Without another word, Noami left.

The cold was unbelievable and produced a totally new kind of pain, perversely almost akin to burning. Not in all those years in the snow country had Akitada felt such deadly cold. He tried to think back to the stories of people who had barely escaped freezing to death. They had become sleepy and felt nothing after a while. So Noami would be disappointed after all. Akitada thought that he was beginning to lose sensation in most parts of his body already. Then the memory of amputated limbs came to him. Those who had not died in the frozen north had lost hands and feet, ears and noses to the cold. Ice was as effective as a sharp knife.

Movement and physical exertion had warmed him earlier, and he tried to move again, to pull against the rope, but his muscles were stiffening, cramping, refusing his commands. For the first time he considered seriously the fact that he was about to die. To die slowly, forgotten in this overgrown bamboo grove, while a demented artist sketched his final moments. To die without a single act of courage or affirmation. The thought of being mocked in death, and again mocked after death by the thousands who would pass by Noami’s masterpiece, revolted his very soul.

He began his struggle again, straining, his teeth grinding against the rags in his mouth, his own groans filling his ears till they drowned out the rustling of the bamboo and the distant sound of temple bells marking the hours. He gained enough purchase that his arms and shoulders could move a little and he celebrated that moment with a brief period of rest during which he attempted to move his fingers and wrists. Without them he could not work the knot loose. But his exertions were in vain. He had no idea if his fingers were capable of movement, and his wrists hurt too badly. But the physical effort had counteracted the freezing water against his skin, and one of the rags had actually come loose and fallen.

He considered his situation. Once or twice during some of his more violent efforts of pulling against the rope, he had brushed the bark of the tree trunk behind him. Perhaps he could get close enough to rub the rope against it.

Belatedly he remembered the bucket he stood in. He had lost contact with his feet when he stopped feeling them. With a convulsive kick forward, and a resulting new tear to his shoulder muscles, he overturned the bucket. He barely felt the ground under his feet, but the bucket touched his ankle. If he could get his feet on top …

It took another vicious pull on his arms and shoulders to raise his legs. He missed, sliding off the wooden surface of the bucket with the soles of his feet. Clamping his teeth into the gag, he tried again, clung precariously for a moment; then somehow the bucket must have rolled slightly and settled into the mud under him. He stood on it, supported totally by his feet, but swaying weakly, perilously, on its curved surface.

The resulting slack had brought his tied wrists close enough to see that the rope was knotted too tightly to undo, even if he could have moved his hands, which no longer resembled human hands at all. He blocked the thought of losing both hands from his mind.

Instead he concentrated on severing the rope some other way. If the trunk of the tree was immediately behind him, he could lean backward against it. If not, he would tumble off the bucket again. He tried not to think of the pain which would follow, and reached back. And touched the tree. He leaned back cautiously, feeling the sharp bark against his back, letting it support some of his weight. But there was very little slack in the rope now and pushing his bound wrists up and down against the bark of the tree required him to stretch upward from his shoulders and against the pull of the rope. Each movement sent new arrows of pain through his shoulders and caused him to teeter on the bucket beneath his feet.

He persisted. The bucket settled more deeply into the mud, and at some point of the continuous push and pull he dislodged the cloth covering his face and sucked in a deep breath of clean air and gazed at the stars. The relief brought tears he could not stop.

The rubbing motion became automatic, the pain a fact of existence, proof he was alive. He was hardly conscious of the moment when the sharp bark of the tree bit into his skin.

And then the rope parted and he fell.

He fell hard, totally unprepared for freedom, and lay there for a time, too stunned to form any plan for further action. Above him rose the massive trunk of the tree, splitting into black branches and twigs against the midnight blue, star-spangled sky.

After a while, he rolled on his side and brought his arms down, cradling them against his chest. Lowering his arms in itself was exquisitely painful, and even after that agony dulled, there was more pain, though the worst spasms were different from the earlier ones. He rested some more and tried to move his fingers again. Evidently the rope, once severed, had parted completely, because his wrists, black with blood, were free. He tried to warm his hands against his belly and could feel them moving. Thank heaven.

He next thought of getting rid of the gag. He tried raising his hands to his face, but was unable to make his fingers take hold of the fabric and instead rubbed the side and back of his head against the ground. A protruding tree root shifted the cloth strip enough that he could force the gag from his mouth with his tongue.

He vomited, but felt better afterward, and struggled into a sitting position. The strip which had held the gag in place still encircled his head, covering one of his eyes. He pushed it up and off and looked around. The tree stood in the middle of dense bamboo. The sky above had paled and the stars were becoming faint. Almost dawn. How much time had passed? Noami had said he would return in an hour. Akitada could call for help now, but that might simply bring his tormentor back, and how was he to deal with him in his present condition? His ankles were still hobbled together; he could not untie the knot, because his hands were useless. Besides, his knees shook so badly when he tried to stand that he fell down again.

He must crawl, hide somewhere in the garden, give himself time to recover more strength, perhaps untie his legs.

He crawled, slithered, rolled, more like a snake or worm than a two- or four-legged creature, deeper and deeper into the bamboo thicket, until he reached the boundary wall and could go no farther. Here he sat up, leaning his back against the wall, and rested.

All was still blessedly silent. After a while he began to work on his hands again. The icy skin felt like something alien against his chest and cheek, and he put his fingers in his mouth to warm them. Then, taking them out, he watched his fingers move in the dim light, one by one, reluctantly and eerily, since he could not feel the movement. One finger at a time, they all moved, pale white like the underbelly of a dead fish against the dark, oozing flesh of his wrists. He exercised them again and again, warming them briefly in his mouth in between.

Finally came the moment when he felt a faint itching in one of his thumbs. It spread and changed to an unpleasant tingling, but he was so encouraged that he increased his hand exercises, adding slow stretches of his arms and shoulders.

He was just starting to explore the rope around his ankles when he heard a distant shout.

Noami! He had found his prisoner gone.

Akitada sagged hopelessly as the sounds of thrashing and breaking bamboo began. Too soon. He could not get up yet. Not even walk a few steps, let alone run. The sounds of frantic searching, loud in the still predawn air, were coming closer. He had left a trail for Noami to follow.

Pointless though it seemed, Akitada bent to work the knot, his half-raw fingers protesting until blood trickled from under his fingernails. The knot was wet, partially frozen, and sharp bits of ice were cutting his skin. It was no use. Looking around, he saw a chunk of stone the size of an infant’s head. Scooting over, he tried to pick it up. But his fingers would not grasp, nor would his arm muscles support, even such a slight weight in their present condition. He staggered to his feet, bent, and scooped it up by placing both his hands underneath and lifting with his back. Then, cradling the stone against his bare belly, he shuffled the few feet back to the wall and propped himself upright against it to wait for Noami.