text: The trail was not easy to follow. Jiro's city senses had been sharpened, however, by Okiku's training. She had grown up in mountains similar to these and had taught him the woodsman's craft. Occasionally he would make a mistake and follow a false trail, but somehow he always managed to recover.
  
  He followed the yamabushi band across cliffs and rocks, through rough patches and over chasms they had leaped. Once when the trail seemed to be completely lost on the rocky slopes of a lowering cloud-drenched mountain, he found that a massive rock has fallen across what seemed to be the right path. At the time he had cursed and sought a way across the obstacle, only to find the true trail in his efforts. In another instance he found a mark—a deep scratch in a clay bank—probably left by Satsuki.
  
  Towards evening, Jiro heard motion on the trail before him. Brush was being crushed under the passage of many feet. He hid himself among some loose rocks, sheltered by a large sakaki bush. A file of yamabushi passed him by, heading down the mountain. He looked on in puzzlement. There was an air of excitement about the group. The young samurai looked at them carefully from between the broad green leaves. Satsuki was not among them. He puzzled at the problem for a while as they moved out of sight. His thoughts brought about a renewed spurt of energy. He dashed up the trail, almost heedless of any ambush. At the head of the trail was a large bush. Behind it rose a massive cliff wall. There was no one about. He looked carefully at whatever footprints there were to be seen in the hard earth and rocks, puzzling out their message. There were no handholds up the cliff face, and no trail led off in either direction. Suddenly his craftsman's eye caught sight of the bare cliff face. He remembered his father's expertise as a shipwright and the pride he took in making wood joints invisible. Jiro examined the rocks behind the bush. They had been cleverly put together to hide a cave. Fear for Satsuki bit into him again. He set to work removing the barrier, dark thoughts of revenge turning in his brain.
  
  A dark tunnel, marked by the passage of many bodies, met his gaze. He considered the passage doubtfully. It seemed to lead somewhere, but to what purpose? Mentally he shrugged. No one was about to explain the mystery to him, so he had better explain it to himself.
  
  Long sword held before him, Jiro crawled along the pitch-dark passage. His massive frame was barely able to penetrate the hole. He was about to give up, when he caught a slight greying before him. Jiro cautiously crept on. The smell of crushed verdure met his nostrils. He ached to pull himself put of the hole as rapidly as possible, but caution held him back. Lucky that it did, for within the greyness he saw some dark object move before the exist of the tunnel.
  
  Jiro inched cautiously forward. A yamabushi dressed in white faced him, talking. Jiro froze, then realized that the guard was talking to another perched above the exit to the cavern. Jiro lay in the musty dark and considered his position. The guards faced one another, and the one above the cave entrance was particularly dangerous. There was no way of reaching him. Defeated for the moment, he rested on his elbows.
  
  "Eh, Sunekichi, she's a good-looking woman," the voice above Jiro said coarsely.
  
  "Too good for you, Crook Face," laughed the other.
  
  "Think they're still fuckin' in there?"
  
  "Watcha mean? The master's gonna screw her to death..."
  
  "Whaa? Such a fine piece of woman?"
  
  "Don't you listen? The master's gonna combine his yang with her yin. Think she can stand it?"
  
  "Hey, she don't have to stand it!" The voice above Jiro's head laughed.
  
  "Well, anyway, they're goin' to be in the cave for a long time. Said your prayer yet?"
  
  "Aw, hell. Is it time already? Surely the buddhas will forgive one miss..."
  
  "Say your prayer, animal. You're not likely to get any of that warm softness inside. The master will emerge alone in two weeks. Until then you and I and those who'll replace us in the morning gotta say our prayers and help repel the demons."
  
  Their discussion was replaced by the mumbling drone of a magic spell. Jiro crept backwards through the cavern, swearing softly in English as he negotiated blind corners. Japanese, he had long known, was not a good language to swear in. His father, an English seaman, had taught him that.
  
  He sat in the dark contemplating the blank cliff face. His mind worked furiously, yet could find no solution to the dilemma. Under ordinary circumstances two guards would be easy to dispose of. Unfortunately they occupied an unassailable position. If he could pull one of them to him now—the one over the cavern... Or if they were to fall asleep... But any attack would entail delay in getting out of the narrow wormhole, and such a delay would be fatal.
  
  In the end he had no choice. Selecting a stout branch, he tied a series of prongs to it from the branches of a thorny mountain lime. It would have to do duty as a sleeve tangler. He would thrust it at the cavern mouth guard and draw him down to killing distance, hoping he was quick enough to get out or at least hold the other at bay...
  
  Before he could crawl into the hole his eye was caught by an object glimmering in the moonlight above his head. It was too regular to be a rock. He looked at it carefully, then dismissed it from his mind. Someone had lost or inserted a geta, a wooden patten with wooden uprights for soles, into a crack in the rock above his head. Travellers were always losing their footwear. He was kneeling to crawl into the cavern again, when the idea struck him. What would a patten be doing there? He stood and regarded it for some time. The sandal was stuck into a horizontal crack in the rock face. As far as he could see the crack slanted upward. If it could be followed...
  
  He reached upward and felt the rock with his fingertips. Hidden from view from below, there appeared to be a small ledge. He traced it with his fingers. It led higher than he could reach—perhaps to the top of the cliff? There was nothing to do but try. He tied his loose clothes tightly to him and strapped his long sword to his back. His straw sandals were useless for climbing.
  
  Jiro stuck his fingers deep into the crack and took a deep breath. With sheer force of shoulders and forearms he hauled himself up. Aided by scrabbling toes, he managed to raise himself to some support, two feet off the ground, His toes found a hole, and he shifted his grip. At last he found himself standing on the narrow crack. Tiny, imperceptible cracks provided handholds. The patten was at the height of his nose now but several feet away. He inched towards it, and the crack raised him higher and higher up the cliff face. He reached the wooden sandal and passed it, noticing, as he did, that it had only one wooden upright instead of the customary two. There were more cracks, even ledges, the higher he climbed, but the way was never more than a sketch on the rock. He glanced down once and was glad of the dark. The silvery surface seemed far below him. He put all his energies into the climb, searching out the best handholds, thankful for his youth working on ships, grateful to Okiku for having taught him how to climb.
  
  There were several unpleasant bulges, beetlings of the rock, which he knew he would be unable to contemplate in the full light of day. He overcame them and the climb eased. At last he found himself on a narrow ridge of rock. On either side the rock fell away sheerly into darkness. He collapsed gratefully on the hard rock, drawing in large gulps of air. The moon came out from behind an errant cloud and shone down into the two chasms.
  
  There was a lighter glimmer below, and suddenly Jiro realized where he was. He stilled his panting with an effort. Directly below him stood one of the yamabushi guards, his back to the cliff face. The bowl he was in was fan shaped, and the yamabushi and his hidden observer looked out over ridges of forested mountain, silvered by moonlight. Jiro looked down carefully. Finally he managed to locate the other man, standing below Jiro and to his left. His legs straddled a dark splash Jiro knew to be the cavern exit. This time the samurai smiled. He considered the cliff face minutely. The way down seemed to be easier. The slope was more gradual and covered by scrub that offered some shelter. He started the descent just as the breeze that blew over the mountains freshened.
  
  There was a rumble of rock and a clatter of stones. The yamabushi below him jumped and turned around. The other laughed. Their voices came clearly to Jiro above them.
  
  "Someone's coming!"
  
  "From these cliffs, Crook Face? Never been in the mountains, have you? City boy, eh? Its only the mountains talking."
  
  "Come on, Sunekichi. Mountains don't talk."
  
  "Fat lot you know, city feller. Rocks crumble all the time. Me an' my dad was hunters in Ugo. Out in the mountains all day and night. Oh, they fall, all right. Every time the wind blows or there's a thaw." Another slide of rock punctuated his words, and Jiro took advantage of the noise to descend several more feet.
  
  Slowly he got closer and closer to his quarry. At last he found himself poised directly above Sunekichi. He was about to leap, when he heard the sound of a snore. Looking around carefully, he cursed himself for a fool. Four more figures were lying huddled near the cliff face. He leaned over and peeped down. The yamabushi's head presented too small a target, and a slight overhang prevented him from dropping a rock directly on target. He touched his sword tentatively. The other guard was out of sight from where he stood, perhaps answering a call of nature.
  
  Jiro dropped, and his sword whispered overarm from its scabbard. The startled guard had time to draw one breath at the massive figure that blocked his sight before the blade cleaved him from pate to sternum. Jiro was struggling to extricate the curved steel, when he heard a cry behind him. He spun and threw his short sword in one movement. The blade thunked into the second guard's chest, but not before the man let out a cry.
  
  "What is it? What's happening?" The other yamabushi surged to their feet and stared about. Jiro, unarmed, ploughed into them. A massive fist split the nose of the closest man, still dreamy from sleep. The others, more alert than their companion, had leaped to either side as waves part before a ship. Jiro spun around weaponless. The yamabushi considered the bloody giant before them for a moment, then leaped to the attack. Jiro fell.
  
  He rolled over against their knees. Two of the mountain warriors leaped high; the third was knocked off his feet. Jiro rolled upright while the yamabushi writhed and screamed in pain, curled around the throwing knife Jiro had planted in his belly. The young samurai stood panting, and the other two yamabushi charged. He parried both attacks with the short sword he had taken from the knifed yamabushi. The sword was poorly made and had a bad balance, but it was the best he had.
  
  They screamed and charged again. Jiro's sash snapped into the face of one, and the man parried the cloth, which slipped from his blade. A quick skip forward and a stop thrust to the face for the other one, who jerked back. Jiro slashed down and cut through muscle and flesh, exposing a length of intestine to the moonlight. The man grunted. Jiro snapped the sash again and entangled the last man's sword arm, then stepped forward and sank his blade in to the hilt.
  
  The click of the blade saved his life. He twisted and fell to one side as a short dagger wielded by the disemboweled mountain man ripped skin and some flesh off his hip. Jiro's hand chopped down viciously at the charging figure, and the yamabushi fell for the last time.
  
  Jiro secured his weapons and took stock. The small valley was silent. The yamabushi were all dead, but there was no sign of Satsuki. On one side of the tiny valley near the cliff wall he found signs of a recent ritual: the remains of an altar, straw rope marking holy precincts, the remains of a goma fire with some missed seeds scattered about. He looked at the cliff with interest. There was a depression there, freshly sealed with stones and clay. Midori's warning came into mind, and he tore hurriedly at the wall, his heart sinking.
  
  The moonlight was full upon him as he worked. Rocks fell away, and he paused to wipe sweat from his face, marking it with blood that still covered him. He grinned. The blood was not his, at least most of it. A stone fell away, leaving a tiny dark opening. He pulled more rocks, then a whole pile. Moonlight flooded into a shallow cave, and Jiro paused in shock. Before him the moonlight illuminated a tiny niche. In it were a man and woman, both nude. The man was seated in the lotus position, his hand gracefully supporting her back. Her long black hair fell down in waves. She rode his loins, her feet circling his back. Neither was breathing. For a moment Jiro was convinced that he had failed.
  
  The woman's head turned as if unwillingly and looked at his face. Jiro was suddenly conscious of the image he must present. As if to confirm his thoughts, she screamed high and sharp as he reached for her to help her out of the cave.