He did not know how much later he finally heard a soft rustle outside their room. Then there was a “ssst”, and he almost laughed out loud with relief. Slipping carefully from under their shared quilt, he scooped up the pile of his clothing which he had left conveniently close to their bedding, and tiptoed to the shuttered door. This he eased open carefully and soundlessly. He was about to step outside, when Hanae murmured, “Be careful!”
He paused in shock, then said, “I will, because I love you.”
Outside, huddled under a dripping roof, Saburo waited.
“How did it go?” Tora asked softly as they hurried toward the stable.
“All right.”
“You picked up a trail?”
“Yes.”
A strange peace filled Tora’s heart. Somehow, overnight, he had found his courage again. Hanae trusted him; his son loved him; and he was about to get his honor back.
They lit a lamp in the stable and Tora put on his clothes. “Tell me,” he said.
“There’s an old man. He knows where they are.”
Tora noticed how wet and tired Saburo looked. “Are you good to go?” he asked anxiously.
“Yes. Just don’t wear me out with talking.”
“You want to rest a little? Maybe eat something?”
“Don’t be silly. Do you want everybody to know?”
Tora said nothing. Hanae knew something was up, but he hoped she would keep the secret. He dug out his boots and half armor, finished putting them on, and shoved his swords through his belt. “Let’s go,” he said.
They slipped out through the small gate, thankful that there no longer was a dog to wake, and walked to the nearest livery stable where they rented two horses from a sleepy groom. Then they were on the road into the mountains.
The rain had let up a little. Tora looked up at the sky, but it was still heavily overcast. He sniffed the air. “Smells like more rain,” he called out to Saburo.
“What?”
“Rain! Are you asleep?” Tora felt instantly guilty for the jibe. Saburo had been in the mountains for more than a day and a night now without any sleep.
Saburo said nothing.
“Sorry, brother. Should we rest?”
“Later. When we’re in position.”
Tora was curious what “in position” meant but left Saburo alone to doze as they rode.
When they passed through forest, they could see nothing and had to rely on their horses to find the way. The road had narrowed and climbed. The road surface was loose rubble, wet from rain, and the horses slipped now and then. The moisture in the air intensified. Tora wondered how soon the rain would start again and how they could fight in the dark and on slippery ground. Perhaps they could surprise the sohei inside some temple building. He hated to ride into a bloody confrontation knowing nothing about what awaited them.
When they emerged from the forest, he could see that they had travelled quite a distance up Mount Hiei and called out again, “Wait, brother! Where are we? And where are we going?”
Saburo reined in his horse and waited for Tora to catch up. “Just another half hour and then we’ll go down into a valley. It’s on the back of the mountain from the temple side. They’re hiding there in an abandoned hut.”
“That’s good. We can jump them inside. I hate to fight in the rain.” Tora held out his hand to catch the first drops. “How many are there?”
“About five or six. One’s wounded.”
“That means he was in the attack on the tribunal.”
“Yes.”
Tora grinned. Saburo was a mere shadow in the darkness. “We’ll make short work of them, brother.”
Saburo said nothing. He urged his horse forward again, and they continued their climb to a ridge that loomed in solid darkness against a charcoal sky with roiling clouds. The rain fell steadily now.
Sometime later they reached the ridge and started downward. The trees had thinned and Tora realized that their path had deteriorated to a mere track. The horses struggled more going downward, and after a while Tora said, “We should walk, I think.”
Saburo stopped and they dismounted. Ahead lay more woods. Tora realized they were headed for a mountain valley with a lone dwelling. The rain let up a little, and he studied the clouds overhead. “What time is it, do you think?”
Saburo snorted. “No idea. Too many clouds. Must be close to dawn.”
“We won’t get back before daylight then?”
“No. Did you expect to?”
“They’ll wonder.”
“We’ll worry about that later.”
They continued in silence until they reached the wooden building in the valley. It was simple, covered with thatch, and nearly black with age and the wetness of the rain. They were no longer in darkness but in a gray twilight.
Saburo rode up to the door, dismounted, and tied his horse to the railing of the steps.
Tora saw this with surprise. Surely the sohei couldn’t be inside.
Saburo climbed the steps and knocked at the door that hung crookedly from rusty hinges.
Tora dismounted also, his hand on his sword hilt just in case.
But when the door opened, a very old man appeared on the threshold. He had long white hair and a long white beard and wore a heavy, ragged brown robe over grayish white underclothes that were unidentifiable but all cut off at about knee height. His bare legs were thin and dark from the sun.
A hermit, Tora decided with a smile of relief and tied up his horse.
The hermit peered closely at Saburo and said in a cracked voice, “It’s you again, is it?”
“Yes, grandfather, and I’ve brought my friend as I promised. This is Tora. Tora, this is Master Cricket. ”
Tora joined Saburo. Placing his hands together, he bowed. “Good morning, venerable master. I hope we didn’t wake you.”
The old man took a step closer and brought his face toward Tora’s. “Hmm,” he said, “one of you has good manners. Come inside.”
The inside of the hut—it was hardly more than that, having only two small rooms—was dark, but the old man, who must be nearly blind, went unerringly to a small shelf which held an oil lamp, struck a flint, and lit it. “I don’t need it,” he said. “But you two still have eyes that see. Sit down. There’s some water if you’re thirsty.”
They declined politely. Soaked by the rain, they had no wish for more water, though hot wine would have been welcome.
Saburo explained, “Master Cricket has lived here all his life. Even though his sight is weak, he knows the whole mountain like the back of his hand.”
The old hermit snorted. “He thinks I was born here, a child of the mountain pine and the kami of Oyamakuhi.”
Tora laughed. “Saburo has faith in your wisdom and so do I.” He was not sure why they had come to this old man and waited for Saburo to clarify the matter.
Saburo did not oblige. Instead he asked the hermit, “Are they still there?”
“One left last night. He’s back. Carried a sack.”
Saburo nodded. Silence fell. Then Saburo said, “It’s two against five. We may not get them all. Can you hide somewhere or maybe go away for a day or so?”
Tora began to grasp what was going on. “Where exactly are they?” he asked.
They ignored him. The old man simply said, “I’ve never left this place and I won’t do so now.”
“They’ll know it was you who gave them away. They’re brutal.”
“No.”
“Very well. Thank you, Master Cricket. Let’s go, Tora.”
Outside, day had broken at the mountain top. The clouds were parting and the rising sun touched it with fire. To Tora, it looked truly like what it was: a holy mountain. He touched the amulet around his neck and muttered a prayer. The valley still lay in a blue shadow, its forest wreathed in mist.