The Harsh Cry of the Heron

by Lian Hearn

  I cannot open the doors, she thought, but the cat spirit knew better, and leaped at the shutters, flowing through them, floating across the veranda and entering the room where Sada and Taku lay entwined. She thought she would show herself to them, that Taku would be pleased with her and would praise her. She would lie down between them and be warmed by them.

  Sada spoke half-lazily, resuming the earlier conversation, words that shocked Maya more deeply than anything in her life, but that resonated in the cat’s undead spirit.

  “The boy is truly Takeo’s son?”

  “Yes, and according to the prophecy will be the only person who can bring death to him.”

  So Maya learned of her brother’s existence, and of the threat to her father. She tried to keep silent but could not prevent the yowl of horror and despair that forced itself from her throat. She heard Taku call, “What’s there?” and heard Sada’s cry of astonishment, and then she leaped through the screen and out into the garden as though she could run forever, away from everything. But she could not run from the spirits’ voices that rustled through her pricked ears and into her fragile, liquid bones.

  Where is our Master?

  26

  Otori Takeo and Arai Zenko arrived in Maruyama within hours of each other, the day before the full moon. Takeo had come from Yamagata and brought most of the Otori court with him, including Miyoshi Kahei and his brother Gemba, a train of horses carrying the records of administration that needed to be dealt with while he was in the West, a large number of retainers, and his oldest daughter, Lady Shigeko. Zenko was accompanied by an equally large group of retainers, horses bearing baskets packed with lavish gifts and sumptuous clothes, Lady Arai’s hawks and lap dog, and Lady Arai herself, in an exquisitely carved and decorated palanquin.

  The arrival of these great lords, their retinues blocking the streets and filling the lodging houses, delighted the townspeople, who for the last month had been laying in extra supplies of rice, fish, beans, wine, and the delicacies of the region, and now hoped to make a great profit. The summer had been benign, the harvest particularly fruitful; Maruyama was to be given to a female heir and there was much to celebrate. Everywhere banners, floating in the gentle breeze, displayed the round hill of the Maruyama together with the Otori heron, and cooks vied with one another to create inventive meals of round shapes to honor the full moon.

  Takeo looked on it all with great pleasure. Maruyama was dear to him, for it was here that he had spent the first few months of his marriage and had begun to put into practice all that he had learned of government and agriculture from Lord Shigeru. The domain had been nearly destroyed by the typhoon and earthquake during the first year of his reign. Now, sixteen years on, it was rich and peaceful: Its trade thrived, its artists flourished, its children were all well fed, the wounds of the civil war all apparently long since healed, and Shigeko would now take over this domain and rule it in her own right. He knew she was worthy of it.

  He had to keep reminding himself he was here to meet the two men who might snatch it from her.

  One of them, Lord Kono, was accommodated like himself within the castle residence. Zenko was in the most prestigious and luxurious residence just beyond the castle walls, once the home of Sugita Haruki, the domain’s senior retainer, who with his sons had taken his own life rather than agree to surrender the town to Arai Daiichi. Takeo wondered if Zenko was aware of the house’s history of loyalty, and hoped he might be influenced by the spirits of the steadfast dead.

  Before the evening meal, when he was to meet these potential enemies, he sent for Hiroshi to speak with him privately. The younger man seemed calm and alert, yet filled with some deeper emotion that Takeo could not fathom. After discussing the following day’s procedures and ceremonies, Takeo thanked him for his diligence. “You have spent many years in my family’s service. We must reward you. Will you stay in the West? I will find an estate for you, and a wife. I had considered Lord Terada’s granddaughter, Kaori. She is a fine young woman, a great friend of my daughter.”

  “To give me land in Maruyama would be to take it from someone else, or from Lady Shigeko,” Hiroshi replied. “I have already mentioned to Taku that I will stay here while I am required—but my real desire is to be permitted to retire to Terayama and follow the Way of the Houou.”

  Takeo stared at him without replying immediately. Hiroshi met his eyes and glanced away. “As for marriage…I thank you for your concern, but I have truly no desire to marry, and I have nothing to offer a wife.”

  “Any family in the Three Countries would welcome you as a son-in-law. You do not value yourself enough. If Terada Kaori does not please you, let me find someone else. Is there someone else?”

  “No one,” Hiroshi replied.

  “You know the great affection my whole family holds you in,” Takeo went on. “You have been like a brother to my daughters; were we not so close in age I would regard you as a son.”

  “I must beg you, Lord Takeo, not to continue,” Hiroshi pleaded. The color had mounted to his neck. He tried to hide his distress by smiling. “You are so content in your marriage, you want us all to share the same state! But I feel called to another path. My only request is to be allowed to follow it.”

  “I would never deny you that!” Takeo replied, and decided to drop the question of marriage for the time being. “But I have one request to make of you—that you will accompany us when we go to the capital next year. As you know, I am making this peaceful visit at the request of the Masters of the Way of the Houou. I want you to be part of it.”

  “It is a great honor,” Hiroshi replied. “Thank you.”

  “Shigeko is to come with me, also on the Masters’ advice. You must take care of her safety, as you always have done.”

  Hiroshi bowed without speaking.

  “My daughter has suggested that we take the kirin—it will make an unparalleled gift for the Emperor.”

  “You would give away the kirin!” Hiroshi exclaimed.

  “I would give away anything if it preserves the peaceful existence of our country,” Takeo replied.

  Even Shigeko? Neither of them spoke the words, yet they echoed in Takeo’s mind. He did not know that he could answer yet.

  Something from this conversation must have alerted him, for in the moments when he was not occupied with Lord Kono, Zenko, and Hana he found himself watching Hiroshi and his daughter during the evening meal with more attention than usual. They were both somewhat silent and grave, hardly addressing or looking at each other. He could not discern any particular feeling between them; he fancied Shigeko’s heart to be untouched. But of course they were both adept at hiding their emotions.

  The meal was formal and elegant, with the autumn specialties of the West—pine-tree mushrooms; tiny crabs and prawns, salted and crunchy; chestnuts and ginkgo nuts; all served on lacquer trays and pale fawn pottery from Hagi. Kaede had helped restore the residence to its former beauty—the mats were green-gold and sweet smelling; the floors and beams gleamed warmly; behind them stood screens decorated with the birds and flowers of autumn, plovers with bush clover, quail with chrysanthemums. Takeo asked himself what Kono thought of the surroundings, and how they compared to the Emperor’s court.

  He had apologized for his wife’s absence, explaining her pregnancy, and had wondered if Zenko and Hana were disappointed at this news, for it would delay plans for adoption of either of their sons. He thought he discerned the slightest pause of discomfort before Hana began effusive congratulations, expressing her joy and hoping for a son for her sister. Takeo, in his turn, was careful to praise Sunaomi and Chikara—it was not difficult, for he was genuinely fond of both boys.

  Kono said courteously, “I have received letters from Miyako. I understand you will visit the Emperor next year.”

  “If he will receive me, that is my intention,” Takeo replied.

  “I believe he will receive you. Everyone is curious about you. Even Lord Saga Hideki has expressed his desire to meet you.
”

  Takeo was aware that Zenko was hanging on every word, though his eyes were cast downward. And if they ambush and kill me there, Zenko will be waiting in the West, will advance with the Emperor’s blessing…

  “Indeed Lord Saga is thinking about some sport, or contest. He writes to me that rather than shedding the blood of thousands of men, he would like to meet Lord Otori in some game—dog hunting, perhaps. It is his passion.”

  Takeo smiled. “Lord Saga has no knowledge of our remote affairs. He cannot be aware that my crippled hand prevents me from drawing a bow.” Luckily, he could not help thinking, for I have never had much skill with the bow.

  “Well, some other contest, perhaps. Your wife’s confinement will prevent her from accompanying you?”

  “Naturally. But my daughter is to come with me.” Shigeko raised her head and looked at her father. Their eyes met and she smiled at him.

  “Lady Shigeko is not yet betrothed?” Kono inquired.

  “No, not yet,” Takeo answered.

  “Lord Saga is recently widowed.” Kono’s voice was cool and neutral.

  “I am sorry to hear it.” Takeo was wondering if he could bear to give his daughter to such a man—yet it could be a desirable alliance, and if it were to ensure the peace of the Three Countries…

  Shigeko spoke, her voice clear and firm. “I look forward to meeting Lord Saga. Perhaps he will accept me as my father’s substitute in any contest.”

  “Lady Shigeko is highly skilled with the bow,” Hiroshi added.

  Takeo recalled in amazement Gemba’s words: There will be some contest in Miyako…your daughter should also come. She must perfect her horse riding, using the bow…. How had Gemba known this?

  He looked across the room at Gemba, who was seated a little distance away next to his brother Kahei. Gemba did not meet his gaze, but a faint smile appeared on his plump face. Kahei looked more stern, masking his disapproval.

  Yet this corroborates the Masters’ advice, Takeo thought swiftly. I will visit Miyako. I will accept Saga’s challenge whatever it is. We will settle matters between us. There will be no war.

  Kono seemed as surprised as Takeo, though for a different reason. “I had not realized women in the Three Countries were so talented, or so bold,” he said finally.

  “Like Lord Saga, perhaps you do not know us well, yet,” Shigeko replied. “All the more reason why we must visit the capital, so that you come to understand us.” She spoke with courtesy, yet no one could miss the authority that lay behind her words. She showed no sign of unease at meeting the son of her mother’s kidnapper, nor did she seem in the least intimidated by him. Takeo gazed on her in barely concealed admiration. Her long hair fell loose around her shoulders; her back was straight, her skin almost luminescent against the pale yellow and gold of her robe, with its brilliant maple leaves. He was reminded of the first time he had seen Lady Maruyama Naomi—he had thought her like Jato, the sword, her serene beauty masking her strength. Now he saw the same strength in his daughter, and felt a kind of release deep within him. Whatever happened to him, he had an heir. All the more reason to ensure the Three Countries would be kept intact for her to inherit.

  “I look forward to it greatly!” Kono exclaimed. “I hope I may be released from Lord Otori’s hospitality to return to Miyako before your visit, and to inform His Divine Majesty of all I have learned here.” He leaned forward and said with some fervor, “I can assure you all my reports will be in your favor.”

  Takeo bowed slightly in assent, wondering how much of this speech was sincerity, how much flattery—and what intrigues Kono and Zenko might have been hatching together. He hoped Taku would know more, and wondered where he was, why he was not present at the meal. Was Zenko, aggrieved at Taku’s presence and surveillance, deliberately excluding his brother? And he was anxious to hear about Maya. He could not help wondering if Taku’s absence were not connected to her—she was in some trouble; she had run away…. He realized his mind was wandering. He had not heard Kono’s last few sentences. He forced himself to concentrate on the present.

  There seemed no reason to detain the nobleman any longer in the West; indeed, now might be the best time to send him home with his mind full of the prosperity of the domains, the loyalty of the Seishuu—and the beauty, character, and strength of his daughter. But he would have liked to have heard for himself, from Taku, further details of Kono’s sojourn in the West, and of the nobleman’s relationship with Zenko and Hana.

  The festivities continued until late in the evening—musicians played the three-stringed lute and the harp, while from the town the sounds of drumming and singing echoed across the still waters of river and moat. Takeo slept fitfully, his mind still full of anxieties for his daughters, for Kaede and the unborn child, and he woke early, conscious of the pain in his hand and a dull ache in most of his body. He called for Minoru to be wakened, and while he drank tea, went through what had been said the previous night, checking that everything had been recorded faithfully, for Minoru had been concealed behind a screen throughout the evening. Since Kono might be permitted to leave, arrangements should be made.

  “Is Lord Kono to travel by ship or land?” Minoru asked.

  “By ship, if he is to arrive before winter,” Takeo replied. “There must already be snow on the High Cloud Range: He will not get there before the passes are closed. He may go by road to Hofu and embark from there.”

  “So he will travel with Lord Otori as far as Yamagata?”

  “Yes, I suppose he should. We will have to put on another display for him there. You had better prepare Lady Miyoshi.”

  Minoru bowed.

  “Minoru, you have been present at all my meetings with Lord Kono. His attitude toward me last night seemed changed in some way, did you not think so?”

  “He seemed more conciliatory,” Minoru replied. “He must have observed Lord Otori’s popularity, the devotion and loyalty of the people. At Yamagata I am sure Lord Miyoshi will explain the size and strength of our armies. Lord Kono must take back to the Emperor the conviction that the Three Countries will not be relinquished easily, and…”

  “Go on,” Takeo prompted him.

  “It is not my place to say it, but Lady Shigeko is unmarried, and Lord Kono will surely prefer to negotiate a marriage rather than start an unwinnable war. If he is to be the go-between, he must have the bride’s father’s trust and approval.”

  “Well, we will continue to flatter him and endeavor to impress him. Is there any word from Muto Taku? I had expected him last night.”

  “He sent apologies to his brother, saying he was unwell—nothing more,” Minoru replied. “Shall I make contact with him?”

  “No, there must be some reason for his non-appearance. As long as we know that he is still alive.”

  “Surely no one would attack Lord Muto, here in Maruyama?”

  “Taku has offended many, in service to me,” Takeo said. “Neither of us can ever be truly safe.”

  THE BANNERS OF the Maruyama, the Otori, and the Seishuu fluttered above the horse ground in front of the castle. The moat was packed with flat-bottomed boats filled with onlookers. Silk pavilions had been erected for those of higher class, and tasseled emblems hung from their roofs and from poles placed around them. Takeo sat on a raised platform within one of these pavilions, cushions and carpets strewn over its floor. On his right was Kono, on his left Zenko, and a little behind Zenko, Hana.

  In front of them Hiroshi, mounted on the pale gray horse with the black mane and tail that Takeo had given him so many years ago, waited as still as a carving. Behind him, on foot, holding lacquer chests, stood the elders of the clan, all in heavy robes embroidered with gold, wearing black hats. Within the chests would be the treasures of the domain, and scrolls of genealogies chronicling Shigeko’s descent through all the women of Maruyama.

  Kaede should be here, Takeo thought with regret; he longed to see her, imagined himself recounting the scene to her, pictured the curve of her belly where the
ir child was growing.

  Takeo had had no part in planning the ceremony—it had all been done by Hiroshi, for it was an ancient ritual of Maruyama that had not been enacted since Lady Naomi inherited the domain. He scanned the gathering, wondering where Shigeko was, and when she would appear. Among the crowds in the boats he suddenly spotted Taku, dressed not in formal robes like his brother, Zenko, but in the ordinary faded clothes of a merchant. Beside him stood a tall young man and a boy who looked vaguely familiar. It took Takeo several moments to realize it was his daughter, Maya.

  He felt astonishment—that Taku should have brought her here in disguise, that he had not recognized her—followed by swift, deep relief that she was alive and seemingly unharmed. She looked thinner, a little taller, her eyes more noticeable in her pointed face. The young man must be Sada, he thought, though her disguise was impenetrable. Taku must have been unwilling to leave Maya, or he would have come in his own guise. He must have known Takeo would spot them, if no one else did. What message was he conveying? He must see them—he would go to them tonight.

  His attention was drawn back to the ceremony by the sound of horses’ hooves. From the western end of the bailey came a small procession of women on horseback. They were the wives and daughters of the elders who waited behind Hiroshi. They were armed in the way of women of the West, with bows over their shoulders and quivers filled with arrows on their backs. Takeo marveled at the Maruyama horses, so tall and fine-looking, and his heart swelled even more as he saw his daughter on the finest-looking horse, in their midst—the black that she had broken in herself, and that she called Tenba.

  The horse was overexcited and cavorted a little, tossing its head and rearing as she brought it to a halt. Shigeko sat as still as if she too were a carving; her hair, tied loosely back, was as black as the horse’s mane and tail, and gleamed like his coat in the autumn sun. Tenba calmed and relaxed.

  The women on horseback faced the men on foot, and at one and the same moment the elders all dropped to their knees, holding the boxes in outstretched hands and bowing deeply.