A sudden warmth struck him as the sun cleared the high peaks around them. Shigeru opened his eyes involuntarily and saw that Matsuda was looking at him.

“Fine,” the old man said. “Now we will eat.”

Shigeru stood, ignoring his cramped legs, and went into the hut. He took the pot to the spring and filled it with water, fetched wood and built up the fire; when the smoke had dissipated-like desire, he thought-and the flame glowed strong and clear, he set the water above it to boil. He took the bedding and spread it in the sun to air, trying to copy Matsuda’s way of doing such things, his deftness and economy of movement. Something of the hours of meditation colored his actions, giving him single-mindedness and concentration.

Matsuda stepped into his sandals and beckoned to Shigeru. “We’ll see what the forest has for us this morning!”

He took a small basket and a digging tool, a sharp blade set into a curved wooden handle, and they walked up the path toward the west, the sun warm on their backs. The track curved between huge rocks for a while, and the climb was steep, but eventually the ground leveled again, and a clearing opened up in front of them. Here grew cedars, cypress, and spruce, but on the edges of the clearing, ferns were starting to push through the forest floor, their heads curved in snaillike spirals. Matsuda showed Shigeru how to cut the tenderest ones; then they walked through the forest until they came to a small upland pool. It was full of birds, heron, duck, and teal that took off at their approach with harsh cries. Round the edge grew wild lotus and burdock. Matsuda pulled the lotus from the water for its succulent roots and dug the burdock from the soft ground. Its roots were long and thin, the flesh white beneath the dark, fibrous skin.

It was too early in the year for mushrooms or yams, but on their way back they found fresh sorrel leaves and the new green foliage of hawthorn bushes. Matsuda ate this as they walked, and Shigeru copied him; the taste vividly recalled his childhood.

The burdock they peeled and left to soak, but the rest of the harvest formed the morning meal, boiled in soup. Matsuda poured dry rice grains into the remains of the soup and put it aside to swell. Then he told Shigeru to practice the warm-up exercises he had been studying at the temple. “With an empty mind,” he added.

The food and the sun’s warmth had brought the sleep-demon closer. Shigeru strove to drive it away as he went through the routine, thinking of the other boys at the temple, wondering if they were doing the same exercises at that moment with minds far emptier than his. But there was something about the exercises, he realized, that worked with the meditation, that enhanced it. In the same way that exercising the muscles of his mind had shown him how to control his thoughts, so using the body’s muscles brought control of mind and body together. Tiredness disappeared; in its place came anticipation and an alert calmness.

He had been moving at the measured pace he had been taught at the temple, each exercise recalled almost unconsciously as one movement followed another. He found that here in the lonely forest the impatience he had felt at the temple disappeared. He thought he had practiced diligently before, but he could see now how far he had fallen short, how divided and weak his attention had been, how his own self-pride had slowed and blinded him. He watched his breath flow in and out as each exercise was executed, and felt how the sun, the air, the ground beneath his feet seemed to follow the breath and flow through him. The world around him was ready to share its power with him-its energy, lightness, steadiness. He simply had to accept the gifts and draw on them.

“Good,” Matsuda said. “The teachers at the temple were worried that you lacked concentration-your father’s greatest weakness, I’m afraid-but I think we will prove them wrong. Tie up your robe-we are going to move a little faster now.”

“Shall I bring the poles,” Shigeru started to ask, but Matsuda held up one hand.

“When you’re ready for the poles, I’ll tell you to bring them.”

His own robe hitched up, the old man stood in front of Shigeru, his feet planted firmly on the sandy ground.

“Watch carefully.”

The movement was so swift Shigeru could barely follow it. He saw the form of the old man, but through the lean frame, the sinewy limbs, flashed something ageless, a force that transformed his teacher. He was open-mouthed.

Matsuda saw the expression on his face and laughed. “It’s nothing magical, no sorcery or anything like that about it. Anyone can do it. You just have to work hard and empty your mind. You prepare your body for the life force to enter it, and then you use it with an undivided heart. All it takes is training-training and practice. You are not patient now, but you will be.”

Shigeru set himself to copy his teacher’s movements, amazed that a man over three times his age could move so much faster. But by the end of the session, when the sun was at its highest point in the sky, he’d come to realize that the exercises he had learned gave his body the pattern in which to move. His muscles had been readied for this.

“It’s a question of stages,” he said to Matsuda as they wiped the sweat from their faces. “You build one thing on another.”

“Yes, like most things worth doing,” the old man said. “Hard work, infinite patience, learning from those who have gone ahead.”

He seemed in a very good mood; Shigeru dared to say, “People say that you learned from goblins!”

Matsuda laughed. “I was taught by a holy man who lived in the mountains. Some thought he was a spirit-a goblin or even an ogre-but he was a human being, though a rare kind. I sought him out and served him as a disciple, just as you now serve me. But he was a harsher taskmaster than I am. I spent a year fetching his firewood and cleaning his dishes before he even acknowledged my existence. I was after all only a humble warrior-my time was my own. Your case has a greater urgency. We do not have forever.”

When they returned to the hut, someone had come silently and left offerings of millet cakes and dried mushrooms, two tiny salted plums and fresh bamboo shoots. Matsuda bowed in thanks.

“Who was it?” Shigeru said, looking around. “Who knows we are here?”

“There is a small hamlet no more than two hours’ walk away. They often come to leave offerings for the god who provides the water for their fields. They are sharing what they have with him and us.”

Shigeru also bowed in thanks, grateful to the unknown farmers who gave so generously.

“My brother, Takeshi, wants to be taught by goblins,” he said, when the food was finished.

“How old is he now? About ten?”

“He’s four years younger than me; he turned eleven last year.”

“Ah, time goes by fast,” Matsuda said. “I hope he will also come to Terayama.”

“He will be a better fighter than I am. He has no fear. He killed a boy older than himself when he was eight.” After a pause, Shigeru admitted, “I have never killed anyone.”

“In times of peace there is no need,” Matsuda said quietly. “All your training may seem to be a preparation for war, but we hope it will also be its prevention. There are many ways to prevent war-alliances, marriages-but the best way is to be strong enough to make your enemy think twice about attacking you, yet not so aggressive that he feels threatened. Keep your sword sheathed as long as you can, but once it is unsheathed, use it without hesitation.”

“Are the Otori strong enough to prevent war with the Tohan?” Shigeru said, remembering the Kitano boys in Inuyama.

“The Iida family are very ambitious. Once a man has set his foot upon that path to power, little will stop him save his own death. He will always strive to be the greatest, and he lives in constant fear that somewhere another is greater than he and will topple him. And of course this will happen, because everything that has a beginning has an ending.”