Seas of Fortune(159)

“My daughter Iroha-hime has requested that her husband’s katana be given to Daidoji Shigehisa, his lieutenant, and he in turn has asked me to offer his own long sword to you, in gratitude for your own role in the rescue of Iroha-hime and his party. Is that agreeable to you?”

“Of course, my lord,” said Yoritaki.

“And would you be willing to give your katana, in turn, to your comrade at arms Tenjiku Tokubei?”

Yoritaki nodded. “With great pride.” The exchanges had, of course, already been proposed and agreed to in private. The only one to whom it came as a suprise was Date Masamune’s newest samurai, Tenjiku Tokubei.





Spring 1635,

Kawa Machi/Salinas





It had become quite apparent to First-to-Dance that, despite initial impressions, the visitors were not her ancestral dead. They acted as if they were alive; eating, drinking, pissing, shitting, and fornicating. Her people had never been very clear as to exactly what happened in the Land of the Dead and she supposed that it was possible that the dead mimicked the living. But if that were the case, wouldn’t they also speak the language and preserve the dress and customs of the People?

The Japanese had made clear to her from their gestures that they came from across the sea. And she had seen their ships, floating in the water. Her own people weren’t seafarers; they built little rafts of tule, the marsh reeds, and they used them only in quiet waters. But she couldn’t deny the evidence of her own eyes; the Japanese had come over the Great Water. So she supposed that the Land of the Dead was simply farther away.

Even if the visitors were living folk, they were nonetheless very powerful. So powerful that she had sometimes wondered whether she would be better off joining their community than remaining with her own people. She had been quick to notice that there were more men than women among the Japanese. Well, that was something she didn’t have to decide right now. Especially since they were shooing her off. Date Masamune had decided that there was more to be gained by returning First-to-Dance to her people than by keeping her in Chiyo’s company. She was to be given presents and sent on her way.

First-to-Dance resolved that she would find her tribesmen and then, somehow, turn the arrival of the Japanese to her advantage . . .

* * *

The Ohlone people did not live in just one place. Each tribelet, consisting of a couple hundred Indians, had a reasonably permanent winter settlement, and several summer camps. And every once in a while, they would decide that a particular site was unprofitable, or unlucky, and replace it with a new one.

Still, First-to-Dance had a fairly good idea of where her people would have gone after abandoning the coast to the Japanese.

When she strode into the clearing, conversation stopped abruptly. She understood why; to them she was one who had been touched by the spirits, and survived. The supernatural was now wreathed about her like the fog that waxed and waned along the California coast.

“You’re in big trouble,” she announced. “You have made them angry.”

“Who?” asked the chief, his voice quavering. “The Dead?”

First-to-Dance had already considered and rejected the idea of insisting that the Japanese were ancestral ghosts. Close and prolonged observation would reveal otherwise.

“Worse than that,” she said, her voice a stage whisper. “They are the Guardians of the Lands of the Dead. They are alive, but they have great power. They decide whether the dead are treated well or poorly in that land. And our people have failed to make any offerings to them, all these years. So they will punish us, unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless someone persuades them that we didn’t know any better, and are ready to make amends.”

“I will send our speaker to them.” The speaker was second-in-rank to the chief, and had served as an envoy to other Ohlone tribelets.

“But . . . Ah, well. He is already an old man, with few summers left to him. He has little to lose . . .”

“What do you mean by that?” asked the speaker, somewhat sharply.

“The Guardians are so very angry. They might kill our envoy. . . .”

The speaker’s wife gave the speaker a nudge. “Send her in your place. They have already let her live once.”

The speaker cleared his throat. “Since First-to-Dance has already, um, begun negotiations, perhaps it is best that she should continue . . .”

The chief grunted. “Where’s the shaman? Let’s find out what he thinks. . . .” The shaman’s nephew was sent to look for him, and the chief stalked into his hut. Hence, he didn’t see First-to-Dance run after the boy.

* * *

The chief frowned. He didn’t much like First-to-Dance. She had been married when she reached puberty to his uncle, and he was pretty sure she had cheated on him. She certainly hadn’t shown him the respect that he deserved. He had been a great warrior in his youth . . .