Across the Nightingale Floor

by Lian Hearn

  “If Lord Otori had not got to me first, I would be dead!” I replied fiercely. “Where was the Tribe when the Tohan were murdering my people and burning my home? He saved my life then. That’s why I cannot leave him. I never will. Never ask me again!”

  Kenji’s eyes went opaque. “Lord Takeo,” he said ironically.

  The maids came to spread the beds, and we did not speak again.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING the roads out of Tsuwano were crowded. Many travelers were taking advantage of the finer weather to resume their journey. The sky was a clear deep blue and the sun drew moisture from the earth until it steamed. The stone bridge across the river was undamaged, but the water ran wild and high, throwing tree branches, planks of wood, dead animals and other corpses, possibly, against the piers. I was thinking fleetingly of the first time I’d crossed the bridge at Hagi when I saw a drowned heron floating in the water, its gray and white feathers waterlogged, all its gracefulness crumpled and broken. The sight of it chilled me. I thought it a terrible omen.

  The horses were rested and stepped out eagerly. If Shigeru was less eager, if he shared my forebodings, he gave no sign of it. His face was calm, his eyes bright. He seemed to glow with energy and life. It made my heart twist to look at him—made me feel his life and his future all lay in my assassin hands. I looked at my hands as they lay against Raku’s pale gray neck and black mane and wondered if they would let me down.

  I saw Kaede only briefly, as she stepped into the palanquin outside the inn. She did not look at me. Lady Maruyama acknowledged our presence with a slight bow but did not speak. Her face was pale, her eyes dark-ringed, but she was composed and calm.

  It was a slow, laborious journey. Tsuwano had been protected from the worst of the storm behind its mountain barriers, but as we descended into the valley the full extent of the damage became clear. Houses and bridges had been washed away, trees uprooted, fields flooded. The village people watched us, sullen or with open anger, as we rode through the midst of their suffering, and added to it by commandeering their hay to feed our horses, their boats to carry us across the swollen rivers. We were already days overdue and had to press on at whatever cost.

  It took us three days to reach the fief border, twice as long as expected. An escort had been sent to meet us here: one of Iida’s chief retainers, Abe, with a group of thirty Tohan men, outnumbering the twenty Otori Lord Shigeru rode with. Sugita and the other Maruyama men had returned to their own domain after our meeting in Tsuwano.

  Abe and his men had been waiting a week and were impatient and irritable. They did not want to spend the time that the Festival of the Dead required in Yamagata. There was little love lost between the two clans; the atmosphere became tense and strained. The Tohan men were arrogant and swaggering. We Otori were made to feel that we were inferior, coming as supplicants, not equals. My blood boiled on Shigeru’s behalf, but he seemed unmoved, remaining as courteous as usual, and only slightly less cheerful.

  I was as silent as in the days when I could not speak. I listened for snatches of conversation that would reveal, like straws, the direction of the wind. But in Tohan country, people were taciturn and close. They knew spies were everywhere and walls had ears. Even when the Tohan men got drunk at night, they did so silently, unlike the noisy, cheerful fashion of the Otori.

  I had not been so close to the triple oak leaf since the day of the massacre at Mino. I kept my eyes down and my face averted, afraid I would see or be recognized by one of the men who had burned my village and murdered my family. I used my disguise as an artist, frequently taking out my brushes and ink stone. I went away from my true nature, becoming a gentle, sensitive, shy person who hardly spoke and who faded into the background. The only person I addressed was my teacher. Kenji had become as diffident and unobtrusive as I had. Occasionally we conversed in hushed tones about calligraphy or the mainland style of painting. The Tohan men despised and discounted us.

  Our stay in Tsuwano became like the memory of a dream to me. Had the sword fight really taken place? Had Kaede and I been caught and scorched by love? I hardly saw her for the next few days. The ladies lodged in separate houses and took their meals apart. It was not hard to act, as I told myself I must, as if she did not exist, but if I heard her voice my heart raced, and at night her image burned behind my eyes. Had I been bewitched?

  The first night Abe ignored me, but on the second, after the evening meal, when wine had made him belligerent, he stared at me for a long time before remarking to Shigeru, “This boy—some relative, I suppose?”

  “The son of a distant cousin of my mother,” Shigeru replied. “He’s the second oldest of a large family, all orphans now. My mother had always wanted to adopt him, and after her death I carried out her intention.”

  “And landed yourself with a milksop,” Abe laughed.

  “Well, sadly, maybe,” Shigeru agreed. “But he has other talents that are useful. He is quick at calculating, and writing, and has some skill as an artist.” His tone was patient, disappointed, as though I were an unwelcome burden to him, but I knew each comment like this served only to build up my character. I sat with eyes cast down, saying nothing.

  Abe poured himself more wine and drank, eyeing me over the bowl’s rim. His eyes were small and deep-set in a pockmarked, heavy-featured face. “Not much use in these times!”

  “Surely we can expect peace, now that our two clans are moving towards alliance,” Shigeru said quietly. “There may be a new flowering of the arts.”

  “Peace with the Otori maybe. They’ll cave in without a fight. But now the Seishuu are causing trouble, stirred up by that traitor, Arai.”

  “Arai?” Shigeru questioned.

  “A former vassal of Noguchi. From Kumamoto. His lands lie alongside your bride’s family’s. He’s been raising fighting men all year. He’ll have to be crushed before winter.” Abe drank again. An expression of malicious humor crept into his face, making the mouth curve more cruelly. “Arai killed the man who allegedly tried to violate Lady Shirakawa, then took offense when Noguchi exiled him.” His head swung towards me with the drunk’s second sight. “I’ll bet you’ve never killed a man, have you, boy?”

  “No, Lord Abe,” I replied. He laughed. I could sense the bully in him, close to the surface. I did not want to provoke him.

  “How about you, old man?” He turned towards Kenji, who in his role of insignificant teacher had been drinking wine with delight. He seemed half intoxicated, but in fact was far less drunk than Abe.

  “Although the sages teach us that the noble man may—indeed, should—avenge death,” he said in a high-pitched, pious voice, “I have never had cause to take such extreme action. On the other hand, the Enlightened One teaches his followers to refrain from taking the life of any sentient being, which is why I partake only of vegetables.” He drank with appreciation and refilled his bowl. “Luckily wine, brewed from rice, is included in that category.”

  “Don’t you have any warriors in Hagi, that you travel with such companions?” Abe scoffed.

  “I am supposed to be going to my wedding,” Shigeru returned mildly. “Should I be more prepared for battle?”

  “A man should always be prepared for battle,” Abe replied, “especially when his bride has the reputation yours has. You’re aware of it, I suppose?” He shook his massive head. “It would be like eating puffer fish. One bite might kill you. Doesn’t it alarm you?”

  “Should it?” Shigeru poured more wine and drank.

  “Well, she’s exquisite, I admit. It would be worth it!”

  “Lady Shirakawa will be no danger to me,” Shigeru said, and led Abe on to speak of his exploits during Iida’s campaigns in the East. I listened to his boasting and tried to discern his weaknesses. I had already decided I was going to kill him.

  THE NEXT DAY we came to Yamagata. It had been badly hit by the storm, with many dead and a huge loss of crops. Nearly as big as Hagi, it had been the second city in the Otori fief, until it had been handed over to the
Tohan. The castle had been rebuilt and given to one of Iida’s vassals. But most of the townspeople still considered themselves Otori, and Lord Shigeru’s presence was one more reason for unrest. Abe had hoped to be in Inuyama before the Festival of the Dead began, and was angry at being stuck in Yamagata. It was considered inauspicious to travel, except to temples and shrines, until the Festival was over.

  Shigeru was plunged into sadness, being for the first time at the place of Takeshi’s death. “Every Tohan man I see, I ask myself: Were you one of them?” he confided in me late that night. “And I imagine they ask themselves why they are still unpunished, and despise me for letting them live. I feel like cutting them all down!”

  I had never heard him express anything other than patience. “Then we would never get to Iida,” I replied. “Every insult the Tohan heaps on us will be avenged then.”

  “Your scholarly self is becoming very wise, Takeo,” he said, his voice a little lighter. “Wise and self-controlled.”

  The next day he went with Abe to the castle to be received by the local lord. He came back sadder and more disturbed than ever. “The Tohan seek to avert unrest by blaming the Hidden for the disasters of the storms,” he told me briefly. “A handful of wretched merchants and farmers were denounced and arrested. Some died under torture. Four are suspended from the castle walls. They’ve been there for three days.”

  “They’re still alive?” I whispered, my skin crawling.

  “They may last a week or more,” Shigeru said. “In the meantime, the crows eat their living flesh.”

  Once I knew they were there, I could not stop hearing them: at times a quiet groaning, at other times a thin screaming, accompanied in daylight by the constant cawing and flapping of the crows. I heard it all that night and the following day, and then it was the first night of the Festival of the Dead.

  The Tohan imposed a curfew on their towns, but the festival followed older traditions, and the curfew was lifted until midnight. As night fell we left the inn and joined the crowds of people going first to the temples and then to the river. All the stone lanterns that lined the approaches to the shrines were lit, and candles were set on the tombstones, the flickering lights throwing strange shadows that made bodies gaunt and faces skull-like. The throng moved steadily and silently as though the dead themselves had emerged from the earth. It was easy to get lost in it, easy to slip away from our watchful guards.

  It was a warm, still night. I went with Shigeru to the riverbank, and we set lighted candles adrift in fragile little boats laden with offerings for the dead. The temple bells were tolling, and chanting and singing drifted across the slow, brown water. We watched the lights float away on the current, hoping the dead would be comforted and would leave the living in peace.

  Except that I had no peace in my heart. I thought of my mother, my stepfather and my sisters, my long-dead father, the people of Mino. Lord Shigeru no doubt thought of his father, his brother. It seemed their ghosts would not leave us until they were avenged. All around us, people were setting their lit boats afloat, weeping and crying, and making my heart twist with useless sorrow that the world was how it was. The teaching of the Hidden, such as I remembered, came into my mind, but then I remembered that all those who had taught it to me were dead.

  The candle flames burned for a long time, growing smaller and smaller, until they looked like fireflies, and then like sparks, and then like the phantom lights you see when you gaze too long on flames. The moon was full, with the orange tinge of late summer. I dreaded going back to the inn, to the stuffy room where I would toss and turn all night and listen to the Hidden dying against the castle wall.

  Bonfires had been lit along the riverbank, and now people began to dance, the haunting dance that welcomes the dead, lets them depart, and comforts the living. Drums were beating and music playing. It lifted my spirits a little and I got to my feet to watch. In the shadows of the willow trees I saw Kaede.

  She was standing with Lady Maruyama, Sachie, and Shizuka. Shigeru stood up and strolled towards them. Lady Maruyama approached him, and they greeted each other in cool, formal language, exchanging sympathy for the dead and commenting on the journey. They turned, as was perfectly natural, to stand side by side and watch the dancing. But I felt I could hear the longing beneath their tone, and see it in their stance, and I was afraid for them. I knew they could dissemble—they had done so for years—but now they were entering a desperate endgame, and I feared they would throw away caution before the final move.

  Kaede was now alone on the bank, apart from Shizuka. I seemed to arrive at her side without volition, as though I had been picked up by spirits and put down next to her. I managed to greet her politely but diffidently, thinking that if Abe spotted me, he would simply think I was suffering from calf-love for Shigeru’s betrothed. I said something about the heat, but Kaede was trembling as though she were cold. We stood in silence for a few moments, then she asked in a low voice, “Who are you mourning, Lord Takeo?”

  “My mother, my father.” After a pause I went on, “There are so many dead.”

  “My mother is dying,” she said. “I hoped I would see her again, but we have been so delayed on this journey, I fear I will be too late. I was seven years old when I was sent as a hostage. I have not seen my mother or my sisters for over half my life.”

  “And your father?”

  “He is also a stranger to me.”

  “Will he be at your . . . ?” To my surprise my throat dried up, and I found I could not speak the word.

  “My marriage?” she said, bitterly. “No, he will not be there.” Her eyes had been fixed on the light-filled river. Now she looked past me at the dancers, at the crowd watching them.

  “They love each other,” she said, as though speaking to herself. “That’s why she hates me.”

  I knew I should not be there, I should not be talking to her, but I could not make myself move away. I tried to maintain my gentle, diffident, well-behaved character. “Marriages are made for reasons of duty and alliance. That does not mean they have to be unhappy. Lord Otori is a good man.”

  “I am tired of hearing that. I know he is a good man. I am only saying, he will never love me.” I knew her eyes were on my face. “But I know,” she went on, “that love is not for our class.”

  I was the one who was trembling now. I raised my head, and my eyes met hers.

  “So why do I feel it?” she whispered.

  I did not dare say anything. The words I wanted to say swelled up huge in my mouth. I could taste their sweetness and their power. Again I thought I would die if I did not possess her.

  The drums pounded. The bonfires blazed. Shizuka spoke out of the darkness. “It’s growing late, Lady Shirakawa.”

  “I am coming,” Kaede said. “Good night, Lord Takeo.”

  I allowed myself one thing, to speak her name, as she had spoken mine. “Lady Kaede.”

  In the moment before she turned away, I saw her face come alight, brighter than the flames, brighter than the moon on the water.

  · 8 ·

  e followed the women slowly back to the town, and then went to our separate lodging houses. Somewhere on the way the Tohan guards caught up with us, and we had their escort to the inn door. They stayed outside and one of our own Otori men kept watch in the passageway.

  “Tomorrow we will ride to Terayama,” Shigeru said as we prepared for bed. “I must visit Takeshi’s grave and pay my respects to the abbot, who was an old friend of my father’s. I have some gifts for him from Hagi.”

  We had brought with us many gifts. The packhorses had been laden with them, along with our own baggage, clothes for the wedding, food for the journey. I did not think anything more of the wooden box that we would carry to Terayama, or what it might contain. I was restless with other longings, other concerns.

  The room was as stuffy as I’d feared. I could not sleep. I heard the temple bells toll at midnight, and then all sounds faded away under the curfew, apart from the pitiful gr
oans of the dying from the castle walls.

  In the end I got up. I had no real plan in my head. I was just driven into action by sleeplessness. Both Kenji and Shigeru were asleep, and I could tell that the guard outside was dozing. I took the watertight box in which Kenji kept capsules of poison, and tied it inside my undergarment. I dressed in dark traveling clothes and took the short sword, thin garrotes, a pair of grapples, and a rope from their hiding place within the wooden chests. Each of these movements took a long time, as I had to execute them in complete silence, but time is different for the Tribe, slowing down or speeding up as we will it to. I was in no hurry, and I knew the two men in the room would not wake.

  The guard stirred as I stepped past him. I went to the privy to relieve myself, and sent my second self back past him into the room. I waited in the shadows until he dozed again, then went invisible, scaled the roof from the inner courtyard, and dropped down into the street.

  I could hear the Tohan guards at the gate of the inn, and I knew there would be patrols in the streets. With one part of my mind I was aware that what I was doing was dangerous to the point of madness, but I could not help myself. Partly I wanted to test the skills Kenji had taught me before we got to Inuyama, but mostly I just wanted to silence the groans from the castle so that I could go to sleep.

  I worked my way through the narrow streets, zigzagging towards the castle. A few houses still had lights behind the shutters, but most were already in darkness. I caught snatches of conversation as I went past: a man comforting a weeping woman, a child babbling as if in fever, a lullaby, a drunken argument. I came out onto the main road that led straight to the moat and the bridge. A canal ran alongside it, stocked against siege with carp. Mostly they slept, their scales shining faintly in the moonlight. Every now and then one would wake with a sudden flip and splash. I wondered if they dreamed.