by Hearn, Lian
Arai was a sensual man with a prodigious appetite for all life had to offer, and enough good taste to demand the best. He knew of the Tribe—had heard them spoken of—but thought they were some sort of guild, no more. Shizuka never told him that she had been born into the Tribe, was related to the Masters of both the Muto and the Kikuta families, had inherited many skills, and had been sent to Kumamoto as a spy.
Both families at that time were employed by Iida Sadamu as spies and assassins; and through them, Iida—determined to deal with his traditional enemies the Otori, and in particular with the man he had come to hate more than anyone else in the Three Countries, Otori Shigeru—kept a close watch on the movements and intentions of the Seishuu in the West.
In the early spring, Shizuka sought her lord’s permission to visit her relatives in Yamagata. She would have visited them without his permission, but it suited her to plead with Arai and then express her gratitude for his generosity. She had received a request to visit from her family there. She had much to report to her father’s younger brother, Muto Kenji, who was about to take over the Mastership of the family from her grandfather, and a personal matter to discuss with him, one that filled her with a mixture of joy and trepidation.
She went by the same route she had traveled with Arai when they had gone to Kibi to meet Shigeru, but she already knew that she would be returning by the more easterly road through Hofu and Noguchi. She did not know what the purpose of the mission was to be but suspected it would be some secret communication between Iida and the Noguchi family, something so secret it called for the most skilled of messengers.
She went straight to the main Muto house in Yamagata and was greeted with warmth and hardly given time to wash the dust from her feet before her uncle’s wife, Seiko, said, “Kenji wants to talk to you as soon as possible. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Shizuka followed her aunt into the interior of the house, through the shop where a cheerful older woman was packing soybean paste into wooden containers and a thin man was using an abacus and writing accounts on a scroll. The smell of fermenting beans pervaded the whole house. She could picture the vats in the sheds behind, weighted down with boulders to press the essence from the beans.
“Could I just have a mouthful of rice,” Shizuka said. “The journey has made me feel a little nauseated. If I eat something, it will pass.”
Seiko looked at her sharply and raised her eyebrows. “Do you have news for us?”
Shizuka tried to smile. “I should speak to my uncle first.”
“Yes, of course. Come and sit down. I’ll bring food and tea, and Kenji will come to you in a little while.”
Her uncle was twenty-six years of age, only eight years older than she. Like most of the Muto family, his appearance was unremarkable, his height average, his build deceptively slight. He managed to convey a mild, almost scholarly air and could discuss art and philosophy endlessly. He enjoyed wine and women but never got drunk and apparently never fell in love, though there were rumors that he had been enthralled by a fox-woman in his youth. For this reason he was sometimes known by the nickname the Fox. He had been married for several years to Seiko, who was from the Muto family, too, and they had one child—a girl of about eight years, Yuki. It was commonly held to be a disaster that Kenji had no more children, legitimate or illegitimate. It was certainly not due to any lack of activity on his part, though the old women of the Tribe muttered that he scattered his seed too liberally, that he should concentrate on one field and sow that. In him all the ancient skills of the Tribe seemed to have been concentrated to an unusually high degree, along with the equally important character traits of ruthlessness and cynicism, and for those traits not to be passed on to future generations was considered unfortunate in the extreme. Everyone’s hopes were pinned on Yuki, and she was spoiled, in particular by her father, though her mother was less indulgent. The girl was already showing signs of great talent, but she was headstrong and self-willed. Shizuka knew that it was feared she would not live long enough to have children of her own but would meet an early death through her own recklessness or carelessness. Talents were of no use unless they were linked with character and controlled by training.
Yuki came running in now, a tray in her hands.
“Careful, careful,” Shizuka said, taking it from her.
“Cousin!” the girl cried. “Welcome!”
Her face was vivid, dark-eyed and heavy-browed. Not beautiful, but full of life and energy. Her hair was thick, and she wore it plaited.
“Mother said you were hungry. We have been making rice balls. Here, eat. This one is salted plum, and this one dried octopus.”
Shizuka knelt and set the tray on the floor. Yuki knelt down beside her, waited with hardly concealed impatience for Shizuka to help herself, then took a rice ball and crammed it into her mouth. Almost immediately, she leaped to her feet again and announced that she would bring tea and, running from the room, collided with her mother. Seiko just managed to rescue the tray, laden with tea and cups; she placed it on the floor and gave her daughter a slap.
“Go and tell your father his niece is here,” she screeched. “And walk, like a girl should!
“She drives me mad,” Seiko said to Shizuka. “Sometimes I think she is possessed. Of course, her father spoils her. He wishes she was a boy and treats her like one. But she’s not going to grow up to be a man, is she? She’ll be a woman, and she has to know how to behave like one. Take my advice, Shizuka: If you have children, make sure you have sons.”
“If only one could choose,” Shizuka said, without smiling. She took the bowl of tea and drank.
“Seedlings can be thinned out,” Seiko commented, referring to the practice common among villagers of leaving newborn infants to die, especially if there were too many girls already.
“But all the children of the Tribe are valued,” Shizuka replied. “Girls as much as boys.” She felt suddenly cold and feared she might vomit; a year ago she had been given a brew of herbs by Seiko in this very house. All the fibers of her body trembled at the memory.
“If they are talented. And obedient.” Seiko sighed. They heard Yuki’s footsteps, pounding like a pony across the yard. The little girl stopped abruptly and stepped out of her sandals onto the boards of the veranda with exaggerated decorum. She came into the room, bowed gracefully to Shizuka, and said, using formal language, “My father will attend on you presently.”
“There,” Seiko said approvingly. “You can behave nicely when you want to. Be like your cousin. See how pretty Shizuka looks, how elegant her clothes are. Do you know, she has captured the heart of a mighty warrior with her charms. You would never know she has the ruthlessness and the fighting skills of a man!”
“I wish I were a boy!”Yuki said to Shizuka.
“To tell you the truth, I wished the same thing at your age,” Shizuka replied. “But if it is our fate to be born into a woman’s body, we must make the best of it. Be thankful you were born into the Tribe. If you study and train hard, you will have a better life than any woman of the warrior class.” And if you are obedient and do exactly as you are told.
“I am to go away this summer,” Yuki said, her eyes glowing. “I am going to my grandparents in the secret village.”
“You will have to behave there!” her mother told her. “Your father will not be there to run to every time you don’t get your own way.”
“It will be the making of her,” Shizuka said, remembering the years she herself had spent in the Tribe village, Kagemura, in the mountains behind Yamagata, developing her talents and learning all the skills of the Tribe. “She has a great future ahead of her.”
Even as she spoke, she wished she could take back the words. She felt a premonition, as if she had tempted fate. She feared that Yuki’s life would indeed be short.
“Be careful,” she said, as she heard her uncle step onto the veranda.
“She doesn’t know the meaning of the word,” Seiko grumbled, but she took Yuki’s hand g
ently and caressed her before leading her from the room. In that moment Shizuka saw that Seiko, for all her criticism, loved her daughter as deeply as her husband did.
“Welcome, Shizuka. It’s been a long time,” her uncle said, using the customary greeting perfunctorily. “You are well, I hope.” His gaze swept over her and she felt he saw everything about her. She gazed at him in the same way, her eyes trained to detect the slightest changes in expression and demeanor, to read the language of the body, particularly hard in Kenji’s case as he was so adept at disguising his own self and assuming any number of other roles.
“We’d better go within,” he said. “No one will overhear us or disturb us there.”
There was a concealed room in the center of the house, behind a false wall released by turning one of the decorated bosses in the rafters. Kenji lifted the wall aside effortlessly and replaced it from the inside. It fell into place with hardly a sound. The room was narrow, the light dim. Kenji sat cross-legged on the floor, and she knelt opposite him. He drew a small package from the breast of his robe and placed it on the floor.
“This is an exceptionally important document,” he said. “I’ve just brought it myself from Inuyama. It contains a letter from Sadamu to Noguchi Masayoshi. I’m not supposed to know its exact contents, but naturally I’ve opened it and read it. You are to give it to Kuroda Shintaro and to no one else. He will hand it on to Lord Noguchi.”
Shizuka bowed slightly. “Am I allowed to know what the message is?”
He did not answer her directly. “How are things between you and Arai?”
“I believe he loves me,” she said in a low voice. “He trusts me completely.”
“It’s very satisfactory,” Kenji said. “Of course, no one knew this would happen when you were sent to Kumamoto, but it couldn’t have worked out better. Well done!”
“Thank you, Uncle.”
“And you? I trust you are not going to lose your head over him?”
“Maybe there is some danger,” she admitted. “It’s impossible not to respond when such a man loves you.”
Kenji snorted disparagingly. “Be careful. He may turn against you as suddenly as he fell for you, especially if he feels deceived or affronted by you. He is as big a fool as any other warrior.”
“No, he is not a fool,” she replied. “He is quick-tempered and rash, but his mind is astute and he is very brave.”
“Well, this flirtation with Otori Shigeru has irritated Sadamu enormously. You’d better warn Arai to dissociate himself from the Otori and make a clear declaration of support for the Tohan, or he’ll find himself dispossessed this time next year, if he’s still alive.”
“So Iida will fight the Otori this year?”
“Any time now. He will move into the east of the Middle Country as soon as the Chigawa river subsides—three or four weeks by my reckoning. Your report last autumn of Shigeru’s meetings with Arai and Lady Maruyama gave Sadamu the excuse he needed to attack without warning. He’ll declare that the Otori provoked him and were themselves preparing to attack the Tohan. Everyone knows Shigeru has been mustering armed forces for the last year.” He tapped the package. “But your report made Sadamu think about the West and South. He first made advances to Shirakawa, hoping to have him host the Tohan for a rear attack, but Shirakawa’s a vacillator and will wait and see which way the wind blows before he makes up his mind. Iida needs a firm ally in the South. Hence this letter.” Kenji smiled almost with glee, but his voice held an uncharacteristic note of regret. “How I love treachery,” he said softly. “Especially among the warrior class, who talk so much about loyalty and honor!”
“Yet people talk of Lord Shigeru as an honorable man. Have you ever met him?”
She had never seen Kenji look uncomfortable before. He frowned and tapped his leg with his hand impatiently. “As a matter of fact, I have. There is something about him. . . . Well, there’s no point talking about it.”
“I swore to Lord Otori that I would not betray him, but I did,” Shizuka said. She wanted to say more but did not know how to express her feelings, indeed was not even sure what those feelings were. She knew Otori Shigeru was doomed by the letter that lay on the floor beside her, and she could not help but be saddened. She had liked what she saw of him; people spoke highly of him and she knew many in both Yamagata and Chigawa pinned their hopes for a safe and peaceful existence on him. Their lives would be far more wretched under the Tohan.
She had entered his world and had made an oath to him according to the codes of that world. He was not to know that she was from the Tribe, who held no oaths binding, who answered only to themselves. Her betrayal was not great, perhaps, but it made her uncomfortable nonetheless. She had been obedient to the Tribe, but if she had been able to follow her own leanings . . .
Kenji was watching her closely. “Don’t become seduced by warriors,” he said. “I know that their beliefs and their lives have a certain appeal. All that talk of honor and character, physical and moral courage, the clans, the ancient houses with the crests and swords and heroes. Most warriors are thugs and bullies, usually cowards: the ones who aren’t cowards are in love with death.”
“The Tribe sent me to live among them,” she said. “To a certain extent, I have to take on their beliefs.”
“Pretend to take them on,” Kenji corrected her. “We expect your obedience to us above everything.”
“Of course,” she replied. “Uncle, that is always without question.”
“So I believe,” he said. “But you are still young and in a dangerous situation. I know you have the skills to survive, but only if your emotions are not involved.” He paused and then went on: “Especially if you bear Arai a child.”
She was startled despite herself. “Is it obvious? I have told no one yet, not even Arai. I thought I should tell you first, in case . . .”
She knew if it did not suit the Tribe, they would make her get rid of it, as they had before. Her aunt Seiko, like all Tribe women, had many ways to abort unwanted children. She would be given the brew immediately; the child would be gone by nightfall. She felt the muscles of her belly clench in fear.
“Normally, as you know, we are not in favor of mixing the blood,” Kenji said. “But I can see many advantages in your having this child. It will certainly give you a lasting relationship with Arai, even after your passion for each other wanes—it will, it will, believe me—but, more important, the child may inherit your talents and the Tribe has need of them.” He sighed. “We seem to be dying out slowly. Fewer children are born every year, and only a handful of them show any real talent. Deaths of people we can’t afford to lose—your father, Kikuta Isamu. Isamu had no children, your father and myself only one. We must not get rid of any more children; any Tribe blood must be maintained. So have this child; have others. Arai will be delighted, and so will the Tribe—as long as you remember where your loyalties lie and whom the child ultimately belongs to.”
“I am happy,” she said. “I really want it.”
For a moment a look of affection flickered on his face, softening it. “When will it be born?”
“At the beginning of the tenth month.”
“Well, look after yourself. After this mission I’ll try not to ask anything too difficult of you. Just the usual pillow talk from your warrior, which is obviously not disagreeable to you!”
As Shizuka took the package from the floor and tucked it inside her robe, she said, “What happened to Isamu? No one ever speaks of him.”
“He’s dead,” Kenji replied shortly. “That’s all I know.”
She knew from his tone there was no point in asking any more. She put the matter aside, but she did not forget it.
“Where shall I deliver the letter?” she said.
“You can stay in Noguchi at the inn near the bridge, run by the Kuroda family. Kuroda Shintaro will contact you there. Give it to no one but him. Now there’s another terrible waste. Shintaro, the most talented assassin in the Three Countries, is also wit
hout children.”
