowly they could hardly be human.

"Come," Jo-An said, and I followed him round the edge of the rock, keeping my eyes away from the drop below. Behind, a cave was hollowed out of the side of the mountain. Water dripped from its roof. Over the centuries it had formed spears and columns and worn out a channel on the ground that led to a small deep pool, its sides as regular as a cistern and limestone-white. The water itself was black.

The roof of the cave sloped, following the shape of the mountain, and in the upper, drier side sat a figure that I would have thought was a statue if I had not heard its breathing. It was grayish white, like the limestone, as though it had sat there so long it had started to calcify. It was hard to tell if it was male or female; I recognized it as one of those ancient people, a hermit, a monk or nun, who had gone beyond s.e.x and gender and grown so close to the next world he or she was almost pure spirit. The hair fell like a white shawl, the face and hands gray like old paper.

The figure sat in meditation on the floor of the cave with no sign of strain or discomfort. In front of it was a kind of stone altar bearing fading flowers, the last of the autumn lilies, and other offerings: two bitter oranges, their skins wrinkling, a small piece of fabric, and some coins of little value. It was like any other shrine to the G.o.d of the mountain, except carved into the stone was the sign the Hidden use, the one Lady Maruyama had traced on my hand in Chigawa so long ago.

Jo-An untied his cloth and took out the last millet cake. He knelt and placed it carefully on the altar, then bowed his head to the ground. The figure opened its eyes and gazed gazed on us-gazed but did not see. The eyes were clouded with blindness. An expression came over the face that made me drop to my knees and bow before it-a look of profound tenderness and compa.s.sion, blended with complete knowledge. I had no doubt I was in the presence of a holy being. on us-gazed but did not see. The eyes were clouded with blindness. An expression came over the face that made me drop to my knees and bow before it-a look of profound tenderness and compa.s.sion, blended with complete knowledge. I had no doubt I was in the presence of a holy being.

"Tomasu," it said, and I thought its voice a woman's rather than a man's. It was so long since anyone had called me by the water name my mother gave me that the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and when I shivered it was not only from cold.

"Sit up," she said. "I have words to say that you are to hear. You are Tomasu of Mino, but you have become both Otori and Kikuta. Three bloods are mixed in you. You were born into the Hidden, but your life has been brought into the open and is no longer your own. Earth will deliver what heaven desires."

She fell silent. The minutes pa.s.sed. The cold entered my bones. I wondered if she would say anything else. At first I was amazed that she knew who I was; then I thought Jo-An must have told her about me. If this was the prophecy, it was so obscure that it meant nothing to me. If I knelt there much longer I thought I would freeze to death, but I was held by the force of the blind woman's eyes.

I listened to the breath of the three of us and to the sounds of the mountain, the crows still cawing in their harsh voices, the cedars restless in the northeast wind, the trickle and drip of water, the groaning of the mountain itself as the temperature dropped and the rocks shrank.

"Your lands will stretch from sea to sea," she said finally. "But peace comes at the price of bloodshed. Five battles will buy you peace, four to win and one to lose. Many must die, but you yourself are safe from death, except at the hands of your own son."

Another long silence followed. With every second the light darkened toward evening and the air chilled. My gaze wandered round the cave. At the holy woman's side stood a prayer wheel on a small wooden block carved with lotus leaves around its edge. I was puzzled. I knew many mountain shrines were forbidden to women, and none I had ever seen had contained such a mixture of symbols, as though the Secret G.o.d, the Enlightened One, and the spirits of the mountain all dwelled here together.

She spoke as if she saw my thoughts; her voice held a kind of laughter mixed with wonder. "It is all one. Keep this in your heart. It is all one."

She touched the prayer wheel and set it turning. Its rhythm seemed to steal into my veins to join my blood. She began to chant softly, words I had never heard before and did not understand. They flowed over and around us, eventually fading into the wind. When we heard them again they had become the farewell blessing of the Hidden. She handed us a bowl and told us to drink from the pool before we left.

A thin layer of ice was already forming on the surface, and the water was so cold it bit into my teeth. Jo-An wasted no time but led me quickly away, glancing anxiously toward the north. Before we went back over the crest I took one last look at the holy woman. She sat motionless; from this distance she seemed like part of the rock. I could not believe she would stay out here alone all night.