The men around him shouted their agreement and seemed set to march to Hagi at once, giving Shigeru even more cause for astonishment. It was surely a result of the upheaval of Yaegahara, and one that no one had foreseen: instead of being cowed by the defeat, the remaining Otori farmers were defiant; they would take up arms themselves rather than be handed over passively to the Tohan.
He dissuaded them from taking any action. Instructing them to arrange for the burial of the dead, he returned home. By the time he reached the house, night had fallen; the moon was one night past full. The air was drier and much colder than the previous night, and the moonlight was no longer golden but pale and ghostly, the shadows suggesting the darkness that lay behind the world of appearances. Out of the day’s events, the assassination attempt seemed the least astonishing. He had not even paid attention to the bloodstains on his clothes until Chiyo exclaimed in horror when she came to the door to welcome him, a lamp in her hand.
The news spread at once through the household, and the next day, despite Shigeru’s orders for secrecy, had become widely known throughout Hagi. Rumors proliferated, adding to the unrest of the city. Shigeru’s uncles were forced to deny publicly any involvement in the assassination plan and to receive Shigeru openly and with respect in order to allay the unrest. Nevertheless, disturbances continued throughout the autumn. As a result, his own position became a little less dangerous, and less restricted: permission to travel freely was granted. He still maintained his disguise, however, relishing the freedom and anonymity it gave him.
He had no way of knowing who had been behind the attempt, but given Kenji’s warnings, he had to assume it was Iida. Kenji, he thought, might have confirmed this, but the Fox did not reappear as he had in the sixth month, and though Shigeru thought of writing to him at Yamagata, in the end he did not. It concerned him that he was possibly spied on most of the time, and he became more watchful and secretive himself, but he was reassured also by the fact that the men had waylaid him on his own estate-an obvious place for him to be. They might have ambushed him far more successfully on the lonely mountain paths to Terayama, had they known his every movement. And he was heartened by the support of the farmers, by the realization of the hidden loyalty to himself that lay just below the surface like a vein of coal, ready to burn and forge steel.
He announced his intentions of visiting Eijiro’s estate to bid farewell to his widow and made arrangements for Takeshi to move to Lord Miyoshi’s residence while he was away. If all went well, Takeshi might stay there for the winter.
When the moon returned, he set out for Misumi. Mori Yusuke had not returned from his journey, but before he left, he had entrusted his remaining horses to Shigeru. Shigeru took the oldest colt, which had recently been broken in; he named it Kyu. The horse was lively, full of youth and energy. It was impossible to ride it and feel depressed. Truly, I am not made for despair, Shigeru realized, grateful for the upbringing that had made him so resilient. Even the week he spent at Eijiro’s, though there was grief enough in the deaths of father and sons and the loss of the estate, did not plunge him back into the black mood of the days after Moe’s death. In the well-ordered fields, still maintained despite Eijiro’s passing, he saw a lasting tribute to the man’s foresight and, in the courage of his wife and daughters, testimony to the value of their upbringing.
It will not all be lost forever, he promised silently. I will restore it.
He thought about it constantly, and pieces of strategy began to assemble themselves in the corners of his mind. One of the most important pieces, he knew, would be alliance with the West, with the Arai and the Maruyama. The attempt on his own life had also given him ideas. Iida had attempted to strike at him in the heart of his own country. Could he not strike back in a similar way? Could he bring himself to resort to assassination? Would the Tribe ever work for him as Kenji had once suggested they would? Could he ever afford them?
A few days before the full moon, he left the horse at Misumi and went on foot into the mountains, letting it be known that he was going to look at the high country forests and that he would spend some time in retreat, praying for the souls of the dead. No one seemed to question this. His reputation was already established: he was interested in farming, he was more than usually devout, and he set great store by the proper respect paid to the dead.
The western border of the Middle Country ran along a narrow valley between two steep mountain ranges. Farther south, the border was guarded: local lords demanded taxes and tariff fees on goods and merchandise, and spies kept a close watch on travelers. Shigeru had written authority from his clan to travel where he pleased, but he did not want his movements known, and planned to get across the border in the wild mountainous country at the head of the river that flowed all the way north to Hagi.
He had some knowledge of the district on the lower eastern slopes from his previous visits to Eijiro, when they had ridden into the mountains and Eijiro had shown him the different trees grown for timber-cedar and pine, zelkova, paulownia and cypress. But once he was above the level of the forest, following narrow tracks over stony crags, he was in unknown country, finding his way by the sun during the day and by the stars at night. The weather remained fine, day after day of clear autumn skies as the leaves changed color, dyeing the forests red, the stain spreading perceptibly every day from the summit of the ranges downward.
He had brought food with him and also ate what the land provided-chestnuts, cobs, and mulberries. Some nights, early on, he found shelter in an isolated farmhouse. But in the high mountain there were no dwellings, and it was too cold to sleep outside so he walked all night as the moon waxed fuller.
He descended the first range and crossed the river. The area seemed deserted: no sign of any habitation, no smell of smoke. The river here was fast and shallow, hardly more than a stream, babbling to itself as it leaped over boulders. He slept a little in the middle of the day, warmed by the sun, but by nightfall the weather showed signs of changing. The wind swung round to the northwest; clouds banked up on the horizon. He came through a pass and stood on the highest rock to look toward the north, all the way to the coast. The sea was a dull violet smudge on the horizon beneath the solid gray sky. He knew he would be looking at Oshima, the island volcano, but he could not make out its shape. To his left, the range fell more gently, becoming the fertile land of the West, warmed by the coastal “black current,” protected by its mountains. Far away to the southwest lay the city and castle of Maruyama. Harada had told him the shrine she was visiting was less than a day’s walk from the pass. He scanned the forest below; in the far distance smoke hung in the valley, but otherwise, there was no sign of habitation, no curve of roof emerging from the deep green. On this side of the range, the autumn was slower to place its mark on the trees: only a few maples on the highest slopes had started to turn.
Just before dusk he smelled smoke and another scent that brought a rush of water into his mouth and made his stomach growl; he followed both smells warily and came upon a small hut made from rough-hewn branches and bark.
Two men were roasting game birds on a fire, the flames bright in the fading light. Shigeru greeted them, startling them; their hands went to their knives, and for a moment it seemed he would have to fight them. Guilt made them touchy and suspicious, but when they saw Jato, they were more inclined to placate the solitary warrior.