Shike by Robert J. Shea (classic children's novels txt) 📖

The little house was perched on pilings over a pool at the bottom of a waterfall. A winding pathway of great black rocks led to it from the bank. The only sounds were the prattle of the waterfall and the sighing of the wind in the pines. The site had been chosen and the little house designed for seclusion and meditation.

It had been built ages earlier by the ancestor of their host, Eukiwara Hidehira. Hidehira said his ancestor, banished from Heian Kyo, had almost died of longing for the capital until he built this meditation hut and found peace. It was kept in repair and used by every generation of these Northern Fujiwaras.

Jebu took off his clogs and set them on the mossy embankment before trying to walk across to the house. The stepping stones were wet and slippery. When he had reached the house, he climbed steep wooden stairs and stood on the porch. “Ho, Yukio.”

“Come in, Jebusan.”

Yukio, seated cross-legged before a low table, was wearing a violet robe with a yellow butterfly pattern. The robe looked strange to Jebu: he had grown so used to seeing Yukio in Chinese and Mongol garments. Yukio had brush, ink and paper before him, and when Jebu entered and seated himself, Yukio handed him a scroll.

“You are the first to read this. I plan to have it sent immediately to every province.”

Jebu unrolled the scroll and read, while Yukio sat watching his face. It was a proclamation whose message was familiar to Jebu. Towards the end he read, “Most sorely oppressed by Sogamori and his clan is the illustrious family of Muratomo. Sogamori despoiled and murdered my grandfather, my father Domei, and all my brothers, as well as many other members of my family. I alone, Muratomo no Yukio, survive to avenge them. I now claim the chieftainship of the Muratomo clan and call upon all relatives and allies of the Muratomo, from the furthest provinces to the capital itself, to rally to the White Dragon banner.”

Yukio urged all who read his words to rise at once and attack their Takashi overlords. He promised that all meritorious deeds would be noted and rewarded.

He concluded, “We vow to rescue the sacred person of His Imperial Majesty from the clutches of the Takashi. The Muratomo clan, always loyal to His Imperial Majesty, will sweep away the clouds that obscure the glory of the Imperial house and burnish it till it once again shines as brightly as the sun.”

Yukio’s round eyes were eager. “Well?”

“It’s beautifully written, Yukio-san. Especially that last sentence.”

Yukio bowed. “Thank you. Is there anything I’ve neglected?”

Jebu hesitated. Lately, Yukio had been asking his advice and then doing just the opposite. These Muratomo were stubborn, wilful men. Yukio’s father, Domei, had been like that, refusing to listen to advice, gallantly leading his family and his samurai straight to disaster. Probably Yukio’s grandfather, beheaded after supporting the losing side in a struggle between rival Emperors, had been the same way. Now Yukio had brought the Mongols to the Sacred Islands against the advice of Jebu and his stepfather, Taitaro. He had insisted on landing in the far-northern land of Oshu against advice. Jebu and Taitaro and many other samurai were convinced that there were more warriors in the south ready to spring to Yukio’s support. Now this proclamation. Jebu sighed inwardly. He could do nothing but try.

“By scattering copies of this declaration up and down the realm, you put Sogamori and the Takashi on notice that you’re back and are going to fight them. Why throw away the advantage of surprise? They outnumber us twenty to one.”

Yukio smiled. At least he had not yet lost his temper, Jebu thought, as he often had when Jebu’s advice contradicted his wishes.

“We have no advantage of surprise. It has taken us most of a month to collect all our men here. By now Sogamori’s agents have reported our presence. I learned my lesson when we fought our way out of Hakata Bay. If we couldn’t keep the departure of a thousand samurai a secret, how can we expect to hide the arrival of twelve thousand warriors? Since the Takashi know we’re here, it’s best that all who might rally to our side be alerted as well. Also, as you and Taitaro warned me, there will be people who will imagine I’m an invader, because I brought Mongols with me. This proclamation will allay their suspicions.”

“How?”

“It at once makes plain that I belong here and have a just cause. I want everyone to think of me as a loyal subject of the Emperor. Which I am.” He looked challengingly at Jebu, as if expecting disagreement.

“You talk of rescuing the Emperor from the Takashi. When we left here, the Emperor was Sogamori’s son-in-law. What makes you suppose he’ll want to be rescued? Remember how your father tried to rescue Emperor Nijo from the Takashi, and His Imperial Majesty fled to the Rokuhara the first chance he got?”

“It’s worse than that,” said Yukio with a grin. “Eujiwara Hidehira tells me there’s a new Emperor on the throne, Sogamori’s grandson. When I wrote about rescuing the Emperor from the Takashi, I meant rescuing the office, not the man-or in this case the boy.”

Jebu was surprised. “Don’t you believe that the person of the Emperor is sacred?”

“Do you?”

“It’s not a point on which Zinja teaching dwells overmuch. I certainly thought you and all samurai believed in the Emperor’s divinity.”

Yukio looked melancholy. “I gained much by travelling to China, but I lost much, too. I’ve learned that every nation declares its ruler divine or divinely appointed. In every nation it is really the powerful men who decide who the divine ruler will be. If I’m to win this war for my family, I must be a maker of Emperors, just as Sogamori has been.”

Jebu stood up. “At the moment I must be a maker of Zinja. Or near-Zinja.”

“Then Taitaro-sensei has given you permission to instruct some of our men in Zinja arts of fighting?”

“Yes. He says there are so few Zinja left these days that there can be no objection to sharing our knowledge with others.”

“Only our own people, though. No Mongols or other foreigners.”

“I’m glad you’re at least somewhat wary of the Mongols.”

“Of course.” Yukio stretched himself and sighed. “Ah, Jebusan, it’s good to be home again, isn’t it? To see landscapes that excite the eye, instead of endless, dreary wastes. To eat our good food and get away from the infernal stink of meat. To hold the exquisite women of our islands in our arms again. No more clumsy, smelly foreign women.”

“I didn’t have that much to do with foreign women,” Jebu said.

“You have always belonged, body and soul, to the Lady Taniko. Which reminds me.” Yukio grinned proudly. “I’m getting married to the lady Mirusu. You and Taitaro-sensei and the Lady Taniko and Mokosan are invited to the feast.”

Jebu climbed the hill between the samurai camp and Lord Hidehira’s citadel. Yukio was right. It was a great happiness to be back in the Sacred Islands. Here, near the city of Hiraizumi, the land was hilly and wooded. To the south rose a chain of blue mountains. The hills and rocks, the trees and streams, were a delight to an eye exhausted by the bare brown plains of northern China and the steppes of Mongolia.

Yukio getting married. That was surprising news, but it shouldn’t have been. Yukio always liked women around him, and he always pined for the women of home. Jebu was happy for him. Who was the woman, though, and how had Yukio found her so quickly?

If only he and Taniko could be married. It would give him much pleasure to have Taitaro-sensei bless their union. Long ago his mother had urged him to marry and raise children. It would please her, wherever she was, if Taniko and he did that.

But Horigawa lived. And Kiyosi remained dead by Jebu’s own hand. Could that make a difference to her? Or did she no longer care how Kiyosi had died, now that she had Jebu?

He was