by Lian Hearn
They stayed there all day, until the sky faded to gray, the haze rose from the sea, and one by one stars appeared. It was a warm night, and a rain frog was croaking from the reed beds, echoed by the tinkling bell frog. At one point Wataru spoke to Naizo, and the boy disappeared for a while and came back with a flask of wine and two bowls. Wataru poured a little into one of the bowls and set it before the stone. Then the three of them drank in turn from the other. As Akane lifted the bowl to her lips, she heard a new sound in the voice of the river.
“I can hear him,” she whispered, and swallowed the wine in a gulp.
“No, he is long dead,” Wataru replied. “Don’t torment yourself.”
“Listen,” Naizo said, and then all three of them heard it, a sort of low keening beneath the flow of the river. It was her father’s voice, transmuted into water. He had become one with the river.
14
Shigeru heard the girl’s cry and glanced toward her. He could not see her face—her head was covered with a wide cloth—and he did not recognize her, but the way she stood straight and calm impressed him. The stonemason’s death troubled him, though he had said nothing against his father’s decision, feeling his loyalty was more important than his conscience.
He had returned from Terayama as soon as the snows melted and the roads were open. Winter might call an end to skirmishes and campaigns, but intrigue was not smothered by the snow. He had intended to stop in Tsuwano and insist again that Kitano’s sons be recalled from Inuyama, but messengers had come saying that spring had brought an outburst of smallpox and Lord Shigeru was on no account to risk endangering his life: he should return directly to Hagi. It was impossible to know if this was a lie or not. Shigeru himself was determined to go to Tsuwano and prove it was, but Irie, who had come to the temple to escort him home, advised against it.
The new year had seen him turn sixteen. He was now fully a man: his coming-of-age ceremony was held in the third month with great solemnity and rejoicing. He was glad to be back in Hagi—though he missed Matsuda’s advice and support—and was relieved that his brother had survived the fall from his horse, a slight inflammation of the lungs during the coldest days of winter, and numerous blows from wooden swords in practice. For Takeshi now lived in the castle with his father and trained with the other boys of the Otori clan.
The brothers were delighted to be together, their separation having strengthened the bonds of affection between them. Moving away from home and his mother’s over-loving influence had made Takeshi grow up. He was tall and strong for his age, still as self-confident as ever, perhaps rather to excess, as he tended to be boastful, but his teachers assured Shigeru that this was being tempered by discipline and training, and in any case Lord Takeshi had a lot to be boastful about. He excelled at all the warrior’s arts, his mind was quick, his memory retentive. Shigeru was pleased to see that the Otori characteristics that could so easily become defects, as Matsuda had told him, were still strong—though Takeshi had lost none of his recklessness.
After his conversations with Matsuda, Shigeru watched his uncles more closely, alert to any hint of treachery. He told his father of Kitano’s decision to send his sons to Inuyama. At first, Shigemori was inclined to agree with Shigeru and Matsuda that they should act swiftly to put an end to such disloyalty; but he consulted his brothers, who advised against it, saying it seemed unwise to provoke the Tohan and insult the Iida family further.
“The unfortunate incident with Miura has already enraged Lord Iida and his son,” his father’s older brother said pointedly. “It was reported—of course, we know there is no truth in it—that you insisted on challenging Lord Miura but were overcome by him, and Matsuda struck him from behind to save your life.”
“Who dares to spread such lies?” Shigeru said in fury. “I fought Miura alone. Inaba was there as a witness.”
“It does not suit the Tohan to see one of their warriors bested by an Otori,” Shigemori said. “Especially not by you, the heir to the clan.”
“They will seize on any pretext to be insulted,” Shigeru replied. “They think they can intimidate us by threatening war. We should give them war, now, before they subvert our allies and become even stronger.”
But his uncles’ counsel of appeasement prevailed. Apologies for Miura’s death were sent to Inuyama, together with gifts in compensation. Many in the clan were as outraged as Shigeru and, in the Otori way, songs and stories began to circulate about what really happened in the forest encounter when the fifteen-year-old Otori heir defeated the best swordsman the Tohan had ever produced. Shigeru deplored this exaggeration as much as the Tohan’s distortion, but there was nothing he could do about either.
He tried many times to speak to his father, but though Shigemori listened to him and praised his opinions, the head of the clan seemed unable to take action or even make decisions. He consulted endlessly—with his brothers, with the elders, and more disturbingly with priests, shamans, and soothsayers, who all came forward with conflicting ideas and beliefs about which gods were offended and how to placate them. During Shigeru’s absence, Shigemori had become increasingly religious. Ever since Takeshi’s near-drowning, he had been apprehensive about the stone bridge he had commanded to be built, and as it neared completion, he feared some other act of retaliation from the affronted river god. The offering, he thought, would also allay the fears of the townspeople who still viewed the bridge as a kind of sorcery.
Shigeru had spent the last year absorbing the austere teachings of Terayama, emptying his mind of illusions, vain desires, and fantasies; he did not believe either prayers or spells had any effect or would move any being in the cosmos in any way. If religious belief had any role to play in human life, he thought, it was to strengthen the character and the will so that a man might be ruled by justice and compassion, and might face death without fear. He was impatient with his father’s preoccupation with auspicious days, dreams, amulets, and prayers, a preoccupation that led to vacillation and inaction. And he was angered by the unnecessary sacrifice of the stonemason, both for its cruelty and its waste of talent. The bridge was a marvel; there was surely nothing like it in the Three Countries. He could see no reason for its creator to be put to death in such a fashion, entombed alive.
He said nothing about these feelings and watched the proceedings impassively, but the single sharp cry from the stonemason’s daughter moved him. Kiyoshige, the son of Mori the horsebreaker, had returned to his service; the two young men had resumed their close friendship. Mori Kiyoshige was lively and irrepressible by nature, and as he matured, he used this exterior to mask an extremely astute mind. If his brother had not died, he might have turned into a typically irresponsible second son, but Yuta’s death had tempered and strengthened him. During Shigeru’s absence, he had kept an eye on Takeshi and had become a close friend to the younger boy. They were similar enough in character to enjoy many escapades, and Kiyoshige’s good sense kept the more headstrong Takeshi out of trouble. The circumstances of their childhood, Kiyoshige’s older brother’s death, their shared love of horses, formed strong bonds between them. It was under Kiyoshige’s supervision that Takeshi rode Shigeru’s black stallion, and it was Kiyoshige who carried the boy home concussed after falling. But Takeshi learned to ride the black, and indeed to master any horse, and when Shigeru returned, another colt was presented to the castle to be Takeshi’s own.
Kiyoshige was precocious and popular, had many friends and acquaintances from all walks of life, and drank a great deal more than a boy his age should, but he always remained far less drunk than he appeared and never forgot what was said to him. His position as the horsebreaker’s son and friend to Lord Otori’s sons, and his own taste for lowlife, meant he moved freely through many different levels of the city’s society. He talked to people and, more important, listened to them, and he had a whole range of information—nothing to do with the official spy system maintained by the castle or with the sporadic attempts of Tohan spies to infiltrate the Otori—by
whom he was kept aware of everything that went on in Hagi.
Kiyoshige knew all the gossip of the city, and that evening when they were alone together, Shigeru asked him about the woman.
“The family should receive some compensation—they must not become destitute. Arrange something for them, but let no one know about it.”
Kiyoshige smiled. “You have been away. You don’t know who she is?”
Shigeru shook his head.
“Her name is Akane. She is a woman of pleasure—perhaps the most famous in Hagi at the moment.”
“Where does she work?”
“The place on the slopes of Fire Mountain—the House of the Camellias. It’s owned by a woman called Haruna.” Kiyoshige laughed and said slyly, “Do you want to visit her?”
“Of course not! I was only concerned for the family’s well-being.” But he could not help remembering how he had felt at Terayama, how he had longed to escape to Yamagata and have women sent to him. His father had said a concubine would be arranged, but so far the matter had not been attended to.
He had thought he had mastered his desires during the long, cold winter, but now the thought of Akane in the house of pleasure on the mountain reminded him that he was sixteen years old, that it was spring . . .
“Just make inquiries discreetly,” he said. “If she needs a dowry, to get married, it could be supplied.”
“Of course,” Kiyoshige agreed gravely.
15
The stonemason’s ghost had an effect on the townspeople that was both disturbing and consoling. Hearing the sound of his disembodied voice at night sobered drunks and silenced children, but on the other hand people were proud of him—for his marvelous creation, his stoic and moving death, and the strength of his spirit that chose to remain with his obsession. Lord Shigeru gave orders for a boulder to be erected above the parapet where the body was sealed, and himself chose the words to be carved into it.
The Otori clan welcomes the just and the loyal. Let the unjust and the disloyal beware.
AKANE WAS PLEASED by the inscription and deeply grateful to the young Otori heir who had arranged it. Now she had to make decisions about her own future. On the night of her father’s death, she had allowed Wataru to see her back to Fire Mountain. There she kept to her room for three days, seeing no one, not even Hayato, and hardly eating. After that, she went to her mother. Hayato wrote to her daily, urging her to accept his offer, declaring his love for her. Her mother quickly became aware of the situation, and it comforted her considerably; she also urged Akane to accept and began to make her own plans for her daughter’s future life. However, four weeks after the stonemason’s death, and a week after the carved stone had been erected, Haruna came to visit her.
“I am very sorry,” Akane apologized. Her mother was serving tea to them both. The fragrance filled the room. Haruna was dressed in a simple but formal robe; she had come by palanquin. Their fans fluttered in the still, humid air. “I have neglected you and my work. After all you have done for me, there is really no excuse. I will return very soon. My mother is almost well enough to do without me.”
“But our guest must know about Lord Hayato,” her mother exclaimed. “Akane must accept him. Haruna, persuade her yourself.”
“I would like to speak to your daughter alone,” Haruna replied, in her usual tone that allowed no argument, and Akane’s mother bowed to her and left.
“Come closer,” Haruna said. “This is for your ears only. I had intended to advise you to accept Hayato. Of course, he has offered me a great deal of money for you, but apart from that I believe he would make you happy. He is not likely to tire of you, and he will always support you and any children you might have together. I am very fond of you, Akane, and I have known Hayato for a long time. It would be a very satisfactory arrangement.”
“But?” Akane questioned when the older woman fell silent.
“A few days ago I was summoned to the house of Lord Mori Yusuke, the horsebreaker. His son, as you may know, is a close friend of Lord Otori’s sons, especially close to Lord Shigeru. It seems there is a certain interest in you in that quarter.”
“Kiyoshige is only a boy,” Akane said, smiling.
“Not Kiyoshige. Shigeru.”
“Lord Shigeru does not know me. Has he ever even seen me?” He would not remember the girl in the river.
“Apparently he has. He saw you on the recent tragic occasion and gave instructions that you and your family were to be looked after: there is money available for you. Kiyoshige will deliver it to me.”
Akane was silent for a few moments. Then she said lightly, “It is an act of kindness, no more. Lord Shigeru has always had a reputation for compassion.”
“Lord Mori and his son seemed to think it could be more than that. Shigeru is a man now; there are no plans yet for his marriage. He will be provided with a concubine. Why should it not be you?”
“The honor is far too great for me,” Akane said, fanning herself more vigorously, for the suggestion had made her pulse beat quickly and brought a flush of heat to her skin. When she was a child, the clan lords had seemed almost like gods to her, completely removed from people of her class. They lived in an elevated world, occasionally glimpsed at ceremonies, barely even gossiped about. The encounter in the river no longer seemed real to her. She could hardly even bring herself to consider being in the same room as the Otori heir, let alone lying with him, skin against skin.
“To tell you the truth, it’s an ambition I’ve sometimes dreamed of for you,” Haruna replied. “But Hayato’s offer made me think again. I had decided to lay aside my ambitions for the sake of your happiness, until the suggestion came from their side. The Otori situation, great honor though it is, has many drawbacks. Your life would necessarily be more secluded; you would have to put up with all the intrigue of the castle, and of course they would not allow any children.”
“This is my mother’s main reason for supporting Hayato’s case,” Akane said. “She longs for grandchildren. But I have no desire for children. Why bring them into this world just to suffer?” After a moment, she added, “Anyway, do I have a choice? Surely Lord Shigeru’s wishes cannot be refused?”
“His wishes have not yet been voiced as such: the Mori family were simply sounding things out, as it were. However, I had the feeling they were advising against any other precipitous decisions that you might make.”
“Hayato has hardly been discreet,” Akane said.
“It’s true. Everyone knows he is pursuing you.”
“I suppose he will be ‘advised’ as well.”
“Almost certainly.”
“So I am supposed to refuse Hayato and do nothing until Lord Shigeru voices his wishes,” Akane said with a flash of anger.
“You only need do what you have been doing: Stay here with your mother and continue not to see Hayato. As I said, money has already been provided for you. You do not need to work.”
“It’s not only money I work for,” Akane said. “How long do I have to live without a man?” She was already missing her favorite lover, longing to feel again the intensity of the passion that had momentarily numbed her grief.
“Not long,” Haruna promised. “Shall I take a favorable response back to the Mori?”
Akane sat in silence. She could hear her mother in the kitchen, the sounds of the street and the river. She stood suddenly, as if seized by anger, and walked to the door and back again. “What other response can there be?”
After Haruna had left, Akane ignored her mother’s eager questioning and went to sit in her father’s workshop, among the piles of half-carved stones. It was empty and silent. She missed its constant noise, the tap of iron on iron and the sigh of iron on stone. Wataru had returned to his own village, saying he was too old to serve anyone else, and Naizo had been taken on by another mason who had already offered to buy her father’s store of stone. Soon the oxcarts would come and carry them away. The air was full of dust, and the sun’s rays seemed almost solidified b
y the motes, as if they themselves were about to become stone. She let her gaze linger over all the different shades of gray that lay between white and near-black—rocks brought from mountainside, riverbed, and seashore, hewn, hauled, and lifted by men’s strength.