by Zoe Marriott
I managed to stand tall for about a minute before I had to put my hands over my face.
“We should go out soon,” Akira said softly, her hand resting gently on my back. She said nothing more. She knew who Otieno was; my reaction would have given it away even if I had never told her his name.
I nodded, straightened, and took a deep breath. Stop acting like a child, I told myself. Stop making a grand drama out of everything. Get on and do what you must do.
We passed through the inner gate, stepping into the wooden clogs that had been left there for us, and closed the gate behind us. Then we rinsed our hands and mouths at the ceremonial stone basin and proceeded along the gently winding path to the teahouse itself. By the time we reached it — a beautiful little house, with a thatched roof, golden walls, and large, screened, round windows — the sharp iciness inside me had begun to spread, until my whole body felt numb.
We bent down low to pass through the nijiriguchi, the wooden-framed entrance, and I clutched my weaving to myself still tighter, and tried, tried, to leave my thoughts and feelings outside.
Akira arranged us so that I was as far from Otieno as I could be, and I was grateful. I did not look at him as we ate the traditional meal of fish, vegetables, and broth. But I was excruciatingly aware of each movement he made. I heard every breath he took. Sensed the tiniest shift in his position. I was more aware of him than of myself. Aware that even when we moved back to the booth to wait for the second part of the ceremony, and then when we returned and our host served the tea, Otieno never once looked at me.
That was good. Wasn’t it?
Takakura-san, however, looked at me a great deal. From the approving expression on his face, it seemed that Akira’s plan was working. So strange that to sit there, silent and unsmiling, feeling as miserable and thin as rice paper, was enough to make this man like me. No, I reminded myself. It is the shadow-weaving he desires. Not you. No one could ever want you.
Then at long, long last, the ceremony was over.
Takakura-san escorted us back to the waiting booth, where he engaged in a whispered conversation with Akira that included many furtive glances in my direction. Akira was smiling and nodding. I pretended not to notice as I stepped out of the wooden clogs, entered the waiting booth, and then stepped back outside to put on my zri. The others were still in the waiting booth behind me, and I seized the moment of relative solitude to step away from the entrance. I tilted my head back so that the sunlight moved over my face. I would not cry. Not now.
“Rin.”
I turned reflexively, and then cursed myself when I saw Otieno standing behind me, blocking the entrance to the booth. There was a look of grim triumph on his face, and I knew I had given myself away.
“You — you startled me . . .” I began. The words trailed off as I searched his face. There was nothing there: only smooth blankness that made the ice inside me burn with cold fire. It was as if my words earlier were the truth. As if we were strangers.
“I know I did,” he said. “I meant to.”
I looked away from him again, shaking my head. “Don’t —”
“Don’t what? There is no point in this pretense. Look at me.”
“Stop it. Leave me alone.”
“Not until you look at me.”
“Please.” I backed away from him, slipped off the path, and stumbled. Otieno’s hand shot out and caught my wrist before I could fall.
“What has happened to you?” he murmured. “What went wrong? I looked for you for so long. Where did you go?”
Panicked, I just shook my head, refusing to move my eyes from the tips of his feet.
“Pipit,” he said again, his voice soft.
He released my arm and took my face between his hands, gently tilting my head until I met his eyes. “Pipit. Pipit, do not deny me. I cannot bear it.”
The ice shattered. My shadow-weaving shredded away like mist under a summer wind, and I was exposed, weak and trembling and pitiful as I was. I could not speak. All I could do was look at him.
It was enough. The horrible deadness melted from his face, and he was Otieno again, my Otieno. His arms came around me, almost lifting me from my feet. I pressed my face into the hollow under his shoulder, breathing in the smell of him — still the same, always the same — and felt his chin, ever so slightly prickly with stubble, rub against my forehead.
“Shh, shh.” He stroked my back with his free hand. “It is all right now.”
Just for a moment. Just this one moment. Surely a moment is allowed?
“This is not the place for this. Tomorrow,” he said, his voice rumbling in his chest against my cheek. “Meet me tomorrow on the Red Bridge. You know it?”
“I cannot. You don’t understand. I cannot —”
He pushed me away from him and shook me a little. “You can, and you will, Pipit. Do not argue unless you want me to hound you until your life is a burden. I will do it. Tomorrow at noon, you are going to meet me and tell me the truth. Now go. Tell your ‘sister’ you followed a butterfly or something. I will wait until you have left.”
He turned me around and propelled me forward with a little push. I went, dazed, with barely the presence of mind to draw the shreds of my discarded shadow-weaving back into place around me as I walked away.
The Red Bridge was one of the oldest bridges in the city and a well-known landmark. It was surprisingly small and shabby for all that, and nearly deserted this bright spring morning. The tributary that it spanned was deep and narrow; the trees on either bank towered above it, and the water looked almost black. I did not really need my painted parasol, but at least it gave me something to do with my hands. I sat on one of the little benches carved into the crest of the bridge and stared at the grimacing, scarlet-painted dragons — evidence of the fashions of the Old Empire — and wondered what I was doing.
“Good morning.” Otieno’s voice came from behind me.
I froze, feeling the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up, whether with fear or excitement I could not have told.
“Good morning, A Suda-san.”
I forced myself to stand, bracing myself to meet his eyes, only to find that he was staring down at the dark river. Grateful for the reprieve, I let myself gaze at him. His hair was loose today, with just one strand of golden ornaments braided next to his ear. He wore his normal Athazie tunic and breeches, with the addition of a long over-robe of deep blue. The cold manner of yesterday was gone, but his face showed caution, and a hint of reserve. That was my fault. The knowledge sent a pang through me.
“You did not bring your sister,” he commented, still avoiding my eyes. “More secrets?”
“I do not keep secrets from Akira,” I said, a little stiffly. “She brought me here and is waiting in the carriage on the other side of the bridge.”
And as if my reply had answered some vital question, Otieno finally looked at me, smiling his sunlight smile. “I am glad for you,” he said simply. “I am glad you have someone to confide in.”
He caught hold of the hand that was not gripping my parasol and drew it through his arm so that it rested in the crook of his elbow. He kept his own hand firmly on top of it; warm skin and hard muscles shifted under my fingers as he guided me forward.
The heat of him seemed to radiate against me. If I moved a little — just a very little — closer to him, my breast would press against his arm. My body had its own will, and it desperately wanted to make that tiny movement. I had to hold myself completely rigid to prevent it.
“I can walk unassisted,” I muttered.
“Oh, I know. And run, too. You are always running away from me,” he said. “If I have hold of you, you cannot get away so easily.”
“Just ask your questions,” I said. The effort to keep the proper distance between our bodies was wearing.
“All right, then. Tell me about your sister.”
“She is not related to me by blood,” I began obediently. “We met under difficult circumstances. I helped her
as best I could, and she helped me. Afterward we decided we liked each other and to stay together as sisters.”
“Amazing,” Otieno said, after a long pause. “A succinct and factual account of events which tells me precisely nothing.”
I came to a halt, wrenching my arm away from him. “If you only wish to mock me, why did you come here? What do you want?”
“I want you to trust me!” He reached out and grabbed my shoulders and held me still, forcing me to look at him. His face showed such a mixture of fury and anguish that it made me flinch. “Why are you being like this? We are not enemies, Pipit. I dragged you back over the side of that ship when Terayama tried to drown you. I kept your secrets at his house even when questions about how you came to be in the kitchen burned my mouth. I have never hurt you. I never would!”
A thrill of shock and fear — and flaring bright pleasure — rendered me speechless. He knew who I was. He had always known. When he had befriended Rin the drudge, he had recognized her as the daughter of the house he visited. Yet he had never said a word until now. How very far apart we were! Otieno was good, truly good. I did not deserve a friend like him.
“You are right,” I said bleakly. “You are right that you have been wonderful to me, but you do not understand — you cannot understand — what I am, what I have been through, the things I have done. Terrible things.” My voice broke, and I bit the last word off sharply, forcing my rising emotions down. “We are too different now. You are like a great warhorse that tries to be friends with a mouse. You do not even realize how easily you could crush me beneath your feet.”
The temper drained from Otieno’s face, and he looked appalled. “Yue, we are not animals. We are just people. A man and a woman who like each other. It is as easy as that. I promise you that I will never hurt you.”
I took a slow, deep breath, and spoke to him as calmly and carefully as I would address a child. “Sometimes people hurt each other without ever meaning to, simply by being who they are, simply by existing. I know this. The fact that you believe such a promise could be kept shows that there is no common ground between us.”
“That is a lie,” he said. His fingers flexed on my shoulders, not quite bruising. “No, I do not know what you have been through — you have not trusted me enough to tell me, to make me understand. The truth is that you do not want to try. It is easier and safer to push me away. But if people can hurt each other simply by existing, then people can also make each other happy, if they want to. People like us. You and I are kindred. From the first moment we saw each other, we both knew it. We have always been reaching out to each other. We are the same.”
A harsh, bitter laugh escaped me. “We are nothing alike!”
He made a noise of rage and snatched the parasol from my fingers, flinging it away, then seized my hands. I thought, for a dizzy instant, that he was going to kiss me.
Instead, there was a sharp crack, like the sound of an ax splitting wood, and the air around us changed, went bright and still. Heat began to gather in my hands, pulsing through my fingers where Otieno held them trapped. Otieno’s face was intent, his eyes fixed on mine. I could not look away. The air between us was glowing, shifting, stretching out in long golden strands like honey, filling my vision with a web of light that wrapped around us.
“Now,” he said.
Instinctively I responded. I let go, not of Otieno’s hands, but of something inside me. The heat in my hands flowed outward, running along the golden strands of light. I closed my eyes at last, shielding them from the unbearable brilliance.
The light faded, and the heat was gone. Something cool brushed my face. I opened my eyes.
It was snowing.
I drew in a sharp breath. There was a column of spiraling snowflakes above us, coming down out of a cloudless sky. The flakes flashed and glittered in the sunlight, piling up on my head and arms, on Otieno and our joined hands, and turning Otieno’s black hair silver.
His hands tightened on mine, bringing my gaze back to his face. “We are the same. Suzume. Rin. Yue. No matter what. We are the same.”
“W-we did th-this?” I asked faintly, my teeth beginning to chatter.
“Yes,” he said, with a trace of defiance that was ruined by a fat snowflake landing on his nose. He sneezed, then added, “Together.”
I could not deal with that revelation at the moment. “Will it f-follow us if we m-move?” I was trembling now, as the cold penetrated the layers of my haori and kimono. The flakes were not melting yet, but it was only a matter of time.
“I am not sure.” He tugged me down off the bottom step of the bridge. As we moved, the column of snow began to diminish, and by the time Otieno had shaken my haori out and put it back on my shoulders, and then brushed his own hair free of snow, the flakes had ceased to fall. There was still a rather large drift at the foot of the bridge, though.
Otieno took my hand again. His fingers trembled as they closed on mine. He started walking along the path, and I followed.
Hesitantly, I began: “I left Terayama-san’s house. I had nowhere to go. I wandered the city for a while, trying to find work, but everyone turned me away. . . .”
I told him the rest, though I excluded the hardest parts, such as what had really happened to my mother and my plans for the Shadow Ball.
When I finished, he was silent, then asked, “Your name now — Yue — where did that come from?”
“I wanted to leave Rin behind. Akira called me Yue, and it stuck.”
By now we had turned around and begun to walk back toward the bridge again.
“I have only heard half the story. Less than that,” he said. “I never asked before, but I always hoped you would eventually tell me. How did you come to be working in Terayama-san’s kitchens? Why did he tell everyone that his stepdaughter was sick? Did he even know you were there?”
“I do not want to talk about that.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Then I will ask again the next time I see you.”
“Next time?”
He smiled, and it felt like an ache deep inside me. “I told you that this time you would not get away so easily.”
“Sakura, sakura,
Covering the sky,
The fragrance is blown like mist and clouds,
Now, now, let us go now, to see them.
Sakura, sakura,
Covering the hills and valleys,
Drifting like mist and clouds,
Sakura, sakura,
In full bloom.”
The last note died away and I closed my eyes, the morning breeze ruffling the hair around my face. There was a footstep behind me on the veranda, and then Akira spoke.
“You have a guest.”
I looked up to see Otieno standing with Akira by the sliding doors. My suddenly stiff fingers fumbled the plectrum and forced a jangling discord from the shamisen.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling. “That was beautiful. I’ve never known anyone use their gift like that.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“I will go and ask for tea,” Akira announced. She went back through the doors and slid them shut behind her.
Otieno padded across the veranda and sat down close to me — far closer than I was comfortable with. His hair was loose again, and it danced in the wind. The trailing end of his turquoise sash fluttered. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting you. You said you would talk to me again, so I thought I would call on you and make it easier. Is that not all right? Kano-san did not seem surprised to see me.”
“I bet she didn’t,” I muttered. Then I went on, “What did you mean about a ‘gift’? What gift?”
He raised his eyebrows. I laid my shamisen down, adjusted it a little to the left and rearranged my sleeve, and then looked out over the lake. I heard him sigh.
“I worry about you, Pipit. I sense that there is so much power in you. The fact that you use it without even realizing, and without ever having been taught, shows that. Powers that ar
e denied and ignored can sometimes go wrong. I do not want you to hurt yourself.”
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. “My music has nothing to do with shadow-weaving.”
“I know that, but most Akachi have some specialized area that their gift naturally seems to enhance. Mine is archery. I am not an expert, but it seemed to me that you were weaving power through your voice and playing to bring the emotions of the song directly to the listener’s heart. It was a subtle and lovely enchantment. A wonderful way to use your gift.”
My voice was pathetically small as I said, “Thank you.”
It was hard to describe, even to myself, why I was so resistant to this extra ability that seemed to be trying to push its way out of me. Every time it emerged, I felt a strange fear, something telling me that you could not harness such a power without being changed, that embracing it would mean letting go of other things. Things like fury and sorrow, and the desire for justice. And without those things I doubted I would even exist.
“Tell me about your gift,” I said impulsively. “You said it enhances your archery. I have seen you shoot, and it all seemed completely natural to me.”
“Of course it is natural,” he said indignantly. “My gift is as much a part of me as your big brown eyes are a part of you. Now, do not frown at me, and do not try to distract me, either. You promised you would tell me a story.”
“What story is that?” I asked, amused at the childlike expression.
“The tale of how you went from a noble lady of the Terayama House to a drudge in its kitchens. I shall not tell you any more about my gift until you have told me that.”
My amusement vanished. “It is not a bedtime story,” I said, turning away from him.
His hand came to rest on my shoulder, drawing me back until I came to rest against him, my shoulders encircled by his arm. It was warm surrounded by the haven of his embrace, and I felt . . . safe.
