by Lian Hearn
Two large black birds perched on the roof and peered down at Masachika with golden eyes. One of them made a derisive cackle and the other echoed it. They sounded uncannily human. Their excrement had whitened the gate and the ground below.
The luxury of the inner rooms tried to compensate for the external decay, but nothing could remove the stench from the river. The great shutters were all closed, presumably to keep it out, and the dim interior was lit by oil lamps, the smoke making the rooms even hotter.
There was a large hall within his residence, where usually the Emperor received visitors, sitting on a raised dais behind a thin, gilded bamboo screen, his courtiers ranked on the steps beneath him, but this time Yoriie indicated Masachika should follow him to the other side of the temple, where he had never been before.
The official stepped up on the veranda of another beautiful residence and called softly. “Lord Masachika is here.”
The door slid sideways, opened by unseen hands. Masachika dropped to his knees on the threshold and bowed his head to the ground.
There was a rich scent that he could not quite identify, and for a moment he thought with a surge of emotion that it must be the Emperor himself, kneeling on an embroidered silk cushion, not five paces from him. Then the figure removed the covering from its face and spoke. It was a woman.
“Lord Masachika, thank you for coming. I presume you know who I am?”
He could only guess, never having seen her before. “Our sovereign’s noble mother,” he said, raising his head briefly and then lowering it again. Natsue, the Emperor’s mother, sister to the Prince Abbot. “In what way can I serve you, Your Majesty?”
“Can I trust you to keep this conversation secret? Will you swear to me that you will speak of it to no one?”
He hesitated, aware of Yoriie just behind him, of the courtiers, the servants in the background, any one of whom might be a spy. Was it some kind of trap, some test of his loyalty? “I can have no secrets from Lord Aritomo,” he said guardedly.
“How is our dear lord and protector?” she said. “We have heard his recovery is slow.”
“Alas, slower than we all desire, but he does not allow his illness to impede him in any way. No man has a stronger will.”
“A strong will means nothing if Heaven is against you,” Lady Natsue replied. “My son and I are deeply concerned for the welfare of the country and the people. Is it possible that Lord Aritomo’s illness is a punishment of some sort?”
“I cannot speak for Heaven, Your Majesty. Let your priests do that.”
“But they have, Lord Masachika. Oh yes, indeed they have. We have heard rumors that Yoshimori might still be alive. People have the audacity to say he has greater legitimacy than my son.”
“We are doing our best to stamp out such treason,” Masachika murmured.
“Yet the drought continues, and with it the unrest. But Yoshimori’s death, if it were confirmed or, better still, publicly witnessed, would make my son the rightful emperor. Why has Lord Aritomo not achieved this?”
When Masachika did not reply she went on, “I believe his illness is making him less than capable.”
He dared to raise his eyes and stare at her. She held his gaze for a moment, smiling slightly. “I had thought … but you are a loyal man, Masachika. I will not trouble you further.”
Now he was intrigued. He very much wanted to know what she had thought. “Lord Aritomo does not need extra burdens,” he heard himself say. “I will keep whatever you want to confide in me to myself.”
“My son and I admire you,” Lady Natsue said. “We wonder if Lord Aritomo fully appreciates you. It is wrong that he should not trust you. The Emperor would like you to be closer to him. We are both worried about Lord Aritomo’s health. That is the only reason, you understand…”
That you are choosing me to replace him? The idea was preposterous, yet he was sure it was what she was hinting at. The heavy scent, the stifling room were making Masachika light-headed.
“It is a shame Lord Aritomo has no sons,” Lady Natsue said. “Were he to pass away there would be grave danger that the realm would once more be torn apart by war. We must make the succession clear.”
It was exactly what Masachika hoped for, but he did not trust himself to speak.
“My son is not happy with his circumstances. He is bored. He is intelligent, you know, and thinks deeply. He does not want to be someone else’s figurehead. He wants to feel he is truly the ruler of this great country, like the warrior emperors of ancient Shin. He needs loyal men like yourself to serve him, in positions of influence and power.” She spoke obliquely, leaving essential things unsaid. Masachika had to fill in the gaps himself—but was it truly her meaning or was he allowing his own desires to interpret her words?
“I am forever his servant as I am yours,” he said. “But what will you have me do? I have only a few men at my command…” There was no way he could mount a full-scale rebellion and he was not such a fool, or so ambitious, that he would hint at such an act, even if only to deny it.
“Do nothing for the time being,” Lady Natsue said. “Simply make sure Lord Aritomo’s sickness is well managed.”
Does not improve, he translated silently.
“And be ready for our instruction. That is all.”
He bowed again to her and prepared to leave, but she made a sign to her attendants. Two women shuffled forward silently and helped her stand. One of them took the shawl, the other adjusted her many-layered robe, pink lapped over green, green over red, and so on through twelve or more different colored layers. She was a tiny woman, made all the more tiny by the mass of clothes. Her hair reached to the ground, adding even more weight to bow her down. She had grown thin, but her skin was still white, her lips red. He remembered that in her youth she had been a beautiful woman who had won the deceased emperor’s heart.
“Follow me,” she said. “My son wishes to let his eyes rest on you.”
She moved smoothly and swiftly, as though not walking at all but carried by unseen beings. As she passed him, Masachika, still prostrate, smelled her perfume even more strongly. It seemed to suggest infinite possibilities.
He walked at a respectful distance behind her down the long corridor. It was open on one side, giving out onto a courtyard. In the center was a large fishpond fringed with reeds and lotus leaves. I must discuss all this with Tama, he thought, as he followed Lady Natsue into the private chambers of the Emperor.
After a short, enigmatic interview in which the Emperor spoke obliquely of poetry and the weather, Yoriie accompanied Masachika to the gate, where the birds again looked down at him and seemed to jeer. He even thought he heard one speak his name.
“What are those birds?” he asked. “Where did they come from?”
“The priests tell us they are werehawks,” Yoriie replied. “The eggs hatched recently. The deceased Prince Abbot used to own several, and they flew far and wide at his bidding, but none remained after his death and now no one knows how to train them.”
“What about Master Sesshin? He would know.”
“He is in his dotage and useless,” Yoriie said, his mouth curling in irritation. “He found their antics amusing and spoiled them, giving them food. I suppose he might have been able to command them, but he is no longer here.”
“I thought I had not heard him playing. Where is he?”
“Her Majesty disliked him and wanted him removed. Lord Aritomo’s men took him away.”
Masachika frowned. His intuition told him there was something strange going on, that he should look into it further, but then he thought of Asagao, longed to be with her, and could not bear any further delay.
5
MU
Take was a quick learner. It was as if the knowledge lay hidden within him and all Mu had to do was bring it to the surface. Mu was as fierce and as strict as the tengu had been with him, but Take accepted his discipline without question. He seemed to soak up everything; no challenge was too great. If he could n
ot master some technique with the sword, or some practice of meditation, he worked obsessively at it, until he understood what Mu was asking of him and could achieve it.
Mu admired his pupil and had become fond of him. Ima liked him, and the animals, fake and real, came to accept him. Take in return treated them all with respect and kindness.
“Everything’s going fine,” Mu told Tadashii on one of the tengu’s visits. Take had not yet met him, as the tengu always came after the boy had fallen into one of the short sleeps of exhaustion Mu allowed him. “Except I am worried about my daughter. She likes him too much. What will I do if she falls in love with him? We share the same father—the relationship is too close. He is a young warrior and she is the daughter of a fox woman. I don’t want her to be hurt.”
“I told you, I am no expert in these matters,” Tadashii said. “It’s easy enough to separate them. I’ll take Shikanoko’s son away with me for a while. And, since you will be visiting your brother soon, you can take Kinpoge with you. If she wants a man, let her marry one of her cousins.”
“I will be visiting my brother?” Mu repeated. “I can tell you, that’s not going to happen.”
“I believe it is,” Tadashii replied. “Where is Shikanoko’s son?”
“Asleep by the stream. You’re not taking him now?”
“No time like the present,” Tadashii said, unfurling his wings and flexing them. “He must be ready for us.”
He flew as silently as an owl to the stream, picked up the sleeping boy with one hand, called out a farewell, and disappeared above the treetops.
Even Mu, who had come to know Tadashii well over the years, was startled by this abrupt departure. Kinpoge, when she woke the next morning, was inconsolable.
“Where did the tengu take him? Why? When will he come back?” She was fighting back tears.
“It’s part of his training.” Mu tried to reassure her. “He will be fine. You remember Tadashii often took me away. Didn’t I always come back?”
“You are an adult. You can look after yourself. Take is only a boy,” she argued.
“Take can look after himself very well,” Ima told her. “He has grown up in the weeks he has been here.” He tried to put Kinpoge on his knee to comfort her, but she struggled from his grasp.
“You sent him away to spite me!” she accused her father angrily. “You don’t want us to be friends!”
“Maybe I don’t, but so what? You are too young to know what is best for you. And anyway, girls should obey their fathers.” Mu tried to maintain his composure. Only Kinpoge could unsettle him so much. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, seeking to enter the state of no attachment that made him the warrior of nothingness. He heard Kinpoge sigh in exasperation and walk away. He heard the clink of Ban’s bridle and the slight rush of air as the skull horse took off.
Tadashii is right. If she is to be married the only appropriate bridegroom will be one of her cousins.
A dog began to bark. Ima said, “Someone is coming.”
Mu heard the sounds at the same time: twigs breaking, leaves rustling, the four-beat step of horses. He opened his eyes.
Chika rode into the clearing on a tall brown horse, leading another smaller gray, laden with baskets. He was wearing a green hunting robe with a chrysanthemum crest, a bow on his back, a sword at his hip. Despite his mustache and beard, Mu recognized him at once, though years had passed since the day he had last seen him when Tsunetomo, the one-eyed warrior, had slung his youngest brother, Ku, unconscious, over the back of his horse and had ridden away with Kiku, Kaze, and Chika, leaving Mu destroyed in body and heart.
Mu let the memory reform in his mind, looking at it dispassionately, observing how he had recovered from it and how it had given him the strength he now possessed. At the same time, he studied Chika, seeing the boy he had been, the man he had become. Kiku, he thought, had given him something he needed, some love or approval. He supposed they were now brothers-in-law. Yet there was still an emptiness within him, some unfulfilled longing that was on the point of hardening into bitterness. Nothing would ever satisfy him, no honors or rewards would ever heal the wound dealt to the heart of a child.
It was frustrating to know there was so much he could teach Chika, and to recognize at the same time that Chika was unteachable.
I am thinking like a tengu! The idea surprised and shocked him.
Ima had walked toward the visitor. Chika dismounted, greeted him briefly, and handed the horses’ reins to him. Then he came close to Mu, standing somewhat defiantly in front of him.
Mu acknowledged him with a slight inclination of his head. “What are you doing here, Chika?”
His familiar tone seemed to annoy the other man. Mu could see he had become touchy and proud. Chika glanced around, surveying the clearing and the hut.
“Not much has changed, I see.”
“Not much,” Mu agreed. “And yet, everything.”
“And you?” Chika turned his gaze back to Mu. “You seem to have suffered no lasting harm.”
“I did and I did not.”
“It was I who saved your life, you know. I think I deserve some gratitude. Tsunetomo wanted to kill you.”
Mu bowed. “You were indeed the instrument of Heaven’s will.”
“So don’t forget, you are indebted to me,” Chika said.
“If there is a debt it will be paid,” Mu replied. “But by the same currency, if there is an offense it will be avenged.”
Chika stared at him blankly.
“What can I do for you?” Mu said.
“Let’s sit down and talk,” Chika said. “Perhaps Ima could make us some tea. I’ve brought leaves with me, if you have none. We import them from Shin. I also have presents for you and your daughter. The gray horse is yours. Ima, tether the horses and unpack the baskets. They are all gifts from Kiku, your brother.”
“I know very well who Kiku is,” Ima muttered under his breath as he set a pot of water to boil on the fire. The tea leaves were of the highest quality, fragrant and sharp-flavored. Among the gifts were green ceramic cups, much finer than anything Mu had ever drunk from.
“Your brother is deeply sorry for what happened,” Chika said, after taking a sip. “He asks you to forgive him. He wants to see you.”
“If he is so sorry, why did he not come himself?” Mu replied. The moment he spoke he regretted his pettiness. He was going to visit Kiku, he knew that: the tengu had said so. There was no need to pretend he needed persuading. On the other hand, it would do no harm to seem reluctant.
“You don’t know what Master Kikuta has become, or you wouldn’t suggest that,” Chika replied. “His empire is now so great he can’t just leave it to travel to the Darkwood.”
“Where is this empire?”
“In Kitakami, on the north sea.”
“From whence he summons his subjects into his presence,” Mu said, with a hint of sarcasm.
“He doesn’t consider you his subject, Mu.”
“Then what does he consider me?”
“His brother, whom he wronged.”
“Those were his words?”
“Exactly as he spoke them,” Chika said, with such sincerity Mu knew he was lying.
“I will come with you,” he said finally. “We should meet again, Kiku and I, and Kuro and Ku as well. What about you, Ima? Will you come, too?”
“Someone has to look after the animals,” Ima said, “and keep an eye on the hut. I have no desire to leave the Darkwood and go to Kitakami. Besides, Kiku did not send a horse for me.”
Was he hurt by the oversight? It was impossible to tell. As always, Ima’s calm expression gave no hint of his true feelings. Mu remembered what the tengu had said. Don’t feel sorry for him. He was pierced by an emotion that was not pity, though pity was included in it. I love him, he realized. Is this what brothers feel for each other?
“We’ll have to wait for Kinpoge to return,” he said.
“She’ll come back soon,” Ima said, smiling. “She t
ook off without eating; she’ll be hungry.”
As Ima predicted, Kinpoge appeared not long after. Chika produced presents for her: a robe of cream silk embroidered with celandines and aconites; sweet bean paste; a small bronze mirror into which she gazed in wonder; an exquisite carving of a horse, one foot raised, with a long mane and tail. Mu was astonished at the luxury and wealth that the gifts indicated and also at how well chosen they were, how apt for Kinpoge. He asked who had been responsible.
Chika addressed Kinpoge. “My sister, Kaze, chose them for you. Do you remember her? She knew you when you were a little girl. She always kept a fondness for you. She has many children herself—your cousins. You will meet them in Kitakami.”
“Can they do the things Father and I can do?” Kinpoge asked.
Chika looked at Mu, eyebrows raised.
“She means invisibility, the second self, that sort of thing,” Mu explained.
“Oh, they are all experts in that!” Chika laughed. “You never know who is who or where any of them are.”
Kinpoge whispered to her father, “I do want to meet them, but what about Take? He’ll come back, and we won’t be here.”
“Ima will tell him where we’ve gone. Anyway, we don’t know how long he will be away with the tengu. We’re not going forever, just for a visit. It will make time go faster until you see Take.” He knew he was not being completely truthful with her. The reality was that he hoped she would never meet Take again.
“Can I take Ban?” she asked.
“Ban is going to stay with me,” Ima said. “You are going to ride a real horse, that pretty gray.”
Kinpoge looked at the horse, with shining eyes. It seemed to notice her gaze, raised its head, and whickered to her. She went to it and patted its neck.
“Let’s get going,” Chika said. “It’s not yet noon. We’ve several hours of daylight left.”
Kinpoge ran to Ban and gave the skull horse a pat. It quivered all over and its eye sockets seemed to widen. Then she hugged her uncle. Mu embraced Ima, too.
“Take care of yourself,” he said.
As they rode away, he saw an old vixen on the edge of the forest. He did not know if she was Kinpoge’s mother, Shida. Was it possible that she was still alive? All that day he was aware that she followed them, but the next morning she was gone.
