by Lian Hearn
The funeral rites were held while she sat there, and the stones carved and erected. The days passed and she did not move, neither eating nor drinking. On the third night it rained gently, and people said Heaven was nourishing her. It rained every night after that; during the day birds were often seen fluttering around her head.
“They are feeding her with grains of millet and honey,” the monks reported.
The townspeople said Heaven itself wept for the bereaved mother, and they gave thanks that the danger of drought was averted. Zenko’s popularity waned as the moon of the fifth month began to grow toward fullness.
42
For many days and nights, Maya mourned the loss of the horses, unable to look at the greater loss. Shigeko had told her to look after them, and she had let them go. She relived the moment when she had dropped the reins and the mares had run away, and regretted it bitterly, as she regretted her inexplicable inability to move or to defend herself. It was only the third time she had faced real danger—after the attack at Inuyama and the encounter with her father—and she felt that in the extreme moment she had failed, despite her years of Tribe training.
She had plenty of time to reflect on her failure. When she regained consciousness, her throat raw, her stomach queasy, she found herself in a small, dimly lit room, which she recognized as one of the concealed chambers of a Tribe house. Takeo had often told his daughters stories of the times the Tribe had held him in such rooms, and now the memory comforted and calmed her. She had thought Akio would kill her at once, but he had not—he was keeping her for some purpose. She knew she could escape at any time, for the cat was not confined by doors or walls, but she did not want to run away yet. She wanted to stay close to Akio and Hisao. She would never let them kill her father; she would kill them herself first. So she curbed first her anger and then her fear, and set herself to learn all she could about them.
At first she saw Akio only when he brought her food and water; the food was sparse, but she was not bothered by hunger. She had always found that the less she ate, the easier it was to take on invisibility and use the second self. She practiced this when she was alone, sometimes even deceiving herself and seeing Miki leaning against the opposite wall. She did not speak to Akio but studied him, as he studied her. She knew he did not have invisibility or the Kikuta gaze that induces sleep, but he could perceive the one and evade the other. He had fast reflexes—her father had often said the fastest he had ever known—and was immensely strong and completely lacking in pity or any of the other gentler human emotions.
Two or three times a day one of the household maids came to take her to the privy; otherwise she saw no one. Akio in his turn hardly spoke to her. But after she had been imprisoned for about a week, he came late one evening, knelt in front of her, and took her hands, turning them palm upward. She could smell the wine on his breath, and his speech was unnaturally deliberate.
“I expect you to answer me truthfully, since I am the head of your family. Do you have any of your father’s skills?”
She shook her head, and before the movement was finished, felt her head snap back and her sight darken as he slapped her. She had not seen his hand move.
“You tried to trap my eyes before—you must have the Kikuta sleep. And I saw you use invisibility in the inn. Do you have far-hearing?”
She nodded, because she did not want him to kill her then, but she did not tell him about the cat.
“And where’s your sister?”
“I don’t know.”
Even though she was expecting it this time, she could not move quickly enough to avoid the second blow. Akio was grinning, as if it was a game he was enjoying.
“She is in Kagemura, with the Muto family.”
“Is she? But she is not Muto; she is Kikuta. I think she should be here with us too.”
“The Muto family will never give her to you,” Maya said.
“There’ve been some changes in the Muto family; I thought you’d have realized. The Tribe always stick together in the long run,” Akio said. “That’s how we survive.”
He tapped his teeth with his fingernails. The back of his right hand was scarred from an old wound, running from the wrist to the base of the first finger.
“You saw me kill that Muto witch, Sada. I won’t hesitate to do the same to you.”
She did not make any response to this; she was more interested in her own reaction, surprised that she was not afraid of him. She had not realized till that moment that, like her father, she possessed the Kikuta gift of fearlessness.
“This is what I’ve heard,” he said. “That your mother would do nothing to save you, but your father loves you.”
“It’s not true,” Maya lied. “My father does not care deeply for my sister and me. The warrior class hate twins and see them as shameful. My father has a kind nature, that is all.”
“He always was soft-hearted,” Akio said, and she saw the weakness in him, the deep-seated hatred and envy of Takeo. “Perhaps you will bring him to me.”
“Only if it is to kill you,” she replied.
Akio laughed and got to his feet. “But he will never kill Hisao!”
She found herself thinking about Hisao. For the last half-year, she had had to face the fact that this was her father’s son, her half-brother, about whom no one spoke, of whose existence, she was sure, her mother had never been told. And she was equally sure Hisao did not know who his true father was. He had called Akio Father; he had looked at her in incomprehension when she had told him she was his sister. She heard in her mind over and over again Sada’s voice, So the boy truly is Takeo’s son? And Taku’s reply, Yes, and ac cording to the prophecy is the only person who can bring death to him.
Her half-grown character had an implacability all its own, some Kikuta legacy that made her ruthlessly single-minded. The balance for her had become simple: If Hisao died, then Takeo would live forever.
Apart from the training exercises, which she carried out assiduously, she had nothing to occupy her, and she often drifted between waking and sleep, dreaming vividly. She dreamed of Miki, dreams that were so clear she could not believe Miki was not in the room with her, and from which she woke feeling renewed. She also dreamed of Hisao. She knelt beside him while he slept and whispered in his ear, “I am your sister,” and once she dreamed that the cat lay down next to him, and felt the warmth of his body through its fur.
She became obsessed with Hisao, as though she needed to know everything about him. She began to experiment with assuming the cat form at night while the household slept, tentatively at first, for it was something she wanted to keep hidden from Akio, and then with increasing confidence. By day she was a prisoner, but at night she roamed freely through the house, observed its occupants, and entered their dreams. She saw with contempt their fears and hopes. The maids complained of ghosts, of feeling a breath on their face or warm fur lying beside them, of hearing some large creature padding softly over the floor. Strange things were happening throughout the city, signs and apparitions.
Akio and Hisao slept apart from the other men, in a room at the back of the house. Maya went in the darkest, quietest time of night, just before dawn, to watch Hisao sleep, sometimes in Akio’s embrace, sometimes alone. He slept restlessly, tossing and muttering. His dreams were vicious and jagged, but they interested her. Sometimes he woke and could not get back to sleep again; then he went to a small outbuilding at the back of the house, on the other side of the yard, where there was a workshop for forging and repairing household utensils and weapons. Maya followed him and watched him, noting his careful, meticulous movements, his hands, precise and dexterous, his absorption in the processes of invention and experimentation.
She heard snatches of conversation from the maids, but they never spoke to her. Apart from trips to the privy, she hardly saw them until one day a young woman came in Akio’s place to bring her meal.
She was about Shigeko’s age, and she stared at Maya with undisguised curiosity.
Maya said, “Don’t stare at me. You know I am very powerful.”
The girl giggled but did not look away. “You look like a boy,” she said.
“You know I’m a girl,” Maya retorted. “Haven’t you seen me pissing?” She used boys’ language, and the girl laughed.
“What’s your name?” Maya asked.
“Nori,” she whispered.
“Nori, I’ll prove to you how powerful I am. You dreamed about a wrapping cloth; you had folded some rice cakes in it, and when you unwrapped them, they were crawling with maggots.”
“I told no one!” the girl gasped, but took a step closer. “How did you know?”
“I know a lot of things,” Maya replied. “Look in my eyes.” She held the girl’s gaze for a moment, long enough to see that she was superstitious and credulous, and something else, something about Hisao…
The girl’s head rolled forward as Maya withdrew the power of her gaze. Maya slapped her on both sides of her face to waken her. The maid looked at her dazed.
“You’re a fool if you love Hisao,” Maya said bluntly.
The girl flushed. “I feel sorry for him,” she whispered. “His father is so harsh with him, and he is often unwell.”
“In what way, unwell?”
“He gets terrible headaches. He vomits, and loses his sight. He is sick today. The Kikuta Master was angry, as they were to meet Lord Zenko—Akio has gone on his own.”
“Maybe I can help him,” Maya said. “Why don’t you take me to him?”
“I cannot! Akio would kill me if he found out.”
“Take me to the privy,” Maya said. “Close this door, but don’t fasten it. I’ll go to Hisao’s room. Don’t worry; no one will see me. But you must look out for Akio. Warn me when he returns.”
“You won’t hurt Hisao?”
“He is a grown man. I’m only fourteen years old—hardly even a woman yet. I have no weapons. How can I hurt him? Anyway, I said I would help him.”
Even as she spoke, she was recalling all the ways she had been taught to kill a man with her bare hands. She ran her tongue over her lips; her throat was dry, but otherwise she was calm. He was unwell, weakened, possibly blinded by illness. It would be easy to disable him with her gaze. She touched her neck, feeling her own pulse, imagining his under her hands. And if that failed, she would summon up the cat…
“Come, Nori, let’s go to Hisao. He needs your help.” When Nori still hesitated, Maya said quietly, “He loves you too.”
“He does?” Nori’s eyes brightened in her thin, pale face.
“He doesn’t tell anyone, but he dreams about you. I’ve seen his dreams in the same way I’ve seen yours. He dreams he is holding you and he cries out in his sleep.”
Maya watched Nori’s face as it softened; she despised the girl for her infatuation. Nori slid the door open, looked outside, and beckoned to Maya. They went quickly to the rear of the house, and at the door of the privy Maya grasped her stomach and cried out as if in pain.
“Hurry up, and don’t spend all day in there,” Nori said, with sudden inventiveness.
“Can I help it if I’m sick?” Maya replied in the same vein. “It’s the foul food you give me!”
She touched Nori on the shoulder as her shape faded. Nori, used to such strangeness, stared stolidly ahead. Maya went swiftly to the room where Hisao slept, slid the door open, and stepped in.
The bright sun outside had closed her pupils, and for a moment she could see nothing. The room smelled stale, the faint odor of vomit hanging in the air. Then she saw the boy curled on the mattress in the corner, one arm covering his face. From the even rhythm of his breathing he seemed to be sleeping. She would never get another chance like this. Holding her breath, she flexed her wrists, called up all her strength, crossed the room, knelt beside him, and seized him around the neck.
The effort weakened her concentration so that she lost invisibility. His eyes opened, and he stared at her for an instant before twisting underneath her in an attempt to break her grip. He was stronger than she had anticipated, but she directed her gaze into his eyes and for a moment made him dizzy. Her fingers tightened like tentacles as his back arched and his arms flailed in his struggle to break free. She clung to him like an animal as he rose on hands and knees. His skin was sweaty, and she felt her fingers lose their grip. He also sensed it, and shook his head backward away from her as he twisted again. He grasped her and slammed her into the wall. The fragile screens splintered and tore, and somewhere she heard Nori, she thought, call out. I’ve failed, she thought, as Hisao’s hands closed round her throat, and she prepared to die.
Miki! she said silently, and as if Miki answered her, she felt her rage against Hisao possess her and the cat came into being, spitting and snarling. He screamed in surprise and let go; the cat backed away, ready to escape but not yet willing to give up.
The pause gave Maya a moment to regain her control and concentration. She saw that despite the swiftness of his immediate reaction, something was still disabling him. His eyes went out of focus; he staggered slightly. He seemed to be trying to look at something just behind her, and listening to a whispering voice.
She thought it was a trick to get her to look away, and she continued to stare fixedly at him. The smell of decay and mold increased. The room seemed unbearably hot—the cat’s thick pelt was stifling her. She heard the voice whisper again to her right; though she could not make out the words, she heard enough to know it was not Nori. There was someone else in the room.
She glanced sideways and saw the woman. She was young, perhaps nineteen or twenty, her hair cut short, her face pallid. She wore a white robe, crossed on the opposite side to the living, and she floated above the ground. Her face was set in an expression of such anger and despair that even Maya’s hard heart was touched. She saw that Hisao both longed to look at the ghost and feared to. The cat spirit that possessed her moved freely between the worlds and for the first time she sought its knowledge and wisdom.
So this is what Taku meant, she reflected as she recognized her debt to the cat and how it might be fulfilled, and, immediately after, the power it gave her and how she might use it.
The woman called to her, “Help me! Help me!”
“What is it that you want?” the cat said.
“I want my son to listen to me!”
Before she could respond to this, Hisao came closer to her.
“You came back!” he said. “You have forgiven me. Come here, let me touch you. Are you a ghost too? Can I hold you?”
He put out his hand, and she saw the change in it, how it had softened into a curved shape that longed to fit itself round the denseness of a cat’s fur, and to her amazement and not altogether to her liking, the cat responded as if to its master, lowered its head and flattened its ears, and allowed him to caress it.
She obeyed the wisdom of the cat. His touch united something innate in both of them. Hisao gasped. Maya felt the pain as if inside her own head, then it receded. She saw through his eyes, the half-blindness, the spinning lights like cogwheels of some machine of torture, and then the world came into focus in a new way, and Hisao said, “Mother?”
The ghost woman spoke. “At last!” she said. “Now will you listen to me?”
His hand was still on the cat’s head. Maya sensed his confusion—his relief that the pain had gone, his dread of entering the world of the dead, his fear of half-glimpsed powers awakening. At the edge of her own mind hung a similar terror, of a way forward that she did not wish to take, a path that she and Hisao had to tread together, though she hated him and wanted to kill him.
Nori called from outside. “Quick! The Master is returning!”
Hisao took his hand from her head. Maya returned with relief into her own girl’s shape. She wanted to get away from him, but he caught her arm; she thought she could feel his grip all the way through to the inner marrow of her bones. He was gazing at her, his eyes amazed and hungry.
“Don’t go,” he said. �
�Tell me. Did you see her?”
Nori, on the threshold, gazed from one to the other. “You are better,” she exclaimed. “She has cured you!”
They both ignored her.
“Of course I did,” Maya said as she slipped past him. “She’s your mother, and she wants you to listen to her.”
43
He will tell Akio, she thought, as Nori hurried her back to the concealed room. He tells him everything. Akio will learn about the cat. Either he will kill me or they will use me in some way against Father. I should run away. Yes, I must go home; I will warn Mother about Zenko and Hana. I must go home.
But the cat had felt its master’s hand on its head, and it was reluctant to leave. And Maya wanted, against her better judgment, to feel that moment again when she walked between the worlds and talked to ghosts. She wanted to know what they knew, what it was like to die, and all the other secrets the dead keep from the living.
She had slept fitfully for weeks, but as soon as she got back to the small stuffy room, an irresistible lassitude came over her. Her eyelids grew heavy; her whole body ached with weariness. Without speaking to Nori she lay down on the floor and fell instantly into the deep river of sleep.
She was awakened, as if dragged up from underwater, by a command.
Come to me.
It was the darkest time of night, the air still and humid. Her neck and hair were damp with sweat. She did not want to feel the cat’s heavy fur, but its master was calling—it had to go to him.
The cat’s ears pricked; its head swiveled. It flowed easily through the inner screens and the outer walls into the yard at the back of the house, across the yard toward the workshop where the fire of the forges burned all night. The household was used to Hisao being here in the early morning, before dawn. He had made the place his own and no one disturbed him.
He held out his hand and the cat went to him, as if longing for the touch, the caress. He rubbed its head, and it licked his cheek with its rough tongue. Neither of them spoke, but there flowed between them an animal need for affection, a yearning for closeness, for touch.