Free The Tengu's Game of Go by Lian Hearn Page A

that all the acrobats dressed in. He retied the headband and took off the jacket, borrowed the tengu’s knife to make the first cut, and tore off strips to bind around his palms.
    He had noticed the night before that sticky resin oozed in places from the pine tree. He collected enough to rub into the balls of his feet and onto the bindings. The resin gathered a little sand and grit, which would give him extra grip.
    He did not say any more to Tadashii. The preparations were helpful in themselves, but mostly they were to build up the inner impulse, the coiling of the spring that the acrobats used to launch themselves into impossible feats. He could feel it mounting within him, the desire to challenge the limits placed on the human body and the pull of the earth itself.
    His first ascent was quick—feet, then hands, push upward, jump—but he had misjudged the distance. The bow was higher above the mouth of the crevice than he had expected. He could not reach it and, anyway, needed both hands to hold on to the slippery sides. He descended quickly in the same manner and rethought his strategy. He would have to continue his climb into one all-risking leap, and grasp the bow with both hands.
    And then? He would slide down—or more likely fall. He would have to hold the bow upright, so he would not be able to use his hands to save himself. The best he could do was try to cushion the fall. He ran back to the pine, climbed to the first branches, and broke off as many needle-leafed twigs as he could carry. He spread these over the floor of the cleft.
    â€œHurry up!” Tadashii cried. There was an urgent tone in his voice, but Take did not want to be distracted now. Without replying, he took a deep breath and launched himself upward. The interior of the crevice seemed hotter and steamier. But he had reached the top once already, which gave him confidence. This time he went all the way to the lip, stood, reached up through the shimmering rainbows, felt the firm wood of the real bow, and grasped it. It resisted his hold and he needed both hands to pull it toward him.
    Above him the volcano rumbled and hissed, and through the noise he heard another sound—a beating of wings, a cry of rage. The huge tengu that Tadashii had shown him the night before was flying toward him, clearly holding a drawn sword.
    A premonition came to Take that one day he would fight this tengu—but now was not the time. Holding the bow close to his chest, he dropped down into the crevice.
    He slid, fell, slid again, but somehow he and the bow stayed upright until he landed on the springy bed of pine. He had had many falls as an acrobat and knew how to roll out of them, but the crevice was narrow and he had to protect the bow. The shock jarred his spine and for a moment he feared he had broken an ankle. He was gasping for breath, the hot air burning his throat and lungs, but at the same time he was filled with excitement and elation.
    He passed the bow through the narrow opening and slid out after it, tearing off the soaked bindings before they scalded his palms. Then he picked up the bow, marveling at its huge size and perfect balance, the intricacies of its bindings, its many layers of compressed wood. It seemed covered in a shiny substance that must have protected it from the steam, for, though old, it was unwarped and true.
    â€œWell done!” Tadashii was at his side. “I think we might go somewhere a little quieter so you can practice with it and I’ll get on with the sword.”
    The other tengu was screaming in rage from the top of the crag. A sudden hail of small rocks began to shower down on them. Take could not see if the tengu was throwing them or if the volcano was erupting. He gripped the bow more tightly as Tadashii picked him up and they flew back to the shelter of the Darkwood.
    *   *   *
    â€œThey left for Kitakami,” Ima said when the tengu brought Take back to the hut. The fire was a