by Lian Hearn
“Goodbye, Takemaru,” Yayoi whispered.
* * *
The lute quieted as the men jogged and the palanquin swayed. The stuffy heat and the motion made Yayoi sleepy and she nodded off several times, dreaming in brief, lucid snatches, then jolting suddenly awake. She could see nothing outside, only had the sensation of moving from light into shade, splashing through water, then going up a steep hill, the palanquin wobbling alarmingly as the men negotiated the steps. Finally, the palanquin was set down. Fuji raised the blind and stepped out.
Yayoi followed her, glad to breathe the cool mountain air. Below her, framed by twisted pine trees, lay Lake Kasumi. She could see smoke rising from the villages around its edge and the tiny sails of boats, gleaming yellow in the sun. Behind her a bell tolled. It must be midday.
“This is a temple for women,” Fuji said. “I have sent a few girls here to be looked after, until they are old enough.”
Old enough for what? Yayoi wondered, her mind shying away from the answer. She concentrated on what was around her: the vermilion wooden gate, the flowering mountain cherries, the steps that led upward beneath pines that curved over them like a dark tunnel.
Fuji began to climb them swiftly. Yayoi had to trot to keep up with her. The stones were set too high for a child and, by the time they reached the top, her legs ached. Someone must have been told of their arrival, for at the top of the steps a nun was waiting to greet them. Behind her was a garden, with a spring that filled a cistern then overflowed and ran trickling away from them into a large fishpond.
“Our abbess asks that you will take some refreshment with her.” She looked at Yayoi with cool, unfriendly eyes. “You have another foundling for us to look after?”
“She is called Yayoi,” Fuji said. “I would prefer as few people as possible to know she is here. It will not be for long.”
“No,” the nun agreed, her eyes appraising Yayoi’s height and age. “I suppose she can join the other girls in prayer and study.” She turned and began to walk toward a low building at the side of the temple. Its roof was curved at each end in an upward swoop, like wings, as if it would take flight at any moment.
The nun paused and said to Fuji, “Asagao will want to see you. She can be this girl’s friend. They are about the same age.” She clapped her hands.
A girl came from the building and dropped to her knees before Fuji, who stepped forward to take her hands and lift her to her feet. She looked carefully at her, much as the nun had studied Yayoi. The girl blushed. Yayoi thought her very pretty.
“Lady Fuji,” Asagao said. “I am so happy. I missed you so much.”
“Sweet child, I have brought someone to be your friend. Please take care of her for me.”
“Go with her to the girls’ room and show her where everything is,” the nun said. “Give me your things. Well, well, what have you brought with you? An old lute and an even older text? The lute will be useful, but you won’t need the text here. Don’t worry, we will keep it safe for you. When you leave, you may take it with you.”
“Reverend Nun, may we walk a little way with you and Lady Fuji?” Asagao pleaded.
She had an enchanting manner and the nun was charmed. “Very well, since it is so long since you have seen your benefactress. Just as far as the fishpond.”
Red and white carp swam peacefully in the large stone basin, beneath lotus leaves from which the flower stems were just beginning to emerge.
“See how the red and the white can live together?” Asagao said. “Why is our world so torn by war?”
Fuji smiled. “You are very poetic, my dear. I can see you have been learning well. But it is best not to speak of the red and the white. As far as the Miboshi are concerned, there are now only the white.”
“Yet in this pond the white are outnumbered by the red,” Asagao said, so quietly only Yayoi heard. She wondered what her story was and how she had ended up under Fuji’s protection. The two older women walked on and the girls were left alone.
* * *
Over the next few days she was able to learn more about Asagao and the other girls. Their ages ranged from six to fourteen. The oldest was gentle, rather tall, as slender as a reed, and seemed shy and younger than her age. Her name was Yuri. The next oldest was Asagao, born the year before Yayoi. Then there were two sisters, so close in age they looked like twins, with red cheeks and a stocky plumpness that the meager food at the temple did nothing to diminish. They were ten and nine years old and were called Sada and Sen. The youngest, the six-year-old, was Teru, a thin, wiry little girl who reminded Yayoi of the monkey acrobat children. She wondered if she was of the same family and, if so, why she had been sent away to the temple.
She mentioned this to Asagao one night as they were preparing for bed. The older girls helped the younger ones, combing their hair, hanging their day clothes on the racks. Teru had fallen asleep while Yayoi was smoothing out the wrinkles from her robe. Yuri was at the far end of the room, singing quietly to Sada and Sen, who were already lying curled together. Her voice sounded thin and mournful. The plum rains had begun and everything was damp. The water fell in a steady cascade from the roofs, drowning all other sound. In the dim days, the girls became both febrile and depressed.
“Lady Fuji probably bought her from her family,” Asagao said. “Many parents have no choice. Daughters fetch a good price. Everyone wants girls these days.”
“Is that what happened to you?” Yayoi was ashamed of asking so directly, but could not control her curiosity.
“My mother was one of Lady Fuji’s entertainers,” Asagao whispered. “I am not meant to speak of it, but I want to tell you. My father was a Kakizuki warrior. They fell in love, he bought her freedom and took her to his house in Miyako. Women on the boats don’t have children—you will find out, I suppose—so I was lucky to be born at all. When the capital fell to the Miboshi, my father did not flee with the Kakizuki, but sent me to Lady Fuji, and killed my mother and himself.”
“How horrible, how sad,” Yayoi murmured, wondering how Asagao could still grow up so pretty and so charming.
“I think you would find all the women on the boats are the same these days,” Asagao said. “They all hide tragic stories of loss and grief beneath the songs and the smiles.”
She stroked Yayoi’s cheek. “I am sure we will be friends.”
At that moment Yayoi wanted nothing more. “Let’s be friends forever,” she said, seizing Asagao’s hand and pressing it.
* * *
The following morning Reverend Nun came into the room where the girls were practicing serving tea and other drinks, though water replaced wine, taking turns to be the male guest and the female entertainer. Playing the role of the men made the two sisters giggle uncontrollably, and Sada, in particular, proved extremely inventive in portraying drunken behavior. Asagao was equally gifted as the entertainer, distracting and calming the guests with songs and dances. They did not have to pretend to be in love with her. Even Reverend Nun watched for a few moments, her face softening. Then she recollected why she had come and said, “Yayoi, our reverend abbess wishes to see you.”
This message was obviously shocking to the other girls, who all stopped what they were doing and stared openmouthed. Sada broke off in mid-sentence and began to hiccup for real. Reverend Nun gave her a disapproving look. “Perhaps this role play is becoming a little too realistic. Asagao, put away the bedding. The rest of you can do your dance practice now with Yuri. Come, Yayoi.”
The cloisters that linked the buildings around the main hall were flooded and rain poured down on each side. It was exhilarating, like running through a waterfall. Yayoi found she was stamping deliberately in puddles, as if she were a little girl again, playing with her brother, Tsumaru, and Kaze and Chika, the children of Tsumaru’s nurse.
“Walk properly,” Reverend Nun scolded her when one unexpectedly deep puddle sent water splashing up her legs.
At the end of the cloister stood a small detached residence, not much more than a hut. On th
e narrow veranda a ginger cat sat with its paws tucked under it, looking morose. The hut was old and weatherbeaten; the bamboo blinds over the doorway hung crookedly and were black with mold. One of the steps was broken and there were several boards missing from the walls and shingles from the roof.
“Did you say the Abbess wanted to see me?” Yayoi said doubtfully.
“Yes—don’t ask me why! She has never asked to see any of the girls before. It is most unusual.”
“And she lives here?”
“Our abbess is an unworldly woman. She does not concern herself with material things. She chose this hut as her abode when she took over the headship of our community. She agreed to it only if she was permitted to live in this way, as humbly as the poorest peasant. The former abbess was very different, very different. We all miss her.”
Yayoi was hoping Reverend Nun would expound more on the former abbess, who sounded interesting, but at that moment a voice called from inside.
“Send the child in.”
Yayoi stepped up onto the veranda, avoiding the broken step, and pushed aside the bamboo blind. Gloomy as the day was, it was even darker inside, though one small oil lamp burned in front of a statue that Yayoi recognized, when her eyes adjusted to the dimness, as the horse-headed Kannon. A flowering branch had been placed in front of it and the sweet smell filled the room, mingling with incense, not quite concealing the whiff of dampness and mold.
“Come here. I am told your name is Yayoi.” The woman stretched out a pale hand and beckoned to Yayoi to approach. Her head was shaved and her skull gleamed in the light, as if it were carved from ivory. Her features were ordinary—snub nose, wide mouth, small, rather close-set eyes—and her build, though not at all fat, was solid. She wore a simple robe, dyed a deep maroon. Her feet were tucked under her, reminding Yayoi of the cat outside.
Yayoi saw the Kudzu Vine Treasure Store, lying on a shabby cushion beside the Abbess.
The older woman followed her gaze. “You brought this with you. Can you read it?”
“I can read a little,” Yayoi said. “But it often seems very difficult.”
“I should say it does!” The Abbess laughed, a surprisingly merry note. “Many would call it the most difficult text in the world, if they were lucky enough to get their hands on it. Do you mind telling me how it came into your possession?”
There was something about her that made Yayoi relax, as if the woman were a relative, an old aunt or a grandmother, neither of which Yayoi had ever known. She knelt down on the cushion, moving the text aside, happy to feel its familiar touch beneath her hand.
“An old man gave it to me. I was interested in plants and healing when I was little. I used to brew up potions from dandelion, burdock roots, charcoal, and try to get the dogs and cats to drink them, when they were sick. Master … he, the old man, came upon me one day and asked me seriously about my ingredients and measurements and if I was keeping records of the results. Later he gave me the Kudzu Vine Treasure Store and said I would find many cures in it, but I haven’t got to that bit yet.” She hesitated for a moment and then said confidingly, “It only lets me read certain parts.”
“Oh yes,” said the Abbess. “It is a text of great power, but I can see it would be tricky. This old man, can you tell me his name?”
“Master Sesshin,” Yayoi said, and immediately wished she had not.
“Don’t be afraid,” the Abbess said. “Only truth is spoken in this hut. Truth is what I seek: true thought, true sight, true speech. This Master Sesshin, what kind of person was he?”
“He had a lot of books. He lived in my father’s house, I don’t know why, but for as long as I can remember he was there. Even when my mother was alive, before Lady Tama…” She recalled her stepmother’s cruelty and fell silent.
“What is it that Lady Tama did?” the Abbess prompted.
“She had his eyes put out,” Yayoi whispered, “and she drove him away, into the Darkwood.”
“Poor man,” said the Abbess. “And poor Lady Tama, who has added such darkness to her life. Was she your father’s second wife?”
“My mother died when I was very young,” Yayoi said. “My grandfather took Lady Tama from her husband, my uncle, and made my father marry her.”
“Ah, what trouble these old men cause with their attempts to control everything! If only they could foresee the ripples that go on through generations!” The Abbess said nothing more for a few moments but took Yayoi’s hand and stroked it gently.
“My husband died,” she said finally. “I was still a young woman, and we had one son. I had been married at my father’s command. I had not seen my husband previously. But I came to adore him, and he me, I believe. He died in the north. After his death, his brother begged me to marry him and swore he would preserve the estate for my son, but my grief was so great I could not bear to look at either of them, for they both resembled my dead husband. I chose to leave my son in his uncle’s care and I renounced the binding ties of love and affection. I wanted to know the truth of this treacherous, cruel world, and why humans have to live lives filled with such deep pain.”
“Did you find any answers?” Yayoi asked.
“In a way. We worship the goddess of healing and compassion here, and she has helped me. But I missed my son terribly, and when I was told he had died in the mountains my pain was no less intense than it had been for his father.”
A long silence followed.
“What am I to do here?” Yayoi asked, not knowing how to respond to the Abbess’s disclosures. She thought of her own uncle, her own mother and father. Why were some forced to die and others permitted to live? Where did the dead go? Did they still see all that took place on earth? How could they watch those they loved and not grieve over them and long to be with them? Why did their spirits not return more often?
“Lady Fuji has asked us to take care of you and teach you all you need to know. We do this for several girls she has sent to us. In return, she pays for the upkeep of our temple, our food, and so on. And she protects us. She has many powerful friends. There are not a few, these days, who are offended at the idea of women running their own affairs. They would like to impose a male priest to keep an eye on us. Times are changing, my dear Yayoi; even in this remote place we can sense it. The Miboshi are warriors, not swayed by gentler pursuits as the Kakizuki were.”
“Can I stay here, always?” Yayoi said. She did not want to be reminded of the power struggles in the capital in which her father had died.
The Abbess said gently, “I’m afraid Lady Fuji has other plans for you. We try to give the girls skills, both physical and spiritual, so they may live the best life they can. I see you can read and write, but do you know how to calculate?”
Yayoi shook her head.
“Well, I will teach you that. And you will come to me once a week and we will read your text together.”
* * *
“What did she say to you?” Asagao asked jealously. “None of us has ever been sent for. What is she like?”
Yayoi had returned to the girls’ room, puzzled by the conversation with the Abbess. Asagao was alone; the other girls were dancing in the exercise hall. Asagao had been told to put away the bedding, after which she was supposed to sweep the floor, but she was still lying on one of the mats, the broom abandoned at her side. Her face was flushed, her sash loosened.
“I am to learn to calculate,” Yayoi replied. She did not want to speak about the Kudzu Vine Treasure Store.
“Why? Are they going to marry you to a merchant?” Asagao giggled. “You will be totting up how much rice you have sold and working out the value of the bean harvest. What a waste of a beautiful girl!”
“The Abbess will be giving me lessons herself,” Yayoi said.
Asagao pouted. “You are going to be everyone’s favorite. I shall be jealous. But what was the Abbess like?”
“She is rather like a cat. In fact she has a cat, a ginger one. She is merry and playful, but you feel she might scratch at
any time.” Yayoi looked at Asagao sprawled on the mat, saw the translucent white of her skin. “Hadn’t you better hurry up? Reverend Nun will be angry if she catches you with the bedding not put away and the floor unswept.”
“I have been practicing for my first time.” Asagao giggled again. “I can’t help myself. It’s so much fun. Yuri showed me. You know she is leaving soon? Here, I’ll show you. Lie down and we’ll pretend I’m your merchant husband.”
Yayoi’s heart was beating fast, with a kind of terror. She could not put it into words, but she suddenly saw her future. She turned and ran from Asagao, ran from the room, out into the garden. Her eyes were filling with tears. She came to the top of the steps. Where would she go, if she did run away? The choices seemed stark. She could stay where she was, and hand control of her life and her body over to these others, or she could die. By this time sobs were shaking her. She crouched down, her head in her hands. She did not want to die. But she did not want to go where they intended she should either.
She heard someone behind her, and Asagao put her arms around her.
“Don’t cry,” the other girl soothed her. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry I upset you. Our lives may be hard, but they will have pleasures, too. Maybe you are too young to understand now, but one day you will. And we will always be friends, I promise you.”
They heard the Reverend Nun calling them.
“I suppose I had better finish the floor,” Asagao said.
2
BARA
A little way from the capital, while they could still smell the smoke from the fires at Ryusonji, the fugitives, Shikanoko and the Burnt Twins, paused in their flight at a remote temple. Eisei insisted they bury the Autumn Princess though Nagatomo thought Shikanoko, numbed and silenced by grief, would have ridden on with her dead body until he too passed away. The temple was neglected and the monks, whom Eisei knew, were reluctant and taciturn, yet Nagatomo thought he would not mind it as a final resting place, against the side of the mountain, looking out over the narrow valley where the flooded fields reflected the bamboo groves and the clouds, and the wind sighed in the cedars. The funeral was hasty, with little ceremony. The lord, as Nagatomo called Shikanoko in his mind, stayed with the horses, watching from a distance.