by Lian Hearn
Her father sat looking out onto the garden. She could not help feeling pity for him. Lord Fujiwara’s friendship meant so much to him.
In the pool a heron waited, as still as a statue.
She dropped to her knees and waited for her father to speak.
“What’s this nonsense, Kaede? Your rudeness is beyond belief!”
“Forgive me, I am not well,” she murmured. When he did not reply she raised her voice a little. “Father, I am unwell. I am going home now.”
He still said nothing, as if ignoring her would make her go away. The heron rose with a sudden beat of wings. Two young men walked into the garden to look at the caged birds.
Kaede looked around the room, seeking a screen or something that she might hide behind but there was nothing.
“Good morning!” her father called cheerfully.
The men turned to acknowledge him. Mamoru saw her. There was a moment when she thought he would leave the garden without approaching her, but Lord Fujiwara’s treatment of her the previous night when he included her in the men’s party must have emboldened him. He led the other man forward and began the formal introductions to her father. She bowed deeply, hoping to hide her face. Mamoru gave the monk’s name, Kubo Makoto, and the name of the temple at Terayama. Makoto bowed too.
“Lord Shirakawa,” Mamoru said, “and his daughter, Lady Otori.”
The young monk could not prevent his reaction. He turned pale and his eyes went to her face. He recognized her and spoke in the same moment.
“Lady Otori? You married Lord Takeo after all? Is he here with you?”
There was a moment of silence. Then Kaede’s father spoke. “My daughter’s husband was Lord Otori Shigeru.”
Makoto opened his mouth as if he would deny it, thought better of it, and bowed without speaking.
Kaede’s father leaned forward. “You are from Terayama? You did not know that the marriage took place there?”
Makoto said nothing. Her father spoke to her without turning his head. “Leave us alone.”
She was proud of how steady her voice was when she spoke. “I am going home. Please make my apologies to Lord Fujiwara.”
He made no response to her. He will kill me, she thought. She bowed to the two young men and saw their embarrassment and their discomfort. As she walked away, forcing herself not to hurry, not to move her head, a wave of emotion began to uncurl in her belly. She saw she would always be the object of those embarrassed looks, that scorn. She gasped at the intensity of the feeling, the sharpness of the despair that came with it. Better to die, she thought. But what about my child, Takeo’s child? Must it die with me?
At the end of the veranda Shizuka was waiting for her. “We can leave now, lady. Kondo will come with us.”
Kaede allowed the man to lift her into the palanquin. She was relieved to be inside, in the semidarkness where no one could see her face. Father will never look at my face again, she thought. He will turn his eyes away even when he kills me.
When she reached her house, she took off the robe that Fujiwara had given her and folded it carefully. She put on one of her mother’s old robes, with a quilted garment underneath. She was cold to the bone and she did not want to tremble.
“You are back!” Hana came running into the room. “Where is Ai?”
“She stayed at Lord Fujiwara’s a little longer.”
“Why did you come back?” the child asked.
“I didn’t feel well. I’m all right now.” On an impulse Kaede said, “I’m going to give you the robe, the autumn one you liked so much. You must put it away and look after it until you are old enough to wear it.”
“Don’t you want it?”
“I want you to have it, and to think of me when you wear it, and pray for me.”
Hana stared at her, her eyes sharp. “Where are you going?” When Kaede did not reply she went on, “Don’t go away again, Older Sister.”
“You won’t mind,” Kaede said, trying to tease her. “You won’t miss me.”
To her dismay, Hana began to sob noisily and then to scream. “I will miss you! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”
Ayame came running. “Now what is it, Hana? You must not be naughty with your sister.”
Shizuka came into the room. “Your father is at the ford,” she said. “He has come alone, on horseback.”
“Ayame,” Kaede said, “take Hana out for a while. Take her to the forest. All the servants must go with you. I want no one in the house.”
“But, Lady Kaede, it’s so early and still so cold.”
“Please do as I say,” Kaede begged. Hana cried more wildly as Ayame led her away.
“It is grief that makes her so wild,” Shizuka said.
“I am afraid I must inflict still more on her,” Kaede exclaimed. “But she must not be here.”
She stood and went to the small chest where she kept a few things. She took the knife from it, felt its weight in her forbidden left hand. Soon it would no longer matter to anyone which hand she had used.
“Which is best, in the throat or in the heart?”
“You don’t have to do it,” Shizuka said quietly. “We can flee. The Tribe will hide you. Think of the child.”
“I can’t run away!” Kaede was surprised at the loudness of her own voice.
“Then let me give you poison. It will be swift and painless. You will simply fall asleep and never—”
Kaede cut her short. “I am a warrior’s daughter. I’m not afraid of dying. You know better than anyone how often I have thought of taking my own life. First I must ask Father’s forgiveness, then I must use the knife on myself. My only question is, which is better?”
Shizuka came close to her. “Place the point here, at the side of your neck. Thrust it sideways and upward. That will slash the artery.” Her voice, matter-of-fact to start with, faltered, and Kaede saw there were tears in her eyes. “Don’t do it,” Shizuka whispered. “Don’t despair yet.”
Kaede transferred the knife to her right hand. She heard the shouts of the guard, the horse’s hoofbeats as her father rode through the gate. She heard Kondo greet him.
She gazed out onto the garden. A sudden flash of memory came to her of herself as a little child running the length of the veranda from her father to her mother and back again. I’ve never remembered that before, she thought, and whispered soundlessly, Mother, Mother!
Her father stepped onto the veranda. As he came through the doorway both she and Shizuka dropped to their knees, foreheads to the ground.
“Daughter,” he said, his voice uncertain and thin. She looked up at him and saw his face streaked with tears, his mouth working. She had been afraid of his anger, but now she saw his madness and it frightened her more.
“Forgive me,” she whispered.
“I must kill myself now.” He sat heavily in front of her, taking his dagger from his belt. He looked at the blade for a long time.
“Send for Shoji,” he said finally. “He must assist me. Tell your man to ride to his house and fetch him.”
When she made no response, he shouted suddenly, “Tell him!”
“I’ll go,” Shizuka whispered. She crawled on her knees to the edge of the veranda; Kaede heard her speak to Kondo, but the man did not leave. Instead he stepped up onto the veranda and she knew he was waiting just outside the doorway.
Her father made a sudden gesture toward her. She could not help flinching, thinking he was about to hit her. He said, “There was no marriage!”
“Forgive me,” she said again. “I have shamed you. I am ready to die.”
“But there is a child?” He was staring at her as though she were a viper that would strike at any moment.
“Yes, there is a child.”
“Who is the father? Or don’t you know? Was he one of many?”
“It makes no difference now,” she replied. “The child will die with me.”
She thought, Thrust the knife sideways and upward. But she felt the child’s tiny hands
grip her muscles, preventing her.
“Yes, yes, you must take your own life.” His voice rose, taking on a shrill energy. “Your sisters must also kill themselves. This is my last command to you. Thus the Shirakawa family will disappear, not before time. And I will not wait for Shoji. I must do it myself. It will be my final act of honor.”
He loosened his sash and opened his robe, pushing aside his undergarment to expose his flesh. “Don’t turn away,” he said to Kaede. “You must watch. It is you who have driven me to this.” He placed the point of the blade against the loose, wrinkled skin and drew a deep breath.
She could not believe it was happening. She saw his knuckles tighten around the handle, saw his face contort. He gave a harsh cry and the dagger fell from his hands. But there was no blood, no wound. Several more sharp cries issued from him, then gave way to racking sobs.
“I cannot do it,” he wailed. “My courage has all gone. You have sapped me, unnatural woman that you are. You have taken my honor and my manhood. You are not my daughter: You are a demon! You bring death to all men; you are cursed.” He reached out and grabbed her, pulling at her garments. “Let me see you,” he cried. “Let me see what other men desire! Bring death to me as you have to others.”
“No,” she screamed, fighting against his hands, trying to push him away. “Father, no!”
“You call me Father? I am not your father. My real children are the sons I never had; the sons you and your cursed sisters took the place of. Your demonic powers must have killed them in your mother’s womb!” His madness gave him strength. She felt the robes pulled from her shoulders, his hands on her skin. She could not use the knife; she could not escape him. As she struggled against his grip, the robe slipped to her waist, exposing her. Her hair came loose and fell around her bare shoulders.
“You are beautiful,” he shouted. “I admit it. I have desired you. While I taught you I lusted after you. It was my punishment for going against nature. I am completely corrupted by you. Now bring me death!”
“Let me go, Father,” she cried, trying to stay calm, hoping to reason with him. “You are not yourself. If we must die let us do it with dignity.” But all words seemed weak and meaningless in the face of his delusions.
His eyes were wet, his lips quivering. He seized her knife and threw it across the room, held both her wrists in his left hand, and pulled her toward him. With his right hand he reached under her hair, drew it aside, bent over her, and put his lips on the nape of her neck.
Horror and revulsion swept over her, followed by fury. She had been prepared to die, in accordance with the harsh code of her class, to salvage her family’s honor. But her father, who had instructed her so rigidly in that code, who had taught her assiduously about the superiority of his sex, had surrendered to madness, revealing what lay beneath the strict rules of conduct of the warrior class: the lust and selfishness of men. The fury brought to life the power that she knew lay within her, and she remembered how she had slept in ice. She called to the White Goddess: Help me!
She heard her own voice—“Help me! Help me!”—and even as she cried out her father’s grip slackened. He has come to his senses, she thought, pushing him away. She scrambled to her feet, pulling her robe around her and retying the sash, and, almost without thinking, stumbled to the farthest side of the room. She was sobbing with shock and rage.
She turned and saw Kondo kneeling in front of her father, who sat half-upright, supported, she thought at first, by Shizuka. Then she realized that her father’s eyes saw nothing. Kondo plunged his hand, it seemed, into her father’s belly and slashed crossways. The cut made a foul soft noise, and the blood hissed and bubbled as it foamed out.
Shizuka let go of the man’s neck, and he fell forward. Kondo placed the knife in his right hand.
The vomit rose in her throat then and she doubled up, retching. Shizuka came to her, her face expressionless. “It’s all over.”
“Lord Shirakawa lost his mind,” Kondo said, “and took his own life. He has had many episodes of madness and often spoke of so doing. He died honorably and with great courage.” He stood and looked directly at her. There was a moment when she could have called for the guards, denounced both of them, and had them executed, but the moment passed and she did nothing. She knew she would never reveal the murder to anyone.
Kondo smiled very slightly and continued, “Lady Otori, you must demand allegiance from the men. You must be strong. Otherwise any one of them will seize your domain and usurp you.”
“I was about to kill myself,” she said slowly. “But it seems there is no need now.”
“No need,” he agreed, “as long as you are strong.”
“You must live for the child’s sake,” Shizuka urged her. “No one will care who the father is, if only you are powerful enough. But you must act now. Kondo, summon the men as quickly as possible.”
Kaede let Shizuka lead her to the women’s rooms, wash her, and change her clothes. Her mind was quivering with shock, but she clung to the knowledge of her own power. Her father was dead and she was alive. He had wanted to die; it was no hardship for her to pretend that he had indeed taken his own life and had died with honor, a desire he had often expressed. Indeed, she thought bitterly, she was respecting his wishes and protecting his name. She would not, however, obey his last command to her: She would not kill herself and she would not allow her sisters to die either.
Kondo had summoned the guards, and boys were sent to the village to fetch the men who lived on farms. Within the hour, most of her father’s retainers were assembled. The women had brought out the mourning clothes so recently put away after her mother’s death, and the priest had been sent for. The sun came up higher, melting the frost. The air smelled of smoke and pine needles. Now that the first shock was over Kaede was driven by a feeling she hardly understood, a fierce need to secure what was hers, to protect her sisters and her household, to ensure nothing of hers was lost or stolen. Any one of the men could take her estate from her; they would not hesitate if she showed the slightest sign of weakness. She had seen the utter ruthlessness that lay beneath Shizuka’s lighthearted pose and Kondo’s ironic exterior. That ruthlessness had saved her life, and she would match it with her own.
She recalled the decisiveness that she had seen in Arai, that made men follow him, that had brought most of the Three Countries under his sway. She must now show the same resolution. Arai would respect their alliance, but if anyone else took her place, would he hold back from war? She would not let her people be devastated; she would not let her sisters be taken away as hostages.
Death still beckoned her, but this new fierce spirit within her would not allow her to respond. I am indeed possessed, she thought as she stepped onto the veranda to speak to the men assembled in the garden. How few they are, she thought, remembering the numbers her father used to command when she was a child. Ten were Arai’s men, whom Kondo had selected and there were twenty or so who still served the Shirakawa. She knew them all by name, had made it her business since she returned to get to know their position and something of their character.
Shoji had been one of the first to arrive and had prostrated himself before her father’s body. His face still bore the traces of tears. He stood at her right hand, Kondo on her left. She was aware of Kondo’s deference to the older man and aware that it was a pretense, like most of what he did. But he killed my father for me, she thought. He is bound to me now. But what price will he exact in return?
The men knelt before her, heads lowered, then sat back on their heels as she spoke.
“Lord Shirakawa has taken his own life,” she said. “It was his choice, and whatever my grief, I must respect and honor his deed. My father intended me to be his heir. It was for that purpose that he began instructing me as if I were his son. I mean to carry out his wishes.” She paused for a moment, hearing his final words to her, so different: I am completely corrupted by you. Now bring me death! But she did not flinch. To the watching men she seemed to radi
ate some deep power. It illuminated her eyes and made her voice irresistible. “I ask my father’s men to swear allegiance to me as you did to him. Since Lord Arai and I are in alliance, I expect those of you who serve him to continue to serve me. In return I offer you both protection and advancement. I plan to consolidate Shirakawa and next year take up the lands willed to me at Maruyama. My father will be buried tomorrow.”
Shoji was the first to kneel before her. Kondo followed, though again his demeanor unnerved her. He is playacting, she thought. Allegiance means nothing to him. He is from the Tribe. What schemes do they have for me that I know nothing about? Can I trust them? If I find I cannot trust Shizuka, what will I do?
Her heart quailed within her, though none of the men filing before her would have guessed. She received their allegiance, noting each one, picking out their characteristics, their clothes, armor and weapons. They were mostly ill-equipped, the laces of the armor broken and frayed, the helmets dented and cracked, but they all had bows and swords, and she knew most of them had horses.
All knelt to her save two. One, a giant of a man, Hirogawa, called out in a loud voice, “All respect to your ladyship, but I’ve never served a woman and I’m too old to start now.” He made a perfunctory bow and walked to the gate with a swagger that infuriated her. A smaller man, Nakao, followed him without a word, without even bowing.
Kondo looked at her. “Lady Otori?”
“Kill them,” she said, knowing she had to be ruthless and knowing she had to start now.
He moved faster than she would have thought possible, cutting down Nakao before the man realized what was happening. Hirogawa turned in the gateway and drew his sword.
“You have broken your allegiance and must die,” Kondo shouted at him.
The large man laughed. “You are not even from Shirakawa. Who’s going to take any notice of you?” He held his sword in both hands, ready to strike. Kondo took a quick step forward; as Hirogawa’s blow fell Kondo parried it with his own sword, thrusting the other man’s blade aside with unexpected strength, wielding his own weapon like an ax. In the return motion he whipped it back into Hirogawa’s unprotected belly. Now more like a razor than an ax, the sword slid through the flesh. As Hirogawa faltered forward Kondo stepped out to the right and behind him. Spinning round he struck downward, opening the man’s back from shoulder to hip.