“Maya!” Miki called warningly.
“Oh, forgive me, cousin! I forgot. I mustn’t look at people. I promised Father.” She gave Sunaomi a quick slap on the cheek to wake him up, and went back to Chikara.
“Do you know, if you gaze into my eyes you will go to sleep and never wake up!”
Sunaomi came running to his brother’s defense. “Do you know that you would not be alive if you lived in Kumamoto? We kill twins there!”
“I don’t believe anything you say,” Maya replied. “Everyone knows the Arai are traitors and cowards.”
Sunaomi drew himself up proudly. “If you were a boy, I would kill you. But since you are only a girl, I will go to this house and bring back whatever you want.”
At sunset the sky was clear, the air blue and luminous with no wind, but as the moon rose, one night past full, it drew with it from the east a strange dark mass of cloud that spread across the sky, obliterating the stars and finally swallowing the moon itself. Sea and land merged into one. The last fires still smoldered on the beach; there was no other light.
Sunaomi was the eldest son of a warrior family. He had been trained since infancy in self-discipline and the overcoming of fear. It was not difficult for him, though only eight years old, to stay awake until midnight. He was, despite his bold assurances, apprehensive—but more of disobeying his uncle than of physical danger or ghosts. The retainers who had accompanied him from Hofu were staying in one of the clan halls in the town, ordered there by Lord Otori—the castle guards were mainly on the gates and around the front walls. A patrol walked through the gardens at regular intervals. Sunaomi heard them go past the open doors of the room where he and Chikara slept, along with the two maids who took care of them. Both girls were fast asleep, one of them snoring slightly. He rose quickly, ready to say he was going to the privy if they woke, but neither stirred.
Outside, the night was still. Both castle and town slept. Below the wall, the sea murmured gently. Hardly able to discern anything, Sunaomi took a deep breath and began to feel his way down the great ramp of the wall. Made of huge stones fitted closely together, giving just enough space for a fingerhold, it curved outward slightly, toward the water. Several times he thought himself stuck, unable to go up or down; he thought of monsters that came up out of the sea, huge fish or giant octopuses that might at any moment pluck him into the darkness. The sea moaned, louder now. He could hear the swirl of water on the rocks.
When his feet, in the straw sandals, touched the surface of the rock, he slipped immediately and nearly fell straight into the water. Scrabbling to grab a handhold, he felt the sharp shells like knives beneath his palms and knees. A wave crept under him, setting the small cuts stinging. Clenching his teeth, he edged his way like a crab in the direction of the last smoldering fires, toward the shore.
The beach was a pale grayness; the waves hissed with a sudden gleam of white. When he reached the sand, it was a relief to feel its softness beneath his feet. It gave way to tussocks of stiff grass; he stumbled and continued on all fours into the small grove where the trunks of the pines loomed around him. An owl hooted overhead, making him jump, and its ghostly shape floated briefly ahead of him on soundless wings.
The glow of the fires was well behind him. He halted for a few moments, crouching beneath the trees. He could smell their resiny scent along with the smoke from the fires—and another heavy fragrance, sweet and enticing—the shrubs in Akane’s garden, their perfume enhanced by boys’ blood and bones.
Boys were frequently sent to graveyards or execution grounds at night to test their courage. Sunaomi had boasted to Maya that he had never seen a ghost. But that did not mean he did not believe in their existence—women with long necks like snakes and teeth sharp as cats’, strange inhuman shapes with only one eye and no limbs, headless bandits who resented their cruel punishment, any one of the restless dead who sought to feed on human blood or human souls.
He swallowed hard, and tried to suppress the shivering that threatened to take over his limbs. I am Arai Sunaomi, he told himself, son of Zenko, grandson of Daiichi. I am afraid of nothing.
He forced himself to stand, and to walk forward, though his legs seemed as heavy as the tree trunks, and he badly needed to piss. He could just make out the walls of the garden, the curve of the roof behind them. The gate stood open; the walls were beginning to crumble.
As he stepped through the gate, he walked into a summer spider’s web, the sticky threads clinging to face and hair. His breath was coming faster now, but he told himself, I’m not crying, I’m not crying, though he could feel the pressure of water building up behind his eyes, inside his bladder.
The house seemed completely dark. Something scuttled away across the veranda, a cat perhaps, or a large rat. He held his hands out in front of him as he followed the scent round the far side of the house and into the garden. The cat—it must have been a cat—yowled suddenly from the shadows.
He could see the blossom—the only thing visible in the darkness, a faint gleam. He set out toward it, hurrying now, desperate to pluck a spray and escape, but he tripped over a rock and fell full length, his mouth in the earth. Its smell and taste made him think of graves and corpses, and how he might soon lie buried in it, its taste his last living sensation.
Then he pushed himself up on all fours and spat out the earth. He stood, reached up, and snapped off a branch. The shrub instantly gave out another strong smell of sap, and Sunaomi heard footsteps on the veranda behind him.
As he spun round, his eyes were instantly dazzled by the light. All he could see was a half-formed shape, a woman, but only partly a woman, one who must have just struggled out of the grave. The shadows played over her; her arms were stretching out to him. The lamp rose a little; the light fell on her face. She had no eyes, no mouth, no nose.
His control broke. He screamed; the wetness burst out, running down his legs. He threw the branch from him.
“I’m sorry, Lady Akane. I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me. Don’t bury me!”
“What on earth?” a voice exclaimed, a human voice, a man’s voice. “What do you think you’re doing here at this time of night?”
But Sunaomi was incapable of answering.
TARO, who had taken to sleeping at Akane’s house while he worked on the statue, carried the boy at once back to the castle. Sunaomi was not harmed in any way, other than being severely frightened, and the following morning would not even admit to that, but a wound had been made in his heart, and though it healed, it left a scar of deep hatred toward Maya and Miki. From that time on, Sunaomi dwelt more and more on his grandfather’s death, and the offenses against the Arai by the Otori clan. His childish mind sought ways to hurt Maya and Miki. He began to ingratiate himself with the women of the household, charming and delighting them; most of them adored boy children anyway, and he knew himself to be handsome and winning. He missed his mother, but knew instinctively that he could gain a high place in the affections of his aunt, Kaede, much higher than the twin girls.
TAKEO AND KAEDE were distressed and angered by this episode, for if Sunaomi had been killed or badly injured while in their care, quite apart from their own grief, for they had both become fond of him, their strategy to placate and contain their brother-in-law would have been completely destroyed. Takeo himself reprimanded Sunaomi for his disobedience and foolhardiness, and questioned him closely about his reasons, suspecting that he would never have thought of such a thing without some prompting. It did not take long for the truth to come out, and then it was Maya’s turn to face her father’s anger.
He was more alarmed for her this time, for she gave no sign of contrition, and her eyes were fierce and unrelenting, like an animal’s. She did not cry, not even when Kaede expressed her own displeasure and slapped her hard several times.
“She is completely beyond reason,” Kaede said, tears of exasperation in her own eyes. “She cannot stay here. If she is not to be trusted with the young boys…”
Takeo heard
her concern for herself and the child she carried. He did not want to send Maya away—he thought she needed his protection and supervision, but he was too busy to devote much time to her, and he could not keep her constantly at his side.
“It is not right to want to send your own daughter away, and favor other people’s sons,” Maya said quietly.
Kaede slapped her again. “How dare you speak to me, your mother, in that way? What do you understand of the affairs of state? Everything we do has a political reason. It will always be like this. You are the daughter of Lord Otori. You cannot behave like other children.”
Shizuka said, “She does not know who she is—she has Tribe skills that she cannot use as a warrior’s daughter. It’s a shame to see them wasted.”
Maya whispered, “Then let me be a child of the Tribe.”
“She needs watching and training. But who knows about these things among the Muto? Even you, Shizuka, with your Kikuta blood, have no experience with this sort of possession,” Takeo said.
“You yourself taught my son many Kikuta skills,” Shizuka replied. “Maybe Taku is the best person.”
“But Taku must stay in the West. We cannot bring him back here just for Maya’s sake.”
“Then send her to him.”
Takeo sighed. “It seems the only solution. Can someone be spared to accompany her?”
“There is a girl who has recently come from the Muto village to Hagi with her sister. They are both in service in the foreigners’ house at present.”
“What’s her name?”
“Sada—she is related to Kenji’s wife, Seiko.”
Takeo nodded. He remembered the girl now; she was tall and strongly built, and could pass as a man, a disguise she was often called on to use while engaged in Tribe work.
“You will go to Taku in Maruyama,” he told Maya. “You will obey Sada in everything.”
Sunaomi tried to avoid her, but before she left, Maya cornered him, whispering, “You failed the test. I told you the Arai were cowards.”
“I went to the house,” he replied. “Taro was there. He made me come back.”
Maya smiled. “You did not bring back the branch!”
“There was no blossom!”
“No blossom! You picked a spray. Then you threw it away, and pissed yourself. I saw you.”
“You weren’t there!”
“Yes, I was.”
Sunaomi shouted for the maids to come and punish her, but Maya was already running away.
21
As summer gave way to autumn, Takeo prepared to travel again. It was the custom for the country to be governed from Yamagata from the end of the ninth month until the winter solstice, but he was forced to leave earlier than he intended, for Matsuda Shingen died peacefully at the beginning of the month; Miyoshi Gemba brought the news to Hagi, and Takeo left at once, with Gemba and Shigeko, for Terayama. The records of the work that had occupied them through the summer—the policy decisions, agricultural and financial planning, codes of justice, and the carefully considered conclusions of tribunals—were dispatched in boxes and baskets on long trains of packhorses.
There was nothing to mourn in Matsuda’s passing. His life had been long and full of achievement, his spirit one of purity and strength. He had taught Shigeru, Takeo, and Shigeko, and he left many disciples dedicated to continuing his vision. Yet Takeo missed him irrationally and deeply, and felt the loss as one more breach in the defenses of the Three Countries, through which wind would howl or wolf enter when winter came.
Makoto was installed as Abbot in his place, and took the name of Eikan, but Takeo continued to think of his old friend by his former name, and, after the ceremonies were completed and they traveled on to Yamagata, took some comfort from the knowledge that Makoto continued to support him as he had always done; and he thought again with longing of the time when he might retire to Terayama and spend his days in meditation and painting.
Gemba accompanied them on to Yamagata, where the various matters of administration took up all of Takeo’s attention. Shigeko attended most of the meetings with him, but rose early every morning to practice her horse riding and archery with Gemba.
Just before they departed for Maruyama in the first week of the tenth month, letters came from Hagi. Takeo read them eagerly, and shared the family news immediately with his oldest daughter.
“Your mother has moved with the little boys to Lord Shigeru’s old house. And she has started learning the foreigners’ language.”
“From their interpreter?” Shigeko wanted to ask her father more, but Minoru was with them, as well as servants from the Miyoshi household, and Jun and Shin, as usual, outside but within earshot. However, later, when they walked in the gardens, she found herself alone with him.
“You must tell me more about the foreigners,” she said. “Should they be allowed to trade in Maruyama?”
“I want them where we can watch them at all times,” Takeo replied. “They will stay in Hagi for the winter. We need to learn as much as we can about their language, customs, and intentions.”
“Their interpreter—there was something strange about the way she looked at you, almost as if she knew you well.”
He hesitated for a moment. Leaves were falling in the tranquil garden, carpeting the ground with drifting gold. It was late afternoon, the mist rising from the moat mingling with wood smoke, blurring outlines and details.
“Your mother knows who she is, but no one else does,” he said finally. “I will tell you, but keep it secret. Her name is Madaren; it is a name often used by the sect known as the Hidden. They share some of the beliefs of the foreigners, and used to be severely persecuted by the Tohan. Everyone in her family was killed, except her older brother, who was rescued by Lord Shigeru.”
Shigeko’s eyes widened and her pulse beat more rapidly. Her father smiled.
“Yes, it was me. I was called Tomasu then, but Shigeru renamed me Takeo. Madaren is my younger sister. We were born to the same mother, but from different fathers—my father, as you know, was from the Tribe. I thought she was dead for all these years.”
“How extraordinary,” Shigeko said, and with her characteristic swift sympathy, “How terrible her life must have been.”
“She has survived, has learned a foreign language, has grasped every opportunity offered to her,” Takeo replied. “She has done better than many. Now she is under my protection to a certain extent, and permitted to instruct my wife.” After a moment, he added, “There have always been many Hidden in Maruyama. Lady Naomi gave them a safe haven, indeed was one of them. You will need to acquaint yourself with their leaders. Jo-An, of course, was also a believer, and many former outcastes still live in hamlets around the city.”
She saw his face darken, and did not want to pursue a subject that brought back so many painful memories.
“I doubt I will live to even half Matsuda’s age,” Takeo continued with great seriousness. “The future safety of these people is in your hands. But do not trust the foreigners, nor Madaren, even though she is your relative. And remember to honor all beliefs, but follow none, for that is the only path for the true leader.”
Shigeko reflected on this for a few moments, and then said, “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course. You know you may ask me anything at any time. I do not want to conceal anything from you.”
“Prophecies justify your rule as ordained and blessed by Heaven. The houou nest again in the Three Countries. We even possess a kirin—one of the signs of a great and just ruler. Do you believe all this of yourself?”
“I believe all of it and none of it,” Takeo replied. “I seem to balance my life between the two. I am deeply grateful for everything that Heaven has bestowed on me, but I will never take any of it for granted, nor, I hope, abuse the power entrusted to me.
“Old men grow foolish,” he added lightly. “When that happens, you must encourage me to retire. Though, as I said, I do not expect to see old age.”
“I wa
nt you never to die,” she exclaimed, suddenly fearful.
“I will die happy knowing I am leaving everything in safe hands,” he replied, smiling. But she knew he was masking many concerns.
A FEW DAYS later they crossed the bridge near Kibi, and Takeo was reminiscing with Gemba about the past—the flight from Terayama in the rain, the help given by Jo-An and the outcastes, and the death of the ogre Jin-emon. The shrine on the bank had been dedicated to the fox god, but in some strange twist of belief Jo-An had become identified with this deity and was now also worshipped here.
“It was at that time that Amano Tenzo gave me Shun,” Takeo said. He patted the neck of the black horse he was riding. “This fellow is nice enough, but Shun astonished me in our first fight together. He knew more about it than I did!”
“I suppose he is dead now?” Gemba questioned.
“Yes, he died two years ago. I’ve never seen another horse like him. Did you know he was Takeshi’s horse? Mori Hiroki recognized him.”
“I did not know that,” Gemba replied.
Shigeko, however, had known it all her life, one of the legends that she had grown up with. The bay horse had been broken in by Lord Takeshi, Shigeru’s younger brother, who had taken him to Yamagata. Takeshi had been murdered by Tohan soldiers, and the horse had disappeared until Amano Tenzo bought him and gave him to Takeo. She thought with pleasure of the secret gift she had for her father, already, she hoped, on its way to Maruyama, for she intended to present him with a surprise at the coming ceremony.
Thinking about legends and marvelous animals made an idea come into her mind. It seemed so brilliant she felt she must share it at once.
“Father, when we go to Miyako next year, let us take the kirin as a gift for the Emperor.”
Gemba gave a shout of laughter. “What a perfect gift! Nothing like it will ever have been seen in the capital!”
Takeo turned in the saddle and stared at Shigeko. “It is a marvelous thought. But I gave the kirin to you. I do not want to demand it back again. And is it capable of making such a journey?”