by Lian Hearn
She pitied the child and his mother. All men expected their wives to give them sons, but how often were those sons a disappointment or a threat! Iida would make life a torment for them both. She tried not to think how this in turn affected her own situation. If only Iida were happily married with dozens of sons. His dissatisfaction led him to consider changing wives and directed his attention more intensely on her. But she did not want even to consider these matters lest her own hopes and fears undermine her composure and give her away.
The next morning she was summoned to Iida’s presence and met outside by a man who she knew to be one of his favorites.
“Lord Abe,” she greeted him, though she thought that to call him “lord” was flattering him, for Iida honored him far above his family’s rank.
His bow was perfunctory; she suspected that like most of the Eastern warriors, he had little respect for the Maruyama tradition and saw her as an aberration that should be removed as speedily as possible.
How swift would be her fall, how great her humiliation if anyone knew about the child. She would have to take her own life; Iida would marry her daughter, and Maruyama would pass to the Tohan. But to kill myself would mean I had given up hope, she told herself, and I have not yet, not yet. I will do anything in my power to see Iida overthrown, Shigeru restored, and to live with him as his wife. And there will be no more cruelty, no more torture, no more hostages.
With renewed resolve to withstand his tyranny, she stepped into the receiving room and dropped to her knees, retreating into herself, hiding her hatred of him behind the graceful form and appealing demeanor of a beautiful woman.
Iida’s eyes appraised her, and she sensed his interest and his desire.
“Please sit up, Lady Maruyama. I am so delighted to see you again.”
He was far more courteous than his underling: he was the eldest son of an ancient family and had been trained in such things since childhood; furthermore, he was acquainted with all the different forms of human interaction and used courtesy as he used cruelty—to further his own ends and for his own gratification. Yet the courteous words sounded incongruous in his harsh Eastern accent, and she was neither flattered nor disarmed.
“It is of course with the greatest pleasure that I come to Inuyama,” she replied. “I am so grateful to Lord Iida and Lady Iida for their care of my daughter.”
“She seems to be a healthy girl; and growing up so fast, though she cannot compare to her mother in beauty.”
She made no response beyond bowing again to acknowledge the compliment.
Iida went on. “I hope you will honor us with your presence for many weeks.”
“Lord Iida’s kindness is extreme. However, I must return fairly soon to Maruyama, as I have matters to attend to there. The anniversary of my father’s death is approaching, among other obligations.”
He said nothing but continued to watch her with a look of veiled amusement.
He knows about Shigeru, she thought, and felt the blood drain from her face as her heart thumped. But she showed nothing of her fears, simply waited composedly for him to speak again, reminding herself that it was one of his strategies to pretend to know everything about people until they broke down and confessed to far more than he suspected, condemning themselves out of their own mouths.
He finally broke the silence. “What news do you bring me from the West? I suppose you stopped at Noguchi. I hope Noguchi is keeping Arai under control.”
“Lord Arai is one of Lord Noguchi’s most trusted retainers now,” she replied.
“And what do you hear of the Otori?”
“Very little. I have not even set foot in the domain for years.”
“Yet I hear you have a fondness for herons.”
“I saw one of Heaven’s creatures suffering,” she replied quietly. “I did not understand what it meant.”
“You understand now, though? ‘Loyalty to the Heron.’ It is almost laughable. These people do not know what Shigeru has become; I’ll wager they would not rally under the banner ‘Loyalty to the Farmer’!”
He laughed and waited for her to smile. “The Farmer is growing a fine crop of sesame, they tell me,” he sneered.
He does not know, she realized.
“I suppose sesame is a useful seed,” she said, pretending disdain.
“Shigeru is far more useful as a farmer than he ever was as a warrior,” Iida muttered. “All the same, I would be a lot happier if he were dead.”
She could not bring herself to acquiesce, simply raised her eyebrows slightly and smiled.
“He had some reputation once as a swordsman,” Iida said. “Now people speak of his integrity and honor. I would like to have him in my power: I would like to see his honor then. But he’s too wily ever to leave the Middle Country.”
“No one is as great a warrior as Lord Iida,” she murmured, thinking how fortunate it was that he was a vain man and no flattery was ever too excessive for him.
“I suppose you have seen my nightingale floor?” he said. “My skills as a warrior are not all that I have. I am also cunning and suspicious, never forget that!”
The audience came to an end and she returned to her rooms.
The days passed, long and tedious apart from the pleasure of being with her daughter. Her anxieties mounted. Her monthly bleeding was two days late, three days, then a week. She feared that the physical changes in her body, especially the onset of morning sickness, would be all too quickly observed and knew that she must not delay her departure. She lay awake at night trying to plan what must take place as soon as she got back to Maruyama. Who would be able to help her? Her normal physicians were all men; she could not bear to disclose her secret to them. And she could not ask either Sachie or her sister, Eriko, to help her kill her child, even though both had a knowledge of herbs, medicine, and healing. The only person she could think of was Shizuka. Surely Shizuka knew about such things? And she would understand and not judge. . . .
The day before she left Inuyama, she sent Bunta with a message begging Shizuka to come to Maruyama at once.
Mariko was deeply disappointed at her leaving, and they parted with tears on both sides. The journey back was difficult: it seemed everything conspired to make her miserable. The weather became suddenly unseasonably hot; the rains began before she left Yamagata, but she insisted on returning home and not staying in the city, so the last week of travel was in constant rain. In Bunta’s absence the horses were bad-tempered and difficult. Everything was soaked and smelled of mildew. Sachie caught a cold, which made her even more unhappy about Naomi’s inexplicable urgency. But unpleasant as the journey was, what she feared at home was even more alarming. She did not know how she would find the strength to do what she knew she had to do.
45
By the time Naomi had arrived home, her compan-ion, Sachie, who knew her so intimately, had begun to suspect what had happened. When they were alone inside the residence, the two women stared at each other. Sachie’s eyes held the question. Naomi could only nod.
“But how?” Sachie began.
“At Terayama. He was there. Don’t say anything to me. I know what a fool I have been. Now I am going to get rid of it.”
She saw Sachie flinch and was unreasonably angry with her. “I am not asking you to have anything to do with it. If it offends you, then leave me. Someone is coming to help me.” She was silent for a moment, then said, her voice breaking, “But she must come soon.”
“Lady Naomi!” Sachie reached out to her as if she would embrace her, but Naomi stood rigid. “I would never leave you at a time like this. But is there no alternative?”
“I cannot think of one,” Naomi said bitterly. “If you can devise some way out, some way for me not to kill Lord Shigeru’s child, then tell me. Otherwise don’t pity me, or you will weaken me. I will weep later when it is all over.”
Sachie bowed her head, tears in her eyes.
“In the meantime you may tell the household I have caught a severe cold. I wi
ll see no one, except the woman with whom we rode to Yamagata, Muto Shizuka. She must come soon,” she repeated, gazing into the garden where the rain fell steadily.
Two days later there was a brief break in the weather, and in a patch of sunshine and blue skies, Shizuka arrived with Bunta.
Alone in the room with Naomi, she listened in silence to the curt request, asked for no explanations, and offered no sympathy.
“I will be back tonight,” she said. “Eat and drink nothing. Try to rest. You will not sleep tonight, and it will be painful.”
She returned with herbs from which she made a bitter infusion and helped Naomi drink it. Within hours the cramps began, followed by severe pain and heavy bleeding. Shizuka stayed with her throughout the night, wiping the sweat from her face, washing away the blood, reassuring her that it would soon pass.
“You will have other children,” she whispered. “As I did.”
“You have been through this too,” Naomi said, letting the tears flow now as much for Shizuka as for herself.
“Yes, my first child. It did not suit the Tribe for me to have it at that time. My aunt gave me this same brew. I was very unhappy. But if the Tribe had not done that to me, I would never have dared defy them to help Lord Shigeru and to keep your secret. Men cannot foresee what the results of their actions will be because they do not take account of the human heart.”
“Are you in love with Lord Shigeru?” Naomi heard herself asking. “Is that why you do so much for us?” The darkness, the intimacy between them, made her dare to utter such words.
Shizuka replied with the same honesty. “I love him deeply, but we will never be together in this life. That precious fate is yours.”
“It is a fate that has brought me little but sorrow,” Naomi said. “But I would not choose any other.”
Toward dawn the pain eased and she slept a little; when she woke, Sachie was in the room and Shizuka was preparing to leave. Naomi was filled with dread at the idea of her departure.
“Stay a little longer! Don’t leave me yet!”
“Lady, I cannot stay. I should not be here. Someone will find out, and it will bring us all into danger.”
“You will not tell Lord Shigeru?” Naomi began to weep at his name.
“Of course not! It may anyway be a long time till I am able to see him. You may see him yourself before then. You must rest and recover your strength. You have many who love you and who will take care of you.”
When Naomi wept more despairingly, Shizuka tried to comfort her. “Next time I go to Hagi, I will come here first. You may send a message to him then.”
It was nine weeks to the day when Naomi had lain down next to Shigeru as if in a dream.
The child’s life had been extinguished swiftly and easily. She could not even pray openly for its soul or express her grief and her anger that she could not live freely with the man she loved. Her mood became very dark, as if a heavy spirit had possessed her, and she was given to outbursts of rage against her retainers and servants, which led the elders to express among themselves the opinion that she was showing all the irrationality of a woman and was maybe not fit to govern alone. They began to suggest marriage to Iida or to someone chosen by him, thus enraging her further.
When summer passed and the cooler autumn weather came, she had still not fully recovered, and she began to dread the coming of winter. She had meant to travel to Inuyama again but knew she was not well enough to face Iida and maintain her self-control. Yet she feared offending him and disappointing Mariko further.
“My life is hopeless,” she said in despair one night to Sachie and her sister, Eriko. “I should end it now.”
“Don’t speak in this way,” Sachie pleaded. “Things will get better. You will recover your strength.”
“There is nothing wrong with my health,” Naomi replied. “But I cannot rid myself of this terrible darkness that lies on my spirit.” She whispered, “If only I could acknowledge the—what happened—I feel I would be absolved. But I cannot, and while I cannot, I will never have any peace.”
Eriko and Sachie exchanged a quick glance, and Sachie said equally quietly, “My sister and I were unable to help you with what you needed before. But perhaps we can offer you healing now.”
“There are no herbs for this sort of ailing,” Naomi said.
“But there is one who can help you,” Eriko said hesitantly.
Naomi sat in silence for a while. She had told Shigeru that she was familiar with the teachings of the Hidden and even held a great sympathy for the persecuted sect. But she had not told him—for the secret was not hers to give away—that both Sachie and Eriko were believers; that Mari, the niece of the tortured man whom Shigeru had rescued years ago near Chigawa, worked in the castle and kept the two women in touch with the Hidden throughout the West and with the former Otori warrior Harada, who had become something of an itinerant priest after serving Nesutoro as disciple and servant. She had had many discussions with the two sisters about their faith and had in the past often felt a yearning to abandon herself like them to the love and mercy of a Supreme Being who would accept her for what she was, an ordinary human being, no better and no worse than any other. But now she had taken life, had sinned beyond forgiveness—and she could not repent, for given the same choices she would take the same action again.
“I know what you mean,” she said finally. “I would turn to any spiritual being who would give me relief. But I have offended deeply by killing my own child. I am unable to pray openly to the Enlightened One or go to the shrine. How can I turn to your god, to the Secret One, when your first commandment is not to kill?”
Eriko said, “He knows everything in your heart. His first commandment is to love him; his second, to love all men and forgive those who hate us. It is because of love that we do not take life. That is for him alone to decide. We live in the midst of the world; if we repent, I believe he understands and forgives us.”
“And will forgive you,” Sachie added, taking Naomi’s hand.
Eriko took her other hand, and they sat with bowed heads. Naomi knew the other two women were praying, and she tried to still her heart and her thoughts.
They delude themselves, she thought. There is nothing there—and even if there were, I would not be able to heed its voice, for I am a ruler and must rule with power.
Yet as the silence deepened, she was aware of something beyond herself, some greater presence that both towered above her and waited humbly for her to turn to it. She saw suddenly how this could be the highest allegiance anyone could make; one could kneel before this and genuinely submit one’s body and soul. It was the opposite to the earthly power of warlords like Iida, and maybe the only power that could check such men.
She did turn and whispered, “I am sorry,” and felt the lightest of touches, like a healing hand on her heart.
Throughout the winter she talked to Eriko and Sachie often and prayed with them, and before the beginning of the new year, she had been received into the community of the Hidden.
She realized there were many levels of belief, and many people held them whom she had not suspected of so doing. She became aware of the network they formed across her domain, throughout the West, indeed throughout the Three Countries, though in Tohan lands they were still persecuted. It was whispered that Iida himself took part in hunting them down, indulging his pleasure in killing.
In many ways, Naomi struggled against belief. It was not an easy decision. Her pride in her position and her family made her recoil from putting herself on the same level as ordinary people. She believed she had always treated them fairly, but to see them as her equals was strange and affronting to her. Yet belief brought her a sense of forgiveness, and forgiveness brought her peace.
