by Lian Hearn
“Maybe I have been lucky,” Shika said. “You know a great deal about me.”
“After the dream I pieced together all I had heard about you. And my wife told me she thought, along with everything else, that you had a kind heart, for you looked after Sesshin with tenderness after he was blinded. But it is not your luck, nor your kindness, important as they are, that will defeat the Prince Abbot. It is what you have learned from him, from Master Sesshin, and from the sorcerer who made these strange creatures.”
“You are very flattering,” Shika said, “but what exactly are you proposing?”
“We are confined to the fortress at Kuromori. We are starving—you can probably see that. We are not besieged as such. There is a secret passage through which individuals can slip in and out, but the roads all around are guarded and we believe Aritomo is planning another attack on the fortress. Masachika, Kiyoyori’s brother, tried once before, but my son brought us a warning.”
“He seems a useful lad.”
“He is fearless and quite clever,” Kongyo said with pride. “All Masachika’s men were wiped out, but Masachika was spared. He agreed to switch sides, so we let him go—well, he is Kiyoyori’s heir and Kakizuki by birth. None of us wanted his blood on our hands. We believe he went to the Kakizuki in Rakuhara, to tell them of our plight. We have heard nothing since then, but we feel Aritomo will launch an attack on Rakuhara in the spring. If you have taken your estate of Kumayama by then, you can relieve us at Kuromori and together we can surprise the Miboshi from the rear.”
“And how will I take Kumayama with no men?”
“If Sademasa is dead his men will accept you for your father’s sake. Matsutani is unoccupied, as it has been taken over by guardian spirits, but you will be able to deal with them. You will force a wedge between Miyako and Minatogura and cut off their supply lines.”
“You have great confidence in me! How am I going to kill Sademasa?”
“With your imps and their magic, of course!” Kongyo gave him a sly glance. “Do you think that hare is cooked by now? You can think it over while we eat.”
6
AKI
Akihime worried about her monthly bleeding, how she would manage in the forest, what she would tell Yoshi, if she should stay away from him—surely emperors had nothing to do with such polluting matter as menstrual blood—but the bleeding never came. She watched the monkeys mating, giving birth, nursing their young ones, the babies playing with the long pink nipples, and her own breasts ached and swelled. The old matriarch treated her like one of her many daughters, groomed her hair, which was growing out matted and wild, and gave her the pick of the seeds and fruits they collected as summer warmed the forest.
When it rained, the monkeys sat in the hot spring, and one damp day Aki took off her clothes and joined them. She could see that she had lost weight, her limbs no longer pleasingly plump, as they had been in the palace. Her collarbones protruded, but her stomach was very slightly rounded.
Yoshi had abandoned his clothes—once the rains began they were always wet—and he was turning as brown as a beechnut all over. His arms and legs were covered in cuts, scratches, and old scars. He never spoke of Kai—Aki wondered if he had forgotten her. He had joined the pack of young males and climbed and played with them all day long, coming to understand their chattering and facial gestures, sleeping in a heap with them at night. When they fled the palace Akihime had expected him not to be able to walk, but now he ran everywhere.
She tried to speak to him as much as possible, concerned he would forget human language. She sang to him and told him stories. The lute came alive under her fingers, enchanting the monkeys. He told her the names he had given to them. He called the matriarch Ame, the strongest male Hai, and his two special friends Shiro and Kemuri.
He rode the horses and persuaded Shiro and Kemuri to join him on their backs. To Aki’s surprise, both horses put up with it. Yoshi never used saddle or bridle; he seemed to have developed a way of communicating with the horses as easily as with the monkeys, and both of them, even the bad-tempered Risu, did whatever he asked them, in a spirit of play.
The rains ended and the great heat of summer began. One day, the monkeys seemed unusually agitated. They gathered in groups, clutching one another, sniffing the air, peering to the northwest and chattering anxiously. Now and then, one of the young males, Shiro or Kemuri, bounded outward, calling threateningly, although Aki could not see or hear anything strange.
“What’s wrong with them?” she asked Yoshi, who was sniffing the air, too.
“Someone is coming, someone they are afraid of.”
Aki heard a pitiful crying, the noise the monkeys made when one of them died. It sent the group around her into even greater distress. A young female, in particular, began screaming in response. The distant crying became louder.
“It is one of them,” Yoshi said. “One who was lost, a long time ago. I think he is tied up. He cannot come closer. He is calling for help.”
“Don’t go,” Aki said. “It might be a trap.”
“But he needs help.”
“Someone might be using him as a decoy,” she warned.
“What is a decoy?” Yoshi said, puzzled, but Aki did not have time to answer, for the whole monkey group, led by Ame and Hai, began to leap through the trees toward the sound. Kon hovered overhead, and Risu and Nyorin followed, with Aki walking between them. At first, the monkeys seemed cautious and furtive. They were drawn to the crying as if they could not help themselves, yet they were afraid. They wanted to keep silent, but the closer they came, the more their fear made them chatter and squeal. The monkey who was tied up cried even more loudly but now with a heartbreaking note of hope.
As they came to the edge of the clearing, Aki could see him clearly, a half-grown male, with a green collar round his neck, tethered to a post driven into the ground. The elders, Ame and Hai, made warning noises. Hai ran the length of the troop, cuffing the young males into submission, but Shiro and Kemuri dashed forward with Yoshi on their heels. Aki cried out to him, as he and the two monkeys ran into a net and were immediately trapped in its invisible, unbreakable mesh. The monkeys squealed in the same note as the captured one. Yoshi was shouting in rage.
The watching monkeys howled in horror, jumping in the air, thumping the ground with their fists. Aki was about to run forward, but Ame held out a hand to restrain her, tapping her own belly and then patting Aki’s. Her bright, knowing eyes held Aki’s for a moment. When the girl looked away she saw that three men had come into the clearing. They wore strange red clothes, and, even though two were fully grown, something about them, their hair maybe, was childlike. Aki recognized the third. It was the boy who had performed with the monkeys at Majima.
He went to the tied-up monkey and gave him some food as a reward, which the monkey crammed into his mouth, chortling gently as though pleased with himself. His previous distress had completely disappeared. When his owner untied him he jumped straightaway onto the boy’s shoulder and began grooming his hair.
The other two men went to the net, shouting in surprise. “A good catch! Two young males and a boy!”
Again Aki wanted to run forward—but she was naked, and unarmed. She had left her knife and bow, along with Genzo, in the cave. The men carried knives and sticks. She remembered the men on the road to Rinrakuji. Shikanoko had appeared from nowhere and killed them, but if he had not, they would have raped her, and probably murdered or enslaved her. She was afraid these men would do the same. Then Yoshi would be lost completely. No one would know who he was and he would soon forget.
And she was stunned by something else: the realization that she was carrying a child.
She looked at the horses, who stood watching, ears pricked forward.
I will follow Risu, she thought. Kiyoyori’s spirit will tell me what to do.
Risu did not move, nor did Nyorin. Yoshi did not look toward them, he did not utter another word, even when his captors questioned him. They were too amaz
ed at their catch to notice anything else in the trees on the edge of the clearing.
“He must have been brought up by monkeys,” the boy marveled. “Maybe he never learned to speak.”
Aki remembered him at the market on the shore. He had seemed bold, kind to his monkey partners, and not slow to laugh at himself. Perhaps Yoshi would be safer away from her. He could disappear among the people of the riverbank. The Prince Abbot would never look for him there. He would be searching for a young noblewoman with a boy, and, of course, he or his monks would quickly recognize her. But none of them would have seen Yoshi since his first haircut ceremony, at eighteen months of age. He would be indistinguishable from all the other orphans and urchins struggling to survive. She would always know where to find him, with the monkey boy.
But watching him and his two friends being bound with ropes and led away made her heart break. Risu bent her neck and nuzzled Aki’s shoulder. She took that to mean that Kiyoyori’s spirit approved of her decision. She leaned against the mare’s flanks.
“Hurry up and be born,” she whispered. “I need you. You and my child will grow up as brothers.”
From far above she heard a low fluting call and, looking up, she saw Kon, half-gold, half-black against the deep blue summer sky. The werehawk fluttered its wings as though to say farewell and flew off after the Emperor and his monkeys.
* * *
The lute lost its gold embossing and its mother-of-pearl inlay and went into a sulk. It refused to release its tunes, no matter how many times Aki took it out, polished it, cajoled it, even prayed to it. She wanted to be able to play it on her journey to give her a plausible reason for being on the road.
She knew she had to leave the Darkwood. She did not think she would survive a winter there, even with the hot springs, not with a baby, which she had calculated would be born in the first month. She did not want to give birth in the forest, alone. She needed other women around her to help her bring the child into the world. The only place she could think of to go was her old country home at Nishimi. Even though it was years since she had been there, surely the women, who had known her as a child, would look after her.
She began to make preparations, took the saddle from where she had stowed it in the cave and wiped the mildew from it, washed her clothes in the spring, and tried to comb out her hair. It had grown enough to tie in bunches, like a country girl’s. She bound the ends with strands of the tough reeds that grew in the shade around the pools.
The day she planned to leave, the monkeys’ behavior puzzled her. They did not go out into the forest as they usually did from dawn but stayed close to the caves, chattering nervously. The horses, too, seemed restless, their coats dark with sweat.
By midday the air had turned metallic and the sky had darkened. The tops of the trees began to lash against one another, as a hot wind drove through them. Then rain fell, the drops sizzling as they hit the rocks and the ground. The surface of the pools churned. Soon the rain was so heavy it seemed to rise from the earth as much as it fell from the sky.
The whole world was made of water. Every tiny channel filled and overflowed. The wind howled more fiercely, driving the rain horizontally. There was a crack like thunder and the ground shook as a huge cedar was torn up by its roots and thrown down.
The monkeys huddled together, surrounding Aki and Ame, whimpering at every loud noise. Risu laid her ears back and stamped nervously. Nyorin stood motionless, gazing out at the curtains of rain.
When the typhoon had passed, they ventured outside. The earth steamed and a carpet of leaves and branches covered the ground. The monkeys investigated the fallen tree warily, finding grubs and insects in its roots. The storm had delivered a feast as well as destruction. Everything was washed clean and the air was sweet-smelling. One by one, the forest birds began to sing.
The young monkeys went out exploring, though they were still subdued and nervous after the capture of Shiro and Kemuri. Aki led the horses to find new grass. She could hear the monkeys chattering ahead of her and could follow the trail of twigs and seed casings they let fall from the trees. The horses grazed on the long, lush grass. Aki was hungry, too. She sucked on roots of grass and chewed unripe beech mast, but these made her stomach ache even more.
They were following some sort of path, made by foxes or deer, that led to a stream. There were tracks in the mud, paw prints and hooves. The monkeys’ chattering grew louder and then she heard a cry of pain. Risu neighed in reply and rushed forward, barging past Aki, almost knocking her down.
On the far bank stood a young stag, its new antlers shining and hard. She held up the bow and twanged it. The stag raised its head and sniffed the air, then turned and bounded away. She realized she was trembling with fear. For a moment she had thought the stag would transform into Shikanoko. Had it been just an animal or was it a sign, a symbol perhaps of the child they had made together? She was suddenly certain it was. I am carrying his son, she thought with a mixture of sorrow and joy. And then she remembered her dream, the night she had fled the palace. She had seen the same stag in her dream.
The rocks at the stream’s edge were covered in debris from the storm, washed down by the torrent of water, left there when the stream subsided. The monkeys had been sifting through it. Now there was red blood on the rocks and one of the monkeys was sucking its paw and crying. The others were jumping around something that gleamed on the rocks and making warning noises as if they had surprised a snake.
Risu gave a long groaning whinny, and for the first time Aki saw Risu’s belly ripple as the unborn foal kicked and struggled within her. She went to the mare and tried to soothe her. The monkeys scattered at her approach and ran back to the treetops. Behind her, she could hear their noise as they made their way home.
Before her on the rock lay a sword, without a scabbard. Its hilt was wrapped in snakeskin—she could see it through the mud. Its blade had a few drops of blood on it. The monkey must have picked it up and it had cut him. She looked around uneasily. Where could it have come from? Had some warrior dropped it? Was he hiding somewhere or lying dead in the stream? She wanted to run like the monkeys and leave it where it lay, but Risu would not move.
Aki bent down warily. Risu gave her an encouraging nudge and she picked up the sword by its hilt. It alarmed her, but at the same time it comforted her. It cleaved to her hand as if it belonged to her. It was a long time since she had held a sword. It reminded her of her father and the training he had given her secretly, at Rinrakuji, so no one would know the girl they called the Autumn Princess could fight with a sword, like a man.
Now that Aki held the sword, Risu was happy to follow her, walking so close she almost stepped on her.
It must be Lord Kiyoyori’s sword, Aki thought. His spirit recognizes it. As soon as the mare saw it the foal quickened. She was shivering despite the warmth of the sun. The sword had been recast and repaired, but by whom? Why had the stag been at the stream? Was Shikanoko nearby? Was he alive or dead? Was it longing or fear that made her tremble?
She walked swiftly back to the cave, stopping on the way at the bamboo grove and cutting a length of bamboo to act as a scabbard. She washed the sword clean of mud and blood and slipped it into the scabbard, attaching it with a cord she wove from kudzu vine and strips of bark.
The old matriarch, Ame, watched her carefully, but kept her distance, as did all the monkeys. The sword frightened them. Aki tore one of her underrobes into wide strips and wound one of them around her head, covering her face except for her eyes. With the others she bound her legs so the saddle would not chafe them. Then she strapped the lute to the mare’s back, saddled Nyorin, and, using a tree stump, climbed onto him.
She bowed her head to Ame and said aloud, “Thank you for everything.”
The old monkey sat impassively, her child at her breast, as Aki rode away from the Darkwood, back to the world of swords and horses and men.
7
YOSHI
Yoshi was told to walk, his hands tied in
front of him, the rope held by the oldest man, who carried one of the monkeys, Shiro, wrapped up like a bundle, on his shoulder. The other man held Kemuri, while the boy followed with the decoy, holding the cord attached to its collar in his left hand. The monkey gamboled happily, turning somersaults, jumping onto the boy’s shoulder, then down to the ground again, chattering all the time.
Shiro and Kemuri screeched in rage and fear and tried to bite and scratch, but the men did not grow angry with them, just laughed in amusement, preventing the monkeys from hurting them, or themselves, with practiced gentleness.
The boy made monkey noises, the kind of sounds an older male might make to young ones, slightly threatening but mostly reassuring. Yoshi began to trust him.
They followed the same path to the edge of the forest that Yoshi had taken with Aki and the horses and came to the old hut and the place at the stream’s edge where he thought Shikanoko was going to cut off his head. He couldn’t help shivering. There was no sign of Shikanoko. Maybe he was still alive. Or maybe the horses had killed him, after all, and wolves had carried away his bones. He wasn’t sure if that made him sad or not. Shikanoko had saved him and Akihime from the men, who he knew were going to do something bad to them, and Yoshi had liked him then, but Shikanoko had been prepared to kill him with the same sudden ruthlessness, and liking had turned to distrust. He knew his father was dead, which was why he was now emperor, though he must never tell anyone, and his mother was dead, too, and Akihime’s father and mother, and probably everyone he had ever known, except Akihime and Kai. He felt sorry for them all; he wanted no one else to die, ever.
