The Harsh Cry of the Heron

by Lian Hearn

  “I didn’t mean to hurt it,” Maya began.

  “You must not lie to me,” he reminded her.

  She went on, “I wanted to see what would happen. I thought it might hurt the cat, but I didn’t mind.” Her voice was serious; she looked directly at him. One day she would challenge him, but now her look was still that of a child. “I was angry with Mori Hiroki.”

  “He looked at us,” Miki explained. “Everyone does. As if we were demons.”

  “He likes Shigeko and he doesn’t like us,” Maya said.

  “And that’s the same with everyone,” Miki said, and as if his silence unleashed something within her, she began to cry. “Everyone hates us because there are two of us!”

  The twins rarely cried. It was yet another trait that made them seem unnatural.

  Maya was also crying. “And Mother hates us because she wanted one boy, and she got two girls!”

  “Chiyo told us that.” Miki gulped.

  He felt his heart twist for them. It was easy to love his oldest daughter; he loved these two all the more, because they were not easy to love, and he pitied them.

  “You are very precious to me,” he said. “I have always been glad that there are two of you and that you are girls. I would rather have two girls than all the sons in the world.”

  “When you are here, it’s all right. We feel safe, and we don’t want to do bad things. But you are away so much of the time.”

  “I would keep you with me if I could—but it is not always possible. You have to learn to be good even when I am not here.”

  “People shouldn’t look at us,” Maya said.

  “Maya, from now on it is you who must be careful how you look. You know the story—I have often told you—about my encounter with the ogre Jin-emon?” Takeo asked.

  “Yes,” they said together, with enthusiasm.

  “I looked into his eyes and he fell asleep. This is the Kikuta sleep, which is used to disable your enemy. This is what you did to the cat, Maya. But Jin-emon was huge, as tall as the castle gate and heavier than an ox. The cat was small and young, and the sleep killed it.”

  “It’s not really dead,” Maya said, coming close to him, hanging off his left arm. “It came into me.”

  Takeo tried to make no sign of shock or alarm, not wanting to silence her now.

  “It came to live with me,” Maya said. “It doesn’t mind. Because it couldn’t talk before, and now it can. And I don’t mind either. I like the cat.”

  “But Jin-emon didn’t come into you, did he, Father?” Miki said. It was no more strange to them than invisibility, or the second self, and perhaps no more harmful.

  “No, because in the end I cut his windpipe and throat with Jato. He died from that, not from the sleep.”

  “Are you angry about the cat?” Maya said.

  He knew they trusted him, and knew he must not lose that trust, that they were like shy wild animals who would flee at a moment. He recalled the months of misery he had endured with the Kikuta, the brutality of the training.

  “No, I am not angry,” he said calmly.

  “Shizuka was very angry,” Miki muttered.

  “But I need to know everything—in order to protect you, and to stop you hurting other people. I am your father and your senior in the Kikuta family. You owe me your obedience on both counts.”

  “This is what happened,” Maya said. “I was angry with Mori Hiroki. I saw how he loved the cat. I wanted to pay him back for not looking at us. And the cat was sweet. I wanted to play with it. So I looked in its eyes, and I couldn’t stop looking. It was sweet, but I wanted to hurt him, and I couldn’t stop.” She broke off, and looked helplessly at him.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “I drew it in. From its eyes, through my eyes. It came leaping into me. It yowled and mewed. But I couldn’t stop looking. And then the cat was dead. But it was still alive.”

  “And?”

  “And Mori Hiroki was sad, and that made me happy.” Maya gave a deep sigh, as if she had completed reciting a lesson. “That’s all, Father, I promise you.”

  He touched her cheek. “You were honest with me. But you see how confused your emotions were. Your mind was not clear, as it must be when you use any of the Tribe skills. When you look into other people’s eyes, you will see their weaknesses and their lack of clarity. That is what makes them vulnerable to your gaze.”

  “What will happen to me?” Maya said.

  “I don’t know. We have to watch you to find out. You acted wrongly; you made a mistake. You will have to live with the consequences. But you must promise me never to use the Kikuta sleep on anyone, until I say you may.”

  “Kenji would know,” Miki said, and began to cry again. “He told us about animal spirits and how the Tribe use them.”

  “I wish he wasn’t dead,” Maya said through her own renewed sobs.

  And Takeo felt his own eyes grow hot, for his teacher, now lost to him, and for his twin daughters, whom he had not been able to protect from a possession whose outcome he had no way of foreseeing.

  Both girls were close to him, their limbs, in the steaming water, so like his in the texture and color of the skin, brushing against him.

  “We don’t have to marry Sunaomi, do we?” Maya asked him, calmer now.

  “Why? Who says you should?”

  “Sunaomi told us he is to be betrothed to one or the other of us!”

  “Only if he is very naughty indeed,” Takeo replied. “As a punishment!”

  “I don’t want to be betrothed to anyone,” Miki said.

  “One day you may change your mind,” Takeo teased her.

  “I want to marry Miki,” Maya said, beginning to giggle.

  “Yes, we’ll marry each other,” Miki agreed.

  “Then you will have no children. You need a man to make children.”

  “I don’t want children,” Miki said.

  “I hate children,” Maya agreed. “Especially Sunaomi! You won’t make Sunaomi your son, will you, Father?”

  “I have no need of sons,” Takeo replied.

  Kenji’s funeral was held the following day, and a stone was erected for him at the Hachiman shrine next to Tokoji, which soon became a place of pilgrimage for the Muto family and other members of the Tribe. Kenji had passed into the spirit world, like Shigeru, like Jo-An. All three had seemed more than human in their lifetime. Now they inspired and protected those who still lived in the midst of the world.

  16

  The plum rains ended and the great heat of summer began. Shigeko rose early every day before sunrise and went to the shrine on the riverbank to spend an hour or so with the black colt while the air was still cool. The two old mares nipped and kicked him and taught him manners; he had become calmer in their company, and gradually he seemed to accept her, whickering when he saw her and showing signs of affection.

  “He has never done that to anyone,” Mori Hiroki remarked, watching the colt rub his head against Shigeko’s shoulder.

  “I would like to give him to my father,” she replied. “He has had no horse he likes since Shun died.”

  “He is ready to be broken in,” Hiroki said. “But you should not attempt it, certainly not alone. I am too old and slow now, and your father is too busy.”

  “But I must do it,” Shigeko argued. “He has come to trust me.” Then the thought leaped into her mind. Hiroshi is coming to Hagi. We can break the horse in together. And Father can ride him next year when we travel to Miyako.

  She named the horse Tenba, for he had something heavenly about him, and when he galloped around the meadow, he seemed to fly.

  So the hot days passed. The children swam in the sea and continued their studies and training, happy because their father was home, and though government affairs kept him busy most of the day, he always spent some time with them in the warm evenings when the sky was deep black and the stars huge, and the faint breath of the wind from the sea cooled the residence.

  For Shigeko, the next gr
eat event of the summer was the arrival of Sugita Hiroshi from Maruyama. He had lived with the Otori household until he reached the age of twenty and had then moved to Maruyama, where he ran the domain that was her mother’s and would one day be hers. It was like the return of a beloved older brother for all three girls. Every time she received a letter, Shigeko expected to read that Hiroshi was married, for he was twenty-six years old and had not yet taken a wife. It was inexplicable, but to her only half-admitted relief, when he rode into Hagi he came alone, and there was no mention of any wife or betrothed left behind in Maruyama. Waiting until she could question Shizuka alone, she tried to bring the subject up casually. “Shizuka, how old were your sons when they married?”

  “Zenko was eighteen, and Taku seventeen,” Shizuka replied. “Not particularly young.”

  “And Taku and Sugita Hiroshi are the same age, are they not?”

  “Yes, they were born in the same year—your aunt Hana was also born that year.” Shizuka laughed. “All three boys hoped to marry Hana, I think. Hiroshi in particular had always had a yearning to be Hana’s husband—he idolized your mother and thought Hana very like her. Taku got over his disappointment swiftly, but it’s common gossip that Hiroshi never did, and that is why he has never married.”

  “How very unusual,” Shigeko said, half-wanting to continue the conversation, and half-astonished at the pain it caused her. Hiroshi in love with Hana? And to the extent that he could not bring himself to marry anyone else?

  “If a suitable alliance had presented itself, no doubt your father would have arranged a marriage,” Shizuka said. “But Hiroshi’s position is unique. He is both too high in rank and not high enough. His closeness to your family is almost that of a son of the house, yet he has no hereditary lands of his own. He will give Maruyama over to you this year.”

  “I hope he will continue to serve me there,” Shigeko said. “But I can see I will have to find him a wife! Does he have a mistress or concubine?”

  “I suppose so,” Shizuka replied. “Most men do!”

  “Not my father,” Shigeko said.

  “No, nor did Lord Shigeru.” Shizuka’s eyes took on a faraway, pensive look.

  “Why are they so different from other men, I wonder.”

  “Maybe no other woman appeals to them. And I suppose they do not want to cause their beloved the pain of jealousy.”

  “Jealousy is a terrible feeling,” Shigeko said.

  “But luckily you are too young to have such emotions,” Shizuka replied. “And your father will choose wisely when it comes to your husband. In fact, he will be so particular about it, I wonder if he will ever find anyone good enough.”

  “I would be happy never to marry,” Shigeko declared, but she knew that this was not wholly true. Ever since she had reached womanhood she had found herself troubled by dreams, and by longings for a man’s touch, the feel of the strong body aligned with her own, the intimacy of hair, skin, and smell.

  “It’s a shame girls are not permitted to take lovers as boys are,” she said.

  “They have to be a little more discreet about it,” Shizuka replied, laughing. “Is there already someone you desire, Shigeko? Are you older than I think?”

  “Of course not. I just want to know what it’s like—the things men and women do together, marriage, love…”

  She studied Hiroshi carefully that evening as he ate the evening meal. He did not look like someone driven mad by love. He was not particularly tall, about the same height as her father but more powerfully built and fuller in the face. His eyes were long in shape and lively in expression, his hair thick and completely black. He seemed in an excellent humor, overflowing with optimism about the coming harvest and eager to share the results of his innovative techniques in drilling men and horses. He teased the twins and flattered Kaede, made jokes with Takeo and reminisced about the old days, the retreat in the typhoon and the battle for Hagi. Once or twice in the course of the evening she fancied she felt his eyes on her, but when she glanced at him, he was always looking away, and he spoke directly to her only once or twice, addressing her with formality. His face became less animated then, taking on a calm, almost remote expression. It reminded her of the way her teachers at the temple looked while meditating; and she recalled that, like herself, Hiroshi had been trained in the Way of the Houou. It consoled her a little—they would always be comrades, though they could be nothing more; he would always understand her and support her.

  Just before they retired, he asked her about the young horse, for she had already written to him on the matter.

  “Come to the shrine tomorrow and you can see him,” she said.

  He hesitated for a moment, and then said, “With great pleasure. Let me escort you.” But the tone of his voice was cool, and the words formal.

  THEY STROLLED SIDE by side across the stone bridge, as they had so often when she was a young child and he not quite a man. The air was still, the light clear and golden, as the sun rose above the Eastern mountains and turned the unruffled surface of the river into a gleaming mirror whose reflected world seemed more real than the one in which they walked.

  Usually two of the castle guards accompanied her, keeping a respectful few paces ahead and behind, but today Hiroshi had dismissed them. He was dressed ready for riding, in trousers and leggings, and wore a sword in his belt. She was in similar clothes, her hair tied back with cords, and as usual in Hagi she was armed only with the hidden short stick. She talked about the horse, and Hiroshi’s reserve gradually dissolved, until he was arguing with her as he might have done five years ago. Perversely, this disappointed her as much as his formality.

  He sees me as a little sister, just like one of the twins.

  The morning sun lit up the old shrine; Hiroki was already up and Hiroshi greeted him with pleasure, for he had spent many hours as a boy in the older man’s company, learning the skills of horsebreaking and breeding.

  Tenba heard Shigeko’s voice and neighed from the meadow. When they went to look at him, he trotted up to her but put his ears back and rolled his eyes at Hiroki.

  “He is both fierce and beautiful,” Hiroshi exclaimed. “If he can be tamed, he will make a marvelous war horse.”

  “I want to give him to Father,” Shigeko told him. “But I don’t want Father to take him to war! Surely we are at peace now?”

  “There are some storm clouds on the horizon,” Hiroshi said. “That is why I have been summoned here.”

  “I hoped you had come to see my horse!” she said, daring to tease him.

  “Not only your horse,” he replied quietly. To her surprise when she glanced at him, a wave of color had swept into his neck.

  She said after a moment of awkwardness, “I hope you have time to help me break him in. I don’t want anyone else to do it—he trusts me now, and that trust must not be broken, so I must be present at all times.”

  “He will come to trust me too,” Hiroshi said. “I will come here whenever your father can spare me. We will work on him together, in the way we have both been taught.”

  The Way of the Houou was the way of the male and female elements of the world—gentle strength, fierce compassion, the dark and the light, shadow and sun, the hidden and the exposed. Gentleness alone would not tame a horse like this. It would also need a man’s strength and resoluteness.

  They started that morning, before the heat intensified, accustoming the horse to Hiroshi’s touch, on his head, around his ears, on the flanks, and under the belly. Then they laid soft ribbons across his back and neck, finally tying one loosely around his nose and head—his first bridle. He sweated and his coat shuddered, but he submitted to their handling.

  Mori Hiroki watched them with approval, and afterward, when the colt had been rewarded with carrots and Shigeko and Hiroshi with cold barley tea, said, “In other parts of the Three Countries and beyond, horses are broken in swiftly and forcefully, often with cruelty. The animals are beaten into submission. But my father always believed in a gentle ap
proach.”

  “And that’s why the Otori horses are renowned,” Hiroshi said. “They are so much more obedient than other horses, more reliable in battle, and with greater stamina, as they are not wasting energy fighting the rider and trying to bolt! I have always used the methods I learned from you.”

  Shigeko’s face was glowing. “We will succeed in taming him, won’t we?”

  “I have no doubt of it,” Hiroshi replied, returning the smile unguardedly.

  17

  Takeo knew of his daughter’s partnership with Sugita Hiroshi in breaking in the black colt—though he did not know the horse was for him—as he knew almost everything, not only in Hagi but throughout the Three Countries. Messengers ran or rode in relays between the cities, and homing pigeons were used to send urgent news from ships at sea. He thought Hiroshi like an older brother to his daughter; he worried occasionally about his future and his unmarried status, casting around in his mind for a suitable and useful match for the young man who had served him so loyally since childhood. He had heard the common talk about Hiroshi’s infatuation with Hana; he did not altogether believe it, knowing Hiroshi’s strength of character and intelligence—yet Hiroshi evaded all marriage prospects and seemed to live more chastely than a monk. He resolved to make renewed efforts to find a wife for him among the warrior families in Hagi.

  One hot afternoon in the seventh month, shortly before the Festival of the Weaver Star, Takeo, Kaede, Shigeko, and Hiroshi went across the bay to the residence of Terada Fumifusa. This was his old friend Fumio’s father, the former pirate chief who now maintained and supervised the fleet, both merchant vessels and warships, that gave the Three Countries their eminence in trade and their security from attack by sea. Terada was now about fifty years old, yet showed little sign of the usual infirmities of age. Takeo valued his shrewdness and pragmatism, as well as the combination of boldness and vast knowledge that had led to the establishment of trade and the encouragement of craftsmen and artists from faraway lands to settle, work, and teach in the cities of the Three Countries. Terada himself did not care much for the lavish treasures he had acquired during his years of piracy—his grudge against the Otori clan had been his driving force, and the downfall of Shigeru’s uncles his greatest desire. But after the battle for Hagi and the earthquake he had rebuilt his old house under the influence of his son and his daughter-in-law, Eriko, a young niece of the Endo family. Eriko loved painting, gardens, and objects of beauty. She wrote poetry in exquisite brushwork, and had made a residence of splendor and charm across the bay from the castle, near the volcano crater, where the unusual climate enabled her to cultivate the exotic plants that Fumio brought back from his voyages as well as the medicinal herbs that Ishida liked to experiment with. Her artistic nature and sensibility had made her a favored friend of Takeo and Kaede, and her oldest daughter was especially close to Shigeko, as the two girls were born in the same year.