The Harsh Cry of the Heron

by Lian Hearn

  13

  After Takeo had left with Sunaomi, Taku sat for a while on the veranda looking out over the rain-soaked garden, thinking about all his mother’s cousin had told him. It disturbed him more than he had revealed, for it threatened to bring him into open conflict with his older brother, something he had hoped to avoid. What a fool Zenko is, he thought, and always has been. Just like our father!

  At ten years old, in the moment just before the earthquake had shattered the city, he had watched his father betray Takeo. Zenko had blamed Takeo for Arai’s death, but Taku had interpreted the whole scene differently. He already knew his father had ordered his mother’s death in a fit of rage—he would never forget or forgive his readiness to throw away the lives of his sons. He had thought Takeo would kill Zenko—often afterward dreamed that he had—and could never understand Zenko’s resentment that Takeo had spared his life.

  He had hero-worshipped Takeo as a boy, and now, as a man, respected and admired him. Moreover, the Muto family had sworn allegiance to the Otori; he would never break that oath. Quite apart from the obligations of honor and loyalty, he would have to be as big a fool as Zenko—his position in the Three Countries was everything he could desire, giving him power and status and enabling him to take full advantage of all his talents.

  Takeo had also taught him many things that he had learned from the Kikuta. Taku smiled to himself, remembering the many times he had succumbed to the Kikuta sleep until he had learned to evade it—and even use it himself. There was a strong bond between the two of them; they were alike in many ways, and both knew the conflicts caused by mixed blood.

  Still, an older brother was an older brother, and Taku had been brought up to respect the hierarchy of the Tribe. He might be prepared to kill Zenko, as he had told Takeo, but he would not insult him by ignoring his right to have a say in who would take over the leadership of the Muto family. He decided he would suggest his mother, Shizuka, Kenji’s niece. It might be an acceptable compromise.

  His mother’s husband, Dr. Ishida, would take Zenko’s younger son to Hagi. He could take letters or verbal messages to Shizuka. Ishida, Taku believed, was trustworthy enough. His main weakness was a certain innocence, as if he found it hard to comprehend the depth of wickedness possible in human nature. Perhaps he had taught himself to ignore it in Lord Fujiwara, whom he had served for many years, and was all the more shocked by it when it emerged. Apart from the courage it must take to go off on his explorations, he was not physically brave, and did not like fighting.

  Taku himself would stay close to Zenko and Kono, possibly even travel with Kono to the West, where he would arrange a meeting with Sugita Hiroshi, his oldest friend. It was important that Kono take a true picture of the Three Countries back to the capital, making it clear to the Emperor and his general that Lord Otori was supported unconditionally in Maruyama and Inuyama, and that Zenko stood alone.

  Reasonably satisfied with these decisions, he went to the stables to see how the old horse, Ryume, had recovered from the journey. He was pleased with what he found there—whatever his brother’s faults, his knowledge and care of horses was unparalleled. Ryume had been groomed—mane and tail were free of mud and untangled; the horse looked dry, well fed, and content. Despite his age, he was still a fine horse, and the grooms admired him openly, even treated Taku with greater deference on his account.

  He was still petting the horse and feeding him carrots when Zenko came into the stable area. They greeted each other with their usual show of warmth.

  “You still have Raku’s son,” Zenko said, putting his hand out and rubbing the horse’s brow. Taku remembered Zenko’s jealousy when they had returned to Hagi in the spring with the two beautiful colts, one Hiroshi’s and one his, a clear indication of Takeo’s fondness for them both, only serving to emphasize his coldness toward Zenko.

  “I will give him to you,” he said on an impulse. “He is not too old to get foals.” Apart from his children, he could not have offered his brother anything more precious. He hoped the generosity of the gesture would soften Zenko’s feelings toward him.

  “Thank you, but I will not accept him,” Zenko said. “He was a gift to you from Lord Otori, and anyway, I think he is too old to breed.

  “Like Lord Otori,” he remarked as they returned to the residence, “who has to get his sons from younger men.”

  Taku perceived that this was meant to be a joke, but it had a bitter ring to it. Truly my brother construes everything as an insult, he thought.

  “It is a great honor to you and your wife,” he said mildly, but Zenko’s face was dark.

  “Is it an honor, or are they now hostages?” he demanded.

  “That surely rather depends on you,” Taku replied.

  Zenko made some noncommittal reply and dropped the subject.

  “I suppose you will go to the Muto family home for the funeral ceremonies?” he said when they were seated inside.

  “I believe Lord Takeo wishes to conduct a ceremony in Hagi. Our mother is there, and since there is no corpse to bury…”

  “No corpse? So where did Kenji die? And how do we know he is dead? It would not be the first time he disappeared to suit his own purposes.”

  “I am sure he is dead.” Taku glanced at his brother and went on, “He was in ill health—he may have died of the lung illness, but the mission he was undertaking was extremely dangerous, and he had arranged to come immediately to Inuyama if he had been successful. I am telling you this in confidence. The official story will be that he passed away from the disease.”

  “I suppose it was at the hands of the Kikuta?” Zenko said after a long silence.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I may bear our father’s name, brother, but that doesn’t alter the fact that I am as much one of the Tribe as you. I have contacts among the Muto—and among the Kikuta, come to that. Everyone knows that Akio’s son is Kenji’s grandson. I imagine Kenji longed to see him—he was an old man, his health was failing. Akio, they say, has never forgiven him or Takeo for Kotaro’s death. I am just drawing conclusions from the facts. I have to, because Takeo does not confide in me as he does in you.”

  Taku noted again the resentment in his brother’s voice, but it concerned him less than his comment that he had contacts with the Kikuta. Could it be true, or was Zenko merely boasting?

  He waited in silence to see what else Zenko would reveal.

  “Of course there was the gossip in the Muto village about the boy,” Zenko went on. “That Takeo was the father, not Akio.” He spoke idly, but Taku was aware of the deep interest beneath the words.

  “Only Muto Yuki would know for sure,” he replied. “And she died shortly after the child was born.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Zenko said. “Well, whoever the father is, the boy is Kenji’s grandson, and the Muto family have an interest in him. If I am to become the Master, I shall contact the Kikuta about him.”

  “I believe it would be better to leave the question of who is to succeed Kenji until we have discussed it with our mother,” Taku said politely. “I would be surprised if I had to remind you that the Master of the family usually possesses high skills.”

  Zenko flushed in anger, his eyes three-cornered. “I have many Tribe skills, little brother. They may not be as showy as yours, but they are very effective!”

  Taku made a slight—and insincere—movement with his head to show submission, and they moved on to safer subjects. After a little while Lord Kono joined them; they ate the midday meal together and then went with Hana and the two younger boys to see the kirin. Afterward Dr. Ishida was invited back to the residence to become better acquainted with Chikara before taking him to Hagi.

  ISHIDA HAD SEEMED very nervous on meeting Kono, and had become even more tense as the nobleman questioned him about his time in Fujiwara’s household. He accepted the invitation with reluctance, and arrived somewhat late for the evening meal—already, Taku realized with apprehension, quite drunk.

  T
aku himself was tense, disturbed by his conversation with Zenko and aware of all the undercurrents in the room as they ate. In his habitual way, he gave no sign of this, conversing lightly but courteously with Kono, complimenting Hana on the food and her sons, and trying to draw Ishida into innocuous subjects such as the customs of the Gen nomads or the life cycle of whales. He had a guarded, somewhat barbed relationship with his sister-in-law, whom he did not particularly like or trust but whose intelligence and spirit he could not help admiring—and no man could help responding to her beauty. Taku recalled how they had all been besotted by her when they were boys—he, Zenko, and Hiroshi. They had followed her around like dogs with their tongues hanging out, and had competed for her attention.

  It was common knowledge that Kono’s father had preferred men to women, but Taku saw nothing to indicate that the son took after him. Indeed, he thought he saw a natural enough attraction behind Kono’s attention to Hana. Impossible not to desire her, he thought, and wondered fleetingly what it would be like to wake in the dark with her alongside him. He could almost envy Zenko.

  “Dr. Ishida took care of your father,” Hana remarked to Kono. “And now he looks after Lord Otori’s health.”

  Taku heard both duplicity and malevolence in her voice, and desire gave way to dislike. He was thankful he had recovered from his infatuation—and had never suffered another. He thought gratefully of his own straightforward wife, whom he knew he could trust and whom he missed already. It was going to be a long, tedious summer.

  “With great success,” Zenko said, “Dr. Ishida has saved Lord Otori from death on many occasions.”

  “My father always had the highest regard for your skill,” Kono said to Ishida.

  “You flatter me unduly. My skill is negligible.”

  Taku thought Ishida would say no more on the matter, but after another deep draught of wine the doctor went on, “Of course, Lord Otori’s case is quite fascinating, from the point of view of a man like myself who is interested in the workings of the human mind.” He paused, drank deeply, then leaned forward and said confidentially, “Lord Otori believes no one can kill him—he has made himself immortal.”

  “Indeed?” Kono murmured. “That sounds a little grandiose. Is it some kind of a delusion?”

  “In a way, yes. A very useful one. There was some prophecy made—Taku, you were there when your poor uncle—”

  “I don’t remember,” Taku said swiftly. “Chikara, how do you feel about a sea voyage with a kirin?”

  Chikara gulped at being addressed directly by his uncle, and before he could reply, Zenko inquired, “What prophecy?”

  “That Lord Otori can only die at the hands of his own son.” Ishida drank again. “Why was I talking about that? Oh yes, the effects of strong belief on the body. He believes he cannot be killed, and his body responds by healing itself.”

  “Fascinating,” Kono said smoothly. “Lord Otori does seem to have survived many attacks on his life. Have you known other similar cases?”

  “Well, yes,” Ishida said, “in my travels in Tenjiku, where there are holy men who can walk on flame and not get burned, and lie on beds of nails with no harm to their skin.”

  “Did you know of this, brother?” Zenko demanded quietly, while Kono pressed Ishida for more traveler’s tales.

  “It is no more than a popular superstition,” Taku said lightly, inwardly wishing all the torments of hell on the drunken doctor. “The Otori family are the target of endless gossip and speculation.”

  “My sister was the subject of such hearsay,” Hana said. “She was supposed to bring death to any man who desired her, but Lord Takeo has survived the danger quite well. Heaven be thanked,” she added, glancing at Taku.

  The laughter that followed was slightly uncomfortable, as more than one person present recalled that Lord Fujiwara had married Kaede, against her will, and had not survived.

  “Yet everyone knows of the Five Battles,” Zenko went on. “And the earthquake—‘Earth delivers what Heaven desires.’” He saw Kono’s quizzical look and explained. “A prophecy was made by a holy woman, which was confirmed by Takeo’s victories in the war. The earthquake was held to be a sign from Heaven, favoring him.”

  “Yes, so he told me,” Kono said, mockery in his voice. “So convenient for the victor to have a useful prophecy at hand.” He drank and then said more seriously, “In the capital an earthquake is usually seen as a punishment for evil conduct, not a reward.”

  Taku did not know whether to speak and reveal to Kono where his loyalties lay, or to say nothing and seem to be in support of his brother. He was rescued by Ishida, who spoke with great emotion. “The earthquake saved my life. And that of my wife. In my opinion the evil were punished.”

  Tears sprang into his eyes, and he wiped them away on his sleeve. “Forgive me, I did not mean to insult the memory of either of your fathers.” He turned to Hana. “I should retire. I am very tired. I hope you will excuse an old man.”

  “Of course, Father,” she said, addressing him with courtesy, for he was her husband’s stepfather. “Chikara, take grandfather to his room and tell the maids to assist him.”

  “I’m afraid he had a little too much to drink,” she apologized to Kono after the boy had helped the doctor to his feet and they had left.

  “He is a most interesting man. I am sorry he is to go to Hagi. I hoped to have many conversations with him. He knew my father better than anyone alive, I think.”

  And was fortunate not to die at his hands, Taku thought.

  “The prophecy is interesting, is it not?” Kono said. “Lord Otori has no sons, I believe.”

  “He has three daughters,” Taku said.

  Zenko laughed, a short, conspiratorial burst. “Officially,” he said. “There is more gossip about Takeo…but I must not be indiscreet!”

  Kono raised his eyebrows. “Well, well!” he said.

  As Kenji would say, that’s torn it, Taku thought. Uncle, what am I going to do without you?

  14

  Miyoshi Kahei accompanied Takeo to Hagi with his oldest son, Katsunori. The city was his hometown, and he was glad to have the chance to see his relatives. Takeo, on the other hand, knew he would need Kahei’s advice on how best to counter the growing threat from the capital, Miyako, from the Emperor and his general, and how he should spend the winter of preparation.

  It was hard to think of winter now, at the end of the plum rains, with all the heat of summer still to come. Other concerns should take precedence over war: the harvest, the usual anxieties about plague and other hot-weather illnesses and what measures could be taken to prevent them, the conservation of water in case of late summer drought. But all of these matters lost their urgency when he allowed himself to think of seeing Kaede and his daughters.

  They rode across the stone bridge at the end of a day of sun and showers, like the fox’s wedding. Takeo was aware of the clammy cling of his clothes—he had been soaked to the skin so often on the journey he could hardly remember how it felt to be dry. Even the lodging places had been humid, smelling of damp and mildew.

  Over the sea, the sky was a clear translucent blue, turning yellow in the west as the sun set. Behind them, the mountains were covered in heavy clouds, and thunder rumbled, making the horses startle despite their fatigue.

  The animal he was riding was nothing special; he missed his old horse, Shun, and wondered if he would ever find another like him. He would talk to Mori Hiroki about horses, and also to Shigeko. If they were to go to war, they would need more horses…but he did not want to go to war.

  The Miyoshi brothers left him at the gate. He dismounted in the main bailey; the horses were led away, and, taking only Sunaomi, he walked through the gardens. Word had gone ahead to the castle. Kaede waited for him on the long veranda that surrounded the residence. The sound of the sea filled the air, and doves were calling from the roofs. Her face was alight with joy.

  “We did not expect you so soon! What weather to ride in! You must be exhau
sted. And you are soaking wet.”

  The pleasure her affectionate scolding roused in him was so intense that for a moment he wanted to stand there forever. Then it was replaced by the desire to hold her, to lose himself in her. But first the news must be broken, to Kaede, to Shizuka.

  Shigeko came running from the interior of the residence. “Father!” she cried, and knelt to remove his sandals. Then she noticed the boy, who was standing back in shyness.

  “Can this be our cousin?” she said.

  “Yes, Sunaomi is going to live with us for a while.”

  “Sunaomi!” Kaede exclaimed. “But why? Is his mother all right? Has something happened to Hana?”

  He saw her concern for her sister and wondered how much he could tell her of his suspicions.

  “She is well,” he replied. “I will tell you the reasons for Sunaomi’s visit later.”

  “Of course. Come inside. You must bathe at once, and put on dry clothes. Lord Takeo, do you think you are still eighteen years old? You take no concern for your health!”

  “Is Shizuka here?” he inquired as Kaede led him along the veranda to the rear of the residence, where a pool had been constructed around a hot spring.

  “Yes, what has happened?” Kaede glanced up at his face and said, “Shigeko, tell Shizuka to come to us shortly. Ask the maids to bring clothes for your father.”

  Shigeko’s face was serious as she bowed and left them. He could hear her light tread on the boards; he heard her speak to her sisters. “Yes, Father is home. But you are not to go to him yet. Come with me. We are to find Shizuka.”

  They were alone. The light was leaching from flowers and shrubs. Around the pools and streams a late iris or two gleamed. Sky and sea merged into each other in the mist of evening. Around the bay fires and lamps began one by one to sprinkle the darkness. Kaede said nothing as she helped him remove his clothes.

  “Muto Kenji is dead,” he said.