Chasing the Secret Page 3

  At last, the temple came into sight with its tall pagoda building near the front of the sacred ground, in a circle of golden gravel. We were headed for the main building with three ornate curving rooftops stacked one above the other. Monks in saffron-yellow robes stood on either side of the steps leading up to the entrance, where a round copper gong hung gracefully from an ash-wood hanger.

  The monks bowed their smoothly shaven heads as Uncle and his guards passed between them and began to climb the steps.

  Once my eyes had adjusted to the dimly lit interior of the temple, I saw an old priest waiting for us by a bronze statue of the Buddha. He had a shakujo ritual staff in his hand, the iron rings jingling at the top. Behind him stood an impressive altar, lacquered with green and gold, and touched here and there with glossy black paint.

  As we moved forward, the priest rang the altar bell and began to chant, the nasal sounds of his words running into one another.

  We carefully placed the casket in front of the altar. Mr. Choji nodded his approval and stepped forward to make a final adjustment to its position.

  The students filed silently into the temple behind us and kneeled in neat rows. Watched by Uncle Hidehira’s samurai guards, the mourners from the nearby villages filled the spaces at the sides of the temple, heads bowed. I could hear a woman quietly weeping near the back. Other mourners had arranged their hair in the traditional samurai style and I guessed they had once been students of Master Goku.

  The monks walked slowly up the center of the temple to continue the ceremony. At the end of the long prayer, the old priest finished chanting and fell silent. There was a moment of peaceful contemplation. I knew that next a relative of the dead should rise and thank the guests for coming. But of course Master Goku had no relatives.

  I glanced at Mr. Choji, wondering whether he would speak, but in my heart I knew it would be Uncle. And sure enough, Hidehira left his position at the head of Goku’s casket and moved forward. My stomach seemed to fall away and I felt a hot rush of hatred for him.

  “Friends,” he began in a deep, self-important voice. “As well as being Jito of the southern part of this province, I was Goku’s most trusted friend.”

  That’s not true, I wanted to shout, indignation rushing through me. I saw Mr. Choji standing tensely, his face a mask of carefully controlled fury.

  “Our friendship began during the days of my training here,” Uncle Hidehira went on, letting his hand rest on the scabbard of his sword. “Like many of you, I was once a student at the dojo. Indeed, Goku once told me that I was the best he had ever seen.” Uncle paused and looked out at the crowd, almost daring someone to challenge that statement. I had to keep my jaw firmly clenched—everyone knew that my father was the best. “In later years I outstripped his skills and found that I needed a more experienced teacher…but I never forgot Goku. And I’m sure you will never forget him either, although you all know it is time to move on.”

  Uncle Hidehira paused to let his meaning sink in.

  A sob echoed from near the back of the temple. Uncle Hidehira glared, and it was quickly stifled. “You must move on,” he said sharply. “It is time to go back to your studies. Train hard. Become warriors. Now that I have no son, I will need an heir from among the loyal samurai army that will help build my empire. Goku’s death has been an upset for you all, but it was time for a change at this school….”

  A stir rippled through the students. A few of the older students muttered under their breaths, and I knew they resented Uncle’s implication that their Master’s time had passed.

  “Change is coming,” Uncle Hidehira went on. “Both to this school and to the province. I need an army, and as I look at you now I see my future warriors…my generals…my battle-hungry men. You will train hard and be proud to use your skills in the service of your Jito.”

  As Uncle Hidehira finished his speech, I looked around to see some of the students, their faces alive with excitement. The idea of becoming the Jito’s heir was surely filling them with purpose. There was a buzz in the air as everyone filed past Goku’s casket to bow his last respects. They all bowed to Uncle Hidehira, too, before exiting through the doorway at the side of the temple that led to the funeral pyre.

  As I watched them, I couldn’t help but despair. How could they be so taken in by Uncle’s words? They were so excited at the thought of using their skills that they couldn’t see that most of them were destined for a bloody death on Uncle’s battlefields.

  We followed the crowd outside to the wide gravel courtyard behind the temple. I caught a glimpse of stone carvings, tall pine trees shading part of the hillside, and a bronze statue of the Buddha gleaming in the sunshine.

  Even though I had attended my grandmother’s funeral many moons ago and knew what to expect, my stomach still tightened when I saw the flaming pyre that had been built in the center of the courtyard.

  There were several large stones, all about the same height and spaced out carefully to support a casket. Between them, the priests had layered dry timber, which was flickering fiercely in the breeze. The monks brought Goku’s casket and placed it onto the broad stones and into the flames.

  Sparks flew, some of them spiraling up toward the sky. Silence fell over the assembled crowd. Then, one of the monks rang a tinkling bell and began to chant. Soon the others joined in, their voices blending into a gentle melody.

  As the fire began to consume the casket, grief rose up through me. So many people I had loved were gone. My father, my brothers, and now Master Goku…

  Tears welled up and I tried to blink them away, wanting to control my grief. But it was no good. The tears fell, hot against my skin.

  I felt Hana move closer to me, and I reached sideways to touch her fingers with mine. Around us, the chanting of the monks rose and fell.

  Above us, the sun climbed higher in the sky, beating down on our heads. An incredible heat filled the courtyard as the pyre became a furnace. The air seemed to ripple and shimmer, until at last the casket disappeared into a raging inferno of heat and flame.

  When the fire subsided, the priest stepped forward and raked the pyre carefully with a long metal pole.

  Soon, the last remains of Master Goku were revealed. White bones gleamed among the smoldering embers. Most were still recognizable for what they were—long shins, round hip bones, a smooth skull.

  A monk brought out a large urn wrapped in pure white cloth. He removed the cloth and stood quietly beside the pyre. A second monk brought two pairs of fine chopsticks. He gave one pair to Uncle Hidehira and the other to Mr. Choji.

  I watched as Uncle reached into the pyre and carefully selected a bone from one of Master Goku’s feet. As tradition demanded, he held it out to Mr. Choji, who solemnly accepted the bone between his own chopsticks.

  Mr. Choji carefully placed the pure white bone into the bottom of the urn. He turned and beckoned to the nearest casket bearer. I knew that each of us in turn would approach the funeral pyre and accept one of Master Goku’s bones from Uncle Hidehira in this way. We would place them into the urn, beginning with the feet and working all the way up the skeleton until the last mourner placed Master Goku’s skull into the urn. My mother had once explained that custom demanded the dead be placed in an urn the right way up, so they could be comfortable in their final resting place.

  When it was my turn, I kept my head bowed, hoping Uncle wouldn’t look at me too closely. When I took the chopsticks, Uncle Hidehira barely looked at me as he passed me a small, shining white bone. He seemed to hurry through the motions, wanting to be anywhere but here. Carefully I took the bone between my own chopsticks. Heart pounding, I placed the bone in the urn on top of the other pieces.

  Immediately the old priest stepped forward. He was holding a large piece of stone carved into the shape of a long-stemmed mushroom. He placed this into the urn and began to rock it back and forth. I heard a brittle cracking sound and guessed the priest was crushing the bones.

  I turned and passed the chopsticks to H
ana. She glanced up at me, her eyes huge with grief and pain. Her hand trembled slightly as she took the chopsticks and I knew that this ceremony was especially hard on her. In the same way that the priest was crushing the bones to make them fit into the urn, so my sister and I had to crush our emotions so that we would not falter in the face of the terrible events that had overtaken us.

  Hana took the chopsticks and gave me the tiniest nod as I passed her on my way back to my place. As I turned, I was filled with pride that her hand was steady as she received the next bone.

  Above us, a single bird of prey wheeled and circled.

  At last, the priest used the carved stone to crush the round skull bones. Then the urn was wrapped neatly in a white cloth and presented to Uncle Hidehira, who led the way back inside the temple.

  We proceeded behind him, our steps slow and respectful. I felt relief that Goku’s spirit would be happy here, near the dojo he loved so much. Hana and I could set out on our journey knowing he was at peace.

  All the mourners gathered inside the temple for the final moments of the funeral. At last, Uncle placed the urn on the altar, and after a pause it was time for the mourners to file past, one by one, and head back to the dojo. The casket bearers were to go first, offering a formal bow to Goku’s casket and then to the Jito before moving toward the front temple doors.

  When it came to my turn, I had to steel myself to keep my head down and bow to Uncle Hidehira, pretending to offer my respect.

  Mr. Choji was behind me. As I moved forward, following Hana and Tatsuya, I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Mr. Choji approach the altar and bow respectfully to the urn rather than to the Jito. He paused in front of Uncle Hidehira. But he did not bow as we had done. He simply stared at Uncle, his chin tilted up defiantly.

  I could see Uncle Hidehira’s cheeks flushing slightly as he met Mr. Choji’s gaze. There was a moment of silence in the temple, as if everyone present was holding his breath.

  I bit my lip, knowing that this was a deliberate act of defiance from Mr. Choji. He had suffered Uncle’s insults in silence all morning, holding himself tightly in check. But now he had had enough.

  He deliberately turned away from the Jito, his head held high.

  A spasm of rage passed over Uncle Hidehira’s face and I watched in shock as he drew his sword. The long blade flashed upward, then came slicing down across Mr. Choji’s body.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  With a look of savage triumph, Uncle Hidehira drew his sword back, shook Mr. Choji’s blood from the blade, and resheathed it.

  Mr. Choji staggered. His face was desperate as he reached for something to steady himself against. His fingers found the edge of the altar and for one horrifying moment I thought that he would knock into the urn of bones and send it crashing to the floor.

  The crowd behind us gasped in horror as Mr. Choji toppled forward, eyes glazed. His body hit the floor with a dull thud. The monks looked shocked, but none dared to speak out against the Jito.

  Rage swelled up inside me as chaos broke out all around. Some of the students rushed to Mr. Choji’s side, while the mourners cried out in agony for the disturbed peace of Master Goku’s spirit.

  “He is heartless,” Hana murmured, her face ashen.

  Beside me, Tatsuya’s eyes darkened with menace as his gaze shifted from Choji’s body to Uncle Hidehira and his right hand went instinctively to the hilt of his sword.

  I saw my friend Ko, the kitchen boy, on his knees, cradling Mr. Choji’s head. “How could you?” Ko shouted at Uncle. “How could you?”

  One of the older boys shouted, “Murder!” as he jostled through the crowded temple in Uncle Hidehira’s direction.

  There was a whisper of cold steel as Uncle’s guards unsheathed their swords. Several of the village mourners cried out and fled the temple.

  In two strides Tatsuya covered the distance between himself and Uncle Hidehira, joining the older student with his sword in his hand. At once six of the samurai guards moved into defensive positions around the Jito. Their eyes were glittering and watchful.

  “You killed him,” Tatsuya said. “Why?”

  “Because I am Lord Steward and my word is law,” Uncle Hidehira snarled, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Tatsuya from within his protected circle. “You would do well to remember that your loyalty is bound to me, boy.”

  Tatsuya stared at Uncle, and I could see he was torn. Did his loyalty belong to the Jito? Or to the Master?

  “You may be the Jito,” he cried, “but you have shed blood in a holy place. And at the funeral of our Master.”

  My spirit soared at his words. Not everyone was willing to bow beneath Uncle’s cruelty. A surge of energy flowed through me. Had the time come for me to face my father’s murderer? To challenge him honorably in battle? Was I ready for it?

  I drew my sword and stepped forward, steeling myself. “Not only that!” I exclaimed, no longer caring that Uncle might recognize me. “You’ve robbed us of our new Master, a man we knew and respected.”

  Uncle Hidehira sneered at the sword in my hand. “Those who draw a sword against their Jito are traitors,” he said. “Just as your Masters were both traitors.” He glanced at the urn on the altar. “Goku’s bones will have the final resting place he deserves—scattered beneath the feet of my conquering army.”

  Such an act would mean eternal torment for Goku’s soul.

  “Goku and Choji were not traitors,” I cried. “They were loyal to the true Jito, the honorable Yamamoto no Yoshijiro.”

  My rage drove me forward in a sudden lunge, but two of Uncle’s samurai guards shoved me back into the knot of boys that had gathered behind Tatsuya and me. I caught a glimpse of Hana, beside me. Her eyes were full of grim determination.

  All around me, students were coming together. Rebellion and defiance rippled through the air. Ko leaped to his feet beside the body of Mr. Choji. “Master Goku was no traitor,” he cried.

  “Nor was Mr. Choji,” Sato muttered through gritted teeth.

  The time is now, my soul cried out. We must have vengeance for the deaths of our father and older brothers….

  I had to get through the samurai to Uncle. I flexed my knees and held my sword in a two-handed grip. The hilt felt smooth and familiar in my hand, the steel perfectly balanced. I fixed my gaze on Uncle Hidehira, vengeance burning in the pit of my belly, and launched my attack.

  Hardened warriors used to battle, the samurai disbanded from their protective circle and leaped forward to protect their master.

  “Kill the traitors!” shouted Uncle.

  Suddenly, all around me, students were battling with Uncle Hidehira’s guards.

  A blade came slicing down near my head. I deflected it and twisted around to meet another attack. I caught sight of the priest as he darted forward into the fray, his aged face etched with horror. “Stop!” he cried, waving his hands. “Violence is forbidden in this holy place….”

  But no one listened. Students pushed past him as they sprang to defend their friends. My samurai enemy fought with determination, but my focus was on getting past him to Uncle. Tatsuya swept into my field of vision, whirling his blade as he fought at my left side. Hana was on my right, her sword glittering.

  Although there were fewer than twenty of Uncle’s guards, it seemed as though there were hundreds. They moved so fast, fought so skillfully, their blades slicing. But the students worked together against the experienced soldiers, and my heart soared with hope.

  Several students hovered in the doorway to the temple, away from the fighting. I recognized two of them as friends of my cousin Ken-ichi, their faces pale with fright, looking as if they might run away at any moment.

  They’re cowards, I thought as I twisted around to attack again the samurai I was fighting.

  Behind him, I saw Uncle Hidehira calmly slice his sword downward, striking a nearby student across the wrist and severing his hand. The boy cried out and fell to his knees, blood soaking through the sleeve of his kimono, another inno
cent claimed by Uncle’s blade. A second student yelled furiously and leaped at the Jito, elbows bent and sword held high. But Uncle Hidehira defended easily, cutting the boy down with a swift slashing movement. Uncle’s speed was breathtaking; his skill comparable with that of my father or Master Goku.

  As I fought my way toward him, I wondered if anyone could match him. Was I ready? I wasn’t certain, but this was my moment to try. I would avenge my father and brothers, my master and my friends—even if it killed me.

  “Haaiii!” Another samurai leaped in front of me, baring his teeth as his sword came arcing down toward my shoulder. His red silk mon badge was like a slash of blood against his armor.

  I kept myself centered as I stepped just out of range of his strike. I moved in to attack, but the samurai recovered. He lunged again. I bent my knees and then powered upward, pushing through my thighs to attack him with my sword, hard and fast. He blocked me and brought his other arm in from the side, grabbing my wrist and pressing hard with his thumb…and suddenly my grip on the hilt was loosened. My sword went clattering to the ground.

  I found myself empty-handed and defenseless, and a look of triumph flickered across the samurai’s battle-hardened face.

  “Weep, child, for you are defeated,” he snarled, and abruptly flung his sword up high.

  Death was coming for me and I had not even had a chance to challenge my uncle.

  But suddenly something buzzed past my shoulder, skimming my cheek. The samurai let out a shriek of pain. He dropped his sword and clutched at his face. Blood poured down his cheeks as he fell to his knees, still shrieking. Had someone thrown a knife? I glanced at the floor, my gaze attracted by a flash of silver.

  It was a steel hairpin that I could see protruding from between the hands of the writhing samurai. I had seen that hairpin only this morning, when Hana had fastened her topknot….

  Twisting around fast, I saw that Hana was ten paces away from me. Her hand was poised at shoulder height, from where she had thrown the pin.