The Harsh Cry of the Heron

by Lian Hearn

  Take me with you, she wanted to call out to him, but he was impatient to be on his way, wrapped up in many concerns, for Kaede, for his own wife, Shizuka, for Takeo. He did not want to be saddled with a child, dumb and unwell.

  She had plenty of time in the long hours of silence and solitude to go over, in remorse, the journey with Yuki and the revenge the ghost woman had exacted on her mother. She felt she had known all along what Yuki’s purpose was, and that she should have prevented it. Now everything was lost to her—her sister, her mother—and she dreamed every night of her father and feared she would never see him again.

  Two days after Ishida left, Miki heard the sound of men and horses in the street. Her mother, Hana, and the boys were leaving.

  Haruka and Chiyo had a brief, fierce argument about her, Haruka saying Miki should see her mother before she left, Chiyo replying that Kaede’s mood was very fragile; there was no telling how she would react.

  “This is her daughter!” Haruka said in exasperation.

  “What is a daughter to her? She has lost her son; she is on the verge of madness,” Chiyo replied.

  Miki stole into the kitchen and Haruka took her hand. “We will watch your mother’s departure,” she whispered. “But stay out of sight.”

  The streets were full of people, milling in vague alarm. Miki’s sharp ears caught fragments of what they were saying. Lady Otori was leaving the city with Lady Arai. Lord Otori had been killed in the East. No, not killed but defeated in battle. He was to be exiled, his daughter with him…

  Miki watched as her mother and Hana came from the house and mounted the horses that were waiting outside the gates. Sunaomi and Chikara were lifted onto their ponies. Men bearing the emblems of Shirakawa and Arai closed around them. As the group rode away, Miki tried to catch her mother’s eye, but Kaede stared straight ahead, unseeing. She spoke once, giving some prearranged order. Ten or more foot soldiers ran into the garden; some had blazing torches, others armfuls of straw and dried kindling. With swift efficiency they set fire to the house.

  Chiyo ran out to try to stop them, beating at them with feeble fists. They pushed her roughly away. She threw herself on the veranda, wrapping her arms around one of the posts, crying, “It is Lord Shigeru’s house. He will never forgive you.”

  They did not bother to try to remove her, but simply piled the straw around her. Haruka was screaming beside her. Miki stared in horror, the smoke bringing tears to her eyes as the nightingale floor sang for the last time, the red and gold carp boiled to death in the pools, the art treasures and the household records melted and shriveled. The house that had survived earthquake, flood, and war burned to the ground, along with Chiyo, who refused to leave it.

  Kaede rode to the castle without looking back. The crowd swept after her, carrying Haruka and Miki with them. Here Hana’s men were waiting, armed and also carrying straw and torches. The captain of the guard, Endo Teruo, whose father had surrendered the castle to Takeo and had been killed on the stone bridge by Arai Daiichi’s men, came to the gate.

  “Lady Otori,” he said. “What’s happening? I beg you to listen to me. Come inside. Let us reason.”

  “I am no longer Lady Otori,” she replied. “I am Shirakawa Kaede. I am of the Seishuu and I am returning to my clan. But before I go, I command you to surrender the castle to these men.”

  “I don’t know what has happened to you,” he replied. “But I will die before I surrender Hagi castle while Lord Otori is away.”

  He drew his sword. Kaede looked at him with scorn. “I know how few men you have left,” she said. “Only the old and the very young remain. And I curse you, the city of Hagi, and the entire Otori clan.”

  “Lady Arai,” Endo called to Hana. “I brought your husband up in my household with my own sons. Do not allow your men to commit this crime!”

  “Kill him,” Hana said, and her men surged forward. Endo wore no armor, and the guards were unprepared. Kaede was right—they were mostly boys. Their sudden deaths horrified the crowd; people began to throw stones at the Arai soldiers and were beaten back with drawn swords and spears. Kaede and Hana turned their horses and galloped away with their escort while the remaining men set fire to the castle.

  There was some random fighting in the street as the Arai men escaped, and a halfhearted attempt to put out or contain the blaze with buckets of water, but a stiff breeze had sprung up; sparks blew onto roofs as dry as tinder and the fire soon took hold inexorably. The townspeople gathered in the streets, on the beach, and along the riverbank, silent in shock, unable to comprehend what had happened, how disaster had struck in the heart of Hagi, sensing that some harmony had been lost and that peace was at an end.

  Haruka and Miki spent the night on the riverbank with thousands of others, and the next day joined the streams of people fleeing from the burning city. They crossed the stone bridge, walking slowly so Miki had plenty of time to read the inscription on the stonemason’s grave.

  The Otori clan welcomes the just and the loyal.

  Let the unjust and disloyal beware.

  It was the ninth day of the seventh month.

  52

  Let me go with Lord Otori,” Minoru begged as Takeo prepared to leave for Yamagata.

  “I would prefer you to stay here,” Takeo replied. “The families of the dead must be informed, and provisions arranged for the next long march. Kahei must take our main army back toward the West. And besides, I have a special task for you,” he added, aware of the young man’s disappointment.

  “Certainly, Lord Otori,” the scribe said, forcing a smile. “I have one request, though. Kuroda Junpei has been awaiting your return. Will you allow him to accompany you? I promised I would ask you.”

  “Jun and Shin are still here?” Takeo asked in surprise. “I had expected them to return to the West.”

  “It seems the Tribe are not altogether happy about Zenko,” Minoru murmured. “You will find many of them still loyal to you, I suspect.”

  Is it a risk I can take? Takeo wondered, and realized that he cared little about the answer. He was half-numb with grief and exhaustion, anxiety and pain. Many times in the hours since Ishida had brought the terrible news, he felt he was hallucinating, and Minoru’s next words added to his sense of unreality.

  “It is only Jun; Shin is in Hofu.”

  “They have fallen out? I would not have thought it possible.”

  “No, they decided one should go and one should stay. They drew lots. Shin went to Hofu to protect Muto Shizuka; Jun stayed here to protect you.”

  “I see.” Ishida had told Takeo briefly about Shizuka: how rumors spread that she had lost her mind after her son’s death and sat in the courtyard of the temple of Daifukuji, sustained by Heaven. The idea of the stolid, silent Shin watching over her moved him.

  “Then Jun may ride with me,” he said. “Now, Minoru—I depend on you to present a faithful record of our journey to Miyako, Lord Saga’s promises, the provocation that led to the battle, our victory. My daughter, Lady Maruyama, will be here soon. I charge you to serve her as faithfully as you have served me. I am going to dictate my will to you. I don’t know what lies ahead of me, but I expect the worst: It will be either death or exile. I am relinquishing all power and authority over the Three Countries to my daughter. I will tell you whom she is to marry and what the conditions must be.”

  The document was swiftly dictated and written. When it was finished and Takeo had affixed his seal, he said, “You must put it into Lady Shigeko’s hands. You may tell her I am sorry. I wish things could have been otherwise, but I am entrusting the Three Countries to her.”

  Minoru had rarely showed his emotions in all his years with Takeo. He had faced the splendor of the Emperor’s court and the savagery of battle with the same apparent indifference. Now his face was contorted as he struggled to hold back tears.

  “Tell Lord Gemba I am ready to leave,” Takeo said. “Farewell.”

  THE RAINS HAD come late and were not as heavy as usual; a
brief storm occurred each afternoon and often the sky was overcast, but the road was not flooded. Takeo gave thanks now for the years of careful development of the highways of the Three Countries and the speed with which he was able to travel, though, he reflected, the same roads were open to Zenko and his army, and he wondered how far they had advanced from the southwest.

  On the evening of the third day, they crossed the pass at Kushimoto and stopped to eat and rest briefly at the inn at the head of the valley. It was barely a day’s ride from Yamagata. The inn was full of travelers; the local landowner learned of Takeo’s arrival and came rushing to greet him, and while he ate, this man, Yamada, and the innkeeper told him what news they had heard.

  Zenko was reported to be at Kibi, just across the river.

  “He has at least ten thousand men,” Yamada said gloomily. “Many of them have firearms.”

  “Is there any news from Terada?” Takeo asked, hoping the ships might launch a counterattack on Zenko’s castle town, Kumamoto, and force him to withdraw.

  “It’s said that Zenko has been given ships by the barbarians,” the innkeeper reported, “and they are protecting the port and the coastline.”

  Takeo was thinking of his exhausted army, still ten days’ march away.

  “Lady Miyoshi is preparing Yamagata for a siege,” Yamada said. “I have already sent two hundred men there, but it leaves no one here; the harvest is nearly due, and most of the Yamagata warriors are in the East with Lord Kahei. The city will be defended by farmers, children, and women.”

  “But now Lord Otori is here,” the innkeeper said, trying to raise everyone’s spirits. “The Middle Country is safe while he is with us!”

  Takeo thanked him with a smile that hid his growing sense of despair. Exhaustion brought a few hours’ sleep; then he waited restless and impatient until dawn. It was the beginning of the month, too dark to ride at night with no moon.

  They were barely on the road, a little after daybreak, going at the fast lope that was easiest on the horses, when hoofbeats sounded in the distance. It was gray and still, the mountain slopes sporting their great banners of mist. Two horsemen were approaching at a gallop from the direction of Yamagata. He recognized one of them as Kahei’s youngest son, a boy of about thirteen years old; the other was an old retainer of the Miyoshi clan.

  “Kintomo! What news?”

  “Lord Otori!” the boy gasped. His face was white with shock, and his eyes bewildered under the helmet. Both helmet and armor looked too large for him, for he was yet to fill out to his adult stature. “Your wife, Lady Otori…”

  “Go on,” Takeo ordered as the boy faltered.

  “She came to the city two days ago, has taken command of it, and intends to surrender it to Zenko. He is marching from Kibi now.”

  Kintomo’s gaze turned to Gemba and he said in relief, “My uncle is here!” Only then did the tears spring to his eyes.

  “What about your mother?” Gemba said.

  “She tried to resist with such men as we have. When it became hopeless, she told me to leave while I could, to tell my father and my brothers. I believe she will take her own life, and my sisters’.”

  Takeo turned his horse away slightly, unable to hide his shock and confusion. Kahei’s wife and daughters dead, while their husband and father had been fighting to defend the Three Countries? Yamagata, the jewel of the Middle Countries, about to be handed to Zenko by Kaede?

  Gemba drew up alongside him and waited for Takeo to speak.

  “I must talk to my wife,” Takeo said. “There must be some explanation. The grief, her loneliness, have driven her mad. But once I am with her, she will see reason. I will not be refused entry to Yamagata. We will all go there—in time to save your mother, I hope,” he added to Kintomo.

  The road became thronged with people, fleeing from the city to escape the fighting, slowing their progress, adding to Takeo’s anger and despair, and when they came to Yamagata in the evening, the city was closed against them, the gates barred. The first messenger they sent was refused entry; the second was shot through by an arrow as soon as he came within range.

  “There is nothing we can do now,” the Miyoshi retainer said as they drew back into the shelter of the forest. “Let me take my young lord to his father. Zenko will be here on the morrow. Lord Otori should also retreat with us. He must not risk capture.”

  “You may leave,” Takeo said. “I will stay a little longer.”

  “Then I will stay with you,” Gemba said. He embraced his nephew. Takeo called to Jun, and told him to accompany Kintomo and see him safely reunited with Kahei.

  “Let me stay with you,” Jun said awkwardly. “I could get inside the walls after dark and take your message to…”

  Takeo cut him off. “I thank you, but it is a message only I can take. Now I am ordering you to leave me.”

  “I will obey you, but once this task is complete, I will rejoin you—in life, if possible; if not, in death!”

  “Till then,” Takeo replied. He commended Kintomo for his courage and loyalty, and watched for a moment as he joined the crowds fleeing toward the east.

  Then he turned his attention back to the city. He and Gemba rode a little way around its eastern side, halting beneath a small grove of trees. Takeo dismounted from Ashige and gave the reins to Gemba.

  “Wait for me here. If I do not return, either later tonight, or if I am successful in the morning through the open gate, you may assume I am dead. If it is possible, bury me at Terayama, next to Shigeru. And keep my sword there for my daughter!”

  Before he turned away, he added, “And you may do that prayer thing for me if you wish.”

  “I never cease doing it,” Gemba said.

  AS NIGHT FELL, Takeo crouched beneath the trees and gazed for a long time at the walls that encircled the town. He was recalling an afternoon in spring, many years before, when Matsuda Shingen had set him a theoretical problem: how to take the city of Yamagata by siege. He had thought then that the best way would be to infiltrate the castle and assassinate the commanders. He had already climbed into Yamagata castle as a Tribe assassin, to see if he could do it, to learn if he could kill. He had taken a man’s life—several men’s—for the first time, and still recalled the sense of power and guilt, the responsibility and the regret. He would put his detailed knowledge of the city and the castle to good use, for one last time.

  Behind him he could hear the horses tearing at the grass with their strong teeth, and Gemba humming in his bearlike way. A nightjar thrummed in the trees. The wind soughed briefly and then was still.

  The new moon of the eighth month hung above the mountains on his right. He could just make out the dark mass of the castle directly to the north. Above it the stars of the Bear were appearing in the soft summer sky.

  From the walls that surrounded the city, and the gates, he could hear the guards: Shirakawa men, and Arai, their accents from the West.

  Under cover of darkness he sprang for the top of the wall, misjudged it slightly, grabbed at the tiles, forgot for a moment the half-healed wound on his right shoulder, and gasped with pain as the scab parted. He made more noise than he had intended, and flattened himself, invisible, on the roof. He guessed the guards were jumpy and alert, barely in control of the city, expecting a counterattack at any time, and indeed two men immediately appeared below him with flaming torches. They walked the length of the street and back again, while he held his breath and tried to ignore the pain, crooking his elbow over the top of the tiles, pressing his right shoulder with his left hand, feeling a slight dampness as the wound oozed blood, not enough, luckily, to drip and give him away.

  The guards retreated; he dropped to the ground, silently this time, and began to work his way through the streets to the castle. It was growing late, but the town was far from quiet. People were milling about anxiously, many planning to leave as soon as the gates were opened. He heard young men and women declaring they would fight Arai’s men with their bare hands, that Yamagata woul
d never be lost from the Otori again; he heard merchants bewailing the end of peace and prosperity, and women cursing Lady Otori for bringing war to them. His heart twisted with pain for Kaede, even as he searched for some understanding of why she had acted as she did. And then he heard people whisper, “She brings death to all who desire her, and now she will bring death to her own husband, as well as to our husbands and sons.”

  No, he wanted to cry out. Not to me. She cannot bring death to me. But he feared she already had.

  He passed among them unseen. At the edge of the moat he crouched beneath the clump of willow trees that had spread along the riverbank. They had never been cut. Yamagata had been unthreatened for over sixteen years; the willows had become a symbol of the peacefulness and beauty of the city. He waited for a long time in the way of the Tribe, slowing his breathing and his heartbeat. The moon set; the town quieted. Finally he took one huge breath and slipped, concealed by the willow’s fronds, into the river, swimming beneath the surface of the water.

  He followed the same path he had taken half a lifetime ago, when his aim had been to put an end to the suffering of the tortured Hidden. It was years since prisoners had been suspended in baskets from this keep; surely those grim days would not return. But he had been young then, and he had had grapples to help him ascend the walls. Now, crippled, wounded, exhausted, he felt like some maimed insect, crawling awkwardly up the face of the castle.

  He crossed the gate of the second bailey; here, too, the guards were nervous and uneasy, both confused and excited by their unexpected possession of the castle. He heard them discuss the swift and bloody skirmish that had secured it, their surprise tinged with admiration at Kaede’s ruthlessness, their pleasure at the rise of the Seishuu at the expense of the Otori. Their fickleness and narrow-mindedness enraged him. By the time he had climbed down into the bailey and run lightly through the narrow stone passage into the garden of the residence, his mood was fierce and desperate.