She felt better than she had since Masahiro had disappeared. She breathed the heady air of hope that revived her appetite and strengthened her muscles. The wait was almost over. Restless with energy, she watched impatiently for Sano.
He strode up the gangplank, accompanied by a man of such odd appearance that spectators gathered outside nearby warehouses pointed and laughed. Reiko recognized him as an acquaintance known as the Rat. He was short, with a thick, shaggy beard and mustache that were rare in Japan. He carried a bundle on his back. His feral face wore a look of misery.
“The Rat doesn’t like Ezogashima even though it’s his native land,” he said. “That’s why I left. I hope you know what a big favor I’m doing you by coming along with you.”
“Favor, nothing,” Sano said. “I’m paying you handsomely.”
“As well you should,” the Rat said. “I’m the only one of my kind in town. Who else can serve as your guide and interpreter in Ezogashima?”
The sailors hauled up the gangplank behind Sano and the Rat; they raised the anchor. Reiko’s heart beat fast while anticipation reverberated through her spirit. Soon she would be with Masahiro. The captain shouted to the rowers. From below deck rose their chanting as their oars propelled the junk away from the riverbank. The spectators waved and cheered.
“Wait!”
The cry came from the dock. Reiko saw a man running along it toward the ship. The two swords at his waist marked him as a samurai. His long, ungroomed hair, his worn cotton garments, and the pack on his back suggested that he was an itinerant ronin, a masterless warrior. At first Reiko wondered who he was and what he wanted. Then, as he neared her, she noticed his slight limp. She recognized his familiar features masked by whisker stubble. Exclaiming, she ran outside onto the deck, where Sano beheld the man in surprise.
“Is that who I think it is?” Sano said.
“Hirata-san!” Reiko called, waving at him.
He reached the edge of the dock. The ship had moved some twenty paces out into the current, but Hirata took a running leap. He sprang higher, farther, than Reiko had thought possible. He landed crouched on the railing, then hopped aboard. Sano and Reiko laughed with pleasure as they welcomed their friend.
“Don’t think I’m not glad to see you,” Sano said, “but what are you doing here?”
“You called me,” Hirata said. He’d changed, Reiko observed; there was a new maturity and seriousness about him. I did?“ Sano said, puzzled.
“Whether you meant to or not,” Hirata said. “By the way, where are we going?”
To Ezogashima,“ Sano said as the fleet sailed down the river.
3
For eleven days the fleet sailed north along the coast. The weather turned steadily colder. Sano, Reiko, Hirata, the detectives, and the Rat spent most of the journey in the cabin, huddled around charcoal braziers. The skies remained clear until they reached the Strait of Tsugaru, which separated barbarian territory from Japan proper. Dressed in quilted cloaks and boots, they stood on deck while falling snow obscured their first glimpse of Ezogashima’s coastline. Wind whipped the snow into swirls and howled around the ship.
“I’ve never seen such a blizzard,” Sano said, as he and his companions hurried into the cabin.
“Get used to it,” the Rat said glumly. “I hate to tell you, but you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Waves slammed the ship. It pitched and rolled, flinging everyone off balance. Wind blew the shutters in with violent snaps. Snow and spray exploded into the cabin. Outside, the sailors fought to hold the ship steady. The ocean topped the deck behind Hirata, the last one to enter. He shut the door against water that poured across the floor.
“This ship had better not sink,” the Rat said. “I’m not a very good swimmer.”
“We can’t sink!” Terrified, Reiko gripped Sano’s arm so tight that he felt her fingernails dig through his padded sleeve. “We have to rescue Masahiro.”
Detective Marume struggled to close the shutters and fight off sliding baggage and furniture. “Merciful Buddha, if you’re not too busy, please save our miserable lives.”
The rigging strained and creaked. Below deck, oarsmen screamed for help as water flooded them. Yells arose from the sailors: “Men overboard!” A sudden, enormous crash assailed the ship. Sano and Reiko catapulted forward, tumbling into the others. Everyone shouted in alarm. A crack like thunder preceded a loud scraping sound that rasped under them. The ship tossed wildly, then canted nose down and shuddered to a halt.
“We’ve run aground!” Sano yelled.
“Welcome to Ezogashima,” the Rat said. “Pretty soon you’ll understand why I never wanted to come back.”
Sano heard his detectives muttering prayers of thanks and Reiko moaning in relief. He barely had time to be glad himself that they’d survived, before they all hastened out of the cabin. Snow fell in thick veils and had already coated the ship-or what was left of it.
“Hey! Where’s the other half?” Marume exclaimed.
The stern had broken off behind the cabin. Snowflakes blasted into Sano’s eyes as he looked out at the gray ocean, which was a mass of whitecaps, curtained by the blizzard, and empty as far as he could see. “Gone,” he said, “with the crew and the fleet.”
No one could survive in that icy water. Sano’s heart ached for the many lives lost. And now he and his few comrades must face the trouble in Ezogashima alone.
“Where are we?” Fukida asked.
Your guess is as good as mine,“ Sano said. A snow-covered beach and forested slope stretched before them. The white terrain was barely distinguishable from the white sky. ”We may have drifted off course from Fukuyama City.“
He noticed the atmosphere darkening: Night came fast in the north. Now he had more pressing concerns than how he would find his son, solve the problems in Ezogashima, or return home afterward. “We’d better get off this wreck and find shelter before we freeze to death.”
Everyone gathered a few possessions, climbed over the railing, and splashed through the freezing shallows while the blizzard keened and tore at them. They huddled together on the beach. Sano turned to Reiko. “Are you all right?”
“I’m better every moment.” Her face was red and pinched from the cold, but her smile shone with happiness. “We’re close to Masahiro. I know; I can feel him. Can’t you?”
“Yes,” Sano said, although he only wished he could. What he felt was dire uncertainty about their prospects. Straining his eyes toward the forest, he said, “Maybe there’s a village up there. Let’s go.”
Hirata led the way up the slope, outpacing his companions, barely conscious of the cold, the snow, or their predicament. From the moment he’d set foot in Ezogashima, he’d sensed an indefinable strangeness in the atmosphere. It vibrated with sounds at the edge of his range of hearing, like alien music. He perceived a soft yet powerful pulse emanating from the landscape. It resonated through him and called to some deep, uncharted place within him. He realized that this trip wasn’t an abandonment of his mystic martial arts studies but a continuation of his quest. Here he would find the enlightenment he sought.
His master’s involuntary call for help had brought him to this land of his destiny.
As he neared the forest of leafless oaks and birches, his nerves tingled alert to human presences other than those of his comrades behind him. Three figures suddenly emerged from between the trees, into the windswept snow. Hirata stopped in his tracks as the men blocked his path. He stared in amazement.
They were the tallest men he’d ever seen; they stood half a head higher than Detective Marume, the biggest man in his group. Coats and leggings made of animal skins clothed their strong physiques. Geometric patterns with curves, spirals, and cusps decorated their hems, sleeve edges, and neck bands. Thick fur that trimmed their mittens, covered the calves of their fish-skin boots, and lined their leather hoods gave them a bestial aspect. They were obviously not Japanese. They must be Ezo, northern barbarians.