Black Lotus

27

A full moon pocked and scored with shadows broke through veils of cloud above Edo Jail, which dominated the dark, empty streets in northeast Nihonbashi. Lights burned in watchtowers along the jail’s high stone walls, and within passages patrolled by guards. A bonfire of refuse smoked in a courtyard. Wails issued from the dilapidated prison buildings.

In a cell in the prison, Haru lay on a pile of straw. Moonlight filtered through the tiny barred window onto her frightened face. Shivering in the cold, she hugged herself and pulled her bare feet under her skimpy muslin robe. The stench of human waste nauseated her. Up and down the corridors outside her locked door, other female prisoners moaned, coughed, and snored. A woman wailed, “Help! Let me out!” The pleas echoed Haru’s own desperation. She clung to hope that had waned as the hours passed.

After her arrest, she’d struggled and screamed so wildly that the soldiers had bound and gagged her. They’d transported her along the streets on an oxcart, through jeering crowds. When she arrived at the prison, the jailers had untied her and thrown her into this cell. Haru had beat her fists on the door, rampaged around the cell,. shrieked, wept, and tried to climb the wall to the window until exhaustion overcame her. She’d fallen asleep, then awakened after dark to lucid misery. Now, weak from hunger and thirst, her body aching, she thought of the events that had brought her here.

She’d worked so hard to convince Reiko that she was good and innocent. Reiko was like a kind, loving older sister, and Haru was grateful to Reiko for trying to help. If only the sōsakan-sama hadn’t found her parents! And if only Abbess Junketsu-in, Dr. Miwa, Priest Kumashiro, and the orphans hadn’t said bad things about her. They and the sōsakan-sama hated her and wanted her to die. Now Haru pinned her hopes of rescue on High Priest Anraku.

When she’d first come to the Black Lotus Temple, Anraku had selected her to be his personal attendant. She’d served his meals, run errands for him, and become his lover. Her position as one of his favorites gave her privileged status. She didn’t have to do chores, spend long hours studying and praying, or obey rules. Anraku had given her what she most wanted and life had until then denied her: to be treated as special. Her parents had considered her just another pair of hands to help out in the noodle shop. Her husband had treated her like a slave. Only Anraku understood that she deserved better.

“Your path through life is the one that interweaves and unites all other paths,” he’d told her. “You are the lightning that begins the storm, the spark that shall ignite the conflagration, the weight that shall tip the balance between good and bad. The ultimate destiny of the Black Lotus depends upon you.”

He’d never explained what he meant, but Haru was content to serve him and enjoy her privileges. Anraku was beautiful, wise, and strong, and she loved him. His power had shielded her from other people’s disapproval and the consequences of her behavior. Haru had believed in her importance to him and relied on his protection, but now it seemed that Anraku had forsaken her.

After the fire at the cottage, Haru had expected Anraku to make everything all right for her. But instead, Anraku had let the police interrogate her and take her away from him. At Zōjō Temple and Magistrate Ueda’s house, Haru had waited in vain for him to bring her home. Had Kumashiro, Junketsu-in, and Miwa turned him against her?

Terror and misery roiled inside Haru. She tried to tell herself that Anraku wouldn’t listen to accusations from her enemies. With his divine powers, wouldn’t he know that what had happened at the cottage had been a necessary event along the path of her life? Yet perhaps he’d had a new vision that altered his feelings toward her. A sob choked Haru. She could think of no other reason to explain why she was now alone and in grave peril.

The woman down the corridor stopped wailing. The prison slumbered; in the distance, dogs howled. Haru closed her eyes. As sleep overtook her, she drifted to another place and time. She was struggling with Commander Oyama in the cottage. He pushed her down on the floor, laughing at her screams, his fleshy face red with lust as he pawed her…

Suddenly the scene changed to the bedchamber of the house where Haru had lived during her marriage. Oyama turned into her husband: withered, toothless, irate. Haru wanted to push him off her, but his servants held her down. Grunting, he thrust himself between her legs…

She ran through darkness. Fire exploded behind her, and she heard pursuing footsteps. Now she was standing on a pile of lit coals, tied to a stake. Flames burned her robe; angry spectators cheered. In the rising fire she saw an image of priests tearing a little boy from the arms of Nurse Chie, who screamed, “No, no!” The flames leapt higher, searing her skin, igniting her hair…

With a gasp, Haru bolted awake and upright, her heart pounding. Even as she realized that she’d been dreaming, quick, stealthy footsteps came down the corridor. She heard a metallic scraping sound as the iron bar that secured the door to her cell withdrew. Instinctive alarm launched Haru to her feet. She scuttled into the cell’s back corner and stood still, arms pressed to her sides, trying to make herself invisible.

The door cracked open, and they slipped into the cell-three men wearing cloths tied over their hair and the lower portions of their faces. The last one in shut the door quietly. Haru saw their eyes glint in the moonlight and fix on her. She could scent aggression in their sweaty, pungent odor, hear malevolent purpose in their harsh breathing. Squealing in fear, she shrank into the corner. The tallest man swiftly crossed the room toward her. He seized the front of her robe, jerked her close to him, and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Don’t fight, and don’t make a sound,” he whispered hoarsely, “or I’ll kill you. Understand?”

He held her trapped between his body and the walls. His hard fingers squeezed her jaw shut and mashed her lips against her teeth. As terror constricted her chest, Haru nodded.

“I’ve come to tell you what you’re going to do,” the man said, his mouth moving behind the cloth. “So listen well.”

Haru didn’t recognize his eyes or his voice. The other men standing on either side of him seemed vaguely familiar, but with their features hidden Haru couldn’t be certain.

“When you go to your trial, you will confess to murdering those people and burning the cottage,” said her captor.

An involuntary mewl of protest issued from Haru’s throat. The man shoved her, banging her head against the wall. The blow stunned Haru; her ears rang.

“You think you can save yourself by saying you didn’t do it,” he said as if reading her thoughts, “but if you don’t confess, and the magistrate spares your life, you’ll come to wish you had been executed after all.”

Who was he, and why did he want her to die? The questions flitted unanswered through Haru’s confusion and fright.

“We’re going to give you a taste of what you can expect unless you do as I say,” the man hissed.

He yanked her out of the corner, spun her around, and flung her away from him. His companions caught her. She cried out and clawed at them, but one man locked muscular arms around her while the other gagged her with a cloth. Haru retched. Her heart thudded in panic. The two men held her by the wrists; stretched between them, she twisted and struggled.

The man who’d spoken struck her cheek. Haru’s head snapped back. Pain shot through her face. He hit her nose and ears; more pain rocked her. Warm, salty blood streamed out of her nostrils, clogged her throat. Certain that they would hurt her even more if she made noise, Haru fought the urge to scream. She wept while the man attacked her with a short leather whip that lashed lines of agony across her breasts and stomach, her back and buttocks and legs. The only sounds in the cell were the crack of the whip, her tormenters’ harsh breathing, and her own muffled sobs.

Then the two men let go of her. Haru collapsed, her whole body quivering in agony. Now the men were rolling her on her back, tearing open her robe, spreading her legs. The tall man straddled her, and reality merged with the horrors of her nightmare.

“No!” she pleaded through the gag.

She flailed, but the other men grabbed her wrists and ankles. They held her still while their comrade shoved his organ into her. Haru gave a shrill cry of pain. He smacked her head.

“Quiet!” he growled, plunging and heaving.

He was Commander Oyama; he was her husband. His foul stench sickened Haru as the brutal mating continued. Gritting her teeth, she thought how much she hated them all.

“Confess, or expect much worse than this,” he rasped in her ear.

But she could never tell all that she’d done and seen, because she would lose what mattered as much as her life.

“If you escape execution, I’ll come after you,” the man said. “Wherever you go, whatever you do, I’ll find you. I’ll punish you until you plead for the mercy of death. Then I’ll kill you.”

He grunted, and Haru felt his hardness break inside her. As he withdrew and rose from her, she moaned in relief, but then one of the other men mounted her. Again came the savage thrusting, the pain. And again, when the third man took his turn. Haru’s crotch was sore and slick with blood. The frantic tossing of her head loosened the gag.

“Stop! Leave me alone!” she screamed.

She heard stirrings in the other cells as prisoners awakened. The man on top of her froze.

“Help! Help!” Coherency deserted her, and she shrieked in hysterical bursts.

Down the corridor came hurrying footsteps. Male voices conversed somewhere nearby. The man leapt off Haru, cursing. As her assailants rushed to the door, the tall one paused.

“Remember what I told you,” he said.

Haru kept shrieking; she couldn’t stop. Three guards burst into the cell, carrying lanterns that lit the room. Through a daze of pain and tears, Haru saw their shocked faces as they stared down at her exposed body.

Her assailants were gone.