“So, it’s war between us and the Takashi.”

“Not at all. Our relations with Sogamori, even with the provincial governor, are officially cordial. This attack was a probe, to see how easy it would be to destroy one of our temples. We hope we convinced them that it would be too costly. But it was costly for us, as well. Many urns were emptied and refilled in the crypt the day after the battle. Many trees on this hillside were cut down for funeral pyres.”

“Is that why the monastery has been closed?”

“We could have stayed here, but other Zinja monasteries around the islands have suffered great losses as well, both from raids and in this War of the Dragons. The other abbots and I met at Yamatai and decided to combine several of our communities in temples nearer the more important cities.”

“Where is Mother?”

“After the decision to close this temple, the remaining monks and women cleaned up the debris, rebuilt the temple building, and left. Your mother went with them to the Teak Blossom Temple near Hakata.”

“Why didn’t she stay here with you?”

“I wanted to be alone.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you want Mother to leave you?”

“You cannot understand until you are as old as I am. Men and women go through stages in their lives. Each stage carries one on to the next, and all lead to the ultimate insight, to final realization of the Self. At one stage it is appropriate to lead the life of a young warrior, as you do. At another stage one marries and lives quietly and cheerfully with a spouse and carries out duties of leadership in the community, as your mother and I have. But then there comes the stage when one must sit alone on the brink of the infinite and contemplate one’s impending leap into the dark. One can no more hold back or prevent these changes than a caterpillar can stop itself from becoming a butterfly. Indeed, not only do people pass through stages, but so do communities, nations, orders like the Zinja. As I sit here alone on this mountain it becomes more and more apparent to me that the Zinja are entering some final stage. It may be that the light of the Order is going out. I fear that this Sunrise Land is moving into a time of darkness. I believe that this temple will sooner or later be destroyed. The war will go on, and the marauders will come back.”

“I will stay here with you and defend it, Father.”

“No. Spend the day with me, and tonight if you will. This evening I wish to show you certain things that will be of value to you. But you are too young, there is too much for you to do, for you to dedicate your life to caring for the ruins of a temple and of a Zinja abbot.”

That night Jebu and Taitaro went into the temple and seated themselves on the polished stone floor before the altar, facing each other just as they had after Jebu’s initiation ordeal. Taitaro reached into a pocket hidden inside his robe and took out something small and round that sparkled in the candlelight. He leaned forward and held it up so that Jebu could look at it.

“Look deep into this jewel,” said Taitaro. “Fix your gaze on it. Concentrate on it. Think only of it and nothing else.”

Jebu saw that the surface of the transparent crystal was covered with an intricate maze of fine carved lines, made many times more complex because he could see through the jewel to the pattern on the other side. Taitaro held the sphere in his fingertips, turning it this way and that to display the tracery. In the depths tiny fires, hot red flames and hotter blue flames, twinkled and sparkled.

“As you look at the jewel, you will feel yourself getting drowsy,” said Taitaro. “You will feel yourself falling asleep . . . You will sleep . . . You will sleep.”

Jebu was no longer in the temple. He seemed to be floating in midair through a dark forest. No dragon or bird bore him up, he was drifting as if swimming through the air. Ahead of him, in the blackness of the pines, there was light. It glowed, cool and white. He drifted towards the light.

He found himself in a clearing, about half-way between the top and the bottom of an enormous tree. Light came from the tree, and a strange, continuous murmuring. As Jebu drifted closer to the tree, he saw that the murmuring came from soft sounds made by thousands of living creatures. The creatures seemed to grow, like fruit, out of the tree’s branches.

On the lower branches were the smaller animals, the worms, the insects, the fish, the lizards and snakes. In the middle branches, nearest Jebu, were birds, horses, monkeys, cats, dogs and the like. A magnificent striped tiger with glowing green eyes looked at him solemnly, the sort of beast he had seen once or twice in a painting. There were many animals that he did not recognize, many that amazed him. There was one huge creature with flapping ears, a nose as long as a rope that moved with a life of its own, and two white pointed teeth, each as long as a man, that protruded like spears from its mouth. There was a fish that was even larger, as big as a castle, with a mouth big enough for a man to stand upright inside it, yet somehow it seemed comfortably nestled in the branches of this tree. Floating upwards, Jebu saw in the topmost branches men and women of all kinds, some a normal colour, others as black as ebony or as white as snow, some richly dressed, others naked. And above these were beings who glowed as if they were arrayed in jewels, a glow so intense that it hurt Jebu’s eyes to look at them and he could not clearly see their shapes. These must be the kami, he thought.

It came to him with great surprise, awe and joy that all life is one, that living things are not separate from one another but—just as all leaves are part of a tree—all animals, men and gods were one mighty living thing, the Self, manifested in many forms. He laughed aloud at the wonder and simplicity of it, and even as he did so the light from the tree began to dim and he began to move away from it, till he could no longer see the individual creatures in the tree, but only the tree itself, a glowing mountain of light. Then he drifted further away, back into the forest, and the light was only a tiny spark, far in the distance.

The spark became the spherical jewel Taitaro held up before him. “You are awake now,” Taitaro said. “Look at the jewel again.”

The pattern of lines with its rising and falling movement somehow suggested the shape of the tree he had seen in his vision.

“This is called the Jewel of Life and Death,” Taitaro said. “It is a shintai, the dwelling place of a kami. And now, Jebu, it is yours. Take it.” His eyes glowing with a fire almost as bright as that in the jewel, Taitaro held the crystal out to Jebu, who took it in the palm of his hand.

“This is one of the jewels your father brought with him from far away,” said Taitaro. “I do not know where he got it. He never had time to tell me. He gave it to me the night he was killed.”

Jebu’s eye would follow a particular line for a few of its twists and turns, then lose it again in a network of other lines.

Taitaro said, “The pattern carved on the Jewel is called the Tree of Life. It has a special influence on the inner life. When Jamuga, your father, brought it to me, he told me that while contemplating this Jewel he suddenly saw that he had to rebel and that he would have to flee from his homeland. As for me, after your father’s death I looked at the pattern on this Jewel daily. When I took you and your mother in I was still a man with many illusions. I mourned your father, but I secretly rejoiced that his death had brought me a lovely woman for my wife and a fine son. I wanted to be first among all the Zinja abbots in the land. Over the years, as I kept looking steadily into this Jewel, day after day, my illusions faded. And when the time came, as it did after you left, I was able to decide that I no longer wanted to be a Zinja abbot but could happily spend my days living as a hermit and caring for this temple. In a few years, perhaps I can even cease congratulating myself for making such a wise choice.” His deep-set brown eyes twinkled, and Jebu laughed.

Jebu said, “My father came from a land of barbarian cattle herders. Such people could not have carved this Jewel.”

“Oh, certainly not. Undoubtedly your father or one of his comrades looted it from its original owners. But it changed him. It changed me, and it will change you, as well, if you let it. I do not know who made the Jewel, or how. I think it must be the work of great sorcerers, such as lived on the earth in the distant past. I know that if you will spend a little time each day focusing your awareness on this Jewel, concentrating on its design, trying to absorb it into your mind, each day you will become a little more aware of your true Self. You will discover that, as we have always taught you, you are a man of insight, perfect just as you are.”

Tears flooded Jebu’s eyes, blurring the fires of the Jewel. This was a gift that had come from both his natural father and his spiritual father. He held the Jewel in trembling hands and stared into its shifting, multi-coloured depths as if, with the sheer pressure of his gaze, he could penetrate to the answers to all the questions that had plagued him ever since he was a boy. He was half-native of this Sunrise Land, but what was the other half? Who was his father? Who was the man who had killed his father? Who am I?

The vision of the Tree of Life Taitaro had shown him had already moved Jebu profoundly. Now he was shaken to the very core as he held the Jewel in his hands, turning it slowly and, in his mind’s eye, superimposing on its design a memory of the Tree of Life. He would never let go of this Jewel, he resolved, unless to pass it to another as Taitaro had given it to him. Perhaps to a son of his own. And every day he would spend some time contemplating it.

A faraway look came into Taitaro’s shadowed eyes. He turned away from the altar and looked through the temple entrance into the darkness outside. He hurried around the temple, blowing out candles until they were almost in darkness. One small candle remained in his hand.

“A group of mounted men just passed through the gateway. Hide yourself. I will meet them.”

“He knows nothing. Spare him, please!”

“If his suffering causes you pain, then he shall surely suffer.”

“If you plan on hurting me again,” Taniko gasped, “you’d better bring your guards with you next time. You won’t get near me by yourself.”

“I have no wish to be near you,” said Horigawa. “I will have my revenge in due time.”

Chapter Seventeen

Early the following summer, Jebu was trudging up a mountain road on Kyushu, a road he had come to know very well as a boy. He reflected on the strangeness of perceived time. It had been three years since Taitaro sent him to Kamakura, but so much had happened to him, and he had done so much, that it seemed more like six. But also it seemed as if it were only this morning that Taitaro and he had stood before the steps of the Waterfowl Temple and said a final goodbye to each other.

The monastery buildings had never been visible from the landward side. One climbed towards what appeared to be an empty hilltop for hours before any of the outlying buildings became visible through the pines. The Zinja preferred seclusion. Still, it seemed to Jebu he should have seen the farm buildings and the gatehouse before now, even at this distance.

When he had climbed a little further, he was shocked to find that the wooden wall around the monastery was gone. The gatehouse was gone. Only the gateway itself, with its tall pillars and crossbeams, was still standing. A gateway in a non-existent wall.

Now through the shrubbery he could see the foundation stones where the granary had stood. He walked to the gate. The bell that visitors used to announce themselves was still hanging from the gateway, along with the hammer for striking it. The Zinja had never bothered to guard the gate, but they were wary of trespassers. To enter without ringing the bell was considered a hostile act. Jebu struck the bell a resounding blow with the hammer and walked on in.

He passed the granary. It was not a ruin. There was simply nothing left of it, no scrap of burnt or broken wood, just the foundation stones. Shrubs were growing where the floor had been. The path turned, and he was out of the pine forest that covered the hillside. Now he was shocked to see that all the buildings—the stable, the men’s quarters, the women’s quarters, the guest house, the library—all were gone. Only the temple itself, a simple, square building with a peaked, slightly curving roof of thatch, still stood.

As Jebu stood there, trying to guess what had happened, Taitaro emerged from the temple.

“Jebu.”

“Sensei.”

They ran to each other and embraced. Then they separated, still gripping the other’s arms, and looked at each other. Taitaro’s hair and beard were neatly trimmed, but a good deal greyer. His eyes were older and more tired, the lines in his face deeper.

“Well,” he said, “you’ve seen a lot. I can tell that. Your face doesn’t look as much like a blank sheet of paper as it did when you left. Experience has written on it.”

“What happened here, Father? Where is everyone?”

“You’ve travelled a long road, Son. You must be tired and hungry. Come. I’ve built myself a little hut at the edge of the cliff. You can rest, and I’ll give you something to eat.”

Jebu looked around, perplexed, as he followed Taitaro. His father seemed smaller and thinner than he remembered. Taitaro’s hut, made of cedar frame, paper walls, thatched roof, and dirt floor, was barely large enough for the two of them. His sword, bow, and quiver of arrows hung from pegs on a beam; he pointed to empty pegs where Jebu could hang his own weapons.

Taitaro had dug a square hole in the floor for a fire. Now he lit the fire and set a pot of water on a brazier over it.

“The Order has kept you hired out to the Muratomo. You will remember, I told you that your vision of a white dragon meant that your destiny would be bound up with that of the White Dragon clan.”

Jebu shrugged. “I came back here to have done with the war. I hoped to find refuge where I could refresh myself and perhaps make a new beginning.”

“You must be sorely disappointed to find the place so desolate. I rather like it this way. That’s why I willingly stayed behind when the others left.”

“But why did everyone leave?”

“About two years after we sent you away, we were attacked by surprise at night by a troop of samurai. The fact that we could be taken by surprise at all shows that we were getting soft and did not deserve the name of Zinja. In any case, they killed our guards and rushed the monks’ quarters. Of course, they made so much noise that we were awake and arming ourselves by the time they got here. They set fire to all the buildings. We lost most of our horses in the fire. A group of samurai attacked the women’s quarters, and the women fought bravely and ferociously.”

“Is Mother all right?”

“Yes, she’s fine. After a short, fierce battle we drove off the samurai attacking the monks’ quarters and killed many of them. Then we went to the aid of the women, who had fought their attackers to a standstill with sticks, needles, pots, boiling oil, and kitchen knives. We finished off nearly all of those samurai. I’m afraid we let our emotions get the better of us. They had killed some of the women and wounded many more. The remaining samurai retreated beyond the wall. Stupidly, they tried to besiege us, perhaps thinking that they could eventually starve us off the mountain-top. We gave them a few days to relax their guard, then went down the mountain through the tunnels and came up behind them. This time we gave a better account of ourselves, even though we had to fight uphill. We lost fewer and they lost more. When they started to run for it, we opened ranks and let them go.”

“Were they Muratomo or Takashi?”

“Takashi. Now that the Muratomo clan is defeated and scattered, Sogamori intends to stamp out any other force in the land that does not submit to him utterly.”

“But we work impartially with Takashi and Muratomo alike.”

Taitaro shook his head. “That does not satisfy Sogamori. He distrusts us deeply because many of our brothers, such as you, have worked for the Muratomo. Also because our Order has connections with branches in other lands. He questions our loyalty to the Emperor. By which, of course, he means our loyalty to himself. He has eliminated nearly all the Zinja in the Takashi employ. Thus his suspicion that we side with the Muratomo is fulfilled.”

“Did he himself order the attack on this temple?”

“No, we believe it was the governor of Fukuoka province, an appointee of Sogamori. The governor would have had no trouble finding samurai eager to go up against us. There are many who hate the Zinja. They fear our fighting skills and our stealth. They despise what they know of our child-rearing practices and the free relations between our men and our women. And they’ve heard rumours that we hoard vast treasures in our temples.”

“So, it’s war between us and the Takashi.”

“Not at all. Our relations with Sogamori, even with the provincial governor, are officially cordial. This attack was a probe, to see how easy it would be to destroy one of our temples. We hope we convinced them that it would be too costly. But it was costly for us, as well. Many urns were emptied and refilled in the crypt the day after the battle. Many trees on this hillside were cut down for funeral pyres.”

“I know you’ve never met me before,” said Jebu, “but you can save my life if you will.” Hoping the horse would be strong, fast and obedient, Jebu scrambled on its bare back and dug his heels into its sides. The horse sprang forward and broke immediately into a gallop, as much from fright as from Jebu’s command. Jebu slapped its neck encouragingly and over the wind shouted, “Good! Good!” into its ear.

He looked over his shoulder. The lanterns were streaming towards the stable. He would have a long start on them, though. He would be all right if he could make it into the wooded hills north of Heian Kyo. He might even find Zinja monks who would shelter him.

It was foolhardy to ride this fast through unfamiliar country in darkness, but he had no choice. He was glad he’d had to fight his way out of Horigawa’s manor; it had taken his mind off the agony of leaving Taniko. But what was he leaving her to face? He could only hope that, whatever happened between her and Horigawa, she would live through it.

Sword drawn, Horigawa shoved aside the screen to Taniko’s bedchamber and strode in. Taniko had heard the commotion at the guards’ quarters and the men running across the compound. To quiet her pounding heart she insisted to herself that Jebu must have escaped.

Horigawa lit a lamp. His black eyes glowed at her in its reflected light.

She yawned and said, “You are discourteous to me, Your Highness, bursting in and waking me at this hour. I am not prepared to receive you properly.”

“It appears you have had other guests this night,” Horigawa rasped

“Why do you come here with sword drawn, my lord? Do you expect to find enemies here in the women’s quarters?”

“Yes. He might have fled to you. He killed Goshin and four other men.”

He was still alive! He had escaped. Wonderful news! Goshin was the ablest of Horigawa’s men. With him dead it was unlikely the others would be able to catch Jebu.

“The loss of Goshin, especially, is a great blow to me. It was he who rode to intercept me as I was returning here from Heian Kyo, and who persuaded me to speed my return to catch this deceitful monk.”

Taniko could not resist taunting Horigawa. “It occurs to me that none of your men would be dead if you had not insisted on ordering them to attack a Zinja monk. The monk would have come and gone quietly without harming anyone.”

Baring his teeth, Horigawa snarled, “You are to blame for those deaths. You knew who he was. You permitted him entry into this house under a false name.”

“Yes, I tried to protect him. He is the man who brought me safely to you from Kamakura. He fought and killed to protect me. Your men would have executed him on the spot if I had revealed his identity.”

“He fights for the Muratomo. It was your duty to order the death of any Muratomo supporter who entered this house.” He glowered at her. “Just what is your interest in this monk, that you were at such pains to protect him? Is he your lover?”

“My conduct has always been correct, Your Highness.”

“Has it? We shall see.” Suddenly Horigawa lunged at her and threw her down on the bed platform. She felt helpless, and in a momentary panic she pushed and kicked against him. He was trying to part her robes.

“Don’t fight me,” he gasped. “If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear.” He had exposed the lower part of her body now, and he was peering at her and probing at her with his nasty, skinny little fingers. How lucky that she had cleansed herself after being with Jebu. It was a practice her mother had taught her, explaining that it was a wise precaution for women who didn’t want to have too many babies. Men, said her mother, knew nothing about such things.

“No sign,” Horigawa muttered, releasing her and stepping back. “If I had caught you with this Jebu last night, I would surely have killed you. Perhaps I will kill you anyway.” He seized her hand. “He was here in your chamber yesterday talking to you. You and that carpenter, that cross-eyed fool. What were you talking about? Are you spies for the Muratomo?”

“If anyone in this house has secret dealings with the Muratomo, it is not I or the carpenter, my lord,” said Taniko pointedly. This cruel hypocrite would have killed Jebu as a Muratomo spy and was constantly howling in the councils of the Takashi for the deaths of all leaders of the Muratomo faction. But she knew that messages had passed between Horigawa and Muratomo no Hideyori, the young man who had come to kill him, who was still in exile at her father’s house in Kamakura.

Horigawa turned white at her words. “How dare you?” he sputtered. “You could cost me my life if anyone believed— I think I will kill you!” His fear turned to rage, and he seized her little finger and bent it back, grinding his teeth. The finger broke, and she screamed. Without thinking she brought her fist around and drove it into his small, round belly. Gasping, he threw down her hand and backed away from her, holding his middle.

“You little snake!” he screamed. “I should cut you to pieces. I would have every right to. But I still need your father’s goodwill. One day you will pay a high price for the indignities you have heaped upon me. And you will go on paying, for the rest of your life. That”—he pointed to the finger which she held tightly to ease the pain—“is only the beginning. Now I’m going to get that carpenter. He won’t get off as easily as you have. He will suffer more than you can imagine, until he tells me all he knows about that Muratomo spy.”

“He knows nothing. Spare him, please!”

“If his suffering causes you pain, then he shall surely suffer.”

“If you plan on hurting me again,” Taniko gasped, “you’d better bring your guards with you next time. You won’t get near me by yourself.”

“I have no wish to be near you,” said Horigawa. “I will have my revenge in due time.”

For most of the night they lay together, sometimes talking in whispers, sometimes joining their bodies. Jebu discovered energy and desire in himself surpassing all previous experience.

At last Taniko said, “I heard a bird call. It will be dawn soon. You must go now while the night still protects us.”

“I would stop the sun from rising if I could.”

“That is not possible, Jebu. Least of all in the Sunrise Land.” She laughed softly. “You will live, and I will live, and we will do what we must, and other nights like this will be ours again.”

Tiptoeing on bare feet, she led Jebu through the dark corridors of the women’s house to the open screen where he had entered. Again avoiding guards, Jebu crept back across the compound and pushed his way in through the space in the guard-room screen. He lay down on top of the bundle of quilts he had used to represent himself. Pleasantly exhausted, he dozed.

He heard footsteps. The entrance screen to the guards’ quarters slid back and the blaze of a torch filled the room. He sat up, then sprang to his feet as he saw Goshin and Horigawa enter.

“That one!” Goshin cried.

Horigawa’s small, square face turned in Jebu’s direction. The narrow eyes seemed to glow as he nodded.

“I know who this man is. He is a monk named Jebu, who fights for the Muratomo. He was hired by Domei himself. Who else could possess such outlandish looks?” He smiled and turned to Goshin. “Please kill him at once, Goshin-san.” He stepped back to watch, with a look of relish on his face.

Goshin was accompanied by three samurai in full armour, but he roared, “Every man to arms! Get your weapons down off the walls and kill the spy!” The sleepy guardsmen scrambled for their swords, spears, and naginatas. Jebu saw his own bow and sword, untouched and unnoticed, still hanging on the wall.

If he must die, there would never be a better day than today, after the night with Taniko. To die now would simply spare him any more of the suffering of being parted from her.

A half circle of men came at him, spears levelled. He waited until they were at the right distance, then threw his body into a handstand, delivering a stunning kick to the jaw of one of the spear carriers, then somersaulted past the group. This put him among Goshin’s three armoured men, who were caught by surprise. Jebu drove his stiffened fingers into one man’s throat and plucked the long samurai sword out of the suddenly strengthless hand.

Jebu whirled the sword in a huge, whistling arc, and the three men backed away. This left Goshin exposed. With a backhanded sweep of the sword, using all the strength in his right arm, Jebu beheaded the chief guard.

Now he was face-to-face with Horigawa. But beyond Horigawa he saw his weapons. The men in the room were recovering from the initial attack. By the time he killed Horigawa they would be upon him. If he went for his weapons he had a chance of getting out alive. He did not care that much for saving his own life, but something—the Self perhaps—told him he had a duty to go on living.

Horigawa cringed away from Jebu, not even drawing his sword to defend himself. Jebu darted past him to the weapons that hung unguarded on the wall. Into his belt he thrust the sheathed sword he had brought with him. He leaned the sword he had just taken from Horigawa’s guardsman against the wall. Slinging his quiver over his back, he drew his bow and fired a volley of arrows into the crowd of guardsmen.

Make every arrow count. Demoralized by the death of one leader and the cowardice of the other, the guardsmen milled around uncertainly, and four of them died as Jebu’s arrows struck home. One of them was the man who had offered him sake.

He took the Zinja sword down from the wall and buckled it around his waist. Slinging the bow over his shoulder, he drew the Zinja sword with his left hand and with his right hand picked up the samurai sword he had set down a moment before. Brandishing a blade in each hand, he advanced on the remaining guardsmen. Staring up at him, they started to back away, stumbling over the bodies on the floor.

“Protect me!” Horigawa screamed. “Protect me! He wants to kill me!” The guardsmen formed a ring around the prince.

Again Jebu saw that he could either attack Horigawa or escape. He praised the Zinja training that enabled him to keep anger and vindictiveness out of the fight. He bolted for the screen in the corner of the room where he had slept, smashed through the oiled paper and out into the pre-dawn cold.

As he ran he slid the samurai sword into his belt beside the prize he had taken earlier, and sheathed his Zinja sword. Running still, he drew the grapple out of his inner pocket, unfolded it and threw it at the top of the wall. He pulled himself hand over hand up the silk cable, dropped down the other side and ran for the stable. There it was, a low building, black against the purple sky.

A guard stood at the entrance to the stable. “Get away,” Jebu snarled. “I’ll kill you if I have to.” The man ran, shouting loudly for help. Looking after him, Jebu could see lanterns bobbing around the gate of the manor and he heard shouts of alarm and command.

He entered the stable, breathing in the strong, warm smell of horses. It was too dark to find the horse he had ridden here. He looked into the first stall and saw a big, dark shape. There was a row of bridles hanging on the stable wall. He took one down, went into the first stall and threw it on the horse, buckling it in place quickly and pulling the horse firmly out of the stable. The horse whickered fearfully and tossed its head.

“I know you’ve never met me before,” said Jebu, “but you can save my life if you will.” Hoping the horse would be strong, fast and obedient, Jebu scrambled on its bare back and dug his heels into its sides. The horse sprang forward and broke immediately into a gallop, as much from fright as from Jebu’s command. Jebu slapped its neck encouragingly and over the wind shouted, “Good! Good!” into its ear.

“Hey, monk!” It was the man who had directed him to the kitchen. “Want to share some of our warmth with us?” He pointed to a jar of sake being heated over a brazier.

“Monks don’t drink sake, fool,” one of the other men said.

“Thank you,” said Jebu. “I’m not used to sake. I’m afraid it would go to my head.”

The men talking around the brazier smiled and nodded to Jebu and went back to talking among themselves. Jebu sat cross-legged against the wall and closed his eyes. With Goshin gone, the atmosphere seemed much more friendly. One could even walk into this room and be unable to tell whether the samurai here fought for the Takashi or the Muratomo.

Chapter Sixteen

Jebu had deliberately chosen to sleep in a corner beside a crack in the screen. A stream of chill air came through the opening, but he ignored the discomfort, and as the long winter evening wore on he pushed the screen open by imperceptible degrees until there was a space about as wide as his hand. There were extra quilts scattered around the room for protection against the cold, and Jebu unobtrusively gathered several of these and carried them to his spot. The lamps burned out and one by one the men went to sleep.

When the room was dark Jebu bundled the quilts together on his futon so that it would look as if he were sleeping there. Then, glancing around the room to make sure he was not being watched, he pushed the screen open. On his hands and knees he slipped through and partially closed the screen again.

Looking around the darkened compound, he waited until he had spotted the spear-carrying guards walking their posts. Then, bent low, running silently on his bare feet and keeping to the shadows, he circled around the rear of the main house. Now he was in the garden. Neither moon nor stars shone tonight. He crept through the garden, making use of each small tree and shrub for cover.

At last he crouched by a corner of the women’s house. He reviewed Taniko’s directions as he searched the outer screens of the house for one that, as she had promised, was left partly ajar. When he found his opening, he thought of water and flowed up the steps and past the screen. Inside the women’s house it was totally dark. He stood perfectly still for a moment, listening to rustlings and soft breathing coming from all directions. There was a strong scent of flower petals. After a few moments his eyes adjusted to the darkness in the building and he began to see where the walls and screens were. If he made a mistake and entered the wrong room, the guards would be on him instantly. He counted the doorways and turnings, re-creating his mental map of the building.

Small fingers seized his arm. He stopped moving instantly, stifling the impulse to attack. He peered at his captor, putting his face close to the pale face that looked up at him. It was Taniko. He stood motionless for a long time, revelling in her closeness, the light touch of her breath on his cheek. He tangled his fingers in her unbound hair and, at last, pressed his face against hers. He let her lead him the rest of the way to her chamber.

Taniko’s form was a slightly darker shadow against the general darkness of the women’s house. Most of the fires were out, and there was a chill in the air. Together they mounted the sleeping platform, and Jebu lay down, his head resting on her single wooden pillow, while she drew curtains around them. She lay down beside him. The long years they had been apart, the danger of their coming together, roused him and made him eager to touch her, but for the moment he held himself back.

Taniko’s arm went around him, and her cheek brushed his. “I have longed for you every night since we parted,” she whispered. “The hope that I might spend another night with you has kept me alive. I have never forgotten Heian Kyo in the moonlight.”

“Nor I,” said Jebu. “I weep when I think of what you must be suffering.” His fingertips stroked the nape of her neck.

Taniko drew back from him a little. Even in the almost total darkness he could see the glitter of intelligence in her eyes. “I will live. And I will learn. And some day, perhaps, I will use the knowledge somehow. I am learning what power is, and how men struggle for it.”

“Taniko. Run away with me tonight. We won’t stop running till we reach Hokkaido. We’ll live on a farm on a mountainside unknown to everyone.”

“Do you really think you could give up being a Zinja and become a farmer?” she whispered. “I know I could not give up the world I am discovering, even though every day of my marriage to Horigawa is torture. I will escape Horigawa somehow, but it will not be to hide in the north.”

Jebu felt his eyes grow hot and wet. Her life was so wretched that she was deceiving herself with wild dreams. But he knew she would remain firm about not running away with him. Tonight was all they would have. He put his hand under her robes, found her breast and held it gently, feeling the nipple tickle the palm of his hand. He made himself touch her as lightly as autumn leaves fall on a forest floor, even though he was raging inside to spring upon her as a tiger seizes a deer. He waited until she had warmed to him, till the insistence of her movements told him her eagerness matched his. Then he pressed himself upon her and she drew him in. Their bodies were fully united for the first time. In total silence they climbed a mountain of pleasure together, leaped together from the summit, and drifted down together like falling snow.

Jebu felt a pang of regret that it should be over so quickly. But he held her, his hands exploring her body, and he discovered that their union was not by any means over. This time he silently guided her into the position favoured by the Zinja, she sitting on his crossed legs with her own legs locked behind his back. This time there was a whole mountain range of pleasure for her, while his own peak took exquisitely long to reach.

For most of the night they lay together, sometimes talking in whispers, sometimes joining their bodies. Jebu discovered energy and desire in himself surpassing all previous experience.

At last Taniko said, “I heard a bird call. It will be dawn soon. You must go now while the night still protects us.”

“I would stop the sun from rising if I could.”

“That is not possible, Jebu. Least of all in the Sunrise Land.” She laughed softly. “You will live, and I will live, and we will do what we must, and other nights like this will be ours again.”