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.

“You might keep me informed,” Tora complained. “I’d like to know what I’m getting into. I take it we are to kill all five?”

Saburo nodded. “Kill or disable so they cannot harm the old man. He’s a saint. I’ll not have him on my conscience.”

“You have no sword. Am I to do all the work? And you never answered my question. Where are they?”

“Holed up in a hut used by wood gatherers. It’s farther on in the valley.”

“Hmm. The old man is blind. Can you trust what he says he saw? How do you know it’s them? How do you know there are only five?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Let’s go!” Saburo untied his horse and climbed on.

Tora controlled himself. His headache was back and put him in bad mood. And truth to tell, he no longer was so sure of himself. He did not want to die, not when Hanae and Yuki were waiting for him. He did not want to do that to them. Or to the master. He sighed and mounted his horse, hoping the god of the mountain was with him this day.

After following the road through more forest for about a mile, Saburo dismounted. “We leave the horses here and walk,” he said, his voice tense.

Tora, his head pounding, was resentful. Why had Saburo not kept him informed? He might have found their hideout, but that did not give him the right to run this show.

After they had led their horses some way into the forest where they were hidden from the track, they tied them to trees.

“What next?” Tora growled. “Or am I to wait for a surprise?”

Saburo shot him a glance. “What? Oh. Sorry. My mind was on how best to handle this.”

Outraged, Tora snapped, “You might have consulted me. Maybe you want to do this alone?”

“Tora, calm down. I was about to tell you.”

Tora glowered, but he listened. Saburo, having learned from Master Cricket that some sohei were living in a wood gatherer’s hut, had reconnoitered and verified that they were the men they wanted. Kojo had been sitting outside, drinking sake.

“There are five? One wounded?” asked Tora.

“Yes. Not badly wounded.”

“Armed?”

“Yes.”

“What do you propose?”

Saburo told him and after some reflection, Tora gave his approval. They started walking.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Betto Hatta

Akitada found Kosehira not only awake but on his veranda, stretching and peering up at the rapidly changing sky. Already the soft rosy colors of the sunrise were fading to mere brightness, and the sky was turning blue.

Akitada was only partly aware of this. His heart and mind were still filled with the golden image of Yukiko, standing there by the railing, telling him that she would marry her cousin. His idea about the Jizo killer faded in significance, and when Kosehira greeted him with a cheerful, “Akitada! What brings you so early?” he found little enthusiasm in explaining his theory.

Kosehira stared at him. “That old murder? You think an old murder is behind this? I don’t see how this could be. Not only was this—what?—at least twenty years ago, but the case was cleared up and the killer confessed. Are you suggesting that he somehow survived and returned to avenge himself?”