by Lian Hearn
Small pavilions had been constructed over the streams in the garden, and the cool sound of flowing water filled the air. The pools were a mass of mauve and cream lotus flowers, shaded by strange trees shaped like fans from the Southern Islands. The air was redolent of aniseed and ginger. The guests all wore light summer robes in brilliant colors, rivaling the butterflies that flitted among the flowers. A late cuckoo was calling its fractured song from the forest, and cicadas shrilled ceaselessly.
Eriko had introduced an old game in which the guests composed poems, read them, and then sent them floating on little wooden trays for the group in the next pavilion to read. Kaede excelled at this sort of poetry, with her huge knowledge of classical allusions and her quick mind, but Eriko came close to her. They strove to surpass each other in friendly rivalry.
Cups of wine were also floated in the slow-moving water, and every now and then one or another of the guests would reach out and hand it to a companion. The rhythm of the words and the sound of laughter mingled with the water, the insects, and the birds, producing in Takeo a rare moment of pure enjoyment, dissolving his concerns and lightening his grief.
He was watching Hiroshi, who sat with Shigeko and Eriko’s daughter, Kaori, in the next pavilion. Kaori was almost of marriageable age—perhaps this would be a good match; he would discuss it with Kaede later. Kaori took after her father, plump and full of good health and spirits. She was laughing now, with Shigeko, at Hiroshi’s efforts.
But through the laughter and all the other sounds of this peaceful afternoon, he heard something else, perhaps the flutter of a bird’s wing. He looked up into the sky and saw a small flock of specks far in the southeast. As they came closer, it was clear that they were white homing pigeons returning to the Terada residence where they had been hatched.
The birds returned all the time, for all Terada’s ships carried them, yet the direction from which these came filled him with unease, for to the southeast lay the free city of Akashi…
The pigeons fluttered overhead toward the dovecotes. Everyone looked up to watch them. Then the party resumed with apparently the same lightheartedness, but Takeo was conscious now of the heat of the afternoon, of the sweat in his armpits, of the rasp of the cicadas.
A servant came from the house, knelt behind Lord Terada, and whispered to him. Terada looked toward Takeo and made a slight gesture with his head. They both rose at the same time, made a brief apology to the gathering, and went with the servant to the house. Once on the veranda, Terada said, “Messages from my son.” He took from the servant pieces of folded paper, made from silk, lighter than feathers, and they pieced together the words.
“Failure. Weapons already in Saga’s hands. Returning at once.”
Takeo looked from the shade of the veranda toward the bright scene in the garden. He heard Kaede’s voice as she read, heard the laughter that greeted her grace and wit.
“We must prepare for a council of war,” he said. “We will meet tomorrow and decide what must be done.”
THE COUNCIL CONSISTED of Terada Fumifusa, Miyoshi Kahei, Sugita Hiroshi, Muto Shizuka, Takeo, Kaede, and Shigeko. Takeo told them of his meeting with Kono, the Emperor’s demands, the new general, and the smuggled weapons. Miyoshi Kahei naturally was in favor of immediate action—a swift summer campaign, the deaths, ideally, of Arai Zenko and Lord Kono, followed by a concentration of troops on the Eastern borders, which could advance on the capital in the spring, rout the Dog Catcher, and persuade the Emperor to think again about threatening and insulting the Otori.
“Your ships might also blockade Akashi,” he said to Terada. “We should bring the port under our control to prevent any more disasters from Arai.”
Then he recalled Shizuka’s presence and remembered Zenko was her son, and somewhat belatedly begged her pardon for his bluntness. “Yet I cannot retract my advice,” he said to Takeo. “While Zenko undermines you in the West, you cannot hope to deal with the threat from the East.”
“We have Zenko’s son with us now,” Kaede said. “We feel that this will help control him and make him biddable.”
“He is hardly a hostage, though,” Kahei replied. “The essence of holding hostages is to be prepared to take their lives. I don’t want to insult you, Takeo, but I don’t believe you could bring yourself to order the child’s death. His parents, of course, know that he is as safe with you as in his mother’s arms!”
“Zenko has sworn yet again that he will be loyal to me,” Takeo said. “I cannot attack him without provocation or warning. I prefer to give him my trust, in the hope that he deserves it. And we must make every effort to maintain peace through negotiation. I will not bring civil war on the Three Countries.”
Kahei pressed his lips together and shook his head, his face dark.
“Your brother, Gemba, and the others at Terayama have advised me to placate the Emperor, to visit Miyako next year and plead my case to him in person.”
“By which time Saga will have equipped his army with firearms. At least let us seize Akashi and prevent him trading in niter. Otherwise you will go straight to your death!”
“I am in favor of acting decisively,” Terada said. “I agree with Miyoshi. Those merchants at Akashi have gotten altogether above themselves. A free city, indeed! They’re an insult. It would be a pleasure to teach them a lesson.” He seemed to miss the days when his ships virtually controlled all trade along the northern and western coasts.
“Such an action would antagonize and infuriate our own merchants,” Shizuka said. “And we rely on their support for provisions as well as niter and iron ore. It would be very hard to fight a war without that support.”
“Everywhere the merchant class is becoming dangerously powerful,” Terada grumbled. It was an old complaint with him, as it was, Takeo knew, with Miyoshi Kahei and many other warriors, who resented the growing wealth and prosperity that trade brought to the townspeople. Yet that prosperity, in his opinion, was one of the greatest underpinnings of peace.
“If you do not strike now, it will be too late,” Kahei said. “That is my advice.”
“Hiroshi?” Takeo addressed the young man, who up till now had been silent.
“I understand Lord Miyoshi’s point of view,” Hiroshi said. “And in many ways he has the most reason on his side. According to the art of war, his strategy has much to recommend it. But I have to submit to the wisdom of the Masters of the Way of the Houou. Send messages to the Emperor announcing your intended visit, when you will make your decision known to him. This will put off any planned attack on his part. I would recommend, like Kahei, strengthening the army in the East, preparing for attack while not inciting it. We must build up our forces of foot soldiers carrying firearms, and drill them to face similarly armed soldiers, for undoubtedly by next year Saga will have considerable numbers of weapons. That we cannot prevent. As for your brother-in-law, I believe the ties of family will be stronger than any grudge he may bear you, or any ambition to oust you. Again I would advise you to take your time, and do nothing hastily.”
Hiroshi has always been a clever strategist, Takeo thought. Even as a child!
He turned to his daughter. “Shigeko?”
“I agree with everything Lord Hiroshi has said,” she replied. “If I come with you to Miyako, I believe the Way of the Houou will prevail, even with the Emperor.”
18
When in Hagi, Shizuka lived in the castle residence, and consequently Takeo saw her several times a day, in the company of Kaede or their children.
There was no need to arrange formal meetings, nor did he see the need to announce to the world her appointment to the headship of the Tribe. The skills and talents of the Tribe might now come under the control of the state, in his person, but they were still kept secret. He found this division suited his warrior advisers, who as always were happy to take advantage of the services provided by the Tribe while preferring to stay aloof from sorcery. Taku, of mixed blood like himself, understood all this perfectly.
It was easy enough to have informal talks with Shizuka, in the garden, on the veranda, or on the sea wall. A few days after the council of war, on the morning of the Star Festival, they met as if by chance as he was going from the residence toward the castle itself. Minoru followed Takeo as usual with the writing implements, but stepped away to allow them to speak privately.
“I had a message from Taku,” she said quietly. “Late last night. Ishida and Chikara left Hofu at the last full moon. The weather has been settled and fine; they should arrive any day now.”
“That’s good news,” he replied. “You must be looking forward to your husband’s return.” Then he said, for there was no reason why this news should be secret, “What else?”
“Apparently Zenko gave permission for the foreigners to come with them. Two of them are on board, with their translator—the woman.”
Takeo frowned. “What is the purpose of their visit?”
“Taku does not say. But he thought you should be forewarned.”
“It’s annoying,” Takeo said. “We will have to receive them with all sorts of ceremony and splendor, and pretend to be impressed by their paltry gifts and uncouth speeches. I don’t want them feeling they have the freedom to go where they will. I prefer to keep them confined to one place—Hofu did very well. Find them somewhere uncomfortable to live, and have them watched at all times. Do we have anyone who speaks their language?”
Shizuka shook her head.
“Well, someone must learn it as soon as possible. Their translator must teach us while she is here.” He was thinking rapidly. He had not wanted to see Madaren again; he had a sense of discomfort that she was reappearing so soon in his life. He feared the complications that her presence would inevitably cause, but if he had to use a translator it might as well be she—whom he had some connection with, possibly some hold over.
He thought of Kaede, who learned so quickly, who had mastered the languages of Shin and Tenjiku so she could read the classic works of history, literature, and the scriptures. He would ask her to learn the foreigners’ language from Madaren, and he would tell her the translator was his sister…the idea that he would have one less secret from her made him curiously happy.
“Find some bright girl who can be their servant,” he told Shizuka. “Let her make every effort to come to understand what they say. And we will arrange lessons here as well.”
“Do you intend to learn, cousin?”
“I doubt I have the aptitude,” Takeo replied. “But I am sure Kaede has. And you too.”
“I fear I am too old,” Shizuka replied, laughing. “Ishida, however, has quite an interest, and has been compiling a list of scientific and medical words.”
“Good. Let him continue this work with them. The more we can learn from them the better. And see if you can find out more details from your husband about their real purposes, and about how close they are to Zenko.
“Taku is well?” he added as an afterthought.
“He seems to be. Just a little frustrated at being stuck in the West, I think. He is about to leave with Lord Kono to inspect the estates, and intends to go on from there to Maruyama.”
“Is that so? Then Hiroshi had better be there to meet them,” Takeo said. “He can take the same ship back again, and take news of our decisions to Taku.”
THE SHIP WAS spotted out at sea two days later. Shigeko heard the bell from the hill above the castle ring out as she and Hiroshi worked with the colt. Tenba accepted the bit and allowed her to lead him with the soft reins, but they had not yet tried him with a saddle or any weight on his back other than a light padded cloth that still made him flinch and kick.
“A ship is coming,” she said, trying in vain to see against the bright dawn light. “I hope it is Dr. Ishida’s.”
“If it is, I must return to Maruyama,” Hiroshi said.
“So soon!” Shigeko could not help exclaiming, and then, embarrassed, said quickly, “Father says he is bringing me some special present, but he will not tell me what it is.” I sound like a child, she thought, exasperated with herself.
“I’ve heard him talk about it,” Hiroshi replied, treating her like a child, she thought.
“Do you know what it is?”
“It is a secret!” he said teasingly. “I can’t reveal Lord Otori’s secrets.”
“Why should he tell you and not me?”
“He did not tell me,” he said, relenting. “Only that he hoped for fine weather and a calm voyage for it.”
“It’s some animal,” Shigeko exclaimed in pleasure. “A new horse! Or maybe a tiger cub! The weather has been beautiful. I’m always happy when it is fine weather for the Star Festival.”
She recalled the beauty of the recent still, moonless night, the brilliant splash of stars, the one night of the year when the Princess and her lover can meet across the magical bridge built by magpies.
“I used to love the Star Festival when I was young,” Hiroshi said. “But now it makes me feel sad. For there are no magical bridges, not in real life.”
He is speaking of himself and Hana, Shigeko thought. He has suffered for so long. He should be married. He would get over it if he had a wife and children. Yet she could not bring herself to suggest he marry.
“I used to imagine the Star Princess with your mother’s face,” he said. “But maybe the Princess is like you, taming the horses of Heaven.”
Tenba, who had been walking docilely between them, suddenly took fright at a dove fluttering from the eaves of the shrine and jumped backward, pulling the ribbon through Shigeko’s hands. She went quickly after him to soothe him, but he was still flighty, and plunged past her, striking her with his shoulder and frightening himself more. She nearly fell, but Hiroshi somehow put himself between her and the horse, and she was aware of his strength for a moment, and longed with an intensity that startled her to be held by him. The colt ran with high steps, the reins dangling. Hiroshi said, “Are you all right? He did not step on you?”
She shook her head, suddenly riven by emotion. They stood close, not touching. She found her voice.
“I think we have done enough for today. We will just make him walk quietly again. Then I must go home and prepare to receive my gift. Father will want to make a ceremony of it.”
“Of course, Lady Shigeko,” he replied, once more cool and formal. The colt allowed him to approach, and Hiroshi led him back to Shigeko. The air stirred slightly in the breeze and the doves fluttered overhead, but the young horse walked quietly between them, head lowered. Neither of them said anything.
DOWN AT THE dockside, the usual early morning bustle of activity had quieted. Fishermen paused from unloading their nighttime catch of silver sardines and shiny blue-scaled mackerel. Merchants halted the loading of bales of salt, rice, and silk onto the wide-beamed junks, and a crowd gathered on the cobbles to welcome the ship from Hofu with its unusual cargo.
Shigeko had just had time to return to the residence and change into garments more suitable for welcoming whatever her present was to be. Luckily it was only a short walk from the castle gate to the harbor steps, along the beach, past the little house under the pines where the famous courtesan Akane had once entertained Lord Shigeru, the sweet-smelling shrubs she had planted still scenting the air. Shizuka had waited for her, but her mother stayed behind, saying she felt a little unwell. Takeo had already gone ahead with Sunaomi. When they joined him, she could see her father was in a state of some excitement—he kept looking sideways at her and smiling. She hoped her reaction would not disappoint him, and resolved that no matter what the gift was, she would pretend it was her heart’s desire.
However, as the ship approached the wharf, and the strange animal could be seen clearly—its long neck, its ears—Shigeko’s amazement was as great and as unfeigned as the rest of the onlookers’, and her delight when Dr. Ishida led the creature carefully down the gangplank and presented it to her was inexpressible. She was enchanted by the softness and strange pattern of its coat, by its dark and gentl
e eyes, fringed with long, thick lashes, by its delicate, graceful gait and its calm composure as it surveyed the unfamiliar scene before it.
Takeo was laughing with pleasure, both with the kirin itself and with Shigeko’s reaction. Shizuka was welcoming her husband with undemonstrative affection, and the little boy, Chikara, awed by the reception and the crowd, recognized his brother’s face and struggled to hold back tears.
“Be brave,” Dr. Ishida admonished him. “Greet your uncle and cousin properly. Sunaomi, look after your little brother.”
“Lord Otori,” Chikara managed to say, bowing deeply. “Lady…”
“Shigeko,” she prompted him. “Welcome to Hagi!”
Ishida said to Takeo, “We have brought some other passengers, less welcome perhaps.”
“Yes, I was forewarned by Taku. Your wife will show them where they are to be lodged. I will tell you later what our plans are for them. I hope I may prevail on you to keep them entertained in the meantime.”
The foreigners—two of them, the first ever in Hagi—appeared on the gangplank, causing no less astonishment than the kirin. They wore strange puffed trousers and long boots of leather; gold gleamed at neck and breast. One had a swarthy face half obscured by a dark beard; the other was paler-skinned and his hair and beard were the color of pale rust. This man’s eyes were pale, too, green as green tea; at the sight of the hair and the light eyes a shiver ran through the crowd, and Shigeko heard several whispers of, “Can they be ogres?” “Ghosts.” “Goblins.”