The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass (8 page)

 

 

At the end of the manuscript, in a form of calligraphy that was obviously done by a different person, was written:

Seikei shivered and looked around him, surprised to have returned to the world he usually lived in. The sun had disappeared, but only because a storm was blowing up late in the afternoon. Cascades of autumn leaves were losing their last grip on the trees. As they fell, they surrounded Seikei on the gravel courtyard. Seikei thought of Amaterasu and her brother Susanoo, about the thousands of warriors who fell like blades of grass when Yamato wielded the mighty sword named Kusanagi.

Some parts of this story he had heard before. Seikei’s mother had told him about the creation of the world and that the emperor was descended from Amaterasu. Seikei himself had visited the shrine of Ise and asked for Amaterasu’s aid when he pursued the actor Tomomi along the Tokaido Road.

But he had never heard the story of the sword that cut the burning grass. Nor did he understand how it explained why the emperor—Risu, the Squirrel—believed he wasn’t really the emperor.

Of course, Risu had told Seikei that he wouldn’t understand. So had the Ministers of the Right and Left, or at least one of them had. The other one had said, “And even if you
did
understand . . .”

What? Had the minister finished the sentence? Seikei couldn’t be certain.

If he did understand, maybe he couldn’t
do
anything about it? Yabuta seemed to have understood the message in the scroll. He was doing something about it. But what?

Seikei decided not to worry about that right now. What he
had
to do was find the emperor and bring him back before Yabuta could. Unfortunately, the scroll gave no clues as to where the emperor was now.

Or did it? The shrine mentioned in it . . . Atsuta Shrine at Nagoya. If the emperor wanted to gain the power of the sword, might he have gone there?

Somehow, Seikei thought, the Squirrel didn’t seem like a person who wanted to gain power. Possession of a bowl of ginkgo porridge was enough power for him.

But of course,
someone
had killed the two monks. That certainly had not been the Squirrel, no matter what Yabuta believed. So if whoever did it knew about this scroll, maybe they were on the way to Nagoya, taking the emperor along. The Squirrel might have learned that not everyone was reluctant to force him to do things.

A flash of lightning streaked through the sky, followed a moment later by a clap of thunder. Susanoo would romp through Heaven tonight, thought Seikei.

11

AMATERASU APPEARS

T
he storm came on swiftly, accompanied by a cold wind, a reminder that winter would soon be here. Shopkeepers rushed to lower the bamboo curtains in front of their stores to keep the rain from coming in. Seikei searched the nearby streets in vain for an inn. Either he was in the wrong part of the city, or the inns had filled up early and taken down their signs.

By now Seikei’s clothes were sopping wet. The wind chilled him through, and he began to shiver. In desperation he went up an alleyway and crawled into an empty barrel that was lying on its side. Here at least he was sheltered from the storm, and could sleep.

All night long, however, crashes of thunder and the howling wind awakened him. He dreamed that Susanoo, with the fierce face of a demon, was beating on the sides of the barrel. Seikei scrunched up, trying to collect as much warmth as possible.

When he awoke, his clothes were still damp, but now he felt warm. Uncomfortably so, and he ached all over. The only good thing was that the rain had stopped and the sun shone through the open end of the barrel.

Then a shadow fell across the sun, startling Seikei enough to make him look. A face was there, staring back at him from the center of the sun. A woman’s face. Amaterasu? He tried to speak her name, but only a croak escaped from his throat.

“What are you doing in there?” she asked.

Seikei attempted to smile, but wasn’t sure he succeeded. Amaterasu must be joking with him, for she knew everything that went on. Everything there was to know. . . .

The next time he awoke, he was inside, in a room. It was hot, but someone had put a quilt over him. He wanted to cool off. He was sweating. He tried to throw the quilt off, but it was too heavy.

Then Amaterasu appeared again. “Drink this,” she said, helping him sit up. The liquid in the cup she held to his lips was hot too, and at first he didn’t want it. But after he tasted a little, he realized it was good. It would help him grow strong. His mother had made him some tea like this when he was very little, so that he would get well and become strong. Strong enough to throw off the quilt.

He slept some more. Now it was dark again, but Susanoo had gone away and the heavens were peaceful. Seikei realized he no longer felt hot, but he was still weak. He remembered that Amaterasu had visited him and he wondered if that had been only a dream. It seemed important. He tried to think why. It had something to do with the scroll.

The scroll!
He sat up suddenly and realized that someone had taken his clothes and, along with them, the scroll.

He started to think. Obviously whoever had found him had not simply desired to rob him. Otherwise he would not be lying under a quilt in a warm room. But where was he? He clapped his hands, thinking that would attract Amaterasu again.

The sound faded away in the darkness, and nothing happened. Seikei thought about getting up, but it was comfortable here, and as long as no one was going to appear . . .

The door to the room slid open and Amaterasu was there, holding a candle. This time, though, Seikei could see that she was only a girl, a year or two younger than he was—too young yet to have her hair drawn up and pinned in a woman’s style. Instead, it hung down on either side of her face, making it seem as round as the moon.

“I thought I heard something,” she said. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Seikei said. “But I’m hungry.” All at once he realized that he had a terribly empty feeling in his stomach.

“I can’t get you anything until morning except some pickled
daikon
root,” the girl said.

“Whatever you have will be fine,” replied Seikei.

The girl nodded and disappeared. When she returned, bringing the sliced daikon root, Seikei found its tartness delicious. “I am sorry we have so little to give you,” the girl said. “The kitchen fire has been banked for the night.”

Seikei found her apology strange. “Where am I?” he asked.

“This is the house of Moriyama Yasuo,” she replied. “A rice merchant.”

“Why did he treat me so generously?”

“Oh, he doesn’t know anything about you,” she said. “He is away on a business trip.”

Seikei blinked. “Well, then . . .”

“I found you in the barrel,” the girl explained. “And of course I knew at once who you were.”

“You did?”

“Well, of course I knew, because you had that scroll.”

“The scroll, yes. Where is it?”

“It’s in the cabinet by the wall here. Along with your clothes. I cleaned them myself. Well, Araori helped. She’s the other servant. I’m sleeping in her room. This one was mine.”

There was something about the conversation that puzzled Seikei. He was still thinking slowly, even after the fever had gone down. “You say you know who I am? Because of the scroll?”

“Well, that wasn’t the
only
reason. Everyone has heard you were missing. And the scroll has a chrysanthemum seal on it.” She bowed her head. “I could guess where
that
came from.”

Seikei nodded slowly. The chrysanthemum was the symbol of the emperor, and this girl must have known he took the scroll from the imperial library. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?” Seikei asked anxiously. If the girl knew he was missing, Yabuta must be hunting for him.

“Just Araori. I couldn’t hide you from her. But the rest of the household—it’s only the merchant’s wife and mother—they don’t know. As long as we keep the house clean and serve them their meals on time, they take no interest in us. But when the master comes home . . .” She lowered her head.

“When will that be?” asked Seikei.

“Not for several days,” replied the girl. “We can be gone by then.”

“Oh,” she continued, ignoring Seikei’s startled look. “That reminds me. Here is your headband.” She took it from the sleeve of her kimono. “I protected it, for I knew you would want it.”

She tied it around Seikei’s forehead. “This was another way I knew who you were,” she said, sitting back and giving him an admiring look.

“I see,” said Seikei, wondering how he could subtly ask who she thought he was. “What’s
your
name?” he said.

“Hato,” she answered. “Pigeon. As you know, the pigeon is always a faithful servant of the hero in many stories. She flies ahead and warns him of danger.”

“Yes,” Seikei said. “Well, of course I wouldn’t want to put
you
in danger. And besides, your master needs you here.”

“He beats me,” she said.

“He does? I can hardly believe—” Seikei stopped because Hato had turned away from him and lowered her kimono. Ugly bruises and welts marked the skin on her back.

“He shouldn’t be allowed to do that,” Seikei said.

Hato rearranged her clothing and faced him. “He can do anything he wishes,” she said. “For I have no other place to go.”

Seikei knew this must be true. “But you can’t come with
me.
It would be too . . . difficult.”

Hato knelt before Seikei, despite his protests. “I swear to you,” she said, “that I will not be a burden. I will kill myself rather than reveal your secret.”

Seikei took a deep breath. He remembered what the judge had said about not wanting to have too much responsibility.

“What do you think my secret is?” he asked.

Hato started to respond, then caught herself. She smiled. “I see,” she said. “You were testing me. No, I will never let your secret pass my lips.”

12

DANGER ON THE ROAD

H
ato served as the cook for the household. Her master would miss her, Seikei thought as he sipped the last of the fish and seaweed broth she had made. It tasted so good that even the judge would have enjoyed it.

It was the early morning of the following day. The sun had not yet risen, but the two of them planned to slip out of the house before anyone else had awakened. Hato’s friend Araori knew of their intentions, but fortunately (from Seikei’s point of view), she would rather remain a servant than go on a journey with “chrysanthemum boy,” as she called Seikei.

Most of Seikei’s strength had returned, but when he stepped outside, he felt a pang of doubt. Fog had settled close to the ground between the houses, making it seem as if he and Hato were in an empty wilderness. He wondered if they were setting out on some mad quest. Would the judge approve of this? Perhaps Seikei should have used the short sword after all.

He shook his head to clear it. “Follow the path,” the judge always said. The path led to the Atsuta Shrine. Seikei must do his utmost to reach it. He and Hato passed through the city gate without being questioned, and once again Seikei found himself on the great Tokaido Road.

At this hour the road was lightly traveled. The fog stubbornly remained, making the scene around them look like gray cotton, only occasionally marked by splashes of color when a tree branch pierced the mist.

Seeming nervous for the first time, Hato told Seikei about her life. She remembered nothing of her parents. They had been lost in a flood, and Hato’s grandmother raised her until she was six. Then, because the grandmother needed money to feed Hato’s two brothers, she sold Hato to the rice merchant. At that time, he had an elderly woman as his cook. He wanted her to teach Hato everything she knew.

Unfortunately, the cook died before Hato’s training was finished. Her master completed the cooking course by beating her whenever she prepared a dish he did not like.

“But you’re a fine cook now,” said Seikei. “Why is he still beating you?”

“He grew to like it, I think,” she replied. “His business hasn’t gone well, and he drinks too much sake. When that happens, his wife hides herself and he comes searching for me.”

“I can see why you wanted to leave him,” Seikei said. “With your skills, you should be able to find a job cooking for another merchant, or even a samurai.”

She glanced at him with a shy smile. “Why should I work for them when I can follow you?”

“Well, for one thing, I can’t pay you very much,” he said. “And after I’m finished with my task, well . . .” He didn’t want to face the fact that he might never finish what he had set out to do.

“After you’ve finished,” Hato said, “I will accompany you to the palace. You must need many servants there.”