The Tengu's Game of Go

by Lian Hearn

  “I could give you my sword, but my true weapons are not the sort that can be handed over. But I have not come to hurt any of you, least of all Shikanoko.” He looked around. “Where is he?”

  “In the forest,” Nagatomo said.

  “Then I will wait for him.” Mu perched his bony behind on one of the boulders in front of the wooden hut and grinned up at Ibara.

  “Come and sit next to me and tell me the story of your life.”

  Her palm still tingled. “There is nothing to tell.”

  “Well, get me something to drink, then.”

  “Get it yourself,” she replied, her own rudeness delighting her.

  “We drink only water,” Eisei remarked.

  “In that case it’s lucky I brought my own liquor.”

  From a pouch at his waist he produced a small bamboo flask, removed the stopper, and held it out to them. The two men declined, but Ibara grabbed it and took a sip and then, as all her senses welcomed the fiery liquid, another, deeper gulp.

  “Ha! You’ve missed that!”

  The last time she had tasted alcohol, Saburo had been alive.

  She handed the flask back to Mu and he raised it. “To the dead!” he said, mocking and serious at the same time.

  Gen turned his head and whimpered. When they followed his gaze, they saw Shikanoko on the edge of the clearing. Mu rose to his feet, taking a swig of liquor and handing the flask back to Ibara. She watched as the two men approached each other. They seemed about the same age. Shikanoko was the taller by a head, even without the antlered mask. Mu’s demeanor was humble, and he dropped to his knees and lowered his forehead to the ground.

  The lord hesitated for a moment and looked around. Then he stepped past the kneeling man as if deliberately ignoring him and continued walking toward the others. Gen ran, in his stiff awkward way, to Shikanoko’s side, licked his hand, and then went to Mu, barking anxiously like a dog.

  Shikanoko turned and went back. He knelt in front of Mu and taking him by the shoulders drew him into an embrace.

  Ibara drank quickly, taking no notice of Eisei’s disapproving glance.

  The horses, grazing in the clearing, raised their heads to watch. Tan walked with an inquisitive air toward the stranger.

  Shikanoko said something to Mu that Ibara could not hear, but it made him stop dead and look at the horse. She heard his laughter as Tan sniffed him. Mu sniffed back; they breathed into each other’s nostrils.

  It calms a horse, Saburo had said, long ago. Tears sprang into her eyes.

  “I suppose I had better prepare some food,” she said to hide them.

  There was a rabbit, caught two days before, pods of wild beans, a little dried fish, burdock and other mountain vegetables. All through the meal she watched Mu. Usually they shared the cooking among the three of them, but the arrival of the stranger had somehow turned her into a woman again and she undertook women’s tasks like she used to. She was annoyed and beguiled.

  The food was sparse, the meal quickly over. The sun slipped behind the western mountains and the shadows turned mauve. The air cooled slightly. Frogs croaked from the stream and night insects began to call. Mosquitoes whined around their necks and Nagatomo threw green twigs on the fire to make it smoke.

  Mu said, “Things cannot go on as they are.”

  “It is not my fault that Heaven is enraged,” Shikanoko replied.

  “But it is in your power to restore.”

  “Restore what? The Kakizuki are in exile. The Miboshi rule the whole country. Their choice of emperor sits on the Lotus Throne. I have nothing.”

  “Lord Kiyoyori is at your side and you have his sword, Jato, reforged for you. You have the Burnt Twins, and, in this woman, the instrument of Masachika’s death. You have your son, Takeyoshi, who is becoming a fine warrior. I have taught him myself, so I know what I’m talking about. You have the true emperor.”

  “Yoshimori? I most certainly do not! I have no idea where he is.”

  “But I know,” Mu said with a smile. “And that is why I have been sent to get you. He is with Lady Hina. I will take you to them.”

  Ibara’s blood rushed through her veins and her whole body tingled. The instrument of Masachika’s death! And Hina! Hina is alive!

  Mu gave her a grin as if he read her thoughts and then continued, to Shika, “And you have my brother Kiku, who has wealth, power, and an army of his own, which he has promised are all yours to command. He sent this as a sign.” He took the jade carving from the breast of his robe and held it out.

  Shika took it, gazing on it in wonder.

  “It was in Akuzenji’s hoard. Kiku kept it for you.”

  “I am surprised,” Shika said slowly. “He must have changed.”

  “He has. In some ways for the better, in some for the worse. Do you remember Gessho?”

  Shika nodded. “But what does Gessho have to do with Kiku?”

  “Kiku turned his skull into an object of power. It has made him almost invincible.”

  A long silence followed. Neither man moved until Tan neighed shrilly from the darkness and Shikanoko turned his head as if he was listening to a message.

  “I would come,” he said finally. “If I could come as a man. But I cannot appear before the Emperor as this creature, half stag.”

  His hands went to his face. His fingers touched the smooth bone.

  “Remove the mask, Mu, and I will accompany you.”

  “It can be removed only by someone who loves you,” Mu said, after a pause. “I’m not saying I don’t love you. I think I do. But I can’t take the mask from you, and nor, I think, can any of us here.”

  “Do you think we haven’t tried?” Nagatomo said out of the darkness.

  Shikanoko laughed bitterly. “I destroyed my one chance of love.”

  “We never do that,” Ibara said. “We are always given another chance.” Mu looked over the flames at her and she hoped he didn’t think she was talking about him. Then she hoped he did.

  “I believe I know who can remove the mask,” Mu said.

  Tan walked up and put his head over Shikanoko’s shoulder, rubbing against him. He stroked the horse’s face.

  Ibara said boldly, “It looks like Tan is telling you what to do.”

  “Maybe he is,” Shikanoko said. “I will know in the morning.”

  10

  SHIKANOKO

  He went away from the fire toward the small clearing by the spring. The long grass was dry and dead. Ragged holes showed where deer had been digging to get at the roots. The spring’s babble was muted. It had not rained all summer and whatever source fed the spring was drying up. He knew they could not remain there without water. It was one more reason to leave with Mu. If Yoshimori came to the throne would the drought end and the land recover?

  The others had fallen silent. Maybe they were asleep, though he knew they would take turns in keeping watch, as they had done for years. They had sacrificed their own lives to stay with him, they had kept him alive, nourished him with their friendship.

  What did I do to deserve that? What am I?

  He felt the mask as he had done earlier, let his fingers caress the bone of the deer’s skull, touched the lips, longed with all his heart to be free of it.

  Should I stay here and die in the forest? But then I condemn those who have been loyal to me to the same endless exile.

  Apart from the stags who cried in loneliness and yearning, the autumn forest had been emptying of sound. Birds flew south, insects chirped their final songs and buried themselves in the ground, or died. Scarlet and gold leaves covered the ground, rustling and dancing when the wind scattered them. Pine cones fell with a thump, and beech mast lay thick under the bare trees.

  An owl hooted. Shika could feel the frost taking hold. He pulled the bearskin around his shoulders. How long was it since Nagatomo had killed it? The years merged into one another. Had he been away for ten winters or a hundred?

  He thought about all Mu had told him. First his son, who
had had to grow up alone, just as he had. When he had first met Ibara, he had told her, Better he died in the water than grow up in this world of sorrow. But the boy had somehow raised himself, had managed to find Mu and learn the way of the bow and the sword. He imagined him like Takauji, a young warrior.

  An unfamiliar feeling came over him, stimulating and intense. After a few moments he identified it as curiosity. He said the boy’s name aloud, listening to how it sounded: Takeyoshi. He wanted to discover how he had turned out, he wanted to look in his face and see whom he resembled. Takeyoshi could not escape the fact that he was a warrior, the son of a princess.

  Next Akihime came into his mind, as strongly as if she stood before him. He thought he heard her say, “It was not you who killed me or caused my death. We disobeyed the gods; we were punished for it. Masachika took me prisoner, Aritomo ordered my torture, the Prince Abbot carried it out. Punish them if you will, but don’t punish yourself any longer. I was dying before the serpent bit me—maybe it saved me days of suffering. And although what we did together was wrong—we were so young, we knew nothing about the world—our son came from it.”

  He recalled Sesshin’s words: This is why you should never concern yourself over your fate; everything follows the laws of destiny and therefore happens for a purpose.

  He saw all his faults and mistakes, his temper, impulsiveness, greed, and pride.

  He had carried her memory in his heart, day and night, for years, and yet he had hardly known her and now he could not see her face, only her defiant stance as she faced him on the road. And at that moment he finally accepted that he would never see her again. His grief had run its course. Farewell, he said, I will find our son. Then he turned his thoughts to the other children whom he had tried to bring up, the ones Sesshin had warned him about. He had spared them, he must accept the consequences. He stroked the carved fawn, feeling its smooth jade surface. The gift touched him. He wanted to see Kiku and his brothers again.

  Mu had told him that Kiku had gained his extreme power from the skull of the monk Gessho. Shika let this idea come into his mind and contemplated it for a long time. He slowly became aware of the power spreading out from Kitakami, seeking ever greater control and domination. He had ignored Kiku and the others for too long. His own spiritual power, honed by the years of solitude and denial, stirred in response, stronger than ever.

  A little way from him, the horses moved and stamped, restless in the cold, their silver coats gleaming faintly in the starlight, their breath floating in small clouds. Sparks from the fire flew upward. Shika heard a low murmur of voices as Ibara took over the watch from Eisei.

  He thought about the horses’ lives, so entwined with his own, first Risu, then Nyorin, whom he had acquired after Akuzenji’s execution. He had wept when Risu died, both for her and for the boy he had been when she came into his life. And then the other stallion, Tan, who carried the spirit of Lord Kiyoyori within him. Shika might have died with Akuzenji and all the other bandits, but Kiyoyori had spared him. Had he repaid that debt or did he still owe Kiyoyori his life?

  He recalled his own voice saying, She is in love with Nyorin. I think she will have a foal next year, and a girl’s voice replied, I wish I could live with you and Risu and Nyorin and their foal. Why don’t we get married when I am old enough?

  Hina had loved him then. She must have saved his son, kept him hidden for years. He should at least thank her for that. And he should take Tan to her, so father and daughter could be reunited. He dared not hope for anything more.

  He could no longer ignore the truth: Heaven would not relinquish its stubborn desire to see Yoshimori restored to the Lotus Throne. And Shika could only bow to its will and accept that he was its instrument. He had within his grasp everything he needed for victory in that cause, and for his own revenge. He remembered Kongyo’s dream so many years ago.

  I saw you as tall as a giant, Kongyo had said. Your head rested on the mountains of the north and your feet on the southern islands. I woke convinced Heaven has a plan for you. Why else should you have escaped death so many times?

  Kongyo was dead, but his words remained. Then he heard Nagatomo’s voice as if he had spoken directly to him: You are a warrior. Act like one.

  Finally, as if in a dream, Shisoku’s words came back to him: When you have mastered the dance you will gain knowledge through the mask. You will know all the events of the world, you will see the future in dreams, and all your wishes will be granted.

  The great power he had been promised hardly interested Shika, except insofar as he would use it to control and contain Kiku, while bringing Yoshimori to the throne. In that case, it did not matter if he was condemned to wear the mask forever. He would crush the Emperor’s enemies and then retire again to the forest.

  The night passed. He did not sleep. Just before dawn he saw eyes shining around the edge of the clearing. The deer had come to graze. He stood and moved among them. They did not startle but circled him as he danced, for the last time, the deer dance in the Darkwood.

  One by one the others woke and came to join him. As the light strengthened he saw Takauji was among them. The young man must have known the movements of the deer dance since childhood. Shikanoko followed him in the autumn part of the dance, mastering the final ritual that he had never known. In the circling, interweaving patterns he saw his whole life and the part each of them had played in it, and the part he had played in theirs.

  When the dance was finished, he called Takauji to him and said formally, “I accept the service you offered me.”

  Takauji’s face lit up as he fell to his knees.

  “I am going to Miyako,” Shika said. “I am relying on you. You must hold the Snow Country for the Emperor.”

  “I will do more than that,” Takauji promised. “I will take Minatogura!”

  11

  HINA

  The acrobats had caught two suitable young male monkeys and were preparing to go back to Aomizu, but they were reluctant to leave without Take. The strange girl had come, in the eighth month, to tell the lady that he was staying with her father, but since then there had been no other messages, nor had Take returned.

  Hina did not know whether she should leave with them or stay. The images of the face in the mask and the skull had never left her mind, but they did not reappear in Sesshin’s book, and despite her daily study of it, along with fasting and meditation, no other sign was revealed.

  The captive monkeys screamed all night and their families hovered anxiously in the surrounding trees, crying in forlorn voices. Hina felt like adding her own voice to theirs. Come back, Take! Where are you? Come back!

  One morning she heard the sound of men’s voices, and went swiftly to hide herself behind the rocks around the hot spring. The pack horse raised its head from the grass and neighed in welcome.

  She caught sight of a splash of red through the trees. Yoshi dropped down from the branch where he had been sitting, chewing on a twig and playing with Noboru.

  “It’s Kinmaru and Monmaru!”

  Saru was soaking in the hot water. He leaped out naked and ran to the two men who were walking into the clearing. “What’s happened?” he called. “Why are you here? What’s wrong?”

  The older men still behaved like children, Hina thought, and from a distance they still looked childlike, but when she approached she saw that the sudden aging common to acrobats had fallen on them. Their joints had succumbed to the demands made on them over the years, their faces were lined, they moved like old men.

  “Lady Yayoi,” Kinmaru said, and Monmaru bowed his head, yet she sensed a reserve in them toward her. She wondered what accusations had been made of her in her absence. Had they been sent to bring her back to be punished for murder?

  “A message came from Lady Asagao,” Monmaru began immediately, not even waiting to sit down. “She was taken to Matsutani by Lord Masachika. She must have made a good impression; maybe she spoke on our behalf. Anyway, the lord has summoned us, with the musicians,
to entertain a great assembly, including Lord Aritomo himself, at a hunt in the southern Darkwood. Saru, you, and Yoshi must go with us. We are halfway to Matsutani, there is no point in going home first. The others will meet us there. They’ve already set out with the monkeys and all our equipment.”

  “It’s a great honor,” Kinmaru said. “And we will be richly rewarded, Asagao says. These lords know how to give generously. But we must leave at once, we have less than half a month.”

  “What about them?” Yoshi said, indicating the captive monkeys.

  “You’ll have to let them go,” Kinmaru said. “We can’t risk taking young, untrained monkeys with us.”

  Saru looked upset. “Then we’ve wasted the whole summer here. These are really promising ones, too.”

  “You can come back next year,” Monmaru consoled him. “This is too good an opportunity to miss.”

  “Yoshi should take the young monkeys home with the horse,” Hina said. She had been listening to the conversation with mounting dread.

  They all stared at her. “We can’t perform without Yoshi,” Saru said.

  “Where’s Take?” Kinmaru looked around. “He’ll need to come, too.”

  “He’s gone off somewhere,” Saru replied. “We can manage without him, but that’s all the more reason why Yoshi must come.”

  He flung an arm around his friend’s shoulder and hugged him. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

  “Yoshi,” Hina said. “I need to talk to you alone.”

  Yoshi shrugged his shoulders slightly. His usually cheerful expression turned sullen as he followed Hina. Kon swooped overhead, calling piercingly.

  Yoshi looked up. “I hate that bird,” he muttered. “I wish it would go away.”

  When they were out of earshot, Hina said, “You must not go. You will be in great danger.”

  He made no response, just stared at the ground.

  “Yoshi! Look at me! Do you understand what I am saying?”

  He looked at her then, his expression unreadable.

  “Do you remember anything about the past, where you came from, who you are?”