by Lian Hearn
* * *
A week later they were in Kitakami. Autumn came early to the northern city and already red leaves were falling and a cold wind blew off the gray sea. Kiku’s residence resembled a fortress in its size and defenses, and was high on a slope on the northeast side of the city, with watchtowers that looked out to the north and the south, along the course of the river that linked Lake Kasumi to the sea. Beyond that, far in the distance, lay the capital, Chika said, adding he had never been there. Mu had flown above it, had seen its lord in his sickness, but he did not mention this.
The river cut a narrow valley through mountains that rose sheer from the shoreline, their peaks already white with snow. Its estuary formed the port, the only secure harbor on the Northern Sea. Whoever controlled Kitakami controlled trade with Shin and Silla, and the lands of the barbarians in the north. And, from the first impression of Kiku’s home, it was clear to Mu who that was.
The imposing gates on the west side stood open, but he could see how they would close at a moment’s notice, making the place impregnable. Guards stood in front of them, acknowledging Chika as they rode in. They all had some deformity: a missing eye, hand, or leg, twisted limbs, scarred features. Yet Mu was aware of hidden abilities that compensated for their handicaps.
Kinpoge had sat behind him most of the way, except when pain from the unfamiliar act of riding forced him to walk for a while, and she took the reins. She liked being in control of the horse and begged him not to lead her but to let her canter after Chika. Now she slid down from the gray’s back and was immediately surrounded by a clutch of children of all ages, chattering at her, pelting her with questions.
A man came to lead the horses away, a couple of large dogs at his heels. He smiled shyly at Mu, who realized it was his youngest brother, Ku. They embraced, Ku awkward and seemingly embarrassed.
“You can talk later,” Chika said. “I’m sure Ku is very busy and Kiku is waiting for you.”
Mu raised his eyebrows, but Ku merely bowed deferentially without meeting his gaze. It was obvious that, as the tengu had told him, Kiku had made Ku his servant.
Chika urged him forward.
“Stay with your cousins,” he told Kinpoge, who looked as if she was going to follow them. “They’ll take you to meet your aunt Kaze. You’ll meet your uncles later.”
Apart from the men at the gate, Mu’s sharp hearing told him others were concealed in the guardhouse, and when they were shown into Kiku’s presence, he knew there were more, in alcoves and behind curtains around the room.
He is afraid I’ll attack him! The idea amused him. He did not often need the cane to walk with, but he had brought it with him and now leaned on it, a little more than was necessary.
From the veranda they entered an anteroom where screen doors slid open silently to allow them into the main hall. It looked out over the cliffs to the sea, and the restless surge of the waves below was a constant background noise. On this bright autumn day the sea was calm, its color deep indigo. In the distance, several white-fringed islands could be seen. One had the red bird-perch gate of a shrine; the others seemed uninhabited except by seabirds. Twisted pines had been carved into grotesque shapes by the northeasterly wind. Mu tried to imagine what it would be like in winter, when snow covered the town and gales lashed the fortress.
The room was spacious, sparsely furnished, the floor dark polished cedar, the shutters cypress, their inner surfaces carved with scenes of life in Kitakami. One side was covered with woven wall hangings of exotic landscapes, dragons, and sea serpents.
Kiku sat at the far end, his back to the sea. The brightness of the light made it hard to see his face. On his right was his brother Kuro, on his left the warrior Tsunetomo, who had tied Mu up and left him crippled. Both Kuro and Tsunetomo had mustaches and beards, unkempt like wild men, but Kiku was clean shaven. Mu studied all three of them, glad to realize he felt nothing, no anger, no resentment.
Chika had entered the room after him and now went down on one knee, bowing his head low. Mu remained standing. To his surprise, both Kiku and Tsunetomo placed their hands palms down on the matting and, leaning forward, touched their foreheads to the floor. After a moment’s hesitation, Kuro followed them.
Chika shuffled forward and indicated a silk cushion. Mu sat down, cross-legged. Kiku raised his head. Tsunetomo and Kuro stayed low.
“Welcome, brother,” Kiku said. His voice had changed, had become deeper and more cultured, yet the same hard edge was still there and still menacing. His eyes were gleaming, but at the same time expressionless. His skin had lost its copper tone and was pale, as though he rarely went outside. “I am very glad to see you again. I believe our old friend Chika has conveyed to you my deep regret for the past.”
Mu wondered how genuine he was and how much of it was part of some deep, elaborate scheme. What were his true intentions? At any moment, his brother might make a signal and the unseen guards would emerge and fall on him. He felt his right hand edge closer to the cane he had placed beside him. They might not be expecting to fight a man trained by a tengu.
The movement, slight as it was, did not escape Kiku. “I can understand that you don’t trust us. We treated you very badly.”
Kuro raised his head and said, “Not me. I wasn’t there. I don’t see why I should have to grovel.”
Kiku made a gesture to silence him. “Those old rituals demand a high price. We have all paid it in different ways. But it was worth it. You will see the power I have drawn from the skull. Gessho was an extraordinary man.”
“In other words, you would do the same thing again,” Mu said, more amused than angry.
“Well, I suppose I would. I am glad we can be honest with each other. Tsunetomo, you may sit up now. My brother understands, and to understand is to forgive.” He addressed Mu again. “Really, Tsunetomo has nothing to apologize for. He agreed to serve me, he was obeying me. Any offense was mine alone. But I thought you would like to see such a warrior prostrate before you. It is quite a pleasing sight, isn’t it? I never tire of it. From now on, you and I are as one, in his eyes and the eyes of all his men. You only have to say the word and they will grovel at your feet. They will thrust their swords into their own throats if you command it.”
“Why have you summoned me here?” Mu said.
“So we are reconciled?” Kiku exclaimed. “Come closer so I can embrace you.”
“We needn’t go that far,” Mu returned.
“It’s what people do!” Kiku’s face was more animated now, as though he, too, found their situation amusing. “We embrace to show we are reconciled, and as long as one of us doesn’t take advantage of the hug to stab the other in the back, we are friends, from now on, as brothers should be.”
Mu began to laugh. He understood Kiku perfectly, as no one else ever would. He went forward and they embraced briefly. As he held the thin, wiry frame, so similar to his own, he felt he could read every thought that arose within his brother’s mind.
“Let’s drink!” Kiku clapped his hands to summon servants and wine.
After the first cups were filled and emptied, Kiku told Chika and Tsunetomo to leave, and take the guards with them. The wall hangings rippled as though a mild earthquake had struck, and an assortment of warriors poured out. Like the guards at the gate, many had limbs missing, a leg made from carved wood, a metal hook in place of a hand. Some had lost part of their skull and covered the wounds with a variety of masks, some had terrible scars or had suffered burns that left the skin seared white. Each made a reverent bow to Mu as they filed past him.
“That’s just a small part of them,” Kiku said. “Aren’t they hideous? My crippled army. Hideous in the eyes of men but beautiful to me. I like looking at their scars and their injuries and contemplating their courage and their endurance, all now dedicated to my service.”
“How do you do it?” Mu asked. He couldn’t help admiring Kiku’s effrontery.
“Men are not hard to manipulate,” Kiku replied, pouring more wine
into Mu’s cup. “Especially warriors, who are so proud and so single-minded. Loyalty and courage are everything to them. Give them the opportunity to risk their lives a couple of times a month and they are happy.”
“But who do they fight against?” Mu said, draining the cup and holding it out for a refill.
“That’s a very good question. Now that we’ve wiped out the bandits on land and subdued the pirates at sea, we are running out of opponents. My cripples are getting restless. Their old wounds ache at night and remind them of ancient grudges. Cleaning up a pack of outlaws is all very well, but what they yearn for is the chance to confront those in whose service they got those injuries and who then disowned them: the Miboshi in Miyako, the Kakizuki in Rakuhara.”
“You cannot take on both those forces,” Mu said.
“I think I can,” Kiku replied, “though it would be easier if I had a warrior as a figurehead and a cause.”
Kuro laughed loudly and emptied his cup.
“The warrior would be Shikanoko,” Mu said, after a pause, “and the cause the true emperor?”
“Exactly!”
“But … Shika has even more reason to hate you than I have. If it had not been for you, the Princess would not have died.”
“That really was not my fault,” Kiku said. “It was Kuro’s snake.”
“Well, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told you I was sorry,” Kuro said sulkily.
“I know, I know,” Kiku said. “But wait till Shikanoko sees what we can offer him. The chance to fulfill his destiny, just as Chika’s father dreamed.”
“Is that what this is for?” Mu said. “You want to impress Shika and win his respect, and his gratitude?”
For the first time a vulnerable expression came over Kiku’s face. “He is one of our fathers,” he said. “He brought us up and taught us everything. Now that I have children of my own I understand what that means. I want to see him and thank him. What’s wrong with that?”
“Shika has a son,” Mu said. “A fully human boy, the child of the Princess. I am acquainted with him. He is a true warrior.”
Kiku had gone pale. His hand as he refilled his cup trembled. “I did not know that,” he murmured, and fell silent for a long time.
He is jealous, Mu thought. He mocks people for their emotions, but he is no more immune to them than I was, and still am. Then he wondered if Kiku’s emotion was genuine, if he were not acting out something he had learned in order to hide his true motives. What did he truly want from Shika?
“You are deluding yourself if you think Shika is going to treat us as sons,” he said. “If he does return it will be as a warrior, and no warrior family will admit to the taint of blood like ours, Old People from the Spider Tribe, born from cocoons.”
Kiku leaned forward and spoke in a hiss. “I have made my own tribe. I can make or break the mightiest of warlords, even the Emperor. No one is safe from me and mine. My power is based on fear and on wealth—there are no forces stronger than these. Tell Shikanoko I will place all this at his service.”
“You want me to find Shika in the Darkwood?”
“If you don’t go I will send Chika, and the outcome may be very different.”
“What do you mean?”
Kiku whispered, “Chika hates Shikanoko.”
Mu was thinking of the vision he had seen when he flew above the land, as if it had been a scroll or a Go board. All the pieces were in their positions, and flames were charring the edges. It was time to act. It was his turn now to be a player and all his training had prepared him for this. The tengu had already told him what he was to do: Join forces with your brother, find Shikanoko, and offer him these forces so the Emperor might be restored and Heaven placated.
“I will go and find him,” he said.
6
TAKEYOSHI
Take woke, the wind rushing against his face. He thought he was still asleep, for he often flew like this in his dreams. But this was many times more real and more vivid. Something gripped him firmly and painfully by the shoulders, the chill air brought tears to his eyes, and, though his vision was blurred, he could see enough to perceive below him the treetops, ranges, and rocky crags of the Darkwood.
He had no idea what had happened to him, and for a moment terror churned in his stomach. He had put all his trust in Kinpoge’s father, setting aside his misgivings, above all his suspicions of the sorcery in which the hut was steeped, and accepting the casual spells that Mu and Kinpoge used daily, even though at times they made his skin crawl. He had learned to conquer his distaste and discern the magic, though he would never be able to use it himself. Now he feared Mu had betrayed him, had handed him over to some evil being, maybe like the snake woman he had met in the forest, or had himself been overcome in some epic struggle that he, Takeyoshi, had slept through and in which he was the prize.
He tried to banish his fear and assess the situation, as Mu had taught him.
I am alive, he thought, but I have no weapons. The first thing I must do is arm myself.
Blinking hard, he began to search the terrain below for something suitable. At the same time, he was noticing landmarks, trying to orient himself. It was early evening, the moon rising in the east, the evening star just over the jagged mountain peaks. They—he and whatever creature had him in its grip—were heading north. He could see the distinctive cone shape of Kuroyama, wreathed in white-steam clouds. In the west the sky was still pink and orange from the setting sun and the clouds flamed like dragons.
Was it a dragon that carried him? The wings that beat above his head, the gripping claws, suggested it might be. He tried to turn his head to look and caught a glimpse of blue cloth. Leggings? Surely no dragon ever wore leggings, blue or any other color.
A harsh, deep voice sounded in his ear. “Don’t wriggle. I don’t want to drop you!”
He caught a whiff of its smell, meaty, peppery. So it could speak, and it did not want to drop him?
The tops of the trees came closer. A flock of roosting green pigeons flew out, startled. Take drew up his knees instinctively as they cleared the canopy. The ground rushed up toward him. There was a huge beating of wings as the creature slowed and hovered. He felt it release its grip. He had already spotted the rock he was going to use. He rolled in a forward somersault, grabbed the rock, stood, gauged the distance, and threw, all in one rapid movement.
“Ow!” the creature exclaimed as the rock caught it in the chest. It reached over its shoulder and drew the long sword from the scabbard on its back. Take did not want to reveal how much the sword impressed him. Leaping backward, his eyes not leaving his opponent, he reached behind him for a branch he had noticed in his first forward roll. He picked it up and stood, taking in clearly, for the first time, the sight of the tengu—for he realized that was what it must be.
It looked furious. Its eyes were bulging, its shock of dirty white hair stood on end, and its wings thrashed above its head. He thought steam was even coming out of its nostrils, but possibly it was just its breath in the chill mountain air.
He gripped the branch more firmly, remembering Kinpoge’s warning. Be careful what you hope for.
The sword came whistling down and cut the branch clean in half, sending a jarring pain through Take’s right hand. He dropped the branch and jumped backward to avoid the sword’s returning stroke.
“There,” the tengu grunted. “I could have got you there and there.” The sword struck out, and again, in the direction of Take’s throat. “You’re quick, though, that’s good, and strong. I didn’t expect you to be able to throw that rock so hard and so far. Now, shift your weight and come forward, under the blade. If you are unarmed, your hands and feet, even your head, must become weapons. Go for the soft parts, the eyes, the throat, the privates.”
Take stood still, his breath panting. He held up his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to attack you. I didn’t know who you were.”
“And now you do?” the tengu said, amused.
“
You are the tengu who taught my teacher,” Take said. “And I hope you are going to teach me.”
“Well, maybe I am. Yes, it looks like that’s the way it’s going to be.” The tengu sheathed the sword. “You can call me Tadashii.”
He opened his red jacket and inspected his hairy chest. “Look at that!” he exclaimed. “You gave me a bruise! I haven’t had a bruise like that for a century or more. Oh, I am going to enjoy myself! But tell me, how did you get to be so strong?”
“I’ve been an acrobat all my life,” Take replied. “I grew too tall to be a tumbler, but I’ve carried adult men on my shoulders, two or three at a time, for years.”
“Hmm.” Tadashii looked pleased. He took Take’s hands and looked at them. “Great strength here, too. I suppose you can climb?”
“As well as any monkey,” Take said.
Tadashii pointed at a pine that rose, bare trunked, about sixty or seventy feet tall. It was the last in a line of trees that stopped abruptly on the edge of an old lava flow.
“Climb that!”
Take went to it and shinned up, using his hands, clasped behind the trunk, and his strong toes. When he got to the branches he continued to climb. Above him rose the huge mass, the cloud-fringed cone, of Kuroyama. There was a strong smell of sulfur, and steam rose from vents in the ground. It was how he imagined the entrance to hell. He could see Tadashii far below, and waved to him. Then, smelling smoke and hearing voices, he looked in the other direction. Beneath the sulfur was a rank odor of meat, and some animal scent, like a fox’s den.
He could see down into a space between the trees where a group of creatures like Tadashii gathered around several large flat tree stumps. Torches lit their long noses, their beaks, their furled wings. He could hear the clack and rattle of stones.
The branches parted as Tadashii flew up to sit beside him.
“What are they doing?” Take whispered.
