by Lian Hearn
The man gave me a grin, showing his missing teeth. His face was lean, expressive, and slightly sinister. Keiko ignored me. Like Akio, she had half-healed scars on one hand, from my knife.
I took a deep breath. Hot as it was, it was infinitely better than the room I’d been shut up in and the stifling cart. Behind us lay the town of Yamagata, the castle white against the mountains, which were still mostly green and luxuriant, with splashes of color here and there where the leaves had started to turn. The rice fields were turning gold too. It would soon be harvest time. To the southwest I could see the steep slope of Terayama, but the roofs of the temple were invisible behind the cedars. Beyond lay fold after fold of mountains, turning blue in the distance, shimmering in the afternoon haze. Silently I said farewell to Shigeru, reluctant to turn away and break my last tie with him and with my life as one of the Otori.
Akio gave me a blow on the shoulder. “Stop dreaming like an imbecile,” he said, his voice changed into a rougher accent and dialect. “It’s your turn to push.”
By the time evening came I’d conceived the deepest hatred possible for that cart. It was heavy and unwieldy, blistering the hands and straining the back. Pulling it uphill was bad enough, as the wheels caught in potholes and ruts and it took all of us to get it free, but hanging on to it downhill was even harder. I would happily have let go and sent it hurtling into the forest. I thought longingly of my horse, Raku.
The older man, Kazuo, walked alongside me, helping me to adjust my accent and telling me the words I needed to know in the private language of actors. Some Kenji had already taught me, the dark street slang of the Tribe; some were new to me. I mimicked him, as I’d mimicked Ichiro, my Otori teacher, in a very different kind of learning, and tried to think myself into becoming Minoru.
Toward the end of the day, when the light was beginning to fade, we descended a slope toward a village. The road leveled out and the surface grew smoother. A man walking home called the evening greeting to us.
I could smell wood smoke and food cooking. All around me rose the sounds of the village at the end of the day: the splash of water as the farmers washed, children playing and squabbling, women gossiping as they cooked, the crackle of the fires, the chink of ax on wood, the shrine bell, the whole web of life that I’d been raised in.
And I caught something else: the clink of a bridle, the muffled stamp of a horse’s feet.
“There’s a patrol ahead,” I said to Kazuo.
He held up his hand for us to stop and called quietly to Akio, “Minoru says there’s a patrol.”
Akio squinted at me against the setting sun. “You heard them?”
“I can hear horses. What else would it be?”
He nodded and shrugged as if to say, As good now as anytime. “Take the cart.”
As I took Akio’s place Kazuo began to sing a rowdy comic song. He had a good voice. It rang out into the still evening air. Yuki reached into the cart and took out a small drum, which she threw to Akio. Catching it, he began to beat out the rhythm of the song. Yuki also brought out a one-stringed instrument that she twanged as she walked beside us. Keiko had spinning tops, like the ones that had captured my attention at Inuyama.
Singing and playing, we rounded the corner and came to the patrol. They had set up a bamboo barrier just before the first houses of the village. There were about nine or ten men, most of them sitting on the ground, eating. They wore Arai’s bear crest on their jackets; the setting-sun banners of the Seishuu had been erected on the bank. Four horses grazed beneath them.
A swarm of children hung around, and when they saw us they ran toward us, shouting and giggling. Kazuo broke off his song to direct a couple of riddles at them and then shouted impudently to the soldiers, “What’s going on, lads?”
Their commander rose to his feet and approached us. We all immediately dropped to the dust.
“Get up,” he said. “Where’ve you come from?” He had a squarish face with heavy brows, a thin mouth, and a clenched jaw. He wiped the rice from his lips on the back of his hand.
“Yamagata.” Akio handed the drum to Yuki and held out a wooden tablet. It had our names inscribed on it, the name of our guild and our license from the city. The commander gazed at it for a long time, deciphering our names, every now and then looking across at each of us in turn, scanning our faces. Keiko was spinning the tops. The men watched her with more than idle interest. Players were the same as prostitutes as far as they were concerned. One of them made a mocking suggestion to her; she laughed back.
I leaned against the cart and wiped the sweat from my face.
“What’s he do, Minoru?” the commander said, handing the tablet back to Akio.
“My younger brother? He’s a juggler. It’s the family calling.”
“Let’s see him,” the commander said, his thin lips parting in a sort of smile.
Akio did not hesitate for a moment. “Hey, Little Brother. Show the lord.”
I wiped my hands on my head band and tied it back round my head. I took the balls from the bag, felt their smooth weight, and in an instant became Minoru. This was my life. I had never known any other: the road, the new village, the suspicious, hostile stares. I forgot my tiredness, my aching head and blistered hands. I was Minoru, doing what I’d done since I was old enough to stand.
The balls flew in the air. I did four first, then five. I’d just finished the second sequence of the fountain when Akio jerked his head at me. I let the balls flow in his direction. He caught them effortlessly, throwing the tablet into the air with them. Then he sent them back to me. The sharp edge of the tablet caught my blistered palm. I was angry with him, wondering what his intention was: to show me up? To betray me? I lost the rhythm. Tablet and balls fell into the dust.
The smile left the commander’s face. He took a step forward. In that moment a mad impulse came into my mind: to give myself up to him, throw myself on Arai’s mercy, escape the Tribe before it was too late.
Akio seemed to fly toward me. “Idiot!” he yelled, giving me a cuff round the ear. “Our father would cry out from his grave!”
As soon as he raised his hand to me, I knew my disguise would not be penetrated. It would have been unthinkable for an actor to strike an Otori warrior. The blow turned me into Minoru again, as nothing else could have done.
“Forgive me, Older Brother,” I said, picking up the balls and the tablet; I kept them spinning in the air until the commander laughed and waved us forward.
“Come and see us tonight!” Keiko called to the soldiers.
“Yes, tonight,” they called back.
Kazuo began to sing again, Yuki to beat the drum. I threw the tablet to Akio and put the balls away. They were darkened with blood. I picked up the handles of the cart. The barrier was lifted aside and we walked through to the village beyond.
·4·
Kaede set out on the last day of her journey home on a perfect autumn morning, the sky clear blue, the air cool and thin as spring water. Mist hung in the valleys and above the river, silvering spiders’ webs and the tendrils of wild clematis. But just before noon the weather began to change. Clouds crept over the sky from the northwest, and the wind swung. The light seemed to fade early, and before evening it began to rain.
The rice fields, vegetable gardens, and fruit trees had all been severely damaged by storms. The villages seemed half-empty, and the few people around stared sullenly at her, bowing only when threatened by the guards and then with bad grace. She did not know if they recognized her or not; she did not want to linger among them, but she could not help wondering why the damage was unrepaired, why the men were not working in the fields to salvage what they could of the harvest.
Her heart did not know how to behave. Sometimes it slowed in foreboding, making her feel that she might faint, and then it sped up, beating frantically in excitement and fear. The miles left to travel seemed endless, and yet, the horses’ steady step ate them up all too quickly. She was afraid above all of what faced her at home
.
She kept seeing views she thought were familiar, and her heart would leap in her throat, but when they came at last to the walled garden and the gates of her parents’ home, she did not recognize any of it. Surely this was not where she lived? It was so small; it was not even fortified and guarded. The gates stood wide open. As Raku stepped through them Kaede could not help gasping.
Shizuka had already slid from the horse’s back. She looked up. “What is it, lady?”
“The garden!” Kaede exclaimed. “What happened to it?”
Everywhere were signs of the ferocity of the storms. An uprooted pine tree lay across the stream. In its fall it had knocked over and crushed a stone lantern. Kaede had a flash of memory: the lantern, newly erected, a light burning in it, evening, the Festival of the Dead perhaps; a lamp floated away downstream, and she felt her mother’s hand against her hair.
She gazed, uncomprehending, at the ruined garden. It was more than storm damage. Obviously it had been months since anyone had tended the shrubs or the moss, cleared out the pools, or pruned the trees. Was this her house, one of the key domains of the West? What had happened to the once powerful Shirakawa?
The horse lowered his head and rubbed it against his foreleg. He whinnied, impatient and tired, expecting now that they had stopped to be unsaddled and fed.
“Where are the guards?” Kaede said. “Where is everyone?”
The man she called Scar, the captain of the escort, rode his horse up to the veranda, leaned forward, and shouted, “Hello! Anyone within?”
“Don’t go in,” she called to him. “Wait for me. I will go inside first.”
Long Arm was standing by Raku’s head, holding the bridle. Kaede slid from the horse’s back into Shizuka’s arms. The rain had turned to a fine, light drizzle that beaded their hair and clothes. The garden smelled rankly of dampness and decay, sour earth, and fallen leaves. Kaede felt the image of her childhood home, kept intact and glowing in her heart for eight long years, intensify unbearably, and then it vanished forever.
Long Arm gave the bridle to one of the foot soldiers and, drawing his sword, went in front of Kaede. Shizuka followed them.
As she stepped out of her sandals onto the veranda, it seemed the feel of the wood was faintly familiar to her feet. But she did not recognize the smell of the house at all. It was a stranger’s home.
There was a sudden movement from within, and Long Arm leaped forward into the shadows. A girl’s voice cried out in alarm. The man pulled her onto the veranda.
“Let go of her,” Kaede commanded in fury. “How dare you touch her?”
“He is only protecting you,” Shizuka murmured, but Kaede was not listening. She stepped toward the girl, taking her hands and staring into her face. She was almost the same height as Kaede, with a gentle face and light-brown eyes like their father’s.
“Ai? I am your sister, Kaede. Don’t you remember me?”
The girl gazed back. Her eyes filled with tears. “Sister? Is it really you? For a moment, against the light . . . I thought you were our mother.”
Kaede took her sister in her arms, feeling tears spring into her own eyes. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”
“Over two months ago. Her last words were of you. She longed to see you, but the knowledge of your marriage brought her peace.” Ai’s voice faltered and she drew back from Kaede’s embrace. “Why have you come here? Where is your husband?”
“Have you had no news from Inuyama?”
“We have been battered by typhoons this year. Many people died and the harvest was ruined. We’ve heard so little—only rumors of war. After the last storm an army swept through, but we hardly understood who they were fighting for or why.”
“Arai’s army?”
“They were Seishuu from Maruyama and farther south. They were going to join Lord Arai against the Tohan. Father was outraged, for he considered himself an ally to Lord Iida. He tried to stop them from passing through here. He met them near the Sacred Caves. They attempted to reason with him, but he attacked them.”
“Father fought them? Is he dead?”
“No, he was defeated, of course, and most of his men were killed, but he still lives. He thinks Arai a traitor and an upstart. He had sworn allegiance, after all, to the Noguchi when you went as a hostage.”
“The Noguchi were overthrown, I am no longer a hostage, and I am in alliance with Arai,” Kaede said.
Her sister’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it.” She seemed conscious for the first time of Shizuka and the men outside. She made a helpless gesture. “Forgive me, you must be exhausted. You have come a long way. The men must be hungry.” She frowned, suddenly looking like a child. “What shall I do?” she whispered. “We have so little to offer you.”
“Are there no servants left?”
“I sent them to hide in the forest when we heard the horses. I think they will come back before nightfall.”
“Shizuka,” Kaede said, “go to the kitchen and see what there is. Prepare food and drink for the men. They may rest here tonight. I shall need at least ten to stay on with me.” She pointed at Long Arm. “Let him pick them. The others must return to Inuyama. If they harm any of my people or my possessions in any way, they will answer with their lives.”
Shizuka bowed. “Lady.”
“I’ll show you the way,” Ai said, and led Shizuka toward the back of the house.
“What is your name?” Kaede said to Long Arm.
He dropped to his knees before her. “Kondo, lady.”
“Are you one of Lord Arai’s men?”
“My mother was from the Seishuu. My father, if I may trust you with my secrets, was from the Tribe. I fought with Arai’s men at Kushimoto, and was asked to enter his service.”
She looked down at him. He was not a young man. His hair was gray-streaked, the skin on his neck lined. She wondered what his past had been, what work he had done for the Tribe, how far she could trust him. But she needed a man to handle the soldiers and the horses and defend the house; Kondo had saved Shizuka, he was feared and respected by Arai’s other men, and he had the fighting skills she required.
“I may need your help for a few weeks,” she said. “Can I depend on you?”
He looked up at her then. In the gathering darkness she could not make out his expression. His teeth gleamed white as he smiled, and when he spoke his voice had a ring of sincerity, even devotion. “Lady Otori can depend on me as long as she needs me.”
“Swear it, then,” she said, feeling herself flush as she pretended an authority she was not sure she possessed.
The lines around his eyes crinkled momentarily. He touched his forehead to the matting and swore allegiance to her and her family, but she thought she detected a note of irony in his voice. The Tribe always dissemble, she thought, chilled. Moreover, they answer only to themselves.
“Go and select ten men you can trust,” she said. “See how much feed there is for the horses, and if the barns provide shelter enough.”
“Lady Otori,” he replied, and again she thought she heard irony. She wondered how much he knew, how much Shizuka had told him.
After a few moments Ai returned, took Kaede’s hand, and said quietly, “Should I tell Father?”
“Where is he? What is his condition? Was he wounded?”
“He was wounded slightly. But it is not the injury. . . . Our mother’s death, the loss of so many men . . . sometimes his mind seems to wander, and he does not seem to know where he is. He talks to ghosts and apparitions.”
“Why did he not take his own life?”
“When he was first brought back, he wanted to.” Ai’s voice broke completely and she began to weep. “I prevented him. I was so weak. Hana and I clung to him and begged him not to leave us. I took away his weapons.” She turned her tear-streaked face to Kaede. “It’s all my fault. I should have had more courage. I should have helped him to die and then killed myself and Hana, as a warrior’s daughter should. But I
couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take her life, and I couldn’t leave her alone. So we live in shame, and it is driving Father mad.”
Kaede thought, I also should have killed myself, as soon as I heard Lord Shigeru had been betrayed. But I did not. Instead, I killed Iida. She touched Ai on the cheek, felt the wetness of tears.
“Forgive me,” Ai whispered. “I have been so weak.”
“No,” Kaede replied. “Why should you die?” Her sister was only thirteen; she had committed no crime. “Why should any of us choose death?” she said. “We will live instead. Where is Hana now?”
“I sent her to the forest with the women.”
Kaede had rarely felt compassion before. Now it woke within her, as painful as grief. She remembered how the White Goddess had come to her. The All-Merciful One had consoled her, had promised that Takeo would return to her. But together with the goddess’s promise had come the demands of compassion, that Kaede should live to take care of her sisters, her people, her unborn child. From outside she could hear Kondo’s voice giving orders, the men shouting in reply. A horse whinnied and another answered. The rain had strengthened, beating out a pattern of sound that seemed familiar to her.
“I must see Father,” she said. “Then we must feed the men. Will anyone help from the villages?”
“Just before Mother died, the farmers sent a delegation. They were complaining about the rice tax, the state of the dikes and fields, the loss of the harvest. Father was furious. He refused even to talk to them. Ayame persuaded them to leave us alone because Mother was sick. Since then everything has been in confusion. The villagers are afraid of Father: They say he is cursed.”
“What about our neighbors?”
“There is Lord Fujiwara. He used to visit Father occasionally.”
“I don’t remember him. What sort of a man is he?”
“He’s strange. Rather elegant and cold. He is of very high birth, they say, and used to live in the capital.”