The Iris Fan by Laura Joh Rowland Read Free Book Online

just don’t know what to do!”
    Taeko and Masahiro looked shaken; they realized how much worse they’d made a bad situation. Reiko took Midori in her arms and patted her back. She felt just as helpless; she didn’t know what to do, either. Along with the baby she’d lost her confidence, resourcefulness, and bold, adventurous spirit. She felt overwhelmed and afraid all the time, and now she was in charge during this new crisis.
    “I’ll make sure that Masahiro and Taeko are never alone together again. All right?” Reiko aimed a stern glance at the couple.
    Midori nodded, weeping against Reiko’s shoulder. Reiko understood that this was just a temporary solution to one problem. The bigger problem was Hirata. Only heaven knew what had become of him or what would happen when he was caught.
    Every problem that both families had stemmed directly from Sano’s stubborn commitment to honor.

 
     
    6
     
    Month 4, Hoei Year 2
    (April 1705)
    A TRILL OF birdsong pierced the black silence in which he floated. Falling water splashed in the distance, a cool breeze swept his skin, and wind chimes tinkled.
    Hirata opened his eyes to soft, pale light. He was lying on a futon, alone in a small room. Through the open doors he saw a veranda with red railings and wooded hills veiled with fog. Twisted pines clung to rocky cliffs above a waterfall that cascaded like a spill of liquid silver. The breeze tinkled brass wind chimes hanging from the eaves. A red bird perched on the railing and trilled. The view had a serene, unearthly beauty.
    Hirata had never seen it before, nor this room.
    Confused, he kicked off the white quilt tangled around his legs. He was naked. Although his mind was fully alert, he couldn’t recall what he’d been doing before he fell asleep. He jumped out of bed. A white cotton kimono lay folded on the tatami.
    Who had left it there? Whose house was this?
    Hirata put on the kimono, then ran outside. The red bird flew away. The veranda jutted over empty space. On hills that sloped down to a valley were dark pines and trees with pink and white blossoms. Hirata searched for familiar landmarks and found none. He leaned over the railing and peered upward. The house was part of a temple built on a cliff. The tiers and spire of a pagoda rose above the curved roofs of other buildings.
    What temple? How had he come to be here?
    Into his mind seeped a dim memory of flashing blades, a sword battle with … Tahara and Kitano.
    The rusty floodgate between past and present creaked open. He’d tried to kill Tahara and Kitano, to shut down the secret society and end its treasonous scheme. Details of the battle were hazy, but he knew he’d lost.
    “Then why am I still alive?” Hirata said aloud.
    Birdsong echoed across the valley. Hirata remembered lying strapped to a table in a cave while Tahara and Kitano chanted a spell, pressed a leather mask over his face, and fed fluid through a metal tube into a vein in his arm—some bizarre, unheard-of medical procedure. The smell of sweet chemicals was the last thing Hirata remembered.
    What had they done?
    Hirata flung open his robe and examined his body. It looked normal, with the long, puckered, familiar old scar on his left thigh. He pushed up his sleeves. On his left forearm was a small, round discoloration where the tube had pierced. He felt fine, but his eyes couldn’t tell him if he still had his martial arts skills, his supernatural powers.
    Merciful gods, had they taken those away?
    Hirata drew deep, slow breaths. Meditation aligned and amplified the mental, spiritual, and physical energies in him. Power flowed through nerves and muscles. He pointed his finger at the wind chimes. Each slender brass cylinder began to spin, one after another, on its string. Hirata exhaled with relief. Then he felt the pulse of an aura, the energy that all living things emitted. His trained senses identified its source as human. Each human had a unique aura that signaled his personality,