by Lian Hearn
Their forces loomed out of the mist. I sent one of the Otori warriors forward. He bellowed in a huge voice, “Lord Otori Takeo is moving through this country! Allow him to pass or be prepared to die!”
One of their men shouted back, “We are commanded by Lord Fujiwara to punish the so-called Otori! We’ll have his head and yours before noon!”
We must have seemed a pitiful force to them. Their foot soldiers, overconfident, began to stream down the slope with their spears held ready. At once our bowmen let fly and the enemy ran into a hail of arrows. Their bowmen retaliated but we were still beyond their range, and our horsemen swept up through the foot soldiers and against the archers before they could set arrow to cord again.
Then our foot soldiers surged forward and drove them back up the slope. I knew my men were well trained, but their ferocity surprised even me. They seemed unstoppable as they rushed forward. The enemy began to pull back, faster than I’d expected, and we raced after them, swords drawn, slashing and cutting at the retreating men.
Makoto was on my right side, the conch shell blower on my left as we crested the hill. The plain continued its undulating roll toward the distant range in the East. But instead of a small army in retreat, we were faced with a far more daunting sight. In the dip between the small hills was another army, a huge one, Arai’s western army, its banners flying, its men prepared.
“Blow the conch!” I shouted to the man alongside me. I should have believed my own ears all along. He placed the shell to his lips and the mournful sound rang across the plain, echoing back from the hills.
“Go!” I yelled to Makoto, and he turned his horse with difficulty and urged it into a gallop. It fought the bit, not wanting to leave its fellows, and Shun whinnied to it. But in a few moments we had all turned and were racing after Makoto back to the valley.
I’d been proud of my men’s attack, but I was even prouder of them at that moment in the misty autumn dawn when they obeyed the orders instantly and began to retreat.
The swiftness of our turnaround took our enemy by surprise. They had counted on us tearing down the slope after them, where they and Arai’s men would cut us to pieces. In the first encounter we had inflicted greater casualties, and for a while their advance was hampered by the fallen dead and by the confusion surrounding both armies. About this time the rain began to fall more heavily again, turning the ground underfoot to slippery mud, which favored us, as we were nearly into the valley with its rockier floor.
I was in the rear, urging the men forward and from time to time turning to fight off our closest pursuers. Where the valley narrowed I left two hundred of my best warriors with orders to hold out as long as they could, buying time for the main force to get away.
We rode all that day, and by the time night fell we had outstripped our pursuers, but with casualties and the rear guard we had left behind, we were barely half the number we had been. I let the men rest for a couple of hours, but the weather was worsening, and as I’d feared, the wind was picking up. So we continued through the night and the next day, hardly eating, hardly resting, occasionally fighting off small bands of horsemen who caught up with us, pushing desperately on toward the coast.
That night we were in striking distance of Maruyama, and I sent Sakai on ahead to see what the situation was in the town. Because of the worsening weather he was of the opinion that we should retreat there, but I was still reluctant to commit myself to a long siege, and still uncertain as to whom the town would side with. We halted for a while, ate a little, and rested the horses. I was beyond exhaustion, and my memories of that time are cloudy. I knew I was facing total defeat—had already been defeated. Part of me regretted not dying in battle in my desperate attempt to rescue Kaede; part of me clung to the prophecy, believing it would still be fulfilled; and part of me simply wondered what I was doing, sitting like a ghost in the temple where we had taken shelter, my eyelids aching and my whole body craving sleep.
Gusts of wind howled round the pillars, and every now and then the roof shook and lifted as if about to fly away. No one spoke much; an air of resigned defiance hung over everyone: We had not quite crossed over to the land of the dead, but we were on our way there. The men slept, apart from the guards, but I did not. I would not sleep until I had brought them to safety. I knew we should be moving on soon—should march again most of the night—but I was reluctant to rouse them before they were rested.
I kept saying to myself, “Just a few more minutes, just until Sakai returns,” and then finally I heard the sound of hooves through the wind and the downpour: not one horse, I thought, but two.
I went to the veranda to peer out into the dark and the rain and saw Sakai, and behind him Hiroshi sliding from the back of an old, bony horse.
Sakai called, “I met him on the road just outside the town. He was riding out to find you! In this weather!” They were cousins of some sort, and I could hear the note of pride in his voice.
“Hiroshi!” I said, and he ran to the veranda, undoing his sopping sandals and dropping to his knees.
“Lord Otori.”
I pulled him inside out of the rain, gazing at him in astonishment.
“My uncle is dead, and the town has surrendered to Arai’s men,” he said in fury. “I can’t believe it! Almost as soon as you’d left, the elders decided. My uncle took his own life rather than agree. Arai’s men arrived early this morning, and the elders caved in at once.”
Even though I’d half expected this news, the blow was still bitter, and made worse by the death of Sugita, who had supported Kaede so loyally. Yet I was relieved I had followed my instincts and still had my retreat route to the coast. But now we had to move at once. I called to the guards to rouse the men.
“Did you ride all this way to tell me?” I said to Hiroshi.
“Even if all Maruyama desert you, I will not,” he said. “I promised you I’d come; I even chose the oldest horse in the stable!”
“You would have done better to stay at home. My future is looking dark now.”
Sakai said in a low voice, “I am ashamed too. I thought they would stand by you.”
“I can’t blame them,” I said. “Arai is vastly more powerful, and we have always known Maruyama cannot sustain a long siege. Better to surrender right away, spare the people, and save the harvest.”
“They expect you to retreat to the town,” Hiroshi said. “Most of Arai’s men are waiting for you at the Asagawa.”
“Then maybe there will be fewer in pursuit of us,” I said. “They won’t expect me to move toward the coast. If we ride day and night, we can get there in a couple of days.” I turned to Sakai. “There’s no point in a child like Hiroshi disobeying his own clan and throwing his life away on a lost cause. Take him back to Maruyama. I release him and you from any obligation to me.”
They both refused adamantly to leave me, and there was no time to argue. The men were awake and ready. It was still raining heavily, but the wind had dropped a little, renewing my hope that the worst of the storm was over. It was too dark to go at more than an ox’s pace. The men in front carried torches that showed the road, but often the rain dimmed them to smoke. We followed blindly.
There are many tales of the Otori, many ballads and chronicles about their exploits, but none has captured the imagination more than this desperate and doomed flight across the country. We were all young, with the energy and madness of young men. We moved faster than anybody could have believed, but it was not fast enough. I rode always at the rear, urging my men forward, not letting anyone fall behind. The first day we fought off two attacks from our rear, gaining precious time for our main force to go forward. Then the pursuit seemed to die away. I imagine no one thought we would keep going, for it was clear by now that we were riding into the whirling heart of the storm.
The storm was covering our flight, but I knew that if it grew any worse, all hope of escaping by boat was gone. On the second night Shun was so tired he could hardly lift one foot after the other. As he pl
odded along I dozed on his back, sometimes dreaming that the dead rode alongside me. I heard Amano call to Jiro and heard the boy reply, laughing cheerfully. Then it seemed to me that Shigeru rode next to me and I was on Raku. We were going to the castle in Hagi, as we had on the day of my adoption. I saw Shigeru’s enemy, the one-armed man, Ando, in the crowd and heard the treacherous voices of the Otori lords. I turned my head to cry out to Shigeru to warn him and saw him as I had last seen him alive on the riverbank at Inuyama. His eyes were dark with pain, and blood ran from his mouth.
“Do you have Jato?” he said, as he had said then.
I snapped awake. I was so wet, I felt I had become a river spirit that breathed water instead of air. In front of me my army moved like ghosts. But I could hear the crash of the surf, and when dawn came it showed us the windswept coast.
All the offshore islands were obliterated by heavy sheets of rain, and with every moment the wind grew stronger. It was howling like a tormented demon when we came to the cliffs where Hajime had lain in wait for me. Two pines had been uprooted and lay across the road. We had to lift them out of the way before we could get the horses through.
I went to the front then and led the way to the shrine of Katte Jinja. One of the buildings had lost its roof, and thatch was blowing around the garden. But Makoto’s horse was tethered in what remained of the building, back turned to the wind, head bowed, alongside another stallion that I did not recognize. Makoto himself was inside the main hall with Ryoma.
I knew it was hopeless before they said anything. In fact, I was amazed that Makoto had made it here at all. That he had found Ryoma seemed like a miracle. I embraced them both, enormously grateful for their loyalty. I discovered later that Ryoma had been told by Fumio to come and wait for me with the message that they would meet me as soon as the weather cleared.
We had not failed through any lack of foresight, courage, or endurance. We had been defeated in the end by the weather, by the great forces of nature, by fate itself.
“Jo-An also is here,” Makoto said. “He took one of the loose horses and followed me.”
I had hardly thought of Jo-An during our flight to the coast, but I was not surprised to find him here. It was as if I had expected him to appear again in the almost supernatural way he turned up in my life. But at that moment I did not want to talk to him. I was too tired to think of anything beyond gathering the men inside the shrine buildings, protecting the horses as much as possible, and salvaging what remained of our soaked provisions. After that, there was nothing any of us could do but wait for the typhoon to blow itself out.
It took two days. I woke on the night of the second day and realized I’d been dragged out of sleep by silence. The wind had dropped, and though the eaves still dripped, it was no longer raining. All around me men slept like the dead. I got up and went outside. The stars were as bright as lamps and the air clean and cold. I went to look at the horses. The guards greeted me in low voices.
“Weather’s cleared up,” one said cheerfully, but I knew it was too late for us.
I walked on into the old graveyard. Jo-An appeared like a ghost in the ruined garden. He peered up into my face.
“Are you all right, lord?”
“I have to decide now whether to act like a warrior or not,” I said.
“You should be thanking God,” he replied. “Now that the lost battle is done with, the rest are for you to win.”
I had said the same to Makoto, but that was before the wind and rain had dealt with me. “A true warrior would slit his own belly now,” I said, thinking aloud.
“Your life is not your own to take. God still has his plan for you.”
“If I don’t kill myself, I will have to surrender to Arai. He is on my heels, and there is no way the Terada can reach us before he does.”
The night air was beautiful. I heard the muffled whisper of an owl’s wings, and a frog croaked from the old pond. The crash of the waves on the shingle was abating.
“What will you do, Jo-An? Will you return to Maruyama?” I hoped uneasily that the outcasts would be well treated when I was no longer there to protect them. With the country in turmoil, they would be more vulnerable than ever, turned on as scapegoats, denounced by villagers, persecuted by warriors.
He said, “I feel very close to God. I think he will call me to him soon.”
I did not know how to reply to this.
Jo-An said, “You released my brother from his suffering in Yamagata. If it comes to it, will you do the same for me?”
“Don’t say such things,” I replied. “You have saved my life; how can you ask me to take yours?”
“Will you? I am not afraid of dying, but I am afraid of the pain.”
“Go back to Maruyama,” I urged him. “Take the horse you came on. Stay away from the highways. I will send for you if I can. But you know, Arai is likely to take my life. We will probably never meet again.”
He gave his characteristic slight smile.
“Thank you for all you have done for me,” I said.
“Everything that has happened between us is part of God’s plan. You should thank him.”
I went with him to the horse lines and spoke to the guards. They watched in disbelief as I loosened the stallion’s rope and Jo-An leaped onto its back.
After he had trotted off into the darkness, I lay down again but did not sleep. I thought about Kaede and how much I loved her. I thought about my extraordinary life. I was glad I had lived it the way I had, despite all my mistakes. I had no regrets except for those who had died before me. Dawn came as bright and perfect as any I’d ever seen. I washed as best I could and dressed my hair, and when my ragged army awoke, I ordered them to do the same. I called for Ryoma, thanked him for his service, and asked if he would wait at least until he heard of my death and take the news to Fumio at Oshima. Then I gathered the men together and spoke to them.
“I am going to surrender to Lord Arai. In return, I trust he will spare your lives and accept your service. I thank you for your loyalty. No one has been better served than I.”
I told them to wait in the shrine under the command of their captains and asked Makoto, Sakai, and Hiroshi to come with me. Makoto carried the Otori banner and Sakai the Maruyama. Both were torn and streaked with mud. The horses were stiff and slow, but as we rode, the sun came up and warmed them a little. A string of wild ducks flew overhead, and a stag barked in the forest. Across the water we could see the clouds above Oshima; apart from them, the sky was a clear, deep blue.
We passed the fallen pines. The storm had gouged out the road around them and undermined the cliff where Hajime had stood. Boulders had tumbled down in a small landslide, and as the horses picked their way around them I thought of the young wrestler. If his arrow had found its mark, Jiro would still be alive—and so would many others. I thought of Hajime’s body, lying unburied not far from there: He would soon have his revenge.
We had not gone far when I heard ahead the rapid tramping of horses. I held up my hand and the four of us halted. The horsemen came at a trot, a group of about a hundred, two bannermen carrying Arai’s crest at their head. When they saw us in the road they stopped abruptly.
Their leader rode forward. He was wearing full armor and an elaborate helmet, decorated with a crescent moon.
I was thankful for the warmth of the sun, for I was no longer cold and could speak firmly. “I am Otori Takeo. This is Sugita Hiroshi, nephew of Lord Sugita of Maruyama. I ask you to spare his life and return him safely to his clan. Sakai Masaki is his cousin and will accompany him.”
Hiroshi said nothing. I was proud of him.
The leader inclined his head slightly, which I took to mean agreement. “I am Akita Tsutomu,” he said. “My orders are to bring Lord Otori to Lord Arai. He wishes to speak with you.”
“I am prepared to surrender to Lord Arai,” I said, “on condition that he spare the lives of my men and take them into his service.”
“They may accompany you if they come
peacefully.”
“Send some of your men with Kubo Makoto,” I said. “He will tell them to surrender without a fight. Where is His Lordship?”
“Not far from here. We sat out the typhoon in Shuho.”
Makoto left with most of the warriors, and Sakai, Hiroshi, and I rode on in silence with Akita.
· 8·
pring had moved into summer; the planting was finished. The plum rains began; the seedlings grew and turned the fields brilliant green. The rain kept Shizuka inside, where she watched it cascading from the eaves while she helped her grandmother plait sandals and rain capes from rice straw and tend the silkworms in the airy lofts. Sometimes she went to the weaving shed and spent an hour or two at the looms. There was always work to do, sewing, dyeing, preserving, cooking, and she found the routine tasks calming. Though she was relieved to lay aside the roles she had played and glad to be with her family and her sons, often a strange depression took hold of her. She had never been fearful, but now she was troubled by anxiety. She slept badly, woken by the slightest sound; when she slept, she dreamed of the dead.
Kaede’s father often came to her, fixing his sightless eyes on her. She went to the shrine to make offerings, hoping to placate his spirit, but nightmares still troubled her. She missed Kaede, missed Ishida, longed for Kondo to come back with news of them, and dreaded his return at the same time.
The rains ended and the hot humid days of high summer followed. Melons and cucumbers ripened and were pickled with salt and herbs. Shizuka often roamed the mountains gathering wild mushrooms, mugwort to make moxa with, bugle and madder for dyes, and the other, deadlier harvest from which Kenji prepared poison.
She watched her sons and the other children at their training, half marveling as the Tribe skills awoke in them. They slipped in and out of sight, and sometimes she saw the trembling, indistinct shape as they learned to use the second self.
Her older son, Zenko, was less skilled than his brother. He was only a year or so away from manhood, and his talents should have been developing rapidly. But Shizuka could see he was more interested in horses and the sword: He took after his father. Would Arai want to own him now? Or would he still seek to protect his legitimate son by removing the illegitimate?