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

A woman came from the dark interior of the cave and greeted them familiarly on the threshold.

“What brings you here, Kenji?”

“Just escorting my companion home.” He did not mention who his companion was.

“Sir.” She acknowledged Shigeru casually. “What happened to his head?”

Her eyes ran over Shigeru and he felt she took in everything about him, including the sword.

“Just an accident,” the Fox, whose name was Kenji, replied.

“Cut yourself shaving, did you?” she said, glancing at Jato and then at Kenji’s long sword. Her eyebrows went up.

Kenji shook his head slightly. “Is there anything to eat?” he asked. “It’s been three days.”

“No wonder you both look half dead. There’s eggs and rice, fern shoots, mushrooms.”

“That’ll do. And bring tea now.”

“Wine too?”

“Good idea.” Kenji grunted. “And speaking of shaving-bring hot water and a sharp knife.” He addressed Shigeru. “We’ll take off your beard and find some other clothes. Anyone can see from your features that you are Otori, but it will make you a little less recognizable.”

They squatted down on their heels outside. A few hens were scratching in the dirt, and two children appeared and stared at them until Kenji addressed them teasingly and they giggled and ran away. The woman returned with a bowl of hot water, and Shigeru washed his face in it, then allowed the Fox to shave away the small beard with a knife blade of extreme sharpness. When they were finished, the woman brought rags-the remnants of old clothes-to wipe face and hands before they went inside.

It was dark and smoky within the cave, but there was a raised area for sleeping and sitting, and the straw matting was relatively clean. The woman brought bowls of tea; it was fresh and of surprisingly high quality for such a small, isolated village-but of course this was no ordinary village, Shigeru thought as he sipped the steaming liquid, grateful for the tea but apprehensive about the rest of the situation. He comforted himself with the fact that he still had his weapons. While he had them, he could defend himself or take his own life.

Kenji said suddenly, “How old are you?”

He used a familiar form of speech that took Shigeru by surprise, for he had never been so addressed in his life, not even by Kiyoshige. Don’t think of Kiyoshige now.

“I turned eighteen this year.” And Kiyoshige seventeen.

“Matsuda’s training obviously worked.”

“You remember our previous meeting, then?”

“Luckily, as it turns out. I knew who to deliver the sword to.”

The warmth from the tea, and from the fire, made sweat prickle again on Shigeru’s forehead and in his armpits.

“Did my father give it to you? Did you see him die?”

“Yes, I did. He fought bravely enough to the last, but he was outnumbered and surrounded.”

“Who killed him?”

“I don’t know his name-one of Iida’s warriors.”

How strange if this man were indeed Shigemori’s son. “How old are you?” Shigeru questioned.

“I am twenty-six.”

Shigeru made the calculation silently: too young to be Shigemori’s son, too old to be his grandson-well, the coincidence would have been too great.

“Your name is Kenji?”

“Muto Kenji. My family are from Yamagata.”

Shigeru could feel the fever returning, bringing a strange lucidity to his thoughts. “And one of them is Muto Shizuka?” he said without expression.

“She is my niece, my older brother’s daughter. I believe you met her last year.”

“You know I did. I presume you know everything about those meetings and that Iida Sadamu does too.” Shigeru moved his hand closer to the sword’s hilt. “What are you playing at?”

“What makes you think I am playing?”

The woman returned with food and wine, and Shigeru did not want to say more in front of her.

“You are safe with me,” I swear it, Kenji said with apparent sincerity. “Eat. Drink.”

A starving man has no scruples: once Shigeru had smelled the food, it was impossible to resist it. Whatever lay before him, he would face it better on a full stomach. He drank wine, too, sparingly, watching Kenji closely, hoping it might loosen his tongue, but though the Fox drank two bowls to every one of Shigeru’s, the wine seemed to have little effect on him other than flushing his pale face red. When they had finished, the woman took away the dishes and returned to ask, “Will you rest now? I can spread out the beds?”

“Who is the god of the shrine?” Shigeru asked.

“Hachiman,” she replied. The god of war.

“I would like to have sutras said for the dead,” Shigeru continued. “And cleanse myself from pollution before sleeping.”

“I will go and tell the priest,” she said quietly.

“You do not need to come with me,” Shigeru said to Kenji. “You probably want to sleep.”

“Sleep can wait,” the other replied.

“It would be hypocritical to pray for the souls of the men you and the Tribe betrayed!”

“I did not betray anyone,” Kenji said calmly. “I knew Noguchi would turn, but I did not induce him to. Iida Sadamu did that by making him an offer no sane man would refuse. Iida was driven to such generosity by his fear of an alliance between the Otori and the Seishuu.”

“Which your niece informed him of, after swearing she would not! It must have been her!”

“You cannot be outraged when people act according to their natures. And in this case, everyone did. You should be angry with yourself for not recognizing those natures. This is what Sadamu is so good at, and why he prevailed against you and everyone else, and always will.”

Shigeru controlled his anger with almost visible effort as the returning fever set up a renewed throbbing in his veins. “Unless I learn to do the same?”

“Well, you are not yet old. There is some hope that you can still learn.”

Shigeru said, “In the meantime, I must pray for the dead.”

HE WALKED the few hundred paces to the shrine. Incense had been lit inside the gate, and he let the smoke waft across him, breathing in the heavy fragrance.

The priest met him at the cave’s entrance. He wore red and white robes and a small black