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

of anguish as the blood spurted from the neck and foamed from the belly, anguish and sorrow at the fragility of flesh and bone, and of the life they held together. It seemed an appalling thing that a man should travel so swiftly from life to death, the abrupt journey from which there was no return. He wished he could turn time back to a world in which Miura and Inaba never came at sunset to the lonely shrine, yet he knew he had to accept that Miura had come there to meet the death decreed for him at Shigeru’s hands.

“Lord Miura!” Inaba cried, dropping the horses’ reins and running forward. The horses reared at the smell of blood and trotted off across the clearing, one of them whinnying loudly, eyes rolling.

Miura died without speaking.

I have killed, Shigeru thought with neither pleasure nor elation but rather with a sense of dread and heaviness, as though he had lost the lightness of boyhood and taken on adulthood with all its burdens.

Matsuda picked up Inaba’s sword from where it had fallen. “Lord Shigeru, catch the horses before they wander off. Inaba, take your master’s head and carry it back to Inuyama. I expect you to give an accurate account of his death, which was not without honor.”

Shigeru, persuading the horses to allow themselves to be captured, heard the blow that separated the head from the body. Matsuda brought water from the spring and washed the blood from the face, wrapping it in a cloth from the hut, apologizing for the poor quality of the fabric.

Inaba’s eyes were bright with emotion, but he said nothing. He took a container from the saddle bow of his horse and placed the head reverently inside. Then he undid the scabbard from Miura’s belt, wiped the sword, checked the blade, then returned it to the scabbard.

“Lord Otori.” He bowed to Shigeru and laid the sword on the ground before him.

“You may take the body to Terayama,” Matsuda said. “They will arrange for burial there.”

“No!” Inaba said. “Lord Miura must not lie among the Otori. I will take him back to the East. When I have performed this last service for him, I will join him in death.”

“As you wish,” Matsuda said, and helped the other man strap the body onto the horse while Shigeru held the animal steady, soothing it as it trembled.

Inaba mounted and rode slowly down the slope. After a few minutes the sound of the hoofbeats died away. The sun had set completely, but it was not yet dark.

“Go and cleanse yourself,” Matsuda told Shigeru. “We will pray for the dead.”

As the light faded and the stars began to gleam, the old man chanted the sutra for the dead, the ancient words acting as a ligament between Earth and Heaven, this world and the next.

Later, Matsuda said, “I knew you were in no danger.”

“You would never allow me to be,” Shigeru replied. “It gave me confidence.”

“You did well. Miura has been an excellent fighter and a good teacher. Sadayoshi should not have slighted him.”

“It seemed almost as though you might have contrived it,” Shigeru ventured.

Matsuda replied, “I would not contrive in anyone’s death-I don’t need to, for fate brings all of us to that final encounter. But if I had wanted to, I could not have set up anything better.”

THE NEXT DAY was even hotter; the sunlight had the same bronzed tinge and the air was oppressively heavy and still, as though Heaven held its breath. The cicadas’ drone continued mercilessly, but all birds seemed silenced by the heat.

After the morning exercises, which left even Matsuda soaked in sweat, they spent the rest of the day in silent meditation. In the evening, Matsuda said, “I think we will return to the temple. Our work here seems to be completed, and I have the feeling I am needed. And you must take up your studies again before you forget how to write.”

They packed up their few belongings, and Shigeru swept out the hut for the last time. They rose before dawn. The tanuki was sitting on the veranda, watching them with round, wary eyes. Matsuda bowed to it.

“Good-bye, old friend. Thank you for sharing your home with us. It’s yours again.”

The moon had set, but Matsuda strode along the path as if it were clearly lit by the sun. Shigeru carried the fighting poles and the bundles as he had on their outward journey. He was sorry to leave the remote hut where he had learned so much, but he, too, knew that the work they had come to do had been achieved.

Day was dawning as they passed beneath the great oak where Shigeru had seen the houou, and he looked for it again in the arching canopy. Matsuda had put the feather away and now carried it in the breast of his robe. But there was no sign of the sacred bird. I will see it again, he thought; I will create a place where it can dwell. It will return to the Middle Country.

They reached the temple before midday. As soon as they entered the first courtyard, Shigeru realized something untoward had happened. A solemn hush lay over the whole place, quite different from its daily atmosphere, broken only by a monotonous chanting from the main hall. He recognized the words of one of the sutras for the dead.

“It’s as I thought,” Matsuda said quietly. “Our Abbot has passed away.”

AFTER THIS, Shigeru saw very little of Matsuda. The Abbot’s funeral was held, and after the mourning period Matsuda became the new Abbot, as had been expected. Shigeru took his place again among the other novices and followed the same routine as before but with greater diligence and self-discipline. He had the same anxieties about events in the world beyond Terayama-the activities of the Tohan, his own clan’s response-but he laid them to one side and devoted himself to meditation, exercise, and study. He took out the scrolls he had brought from Eijiro and