Side by side we fought our way back across the nightingale floor. Every stroke made me wince in pain. Without Kaede at my right side, I would have died then.
Everything was turning blurred and indistinct before my eyes. I thought the mist from the river had penetrated the residence, but then I heard crackling and smelled smoke. The torch the guard had dropped had set the wooden screens on fire.
There were cries of fear and shock. The women and servants were running from the fire, out of the residence and into the castle, while guards from the castle were trying to get through the narrow gate into the residence. In the confusion and the smoke, the four of us fought our way into the garden.
By now the residence was fully ablaze. No one knew where Iida was or if he was alive or dead. No one knew who had made this attack on the supposedly impregnable castle. Was it men or demons? Shigeru had been spirited away. Was it by men or angels?
The rain had eased, but the mist grew thicker as dawn approached. Shizuka led us through the garden to the gate and the steps down to the moat. The guards here had already started on their way up towards the residence. Distracted and confused as they were, they hardly put up a fight. We unbarred the gate easily from the inside and stepped into one of the boats, casting off the rope.
The moat was connected to the river through the marshland we had crossed earlier. Behind us the castle stood out stark against the flames. Ash floated towards us, falling on our hair. The river was surging, and the waves rocked the wooden pleasure boat as the current carried us into it. It was hardly more than a punt, and I feared if the water grew any wilder it would capsize. Ahead of us the piles of the bridge suddenly appeared. For a moment I thought we would be flung against them, but the boat dived through, nose first, and the river carried us on, past the town.
None of us said much. We were all breathing hard, charged with the near confrontation with death, subdued maybe by the memory of those we had sent on into the next world, but deeply, achingly glad we were not among them. At least, that was how I felt.
I went to the stern of the boat and took the oar, but the current was too strong to make any headway. We had to go where it took us. The mist turned white as dawn came, but we could see no more through it than when it had been dark. Apart from the glow of the flames from the castle, everything else had disappeared.
I was aware of a strange noise, however, above the song of the river. It was like a great humming, as though a huge swarm of insects were descending on the city.
“Can you hear that?” I said to Shizuka.
She was frowning. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
The sun brightened, burning off the haze. The hum and throb from the bank increased, until the sound resolved itself into something I suddenly recognized: the tramp of feet of thousands of men and horses, the jingle of harness, the clash of steel. Colors flashed at us through the torn shreds of mist; the crests and banners of the Western clans.
“Arai is here!” Shizuka cried.
THERE ARE CHRONICLES ENOUGH of the fall of Inuyama, and I took no further part in it, so there is no need for me to describe it here.
I had not expected to live beyond that night. I had no idea what to do next. I had given my life to the Tribe, that much was clear to me, but I still had duties to perform for Shigeru.
Kaede knew nothing of my bargain with the Kikuta. If I were Otori, Shigeru’s heir, it would be my duty to marry her, and indeed there was nothing I wanted more. If I were to become Kikuta, Lady Shirakawa would be as unobtainable as the moon. What had happened between us now seemed like a dream. If I thought about it, I felt I should be ashamed of what I had done, and so like a coward I put it out of my mind.
We went first to the Muto residence where I had been hidden, changed our clothes, grabbed a little food. Shizuka went immediately to speak to Arai, leaving Kaede in the charge of the women of the house.
I did not want to speak to Kenji, or anyone. I wanted to get to Terayama, bury Shigeru, and place Iida’s head on the grave. I knew I had to do this quickly, before the Kikuta controlled me fully. I was aware that I had already disobeyed the master of my family by returning to the castle. Even though I had not killed Iida myself, everyone would assume I had, against the express wishes of the Tribe. I could not deny it without causing immense harm to Kaede. I did not intend to disobey forever. I just needed a little more time.
It was easy enough to slip out of the house during the confusion of that day. I went to the lodging house where I had stayed with Shigeru. The owners had fled before Arai’s army, taking most of their possessions with them, but many of our things were still in the rooms, including the sketches I had done at Terayama, and the writing box on which Shigeru had written his final letter to me. I looked at them with sorrow. Grief’s clamor was growing louder and louder inside me, demanding my attention. It seemed I could feel Shigeru’s presence in the room, see him sitting in the open doorway as night fell and I did not return.
I did not take much: a change of clothes, a little money, and my horse, Raku, from the stables. Shigeru’s black, Kyu, had disappeared, as had most of the Otori horses, but Raku was still there, restive and uneasy as the smell of fire drifted over the town. He was relieved to see me. I saddled him up, tied the basket that held Iida’s head to the saddle bow, and rode out of the city, joining the throngs of people on the highway who were fleeing from the approaching armies.
I went swiftly, sleeping only a little at night. The weather had cleared, and the air was crisp with a hint of autumn. Each day the mountains rose clear-edged against a brilliant blue sky. Some of the trees were already showing golden leaves. Bush clover and arrowroot were beginning to flower. It was probably beautiful, but I saw no beauty in anything. I knew I had to reflect on what I would do, but I could not bear to look at what I had done. I was in that stage of grief where I could not bear to go forward. I only wanted to go back, back to the house in Hagi, back in time to when Shigeru was alive, before we left for Inuyama.
On the afternoon of the fourth day, when I had just passed Kushimoto, I became aware that the travelers on the road were now streaming towards me. I called to a farmer leading a packhorse, “What’s up ahead?”
“Monks! Warriors!” he shouted back. “Yamagata has fallen to them. The Tohan are fleeing. They say Lord Iida is dead!”
I grinned, wondering what he would do if he saw the grisly baggage on my saddle. I was in traveling clothes, unmarked with any crest. No one knew who I was, and I did not know that my name had already become famous.
Before long I heard the sound of men at arms on the road ahead, and I took Raku into the forest. I did not want to lose him or get embroiled in petty fights with the retreating Tohan. They were moving fast, obviously hoping to reach Inuyama before the monks caught up with them, but I felt they would be held up at the pass at Kushimoto and would probably have to make a stand there.
They straggled past for most of the rest of the day, while I worked my way northward through the forest, avoiding them as often as I could, though twice I had to use Jato to defend myself and my horse. My wrist still bothered me, and as the sun set I became more uneasy—not for my own safety, but that my mission would not be accomplished. It seemed too dangerous to try to sleep. The moon was bright, and I rode all night beneath its light, Raku moving on with his easy stride, one ear forward, one back.
Dawn came and I saw in the distance the shape of the mountains that surrounded Terayama. I would be there before the end of the day. I saw a pool below the road, and stopped to let Raku drink. The sun rose, and in its warmth I became suddenly sleepy. I tied the horse to a tree and took the saddle for a pillow, lay down, and fell immediately asleep.
I was woken by the earth shaking beneath me. I lay for a moment, looking at the dappled light that fell on the pool, listening to the trickle of the water and the tread of hundreds of feet approaching along the road. I stood, meaning to take Raku deeper into the forest to hide him, but when I looked up I saw
that the army was not the last of the Tohan. The men wore armor and carried weapons, but the banners were of the Otori, and of the temple at Terayama. Those that did not wear helmets had shaven heads, and in the front rank I recognized the young man who had shown us the paintings.
“Makoto!” I called to him, climbing the bank towards him. He turned to me, and a look of joy and astonishment crossed his face.
“Lord Otori? Is it really you? We feared you would be dead too. We are riding to avenge Lord Shigeru.”
“I am on my way to Terayama,” I said. “I am taking Iida’s head to him, as he commanded me.”
His eyes widened a little. “Iida is already dead?”
“Yes, and Inuyama has fallen to Arai. You’ll catch up with the Tohan at Kushimoto.”
“Won’t you ride with us?”
I stared at him. His words made no sense to me. My work was almost done. I had to finish my last duty to Shigeru, and then I would disappear into the secret world of the Tribe. But of course there was no way Makoto could know of the choices I had made.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You’re not wounded?”
I shook my head. “I have to place the head on Shigeru’s grave.”
Makoto’s eyes gleamed. “Show it to us!”
I brought the basket and opened it. The smell was strengthening and flies had gathered on the blood. The skin was a waxy gray color, the eyes dull and bloodshot.
Makoto took it by the topknot, leaped onto a boulder by the side of the road, and held it up to the monks gathered around. “Now see what Lord Otori has done!” he shouted, and the men shouted back a great hurrah. A wave of emotion swept through them. I heard my name repeated over and over again as, one by one at first, and then as if with a single mind, they knelt in the dust before me, bowing to the ground.
Kenji was right: People had loved Shigeru—the monks, the farmers, most of the Otori clan—and because I had carried out the revenge, that love was transferred to me.
It seemed to add to my burdens. I did not want this adulation. I did not deserve it, and I was in no position to live up to it. I bade farewell to the monks, wished them success, and rode on, the head back in its basket.
They did not want me to go alone, and so Makoto came with me. He told me how Yuki had arrived at Terayama with Shigeru’s head, and they were preparing the burial rites. She must have traveled day and night to get there so soon, and I thought of her with enormous gratitude.
By evening we were in the temple. Led by the old priest, the monks who remained there were chanting the sutras for Shigeru, and the stone had already been erected over the place where the head was buried. I knelt by it and placed his enemy’s head before him. The moon was half-full. In its ethereal light the rocks in the Sesshu garden looked like men praying. The sound of the waterfall seemed louder than by day. Beneath it I could hear the cedars sighing as the night breeze stirred them. Crickets shrilled and frogs were croaking from the pools below the cascade. I heard the beating of wings, and saw the shy hawk owl swoop through the graveyard. Soon it would migrate again; soon summer would be over.
I thought it was a beautiful place for his spirit to rest in. I stayed by the grave for a long time, tears flowing silently. He had told me that only children cry. Men endure, he said, but what seemed unthinkable to me was that I should be the man who would take his place. I was haunted by the conviction that I should not have dealt the deathblow. I had beheaded him with his own sword. I was not his heir: I was his murderer.
I thought longingly of the house in Hagi, with its song of the river and the world. I wanted it to sing that song to my children. I wanted them to grow up beneath its gentle shelter. I daydreamed that Kaede would prepare tea in the room Shigeru built, and our children would try to outwit the nightingale floor. In the evenings we would watch the heron come to the garden, its great gray shape standing patiently in the stream.
In the depths of the garden someone was playing the flute. Its liquid notes pierced my heart. I did not think I would ever recover from my grief.
The days passed, and I could not leave the temple. I knew I must make a decision and leave, but each day I put it off. I was aware that the old priest and Makoto were concerned for me, but they left me alone, apart from looking after me in practical ways, reminding me to eat, to bathe, to sleep.
Every day people came to pray at Shigeru’s grave. At first a trickle, then a flood, of returning soldiers, monks, farmers, and peasants filed reverently past the tombstone, prostrating themselves before it, their faces wet with tears. Shigeru had been right: He was even more powerful, and more beloved, in death than in life.
“He will become a god,” the old priest predicted. “He will join the others in the shrine.”
Night after night I dreamed of Shigeru as I had last seen him, his features streaked with water and blood, and when I woke, my heart pounding with horror, I heard the flute. I began to look forward to the mournful notes as I lay sleepless. I found its music both painful and consoling.
The moon waned; the nights were darker. We heard of the victory at Kushimoto from the returning monks. Life at the temple began to return to normal, the old rituals closing like water over the heads of the dead. Then word came that Lord Arai, who was now master of most of the Three Countries, was coming to Terayama to pay his respects to Shigeru’s grave.
That night, when I heard the flute music, I went to talk to the player. It was, as I had half suspected, Makoto. I was deeply touched that he should have been watching over me, accompanying me in my sorrow.
He was sitting by the pool, where sometimes in the day I had seen him feed the golden carp. He finished the phrase and laid the flute down.
“You will have to come to a decision once Arai is here,” he said. “What will you do?”
I sat down next to him. The dew was falling, and the stones were wet. “What should I do?”
“You are Shigeru’s heir. You must take up his inheritance.” He paused, then said, “But it is not that simple, is it? There is something else that calls you.”
“It doesn’t exactly call me. It commands me. I am under an obligation. . . . It’s hard to explain it to anyone.”
“Try me,” he said.
“You know I have acute hearing. Like a dog, you once said.”
“I shouldn’t have said that. It hurt you. Forgive me.”
“No, you were right. ‘Useful to your masters,’ you said. Well, I am useful to my masters, and they are not the Otori.”
“The Tribe?”
“You know of them?”
“Only a little,” he said. “Our abbot mentioned them.”
There was a moment when I thought he was going to say something else, that he was waiting for me to ask a question. But I did not know the right question to ask then, and I was too absorbed in my own thoughts, and my own need to explain them.
“My father was of the Tribe, and the talents I have come from him. They have claimed me, as they believe they have the right. I made a bargain with them that they would allow me to rescue Lord Shigeru, and in return I would join them.”
“What right do they have to demand that of you, when you are Shigeru’s legal heir?” he asked, indignant.
“If I try to escape from them, they will kill me,” I replied. “They believe they have that right, and as I made the bargain, I believe it too. My life is theirs.”
“You must have made the agreement under duress,” he said. “No one will expect you to keep it. You are Otori Takeo. I don’t think you realize how famous you have become, how much your name means.”
“I killed him,” I said, and to my shame felt the tears begin to flow again. “I can never forgive myself. I can’t take on his name and his life. He died at my hands.”
“You gave him an honorable death,” Makoto whispered, taking my hands in his. “You fulfilled every duty a son should to his father. Everywhere you are admired and praised for it. And to kill Iida too. It is the stuff of legends.”
“I have not fulfilled every duty,” I replied. “His uncles plotted his death with Iida, and they go unpunished. And he charged me to take care of Lady Shirakawa, who has suffered terribly through no fault of her own.”
“That would not be too much of a burden,” he said, eyeing me ironically, and I felt the blood rise in my face. “I noticed your hands touching,” he said, and after a pause: “I notice everything about you.”
“I want to fulfill his wishes, yet I feel unworthy. And anyway, I am bound by my oath to the Tribe.”
“That could be broken, if you wanted.”
Maybe Makoto was right. On the other hand, maybe the Tribe would not let me live. And besides, I could not hide it from myself: Something in me was drawn to them. I kept recalling how I’d felt Kikuta had understood my nature, and how that nature had responded to the dark skills of the Tribe. I was all too aware of the deep divisions within me. I wanted to open my heart to Makoto, but to do so would mean telling him everything, and I could not talk about being born into the Hidden to a monk who was a follower of the Enlightened One. I thought of how I had now broken all the commandments. I had killed many times.
While we spoke in whispers in the darkened garden, the silence broken only by the sudden splash of a fish or the distant hooting of owls, the feeling between us had grown more intense. Now Makoto drew me into his embrace and held me closely. “Whatever you choose, you must let go of your grief,” he said. “You did the best you could. Shigeru would have been proud of you. Now you have to forgive, and be proud of, yourself.”
His affectionate words, his touch, made the tears flow again. Beneath his hands I felt my body come back to life. He drew me back from the abyss and made me desire to live again. Afterwards, I slept deeply, and did not dream.
ARAI CAME WITH A FEW RETAINERS and twenty or so men, leaving the bulk of his army to maintain the peace in the East. He meant to ride on and settle the borders before winter came. He had never been patient; now he was driven. He was younger than Shigeru, about twenty-six, in the prime of manhood, a big man with a quick temper and an iron will. I did not want him as an enemy, and he made no secret of the fact that he wanted me as an ally and would support me against the Otori lords. Moreover, he had already decided that I should marry Kaede.