Dai-San - 03 by Eric Van Lustbader Read Free Book Online Page B

upon his own blade.’
    Beyond, in the depths of the jade ocean, the buzz of fat flies was joined by the chirruping of cicadas, a foreshadow of the quick slash of dusk.
    ‘My brother wished to stay. I did not. There was nought else to do, in any event. My father took me to the port city of Alara’at and with a bar of silver paid for my passage on the first ship sailing for the continent of man.’
    ‘How could your father let you—’
    ‘Our laws are quite precise, Captain, and never more so than when it comes to murder. That farmer owned quite a piece of land—’
    ‘But surely there was another way. Your brother—’
    ‘Was leagues away, as far as anyone else knew. My father would not risk the both of us being involved. As I have told you, he was a pious man and our God is an unforgiving one. It was I who struggled with the boy when he died and in truth I cannot tell you whether it was my hand or his that guided the dagger’s blade. But to my father it did not matter; my intervention caused the boy’s death and it was my responsibility to take the consequences.’
    The calling of the birds, echoing softly through the high emerald gallery, haunted them as they moved, giving Moichi’s tale a spectral background.
    ‘And your brother—?’
    They ignored the dry hiss of a giant constrictor sliding along a vine linking two branches to their right. Soon it was behind them.
    ‘My brother,’ said Moichi without inflection, ‘never said a word.’
    Night came with a rush of soft mauve and before the deep green had completely metamorphosed into black, they had built a sputtering fire and were roasting a brace of rabbits they had caught during the day.
    Already the nocturnal birds could be heard over the soft crackling, the hissing of dripping fat, their cries deeper and less shrill than their diurnal counterparts; hoarse whispers rather than shouts. The buzz of insects had died to a high whine, laced with the song of the cicadas, the silences in between, creating white noise on eardrums already used to the soundwash of the jungle.
    In the distance, the whooshing of leaves and an occasional yelp followed by a guttural growl bespoke the padding of stealthy predators. An owl hooted close by and in the reflected light of the fire, Ronin saw its wide head swivel, its great round eyes blinking slowly as it peered sagely down on them from its perch among the lower branches of the tree beside which they had built the fire.
    They awoke at first light, adrift again within a jade jewel. It had begun to rain, as it did at least once every day, a fine oblique downpour that nevertheless seemed more like a heavy mist by the time it had filtered down to their level close to the jungle’s floor.
    Moichi scattered the white ashes of the cold fire among which one ember, uncovered, still glowed dismally. It hissed briefly, then died.
    They began, almost immediately, to climb, the way suddenly more broken, strewn with thick rivulets of igneous rock, shiny and bright with embedded minerals. The ferns grew higher here, great rustling fans bending under the weight of the moisture and the darting insects.
    The immense trees were draped with looping vines wherever they looked now and from these natural connectors swung brown monkeys with long tails and bright curious eyes. They chittered excitedly at first sight of the intruders and the pair could hear the echoes preceding their progress. But gradually, the creatures’ indignation appeared to fade. Yet they continued to chatter among themselves, calling to each other, following the path of the two men.
    Just past noon, they crested the hill whose slopes they had been climbing since early morning and by midafternoon they were aware that the character of the jungle had changed for good.
    The air was denser although the light seemed to be stronger, less watery, and abruptly, they knew that the susurrus with which they had lived for so long, had altered subtlely.
    They plunged onward and, quite