by Lian Hearn
He burst through the gate; she had to stop or run into him. They gazed at each other for a moment. She was shocked by the changes she saw in him: his face was gaunt, the skin yellow-tinged, the eyes sunken and glittering.
“You have not been well?” she said, moved to sudden pity by his appearance.
“You know why. Akane, why did this happen to us? We loved each other.”
“No,” she said, and went to walk on, but he seized her by the arm.
“I cannot live without you. I am dying with love.”
“Don’t be a fool, Lord Hayato. No one dies for love!”
“Let’s run away together. We can leave the Three Countries, go north. Please, Akane. I beg you, come with me.”
“It’s impossible,” she said, trying to twist out of his grip. “Leave me alone or I’ll call for the guards.” She was alarmed, being with him when he was so distressed, fearing he might take her life and his own rather than live without her.
He looked down at his own hand in surprise, as if someone else had placed it around her wrist. When she had struggled, he had gripped her more tightly, hurting her. Now he let go suddenly. She rubbed the bruise.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I’m sorry. That’s the last thing I want to do. I want to touch you, as I did before. You must remember how good it was.”
She did not reply but turned at once and walked rapidly away. She thought she heard him speak her name, but she did not look back. The porters leaped to their feet when she approached, and the guard who always accompanied the palanquin helped her into it and picked up her sandals once she was inside. She left the oiled silk curtains down, though it was stifling inside and one bold mosquito was whining annoyingly around her neck. She was afraid Hayato was in the grip of an all-devouring jealousy, as if afflicted by a wasting disease. She had said “No one dies for love,” but she could see how he might die or kill himself, and then his angry ghost would haunt her. She was afraid, too, of what charms he might use against her. Now she had entered the dark world of magic herself, she was all the more aware of its power.
She went to the household altar and burned incense, lit candles, and prayed for a long time for protection against all the ills that might surround her. The night was heavy and dense; thunder rolled around the mountains, but it did not rain. She slept badly and rose late, had hardly finished dressing when Haruna arrived. Haruna was as elegantly dressed as always, but she could not disguise the fact that at some time that morning she had been weeping. Akane felt the clutch of fear that the premonition of bad news brings. She called for tea and exchanged pleasantries with Haruna, then sent the maids away, drawing close to the other woman so they sat knee to knee.
Haruna said quietly, “Hayato is dead.”
She had half expected this news, yet it left her reeling with shock and grief. You must remember how good it was—his last words came back to her. She did remember, she remembered everything good about him, and began to weep unrestrainedly for the pitifulness of his life and death and for the life that they might have had together.
“I saw him yesterday. I feared he would take his own life.”
“He did not kill himself. It would have been better if he had. Lord Masahiro had him killed. His retainers cut him down outside my place.”
“Masahiro?”
“Lord Shigeru’s uncle. The youngest brother. You know him, Akane.”
She knew of him, naturally, and had seen him on occasion—the last time was at her father’s entombment. His reputation throughout Hagi was not good, though few dared express their opinions openly. In a city that was not easily offended, he was considered lecherous, and, more gravely, people said he was a coward.
“Why? What had Hayato ever done to offend Masahiro? How could they have even crossed paths?”
Haruna moved uncomfortably and did not meet Akane’s gaze. “Lord Masahiro has been visiting us from time to time. He gives another name, of course, and we all pretend we don’t know him.”
“I had no idea,” Akane said. “What happened?”
“Hayato was quite drunk. He had been drinking since he saw you, I gather. I tried to get him to leave quietly, but when he finally went outside, he noticed Masahiro’s men in the street. He began to rail at them, to curse the Otori lords, in particular Lord Shigeru—Forgive me for telling you such a terrible thing. They were very forbearing, tried to get him to calm down: of course, they were all in unmarked clothes; it was easy to pretend they were not personally insulted. Everyone knows Hayato, he’s always been well liked, and they would have ignored him, but Masahiro came out and heard his remarks, and then it was all over.”
“No one will blame Masahiro,” Akane said, weeping again at the sadness of it.
“No, of course not, but he has gone further: he has given orders for the family to be turned out of their home, their lands to be given to him, and for the sons to be killed as well.”
“They are only children!”
“Yes, six years old and eight. Masahiro says they must pay for their father’s insults.”
Akane said nothing. The harshness of the punishment chilled her, yet it was Lord Masahiro’s right to act as he pleased.
“Will you go to him, Akane? Will you plead with him to spare their lives?”
“If Lord Shigeru were here, I might approach his uncle through him, but he is away in the East. Even if we sent the swiftest messenger, it would be too late. I don’t suppose Masahiro would even receive me.”
“Believe me, I am sorry I am asking you. But you are the only person I know who has any influence at the castle. I owe it to Hayato to try to save his children’s lives and their inheritance.”
“Masahiro will be insulted by my even requesting an audience. He’ll probably have me put to death too.”
“No, he is interested in you. He has often been heard to express his regret that you are no longer at my house. He compares all the girls to you.”
“That could be worse,” Akane said. “I will be putting myself at his mercy: if he spares the children, what will he want in return?”
“You are under Shigeru’s protection. Even Masahiro will not dare take advantage of you.”
“I am afraid it will displease Shigeru,” Akane said, wishing he were there so that she could speak to him directly.
“Lord Shigeru has a compassionate nature,” Haruna replied. “He would not exact such a punishment.”
“I cannot do it,” Akane said. “Forgive me.”
“They will die tomorrow then.” Haruna wept as she spoke these words.
AFTER THE OLDER woman had left, Akane went to the altar to pray for Hayato’s spirit, to ask his forgiveness for the part she had played in his tragic fate and the disaster that his love for her had brought upon his family. He loved children, she thought. He wanted me to have his children. Now he is to lose his sons; he will have no one to carry on his line; his family will become extinct. There will be no one to pray for his soul.
People will blame me. They will come to hate me. What if they find out I used charms against Shigeru’s wife? They already say I have bewitched him. . . .
Her thoughts continued to writhe and twist like a nest of adders, and when the maids brought the midday meal, she could not eat.
As the afternoon wore on, it grew hotter and the cicadas’ shrilling seemed more oppressive. Gradually her turmoil gave way to a numbness and lassitude: she felt so weary she could hardly move or think.
She asked for the bed to be prepared, changed into a light summer robe, and lay down. She did not expect to sleep, but almost immediately she fell into a kind of waking dream. The dead man came into the room, undressed and lay down beside her. She felt the familiar smoothness of his skin; his smell surrounded her. His weight covered her as it had when they had first made love and he had treated her with such tenderness, and the day her father died, when her need for him had been so intense.
“Akane,” he whispered, “I love you.”
“I kn
ow,” she said, feeling the tears spring into her eyes. “But you are dead, and now there is nothing I can do.”
His weight changed against her, no longer the comforting solid-ness of the living man but the dead weight of the corpse. It pressed down on her, squeezing the air from her lungs, forcing her heart to pump frantically. She could hear her breath gasping and feel her limbs flailing uselessly.
Suddenly she was awake, alone in the room, dripping with sweat, panting; she knew she would never be free of his ghost—he had come to possess her—unless she made some kind of retribution.
Now she was seized by a feverish anxiety that it would be too late. Despite Haruna’s words, she had no confidence that she would be allowed to speak to Lord Masahiro. She called for the maids, took a bath, and prepared herself while she tried to think of the best way to approach him. Her impatience, her sense of the rapid elapse of time, made her realize her only path was to write to him directly. It was the boldest thing she could think of: if it failed, there was nothing else she could do. She called for ink and paper and wrote swiftly—her father, who could write as easily in stone as most scholars on paper, had taught her, and her handwriting was strong and fluid, reflecting her character. She used the phrases of courtesy but nothing elaborate or flowery, simply asking if Lord Masahiro would permit her to come to speak to him.
He will never allow it, she thought, as she handed the message to one of the guards. I will hear nothing, and this time tomorrow Hayato’s children will be dead.
Dressed in her finest clothes, she could do nothing but wait. Night had fallen, bringing a little relief from the heat. Akane ate a bowl of cold noodles with fresh vegetables and drank a cup of wine. She was afraid to sleep, afraid of Hayato’s spirit. Again there was thunder in the distance, but no rain fell. The shutters were open and the scent of the garden flowers, mingled with the smell of the sea and with pine needles, drifted into the room. In the east, the moon was rising behind massed clouds, lighting their wild shapes as though they were shadow puppets in a play.
A huge flash of lightning had just lit up the southern sky when she heard the tread of feet and low voices outside beyond the wall. A few seconds later, one of the maids came in and whispered, “Lady Akane, someone has come from the castle.” Her voice was tinged with alarm.
“A messenger?” Akane stood, trembling.
“Maybe . . . or maybe ...” The girl laughed and her face twisted. She hardly dared to speak his name. “You know, the uncle . . .”
“It cannot be!” Akane replied, wanting to slap her for her stupidity. “What did he say?”
“He asked to see you.”
“Where is he now?”
“I asked him to wait in the entrance hall. But, Lady Akane, if it is him, how insulting of me! What should I do?”
“You had better show him in at once,” Akane said. “And bring some more wine. Let him come in alone. If he brought anyone else with him, make them wait outside. You also must stay outside, but come at once if I call you.”
As soon as the visitor stepped into the room, despite the informality of his robes and the lack of crest, she knew at once that it was Masahiro. He was a short man, much shorter than Shigeru, and already showing signs of the corpulence of middle age. Her first thought was, He thinks he will sleep with me, and she felt a rush of terror, for she knew that if that happened, Shigeru would never forgive it.
She bowed deeply to him, then sat, trying to arm herself with steel and coldness.
“Lord Otori, this is far too great an honor.”
“Your letter said you wanted to speak with me. And I have long wanted to meet you. It seemed like a golden opportunity, especially as my nephew is away.”
She poured wine and made a comment about the heat of the night and the strange beauty of the moonlit clouds. He drank, staring at her in an appraising way, while she, less openly, was trying to assess him. She already knew of his constant pursuit of sexual novelty, which led him not only to Haruna’s establishment but also, gossip said, to far seedier places and far more unusual pleasures. His skin was sallow in color and marked by several large moles.
She thought she should make her request directly, before any misunderstandings arose between them.
“I feel a certain responsibility for the sad event that took place last night,” she said softly.
“You mean, the intolerable insult to the Otori lords?”
I mean the death of a good man, she thought but did not say. “I wanted to apologize to you in person.”
“I accept your apology, but I don’t think you can be blamed if men fall in love with you,” he replied. “I am told that is why Hayato acted as he did. Apparently he was infatuated with you. I’ve heard my nephew is too.”
There was a slight question in his voice. She said, “Forgive me, Lord Otori, I cannot discuss Lord Shigeru with you.”
He raised his eyebrows slightly and drank again. “And was that all you wanted? To apologize?”
He will never agree. I am merely humiliating myself, Akane thought, but then she felt the dead man’s exhalation against her neck, as though he knelt behind her and would at any moment wrap his cold arms around her. She took a deep breath.
“Lord Hayato’s sons are very young. His family have always served the Otori faithfully. I am asking you to be merciful and to spare their lives.”
“Their father insulted Shigeru: I am only protecting his name.”
“I am sure if Lord Shigeru were here, he would also plead for them,” she said quietly.
“Yes, he’s a kindhearted boy, so people say. I, on the other hand, do not have that reputation.” His voice was scornful, but she thought she also heard envy in it, and her suspicions were confirmed when he went on. “My nephew is very popular, isn’t he? I hear reports from every corner of the Middle Country praising him.”
“It’s true,” she replied. “People love him.”
She saw him flinch under the lash of his jealousy.
“More than his father?”
“Lord Shigemori is also very popular.”
Masahiro laughed. “I would be surprised if that were true.” His upper teeth were slightly protruding, giving his lower jaw a look of weakness. “Where is Shigeru now?”
“Lord Otori must know—he is in Chigawa.”
“Do you hear from him?”
“He occasionally writes a letter.”
“And when he is here—and I must tell you, the house is superb, elegant, comfortable; I congratulate you—does he tell you everything?”
She made a slight movement with her shoulders and looked away.
“Of course he does,” Masahiro said. “You are an experienced woman, and my nephew, for all his admirable qualities, is still very young.”
He leaned forward. “Let us deal frankly with each other, Akane. You want something from me, and I want something from you.”
She looked quickly at him then, and to hide her alarm she allowed an expression of scorn to form slowly on her face.
“I’m not going to suggest we sleep together. It’s certainly what I want, but even I concede that it would be indelicate. And I’m sure it’s asking you to pay too high a price for the lives of your old lover’s children.”
She continued to stare at him, making no attempt to mask her dislike and contempt. He laughed again. “But I would like to know what Shigeru’s up to. You can surely assist me in that.”