their secret, and even if she had, Kumo would have been noti-

fied of his escape by now and would extend the search to the

surrounding areas soon enough. He could not afford to let

Akitada escape. Ribata’s vine-covered hermitage was not visible

from below, but Akitada recalled the tracks they had made

through the tall grasses of the valley.

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

343

The trouble was, they had neither weapons nor horses. If

Kumo sent armed men after them, as he must surely do, they

would either die here or be taken back to the mine to face a

worse fate.

He was glad when night fell, and the possibility of an attack

became remote. Candles and lamps were extinguished early

and they prepared for sleep. The women stayed in the hut, but

Ribata came out with blankets for her guests and spoke briefly

to Toshito, who nodded and disappeared on some errand.

In spite of his blanket, Akitada awoke, shivering, long before

dawn. He got up and started moving his body vigorously to

warm his sluggish blood. His knee felt much better. Haseo still

slept, and there was no sign of Toshito. Eventually, as the night

sky slowly paled, he decided to make himself useful and gath-

ered sticks for the fire. When it was burning, he squatted beside

it and rubbed his chilled arms.

A touch on his shoulder made him jump. Masako held out

his blanket. “Put it around you until the sun comes up.” He did

and watched her heating water for rice gruel, regretting his

anger of the day before.

“How far is it to Mano?” he asked.

“Half a day’s walk with a shortcut. The road passes on the

other side of this mountain.” She left to go back into the hut.

Only a few hours’ walk? Akitada felt fit enough. Surely

Haseo could manage a short journey, one that would become

easy once they reached the road. After that—well, they would

deal with whatever came.

Masako returned. “Ribata wants you,” she said.

When he ducked into the shadowy room, he found the

nun at prayer. She sat in the center of the small square

space, perfectly straight and still. Dark wooden beads passed

through her thin fingers like beans falling through the ribs of

a bamboo strainer. He could not see her face clearly, but her

344

I . J . P a r k e r

lips moved, and now and then he caught a word or cadence

from a sutra.

He sat down across from her, quietly waiting, wondering

again about this strange, aristocratic woman who seemed con-

tent to lead a simple, religious life so far from court. Good man-

ners and respect for her present status forbade his asking

questions. Once he reached Mano and the governor and started

an investigation into Kumo’s activities, and those of his fellow

conspirators, he hoped that the tangled relationships between

the Kumo family, the late prince, and Ribata would also unravel.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Ribata said, “You

should both be able to travel in another day. Then the governor

will reconvene the court and Toshito’s name will be cleared.”

She sighed and folded her hands around her beads. “Life is

filled with pain. But the young people can settle down and

raise their family. And you, too, will be eager to return to wife

and child.”

Akitada nodded. He thought of the baby son he had left

behind. Children often sickened and died during their first year.

“Place your trust in the Buddha and all will be well,” said

the nun.

“Yes.”

He suspected that she was steering his thoughts to his family

and smiled in the darkness because she had succeeded. His

heart swelled with love and gratitude for the slender girl he had

left behind among strangers, far from her home and family. He

remembered how she had stood in the doorway, holding their

son in her arms. Smiling bravely, she had faced their separation

without complaint, certainly without self-pity, her back straight

and her voice strong when she called out, “We will be waiting

when you return.”

The sun was rising outside and the first ray crept through

the door. It touched Ribata’s sleeve and shoulder, then lit up her

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

345

pale drawn face. She moved out of its light and looked at him.

Her eyes were extraordinarily bright for a woman her age.

“I am happy for you,” she said. Then she reached into her

sleeve and held out a flute to him. “And I am returning this to

you. I hoped that you would come for it someday.”

He took it, uncertain, raised it into the sunlight, and saw

that it was Plover’s Cry, the flute she had given him in Kumo’s

garden, the flute taken from him by Wada.

“But how did you get it back?” he asked, shocked.

“Sanetomo returned it to me. It seems the regrettable Wada

had it in his possession. Sanetomo recognized it, of course.”

Sanetomo?

Then Akitada remembered the name, and drew in his breath

sharply. Kumo Sanetomo had returned the flute to its owner.

She must have known what had happened to him all along, he

thought, his mind racing at the implications. And Ribata had

sent Toshito away the night before. The knowledge of what his

errand must be came too late; the damage was surely done by

now. In his anger and despair Akitada almost broke the flute in

his hands.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y

K U M O

Akitada slowly laid the flute on the floor between them.

Hot fury at the betrayal churned in his belly and pounded his

temples. With an effort he kept his hands from shaking; with

another effort he controlled his voice. “Where is Toshito?”

There was a moment’s silence, then she said vaguely, “He’ll

be back soon.”

Imagining what this might mean, Akitada clenched his

hands. Then he gestured to the flute. “I cannot accept your gen-

erous gift after all.” When her eyes met his, puzzled, he added

harshly, “And I am not beaten yet.” Rising abruptly, he inclined

his head, saw with satisfaction that he had shocked her, and

left the hut.

Outside, the early sun made golden patterns on the ground,

and birds were singing, but the valley below still lay hidden in

white mist. Masako was stirring the morning gruel in the kettle.

Akitada looked at her suspiciously. He had met with more

female duplicity lately than in his entire previous life. It seemed I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

347

likely now that she had told Ribata of his mission, and that

Ribata had alerted Kumo.

Haseo was up. He stood at a spot overlooking the valley

and shaded his eyes against the sun. High in the translucent sky

circled the first kite. The world was dew-fresh and very beautiful.

Akitada had too recently emerged from continuous night not

to feel an almost dizzying fear of losing his fragile freedom again.

“Haseo,” he called out. “We must leave.”

Haseo did not turn. Instead he motioned to Akitada, who

repeated, more urgently, “We must leave immediately. I think

we have been betrayed.”

“Ah.” Haseo nodded without surprise and pointed to the

foot of the mountain on the far side of the valley. Where the

sunlight had melted away a narrow patch of fog, gray rocks and

towering cedars floated like a small island in the sea of white

which filled the rest of the valley.

And there, among the firs and pines, something sparkled

and moved. As insignificant as ants at that distance, a small con-

tingent of horsemen wove in and out between the trees and, one

by one, disappeared into the misty sea. The scene was surreal, and