Текст книги "Island of Exiles "

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Tora gritted his teeth, but gave in. He hoped Ikugoro would

not find Wada right away.

They found Oyoshi pacing up and down by a cold hearth to

keep herself warm in the frigid drafts that whistled through the

cracks. “There you are,” she cried when she saw Tora. “Where

have you been? I’ve been going out of my mind with worry. It’s

been hours. He’s probably killed her by now.”

“What did she do?” asked Tora, glowering.

Oyoshi wrung her hands. “Oh, the stupid girl. But it’s all

your fault. Men!”

Tora clenched his fists to keep from strangling her. Turtle

gave him a worried glance and told his sister, “The officer is an

honored guest in your house, sister. You should not speak to

him this way.”

Oyoshi flushed and bowed. “Oh, sorry. It’s the worry. Please

forgive what I said, sir. It was very improper. Especially when

you have been so generous.”

“Forget it and get on with the story,” Tora ground out.

“After you and my brother left, Little Flower came to me, all

dressed up for work. She said she was going to the Golden

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

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Phoenix to meet that bastard Wada and to tell you so you could

catch him. Oh, dear. It was such a long time ago. You must go

immediately. The fool! She wanted to help you.”

Tora turned on his heel and headed out the door, his face

grim and his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Come on,” he flung

over his shoulder to Turtle. But on the street, he came to a halt.

“No. Go back in and get my things,” he said. Digging in his sash,

he passed a handful of money to Turtle. “Then run to the post

station outside town and hire three horses. Bring the horses to

the shrine behind the Golden Phoenix and wait for me.”

A party was in full swing at the Golden Phoenix. Lights

blazed in the main house, ribald songs and shrill laughter of

women came from inside, and a drunk vomited into the gutter

near the entrance. Tora, grateful that his clothes were dark,

slipped past him into the garden. Someone had thoughtfully lit

an oil lamp in a stone lantern marking the path to the cottage.

It was occupied. Dim lights glimmered behind the closed

shutters.

Taking off his boots, Tora climbed the steps in his bare

feet, testing each before he put his weight on it. Outside the

door he paused and listened. At first he thought nothing had

happened yet, but then he heard a soft moan, followed by a

male murmur and a rich chuckle that sent chills down his spine.

He stretched out his hand to fling open the door, when com-

mon sense reminded him that a woman’s moan might denote

pleasure as well as pain, and that someone else might have

rented the cottage after all. He could hardly burst in on a pair of strangers without causing trouble.

He crept toward the nearest shuttered window, crouched

down, and peered through a chink. A narrow field of vision

showed only the naked leg and bare buttock of a man standing

upright. Just beyond the muscular leg was another, paler, and

more slender leg of a woman. But the legs might belong to anyone.

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There was another moan. What were they doing? Making

love standing up? Why not? He had done it himself.

Tora was about to rise a little to look for another chink when

he saw a thin red line creeping down the woman’s leg. A second

joined it before he realized that what he saw was blood.

He freed his sword and was at the door in an instant. It was

locked. With a roar of rage and frustration, he stepped back and

threw himself at it. The wood splintered and gave with a crash,

and Tora burst into the room.

He took in the scene at a glance. Wada, also with a short

sword in his hand, pulled away from Little Flower, who was

leaning against one of the pillars. Both were naked and their

bodies were crimson with blood.

A second glance showed why. Wada had been cutting Little

Flower’s breasts and belly with the sharp blade of his sword. She

was covered with crisscrossing cuts, not deep enough to kill but

enough to cover her and Wada with blood. When she saw Tora,

she gave a little sob and sagged against the ropes that tied her

wrists behind the pillar.

Wada cursed viciously, his face distorted with fury, and

came for Tora with his bloody sword.

Tora, tall and athletic, had been rigorously active all of his

life. Wada was shorter, older, and had gone soft about the mid-

dle from too much good living and debauchery. It should have

been easy. Tora stepped aside, thinking to disarm the man in

one swift, smooth movement. But Wada, for all his years of bad

living, had one advantage. Unlike Tora, he had been trained by a

master in the military arts, and his use of the sword had become

instinctive.

Thus Wada corrected instantly and slashed at Tora’s belly so

quickly that only Tora’s alertness and youth allowed him to

twist aside in time. He bit his lip and concentrated on blocking

Wada’s blade, which seemed to come at him from all directions.

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

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The man’s technique was far superior to his own, and he could

only count on the fact that Wada’s fury would cause him to

make a mistake sooner or later. And even then, he could not kill

the man. Everything depended on his taking Wada alive.

In the end, it was neither Wada’s superior swordsmanship

nor Tora’s cool deliberation that ended the fight. Part of the

broken door separated from its frame and fell; Wada dodged,

stepped into some of Little Flower’s blood, and slipped, sinking

momentarily to one knee. Tora moved forward instantly, hitting

Wada’s sword arm hard with the flat side of his blade and

disarming him.

Wada’s sword skittered into a corner, and Wada clutched

his arm, doubling up in pain. Tora dropped his sword, then bent

and raised Wada’s head by its topknot. “You’re finished, bas-

tard,” he hissed, and struck him full in the face with his fist.

Blood spurted from Wada’s nose and mouth and he passed out.

Taking up his sword again, Tora went to Little Flower and

cut her loose. She collapsed into his arms, whimpering softly.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” he scolded. “He might’ve

killed you.”

She gulped and mumbled, “I thought you’d never come. He

started cutting deep when I told him about you.”

She was clinging to him, and he thought he felt blood seep-

ing through his robe. “Why did you tell him?” he asked.

“I was afraid. When he used his sword on me, I thought he’d

kill me, so I told him I left a message for someone. He wanted to

know who and kept cutting me until I told him. Then he got

really angry. He called me a cheating whore and said he’d watch

me bleed to death and . . . and . . .” She sagged abruptly and

Tora laid her down on the mat, so recently cleaned by the old

woman and now covered with gore beyond repair. Little Flower

had many cuts, all of them bleeding, but two or three looked

ugly. He snatched her thin undergown from the pile of clothing

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and, tearing it, pressed the fabric to the worst wounds, wonder-

ing what to do next. He could hardly call for help with Wada

lying there unconscious.

He was still crouching over the unconscious Little Flower,

both hands pressing fabric to her wounds, when he heard steps

outside. Heavy male boots, and at least three pairs.

He twisted around just in time to see Wada on all fours

crawling toward his sword. Then the broken door flew back

and the brawny figures of Wada’s constables appeared on the

threshold, Sergeant Ikugoro in the lead and evidently bent on

delivering Tora’s message.

It was an awkward moment, and Tora had no time to con-

sider his strategy.

He abandoned Little Flower and plunged for Wada, putting

his foot so hard on Wada’s outstretched hand that he could

hear a bone snap. Wada screamed. Tora turned his head toward

Ikugoro and said, “Good work, Sergeant. Just in time to help me

tie up the prisoner.”

Ikugoro’s eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. “Wha . . . what’s

going on here?” he managed. Wada moaned and twisted on

the floor, his hand still under Tora’s foot. For a moment, the

outcome hung in a delicate balance.

“Well?” growled Tora. “What are you waiting for? I thought

you were a man of decision.”

“Kill him, you fools,” screamed Wada. “Kill him now!”

Ikugoro stepped forward. “Er, yes, sir,” he mumbled, looking

uneasily from Wada to Tora, “but what happened? Why are you

arresting Lieutenant Wada, Inspector?”

“Look around you. Attempted murder—mine and hers—

for a start. Now let me see if you have the qualities to uphold the law in Sadoshima.”

Wada shouted, “You idiot. Don’t listen to him.”

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321

Ikugoro glanced at Little Flower, sprawled naked and bleed-

ing on the floor, and made up his mind. “Yes, sir. All right, men.

Tie him up!”

The constables stepped forward, unwound the thin chains

they carried around their waists to secure prisoners, and

glanced doubtfully from Tora to Wada. “Which one, Sergeant?”

asked the bravest one finally.

“The lieutenant, you fool. You heard the inspector. The lieu-

tenant’s been at it again, and this time he’s killed the whore.

Better put some clothes on him first, though. Knock him out, if

you have to.”

Tora took his foot off Wada’s hand and left him to the con-

stables. They actually grinned as they pulled up their cursing,

screaming, and kicking commander, put his clothes back on

him, and tied his wrists and ankles. Wada’s hand was turning

dark and swelling to twice its size. He squealed like a wounded

animal at their rough handling. Ikugoro watched the struggle

impatiently, then snapped, “I told you to knock him out.”

“Sorry, Sergeant,” grunted the big constable, and slapped

Wada so hard that his head bounced off the wall and he crum-

pled to the floor.

Ikugoro shook his head. “They never liked the lieutenant

much,” he informed Tora.

“I see. Thank you, Sergeant. Well done. I’ll see this gets men-

tioned in my report. Now we’d better get a doctor to see to

the girl.”

Ikugoro walked over to Little Flower and bent down.

Straightening up, he said, “Not required, sir. She’s dead.”

It was true. Little Flower had lost too much blood, and the

already weakened body had been unable to deal with the deep

wounds Wada had inflicted. Rage filled Tora, rage against the

man who had tormented her and finally killed her as he had

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promised to do, rage against himself for having come too late.

He snatched up his sword and swung around. Ikugoro and his

constables watched him uneasily.

Tora took a shuddering breath. “Yes,” he said, and slowly

tucked his sword back into his sash. “Well. We have a crime

scene here, Sergeant. Send one of your men ahead to the coro-

ner. The other two can get a ladder or plank to put the body on

and take it to the tribunal. You, Sergeant, will help me here and

then transport the prisoner to jail.”

Ikugoro did not question the voice of authority, even if the

orders were questionable in the present circumstances. He sent

the constables about their duties and then helped Tora go

through the motions of observing the evidence of what had

happened here. Wada looked much the worse for wear when

they turned their attention to him. His lip was split, his nose

was purple and bloody, and both eyes were nearly swollen shut.

When they asked him questions, he mumbled unintelligibly.

Together they dragged him out into the garden. Tora cast a

glance toward the back fence. Beyond lay the densely wooded

shrine precinct. He hoped Turtle was waiting with the horses.

“Tell you what, Sergeant,” he said. “We don’t want to attract

too much attention. You’ve got to make sure the coast is clear.

Go out front to wait for your men and post one of them at the

gate. Then come back.”

As soon as Ikugoro had trotted off, Tora slung Wada over his

shoulder and headed for the back fence. Dropping Wada over

like a big bag of rice, he vaulted after, and dragged him off into

the shrubbery.

C H A P T E R N I N E T E E N

E SC AP E

Akitada lay among the bracken and looked at the tops of

gently swaying trees and at the winking stars until he was dizzy.

The world was filled with the scent of grass and clover, the clear

chirruping of waking birds, the touch of a cool, dew-laden

breeze. He had no wish for more.

But Haseo did. “The chains,” he said softly, creeping up.

“We’ve got to get the chains off. Do you still have your chisel or

hammer?”

Akitada knew he did not, but he sat up and felt his clothing.

“I lost them somewhere inside.” He looked at the dark form of

his companion and felt ashamed and irresponsible. “I’m sorry.

That was careless,” he said humbly. “I should have remem-

bered.” All that work and now they would be caught because

the chains would keep them from getting away from the search

parties which would soon start combing the mountainsides. He

glanced at the sky again. There was a faint but perceptible light-

ening toward their left. The east. As far as he could make out,

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they were on the far side of the mountain, well above and to the

back of the cliff with the badger holes. This was good, because

they could not be seen or heard from the work site.

Haseo sighed. “Never mind. I lost mine, too. Look, maybe

you’d better tie up my leg. I’m getting a bit faint. Here. Tear up

my shirt.”

Akitada could not see much of Haseo, but he felt the fabric

thrust at him and groped for Haseo’s leg. His fingers touched

blood, lots of it, warm and slick under his touch. He ripped the

shirt into strips, folded a part of the fabric, and told Haseo to press it over the wound, then tied it into place as firmly as he could.

“Stay here,” he told Haseo, “while I look for a rock to work

on those chains.”

After much trial and failure, they found that draping the chain

over a rock outcropping and then hammering away at it with a

loose stone would eventually break a link. The small chinking

noise terrified them in case someone should hear, and they paused

many times to listen. All remained quiet, and they decided finally

that they were too far from the mine entrance to be heard. But

they were both exhausted by the time they had freed themselves.

And it was no longer night. The light had changed to a

translucent gray, and the mountainside around them was filled

with ominous dark shapes and obscure forms. They were far

from safe, for with daylight their pursuers would find them

gone. All around rose other peaks, wooded and rocky. Night still

hung over the west, or they might have seen the sea. They would

have to make their way down this mountain and get as far away

from the mine as possible. The trouble was that neither knew

exactly where they were. Haseo explained apologetically that

he had not thought of escape when he was brought here, and

Akitada had been unconscious.

Akitada looked curiously at Haseo in the growing light. He

noticed for the first time how much thinner he had become

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325

since they had met inside the harbor palisade. Haseo was look-

ing him over also and smiled. No doubt, thought Akitada, I look

a great deal worse than he, even without a blood-soaked band-

age around my leg. Two less likely creatures to make a success-

ful escape from the top of a mountain guarded by Kumo’s men

could hardly be imagined. But they were free and had a chance,

and that was wonderful. He chuckled.

“Why do you laugh?” Haseo asked.

“We look terrible, but by heaven, we will make it,” said

Akitada, and raised a grin on Haseo’s drawn face. “Your leg still

bleeds. Can you walk?”

Haseo got up and took a few steps to look down the moun-

tainside. “Come on,” he said. “This way. It’ll stop bleeding, and

if it doesn’t, I’ll at least put some distance between myself and

those bastards before I collapse.”

As the sun slowly rose over the mountains, they scrambled

through gorse, brambles, and shrubs, sliding part of the way on

their backsides, until they reached a small stream. It bubbled

and splashed downhill, making its way around rocks and over

them until it reached a small basin, where it pooled, clear as air, before washing over a rock outcropping in a small waterfall.

Here they drank thirstily and then washed themselves. The

water was cold, but it removed layers of dust, sweat, and dirt

and made both of them feel nearly human.

It was such a pleasant place, and so peaceful—the only

sign of life a rabbit, which scampered off—that they paused

to tend to their injuries. Akitada tore up his shirt and re-

placed the blood-soaked bandage on Haseo’s leg. The bleed-

ing seemed to have lessened, but Haseo was pale and shivered

even though the day was warming and they were sitting in

the sun.

“I’m going to slow you down,” Haseo said, when he got to

his feet.

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“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m limping myself.” Akitada’s knee

had not taken well to the hurried descent. It was painful, and

Akitada feared it would swell again.

Haseo glanced at it and chuckled weakly. “Two cripples.”

They smiled at each other, though there was little to smile

about, and followed the stream downhill. Akitada liked Haseo’s

cheerfulness. The silent, glowering prisoner in the stockade had

been a different man. This Haseo had both courage and a sense

of humor. And he spoke like an educated man.

“Why weren’t you speaking when we first met?” Akitada

asked after a while. “I thought you hated us.”

Haseo’s face darkened. “I did. I found that when the consta-

bles and guards heard me speak, they were quite likely to use the

whip on me. Mind you, it took me a while to work this out. I

used to think that a man with my background might make a

difference in the way the prisoners were treated. But my sugges-

tions and comments were not well received by either the guards

or my fellow prisoners. When one of the other prisoners ratted

to the soldiers that I planned to complain about their brutality to the next official I encountered, I learned my lesson. My back’s a

constant reminder not to trust anyone. So I stopped talking

altogether.”

“But you spoke to me in the mine.”

Haseo smiled crookedly. “By then I knew you were like me.

Too clever to know when to shut up. Who are you, by the way?”

“Sugawara Akitada. I’m an official on temporary assign-

ment in Sadoshima.”

“Sugawara?” Haseo raised his brows and whistled. “And

an imperial official! But you mean you used to be. What crime

did you commit?”

“None. I’m neither a prisoner nor an exile. I’m a free man.”

Haseo fell back into the grass and burst into helpless laugh-

ter. Akitada stopped and chuckled.

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327

“Well,” he corrected himself, “I’m theoretically a free man.

The problem is getting back to provincial headquarters in

Mano to establish my identity. And the gods only know what

will await us there.”

Haseo stopped laughing and sat up slowly. “You are serious?

But what happened?”

Akitada bent to give Haseo a hand and winced at the pain in

his knee. “It’s too long a story. Let’s keep moving and I’ll try to tell you some of it on the way.”

But when he turned, his eyes caught some movement on

the other side of the stream. A large furry animal of some sort?

Perhaps, but he did not think so.

“Take cover,” he whispered to Haseo, and crossed the

stream. His knee hurt, but he had to find out if they had

been seen.

He caught sight of the squat brown figure almost immedi-

ately. Resembling some lumbering bear with a curly mane

from this distance, the goblin was hurrying uphill with two

buckets of water. Akitada scanned the area. Could they be

that close to the mining camp? The hillside was empty, but

evidently the stream was where the goblin got the water to

cook with. Dear heaven, what if she had seen them? He could

not take that chance.

The Ezo woman was not particularly agile at the best of

times, and the full buckets hampered her. When she stopped to

look back, Akitada was certain. He made a dash and seized

her shoulders to swing her around. Water splashed from the

buckets, and she gave a little cry.

Now that he had caught the woman, Akitada did not know

what to do with her. Prudence suggested killing her, or at least

tying her up to gain them a little more time, but he remembered

the extra food she had brought him and could not bring himself

to do either.

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She looked up at him with an expression that was part fear

and part joy. He dropped his hands, and she set down the buck-

ets and smiled the familiar gap-toothed grin. “You safe,” she

said, nodding her head. “Good! You go quick now.” A dirty

brown hand gestured downhill. When he did not move, she

said, “They looking in mountain.” Her arm swept upward and

waved a circle around the mountain looming above to indicate

that the search had not progressed from the mine yet.

Haseo came up behind him. “We cannot let her go,” he

said softly.

Akitada swung around and hissed, “No. She won’t tell.”

He wished he were as certain as he sounded. Her words had

implied that she would not, but what if she had lied to save

her neck? It was a terrible risk to take, and he was risking

Haseo’s life also.

Haseo shook his head. “Don’t be a fool. She’s the enemy. I’ll

do it, if it bothers you too much.” He brought his hand forward

and Akitada saw that he was clutching a large rock.

He stepped between Haseo and the woman. “No. She saved

me from the fire and was kind to me. I cannot repay her by

letting you murder her.”

They spoke in low voices while she watched nervously.

Someone shouted in the distance, and she cocked her head.

“You go now. Quick or they kill!” she said urgently, gesturing

toward the valley.

Akitada put his finger to his lips, and she nodded. He turned

and took Haseo’s arm and pulled him back into the trees.

Haseo dropped the rock. “That was foolish. They’ll be after

us faster than you can blink an eye. You should have left her to

me. I would have made sure of her.”

Akitada just shook his head.

They struggled on, following the stream down the moun-

tain as fast as their legs could carry them while listening for

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329

sounds of pursuit. Fearful of being seen from above, they stayed

under the cover of trees, though it slowed them down.

But all remained quiet, and eventually, out of breath and

unable to run anymore, they reached the valley. The stream had

widened and the mountains receded on either side of them.

They saw the first signs of human habitation, small rice paddies

or vegetable patches tucked on narrow plateaus. Haseo helped

himself to a large radish and a half-ripe melon at one of these,

and they stopped briefly to devour the food and wash it down

with water.

Later they skirted a few small farms, cautious about being

seen, even when the buildings looked like abandoned shacks.

Akitada feared that the peasants were loyal to Kumo and would

report to him the sighting of escaped miners. Walking became

more and more difficult. They needed rest, but fear of their pur-

suers kept them plodding on doggedly.

The sun was setting when they staggered down yet another

hill and found a road.

“I cannot go any farther,” said Akitada, dropping down un-

der a fir tree, one of a small copse, and rubbing his painfully

swollen knee. “How is your leg?”

Haseo stood swaying. He looked terribly pale. “Bleeding

again, I think,” he mumbled. “Don’t really want to know.” Then

he collapsed into the deep grass.

Akitada waited for him to sit back up, but Haseo had either

fallen asleep or passed out. He crawled over and checked. The

bandage was soaked with fresh blood. But Haseo was breathing

normally, his mouth slack with exhaustion. He needed rest and

a doctor’s care.

A small stream passed nearby, and Akitada slid down to it.

Pulling up some moss, he soaked it in the cold water and held it

to his knee. He was faint with hunger and worried about Haseo.

He had no idea where they were, but assumed the road in front

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of them led eventually to Mano. Moving southward should

bring them to the sea. But roads were traveled by people, and

they would attract attention. It struck him for the first time that they had a choice between risking recapture or dying from their

injuries or lack of food in the wilderness.

When his knee felt a little better, he gathered more moss and

wetted it, then crawled back to where he had left Haseo.

But Haseo was no longer alone.

Peering down at his sleeping figure stood a youngster of

about ten who had a load of kindling tied to his back. He

wore only a ragged shirt and did not look much better than

they. Perhaps that was why he did not run away when Akitada

approached.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, pointing to Haseo’s

bloody bandage.

“He got hurt coming down the mountain,” said Akitada,

busying himself with undoing the bandage and packing the

wound with the wet moss instead. “Do you live around here?”

“In the village. If he’s hurt, you should take him to Ribata.”

Akitada stopped what he was doing. “Ribata? The nun

Ribata?” he asked the boy, dumbfounded. “Do you know her?”

The youngster made a face at such stupidity. “Of course. She

lives here, doesn’t she?”

Akitada stood up and looked around. “Here? Where?”

The boy pointed up the mountain on the other side of the

road. “Up there. You can see the smoke. That means she’s home.

Sometimes she goes away.”

Akitada regarded the child dubiously. Why would the nun

live here on a mountain? Yet the more he thought about it, the

more he was inclined to believe. He squinted at the thin spiral of

smoke rising above the tall cedars halfway up the mountainside.

Both nuns and priests withdrew to lonely mountain dwellings

to spend their days in prayer and meditation. And they were

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

331

probably not far from Mano. He asked the boy, “How far is it

to Mano?”

The youngster pursed his lips and looked at the sun. “You

might get there by night, maybe, but you’d better have her look

at your friend first. She set my arm after I broke it last year.”

In the distance a temple bell rang thinly. The boy straight-

ened his load. “I’ve got to go,” he said, and trotted away.

Akitada looked at the sleeping Haseo and decided to move

him a few feet into some shrubbery out of sight from the road.

Then he crossed the road and a field of tall grasses and began

his climb through the forest toward Ribata’s hermitage. He

found a footpath after a while, but it was steep and when he

finally emerged from the forest path into the small clearing,

he was drenched in sweat and could not control the trembling

in his legs.

A tiny wooden house, covered with morning glory vines

and surrounded by a small vegetable plot, stood in the clearing.

Below lay the grassy valley and beyond rose another wooded

mountainside. A few feet from him was an open cooking fire

with a large kettle suspended from a bamboo tripod. An appe-

tizing smell drifted his way. Ribata’s hermitage was simple but

adequate and resembled many such places in the mountains

around the capital. Only an abundance of flowers, the blue

morning glories which covered its roof, the golden bells of day

lilies, yellow rape, and purple asters, suggested that the her-

mit was a woman of refined tastes. The small place was so well

hidden among the trees and vines that only those who knew of

its existence would find it.

Greatly cheered by all of this, Akitada approached the hut

and called out, “Is anyone home?”

It was indeed Ribata who appeared in the doorway, looking

as slender and aristocratic in her white robe and veil as he

remembered her. He bowed. “Forgive this intrusion, reverend

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lady, but a boy from the village directed me here. I have a friend

who is wounded.”

She shaded her eyes, then came down the steps to peer

at him more closely. Half naked, dirty, and with his hair and

beard grown wildly about his face, he imagined he was hardly a

welcome visitor, but she recognized him. “Taketsuna? Praise to

the all-merciful Buddha,” she murmured. “Is it really you? We

had almost given you up.”

Akitada had not thought of himself as Taketsuna for such a

long time that her mistake made him laugh. Or perhaps it was

finally seeing a friendly face, being greeted with pleasure, being

made welcome—all of this signaling his return to safety, to a

world he knew, having crossed the threshold between a living

death and life. He found it hard to stop laughing, but then his

legs started shaking again, and he stumbled to the small porch

and sat down. “We escaped from one of Kumo’s mines,” he

explained. “But can you come with me to help my friend? He

has lost a lot of blood from a leg wound. We must get to provin-

cial headquarters in Mano as fast as possible.”

She asked no questions. Saying, “Rest while I get ready,”

she disappeared into the hut. Akitada leaned against one of

the beams supporting the roof and basked in the warmth of

the sun, unaware that tears gathered in his eyes and slowly

spilled. Bees swarmed in the morning glories above him. Doves

cooed in the branches of a cedar, and far above a kite rode the

breeze in leisurely circles. He closed his eyes.

“Masako? Toshito?”

Akitada jerked awake, not quite sure where he was for a

moment. Then his surroundings took shape and meaning, and

he saw that Ribata had come out of her hut. She held a bundle

and was looking toward the forest. Akitada stumbled to his feet.

“Masako? Masako is here? And Toshito? Mutobe’s son Toshito?

I thought he was in prison in Mano.”

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

333

“They are both here.” Ribata scanned the trees. “When you

did not return before the trial, the children decided to escape.

Masako helped Toshito by putting a sleeping powder in the

guards’ soup. They came to me and have been here ever since. I

cannot imagine where they are. We will need their help.”

Akitada tried to make sense of this. Ribata had made it

sound quite natural that Masako should be with Mutobe’s

son. Whatever one might think of a young lady helping an

accused murderer escape from his jail cell by drugging his

guards, their coming here to hide had been smart. Perhaps the

nun had suggested it herself on one of her visits to the young

man. Perhaps she had even supplied Masako with the correct

herbs to mix into the guards’ food. Ribata seemed to have a

knack for appearing in interesting situations. But Masako here?