by Lian Hearn
She wanted to take his hands and look deep into his eyes, but he would not meet her gaze.
“I have worn the mask for over twelve years,” he said. “I hardly remember what I was like before. I no longer know how to look at the world without it.”
He seemed physically affected, almost on the verge of fainting. The two men in the black face coverings dismounted, gave their horses’ reins to the red-scarfed one, and came to Shikanoko, kneeling beside him, embracing him. None of them spoke, as if they did not yet understand what the removal of the mask would mean.
Hina stood and stepped back, confused by so many emotions she could not speak. Was that all that was going to happen? Why had he not taken her in his arms? I love him, she thought, but he does not love me.
The man with the red scarf tethered the horses and began to uncover his head. Hina saw he was clean shaven, and grinning at her. When he spoke she realized it was a woman.
“Don’t you recognize me, lady? And can this young man really be little Take? When I last saw you, you were a babe in arms. Lady Hina was jumping into the lake with you! You were both thought to be drowned.”
“Bara?” Hina said, hardly believing it.
“No longer Bara, lady. I changed my name. Now it is Ibara. I have become as sharp and prickly as a thorn.”
There were too many people, Hina thought, too many crosscurrents, from the past, from the future. She took a few more steps backward and found herself standing next to Take, who still had the arrow set to his bowstring and who had not ceased staring at Shikanoko.
She turned to look at him and saw he was wearing a blue jacket and bearskin chaps. His huge bow looked ancient, but his sword was newly fashioned. There was something outlandish about him, as though he had come from another world.
“How did you get here? Where have you been?”
“A tengu dropped me here,” he replied lightly. “Just in time, too!”
“You saved my life,” she said.
“I did not know whether to aim at the man or the boar,” he said. “I did not know which was the greater danger to you.”
“Poor Chika,” she said, trembling as she recalled his hands on her.
“Who was he?”
“I knew him when I was a child.” She did not want to say any more about him.
Tan rubbed his head gently on her shoulder. Nyorin also approached, whinnying at her. Standing between the two white stallions she felt their power, their steadfastness.
“Shikanoko!” she called.
He raised his head and looked at her. His eyes were already accustomed to the light, but his face still wore a fragile, vulnerable look.
“Do this one thing for me and then I will never ask anything of you again.”
He rose and came toward her. “What do you mean? My life is yours to command, however you wish.”
“This is your son, Takeyoshi. I have looked after him since he was born. Now you must promise to take care of him.” And then she added, in a low voice, “His mother was Akihime, the Autumn Princess.”
Take dropped to his knees. “Sir … Father … I offer you my sword. It was forged for me by the tengu Tadashii, who was one of my teachers. The other was your companion, Master Mu.”
Mu took the blade and examined it eagerly. “It’s a good one,” he exclaimed. “A brother to mine, which was also made by tengu.”
“And this is the bow, Ameyumi, the Rain Bow, that we recovered,” Take said, tentatively, standing and holding it out to Shikanoko.
He took it, gazing at it in wonder. “Ameyumi! I remember it from my childhood. It was lost when my father died in the north. And you can shoot, with a bow this size, and so accurately!”
“You must keep it,” Take said.
Shikanoko handed the bow back to him. “No, it is fitting that it should be yours. I have its echo, Kodama.” He reached out and touched Take’s face. “To meet you after all these years is more than I could have ever imagined! I hope we will never be parted.” He looked around. “But where is Yoshimori?”
“He went with the acrobats,” Hina replied. “They have gone to Matsutani to perform for Lord Aritomo, on the orders of Masachika, my uncle.”
Tan pawed the ground and let out a shrill neigh.
“Why did he do that?” Take cried. “Why put himself in such danger?”
“He does not know who he is,” Hina replied. “Or rather, he knows, but he chooses not to admit it. He is the Emperor, he goes where he wants to go.”
“And we must follow him,” Shikanoko said. “Ibara, let Chika’s horse carry him. Takeyoshi can ride with me on Nyorin. And, Lady Hina, I believe Tan will be happy to carry you.”
“No one else rides him, but Lady Hina can.” Ibara was smiling, but then her expression changed as she went to Chika and began to arrange his clothes, binding his own sash around the terrible wound. Mu helped her and between them they slung the corpse across the tall brown horse, soothing it as it shuddered and rolled its eyes.
Shikanoko lifted Hina onto Tan’s back. She felt her body longing to soften at the touch of his hands, but she tried to make her will fierce against him.
“You know who this horse is, don’t you?” he said.
“Risu’s foal. I saw him being born—on the same day as your son.”
“But over and above that,” Shikanoko said, gently, “the spirit within him is not a horse but that of your father, Lord Kiyoyori.”
Tan’s ears twitched and he whinnied as if he were laughing for joy.
“I called him back from where he walked on the banks of the river of death. Someone who owed him a great debt had taken his place on the ferry that plies between this world and the next. Your father was able to return to continue his struggle to restore the true emperor.”
Hina leaned forward and clasped her arms around the horse’s neck, laying her head on the thick, black mane. “Now I understand why I loved you so much,” she whispered.
* * *
Often Take tired of riding and ran ahead. Hina wondered what the tengu’s teaching had done for him to make him so tireless and so fast. Even when the horses cantered, as they frequently did, for their riders were all seized by the same sense of urgency, he could outstrip them. He had grown to his adult height and no longer had the slender limbs of a boy.
Shikanoko could not take his eyes off him, watched him almost hungrily, but he hardly looked at Hina, nor did he speak much to her though they often rode side by side.
As they approached Matsutani, and her eyes took in the scenes of her childhood from which she had been exiled for so many years, she became almost feverish. Her eyes glowed and her color was heightened.
Ibara said to Mu, “She was a beautiful child—I always imagined that was what saved her life—and now as a woman she is unparalleled. But maybe I am biased, having cared for her like my own child.”
“She also has wisdom,” Mu replied, “which gives her a rare inner beauty.” He sighed. “Ah well, things will work out or they will not.”
Ibara, who was sitting in front of him, jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Sometimes we are called on to make them work out, my friend. Our lord may have been released from the mask, but his eyes have not yet been opened to what’s in front of him.”
Hina could hear what they were saying. The thought that Shikanoko probably could, too, made her color rise further.
“What will we find at Matsutani?” she wondered aloud. “Will Lord Aritomo still be there? Will Yoshimori be safe? And what about Haru, Chika’s mother? Could she still be alive? What a terrible thing, to be bringing her son home, dead.”
Shikanoko said, “We are very close now, no more than an hour or so away. I’ll send the Burnt Twins ahead to see how things stand. Nagatomo was brought up at Kumayama, and is familiar with the whole area. Eisei has been to Matsutani and knows both Aritomo and Masachika by sight.”
“Why are they called the Burnt Twins?” Hina asked, eager to keep him talking, but also genuinely curious about
his loyal companions.
“They were both forced to wear the mask—it seared their skin. Out of their suffering came companionship and love. They are twinned souls.”
“It burned my hands, too,” she said, glancing at his face, which was slowly returning to a normal color. He had shaved away the beard. “Yet it did not burn you?”
“It was made for me. Only I can wear it, but in the encounter with the Prince Abbot some of his dying power condemned it to fuse to my face. I lived half man, half deer ever since, until you released me.”
“It is so powerful,” she said, remembering what Chika had told her.
“Powerful and dangerous,” he replied, “So much that I fear using it. I hope I never have to place it on my face again.” He stopped abruptly and after a few moments said, “You were able to do what no one else could, take it from me. But I am sorry about your hands.”
“They are healing fast,” she said, not quite truthfully, for they were still painful. It was lucky she could ride Tan without reins.
Now he will say something, she thought, but it seemed he felt he had already said too much. He turned in the saddle, beckoned to Nagatomo, and swiftly gave him instructions.
After Nagatomo and Eisei had left, the others dismounted to wait for their return. The horses grazed. Shikanoko went a little way off and sat in meditation, the wolflike creature at his side.
Hina went in the other direction, wondering if his thoughts were as distracted as hers. Take was helping Mu and Ibara make a small fire and prepare food. Then the three of them began to spar with poles they cut from saplings in the surrounding forest.
Hina was determined not to move before Shikanoko did. Slowly her mind stilled and she succeeded in dismissing all thoughts of him. Instead she concentrated on Yoshi, holding him up to Heaven, praying for his safety.
Time crawled past, as though the whole world had slowed and thickened. Around the end of the afternoon, when the shadows were lengthening and the air was growing colder, the wolflike creature got to its feet and walked stiffly to the path, gazing in the direction the Burnt Twins had taken.
“They are returning,” Ibara said, lowering her pole, sidestepping Take’s final lunge and laughing as it unbalanced him.
Eisei rode first, Nagatomo behind him, his horse slower because of its extra burden, a woman who clung to his waist.
Eisei called out, “Matsutani has burned to the ground. Aritomo has already left for the capital. The place was deserted except for this woman.”
When Nagatomo dismounted and lifted her down, Hina saw it was Haru.
It was years since she had seen her, and Haru had turned into an old woman.
The birds had begun their evening chorus and, echoing through it, Hina heard a sharp call, echoed by another. Her heart seemed to stop and painfully start again. Was it Kon? If Kon had abandoned Yoshi, it could only mean he was dead.
Haru walked tentatively toward her, frowning as though she thought she knew her, eyes fixed on her.
Hina wanted to prevent her seeing her son’s body and called to Ibara to move the horse, but her intention had the opposite effect, drawing Haru’s gaze in that direction.
The woman gave a shriek, and stumbled toward the corpse, which was hanging head down across the brown horse. She knelt in front of it, touching the cold swollen lips and the limp hands.
“What happened?” she said, turning to Hina. “Who was responsible?”
“He was killed by a boar,” Hina said. “It was charging at me.”
“He saved your life? At least he died well. What happened to the boar, did it live?”
“Shikanoko and his son killed it,” Hina replied. She would not disabuse Haru of her belief, for Chika had been trying to save her life in his own way. Now his fate seemed unutterably sad. She wanted to weep for him and his mother.
“Shikanoko?” Haru looked around wildly. “Shikanoko is here? We thought he must be dead.”
She saw him as he stood and moved toward them. “You have a son?” she cried. “Why is your son alive while mine is dead?”
She fell to the ground, sobbing, tearing at the earth with her hands.
“Haru,” Shikanoko said, his voice both stern and gentle. “Chika is dead. We have brought his body back to bury wherever it pleases you. But there is no time for any excesses of grief. Where is the Emperor?”
At that moment two birds flew down with a clatter of wings and landed on Shikanoko’s shoulder. Hina knew them at once as werehawks. For an instant, she noticed, Shikanoko flinched, but the birds were not attacking him. They bowed their heads and then whispered in his ear.
“Where did you come from?” he said. “Who brought you to Matsutani?”
They replied excitedly in their grating voices. Shikanoko said, “Yoshimori has been taken to Miyako. Kon has followed him. We must go after them.”
The birds squawked in approval and then muttered something else.
“I suppose you are right,” Shikanoko replied, and then addressed the others. “I must deal with the guardian spirits at Matsutani. We will go there first.”
16
MASACHIKA
I should take my own life before I am shamed publicly. No, I gave Yoshimori to Aritomo, he will forgive me anything. Tama is dead. If only I knew what she wrote, to what extent she betrayed me. Maybe he will not read the papers at all. Why should he believe an old woman like Haru? I will follow him to Miyako. I will carry out the execution. Once Yoshimori is dead Daigen will be Emperor and his mother already favors me. Tama is dead.
All these thoughts raced through Masachika’s mind as he watched Aritomo and his warriors leave and the house burn to the ground. Some of the servants made futile efforts to fetch water from the lake to douse the flames, but the spirits threw fireballs at them, followed by volleys of burning utensils and furniture. Eventually everyone gave up and ran away.
He spent the night in the pavilion where he had lain with Asagao such a short time ago. When day broke he saw the house was completely destroyed. Whatever had remained of Tama was reduced to ashes. Why had he treated her so badly? Why had he lied to her? He had satisfied his own desire even though it had wounded and humiliated her. They had had everything and he had smashed it. She and Matsutani had been given to him once, then ripped away by his father’s cruel decision, then restored to him. She had made the estate beautiful, she had been its heart. He was as guilty of her death as if he himself had plunged the knife into her throat.
He would have thrown himself howling to the ground in grief, but the sight of Haru approaching made him restrain himself. He hid himself away, unable to face anyone, least of all her.
Haru knelt in front of the smoldering ruin, her eyes not leaving the destruction, her lips moving. There was no sound other than the two werehawks, which from time to time gave their piercing call. The spirits had fallen silent.
A little later two horsemen rode up. He was afraid they might be Aritomo’s men, sent back to arrest him, but he saw the black silk coverings over their faces and recognized one of them as Eisei the monk. It was like a hallucination from the past. He remembered that Eisei and the other one similarly disfigured had ridden off with Shikanoko. Did their presence now mean Shikanoko himself was nearby?
The two men dismounted and spoke to Haru. Then they rode away with her. The werehawks followed.
When they had gone he left the pavilion and knelt in Haru’s place. He could not decide what to do. It was as though the life force that had animated him had been abruptly shut off. All his ambition, lust, and greed had been reduced to ashes along with his house and his wife. Tama had destroyed him, but he did not resent or hate her for it. He admired her courage more than ever and he knew he had never loved anyone else.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “You were everything to me and I did not know it.” Tears burst from his eyes then.
“What should I do?” he said more loudly. He felt the spirits’ presence.
“You could kill yourself,” came the
mocking reply.
“But we don’t care if you do or not.”
“Live or die, it’s all the same to us.”
“You no longer matter.”
He drew Jinan and laid it on the ground beside him. Last night he had been prepared to take an emperor’s life with it. Now he could not even use it against himself. One part of his mind kept niggling at him that he would survive; he always did; he would find a way out. Eventually he decided to listen to it, mainly because he lacked the courage to kill himself.
Jinan: Shikanoko had given it to him, in exchange for Jato, and he had never seen another sword like it. Only its name had displeased him, reminding him as it did of his own status as second son. Yet he was alive and his older brother was dead, just as Aritomo would soon be dead. None of his rules and rituals, his codes for the way of the warrior, his ideals of honor and courage, could save the great lord from the illness that was killing him. I will outlive them all, he promised himself. He got to his feet and picked up his sword. The air smelled of smoke and beneath it another stench, as the piles of dead animals began to rot.
“Farewell,” he said silently to Tama. He skirted the lake and began to walk along the track in the direction of Kuromori. It was his childhood home; he had lost it and won it back. He would return there and see if anything could be salvaged of his life.
But his spirits failed to recover and he was thinking again of using Jinan to end his life when he heard a twig break, then another, the trample and splash of horses’ feet ahead of him. He left the path swiftly and hid himself in the undergrowth.
A group of people on horseback were picking their way along the stream. An ungainly creature ran in the lead, its head swinging from side to side, its nostrils flaring. It was the fake wolf he had seen years ago with Shikanoko. It caught his scent and stopped dead, looking in his direction and growling.
Several horses followed in single file, the first a white black-maned stallion with no bridle, carrying a woman. It halted and neighed loudly. Masachika remembered again his dream about his brother, Kiyoyori, and a foal. He knew it was the same horse, full grown.
