dinner at the rotary sushi, she headed north to Morioka, an old castle town at the confluence of three rivers a hundred miles north from Tokyo. From there, she still had to catch a train to Aomori, the northernmost city of Honshu in the center of Mutsu Bay, nestled between the Tsugaru and Shimokita peninsulas.
Emboldened by a sense of purpose, Jet kept her senses alert and her eyes open, eager for her mission to begin. She managed to catch the Tohoku local, grabbing a quick lunch of wanko-soba—a local delicacy of thin flat buckwheat noodles—at a stand on the platform.
Satoko had spoken of the mountains as majestic as temples, the rivers where ancient trees bowed across old bridges, the rustic wooden houses where women moved freely in the front rooms instead of hiding on bended knee behind. But from the train window, Jet was disappointed to see the farmhouses covered with brown aluminum siding. Where was the old Japan?
She felt a little closer to it as she began to climb Mt. Hakkoda, following Satoko’s directions. It had been almost eighteen years since her mother had ventured there. Why hadn’t she returned? The question gnawed at Jet. She hoped she’d soon learn the answer.
The smell of the forest grew stronger as she climbed the mountain path. Jet looked at the map her mother had given her:
日本青森県十和田市金部村
Kanabe Village, Towada City, Aomori Prefecture, JAPAN
A twig snapped. Jet stared ahead, afraid to turn around. Was she being followed? The village lay at the bottom of the valley, north of Mt. Hakkoda, a mile away. It was getting dark and cold. She started to shiver.
She sensed a presence, but she forced herself to keep walking, listening. From the faint distant rhythm of breathing, she could tell that one of her followers was human and the other animal. Both were timing their movements with the sound of the wind. When the wind blew, they walked. When the wind stopped, they stopped and held their breath so the bamboo leaves wouldn’t rustle around them. It was an excellent technique—fu no kata—moving like the wind. She was surprised to remember the name.
Suddenly, fear knifed through her. She didn’t want her followers to know she’d caught on to their presence.
She bit back her fear and kept climbing through the beech, their thin gray trunks covered with bamboo grass. She made out the sound of falling water ahead. Her pursuers had stopped. They were probably listening to her footsteps to see which way she was heading.
Well, I’ll throw them a bone, she thought.
A twenty-foot high waterfall appeared through the trees. On both sides were cliffs covered with deep green moss. She stopped and considered what to do.
She picked up a handful of stones and threw them into the bushes next to her. A flurry of mountain birds shot from the foliage.
At that exact moment, she made herself disappear.
The sudden flapping of wings broke the boy’s concentration.
“Aska, let’s go!” he called to his dog. “She’ll get away!”
Hiro was twelve, with black bangs that covered his forehead like a curtain. His sharp features made him look intelligent and alert. Wearing well-worn country clothes, he moved confidently and swiftly, even though he was small for his age.
Aska, his large, light-brown Akita dog, rushed after the scent. Hiro ran, too, stepping into every footprint the girl had left to soften the sound of his movements. Just before the waterfall, he ducked into the ferns. He smelled the air and listened. A well-trained warrior could sense where his enemy was hiding, even when there was a breeze.
He worried that a single breath, his own, would break the silence. If that happened, he could be caught. He made up his mind: he had to corner her first.
The sound of cascading water grew louder. He concentrated. Across the river, a branch of red nandin nuts swayed. Was a breeze blowing there?
Then he noticed something blue in the leaves–the girl’s backpack. Focusing even more deeply, he sensed a living presence behind it. He felt it and heard it: fluttering, a faint heartbeat. With a smile of victory, he picked up a small stone and threw it to the other side of the waterfall. It hit the nandin branch, but the backpack didn’t move.
He picked up a thick branch and ran toward the river. Just before reaching it, he threw the branch ahead of him, onto the water. He jumped and before touching the surface, kicked his foot against the floating wood, using it to propel himself to the opposite bank. There was just one spot of water on the tip of his right shoe. His dog followed, leaping as if flying.
He climbed into the tree, toward the backpack, but as soon as he got onto the branch, it broke. He barely managed to land on his feet.
Laughter rang out behind him. He spun. A long-legged half-Japanese girl with black hair almost down to her waist was watching him. She had soft roasted-tea skin and deep, black eyes. Though she was pretty enough to be a movie star, she wasn’t delicate. More like a tomboy. She seemed tough, and driven.
“At least you could try not to laugh,” he shouted in his thick Tohoku accent.
“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.” Jet wasn’t laughing at him, but because her ruse had worked and because she was relieved that she was only being followed by a boy and his dog. Then her tone softened. “Does your dog bite?”
“Only if I tell her to.”
She sighed, relieved. So he understood my Japanese.
“Or if she senses danger,” the boy added threateningly.
“Good, just like me,” Jet said, smiling. She opened her backpack and a brown bird flew out.
“Thank you! Sayonara!” she called out after the bird.
“That was a lure? You tricked me!?” The boy seemed amazed.
Jet tried to conceal a smile. “Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry about that!”
“Sure you are. But this is still our mountain,” he said angrily.
“I never said it wasn’t,” she shot back.
“Right, you’re just like the others. Your people came from the dump last week and tried to get Ojiisan to let them use the mountain for landfill. They offered him lots of money. It’s a good thing he didn’t kick their butts!”
“Whoa, slow down a minute. I didn’t say anything…” Jet stammered.
“Good, because if you did, you’d be lying. They said it would be good for the mountain because it would just be ashes and fertilizer. But the ashes contain poisons, like dioxin. I know all about it.”
She held up her palm. “I can understand why you’re mad. But I don’t work at the dump. My mother was born in these mountains. I came here to meet my grandfather.”
“Your grandfather?” His eyes brightened, then narrowed to slits.
Jet nodded. “Uh huh.”
“Okay, if that’s true,
