by Lian Hearn
Preparations were already being made for the New Year Festival: Sacred ropes of straw hung everywhere and dark-leaved pine trees had been placed by doorways; the shrines were filling with visitors. The river was swollen with the tide that was just past the turn and ebbing. It sang its wild song to me, and beneath its churning waters I seemed to hear the voice of the stonemason, walled up inside his creation, carrying on his endless conversation with the river. A heron rose from the shallows at our approach.
When we crossed the bridge I read again the inscription that Shigeru had read to me: The Otori clan welcomes the just and the loyal. Let the unjust and the disloyal beware.
Unjust and disloyal. I was both: disloyal to Shigeru, who had entrusted his lands to me, and unjust as the Tribe are, unjust and pitiless.
I walked through the streets, head down and eyes lowered, changing the set of my features in the way Kenji had taught me. I did not think anyone would recognize me. I had grown a little and had become both leaner and more muscular during the past months. My hair was cut short; my clothes were those of an artisan. My body language, my speech, my gait—everything about me was changed since the days when I’d walked through these streets as a young lord of the Otori clan.
We went to a brewery on the edge of town. I’d walked by it dozens of times in the past, knowing nothing of its real trade. But, I thought, Shigeru would have known. The idea pleased me: that he had kept track of the Tribe’s activities, had known things that they were ignorant of, had known of my existence.
The place was busy with preparations for the winter’s work. Huge amounts of wood were being gathered to heat the vats, and the air was thick with the smell of fermenting rice. We were met by a small, distracted man who resembled Kenji. He was from the Muto family; Yuzuru was his given name. He had not been expecting visitors so late in the year, and my presence and what we told him of our mission unnerved him. He took us hastily inside to another concealed room.
“These are terrible times,” he said. “The Otori are certain to start preparing for war with Arai in the spring. It’s only winter that protects us now.”
“You’ve heard of Arai’s campaign against the Tribe?”
“Everyone’s talking about it,” Yuzuru replied. “We’ve been told we should support the Otori against him as much as we can for that reason.” He shot a look at me and said resentfully, “Things were much better under Iida. And surely it’s a grave mistake to bring him here. If anyone should recognize him . . .”
“We’ll be gone tomorrow,” Akio replied. “He just has to retrieve something from his former home.”
“From Lord Shigeru’s? It’s madness. He’ll be caught.”
“I don’t think so. He’s quite talented.” I thought I heard mockery beneath the compliment and took it as one more indication that he meant to kill me.
Yuzuru stuck out his bottom lip. “Even monkeys fall from trees. What can be so important?”
“We think Otori might have kept extensive records on the Tribe’s affairs.”
“Shigeru? The Farmer? Impossible!”
Akio’s eyes hardened. “Why do you think that?”
“Everyone knows . . . well, Shigeru was a good man. Everyone loved him. His death was a terrible tragedy. But he died because he was . . .” Yuzuru blinked furiously and looked apologetically at me. “He was too trusting. Innocent almost. He was never a conspirator. He knew nothing about the Tribe.”
“We have reasons to think otherwise,” Akio said. “We’ll know who’s right before tomorrow’s dawn.”
“You’re going there tonight?”
“We must be back in Matsue before the snows come.”
“Well, they’ll be early this year, possibly before the year’s end.” Yuzuru sounded relieved to be talking about something as mundane as the weather. “All the signs are for a long, hard winter. And if spring’s going to bring war, I wish it may never come.”
It was already freezing within the small, dark room, the third such that I had been concealed in. Yuzuru himself brought us food, tea—already cooling by the time we tasted it—and wine. Akio drank the wine but I did not, feeling I needed my senses to remain acute. We sat without speaking as night fell.
The brewery quieted around us, though its smell did not diminish. I listened to the sounds of the town, each one so familiar to me, I felt I could pinpoint the exact street, the exact house, it came from. The familiarity relaxed me, and my depression began to lift a little. The bell sounded from Daishoin, the nearest temple, for the evening prayers. I could picture the weathered building, the deep green darkness of its grove, the stone lanterns that marked the graves of the Otori lords and their retainers. I fell into a sort of waking dream in which I was walking among them.
Then Shigeru came to me again as if from out of a white mist, dripping with water and blood, his eyes burning black, holding an unmistakable message for me. I snapped awake, shivering with cold.
Akio said, “Drink some wine, it’ll steady your nerves.”
I shook my head, stood, and went through the limbering exercises the Tribe use until I was warm. Then I sat in meditation, trying to retain the heat, focusing my mind on the night’s work, drawing together all my powers, knowing now how to do at will what I had once done by instinct.
From Daishoin the bell sounded. Midnight.
I heard Yuzuru approaching, and the door slid open. He beckoned to us and led us through the house to the outer gates. Here he alerted the guards and we went over the wall. One dog barked briefly but was silenced with a cuff.
It was pitch dark, the air icy, a raw wind blowing off the sea. On such a foul night no one was on the streets. We went silently to the riverbank and walked southeast toward the place where the rivers joined. The fish weir where I had often crossed to the other side lay exposed by the low tide. Just beyond it was Shigeru’s house. On the near bank, boats were moored. We used to cross the river in them to his lands on the opposite side, the rice fields and farms, where he tried to teach me about agriculture and irrigation, crops, and coppices. And boats had brought the wood for the tearoom and the nightingale floor, listing low in the water with the sweet-smelling planks, freshly cut from the forests beyond the farms. Tonight it was too dark even to make out the mountain slopes where the trees had grown.
We crouched by the side of the narrow road and looked at the house. There were no lights visible, just the dim glow of a brazier from the guardroom at the gate. I could hear men and dogs breathing deeply in sleep. The thought crossed my mind: They would not have slept so had Shigeru been alive. I was angry on his behalf, not least with myself.
Akio whispered, “You know what you have to do?”
I nodded.
“Go, then.”
We made no other plans. He simply sent me off as if I were a falcon or a hunting dog. I had a fair idea what his own plan was: when I returned with the records, he would take them—and I would be reported unfortunately killed by the guards, my body thrown into the river.
I crossed the street, went invisible, leaped over the wall, and dropped into the garden. Immediately the muffled song of the house enveloped me: the sighing of the wind in the trees, the murmur of the stream, the splash of the waterfall, the surge of the river as the tide began to flow. Sorrow swept over me. What was I doing returning here in the night like a thief? Almost unconsciously I let my face change, let my Otori look return.
The nightingale floor extended around the whole house, but it held no threat to me. Even in the dark I could still cross it without making it sing. On the farther side I climbed the wall to the window of the upper room—the same route the Tribe assassin, Shintaro, had taken over a year ago. At the top I listened. The room seemed empty.
The shutters were closed against the freezing night air, but they were not bolted, and it was easy to slide them apart enough to creep through. Inside it was barely any warmer and even darker. The room smelled musty and sour, as if it had been closed for a long time, as if no one sat there anym
ore save ghosts.
I could hear the household breathing and recognized the sleep of each one. But I could not place the one I needed to find: Ichiro. I stepped down the narrow staircase, knowing its favorite creaks as I knew my own hands. Once below I realized the house was not completely dark as it had appeared from the street. In the farthest room, the one Ichiro favored, a lamp was burning. I went quietly toward it. The paper screen was closed, but the lamp threw the shadow of the old man onto it. I slid open the door.
He raised his head and looked at me without surprise. He smiled sorrowfully and made a slight movement with his hand. “What can I do for you? You know I would do anything to bring you peace, but I am old. I have used the pen more than the sword.”
“Teacher,” I whispered. “It’s me. Takeo.” I stepped into the room, slid the door closed behind me, and dropped to my knees before him.
He gave a shudder as if he had been asleep and just woken, or as if he had been in the world of the dead and been called back by the living. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me toward him, into the lamplight. “Takeo? Can it really be you?” He ran his hands over my head, my limbs, as though fearing I were an apparition, tears trickling down his cheeks. Then he embraced me, cradling my head against his shoulder as if I were his long-lost son. I could feel his thin chest heaving.
He pulled back a little and gazed into my face. “I thought you were Shigeru. He often visits me at night. He stands there in the doorway. I know what he wants, but what can I do?” He wiped the tears away with his sleeve. “You’ve grown like him. It’s quite uncanny. Where have you been all this time? We thought you, too, must have been murdered, except that every few weeks someone comes to the house looking for you, so we assumed you were still alive.”
“I was hidden by the Tribe,” I said, wondering how much he knew of my background. “First in Yamagata, for the last two months in Matsue. I made a bargain with them. They kidnapped me at Inuyama but released me to go into the castle and bring Lord Shigeru out. In return I agreed to enter their service. You may not know that I am bound to them by blood.”
“Well, I’d assumed it,” Ichiro said. “Why else would Muto Kenji have turned up here?” He took my hand and pressed it with emotion. “Everyone knows the story of how you rescued Shigeru and slew Iida in revenge. I don’t mind telling you, I always thought he was making a grave mistake adopting you, but you silenced all my misgivings and paid all your debts to him that night.”
“Not quite all. The Otori lords betrayed him to Iida and they are still unpunished.”
“Is that what you have come for? That would bring rest to his spirit.”
“No, I was sent by the Tribe. They believe Lord Shigeru kept records on them and they want to retrieve them.”
Ichiro smiled wryly. “He kept records of many things. I go through them every night. The Otori lords claim your adoption was not legal and that anyway you are probably dead, therefore Shigeru has no heirs and his lands must revert to the castle. I’ve been looking for more proof so that you may keep what is yours.” His voice became stronger and more urgent. “You must come back, Takeo. Half the clan will support you for what you did in Inuyama. Many suspect that Shigeru’s uncles planned his death and are outraged by it. Come back and finish your revenge!”
Shigeru’s presence was all around us. I expected him at any moment to walk into the room with his energetic step, his openhearted smile, and the dark eyes that looked so frank yet hid so much.
“I feel I must,” I said slowly. “I will have no peace unless I do. But the Tribe will certainly try to kill me if I desert them—more than try; they will not rest until they have succeeded.”
Ichiro took a deep breath. “I don’t believe I have misjudged you,” he said. “If I have, you came prepared to kill me anyway. I am old, I am ready to move on. But I would like to see Shigeru’s work finished. It’s true, he did keep records on the Tribe. He believed no one could bring peace to the Middle Country while the Tribe were so strong, so he devoted himself to finding out all he could about them and he wrote it all down. He made sure no one knew what was in his records, not even me. He was extremely secretive, far more than anyone ever realized. He had to be; for ten years both Iida and his uncles had tried to get rid of him.”
“Can you give them to me?”
“I will not give them back to the Tribe,” he said. The lamp flickered, suddenly sending a crafty look across his face that I had never seen before. “I must get more oil or we’ll be sitting in darkness. Let me wake Chiyo.”
“Better not,” I said, even though I would have loved to have seen the old woman who ran the house and treated me like a son. “I can’t stay.”
“Did you come alone?”
I shook my head. “Kikuta Akio is waiting for me outside.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“He’s almost certainly going to try to kill me. Especially if I return to him empty-handed.” I was wondering what hour it was, what Akio was doing. The house’s winter song was all around me. I did not want to leave it. My choices seemed to be narrowing. Ichiro would never hand the records over to the Tribe; I would never be able to kill him to get them. I took my knife from my sash, felt its familiar weight in my hand. “I should take my own life now.”
“Well, it would be one answer,” Ichiro said, and sniffed. “But not a very satisfactory one. I would then have two unquiet ghosts visiting me in the night. And Shigeru’s murderers would go unpunished.”
The lamp spluttered. Ichiro stood. “I’ll get more oil,” he muttered. I listened to him shuffling through the house and thought about Shigeru. How many nights would he have sat until late in this very room? Boxes of scrolls stood around me. As I gazed idly at them I suddenly remembered with complete clarity the wooden chest that I had carried up the slope as a gift for the abbot on the day we had visited the temple to see the Sesshu paintings. I thought I saw Shigeru smile at me.
When Ichiro had returned and fixed the lamp, he said, “Anyway, the records aren’t here.”
“I know,” I said. “They are at Terayama.”
Ichiro grinned. “If you want my advice, even though you never took any notice of it in the past, go there. Go now, tonight. I’ll give you money for the journey. They’ll hide you for the winter. And from there you can plan your revenge on the Otori lords. That’s what Shigeru wants.”
“It’s what I want too. But I made a bargain with the Kikuta master. I am bound to the Tribe now by my word.”
“I think you swore allegiance to the Otori first,” Ichiro said. “Didn’t Shigeru save your life before the Tribe had even heard of you?”
I nodded.
“And you said Akio would kill you? They have already broken faith with you. Can you get past him? Where is he?”
“I left him in the road outside. He could be anywhere now.”
“Well, you can hear him first, can’t you? And what about those tricks you used to play on me? Always somewhere else when I thought you were studying.”
“Teacher . . .” I began. I was going to apologize but he waved me silent.
“I forgive you everything. It was not my teaching that enabled you to bring Shigeru out of Inuyama.”
He left the room again and came back with a small string of coins and some rice cakes wrapped in kelp. I had no carrying cloth or box to put them in, and anyway I was going to need both hands free. I tied the money into my loincloth beneath my clothes and put the rice cakes in my belt.
“Can you find the way?” he said, starting to fuss as he used to in the past over a shrine visit or some other outing.
“I think so.”
“I’ll write you a letter to get you through the barrier. You’re a servant of this household—it’s what you look like—making arrangements for my visit to the temple next year. I’ll meet you in Terayama when the snows melt. Wait for me there. Shigeru was in alliance with Arai. I don’t know how things stand between you, but you should seek Arai’s protection. He will be grateful fo
r any information he can use against the Tribe.”
He took up the brush and wrote swiftly. “Can you still write?” he asked, without looking up.
“Not very skillfully.”
“You’ll have all winter to practice.” He sealed the letter and stood. “By the way, what happened to Jato?”
“It came into my hands. It’s being kept for me at Terayama.”
“Time to go back for it.” He smiled again and grumbled, “Chiyo’s going to kill me for not waking her.”
I slipped the letter inside my clothes and we embraced.
“Some strange fate ties you to this house,” he said. “I believe it is a bond you cannot escape.” His voice broke and I saw he was close to tears again.
“I know it,” I whispered. “I will do everything you suggest.” I knew I could not give up this house and inheritance. They were mine. I would reclaim them. Everything Ichiro had said made perfect sense. I had to escape from the Tribe. Shigeru’s records would protect me from them and give me bargaining power with Arai. If I could only get to Terayama . . .
·7 ·
I left the house the same way I had come, out through the upstairs window, down the wall, and across the nightingale floor. It slept under my feet, but I vowed next time I walked on it I would make it sing. I did not scale the wall back into the street. Instead, I ran silently through the garden, went invisible, and, clinging like a spider to the stones, climbed through the opening where the stream flowed into the river. I dropped into the nearest boat, untied it, took up the oar that lay in the stern, and pushed off into the river.
The boat groaned slightly under my weight, and the current lapped more strongly at it. To my dismay the sky had cleared. It was much colder and, under the three-quarters moon, much brighter. I heard the thud of feet from the bank, sent my image back to the wall, and crouched low in the boat. But Akio was not deceived by my second self. He leaped from the wall as if he were flying. I went invisible again, even though I knew it was probably useless against him, bounded from my boat, and flew low across the surface of the water into another of the boats that lay against the river wall. I scrabbled to undo its rope and pushed off with its oar. I saw Akio land and steady himself against the rocking of the craft; then he sprang and flew again as I split myself, left the second self in one boat, and leaped for the other. I felt the air shift as we passed each other. Controlling my fall, I dropped into my first boat, took up the oar, and began to scull faster than I ever had in my life. My second self faded as Akio grasped it, and I saw him prepare to leap again. There was no escape unless I went into the river. I drew my knife and as he landed stabbed at him with one hand. He moved with his usual speed and ducked easily under the knife. I had anticipated his move and caught him on the side of the head with the oar. He fell, stunned for a moment, while I, thrown off balance by the violent rocking of the boat, narrowly escaped tumbling overboard. I dropped the oar and clung to the wooden side. I did not want to go into the freezing water unless I took him with me and drowned him. As I slid to the other side of the boat Akio recovered. He leaped straight upward and came down on top of me. We fell together and he seized me by the throat.