by Lian Hearn
“And you knew Lord Shigeru?”
“For whom you are named. Yes, I knew him closely. We confided in each other for years, and trusted each other with our lives.”
“He must have been a good man.”
“I have never met another like him.”
“Was he a better man than my father?”
“Shigeko! I cannot judge your father!”
“Why not? You are his cousin. You know him better than most people.”
“Takeo is very like Shigeru—he is a great man and a great leader.”
“But…?”
“All men have flaws,” Shizuka said. “Your father tries to master his, but his nature is divided in a way that Shigeru’s was not.”
Shigeko shivered suddenly, though the air was still warm. “Don’t say any more! I’m sorry I asked you.”
“What’s wrong? Did you have a premonition?”
“I have them all the time,” Shigeko replied quietly. “I know how many people seek my father’s death.” She gestured at the twins, now waiting at the gate to the shrine. “Our family is divided in the same manner—we are the reflection of his nature. What will happen to my sisters in the future? What will their place be in the world?” She shivered again, and made an effort to change the subject.
“Has your husband returned from his latest voyage?”
“He is expected any day; he may already be in Hofu. I have not heard.”
“Father was in Hofu! Maybe they met there. Maybe they will return together.” Shigeko turned and gazed back toward the bay. “Tomorrow we will climb the hill and see if their ship is in sight.”
They entered the shrine enclosure, passing beneath the huge gate, whose architrave was carved with mythical animals and birds, houou, kirin, and shishi. The shrine was enfolded in greenery. Huge willow trees lined the riverbank; on the other three sides grew live oak and cedars, the last elements of the primeval forest that had once covered the land from mountain to river. The clamor of the city faded into stillness, broken only by birdsong. The slanting western light lit up the dust between the massive trunks in rays of gold.
A white horse in an elaborately carved stable neighed greedily on seeing them, and the twins went to offer carrots to the sacred beast, patting its plump neck and fussing over it.
An elderly man appeared from behind the main hall. He was the priest, and had been dedicated to the service of the river god as a young boy after his oldest brother drowned at the fish weir. His name was Hiroki. He was the third son of Mori Yusuke, the horse-breaker to the Otori. His older brother, Kiyoshige, had been Lord Shigeru’s closest friend, and had died at Yaegahara.
Hiroki was smiling as he approached them. He shared in the city’s unanimous approval of Shigeko, and had a particular bond with her through their love of horses. He had maintained his family’s tradition, taking care of the Otori horses after his father went to the end of the world in search of the swift horses of the steppes. Yusuke himself never returned, but he sent back a stallion that became the sire of Raku and Shun, who were both broken in and trained by Takeshi, Shigeru’s younger brother, before his death.
“Welcome, lady!” Like many people, he ignored the twins, as though their existence was too shameful to acknowledge. The girls withdrew a little under the shade of the trees, watching the priest carefully with their opaque eyes. Shigeko saw they were angry. Miki in particular had a fiery temper, which she had not yet learned to bring under control. Maya’s temper was colder but more implacable.
After they had exchanged courtesies and Shigeko had presented the offerings, Hiroki pulled on the bell rope to waken the spirit, and Shigeko made her usual prayer for the protection of the horses, seeing herself as an intermediary between the physical world and the spiritual for beings who had no speech and therefore no prayers.
A half-grown cat came scampering along the veranda, chasing a fallen leaf. Hiroki caught it up in his arms, caressing its head and ears. It began to purr throatily. Its eyes were huge and amber, its pupils slitted against the bright sun, its pale rust-colored fur splashed by patches of black and ginger.
“You have a new friend,” Shigeko exclaimed.
“Yes, he came to seek shelter one wet night and has stayed ever since. He is a good companion, the horses like him, and he terrifies the mice into silence.”
Shigeko had never seen a more handsome cat; the contrasts in its coloring were striking. She saw the old man had grown fond of the animal, and she was glad for him. His family were all dead—he had lived through the defeat of the Otori at Yaegahara and the destruction of the city in the earthquake. His only interests now were his service of the river god and his care of the horses.
The cat allowed itself to be patted for a moment, then struggled until Hiroki put it down. It dashed away, tail high.
“There’s a storm coming,” Hiroki said, chuckling. “He feels the weather in his fur.”
Maya had picked up a twig. She bent down and scratched the leaves with it. The cat went still, its eyes intent.
“Let’s go and see the horses,” Shigeko said. “Come with me, Shizuka.”
Miki ran after them, but Maya remained crouched in the shade, enticing the cat to come closer. The maid waited patiently on the veranda.
One corner of the small field had been fenced with bamboo, and a black colt was confined within it. The ground was worn and rutted where the horse had been pacing, and when it saw them, it neighed shrilly and reared. The two other young horses called in reply. They were nervous and skittish. Both had recent bite marks on neck and flank.
A boy was filling the colt’s water bucket. “He kicks it over on purpose,” he grumbled. One of his arms bore the signs of teeth-marks and bruising.
“Did he bite you?” Shigeko asked.
The boy nodded. “He’s kicked me too.” He showed another dark purple bruise on his calf.
“I don’t know what to do with him,” Hiroki said. “He has always been difficult: now he has become dangerous.”
“He’s beautiful,” Shigeko said, admiring the long legs and muscled back, the fine-shaped head and large eyes.
“Yes, he’s fine looking, and tall—the tallest horse we have. But his temperament is so intractable, I don’t know if he’ll ever be broken, or if we should breed from him.”
“He looks ready to breed!” Shizuka remarked, and they all laughed, for the horse was showing all the signs of an eager stallion.
“I’m afraid putting him with the mares will make him worse,” Hiroki said.
Shigeko moved closer to the colt. It rolled its eyes and put its ears back.
“Be careful,” Hiroki warned, and at that moment the horse tried to bite her.
The horse boy smacked it as Shigeko drew back out of reach of the horse’s teeth. She studied the animal for a few moments without saying anything.
“Confining him must make him worse,” she said. “Move the other young ones and let him have this field to himself. How would it be if you brought a couple of old, barren mares—would they calm him down and teach him manners?”
“It’s a good idea; I’ll try it,” the old man said, and told the boy to take the other two horses to the farther meadows. “We’ll bring the mares in a day or two. He’ll appreciate company more if he’s lonely!”
“I will come every day and see if he can be gentled,” Shigeko said, thinking she would write to Hiroshi and ask his advice. Maybe Hiroshi will even come and help me break him in…
Shigeko was smiling to herself as they returned to the shrine.
Maya was sitting on the veranda next to the maid, eyes cast down in a semblance of docility. The cat lay limp in the dirt, a small bundle of fur, all its beauty and vitality faded.
The old man cried out, and went hurrying, stumbling, toward it. He picked it up and held it close. It moved slightly, but did not waken.
Shizuka went at once to Maya. “What have you done?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “It looked at me, and then it fell
asleep.”
“Wake up, Mikkan,” the old man implored in vain. “Wake up!”
Shizuka was gazing in alarm at the cat. With a visible effort to control her reaction, she said quietly, “It will not waken. Not for a long time, if ever.”
“What is it?” Shigeko said. “What did she do to it?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Maya said again, but her eyes, when she looked up, were hard and bright, almost excited, and when she looked at the old man, who had begun to weep quietly, her mouth twisted scornfully.
Then Shigeko realized and said, feeling sick, “It’s one of those secret skills, isn’t it? Something she learned while she was away? Some horrible sorcery!”
“Let’s not talk about it here,” Shizuka murmured, for the shrine servants had gathered round and were staring open-mouthed, fingering their amulets and invoking the protection of the river spirit. “We must go back. Maya must be punished. But it may be too late.”
“Too late for what?” Shigeko demanded.
“I will tell you later. I only half-understand these Kikuta skills. I wish your father were here.”
SHIGEKO LONGED EVEN more for her father to come home as she faced her mother’s anger. It was late on the same day; Shizuka had taken the twins away to inflict some kind of punishment on Maya, and they had been sent to separate rooms to sleep. Thunder rolled in the distance, and now from where she knelt, head bowed before her mother, she could see the glimmer on the gold-embossed walls as lightning flashed far out at sea. The cat’s weather prediction had been correct.
Kaede said, “You should not have taken them there together! You know I do not want them seen in public together.”
“Forgive me, Mother,” Shigeko whispered. She was not accustomed to her mother’s disapproval, and it hurt her deeply. Yet she was concerned for the twins, too, and felt her mother was unjust to them. “It had been a hot day; they had studied hard. They needed an outing.”
“They may play in the garden here,” Kaede replied. “Maya must be sent away again.”
“It is the last summer we will all spend together in Hagi,” Shigeko pleaded. “Let her stay at least until Father comes home.”
“Miki is manageable, but Maya is growing beyond control,” Kaede exclaimed. “And no punishment seems to touch her. Separation from her twin, you, and her father may be the best way of curbing her will. It would also give us some peace during the summer!”
“Mother…?” Shigeko began, but then could not continue.
“I know you think I am hard on them both,” Kaede said after a moment of silence. She approached her daughter, and raised her head so she could see her face. Then she drew her close and caressed the long, silky hair.
“How beautiful your hair is! Just like mine used to be!”
“They wish you could love them,” Shigeko dared to say, feeling her mother’s anger abate. “They believe you hate them because they are not boys.”
“I do not hate them,” Kaede said. “I am ashamed of them. It is a terrible thing to have twins, like a curse. I feel it was a punishment of some kind, a warning from Heaven. And when incidents like this one with the cat occur, they frighten me. Often I think it would be better if they had died at birth, like most twins. Your father would not hear of it. He allowed them to live. But now I ask myself: For what purpose? They are Lord Otori’s daughters; they cannot go off and live with the Tribe. They will soon be of marriageable age—who among the warrior class will ever marry them? Who would take a sorceress for a wife? If their skills were disclosed, they might even be put to death for them.”
Shigeko felt her mother trembling.
“I do love them,” Kaede whispered. “But sometimes they cause me so much pain and fear that I wish they were dead. And I have always longed for a son; I can’t pretend I have not. The question of whom you will marry also torments me. I used to consider it the greatest blessing of my life that I loved your father and was able to marry him. But I have come to see that it was not without cost. I acted foolishly and selfishly in many ways. I went against everything I had been taught from childhood, that I had been expected and advised to do, and will probably pay for it for the rest of my life. I would not wish you to make the same mistakes, especially because, as we have no sons and you will inherit, the choice of your husband has become a political matter.”
“I have often heard Father say he is happy that a girl—I—will inherit your realm.”
“So he always claims. It is to spare my feelings. All men want sons.”
Yet Father does not seem to, Shigeko thought. But her mother’s words, their hint of regret, and the seriousness of her tone, remained in her heart.
11
News of Muto Kenji’s death took some weeks to reach Inuyama. The Kikuta were divided between the desire to keep it secret as long as possible while they tried to rescue the hostages, and the temptation to boast about it to show Otori that beyond the Three Countries he was powerless.
During Takeo and Kaede’s rule, roads throughout the Three Countries had been improved, and messages were carried swiftly between the great cities. But across the Eastern border, where the High Cloud Range formed a natural barrier, lay miles of wild country almost all the way to the free city of Akashi, the port that formed the gateway to the Emperor’s capital of Miyako. The rumors of Muto Kenji’s death were heard in Akashi around the beginning of the fourth month, and from there the news traveled to Inuyama by way of a merchant who traded in the free city and often passed on information from the East to Muto Taku.
Even though he had expected it, Taku was both saddened and angered by his uncle’s death, feeling the old man should have passed away peacefully in his own home, fearing that the approach would seem like weakness to the Kikuta and would only encourage them further, and praying that Kenji’s death had been swift and not without some meaning.
He felt he himself should break the news to Takeo, and Sonoda and Ai agreed that he should leave at once for Hofu, where Takeo had gone for reasons of government while Kaede and their children had returned to Hagi for the summer.
A decision on the fate of the hostages also had to be formally delivered by either Takeo or Kaede. They would be executed now, presumably, but it had to be done according to the law and not seen as an act of revenge. Taku himself had inherited Kenji’s cynicism and was not averse to committing acts of revenge, but he respected Takeo’s insistence on justice—or at least the appearance of justice. Kenji’s death also affected the Tribe, as he had been its head for well over twenty years—someone would have to be chosen from the Muto family to succeed him. Taku’s older brother, Zenko, was the closest male relative, for Kenji had had no children apart from his daughter, Yuki, yet Zenko had taken his father’s name, had no Tribe skills, and was now a warrior of the highest rank, head of the Arai clan and lord of Kumamoto.
Which left Taku himself, in many ways the obvious heir, highly talented in invisibility and the use of the second self, trained by Kenji, trusted by Takeo. It was another reason to travel now through the Three Countries, to meet with the Tribe families, confirm their loyalty and support, and discuss who should be the new Master.
Furthermore, he was restless—he had been in Inuyama all winter. His wife was pleasant, his children amused him, but domestic life bored him; he bade his family farewell with no regrets, and despite the sad nature of his mission set out the following day with a sense of mingled relief and anticipation, riding the horse Takeo had given him when he was still a child—it was the son of Raku, to whom many horse shrines were now dedicated, and had the same pale gray coat and coal black mane and tail, the coloring most highly prized in the Three Countries. Taku had named him Ryume.
Ryume himself had fathered many colts, and was now old and venerable, yet Taku had never had a horse he liked as much as this one that he had broken in himself and that had grown up with him.
It was not a good time to travel, the spring rains having just commenced, but the news could not be delayed, and no one cou
ld take it but himself. He rode fast, despite the bad weather, hoping to catch Takeo before he left Hofu.
THE ARRIVAL OF the kirin and encounter with his sister had prevented Takeo from leaving for Hagi immediately as he wished. His nephews, Sunaomi and Chikara, were prepared for the journey, but a heavy storm delayed their departure for a further two days. Thus he was still in Hofu when Muto Taku came from Inuyama to his older brother’s house, asking to be admitted to Lord Otori’s presence immediately. It was obvious that Taku was the bearer of bad news. He arrived alone, late in the evening when the light had almost faded, weary and travel-stained, yet would not bathe or eat until he had spoken to Takeo.
There were no details, only the grim fact that Muto Kenji was dead. There was no corpse to weep over, no stone to mark the grave—the hardest of deaths to mourn, distant and unseen. Takeo’s grief was intense, made worse by his sense of despair. Yet he felt unable to give way to it in Zenko’s house, and unable to confide in Taku as completely as he would have liked. He resolved to leave the next morning for Hagi, and to ride fast. His main desire was to see Kaede, to be with her, to find comfort with her. Yet his other concerns would not stand aside and wait while he dealt with grief. He had to keep at least one of Zenko’s sons with him; he would take Sunaomi—the boy would have to ride as fast as he did—and send the younger boy with Ishida and the kirin, by boat, as soon as the weather cleared. Taku could take care of that. And Kono? Perhaps Taku could also stay in the West and keep an eye on him. How soon would he hear from Fumio? Had he managed to intercept the smuggled firearms? And if he had not, how long would it take Takeo’s enemies to match him in weaponry?
Memories of his teacher and of the past assailed him. He mourned not only the loss of Kenji but all its associations. Kenji had been among Shigeru’s closest friends—one more link had been broken.
Then there was the question of the hostages in Inuyama. They must now be put to death, yet it must be done legally, and he or a member of his family should be present. He would have to write to Ai’s husband, Sonoda, send the order to him, and Ai would have to stand in for Kaede, something his tender-hearted sister-in-law would flinch from.