by Lian Hearn
He is showing off, Shigeru thought, but what a marvelous skill to have.
SHIGERU WENT FIRST to his mother’s house, crossing the river by the fish weir, remembering, as always, the day of the stone fight when Takeshi nearly drowned, and Mori Yuta did. Now the second Mori son was dead too.
He did not want to return to the castle like a fugitive. In the morning he would dress in formal robes and ride there as the head of the clan.
The dogs barked triumphantly; the guards opened the gate at the sound of his voice, their faces astonished, then contorted with emotion. Two of them, ancient grizzled men too old to fight on the battlefield, had tears coursing down their cheeks as they fell to their knees.
The household woke; lamps were lit. Chiyo wept as she prepared hot water and food. Ichiro forgot himself so far that he embraced his former pupil. Shigeru had returned from the dead, and no one could quite believe it.
Messengers were sent at once to the castle, and Shigeru’s mother arrived at dawn. He had bathed and slept for a few hours and was eating the first meal of the day with Ichiro when her presence was announced.
“You have come back just in time,” she said. “Kitano is expected any day now with Iida’s terms. Your uncles are installed as regents, but you can be sure they will not be as overjoyed as they should be at your return.”
“I will go to the castle at once,” Shigeru said. “You must accompany me.” After a moment he went on. “My father died fighting bravely, as did all his warriors. We were defeated by the treachery of the Noguchi. But Kitano is not blameless; his vacillation also contributed to the defeat.”
“This, however, makes him acceptable to Iida,” Ichiro observed. The older man’s emotion had not affected his appetite, Shigeru noticed, as Ichiro helped himself greedily to rice and salted plums. Yet he felt renewed respect for his teacher’s learning and judgment, recalling his meticulous attention to detail and his scrupulous regard for truth. Moreover, Shigeru knew that he could trust him completely.
“You must refuse to negotiate through a traitor,” his mother said angrily. “You must confront your uncles and take over the leadership of the clan immediately.”
“Forgive me for disagreeing, Lady Otori,” Ichiro said, “but Lord Shigeru should be prepared to be flexible: it’s not the willow’s branches that break under the snow. The Otori have been defeated in battle; no matter whose the fault, the outcome is the same. Iida is going to make heavy demands, heavier than the worst blizzards of winter. If we are not to be broken completely, we must be prepared to bend.”
Lady Otori, affronted, opened her mouth to argue, but Shigeru held up a hand to silence her.
“What are these demands likely to be?”
“We must find out from Kitano. I am afraid he will ask for Chigawa, the silver mines, all of the eastern districts, and maybe even Yamagata.”
“We will never give up Yamagata,” Lady Otori exclaimed.
“And though I dislike having to voice such things, your abdication, even your life, may be required.” Ichiro spoke in a dry, impersonal manner, as though discussing a point of legality, but a sudden fit of coughing seemed to overcome him, and he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robe, hiding his face briefly.
Lady Otori did not argue with this interpretation but sat in silence, her eyes cast down, her face stern.
Shigeru said, “My father’s command to me was that I should take my own life only if Jato were lost. Jato came to me, as if by a miracle. Therefore, I must obey my father’s wishes and live in order to seek revenge.”
“The sword came to you?” His mother was shocked into speech. “Where is it?”
He indicated where it lay beside him—the hilt disguised, the scabbard borrowed.
“That is not Jato,” she said.
“I will not draw it to prove it to you. But it is Jato.”
His mother smiled. “Then we have nothing to fear. They cannot make you abdicate if you hold the Otori sword.”
Ichiro said, “Iida Sadamu, it is reported, hates you personally. Your uncles may be tempted to deliver you to him for their own gain. The Otori army has been almost annihilated. We are in no position to defend ourselves. You will be in great danger. You must go very carefully.”
“Do I hold any advantages?” Shigeru asked.
“You are the legal heir to the clan; the people love you and will not give up their support of you quickly.”
“And the Tohan also suffered huge losses,” Shigeru said. “Sadamu himself may not be able to attack the heart of the Middle Country or lay siege to Hagi. And maybe the Seishuu will stand by their pledges of alliance and come to our support.” And maybe the Tribe will be another check on Sadamu’s ambition, he reflected but did not speak of this.
“Well, that’s better than I thought,” Ichiro said.
SHIGERU GAVE ORDERS for the most stately procession possible under the circumstances to escort him to the castle. Old men and boys were rapidly assembled from the remnants of the household guards. Somewhat to his surprise, Miyoshi Kahei and his younger brother, Gemba, appeared among them; Gemba was only six years old.
“I am happy to see you alive,” Shigeru said to Kahei.
“Not as happy as we are to see Lord Shigeru,” the lad replied, his former boyishness and cheerfulness extinguished by what he had seen of war. “Kiyoshige’s death was terrible,” he added quietly, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “It must be avenged.”
“It will be,” Shigeru replied as quietly. “What news of your father?”
“He also lived. He is at the castle now. He sent my brother and me to be part of your escort, a pledge of his support in the coming months: many of our men died, but they have sons, the same age as me or Gemba; we will be your future army.”
“I am grateful to him and to you.”
“It is how the whole city, the whole country feels,” Kahei exclaimed. “As long as Lord Shigeru is alive, the whole clan lives!”
Shigeru had a new scabbard brought for Jato, removed the black sharkskin from the hilt, and carefully cleaned and polished the sword. He dressed in formal robes, subdued in color, embroidered with the Otori crest, and placed a small black hat on his head. Chiyo plucked the regrowth in his beard and redressed his hair. A little before noon, he set out for the castle. He rode one of the Mori horses, a gray with a black mane and tail, who reminded him of Kiyoshige’s dead stallion. His mother accompanied him in a palanquin.
His mother’s house lay some way from the center of the town, surrounded by other small estates, with tiled white walls and tree-filled gardens. Canals ran alongside the roads, swimming with lazy fish, and the air was full of the trickle and splash of water. In the gardens, azalea bushes bloomed like red flames, and the canal banks were lined with irises.
In the distance, other sounds could be heard, unrecognizable at first, then gradually distinguishing themselves into the beating of drums and gongs, people shouting, singing, and clapping their hands: the streets became crowded. The townsfolk were dressed in bright colors and wore strange-shaped hats and yellow or red scarves. They danced as if afflicted by madness or possessed by spirits. At the sight of Shigeru’s procession, their singing and their movements became more frenzied. The throngs of people parted as he rode between them, but their emotion rolled over him, consuming him until he felt no longer a human being, a man, but the embodiment of something ancient and indestructible.
This must never be allowed to pass away, he thought. I must live. I must have a son. If my wife will not give me one, I will have children with Akane. I will acknowledge her children and adopt them. No one can prevent me from making my own decisions now. He had hardly thought of either woman for days: now longing for Akane swept over him. He gazed toward the house beneath the pines, half expecting to catch a glimpse of her, but the gates were closed; the house seemed deserted. As soon as matters were under way in the castle, he would send a message to her. He would go to her that night. And he must speak to Moe as soon as possible to fi
nd out what had happened to her father and brothers. He feared they were dead, since the Yanagi had borne the brunt of the Tohan’s first onslaught while being attacked on the right-hand flank by their supposed allies, the Noguchi.
Endo Chikara and Miyoshi Satoru greeted him in front of the castle, welcoming him home and expressing their condolences for his father’s death. In contrast to the frenzy in the town, their mood was somber. No one could pretend that the Otori did not face complete disaster. They rode over the wooden bridge together; in the first bailey Shigeru dismounted and strode toward the entrance to the residence.
When they stepped inside, Endo said, “Lord Kitano will arrive tomorrow. He brings the Tohan demands.”
“Summon the elders and my uncles,” Shigeru replied. “We must discuss our position before we meet Kitano. My mother will also attend our meeting. Tell me when they are all assembled. In the meantime I must talk to my wife.”
Endo spoke to one of the maids and she disappeared along the veranda, returning a few moments later and whispering, “Lady Otori is waiting for you, Lord Otori.”
The room was dim after the brilliant sunshine, and he could not see Moe’s expression clearly as she bowed to the ground, then welcomed him. But the stiffness of her body and her stilted speech disclosed to him her grief for the dead and, he suspected, her disappointment that he was not among them. He knelt in front of her, able now to see her reddened eyes and blotched skin.
“I am very sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid you have suffered a great loss.”
“If you call the death of my father, all his sons, all our warriors, a great loss—yes, I have,” she replied with profound bitterness. “My marriage bound my family to you, to your rashness and foolhardiness. They would have done better to copy Kitano and Noguchi. Our house is wiped out. Our land is to be taken from us and given to Iida’s warriors.”
“This is still to be negotiated,” Shigeru said.
“What negotiation will bring my family back? My mother will kill herself rather than leave Kushimoto. They are all gone save me. You have destroyed the Yanagi.”
“Your father was loyal to my father and to me. Your family were not traitors. You should be proud of them.”
She raised her eyes to his face. “You have also suffered a great loss,” she said with a mock concern. “Your mistress is dead.”
He had thought she would express some formal condolences for his father’s death and, briefly, did not understand what he heard. Then he realized the depths of her hatred for him, the intensity of her desire to hurt him.
“Akane,” she went on. “The courtesan. She killed an old man and then killed herself. Apparently, so the gossip goes, Masahiro visited her with the news of your death: it must have driven her out of her mind.”
She continued to stare at him, almost triumphantly. “Of course, Masahiro had been in contact with her all winter. He must have slept with her often while you were away.”
His rage was so intense he wanted to do nothing but kill her. He fought against the wash of red that set the muscles in his arms and hands afire. He felt his fists clench and his face contort with new intolerable pain. Akane was dead? She had been deceiving him with his own uncle? Both seemed equally unbelievable and unbearable. Then he remembered the stories about her former lover, Hayato—the gossip in the town when the man was killed on Masahiro’s orders, his children condemned and then spared, thanks, everyone said, to Akane’s intercession.
“You must be very tired,” Moe said in the same artificial voice. “And I see you were wounded. Let me prepare you some tea.”
He knew if he stayed in the room a moment longer he would lose control. He stood abruptly, saying nothing more to his wife, thrust his hand toward the door, tearing the paper screen as he forced it open, and rushed toward the garden. The wall brought him up short. He crashed his fist down on it as though he could split the stone, and tears spurted from his eyes like fountains.
He stood gazing out to sea across the bay. Scarlet azaleas splashed the green of the opposite shore. The waves murmured against the huge seawall and a slight breeze came off the sea, drying the tears on his cheeks. After the one first surge, he did not weep again, but felt the heat of his fury subside and transform itself into something else, no less intense but controllable: an implacable resolve to hold onto what was left to him.
There was no one to whom he could talk, no one with whom to share his grief. Only Kiyoshige would have understood, and Kiyoshige was dead: he would never talk to him, never hear him laugh again. He himself was surrounded by people who hated him—his uncles, his own wife. He had lost his father, his closest friend, his most trusted adviser, Irie Masahide—and Akane, who would have consoled him, whom he would never hold again.
Endo Chikara came to him to tell him that the meeting was assembled. Shigeru had to put aside his grief and rage and face his uncles with composure. Now more than ever he was grateful to Matsuda and the monks at Terayama for the rigorous training that had taught him self-control. He greeted his uncles with no indication of his true feelings, received their condolences and inquiries calmly, scrutinizing their faces carefully but discreetly, assessing their stance and demeanor. He studied Masahiro covertly, repelled by the thought of Akane in the embrace of such ugliness. He did not believe it—she would never sleep with Masahiro unless he had forced her. This idea caused him such revulsion he had to seal it away in order to be able to continue the discussions.
The meeting was stormy, marked by unease and fear, filled with recriminations: the first against the treacherous Noguchi; then, more subtly, against Shigeru himself, for inciting Iida’s hostility, for confronting the Tohan directly. It ended in something of a stalemate, with Lord Shoichi declining to stand down as regent, since it might be that the Tohan would refuse to negotiate with Shigeru and someone had to be in authority to speak for the clan.
Endo, pragmatic as usual, was noticeably silent, but Miyoshi spoke warmly in support of Shigeru, making it clear that in his opinion the people in Hagi, indeed throughout the Middle Country, had been in favor of the war against the Tohan and would vehemently resist any decision to submit to them. He believed, with Shigeru, that the West would not tolerate the complete domination of the Middle Country by the Tohan, and that they should put their confidence in the alliance with Maruyama, and use it as leverage.
“We must meet the Tohan demands with demands of our own,” Miyoshi counseled. “After all, Sadamu attacked Chigawa unprovoked.”
“Unfortunately, he was all too provoked,” Shoichi retorted. “By Lord Shigeru’s conduct ever since the death of Miura.”
There seemed little point in arguing repeatedly over the same ground, and Shigeru called an end to the meeting, returning to his mother’s house that night, since he wanted to talk in private with Ichiro, and he could not bear to be under the same roof as his uncles or his wife. Miyoshi wanted to accompany him, but Shigeru persuaded him to remain in the castle: he needed at least one loyal retainer there. Miyoshi sent reinforcements to guard the house, and Shigeru thought he knew why. At this point his sudden death would be a convenience for many. Assassination had become a strong possibility. He had never thought about it before; he had been protected by his undisputed position. Now as he returned through the streets, which were still frantic with milling crowds of people, he realized how easily an assassin could be hidden among them. His mother’s house seemed pitifully unprotected, but at least he trusted her servants, unlike within the castle, where he could no longer trust anyone.
He told Ichiro all that had been discussed in the meeting, and his teacher offered to attend the following day’s negotiations, agreeing with Miyoshi that the Otori had many grievances that needed to be addressed.
“I will remember everything that is said and make a record of it,” he promised.
By the time they had bathed and eaten the evening meal, Shigeru was numb with fatigue. He wanted to question Ichiro about Akane—but what would Ichiro know? He wanted to grieve for
her, as she deserved—but what if she had indeed betrayed him? It was too lacerating to think about. He shut his emotions away, as if in a box buried in the earth, and let himself fall into the deep river of sleep.
