The Harsh Cry of the Heron

by Lian Hearn

  He heard the thrum of an arrow. Tenba heard it, too, and started, Takeo keeping his balance as the sudden movement whipped him sideways. He did not want to fall like Kono; nor did he want to lose invisibility through lack of concentration. He slowed his breathing and let his body follow the horse’s movements as though they were one creature.

  The arrow thudded into the ground a few yards ahead of him. It had not been aimed directly at the animals, merely as a sort of exploration of their nature. Takeo let Tenba skitter a little, and then pressed his legs slightly into his sides, urging him forward, grateful to the horse for his responsiveness and for the bond between then. The kirin followed docilely.

  A shout came from his right, from the northern side of the valley. Tenba pricked his ears and swiveled them toward the sound. Another man shouted in reply, from the southern side. Tenba broke into a trot, and the kirin began to lope in its up-and-down way beside him.

  The soldiers began to show themselves one by one, emerging from their hiding places and running down onto the valley floor. They were lightly armored, favoring easy concealment and flexibility over full battle armor—they had hoped for a quick ambush. They were armed mostly with bows, and a few firearms, but they laid these aside.

  Tenba snorted, alarmed by them as if by a pack of wolves, and quickened his pace until he was cantering. This made more of the men emerge and run faster, trying to cut the animals off before the end of the valley. Takeo felt the ground begin to slope away. They had crossed the highest point; in front of him the view opened out. He could see the plains below where Kahei’s army waited.

  Now there was shouting all around as the soldiers gave up any idea of concealing themselves, vying to be the first to grasp the warhorse’s reins and claim him. Ahead, five or six horsemen appeared in the gap between the crags. Tenba was galloping now, snaking like a stallion herding mares, teeth bared, prepared to bite. The kirin’s huge stride made it appear to float above the ground. Takeo heard another arrow come whistling past him, dropped flat on the horse’s neck, clutching at the luxuriant mane, and saw the first soldier fall, the arrow through his chest. Behind him he could make out the drumming of hooves as his own troops swept into the valley.

  The terrible sound of arrows filled the air, like the beating of wings. Too late, the soldiers realized their entrapment and began to run back to the cover of the rocks. One dropped immediately, a star-shaped knife in his eyes, making those behind him hesitate long enough to fall to the next volley of arrows. Either Tenba and the kirin were just out of range, or the marksmanship of his archers was superb, for though Takeo heard the clack of the shafts all around him, nothing hit the animals.

  The horsemen loomed ahead of him, their swords drawn. He fumbled for the stirrups, secured his feet, braced himself, and drew Jato with his left hand, letting visibility return at the same moment as he swung the sword to his left, knocking the first horseman from the saddle with a blow that cut open neck and chest. He sat deep in the saddle, throwing his weight backward in an attempt to slow Tenba down, and at the same moment slashed the cord that tied the kirin to the horse. The kirin ran awkwardly onward while Tenba, remembering perhaps what he had been bred for, slowed and spun to face the other horsemen who now surrounded Takeo.

  He had almost forgotten how it felt, but it all came rushing back to him: the single-minded madness that thought of nothing but the strength, skill, and resolve that would ensure its possessor’s own survival. He forgot his age and his disabilities, the left hand taking over the crippled right hand’s role, Jato leaping as it always had done, as if with its own will.

  He was aware of Hiroshi joining him, Keri’s pale gray coat reddened with blood, and then the galloping thrust of his own small group of warriors all around him, Shigeko, Gemba, their bows over their backs, swords in their hands.

  “Ride on,” he called to them, and smiled inwardly as they went past him and began to descend. Shigeko was safe, at least for today. The conflict slackened and he realized the last of the enemy horsemen were trying to escape, and the men on foot were also running away, seeking the shelter of rocks and trees.

  “Do we go after them?” Hiroshi called, getting his breath, turning Keri back.

  “No, let them go. Saga must be close behind. We cannot delay. We are in the Three Countries now. We will be with Kahei tonight.”

  This is just a skirmish, Takeo was thinking as he returned Jato to the mount and sanity began to return. The main battle is still to come.

  “Gather up our dead and wounded,” he told Hiroshi. “Leave no one behind.” Then he shouted loudly, “Mai! Mai!”

  He saw the flicker of invisibility on the northern flank, and rode Tenba toward her as she came into view. He reached down and swung her up behind him.

  “Are you hurt?” he called over his shoulder.

  “No,” she shouted back. “I killed three men and wounded two.”

  He could feel her quickened heartbeat against his back; the smell of her sweat reminded him that it was months since he had lain with his wife. He longed for Kaede now—she filled his thoughts as he surveyed the valley for survivors and rounded up the last of his men. Five dead, it seemed, maybe six more wounded. He grieved for the dead, all men he had known for years, and determined to bury them with reverence in their homeland in the Three Countries. Saga’s dead he left in the valley, not bothering to take their heads or to dispatch the wounded. Saga would be in this place the following day, and either that same day or the next they would be joined in battle.

  His mood was grim as he greeted Kahei on the plain below. Relieved to see that Minoru was unhurt, he went with the scribe to Kahei’s shelter, where he related to the commander all that had happened and discussed the plans for the next day. Hiroshi took the horses to the lines, where Takeo could see his daughter with the kirin. She was pale, and looked somehow diminished. His heart ached for her.

  Sakai’s scout, Kitayama, arrived, scratched and bruised but unwounded, full of apologies for his lateness.

  “At least we know Saga cannot come round any other way,” Takeo said. “He must come through the pass.”

  “We will send men at once to defend it,” Kahei declared.

  “No, we will leave it open. We want Saga to think we are in flight, demoralized and confused. And he must be seen to be the aggressor. We are defending the Three Countries, not defying him and the Emperor. We cannot stay here and hold him off indefinitely. We must defeat him decisively and take the army back to the West to face Zenko. You have heard of Taku’s death?”

  “I had heard rumors, but we have had no official correspondence from Hagi.”

  “Nothing from my wife?”

  “Not since the third month, and then she did not mention this sad loss. It was too early for her to have heard, perhaps.”

  It depressed Takeo further, for he had expected to have letters from her, with news of the situation in the Middle Country and the West, as well as of her health and the child’s.

  “I have not heard from my wife either; we have had messages from Inuyama but nothing from the Middle Country.”

  Both men were silent for a moment, thinking of their distant homes and children.

  “Well, bad news travels faster than good, they say,” Kahei exclaimed, pushing aside his anxieties in the usual way, with physical activity. “Let me show you our army.”

  Kahei had already established his troops in battle formation: the main forces on the western side of the plain, and a flank along the northern edge shielded by a small spur of land. Here he had placed those soldiers with firearms, as well as an auxiliary force of archers.

  “We face bad weather,” he said. “If it is too wet to use firearms, we lose our major advantage.”

  Takeo went out with him in the light midsummer evening to inspect the positions, guards carrying smoldering grass torches. The white moon was approaching full, but dark clouds blew raggedly, and lightning flashed in the western sky. Gemba was seated beneath a small cypress tree, near the
pool that supplied their water, eyes closed, apparently far removed from the bustle of the camp around him.

  “Maybe your brother can continue to hold off the rain,” Takeo said, as much to raise his own spirits as Kahei’s.

  “Rain or not, we must be prepared for them to attack at any time,” Kahei replied. “You have already fought one battle today. I’ll keep guard while you and your companions get some sleep.”

  Since he had been at the encampment since the fifth month, Kahei had set himself up in some comfort. Takeo washed in cold water, ate a little, and then stretched out under the silken folds of the shelter. He fell asleep at once, and dreamed of Kaede.

  They were in the lodging house in Tsuwano, and it was the night of her betrothal to Shigeru. He saw her as she had been at fifteen, her face unlined, her neck unscarred, her hair a silky mass of black. He saw the lamplight flicker between them as she stared at his hands and then raised her eyes to his face. In the dream she was both Shigeru’s betrothed and already his wife; he passed the betrothal gifts to her, and at the same moment reached for her and pulled her toward him.

  As he felt her beloved form in his arms, he heard the crackling of fire and realized that in his haste he had knocked over the lamp. The room was erupting in flames; the fire swept over Shigeru, Naomi, Kenji…

  He woke, the smell of burning in his nostrils, rain already splashing through the roof, lightning searing the encampment with its sudden, unearthly brilliance, thunder cracking the sky.

  45

  After Takeo had cut its silk cord, the kirin had continued to run blindly through the valley, but its feet were not suited to the rocky floor, and it soon slowed to a limping walk. The noise behind alarmed it, but ahead were the smells and shapes of strange men and horses. It was aware that the people and the horse that it was familiar with and cared for most were still behind it, and so it waited for them with its customary patience and docility.

  Shigeko and Gemba had found it, and brought it to the encampment. Shigeko was subdued; she did not speak as she unsaddled Ashige herself, fastened the head ropes to the horse lines, and then set about tending to the kirin, while Gemba fetched dried grass and water.

  They were surrounded by soldiers from the camp, eager for information, full of questions about the skirmish, Saga Hideki and his troops, and if they might expect a battle soon, but Gemba fended them off, saying that Kahei must be informed first, and that Lord Otori was right behind them.

  Shigeko saw her father ride into the camp, the Muto girl, Mai, on the back of his horse and Hiroshi alongside him. For a moment they both looked like strangers to her, blood-stained, ferocious, their faces still set in the furious expression of battle. Mai had the same expression, turning her features masculine. Hiroshi dismounted first and held out his arms to lift the girl down from Tenba. After Takeo had dismounted and was greeting Kahei, Hiroshi took the reins of both horses, but stood for a while talking to Mai.

  Shigeko wished she had the sharp hearing to discern what they were saying to each other, then berated herself for what she suspected might be jealousy. She had even let it taint her relief that her father and Hiroshi were unhurt.

  Tenba caught the kirin’s scent and whinnied loudly. Hiroshi looked in her direction and she saw the expression that washed over his face, changing him instantly into the man she knew so well.

  I love him, she thought. I will marry no one but him.

  He said good-bye to Mai and brought both horses to the lines, tying his own, Keri, next to Ashige, and Tenba beside the kirin.

  “They are all happy now,” Shigeko said, as the animals ate and drank. “They have food, they have their companions, they have forgotten the horrors of today…. They don’t know what awaits them tomorrow.”

  Gemba left them, saying he needed to spend some time alone.

  “He has gone to strengthen himself in the Way of the Houou,” Shigeko said. “I should do the same. But I feel I have betrayed everything the Masters have taught me.” She turned away, tears suddenly pricking her eyelids.

  “I don’t know if I killed today,” she said in a low voice. “But my arrows hit many men. My aim was true: Not one arrow missed its target. I did not want to hurt the dogs, yet I wanted to hurt these men. I was glad when their blood spurted. How many of them are now dead?”

  “I also killed today,” Hiroshi said. “I was trained throughout my childhood for this, and it came naturally to me, though now, afterward, I feel regret and sorrow. I do not know how else I could have stayed loyal to your father, to the Three Countries, or done my best to protect him and you.”

  After a pause he added, “Tomorrow will be worse. This skirmish was nothing compared with the battle to come. You should not take part in it. I cannot leave your father, but let me suggest that Gemba take you away. You can take the kirin with you. Go back to Inuyama; go to your aunt.”

  “I don’t want to leave Father, either,” Shigeko said and could not help adding, “Nor Lord Hiroshi.” She felt the color rise in her cheeks and said, without really meaning to, “What were you saying to that girl?”

  “The Muto girl? I thanked her for helping us again. I feel deep gratitude to her, for bringing us the news of Taku’s death, for fighting alongside us today.”

  “Oh! Of course,” Shigeko said, and turned her face toward the kirin to hide her confused feelings. She longed to be held by him. She feared they would both die without ever speaking of love, yet how could she speak of it now, surrounded by soldiers, grooms, horses, when she was filled with regret for having taken life, and when their future was so uncertain?

  The horses were done; there was no reason for them to stand there any longer.

  “Let’s walk a little,” she said. “We should look at the terrain, and then find my father.”

  It was still light; far in the west the sun’s last rays spilled out from behind the massed clouds. The sky between their dark gray citadels was the color of cold ash. The moon was high in the eastern sky, slowly silvering.

  Shigeko could think of nothing to say. Finally Hiroshi spoke. “Lady Shigeko,” he said. “My only concern now is for your safety.” He also seemed to be struggling for words. “You must live, for the sake of the whole country.”

  “You have been like a brother to me all my life,” she said. “There is no one who means more to me than you.”

  “My feelings for you are far more than those of a brother. I would never mention this to you, but for the fact that one of us may die tomorrow. You are the most perfect woman I have ever known. I know your rank and position place you far beyond me, but I can never love, nor will I ever marry, anyone but you.”

  She could not prevent herself from smiling. His words dispelled her sadness, filling her with sudden delight and boldness.

  “Hiroshi,” she said. “Let us marry. I will persuade my parents. I do not feel obliged to become Lord Saga’s wife now that he has treated my father so wrongly. All my life I have tried to obey my parents and act in the right way. But now I see that in the face of death there are other things that take on a new importance. My parents put love before their duty to their elders; why should I not do the same?”

  “I cannot do anything against your father’s wishes,” Hiroshi replied, with intense emotion. “But to know that you feel the way you do satisfies all my longings.”

  Not all of them, I hope! Shigeko dared to think as they parted.

  She wanted to go at once to her father, but restrained herself. By the time she had washed and eaten, she was told he was already sleeping. A separate hut had been erected for her, and she sat alone in it for a long time, trying to compose her thoughts and reignite the calm, strong flame of the Way of the Houou within her. But all her efforts were undermined by flashes of memory—the cries of battle, the smell of blood, the sound of arrows—and by Hiroshi’s face and voice.

  She slept lightly and was wakened by the crack of thunder and splashing rain. She heard the camp erupt into action around her, and leaped to her feet, dressing
quickly in the riding clothes she had worn the day before. Everything was getting wet, her fingers more slippery.

  “Lady Maruyama!” a woman’s voice called from outside, and Mai came into the hut, bringing a pot for Shigeko to urinate in. She took this away and returned in a few moments with tea and cold rice. While Shigeko ate quickly, Mai disappeared again. When she came back, she was carrying a small leather and iron cuirass and a helmet. “Your father sent these for you,” she said. “You are to prepare at once, yourself and your horse, and go to him. Here, I will help you.”

  Shigeko felt the unfamiliar weight of the armor. Her hair caught in the lacing. “Tie it back for me,” she told Mai; then she took up her sword and fastened it to her belt. Mai put the helmet on Shigeko’s head and tied its loops.

  The rain lashed down, but the sky was paling. It was nearly dawn. She went swiftly to the horse lines, through the water like a gray steel veil. Takeo was already in armor, Jato at his side, waiting for Hiroshi and the grooms to finish saddling the horses.

  “Shigeko,” he said without smiling, “Hiroshi has pleaded with me to send you away, but the truth is I need every man I’ve got—and woman too. It is too wet to use firearms, and Saga knows this. I am sure he will not wait for the rain to cease before he attacks. I need you and Gemba, since you are both archers.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “I did not want to leave you. I want to fight alongside you.”

  “Stay with Gemba,” he said. “If defeat seems inevitable, he will take you to safety.”

  “I will take my own life first,” she retorted.

  “No, daughter, you must live. If we lose, you must marry Saga, and preserve our country and people as his wife.”

  “And if we win?”

  “Then you may marry whom you choose,” he replied, his eyes crinkling as he glanced at Hiroshi.

  “I shall keep you to your word, Father,” she said lightly, as they both mounted their horses.

  Takeo rode with Hiroshi to the center of the plain, where the horsemen were assembling, and she followed Gemba to the northern flank, where foot soldiers, archers, and men armed with pikes and halberds were taking up positions.