by Lian Hearn
Zenko noticed his growing discomfort, and, when the meal was over, said, “There are matters I must discuss with my brother. Please excuse us for a little while. Taku, come into the garden. It is a beautiful night—the moon is nearly full.”
Taku followed him, every sense alert, tuning his hearing for the unfamiliar tread, the unexpected breath. Were the assassins already concealed in the garden, and his brother leading him within easy reach of their knives? Or their guns? And his flesh recoiled at the thought of the weapon that brought death from afar, that not even all his Tribe skills could detect.
Zenko said, as if reading his thoughts, “There is no reason for us to be enemies. Let us not try to kill each other.”
“I believe you are carrying out some intrigue against Lord Otori,” Taku replied, masking his anger. “I cannot imagine for what reason, since you have sworn allegiance to him and owe him your life, and since these actions imperil your own family—my mother, myself—even your sons. Why is Kikuta Akio in Hofu under your protection, and what evil pact have you made with these people?” He gestured toward the residence where the conversation could be heard—like shrikes squawking, he thought sourly.
“There is no evil in it,” Zenko replied, ignoring the question about Akio. “I have seen the truth of their beliefs and have chosen to follow them. That freedom is allowed throughout the Three Countries, I believe.”
Taku saw his white teeth in his beard as he smiled. He wanted to strike out, but controlled himself.
“And in return?”
“I’m surprised that you don’t know already, but I’m sure you can guess.” Zenko looked at him, then stepped closer, taking him by the arm. “Taku, we are brothers, and I care for you, despite what you think. Let us speak very frankly. Takeo has no future—why go down with him? Join me; the Tribe will be united again. I told you I was in contact with the Kikuta. It’s no secret I’ve found Akio very reasonable, a pleasure to deal with. He will overlook your role in Kotaro’s death—everyone knows you were only a child. I will give you whatever you want. Takeo caused our father’s death. Our first duty under Heaven is to avenge that.”
“Our father deserved his death,” Taku replied, biting back the words, And so do you.
“No, Takeo is an imposter, a usurper, and a murderer. Our father was none of those things—he was a true warrior.”
“You look at Takeo as if at a mirror,” Taku said. “You see your own reflection. It is you who are the usurper.”
His fingers twitched, longing to reach for his sword, and his body tingled as he prepared to go invisible. He was sure Zenko would try to have him killed now. He was tempted, so strongly he was not sure he could resist, to strike the first blow, but something restrained him: a reluctance, deeper than he had realized, to take his brother’s life, and a memory of Takeo’s words: That brother should kill brother is unthinkable. Your brother, like everyone else, including yourself, my dear Taku, must be contained by law.
He breathed out deeply. “Tell me what you want from Lord Otori. Let us negotiate together.”
“There is nothing that can be negotiated except by his overthrow and death,” Zenko replied, displaying his rage. “In this you are either with me or against me.”
Taku retreated a little into caution. “Let me consider it. I will talk to you again tomorrow. And you, too—reflect on your actions. Does your desire for vengeance warrant unleashing civil war?”
“Very well,” Zenko said. “Oh, before you go—I forgot to give you these.” He drew a bamboo container from inside his robe and held it out. Taku took it with foreboding—he recognized it as a letter carrier, used across the Three Countries. The ends were sealed with wax and stamped with the Otori crest, but this one had been opened.
“It is from Lord Otori, I believe,” Zenko said, and laughed. “I hope it will influence your decision.”
Taku walked swiftly from the garden, expecting at any moment to hear the rush through the air of arrow or knife, and left the residence without any further farewells. His own guards waited at the gate with the horses. He took Ryume’s bridle and mounted swiftly.
“Lord Muto,” the man beside him said quietly.
“What is it?”
“Your horse was coughing earlier, as though he could not breathe.”
“It’s probably the spring air. It is heavy with pollen tonight.” He dismissed the man’s anxieties, having far greater ones of his own.
At his own lodging place he told the men not to unsaddle the horses, but to keep them ready, and to prepare the two mares for the journey. Then he went inside to where Sada was waiting for him. She was still dressed.
“We are leaving,” he told her.
“What did you discover?”
“Zenko has not only made some deal with Akio, he is also in alliance with the foreigners. He professes to have accepted their religion, and in return they are arming him.” He held out the letter holder to her. “He has intercepted Takeo’s correspondence. That is why we have heard nothing from him.”
Sada took the tube and drew out the letter. Her eyes raced over it. “He asks you to go at once to Inuyama—but this will already be weeks late. Surely he will have left by now?”
“We must still go there—we will leave tonight. The moon is bright enough to ride by. If he has left Inuyama, I must follow him across the borders. He must return and bring the armies back from the East. Wake Maya; she will have to come with us. I can’t leave her to be discovered by Akio. In Inuyama you will both be safe.”
MAYA WAS DREAMING one of the strangely colored animal dreams in which her brother, whose face she had now glimpsed, appeared in different guises, sometimes accompanied by spirits. He was always murderous, armed with fearful weapons, and he always looked at her in a manner she found inexplicably chilling, as though there were some complicity between them, as though he knew all her secrets. He had some kind of cat soul like hers. This night he was whispering her name, which frightened her, for she had not known that he knew it. She woke to find it was Sada, speaking quietly in her ear.
“Get up, get dressed. We are leaving.”
Unquestioning, she did as she was told, for the winter months had taught her obedience.
“We are going to Inuyama to see your father,” Taku said as he swung her up onto the mare’s back.
“Why are we going in the middle of the night?”
“I didn’t feel like waiting till morning.”
As the horses trotted down the street toward the high road, Sada said, “Will your brother allow you to leave?”
“That is why we are going now. He may have us ambushed or pursued. Be armed, and prepared to fight. I suspect some trap.”
Hofu was not a walled city, and its trade and port activities meant people came and went at all hours, following the moon and the tides; on a night like this, at the beginning of spring with the moon nearly full, there were other travelers on the road, and the small group—Taku, Sada, Maya, and the four guards—was not stopped or questioned. Shortly after dawn they halted at an inn to eat the first meal and drink hot tea.
As soon as they were alone in the small eating room, Maya said to Taku, “What has happened?”
“I’ll tell you a little for your own safety. Your uncle Arai and his wife are concocting a plot against your father. We thought we could contain him, but the situation has suddenly grown more threatening. Your father should return at once.”
Taku’s face was lined with fatigue, and his voice more serious than she had ever heard it.
“How can my uncle and aunt behave in this fashion, when their sons live in our household?” Maya demanded, outraged. “My mother should be told at once. The boys should die!”
“You are hardly your father’s child,” Sada said. “Where does this fierceness come from?” But her voice was affectionate and admiring.
“Your father hopes no one will have to die,” Taku told her. “That is why we must bring him back. Only he has the prestige and strength to prevent t
he outbreak of war.”
“Anyway, Hana is to leave for Hagi this very day.” Sada drew Maya close and sat with her arms round her. “She is to spend the summer with your mother and your little brother.”
“That is worse! Mother should be warned. I’ll go to Hagi and tell her what Hana is really like!”
“No, you will stay with us,” Taku replied, placing his arm around Sada’s shoulders. They sat in silence for a few moments. Like a family, Maya thought. I’ll never forget this: the food that tasted so good when I was so hungry, the fragrant scent of tea, the feel of the spring breeze, the light changing as huge white clouds race across the sky. Sada and Taku with me, so alive, so brave, the sense of the days on the road, stretching ahead. The danger…
The day continued fair and fine. Around noon the breeze died down, the clouds disappeared into the northeast, the sky was a clear, brilliant blue. Sweat began to darken the horses’ necks and flanks as they left the flat coastal plain and began to climb toward the first pass. The forest deepened around them; occasionally an early cicada made a tentative strumming. Maya began to feel tired. The rhythm of the horse’s gait, the warmth of the afternoon, made her drowsy. She thought she was dreaming, and suddenly saw Hisao; she snapped awake.
“Someone is following us!”
Taku held up his hand, and they halted. All three of them heard it—the drumming of hoofbeats, coming up the slope.
“Ride on with Maya,” Taku said to Sada. “We will delay them. There are not too many, a dozen at most. We will catch up with you.”
He spoke a quick order to the men; unslinging their bows, they turned their horses off the road and vanished among the trunks of bamboo.
“Go,” he ordered Sada; reluctantly she set her horse into a canter and Maya followed. They rode fast for a while, but as the horses began to tire, Sada halted and looked back.
“Maya, what do you hear?”
She thought she heard the clash of steel, the whinnying of horses, shouts, and battle cries, and another sound, cold and brutal, that echoed through the pass, sending birds fluttering into the air, screeching in alarm. Sada heard it too.
“They have firearms,” she exclaimed. “Stay here—no, ride on, hide. I must go back. I can’t leave Taku.”
“Nor can I,” Maya muttered, turning the weary mare back in the direction they had come, but at that moment in the distance they saw a cloud of dust and heard the galloping hooves, saw the horse’s gray coat and black mane.
“He’s coming,” Sada cried in relief.
Taku’s sword was in his hand, his arm covered in blood—his own or someone else’s, it was impossible to know. He shouted something when he saw them, but Maya could not make out the words, for even as he uttered them, the horse, Ryume, was falling; it was on its knees, then on its side. It happened so quickly—Ryume had dropped dead, throwing Taku onto the road.
Immediately Sada galloped toward him, the mare snorting and wild-eyed in the presence of death. Taku struggled to his feet. She pulled the mare to a halt beside him, seized his outstretched arm, and swung him up behind her.
He’s all right, Maya thought with the clarity of relief. He could not do that if he were injured.
Taku was not badly injured, though there were many dead on the road behind him, his own men and most of the assailants. He could feel one cut smarting on his face, another on his sword arm. He was aware of the strength of Sada’s back as he held her, and then the shot rang out again. He felt it hit him in the neck and tear through him; and then he was falling, and Sada fell with him, and the horse on top of them. From a great distance he heard Maya screaming. Ride, child, ride, he wanted to say, but there was no time. His eyes were filled with the dazzle of the blue sky above him—the light spun and dwindled. Time had come to an end. He hardly had time to think, I am dying, I must concentrate on dying, before the darkness silenced his thoughts forever.
Sada’s mare scrabbled to her feet and trotted back to Maya’s, whinnying loudly. Both mares were skittish, ready to bolt, despite their tiredness. With her Otori nature, Maya was thinking of the horses; she must not let them escape. She leaned over and caught Sada’s mare’s dangling reins. But then she did not know what to do next. She was trembling all over; the horses were, too, and she could not tear her eyes away from where the three bodies lay in the road. The horse, Ryume, farther from her, then Sada and Taku entwined together in death.
She rode back toward them, dismounted and knelt beside them, touching them, calling their names.
Sada’s eyes fluttered—she was still alive.
The anguish in Maya’s chest threatened to choke her. She had to open her mouth and scream, “Sada!” As if in response to the scream, two figures appeared suddenly in the road, just beyond Ryume. She knew she should run from them, should take on invisibility or cat form and escape into the forest. She was from the Tribe—she could outwit anyone. But she was paralyzed from shock and grief; furthermore, she did not want to live in this new heartless world that had let Taku die beneath a blue sky and bright sunshine.
She stood between the two mares, holding their reins in each hand. The men came toward her. She had barely glimpsed them the night before, in the dimly lit interior of the inn, but she knew them at once. They were both armed, Akio with sword and knife, Hisao with the firearm. They were from the Tribe—they would not spare her because she was a child. I should at least fight, she thought, but stupidly she did not want to let go of the mares.
The boy stared at her, holding the firearm toward her, while his companion turned the bodies over. Sada moaned slightly. Akio knelt, took his knife in his right hand, and swiftly cut her throat. He spat on Taku’s peaceful face.
“Kotaro’s death is nearly fully avenged,” he said. “The two Muto have paid. Only the Dog left.”
The boy said, “But who’s this, Father?” His voice was puzzled, as though he thought he knew her.
“A horse boy?” the man said. “Bad luck for him!”
He came toward her and she tried to stare into his eyes, but he would not look at her. A terrible fear took hold of her. She must not allow him to capture her. She only wanted to die. She dropped the mares’ reins and, startled, they both pranced backward. Maya drew her knife from her belt and raised her hand to plunge it into her throat.
Akio moved faster than she had ever seen a human move, even faster than the previous night, flying toward her and grasping her wrist. Her knife fell from her hand as he bent her wrist back.
“But what horse boy tries to cut his own throat?” he said mockingly. “Like a warrior’s woman?”
Holding her with one iron-strong hand, he pulled at her garments and thrust his other hand between her legs. She screamed and struggled as he opened her fist. He smiled when he saw the straight line across her palm.
“So!” he exclaimed. “Now we know who was spying on us last night.”
Maya thought her life was over. However, he went on, “This is Otori’s daughter, one of the twins—she is marked as Kikuta. She may prove very useful to us. Therefore we will spare her for now.” He addressed Maya. “You know who I am?”
She knew but would not answer.
“I am Kikuta Akio, the Master of your family. This is my son, Hisao.”
She already knew him, for he looked exactly as he did in her dreams.
“It’s true—I am Otori Maya,” she said, addressing Hisao. “What’s more, I am your sister…”
She wanted to tell him more, but Akio transferred his grip to her neck, felt for the spot on the artery, and held her until she lost consciousness.
36
Shigeko had sailed many times between Hagi and Hofu, but she had never been farther east, along the protected coast of the Encircled Sea as far as Akashi. The weather was fine, the air brilliantly clear, the breeze from the south gentle yet strong enough to fill the ship’s new sails and send them scudding through the green-blue water. In every direction small islands rose abruptly from the sea, their slopes dark green with ced
ars, their shores white-fringed. She saw vermilion-red shrine gates glowing in the spring sunshine, the dark cypress-roofed temples, the sudden white walls of a warrior’s castle.
Unlike Maya she had never been seasick, even on the roughest voyages between Hagi and Maruyama, when the northeasterlies raced across the iron-gray sea, carving its flecked surface into cliffs and chasms. Ships and sailing delighted her, the smell of the sea, of the ship’s rigging and timbers, the sounds of sail flapping, wake splashing, and wood creaking, the song of the hull as it drove through the water.
The ship’s holds were filled with all manner of presents, as well as decorated saddles and stirrups for Shigeko and Hiroshi, and formal and ceremonial robes, all newly embroidered, dyed and painted by the most skilled craftsmen of Hagi and Maruyama. But the most important gifts stood on the deck itself, under a straw shelter: the horses bred at Maruyama, each fastened by two ropes to the head and a strap under the belly; and the kirin, held with cords of red silk. Shigeko spent much of the day next to the animals, proud of the horses’ health and beauty, for she had raised them herself—the two dapples, one light, one dark, the bright chestnut, and the black. They all knew her and seemed to take pleasure in her company, following her with their eyes when she left to walk around the deck, and whickering to her. She had no qualms about parting with them. Such fine horses would be valued and well treated, and while they might not forget her, they would not pine for her. But she was more troubled about the kirin. The exotic creature, for all its gentleness, did not have the easygoing nature of a horse. “I am afraid it will fret when it is separated from us, and all its other companions,” she said to Hiroshi on the afternoon of the third day of their voyage from Hofu. “See how it constantly turns its head back in the direction of home. It seems to be looking yearningly for someone—Tenba, maybe.”