by Lian Hearn
A rider on a brown horse pushed past the stallion, dismounted, drew his sword, and approached the bushes where Masachika was concealed.
“Come out and show yourself!” The voice was curiously high, like a woman’s.
He came out, his hand on Jinan. Haru spoke from the rear of the line. “It is Masachika.”
She rode behind the man with the black face covering whom he had seen earlier, and Eisei followed them, his ruined face uncovered. Then came Shikanoko himself, on an older white horse, surely the stallion Masachika had found at Nishimi and sent to Ryusonji. He looked back at the black-maned horse and saw the young woman properly. Her expression chilled him to the depths of his being. He felt she saw through him and judged him, and so did the horse. It must be Hina. If she and Shikanoko had come a day earlier, surely Aritomo would have forgiven him everything.
He could hardly bring himself to care. He said, more from habit than any real conviction, “Aritomo has left. He must be taking Yoshimori to the capital. An attack is being launched even now, by sea, on Rakuhara. Take me to Kuromori and I will help you plan a counterattack to rescue the Emperor.”
Shikanoko’s gaze swept over him. Masachika quailed before the expressionless eyes. Shikanoko said merely, “Ride on,” and as the others obeyed, “Ibara! He is yours!”
The black-maned horse gave a loud cry so full of sorrow and anger that Masachika felt another wave of grief engulf him. Within moments all but two of them had disappeared down the track. He called out helplessly, “Shikanoko! I could have helped you. We are on the same side now.”
Ibara was the one who had first spoken to Masachika. She was raising her sword. “Go ahead, Mu,” she said over her shoulder, to the smaller man who had remained with her. “I don’t need you.”
“I wouldn’t dare suggest you do,” the other replied. “But I like to watch you in action, so I’ll wait till you’ve finished.”
“It won’t take long,” the woman said.
“I see you are going to kill me,” Masachika said. “You don’t know how great a favor you are doing me. But can you tell me why?”
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
He searched his memory, but there had been so many women. He had forgotten all their faces, except Tama’s.
“My name is Ibara. And the groom you murdered? Have you forgotten him?”
Now he was able to place her. “The man who guided me over the mountains,” he said. “You were at Nishimi. You were mad with grief. I spared your life.” It seemed almost humorous. He could have killed her then, all those years ago. Now that the end was so near his heart had lightened.
“His name was Saburo,” she said, as stern as the lord of Hell in judgment. “We loved each other. You killed him, you caused the death of the Autumn Princess, and because of you my lord, Yukikuni no Takaakira, was forced to take his own life.”
The dead crowded around him, clamoring for justice.
“Kill me now,” he pleaded. “Be quick!”
“With pleasure,” Ibara said.
His eyes were playing tricks on him. It seemed to be Tama standing before him with the sword. He felt profoundly grateful to her. She would punish him and then she would forgive him, be his guide across the three-streamed river of death as she had been in life.
The sword swept. He felt the blow but no pain.
“Tama!” he whispered as he fell.
17
ARITOMO
Once back in Miyako, Aritomo moved swiftly to secure the capital. Every road into it was heavily guarded. His warriors roamed the streets day and night, arresting anyone acting suspiciously and rounding up all those known to have had Kakizuki connections. The imperial lute, Genzo, was locked away. The prisoners were confined in cells in Ryusonji.
He waited anxiously for Masachika, for he was eager to conduct the execution. After several days passed and Masachika still did not return, he began to wonder what could have happened to delay him. Only then did he remember the testament the woman had handed over. He issued orders for it to be brought to him.
He read it in mounting disbelief at all Masachika had concealed from him: Kiyoyori’s daughter was alive and was probably Lady Fuji’s murderer; Akihime had had a son who also survived. Who were these people, weak and insignificant, women, children, who were undermining his rule? Who were the riverbank people who had concealed them for so long? Their existence was an affront to him. They lived beyond his regulations, they obeyed none of his laws. He set about interrogating and punishing them, starting with Asagao, Masachika’s woman who had played the lute. She was only the first of them to die under torture.
It was no great surprise that Masachika had been ready to betray him: he had never trusted him. More unexpected and insulting was the Empress’s plan to supplant him. The only thing that comforted him in his shock and rage was his secret: he would outlive them all. What if he did not sleep at night or eat in the day; what if his body seemed to be failing him at the time when he most needed his strength, his flesh melting from his bones; what if when he dozed briefly from exhaustion he was assailed by nightmares? He was not ill; these symptoms were the price to be paid for immortality, the way the body learned to cheat death. He continued to drink the lacquer tea and the water from the well at Ryusonji.
He let a day and a night pass after reading the testament while he reflected on all its implications. Masachika would never come back to the capital. Either he had already killed himself or more likely he had fled. Aritomo vowed to track him down. The Empress and her son would also have to be dealt with, but how would he rebuke them? He would separate them, for a start. The Emperor must move immediately into the new palace. Maybe Lady Natsue could be exiled. Now that Aritomo held Yoshimori, she would have to stop her ridiculous plotting against him.
Arinori’s name had been mentioned several times in the interrogations, as the protector of Lady Yayoi, who had turned out to be Kiyoyori’s daughter, the one who had found her at the temple and procured the privilege of being her first lover. Aritomo longed to question him, but Arinori had sailed to the west, leading the attack against the Kakizuki. No word had come from him. Aritomo did not believe the surprise attack could fail; he was impatient to hear of the annihilation of his enemies. But troubling signs began to manifest themselves.
Late the following afternoon when he went to Ryusonji a white dove inexplicably dropped dead from the sky, in front of his horse, feathers fluttering after it like miniature Miboshi banners. As he crossed a bridge, he heard a voice say, distinctly, “The white one is spoiled. Chuck it away.” In the cloister he heard another voice, accompanied by a lute, singing a ballad about the fall of the Miboshi and the return of Kiyoyori.
It was Sesshin, whom Aritomo had had confined in a room in his own palace. Wondering how he had escaped, he told two of his men to bring the old man to him. They returned, one of them carrying the lute, the other holding Sesshin by the arm. Sesshin again seemed to have forgotten who Aritomo was.
“What did those words mean?” Aritomo demanded. “Were they a prophecy?”
“The past and the future are one,” Sesshin mumbled. “Sometimes I sing of one, sometimes of another. But where’s my lute?”
He rambled for a while in a way no one understood, before beginning to sing again.
The dragon’s child
Sleeps in the lake.
Where is his father?
Where is his sister?
When the deer’s child calls
He will awaken.
He broke off suddenly and sniffed the air. “Someone is very ill. Someone is dying. But where’s my lute? Who stole my lute?”
“I am not dying,” Aritomo said in fury. “I am like you; I will live forever. Break the lute! Destroy it!”
“Shall we kill him, lord?” asked one of the warriors, while the other smashed the lute against a column and then stamped on it.
“No!” he replied, seized by superstitious fear. “Send him away. Banish him. Let me never hear his voice again.”
He did not wait to be announced to Lady Natsue, but burst into her apartment, pushing her ladies aside and ordering them to leave.
She sat immobile, outraged, indicating with her head that he should bow. When he did not her eyes flashed in anger. She said in an icy voice, “I must congratulate Lord Aritomo. You have found Yoshimori. You have achieved all I asked of you. But why do you delay any further? You must execute him at once.”
“I will,” he said, and then, “Your Majesty should know that you will not see the Matsutani lord, Masachika, again.”
She went still and lowered her gaze.
“I don’t expect him to show his face in the capital, but if he does he, too, will be executed. I don’t have to tell you why, but we will not discuss it further.”
When she said nothing, he went on. “I will not be overthrown.”
She sat in silence for several moments, only a faint flush at her neck revealing her rage. Then she said, “Where are the werehawks?”
“The werehawks?” he repeated. “They flew away.”
“They should have flown straight back to Ryusonji, if you were unable to win their obedience. One werehawk has returned, but it is older and has some gold feathers. It sits on the roof above the prisoners’ cells and calls in an intolerable way. The other two must have gone to someone else—the only person who could control them is the one who destroyed my brother, the deer’s child, Shikanoko. You will not be safe until he is dead.”
Sesshin’s song came back to him: When the deer’s child calls / He will awaken.
“Shikanoko will come here,” Aritomo said. “And I will be ready for him. I have no more to say to you now. You will have to move away from the capital. I will inform you where that is to be. Let your son know this: his position is upheld by me. He may be the Emperor, but I hold all the power.”
Dusk was falling as he left. He saw the werehawk keeping watch on the roof and could not resist the impulse to listen to the prisoners, hungry to know all he could of Yoshimori before he put an end to his life. He told his men to go on to the gate and went silently to the outside of the cell.
At first there was only silence, then he heard one, not Yoshimori, the other one, whose name he had been told was something ridiculous like Sarumaru, say, “It’s true, isn’t it? You really are the Emperor?”
“No!” Yoshimori said. “It’s all a mistake.”
“Then why does the lute play for you?” Saru demanded.
“I don’t know,” Yoshimori said quietly.
“Don’t lie to me,” the other exclaimed. “Not after all we have been to each other. I was there on the boat when we pulled Yayoi and Take from the water. It played then. And that crazy bird, Kon, that’s why it follows you, isn’t it? Where did you come from?”
“I hardly remember,” Yoshimori said. “I know a young woman took me away from a burning palace and told me to pretend I was someone else. But before that, everything is confused. I don’t know if it is a memory or a dream. I was carried everywhere—I wanted to run, but the women wouldn’t let me. My father was addressed as Prince, my mother as Princess, but my real life, the one I do remember, only began shortly before I met you in the Darkwood.”
“None of it matters since they are going to kill us,” Saru said.
“Let’s pray together,” Yoshimori whispered, and he began the words of a prayer Aritomo had never heard before. He shuffled closer to the door.
“Someone’s coming!” Saru cried. “Are they going to take us out and execute us now?”
Aritomo froze. After a long silence he heard Yoshimori say quietly, “The Secret One is with us, just as the priest always told us. He will never forsake us.”
“But if you are the Emperor,” Saru said, sniffing as if through tears, “you are descended from the gods. You are divine!”
“I don’t dare think that about myself,” Yoshimori replied.
“Why are we forbidden to kill when all around us the beasts kill each other, men slaughter them in their hundreds, like in the great hunt we witnessed, and think nothing of taking human life? Even animals fight for their lives. If we were not forbidden to fight we could defend ourselves. A cornered rat has more courage than we have.”
“All living beings fear death,” Yoshimori said. “That’s why we should not inflict it on any of them. I suppose you are sorry that you found me in the forest? I am more sorry than I can say, for causing this suffering to you and all our friends.”
“I would die to save your life,” Saru said. “You know that, don’t you? Didn’t I pretend to be you, when we were first seized? I would even kill to save you.”
“Better to leave it all in the hands of the Secret One,” Yoshimori said.
“I am not sure I believe in that god any longer,” Saru said in an anguish-filled voice.
“At least Kai is safe,” Yoshi said very quietly. “That must be part of his plan, for if she had not been carrying our child she would have come with us. I don’t fear my own death, but I dread hers.”
The silence deepened over the temple. The musicians had quietened. No one sang; no one screamed. It was almost raining. A dank drizzle filled the air, and the eaves dripped with moisture. The bird called from the roof, startling Aritomo.
“That’s Kon!” Saru said suddenly. “It’s still around. Why doesn’t it go for help?”
“I don’t think anyone can help us now,” Yoshimori said.
Aritomo waited for a long time, but neither of them spoke again. He returned to his palace deeply disturbed by all he had heard. The bird might go for help? Help from whom? Kiyoyori’s daughter? Shikanoko? Yoshimori and the other acrobats belonged to some hitherto unknown sect? He had an unborn child? Was Aritomo going to have to scour the Eight Islands all over again to find another supposed heir to the throne?
* * *
Messengers came that night, two of them, faces ashen with fear. Aritomo had the reputation of summarily executing bearers of bad news. There had been a sea battle. The Kakizuki had been forewarned. Arinori’s fleet had sailed into a trap, carried by the tide into the waiting warships. He was dead and most of his men drowned, the ships sent to the bottom of the Encircled Sea. Shortly after, others came from the opposite direction, from the east. Yukikuni no Takauji was in open rebellion and was laying siege to Minatogura.
“The pretender, Yoshimori, dies tomorrow,” Aritomo declared. Vomit rose in his throat and he tried to hold it down but could not. Pain tore through him. For a moment he thought savagely that the messengers’ deaths would ease it, but then he reminded himself he would need every man he had. The Kakizuki would certainly attempt to return to the capital. He must prepare an army to counteract and surprise them. But whom could he trust, now that Arinori and Masachika were gone? Someone had betrayed his plans. There must be spies everywhere. He groaned loudly.
His attendants tried to persuade him to rest, but he could not lie down with any ease. He was dressed and ready before dawn, and as he paced the floor waiting for daybreak he heard the steady splash of water from the eaves, a sound so unfamiliar for a moment he did not recognize it.
The Emperor is in the capital and it is raining.
18
HINA
Hina stood beside Tan in front of the west gate at Matsutani. It was the only part of the building still intact; the house, the pavilions, the stables and other outbuildings were smouldering ruins, charred wood, ash that was once thatch.
In their niche, among the carvings, the eyes gleamed. She had not seen them since she had left them at Nishimi, when she had fled all those years ago with Take.
“They are Sesshin’s eyes, Father,” she murmured to Kiyoyori’s spirit. She had fallen into the habit of telling him everything, and even when she did not put her thoughts into words, she felt he understood them. “Do you remember when we found them on the ground after the earthquake? They make you see yourself as you really are, not as you wish you were.”
Ibara rode up behind her and dismounted. She said t
o Hina, “It is done. Masachika is dead.”
The horse shuddered slightly and bowed its head three times.
“So soon after my stepmother died,” Hina said. “In the end they were not parted for long. May they find peace together and be reborn into a better life.”
“You are more forgiving than me, Lady Hina. I don’t know enough about her, but I hope he rots in Hell!”
Ibara’s breath caught in her throat and then she said, “Revenge is not as sweet as I thought it would be. Why should I feel regret and pity now, for all his mistakes and my own?”
“It is the eyes,” Hina said. “Under their gaze, you see yourself without the armor of your self-regard, and in that light you can only feel regret, remorse, and pity.”
Tan bowed his head and nuzzled her shoulder.
It was late afternoon, the sky was covered in clouds, and the air felt damp as though rain might fall at any moment. Nagatomo and Eisei had fashioned torches from burning wood.
Shikanoko called to them, “We must ride on. If the spirits have returned to the gateposts, let them remain there. Nothing is left for them to destroy. Aritomo and Yoshimori are more than a day ahead of us. We have no time to waste.”
Hina thought she heard a whisper.
“Shikanoko is here!”
“I heard his voice, didn’t you?”
“I did! I heard his voice!”
Hina wondered aloud, “Should I bring the eyes?” There was nothing left for them to keep watch over and it seemed fitting that they should be with the Kudzu Vine Treasure Store and the medicine stone that she carried in her bag.
Tan nodded vigorously.
“I don’t have anything to put them in,” Hina said.
“Here.” Ibara handed her a small bamboo box, empty apart from some scarlet maple leaves. “I like to pick the leaves up, sometimes, I don’t know why. Shake them out if you want to.”
“No,” Hina replied. “They will make a fine mat to put the eyes on.”
She vaulted onto Tan’s back to reach them, and as she lifted them down and placed them carefully in the box she heard a voice say, more loudly, “Who’s that?”