Brilliance of the Moon

by Lian Hearn

  Makoto called to me. “Takeo! This man was looking for you. He wants you to come to his house.”

  Shiro grinned. “We’ve only got half the roof back on. But we’ve got food to spare and firewood. It’d be an honor.”

  I was grateful to him, feeling that his earthy practicality was just what I needed.

  Makoto said quietly to me, “Are you all right?”

  I nodded, suddenly not trusting my voice.

  He said, “I am very sorry for Jo-An’s death.” It was the second time he had used the outcast’s name.

  “He did not deserve it,” I said.

  “It many ways it was more than he deserved: a swift death at your hands. It could have been far worse.”

  “Let’s not talk about it; it’s done.” I turned to Shiro and asked him when he had left Hagi.

  “Over a year ago,” he said. “Lord Shigeru’s death saddened me, and I had no desire to serve the Otori once he—and you—were gone. This is my hometown; I was apprenticed in Hagi as a boy of ten, over thirty years ago now.”

  “I’m surprised they let you go,” I said, for master carpenters of Shiro’s skill were usually highly valued and retained jealously by the clans.

  “I paid them,” he replied, chuckling. “The fief has no money; they’ll let anyone go if they give them enough cash in exchange.”

  “No money?” I exclaimed. “But the Otori are one of the richest clans in the Three Countries. What happened?”

  “War, mismanagement, greed. And the pirates haven’t helped. Sea trade is at a standstill.”

  “This is encouraging news,” Makoto said. “Can they afford to maintain their army?”

  “Barely,” Shiro said. “The men are well equipped—most of the fief’s income has been spent on armor and weapons—but food is always short and taxes are sky high. There’s a lot of discontent. If Lord Takeo returns to Hagi, I reckon half the army will join him.”

  “Is it common knowledge that I plan to return?” I asked. I wondered what spies the Otori maintained and how soon this news would get back to them. Even if they could no longer afford to pay the Tribe, the Kikuta would no doubt work for them for free.

  “It’s what everyone hopes,” Shiro replied. “And since Lord Arai did not execute you as we all thought he was going to . . .”

  “I thought it too!” Makoto declared. “It seemed I arrived to take one last look at you!”

  Shiro gazed at the peaceful pool, now dark gray in the fading light. “It would have run red,” he said quietly. “There was more than one archer with his bow trained on Lord Arai.”

  “Don’t say such things,” I warned him. “We are allies now. I have recognized him as my overlord.”

  “Maybe,” Shiro grunted. “But it was not Arai who climbed into Inuyama to avenge Lord Shigeru.”

  Shiro and his family—his wife, two daughters, and sons-in-law—made us comfortable in the newly repaired part of the house. We shared the evening meal with them, and then I went with Makoto to drink wine with Arai. The mood was cheerful, even boisterous; Arai was obviously convinced that the last stronghold of opposition was about to fall.

  And then what? I did not want to think too much about the future. Arai wanted to see me installed in Hagi, where I would bring the Otori into alliance with him, and I believed he genuinely desired to see Shigeru’s uncles punished. But I still hoped to get my wife back, and if I was destined to rule from sea to sea, at some stage I would have to fight Arai. Yet I had now sworn allegiance to him. . . .

  I drank savagely, welcoming the sharp comfort of the wine, hoping it would numb my thoughts for a while.

  It was a short night. Well before dawn, the first of Arai’s troops were stirring, preparing for the long journey. By the Hour of the Dragon they had all departed, leaving the town silent for a while until the sound of repairs took over again. Sakai and Hiroshi had spent the night with the horses—luckily as it turned out, for, to Hiroshi’s indignation, two separate warriors had tried to make off with Shun, claiming he was theirs. It seemed his reputation had grown with mine.

  I spent the day in planning. I picked all the men who could swim or who knew anything about boats and the sea: all the Otori and some locals who had joined us since we had arrived at the coast. We went through our armor and weapons and equipped the sailors with the best of them. I dispatched spearmen to the forest to cut staves and spears for the men who would march with Kahei. Anyone left over was sent to help rebuild after the storm and salvage as much as possible of the harvest. Makoto set off for the coast to make contact with Ryoma and get details of our plans to the Terada. Arai’s land march would take over twice as long as our sea voyage, so we had time in hand to prepare thoroughly.

  To my relief the town did have hidden stores that had escaped Arai’s hungry men, and they were willing to share these with us. So many sacrifices were being made for me; so much was hanging on this desperate assault. And what about the coming winter? Would these struggles for power simply condemn thousands to starvation?

  I could not think about that. I had made my decision. I had to go forward with it.

  That night I sat with Shiro and his sons-in-law and talked about building. They had not only worked on Lord Shigeru’s house, they had built most of the houses in Hagi and had done all the carpentry for Hagi Castle. They drew plans of the interior for me, filling out what I remembered from the day of my adoption into the Otori clan. Even better, they revealed to me the secret floors, the trapdoors, and the hidden compartments they had installed on Masahiro’s orders.

  “It looks like a Tribe house,” I said.

  The carpenters looked slyly at each other. “Well, maybe certain people had a hand in its design,” Shiro said, pouring more wine.

  I lay down to sleep, thinking about the Kikuta and the Tribe’s relationship with the Otori lords. Were they even now lying in wait for me in Hagi, knowing that they did not have to pursue me anymore, for I would come to them? It was not so many weeks since their last attempt on my life, in this area, and I slept lightly, surfacing often to hear the sounds of the autumn night and the sleeping town. I was alone in a small room at the back of the house; Shiro and his family were in the adjoining room. My own guards were outside on the veranda, and there were dogs at every house in the street. It should have been impossible for anyone to approach me. Yet around the darkest time of night I came out of a restless doze to hear breathing in the room.

  I had no doubt it was an intruder, for whoever it was breathed in the slow, almost imperceptible way I had been trained in. But there was something different about the breathing: It was light and it did not come from where I would have expected a man’s. I could see nothing in the darkness, but I went invisible at once, as the intruder might have better night vision than me. I slipped silently away from the mattress and crouched in the corner of the room.

  I could tell from the minute sounds and a change in the feeling of the air that he had approached the mattress. I thought I could smell him now, but it was not the full scent of a man. Had the Kikuta sent a woman or a child against me? I felt a moment of revulsion at having to kill a child, pinpointed where the nose would be, and stepped toward it.

  My hands went around his throat, finding the pulse. I could have tightened them then and killed him at once, but as soon as I held the neck I realized it was indeed a child’s. I loosened my grip slightly; he had tensed all his muscles to give me the illusion he was thicker built than he really was. Feeling my grip relax, he swallowed and said quickly, “Lord Takeo. The Muto want a truce.”

  I held him by the arms, made him open his hands, took a knife and a garrote from his clothes, held his nose so he had to open his mouth, and felt inside for needles or poison. I did all this in the dark and he submitted without struggling. Then I called to Shiro to bring a lamp from the kitchen.

  When he saw the intruder he nearly dropped the lamp. “How did he get in? It’s impossible!” He wanted to give the boy a thrashing, but I restrained him.

>   I turned the boy’s palms over and saw the distinctive line across them. I struck him in the face. “What are these lies about the Muto when you are marked as Kikuta?”

  “I am Muto Shizuka’s son,” he said quietly. “My mother and the Muto master have come to offer you a truce.”

  “So why are you here? I’m not accustomed to negotiating with brats!”

  “I wanted to see if I could,” he replied, faltering a little for the first time.

  “Your mother doesn’t know you’re here? I nearly killed you! What would have happened to the truce then?” I hit him again, but not so hard. “You little idiot!” I realized I sounded just like Kenji. “Are you Zenko or Taku?”

  “Taku,” he whispered.

  The younger one, I realized. “Where’s Shizuka now?”

  “Not far away. Shall I take you there?”

  “At a decent hour of day, perhaps.”

  “I should go back,” he said nervously. “She’ll be really angry when she finds I’m gone.”

  “Serves you right. Didn’t you think about that before you took off?”

  “Sometimes I forget to think,” he said ruefully. “I want to try something and I just do it.”

  I repressed the urge to laugh. “I’m going to tie you up till morning. Then we’ll go and see your mother.”

  I told Shiro to bring some rope and tied the boy up, instructing one of the shamefaced guards not to take his eyes off him. Taku seemed quite resigned to being a prisoner—too resigned, in fact. I thought he was sure he’d be able to escape, and I wanted to get some sleep. I told him to look at me. Somewhat reluctantly he obeyed, and almost immediately his eyes rolled back and his eyelids closed. Whatever his talents—and I had no doubt they were considerable—he had no resistance against the Kikuta sleep.

  That’s something I can teach him, I caught myself thinking, just before I, too, fell asleep.

  He was still sleeping when I woke. I studied his face for a while. I could see no similarity to me or to the Kikuta; he resembled his mother mostly, but there was a fleeting likeness to his father. If Arai’s son had fallen into my hands . . . if the Muto really wanted to make peace with me . . . It wasn’t until the relief started to wash over me that I realized how deep had been my dread of a meeting with my old teacher, Kenji, and its outcome.

  Taku slept on and on. It did not worry me. I knew Shizuka would come looking for him sooner or later. I ate a little breakfast with Shiro and sat on the veranda with the plans of Hagi Castle, memorizing them while I waited for her.

  Even though I was looking out for her, she was almost at the house before I recognized her. She’d seen me, but she would have gone straight past if I had not called to her.

  “Hey, you!” I did not want to name her.

  She stopped and spoke without turning. “Me, lord?”

  “Come inside if you want what you’re looking for.”

  She approached the house, stepped out of her sandals onto the veranda, and bowed deeply to me. Saying nothing, I went inside. She followed me.

  “It’s been a long time, Shizuka!”

  “Cousin. You’d better not have harmed him.”

  “I nearly killed him, the little fool. You should look after him better.”

  We glared at each other.

  “I suppose I should check you for weapons,” I said. I was extraordinarily pleased to see her and tempted to embrace her, but I didn’t want a knife between my ribs.

  “I haven’t come to harm you, Takeo. I’m here with Kenji. He wants to make peace with you. He’s called off the Muto family. The Kuroda will follow, and the others, too, probably. I was to bring Taku to you to prove our good faith. I didn’t know he was going to take off on his own.”

  “The Tribe’s record of trust with me is not high,” I said. “Why should I believe you?”

  “If my uncle comes, will you talk to him?”

  “Certainly. Bring the older boy too. I’ll give your sons to my men to look after while we speak together.”

  “I heard you had become ruthless, Takeo,” she said.

  “I was taught it by our relatives in Yamagata and Matsue. Kenji always said it was the only thing I lacked.” I called to Shiro’s daughter and asked her to bring tea. “Sit down,” I said to Shizuka. “Your son’s asleep. Have some tea and then bring Kenji and Zenko to me here.”

  The tea came and she sipped at it slowly. “I suppose you have heard of Yuki’s death?” she said.

  “Yes, I was deeply grieved by the news. And outraged that she should have been used like that. You know about the child?”

  Shizuka nodded. “My uncle cannot forgive the Kikuta. That’s why he’s prepared to defy Kotaro’s edict and support you.”

  “He doesn’t blame me?”

  “No, he blames them for their harshness and inflexibility. And himself, for many things: Shigeru’s death, encouraging you and Kaede to fall in love—maybe for his daughter’s death too.”

  “We all blame ourselves, but fate uses us,” I said in a low voice.

  “It’s true,” Shizuka said. “We live in the midst of the world; we can live no other way.”

  “Do you have any news of her?” I did not want to ask about Kaede. I did not want to reveal my weakness and my humiliation, but I could not help it.

  “She is married. She lives in total seclusion. She is alive.”

  “Is there any way you can contact her?”

  Shizuka’s face softened slightly. “I am on friendly terms with Fujiwara’s physician, and a Muto girl is a maid in the household. So from time to time we hear about her. But there is very little we can do. I dare not make any direct contact. I don’t suppose even Kaede fully realizes the danger she is in. Fujiwara has had servants, sometimes even his companions, put to death for no other reason than a dropped tray, a broken plant, or some other misdemeanor.”

  “Makoto says he does not sleep with her. . . .”

  “I believe not,” Shizuka replied. “Generally he dislikes women, but Kaede appeals to some part of him. She is one of his treasures.”

  My teeth ground in rage. I imagined penetrating his mansion at night and seeking him out. I would cut him to pieces, slowly.

  “He is protected by his relationship to the emperor,” Shizuka remarked, as though she could read my mind.

  “The emperor! What does the emperor do for us, miles away from the capital? There might not even be an emperor. It’s like a ghost story, made up to frighten children!”

  “If we are speaking of guilt,” Shizuka said, ignoring my outburst, “I feel I am to blame. I persuaded Kaede to attract Fujiwara. But if it had not been for his support, we would all have starved at Shirakawa last winter.”

  She finished her tea and bowed formally to me.

  “If Lord Otori is willing I will go and fetch my uncle now.”

  “I’ll meet him here in a couple of hours. I have some arrangements to see to first.”

  “Lord Otori.”

  Being addressed thus by Shizuka had a strange effect on me, for I had only heard her use the name before to Shigeru. I realized that during the course of our meeting I had progressed from Cousin to Takeo to Lord Otori. Irrationally it pleased me. I felt that if Shizuka recognized my authority, it must be real.

  I told my guards to keep an eye on Taku and went to check out what remained of my army. The two days of rest and decent food had done wonders for both men and horses. I was anxious to move back to the coast, to hear from Fumio as soon as possible, and thought I would ride there with a small group, but I was unsure what to do with the rest of the troops. The problem as always was one of food. The Shuho people had been generous to us, but to expect them to continue to feed us was stretching their goodwill and their resources. Even if I sent the bulk of the army now, under Kahei’s command, to follow Arai by the land route, I needed provisions for them.

  I was mulling over these problems as I returned to Shiro’s house at midday. I recalled the fisherman on the beach and the bandits he had
been afraid of. A sortie against bandits might be just the thing to fill in time, keep the men from idleness, restore their fighting spirit after our retreat, please the local people, and possibly obtain more provisions and equipment. The idea appealed to me enormously.

  A man was squatting on his heels in the shadow of the tile roof—an unremarkable man, wearing faded blue-gray clothes and carrying no visible weapon. A boy about twelve years old was beside him. They both stood up slowly when they saw me.

  I made a movement with my head. “Come up.”

  Kenji stepped out of his sandals onto the veranda.

  “Wait here,” I told him. “Let the boy come with me.” I went inside with Zenko to where Taku still slept. I took Taku’s own garrote and told the guards to strangle the boys with it if any attack was made on me. Zenko said nothing and made no sign of fear. I could see how like Arai he was. Then I went back to my teacher.

  Once we were inside the house, we both sat down. We studied each other for a moment, then Kenji bowed and said in his ironic way, “Lord Otori.”

  “Muto,” I replied. “Taku is also in the next room. He and his brother will die immediately if there is any attempt made on my life.”

  Kenji looked older, and I saw a weariness in his face that had not been there before. His hair was beginning to gray at the temples.

  “I have no desire to harm you, Takeo.” He saw my frown and amended his words somewhat impatiently: “Lord Otori. You probably won’t believe me, but I never did. I meant it that night at Shigeru’s when I vowed I would protect you while I lived.”

  “You have a strange way of keeping your promises,” I said.

  “I think we all know what it’s like to be torn between conflicting obligations,” he said. “Can we put that behind us now?”

  “I would be glad if we were no longer enemies.” I was acting more coldly than I felt, constrained by all that had happened between my old teacher and myself. For a long time I’d held him partly responsible for Shigeru’s death; now my resentment was melted by sorrow for Yuki’s death, for his grief. But I was not proud of myself in relation to Yuki, and then there was the question of the child, my son, his grandson.