by Lian Hearn
After the water receded a little, and the mud and debris had been cleared from the streets, Takaakira was ordered to go to the Prince Abbot at Ryusonji to find out what had gone wrong.
Trees had fallen in the garden of the temple and stone lanterns lay smashed. The lake was muddy, brimming over, logs, branches, and leaves swirling in a whirlpool around its center. It was still raining and the sound of water was everywhere, not the usual pleasant trickling, but thunderous and threatening.
He was shown into the reception hall by a young monk with a badly scarred face. Takaakira was surprised someone so damaged served the Prince Abbot. He wondered if that, in itself, might be an insult to the gods. One could never be too careful.
A mournful singing echoed in the courtyard; he looked toward the sound and saw an old blind man, with a lute, sitting cross-legged on the veranda. The words of the song were inaudible in the rain. Something felt wrong to him. The back of his neck prickled. He had come to Ryusonji hoping to discover the cause of all their problems. Now he began to suspect that Ryusonji itself was the cause.
It was the first time he had met the Prince Abbot face-to-face, though he had seen him at a distance at the ceremonies to give thanks for the Miboshi victory and install the new emperor. Then and now, the priest had an impressive authority. If he was disturbed by recent events he gave no sign of it. He seemed completely in control of himself and of all he commanded, seen and unseen.
Yet water dripped through the roof, puddling on the wooden floors, staining the matting, punctuating their tense exchange.
The young monk with the scarred face knelt on one side of the Prince Abbot. On the other was an older man, strong and serious-looking, who was making notes of their conversation with a small badger-hair brush. After formalities had been traded, Takaakira sat in silence for a few moments, wondering how best to broach his concerns, which he realized were more complicated than he had at first thought. The Prince Abbot had been responsible for the success of the Miboshi, the death of the Crown Prince, and the accession of the new emperor. It went without saying that Lord Aritomo needed his support in the spiritual realm, as the priest needed his in the physical. Despite the Prince Abbot’s calm air, Takaakira sensed an imbalance here in the heart of the realm. He thought, A man is at his most dangerous when he senses his powers beginning to slip from him.
Finally the Prince Abbot spoke. “The former prince’s son, Yoshimori, escaped from the palace with his nurse’s daughter, the so-called Autumn Princess.”
“He is still alive?” Takaakira felt the shock of this revelation deep in his gut.
“He was a few months ago. In the fourth month the man I sent caught up with them. But he has not returned with the child’s head as he was ordered to.”
“Do you know where Yoshimori is now?”
“Presumably somewhere in the Darkwood, if he has survived.”
“You should have informed us earlier,” Takaakira said sternly. “Lord Aritomo would raze the Darkwood if it meant he would find Yoshimori there. What sort of man did you send? A monk? A warrior?”
“A young acolyte of mine. It’s possible I made a mistake … I cannot reveal too much to you as these are esoteric matters. I can tell you that he is known as Shikanoko. He is the nephew of Kumayama no Jiro no Sademasa. He has an affinity with the forest, which is why I believe he will be found in the Darkwood.”
Sademasa, who had been a vassal of Kiyoyori’s, had sworn allegiance to the Miboshi during their advance on the capital. Takaakira stored that information away without comment, and said, “I am an initiate. You may speak of these things to me.”
The Prince Abbot gave him a quick sharp glance, as though seeing him with new eyes and needing to reassess his opinion.
“Very well. I believed Shikanoko was destined by Heaven to be a powerful sage, for fate led him not only to me but to two or three other people of great ability and deep knowledge of the other worlds: a mountain sorcerer, a woman of whom I know very little, and the old man you might have seen on your way in.”
“The lute player?” Takaakira said, in surprise.
“Yes, once my equal in all spiritual matters. He had been living in Kiyoyori’s household for years, unknown to anyone until I discovered him. I sent Gessho to bring him to me.” He indicated the older monk, who stopped writing for a moment and bowed his head in response.
“Gessho found him with Shikanoko. In fact they had fallen into the hands of Sademasa, which would be neither here nor there if Sademasa had not subsequently decided to abandon the Kakizuki and ally himself with the Miboshi. He is still waiting for his reward from me.”
“When the old man arrived here,” Gessho said, “he was as he is now, practically senile.”
“Was he always blind?” Takaakira asked.
“Kiyoyori’s wife put out his eyes,” Gessho said. “I saw them fixed to the gate at Matsutani.”
“Did they still see?” Takaakira tried to keep his voice emotionless, but the cruelty, and the casual way Gessho spoke of it, shocked him.
“Yes, they saw everything,” Gessho said quietly. “We said prayers over them and I hope we placated them. But Matsutani was badly damaged by the earthquake. Who knows if the eyes are still there?”
“Well, Sesshin and his eyes are not my main concern at the moment,” the Prince Abbot said. “Shikanoko is, and, even more, Yoshimori. If he falls into the hands of the Kakizuki he will become an inspiration to them, a rallying point.”
He is the true emperor, Takaakira realized. No wonder the realm is so afflicted by disaster and suffering. And then he thought with dread, What have we done?
There was no turning back now. He put the fear from him and said, “It is a most unfortunate state of affairs. I hesitate to report it to Lord Aritomo, yet he must be told. But I need some strategy to soften the blow. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Let me send someone into the Darkwood. Gessho tracked Shikanoko once; he can do it again.”
“I will go gladly,” Gessho exclaimed, his voice sounding suddenly loud, for they had all been almost whispering.
“My lord Abbot!” The young monk with the scarred face spoke for the first time. “Send me with Gessho. I have my disfigurement and weeks of pain for which to claim payment.”
“I am to blame for that.” The priest took him by the hand and drew him close. “Leave your revenge to me and be assured he will pay tenfold.”
Takaakira sat in thought for a few moments. To launch a major manhunt for the fugitives would signal clearly that Yoshimori was alive and rekindle all the Kakizuki hopes. It might be better to follow the Prince Abbot’s advice, at least in the first instance.
“Do nothing until I have spoken to his lordship,” he said, and abruptly took his leave.
As he passed through the courtyard he heard the blind man’s voice again. This time he could make out the words.
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 …
Takaakira decided the old man needed to be questioned a little more forcefully.
* * *
“Yoshimori escaped?” Lord Aritomo had been glancing impatiently around the room in the former Kakizuki palace, but now he turned his fierce gaze on Takaakira. “Who rescued him? I’ll burn them alive!”
“The girl they call the Autumn Princess, apparently,” Takaakira replied.
“Ah, Hidetake’s daughter. Only child, sixteen years old. Her mother was Yoshimori’s nurse.”
Takaakira was not surprised his lord knew this. He had a phenomenal memory for details of lineage and relationships, the complex interlocking of noble families. “And a young man called Shikanoko was involved, an acolyte of the Prince Abbot’s, also the nephew of the Kumayama lord.”
“Sademasa? He’s an ally of ours now. Shikanoko is a strange name. Why would he be called that?”
“I can’t tell you,” Takaakira replied. “All I know is, he
is on his way to becoming a sorcerer.”
“Is it his sorcery at work? Does that explain all these disasters, I wonder?” Aritomo mused to himself, looking away from Takaakira to the garden. Another typhoon was imminent, the sky almost as dark as night, a warm wind moaning over the curved roof and sighing in the eaves. Loose shutters were banging and a dog was howling. “Surely the typhoon season should be over?”
Aritomo was of small, slight stature. Had Takaakira been standing he would have towered over him, but he would rather face ten men at once, as he had at Shimaura, than bring bad news like this to his lord. Aritomo had already mentioned fire, which was an ominous sign. He liked to watch people burn. His punishments were as severe as his pride in his justice.
“Have we offended Heaven?” he dared to suggest, but Aritomo cut him off.
“We are carrying out the will of Heaven!” he shouted. He did not often raise his voice, but when he did it was terrifying. “If Heaven is displeased it is because we did not exterminate the whole nest of vipers but let the young escape! So, where is this snakeling?”
“His Eminence, the Prince Abbot, is of the opinion Shikanoko fled into the Darkwood and took Yoshimori with him.”
“I will cut it down and burn him out!”
Takaakira had said the same thing to the Prince Abbot, but the truth was this was beyond even Aritomo’s great power. The Darkwood stretched as far as the wild northern coast, over the spine of the country with its huge snow-covered mountains. He did not think it wise to mention this, but instead said tentatively, “There is a monk who wants to pursue them—”
“A monk? What good is a monk? Better to send a hundred warriors.”
“This monk is a warrior, and he can be sent without drawing attention to Yoshimori’s existence.”
Aritomo clicked his teeth and shifted his jaw from side to side, a habit of his when he was thinking. “Who thinks they can survive the winter with a seven-year-old boy in the Darkwood? Hidetake had an estate on Lake Kasumi; Nishimi it is called. It is quite remote, but easily reached from the west, from Rakuhara. If I were trying to get the young Emperor—not that he is the Emperor, let that be understood—to his Kakizuki supporters I would try to take him there, to my father’s old home.”
“That is a brilliant deduction, lord,” Takaakira said.
“I am trying to think like a girl,” Aritomo replied. “It is not hard. Where else would she go? I suppose she would try Rinrakuji … yes … her father would have told her to go there, but, finding it burning, she would turn to the west.” He gave a slight, tight-lipped smile. “I always try to see through the other person’s eyes. Once you understand your enemy, you have defeated him. The Prince Abbot is a powerful force. I do not wish to offend him, but nor do I wish to fight his battles for him. Let his monk go after the sorcerer. You may go to Nishimi. Take a few men, not too many. We don’t want to frighten our princess away. I guarantee she will turn up there before winter, with her young charge.”
“You are sending me away from the capital?” Takaakira tried to sound reluctant, tried to hide that his mind was racing with plans for Hina.
“Your work here is mostly completed, isn’t it?” Aritomo said. “This mission, anyway, is far more important.”
“I will leave as soon as the storm is over,” Takaakira said.
He touched his head to the ground and began to shuffle out backward. As the door slid open behind him, Aritomo said, “By the way, the fellow you recruited as a spy, Kiyoyori’s brother.”
“Masachika,” Takaakira said unnecessarily.
“Make sure he is not changing sides again. Is he doing anything useful? If not, you can get rid of him. No one’s going to miss him.”
Maybe I should, Takaakira thought. If he brings nothing useful back from Rakuhara, I will.
The wind had risen to a shriek and the rain grew heavier as he went home. The ox baulked and the wheels of the carriage stuck in the mud. He got out and walked to the house, arriving soaked. Rain poured from the eaves. Behind its curtain, Hina waited on the veranda.
“I was worried about you,” she cried artlessly.
“Yes, another typhoon is coming. I got back just in time. We will be shut indoors for a few days. After that we are going away.”
He led her inside, as the servants ran to close the shutters and light lamps. He changed into dry clothes, noting with faint distaste how the room already smelled of mildew.
Hina knelt on the floor to pour wine for him. He thought she looked more mature, her face rounder, her figure slightly more curved. He longed for her to be old enough. Impatience coursed through him, made worse by the incessant wind.
“Come and sit by me. I have a headache.”
She moved closer. “I will stroke it away,” she said.
He lay with his head on her lap while her small fingers ran over his temples and scalp. After a few moments she began to sing softly.
The dragon child flew too high,
He was still so young
“Where did you hear that song?” he asked, his eyes closed.
“I don’t know. I like it, it’s sad.”
“I heard an old blind man sing it today. Sesshin.” Did her fingers alter their gentle rhythm? “Did you know him?”
He had never spoken to her about her life before and she did not talk about it, either to him or, as far as he knew, to anyone else. They both acted as though she had fallen from the moon and had no past and no earthly ties.
“I don’t remember,” she said, dreamily.
Did she really not remember? Had shock and grief wiped out her former life? Or was she dissembling, in which case she was even cleverer than he thought?
Neither of them spoke for a few moments. Then Hina said, “Where are we going?”
“To a place on the lake, quite far away.” I must start making plans, he thought. How will I transport her there? I can hardly take her openly.
He remembered Lord Aritomo’s face when he talked of burning and tried not to think of the risks he was taking.
* * *
By the time the storm was over, Takaakira had decided Hina should travel in a palanquin, with Bara, the woman who looked after her. Bara was not the sort of person whom Takaakira would usually have employed, but most of the servants in the capital, men and women, had fled with their Kakizuki masters, and many of the rest had died in the fighting, the fires, or the famine during the summer. There was an annoying dearth of working people, maids, cooks, gardeners, and grooms. Hina seemed to like Bara, and when Takaakira bothered to notice her, which was not often, he thought she was intelligent and kind.
There were two rather elegant elderly women who instructed Hina in various arts and skills, but he did not want his traveling group to be too large, so he made arrangements for them to follow by boat across the lake from Kasumiguchi when the weather allowed.
The palanquin waited at the stone step; the horses stood ready at the gate. It was daybreak and, throughout the city, roosters were crowing and birds singing in the gardens. After the storm, the air was fresh, almost chill, with the first hint of winter. Bara was on the veranda, but there was no sign of Hina.
“Where is the young lady?” he asked.
“She ran back to fetch something. She did not want to tell me what it was,” Bara replied. “She gave me this.” She showed Takaakira the Kudzu Vine Treasure Store.
He nodded. “I suppose she would not go without that. I will go and find her.”
As he went inside he saw Hina walking toward him. She was wearing traveling clothes and holding the same box that had been in her hands when he had first discovered her, in the deserted house. He had not seen it since then and had put it out of his mind. Now he realized she had kept it hidden from him for months. He thought he knew everything about her, controlled every aspect of her life, but here was something secret.
“You don’t have to bring that with you. Leave it here. It will be quite safe. Most of the servants are staying in the house.”
/> She clutched the box more tightly and said, “I have to bring it.”
“Show me what is inside,” he said, eager to get away. “I will decide.”
She said as she had before, “No.”
“I am like a father to you and, one day, I will be your husband. I expect you to obey me. Let me see what is in the box, what is so important to you.”
She sighed in the same adult way as when he first met her and his heart twisted with love for her. He wanted to say it did not matter, she could take whatever she liked, but now he had insisted, he could not back down.
She opened the box. The eyes lay there perfectly preserved, the dark irises, the black pupils, the whites glistening, viscous. They gazed at him unblinking, as if they saw everything he was and would ever be, and suddenly he could see only that, too. He saw his outward appearance, his own body beneath the green hunting robe, his long limbs, his angular features, his dark hair and eyes. He struggled to find his own vision again, to see Hina, the room, anything.
The eyes peered deeper, into mind, memory, and soul. He saw the men he had tortured and killed, the intrigues and betrayals that had brought him to Lord Aritomo’s side, the women abandoned, his wife in far-off Yukikuni, the Snow Country.
“Close the lid,” he whispered to Hina.
Of course, he should take the box at once to Ryusonji, to the Prince Abbot. For the eyes must be Sesshin’s, plucked out at Matsutani, and now able to work some powerful magic. But then he would have to explain how he had come by them, and Hina would be discovered. His only desire, at that moment, was to get her away from the city to where she would be safe.
“Don’t ever show them to anyone,” he said, and hurried her into the palanquin.
5
SHIKANOKO
The monk Gessho left the capital around the same time, early in the tenth month. He traveled alone, apart from a werehawk the Prince Abbot had entrusted to him. He did not need anyone else; he had complete confidence in his physical and spiritual powers and a certain contempt for Shikanoko, despising his animal affiliation, knowing he had never experienced the extreme discipline of body and mind through which older monks, like himself, became initiates.
