by Lian Hearn
They camped in the undamaged part of the house while the funerals were held and the bodies burned and while Kiyoyori issued instructions for the rebuilding. He left two thirds of his men to help with the work and guard Matsutani, and took the remainder with him to Miyako.
Hina took the text called the Kudzu Vine Treasure Store and the box containing Sesshin’s eyes.
* * *
The city was tense, many armed warriors thronging the streets, the red banners of the Kakizuki flying from gates and roofs. As he passed through the southern gate, where beggars and other vagrants sought shelter, he was recognized in the middle of the chaos by one of Lord Masafusa’s retainers, who was in charge of the guards.
The man greeted him warmly. “Kiyoyori! You have come to defend the capital?”
“What is happening?” Kiyoyori shouted back.
The other fought his way through the crowd, grasped the horse’s bridle, and gestured to Kiyoyori to bend down. He whispered, “The Emperor is finally dying, and the Miboshi are approaching from the east.”
“I would be more use at Matsutani, defending the high road,” he said, wondering if he should turn back. He felt every decision he made was the wrong one, as though whatever divine protection he had been under had been withdrawn.
“No, you are needed here. We fear an attack on the Crown Prince. How many men have you brought?”
“Barely fifty. You did not hear about the earthquake?”
“We felt it here, but it was not destructive. You had better report to Lord Masafusa as soon as you can, and he will tell you what to do.”
Kiyoyori acquiesced and rode on.
There was no sign of Taro at his house below Rokujo and the place looked even more neglected than before. He unleashed his anxiety on the servants in a blast of rage that had them scurrying around, opening shutters, airing the bedding, sweeping floors, and preparing food.
Hina was white with exhaustion. He himself bathed her face and feet and as soon as a room was ready made her lie down. Then he found paper and writing materials and sent Sadaike with a message to Ryusonji.
The man came back within the hour. The Prince Abbot would receive him even though it was getting late. Kiyoyori left at once, taking the ox carriage he reserved for travel within the capital, especially when he did not wish his face to be seen. The carriage was full of spiders and smelled of mold; the ox had not been in harness for months and had forgotten all its training. Other carriages packed the streets as the city’s inhabitants prepared for flight. It took a long time to get to the temple, and when he arrived it was already twilight. The sky was clear and stars were appearing.
The carriage was not allowed beyond the first gate. Kiyoyori descended and was led across the gravel and through the temple buildings to the same reception room he had been in last time. The Prince Abbot sat on the same purple and white silk cushions. At his side knelt a young man whose head was not shaved and whose hair was tied up like a warrior’s. He raised his head when Kiyoyori came in, and Kiyoyori recognized Shikanoko.
His instinctive response was relief that the boy was alive, but this was quickly replaced by rage. Shika did not look like a prisoner or a hostage. He must have allied himself with the Prince Abbot. How deeply Kiyoyori regretted sparing his life. But he could not waste time dwelling on that now. He knelt, waited for permission to speak, and then said, striving for politeness, “My lord Abbot, I heard that your monk Gessho was successful in tracking down the fugitives you sought. I see you have Shikanoko at your side, apparently in your service. So why has my son not been restored?”
The Prince Abbot answered him coldly. “There are still outstanding matters that need to be settled between us. Where is the woman, the sorceress? And where is your allegiance now? Whose side will you take?”
For a moment he could not speak. He thinks she is alive! Then he said, letting his anger show, “Who can I side with but my family, the Kakizuki? It is less than noble of you to expect me to betray my allegiance for my son’s life.”
The Prince Abbot’s voice took on a note of fury. “You dare lecture me on nobility?” He half-rose as if he would step toward Kiyoyori, even strike him, but then he gained control and sat again. He tapped a scroll that lay on its own cushion at his side. “Do you know what this is? It is the Book of the Future. In it are inscribed the names of all the emperors to come, down through the ages. I am not acting idly or through the desire for personal gain. I am following the will of Heaven. Prince Momozono’s name is not in it. But his younger brother’s is.”
“Show me,” Kiyoyori demanded.
“Only my eyes can read it,” the Prince Abbot replied.
How very convenient! Kiyoyori was assessing rapidly the attempted distraction, the apparent loss of control. He said boldly, “Show my son to me, Your Holiness. Just let me see his face.”
“Agree not to oppose me, to stay out of the coming confrontation, and you may see him.”
There was a note of uncertainty in his voice. Kiyoyori realized the Prince Abbot did not have Tsumaru. Had Taro been successful? He glanced at Shikanoko and saw that the young man was regarding him with pity. A jolt of fear struck him in the belly.
“Why do you waste my time?” the Prince Abbot said angrily. “I regret even agreeing to see you. Go. We have nothing more to discuss, now or ever again. The next time I see your face your head will be on a stake, along with all my enemies.”
Kiyoyori left, half-expecting to be detained before he reached the gates and even more disturbed than he had been when he arrived. As he crossed the last courtyard, he heard the sounds of a lute and a voice singing:
The dragon child, he flew too high
He was still so young, he tried his best.
But his wings failed and he fell to earth.
He fell to earth.
Now he dwells beneath the lake at Ryusonji.
The plaintive tune sent a shiver down his spine.
He returned home, left the carriage, and rode on horseback to his kinsman Hosokawa no Masafusa’s palace. Armed men gathered in the courtyard, swords at their hips, quivers filled with arrows on their backs, bows in their hands. Night had fallen.
Masafusa greeted him tensely. “You are here, Kiyoyori? I was afraid you would have been already defeated by the Miboshi. Is anyone defending your estates?”
“I left most of my men there, about a hundred. The place was badly damaged in the earthquake. We had several dead and lost many horses. I had no idea the situation had become so desperate so quickly. Why was I not told?”
“We didn’t realize the extent of the Prince Abbot’s intrigues or the Miboshi’s war preparations. While the Emperor lived, there was no cause for alarm. He had always designated Prince Momozono as his heir. But now he is dying—indeed, come close, let me whisper: it is rumored he already passed away some days ago, but the Prince Abbot will not allow it to be revealed until the Crown Prince and his son, Yoshimori, are dead, and he can immediately place his favorite on the Lotus Throne.”
“Surely even he will not dare to harm His Imperial Highness?”
“Make no mistake, he will dare. He will accuse the Prince of rebellion and attack his palace—it could be at any time, maybe even tonight. The Miboshi are approaching from the east, ready to take the capital and defend the claim of the new emperor.”
“Where is our lord and what are his commands?” Kiyoyori said.
“He believes we should flee. The years of power and excess it seems have sapped his fighting spirit. Our men have little taste for war. Maybe our time has come to yield to the Miboshi.”
“Not while I live!” Kiyoyori replied. He was glad the time for fighting had come. Nothing else would assuage his unease.
“I knew I could count on you. Lord Keita wants to take his grandson with him. That way he will protect the rightful emperor even if Prince Momozono should not survive. Go to the Prince’s palace, defend it as long as you can, but most important, rescue the boy and bring him to Rakuhara, where our
lord will take refuge.”
Rakuhara was a large Kakizuki estate to the west of the capital near the port of Akashi.
“Go at once,” Masafusa said.
Kiyoyori bowed his head. “I will see you in Rakuhara.”
He reflected grimly as he hastened back through the dark street on how children were used as pawns in men’s struggles for power. His son, Tsumaru, the Emperor’s grandson, Yoshimori, were to be abducted, hidden, murdered, not for any crime of theirs, unless it was from a former life, but because of who their fathers were.
The lute player’s song came into his head. Why had he heard it at that moment and what message did it have for him? But in his heart he knew its meaning was that Tsumaru was already dead.
* * *
Hina had fallen asleep almost immediately after her father left and had slept deeply for a while, but the sound of men and horses awakened her. She was afraid her father was going somewhere and leaving her behind, and she ran out onto the veranda, but he had already gone.
It was a still spring night. The scent of blossom floated over the neglected garden and now and then a fish splashed in the pond.
Something moved in the shadows. She thought it might be a fox and pressed closer to a veranda pillar. The figure approached, walking on two legs. She was about to scream when she saw it was Shikanoko.
He put his finger to his lips and beckoned to her to come closer, then put his hand on her shoulder and took her to the end of the garden. Azalea bushes had grown wild and she could see their blossoms faintly. She was happy to see Shika. She had missed him since he and Sesshin had been driven away.
“Hina,” he whispered, “where is your father?”
“He has gone out. I don’t know where.”
“He came to Ryusonji,” Shika said. “I saw him there. But hasn’t he returned?”
“I was asleep,” she replied. “He must have come back and left again, for I thought I heard him depart with men and horses.”
“I wanted to speak to him, to try to explain things to him—but now it is too late.” Shika was silent for a few moments. “Well, I suppose I must tell you, though it is a hard thing for a child to hear.”
“Is it about Tsumaru? Is he dead?” She was shivering. Shika put his arm around her.
“How did you know?”
“I dream about him and he is always a spirit in my dreams.”
Shika sighed and said, “You must tell your father how it happened. Tsumaru disappeared from Ryusonji, the first night I was there. The Prince Abbot was distraught. He had grown very fond of him, and he had promised your father no harm would come to him. He performed a spirit-return ritual and learned that someone in your father’s service had tried to snatch him away. While keeping him silent he had suffocated him by mistake. We found his body in the lake.”
Hina was crying silently. Shika said, “He is with the dragon child now.”
“Father told me who it was.” Hina wept. “He was going to rescue Tsumaru, and he killed him. It was Iida no Taro.”
“I will remember that name,” Shika said.
She leaned against him. “I missed you. And the horses. How is Risu?”
“She is improving in temper. She is in love with Nyorin. I think she will have a foal next year.”
“I wish I could see it. I wish I could live with you and Risu and Nyorin and their foal. Why don’t we get married when I am old enough?”
“Your father will want you to marry a great lord, someone of your high station.”
“I would rather marry you.”
There came a distant sound of shouting, the whine of humming arrows, the clash of steel, then screams of horses and men.
“What’s happening?” Hina’s fingers ground into Shika’s arm.
“It has started,” he replied. “I must go back to Ryusonji.”
“Shikanoko, are you on our side or someone else’s?”
“I am on no one’s side. Only my own.”
“So you are a sorcerer like everyone says?”
“I was made one against my will, and now it is my fate, it seems.”
“You sound so sad about it.”
“I wanted to talk to your father. I am sad that it is too late. If you see him tell him I am sorry…”
“Sorry for what?”
“I don’t know, sorry he spared my life that day.”
“I’m not sorry! I’m glad. I thought he would kill you like all the others. I prayed and prayed that your life would be spared. And I was so happy when you took Risu as well as Nyorin. I was afraid you were going to abandon her. I liked you as soon as I saw you, but I really liked you after that.”
“Hina!” he exclaimed. “What a gentle child you are!” Then he drew her closer and looked at her face intently.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I want to remember how you look. We may never meet again.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Hina said, “I have Master Sesshin’s eyes. Shall I give them to you?”
“Why did you take them from the gate?”
“There was an earthquake,” she said in exasperation. “Didn’t you know? The house was destroyed and the stables. Lots of horses were killed and some people, too. And my stepmother ran away.”
She was crying again.
“He intended his eyes to remain at Matsutani,” Shika said. “But now you must keep them with you. Wash them with your tears and they will watch over you.” He held her for a moment, then released her, leaped over the wall in one bound, and was gone.
Hina returned to the house. The clamor from the streets had awakened the maids. They clustered around her in fear. She sat on the veranda with the box containing the eyes and the Kudzu Vine Treasure Store, waiting for her father. From time to time she allowed tears to fall in order to moisten the eyes, but she could not tell if they were watching over her or what protection they could give her.
15
AKI
Aki woke from a vivid dream—she was standing by a stream, she saw splashes of blood on the rocks, then a young stag leaped toward her. She opened her eyes. Lamps burned feebly in each corner of the room, but outside it was dark and still. No birds sang yet, not even the cocks were crowing.
Her father was kneeling beside her, wearing a hunting robe, beneath which she glimpsed green-laced armor. His long sword was at his hip. Her mother stood behind him, holding his quiver of arrows.
“They are coming to arrest the Prince,” her father said quietly.
Aki’s heart was racing. She breathed slowly and deliberately in the way he had taught her, her gaze fixed on his. She wanted to relate the dream to him and hear his opinion of it, what it meant, whether it was auspicious, but there was no time now.
“He will not be captured,” her father went on. “He will not let them execute him in secret so they can put their puppet on the Lotus Throne. We have sent for help. Kiyoyori is coming. We will defend ourselves for as long as possible. You must take His Highness and escape.”
He turned and took the quiver from his wife and fastened it to his back. “Wake him up quickly and dress him in some old clothes.”
Aki’s mother said, “Better they should both cross the river of death here with us. How will a girl survive on her own? Where will she go?”
“We must give Yoshimori a chance,” her father replied.
“I’ll take him. I’ll look after him. I promise.” She was on her feet now. “What shall I wear? Do you have something old for me?”
Her mother brought a pile of maid’s clothes. “Even these are too fine,” she grumbled. “Look at her, nothing can hide her appearance. There are bad men out there. What will they do to her?”
“This is why I have taught her to defend herself,” her father said. “Take your knife, Aki, and promise you will stay away from men—you know what I am talking about. There are dangers women face that men do not. Kill anyone who tries to get intimate with you or who tries to hurt the Prince.”
�
�I promise,” she said.
“I will cut her hair,” her mother said, and called for a maid to bring scissors. Aki’s hair reached almost to the ground. Her mother held each strand close to her head and snipped through it, allowing them to fall around her until she seemed to be standing in a pool of black. Neither of them spoke or wept.
When it was done and Aki had finished dressing, her mother brought Yoshimori and changed his embroidered sleeping robe for one of rough hemp, tied with a rope cord. His eyes were heavy with sleep and he yawned deeply, but he did not cry out or protest.
Aki’s head felt light and cold. She wrapped a cowl around it, as though she were a town girl going early to market or visiting a shrine. She had never met or talked to a town girl in her life; it seemed an exotic thing to pretend to be.
“Where shall I go?”
“Follow the north road around the lake and head for the temple, Rinrakuji. You remember we have often been there together. The monks will hide the young Prince there and you can be what you were dedicated to be, a shrine maiden in the service of Kannon. Stay with him until he is safe. You must take your catalpa bow, we have wrapped it with Genzo, the imperial lute—we cannot let that be destroyed.”
Her mother handed the bundle to her. She took it with reverent hands, and felt the lute vibrate through the carrying cloth. It gave a single soft, grief-filled twang, and the bow responded.
“Go now, my daughter,” her father said. “The Prince Abbot’s men will be here at any moment. We will hold them off at the main gate. You must slip through the Moon Gate at the rear and follow the river. There will be many people fleeing the city. Mingle with them.”
He knelt before the boy. “Yoshimori, you must not be called Prince or Lord for a while. No one must know who you are. Do not speak to anyone. Obey Aki in everything. She is your older sister now. Do you understand?”
“What about Kai?” Yoshi said. “I’m not going anywhere without Kai.”
“It is hard enough with one child, let alone two,” Aki’s father murmured.
