Saru was enjoying his time in the forest and was in no hurry to make their capture and go home. But Yoshi’s silence increased and Take knew the lady was waiting for something, someone, some sign. He himself was restless. He wanted to start his new life as a warrior. But who could teach him all he needed to know? He had never stopped thinking about Kinpoge and her father. He turned me away once, but I was too easily discouraged. Maybe it was a test of some sort. Now I am back in the forest I should try again.
The tension between him and the two young men became almost unbearable. He was overpolite to Yoshi, overrude to Saru, irritating them both equally. There seemed to be no way to resolve the situation. The knowledge that the Emperor of the Eight Islands lived, ate, slept alongside him was too momentous to contain. He knew he was in danger of blurting out a secret that was not his to tell. One night, after Saru’s teasing had turned particularly malicious, he made the decision that he would go back to the man who had been taught by the tengu and insist that he teach him—this time he would not be refused.
He set out very early the next morning, before anyone else was awake. He walked swiftly, imagining all the things he longed to have: red-laced armor, a helmet crowned with stag antlers or boar tusks, a long sword forged by a master, so sharp it would slice through silk, a bow with nineteen arrows in a quiver, a white stallion for a warhorse. He practiced declaiming his name as warriors did at the onset of battle.
I am Kumayama no Takeyoshi, son of Shikanoko, grandson of Hidetake …
His voice, just beginning to change to its adult timbre, echoed through the forest, but the chorus of cicadas was the only response. Now and then there was the sound of a large animal crashing through the bushes. Wild boar, he thought, hoping to kill one and take its tusks but also fearing its ferocious power. He knew the boar was the most dangerous animal in the forest.
At first, he followed the stream as he had done previously. It was not long before he came to a tree that he was fairly sure was the one where he had met Kinpoge. After that, a landslip of several boulders blocked his way. The stream, reduced to a trickle, came seeping out under them, but the gap was too small for Take to squeeze through and, furthermore, it looked like the sort of place where water spirits might dwell, and he did not want to be seized by one and kept captive for years and years. The rocks’ surface was perfectly smooth, with no handholds or footholds. There was nothing he could do but leave the stream and try to walk around them. He walked until nightfall, slept restlessly, and then rose at dawn.
It was a dull, overcast day and in the dim greenish light it was impossible to be certain of the right direction. The forest had changed in a year. Trees had fallen, new ones had grown rapidly, vines had spread, undergrowth had thickened. Take would not admit to himself that he was lost; he kept walking, slashing at the undergrowth with his pole, listening for the sound of water. The air was thick with moisture and one bird kept piping monotonously. Excitement had kept him awake the previous night and now his eyes began to feel heavy, as if he had fallen asleep and was dreaming. Into his mind came a series of pictures; he thought he heard someone call his name, his feet stumbled. As he recovered his balance, he saw a woman standing a short distance ahead of him.
“Kinpoge?” he said uncertainly. It was so long since he had seen her that he could not be sure of recognizing her. At first he thought it was her, grown taller and older, and then, as he came closer, he knew it was not. He remembered Kinpoge as bright and pretty, but this woman was the most beautiful he had ever seen, with pale skin, red lips, and hair so long and thick it covered her like a silky shawl. Her tiny white feet emerged from it like little flowers and he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to kneel before her and touch them with his lips.
“A young warrior!” the woman said, her voice as charming and melodious as a songbird’s. “Come, let me take you to my house. I will give you food and wine.”
Take refused politely, saying, “Thank you, I must not inconvenience you. But I am looking for a girl and her father. They live somewhere around here—do you know them? I’d be very grateful if you could direct me to their place.”
The woman made a sound like a hiss and her tongue flickered in her perfectly formed mouth.
“Come with me and refresh yourself. Then I will set you on your way.”
She held out her hand and Take, suddenly realizing he was unbearably hungry and thirsty, was about to take it, when there was a clattering overhead, a shower of leaves and twigs fell, and the skull horse, Ban, with Kinpoge clinging to it, landed on the ground in front of him.
“Don’t let her touch you!” she shrieked, as she let go of Ban and pushed Take back. He lost his footing and dropped the pole, but turned his fall into a backward roll and came up on his feet, grabbing the pole and brandishing it. Kinpoge turned to face the woman and said a few words that Take did not understand. The woman’s head flattened and her body stretched out, sucking her limbs and her tiny feet up into it. She hissed again, her snake tongue spitting at them, before her huge, brightly patterned shape slithered away between the vines.
“She will be very disappointed,” Kinpoge said. “She probably hasn’t run across a young man in years.”
“What was she?” Take said.
“A snake woman—a sort of ghost. She has an insatiable appetite for sex, but she sucks her lovers dry and then casts them aside like snakeskins. Luckily for you Ban and I came along when we did.”
“I wasn’t taken in by her,” Take said. “I would never have gone with her.” But his heart was pounding with fear and regret.
“Fine! You can look after yourself. That’s why you’re wandering around lost. I suppose you were coming to find us? I’ll meet you at home.” She grabbed Ban’s reins and clicked her tongue at him. As the skull horse rose into the air, Take cried, “Wait! I’m sorry. It’s true, I am lost. That is, I’m not sure of the way. Please go with me.”
The horse hovered. She called, “Say, ‘Thank you, Kinpoge, for saving me from the snake woman.’”
He repeated the words and added, smiling, “I am very pleased to see you again.”
“Really? Or is it just that you want my father to teach you?”
“I am pleased, really,” he said.
Ban came slowly down and Kinpoge slid off. “So you don’t want to learn from my father?”
“Of course I do! Can’t both be true?”
“Once you start learning from my father, you won’t care for me anymore,” Kinpoge said, giving him a mournful look.
“He’ll probably turn me away again,” Take said, as they began to walk back the way he had come.
“No, he has been waiting for you,” Kinpoge said.
“He has? What made him change his mind?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” she returned.
* * *
The hut was still a long day’s walk away. Mostly he followed Kinpoge, but where the forest allowed they walked side by side.
“My real name is Takeyoshi,” he said on one of these times.
“I know, and your father is the one they call Shikanoko.”
“How did you know that?” he exclaimed. “I only found out a few days ago myself.”
“The tengu told my father. Tengu seem to know most things.”
“I hope I will meet the tengu,” Take said.
“Be careful what you hope for,” Kinpoge replied.
They crossed the stream and walked into the clearing. Take stood still for a few moments, looking around, taking in the carved animals, the rock shapes, covered in moss, that suggested bears or wild boars. Then he saw the dogs, both real and fake. They looked back at him, the real dogs yapping, the fake ones voiceless. He felt a strong revulsion for their moth-eaten coats, their awkwardly angled limbs, their gemstone eyes.
Two men sat by the fire. The sound of rasping echoed through the clearing. He saw they were sharpening tools: axes, knives, and—his heart bounded—swords. They worked in silence, swiftly and competently. They were ver
y similar in build and appearance. Both had long, wispy beards and mustaches, and their thick hair fell to their shoulders. They used their feet, with thin, flexible toes, as much as their hands. They wore only loincloths and their skin, turned copper by the sun, glistened with sweat.
“Come on!” Kinpoge said, and then called out, “Father! Look who I found!”
One of the men got to his feet, laying aside the tools unhurriedly. He moved a few paces away from the fire and stood waiting for Take to approach him.
Take went forward warily. He gripped the pole, wondering if he should prostrate himself before the man he hoped would be his teacher, deciding it would do no harm, but before he could bend his knees, the pole flew from his hands, struck him on the head, and landed some distance away. The man he had been about to kneel to was now behind him. He spun around, but caught only a glimpse of him before he disappeared.
The man by the fire was grinning and Kinpoge was doubled over with laughter.
“You’ve no idea how funny you looked,” she cried.
Her father reappeared beside her. “It could be quite amusing to have a pupil,” he said.
Take felt rage building within him. He struggled not to let it overcome him. He remembered the old priest’s words the day they had left Aomizu. Master your anger, he had said. Here, he would need more than ever the wisdom and the ability to discern what was real.
“If you do permit me to become your pupil, I will be forever grateful,” he said, using formal speech, “and I will endeavor to continue to amuse you.”
Kinpoge’s father chuckled again. “You look like a strong lad, agile, too. I think you will learn quickly. And you will have to, for my friend Tadashii tells me we do not have much time. Of course, it’s hard to tell, as time moves differently in the world of the tengu, but nevertheless … You’ve already met my daughter. I am Mu, this is my brother, Ima. We are your brothers, too, in a way, but I’ll explain all that later. Who are you traveling with?”
“The lady who was called Yayoi, and the acrobats Sarumaru and Yoshimaru.” He did not want to say anything that would give away Yoshi’s true identity, but Mu said, as if he already knew, “Yoshimaru? Well, he should be as safe in the Darkwood as anywhere, for the time being. Kinpoge, go with Ban and find them. Tell them Takeyoshi is staying with me for a while. Reassure the lady that he is in no danger. And now, Takeyoshi, since we have no time to waste, let’s get to work.”
4
MASACHIKA
Masachika gazed on Lord Aritomo with an emotion close to pity, not one he often experienced. It was indeed cruel for the lord to be attacked by what appeared to be an incurable illness at this time when so much power lay in his hands. No one seemed to be able to diagnose or treat it. Aritomo himself spoke of it lightly, brushing aside his retainers’ concerns, all the while smiling as if he had a precious secret that he would tell no one. Masachika knew his lord had special teas brewed—Aritomo was sipping one now—but he did not know what was in them and had never been invited to share them.
Aritomo had deteriorated in the weeks Masachika had been away in Aomizu, yet as usual he made no mention of his failing health nor, his aides whispered to Masachika, had he allowed it to interfere with his devotion to government. He rose while it was still dark and did not retire until late at night. The best way to win his gratitude, people joked, was to donate lamp oil or candles, or fireflies in cages. But no one made jokes in his presence.
Masachika had written a report for Lord Aritomo, which the lord was now perusing carefully, but it was not as detailed and comprehensive as it might have been nor had he lingered over its telling. He said there was no way to assess the rumor, but he was taking steps to have the fleeing suspect tracked down. He did not mention that she might be Kiyoyori’s daughter. He would save that valuable piece of information for the right moment. He told himself he did not want to tire or place additional strain on his lord, but the truth was he was impatient to get back to the girl called Asagao, who had cast a spell over him. He had been afraid it would not last, that since she was just a woman of pleasure he would tire of her as quickly as he had been ensnared by her, but, during the hot summer nights when the skies were like velvet and the stars like pearls, she aroused in him an intoxicating ecstasy, an insatiable thirst. She made him feel like a young man again. From time to time he wondered with feelings of dread what would happen if Tama were to find out about her, and he recalled all his wife’s fine qualities with regret, but his new passion had rendered him helpless. He would never give Asagao up.
He tried not to think of her now; he shifted uncomfortably in his formal kneeling position, summoned up images of snow, icy waterfalls …
Aritomo had put the report down and was scrutinizing him with his shrewd gaze. Masachika feared the lord might see right through him and, hoping to distract him, said, “Lord Aritomo will be well enough to ride to Matsutani in the autumn? I am arranging a hunt in your honor. The air, the excitement, the hot springs will restore your health, I am sure. We will have deer, and wild boar, bears, possibly, and wolves. I will also provide hawks and falcons—anything you might desire.”
He decided to keep the entertainment he had in mind, the musicians and the acrobats with their monkeys, to himself for the time being. He wanted it to be a complete surprise.
“I will come,” Aritomo said. “I feel a longing for the forest and the open air. It will be an opportunity to reward those loyal to me and to assess my warriors’ skills.” He paused for a moment, then gestured to Masachika to come closer. He said quietly, “I am going to deal with the Kakizuki before winter comes. It will coincide nicely with your hunt. We will let their spies think we are fully occupied with sport and entertainment, but I have already dispatched a fleet of ships, carrying hundreds of men, to take them by surprise. Arinori is in command.”
He grinned at Masachika. His breath smelled of his illness. “They think the old badger is finished, but he is still craftier than them.”
So that was Arinori’s secret mission!
“It is a brilliant idea, but I should be leading such an attack force,” Masachika said with feigned enthusiasm. “I can delegate the hunt to someone else.”
“If you and I seem otherwise occupied, we will allay suspicions,” Aritomo replied. “Besides, Arinori has skills as a sailor and an admiral. Once the Kakizuki are eliminated, these rumors about Yoshimori will disappear.” He tapped the report with his forefinger. “Rumors arise all the time. Usually there is no substance to them. An emperor with no one to fight for him is hardly an emperor.”
“Indeed,” Masachika agreed.
“Don’t be disappointed. You will have your chance in land fighting soon enough. When the Kakizuki are gone, we will take care of Takauji.”
Masachika shuffled backward out of Aritomo’s presence, touching his head to the floor once more as attendants slid open the doors behind him. Outside, in the wide corridor, he stood and adjusted his robe. Then, trying not to look as if he was hurrying, he began to walk back to where his grooms waited with the ox carriage.
However, as he left the outer courtyard, passing through the great gates with their carvings of lions, someone approached him. It was a man he knew vaguely, a minor official in the Emperor’s household, though he could not recall his name. Masachika suspected he probably wanted to discuss something about money. The Emperor never seemed to have enough and was always asking for more. Then he remembered: Yoriie.
Masachika’s bodyguards had also been waiting outside and now began to move closer to him, their hands on their swords. Surely they did not suspect old Yoriie of an assassination attempt? He made a sign to them to hold back and greeted the official as curtly as he could, without being downright rude.
Yoriie replied more fulsomely. “If it is not too great an inconvenience, would Lord Masachika accompany me to Ryusonji?”
His manner was obsequious, but his small eyes were sharp and seemed to flicker upward to scrutinize Masachika. The residences at Ryusonji wer
e luxurious and expensive, yet ministers received a stream of complaints about the accommodation. It was too hot or too cold, the roof leaked, the nearby river stank, there was an invasion of biting fleas, owls hooted all night.
Masachika assumed it would be another of these and groaned inwardly, but he reminded himself that no one survived in an official position in the capital without brains, courage, or wealth, preferably all three, and that he should not underestimate Yoriie nor refuse the Emperor. Regretfully he again put aside his desire and agreed to go with Yoriie, inviting him to ride in the ox carriage.
They did not speak much as the ox made its slow, laborious way through the crowded streets toward the river. The Sagigawa had all but dried up and lay in a series of stagnant pools that, Masachika noted, keeping his mouth firmly closed, did indeed smell noxious. The townspeople threw refuse in the river, which normally would be washed away rapidly but which now lay decomposing, picked over by scavenging crows and wild dogs.
Outside Ryusonji’s gates, people milled—beggars seeking alms, the sick and crippled praying for healing, amulet sellers, and pilgrims. Since it had become the Emperor’s residence, the whole temple had taken on an increased aura of sacredness. Slivers of wood were carved from the gates, pebbles stolen from the paths, leaves gathered from the ginkgo and sakaki trees, all with the hope that they would provide talismans against ill health and misfortune. Partly for this reason, the buildings and gardens had a dilapidated and untended look.