Heaven's Net Is Wide

by Lian Hearn

  They were met outside Yamagata by Nagai Tadayoshi, who had shown Shigeru so much of the town, the surrounding area, and the records of both during his stay two years before. Nagai was an austere and undemonstrative man, but he could not hide his pleasure at the meeting. Shigeru was equally glad to see him again, feeling he could trust Nagai completely, and he was delighted to be in Yamagata, the town whose people he had formed such close bonds with.

  The annual business of government took up many hours of each day. Shigeru devoted himself patiently to these affairs, determined not to leave Yamagata before he had word from Eijiro or his sons or Harada about the outcome of their negotiations. At first Takeshi attended the meetings too but seeing his boredom and fearing he would exhaust too soon the concentration and discipline he would need for his time at Terayama, Shigeru allowed him to go with Kiyoshige and the other captains to assess the capabilities and readiness of the Yamagata warriors, a task Takeshi took to with alacrity.

  They met in the evening to bathe and eat. Kiyoshige then usually took himself off to get the feeling of the town, as he put it. Shigeru did not allow Takeshi to go with him, knowing that getting the feeling of the town usually took place in pleasure houses among the beautiful women of Yamagata. But he found the information Kiyoshige gleaned from these excursions useful. Nagai had somewhat reluctantly suggested that Shigeru also might like to meet some beautiful women, but he had declined. It seemed unnecessarily insulting to his wife, and, he realized, he did not want to hurt Akane by breaking his promise not to make her jealous. Besides, his refusal had so delighted Nagai it had been worth it for that alone.

  So when Kiyoshige sent a message early one evening to say he had returned with a woman he wanted Shigeru to meet, Shigeru was at first inclined to refuse. The day’s meetings had been long and demanding; his head ached and he was hungry. He did not intend to sleep with Kiyoshige’s woman, however attractive she was, and so there seemed no point in meeting her. He sent a reply to that effect, but an hour later, while he was finishing the evening meal and talking to Nagai about the following day’s arrangements, Kiyoshige himself came to the room and drank wine with them.

  “When you are finished, Lord Shigeru, spare me a few minutes of your company. This girl will intrigue you, I promise. She is from Kumamoto; she plays the lute and sings. I think you will like her songs.”

  Kumamoto: home of the Arai.

  “Maybe I will join you for a little while,” he replied.

  “We are at the Todoya,” Kiyoshige said. “Come anytime. We will wait all night!”

  Nagai sat saying nothing, a look of disapproval on his face. Shigeru regretted the tarnishing of his bright reputation, but it was more important to keep his negotiations with the Seishuu secret. He did not leave immediately, not wanting to insult the older man; they talked for another hour or so, at first about administrative affairs, and then, after a third flask of wine, about Nagai’s passion for gardening. Finally Shigeru stood and wished him good night. He went to the privy to relieve himself, and then, calling for two guards to come with him, walked from the residence through the inner courtyard to the castle gatehouse.

  It could hardly be called a castle, though the foundations and the moat walls were of stone. Lying in the heart of the Middle Country, Yamagata had never come under attack and was not built to be defended. Shigeru thought about this as he crossed the bridge over the moat. The residence buildings were all wooden. They stood behind walls and strong gates, but he saw how easily they could be taken. Iida Sadamu was said to be building himself a mighty castle at Inuyama. Should the Otori be fortifying their towns in the same way? It was something else to discuss with Nagai.

  It was about the second half of the Hour of the Boar. There was no moon, but the constellations of stars were brilliant in the cold clear night. There was a hint of frost in the air, the men’s breath was visible, and a slight mist rose from the surface of the water. On the bank, bulrushes emerged like lances, and the willows’ long branches, now almost bare, were wreathed in the pale vapor.

  The town was quiet, most people already asleep. Only a few inns and pleasure houses still had lamps outside, their glow warm orange. From inside came sounds of music, women singing, men laughing, their voices made loud by wine.

  The Todoya was built on the riverbank, its verandas extending out over the water; long boats were moored beneath them, and lanterns hung on the corners of the eaves and on the ends of the boats. Braziers had been carried onto the verandas, and several people sat outside, wrapped in animal pelts, enjoying the brilliance of the autumn night. There were two of Kiyoshige’s men outside the main entrance; when they recognized Shigeru, one of them called inside to a maid to fetch Kiyoshige, while the other knelt to unfasten Shigeru’s sandals.

  Kiyoshige appeared, gave him a knowing smile, and led him to a room at the back of the house. It was a private room, reserved for special guests, spacious and comfortable, warmed by two charcoal braziers, though the doors were open onto the garden. The night was windless. Water trickled from a fountain, echoing slightly like a bell. Occasionally there was a rustle as a leaf detached itself and fell.

  A young woman, around seventeen years of age, knelt beside one of the braziers. She was small, but not slight and fragile like his wife. Her limbs were strong, almost muscled, and beneath her robe her body was compact and firm. She bowed to the floor when he entered the room, and sat up when Kiyoshige told her to. She kept her eyes down, and her whole demeanor was modest and refined, but Shigeru suspected it was partly assumed. His suspicions were confirmed when she glanced at him, met his gaze, and held it. Her eyes were extraordinarily sharp and intelligent. She is more than she seems, he thought suddenly. I must be very careful what I say.

  “Lord Otori,” she said. “It is a great honor.” Her voice was soft, also refined, her language formal and courteous. Yet she was in a house of pleasure: he could not place her. “My name is Shizuka.”

  Again he sensed disguise: the name meant tranquillity, yet he felt this woman was far from tranquil. She poured wine for him and Kiyoshige.

  “You are from Kumamoto, I believe,” he said, as though making idle conversation.

  “My mother lives there, but I have many relatives in Yamagata. My family name is Muto. Lord Otori may have heard of them.”

  He recalled, from Nagai’s records, a merchant of that name, a manufacturer of soybean products, he thought, and could even place where the house was.

  “You are visiting your relatives, then?”

  “I often come to Yamagata for that purpose.” She glanced at Kiyoshige and dropped her voice. “Forgive me, Lord Otori, if I come closer. We do not wish to be heard by the wrong people.” She shuffled toward him until they sat knee to knee. He could smell her fragrance and could not help thinking how attractive she was; her voice when she spoke had not lost its feminine note, but her speech was direct and matter-of-fact, like a man’s.

  “Your relative, Otori Danjo, came to Kumamoto two weeks ago. He is the same age as Lord Arai’s eldest son, Daiichi. They met at Maruyama when they were boys. Both were taught by Sugita Haruki. But I expect Lord Otori is already aware of this.”

  “Of course I knew Danjo’s mother is from the Sugita family. I did not know he was already acquainted with Arai Daiichi.”

  “He and Danjo were happy to see each other again; and Lord Arai was very pleased to have such good news of Lord Otori’s health. I am also closely acquainted with Lord Arai,” Shizuka went on. “That is why I am here. I come at his request.”

  Closely acquainted? What did she mean? Were they lovers? Was she Arai’s acknowledged mistress, as Akane was his? Or was she a spy, sent by Iida to trap him into revealing his plans?

  “I hope I will have the pleasure of meeting Lord Arai himself,” he said noncommittally. For a moment he felt like the Otori symbol, the heron, peering into opaque water, waiting for something to move that he might stab at it.

  She gazed at him frankly for a long moment, then reached
into the folds of her robe and took out a small roll of paper. “I have a letter from him. He accompanied Danjo back to Kibi, just across the border.”

  He took the note and unrolled it, seeing the vermilion seal with the Arai characters.

  “Lord Arai says he had heard that I am in Yamagata and invites me to visit him, since he is, by coincidence, in Kibi,” he said to Kiyoshige. “He suggests we go hawking on Kibi plain.”

  “Hawking is a very popular pursuit,” Kiyoshige remarked. “As long as no one is swallowed up by the earth.”

  “Why did he send the letter with you?” Shigeru asked the woman. “Any messenger could have brought it to me.”

  “Most messengers would simply have delivered it,” she replied. “I was to see you first and . . .”

  “And what?” He did not know whether to be affronted or amused.

  “And decide if we should take matters further.”

  He was surprised by her boldness and confidence. She spoke as if she were one of Arai’s senior advisers rather than a concubine.

  “You decided very quickly,” he said.

  “I am able to sum up a character very quickly. I believe Lord Otori is to be trusted.”

  But are you? he thought, but did not speak it.

  “Ride toward Kibi tomorrow. Just over the wooden bridge, there is a fox shrine. A horseman will meet you there. Follow him toward the southwest. Bring only a few men, and let everyone know that you ride out for pleasure.”

  “We should have hawks,” Shigeru said to Kiyoshige.

  He nodded. “I will arrange it.”

  “It will be a perfect day for hawking,” the woman called Muto Shizuka said.

  24

  After the long days of discussion, reading, meetings, and reports, Shigeru was glad to be out early on horseback, with his friend and his brother, on what was indeed a beautiful day, one of those days of late autumn when the last warmth of summer and the first chill of winter meet in perfect balance. The grasses were fawn and russet; the last leaves glowed golden and orange; the sky was a deep, unbroken blue, but the mountain peaks were already frosted with snow.

  His black horse, Karasu, was eager and spirited after several days of inactivity. Three men rode with them, including the falconer carrying the hawks on their perch. The birds also were active and lively. A fourth man followed, leading a packhorse, for Kibi was half a day’s ride away, and they would surely have to stay overnight somewhere or even sleep out of doors—the last time, Shigeru thought, before winter set in.

  A broad river flanked by rice fields marked the border between the Middle Country and the West, but it was not manned in the way that the Tohan guarded their border. The Seishuu and the Otori had never been at war, the Seishuu being a group of several large clans who sometimes quarreled among themselves but had never united to fight a common enemy or been dominated by one powerful family, as the Iida dominated the Tohan.

  The river was low and calm, though it was possible to see how high it rose in the spring floods; it was spanned by a wooden bridge, and on the far side, Shigeru could see the grove of trees around the shrine, on this day a mass of leaves like flame against the dull green of the river and the pale brown stubble of the fields. Little white statues of the fox god shone like ice among the brilliant leaves.

  A horseman waited as promised among the trees. He raised his hand in greeting, and without speaking turned his horse and set off at a canter away from the river and the road toward the southwest.

  “Who’s that?” Takeshi called, his own horse pulling against the bit and bucking in its eagerness to follow. He had been told nothing of the true purpose of the outing.

  “Someone we hope will show us where the best hawking is,” Shigeru replied, urging Karasu forward.

  Their guide led them at some speed along a narrow track that eventually opened out onto a broad plain. Here the horses tossed their heads and snorted and began to gallop, and their riders let them run across the tawny plain like ships driven by the wind across the face of the sea.

  Hardly a tree or a rock broke the smooth undulating surface of the plain, and the wind whipped tears into his eyes, blurring his vision, but as the horses began to slow, Shigeru could see the figure a long way in the distance, the single horseman. They drew nearer; the man raised his hand again, and as the horses, trotting now, came up the slope toward him, Shigeru saw behind him a small group of men who had set up a kind of camp in a slight depression in the plain. Cloth screens had been erected on three sides, giving protection from the wind; matting had been laid on the ground and cushions placed on it. On either side of the open space fluttered long banners emblazoned with the bear’s paw of the Arai and the setting sun of the Seishuu. Two folding stools had been prepared, and on one of these sat a young man who he assumed was Arai Daiichi. Beside him, on the ground, was Danjo, Eijiro’s oldest son.

  As Shigeru dismounted, Arai stood and declared his name, then dropped to his knees and bowed to the ground. Danjo did the same. When they rose, Arai said, “Lord Otori. What a fortunate coincidence brings us to this meeting.”

  His voice was warm, with a Western accent. It was hard to tell his age: he was already a big man, a little taller than Shigeru and a lot broader; his features were strong, his eyes sparkling. He radiated energy and strength.

  Shigeru thought briefly of Muto Shizuka and wondered where she was now. He had half expected to see her here, since she and Arai had seemed so close.

  “It’s very fortunate that you were able to meet up with an old friend,” Shigeru replied, “and a great pleasure for me that you happened to be here.”

  “The hawking is excellent at this time of year. I often come to Kibi in the tenth month. You’ve met my companion, I think?”

  Shigeru turned in surprise and saw Shizuka dismounting from the horse they had been following. He tried to hide his astonishment. He could not believe that someone who now appeared, despite her riding clothes, so womanly—soft, gentle even—could have fooled him into thinking she was a man. In the brief moment of dismounting, everything about her had changed—almost, he would swear, her height and size.

  Arai was laughing. “You didn’t suspect it was her? She’s clever like that. Sometimes even I don’t recognize her.” His eyes caressed her.

  “Lord Otori.” She greeted Shigeru demurely and bowed respectfully to Kiyoshige and Takeshi. Takeshi was trying in vain to hide his admiration.

  “Lady Muto,” Shigeru said formally, honoring her, for it was obvious to him that Arai was deeply in love with her and that she held an unequaled position with him. He wondered if she loved him as much and, watching her, decided that she did. He felt a strange pang, envy perhaps, knowing that he would never allow himself to fall in love in that way and never expected to be so loved by a woman.

  He suspected Arai was a man who seized what he wanted with no hesitation and no regrets. It was impossible to tell what effects his thoughtlessness would have on his character in later years, but now, in his youth, this appetite for life was an attractive quality, and Shigeru warmed to it.

  “Sit down,” Arai said. “We’ve brought food from Kumamoto. You may not have tasted such things before, we are close to the coast. These are just an appetizer. Later we will cook and eat what our hawks catch for us.”

  Dried roe from sea cucumber; flakes of preserved squid; unhulled rice wrapped in kelp; orange mushrooms shaped like fans, pickled in rice vinegar and salt. First they drank wine; afterward water was boiled and tea served. The conversation was general: the autumn weather, the birds of the plain that they might expect to catch; then, in response to a question from Takeshi, various matters pertaining to the sword—the best swordsmiths, the greatest teachers, the most famous fighters.

  “My brother was taught by Matsuda Shingen,” Takeshi said, “and I am to go to Terayama to be instructed by him.”

  “That will turn you into a man, like Lord Otori,” Arai replied. “You were very fortunate to be accepted by Matsuda,” he said to Shiger
u. “It is rumored that Iida Sadayoshi invited him to Inuyama and Matsuda refused.”