Autumn Princess, Dragon Child

by Lian Hearn

  “She tried to escape while I was securing the Autumn Princess,” Masachika said. “It is believed she drowned. But she left behind the box containing Sesshin’s eyes.”

  Aritomo did not seem to be listening. His face was the color of ash; his eyes filled with tears.

  “I trusted you when I trusted no one else,” he whispered. “We have been close friends for years, all our lives. Is it true that you have betrayed me?”

  Takaakira could not answer. His own eyes grew hot. Finally he found his voice.

  “It’s true that I found Kiyoyori’s daughter, let everyone believe she was dead, but spared her and took her to Nishimi. I disobeyed your orders. There was no betrayal, but neither is there any excuse and I am not asking you to overlook, or forgive. Allow me to take my own life; that is my only request. But first I must beg you to listen to me. You are making a terrible mistake…” I am going to die, he thought, I can say anything. But even on the threshold of death he feared Aritomo’s anger.

  “For the sake of our past friendship I will grant that request,” Aritomo said, his voice breaking. “But do it now, at once, or I will burn you along with the Princess.”

  “Now?” Takaakira said. “Here?” Stray thoughts raced through his mind. I did not suspect, when I dressed this morning, that I was putting on these clothes for the last time. Now they will be ruined by my blood. I must not hesitate or cringe. I must act bravely. I will never see the Snow Country again. Will I meet Hina on the far side of the river of death? I can do nothing now for Shikanoko or the Princess.

  “You may use the knife belonging to the nobleman Hidetake,” Aritomo said with affection, as if he were bestowing a precious gift on his friend.

  Takaakira took it, admiring its jeweled hilt, its perfect balance, its folded steel blade of exquisite sharpness. I will hardly feel it, he thought, as he unfastened his sash and opened his robes to expose his belly. He felt a rush of tenderness for his unblemished skin, his hard muscles. He felt sorry for his own body and the incurable wound he was about to inflict on it.

  “Forgive me,” he murmured, and with all his strength plunged the knife in, turned it, and drew it sideways, feeling his own blood hot on his hands. At last he dared to say the words aloud, “Yoshimori is the true emperor!”

  He did not seem to feel the cut, but then the agony began. His body, so strong and healthy, refused to die. Aritomo watched till the end.

  The last sound Yukikuni no Takaakira heard, as his spirit finally broke free and began its journey across the Three-Streamed River, was Aritomo’s sobbing.

  16

  AKI

  One morning Aki heard horses neighing and was convinced they were hers, the ones that had been Shikanoko’s, her companions on the road. She could not recognize the girl she had been then, her courage and her freedom. She had been broken by pain, the pain of childbirth, the pain of torture, and by grief for the child she would never see again. But the horses restored a slight flicker of hope. She remembered the night at the crossroads, the ghost that had spoken from the shadows, Kiyoyori, the Kuromori lord. The foal had been born the same day as her son.

  The room in which the cage was placed, part of the temple despite the use it was put to, held golden statues of the Enlightened One and wooden carvings of various saints, as well as the lords of Hell. It seemed especially evil to carry out such deeds of cruelty under their gaze. Aki stared back at the figures, wondering why they did not step down from their pedestals and come to her aid.

  “Help me,” she whispered.

  The next day she noticed that someone had placed a catalpa bow among the sacred objects at the statues’ feet. She had mourned the loss of her bow, left behind at Nishimi; now as her vision sharpened she realized it was here. It had been miraculously transported to this place. She felt a wave of peace flow over her. It must mean that she had been forgiven. She thought of her ritual box, which she had been given at the same time as the bow, and which she had left with Kai. She comforted herself by picturing Kai and Yoshi as she had last seen them, their life together, the musicians and the acrobats performing around them. If she died now, no one would ever know where Yoshimori was, and she did not expect to live.

  She was often feverish. Once she opened her eyes and thought she saw a warrior, one of Lord Aritomo’s men, looking at her with pity. But what good was anyone’s pity to her now?

  For the rest of that day Aki’s tormentors left her alone while they turned their attention to another prisoner. From her wooden cage, in the depths of the temple, she could hear sounds that were too easy for her to turn into images. They awakened memory in her own limbs: the crushing rocks, the twisting ropes, the red-hot iron bars. She did not know who this poor victim was. He never cried out or spoke, though after the torturers had finished she could hear the faintest of groans and words of prayer.

  She realized she no longer heard the lute music that had been such a comfort to her during her suffering, and she became convinced that the tortured prisoner was the lute player. She grieved for him and prayed for him.

  That night she woke soaking and realized she was bleeding. She did not know if it was her monthly bleeding or if the rocks of torture had injured her internally. Her whole body ached dully, the burns interrupting with fierce darting pains. She called for rags and water, but no one came.

  She wept freely then, for her child. Bara had tried to tell her something, that Hina had fled with him, but then Masachika had informed her they had both drowned. And she wept for her own life, approaching its end, so brief, so filled with mistakes, grief, and remorse.

  A dim lamp burned in front of the statues, barely enough to light the room. For weeks no one had seen the moon. The sky was covered in dense, low clouds and the nights were dark. Shadows flickered across the faces of the statues, giving them expressions of pity and horror.

  “It is not pity I need but help,” Aki said aloud.

  One of the shadows seemed to solidify and stepped toward her. Her heart fluttered, sending pain throbbing through her.

  A boy stood at the bars of the cage, his eyes fixed on her.

  She half-rose, forgetting the ties, wrenching her arms, increasing the pain so that she could not keep herself from crying out.

  He made a sign to her to keep quiet, then moved silently around the cage and knelt so he could whisper to her.

  “Are you the Princess?”

  She nodded. His nose wrinkled, making her aware of how bad she must smell.

  “I am bleeding,” she said. “Can you get me some rags and water?”

  “Don’t worry about that now,” the boy replied. “I have smelled far worse than you, believe me.”

  Even her torturers had not spoken to her so bluntly. They had continued to address her in polite terms and call her Princess, even as they twisted her limbs and burned her flesh.

  “Shikanoko sent me,” the boy went on.

  Her heart thudded and for a few moments she could not speak. “Where is he?”

  “Not far away. I am to explore the temple and find the best way to rescue you.”

  “It is impossible,” she said. “Tell him not to attempt it. No one can attack Ryusonji. No one can defy the Prince Abbot.”

  “You may be right. I had not realized how well protected this place was. It took me a long time to get in, and that was only because whoever set up the protection had not allowed for people like me.”

  “Who are you?” she said.

  “My mother named me Kiku.” He moved around the cage, checking the door and the fastenings, loosening the knots that bound her arms. Then he made a slight noise like a gecko and another boy, almost identical in size and looks, slithered out of the shadows.

  “Shikanoko told us to bring medicine as well as poison,” Kiku explained, squatting down next to Aki. “We didn’t do that last time. What have you got, Kuro?”

  “What does he need?” the other boy said, peering at Aki.

  “She. It’s a woman, it’s the Princess.”


  “Sorry, it’s so dark. I didn’t know women got tortured.”

  “Something to dull pain, and stop bleeding,” Kiku said.

  “Wound staunch, would that do?” said Kuro.

  “Let’s try it.”

  Kuro passed a small flask to Kiku. He turned Aki’s head gently and poured the flask’s contents into her mouth. It was bitter and viscous.

  “Are you poisoning me?” she said.

  “We could if you want us to,” Kuro replied.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Kiku said. “Shikanoko wants her alive. That’s what rescue means. You don’t rescue a dead person.” Kiku addressed Aki. “There’s a lot about being human he doesn’t understand. You have to explain everything to him.”

  “I will be dead soon,” Aki said.

  “So, we go back and tell Shikanoko not to bother?” Kuro said cheerfully.

  “He mustn’t risk his life for me,” Aki said. “Tell him to find the Emperor. But before you go, can you get that bow for me?”

  Kiku went to the base of the statue and picked it up. “Shisoku had some of these,” he said. “Are they something magic?”

  He thrust it through the bars of the cage. Aki felt its familiar shape, and some courage came from it to her. She twanged the string gently.

  At that moment there came a sound from the adjoining room as if someone groaned in a nightmare.

  “What’s that?” Kiku whispered.

  “It is the lute player, I think. An old man who sings ballads and war tales.”

  “He is being tortured, too?”

  “What methods do they use?” Kuro asked. “What causes the most pain?”

  Kiku cuffed him. “We’ll find out later. Now we have to decide what to do next.”

  The old man began to sing:

  The dragon child flew too high,

  He was still so young, but now he’s grown,

  His wings are strong, his breath is fierce.

  His breath is fierce.

  He will rise from the lake at Ryusonji.

  They all listened without moving. Aki’s heart was pierced by the poignancy of the human voice, frail and broken as it was, rising from the suffering and the darkness.

  “Nice song,” Kiku said.

  “I would like to see a dragon,” Kuro added.

  Then Kiku cried, “Someone is coming!” He grabbed the bow from her.

  Torches lit the room, armed monks burst in, running to and fro, searching behind the statues and in every corner, uttering incantations and words of power.

  “Who untied you, Princess?” one shouted at Aki.

  She made no reply, watching in the torchlight as the boys flitted like bats, appearing and disappearing. Sometimes she could see three or four of them at once, sometimes none at all. The monks herded them, trying to corner them. She saw three trapped, but then one faded as one of the monks grabbed at him, and Kiku jumped up, seized a rafter, and swung himself into the hole in the ceiling through which they must have first entered the room. He called back to his brother and Kuro leaped with astonishing agility to grab his outstretched hand.

  Someone spoke a single word, someone standing in the doorway, a quiet, powerful presence.

  The Prince Abbot was asserting his authority over his spiritual realm and the intruders who had breached it. But it was too late. The boys had disappeared.

  “They escaped, lord,” said one of the monks.

  “I allowed them to. They will return with Shikanoko.”

  “What creatures are they? Are they human?”

  “Not really. I don’t know exactly where they have sprung from, why they have appeared now, but they are at least part demon.”

  “They could make copies of themselves and disappear into invisibility.”

  “I have heard of such things,” the Prince Abbot said.

  “What does it mean?”

  “Nothing,” he snapped, but Aki thought she heard unease in his voice.

  He moved toward her cage.

  “She is bleeding,” he said. “This place will not be purified until she is burned.”

  17

  SHIKANOKO

  Shikanoko, Nagatomo, and the two boys had found rooms on the edge of the city, not far from Ryusonji. Shika traded the horses they had ridden so far and so fast for food and lodging. They were among hundreds of others who were escaping the flooded countryside to offer prayers and make petitions at the capital’s many temples and shrines.

  That night Eisei sent a message to say he would bring Takaakira to meet Shika the following day, and Kiku and Kuro went to explore Ryusonji. But the boys did not return until after daybreak, and Eisei did not come until late afternoon.

  “I waited for Lord Takaakira for hours,” Eisei said to Shikanoko. “And then I heard he was dead. Aritomo ordered him to take his own life. The Prince Abbot has had to perform a purification ceremony and the funeral will take place in a few days. Everyone, the whole city, is in shock. He was Aritomo’s closest friend and very popular. No one understands the reasons, but it must be because he dared to speak up to Lord Aritomo on your behalf.” After a moment, he added, “He was going to help you, I truly believe it. He wanted to spare the Princess and save your life. Yesterday he talked for a while with Sesshin and after that the Prince Abbot put Sesshin under torture, too. I don’t understand for what purpose. He is just an old man who is losing his mind.”

  “I’m surprised he’s been so lenient to him till now,” Shika said. “They are long-standing rivals.”

  “But he is helpless now,” Eisei said. “Is it because he gave all his power away to you?”

  “How do you know that?” Shika asked.

  “The spirits in the gateposts at Matsutani told us.”

  “They talk a lot of nonsense,” Shika replied. “And, regardless, I wonder if there is any power in the world that can help me now or save the Princess.”

  “What will you do?” Nagatomo asked.

  “Let me reflect for a while, and then I’ll decide.”

  It had taken Kiku and Kuro a long time to escape from Ryusonji. They had come back overexcited and unusually talkative. Now Kuro was occupied with his poisonous creatures, letting the centipede crawl over his hands and the snake through his hair. Kiku prowled restlessly round the room.

  “Do you know, I think I miss Mu?” he said suddenly, coming to a halt in front of Shika.

  “I do, too,” Shika said. He had been worried about the other three boys all winter, had sent Chika to check on them once the snow melted, and had intended to bring them to Kumayama to be with him. But now he was glad they were still at Shisoku’s place. They would be safer there, when he was dead.

  “You must go back to the forest,” he told Kiku, “whatever happens to me.”

  “What is going to happen?” Kiku asked.

  “I don’t know yet. Leave me in peace for a while. I need to think.”

  “Well, don’t think for too long. He says he is going to burn her.”

  “That can’t take place till after Lord Takaakira’s funeral,” Eisei said. “So we have a little time.”

  “What else can you tell me about her?” Shika asked.

  “She is very unwell,” Kiku said. “I brought her bow. It was on the altar in the room she’s imprisoned in.”

  Shika held it, gazing on it in wonder. He knew it was a source of power to her. “I wish I could take it back to her,” he said.

  Kiku gave one of his rare smiles. “Maybe we will.”

  “There is a dragon in the lake,” Kuro said.

  “Yes, Tsumaru’s death awakened it,” Shika replied.

  “Tsumaru?” Kiku questioned.

  “He was Lord Kiyoyori’s son. He was just a child when he died.”

  “Lord Kiyoyori, our father?”

  “Yes,” Shika said.

  “So he was our brother? We should avenge him.” Kiku gave a wide smile, as if both the idea and the word pleased him enormously. “One more thing, speaking of fathers. Sesshin, the old man w
ho plays the lute, he is also to be burned. We must save him, too.”

  * * *

  Shika began to prepare himself, using the rituals he had learned from Shisoku and Sesshin. He brought out the mask and purified it with incense, and repeated the ritual for himself and his weapons. He fasted for the rest of the day, and at night sat awake on the small veranda, listening to the steady beat of the rain, calling on his masters and teachers, the living and the dead, Sesshin, Kiyoyori, Shisoku, Lady Tora, to come to his aid.

  He heard Nagatomo and Eisei whisper together, quietly, intimately, and the boys have a brief muffled squabble over the snake. Then everyone fell asleep.

  Gen lay with his head close to Shika’s feet, neither waking nor sleeping, occasionally quivering. At dawn the fake wolf gave a brief, sharp howl. Shika heard birds waken in the great trees that surrounded Ryusonji. Their song signified for him the power of the forest. Everything spoke to him, the birds’ call, the wind, the rain, each tree that shook its branches and dripped moisture. Yet he felt all of his own weakness, felt the old ache in his right arm, and then he heard the voice of the mountain sorcerer: He could teach you many things, but he could not teach you brokenness. He had not understood what Shisoku had meant, but now he did. Both he and the mask had been broken. He reached out and felt for it with his fingers, tracing the tiny scars where it had knitted together, the broken antler. He placed it on his face and turned his attention to the temple, let it slip under the great shutters, still closed, and through the courtyards and halls he knew so well. I am coming. Are you there?

  With a jolt he came up against his former master’s mind and will and saw for the first time their true immensity, dense and impenetrable, subtle and ever-changing. Nothing he had would prevail against the Prince Abbot, not the mask, not Jato, not the bow, Kodama, the dream echo of Ameyumi. He withdrew, shaken, aware of all he was facing: annihilation or enslavement, agony of body and soul.

  He rose and took off the mask, staring out into the garden, longing to flee. Yet he could not. There was no other way but forward, even if it meant he would join Akihime in death. And he had to go in brokenness, not in strength.

  A rattle of stones distracted him. Nagatomo had found an abandoned Go board and was trying to show the boys how to play, with rain-washed pebbles they had filched from the garden. The sound recalled his father. He also had staked everything and lost. Now his son was doomed to follow him.