by Lian Hearn
How strange were the workings of fate, she mused. Lord Shigemori had ordered her father’s death; if that had not taken place, she would never have come to the attention of his son. If she went to him, she would be raised to a position her family could never have dreamed of—but she would have no children.
Yet, she thought, my father has no use for grandchildren. He will not be like other spirits. He will stay forever with his bridge—many will bring him offerings and gifts, almost as if he were a god himself.
She rose then and took flowers and wine to place before the stone. It had rained and the sky was overcast—the bridge, the streets, the river’s surface all as gray as the stones.
As she had expected, there were other offerings there. Her father had worshippers now and always would have. He did not need grandchildren. She prayed to his spirit and told him what she was going to become. There seemed a certain balance in place: she also would be a sacrifice—to the river god, to the Otori—though she thought her sacrifice would not be unpleasurable.
WEEKS WENT PAST without any further word from the horsebreaker or from the castle. Akane was disappointed.
“They have changed their minds,” she said to Haruna, who called on her regularly to keep her spirits up and bring money to her mother.
“These things take time to arrange,” Haruna said. “You must be patient.”
“I have been persuaded to give up a good man for the sake of an empty dream. You had better take me back!”
“Be patient,” Haruna whispered.
Akane’s patience was wearing thin, and she became even more annoyed when one morning when she awoke early and could not sleep, rose at dawn and went to the bridge to take food and drink to her father, she saw a group of horsemen riding toward her. She recognized Mori Kiyoshige on his gray horse with the black mane and tail; Irie Masahide, the sword instructor; and Lord Shigeru himself, along with a large number of retainers. She and the others in the crowd on the bridge dropped to their knees and watched with bowed heads until the horsemen had passed, the horses’ feet padding over the stones.
“Lord Shigeru is leaving the city?” she said to the man next to her, as they both stood.
“Looks like it. Going to deal with the Tohan, I hope. It’s time someone taught them a lesson.”
They will be away all summer, she thought. Am I expected to do nothing till the typhoons come and drive them home?
She watched the group as they trotted off the bridge and along the riverbank. The young man on the black horse turned his head and looked back. It was too far away to tell if he was looking at her, but she felt he had seen her standing by her father’s grave. She continued to stare after them until they disappeared from sight. She sighed. I may as well wait, she thought.
16
Shigeru had allowed his thoughts to stray to the stone-mason’s daughter once or twice, but he did not know about Kiyoshige’s negotiations, and he had very little time to pursue any of his own in that direction—for shortly after the entombment, messengers arrived from Chigawa, a small town on the high road between Yamagata and the coast, right on the eastern border of the Middle Country. The reports were that the Tohan were carrying out some sort of campaign against their own peasantry to root out an obscure sect known as the Hidden—Shigeru remembered Nagai talking about the same sect at Yamagata. The persecuted were fleeing over the border into the Middle Country. Tohan warriors were pursuing them, torturing them and killing them, along with any Otori peasants that might have given them shelter. It was this that outraged Shigeru when he heard it. The Tohan were entitled to do what they liked within their own borders, and Shigeru did not care one way or the other about the sect: there were a lot of religious movements that sprang up and withered away, and most of them seemed harmless, presenting no threat to the stable order of society. But if the Tohan started believing they could come and go as they liked into Otori lands, sooner or later they would come and stay. A further complication was that the border incursions all took place around Chigawa, an area rich in silver and copper. Such aggressive provocation had to be met with equal boldness and decisiveness: it was the only way to stop it.
As always, and to Shigeru’s displeasure, his uncles were present at the meeting Lord Shigemori called to discuss what the Otori reaction should be. He felt that now that he was an adult and could advise his father, there was no need for his uncles to be present. It seemed to him to indicate confusion about who actually led the clan and to say that Shigemori dared do nothing without his brothers’ agreement. Again, his uncles advised appeasement, reiterating their thoughts on the strength of the Tohan and the dangers of insulting the Iida again so soon after Miura’s unfortunate death. In his turn, Shigeru voiced his opinion forcefully and was supported by the senior retainers Irie and Miyoshi.
But the arguments went on. He saw how skillfully his uncles played his father, seeming always to defer to him, flattering him, wearing him down with their persistent reasoning. They claimed always that their only goal was the well-being of the clan, but he wondered what the secret desires of their hearts might be. What advancement to themselves did placating the Tohan bring? It did occur to him, then, that they might seek to usurp both his father and himself—such baseness seemed unbelievable, and he did not think the clan would ever allow it, but he also saw how ineffectual his father had become, and he feared pragmatic men like Endo and Miyoshi might, if not actively seek, at least accept a stronger head. Which will be no one but me, he swore to himself.
They sat in the great hall of the residence behind the castle itself. It had rained earlier, but now the sun had come out and it was very hot. Shigeru could hear the sea surging against the wall beyond the garden. All the doors stood open, and the deep verandas were cool pools of shade beyond which the summer light shimmered, making leaves a more brilliant green and the colors of the flowers—wisteria and lotus—more intense. The discussion continued all afternoon, while the heat intensified and the cicadas’ shrilling grew more strident and the men’s tempers more frayed.
Finally, just before sunset, Lord Shigemori said he would like to delay the decision until he had been able to consult a shaman, who fortunately was visiting the shrine in the forest above the castle. A messenger was sent and the meeting broke up; it would be continued and a decision made the following day.
Shigeru spoke with the barest necessary politeness to his father and uncles and went to walk in the garden to cool his temper. The sun was sinking below the hill on the western side of the bay, but the air was still stifling. His skin itched beneath the formal robes and his head ached.
At the far end of the garden, Takeshi was sitting on the stone wall overlooking the sea. Shigeru rarely saw his brother like this, sitting quietly, thinking himself unobserved, apparently wrapped in thought. He watched him for a few moments and found himself wondering what his brother’s life would be like. He was so often the center of attention, admired and praised, yet he was not the clan heir and, unless something happened to Shigeru, would never hold the power that he obviously longed for—and seemed created for. There were many instances in the chronicles of the clans where brother fought brother for power, where younger siblings turned against their elders, overthrew and killed them—or were defeated and put to death or forced to take their own lives. His father’s brothers, right in front of his eyes, were proving themselves disloyal. They were half brothers, it was true, from a different mother, but what if it was a sign of an inescapable part of Otori history that would be repeated in each generation? What if Takeshi were to prove disloyal to him?
How could he keep him occupied and make use of all his talents? Really, he should be given land of his own, a domain within the fief—maybe Tsuwano or even Yamagata.
Takeshi seemed to snap suddenly out of his reverie. He jumped from the wall and saw Shigeru. His face lit up in a smile so spontaneous and full of affection that it allayed some of Shigeru’s fears.
“Have you come to a decision?” he demanded.
/> “Our father is consulting a shaman,” Shigeru replied, unable to keep the anger from his voice as he should have. “We are to meet again tomorrow.”
Takeshi’s smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “It would be better to act immediately. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I do, and everyone knows it by now. I have been saying it all afternoon. But I am not being listened to. Worse, I am constantly undermined by my uncles, who never cease reminding me of my youth, my inexperience, and their great wisdom.”
“They have no wisdom,” Takeshi replied shortly.
Shigeru did not correct his brother for his disrespect. Takeshi glanced up at him and went on, emboldened. “My older brother should act, for the sake of the clan.”
“I can do nothing against our father’s wishes,” Shigeru replied. “I must obey him in whatever decision he makes. The trouble is, he makes no decisions at all!”
Takeshi put on a voice like a mischievous child’s and said brightly, “My teachers can’t forbid me to do things they don’t know about. And if they don’t forbid me, I’m not being disobedient.”The voice was a child’s, but Takeshi’s eyes were narrowed like an adult’s. “Mori Kiyoshige taught me that,” he added.
“Did he?” Shigeru said. “Go and find Kiyoshige now and ask him to come to me. I’m thinking of trying the horses out—maybe early tomorrow morning.”
“Can I come?” Takeshi said at once.
“Probably not.”
Takeshi looked disappointed but did not argue. Instead, he bowed formally to Shigeru as a younger brother should to an older and walked swiftly away.
He knows how to be obedient, Shigeru thought. He has had the best upbringing. I am sure I will always be able to trust him.
AS THEY LEFT the city, he saw the girl again on the bridge—the miraculous bridge so perfect and beautiful. The river did not fight it now but caressed its stone arches, whose footings had cost so many lives. Weeds were already attaching themselves to the lower stones, streaking the gray with dark viscous green, and fish gathered in the shadow of the arches, finding shelter from the sunlight and from the sharp beaks of herons and gulls.
He noted the carved boulder he had erected—it had been a decisive act, like this dawn departure. But both were inspired by the same desire—for justice—and the same impatient intolerance of cruelty and disloyalty.
Even at this early hour there were people on the bridge, bringing offerings to the stonemason, and it made Shigeru think about death and how this man’s death, for all its cruelty, led to a sort of a new life, inspiring people—the stonemason was as important and active in death as he had been in life; his memory would never die.
He could not see into the future, and therefore could not know how his own grave would become a center of pilgrimage as long as the Middle Country endured and how he would be worshipped as a god forever.
And although he meditated often on his own death, as Matsuda had taught him, and prayed that it would be honorable and significant, death did not weigh heavy on his mind this morning.
A sudden thunderstorm in the night had cleared the air and sluiced the streets clean. Huge gray-white clouds banked up on the horizon, tinged pink by the sunrise, as the sky began to deepen to blue. The horse beneath him was eager and excited, and he could feel its coiled energy through his legs and thighs. It was a young creature, like him. They were riding out together. He would not have to sit through another endless day of discussions, arguments, half-truths, and evasions.
Ostensibly he was exercising the horses with Kiyoshige, Irie, and about thirty men, but he did not intend to return to Hagi before the day’s meeting started. In fact, he did not intend to return for many days, for as long as it took to assess the border situation for himself and deal with the Tohan if necessary.
The light below the clouds turned to yellow as the sun rose farther, making their gray undersides gleam like newly polished steel. The riders followed the street that ran along the riverbank. Like most of the city streets, it was unpaved and the horses’ hoofs sent showers of water splashing from the puddles.
Shigeru turned and looked back at the bridge. The low rays of the sun turned the water to silver. He had noticed the woman—Akane ... he began at that moment to think of her as Akane—kneeling by the grave, head bowed as he rode past, and he had felt a sudden rush of recognition of a bond between them. He was not surprised now to see that she was gazing after him, with the look of someone peering out to sea, trying to make out some great ship nearing or leaving harbor.
He reined his horse back slightly, so he and Kiyoshige were riding side by side.
“When we come back, I would like to see her.”
“Who?” Kiyoshige replied teasingly.
“The stonemason’s daughter. Akane.”
“Akane?” the younger boy repeated. “I thought you were not interested.”
“I may be interested,” Shigeru replied. It was, it seemed, a day of decisions. He would choose his own war and his own concubine.
“It has already been arranged,” Kiyoshige said quietly, leaning sideways slightly in the saddle so only Shigeru could hear. “She is waiting for you to send for her.”
Shigeru smiled. There was a host of things he might have expressed—pleasure, surprise, amusement at his friend’s connivings. Kiyoshige laughed. There was no need to say any of them. They understood each other.
In the same way, he had not needed to explain his plan to Kiyoshige the day before. His friend had grasped Shigeru’s intentions immediately. Irie had been invited to come and speak with the young men in the garden. Shigeru felt he needed at least one of his teachers to approve his scheme. Irie, who had traveled with him to Yamagata and returned to the town to meet him in the spring, was the one he trusted most, suspecting from what he noticed about Irie during the meetings that the man’s loyalties had been transferred to him. They had had no discussions; Shigeru had not sought advice. He had made up his mind, had told Irie of his intentions and asked—though ordered was closer to the truth—the older man to come with him.
The old warrior had obeyed impassively, but he had met them early, before the appointed time, and Shigeru felt his eagerness was as great as their own. Irie’s outrage had been as deep as Shigeru’s when they had uncovered the duplicity of Lord Kitano and his approaches to the Iida family, and he had been the most affronted by the Tohan version of Miura’s death.
The men who came with them—ten from each one’s personal retainers—were told nothing of the mission. Kiyoshige casually mentioned the need to try out the horses, and he made sure his men rode the youngest, greenest colts to give some appearance of truth; but just like the man who had spoken to Akane on the bridge, what all the Otori men hoped for was the chance to confront the arrogant, insufferable Tohan and teach them a lesson.
The last of the snows had melted and all the mountain passes were open. At first they followed the coast road toward Matsue; after three days they turned east, riding up and down steep mountain paths, sleeping wherever night overtook them, happy to be out of doors while the rain held off, away from towns and villages that might be infiltrated by spies, until they came to the edge of the wide plateau known as Yaegahara. It was circled by mountain ranges that appeared ever more faintly, one behind the other, as far as the eye could see. The most distant were the High Cloud Ranges, which formed a natural barrier to the Three Countries. Beyond the ranges, many weeks’ travel to the east, lay Miyako, the capital of the Eight Islands—the seat of the Emperor, who, in name, ruled over them all. In reality, the Emperor’s power was small, and outlying fiefs like the Three Countries practically ruled themselves. If local clans and individual warlords rose to power and conquered and subdued their weaker neighbors, there was no one to object or intervene. Whatever rights might seem to be ensured by inheritance or oaths of fealty were all subsumed by the final single legitimacy of power. Among the Tohan, the Iida family had risen to supremacy: they were an ancient house, high-ranking
warriors, established at Inuyama for hundreds of years—but none of these things made them first among their equals as much as their lust for power and their ruthless and decisive pursuit of it. No one could be at ease with such neighbors.
Inuyama, the Tohan castle town, lay behind the mountains far to the south.
