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d boy from the steppes far to the north where the Mongols dominated。
〃This student of Hsing's； it was whispered； could not speak any civilized dialect； nor could he read Mandarin。 Yet he conversed fluently with Hsing。 No one knew how。
〃Yet the other sennin began to suspect that Hsing was slowly expanding his scope of ninjutsu knowledge； experimenting in the darker unknown aspects which the others shunned。 I！is power grew even greater and at last in fear…or perhaps simple envy… the other sennin massed against him and destroyed him。〃
Nicholas' eyes were alight and although it was now deepest night outside and though the lamps in the suite were turned low still Tomkin saw him clearly； every detail etched against the light glow。 For a moment the bustling modern world had faded and the mist…shrouded Asian past was being recreated before him； plunging him into a world of arcane laws。
〃The murderous sennin；〃 Nicholas continued； 〃were content with driving off the wild…haired student； shouting derisively to him that he should return to the northern steppes from whence he had e。
〃But they had not reckoned with Hsing's power。 Apparently his death had e too late； for he had already created from his pupil akuma； what the Japanese call an evil spirit； a demon with jit suryoku…superhuman powers。〃
〃Oh； please； Nick； This's…〃
〃You asked to hear this； Tomkin。 Kindly have the courtesy to hear the legend through。〃
〃But this is the stuff of fairy tales。〃
〃Hsing had taught the pupil all he knew about jaho；〃 Nicholas said； ignoring him。 〃A kind of magic。 Oh； there's nothing supernatural about this。 I'm not speaking now of spells and incantations； demons out of some fictitious hell dreamed up by the mind of man。
〃Saigo had studied the Kobudera…that is； jaho。 He practiced saiminjutsu on your daughter； that； too； is a form of jaho。〃
Tomkin nodded。 〃Okay； I can accept that。 But what's all this got to do with the murder？〃
Nicholas took a deep breath。 〃The only recorded instance of death in conjunction with the first four Wu…Shing…the fifth ritual punishment is death…concerns Hsing's pupil； who began a series of just such murders in Kaifeng。 Bloody； horrific； terrifying； they enacted a perverse poetic justice on those who had destroyed his sennin。
〃He had bee mahd…zukai。 A sorcerer。〃
Akiko Ofuda wore a snow…white kimono； heavy with hand…stitched brocade。 Over it she wore a light silk dress the precise shade of the last of the cherry blossoms bobbing in the breeze above her head。
Her hair was hidden beneath the ornate tresses of a gleaming wig。 These swirls and plex loops were surmounted by a Tsu…nokakushi…the hornhider…a ceremonial white hat with wide brim said to be worn to hide whatever bad parts of a woman existed。
Her eyes were large and clear through the delicate makeup。 Her face was very white； her lips a startling splash of crimson。 She wore no earrings or other jewelry。 In her right hand was clutched a closed fan。
Saturday had dawned bright and clear with just a hint of the crispness of March； the preceding month。
The enormous crimson camphorwood torii； symbol of the Shinto shrine； rose over the heads of the still assembling guests who； according to the final count of RSVPs； were going to number over five hundred。
Morning mist still clung to the steep hillsides； feathering the boles of the cedars and fir； obscuring the sapphire glint of the lake far below。 At the guests' backs huddled the dense and hazy superstructure of the northwestern edge of Tokyo。
The four buildings of the temple spread out in a rough horseshoe； their cedar…beamed； canted roofs with the raised ribs striping the sunlight into shadow and gloss。
The guests milled about； chattering among themselves； menting on the fine weather； gossiping about late arrivals or even； in one or two instances； forging the underpinnings of an important deal。 A great majority of the country's foremost business and bureaucratic leaders were in attendance。
Seiichi Sato looked from the beautiful face of his bride to the milling throng of guests。 As he recognized a face from business he recited to himself the man's name and position； then filled in the appropriate slot on an imaginary pyramid in his mind。 The structure he was forming was important to him。 The face he gained at this marriage would go a Song way toward furthering the prestige of the keiretsu。 While Akiko's parents were dead； the name Ofuda still ranked as most prestigious； tracing its origins all the way back to the time of leyasu Tokugawa。
That first Ofuda…Tatsunosuke was his name…was a great daimyo； an ingenious tactical mander whose genius for victory on the field of battle was called on many times by leyasu。
It pained him to know that Akiko had never known her parents； that she had no relatives； in fact； save the gravely ill aunt whom she visited so frequently in Kyushu。 Sato had a brief somber flash of Gotaro's broad； smiling face。 Sato knew well the grief at a family cut off at the waist。
How Gotaro would have loved this day！ How his smile would have driven the morning mist into the lake。 How his great barking laugh； so like a triumphant shout； would have echoed and reechoed through these woods so that even the small creatures in their burrows might know the extraordinary joy of this day。
Sato passed a hand quickly across his eyes； using the pads of his fingers to wipe away the specks of wetness there。 Why do this to yourself？ he asked silently。 Gotaro is gone。
Kare wa gaikoku ni itte i masu； Sato's mother had said when he brought her the news。 He has gone abroad。 And never said another word。 She had already lost her husband。 Now the death of her oldest son was too much for her to bear。 She did not survive the war； though she was not burned by the bombs。 The war had devoured her from within。
No； Sato said to himself now。 Do not be like your mother。 Kare wa shinde shimai mashita。 Banish Gotaro's kami。 He is dead and gone。 And he turned to Masuto Ishii； speaking to him of business matters of import to both of them in order to banish his sorrow or； at the very least； to keep it at bay on this happiest of days。
Not far away； Tanzan Nangi stood with his back ramrod straight； his bony knuckles enwrapping the white jade dragon capping his hardwood cane。 Pain girdled him from standing so long but he would not move。 It had been his duty to be among the first to arrive here； no one else was sitting so he could not either。
Further； he would not lose face to these priests。 Nangi would have preferred； of course； for Sato to have had this ceremony in a Christian church。 The vestments； the sacraments； the soft Latin litany that he could understand fully and respond to were forts to him that arcane Shintoism could not be。 Ghosts and spirits were not Nangi's way。 And spending one's life placating a bewildering variety of kami seemed farcical to him。 He believed fervently in Christ； the Resurrection； and Holy Salvation。
He was with a younger man； in the eye of one of the main eddies。 They enjoyed almost constant attention from both newly arriving guests and those who had been there for some time who； having observed a proper interval； now were returning to seek adv