Brilliance Of The Moon Part 16

"Are you all right, lord?"

"I have to decide now whether to act like a warrior or not," I said.

"You should be thanking G.o.d," he replied. "Now that the lost battle is done with, the rest are for you to win."

I had said the same to Makoto, but that was before the wind and rain had dealt with me. "A true warrior would slit his own belly now," I said, thinking aloud.

"Your life is not your own to take. G.o.d still has his plan for you."

"If I don't kill myself, I will have to surrender to Arai. He is on my heels, and there is no way the Terada can reach us before he does."

The night air was beautiful. I heard the m.u.f.fled whisper of an owl's wings, and a frog croaked from the old pond. The crash of the waves on the s.h.i.+ngle was abating.

"What will you do, Jo-An? Will you return to Maruyama?" I hoped uneasily that the outcasts would be well treated when I was no longer there to protect them. With the country in turmoil, they would be more vulnerable than ever, turned on as scapegoats, denounced by villagers, persecuted by warriors.

He said, "I feel very close to G.o.d. I think he will call me to him soon.

I did not know how to reply to this.

Jo-An said, "You released my brother from his suffering in Yama-gata. If it comes to it, will you do the same for me?"

"Don't say such things," I replied. "You have saved my life; how can you ask me to take yours?"

"Will you? I am not afraid of dying, but I am afraid of the pain."

"Go back to Maruyama," I urged him. "Take the horse you came on. Stay away from the highways. I will send for you if I can. But you know, Arai is likely to take my life. We will probably never meet again."

He gave his characteristic slight smile.

"Thank you for all you have done for me," I said.

"Everything that has happened between us is part of G.o.d's plan. You should thank him him."

I went with him to the horse lines and spoke to the guards. They watched in disbelief as I loosened the stallion's rope and Jo-An leaped onto its back.

After he had trotted off into the darkness, I lay down again but did not sleep. I thought about Kaede and how much I loved her. I thought about my extraordinary life. I was glad I had lived it the way I had, despite all my mistakes. I had no regrets except for those who had died before me. Dawn came as bright and perfect as any I'd ever seen. I washed as best I could and dressed my hair, and when my ragged army awoke, I ordered them to do the same. I called for Ryoma, thanked him for his service, and asked if he would wait at least until he heard of my death and take the news to Fumio at Os.h.i.+ma. Then I gathered the men together and spoke to them.

"I am going to surrender to Lord Arai. In return, I trust he will spare your lives and accept your service. I thank you for your loyalty. No one has been better served than I."

I told them to wait in the shrine under the command of their captains and asked Makoto, Sakai, and Hiros.h.i.+ to come with me. Makoto carried the Otori banner and Sakai the Maruyama. Both were torn and streaked with mud. The horses were stiff and slow, but as we rode, the sun came up and warmed them a little. A string of wild ducks flew overhead, and a stag barked in the forest. Across the water we could see the clouds above Os.h.i.+ma; apart from them, the sky was a clear, deep blue.

We pa.s.sed the fallen pines. The storm had gouged out the road around them and undermined the cliff where Hajime had stood. Boulders had tumbled down in a small landslide, and as the horses picked their way around them I thought of the young wrestler. If his arrow had found its mark, Jiro would still be alive-and so would many others. I thought of Hajime's body, lying unbuned not far from there: He would soon have his revenge.

We had not gone far when I heard ahead the rapid tramping of horses. I held up my hand and the four of us halted. The hors.e.m.e.n came at a trot, a group of about a hundred, two bannermen carrying Arai's crest at their head. When they saw us in the road they stopped abruptly.

Their leader rode forward. He was wearing full armor and an elaborate helmet, decorated with a crescent moon.

I was thankful for the warmth of the sun, for I was no longer cold and could speak firmly. "I am Otori Takeo. This is Sugita Hiros.h.i.+, nephew of Lord Sugita of Maruyama. I ask you to spare his life and return him safely to his clan. Sakai Masaki is his cousin and will accompany him."

Hiros.h.i.+ said nothing. I was proud of him.

The leader inclined his head slightly, which I took to mean agreement. "I am Akita Tsutomu," he said. "My orders are to bring Lord Otori to Lord Arai. He wishes to speak with you."

"I am prepared to surrender to Lord Arai," I said, "on condition that he spare the lives of my men and take them into his service."

"They may accompany you if they come peacefully."

"Send some of your men with Kubo Makoto," I said. "He will tell them to surrender without a fight. Where is His Lords.h.i.+p?"

"Not far from here. We sat out the typhoon in Shuho."

Makoto left with most of the warriors, and Sakai, Hiros.h.i.+, and I rode on in silence with Akita.

8.

Spring had moved into summer; the planting was finished. The plum rains began; the seedlings grew and turned the fields brilliant green. The rain kept s.h.i.+zuka inside, where she watched it cascading from the eaves while she helped her grandmother plait sandals and rain capes from rice straw and tend the silkworms in the airy lofts. Sometimes she went to the weaving shed and spent an hour or two at the looms. There was always work to do, sewing, dyeing, preserving, cooking, and she found the routine tasks calming. Though she was relieved to lay aside the roles she had played and glad to be with her family and her sons, often a strange depression took hold of her. She had never been fearful, but now she was troubled by anxiety. She slept badly, woken by the slightest sound; when she slept, she dreamed of the dead.

Kaede's father often came to her, fixing his sightless eyes on her. She went to the shrine to make offerings, hoping to placate his spirit, but nightmares still troubled her. She missed Kaede, missed Is.h.i.+da, longed for Kondo to come back with news of them, and dreaded his return at the same time.

The rains ended and the hot humid days of high summer followed. Melons and cuc.u.mbers ripened and were pickled with salt and herbs. s.h.i.+zuka often roamed the mountains gathering wild mushrooms, mugwort to make moxa with, bugle and madder for dyes, and the other, deadlier harvest from which Kenji prepared poison.

She watched her sons and the other children at their training, half marveling as the Tribe skills awoke in them. They slipped in and out of sight, and sometimes she saw the trembling, indistinct shape as they learned to use the second self.

Her older son, Zenko, was less skilled than his brother. He was only a year or so away from manhood, and his talents should have been developing rapidly. But s.h.i.+zuka could see he was more interested in horses and the sword: He took after his father. Would Arai want to own him now? Or would he still seek to protect his legitimate son by removing the illegitimate?

Zenko concerned her more than Taku. It was already obvious that Taku was going to be highly skilled; he would stay with the Tribe and rise high in it. Kenji had no sons, andTaku might even be master of the Muto family one day. His talents were precocious: Invisibility came naturally to him and his hearing was sharp; with the onset of p.u.b.erty it might even become like Takeo's. He had loose limbs like hers and could fold himself into the smallest of s.p.a.ces and stay hidden for hours on end. He liked to play tricks on the maids, hiding in an empty pickling barrel or a bamboo basket and jumping out to surprise them like the mischievous tanuki in stories.

She found herself comparing her younger son to Takeo. If her cousin had had the same upbringing, if the Kikuta had known about him from birth, he would have been one of the Tribe, like her children, like herself, ruthless, obedient, unquestioning...

Except, she thought, I am questioning. I don't even think I'm obedient anymore. And what happened to my ruthlessness? I will never kill Takeo or do anything to hurt Kaede. They can't make me. I was sent to serve her and I came to love her. I gave her my complete allegiance and I won't take it back. I told her at Inuyama that even women could act with honor I am questioning. I don't even think I'm obedient anymore. And what happened to my ruthlessness? I will never kill Takeo or do anything to hurt Kaede. They can't make me. I was sent to serve her and I came to love her. I gave her my complete allegiance and I won't take it back. I told her at Inuyama that even women could act with honor.

She thought again of Is.h.i.+da and wondered if gentleness and compa.s.sion were contagious and she had caught them from him. And then she thought of the other, deeper secret she held within her. Where had her obedience been then?

The Festival of the Weaver Star fell on a rainy night. The children were dismayed, for the clouded sky meant that the magpies could not build a bridge across heaven for the princess to meet her lover. She would miss their one meeting and be separated from him for another year.

s.h.i.+zuka took it as a bad omen, and her depression increased.

Occasionally messengers came from Yamagata and beyond. They brought news of Takeo's marriage to Kaede, their flight from Tera-yama, the outcasts' bridge, and the defeat of Jin-emon. The maids marveled at what seemed to them like something from an ancient legend and made up songs about it. Kenji and s.h.i.+zuka discussed these events at night, both torn by the same mixture of dismay and unwilling admiration. Then the young couple and their army moved into Maruyama and news of them dwindled, though reports came from time to time of Takeo's campaign against the Tribe.

"It seems he has learned ruthlessness," her uncle said to her, but they did not discuss it it further. Kenji had other preoccupations. He did not speak of Yuki again, but when the seventh month pa.s.sed and no news had come of her, the whole household entered a time of waiting. Everyone was anxious for this Muto child, the master's first grandchild, who had been claimed by the Kikuta and would be brought up by them. further. Kenji had other preoccupations. He did not speak of Yuki again, but when the seventh month pa.s.sed and no news had come of her, the whole household entered a time of waiting. Everyone was anxious for this Muto child, the master's first grandchild, who had been claimed by the Kikuta and would be brought up by them.

One afternoon just before the Festival of the Dead, s.h.i.+zuka walked up to the waterfall. It was a day of oppressive heat with no wind, and she sat with her feet in the cool water. The cascade was white against the gray rocks, and the spray caught rainbows. Cicadas droned in the cedars, rasping her nerves. Through their monotonous sound she heard her younger son approaching, though she pretended not to; just at the last moment, when he thought he would surprise her, she reached out and caught him behind the knees. She pulled him into her lap.

"You heard me," he said, disappointed.

"You were making more noise than a wild boar."

"I was not!"

"Maybe I have something of the Kikuta hearing," she teased him.

"I have that."

"I know. And I think it will become even sharper as you grow older." She opened his palm and traced the line that ran straight across it. "You and I have the same hands."

"Like Takeo," he said with pride.

"What do you know about Takeo?" she said, smiling.

"He's Kikuta too. Uncle Kenji told us about him: how he can do things no one else can do, even though he was impossible to teach, Uncle says." He paused for a moment and then said in a small voice, "I wish we didn't have to kill him."

"How do you know that? Did Uncle tell you that too?"

"I heard it. I hear lots of things. People don't know I'm there."

"Were you sent to find me?" she asked, reminding herself to share no secrets in her grandparents' house without checking where her son was first.

"Not exactly. No one told me to come, but I think you should go home."

"What's happened?"

"Aunt Seiko came. She is very unhappy. And Uncle-" He broke off and stared at her. "I have never seen him like that before."

Yuki, she thought at once. She stood quickly and pulled on her sandals. Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry. If her aunt had come, it could only be bad news-the worst.

Her fears were confirmed by the pall of mourning that seemed to have settled over the whole village. The guards' faces were pale, and there were no smiles or banter. She did not stop to question them but hurried to her grandparents' house. The women of the village had already gathered, leaving fires unlit and the evening meal uncooked. She pushed her way through them as they muttered words of sympathy and condolences. Inside, her aunt, Kenji's wife, knelt on the floor next to her grandmother, surrounded by the household women. Her face was drawn, her eyes red, her body shaking with deep sobbing.

"Aunt!" s.h.i.+zuka knelt before her and bowed deeply. "What happened?"

Seiko took her hand and gripped it hard but could not speak.

"Yuki pa.s.sed away," her grandmother said quietly.

"And the baby?"

"The baby is well; it's a boy."

"I am so sorry," s.h.i.+zuka said. "Childbirth..."

Her aunt was racked by even fiercer sobs.

"It was not childbirth," the old woman said, putting her arms around Seiko and rocking her like a child.

"Where is my uncle?"

"In the next room, with his father. Go to him. Maybe you can comfort him."

s.h.i.+zuka rose and went quietly to the next room, feeling her eyes grow hot with unshed tears.

Kenji sat unmoving next to his father in the dim room. All the shutters were closed and it was stifling. The old man had tears trickling down his face; every now and then he raised his sleeve to wipe them away, but her uncle's eyes were dry.

"Uncle," she whispered.

He did not move for a while. She knelt silently. Then he turned his head and looked at her.

"s.h.i.+zuka," he said. His eyes went bright as tears sprang into them but did not fall. "My wife is here; did you see her?"

She nodded.

"Our daughter is dead."

"It's terrible news," she said. "I am so sorry for your loss." The phrases seemed useless and empty of meaning.

He did not say anything else. Eventually she dared to ask, "How did it happen?"

"The Kikuta killed her. They made her take poison." He spoke as if he did not believe his own words.

s.h.i.+zuka herself could not believe them. Despite the heat she felt chilled to the bone. "Why? How could they do such a thing?"

"They did not trust her to keep the child from Takeo or to bring him up to hate his father."

She had thought nothing could shock her about the Tribe, but this revelation made her heart nearly stop beating and her voice disappear.

"Who knows, perhaps they also wanted to punish me," he said. "My wife blames me: for not going after Takeo myself, for knowing nothing of s.h.i.+geru's records, for spoiling Yuki when she was a child."

"Don't speak of these things now," she said. "You cannot blame yourself."

He was staring into the distance. She wondered what he was seeing.

"They did not have to kill her," he said. "I will never forgive them for that." His voice broke, and though his face was clenched, the tears fell then.

The Festival of the Dead was celebrated with more than usual solemnity and grief. Food was placed at the mountain shrines and bonfires lit on the peaks to light the way back to the world of the dead. Yet the dead seemed reluctant to return. They wanted to stay with the living and remind them over and again of the ways they had died and their need for remorse, for revenge.

Kenji and his wife brought no comfort to each other, unable to draw close in their grief, each blaming the other for Yuki's death. s.h.i.+zuka spent many hours with each of them, unable to give them any consolation but her presence. Her grandmother brewed calming teas for Seiko, and the woman slept long and often, but Kenji would take nothing to dull his pain, and s.h.i.+zuka often sat with him until late at night, listening to him talk about his daughter.

"I brought her up like a son," he said one night. "She was so talented. And fearless. My wife thinks I gave her too much freedom. She blames me for treating her like a boy. Yuki became too independent; she thought she could do anything. In the end, s.h.i.+zuka, she's dead because she was a woman." After a moment he added, "Probably the only woman I've ever really loved." In an unexpected gesture of affection, he reached out and touched her arm. "Forgive me. I am of course very fond of you."

"As I am of you," she replied. "I wish I could ease your grief."