by Lian Hearn
Though Kiyoyori’s family were younger sons of younger sons and so not of the highest rank or importance, his father, Kiyomasa, had always had the deepest respect for his name and had done his utmost to preserve it. He had endeavored to bring his sons up as perfect warriors, experts with horse, bow, and sword, and unquestioningly obedient to their father’s will.
Kiyomasa frequently visited the capital, Miyako, and kept himself fully abreast of all the politics and intrigues of the court. The Kakizuki family held many important posts but so did their rivals, the Miboshi, also of imperial descent. Kiyoyori’s grandmother had been a Miboshi, for in more peaceful times the two great families had often intermarried. But recently relations between them had been less cordial.
For years the Miboshi had been fighting the Emperor’s battles in the east and north of the Eight Islands, bringing clans under their control and subduing various barbaric tribes. Their lord, Aritomo, had established himself in Minatogura in the east, but many of his warriors were turning up in Miyako, expecting rewards for their services, including court positions, new ranks, and land.
There were not enough of any of these to go around.
Warrior families, aware of intrigues in the Emperor’s court and in the government, were striving among one another for position and influence. Kiyomasa tried to arrange advantageous marriages for his sons, and at seventeen Kiyoyori had been married to a woman from the domain of Maruyama in the west, whose father was a counselor in the Kakizuki government. The marriage had worked out well, a child was born, and then another, but this second one took the life of her mother, and then slipped away after her, across the river of death, leaving Kiyoyori grief stricken. He had loved her deeply and felt he would never recover from her loss. His only consolation was their first child, a daughter, whose pet name was Hina.
The younger brother, Masachika, had also made a desirable marriage, to the daughter of a neighbor who owned an extensive and productive estate known as Matsutani, or Pine Valley. It was all destined for Lord Matsutani’s son, but the day after his sister’s marriage, on the journey home, the young man had attempted to swim his horse across the swollen river and had been swept away and drowned. There were no other heirs and it seemed everything would go to Masachika’s new wife. Masachika himself assumed his father-in-law would adopt him, giving him a far greater and richer estate than his older brother’s.
However, his father had other plans, which he announced a few months after the death of Kiyoyori’s wife. Kiyoyori was twenty-one, Masachika nineteen. The brothers were summoned to a meeting in one of the secret rooms in the house at Kuromori, a fortified residence built mainly of wood in an inaccessible position on a mountainside surrounded by the Darkwood from which they took their name. It had several hidden rooms; this one faced south and was the warmest. Perhaps for this reason it had been taken over by a man of indeterminate age and unremarkable appearance who had the reputation of being a great scholar. He certainly spent a lot of time reading and the room was filled with his scrolls and manuscripts, which he collected from the eight corners of Heaven and which were in many languages. He had a monkish sort of name, Sesshin, and could sometimes be heard chanting. Nobody took much notice of him. Kiyoyori found his presence vaguely reassuring, like that of an old dog.
It was a showery autumn day, rain sweeping across the valley. The shutters were closed, the room dim even though it was not yet mid-afternoon. The thought of winter approaching filled Kiyoyori with gloom. He could not shake off the sadness that had fallen on him since his wife died.
He had been outside the stables when his father sent for him. He wanted to start teaching Hina to ride and had been trying out a suitable pony, with the help of most of the children of the estate. For some time he had feared that his father was going to announce he had found him another bride. Naturally he would have to marry and produce an heir, but at the moment he felt more inclined to cut his hair and become a monk. Only Hina kept him from such a decision. He came to the meeting with some apprehension, which increased as they sat waiting for his brother. The shutters rattled as gusts of wind shook them and rain beat heavily on the roof. His father kept giving impatient glances up from under his eyebrows and sighing heavily.
Eventually Masachika appeared, full of excuses for his tardiness. He had an air of expectation, as though all his desires were at last to be confirmed.
Their father began to speak. “I know you believe as I do that our most important aim must be the survival and increase in influence and power of our family. I believe we are approaching very dangerous times. There have been many evil omens in the capital, and diviners predict warfare and chaos. Our estate is too small to support sufficient warriors to give us much influence. Now fate has given us the opportunity to merge with Matsutani.”
Masachika nodded and a faint smile appeared on his well-shaped mouth.
“But I cannot dispossess my eldest son,” their father continued, “for whom I have such a high regard, and to give the greater estate to the younger son is asking for conflict. Therefore, I have decided that you, Masachika, will put aside your wife and go to our Miboshi relatives in Minatogura. My cousin has one daughter only and has agreed to adopt you as his son. Kiyoyori will marry your former wife and will inherit both estates. Her father is in complete agreement. This way, if war does erupt between Kakizuki and Miboshi, whichever side prevails, one of my sons will be among the victors.”
For a few moments neither of them spoke. Then Masachika said, trying to control himself, “I am to give my wife to my brother? I am to lose her and Matsutani?”
“There is no need to be so drastic, Father,” Kiyoyori said. “Let my brother keep his wife. I will renounce my claim to both estates. I wish to retire from the world—”
“Don’t be a fool,” his father snapped. “You are my eldest son and heir. Do you think I would allow you to humiliate yourself and become a monk? A man does not flee from the world. He bears up under its sorrows and does his duty. Yours is to me and your family. After all, you have your daughter to consider.”
Kiyoyori tried then and later to dissuade his father from making the two brothers enemies in such an irretrievable manner. He dared to admonish him, citing many instances from classical literature where brothers had destroyed each other and whole kingdoms, but Kiyomasa would not brook any contradiction. Masachika had to hide his rage and resentment and Kiyoyori his reluctance, and both had to submit.
Later, after Masachika had left for Minatogura, his father said to Kiyoyori, “I believe you will improve the land and defend it. Masachika wanted only to enjoy it. It would have been swiftly taken from him. Old Matsutani knows that, which is why he agreed with me. Besides, the men prefer you and you know how to treat them.”
* * *
It was a time of troubles and opportunities. In the capital the Emperor was weak, his sons rivals. His brother-in-law, the Prince Abbot at Ryusonji, was regent in all but name. He favored the Emperor’s younger son and carried on endless intrigues against the Crown Prince.
In the provinces the Kakizuki extended their power in the west and the Miboshi in the east while both strove for influence in the capital. Warlords fought constant skirmishes, seeking always to increase their land. More land meant more warriors, who in turn could be used to gain more land. Retainers were persuaded to swear undying loyalty, but they expected much in return. If they felt badly treated or overlooked, their loyalty was eroded; they could be seduced away to another warlord’s service, someone who appreciated them and offered greater rewards.
* * *
Kiyoyori was all too aware that no one had asked Tama, the woman who had been Masachika’s wife and was now his, for her consent or even her opinion. She was as obedient to her father as her husbands were to theirs. Kiyoyori waited several weeks to make sure she was not pregnant, and when he did approach her he felt as shy and awkward as an adolescent. She responded dutifully but without any real passion, and while he knew he could not blame her for this, it stil
l wounded his pride. He felt his younger brother would always lie between them. Even his delight and gratitude when she gave birth to a son could not break down the barriers between them. She nursed the baby herself, used this as an excuse to keep him away, and from then on they slept apart. Kiyoyori continued to feel obscurely guilty about her and treated her with excessive courtesy, masking the absence of real warmth and intimacy. It was for her sake that he moved to Matsutani, for she loved her childhood home and put all her energies into making the residence more beautiful and the estate more productive than ever. Kiyoyori took his horses and his dogs and somehow the old scholar went with them, along with all his books. Matsutani was certainly more comfortable and more convenient, but no one ever referred to its owner as anything other than the Kuromori lord. The Darkwood was his true home.
In the following years both fathers left this world to cross the Three-Streamed River for that place of underground springs and caves where they would face the judges of Hell. Kiyoyori was, as his father had predicted, a good leader of men, as well as being both courageous and astute. He was quick to anger and impulsive, acting swiftly on instinct, but his instincts were usually correct and his anger, together with a degree of ruthlessness, meant he was feared as well as admired. His fame spread. He fought several small but well-planned skirmishes that subdued his neighbors and rivals, not only holding on to his own lands but also extending them. The twin estates of Kuromori and Matsutani seemed blessed. Some said it was karma due to good deeds in a former life; others that the estates must be protected by powerful magic and charms.
One dawn in the ninth month when he was walking toward the horse lines, for it was his custom to ride every morning with two or three retainers or young pages, Kiyoyori realized he did not have his whip. He must have left it somewhere in the residence. He thought of sending a groom back for it but, not being sure exactly where it was, decided it would be quicker to fetch it himself.
He stepped onto the wide veranda and pushed up the bamboo blind. The wooden shutters had already been opened, as the day promised to be fine and warm. There was someone in the room, one of the servants, he thought at first, but the person did not bow or glide respectfully away. Instead, whomever it was sat down cross-legged as if he planned to stay for a while and said, “There you are! I have been waiting for you.”
“It would have been a long wait,” Kiyoyori replied, ignoring the familiar tone. Eccentric old men could be allowed a few liberties. “On a beautiful day like this I might have ridden until midday.”
“I knew you would return for this.” The whip lay in the old scholar’s wrinkled palm.
“Well, thank you, Master Sesshin.” Kiyoyori stepped forward to take it, but without him quite seeing how, the whip switched sides and now lay on the other palm. All his senses came alert. He knelt in front of Sesshin, keeping his eyes fixed on his face. He realized he had hardly spared the old fellow a glance in all the years they had lived under the same roof. Indeed, he had averted his eyes and made efforts not to notice him, finding his slovenly appearance vaguely affronting and his body odor disconcerting. The thought came to him that maybe the old man had kept himself concealed in some way and now for the first time he was allowing Kiyoyori to see him.
The skin was like ancient silk, drawn taut over the bones. The eyes returned the lord’s gaze guilelessly, but they held an unfathomable depth. They had looked on worlds he had not even dreamed of and into mysteries he would never understand.
He spoke brusquely to hide his unease. “Do you have something to say to me? If you wanted to speak to me why did you not send a message?”
Sesshin laughed, a dry, crackling noise like old wood burning. “You would have put me off and gone out today, and then it would have been too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is a bandit, Akuzenji. He calls himself the King of the Mountain.”
“I know who Akuzenji is. I have no quarrel with him. As long as he stays on the mountain, does not extract excessive amounts from merchants, and deals with his rivals swiftly he is causing me no harm. I don’t have enough men to place guards on the whole length of the North Mountain Road. Let Akuzenji do my work for me; I don’t have to pay him.”
“He is going to demand a high price from you. He has taken a fancy to your skull.”
Kiyoyori laughed. The idea that a bandit would dare to attack him, the Kuromori lord, amused him. “Give me my whip and I’ll be on my way.”
“Well, if you must ignore my warning, take extra men and be on your guard. Or tonight your head will be in a pot, the flesh boiling from it, and before the next moon your brother will be back in Matsutani and your children will be dead.”
“Is my brother plotting with Akuzenji? Is that what you are trying to tell me?”
“Plotting is not perhaps quite the right word. Akuzenji has no personal enmity toward you. He simply wants the skull of a great man. He is an undiscerning fellow. He boasts of every exploit before and after its achievement. He may never have seen you, but he knows you to be great because your fame spreads more widely every year. Your brother is an opportunist. He prays for your death before your son is grown so he may take back what he believes you stole from him.”
“Akuzenji seeks the skull of a great man? For some kind of dark magic?”
“I believe so,” the old man said.
“I should offer him yours!”
“Certainly my skull would be extremely powerful, as would all parts of me. Luckily for me, Akuzenji does not know of my existence, nor does anyone else. That is why, Lord Kiyoyori, it is in my interests to keep you alive.”
“How do you know these things? Who are you?”
“Don’t you wonder why you never thought to ask me before?”
“You have always been around ever since I was born,” Kiyoyori said slowly. “You were part of the household like an old chest or a tree in the garden.” He could have said, like a dog, but he realized the dogs died one after the other, at their allotted time, but the old man had lived on and on.
“Kuromori became my home when your grandfather was lord. We were friends. He arranged I should stay on after his death throughout your father’s time. The place suited me, and Matsutani is even better; it’s perfect for my studies and research. In return I have been able to perform certain rituals that have ensured the safety and prosperity of your domain.”
“And I thought it was all due to my hard work and good management!”
“You have played your part. I would not have wasted my efforts on an inferior person. Spells can go only so far.”
Kiyoyori said nothing for a few moments. Outside a kite was mewing, the wind soughed in the pine trees, a horse neighed impatiently from the stables.
Sesshin said, “You say you cannot afford to guard the North Mountain Road, but if you removed Akuzenji and his bandits the merchants would pay you for their safe passage.”
“Akuzenji is as cunning and elusive as a wolf,” Kiyoyori replied, “but if he can be enticed by my skull I may take him by surprise.”
“Wear armor under your hunting robe,” Sesshin said. “And send someone as a decoy on your horse: Tachiyama no Enryo, for example.”
“Enryo? Why do you name him?”
“He sends messages occasionally to your brother in Minatogura.”
“Does he, now?” There was another short silence. “His wife is a great favorite of my wife. They have been friends since childhood.” Was Tama also in touch with his brother, her first husband? Kiyoyori could feel fury building within him.
4
SHIKANOKO
Shika, as the bandits called him, was neither happy nor unhappy in the service of the King of the Mountain, in the high fastness that was Akuzenji’s base. From time to time he wondered if this was to be the rest of his life or if he should return to Kumayama and confront his uncle. On the whole it seemed better to let everyone in his old life believe him to be dead.
He felt he was waiting every day to see
what would happen to him. Akuzenji called himself King of the Mountain, just as pirates styled themselves Kings of the Sea, but in the eyes of most they were still pirates and Akuzenji no more than a bandit. Shika learned how he protected merchants and their goods on their way to the north and west, trading out of Kitakami and other seaports, where ships loaded with copper coins, iron, textiles, and medicines came from Silla and Shin, on the mainland. Akuzenji fought off other marauding bandits and made life safe for the woodsmen who cut trees on his mountain and sent the logs downstream to Lake Kasumi and then on to the capital. He had always been a superstitious man who liked to keep a number of shamans and sorcerers on the mountain and in the forest to consult about dreams and omens. Now he had become obsessed with obtaining a suitable skull for Shisoku’s magic and had settled on the Kuromori lord.
He soon realized Shika could move as silently as a deer, with the same keen eyesight and hearing, and began to send him on scouting missions to the land around Matsutani. Shika came to know Lord Kiyoyori well: his favorite horse, a tall black stallion; his manner of riding; and the retainers and pages who accompanied him, to whom Shika assigned nicknames in his mind: Gripknees, Wobbly, Neversmile.
When he was not scouting he practiced archery, shooting endlessly at the straw targets, or made arrows from close-jointed bamboo, some with humming bulbs carved from magnolia wood. He fletched them with feathers he found in the forest or took from birds he hunted, eagles and cranes. He also carried out the countless chores that were laid on him as the youngest of Akuzenji’s men, feeding and grooming the horses, including Akuzenji’s white stallion, Nyorin, fetching water from the well and firewood from the forest, skinning and butchering dead beasts.
Only when he was alone and certain no one was watching did he take out the mask made from the deer’s skull. He placed it over his face and tried to meditate. But what stirred within him was the ancient power of the forest, the stag’s drive to mate and make children. There were many women in Akuzenji’s fortress, but they already had husbands, lovers, or other protectors and favorites and were out of his reach. And then there was the one who had ridden with the bandit to the mountain sorcerer’s hut, whose name he discovered was Lady Tora. Men lowered their voices when they spoke it and whispered about her among themselves. She had some power that terrified them, though they would never admit it. He knew the mask was powerful in the same way, but he had not yet learned to turn that power to his own advantage, and it left him disturbed and confused.