Across the Nightingale Floor

by Lian Hearn

  “He has all the talents, save that one,” Kenji said one evening in frustration. “And that lack makes all his talents a danger to him.”

  “You never know,” Shigeru replied. “When the situation arises, it is amazing how the sword leaps in the hand, almost as though it has a will of its own.”

  “You were born that way, Shigeru, and all your training has reinforced it. My belief is that Takeo will hesitate in that moment.”

  “Unnh,” the lord grunted, moving closer to the brazier and pulling his coat around him. Snow had been falling all day. It lay piled in the garden, each tree coated, each lantern wearing a thick white cap. The sky had cleared and frost made the snow sparkle. Our breath hung in the air as we spoke.

  Nobody else was awake, just the three of us, huddled round the brazier, warming our hands on cups of hot wine. It made me bold enough to ask, “Lord Otori must have killed many men?”

  “I don’t know that I’ve kept a count,” he replied. “But apart from Yaegahara, probably not so very many. I have never killed an unarmed man, or killed for pleasure, as some are corrupted into. Better you should stay the way you are than come to that.”

  I wanted to ask, Would you use an assassin to get revenge? But I did not dare. It was true that I disliked cruelty and shrank from the idea of killing. But every day I learned more about Shigeru’s desire for revenge. It seemed to seep from him into me, where it fed my own desire. That night I slid open the screens in the early hours of the morning and looked out over the garden. The waning moon and a single star lay close together in the sky, so low that they looked as if they were eavesdropping on the sleeping town. The air was knife-cold.

  I could kill, I thought. I could kill Iida. And then: I will kill him. I will learn how.

  A few days after that, I surprised Kenji and myself. His ability to be in two places at once still fooled me. I’d see the old man in his faded robe, sitting, watching me while I practiced some sleight of hand or backwards tumble, and then his voice would call me from outside the building. But this time, I felt or heard his breath, jumped towards him, caught him round the neck, and had him on the ground before I even thought, Where is he?

  And to my amazement my hands went of their own accord to the spot on the artery in the neck where pressure brings death.

  I had him there for only a moment. I let go and we stared at each other.

  “Well,” he said. “That’s more like it!”

  I looked at my long-fingered, clever hands as if they belonged to a stranger.

  My hands did other things I had not known they could do. When I was practicing writing with Ichiro, my right hand would suddenly sketch a few strokes, and there would be one of my mountain birds about to fly off the paper, or the face of someone I did not know I remembered. Ichiro cuffed me round the head for it, but the drawings pleased him, and he showed them to Lord Shigeru.

  He was delighted, and so was Kenji.

  “It’s a Kikuta trait,” Kenji boasted, as proud as if he’d invented it himself. “Very useful. It gives Takeo a role to play, a perfect disguise. He’s an artist: He can sketch in all sorts of places and no one will wonder what he can hear.”

  Lord Shigeru was equally practical. “Draw the one-armed man,” he commanded.

  The wolfish face seemed to jump of its own accord from the brush. Lord Shigeru stared at it. “I’ll know him again,” he muttered.

  A drawing master was arranged, and through the winter days my new character evolved. By the time the snow melted, Tomasu, the half-wild boy who roamed the mountain and read only its animals and plants, was gone forever. I had become Takeo, quiet, outwardly gentle, an artist, somewhat bookish, a disguise that hid the ears and eyes that missed nothing, and the heart that was learning the lessons of revenge.

  I did not know if this Takeo was real or just a construction created to serve the purposes of the Tribe, and the Otori.

  · 4 ·

  he bamboo grass had turned white-edged and the maples had put on their brocade robes. Junko brought Kaede old garments from Lady Noguchi, carefully unpicking them and resewing them with the faded parts turned inwards. As the days grew colder she was thankful that she was no longer in the castle, running through the courtyards and up and down steps as snow fell on frozen snow. Her work became more leisurely: She spent her days with the Noguchi women, engaged in sewing and household crafts, listening to stories and making up poems, learning to write in women’s script. But she was far from happy.

  Lady Noguchi found fault with everything about her: She was repelled by her left-handedness, she compared her looks unfavorably to her daughters’, she deplored her height and her thinness. She declared herself shocked by Kaede’s lack of education in almost everything, never admitting that this might be her fault.

  In private, Junko praised Kaede’s pale skin, delicate limbs, and thick hair, and Kaede, gazing in the mirror whenever she could, thought that maybe she was beautiful. She knew men looked at her with desire, even here in the lord’s residence, but she feared all men. Since the guard’s assault on her, their nearness made her skin crawl. She dreaded the idea of marriage. Whenever a guest came to the house, she was afraid he might be her future husband. If she had to come into his presence with tea or wine, her heart raced and her hands shook, until Lady Noguchi decided she was too clumsy to wait on guests and must be confined to the women’s quarters.

  She grew bored and anxious. She quarreled with Lady Noguchi’s daughters, scolded the maids over trifles, and was even irritable with Junko.

  “The girl must be married,” Lady Noguchi declared, and to Kaede’s horror a marriage was swiftly arranged with one of Lord Noguchi’s retainers. Betrothal gifts were exchanged, and she recognized the man from her audience with the lord. Not only was he old—three times her age, married twice before, and physically repulsive to her—but she knew her own worth. The marriage was an insult to her and her family. She was being thrown away. She wept for nights and could not eat.

  A week before the wedding, messengers came in the night, rousing the residence. Lady Noguchi summoned Kaede in rage.

  “You are very unlucky, Lady Shirakawa. I think you must be cursed. Your betrothed husband is dead.”

  The man, celebrating the coming end to his widowhood, had been drinking with friends, had had a sudden seizure, and had fallen stone dead into the wine cups.

  Kaede was sick with relief, but the second mortality was also held to be her fault. Two men had now died on her account, and the rumor began to spread that whoever desired her courted death.

  She hoped it might put everyone off marrying her, but one evening, when the third month was drawing to a close and the trees were putting out bright new leaves, Junko whispered to her, “One of the Otori clan has been offered as my lady’s husband.”

  They were embroidering, and Kaede lost the swaying rhythm of the stitching and jabbed herself with the needle, so hard that she drew blood. Junko quickly pulled the silk away before she stained it.

  “Who is he?” she asked, putting her finger to her mouth and tasting the salt of her own blood.

  “I don’t know exactly. But Lord Iida himself is in favor, and the Tohan keen to seal the alliance with the Otori. Then they will control the whole of the Middle Country.”

  “How old is he?” Kaede forced herself to ask next.

  “It’s not clear yet, lady. But age does not matter in a husband.”

  Kaede took up the embroidery again: white cranes and blue turtles on a deep pink background—a wedding robe. “I wish it would never be finished!”

  “Be happy, Lady Kaede. You will be leaving here. The Otori live in Hagi, by the sea. It’s an honorable match for you.”

  “Marriage frightens me,” Kaede said.

  “Everyone’s frightened of what they don’t know! But women come to enjoy it; you’ll see.” Junko chuckled to herself.

  Kaede remembered the hands of the guard, his strength, his desire, and felt revulsion rise in her. Her own hands, usually
deft and quick, slowed. Junko scolded her, but not unkindly, and for the rest of the day treated her with great gentleness.

  A few days later she was summoned to Lord Noguchi. She had heard the tramp of horses’ feet and the shouts of strange men as guests arrived, but had as usual kept out of the way. It was with trepidation that she entered the audience room, but to her surprise and joy, her father was seated in a place of honor, at Lord Noguchi’s side.

  As she bowed to the ground she saw the delight leap into his face. She was proud that he saw her in a more honorable position now. She vowed she would never do anything to bring him sorrow or dishonor.

  When she was told to sit up, she tried to take a discreet look at him. His hair was thinner and grayer, his face more lined. She longed for news of her mother and sisters; she hoped she would be granted some time alone with him.

  “Lady Shirakawa,” Lord Noguchi began. “We have received an offer for you in marriage, and your father has come to give his consent.”

  Kaede bowed low again, murmuring, “Lord Noguchi.”

  “It is a great honor for you. It will seal the alliance between the Tohan and the Otori, and unite three ancient families. Lord Iida himself will attend your wedding: Indeed, he wants it to take place in Inuyama. Since your mother is not well, a relative of your family, Lady Maruyama, is going to escort you to Tsuwano. Your husband is to be Otori Shigeru, a nephew of the Otori lords. He and his retainers will meet you in Tsuwano. I don’t think any other arrangements need to be made. It’s all very satisfactory.”

  Kaede’s eyes had flown to her father’s face when she heard her mother was not well. She hardly took in Lord Noguchi’s subsequent words. Later she realized that the whole affair had been arranged with the least possible inconvenience and expense to himself: some robes for travel and to be married in, possibly a maid to accompany her. Truly he had come out of the whole exchange well.

  He was joking now about the dead guard. The color rose in Kaede’s face. Her father’s eyes were cast down.

  I’m glad he lost a man over me, she thought savagely. May he lose a hundred more.

  Her father was to return home the following day, his wife’s illness preventing a longer stay. In his expansive mood, Lord Noguchi urged him to spend time with his daughter. Kaede led her father to the small room overlooking the garden. The air was warm, heavy with the scents of spring. A bush warbler called from the pine tree. Junko served them tea. Her courtesy and attentiveness lightened her father’s mood.

  “I am glad you have one friend here, Kaede,” he murmured.

  “What is the news of my mother?” she said, anxiously.

  “I wish it were better. I fear the rainy season will weaken her further. But this marriage has lifted her spirits. The Otori are a great family, and Lord Shigeru, it seems, a fine man. His reputation is good. He is well liked and respected. It’s all we could have hoped for you—more than we could have hoped.”

  “Then I am happy with it,” she said, lying to please him.

  He gazed out at the cherry blossoms, each tree heavy, dreaming in its own beauty. “Kaede, the matter of the dead guard . . .”

  “It was not my fault,” she said hastily. “Captain Arai acted to protect me. All the fault was with the dead man.”

  He sighed. “They are saying that you are dangerous to men—that Lord Otori should beware. Nothing must happen to prevent this wedding. Do you understand me, Kaede? If it does not go ahead—if the fault can be laid on you—we are all as good as dead.”

  Kaede bowed, her heart heavy. Her father was like a stranger to her.

  “It’s been a burden on you to carry the safety of our family for all these years. Your mother and your sisters miss you. I myself would have had things differently, if I could choose over again. Maybe if I had taken part in the battle of Yaegahara, had not waited to see who would emerge the victor but had joined Iida from the start . . . but it’s all past now, and cannot be brought back. In his way Lord Noguchi has kept his side of the bargain. You are alive; you are to make a good marriage. I know you will not fail us now.”

  “Father,” she said as a small breeze blew suddenly through the garden, and the pink and white petals drifted like snow to the ground.

  The next day her father left. Kaede watched him ride away with his retainers. They had been with her family since before her own birth, and she remembered some of them by name: her father’s closest friend, Shoji, and young Amano, who was only a few years older than she was. After they had left through the castle gate, the horses’ hooves crushing the cherry blossoms that carpeted the shallow cobbled steps, she ran to the bailey to watch them disappear along the banks of the river. Finally the dust settled, the town dogs quieted, and they were gone.

  The next time she saw her father she would be a married woman, making the formal return to her parents’ home.

  Kaede went back to the residence, scowling to keep her tears at bay. Her spirits were not improved by hearing a stranger’s voice. Someone was chatting away to Junko. It was the sort of chat that she most despised, in a little-girl voice with a high-pitched giggle. She could just imagine the girl, tiny, with round cheeks like a doll, a small-stepped walk like a bird’s, and a head that was always bobbing and bowing.

  When she hurried into the room, Junko and the strange girl were working on her clothes, making the last adjustments, folding and stitching. The Noguchi were losing no time in getting rid of her. Bamboo baskets and paulownia wood boxes stood ready to be packed. The sight of them upset Kaede further.

  “What is this person doing here?” she demanded irritably.

  The girl flattened herself to the floor, overdoing it, as Kaede had known she would.

  “This is Shizuka,” Junko said. “She is to travel with Lady Kaede to Inuyama.”

  “I don’t want her,” Kaede replied. “I want you to come with me.”

  “Lady, it’s not possible for me to leave. Lady Noguchi would never permit it.”

  “Then tell her to send someone else.”

  Shizuka, still facedown on the ground, gave what sounded like a sob. Kaede, sure that it was feigned, was unmoved.

  “You are upset, lady. The news of the marriage, your father’s departure . . .” Junko tried to placate her. “She’s a good girl, very pretty, very clever. Sit up, Shizuka: Let Lady Shirakawa look at you.”

  The girl raised herself but did not look directly at Kaede. From her downcast eyes, tears trickled. She sniffed once or twice. “Lady, please don’t send me away. I’ll do anything for you. I swear, you’ll never have anyone look after you better than me. I’ll carry you in the rain, I’ll let you warm your feet on me in the cold.” Her tears seemed to have dried and she was smiling again.

  “You didn’t warn me how beautiful Lady Shirakawa is,” she said to Junko. “No wonder men die for her!”

  “Don’t say that!” Kaede cried. She walked angrily to the doorway. Two gardeners were cleaning leaves off the moss, one by one. “I’m tired of having it said of me.”

  “It will always be said,” Junko remarked. “It is part of the lady’s life now.”

  “I wish men would die for me.” Shizuka laughed. “But they just seem to fall in and out of love with me as easily as I do with them!”

  Kaede did not turn around. The girl shuffled on her knees to the boxes and began folding the garments again, singing softly as she did it. Her voice was clear and true. It was an old ballad about the little village in the pine forest, the girl, the young man. Kaede thought she recalled it from her childhood. It brought clearly into her mind the fact that her childhood was over, that she was to marry a stranger, that she would never know love. Maybe people in villages could fall in love, but for someone in her position it was not even to be considered.

  She strode across the room and, kneeling next to Shizuka, took the garment roughly from her. “If you’re going to do it, do it properly!”

  “Yes, lady.” Shizuka flattened herself again, crushing the robes around her. “Thank you,
lady, you’ll never regret it!”

  As she sat up again she murmured, “People say Lord Arai takes a great interest in Lady Shirakawa. They talk of his regard for her honor.”

  “Do you know Arai?” Kaede said sharply.

  “I am from his town, lady. From Kumamoto.”

  Junko was smiling broadly. “I can say good-bye with a calm mind if I know you have Shizuka to look after you.”

  So Shizuka became part of Kaede’s life, irritating and amusing her in equal measures. She loved gossip, spread rumors without the least concern, was always disappearing into the kitchens, the stables, the castle, and coming back bursting with stories. She was popular with everyone and had no fear of men. As far as Kaede could see, they were more afraid of her, in awe of her teasing words and sharp tongue. On the surface she appeared slapdash, but her care of Kaede was meticulous. She massaged away her headaches, brought ointments made of herbs and beeswax to soften her creamy skin, plucked her eyebrows into a more gentle shape. Kaede came to rely on her, and eventually to trust her. Despite herself, Shizuka made her laugh, and she brought her for the first time into contact with the outside world, from which Kaede had been isolated.

  So Kaede learned of the uneasy relationships between the clans, the many bitter grudges left after Yaegahara, the alliances Iida was trying to form with the Otori and the Seishuu, the constant to-and-fro of men vying for position and preparing once again for war. She also learned of the Hidden, Iida’s persecution of them, and his demands that his allies should do the same.

  She had never heard of such people and thought at first that Shizuka was making them up. Then one evening Shizuka, uncharacteristically subdued, whispered to her that men and women had been found in a small village and brought to Noguchi in basket cages. They were to be hung from the castle walls until they died of hunger and thirst. The crows pecked at them while they were still alive.

  “Why? What crime did they commit?” she questioned.

  “They say there is a secret god, who sees everything and who they cannot offend or deny. They would rather die.”