by Lian Hearn
The boat nudged against the shore and the monkeys stepped out gracefully. They walked on their hind legs toward Aritomo and bowed to the ground in his direction. Then they turned to the south and bowed to the guests, and to the north, to the musicians.
Three acrobats came out of the darkness, tumbling across the mat in a series of cartwheels and somersaults. They seized a monkey each and threw them into the air. The monkeys landed nimbly on the men’s shoulders and then leaped sideways from shoulder to shoulder, as if they were being juggled.
Something in the music changed, as if the lute had stopped resisting the player. Masachika heard Aritomo gasp in surprise. He followed his gaze to Asagao. Somehow, when they weren’t looking, she had changed lutes. She was now holding one of rare beauty, its cherrywood frame and mother-of-pearl inlay gleaming in the torchlight. And music poured from it, almost celestial in its purity and perfection, leaving even Asagao open-mouthed with amazement.
The bird, perched somewhere unseen, sang in harmony with it.
For a few moments the audience watched and listened, transfixed, not sure if it was some magic trick or if they were witnessing a miracle.
Aritomo looked from the lute to the acrobats and back again. Then he was on his feet, his face white, his eyes blazing.
“Arrest them,” he said, trying to speak forcefully, but failing. His voice was a croak. “Seize them immediately.”
“Lord?” Masachika said, bewildered.
“That is Genzo—the imperial lute that has been lost since the rebellion. One of those young men is Yoshimori!”
13
TAMA
Once she had seen that the food was prepared and everything was running smoothly, Tama slipped away to her room. She performed all her tasks with a detached tenderness, knowing each one was for the last time. Haru alone noticed her leave, and rose to follow her, but Tama made a sign to her to stay where she was. Haru would try to dissuade her, and she was determined not to be turned away from her purpose.
The house was empty. All of them, servants, maids, guards, were on the lakeshore, attending to guests, hoping to see the performers. A few lamps had been lit, and their flames burned steadily in the still air. She glanced almost indifferently at the cypress floors, each perfect plank selected by her, at the silk wall hangings and all the valuable carvings and vases that she had chosen and had displayed discreetly throughout the house. She marveled that all she had once loved so much now meant nothing to her.
The main rooms of the house faced south and east. The room in which she lived was on the northwest side. The moonlight did not penetrate it, but the shutters had not been closed and the shadows the moon threw hovered in the garden. Moths were fluttering around the lamp flame and she could hear the thin whining of mosquitoes. From the garden came the melancholy chirping of insects that had only days to live.
But even that is longer than I have.
She went to her writing desk and found her inkstone and brush. There was still enough water in the dropper to wet the stone. She took out a few sheets of paper, enfolded in a silk cloth, and unwrapped them, shaking out the fragments of rue and aloewood that had been placed among them. Everything was attacked by insects, nothing was exempt from the universal rule of death. The only courageous act was to snatch control from death itself, to decide the time and manner of one’s own departure. The thought made her smile.
I will compose a poem on that, but first I will write my testament so that no one misunderstands my reasons.
Matsutani no Tama, daughter of Tadahise, wife of Kiyoyori and Masachika …
She felt a slight movement in the air beside her.
“What is the Matsutani lady doing?”
“Is she getting ready to kill herself?”
“She has to, she made us a vow.”
“So why doesn’t she get on with it?”
Tama said, “I am writing a few things down first.” She was glad they were there with her. “Then, I promise you, I will not hesitate.”
“We can trust the Matsutani lady.”
“Not like the Matsutani lord, so-called.”
“He’s a liar.”
“Yes, he tells lies.”
“I know he does,” Tama said. “I know all his faults. I loved him despite them. Maybe I still love him … now, please be quiet so I can think clearly.”
There were a few moments of silence, then one of them—she still could not tell them apart, but she thought it might be Hidarisama, as he usually spoke first—said in a sulky voice: “I feel like throwing things.”
“Oh, so do I!”
“Let’s go throw things at the Matsutani lord.”
“So-called.”
“No,” Tama said firmly. “The throwing must not start again. Not until after I am dead. Then you can do what you like.”
She wrote swiftly, putting down her reasons for dying, on this night, by her own hand. Not only Matsutani’s unfaithfulness to her, but his willingness to betray Lord Aritomo and the secrets he had kept from him; the intrigue with Lady Natsue; Kiyoyori’s daughter, Hina; Akihime’s son.
There, that should condemn him, she thought with mingled satisfaction and sorrow. A whisper came from beside her.
“How will she do it?”
“With her knife. She is taking it out now.”
“Oh, good, I want to see blood.”
“Oh, so do I!”
Tama felt the blade with her thumb. A thin strip of blood sprang out of her skin. She let a few drops fall on a new sheet of paper on which she wrote.
At the Shirakawa barrier,
The one I desired awaited me.
I called him back.
We lay together in the cattail grasses.
He gave me life’s dew. I gave him death’s.
“Make sure Lord Aritomo reads these,” she said, laying aside the brush and taking up the dagger. Without hesitation she put it to her throat and, leaning forward so her own weight helped her hand, cut fiercely from left to right. She felt the sudden shock in her nerves, her body’s realization that a catastrophe had taken place. Her blood felt warm on her hands.
As she fell forward she heard music, so beautiful it dealt her a further shock.
It is the Enlightened One coming for me.
Then she just had time to realize it was a lute, playing by the lakeside. Could it be Asagao who was so talented? Tears of envy and regret came to her eyes, and she wept for her own passing from this world.
14
MASACHIKA
Masachika could not believe his good fortune. The promised surprise was far greater than he could have imagined. Within moments the acrobats were surrounded. The monkeys leaped away, screaming in shock and fear. The musicians were seized, their instruments taken from them and thrown into a pile, except for the lute, which was carried reverently to Lord Aritomo.
It still played exuberantly as though there was nothing to fear, nothing to regret.
Aritomo looked at it without speaking. A murmur began to run through the watching crowd. It is the Emperor! It is the Emperor! One by one the servants fell to their knees.
As Aritomo reached out to touch the lute, warriors ran to get their weapons. Aritomo turned his gaze on the acrobats.
“Bring the two young ones to me,” he commanded, and when they had been forced to their knees before him said, “One of you is the son of the rebel Momozono. Which is it?”
They exchanged a swift look in which Masachika thought he saw recognition, acceptance.
“I am!” the shorter one said defiantly.
Masachika knew he was lying. It was obvious to him which was Yoshimori; he was surprised he had not recognized him before. Without knowing it he had brought Yoshimori to Aritomo, and Asagao and her lute had revealed him. Tama will forgive me everything now!
“It is the taller one, lord,” he said.
“Yes, I think so, too. Well, we will execute them both. Prepare the ground. You may carry out the act yourself. I cannot praise you highly
enough, Masachika. You have done what no one else could do. First the Autumn Princess, now the false pretender. Name your reward. I will give you half the realm.”
“I desire nothing but to serve you,” Masachika replied. “I will fetch my sword.”
As he went toward the house he thought he heard Asagao calling his name, but he ignored her. He would have to let her go now; he would not be able to save her. He wanted above all to find Tama and tell her the news.
At the threshold Haru met him. He could not see her clearly, but something in her face, her posture brought him to a halt.
“Don’t go inside,” she said.
“What is wrong? I must fetch my sword and speak to my wife, but I must hurry. Lord Aritomo is waiting.”
“Lady Tama is dead. There is a great deal of blood.”
“I don’t believe you! Let me see her!”
“You should not go inside. The guardian spirits are in there. They told me to take these papers to Lord Aritomo.”
Masachika made a grab at them. “Give them to me! I command you as your lord!”
She evaded him. “I never served you, Masachika. My husband and I served Lord Kiyoyori.”
He was taller than she was and much stronger. She was made confused and slow by shock. He was about to overpower her and take the papers from her when the two young werehawks swooped down, striking at him with their beaks and talons. He let go of the woman to protect his face and Haru ran into the garden toward the lakeshore.
Masachika hesitated for a moment but decided the most important thing was to get his sword. He stepped into the house, took it from the rack inside the entrance, and, drawing it, said, “I command you to return to the gateposts.”
There was a long moment of silence and then one of the spirits said, “Who’s that?”
“So-called Matsutani lord.”
“The liar?”
“Yes, the liar and the traitor.”
“We don’t have to do what he says anymore!”
“No, never again!”
“And can we throw things now?”
“Yes! Yes!”
The first thing they threw was a lamp. It fell near Masachika, spilling oil on the matting. A little flicker of flame began to grow from it.
“Tama!” Masachika called. “Tama, come out!”
“The Matsutani lady is dead.”
“She was brave.”
“Not like the so-called Matsutani lord,” they said together.
Their voices echoed after him as he ran from the house, sword in hand.
The crackle of burning followed him, the air became heavy with smoke.
The Matsutani lady is dead.
She had sworn to kill herself and she had kept her word, but why now? Why had she done it when his fortune was at its peak? They could have shared everything together. Asagao was already as dead to him. But could Tama really have betrayed him? He had to get the papers before Aritomo read them.
The moon was now directly overhead, its light shimmering on the still surface of the lake, on the swords of the warriors, showing clearly the two young men kneeling on the sand.
Their hands had been bound roughly behind them. The shorter one looked from side to side, obviously very afraid, but Yoshimori was quite calm, his face turned upward, his lips moving slightly as if he were praying. The monkeys had sought refuge with the older acrobats and were clinging to them, all except one who kept running to Yoshimori wailing like a human child. He shook his head at it, trying to gesture that it should go back to the others, and then resumed his silent prayer.
Asagao saw Masachika and called his name again. She was in a huddle with the acrobats and musicians. Armed warriors had formed two circles, one around them, the other around Aritomo and the young men, keeping the crowd back. He saw Haru struggling to get through them, waving the papers, and he could hear her voice, shouting to Lord Aritomo to listen to her.
She had not yet reached Aritomo. Masachika felt a surge of relief and then a thud of excitement in his belly. He was going to execute the Emperor of the Eight Islands. He would never be overlooked again; his name would never be forgotten. He might not have killed a single animal in the hunt, but the greatest prize would be his.
He strode toward Aritomo. The warriors parted at his approach. He saw wonder and admiration in their eyes.
“I am ready, lord,” he said, holding Jinan aloft.
Flames seemed to crackle along the blade, as a fireball shot into the air from the house. The three werehawks could be seen in its light, swirling above the roof.
“The house is on fire!” Aritomo cried. “What is happening? Is it the work of those guardian spirits I heard before?”
Masachika said, “I am here. Let us act immediately.”
Aritomo did not reply to this but said, “Have the spirits escaped?”
“Don’t worry about them! I can control them. We must not delay.”
“But the house is burning. Where is your wife?”
Haru had forced her way after him and shrieked in reply, “She is dead, Lord Aritomo. She took her own life and she left this testament. You must read it at once!”
Aritomo heard her finally, and turned to her. Before Masachika could intercept he had taken the papers and entrusted them to one of his warriors. The heat was growing intense and sparks and ash were falling around them.
“We cannot stay here,” Aritomo said. “If Lady Tama is indeed dead I will do her the honor of reading this later. But now I must make all haste to get away, for I believe this place is accursed. Masachika, you must stay, subdue the spirits, save your house if you can, and bury your wife. I will see you in Miyako.”
“But the execution…” Masachika said, Jinan still in his hand, ready.
“It will take place in public in Miyako. That will put an end to the rumors and the unrest.” Aritomo looked around at his elated warriors. “Secure the prisoners and prepare to leave immediately.” Then he could not prevent himself from giving a great shout of triumph.
“I have Yoshimori and I will live forever!”
15
HINA
Hina stood motionless. She wondered if she would ever move again. The two arrows still quivered in the boar’s flesh, one in its throat, one in its back.
Chika was lying next to it, crumpled, bloody, his sightless eyes staring up.
She heard a voice behind her ask, “Are you hurt?”
Could it be Take? So one of the arrows was his. Whose was the other?
Her heart, along with everything around her—the rustling leaves, the dappled sunlight, the chirruping birds—seemed to pause. She held her breath. Figures were moving out from the trees. The sunlight was behind them and she could make out only their shapes, as if they were shadows falling on a screen.
She saw the antlered outline of the man-deer.
Take said again, “Lady, are you hurt?”
“No.” She could not take her eyes off the approaching group. She hardly registered the fact that Take had returned or questioned how he had got there. She heard him set another arrow to his bow.
“Don’t shoot!” she cried.
“Do you know them?”
“It is Shikanoko, your father.”
A strange-shaped wolflike animal walked on one side of him, and at his other shoulder an old silver white stallion.
“Nyorin,” Hina whispered, and tears began to flow down her cheeks.
There were three men on horseback, two wearing black silk coverings across their faces, showing only their eyes. The third also had a scarf wound around his head, but it was a dark red color, madder-dyed. Behind him, his arms around his waist, was the fourth man. He made a half wave to them, and slid from the horse’s back. He went swiftly to Chika and knelt beside him.
Hina did not think she knew him, but Take returned the greeting eagerly.
Pushing past the group came another white horse, black tail and mane, its head high, its eyes huge. It gave a shrill neigh and cantered up to Hina, stop
ping directly in front of her and lowering its head to breathe in her face.
“Tan?” she said wonderingly, put her arms around his neck, and laid her cheek against his smooth coat. She could feel his heartbeat.
When she stepped back, tears filled the horse’s dark eyes and streaked his cheeks. She put out her hand to wipe them away, and then touched the salty wetness on her own cheeks.
“This is your twin,” she said to Take. “You and he were born on the same day.” Then she dared to look at Shikanoko, who was now standing within arm’s reach. “I suppose Risu is dead?” she said. She could think of nothing else to say.
“She died years ago. We buried her in the mountains.”
His voice had hardly changed. She would have known it anywhere. She had heard it in her dreams for years.
“Lady Hina,” he said, speaking more formally, and dropped to one knee before her, bowing his antlered head.
“You do not have to bow to me,” she cried. She put out one hand and touched the broken antler. She felt something spark beneath her fingers as if the air were full of lightning. She closed both hands around the polished bones, hardly noticing the flesh sear. Her tears fell for his humility, for the pain he had suffered and all he had endured. She lifted with both hands. For a moment it seemed she was trying to move an immense weight, rooted in the earth, and then, as her tears fell more freely, the heaviness dissolved and the mask floated, of its own accord, away from Shikanoko’s face.
He cried out, from pain or surprise, she could not tell. She saw the gray-white color of the skin across his forehead, the tangled beard on his cheeks. His eyes blinked in the sudden intense light. His lips looked chapped and dry. He covered his face with his palms.
She knelt, still holding the mask, looking at its lacquered face as it became lifeless. It had been so easy, so quick, yet she knew something momentous had happened. “What shall I do with it?”
He took a bag, many layered, brocade, from his waist and held it open. It seemed too small to contain the mask, yet it slipped inside from her hands and he tied the cords.
