The Tengu's Game of Go

by Lian Hearn

  He caught up with the procession, dismounted, and walked beside the palanquin.

  “Not long now, lord,” he murmured. “We are nearly there.”

  * * *

  The west gate stood open. Tama waited inside, with her women and retainers. Masachika contemplated their appearance with pleasure and pride—the women’s layered robes in autumn hues, the men’s new brilliant green hunting robes. Scarlet maples framed the view of the mountains in the east, and mandarins on a small tree by the steps glowed orange. The gardens and the house were immaculate, not a single stray leaf or unwelcome insect to be seen. The weather was perfect, neither clouds nor breeze, just the blue sky fading into pink and violet as the sun set and the first stars appeared. He felt a surge of satisfaction and, of course, gratitude to Tama, but he could not help searching for Asagao among the women.

  They all bowed to the ground and murmured expressions of welcome, as Aritomo was helped from the palanquin. He stumbled a little but then regained his balance, acknowledging the greetings with a slight nod. Masachika had left his horse at the gate, and had not failed to bow to Sesshin’s eyes and the gateposts. Now he came forward, not offering an arm to help his lord lest that should offend him, but alert to any sign of weakness or dizziness.

  “Masachika,” Aritomo said, turning back. “That is the gate with the famous eyes, is it not?”

  “It is, lord.”

  “Ah,” Aritomo sighed. “To think I have talked with their owner. You would not guess what I have learned from him.”

  He looked at Masachika with his own unfathomable eyes. Masachika tried to make his expression opaque, fearing Aritomo could see all his desires and ambitions.

  “I thought I heard voices as I passed under the gate.” Aritomo was deeply interested in supernatural phenomena. “Do the eyes have the power of speech as well?”

  “There are guardian spirits within the gateposts,” Masachika said. “They are entirely benevolent.”

  “They sounded agitated,” Aritomo said, and stepped onto the veranda. A stool had been prepared for him and maids came forward to wash the dust from his feet. He did not say more but gave Masachika another searching look. The caged werehawks were squabbling and shrieking.

  Masachika bowed again, and as he rose, was approached by one of Tama’s women who whispered that her mistress had gone farther into the garden, and this would be a good time for them to talk. She emphasized her words in a meaningful way that irritated him. All he wanted now was to be with Asagao. She was not with the women on the veranda, but he thought he could hear snatches of music from the pavilion where she was staying. Sighing heavily, he went to the lakeside where Tama was pacing to and fro.

  “Don’t walk around in that unattractive manner,” he said. “You look less than calm.”

  “Calm?” she retorted. “I hardly know the meaning of the word anymore.”

  “What’s the matter? Everything’s going fine. The house, the garden, look magnificent. Come with me to Lord Aritomo, so he can congratulate you as I am sure he—”

  She did not wait for him to finish. “The spirits are very upset. I’ve been doing all I can to placate them.”

  “That’s the last thing we need! What have you done that’s annoyed them?”

  “I? I have done nothing. It is you who has outraged them. Ever since you came here with that girl…”

  “Don’t start on that again,” Masachika said, affecting a weary tone. “I’ve told you, she means nothing to me.”

  “Then send her away.” Tama stared at him defiantly.

  “I won’t do that. I need her for the entertainment I have arranged. The rest of the troupe will arrive tomorrow. We passed them on the road. I made them hide behind the bank; it was very amusing! We will hold the first hunt, and the entertainers will be ready in the evening, when we return. Do we have enough torches, and enough to drink?”

  “Everything is prepared, Masachika. You don’t need to supervise me, and don’t try to change the subject. You, of all people, should know that the spirits should not be treated lightly. We made a vow before them, and I have had to make others to convince them that you are not lying. I have staked my life on your sincerity. I promised, if you proved untrue, I would kill myself. Look, you know the dagger I always carry with me?” She brought it out from her sash. “I am ready to use it at any time.”

  “Don’t try to bully me, Tama. I will not be dictated to, by you or anyone. There is no need for such dramatic behavior. I have told you, the girl means nothing to me, but even if she did, what of it? Men take mistresses and concubines—why shouldn’t I? It is expected in my position. You should consider yourself fortunate I don’t have a whole string of them.” He added spitefully, “If I did, one of them might give me a son.”

  “If you came to me more often, I would give you children,” she said in a low voice. “And a string of women would be preferable to one who has won your heart.”

  “You are completely unreasonable,” he said. “And don’t start weeping. Your tears repulse me and you must not appear before our visitors with red eyes. Go inside and take control of yourself. And then get on with the many things that need to be done. It is almost dark. We must prepare for the feast.”

  “I have given you everything, Masachika, and I will take it all away from you.” She looked at the dagger in her hand, with an almost tender smile. “Just one word in Aritomo’s ear…”

  “There is a special place in Hell reserved for women who betray their husbands,” he replied. He did not feel in the least threatened by her. If anything, her outburst proved the strength of her love for him. But he was not going to reveal to Aritomo’s men how much she had always dominated him, nor was he going to yield to her. He did not believe for a moment that she would kill herself, or that she would divulge his secret conversation with the Emperor’s mother. As for the spirits, he would deal with them in the morning, reprimand them and make sure they knew whom they had to obey.

  He watched Tama walk away and, when she had disappeared into the house, went to the pavilion and ran across the stepping-stones, calling Asagao’s name.

  * * *

  A wide plain lay to the southwest of Matsutani, between the forested mountains and the rice fields. It had no water, so was useless for cultivation, but it was a fine place for both hunting and hawking. Tama had arranged for more than fifty farmers to come from the surrounding villages to act as beaters for the hunt. From dawn the next day their shouts, drumming, and the clash of cymbals echoed through the Darkwood, as they drove animals into the range of the hunters. It was dangerous work—the men were armed only with staves, one broke a leg falling from a high cliff, two were gored by wild boars that came hurtling out of the bushes—but also enjoyable. They would be rewarded with some of the meat and it was a break from the daily toil of wresting a living from the land. The tasks of autumn awaited. The rice had been harvested and women were threshing and winnowing the husks, and shelling beans into huge baskets. Manure had to be spread on the fields, the woods close to the village coppiced for flexible branches that would be used in building and basket making, rice straw dried to make sandals, reeds cut for thatching, firewood gathered for the long weeks of snow. Beating for the hunt was a holiday.

  The warriors wore chaps of fur or deerskin and hunting robes stained with persimmon sap, or in colors of green and cream, printed with autumn flowers and grasses. The horses’ reins were dyed blue or purple, the saddles decorated with silver lacquer, the girths braided with gold thread.

  As they galloped over the plain, bringing down the panicked animals, Aritomo watched from the back of his dapple gray horse. He wore bearskin chaps and a hat of silk, with a motif of pines, a compliment to Masachika, to whom he had entrusted his sword and his bow. His falconers sat on horses behind him, each with a hawk on his wrist.

  A little farther back stood a huge man, holding the white banner of the Miboshi.

  Masachika thought the lord looked better than he had for several weeks.
The fresh air, the new surroundings, the excitement of the hunt had made the blood flow more strongly through his veins. His spirits seemed high, too; he was in a generous mood and the successful hunters were rewarded with gifts of land of hundreds of acres.

  Masachika wore a hunting robe of light willow green, patterned with flocks of plovers. His chaps were gray wolf skins and his hunting arrows were fletched with tawny and white hawk feathers. His bow was bound with wisteria vine and he rode his favorite tall black horse, Sumi. His sedge hat was lined with pale blue silk.

  Sumi was restless, pawing the ground and shaking his head frequently. His skin twitched with every shout and every clash of the cymbals. Masachika was cramped and uncomfortable. He turned his irritation onto Lord Aritomo, who sat without moving, and allowed it to fester into bitter anger. As the host, he was obliged to leave the best opportunities to his guests, but it riled him to see so many of them distinguish themselves and be rewarded, while he had to content himself with holding Lord Aritomo’s weapons.

  He had to watch while one man killed a boar, bringing it down right in front of Lord Aritomo; another returned in the late afternoon, a huge black bear, with thick fur and gleaming teeth, slung over his horse’s back. He presented it to Lord Aritomo and it was graciously accepted, and a large estate at the foot of the High Cloud Mountains granted in payment. Masachika added words of congratulations that nearly choked him.

  When the sun began to descend toward the west, Aritomo indicated he would like to return. A conch shell was blown to signify the end of the hunt and his warriors began to gather around him for the ride back. The men’s faces were flushed with excitement; the horses breathed heavily, their flanks heaving, white with sweat.

  Masachika gave Aritomo’s weapons to one of the bodyguards and let the men go on ahead, while he arranged for the slaughtered animals to be collected and carried home, where they would be skinned, some of the meat distributed to the beaters, the rest prepared for the evening’s feast. As well as deer and boar, and the bear, there were serow, wolves and foxes, rabbits and hares, squirrels, pheasants, marmots, raccoons. Tusks and antlers would be removed, the larger ones saved for helmet decorations, the smaller used for knife handles and other carvings.

  The number of dead deer astonished him—could there be any left alive in the Darkwood? He rode through the temporary dwellings erected for the warriors, greeting many and accepting their thanks and compliments. A wooden platform had been constructed, facing the lake, where Aritomo would eat and watch the performers. The lake had shrunk so much in the years of drought, there was a wide expanse of sand on the shoreline. At one end, food was being prepared in an outdoor kitchen, at the other was the small stage for the musicians. The acrobats would perform on the sand. They had requested a boat, as well, and a small one lay at the water’s edge.

  Already, from behind the silk curtain that defined the end of the stage, Masachika could hear the chattering of monkeys, and a plangent twanging as the musicians tuned their instruments. He dismounted, told the groom who had been walking beside him to take the horse to the stable, and went behind the curtain.

  The music stopped and everyone immediately bowed to him. There were two young men, about twenty years old, he thought, four somewhat older, and two who looked well into their thirties, already showing signs of age. Several of them had monkeys already sitting on each shoulder, tethered with braided blue silk cords, fastened to leather collars set with mother-of-pearl and blue gemstones. The monkeys had thick gray and white fur, their faces and rumps were rose pink, and their deep-set eyes, hazel or green. They wore the same sleeveless red jackets as the acrobats.

  The music group consisted of the flute player he had heard on the road, a drummer, the two women singers, and a lutist. There was no sign of Asagao.

  He asked where she was and one of the singers replied, “She has gone to get the other lute; her own has a broken string.”

  He was tempted to follow her, and lie with her quickly, before the night’s celebrations started. The idea excited him unbearably. He checked that everything was ready and went to enter the garden by the east gate, from where it would be easy to slip unnoticed into the pavilion. But his wife was standing on the veranda, directing a flurry of maids and servants who were carrying bowls, cushions, eating trays, and so on to the lakeshore.

  She saw him and, giving some last instruction to the steward, stepped down from the veranda and came toward him. Her face was pale, her eyes, despite his admonitions, red rimmed.

  “What’s the matter?” he said sharply.

  Her voice was expressionless and cold. “Have you been to the west gate?”

  “No, I came in the other way.”

  “Come with me now.”

  “I am busy now,” Masachika said. “Besides, it is better not to disturb the spirits.”

  “You won’t disturb them,” Tama said. “They are not there.”

  She walked swiftly to the gate and stood between the posts. The evening’s offerings lay scattered about as though someone had kicked them away.

  “I felt them go,” she said. “They threw the offerings at my head and rushed past me.”

  “You are imagining it,” Masachika said. “It is your own lack of composure that you are feeling. They have just decided to go quiet again.”

  “I don’t think so. They have escaped. They released the two werehawks Lord Aritomo brought with him.” She looked up. “The birds were flying around shrieking, but I can’t hear them now. Well, it doesn’t matter. You have lied to me and to the spirits, and now my life is forfeit. I only hope that will be enough to placate them, and that they will not ruin the estate after my death.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense,” he said, but more gently, for he was suddenly afraid she was losing her mind. “You are not going to kill yourself.”

  She did not reply, but gave him a look such as he had never seen before from her. Her contempt stabbed some inner part of him and he felt unexpected despair over all he was going to lose.

  “Tama, I beg you. Don’t do it. The girl means nothing to me. I will send her away tomorrow.”

  “It is too late,” she replied.

  He took refuge in anger, then, as was his habit. “How can you bother me with your fantasies at a time like this? I have so many things to think about. We will talk tonight—I will come to you, it will be between us as it used to be, I promise you. Now, let us present a night’s entertainment that Lord Aritomo will never forget.”

  “And your plan to hasten his end?” she said scornfully.

  “Don’t speak of such things!” He looked anxiously around the garden, as though they might be overheard.

  “If you do have the courage to do it, you will have to write your own poems to the Emperor,” she said, and walked away from him.

  Masachika heard a bird call and, looking up, saw, perched on the roof, the strange black bird he had noticed in the rice fields. He could just make out its outline against the darkening sky. The streaks of gold glimmered in the last of the light. He waved his arms at it, but it did not move.

  “I will deal with you in the morning,” he vowed.

  * * *

  From the house to the lakeshore, the garden blazed with light. Oil lamps, candles, torches, the kitchen fires at the northern end on which the beasts were roasting, all competed with the huge orange moon that was rising behind the mountains.

  Persimmon moon, Masachika thought, with an uneasy feeling of premonition. It was the last thing he wanted Aritomo to see. Fortunately, by the time Aritomo had finished eating, the moon had changed its color and was high enough to throw a silver path across the lake’s surface.

  Aritomo commented on it as he took another cup of wine. “Even the moon conspires to make us feel at home. Masachika, you and your wife have excelled yourselves. I cannot remember a more delightful day.”

  “It is nothing,” Masachika replied. “However, still to come is a humble little entertainment I have arranged for your pleasure.”


  Aritomo gave one of his rare smiles and leaned forward in anticipation.

  A wide mat was unrolled on the shore and the silk curtain of the stage drawn to one side. Behind it, the musicians were seated, with a few lamps lighting their faces. Masachika could see Asagao quite clearly, her delicate features, the curve of her breast. She held the shabby old lute, which seemed a shame, but it was the only displeasing aspect. He could not believe he was being forced to give up this beautiful girl. He felt a surge of anger against his wife. He suppressed the fear he had felt earlier and took comfort in memories of how Tama had come to him in Minatogura, her pleas, her expressions of love, repeated so many times in so many nights over the years. In the end she always yielded to him. This time would be no different.

  There was a sudden clacking of sticks, announcing the beginning of the performance, and the loud pounding of a drum. As the other musicians joined in, Masachika could hear the lute. It was slightly out of tune and its notes sounded reluctant. Asagao was frowning and she glanced at the other lute player, who made a swiftly hidden grimace in response.

  Aritomo, who had a fine ear for music, was also frowning.

  “Well, it is, after all, country-style music,” he said graciously. “We cannot expect the skills of the court here.”

  Masachika bowed his head in response, trying to stay calm, wondering why Asagao was playing so badly. Had Tama, or the guardian spirits, cast a spell on her?

  The small boat floated into the moonlight path, lit by two torches blazing in its stern. Three monkeys were perched in it, wearing courtiers’ robes, with black silk hats on their heads. One held a fan, one a wine flask, and the third beat a rhythm on a small drum.