"He shows great concern for his daimyo."

"Do you feel that his words are sincere?"

Kitsune frowned. "He certainly looked and sounded genuinely worried about Nashima-san."

"Yes, he did. Even though I have known Inoue-san for many years, in speaking with him, as with anyone else, I always examine the conversation at hand for anything that may have changed, for things that should be there but are not, or new things that should not exist in the first place. Even an old friend's loyalties can change over time."

"But Asano, he asked you to come here. Surely inviting his trusted friend to help his daimyo proves his good intentions?"

"It might, or possibly he plans on enlisting my support in removing Nishina-san from his position, perhaps to install himself in the youth's place." Asano chuckled when he saw Kitsune's expression. "Do not be alarmed, my pupil, I do not believe that is what is happening here. However, that doesn't mean that people do not often hide their true intentions behind false faces."

"What do you intend to do?"

"Our challenge is to find out whether Nishina is behind these designs of war, or if someone else is manipulating events. For now, you and I will simply observe young Nishina-san for the rest of the day. Simply mark anything he might say or do that could prove of interest, and we will compare our findings this evening. Now come-the first thing we will need is full bellies if we are to get to the heart of this matter."

Although Kitsune thought Asano's plan seemed sound, he found that executing it was another matter. Although the staff of the Nishimas' hilltop fortress were polite and accommodating, the master of the province was maddeningly elusive, sequestering himself in meetings with senior members of his staff and, more ominously, officers in his standing army.

By late afternoon, Kitsune had grown frustrated with his lack of progress. Usually his perceived lesser stature as a child, combined with his unusual position as Asano's right-hand man, enabled him to glean information from the household staff wherever Asano and he found themselves. However, this time he had been met with blank looks and humble bows, accompanied by no useful information.

Where the hawk soars, it is difficult for the fox to follow, Kitsune mused as he walked among the flowered garden paths again, trying to figure out a new course of action. He considered meeting with Asano, but he dismissed the idea as there was nothing new to share. His thoughts were interrupted by an approaching shadow, and Kitsune looked up to see a servant girl bow low in front of him, her gaze respectfully on the ground.

"My pardon, Kitsune-san, but our daimyo requests your presence in the main hall. The Nishina blades have been prepared for viewing."

At last, Kitsune thought as he bowed to her. "I am looking forward to it." He followed her out of the garden, up the broad sloped pathways, and through several heavily fortified gates and baileys that were designed to slow and entrap an invading force. More than once Kitsune pa.s.sed small groups of guards hurrying somewhere or preparing horses and what looked like weapons and provisions. Is Nishina-san planning on attacking sooner than Asano thought? Kitsune wondered.

They reached the entrance to the main hall, where Kitsune slipped off his wooden sandals and put on soft slippers.

The large main hall was cool and shadowed, with the rice paper part.i.tions drawn to enclose the room, even though it was still a beautiful day outside. As Kitsune stepped inside, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness of the open s.p.a.ce, and he thought he was alone for a moment. Then he spotted a sitting figure on a low dais at the other end of the hall, with an ornate, lacquered wooden rack holding three sheathed blades of varying lengths next to him.

"Welcome, Kitsune-san. Please, come, sit."

"You honor me, Nishina-san." Keeping his steps formal and precise, as his father had taught him years ago, Kitsune walked across the great hall until he was only a few feet away from the lord of Nishina Castle. He knelt and bowed low, touching his forehead to the floor, then raised himself up to sit cross-legged. Nishina bowed as well, lower than he was obligated to, an action that Kitsune found made the young daimyo seem more human. Unfortunately, that action was offset by the same dark green do maru and kozakuri armor he still wore over his kimono. He had removed his arm and leg guards, but Kitsune noticed that his kabuto was at his side, within easy reach. Even though the samurai appeared relaxed, Kitsune felt the tenseness coiled inside the young man, ready to be unleashed at the slightest opportunity.

Steadying his breathing, Kitsune relaxed enough to slip into a semi-meditative state, so that he could see the psychic aura that surrounded every living thing-including Nishina-san. The young lord's aura reflected his turmoil, with tendrils of crimson and black swirling around him and occasionally drifting off to dissipate into the surrounding air. He also shows an inner core of light blue and white-purity and strength of purpose. Whatever he's planning, he believes that he's doing the right thing, Kitsune realized. Yet-something's not right here. The aura wasn't as crisp and defined as usual; instead, it was as if the apprentice viewed the man through a curtain of flowing water that blurred the individual shades together into a smeared palette of dark and light colors.

There is a spirit at work here! But I will need Asano's help to discern any more. With a start, Kitsune realized that Nishina-san was talking.

"-enjoyed the castle grounds?"

Kitsune wrenched himself out of the slight trance with more force than necessary, turning the movement into a graceful bow. "After seeing the cold, stark beauty of winter for so long, the delicate flowering of your magnificent gardens warms my heart."

Nishina-san bowed again. "We are privileged to have Ashiga-san and yourself as our honored guests. Your master has sent word that he would be along shortly, and that we are to await his arrival."

"No doubt it will only be a small delay." Kitsune knew otherwise; if Asano was delayed, there was a good reason for it. Of course! Asano was delaying so that Kitsune could find out something-anything-in the time he was alone with Nishima-san. Very well. Now, how to begin? "Your martial display this morning was most impressive. I don't believe that I've ever seen a katana as exquisite as yours."

Nishina peered past Kitsune at the closed doors behind him, then leaned forward. "Thank you. To have Ashiga-san and yourself as an audience inspired me to make sure my performance was flawless." He waved Kitsune closer to him. "I know we should wait for your master, but I do not suppose it will hurt anything if I give you a preview of the Nishina daisho now."

"You are most kind." Kitsune bent his head to the floor again, then scooted gracefully over to the edge of the dais, right next to Nishina.

Draping a piece of silk over his hands, Nishina removed the middle blade, the shorter wakizashi, from the rack and offered it to Kitsune, who accepted the weapon, being sure to hold it only by the silk cloth.

"This is something you might find interesting." Nishima drew the blade out a few inches, revealing the gleaming steel, even in the dim light. "See the hamon?"

Kitsune examined the temper line of the blade, created by coating the back half of the single-edged weapon in heat-resistant clay and heating the edge until it became even harder, leaving a line that marked the border between the softer, more resilient steel, and the sharper cutting edge. This hamon was dark gray near the blade edge and faded into an almost black near the mune, or back of the katana.

"It is rumored, although it has never been proved, that this matched set is the only surviving daisho forged by Senzo Muramasa, student to the great Masamune himself."

As Nishina talked, a chill stole over Kitsune. While they traveled, Asano had often regaled his eager apprentice with tales of great leaders, warriors, monks, and others that lived in Nippon during centuries past, and he immediately recognized the name Nishima had uttered. A swordsmith of great renown during the fourteenth century, he had also possessed an unstable mind, and it was rumored that the blades he had created often took on the darker aspects of his personality, driving their wielders to unnecessary violence and even murder.

If the spirit in the sword is urging Nishima-san to begin this war, surely that would allow the blades to revel in as much blood as they could possibly want, he thought. Outwardly, he betrayed no physical reaction to Nishina's words as he replied, "Fascinating. I was under the impression that all of Senzo-san's blades had been struck from the official court records."

A guarded look of cunning appeared on Nishima's face. "True, but stricken from the records does not mean the swords were destroyed. But do not fear-as I said, it is only a rumor. The written provenance of these blades states that they were forged by a minor smith, one Rokugo Kagenori." The satisfied expression on Nishima's face, however, told Kitsume which version of the swords' history the young daimyo believed.

Which fits everything that has happened recently, Kitsune thought. Before he could attempt to elicit more information from his host, the main doors slid open, and Asano hobbled into the room, leaning on his carved wooden staff as he approached. As soon as the doors had moved, Nishima replaced the short sword on the rack and moved to the center of the dais, winking at Kitsune as he settled into the formal cross-legged position.

Asano bowed, straightening up with what appeared to be a visible effort. "Please excuse my tardiness, I came as quickly as I could once I had received your summons, but these old bones do not move as they once did, and I must admit that the beauty of your gardens was a distraction to my senses that delayed me even more."

"Your words honor my gardeners, all of whom labor mightily to bring forth nature's beauty around our castle."

"I hope I have not caused too much impatience. My apprentice is no doubt eager to see the famed Nishina blades, one of the last remaining complete daisho crafted during the end of the Masamune era."

Yes, there is much you need to learn about the Nishina blades, Kitsune thought as Asano took entirely too long to fold himself into the lotus position, his joints creaking and popping as he lowered himself to the ground. Kitsune tried to direct his attention to the swords, but Asano kept muttering and settling himself until both Kitsune and Nishina were hard-pressed to contain their annoyance.

"If Ashiga-san is ready at last?"

Asano paused for a bare second, and Kitsune realized that his mentor was delaying getting comfortable for a reason; apparently, he wanted to unnerve the samurai. His next words proved the boy's suspicions correct.

"I had a most interesting conversation with Inoue-san this morning, regarding the Yamazaki province to the south."

Nishina's features darkened, and his right hand reached over toward the sword rack before he brought it back to his side hard enough to slap the cloth of his hakima. "Inoue-san should keep to his training and not talk of things that he does not have full knowledge of."

Asano continued as if the younger man hadn't spoken. "Inoue-san seemed to think that you are about to move against Yamazaki family, which has been at peace with the Nishinas for the past century, and which would be in direct violation of our honored Shogun's edicts against aggression-"

"Enough!" Nishima's voice was loud enough to echo even in the paper-walled room. "How dare you, who come to my home as honored guests, presume to comment on the plans of my family, of which you know nothing!" He reached for the gleaming scabbard of his katana and pulled the weapon to his chest. "I, Nishima Satomi, demand that you leave this place immediately!"

Asano lifted his head, and his black eyes seemed alight with controlled fury in the dark room. "I would be most pleased to acquiesce to that order, if in fact it was given by the heir of Nishima. But-" His penetrating gaze seemed to burn straight through the furiously quivering samurai on the dais. "-that is not the case here, is it, Nishima Takahashi?"

Kitsune, his eyes riveted on Nishima even as he was about to call for Maseda, turned to stare at Asano with an expression of surprise that mirrored the young samurai's, who froze in the act of grabbing the hilt of his katana.

"Nishima Takahashi? Asano, the swords are-"

"-of no consequence here." Using his walking stick, Asano rose to stand in front of the Nishima daimyo. "I have spent the better part of today meditating on a possible cause of Nishima Satomi's sudden change of heart, and once I investigated your family's history, the truth became apparent."

The young lord angrily shook his head. "What 'truth' are you babbling about? The Yamazaki family has-"

"Been at peace with you since shortly after the time of the Sekigahara ma.s.sacre. In fact, it was that very mention of the Yamazaki family that set me on the path to unraveling this mystery and Takahashi's role in it."

"My grandfather has been dead for more than a decade! He would not stand for your casual slandering of his name, and neither will I!" Lightning-fast, Satomi drew his katana and lunged at the unmoving Asano, sword raised to cleave him in two.

Kitsune had just opened his mouth to yell for help when a black blur leaped out of the shadows, a katana raised to parry Satomi's attack. The two swords clashed as their wielders slammed together in a tangle of arms, legs, and steel. Satomi and the other warrior sprang apart, each facing the other with their respective weapons poised to strike.

"Maseda-san, punctual as always." Asano inclined his head at the tall bushi, just as the main doors burst open and Inoue, armed with a yori, or long spear, and flanked by a half-dozen armed guards, rushed into the room.

"What is going on here? We heard shouting, and then the clash of swords. My lord, have these men attacked you?"

"They have insulted my family's honor with baseless claims!" Nishima pointed at Asano, Kitsune, and Maseda. "They have come into my home under the guise of friendship only to spread lies about my ancestors! They are to be placed under guard until I decide what shall be done with them!"

The guards spread out in a loose semicircle around the three, with Inoue still in the middle of his men. Maseda glanced at Asano, who made a small motion with his hand that caused the warrior to drop his guard and sheathe his sword.

Asano bowed low to Nishima. "Honored host, if I have said anything that is not true, then I humbly submit the three of us to any punishment that you see fit to mete out. However, as the royal physician to the court of our most n.o.ble Emperor, I also request the chance to prove that I have only spoken truth here."

Upon seeing Maseda relax, Satomi straightened as well, lowering his katana but not sheathing it. "It is only due to the knowledge of your renown throughout the kingdom that I will consent in this instance. Fail to prove the truth of your words, however, and the punishment for all of you will be swift, merciless, and final."

Kitsune gulped, but Asano ignored his unease as he walked over to the boy. "Did you use the spirit-sight on him?"

Kitsune nodded.

"As did I, when I saw him this morning. I did not wish to alarm Inoue or anyone else until I knew exactly what was transpiring here." As he spoke, Asano brought forth a small paper box from inside his robes. "This should enable us to bring forth the spirit that is influencing Nishina-san." He handed Kitsune a small, heavy egg with a tiny stopper at one end. "When I tell you, throw this on the ground in front of the spirit as hard as you can."

Kitsune nodded and stepped back, the strange missile heavy in his hand.

Asano turned to Nishina, who stood tensed in front of him. "Honored Nishina-san, if I may ask for your a.s.sistance as I reveal what has been happening here." He held up the paper box." I know that your training by Inoue-san is excellent, of course. If you would indulge me by slicing open this box when I toss it up in the air?"

A frown on his face, Satomi nodded, his fingers tight on the hilt of his katana.

"And... now!" Asano launched the box into the air, the small container arcing over Nishina's head. The samurai's blade flashed, and the box separated into not two but four pieces that fluttered to the ground, along with a fine spray of twinkling crimson powder that enveloped the agile warrior.

"What-sorcery-is-this?" Nishima stared at the cloud around him, his sword ready, but with no true target to strike at. The dust did not affect him in the least, but seemed to be drawn to his breastplate, coating it in a layer of sparkling red particles.

Asano mumbled something under his breath, then raised his voice as he lifted his hand in a "come forward" motion at Nishima. "See now what has been behind your quest to wage war on your allies to the south."

As everyone in the room watched, the red powder on the armor shifted and bulged, forming into a large face with blazing green eyes, a proud, hooked nose, and hair bound in a topknot on the breastplate, snarling in silent rage. As the dumbfounded Nishima watched, the face emerged from the armor, followed by a neck, shoulders, long, spindly arms, and a torso that trailed off into a stream of vapor. The spirit flew from the armor to the ceiling, circling the room once, then streaked for a far wall.

"Now, Kitsune!"

Kitsune hurled the egg at the floor in front of the wall, the grenade bursting apart in a shower of hard rice grains. The spirit immediately stopped its flight and sank to the floor, peering intently at the grains of rice while pointing to each one with a spectral finger, its lips moving silently.

Asano bowed to Kitsune. "My apprentice was on the right path, but he was focused on the wrong instrument of Takahashi's-or should I say, his spirit's-plan for revenge from the afterlife." He turned to bow to Nishima. "Your grandfather was very active in the civil war leading up to the true joining of our great land that began in 1600. However, he harbored a deep hatred of the Yamazaki, even after the peace accord was drawn up. Apparently, much like Senzo-san's famed swords, his emotions against the Yamazaki were so great that a portion of his soul was imbued in the armor itself. Your father, Nagai, had no use for the suit and, therefore, never wore it; but when you began to use it in your training, the spirit was wakened from its rest and sought to finish through you what it had not been able to do in life."

Nishima's katana dropped from a shaking hand, and he fell to the floor, crawling toward Asano. "I have committed the gravest insult to you, Asano-san... I must absolve myself-" He grabbed at the hem of the sorcerer's kimono and wept.

Asano bent over and helped the young man to his feet. "Stand, Nishina-san, and be at peace. Not only have you not insulted me, but on this night you are responsible for a.s.sisting your honored ancestor's spirit to his final rest. That spirit is Takahashi's base emotions-hatred, l.u.s.t, fear, jealousy-given form, albeit a simple one. That is why the rice grains stopped it-these types of spirits crave order in all things. Without that aspect of his personality restored to Takahashi, he cannot ascend to the great wheel and take his rightful place in the heavens."

"Can you-can you help restore my grandfather's soul?" Nishina asked.

"It is a simple matter." Asano produced another small paper box, walked over to the frantically counting spirit, and poured it out. A fine brown powder wafted over the apparition, and as it settled, the ghost became more and more insubstantial, until it faded into nothingness. "I have sent this konpaku to the spirit realm, where it will be drawn to your grandfather's soul to join with him, and restore that which was sundered between the world of the living and the world of the dead."

Nishina bowed deeply, holding the position for several seconds. "Domo arigato, Ashiga-san. My family is forever in your debt, myself most of all. You have saved my clan from eternal shame and dishonor."

Asano bowed low as well, a small smile on his lips. "You honor me with your words, Nishina-san. All that I would ask is that you take the strength of your grandfather and your father and turn them toward keeping the peace in your lands and the lands of your neighbors."

Nishina fell to the floor again. "On the souls of all my ancestors, I swear it will be done."

"Then rise, Nishina-san, and a.s.sume the true role of the leader of your family." Asano looked at Kitsune. "As for us, I think a good meal is in order, and then we will speak about the preparations for the Shogun's impending visit."

Still slightly dazed from what he had just witnessed, Nishina stumbled from the room, surrounded by Inoue and the other guards. Kitsune and Asano watched him go, flanked by Maseda, who stood impa.s.sively next to them.

Kitsune bowed to Asano. "You were correct about the false faces, even if it was a ghost of the past that had caused all this trouble."

"Indeed, my apprentice, it is not always those of flesh and blood that seek to influence the living, but the spirits often have their own designs on our humble world as well." Asano leaned on his staff and headed for the door. "I expect that the rest of our stay will be a relaxing one, and I am looking forward to some peace and quiet-at least, until the Shogun arrives."

"My master is correct, as always." Kitsune bowed and followed as they left the main room-and the ghost laid to its final rest there-behind.

THE OPPOSITE OF SOLID.

by Linda P. Baker.

"The more you live, the less you die."

Janis Joplin.

Solid. That's the word that sums up my life. Rock-solid, my momma called me. Rock-solid and steady. "You're gonna make some woman a good, steady, dependable husband," she would say, all proud and approving, as we sat in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for Sunday dinner. "Rock solid."

She thought it was a compliment. Wouldn't my momma have been shocked to hear her compliment turn into "stolid and plodding"? That's what my last girlfriend called me, as she slammed the door on her way out.

I think that's why I noticed the woman wearing a faded red hippie jacket, sitting on a park bench in the afternoon sun. It was her transparency that drew me. She was ethereal. Ethereal and luminous, with coppery, Irish-red hair and light like sun sparkling on snow around her head. It almost seemed I could see the wood slats of the bench through her shoulders. That's why she drew me... she looked so much the opposite of solid.

I wouldn't have normally had the nerve to ask a strange, beautiful woman if I could sit with her, but today, enjoying the early spring sunshine of Golden Gate Park, watching the flitting of b.u.t.terflies and hearing the buzzing of bees, I felt particularly daring. I mumbled my request and remained standing, just on the off chance that she would refuse.

She looked up at me with eyes that for a moment seemed clear as water, then darkened to a good, solid blue. "You see me!" Her voice was like orchids, throaty and fragile, as if she didn't talk much.

"Yeah, sure I do." I answered immediately before I could think what an odd question it was. I sat down beside her as close as I dared and put my newspaper and my lunch salad and my bottle of fancy spring water between us.

Up close, she was less fragile, more visible, and the fairy light that danced around her head settled down and proved to be the noon sun reflecting off the bay. She smelled like gardenias with a touch of carnation, almost a taste rather than a scent. Almost funereal, but... pleasant.

Flower power. This woman had it, from her long red hair to her deliberately scuffed bell-bottom jeans to the tips of her sandaled feet.

"Don't people normally see you?"

"Not normally," she confessed. "They just sort of... look past."

I thought of how her shoulders had seemed to disappear into the back of the bench. But she was plainly solid up close. Thin as a model and pale, but substantial. She was wearing a jacket a bit too big for her that must have once been a deep, ruby red but was now faded to a streaked pink. It had gold embroidery around the cuffs and running up the front, a kind of flowery fleur de lis design that had frayed and cracked with age. It looked weirdly familiar, as if it were something I'd seen before.