Brilliance of the Moon

by Lian Hearn

  I met Kahei in the passageway, told him briefly what had transpired, and went with him to the abbot’s room, sending the servant to fetch Makoto from the temple, where he was keeping the night vigil. We came to the decision that we would move the entire army as soon as possible, apart from a small band of horsemen who would remain at Terayama for a day to fight as a rear guard.

  Kahei and Makoto went immediately to the village beyond the gates to rouse Amano and the other men and start packing up food and equipment. The abbot ordered servants to inform the monks, reluctant to sound the temple bell at this hour of night in case we sent a warning to spies. I went to Kaede.

  She was waiting for me, already in her sleeping robe, her hair loose down her back like a second robe, intensely black against the ivory material and her white skin. The sight of her, as always, took my breath away. Whatever happened to us, I would never forget this springtime we had had together. My life seemed full of undeserved blessings, but this was the greatest of them.

  “Manami said an outcast came and you let him in and spoke with him.” Her voice was as shocked as her woman’s had been.

  “Yes, he’s called Jo-An. I met him in Yamagata.” I undressed, put on my robe, and sat opposite her, knee to knee.

  Her eyes searched my face. “You look exhausted. Come and lie down.”

  “I will; we must try and sleep for a few hours. We march at first light. The Otori have surrounded the temple; we are going over the mountain.”

  “The outcast brought you this news?”

  “He risked his life to do so.”

  “Why? How do you know him?”

  “Do you remember the day we rode here with Lord Shigeru?” I said.

  Kaede smiled. “I can never forget it.”

  “The night before, I climbed into the castle and put an end to the suffering of the prisoners hanging on the walls. They were Hidden: Have you heard of them?”

  Kaede nodded. “Shizuka told me a little about them. They were tortured in the same way by the Noguchi.”

  “One of the men I killed was Jo-An’s brother. Jo-An saw me as I came out of the moat and thought I was an angel.”

  “The Angel of Yamagata,” Kaede said, slowly. “When we came back that night, the whole town was talking about it.”

  “Since then we have met again; our fates seem to be entwined in some way. Last year he helped me get here. I would have perished in the snow but for him. On the way he took me to see a holy woman, and she said certain things about my life.”

  I had told no one, not even Makoto, not even Matsuda, of the words of the prophetess, but now I wanted to share them with Kaede. I whispered some of them to her: that in me three bloods mingled, I was born into the Hidden but my life was no longer my own, that I was destined to rule in peace from sea to sea, when earth delivered what heaven desired. I had repeated these words over and over to myself, and as I’ve said before, sometimes I believed them and sometimes I did not. I told her that five battles would bring us peace, four to win and one to lose, but I did not tell her what the saint had predicted about my own son: that I would die at his hands. I told myself it was too terrible a burden to lay on her, but the truth was that I did not want to talk about another secret I had kept from her: that a girl from the Tribe, Muto Kenji’s daughter, Yuki, was carrying my child.

  “You were born into the Hidden?” she said carefully. “But the Tribe claimed you because of your father’s blood. Shizuka tried to explain it to me.”

  “Muto Kenji revealed that my father was Kikuta, from the Tribe, when he first came to Shigeru’s house. He did not know, though Shigeru did, that my father was also half Otori.” I had already shown Kaede the records that confirmed this. Shigeru’s father, Otori Shigemori, was my grandfather.

  “And your mother?” she asked quietly. “If you feel able to tell me . . .”

  “My mother was one of the Hidden. I was raised among them. My family were massacred in our village, Mino, by Iida’s men, and they would have killed me then if Shigeru had not rescued me.” I paused and then spoke of what I had hardly allowed myself to think about. “I had two sisters, little girls. I imagine they were also murdered. They were nine and seven years old.”

  “How terrible,” Kaede said. “I am always afraid for my sisters. I hope we can send for them when we arrive at Maruyama. I hope they are safe now.”

  I was silent, thinking of Mino, where we had all felt so safe.

  “How strange your life has been,” Kaede went on. “When I first met you, I felt you hid everything. I watched you go away as if into a dark and secret place. I wanted to follow you there. I wanted to know everything about you.”

  “I will tell you everything. But let’s lie down and rest.”

  Kaede pulled back the quilt and we lay down on the mattress. I took her in my arms, loosening both our robes so I could feel her skin against mine. She called to Manami to put out the lamps. The smell of smoke and oil lingered in the room after the woman’s footsteps had died away.

  I knew all the sounds of the temple at night by now: the periods of complete stillness, broken at regular intervals by the soft padding of feet as the monks rose in the darkness and went to pray, the low chanting, the sudden note of a bell. But tonight that regular and harmonious rhythm was disturbed, with sounds of people coming and going all night. I was restless, feeling I should be part of the preparations, yet reluctant to leave Kaede.

  She whispered, “What does it mean, to be one of the Hidden?”

  “I was raised with certain beliefs; most I don’t hold anymore.” As I said this I felt my neck tingle, as if a cold breath had passed over me. Was it really true that I had abandoned the beliefs of my childhood—ones that my family had died for rather than give up?

  “It was said that when Iida punished Lord Shigeru, it was because he was one of the Hidden—and my kinswoman Lady Maruyama too,” Kaede murmured.

  “Shigeru never spoke of it to me. He knew their prayers and said them before he died, but his last word was the name of the Enlightened One.” Until today, I had hardly thought of this moment. It had been obliterated by the horror of what had followed, and by my overwhelming grief. Today I had thought of it twice, and suddenly for the first time I put together the prophetess’s words and Shigeru’s. “It is all one,” she had said. So Shigeru had believed this too. I heard again her wondering laughter and thought I saw him smile at me. I felt that something profound had suddenly been revealed to me, something I could never put into words. My heart seemed to miss a beat in astonishment. Into my silenced mind several images rushed at once: Shigeru’s composure when he was about to die, the prophetess’s compassion, my own sense of wonder and anticipation the first day I had come to Terayama, the red-tipped feather of the houou on my palm. I saw the truth that lay behind the teaching and the beliefs, saw how human striving muddied the clarity of life, saw with pity how we are all subject to desire and to death, the warrior as much as the outcast, the priest, the farmer, even the emperor himself. What name could I give to that clarity? Heaven? God? Fate? Or a myriad of names like the countless old spirits that men believed dwelled in this land? They were all faces of the faceless, expressions of that which cannot be expressed, parts of a truth but never the whole truth.

  “And Lady Maruyama?” Kaede said, surprised by my long silence.

  “I think she held strong beliefs, but I never spoke to her about them. When I first met her, she drew the sign on my hand.”

  “Show me,” Kaede whispered, and I took her hand and traced the sign on her palm.

  “Are the Hidden dangerous? Why does everyone hate them?”

  “They’re not dangerous. They are forbidden to take life, and so they do not defend themselves. They believe everyone is equal in the eyes of their God, and that he will judge everyone after death. Great lords like Iida hate this teaching. Most of the warrior class do. If everyone is equal and God watches everything, it must be wrong to treat the people so badly. Our world would be overthrown from the
ground up if everyone thought like the Hidden.”

  “And you believe this?”

  “I don’t believe such a God exists, but I believe everyone should be treated as if they were equal. Outcasts, farmers, the Hidden, should all be protected against the cruelty and greed of the warrior class. And I want to use anyone who is prepared to help me. I don’t care if they’re farmers or outcasts. I’ll take them all into my armies.”

  Kaede did not reply; I imagined these ideas seemed strange and repellent to her. I might no longer believe in the God of the Hidden, but I could not help the way their teachings had formed me. I thought of the farmers’ action against the Otori warriors at the temple gates. I had approved of that, for I saw them as equals, but Makoto had been shocked and outraged. Was he right? Was I unchaining an ogre that I could never hope to control?

  Kaede said quietly, “Do the Hidden believe women are equal to men?”

  “In God’s eyes they are. Usually the priests are men, but if there is no man of the right age, the older women become priestesses.”

  “Would you let me fight in your army?”

  “As skillful as you are, if you were any other woman, I would be glad to have you fight alongside me as we did at Inuyama. But you are the heir to Maruyama. If you were to be killed in battle, our cause would be completely lost. Besides, I could not bear it.”

  I pulled Kaede close to me, burying my face in her hair. There was one other thing I had to speak to her about. It concerned another teaching of the Hidden, one that the warrior class find incomprehensible: that it is forbidden to take your own life. I whispered, “We have been safe here. Once we leave, everything will be different. I hope we can stay together, but there will be times when we will be separated. Many people want me dead, but it will not be until the prophecy is fulfilled and our peaceful country stretches from sea to sea. I want you to promise me that whatever happens, whatever you are told, you will not believe I am dead until you see it with your own eyes. Promise you will not take your own life until you see me dead.”

  “I promise it,” she said quietly. “And you must do the same.”

  I made the same vow to her. When she was asleep, I lay in the dark and thought about what had been revealed to me. Whatever had been granted to me was not for my sake but for the sake of what I might achieve: a country of peace and justice where the houou would not only be seen but would build its nest and raise its young.

  · 2·

  e slept a little. I woke while it was still dark to hear from beyond the walls the steady tramping of men and horses filing up the mountain track. I called to Manami and then woke Kaede and told her to dress.

  I would come back for her when it was time to leave. I also entrusted to her the chest that contained Shigeru’s records of the Tribe. I felt I had to have these protected at all times, a safeguard for my future against the death sentence that the Tribe had issued against me and a possible guarantee of alliance with Arai Daiichi, now the most powerful warlord in the Three Countries.

  The temple was already feverish with activity, the monks preparing not for the dawn prayers but for a counterattack on the Otori forces and the possibility of a long siege. Torches sent flickering shadows over the grim faces of men preparing for war. I put on leather armor laced with red and gold. It was the first time I had worn it with a real purpose. It made me feel older, and I hoped it would give me confidence. I went to the gate to watch my men depart as day broke. Makoto and Kahei had already gone ahead with the vanguard. Plovers and pheasants were calling from the valley. Dew clung to the blades of bamboo grass and to the spring spiders’ webs woven between them—webs that were quickly trampled underfoot.

  When I returned, Kaede and Manami were both dressed in men’s clothes for riding, Kaede wearing the armor, made originally for a page, that I had picked out for her. I had had a sword forged for her, and she wore this in her belt, along with a knife. We quickly ate a little cold food and then returned to where Amano was waiting with the horses.

  The abbot was with him, in helmet and leather cuirass, his sword in his belt. I knelt before him to thank him for all he had done for me. He embraced me like a father.

  “Send messengers from Maruyama,” he said cheerfully. “You will be there before the new moon.”

  His confidence in me heartened me and gave me strength.

  Kaede rode Raku, the gray horse with the black mane and tail that I had given her, and I rode the black stallion we had taken from the Otori warriors, which Amano had called Aoi. Manami and some of the other women who traveled with the army were lifted onto packhorses, Manami making sure the chest of records was strapped behind her. We joined the throng as it wound its way through the forest and up the steep mountain path that Makoto and I had descended the previous year in the first snow. The sky was aflame, the sun just beginning to touch the snowy peaks, turning them pink and gold. The air was cold enough to numb our cheeks and fingers.

  I looked back once at the temple, at its broad sloping roofs emerging from the sea of new leaves like great ships. It looked eternally peaceful in the morning sun, with white doves fluttering round the eaves. I prayed it would be preserved just as it was at that moment, that it would not be burned or destroyed in the coming fight.

  The red morning sky was true to its threat. Before long, heavy gray clouds moved in from the West, bringing first showers, then steady rain. As we climbed toward the pass, the rain turned to sleet. Men on horseback did better than the porters, who carried huge baskets on their backs; but as the snow underfoot became deeper, even the horses had a hard time of it. I’d imagined that going into battle would be a heroic affair, the conch shells sounding, the banners flying. I had not imagined it would be this grim slog against no human enemy, just the weather and the mountain, and the aching climb upward, always upward.

  The horses balked finally and Amano and I dismounted to lead them. By the time we crossed the pass, we were soaked to the skin. There was no room on the narrow track to ride back or ahead to check on my army. As we wound downward I could see its snakelike shape, dark against the last traces of snow, a huge many-legged creature. Beyond the rocks and scree, now appearing as the rain melted the snow, stretched deep forests. If anyone lay in wait for us there, we would be completely at their mercy. But the forests were empty. The Otori were waiting for us on the other side of the mountain.

  Once under cover of the trees, we caught up with Kahei where he had stopped to give the vanguard a rest. We now did the same, allowing the men to relieve themselves in small groups and then eat. The damp air filled with the acrid smell of their piss. We had been marching for five or six hours, but I was pleased to see warriors and farmers alike had held up well.

  During our halt, the rain grew heavier. I was worried about Kaede, after her months of ill health, but even though she seemed very cold, she did not complain. She ate a little, but we had nothing warm and could not waste time making fires. Manami was uncharacteristically silent, watching Kaede closely and nervously starting at any sound. We pressed on as soon as possible. By my reckoning it was after noon, sometime between the Hour of the Goat and that of the Monkey. The slope became less steep and soon the track widened a little, enough so that I could ride along it. Leaving Kaede with Amano, I urged my horse on and cantered down the slope to the head of the army, where I found Makoto and Kahei.

  Makoto, who knew the area better than any of us, told me there was a small town, Kibi, not far ahead, on the other side of the river, where we should stop overnight.

  “Will it be defended?”

  “If at all, only by a small garrison. There’s no castle, and the town itself is barely fortified.”

  “Whose land is it?”

  “Arai put one of his constables in,” Kahei said. “The former lord and his sons sided with the Tohan at Kushimoto. They all died there. Some of the retainers joined Arai; the rest became masterless and took to the mountains as brigands.”

  “Send men ahead to say we require shelter for the nig
ht. Let them explain that we do not seek battle; we are only passing through. We’ll see what the response is.”

  Kahei nodded, called to three of his men, and sent them on at a gallop while we continued more slowly. Barely an hour later they were back. The horses’ flanks were heaving, covered in mud to the stifle, their nostrils red and flared.

  “The river is in full flood and the bridge is down,” their leader reported. “We tried to swim across, but the current is too strong. Even if we had made it, the foot soldiers and packhorses never would.”

  “What about roads along the river? Where’s the next bridge?”

  “The eastern road leads through the valley back to Yamagata, straight back to the Otori,” Makoto said. “The southern one leads away from the river over the range toward Inuyama, but the pass will not be open at this time of year.”

  Unless we could cross the river, we were trapped.

  “Ride forward with me,” I said to Makoto. “Let’s take a look for ourselves.”

  I told Kahei to bring the rest of the army forward slowly, except for a rear guard of one hundred men, who were to strike out to the East in case we were already being pursued by that route.

  Makoto and I had hardly gone half a mile before I could hear it, the steady sullen groan of a river in flood. Swollen by the melting snow, as inexorable as the season, the spring river poured its yellow-green water across the landscape. As we rode out of the forest through the bamboo groves and into the reed beds, I thought we had come to the sea itself. Water stretched before us as far as the eye could see, dappled by rain, the same color as the sky. I must have gasped, because Makoto said, “It’s not as bad as it looks. Most of it is irrigated fields.”

  I saw then the squared pattern of dikes and paths. The rice fields would be boggy but shallow; however, through the middle of them ran the river itself. It was about one hundred feet wide, and had risen over the protective dikes, making it at least twelve feet deep. I could see the remains of the wooden bridge: two piers just showing their dark tops against the swirling water. They looked unspeakably forlorn beneath the drifting rain, like all men’s dreams and ambitions laid waste by nature and time.