Autumn Princess, Dragon Child

by Lian Hearn

  On the other side the monk Eisei was waiting for them.

  “I have come to help you deal with the spirits,” he announced.

  “The matter is settled,” Masachika said. “They are back where they belong.”

  “But you wanted me to chant and pray.” Eisei’s face could not be seen beneath the black cloth, but he sounded disappointed.

  Behind them they heard whispering. Eisei turned back eagerly. The gateposts were quivering.

  “Shikanoko!”

  “Shikanoko is coming.”

  “Who is Shikanoko?” Eisei asked.

  “He’s—” Masachika began, but Eisei silenced him with a gesture. “I know who he is. But let’s hear what they say.”

  “Shikanoko is our master’s heir.”

  “Yes, our master gave his power to him.”

  “What does that mean?” Eisei demanded.

  “Find out for yourself.”

  They all heard the sound of horses’ hooves and turned toward the east, Masachika drawing his sword.

  Tama had described Shikanoko as a wild boy and at first she did not recognize the figure who dismounted from the leading horse. He had not only grown and filled out, he had gained an air of authority. Masachika’s men were gathering around them, some with their swords drawn, others setting arrows to their bows.

  Masachika said, “Let no one attack. He is not to be harmed.”

  Shikanoko’s gaze swept over him and he gave a slightly mocking smile, but he did not speak to either of them or even acknowledge them. He walked past them to the gate and knelt before the eyes. A strange wolflike creature followed at his heels until one of Shikanoko’s companions dismounted and called the wolf to him. His face was horribly scarred, as if by fire.

  Tama was aware of Eisei staring fixedly. Eisei took the silk covering from his face and she saw that his scars were identical. Then both young men smiled, their ruined features assuming the same expression, their eyes full of emotion.

  Shikanoko stood, his own eyes filled with tears. He brushed them away and said quietly, “Hidarisama, Migisama, I am glad to see you obedient to your old master again.”

  Tama knew he was addressing the guardian spirits, though they had given no sign of their presence, and he knew what to call them. Even Hisoku had not known that.

  Shikanoko held up his right hand and said more loudly, “Jato!” The sword Masachika was holding flew through the air between them and cleaved to Shikanoko’s hand as though it recognized him. He said to Masachika, “How did you come by this sword?”

  Masachika shrugged and replied, “It fell into my hands.”

  Shikanoko considered this for a few moments and then said, “It was your brother’s sword, recast for me.”

  “Kiyoyori’s sword? How did you get it? Surely it was destroyed in the flames along with its owner?”

  Shika laughed. “Neither the sword nor its owner was completely destroyed.” He held it out, and for a moment Tama feared he would cut Masachika down with it there and then. But he said, “I don’t think you came just to return Jato to me. You have a message for me?”

  She truly admired Masachika at that moment, for, showing no sign of fear, he announced loudly, “I am Matsutani no Masachika, sent by Lord Aritomo, protector of the city of Miyako, to tell you he holds Hidetake’s daughter, Akihime, the Autumn Princess. If you surrender and return to the lord you ran away from, the Prince Abbot at Ryusonji, her life will be spared. If you refuse, or if you make any attempt to rescue her, she will be put to death in the cruelest way that can be devised. Also, my lord commands me, if you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of the false emperor, Yoshimori, you are to reveal it to me.”

  Tama saw Shikanoko flinch slightly at Akihime’s name, but all he said was “I don’t know where Yoshimori is, but wherever he is, he is the true emperor. Nothing can change that, no matter whom you torture and kill. But you may take my sword in exchange for Kiyoyori’s. Its name is Jinan, Second Son, like you, like your false emperor. That is my only message.”

  15

  TAKAAKIRA

  While the rain poured down on the capital and while he waited for Masachika to return, Yukikuni no Takaakira reflected deeply on the grievous state of affairs, the imbalance in the realm, the obvious displeasure of Heaven. He tried to put aside his grief for Hina and his anxieties about Masachika to do all he could, for Lord Aritomo’s sake, to clarify the problem and put things right.

  From time to time he regretted sparing Hina’s life. He saw clearly all he had put at stake for her: his position at Aritomo’s side, his domain of Yukikuni, his life. He should have had her killed the first time he set eyes on her, in this very house. But then he remembered the delight and joy she had given him, her intelligence, grace, and beauty, and he ached with love and grief. He dreamed that she was alive, and woke with hope, but then knew, if she did still live, he would sooner or later have to arrange her death, and wished for her sake that she had had the swift, gentle death of drowning.

  Her presence was everywhere. She seemed to have just departed from each room he walked into. He heard her footsteps on the veranda, her voice in the garden. To escape her, wanting to see again the young woman, Akihime, who was defying both Lord Aritomo and the Prince Abbot, and remembering his intuition that there was some evil dwelling at the heart of Ryusonji, he decided to pay a visit to the temple.

  His previous visit had been last summer, just after the first typhoon. Now the heavy rain had settled sullenly over the city. The lake was churned into foam and threatened to brim over its banks and join the river, which was rising every hour to meet it.

  The Prince Abbot greeted him cordially, making no reference to the weather, as if by ignoring it he would deny its hostility. He inquired after Lord Aritomo’s health and begged Takaakira to convey his messages of respect and devotion.

  “We shall soon have reasons to celebrate,” he said. “I am sure Shikanoko will attempt to rescue our prisoner. Once we have him under our power, we will soon discover Yoshimori’s whereabouts. When they are all dead, harmony will be restored.”

  But he is the true emperor, Takaakira thought, as he had before, and immediately found himself trying to close his mind to the Prince Abbot’s penetrating gaze.

  “I would like to see the Princess,” he said.

  The sight of her, lying in a small cage, her hands bound, shocked him. He did not understand how she could still be alive. In her twisted limbs and crushed body he saw Hina. This was what Hina would be subjected to if she ever fell into Aritomo’s hands.

  Let her be dead, he prayed. Let her be drowned.

  “Was it necessary to be so cruel?” he said to the Prince Abbot, who was surveying Akihime with cold contempt.

  “She knows where Yoshimori is and will not tell us. Her stubbornness must be punished, her will broken. And her suffering will reach Shikanoko and bring him to us.”

  Takaakira gazed on her with pity mixed with revulsion. There were many things he wanted to ask her, not about Yoshimori, but about her time at Nishimi. What had Hina been doing there? Did she still read the Kudzu Vine Treasure Store? How was she progressing with her music and her poetry? Did she talk about him? He wanted to know everything that had happened in the months he had been away. And where was the rosewood box with the old man’s eyes? Suddenly he felt he was in danger of breaking down and weeping.

  He tried to mask his weakness from the Prince Abbot. The thought of the old man reminded him that he had been going to question him more forcefully, before he had been sent to Nishimi. His excitement at having somewhere to hide Hina, and his absence from the city, had driven it out of his head.

  “What happened to the blind lute player?” he said.

  “He is still here,” the Prince Abbot replied. “He still plays and sings, but his mind is gone.”

  “I would like to talk to him alone,” Takaakira said.

  The Prince Abbot glanced at him sharply. “What good can that do? You won’t get any sense out of hi
m.”

  “I want to rule him out as a possible source of imbalance,” Takaakira replied. “Perhaps proper restitution has never been made for the wrong that was done to him. We should look at everything.”

  “You will find him in the cloister, I suppose. You may talk to him on your way out.”

  There was a dismissive tone to his voice that irritated Takaakira. This priest is full of arrogance and conceit, he thought, and found himself wondering if the Minatogura lord might not be better off without him.

  Sesshin was under the shelter of the cloisters, sitting cross-legged, his lute on his knees, his face turned upward, his lips moving as if he were praying. The sight of his ancient, eyeless face made Takaakira shiver. This man’s eyes knew his innermost secrets, all his mistakes and weaknesses, and had made him weep. Did Sesshin know what his eyes saw, or were they forever separated?

  He knelt beside him, speaking clearly in order not to startle him. “Master Sesshin, it is Yukikuni no Takaakira.”

  Sesshin made no response. Surely he was not deaf, too? He spoke more loudly. “Are you well? Is there anything you need?”

  Sesshin said finally, “It is gracious of such a mighty lord to concern himself with my well-being. I have no wants, no needs.”

  He did not sound at all senile.

  He then said, “Are you well, Lord Takaakira?”

  “Well enough.”

  “And Lord Aritomo? Is he well?”

  “I believe he is in good health,” Takaakira said.

  “Tell him to make the most of it, for he will be very sick soon.”

  “You could lose your tongue or be put to death,” Takaakira said warningly, but instead of being intimidated, Sesshin seemed to find this amusing and shook with silent laughter. He nodded his head for quite a while, making Takaakira feel that perhaps his mind was wandering and he was wasting his time.

  “Since you were so kind as to inquire after my health,” Sesshin said, “I will give you some advice. The Prince Abbot has been very gracious to me lately, but for many years he has wanted to kill me. Do you know why? Because I was the only person ever likely to challenge him. We were equals once, can you believe that? And now he is bringing to Ryusonji the one person who can bring him down. Yes, he is about to fall. Sooner or later Aritomo will follow.”

  “What are you saying?” Takaakira said. “Is there going to be an attack on Ryusonji? Is it Shikanoko?”

  Sesshin took up the lute and played a few plaintive notes. His face, which had been suddenly youthful and full of intelligence, now looked old and vacant again. He began to sing in a mumbling tone. Takaakira could not make out the words, but he thought it was the song he had heard before, about the dragon child. He looked across the courtyard, through the heavy rain, to the lake.

  Sesshin sang more clearly:

  He sleeps beneath the lake,

  The dragon child,

  But he will wake

  And spread his wings again,

  When the deer’s child comes.

  “Is the deer’s child coming?” Takaakira said urgently. “Is it Shikanoko?”

  A smile flitted across Sesshin’s face.

  Takaakira could see he would get no more sense out of him. He bade him farewell, stood, and began to walk to the main gate. The courtyards were deserted and although he could hear chanting from within he did not see anyone. However, just when he had passed through the gate and was making his way to where his carriage was waiting, the ox up to its hocks in mud, he saw coming toward him the young monk with the scarred face who had gone with Masachika.

  The monk recognized him. “Lord Takaakira? I am Eisei. You came to visit our abbot last year.”

  “Yes, I remember you. You have been in Matsutani, haven’t you? What news do you bring?”

  “Lord Masachika is on his way to Lord Aritomo now.”

  “Then I must hurry back there,” Takaakira said.

  Eisei looked around. He seemed nervous, and he fixed his eyes on Takaakira as if he wanted to speak to him but did not dare.

  Takaakira gestured to him to move under the shelter of the eaves. The rain dripped steadily around them. The ox lowed mournfully and shifted its legs. “Where is Shikanoko now?” Takaakira said.

  “He is not far away. He came at once, as soon as he heard about the Princess.”

  “Did he send any message?”

  “He sent his sword,” Eisei said. “It is a sort of message. Its name is Jinan.”

  “Second Son?”

  “Yes, like our current emperor.”

  Masachika will not dare say that to our lord! Takaakira thought.

  “So, how many men came with him?” he asked.

  “Just one. His friend, Nagatomo. So many rivers are in flood, it wouldn’t have been possible to move a whole army.”

  “He has made himself vulnerable of his own free will?” Takaakira said in disbelief.

  “He will give himself up if the Princess is released,” Eisei replied.

  “Surely he will attempt to rescue her?”

  “Lord,” the monk said. “I must tell you. If you or my master have me put to death, so be it. Shikanoko has extraordinary power, far more than my master suspects. If he enters Ryusonji he will destroy it.”

  It was just what Sesshin had said a few minutes earlier.

  “But more important,” Eisei went on, “Yoshimori is the true emperor. Nothing can alter that.”

  “How have you changed your thinking so much?” Takaakira demanded. “You left as a loyal servant to the Prince Abbot—now you will betray him?”

  “It is not betraying someone to tell them they are wrong. Maybe it is the highest loyalty. Meeting Shikanoko again opened my eyes. I thought I hated him because my face was burned by his mask, but it wasn’t he who deserved my hatred. He didn’t force me to wear it. He warned against it, just as he tried to protect Nagatomo.” His face changed as he spoke. “We have identical scars,” he said. “We call ourselves the Burnt Twins.”

  “Were you on your way to see the Prince Abbot now?” Takaakira said.

  “Yes, I intend to tell him what I just told you.”

  “Don’t do that yet. You will be punished severely. I will talk to Lord Aritomo first. I will intercede with him on Shikanoko’s behalf. Can you reach him, perhaps through your friend—Nagatomo?”

  Eisei nodded.

  “Then tell him to wait until he hears from me. I will come here tomorrow and meet you, at noon. I hope I may be able to save both him and the Princess.”

  While listening to Eisei’s words Takaakira had felt that his earlier misgivings had been confirmed, and he had come to a decision. Ryusonji and the Prince Abbot were indeed at the heart of the country’s suffering. It was his duty, and would be his greatest loyalty, to tell his lord. He got into the ox carriage and ordered the groom to go with all haste to the palace.

  He met Masachika in the anteroom. It was filled with warriors, seeking to present petitions or awaiting orders. Masachika greeted Takaakira politely enough, spoke briefly of the difficulty of the journey, but there was no time to say more before they were summoned into the inner chamber.

  Aritomo looked even more tense and suspicious than usual. A muscle twitched constantly beneath his left eye, betraying sleeplessness. His anger simmered beneath the surface, making both men nervous and deferential.

  Masachika took his sword from his sash and held it out in both hands, bowing over it. “Shikanoko surrendered his sword to me and I present it to you, lord.”

  Aritomo looked slightly less grim as he took it and studied it carefully. “It is very fine. I have never seen anything quite like it.”

  “I believed it was forged in the mountains,” Masachika replied. “Perhaps by tengu, perhaps by a sorcerer.”

  Are you not going to tell our lord its name? Takaakira thought, but did not speak.

  “So, you brought the upstart back with you?”

  “He followed us. He is close to the capital now. He came alone save for one compani
on. I have his assurance he will give himself up if the Princess is released.”

  “Well done, Masachika,” Aritomo said, his good humor apparently restored. “I will give the sword to you as a sign of my gratitude.”

  Masachika bowed to the ground. “I must also tell Lord Aritomo that I am reconciled with my former wife. I have secured Matsutani and dealt with the hostile spirits that had made it uninhabitable. The estate is firmly in Miboshi hands, and if you trust me I will regain Kuromori and Kumayama, too.”

  “Lord Aritomo,” Takaakira said. “May I speak with you in private?”

  Aritomo held up his hand. “Shortly. You dealt with the spirits? How? I know you took one of the Prince Abbot’s monks with you. Did he assist you?”

  “I did it alone, lord. It was simply a question of replacing something that was lost.”

  “How mysterious,” Aritomo said. His nostrils twitched, his jaw clicked from side to side. “I am no adept. You will have to spell it out for me.”

  “Kiyoyori’s wife, Lady Tama, blinded an old man, Sesshin, a sage. After she turned him out, his eyes were placed over the west gate at Matsutani, where he had previously installed the guardian spirits. After the earthquake, the eyes disappeared and the spirits escaped. I was able to replace them and now the spirits are back where they belong.”

  “All very satisfactory, no doubt, but how did you come to be in possession of the eyes?”

  Takaakira could feel sweat gathering in his armpits yet he felt icy cold. His pulse was beating rapidly.

  Masachika said slowly, “Kiyoyori’s daughter had taken them with her to Nishimi. I found them there.”

  Aritomo’s eyes bulged. He had been watching Masachika carefully, alert as always to any attempt at concealing the truth. Now he turned his stare on Takaakira.

  A wave of heat rose from Takaakira’s belly, staining his face red. He wanted to explain what Hina was like, why he had spared her, but, face-to-face with his lord, he knew there were no arguments and no excuses.

  “You were concealing Kiyoyori’s daughter, all this time?” Aritomo said in disbelief. “Where is she now?”