Grass for His Pillow by Lian Hearn Read Free Book Online

following the vast web the Tribe spun from village to village, town to town. Wherever they went they would find relatives; they would never be without shelter or protection.
    I heard Yuki say she would walk with them to the bridge, and heard the woman who’d been angry with the soldiers reply.
    â€œTake care of yourselves,” the woman called after them. The footsteps faded down the street.
    The room seemed even more depressing and lonely. I couldn’t imagine being confined in it for a week. Almost without realizing what I was doing, I was already planning to get out. Not to escape: I was quite resigned to staying with the Tribe. Just to get out. Partly to look at Yamagata again by night, partly to see if I could.
    Not long after, I heard someone approaching. The door slid back and a woman stepped in. She was carrying a tray of food: rice, pickles, a small piece of dried fish, a bowl of soup. She knelt, placing the tray on the floor.
    â€œHere, eat, you must be hungry.”
    I was famished. The smell of the food made me dizzy. I fell on it like a wolf. She sat and watched me while I ate.
    â€œSo you’re the one who’s been causing my poor old husband so much trouble,” she remarked as I was polishing the bowl for the last grains of rice.
    Kenji’s wife. I shot a look at her and met her gaze. Her face wassmooth, as pale as his, with the similarity that many long-married couples attain. Her hair was still thick and black, with just a few white hairs appearing at the center of her scalp. She was thickset and solid, a true townswoman with square, short-fingered, capable hands. The only thing I could remember Kenji saying about her was that she was a good cook, and indeed the food was delicious.
    I told her so, and as the smile moved from her lips to her eyes I saw in an instant that she was Yuki’s mother. Their eyes were the same shape, and when she smiled, the expression was the same.
    â€œWho’d have thought that you’d have turned up after all these years,” she went on, sounding garrulous and motherly. “I knew Isamu, your father, well. And no one knew anything about you until that incident with Shintaro. Imagine you hearing and outwitting the most dangerous assassin in the Three Countries! The Kikuta family were delighted to discover Isamu had left a son. We all were. And one with such talents too!”
    I didn’t reply. She seemed a harmless old woman—but then, Kenji had appeared a harmless old man. I felt in myself a faint echo of the mistrust I’d had when I first saw Kenji in the street in Hagi. I tried to study her without appearing to, and she stared openly at me. I felt she was challenging me in some way, but I had no intention of responding until I’d found out more about her and her skills.
    â€œWho killed my father?” I said instead.
    â€œNo one’s ever found out. It was years before we even knew for certain that he was dead. He’d found an isolated place to hide himself in.”
    â€œWas it someone from the Tribe?”
    That made her laugh, which angered me. “Kenji said you trusted no one. It’s good, but you can trust me.”
    â€œLike I could trust him,” I muttered.
    â€œShigeru’s scheme would have killed you,” she said mildly. “It’s important for the Kikuta, for the whole Tribe, to keep you alive. It’s so rare these days to find such a wealth of talent.”
    I grunted at that, trying to discern some hidden meaning beneath her flattery. She poured tea, and I drank it at a gulp. My head ached from the stuffy room.
    â€œYou’re tense,” she said, taking the bowl from my hands, and placing it on the tray. She moved the tray to one side and came closer to me. Kneeling behind me, she began to massage my neck and shoulders. Her fingers were strong, pliant, and sensitive, all at the same time. She worked over my back and then, saying, “Close your eyes,” began