“He can probably tell you a few stories of his own,” she said as she left the room. “If he’s not an apparition himself.”
After they had exchanged greetings, Kenji cast an eye over the collections of scrolls and asked, “What are you so engrossed in?”
“It is my compilation of supernatural tales, haunted places, and so on,” Shigeru replied. “Chiyo thinks you might be able to add to it.”
“I can tell you some chilling things, but they are not tales—though they involve ghosts and their masters.” Kenji laughed. “They are all too true.”
“Histories of the Tribe?” Shigeru inquired. “They would make an interesting addition.”
“They certainly would!” Kenji was studying him closely. “Have you been away?”
“Just along the coast. I enjoy traveling—and now I have this new hobby . . .”
“Yes, a perfect excuse!”
“You are too suspicious, my dear friend,” Shigeru said, smiling.
“I like traveling, too. We should go together sometime.”
“Gladly,” Shigeru said and dared to add, “There’s a great deal I would like to learn from you.”
“I’ll pass on to you all I can that helps you,” Kenji replied and went on more seriously, “I can tell you something of the Tribe too. I know we interest you. But to reveal all our secrets is impossible: I’m one of the two most important figures in the Tribe, but it would still cost me my life!”
Shigeru longed to question Kenji about his father’s lover, the Kikuta woman, and her child—what had become of him, had he had children, was he still alive—but he remembered she had warned his father never to speak of it; the Tribe had not known of the affair. Perhaps it was better that they never did. He put the matter aside for the time being.
“Do you have any news for me?”
“You’ve heard about Iida’s son, no doubt?”
Shigeru nodded. “Has it changed Iida?”
“It’s calmed him down, temporarily. But now that he has an heir it will spur him on to consolidate the Tohan lands and his new territories. My niece often asks after you, by the way.”
Chiyo returned with flasks of wine and cups and trays of food. Shigeru poured wine. Kenji drained his cup in one gulp. “Arai, it seems, still harbors some hopes of alliance against Iida.”
“I have given up all such ideas,” Shigeru said blandly, drinking more slowly. “Shizuka betrayed both Arai and me,” he went on. “I am surprised he lets her live!”
“Arai is less astute than you. I do not believe he ever suspected her. If he did, he must have forgiven her, for they have another son,” Kenji remarked.
“They are lucky.”
“Well, children are always welcome,” Kenji said. “Zenko was born the year of the battle. He is now two years old. The younger one is called Taku. But Arai is to be married next year, and that may make Shizuka’s position more precarious.”
“Presumably you will look after her,” Shigeru said.
“Naturally. And more than any woman I know, Shizuka can take care of herself.”
“But her sons must make her vulnerable,” Shigeru said. “Who will Arai’s bride be?”
“Someone selected by the Tohan. No one of any importance. Arai is still in disgrace.”
“Am I?” Shigeru said.
“Iida thinks you have been made harmless. He is not afraid of you, at the moment.” Kenji paused as though wondering if he should say what he said next. “Your life was in some danger last year, but that danger is not so great now. If Iida feels anything for you, it is contempt. He often expresses it. He even refers to you as the Farmer!”
Shigeru smiled inwardly.
“Of course, the clever hawk hides its talons,” Kenji remarked.
“No, my talons are drawn, my wings clipped.” Shigeru laughed. “And I believe Sadamu has given up hawking.” He reminded himself of the day he saw the now all-powerful lord of the Tohan naked. He was relieved and encouraged that his new role was accepted even as far away as the East. Moreover, he felt that if any rumors of his meetings with Naomi had reached Kenji, the Tribe Master would have let him know. Kenji seemed to take pleasure in telling him things he knew about him. If he said nothing, it meant he probably knew nothing. The young man, Bunta, had not given them away. He was not from the Tribe. He smiled again at his own suspicions and refilled the wine cups.
Kenji stayed for a few days, and the two men grew closer. The events from their past, a common delight in the good things of life, and a certain mutual attraction deepened their friendship. In fact, Kenji was becoming the closest friend Shigeru had ever had, apart from Kiyoshige. Like Kiyoshige, the Fox was excessively fond of women and often urged Shigeru to accompany him to the pleasure houses of Hagi, particularly the famous House of the Camellias, where Haruna still held sway. Shigeru always refused.
At the end of the week, they made a short journey into the mountains to the east of Hagi. Kenji was an excellent companion, endlessly knowledgeable about wild plants and animals, acquainted with many hidden paths that led deep into the forest, tireless, and prepared to endure all the discomforts and surprises of travel with sardonic good humor.
He also told Shigeru a certain amount about the Tribe, but when, once home, Shigeru started to write this information down, he realized it was largely superficial—an address, a family relationship, some old story of punishment or revenge. Kenji deftly avoided giving any real details. Shigeru began to believe he would never penetrate the wall of secrecy the Tribe had constructed around themselves and their activities, never discover his half brother . . .
Kenji came once more before winter put an end to such journeys, and then again in the fourth month of the following year. He always brought news of events beyond the Middle Country: the continued good health of Iida’s son, the warlord’s various conquests, the sporadic persecution of the Hidden, Arai Daiichi fretting with impatience in Noguchi castle, the Shirakawa’s oldest daughter, Kaede, who had been sent to the same castle that year as a hostage. Occasionally, he had news from Maruyama, and Shigeru listened to it impassively, hoping Kenji would not discern his quickened heartbeat, silently giving thanks that she was well, that her daughter was not yet a hostage.
The summer was hot, with early, violent typhoons, bringing the usual anxieties about the harvest. Shigeru’s mother was unwell on and off throughout the summer—the heat did not agree with her, and her temper became very unpredictable.
After the full moon of the tenth month, the weather finally began to cool. The meeting with Naomi the previous year seemed like something imagined. Shigeru had almost given up hope of ever hearing from her again when a messenger brought a letter from Eijiro’s widow, saying that she had been given permission to make one last journey to her old home to dedicate a memorial to her husband and sons in their former local temple. Was it possible for Lord Shigeru to attend? It would mean so much to her and to the spirits of the dead. She would be traveling with her sister, Sachie. They did not expect an answer but would be there at the next full moon.
Shigeru was puzzled by this message: did it mean she would be there too? Yet the occasion sounded like a formal one: if he went, he would have to go as Otori Shigeru, not as some unrecognized traveler. Eijiro’s lands had been ceded to the domain of Tsuwano, which was still part of the Middle Country but whose lord, Kitano, was in favor of alliance with the Tohan and no friend to Shigeru. Was Kitano setting up a trap for him on behalf of Iida Sadamu?
Yet for all his suspicions, the remote possibility of seeing her meant he had to go. He approached his uncles for permission to travel and was surprised, delighted, and alarmed in equal measures when this was readily granted. He put his affairs in order as far as he could, in case he should not return, and set out on Kyu with a few of his own retainers, reflecting that it was a very different way of traveling compared to his recent journeys with Kenji, on foot and in unmarked clothes. Now he wore the formal clothes of a lord of the Otori clan, and Jato rested undisgu
ised at his hip.
The excessive heat and the typhoons had resulted in a poor harvest, and he saw signs of hardship in villages and farms, where fields had been destroyed and buildings not yet restored. Yet the weather was fine and mild, the colors of autumn just beginning to stain the forest, as they had two years ago when he had traveled in secret to meet Lady Maruyama at Seisenji. It was the first time he had ridden this way since then, and he could not help being aware of the effect his appearance had on the people. They thronged to watch him pass and followed him with eyes in which he imagined he saw a desperate appeal not to forget them, not to abandon them.
Eijiro’s old house was still standing, and to Shigeru’s surprise Lord Kitano’s younger son, Masaji, greeted him when he rode through the gate.
“Father wanted me to take over the estate,” he explained, looking a little embarrassed, as though like Shigeru he was remembering the day when they had been made welcome here by Eijiro himself, had competed with his sons and daughters. Now the men of the family were all dead and the women in exile. “Lord Otori Eijiro was a fine man,” he added. “We are happy to accommodate his wife in this matter of the memorial and delighted Lord Shigeru could also attend.”
Shigeru inclined his head slightly but said nothing in reply.
“The ceremony will be held tomorrow,” Masaji said. “In the meantime, you must enjoy our hospitality.”
The younger man was both uncomfortable and nervous, Shigeru realized.
“You would like to bathe, no doubt, and change your clothes. Then we will eat with my wife and the ladies. Lady Maruyama is also here; her companion is Lady Eriko’s sister, and their brother, Lord Sugita, accompanied them.”
Relief, joy, desire, all came flooding through him. She was here; he would see her. He nodded but still did not speak, partly because he did not trust his voice, partly because he could see Masaji was intimidated and unnerved by his silence. Despite all that had happened since they last met, Masaji still held him in awe and treated him with deference. It both amused and consoled him.
THE OLD HOUSE had been redecorated, new mats laid, new paper screens installed. Its intrinsic beauty was enhanced, but the warmth that had made it so charming was gone forever.
When he was shown into the room where the ladies were already seated, he did not dare look at Naomi. He was aware of her presence, could smell her fragrance. Again, it was like a blow. He concentrated his attention on Lady Eriko, thinking how unbearably sad for her it must be; indeed, her face was pale and strained, though her manner was composed. They greeted each other warmly, and then Eriko said, “I believe you have met Lady Maruyama and my sister.”
Naomi said, raising her eyes to his, “Lord Otori and I met by chance at Terayama several years ago.”
“Yes, I remember,” he said, amazed that his voice matched hers in calmness. “I trust Lady Maruyama is well.”
“Thank you, I am recovered. I am well now.”
“You have been sick?” he said too rapidly, unable to mask his concern.
Her eyes smiled at him, as if trying to reassure him.
“Lady Maruyama was very ill for a long time,” Sachie said quietly. “There has been a lot of plague in the West this summer.”
“My mother has also been unwell,” he said, striving for a conversational tone. “But the cooler autumn weather has restored her health.”
“Yes, the weather has been beautiful,” Naomi said. “I have heard so much about this place but have never visited it before.”
“My husband will show Lady Maruyama around,” Masaji’s very young wife began nervously.
“Lord Shigeru is the farming expert,” Masaji interrupted her. “He was always more interested in such things than the rest of us. And now he is called the Farmer.”
“Then perhaps Lord Otori will show me around tomorrow,” Naomi said. “After the memorial service.”
“If it is Lady Maruyama’s wish,” he replied.
THE SERVICE WAS held in the small shrine in the garden, and tablets with the names of the dead man and his sons were placed before the altar. Their bones lay in the earth of Yaegahara, along with ten thousand others’. Smoke from incense rose straight upward in the still air, mingling with the sharp scents of autumn. A stag barked in the forest, and wild geese cried distantly as they crossed the sky.
Shigeru had spent the previous evening and the night swinging between sheer happiness at being in her presence and despair at being unable to touch her, take her in his arms, even to talk to her openly without watching every word. They had hardly addressed each other, and when they did, it was in formal language on unimportant matters. When they had the opportunity to walk alone together through the fields, still in sight though out of earshot, they were constrained and reserved.
“It has been such a long time,” Shigeru said. “I did not know you had been ill.”
“I was very ill. I could not eat or sleep for weeks. I should have written to you, but my illness robbed me of confidence, and I did not know what to say to you or even how to send it.”
She paused, and then went on in a low voice, “I would like to hold you now, lie down with you here on the grass, but it is impossible this time. But I am feeling more hopeful—I don’t know why: perhaps I am deluding myself—but I feel with Iida’s son growing up a healthy boy and with everything so settled now—I can see no reason why we should not marry.”
She glanced back at the house. “I must talk quickly. I don’t know how long we will have alone. I must leave tomorrow, and we may not have another opportunity. I am resolved to discuss the question with my senior retainers and the elders of the clan. They will approach your uncles with offers and promises they cannot refuse: trade, gifts, ships, maybe even part of the border country. The Arai will be in favor, and so will the rest of the Seishuu.”
“It is my sole desire,” he replied. “But we will only have one chance: if we make such a request, we risk exposing what we are to each other; if it is refused, we will lose what little we have.”
She was staring straight ahead, seemingly calm, but when she spoke, he realized her self-control was near breaking. “Come back to Maruyama with me now,” she begged. “We will marry there.”
“I cannot leave my brother in Hagi,” Shigeru said, after a moment. “I would be condemning him to certain death. And such an act would unleash war—not only on a battlefield like Yaegahara but throughout the Three Countries, in this peaceful valley, in Maruyama itself.” He added, with pain, “I already lost one terrible battle. I do not wish to begin another war unless I am sure of winning it.”
“You must start telling me about these crops,” she said swiftly, for Lady Kitano was approaching them. “But first I will say that I am so happy for this chance of seeing you, no matter how painful it is too. Just to be in your presence fills me with joy.”
“I feel the same,” he replied. “And always will.”
“Next year I will write to your uncles,” she whispered, before speaking more loudly about locusts and the harvest.
THE FOLLOWING DAY, after farewells had been made and Lady Maruyama and her party had left to ride toward Kibi, Kitano Masaji accompanied Shigeru on his way north, saying he had a young horse that needed the exercise. Shigeru had been allowing himself to indulge in dreaming: that Naomi’s plan would work, that they would marry, he would leave Hagi with all its painful associations of defeat and death, and live with her in Maruyama. He replied to Masaji’s comments and questions with only half his attention.
They had almost reached the pass at the head of the valley when a horseman appeared suddenly out of the forest on the eastern side. Shigeru’s hand went immediately to his sword, and Masaji’s did the same, as they reined the horses in and turned to face the stranger.
The man leaped from his horse, removed his helmet, and fell on one knee, bowing deeply.