Across the Nightingale Floor

by Lian Hearn

  Two things happened to disturb her further. One afternoon they had paused for a rest at an unusual time, at a crossroads, when they were joined by a small group of horsemen riding from the southwest, almost as if by some prearranged appointment. Shizuka ran to greet them in her usual way, eager to know where they were from and what gossip they might bring. Kaede, watching idly, saw her speak to one of the men. He leaned low from the saddle to tell her something; she nodded with deep seriousness and then gave the horse a slap on its flank. It jumped forward. There was a shout of laughter from the men, followed by Shizuka’s high-pitched giggle, but in that moment Kaede felt she saw something new in the girl who had become her servant, an intensity that puzzled her.

  For the rest of the day Shizuka was her usual self, exclaiming over the beauties of the countryside, picking bunches of wildflowers, exchanging greetings with everyone she met, but at the lodging place that night Kaede came into the room to find Shizuka talking earnestly to Lady Maruyama, not like a servant, but sitting knee to knee with her, as an equal.

  Their talk immediately turned to the weather and the next day’s arrangements, but Kaede felt a sense of betrayal. Shizuka had said to her, People like me don’t really meet people like her. But there was obviously some relationship between them that she had known nothing about. It made her suspicious and a little jealous. She had come to depend on Shizuka and did not want to share her with others.

  The heat grew more intense and travel more uncomfortable. One day the earth shook several times, adding to Kaede’s unease. She slept badly, troubled as much by suspicions as by fleas and other night insects. She longed for the journey to end, and yet, she dreaded arriving. Every day she decided she would question Shizuka, but every night something held her back. Lady Maruyama continued to treat her with kindness, but Kaede did not trust her, and she responded cautiously and with reserve. Then she felt ungracious and childish. Her appetite disappeared again.

  Shizuka scolded her at night in the bath. “All your bones stick out, lady. You must eat! What will your husband think?”

  “Don’t start talking about my husband!” Kaede said hurriedly. “I don’t care what he thinks. Maybe he will hate the sight of me and leave me alone!”

  And then she was ashamed again for the childishness of the words.

  They came at last to the mountain town of Tsuwano, riding through the narrow pass at the end of the day, the ranges already black against the setting sun. The breeze moved through the terraced rice fields like a wave through water, lotus plants raised their huge jade-green leaves, and around the fields wildflowers blossomed in a riot of color. The last rays of the sun turned the white walls of the town to pink and gold.

  “This looks like a happy place!” Kaede could not help exclaiming.

  Lady Maruyama, riding just ahead of her, turned in the saddle. “We are no longer in Tohan country. This is the beginning of the Otori fief,” she said. “Here we will wait for Lord Shigeru.”

  The next morning Shizuka brought strange clothes instead of Kaede’s usual robes.

  “You are to start learning the sword, lady,” she announced, showing Kaede how to put them on. She looked at her with approval. “Apart from the hair, Lady Kaede could pass for a boy,” she said, lifting the heavy weight of hair away from Kaede’s face and tying it back with a leather cord.

  Kaede ran her hands over her own body. The clothes were of rough, dark-dyed hemp, and fitted her loosely. They were like nothing she had ever worn. They hid her shape and made her feel free. “Who says I am to learn?”

  “Lady Maruyama. We will be here several days, maybe a week, before the Otori arrive. She wants you to be occupied, and not fretting.”

  “She is very kind,” Kaede replied. “Who will teach me?”

  Shizuka giggled and did not answer. She took Kaede across the street from their lodgings to a long, low building with a wooden floor. Here they removed their sandals and put on split-toed boots. Shizuka handed Kaede a mask to protect her face, and took down two long wooden poles from a rack on the wall.

  “Did the lady ever learn to fight with these?”

  “As a child, of course,” Kaede replied. “Almost as soon as I could walk.”

  “Then you will remember this.” Shizuka handed one pole to Kaede and, holding the other firmly in both hands, executed a fluid series of movements, the pole flashing through the air faster than the eye could follow.

  “Not like that!” Kaede admitted, astonished. She would have thought Shizuka hardly able to lift the pole, let alone wield it with such power and skill.

  Shizuka giggled again, changing under Kaede’s eyes from concentrated warrior to scatterbrained servant. “Lady Kaede will find it all comes back! Let’s begin.”

  Kaede felt cold, despite the warmth of the summer morning. “You are the teacher?”

  “Oh, I only know a little, lady. You probably know just as much. I don’t suppose there’s anything I can teach you.”

  But even though Kaede found that she did remember the movements, and had a certain natural ability and the advantage of height, Shizuka’s skill far surpassed anything she could do. At the end of the morning she was exhausted, dripping with sweat and seething with emotion. Shizuka, who as a servant did everything in her power to please Kaede, was completely ruthless as a teacher. Every stroke had to be perfectly executed: Time after time, when Kaede thought she was finally finding the rhythm, Shizuka would stop her and politely point out that her balance was on the wrong foot, or that she had left herself open to sudden death, had they been fighting with the sword. Finally she signaled that they should finish, placed the poles back in the rack, took off the face masks, and wiped Kaede’s face with a towel.

  “It was good,” she said. “Lady Kaede has great skill. We will soon make up for the years that were lost.”

  The physical activity, the shock of discovering Shizuka’s skill, the warmth of the morning, the unfamiliar clothes, all combined to break down Kaede’s self-control. She seized the towel and buried her face in it as sobs racked her.

  “Lady,” Shizuka whispered, “lady, don’t cry. You have nothing to fear.”

  “Who are you really?” Kaede cried. “Why are you pretending to be what you are not? You told me you did not know Lady Maruyama!”

  “I wish I could tell you everything, but I cannot yet. But my role here is to protect you. Arai sent me for that purpose.”

  “You know Arai too? All you said before was that you were from his town.”

  “Yes, but we are closer than that. He has the deepest regard for you, feeling himself to be in your debt. When Lord Noguchi exiled him, his anger was extreme. He felt himself insulted by Noguchi’s distrust as well as his treatment of you. When he heard you were to be sent to Inuyama to be married, he made arrangements for me to accompany you.”

  “Why? Will I be in danger there?”

  “Inuyama is a dangerous place. Even more so now, when the Three Countries are on the brink of war. Once the Otori alliance is settled by your marriage, Iida will fight the Seishuu in the West.”

  In the bare room, sunlight slanted through the dust raised by their feet. From beyond the lattice windows Kaede could hear the flow of water in the canals, the cries of street sellers, the laughter of children. That world seemed so simple and open, with none of the dark secrets that lay beneath her own.

  “I am just a pawn on the board,” she said bitterly. “You will sacrifice me as swiftly as the Tohan would.”

  “No, Arai and I are your servants, lady. He has sworn to protect you, and I obey him.” She smiled, her face suddenly vivid with passion.

  They are lovers, Kaede thought, and felt again a pang of jealousy that she had to share Shizuka with anyone else. She wanted to ask, What about Lady Maruyama? What is her part in this game? And the man I am to marry? But she feared the answer.

  “It’s too hot to do more today,” Shizuka said, taking the towel from Kaede and wiping her eyes. “Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to use the knife.
”

  As they stood she added, “Don’t treat me any differently. I am just your servant, nothing more.”

  “I should apologize for the times I treated you badly,” Kaede said awkwardly.

  “You never did!” Shizuka laughed. “If anything, you were far too lenient. The Noguchi may have taught you nothing useful, but at least you did not learn cruelty from them.”

  “I learned embroidery,” Kaede said, “but you can’t kill anyone with a needle.”

  “You can,” Shizuka said offhandedly. “I’ll show you one day.”

  FOR A WEEK THEY WAITED in the mountain town for the Otori to arrive. The weather grew heavier and more sultry. Storm clouds gathered every night around the mountain peaks, and in the distance lightning flickered, yet it did not rain. Every day Kaede learned to fight with the sword and the knife, starting at daybreak, before the worst of the heat, and training for three hours at a stretch, the sweat pouring off her face and body.

  Finally, one day at the end of the morning, as they were rinsing their faces with cold water, above the usual sounds of the streets came the tramp of horses, the barking of dogs.

  Shizuka beckoned Kaede to the window. “Look! They are here! The Otori are here.”

  Kaede peered through the lattice. The group of horsemen approached at a trot. Most of them wore helmets and armor, but on one side rode a bareheaded boy not much older than herself. She saw the curve of his cheekbone, the silky gleam of his hair.

  “Is that Lord Shigeru?”

  “No,” Shizuka laughed. “Lord Shigeru rides in front. The young man is his ward, Lord Takeo.”

  She emphasized the word lord in an ironic way that Kaede would recall later, but at the time she hardly noticed, for the boy, as if he had heard his name spoken, turned his head and looked towards her.

  His eyes suggested depths of emotion, his mouth was sensitive, and she saw in his features both energy and sadness. It kindled something in her, a sort of curiosity mixed with longing, a feeling she did not recognize.

  The men rode on. When the boy disappeared from sight she felt she had lost a part of herself. She followed Shizuka back to the inn like a sleepwalker. By the time they got there, she was trembling as if with fever. Shizuka, completely misunderstanding, tried to reassure her.

  “Lord Otori is a kind man, lady. You mustn’t be afraid. No one will harm you.”

  Kaede said nothing, not daring to open her mouth, for the only word she wanted to speak was his name. Takeo.

  Shizuka tried to get her to eat—first soup to warm her, then cold noodles to cool her—but she could swallow nothing. Shizuka made her lie down. Kaede shivered beneath the quilt, her eyes bright, her skin dry, her body as unpredictable to her as a snake.

  Thunder crackled in the mountains and the air swam with moisture.

  Alarmed, Shizuka sent for Lady Maruyama. When she came into the room an old man followed her.

  “Uncle!” Shizuka greeted him with a cry of delight.

  “What happened?” Lady Maruyama said, kneeling beside Kaede and placing her hand on her forehead. “She is burning; she must have taken a chill.”

  “We were training,” Shizuka explained. “We saw the Otori arrive, and she seemed to be struck by a sudden fever.”

  “Can you give her something, Kenji?” Lady Maruyama asked.

  “She dreads the marriage,” Shizuka said quietly.

  “I can cure a fever, but that I cannot cure,” the old man said. “I’ll have them brew some herbs. The tea will calm her.”

  Kaede lay perfectly still with her eyes closed. She could hear them clearly, but they seemed to speak from another world, one that she had been plucked out of the moment her eyes met Takeo’s. She roused herself to drink the tea, Shizuka holding her head as if she were a child, and then she drifted into a shallow sleep. She was woken by thunder rolling through the valley. The storm had finally broken and rain was pelting down, ringing off the tiles and sluicing the cobbles. She had been dreaming vividly, but the moment she opened her eyes the dream vanished, leaving her only with the lucid knowledge that what she felt was love.

  She was astonished, then elated, then dismayed. At first she thought she would die if she saw him, then that she would die if she didn’t. She berated herself: How could she have fallen in love with the ward of the man she was to marry? And then she thought: What marriage? She could not marry Lord Otori. She would marry no one but Takeo. And then she found herself laughing at her own stupidity. As if anyone married for love. I’ve been overtaken by disaster, she thought at one moment, and at the next, How can this feeling be a disaster?

  When Shizuka returned she insisted that she had recovered. Indeed, the fever had abated, replaced by an intensity that made her eyes glow and her skin gleam.

  “You are more beautiful than ever!” Shizuka exclaimed as she bathed and dressed her, putting on the robes that had been prepared for her betrothal, for her first meeting with her future husband.

  Lady Maruyama greeted her with concern, asking after her health, and was relieved to find she was recovered. But Kaede was aware of the older woman’s nervousness as she followed her to the best room in the inn, which had been prepared for Lord Otori.

  She could hear the men talking as the servants slid the doors open, but they fell silent at the sight of her. She bowed to the floor, conscious of their gaze, not daring to look at any of them. She could feel every pulse in her body as her heart began to race.

  “This is Lady Shirakawa Kaede,” Lady Maruyama said. Her voice was cold, Kaede thought, and again wondered what she had done to offend the lady so much.

  “Lady Kaede, I present you to Lord Otori Shigeru,” Lady Maruyama went on, her voice now so faint it could hardly be heard.

  Kaede sat up. “Lord Otori,” she murmured, and raised her eyes to the face of the man she was to marry.

  “Lady Shirakawa,” he replied with great politeness. “We heard you were unwell. You are recovered?”

  “Thank you, I am quite well.” She liked his face, seeing kindness in his gaze. He deserves his reputation, she thought. But how can I marry him? She felt color rise in her cheeks.

  “Those herbs never fail,” said the man sitting on his left. She recognized the voice of the old man who had had the tea made for her, the man Shizuka called Uncle. “Lady Shirakawa has the reputation of great beauty, but her reputation hardly does her justice.”

  Lady Maruyama said, “You flatter her, Kenji. If a girl is not beautiful at fifteen, she never will be.”

  Kaede felt herself flush even more.

  “We have brought gifts for you,” Lord Otori said. “They pale beside your beauty, but please accept them as a token of my deepest regard and the devotion of the Otori clan. Takeo.”

  She thought he spoke the words with indifference, even coldness, and imagined he would always feel that way towards her.

  The boy rose and brought forward a lacquered tray. On it were packages wrapped in pale pink silk crepe, bearing the crest of the Otori. Kneeling before Kaede, he presented it to her.

  She bowed in thanks.

  “This is Lord Otori’s ward and adopted son,” Lady Maruyama said. “Lord Otori Takeo.”

  She did not dare look at his face. She allowed herself instead to gaze on his hands. They were long-fingered, supple, and beautifully shaped. The skin was a color between honey and tea, the nails tinged faintly lilac. She sensed the stillness within him, as if he were listening, always listening.

  “Lord Takeo,” she whispered.

  He was not yet a man like the men she feared and hated. He was her age; his hair and skin had the same texture of youth. The intense curiosity she had felt before returned. She longed to know everything about him. Why had Lord Otori adopted him? Who was he really? What had happened to make him so sad? And why did she think he could hear her heart’s thoughts?

  “Lady Shirakawa.” His voice was low, with a touch of the East in it.

  She had to look at him. She raised her eyes and met his gaze
. He stared at her, almost puzzled, and she felt something leap between them, as though somehow they had touched across the space that separated them.

  The rain had eased a little earlier, but now it began again, with a drumming roar that all but drowned their voices. The wind rose, too, making the lamp flames dance and the shadows loom on the walls.

  May I stay here forever, Kaede thought.

  Lady Maruyama said sharply. “He has met you, but you have not been introduced: This is Muto Kenji, an old friend of Lord Otori, and Lord Takeo’s teacher. He will help Shizuka in your instruction.”

  “Sir,” she acknowledged him, glancing at him from under her eyelashes. He was staring at her in outright admiration, shaking his head slightly as if in disbelief. He seems like a nice old man, Kaede thought, and then: But he is not so old after all! His face seemed to slip and change in front of her eyes.

  She felt the floor beneath her move with the very slightest of tremors. No one spoke, but from outside someone shouted in surprise. Then there was only the wind and the rain again.

  A chill came over her. She must let none of her feelings show. Nothing was as it seemed.

  · 7 ·

  fter my formal adoption into the clan, I began to see more of the young men of my own age from warrior families. Ichiro was much sought after as a teacher, and since he was already instructing me in history, religion, and the classics, he agreed to take on other pupils as well. Among these was Miyoshi Gemba, who, with his older brother, Kahei, was to become one of my closest allies and friends. Gemba was a year older than me. Kahei was already in his twenties, and too old for Ichiro’s instruction, but he helped teach the younger men the arts of war.

  For these I now joined the men of the clan in the great hall opposite the castle, where we fought with poles and studied other martial arts. On its sheltered southern side was a wide field for horsemanship and archery. I was no better with the bow than I’d ever been, but I could acquit myself well enough with the pole and the sword. Every morning, after two hours of writing practice with Ichiro, I would ride with a couple of men through the winding streets of the castle town and spend four or five hours in relentless training.