I. Parker - Island of Exiles

Haseo stood swaying. He looked terribly pale. “Bleeding again, I think,” he mumbled. “Don’t really want to know.” Then he collapsed into the deep grass.

Akitada waited for him to sit back up, but Haseo had either fallen asleep or passed out. He crawled over and checked. The bandage was soaked with fresh blood. But Haseo was breathing normally, his mouth slack with exhaustion. He needed rest and a doctor’s care.

A small stream passed nearby, and Akitada slid down to it.

Pulling up some moss, he soaked it in the cold water and held it to his knee. He was faint with hunger and worried about Haseo.

He had no idea where they were, but assumed the road in front of them led eventually to Mano. Moving southward should bring them to the sea. But roads were traveled by people, and they would attract attention. It struck him for the first time that they had a choice between risking recapture or dying from their injuries or lack of food in the wilderness.

When his knee felt a little better, he gathered more moss and wetted it, then crawled back to where he had left Haseo.

But Haseo was no longer alone.

Peering down at his sleeping figure stood a youngster of about ten who had a load of kindling tied to his back. He wore only a ragged shirt and did not look much better than they. Perhaps that was why he did not run away when Akitada approached.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, pointing to Haseo’s bloody bandage.

“He got hurt coming down the mountain,” said Akitada, busying himself with undoing the bandage and packing the wound with the wet moss instead. “Do you live around here?”

“In the village. If he’s hurt, you should take him to Ribata.” Akitada stopped what he was doing. “Ribata? The nun Ribata?” he asked the boy, dumbfounded. “Do you know her?” The youngster made a face at such stupidity. “Of course. She lives here, doesn’t she?”

Akitada stood up and looked around. “Here? Where?” The boy pointed up the mountain on the other side of the road. “Up there. You can see the smoke. That means she’s home.

Sometimes she goes away.”

Akitada regarded the child dubiously. Why would the nun live here on a mountain? Yet the more he thought about it, the more he was inclined to believe. He squinted at the thin spiral of smoke rising above the tall cedars halfway up the mountainside.

Both nuns and priests withdrew to lonely mountain dwellings to spend their days in prayer and meditation. And they were probably not far from Mano. He asked the boy, “How far is it to Mano?”

The youngster pursed his lips and looked at the sun. “You might get there by night, maybe, but you’d better have her look at your friend first. She set my arm after I broke it last year.” In the distance a temple bell rang thinly. The boy straightened his load. “I’ve got to go,” he said, and trotted away.

Akitada looked at the sleeping Haseo and decided to move him a few feet into some shrubbery out of sight from the road.

Then he crossed the road and a field of tall grasses and began his climb through the forest toward Ribata’s hermitage. He found a footpath after a while, but it was steep and when he finally emerged from the forest path into the small clearing, he was drenched in sweat and could not control the trembling in his legs.

A tiny wooden house, covered with morning glory vines and surrounded by a small vegetable plot, stood in the clearing.

Below lay the grassy valley and beyond rose another wooded mountainside. A few feet from him was an open cooking fire with a large kettle suspended from a bamboo tripod. An appetizing smell drifted his way. Ribata’s hermitage was simple but adequate and resembled many such places in the mountains around the capital. Only an abundance of flowers, the blue morning glories which covered its roof, the golden bells of day lilies, yellow rape, and purple asters, suggested that the hermit was a woman of refined tastes. The small place was so well hidden among the trees and vines that only those who knew of its existence would find it.

Greatly cheered by all of this, Akitada approached the hut and called out, “Is anyone home?”

It was indeed Ribata who appeared in the doorway, looking as slender and aristocratic in her white robe and veil as he remembered her. He bowed. “Forgive this intrusion, reverend lady, but a boy from the village directed me here. I have a friend who is wounded.”

She shaded her eyes, then came down the steps to peer at him more closely. Half naked, dirty, and with his hair and beard grown wildly about his face, he imagined he was hardly a welcome visitor, but she recognized him. “Taketsuna? Praise to the all-merciful Buddha,” she murmured. “Is it really you? We had almost given you up.”

Akitada had not thought of himself as Taketsuna for such a long time that her mistake made him laugh. Or perhaps it was finally seeing a friendly face, being greeted with pleasure, being made welcome-all of this signaling his return to safety, to a world he knew, having crossed the threshold between a living death and life. He found it hard to stop laughing, but then his legs started shaking again, and he stumbled to the small porch and sat down. “We escaped from one of Kumo’s mines,” he explained. “But can you come with me to help my friend? He has lost a lot of blood from a leg wound. We must get to provincial headquarters in Mano as fast as possible.” She asked no questions. Saying, “Rest while I get ready,” she disappeared into the hut. Akitada leaned against one of the beams supporting the roof and basked in the warmth of the sun, unaware that tears gathered in his eyes and slowly spilled. Bees swarmed in the morning glories above him. Doves cooed in the branches of a cedar, and far above a kite rode the breeze in leisurely circles. He closed his eyes.

“Masako? Toshito?”

Akitada jerked awake, not quite sure where he was for a moment. Then his surroundings took shape and meaning, and he saw that Ribata had come out of her hut. She held a bundle and was looking toward the forest. Akitada stumbled to his feet.

“Masako? Masako is here? And Toshito? Mutobe’s son Toshito?

I thought he was in prison in Mano.”

“They are both here.” Ribata scanned the trees. “When you did not return before the trial, the children decided to escape.

Masako helped Toshito by putting a sleeping powder in the guards’ soup. They came to me and have been here ever since. I cannot imagine where they are. We will need their help.” Akitada tried to make sense of this. Ribata had made it sound quite natural that Masako should be with Mutobe’s son. Whatever one might think of a young lady helping an accused murderer escape from his jail cell by drugging his guards, their coming here to hide had been smart. Perhaps the nun had suggested it herself on one of her visits to the young man. Perhaps she had even supplied Masako with the correct herbs to mix into the guards’ food. Ribata seemed to have a knack for appearing in interesting situations. But Masako here?

Akitada wondered what he would say to the girl when they met.

He had not thought of their lovemaking in many weeks. That time seemed incredibly remote, though he found that her involvement with Toshito did not sit too well with him.

“I must go back to my friend,” he said, moving toward the path down the mountain. “He is beside the road near a small stream and a stand of firs. If I go ahead, can you follow?” She nodded. “I know the place.”

He limped down the mountain, crossed the field and the empty road, and found Haseo still fast asleep in the grass where he had left him. Shaking his shoulder gently, he waited until his companion sat up groggily, then said, “Good news. I’ve found some shelter for us with someone I know. It’s quite safe.