Shadows on the Moon

by Zoe Marriott

  I wished that Otieno would be happy. That despite all I had done to him, the way I had betrayed him, he would recover and go on with his life. I wanted him to heal cleanly as Akira had said he would. I wanted him to be the same bright, shining person he had been before we met, and I wanted him to fall in love with someone else and be happier with them than he ever had been with me.

  “I love you, Otieno,” I whispered. “Good-bye.”

  I bowed my head, sending my wish for him out into the world. Then I closed that part of me, the part that was Otieno’s, folded it up like a piece of paper, and tucked it away.

  No more. That life was over.

  Finally I got up, and left the room, and went back to bed.

  As Yoshi-san had said, I needed plenty of sleep to look my best.

  The day of the Shadow Ball came.

  After breakfast I wanted to practice my dance again, but Akira told me it was more important to rest my muscles. She said I could play if I wanted, but I refused. I had not touched my shamisen for over a week. Not since . . . I blinked, and the thought fled. I was getting better and better at pushing such thoughts away. The coldness inside me made it easy. The colder I got, the less I seemed to need to think at all.

  Akira brought out the go board, with its black and white pieces, and challenged Mie-san to a game. Yoshi-san was working on a piece of embroidery, though judging by her muttering it was not going well. I sat calmly. The nervous tension that thrummed in the house did not touch me.

  This might have been because of the few private minutes I had taken before breakfast to scratch several small lines on the inside of my knee. Yet it was not just that. There was a sort of stillness inside me now. The clearness of ice. I felt like one of the warriors from the ancient poems, on the eve of battle. I was prepared. I was resolved. I was not afraid.

  When afternoon came I took a bath — alone, despite offers of assistance — covered myself with scented oils, and washed my hair until it was as smooth as threads of unwoven silk. When I emerged, Akira was waiting. She urged me to drink a little tea and eat a light meal of clear soup with fish and rice. Silently she dried my hair and rubbed a sweet-smelling pomade into it to give it gloss. She made me rub creams into my face, hands, and feet to soften and brighten the skin.

  “Now rest for a while. I must attend to my own bath.”

  She drew the screens, and I lay down on my futon and dozed, without dreams. When Akira came back, she was fully dressed, resplendent in a formal black kimono that had designs of red-and-gold birds across the sleeves, chest, and back. It reminded me of the gown she had been wearing when we first met. She brought Yoshi-san and Mie-san with her, carrying between them my many-layered outfit for the ball.

  They rolled up my futon and had me stand naked in the middle of the room. The moon kimono went directly over my skin, with no underwear, so that the effect would be perfect when I danced. All I was allowed to wear beneath it were my tabi socks. The white sash was carefully tucked around my waist so that it was secure but easily unfastened for my dance. The silver and the storm-cloud kimonos went over the top, each secured with its own sash. Next came a long, plain white under-kimono. It was to shield the exotic costume from peeking out at collar and sleeves. Then came the pink kimono with a formal obi and belt, and the final layer, the trailing, deep pink uchikake robe. They had me walk across the room, and turn and bend, in order to check the ease of movement, and then I was made to sit again, so that Akira and Yoshi-san could start work on my hair. Since I was supposed to wear it down during the performance, it was important that the arrangement could be easily disassembled, but it must still be beautiful and intricate and — most important — sturdy enough to last for the first part of the evening.

  I endured it all without speaking. They smiled and rubbed my shoulder reassuringly, but they did not make me talk, and I knew it was because they thought I was nervous and trying to compose myself. I was not. I felt as peaceful and distant as I had all day. I watched the sky grow dim, blue shading into gray, into deep blue, and sat as still as a doll, letting them work.

  “We cannot improve you any further,” Akira said finally. She looked into my face. “Yue, are you ready to go?”

  One question that hid a hundred questions. I answered them all with a word:

  “Yes.”

  One by one, the gijo — most of them just waking up — came into the room, each giving me a lucky kiss or a touch on the head, even Haruhi-san, whose beloved silver gown I had stolen.

  “Do your best. You are representing all of us, remember,” she said, and then yawned and went back to bed.

  I collected my kiss of luck from Yoshi-san and Mie-san, smiling and thanking them for all their help. Then Akira and I climbed into the carriage and left them behind.

  Akira opened the screen at the window, letting in a breeze to dispel the close, warm air inside. I had expected to be too warm in my many layers, but I still felt cold. When I brushed a fluttering moth away from my face, my fingers felt like ice against my cheek.

  The journey, which took us across the entire city, seemed to last only seconds. We arrived at the massive gates of the Moon Palace before full dark had fallen. Akira held the official invitation — a long scroll of paper with red and green and gold seals and two long strings with gold tassels — out the window to be checked by the guards, one of whom then opened the carriage door and helped us out.

  As the light from the lanterns at the gate fell full on first Akira’s face and then mine, the guard’s impassive gaze altered, and his bow was reverent.

  “Your first victim of the evening,” Akira remarked quietly when we were out of earshot.

  “An equal victory for both of us, I think,” I said, unruffled.

  We stepped through the gates into the prince’s garden and onto a path paved with tiny white stones shaped like diamonds, which glittered even in the twilight. Pine trees hugged the path closely on either side as we walked, blocking out the sky twenty feet above, and the only light was that of the lanterns behind us at the gate.

  Then the trees parted, and we were looking down a gentle slope at an immense garden, dominated by an irregularly shaped lake. Dozens of tiny streams flowed from the lake, crisscrossing the garden, circling banks of ferns, raked gravel, and miniature mountains, so that the white path became a white bridge in several places. The way was carefully lit by stone lanterns or, where there was not room, paper lanterns that stood on poles.

  To the north, the full moon had risen above the palace. Most of the building was screened from view by trees, but I could see its peaked roofs.

  “Look,” Akira said, voice hushed. “The Procession of Shadows.”

  I followed her gaze and for the first time noticed others traveling along the glowing white path to the Moon Palace. Girls were walking with their families, transformed into black shapes outlined against the pale stones in the gathering darkness.

  “Ouji-sama — my prince — said that this was probably how the Shadow Ball got its name all those many years ago,” she continued. “For the ball — as for the prince’s marriage — no one may drive or ride on the grounds of the Moon Palace. But a marriage is a thing of daylight. The Kage no Iwai is of the night. And tonight every woman who wishes to seek the favor of the prince must walk this path on her own two feet and become part of the Procession of Shadows.”

  The noise of another carriage arriving spurred us forward, and we took our place in the procession.

  As we crested the last bridge, the trees again parted before us, and I saw the palace properly for the first time. It was three stories high, with a great hall from which many other wings extended. All the screens and doors of the lower floor had been thrown open onto the central courtyard so that music and the sounds of voices spilled out.

  Ahead of us, I could see other girls — some with parents, others with larger groups of relatives — entering the courtyard and approaching the raised mound of earth at its center. The mound was surrounded by a circle of wat
er and had its own little bridge. An ancient fir tree grew from the mound, bent double with the weight of its own branches and thick needles. Lanterns hanging from the branches cast light on the girls who stood at the base but did not illuminate whatever — or whoever — was sheltering beneath the tree. The girls and their families each stood there for a little time, and then bowed and moved away toward the open palace.

  We came down from the bridge, and suddenly we, too, were in the courtyard and Akira was leading me toward that shadowed place beneath the tree. Now I could see what was beneath the branches. A throne.

  It was tall and narrow and carved with patterns that my eye could not follow. At the top was a round crest inlaid with gold that represented the phases of the moon. The wood of the throne was so black with age that the two soldiers on either side, in their black lacquered armor, seemed to meld into the design. They were standing still enough to be made of wood.

  Around the throne were several men and two women. Of the group, I recognized only Yorimoto-san. Seeing us approach, he nodded but did not smile, and then instantly turned back to the woman who sat beside him. She was tiny, with iron-gray hair and a fierce expression. Lady Yorimoto, apparently recovered.

  As we came closer, I turned my attention to the occupant of the throne. Tsuki no Ouji-sama was very slender, though tall enough for his head to reach the crested moon on the back of the throne. His face was ordinary, not unattractive, but not memorable in any way. The most eye-catching thing about him were the layers and layers of brilliantly colored clothes he wore, thrown back to reveal a stiff black chest plate. The style seemed to be influenced by the fashion of the Old Empire — the dragon motif and the crested moon certainly were — but instead of conveying power or grandeur, they just made him look lost.

  He might be the only one here tonight wearing more clothes than I am, I thought wryly.

  The second woman in the group moved closer to the throne, her posture protective, and my amusement vanished as I realized who she must be. Only one woman would dare claim the place on the prince’s right. Akira’s enemy, and mine, too.

  The Moon Princess.

  She was tall and dressed in a somber black kimono, with very simply dressed hair. Her only adornment was an ivory fan, which she held, closed, between her hands. Her face was striking, strong, almost beautiful. Almost, because it was completely expressionless, as blank as the stones I walked on.

  I bowed deeply, aware of Akira doing the same beside me. I kept my eyes downcast and spent all my concentration on making my shadow-weaving the most glowing, the most perfect, it had ever been.

  “Ohime-sama,” a light, young voice said happily.

  I glanced up to see that the prince was not even looking at me but at Akira. His face, now that it was animated, was startlingly young and quite charming.

  “Ouji-sama,” Akira said, her face filled with equal pleasure. “I did not know if you would recognize me.”

  “No false modesty, please,” he chided with a laugh. “How could anyone ever forget you? I have missed you! I was very glad to see your name on the list of guests — but I hope you realize that you cannot be a Shadow Bride twice?” He laughed again. Beside him, the old princess was motionless.

  “Much as it grieves me, I have accepted this fact,” Akira said, her eyes twinkling. “I am here to escort my sister, Ouji-sama. Here she is.”

  “Oh, yes! That was the other name on the list. You know, I never realized you had a sis . . .”

  His voice trailed off as he finally turned his gaze on me. I met his eyes, holding them for a long moment, and then smiled. A smile of sweet shyness and innocent pleasure. The smile I had taken from Aimi.

  He blinked, dazed, and I modestly lowered my eyes again.

  At the corner of my vision, I saw the old princess’s knuckles turn red and then yellow as they gripped the fan.

  “Ohime-sama,” said the prince, his voice hushed as a boy who has caught sight of some rare animal and does not wish to frighten it away. “Your sister is lovely.”

  I felt a surge of pity for his youth, but then firmly squashed it.

  Suddenly the old princess spoke. “You should not use the title Ohime-sama, my son,” she said, her voice as toneless as her face. “It is not polite to remind Kano-san of the position she has lost.”

  “Oh, I did not consider that. I am sorry if I have offended you, Kano-san.”

  “Not at all,” Akira said warmly. “You may call me whatever you wish.”

  “And what should I call your sister?” he asked eagerly.

  I looked up again, and again smiled. “My name is Yue, Ouji-sama. But you may call me whatever you wish as well.”

  The prince stared at my lips and sighed. There was a tiny, almost inaudible crack, and the fan in the old princess’s hands came apart in two pieces.

  The prince did not notice. Behind me, I could hear another group of people moving restlessly, awaiting their turn.

  The prince looked over my head and grimaced. “Ah, well. I must let you go now — but I have enjoyed talking to you both. Very much. We will see each other again later. I will make sure of it.”

  We thanked him, bowed, and moved away toward the palace. I heard Akira let out a deep, slow breath. “That went well.”

  “Was it difficult for you?” I asked.

  “A little. The last time I saw him, I was with his father, and so happy. The last time I saw her, we were both standing over my prince’s deathbed. It is hard to remember that.” She smiled suddenly. “That fan belonged to her grandmother, you know.”

  “Perhaps she will be able to get it mended,” I said, straight-faced.

  Akira snorted, and then we stepped up into the hall and were enveloped in the crowd.

  The central room was crammed with guests: two hundred or more. Immediately I began examining the other females, deciding which ones were potential Shadow Brides and which were mere guests — which ones were real rivals and which could safely be ignored.

  I was surprised. I suppose I had expected all the other girls to be stunningly lovely. To be sure, there were a great many beautiful girls present, but there were many more girls who were ordinarily pretty or even plain. If I were to cast off my glamour and appear as I really was, I would not be out of place in this company. I whispered this to Akira.

  “Those are the daughters of families with whom it would be wise politically or financially for the prince to ally,” she said. “No doubt his mother asked for them to be invited. And there are many people here who are already married, or engaged, or know they have no chance of being chosen but came simply to enjoy the spectacle.”

  We moved around the room, I hidden by my silent and mysterious mask, Akira greeting her acquaintances, many of whom I had already met. They looked at me with fresh speculation tonight — and those with daughters attending did not seem pleased. Most of the young women I was introduced to gave me the impression that they would have gouged my eyes out without a second thought.

  I found it amusing that they all wanted to be the Shadow Bride so intensely. What compelling reason could any of these pampered young women have to fight for the prince’s favor? The glamour of the title? Because their parents wanted it? Well, they would just have to find something else to dream about.

  I marked one girl in particular as a rival. She wore a pale yellow kimono, and I judged her to be a year or two older than I was. She was introduced as Sasaki Hinata-san, and was the daughter of a friend of Akira’s, who greeted her with genuine pleasure.

  “It brings back many memories to see you here tonight,” he said, apparently without any double meaning. He and Akira chatted pleasantly while I covertly studied Sasaki-san. Her face was a perfect oval, with softly glowing skin, and her expression was of overwhelming serenity and kindness. She was the sort of person who could make a room feel happier just by smiling, and she reminded me a little of Aimi.

  After we had walked away, Akira pointed out another girl, who was standing near the open wall of the roo
m. This one had a striking, angular face with sharp cheekbones and a lush red mouth. Her hair was dressed with an oversize comb of gold and coral with tassels, and she wore a flamboyant uchikake robe in scarlet and white. She was speaking to a woman who seemed to be her mother, eyes brilliant with excitement.

  “Ito Natsuko-san,” Akira said. “She is nearly as famous as you — said to be a wonderful dancer, but apparently her temper is uncertain and she must have her own way in all things.”

  “That sounds familiar,” I said.

  Akira cast me a quelling look. “Her family is not of the highest rank, but they are very wealthy. She bullies her father into refusing any offers made for her hand; she wants only to be the Shadow Bride.”

  “Then she is a serious rival.”

  As if she sensed our regard, Ito-san’s head lifted. Our gazes met. She looked me over with narrowed eyes, then gave me a challenging smile. I returned the smile with one of straightforward friendliness and watched her hostile look turn to confusion before I moved away.

  “Well played,” Akira said.

  Now that I had assessed the other girls, I focused my attention on the rest of the room. I noticed something strange: the guests were the only females present. Every servant that lined the walls or moved through the hall — including the group of musicians playing on the raised dais at the far end of the room — was male. The Moon Princess was certainly not leaving anything to chance at this ball. I wondered aloud how much real power she had now that her son had come of age. Enough to ban female servants and entertainers from the ball, but not enough to have Akira and me removed from that guest list.

  Akira nodded. “She has enough influence to have been allowed to decorate this room to her own tastes, too. I cannot imagine anyone else would have arranged for these hideous things to be here.” She averted her eyes from the fountain in the middle of the room. It was a grimacing dragon in the style of the Old Empire, with water trickling from its whiskers and long fangs. Several filigree bowls filled with brightly colored fruit perched on the coils of its feathery tail. Elsewhere in the room, other bronze dragons supported more fruit, or bowls filled with flowers. I had certainly never seen decorations like them.