Heaven's Net Is Wide by Lian Hearn (good books to read for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

hence the servant. The visitors made little sign that they were astonished by the heir to the clan waiting humbly on them, though the younger one thanked him effusively and the older one shot one quick look at Matsuda, who smiled slightly in response. The two monks left immediately afterward, wasting no time, walking swiftly away down the path. It was already very hot, and thunder rolled in the distance where black clouds massed over the farthest ranges. The sky above was a deep purple-blue, the sun’s light bronze-tinged.

“Start your exercises now,” Matsuda said. “There will be storms before midday.”

He had thought himself tired, but the fatigue slipped away as he went through the familiar routine. Matsuda continued to meditate, but after about an hour had passed, he stood, hitched up his robe, and picked up the poles. Shigeru bowed to his teacher and took one of the poles, feeling the usual pleasure at its balanced weight and smoothness.

Thunder rolled again, closer this time. The air was charged with intensity, like lightning.

During the previous weeks, Matsuda’s attack had grown daily more aggressive. His control over the pole was so great Shigeru had no fear of being injured by him, but he had had enough slight blows and bruises to take each combat seriously. This day his teacher seemed even more ferocious. Twice the force of the onslaught drove Shigeru to the edge of the training ground. He felt the master was seeking something more from him, pushing him to his limits to get at some unawakened power. He could feel anger rising in him: a blow to the side of his neck smarted; the sun’s harsh light made his head ache and sweat was pouring from him, stinging his eyes.

The third bout was even more intense. Shigeru had thought till now that he trusted Matsuda not to hurt him, but suddenly the older man’s hostility seemed real. It shook his confidence as much as anything else. His trust in his teacher wavered and, once weakened, began to dissolve; previous tiny misgivings all joined together. He intends to kill me, Shigeru thought. He said he would go to Inuyama: He is in contact with the Iida. He will kill me here as if by accident and join Kitano and Noguchi in their treachery. The Otori will be overthrown, the Middle Country lost.

A fury rose in him such as he had never experienced before, so intense it wiped everything from his mind. And into the emptiness flowed the power he had not known he possessed until the moment when he realized that he was fighting for his life and everything he valued.

All reverence for Matsuda evaporated; any awe he might have felt for the older man disappeared. He attacked with single-mindedness. Matsuda parried the first stroke, but its force unbalanced him slightly. He turned it into a feint to regain his footing, but in that instant Shigeru circled so his teacher was on the downhill slope, the sun now in his eyes. He remembered the world’s power and saw how he could use it. He struck with all his strength and speed into the opening, hitting Matsuda on the side of the head with a crack as loud as thunder.

The old man grunted involuntarily and staggered. Shigeru dropped his pole, appalled at what he had done. “Master!”

Matsuda said, “I’m all right. Don’t worry.” Then his face went pale. Sweat stood out on his forehead. “I’d better sit down.”

Shigeru helped him to the veranda and lowered him down in the shade, fetching the quilts for him to lie on, bringing water to sponge the bruise, already swelling and black.

“Shouldn’t sleep,” Matsuda muttered. “Don’t let me go to sleep,” and promptly closed his eyes and started snoring.

Shigeru shook him. “Master, wake up! Don’t sleep!” But he could not rouse him.

He is going to die! I’ve killed him! His immediate thought was to get help. The monks had been gone for over an hour, but maybe if he ran… and shouted… they would hear him and return. They would know what to do. But should he leave Matsuda here alone? He had to decide at once, and to act seemed preferable to doing nothing. He turned the old man on his side, put a pile of clothes under his head, and covered him with a quilt. He filled a cup of water at the spring, wetted Matsuda’s lips, and left the cup near him.

Then he began to run down the mountain track, calling as he went, “Hey! Can anyone hear me? Come back! Come back!”

He had run blindly for about two miles before he realized it was useless. The monks had too long a start on him; he would never catch up with them. The sun shone with one last dazzling burst and then was swallowed up by the thunderclouds. Lightning flashed briefly, and afterward the world seemed to plunge into darkness. Thunder cracked overhead and almost immediately rain came pouring down.

Within moments he was soaked. Just as Matsuda had said, storms before midday. Shigeru now became even more worried about leaving the old man. He felt he must return to him. But as he turned to go back, he was no longer sure of where he was; the rain disoriented him, and it was several moments before he realized he had taken a wrong turn in his blind rush down the mountain. He tried to retrace his steps, but the track he had come down on was already running with water and with no sun to guide him, he could not be sure of the direction.

There was a tremendous crack ahead of him as lightning struck the top of a cedar. The tree lit up, crackling with fire, steaming as the rain doused the sparks. He halted for a moment, fearing the cedar might topple, but though split it did not fall. However, in the moment he stopped, he thought he saw through the rain a figure ahead, a man, sheltering beneath the overhang