Thousand Shrine Warrior (5 page)

The woman accepted this chastisement, bowed very slightly, and asked, “Can it be repaired?”

“It will never have the timbre of before,” he told her, “but it can be put together.”

“I regret my carelessness has spoiled its perfection. Perhaps flawed it will better suit my talents. What would it cost to make it work again?”

The artisan pursed his lips as before, looking pensive. Then he raised five fingers. It was not such a high price to ask, but the bikuni had no money whatsoever. She looked at the five fingers a long while without comment. As her face was hidden beneath her hat, the artisan could hardly be expected to read her thoughts by her expression; but silence can convey a lot. He said, “As you are Buddha's woman …” then made his five fingers three.

For a samurai, it would be inconceivable to barter. The activities and behaviors of artisans and merchants were totally at odds with the ways of the
buké
class. Although the woman had left samurai privileges behind to become a strolling nun, it was still a distasteful matter. Awkwardly, she asked,

“Could it be done on credit?”

The artisan placed the mouthpiece and then the body of the shakuhachi in the silk bag, tied the end as best he could, considering the rent left by a sword's cut, set it on the floor before himself, and pushed it toward the end of the platform. It seemed a mean act, yet the bikuni saw there was guilt in his expression.

“I understand,” said the bikuni, for a traveler was a risk for extending credit, and the man's shop did not reflect an income that could well afford charity. “If I forfeit my instrument should I fail to pay you for the repair, would it then be possible? I will find some work to do to raise the small amount.”

“Who would buy it, even repaired, if it made a damaged sound?” The artisan looked most put-upon, but his hard expression could not disguise a well-intending heart. “Very well,” he said, not allowing her to humble herself further. “Leave it with me a while. There is work which must come first. But I will get it done.”

The bikuni bowed deeply and turned toward the street. She stood a moment, a motionless silhouette at the entrance, then looked back at the artisan to ask, “Will this road lead me to Lord Sato's castle higher on this mountain?”

His answer came reluctantly. “It's no place for a nun to seek even brief employment.”

“I hear he is a convert to the Lotus sect,” said the bikuni, encouraging the artisan; but he would not say more about Lord Sato, no doubt afraid of who might overhear any criticism. She could not believe Lord Sato was especially wicked, as provincial rulers go, but there was something about the artisan's attitude that seemed dark and moody, and she had seen this in the faces of everyone on the street. The village was not prosperous, but neither was it destitute. Thus Sato's taxes must be neither slight nor excessive. She wondered what it was, then, that made the townsfolk act as though a pall hung over their lives, that made them leery of a Lord who didn't seem to practice common tyranny.

She stepped out onto the street and continued through the town. She stopped here and there to see what various merchants and artisans were doing. They went about their lives in an ordinary enough way, but at a slower pace than usual, and that gloomy aspect was in everybody's disposition. It was a subtle thing, more related to an absence of cheer than to any excess of fear or visible sorrow.

As she strode along the main street, she found herself nearing the end of the village proper and approaching the wide, cold creek that separated the village from the numerous small estates of Lord Sato's retainers. Sato's fief was indeed provincial, so nothing as elaborate as a castle-town had grown up around his fortification. Rather, there was a densely forested area surrounding his most private lands. Interspersed throughout the ancient trees were the homes of samurai owing Lord Sato allegiance.

A bridge connected the village street with the road winding through that forest. On the samurai side of the bridge, there was a squat little guardhouse, its front doors opened so that the two men within had a clear view of who came and went. Under the usual order of things, strict rules were observed, which governed the comings and goings especially of townsfolk and farmers. Whatever an individual's business, ranging from charcoal delivery or payment of the rice levy to fetching away fecal matter from toilets or fulfilling each year's quota of forced labor, it was required that identification tags be presented. On them was engraved one's name, position, and business. Such information was cross-checked with a ledger in the keeping of the guards, and thus little was allowed to happen around the castle that was not controlled. Such typical regulations were not being observed at this small checkpoint, however. What few people passed over the bridge were virtually ignored by the two guards, who seemed more concerned with staying near the warmth of the coal-pot resting between them. Perhaps it was because they knew everyone by sight, the village being small. The guards disposed of what struck them as meaningless tasks. But it struck the nun as evidence of laxness regarding duty. It caused her to wonder.

It was equally customary
not
to hinder the passage of pilgrims, particularly one with two swords, hence an ex-samurai with every right to visit temples, shrines, and graves of a samurai quarter. It was the nature of Buddhist mendicants to give up their names, families, and positions, and thus there would be nothing left to record on an identification tag. But once again things were contrary to the norm where this mountainous fief was concerned. The two guards, though careless of the few townsfolk who passed by, were suddenly less lazy when they saw the bikuni. They hurried out of the guardhouse and took up a posture with spears crossed, keeping her from stepping foot off the far side of the bridge.

She stopped at the bridge's edge and did not say a word for a long while. They seemed to expect her to turn and cross back over to the village. Instead, she acted as though she were waiting for them to uncross their spears to let her pass. Her utter silence made the two men nervous, for surely they had measured her bearing and guessed her skill with the swords she wore.

They broke the silence first. The one with a mustache demanded identification and statement of business. Still the nun did not move or reply. Surely they were aware that a bikuni by definition had neither name nor business. There was nothing she could tell them.

The two men became more irritable, unable as they were to see the face beneath her hat of woven bamboo. When they were sufficiently unnerved, the bikuni's voice issued from beneath her amigasa.

“You dispose of the formality of checking the business of what few townsfolk dare your bridge, but forego tradition to bar a mendicant from her Way.”

The younger of the two samurai, his face smooth and hairless, tried to sound as severe as the nun as he responded; but there was a quavering edge in his voice. “Only Lotus mendicants beyond this point! Do you know the Lotus Sutra?”

“
Namu myoho-renge-kyo
,” the nun intoned.

Both guards sighed with relief and started to lower their spears, but the nun added,

“Anyone can say it.”

The spears went up again, this time not crossed to bar her path, but leveled at her abdomen.

“I am of Thousand Shrine Sect,” she said, seeming unthreatened by the spears. “As my allegiance is to no specific temple, it can be said that my bond is with all temples.”

This might well be a good rationale for not fighting, as far as these particular guards were concerned. Their post was not impressive to begin with, certainly not worth a duel over particulars. They glanced quickly at one another, then allowed the bikuni to pass. They returned to the warmth of their coal-pot in the guardhouse, and did not hear the nun whisper to herself, “Sloppy men.”

She wondered why they had been so uncertain of their duties. There would be another bridge and checkpoint before she reached the castle itself; the guards stationed there doubtlessly would be more capable, it being the final point before the castle's gate. Still, she began to think there'd be less trouble meeting Lord Sato than she had first imagined. Patience would answer that question for her.

Evergreens shaded the winding lane. It was no longer possible to have a clear view of the castle, though periodically she saw a part of it higher on the mountain side, through breaks in the roof of the forest.

The houses of samurai families were small but attractive, tucked at intervals between old trees, protected by those trees from autumn and winter storms. As the estates were on relatively steep ground, numerous rushing streams came down from higher areas, on their way to the gorge and torrential river far down the mountain's eastern slope. These streams provided excellent excuses for the many artful bridges, some of them no larger than four or five short steps.

Some of the homes were so far back from the road that the passing nun could not see them well. Several of them seemed run-down, from what she could see; but the neglect was recent. A few places appeared as though abandoned. She passed a temple that was even more clearly abandoned, though it might well have been important to certain samurai families before Lord Sato's conversion to Lotus Buddhism. The Lotus sect was by nature a belligerent one, but Sato's zeal was rather more extreme than usual. By the evidence, his zeal might well be considered irrational.

Though Lord Sato's fief was small in terms of rice production, by which the size of fiefs was measured, in terms of area it was the largest in Kanno province. It seemed odd that so many of the samurai estates were ghostly and deserted. Retainers should have been quite busy with the policing and administration of the fief's widespread holdings, and their homes should have reflected a constancy of comings and goings. Instead, weeds clogged the paths between the narrow, winding road and the small estates. Only once did anyone share the road with her; he was a townsman on some errand, and he stepped off the road to let her pass when he saw she had two swords. For the rest of her casual walk, it seemed a haunted forest, diffuse light barely penetrating the trees or the overcast sky. It was, at least, a little warmer than it had been earlier in the day; that, or climbing the upward grade of the road was work enough to keep her warm.

She began to put a few things together in her mind as she passed through that forest: the laxity of the bridge-guards, the estates in disrepair, the minimal activity, the perfidy of the three retainers she had been forced to kill … clearly Lord Sato did not have a firm control of his men. Everything was odd! The bikuni's deep hat moved from side to side as she shook her head in heightened consternation.

At an unexpected sound, the bikuni stopped on a flat part of the trail, waiting to hear further movement. She appeared relaxed but ready. Yet there was no need for readiness this time, for the sound came again, and she recognized it as the
clip-clippa
of gardener's shears. She raised the front of her hat so she could see up a path leading to one of the estates. This one was better cared for than most of the others, though it was also about the smallest. There, amidst a stand of leafless plums, was a rotund young man trimming away the tiniest stems of a particular tree. Further along the path was someone else in identical industry; he was older and rawboned, but otherwise the bikuni could not make out much about him, for foliage obscured her view.

The rotund fellow stopped working and looked toward the road. He grinned foolishly. He was apparently one of the gardener's helpers or his son, as he looked neither bright enough nor old enough to have much direct responsibility for anything.

The grinning, oversized youngster waved his hand up and down until the nun felt it was rude not to wave back. She raised a hand in a slow greeting, which encouraged the large, happy fellow to wave all the harder, rather than quit. Not until the older man higher on the path yelled something at him did the fellow return to his labor, gazing covertly at the bikuni as she continued her way.

She came to a knoll where trees were stripped away and the view in every direction was spectacular. Not much further up the way was a long, wide bridge, far larger than the one separating the village from samurai estates. Three separate roads came out of the woods and met at that bridge, and the nun realized she had taken a lesser route. On the far side of the bridge were Lord Sato's most private lands and, in the middle of those lands, a castle impressive in design if not in actual size. Snow-covered barren peaks provided a gorgeous backdrop.

Halfway between bridge and castle were a group of samurai riding across wide fields in pursuit of a hind. The nun could not hear them; it was eerie to see the hunt go so swiftly and soundlessly. The man in the fore of the group was exquisitely clad. The party was armed with longbows and arrows and wore high, narrow hats. Running along behind, and looking slightly ridiculous, were several servants, who could not possibly keep up with the mounted hunters. They brought replacement arrows and other equipment for the convenience of the hunters and their steeds.

The man in the shining silver hunting cloak, probably Lord Sato himself, unleashed an arrow, which found its mark in the rump of the hind. It staggered, fell, but was on its feet almost immediately, and bounded into a wooded area. It could not go far, as Sato's private lands were surrounded by bodies of water, either natural rivers or moats. The hunting party vanished into the wooded area, after the unfortunate beast.

Such was the view in the direction of the castle. The opposite direction provided the bikuni a clear view of the village, for she could see right over the top of the forested samurai estates. The low-built homes of samurai were hidden; but here and there, the tiled roofs of temples poked out from the trees.

To the east of both the forest and the village, she saw where the creeks and rivers poured into a deep, tremendous gorge. A vast number of waterfalls vanished into mist. Far, far along the gorge she could see a rope bridge, thin as a thread from so far away, traversing the wide gorge. A miniscule guardhouse stood on the nearer side.