The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass (16 page)

Reigen motioned for Seikei to be silent. The lodge seemed absolutely still. It was as if no one had been there for years. But Reigen seemed to notice something. He cocked his head and then chose one of the corridors.

Trailing him, Seikei could see that a door stood open at the other end of the hallway. Reigen stepped through the entrance and stopped. Seikei, standing behind him, saw that Yabuta had arrived before them after all.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the spy chief said. “And since you have defeated my guards, I know that you have brought me what I want.” He looked at Seikei with his cold eyes. “Thank you for delivering my message.”

Seikei’s heart sank. Yabuta was seated on a mat, holding a knife to the throat of the boy emperor. Risu—or Yasuhito, as his proper name was—had his hands tied behind his back. His face wore an expression Seikei had not see there before: terror.

“I
told
him he had the wrong person, but he wouldn’t believe me.” Hato’s voice came from another part of the room. She too had her hands tied. Seikei could not help but wonder why Yabuta had not gagged her as well.

“This girl,” said Yabuta, “has the odd idea that the boy I hold is not the emperor. Apparently, Judge Ooka’s stepson had been practicing his impersonation even before I suggested it to him. Is that so?”

“There was a misunderstanding,” Seikei said.

“Well, let us clear it up at once, shall we? If I am not holding the real emperor, then his grandfather may of course use his sword to kill me. But if this boy is in fact Yasuhito, his grandfather will not want to see his throat slit. And make no mistake, my hand will move faster than he can reach me. Do you wish to see your grandson die?” he called to Reigen.

“No,” Reigen said in a low voice.

“Then remove the Kusanagi—in its scabbard, if you please—and lay it on the floor in front of me.”

Reigen began to untie the scabbard from the obi around his waist.

“No!” cried Seikei. “You can’t!”

“I must,” Reigen said. “You heard him.”

“But Yabuta will use the sword to make himself the ruler of Japan.”

“Only a descendant of Amaterasu can be the ruler,” said Reigen. “Yabuta can be a shogun, but no matter who is shogun, the emperor reigns.”

Reigen freed the scabbard that contained the Kusanagi. Holding it in both hands, as if making an offering, he stepped forward and laid it in front of Yabuta.

When Reigen stepped back, Yabuta shoved Yasuhito away and snatched up the sword. Pulling it from its scabbard, he admired it as keenly as if he were seeing his own image in the shining steel.

Then his eyes, glittering with triumph, slowly turned in Seikei’s direction.

24

YASUHITO SEES

N
ow is the time,” said Reigen.

Seikei wasn’t sure, at first, what he was talking about. Then it came to him.

Now? Well, of course he was going to die anyway, so why not? Better to die defending one’s honor than whimpering for mercy.

Seikei drew the wooden sword from his obi.

When Yabuta saw that, he laughed. It sounded like the cawing of a crow that has found a great hoard of spilled rice.

“So your arrogant pride persists?” Yabuta said. “I will enjoy stopping it once and for all.” He leaped forward, preparing to cut Seikei in two with the Kusanagi.

Seikei had been trained in the art of the sword by Bunzo and the actor Tomomi. He had also seen the ninja master Tatsuno use a sword, and gained much knowledge from that. Seikei’s only advantage in this fight was that Yabuta expected him to be completely inexperienced.

Thus, when Yabuta brought the deadly blade down, Seikei was no longer there. After seeing Yabuta commit himself, Seikei had sidestepped the blade.

That gave him a chance to strike at Yabuta. Seikei’s maple sword whipped through the air, but unfortunately only gave the spy chief a glancing blow on his shoulder.

Even that was enough to enrage Yabuta. He swung full force at Seikei, this time using a side-to-side blow. Seikei ducked under it much the same way he had seen Tatsuno do. Seikei retaliated with a thrust aimed at Yabuta’s face. He had hoped to strike an eye, but hit Yabuta’s nose instead. Satisfyingly, to Seikei, it started to bleed.

He expected Yabuta to become more reckless after that, but the spy chief was no fool. He controlled his anger and began to stalk Seikei. Step by step Seikei moved back, trying to stay out of reach of the razor-sharp Kusanagi that Yabuta swung back and forth in front of him. Finally Seikei was forced against a wall. Yabuta feinted with the point of his sword, and Seikei dodged to one side. This time, Yabuta anticipated the move and he slashed in the same direction.

Seikei brought up his wooden sword, the only thing he could do to defend himself. Of course if the edge of the Kusanagi had struck it, the wood would have split as easily as a piece of straw. Luckily, Seikei’s sword caught the flat of the blade, diverting it just enough so that Seikei could slip away.

Trying to gain more space in which to maneuver, Seikei turned his back and ran. The trouble with this tactic was that if Seikei weren’t quick enough, he would be defenseless against an attack. Yabuta’s footsteps sounded uncomfortably near.

Then Seikei heard a crash and a curse from Yabuta. He turned and saw the spy chief on the floor. Hato had stuck out her leg and tripped him.

Yabuta was down only for an instant. He jumped to his feet and seemed about to slash at Hato. Seikei instinctively struck downward with the wooden sword. He aimed at the back of Yabuta’s head, but the spy chief realized the blow was coming and ducked under it.

Yabuta turned, his eyes blazing hatred at Seikei. He took two more sideways swipes, which Seikei easily evaded. Seikei realized the man was breathing hard and carried the Kusanagi as if it were too heavy for him. That was odd, for Yabuta was much younger than Reigen, who had used the sword with ease.

Trying to see if he could use Yabuta’s weakness to his advantage, Seikei gave up trying to parry his opponent’s blows. Instead, he merely dodged them, nimbly hopping, ducking, or darting aside whenever Yabuta tried to strike him.

It was a risky strategy, but it seemed to be working: With each blow, Yabuta appeared to grow more exhausted. In fact, it became obvious that Seikei could continue to evade him almost indefinitely. Finally, Yabuta stood, barely holding the sword off the floor, his agonized breaths loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Now is the time,” Reigen said again.

Yes, Seikei thought. Now I have the advantage.

He slid forward without lifting his feet, raising his sword as he moved. Yabuta saw the blow coming and tried to lift the Kusanagi to block it. But he failed. Seikei hit him soundly across the side of the head, with a ferocity that he had not known he felt. The blow made a noise like a branch snapping off a tree.

Yabuta fell to the floor and lay there motionless.

“Did you kill him?” Hato called out. “If not, hit him again.”

Seikei looked down. He realized that he was trembling from the fight. He could not bring himself to speak.

Reigen came and crouched over Yabuta’s body. “He is alive,” he said. “He does not deserve to die so easily.” He rose and looked at Seikei. “Take the sword,” he said.

Seikei looked, without comprehending, at the wooden sword he still held.

“The Kusanagi,” Reigen urged again. “Take it.”

Seikei bent and pried the sword from Yabuta’s grasp. It was, indeed, heavier than he would have guessed. He gave Reigen a questioning glance. “Do you want it?” Seikei asked.

“No,” said Reigen. “You must return it to the Atsuta Shrine. Will you do that?”

“Yes,” Seikei said.

“It is not for you to use,” said Reigen.

“Was that why . . . Yabuta grew so tired?” Seikei asked.

Reigen nodded. “Only a descendant of Amaterasu may use it. The kami of the sword began to fight Yabuta.”

“Grandfather,” came another voice. They turned to look at Yasuhito, crouched in a corner of the room. “
I
want the Kusanagi,” he said. “Don’t give it to him.”

“You have no need for the Kusanagi, Yasuhito,” said Reigen.

“But I
do
. When I read—” He looked around. “I don’t want to say, with them here.”

“They are loyal to you,” said Reigen. “You can trust them.”

Yasuhito looked at Hato. “Well, she makes good porridge, anyway,” he said. “But what about him?” he added, pointing to Seikei.

“He has already read the Kusanagi scroll, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Reigen.

“Oh, he did?” Yasuhito seemed surprised.

“You told me to look for it, remember?” said Seikei.

“I guess I did. Anyway, the scroll said that the
real
sword was at the Atsuta Shrine, not in the imperial palace. The one in the palace is only a copy.”

“That is true,” said Reigen. “When Prince Yamato placed the sword at Atsuta, he intended that it would never be used again. So a copy was made to be used in the ceremony when a new emperor comes to the throne.”

“But I thought because the sword that they gave me at my . . . the ceremony when I became emperor . . . wasn’t real, that was the
reason.
”

“The reason for what?”

Yasuhito looked as if he were fighting back tears. In spite of everything, Seikei felt sorry for him. “The reason why Amaterasu didn’t come to see me during the night I spent in the hut at the ceremony. I waited and waited, because I was going to ask her where
you
had gone. But she never came. I didn’t fall asleep either, the way Uino said I must have. So that meant . . . that meant I wasn’t really the emperor. Of course, Uino made me act like I was, but then he died this year and I decided I wasn’t going to do it anymore.”

Seikei stared at Yasuhito. He wondered how the judge would react when he heard about this. “But you mustn’t—” Seikei started to say. Then he felt Reigen’s hand on his arm.

“This,” the old man said, “is something I will take care of. But not here. This room is unclean now. Untie Hato and let me have the cord.”

Seikei obeyed.

“Now take the others into the garden outside the lodge,” Reigen said. “I will see that Yabuta does no more harm.”

 

 

The three young people left the lodge and found a stone garden that badly needed raking and cleaning. “Whenever I thought of this place, I remembered this garden,” Yasuhito said. “My mother would hold me on her lap and tell me stories. It was the last time I was happy.”

Hato gave Seikei a look. “Tell him who you really are,” she said. “I’m tired of keeping your secret.”

“Keeping my secret?” said Seikei. “What about the servant you sent to find me at Ponzu’s castle?”

“Well, I had to tell
her,
” said Hato. “And it worked out all right. You found us, didn’t you?”

Seikei had no answer for this. Which was just as well, for Reigen emerged from the house just then.

“You must kneel,” he told Seikei and Hato. Seikei did so at once, but Hato was indignant and had to be coaxed.

Then Reigen stood facing Yasuhito. “Grandson,” he said, “tell me about the night you spent in the hut at the ceremony when you were raised to the throne. When sunrise came, did you look in the mirror that is one of the three treasures of Amaterasu?”

“The mirror? No, Grandfather, I was upset because I thought Amaterasu had failed to come visit me.”

Reigen looked at the sky. Seikei followed his gaze. It was a clear, crisp day and the sun was almost overhead. It was so bright that it was impossible for Seikei to keep his eyes raised for long.

When he looked down, he saw Reigen take a flat, shining object from his kimono. “Here,” he said to Yasuhito, “here is what you should have seen.” He tilted the sacred mirror until it reflected the rays of the sun directly into Yasuhito’s face.

Yasuhito, who should have blinked, instead stared intently into the light. He reached forward to touch the mirror. “Grandfather!” he said. “I see her! She looks . . . like me.”

“So she should,” said Reigen. “For you are her true descendant.”

Having waited so long, Yasuhito seemed unable to take his eyes from what he saw in the mirror. Seikei watched the boy’s face. It changed—became more like Reigen’s, even though they were far apart in age. Before this, Yasuhito had seemed like just another boy, and not one Seikei would care to know well. Now it was clear who he was.

When the ceremony was over, Reigen said to Seikei and Hato, “You may come and bow to the emperor.”

Seikei did so, and felt it was an honor he would always remember. He took off his headband and laid it before the emperor. His task was accomplished.

But Hato approached reluctantly. “I want to understand something,” she said. Pointing to Yasuhito, she said, “You really
are
the emperor?”

Yasuhito nodded. “Grandfather has made me understand my error.”

“Hmph,” she sniffed. “I wouldn’t think it was something you could be in any doubt about.” She turned her attention to Reigen. “And if you’re his grandfather, then you
used
to be the emperor.”

“That is so,” Reigen responded. “When you asked me earlier if I was a kami, I could not truthfully answer no, because even though I am no longer emperor, I still carry the spirit of Amaterasu within me.”

Hato finally turned to Seikei. She looked dismayed. “So you’re the only one who
wasn’t
the emperor?” she asked.

“I’m sorry,” said Seikei. “I tried to tell you, but there was so much confusion . . .” He trailed off.

Hato thought about it for a moment, then made her decision. “I think you’re still all trying to trick me,” she said.

25

SEIKEI’S ONLY MISTAKE

I
t was a fine spring day, when the sun seemed to chase away the cold air that had hung over the earth all winter. Seikei and the judge stood in the gardens outside the imperial palace, waiting for the plowing ceremony to begin. The judge was there as the shogun’s official representative, and Seikei had received a personal invitation. He noticed that it had been signed by both the Ministers of the Right and of the Left. He wondered how they could have been persuaded to do such a thing together. If they realized who he was, they would probably not have sent it at all.