Shadows on the Moon

by Zoe Marriott

  A scream wrenched from my lips as I was shoved forward, feet skidding off the coiled rope. My hips smacked into the rail, and I tilted like an acrobat about to do a cartwheel. I screamed again, slapping my arms down against the wooden planks. The silver-gray water reached up as if to grab me.

  There was a flash of red on my left. A hand clamped down on my shoulder like an iron vise. Another hand grasped the back of my kimono. I was dragged back over the side, ribs grating painfully on the rail. Then I was falling again, backward this time, onto the deck.

  I landed with a sob, fighting to breathe. It took me a minute to notice that I had not landed on wood but on a person. My rescuer lay underneath me, his arm now around my waist. His heart was racing against my shoulder blade, chest heaving with shallow gasps like my own.

  I turned my head and looked into the face of one of Terayama-san’s foreigners. The boy.

  This close, I could make out the patterns of dark blue dots that swirled across his cheeks. His eyes were not dark, as I would have expected, but a sort of brownish green, the color of mulberry leaves. He smelled like cassia: the very best quality cinnamon.

  The foreigner slowly pushed himself up, bringing me with him. His arm was still around my waist, and the heat of him seemed to pulse against my chilled skin, even through the layers of my clothes.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice a husky, softly accented whisper.

  “I — I do not think so,” I said, taking stock of my aches and bruises. “Thanks to you.”

  He smiled, a crooked half smile that suddenly made me feel hot all over. “It was my pleasure.”

  Before I could reply, Terayama-san was leaning over us, pulling me away from the boy’s warmth. I began to shiver immediately and barely heard Terayama-san’s deep voice repeating, “Thank the Moon. You nearly went in. Thank the Moon.”

  Terayama-san put his arms around me. I found myself going still, like a tiny wild creature that plays dead in the hope it will confuse the hunter. Then the awkward embrace was over, and he was pushing me to sit on a wooden crate nearby. “Are you well, Suzu-chan? Are you all right?”

  I nodded, meeting his searching look for a second. My shivering was getting worse. I could feel my teeth chattering. Terayama-san turned away from me and executed a perfect, elegant bow for the foreign boy, who still sat on the deck.

  “I owe you a debt which I can never repay, honored guest-san. I do not know your name, but please, you must allow me to thank you properly.” Terayama-san held out his free hand to the boy to help him up.

  The boy looked at the hand expressionlessly, then got to his feet unassisted. His voice was cold — almost belligerent — when he said, “Your daughter has already thanked me. I require nothing more.”

  No one had ever dared use that tone with my stepfather before.

  Terayama-san rocked back slightly, and his hand dropped to his side. It flexed convulsively, the knuckles turning red, yellow-white, red, yellow-white. I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around myself.

  But when my stepfather spoke again, his tone was the same, humble and sincere.

  “Perhaps I have given offense? I beg your pardon. I meant none. But you are very young; perhaps I might speak to your father. I would like to tell him what you have done for me. We could drink tea in the captain’s cabin.”

  “Thank you for the invitation,” the boy said. “But I am afraid I do not care for tea.”

  There was a high-pitched shriek. I opened my eyes and saw the falcon glide down and alight on the young foreigner’s extended forearm, which was bound with a brace of red leather. It had been the leather that had caught my eye as he pulled me back over the side of the ship.

  Once again our eyes met. I mouthed Thank you, my throat too dry to sound the words. The blank look left his face, and he ducked his head, almost shyly. Then he turned to look at Terayama-san, and his face was cold again.

  “You should take your daughter belowdecks. I think she is not well.”

  Terayama-san’s hand flexed again. “Yes, of course. But first —”

  The young man turned from Terayama-san’s protests and walked away, his back very straight, the bird still on his arm. He passed the group of sailors who had gathered nearby and were gaping at us as if we were a traveling spectacle which they expected to pay a copper piece for. The boy winked at them, and as if a spell had been broken, they began to disperse across the deck. One of them reached out and hit the boy on the back, almost sending him flying. The bird on his arm spread its wings and shrieked in protest.

  Terayama-san watched for a second, and then swore once, softly and viciously.

  I was dizzy. My head pounded. My body had gone as soft and floppy as melted tallow. Yet despite all that, I now realized two things.

  The boy who had just saved me — and perhaps all the foreigners Terayama-san was so keen to meet — had some kind of shadow-weaving talent. The boy had been close enough to reach me seconds after I began to fall, and yet I had not seen him on the deck in the moments before that, not even a glimpse. More than that, though, I had felt his weaving shredding away as he laid his hands on me to pull me back from the edge. I had felt it but not understood it, just as one can hear speech in a strange language and not comprehend a word. Of course Terayama-san had never had any luck seeking them out. These men could make themselves invisible in plain daylight.

  The second thing I knew was this: after seeing the falcon flying above the deck and realizing the foreigners must be nearby, my stepfather had been so determined to get their attention that he had deliberately pushed me over the side of the ship.

  Terayama-san had tried to kill me.

  When he turned back toward me, I wanted to cringe away from him. I wanted to scream, accuse him at the top of my voice. Run to my mother and beg her to protect me.

  I did none of those things. I leaned against him and allowed him to help me back across the deck, through the rising wind, into the enclosure, then into the lamp-lit dimness of the corridor. I could not stop the shivering, but I prayed he would not realize it wasn’t the cold that made me shake. He had his earlier frustration under control now. His attention was on me. I could feel his eyes searching my face.

  Cat. No: gull. Cold and assessing. Wondering whether I was worth eating . . .

  “You’re still trembling,” he said quietly. His fingers tightened against the bruises he had made on my arm earlier. “We must have you lie down. It will be Yukiko’s turn to care for you for a change, eh?”

  He was a man who was willing to push his stepdaughter overboard in order to force a meeting he hoped would increase his political influence. What would he do to me if he thought I was a danger to him? If I allowed one tiny flicker of fear to cross my face, he would see it. He would know that I suspected him, and then —

  “It’s nothing,” I murmured. “I am only cold. Don’t wake Mother if she is sleeping. If you will help me to my cabin, I think I will be all right.”

  I truly believe that my shadow-weaving saved my life that day, just as it had when I had fled from the prince’s soldiers. If Terayama-san had seen my true face, the terror that I knew was twisting my features, I do not know what he would have done.

  Instead he saw Aimi’s face, her serene expression. Pale with shock, and drawn with exhaustion, but smiling gratefully at him. His grip eased.

  “You are a good, brave girl, Suzu-chan. When we get to the city, I will buy you a lovely new kimono. Several. You will like that, will you not? You will forget all about this.”

  I heard the odd mixture of regret and satisfaction in his tone and wondered if he was sorry now, a little sorry, for what he had done. Maybe he really thought that a pretty new kimono would make up for it. In his head, my life was worth no more than a piece of embroidered silk.

  After he had helped me into my tiny room and drawn the door shut behind him, I lay awake, staring at the patterns in the darkness, caught in a kind of trance. I didn’t dare move, for fear that he might hear and come to lo
ok in on me, and see that I knew. I breathed slow, shallow breaths through my nostrils, because I did not want panicked breathing to catch his attention, should he listen at the door. I could not close my eyes, lest he creep in somehow while I was unaware.

  All this time, ever since we had gone with Terayama-san, I had been standing on the edge of an abyss. I had been living with a man who was not mad, or insensible, but who would risk my life without a moment’s hesitation if he thought he might profit from it. What was I to do?

  I could not tell Mother. I knew that without a doubt. She might tell Terayama-san what I had said, and the only protection I had was my ignorance. I must pretend it never happened. Try to forget it ever had. I must be exactly as I had been before so that he never had cause to look at me with suspicion.

  With that thought came relief. I could do it. If there was one thing I was good at, it was hiding. Hiding my face, my thoughts. Hiding the truth. It was only one more layer of lies. One more mask. I rolled over onto my side, and sighed, and closed my eyes at last.

  Four more days aboard the ship. I did not venture onto the deck again, not even when the rocking and swaying made me sick. Then it was on to solid land, staying at a little ryokan by the shore. Those two days did Mother much good, as did the fact that her experienced maid, Isane, was now well enough to care for her. She was able to eat again, and her color came back.

  Some other things had changed as well, but not for the better.

  “Our daughter is an excellent little nurse, isn’t she, my dear?” Terayama-san said, patting me lightly on the head.

  Whereas before he had interspaced ignoring me with sporadic comments on how pretty I was and how good a husband I would get, now Terayama-san’s attention had become almost cloying. I was not sure if he was trying to make me believe that he cared for me as a father would or if the change simply came from guilt, but in either case I did not like it.

  And neither did Mother.

  I cursed him mentally when he added, “You must look after me, too, Suzu-chan, if ever I am ill.”

  “Is my care not enough for you, Shujin-sama?” Mother asked, her voice grave. Her eyes avoided me. I knew she was remembering times when Father had praised me, and, after our talk on the ship, I knew that the memory was bitter for her. “That is a wife’s place.”

  To my relief, Terayama-san left me and went to sit by her, taking her hand. “I will be ill now, if you will promise to nurse me,” he murmured.

  Mother smiled, but she still did not look at me. I, who had fought not to cringe from Terayama-san, now fought not to cry.

  I turned and quietly left the room.

  Another four days’ travel brought us to the capital city of the Moonlit Land. The city was sometimes called Tsuki no Machi, sometimes the City of the Moon, sometimes just the city. It was where all the most important people lived, all the greatest artists and poets worked, where the Moon Prince had his palace. It had been the center of all civilization in the world for a hundred years or more, ever since the faraway empire that had granted the prince’s family their title had fallen.

  The weather had turned wet and dark on our second day of travel. Terayama-san had given up riding his horse and now shared the palanquin with us. He was the one who threw open one of the shutters and bade us look as we crested the hill above the city and drew to a halt — but our first look at it was not promising.

  The city was embraced by the curved arms of the headland, so that the horseshoe-shaped bay was nearly at its heart. Countless docks and piers jutted out into the water, and ships milled in it. The many rivers through it had also become part of the city, crisscrossed by dozens of bridges made of wood, rope, and intricately carved stone. Otsukimi no Yama — Moonview Mountain — towered over it on its far side. The mountain’s verdant pine-covered sides gave it the appearance of a furry green monster that glowered down at the human scar at its feet.

  In the dim dampness of the rain, the city itself seemed nothing more than a chaotic mess of whitewashed walls, gray slate roofs, and bare black trees.

  “So vast . . .” Mother breathed. “It has grown since I was last here! Do you know how many people live here now, Shujin-sama?”

  “Over ten thousand, I believe,” Terayama-san said proudly, as if he had birthed them all himself. “Excited, Suzu-chan?”

  I could not help looking at Mother. She turned away before our eyes met. The more Terayama-san tried to pretend we were a happy little family, the more she pushed me away.

  My voice came out very small. “Yes, Terayama-san.”

  Terayama-san banged on the wall. The palanquin lifted again with a lurch and a jerk as I stared at my mother, wishing I could reach out, wishing so desperately that I could speak.

  I don’t want his attention! He only pets me and notices me because he feels guilty for trying to hurt me. Why can’t you see?

  A fine mist of rain blew in through the open shutter. “Should I close the shutter, Mother?”

  “If Shujin-sama wishes.”

  “No, leave it open — there will be many things to see. You’ll see it for the first time only once, you know.”

  I folded my hands neatly. The silence stung my face, making my cheeks flush. I gently wove threads of pale, smooth illusion to hide the angry color. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Terayama-san lean across and rub Mother’s barely rounded tummy. Her hand came up to lie on his. Her eyes flicked toward me for a second, but I could not decipher her expression. I swallowed hard.

  The palanquin moved down the hill quickly, and before any more was said, we had passed between the first buildings. I leaned forward, gazing out of the window. Wooden houses, brightly painted in red and green and gold in the style of the Old Empire, mixed with others of plain wood and whitewashed stone. We climbed the steep bank of the river to a bridge of black wood and stone and, crossing it, reached the heavily forested opposite bank and Terayama-san’s house. It looked much the same as his country one.

  I glimpsed other, similar houses through the last of the red autumn foliage. I wondered if all the houses here belonged to country noblemen who liked to pretend they were still at home on their peaceful estates, despite having traveled to the city. If so, they had my sympathy. At that moment I was suffering from a wave of homesickness so intense that it literally made my stomach turn.

  Only my longing was for a home that no longer existed.

  A baby wailed, its tiny voice lifting up in a piercing shriek that shattered the unnatural stillness of the winter evening. I longed to sag, to give in to the ache of relief and fatigue that throbbed dully in my bones. Instead, I turned a calm face on Mai, and said, “Run up to my mother’s rooms and find out from the doctor how she is, please.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” Mai’s face brightened at the prospect of being the first to hear the news — boy or girl, boy or girl? — and she hopped to her feet, one of her long sleeves thwapping against the screen on her way out.

  As the screen slid shut behind her, I finally allowed my head to fall forward onto my chest. My neck cracked, and I shrugged, trying to relieve the tension in my back and shoulders. More than twelve hours had passed, waiting, alone except for the servants. Terayama-san had quit the house shortly after Mother’s cries began to echo through the rooms above, claiming that he could not bear it. What kind of man went hunting while his child was being born?

  My thoughts were interrupted by a second high-pitched wail that drowned out the first. Two babies?

  The screen slid back, and Mai almost danced into the room, alight with excitement.

  “Twins,” she said, clasping her hands under her chin. “Boys. Mistress is asking for you. Twins, Nakamura-sama!”

  “I understood the first time, Mai, thank you. I will visit them. Please send word to the hunting party immediately.”

  The plaintive wailing of hungry infants began to quiet as I reached the next floor, and when Mai pushed open the screen to my mother’s sitting room, only the occasional hiccup and whimper could be heard. T
he inner screen to the sleeping area was pushed shut.

  I walked forward, calling out quietly, “May I come in, Mother?”

  The screen slid open, and Mother’s maid Isane bowed as I entered.

  My mother lay in the center of her futon, propped up on a mountain of pillows, with the sheet carefully smoothed over her. She wore a clean robe in a flattering shade of pink, but her hair was damp and frizzy around her forehead and her face was pale and exhausted. Her eyes were closed. I glanced at Isane, who bowed again with a reassuring smile and then seated herself neatly in one corner of the room.

  Two lumps of swaddling cloth, not even as long as one of my forearms, lay on the futon with my mother, one on each side. They were not crying anymore, though one of them was making worrying gurgling noises.

  My brothers.

  I walked over to the futon to get a better look. All that could be seen of them was a scrunched-up oval that held eyes, nose, and mouth without really seeming to be a proper face. I had heard a great deal about how beautiful babies were, and I wondered if there was something wrong with me for thinking they looked like badly carved dolls.

  “What do you think of them?” Mother’s voice was a tired whisper.

  I looked up quickly, and my mask slipped as I struggled for something to say.

  “They are very . . . purple.”

  She laughed. I went weak with relief. Despite her exhaustion, she was not in her angry mood — which was the one I had seen most of over the past weeks. Then again, Terayama-san was not here.

  “Come sit by me, and you shall hold them.”

  I quickly pulled a serene smile into place and sank onto the woven mats at her side, watching with a mixture of interest and apprehension as Mother gently lifted up one of the babies.

  “This is the younger one. His brother has just gone to sleep.” She leaned toward me, and before I knew it, the bundle was tucked into my arms, the hard little head rolling against the curve of my breast. The baby was alarmingly warm, and inside its wrappings, wriggly.