Kaze remained motionless, waiting for some sign from the obake that his request was granted or denied. The stillness that surrounded him was suddenly broken by the sound of a cricket in the woods. Kaze looked up, and the obake was gone.
Kaze tried to stand and couldn’t. His heart was tripping in his chest and his body felt weak, as if he had a three-week fever. The air now tasted damp, but alive. He noted with wonder that the mist, which covered the ground, was rapidly shrinking into the earth, flowing into ripples and crevices and tiny folds as if it were water. He closed his eyes, centering himself and willing the chilling numbness of fear away. No hindrance, and therefore no fear.
Soon his breathing became slow and rhythmic, and the weakness in his limbs was replaced by growing strength. He stood, adjusting his sword in his sash. Then, with a firm step, he started off down the path to the village.
Kaze felt guilty about pausing in his search for the child to try to free the charcoal seller, but he now knew the Lady understood and was giving him permission to try to find harmony for this village. He wondered about the demon seen in the next village and wondered if this place was unusually active with spirits.
From his earlier exploration he knew the village layout. It was a compact collection of huts and farmhouses holding perhaps two hundred people. Like most villages of its size, it was organized alongside a dusty main street, with huts and houses flanking the street.
Kaze stood at the edge of the village, still calming himself and also enjoying the calm while he could. Behind him, in the woods, he could hear the song of a nightingale. It comforted him, and he tried to focus his attention on what he was about to do, not what he had just experienced. Then he took a deep breath and took his sword and scabbard out of his sash. Holding the sword in the middle of the scabbard, he ran to the door of the first hut in the village.
“Wake up! The bandits are attacking!” Kaze used the butt of the scabbard to bang on the house door.
“Nani? What?” a sleepy voice from within the hut called out.
“The bandits! They’re attacking. Hayaku! Hayaku! Hurry! Hurry! Grab a weapon and come out here!”
Kaze ran across the street to the next hut. He started pounding on the door.
“Wake up! Wake up! Bandits are attacking the village! Grab your weapons and come outside!”
Without waiting for an answer, he ran back across the street to the next house in line. There he repeated his warning and ran to the next house. As he zigzagged across the street he noticed the men of the village tumbling out of their homes onto the main street. A few carried newly lit torches, and in the flickering yellow light Kaze could see that all were carrying weapons of some type. As he progressed through the village the crowd in the main street grew larger and more confused.
“What-”
“Where’s the bandits?”
“What’s going on?”
“Are they attacking?”
“Where’s the attack?”
Kaze looped around to catch the village houses that weren’t on the main street. By the time he finished his circuit of the village, a large crowd of men and women were huddled together in the center, milling around, clutching weapons, and looking nervously into the dark.
Puffing from his exertions, Kaze strode into the mass of people and started pushing his way though the crowd.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s that samurai who was at Jiro’s. …”
“Where’s the bandits, samurai?”
As Kaze shouldered his way through the forest of people before him, he looked at the weapons they were holding. A few clutched farm implements, but most had spears, swords, and naginatas. He made his way through the milling group, ignoring all questions, until he reached the center of the crowd and saw a pudgy hand holding a bow. He walked up to the owner of the hand and confronted the sweating face of the Magistrate.
“S-s-see here, s-s-s-samurai, w-w-w-what’s going on?” The Magistrate stuttered in fear.
Kaze saw a handful of arrows in the Magistrate’s other hand and pulled one out of the man’s shaking fist. The remaining arrows tumbled to the ground. Kaze walked over to a man with a torch and studied the arrow in the flickering light.
“W-w-what’s going on? Here, here, answer me!” the Magistrate demanded.
Kaze finished his inspection of the arrow, then looked around the crowd slowly to make sure there wasn’t another man with a bow that he missed.
“T-t-tell me!” the Magistrate commanded.
Kaze raised one hand in the air to quiet the crowd.
“People of Suzaka village!” Kaze shouted. The milling group immediately hushed. Kaze looked at the concerned faces around him, then said, “Superb! Your courage and martial manner have driven away the bandits that were planning to attack this village. Omedeto! Congratulations!”
Kaze started marching off, and the crowd opened up before him like the tall grass of summer falling away when you walk through an open field. As he made his way back to the manor, Kaze could hear the buzz of an excited village receding behind him.
The peasants milled about, discussing the possibility that the new samurai was mad. Some thought that perhaps the samurai was right and that they had scared off an attack by brigands, but others scoffed at the notion that Boss Kuemon or any other brigand would be scared by any group of peasant rabble. As the excitement of the novel night wore off, groups of peasants started drifting back to their homes.
Ichiro, the village headman, was one of the last to leave. Shaking his head over what the samurai was up to, he wearily went back to his house, where his wife and children had gone back to sleep long before. He placed his naginata in the corner of the main room of the house and looked at it speculatively for a few minutes. Then he went to a corner of the room and moved several bales of rice, clearing a section of the floor. He removed several of the loose floorboards and dug down into the earth, removing an old section of matting that had been covered with dirt as camouflage. Underneath was a shallow hole, lined with old rice-stalk mats.
Ichiro got a twig from the kindling stack and lit it from the still-smoldering charcoal in the hearth. Using it like a crude candle, he examined the contents of his secret cache. In the flickering orange light, the oil on the weapons gleamed with a malevolent sheen. Two swords, a dagger, and a bow were nestled together in the shallow depression. Ichiro took the dagger from his forbidden armory and replaced the mat.
CHAPTER 12
Hanging between earth
and eternity, I grab
for earth and for life.
The next morning, Kaze was escorted into Manase’s presence. Kaze had found his own clothes, newly cleaned, starched, and resewn, waiting for him when he got up, and this was what he was wearing.
Manase was once again dressed in several sumptuous robes, forming a layered collection of color. He was sitting on a small veranda, looking over a garden of large rocks and shrubs. Kaze knew that in Heian Japan, the time of The Tale of Genji, the refinement of a woman was judged by how she layered her many multicolored kimonos. The delicacy of color, the transition of one color and pattern to the next, and the careful sculpting of overlapping pieces of cloth were all signs of sensitivity and refinement. He wondered if the same applied to a man, because Manase’s robes were all carefully layered and arranged to present a pleasing cascade of color.