Jimmu did not catch the words Lord Ankan spoke to his daughter, but the tender tone in which they were spoken surprised him, as did the soft expression on His Lordship’s face.

The traveling party crossed the bridge over the moat, passed through the outer gates of Mitsukage Castle, and set off at a brisk pace along the road that led to the shrine at Zato.

Dawn had drawn down a mist as thick and gray as old cobwebs. Sounds were muffled. Other travelers on the road appeared as solid shadows.

In the quiet place inside him, Jimmu’s thoughts wandered. Choju Ankan had behaved unexpectedly. Nichiren had depicted the man as monstrously selfish, but there had been genuine concern in his eyes when he parted from his daughter. Jimmu could not help but compare this with the fragmentary memories he had of his own parents. They had always seemed distant to him, his mother as beautiful and remote as a goddess, his father stiff and formal. Neither of them had ever treated him with the gentleness Ankan had shown Lady Takeko.

Still, Jimmu remarked cynically to himself, even devils are kind to their own.

After two hours of traveling, the party stopped by the side of the road so that the litter bearers could rest. The mist had lifted a little. Trees had trunks and branches, but no tops.

As Jimmu sat on a boulder, a guard named Kanji approached him. Ever since the duel with Sadamichi, Kanji had gone out of his way to be friendly to Jimmu. He was one of the few who had wagered on the youngster’s success, and his winnings had made him kindly disposed. Kanji had a slightly pudgy face, with bright eyes, and loved drinking, gambling, and good company. He leaned his weight against his spear and yawned.

“Not much farther now,” he said. “The shrine’s less than an hour’s march from here.” He lowered his voice. “At least the brat’s been quiet, which is something to be grateful for. I’ve heard that she’s pretty. I haven’t seen her myself, but I wouldn’t mind. There’s no harm in looking, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” said Jimmu.

Kanji shook his head.

“You’re an odd one, Jimmu,” he said. “None of the guards know what to make of you.”

“I want to be a samurai,” said Jimmu.

“Personally, my ambition is to die of old age,” Kanji said with a laugh.

“I’ll die young,” said Jimmu.

Kanji appeared taken aback.

“You sound very positive of that,” he said.

“It’s my destiny,” said Jimmu. “Destiny can’t be avoided.”

The words were Nichiren’s; the destiny belonged to Jimmu. He would sacrifice his life to regain his father’s honor.

“When you have slain Lord Ankan, you can embrace death with joy in your heart,” Nichirin had said. “Your purpose in life will be fulfilled. To die honorably is better than living in shame.”

The shrine was on the side of a hill wooded with pine trees that scented the air. It was a humble place, just three black rocks that vaguely resembled seated figures. Offerings had been left around the feet of the rocks—bowls of rice, cups of wine, withered bundles of summer flowers.