Smoke in the Sun
Page 36
When he watched a lean figure clad in the clothing of a boy climb from the castle’s underbelly into the light, Kenshin had known it was Mariko. He followed her, uncertain of how best to confront her for her lies. For her treachery.
Only when he stumbled as he chased her—drawing the attention of patrolling imperial guards—could he make a decision. He should have sent the soldiers after Mariko. Should have forced her to admit her deception and accept her punishment.
But he’d made a spectacle of himself instead, granting Mariko a chance to conceal herself and escape. Kenshin—a samurai of the highest order—betrayed his sovereign to aid his traitorous younger sister. Still he did not know why he had done it.
He needed another drink. He needed to forget.
So Kenshin had followed the ghostly fox into a world between worlds. One limned in a delicate fog, with all its colors leached from sight. There—in the center of an immense silver tree trunk—rested the unmistakable face of Muramasa Amaya, the only girl he’d ever loved.
As his muddled mind latched on to her burned features, the images in his periphery had begun to spin. The leaves began turning in place like tiny mirrors throwing white light in all directions, as though he were in the center of a giant diamond caught in the rays of the sun.
The tree had burned him when Kenshin tried to rescue her, though it did not appear that Amaya was suffering. She looked as though she were asleep—merely blanketed by the rough bark of the ancient oak.
And now, his eyesight tricked him again.
Just like with Amaya, Kenshin had thought the man standing before him had perished. Kenshin had been certain of it.
“My lord,” the figure said in a low voice. Nobutada—his father’s most trusted samurai—bowed without hesitation.
Kenshin did not know if it was wise to speak. “I—thought you died in Jukai forest.”
“No, my lord. I am not dead.” Nobutada glanced sidelong as though he was certain an eavesdropper lurked in the nearby branches, or perhaps waited in the neatly trimmed hedge of mirrored leaves. “I know you have many questions.”
Kenshin could not find the right words. His mind was too far gone—a persistent ache pounding in its center—the sake poured for him in Hanami continuing to fog his senses. “How—” he tried.
“There is no time for me to explain, my lord.”
“Help me, Nobutada-sama,” Kenshin began again, his voice coarse in its urgency. “I don’t know what foul play is afoot here, but we must free Amaya from this tree.”
“That is what I wish for us to discuss, my lord.”
“Speak quickly.” Kenshin closed the space between them, his temples hammering in time with his racing heart. “Then help me free her.”
Nobutada shook his head. “I’m afraid there is no way to free Muramasa Amaya, my lord. I have been trapped here, too, at the behest of the former emperor.”
“Am I trapped here, as well?” Kenshin backed away, the desire for self-preservation evident.
“No, my lord. You were not brought here as a prisoner. You entered this place of your own will, so you are free to leave.”
“Amaya was brought here as a prisoner?” Anger clouded Hattori Kenshin’s face.
Nobutada looked about, discomfort settling into his expression. “I cannot be certain.”
Kenshin pressed his palms into his eyes, as though it would force the drink from his head. Raking his fingers through his disheveled topknot, he gazed once more in disbelief at the very much alive samurai who’d been sent to keep his sister safe on her journey to Inako. “I thought you were dead. Tell me how you came to be here, Nobutada-sama. What is this place? And what must we do to free you both?”
Nobutada kept silent, his expression grim.
“Is the late emperor responsible for this as well?” Kenshin’s voice was a dangerous whisper.
“It is treason for me to speak of these things.”
Fury overcoming him at Nobutada’s reticence, Kenshin took hold of the wizened samurai’s collar. “Was it Minamoto Masaru?”
Wincing, Nobutada nodded once. He inhaled through his nostrils. “It was our former emperor, my lord.”
Kenshin’s fist tightened around his collar, his bloodshot eyes wide with rage.
His father’s best samurai put his hands in the air—palms facing out—in a gesture of peace. “The former emperor took me prisoner after he sent a band of thieves to murder your sister.”
A beat passed in silence. As Kenshin studied Nobutada for signs of artifice, he released his hold on the samurai. Forced his rage to die down to mere embers. “Why would he agree to Mariko’s marriage if he only wished to kill her?”
“I believe he wished to forge this connection with your father, and then thought better of it. Perhaps a better offer of marriage was already in the works.” Nobutada sighed with defeat. “There is no way to know for certain. But I do know he did not want his son to wed Lady Mariko.”
Kenshin nodded, his longstanding suspicions confirmed. He crossed his arms in an effort to stand straight, his feet still unsteady. “What must we do?”
“The key lies with … the new emperor.” Hesitancy marred the samurai’s words.
“I don’t understand what you—”
Nobutada interrupted Kenshin, his tone urgent. “He cannot be allowed to live, my lord. Not after what his father did to the Hattori clan. Not after what he plans to do now. He is neglecting his people. Tales of suffering are sprouting from the east. The people of Wa are being tormented by a plague, and the son of Minamoto Masaru has done nothing to address it.”
The world around Kenshin started to spin. “You are suggesting we commit treason. That I break every oath I have ever taken.”
“My lord, the emperor and his son have trapped me as their prisoner. They prevented me from saving Lady Mariko that day in Jukai forest. It is likely they have stolen away the daughter of Muramasa Sengo, for her to exist in this half world, to live a half life in slumber, buried in the center of an enchanted tree.”
Kenshin’s eyes locked on the sleeping form of Amaya. Was it possible the emperor took her as a means of controlling him? To offer further insult to his family? Kenshin could not fathom attempting to kill the new emperor. No matter how much he might wish Roku’s death, Kenshin was a samurai who served at the grace of his sovereign. “I cannot forsake my oath to the emperor.”
“I understand your hesitation, my lord,” Nobutada said. “But if he and his father have committed such atrocities, perhaps it is time for their family to pay the ultimate price.”
Kenshin’s eyes narrowed. “If you’ve been trapped here since the attack on Mariko’s convoy, how is it you know what Minamoto Roku has failed to do?”
“The fox comes to visit, once in a while.” Nobutada inclined his head toward the animal sitting placidly beside him, as though it were his pet. “As a creature of magic, it is allowed in this colorless half world. A world the emperor used to conceal the worst of his atrocities. The fox took pity on me and brought me food. Often it brought me the information I sought, as well. Scraps of correspondence and the like.”
Though the ache in his head continued to grow, Kenshin glanced down at the fox. Something about its wily smile unnerved him, as though it were supremely pleased by this recent turn of events. But this same fox had helped Kenshin before, that wretched day in the clearing when he’d lost memories. The fox had led him to safety before anyone could see the terrible atrocities he had committed.
“I have sworn an oath to serve Minamoto Roku. It does not matter what his father did. I must remain steadfast in my loyalty,” Kenshin said. Bushid dictated nothing else.
“And if I told you Minamoto Roku was responsible for the death of his father—that we serve a family of liars and murderers—where would your loyalties lie then?”
Kenshin said nothing, his eyes betraying his heart. He turned his back, tormented by a flood of thoughts and feelings.
“Do not look away from what you know to be true, my lord,” Nobutada said.
“How do I know you are not the one who killed the emperor?” Kenshin asked. “You disappeared on the day my sister most needed you. How do I know where your allegiances lie, Nobutada-sama?”
Only when he stumbled as he chased her—drawing the attention of patrolling imperial guards—could he make a decision. He should have sent the soldiers after Mariko. Should have forced her to admit her deception and accept her punishment.
But he’d made a spectacle of himself instead, granting Mariko a chance to conceal herself and escape. Kenshin—a samurai of the highest order—betrayed his sovereign to aid his traitorous younger sister. Still he did not know why he had done it.
He needed another drink. He needed to forget.
So Kenshin had followed the ghostly fox into a world between worlds. One limned in a delicate fog, with all its colors leached from sight. There—in the center of an immense silver tree trunk—rested the unmistakable face of Muramasa Amaya, the only girl he’d ever loved.
As his muddled mind latched on to her burned features, the images in his periphery had begun to spin. The leaves began turning in place like tiny mirrors throwing white light in all directions, as though he were in the center of a giant diamond caught in the rays of the sun.
The tree had burned him when Kenshin tried to rescue her, though it did not appear that Amaya was suffering. She looked as though she were asleep—merely blanketed by the rough bark of the ancient oak.
And now, his eyesight tricked him again.
Just like with Amaya, Kenshin had thought the man standing before him had perished. Kenshin had been certain of it.
“My lord,” the figure said in a low voice. Nobutada—his father’s most trusted samurai—bowed without hesitation.
Kenshin did not know if it was wise to speak. “I—thought you died in Jukai forest.”
“No, my lord. I am not dead.” Nobutada glanced sidelong as though he was certain an eavesdropper lurked in the nearby branches, or perhaps waited in the neatly trimmed hedge of mirrored leaves. “I know you have many questions.”
Kenshin could not find the right words. His mind was too far gone—a persistent ache pounding in its center—the sake poured for him in Hanami continuing to fog his senses. “How—” he tried.
“There is no time for me to explain, my lord.”
“Help me, Nobutada-sama,” Kenshin began again, his voice coarse in its urgency. “I don’t know what foul play is afoot here, but we must free Amaya from this tree.”
“That is what I wish for us to discuss, my lord.”
“Speak quickly.” Kenshin closed the space between them, his temples hammering in time with his racing heart. “Then help me free her.”
Nobutada shook his head. “I’m afraid there is no way to free Muramasa Amaya, my lord. I have been trapped here, too, at the behest of the former emperor.”
“Am I trapped here, as well?” Kenshin backed away, the desire for self-preservation evident.
“No, my lord. You were not brought here as a prisoner. You entered this place of your own will, so you are free to leave.”
“Amaya was brought here as a prisoner?” Anger clouded Hattori Kenshin’s face.
Nobutada looked about, discomfort settling into his expression. “I cannot be certain.”
Kenshin pressed his palms into his eyes, as though it would force the drink from his head. Raking his fingers through his disheveled topknot, he gazed once more in disbelief at the very much alive samurai who’d been sent to keep his sister safe on her journey to Inako. “I thought you were dead. Tell me how you came to be here, Nobutada-sama. What is this place? And what must we do to free you both?”
Nobutada kept silent, his expression grim.
“Is the late emperor responsible for this as well?” Kenshin’s voice was a dangerous whisper.
“It is treason for me to speak of these things.”
Fury overcoming him at Nobutada’s reticence, Kenshin took hold of the wizened samurai’s collar. “Was it Minamoto Masaru?”
Wincing, Nobutada nodded once. He inhaled through his nostrils. “It was our former emperor, my lord.”
Kenshin’s fist tightened around his collar, his bloodshot eyes wide with rage.
His father’s best samurai put his hands in the air—palms facing out—in a gesture of peace. “The former emperor took me prisoner after he sent a band of thieves to murder your sister.”
A beat passed in silence. As Kenshin studied Nobutada for signs of artifice, he released his hold on the samurai. Forced his rage to die down to mere embers. “Why would he agree to Mariko’s marriage if he only wished to kill her?”
“I believe he wished to forge this connection with your father, and then thought better of it. Perhaps a better offer of marriage was already in the works.” Nobutada sighed with defeat. “There is no way to know for certain. But I do know he did not want his son to wed Lady Mariko.”
Kenshin nodded, his longstanding suspicions confirmed. He crossed his arms in an effort to stand straight, his feet still unsteady. “What must we do?”
“The key lies with … the new emperor.” Hesitancy marred the samurai’s words.
“I don’t understand what you—”
Nobutada interrupted Kenshin, his tone urgent. “He cannot be allowed to live, my lord. Not after what his father did to the Hattori clan. Not after what he plans to do now. He is neglecting his people. Tales of suffering are sprouting from the east. The people of Wa are being tormented by a plague, and the son of Minamoto Masaru has done nothing to address it.”
The world around Kenshin started to spin. “You are suggesting we commit treason. That I break every oath I have ever taken.”
“My lord, the emperor and his son have trapped me as their prisoner. They prevented me from saving Lady Mariko that day in Jukai forest. It is likely they have stolen away the daughter of Muramasa Sengo, for her to exist in this half world, to live a half life in slumber, buried in the center of an enchanted tree.”
Kenshin’s eyes locked on the sleeping form of Amaya. Was it possible the emperor took her as a means of controlling him? To offer further insult to his family? Kenshin could not fathom attempting to kill the new emperor. No matter how much he might wish Roku’s death, Kenshin was a samurai who served at the grace of his sovereign. “I cannot forsake my oath to the emperor.”
“I understand your hesitation, my lord,” Nobutada said. “But if he and his father have committed such atrocities, perhaps it is time for their family to pay the ultimate price.”
Kenshin’s eyes narrowed. “If you’ve been trapped here since the attack on Mariko’s convoy, how is it you know what Minamoto Roku has failed to do?”
“The fox comes to visit, once in a while.” Nobutada inclined his head toward the animal sitting placidly beside him, as though it were his pet. “As a creature of magic, it is allowed in this colorless half world. A world the emperor used to conceal the worst of his atrocities. The fox took pity on me and brought me food. Often it brought me the information I sought, as well. Scraps of correspondence and the like.”
Though the ache in his head continued to grow, Kenshin glanced down at the fox. Something about its wily smile unnerved him, as though it were supremely pleased by this recent turn of events. But this same fox had helped Kenshin before, that wretched day in the clearing when he’d lost memories. The fox had led him to safety before anyone could see the terrible atrocities he had committed.
“I have sworn an oath to serve Minamoto Roku. It does not matter what his father did. I must remain steadfast in my loyalty,” Kenshin said. Bushid dictated nothing else.
“And if I told you Minamoto Roku was responsible for the death of his father—that we serve a family of liars and murderers—where would your loyalties lie then?”
Kenshin said nothing, his eyes betraying his heart. He turned his back, tormented by a flood of thoughts and feelings.
“Do not look away from what you know to be true, my lord,” Nobutada said.
“How do I know you are not the one who killed the emperor?” Kenshin asked. “You disappeared on the day my sister most needed you. How do I know where your allegiances lie, Nobutada-sama?”
