[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
round a large rocky outcrop; a tree branch hung above it. I ran round the
corner, stepped back in my own footprints, and sprang for the branch. I pulled
myself up onto it and took out my knife, wishing I had Jato. The other weapons
I carried were those with which I'd been meant to kill Ichiro, garrote and
Page 84
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
neck spike. But the Tribe are hard to kill with their own weapons, just as
they are hard to outwit with their own tricks. My best hope was the knife. I
stilled my breathing, went invisible, listened to him falter as he saw my
second self, then heard him run again.
I knew I would only have one chance. I dropped on him from above. My weight
unbalanced him, and as he stumbled I found a gap in his neck protection and
drove the knife into the main artery of the throat, pulling it crossways
through the windpipe as Kenji had taught me. He made a grunt of amazementùone
I've often heard from Tribe members who don't expect to have to play the part
of the victimùand the stumble turned into a fall. I slipped from him. His
hands went up to his throat, where the breath was whistling noisily and the
blood was spurting. Then he went down for good, on his face, the blood turning
the snow red.
I went through his clothes and took the rest of the knives and his short
sword, which was a particularly fine one. He had a selection of poisons, which
I also took, having none of my own at that time. I had no idea who he was. I
removed his gloves and looked at his palms, but they did not bear the
distinctive straight line of the Kikuta, and as far as I could see he had no
tattoos.
I left his body for the crows and foxes, thinking it would be a welcome winter
meal for them, and hurried on as quickly and as silently as possible, fearing
he might be one of a band watching the river, waiting for me. The blood was
racing through me; I was warmed by my flight and the brief struggle, and I was
deeply, primitively glad it was not me lying dead in the snow.
I was slightly alarmed that the Tribe had caught up with me so quickly and had
known where I would be going. Had Akio's body been discovered, and messages
sent already, by horse, from Hagi to Yamagata? Or was Akio still alive? I
cursed myself for not taking the time to finish him off. Maybe the encounter
should have frightened me more, should have made me realize what it would be
like to be hunted by the Tribe for the rest of my life. I did realize it, but
I was enraged that they should try to kill me like a dog in the forest and
cheered by the fact that their first attempt had failed. The Tribe might have
managed to kill my father, but Kenji himself had said no one would have been
able to get near him if he had not taken a vow never to kill again. I knew I
had all his talents, maybe even more. I would not let the Tribe near me. I
would carry on Shigeru's work and break their power.
All these thoughts whirled through my mind as I slogged on through the snow.
They gave me energy and sharpened my resolve to survive. After I'd finished
with the Tribe, I turned my rage against the Otori lords, whose treachery
seemed even greater to me. Warriors pretended that honor and loyalty were
all-important to them; yet, their deceptions and betrayals were as deep and as
self-serving as the Tribe's. Shigeru's uncles had sent him to his death and
were now trying to dispossess me. They did not know what lay in store for
them. If they could have seen me, knee-deep in drifts of snow, ill-clad,
ill-equipped, with no men, money, or land, they would certainly have lost no
sleep over any threat I posed them.
I could not stop and rest. I had no alternative but to keep walking until I
reached Terayama or dropped in my tracks from exhaustion, but every now and
then I stepped off the path and listened for any sound of pursuit. I heard
nothing except the moan of the wind and the soft hiss of the flakes as they
fell, until, late in the day when the light was beginning to fade, I thought I
could hear snatches of sound from below.
It was the last thing I would have expected to hear out on the mountain as the
forest filled with snow. It sounded like flute music, as lonely as the wind in
the pines, as fleeting as the flakes. It sent shivers down my spine, not only
from the usual effect music has on me, but from a deeper fear. I believed I
had come too close to the edge of the world and was hearing spirits. I thought
of the mountain goblins who lure humans and keep them captive below the ground
for thousands of years. I wished I could form the prayers my mother taught me,
but my lips were frozen, and anyway, I no longer believed in their power.
Page 85
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The music grew louder. I was approaching its source, but I could not stop
walking, as though it had enchanted me and was drawing me toward itself. I
rounded the corner and saw the path fork. Immediately, I remembered what my
guide had told me, and indeed, there was the little shrine, just visible,
three oranges placed before it glowing bright beneath their caps of snow.
Behind the shrine was a small hut with wooden walls and a thatched roof. My
fears subsided at once and I almost laughed aloud. It was no goblin I'd heard
but some monk or hermit who had retreated to the mountain to seek
enlightenment.
Now I could smell smoke. The warmth drew me irresistibly. I could imagine the
coals drying my soaked feet, bringing them back from the blocks of ice they'd
turned into. I could almost feel the heat on my face. The door of the hut was
open to let light in and smoke out. The flute player had neither heard nor
seen me. He was lost in the sorrowful, unearthly music.
Even before I saw him, I knew who he was. I had heard the same music before,
night after night as I grieved at Shigeru's grave. It was Makoto, the young
monk who had comforted me. He sat cross-legged, his eyes closed. He was
playing the long bamboo flute, but a smaller transverse flute lay on the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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round a large rocky outcrop; a tree branch hung above it. I ran round the
corner, stepped back in my own footprints, and sprang for the branch. I pulled
myself up onto it and took out my knife, wishing I had Jato. The other weapons
I carried were those with which I'd been meant to kill Ichiro, garrote and
Page 84
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
neck spike. But the Tribe are hard to kill with their own weapons, just as
they are hard to outwit with their own tricks. My best hope was the knife. I
stilled my breathing, went invisible, listened to him falter as he saw my
second self, then heard him run again.
I knew I would only have one chance. I dropped on him from above. My weight
unbalanced him, and as he stumbled I found a gap in his neck protection and
drove the knife into the main artery of the throat, pulling it crossways
through the windpipe as Kenji had taught me. He made a grunt of amazementùone
I've often heard from Tribe members who don't expect to have to play the part
of the victimùand the stumble turned into a fall. I slipped from him. His
hands went up to his throat, where the breath was whistling noisily and the
blood was spurting. Then he went down for good, on his face, the blood turning
the snow red.
I went through his clothes and took the rest of the knives and his short
sword, which was a particularly fine one. He had a selection of poisons, which
I also took, having none of my own at that time. I had no idea who he was. I
removed his gloves and looked at his palms, but they did not bear the
distinctive straight line of the Kikuta, and as far as I could see he had no
tattoos.
I left his body for the crows and foxes, thinking it would be a welcome winter
meal for them, and hurried on as quickly and as silently as possible, fearing
he might be one of a band watching the river, waiting for me. The blood was
racing through me; I was warmed by my flight and the brief struggle, and I was
deeply, primitively glad it was not me lying dead in the snow.
I was slightly alarmed that the Tribe had caught up with me so quickly and had
known where I would be going. Had Akio's body been discovered, and messages
sent already, by horse, from Hagi to Yamagata? Or was Akio still alive? I
cursed myself for not taking the time to finish him off. Maybe the encounter
should have frightened me more, should have made me realize what it would be
like to be hunted by the Tribe for the rest of my life. I did realize it, but
I was enraged that they should try to kill me like a dog in the forest and
cheered by the fact that their first attempt had failed. The Tribe might have
managed to kill my father, but Kenji himself had said no one would have been
able to get near him if he had not taken a vow never to kill again. I knew I
had all his talents, maybe even more. I would not let the Tribe near me. I
would carry on Shigeru's work and break their power.
All these thoughts whirled through my mind as I slogged on through the snow.
They gave me energy and sharpened my resolve to survive. After I'd finished
with the Tribe, I turned my rage against the Otori lords, whose treachery
seemed even greater to me. Warriors pretended that honor and loyalty were
all-important to them; yet, their deceptions and betrayals were as deep and as
self-serving as the Tribe's. Shigeru's uncles had sent him to his death and
were now trying to dispossess me. They did not know what lay in store for
them. If they could have seen me, knee-deep in drifts of snow, ill-clad,
ill-equipped, with no men, money, or land, they would certainly have lost no
sleep over any threat I posed them.
I could not stop and rest. I had no alternative but to keep walking until I
reached Terayama or dropped in my tracks from exhaustion, but every now and
then I stepped off the path and listened for any sound of pursuit. I heard
nothing except the moan of the wind and the soft hiss of the flakes as they
fell, until, late in the day when the light was beginning to fade, I thought I
could hear snatches of sound from below.
It was the last thing I would have expected to hear out on the mountain as the
forest filled with snow. It sounded like flute music, as lonely as the wind in
the pines, as fleeting as the flakes. It sent shivers down my spine, not only
from the usual effect music has on me, but from a deeper fear. I believed I
had come too close to the edge of the world and was hearing spirits. I thought
of the mountain goblins who lure humans and keep them captive below the ground
for thousands of years. I wished I could form the prayers my mother taught me,
but my lips were frozen, and anyway, I no longer believed in their power.
Page 85
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The music grew louder. I was approaching its source, but I could not stop
walking, as though it had enchanted me and was drawing me toward itself. I
rounded the corner and saw the path fork. Immediately, I remembered what my
guide had told me, and indeed, there was the little shrine, just visible,
three oranges placed before it glowing bright beneath their caps of snow.
Behind the shrine was a small hut with wooden walls and a thatched roof. My
fears subsided at once and I almost laughed aloud. It was no goblin I'd heard
but some monk or hermit who had retreated to the mountain to seek
enlightenment.
Now I could smell smoke. The warmth drew me irresistibly. I could imagine the
coals drying my soaked feet, bringing them back from the blocks of ice they'd
turned into. I could almost feel the heat on my face. The door of the hut was
open to let light in and smoke out. The flute player had neither heard nor
seen me. He was lost in the sorrowful, unearthly music.
Even before I saw him, I knew who he was. I had heard the same music before,
night after night as I grieved at Shigeru's grave. It was Makoto, the young
monk who had comforted me. He sat cross-legged, his eyes closed. He was
playing the long bamboo flute, but a smaller transverse flute lay on the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]