Laura Rowland - The Snow Empress

His eyes, which scrutinized Hirata from beneath thick, white brows, reflected the firelight and gleamed with dignified, calm intelligence. As their gazes met, a thought flashed through Hirata’s mind.

Meeting this man is crucial to my destiny.

The Ezo inclined his body in a bow that indicated familiarity with Japanese manners. He spoke in a deep, resonant voice and spread his hands in a universal gesture of welcome.

Hirata hesitated a moment, shaken by his revelation. Then he called through the doorway to Sano and his other comrades, who were waiting outside. “It’s all right.”

Everyone crowded into the hut, knelt around the fire pit. The air steamed with the snow melting on their garments. Hirata sat on one side of their host, Sano on the other. Although Hirata was transfixed by the old barbarian, he hadn’t lost his samurai habit of always taking note of his environment. He tore his attention away from the Ezo long enough to glance around the hut.

Fishnets, hunting weapons, kitchenware, bedding, and household miscellany were piled against dirt mounds that insulated the walls. Thatch curtains covered windows. Pots and tools hung from a shelf suspended from the ceiling above the fire. Additional light and fishy-smelling smoke came from wicks burning in scallop shells filled with oil. In a corner stood a stick, its bark shaved down from the top and hanging in a mop of curly strands. Hirata felt an aura shimmering in invisible waves around it. He intuited that it was a sacred object, the repository for a divine spirit.

“Introduce us,” Sano told the Rat.

The Rat bowed to their host, gave what seemed to be a polite greeting in Ezo language, and reeled off speech in which Hirata recognized only the names of his party. The barbarian elder nodded, replied briefly, and bowed to the assembly.

“He says his name is Awetok, and he’s the chieftain of the tribe,” the Rat explained.

The other barbarians stood by the doorway. “Honorable Awetok, why did your men try to chase us off?” Sano asked.

The Rat translated. The chieftain answered, “To save you.”

“From what?” Sano said. “Or whom?”

“Those that control Ezogashima.”

“And they are…?”

Hirata could feel Sano wondering whether the chieftain meant Japanese in the persons of the Matsumae clan, or invaders from China who’d occupied Ezogashima.

Caution glinted in Awetok’s eyes as the Rat interpreted. He spoke, removing two objects tied to his sash and holding them up. One was a metal tobacco pipe such as one might find anywhere in Edo. The other was a bearskin pouch. Awetok opened it and revealed a quartz flint, a fragment of iron that served as a striker, a piece of charcoal for tinder, and dried tobacco leaves inside. The habit of smoking was apparently as popular among Ezo as among the Japanese.

“He’s offering us a smoke,” the Rat explained unnecessarily, adding, “It’s a hospitality ritual.”

“He’s stalling,” Sano commented to Hirata, “but we’d better play along.”

The pipe was filled, lit, and passed. Everyone took a puff whether they smoked or not. Reiko stifled a cough. The atmosphere in the hut grew thicker, acrid. Sano said, “Whoever are the powers that be, why are they a threat to us?”

“Because all outsiders are banned from Ezogashima.”

“I’ll ask him who says,” the Rat volunteered.

After he spoke, the chieftain answered, “We’re forbidden to discuss the matter.”

By whom?“ Sano’s growing impatience inflected his voice. ”I’ve already told you more than I should.“

Sano said, “I’m the shogun’s second-in-command. I have a right to know what’s going on here. I order you to explain.”

“That ought to shake it out of him,” the Rat said. But when he’d passed on the order, the chieftain’s response came in words so adamant that Hirata understood their meaning despite the language barrier. “He says he’s sorry to inform you that your rank means nothing here, and your rules don’t apply.”

Carefully studying the chieftain, Sano said to Hirata, “I think he’s afraid to talk.”

Hirata had to nod, even though he’d seldom seen anyone look less afraid. Awetok’s face was impassive, but Hirata sensed the unmistakable vibrations of his fright. He caught Awetok’s eye. Something less than camaraderie toward Hirata yet more than indifference showed in it. Fascination took root in Hirata as he realized why he’d met the Ezo chieftain.

When one is ready to learn, a teacher will appear.

So went an important premise of the martial arts.

Although Hirata now knew who could help him in his quest for enlightenment, he had yet to discover how.

“What will happen if you tell me what’s going on?” Sano said, oblivious to the conversation’s undercurrent, focused on his immediate problems.

“The same thing that will happen to you and your comrades if you don’t leave before you’re discovered. My people will be put to death.”

“How are ‘they’ going to find out that you talked?”

“They have their ways.”

Hirata imagined that even in this wilderness, those in power had spies and informants.

“Well, that settles that,” Sano said to his group. “We can hardly force these people to talk at the cost of their lives.”

“What are we going to do?” Reiko asked, her face tense with her fear that their missions were doomed.

“In any case, we’re stranded here. Our first step is to survive.” Sano addressed the chieftain: “We humbly beg you to give us shelter and food.”

When the Rat conveyed this plea, controversy erupted among the Ezo. The younger three protested to the chieftain, clearly begging him to refuse.

“They say that taking us in would endanger them,” the Rat said, wringing his hands. “Oh, I wish we’d never come!”

Chieftain Awetok raised his hand, silencing his men. He spoke to Sano.

“He says he can’t turn helpless folk out in this weather no matter the danger to his own people,” the Rat said. “He’ll feed us and make room for us in the huts.” The three younger men accepted the pronouncement with ill will, glowering at Sano’s party. The Rat said darkly, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

But the others in the party exchanged relieved glances. Sano said, “A million thanks for your generosity, Chieftain Awetok.” And Hirata was fervently glad that they had a foothold, no matter how precarious, in this alien land.

A flash of light and a cold draft on her face awakened Reiko. As she stretched under the heavy bed covers, she opened her eyes to the same thought that had been first in her mind every day for now more than two months: Masahiro is gone. The same grief sank her heart. But as the cloud of sleep cleared, her second thought was, Where am I?

In the dim, warm space that smelled of wood smoke, embers glowed in a fire pit near the thick, lumpy mat on which she lay. Other human forms slept beneath fur blankets. Then she remembered the shipwreck on Ezogashima. This was the hut where the barbarians had put up her and Sano and their fellow refugees. Her next thought accompanied a spring of joy.

Today we’ll find Masahiro!

Reiko reached for Sano, but he was gone from their bed. She’d felt the sunlight and wind when he went out the door. Now she became aware that her bladder was uncomfortably full. She scrambled out from the blankets. No need to dress; they’d all slept in their clothes. Careful not to wake the men, she found her shoes in the entry way. She lifted the mat over the exterior door and stepped into a world born anew.

The sky was the brightest, clearest blue she’d ever seen. Snow quilted the trees, huts, and ground, sparkling in rainbow crystals in the sunshine, deep violet in the shadows. The light dazzled her eyes so much they watered. The air was so cold that inhaling froze her nose. Dogs barked and cavorted in an open space, wolflike beasts with rough black and brown pelts. An Ezo man flung down meat for them. They gobbled and fought over the food. The man spied Reiko and pointed into the forest.