must return to the source… his source. The people who sent him, who trained him, represent a very great threat to Japan.” He paused, his nostrils quivering as if he sensed some telltale vibration. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its hard edge; his eyelids drooped. “There is more hot water. Tea is waiting.”
Obediently she went past him, grasping the tea pot and pouring while the light went out of the sky and purple clouds obscured the terraced mountains.
Carefully she brought the tiny cups toward him on a black lacquered tray; a small flock of golden herons lifting off from racing water painted there. Delicately, she set the tray down, began to use the whisk with practiced strokes. Her waher harmony was very strong, and this was what Kusunoki felt engulfing him. At that moment he was very proud of what he had helped to create.
Six, seven, eight, the female turned the whisk, creating the pale green froth. On the tenth stroke her delicate fingers dropped the whisk and in the same motion were inside the wide sleeve of her kimono. Reversing the motion the short, perfectly honed steel blade flashed upward, biting into the back of Kusunoki’s neck. Either her strength was at such a level or the blade was so superb that, seemingly without effort, the steel bit through flesh and bone, severing the spinal column. In a grotesque gesture, the head came forward and down, hanging only by the thin length of skin at the neck, as if the sensei was deep in meditational prayer.
Then crimson blood spurted upward from the severed arteries, fountaining the room, spattering the tatami where they both knelt. The sensei’s torso jerked spasmodically, its legs tangling beneath it as it tried to leap forward like a frog.
The female knelt rooted to the spot. Her eyes never left the body of her teacher. Once, when he lay on his side and one leg spasmed a last time, she felt something inside herself trembling like a leaf before a rising wind and she felt one tear lying hotly along the arch of her cheek. Then she hardened her heart, strengthened her will, and dammed up her emotions.
With that, elation filled her. It works, she thought, feeling her heart thundering within her rib cage. Jahd. Without it, she would never have been able to mask her intent from him, she understood that quite clearly.
As she stared down at her handiwork, she thought, It’s nothing personal; nothing like what that bastard muhonnin Tsutsumu had in mind. I am no traitor.
But I had to prove myself. I had to know. And therefore I had to take on the best. She got up and, moving like a wraith across the tatami, avoiding the spattered stains that had already begun to seep away across the floor onto other tatami, went to him.
You were the best, she thought, staring down at her mentor. Now I am. She bent and wiped the bloodhis bloodfrom her weapon. It left a long scar on the fabric of his kimono.
The last thing she did there was to strip him and reverently fold the precious garment as if it were the national flag. Soon it disappeared into an inner pocket.
Then she was gone; and with her absence came the rain.
BOOK ONE
SHIH
[Force, influence, authority, energy]
NEW YORK/TOKYO/HOKKAIDQ SPRING, PRESENT
Drowsing, Justine Tomkin became aware of the nightblack shadow that slowly pierced the sunlight like the blade of a sword.
Her mouth opened wide and she tried to scream as she saw the face and recognized Saigo: the images of blood and carnage, a deathhunt too frightening to contemplate. The odor of the grave had pervaded this once peaceful room in her father’s house on Long Island so full of childhood memories: of a Teddy bear with one eye missing and a plaid gingham giraffe.
Her powerful scream was muffled by the thick wind of Saigo’s passage, as if he could control all God’s elements with a wave of his hand. His torso expanded, extending through the light streaming down through the great glass dome in the ceiling, an opalescent mist rising about
Obediently she went past him, grasping the tea pot and pouring while the light went out of the sky and purple clouds obscured the terraced mountains.
Carefully she brought the tiny cups toward him on a black lacquered tray; a small flock of golden herons lifting off from racing water painted there. Delicately, she set the tray down, began to use the whisk with practiced strokes. Her waher harmony was very strong, and this was what Kusunoki felt engulfing him. At that moment he was very proud of what he had helped to create.
Six, seven, eight, the female turned the whisk, creating the pale green froth. On the tenth stroke her delicate fingers dropped the whisk and in the same motion were inside the wide sleeve of her kimono. Reversing the motion the short, perfectly honed steel blade flashed upward, biting into the back of Kusunoki’s neck. Either her strength was at such a level or the blade was so superb that, seemingly without effort, the steel bit through flesh and bone, severing the spinal column. In a grotesque gesture, the head came forward and down, hanging only by the thin length of skin at the neck, as if the sensei was deep in meditational prayer.
Then crimson blood spurted upward from the severed arteries, fountaining the room, spattering the tatami where they both knelt. The sensei’s torso jerked spasmodically, its legs tangling beneath it as it tried to leap forward like a frog.
The female knelt rooted to the spot. Her eyes never left the body of her teacher. Once, when he lay on his side and one leg spasmed a last time, she felt something inside herself trembling like a leaf before a rising wind and she felt one tear lying hotly along the arch of her cheek. Then she hardened her heart, strengthened her will, and dammed up her emotions.
With that, elation filled her. It works, she thought, feeling her heart thundering within her rib cage. Jahd. Without it, she would never have been able to mask her intent from him, she understood that quite clearly.
As she stared down at her handiwork, she thought, It’s nothing personal; nothing like what that bastard muhonnin Tsutsumu had in mind. I am no traitor.
But I had to prove myself. I had to know. And therefore I had to take on the best. She got up and, moving like a wraith across the tatami, avoiding the spattered stains that had already begun to seep away across the floor onto other tatami, went to him.
You were the best, she thought, staring down at her mentor. Now I am. She bent and wiped the bloodhis bloodfrom her weapon. It left a long scar on the fabric of his kimono.
The last thing she did there was to strip him and reverently fold the precious garment as if it were the national flag. Soon it disappeared into an inner pocket.
Then she was gone; and with her absence came the rain.
BOOK ONE
SHIH
[Force, influence, authority, energy]
NEW YORK/TOKYO/HOKKAIDQ SPRING, PRESENT
Drowsing, Justine Tomkin became aware of the nightblack shadow that slowly pierced the sunlight like the blade of a sword.
Her mouth opened wide and she tried to scream as she saw the face and recognized Saigo: the images of blood and carnage, a deathhunt too frightening to contemplate. The odor of the grave had pervaded this once peaceful room in her father’s house on Long Island so full of childhood memories: of a Teddy bear with one eye missing and a plaid gingham giraffe.
Her powerful scream was muffled by the thick wind of Saigo’s passage, as if he could control all God’s elements with a wave of his hand. His torso expanded, extending through the light streaming down through the great glass dome in the ceiling, an opalescent mist rising about
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