For Hana had never forgiven Takeo for rejecting her, nor her sister for deserting her when she was a child. She had adored Kaede, had clung to her when grief for her parents’ deaths had almost deranged her—and Kaede had left her, had ridden off one spring morning and never come back. After that, Hana and her older sister, Ai, had been held in Inuyama as hostages, and would have been put to death there had Sonoda Mitsuru not saved them.
“You are not past childbearing!” Zenko exclaimed. “Let us make many more sons—a whole army of them.”
They were alone in the room, and she thought he would be moved to begin there and then, but at that moment a voice called outside. The door slid open and a manservant said quietly, “Lord Arai, Kuroda Yasu is here with another man.”
“They have come despite the weather,” Zenko said. “Give them something to drink, but make them wait a little before you bring them in, and make sure we are undisturbed.”
“Kuroda comes openly these days?” Hana asked.
“Taku is safely in Hofu—no one will be spying on us now.”
“I have never liked Taku,” Hana said abruptly.
A faint look of discomfort crossed Zenko’s large face. “He is my brother,” he reminded her.
“Then his first loyalty should be to you, not to Takeo,” she retorted. “He deceives you every day, and you take no notice of it. He has been spying on you most of this year, and you may be sure he intercepts our letters too.”
“That will all change soon,” Zenko said with composure. “We will settle the matter of the Muto inheritance. Taku will have to obey me then, or…”
“Or what?”
“The punishment in the Tribe for disobedience has always been death. I could not change that rule even for my own kin.”
“Taku is popular, though; you’ve often said so yourself. And your mother is too. Surely many will not go against them?”
“I believe we will have some support. And if Kuroda’s companion is who I think he is, much of it will be quite powerful.”
“I can’t wait to meet him.” Hana smiled slightly.
“I’d better tell you a little about him. He is Kikuta Akio; he’s been Master of the Kikuta family ever since Kotaro’s death. He married Muto Kenji’s daughter, Yuki; after she died he more or less went into hiding with her son.” He paused and stared at Hana, his heavy-lidded eyes bright.
“Not his son?” she said, and then, “Not Takeo’s?”
He nodded, and laughed again.
“How long have you known this?” Hana said. She was both astonished and excited by this revelation, her mind already seeking ways to use it.
“I heard all the rumors in the Muto family when I was a boy. Why else would Yuki have been forced to take poison? The reason the Kikuta killed her must have been because they did not trust her. And why else would Kenji have gone over to the Otori, with four of the five families? Kenji believed Takeo would reclaim him, one day, or at least protect him. The boy—they call him Hisao, apparently—is Takeo’s son.”
“My sister does not know this, I am sure of it.” Hana felt a small inner glow of pleasure at the thought.
“Maybe you can tell her at the right time,” her husband suggested.
“Oh, I will,” Hana agreed. “But why has Takeo never sought him out?”
“I believe there are two reasons: He does not want his wife to know, and he fears his son will be the one to kill him. As Dr. Ishida so kindly revealed to us, there was a prophecy to that effect, and Takeo believes it.”
Hana could feel her pulse quickening. “When my sister learns this news, it will drive them apart. She has longed for a son for years—she will never forgive Takeo for this hidden boy.”
“Many men have mistresses and illegitimate children, and their wives forgive them.”
“But most wives are like me,” Hana replied. “Realistic and practical. If you have other women, it does not bother me. I understand men’s needs and desires, and I know I will always come first with you. My sister is an idealist—she believes in love. Takeo must too—he has never taken another woman—and that is why he has no sons. More than that, both of them have been influenced by Terayama and what they call the Way of the Houou. Their realm is held in balance by their union—by the merging of the male and the female. Break that union and the Three Countries will fall apart.”
She added, “And you will inherit all your father fought for, with the blessing of the Emperor, and the support of his general.”
“And the Tribe will no longer be divided,” Zenko said. “We will recognize this boy as heir to both the Kikuta and the Muto families, and through him control the Tribe ourselves.”
Hana heard footsteps outside. “They are coming now,” she said.
Her husband called for more wine, and when it came, Hana dismissed the maids and served the visitors herself. She knew Kuroda Yasu by sight, and had taken advantage of the luxuries he imported from the Isles of the South—aromatic woods, textiles from Tenjiku, ivory, and gold. She herself owned several mirrors, made with the hard, brilliant glass that showed a person’s true reflection. It pleased her that these treasures were kept concealed in Kumamoto. She never displayed them in Hofu. Now she had this hard, bright secret too, one that would reveal Takeo as he truly was.
She studied the other man, Akio. He took one glance at her, then sat with lowered eyes, outwardly humble, but she recognized at once that he was not a humble man. He was tall and lean; despite his age, he looked very strong. He emanated a sense of power, which aroused a flicker of interest in her. She would not like him as an enemy, but he would make a ruthless and relentless ally.
Zenko greeted the men with great courtesy, managing to defer to Akio as head of the Kikuta without relinquishing anything of his own status as overlord of the Arai.
“The Tribe has been divided for too long,” he said. “I deeply regret the split, and Kotaro’s death. Now Muto Kenji is dead, it is time for those wounds to be healed.”
“I believe we have a common cause,” Akio replied. His speech was abrupt, with the accent of the East. Hana felt he would remain silent rather than use flattery, and was not susceptible to flattery himself, nor to any of the usual bribes or persuasions.
“We can speak openly here,” Zenko said.
“I have never hidden what I most desire,” Akio said. “Otori’s death. He has been indicted by the Kikuta for absconding from the Tribe, and for Kotaro’s murder. It outrages our family, our ancestors and traditions, and the gods, that he still lives.”
“People say he cannot be killed,” Yasu remarked. “But surely he is only a man.”
“I once had my knife against his throat.” Akio leaned forward, his eyes intense. “I still don’t understand how he got away. He has many skills—I should know; I trained him in Matsue—he has evaded all our attempts against him.”
“Well,” Zenko said slowly, exchanging a look with Hana. “I learned something earlier this year that you may not have heard. Very few people know of it.”
“Dr. Ishida told us,” Hana said. “He is Takeo’s physician, and has treated many of his wounds. He learned it from Muto Kenji.”
Akio raised his head and looked directly at her.
“It seems Takeo believes only his own son can kill him,” Zenko continued. “There was some prophecy to that effect.”
“Like the Five Battles?” Yasu asked.
“Yes, that was used to justify his murder of my father and his seizure of power,” Zenko said. “The other words were kept hidden.”
“Lord Otori has no sons, though,” Yasu said into the silence, looking from one to the other. “Though certain things are whispered…” Akio sat completely still, his face expressionless. Hana again felt the quick lick of excitement in her belly.
Akio addressed Zenko, his voice lower and rougher than ever. “You know about my son?”
Zenko moved his head very slightly in acquiescence.
“Who else knows of this prophecy?”
&n
bsp; “Apart from those in this room and Ishida, my brother, and possibly my mother, though she has never mentioned it to me.”
“What about at Terayama? Kubo Makoto may know—Takeo tells him everything,” Hana murmured.
“It’s possible. Anyway, very few. And what matters is that Takeo believes it,” Zenko said.
Yasu took a quick gulp of wine and said to Akio, “So all those rumors were true?”
“Yes. Hisao is Takeo’s son.” Akio drank as well, and for the first time seemed almost to smile. It was more painful and more alarming, Hana thought, than if he had wept and cursed. “He does not know. He has no Tribe skills. But now I see that it will be easy for him to kill his father.”
Yasu slapped the matting with his open palm. “Didn’t I tell you the boy would surprise you? That’s the best joke I’ve heard in years.”
Suddenly all four of them were seized with uproarious laughter.
30
Kaede had decided to stay in Hagi for the winter, until her child was born, and Shizuka and Dr. Ishida stayed with her. They all moved from the castle into Lord Shigeru’s old house by the river—the house faced south, catching all the winter sunshine, and was easier to keep warm during the long cold days. Chiyo still lived there, bent double, old beyond reckoning but still able to brew her healing teas and to tell stories about the past, and what she had forgotten Haruka filled in, as merry and bold as ever. Kaede retired from public life to a certain extent. Takeo and Shigeko had left for Yamagata; Maya had been sent with the Muto girl, Sada, to Maruyama, to Taku; Miki to the Tribe village of Kagemura. It gave Kaede pleasure to think of all three girls occupied in such serious training, and she prayed often for them, that they would learn to develop and control their different talents, and that the gods would protect them from accident, illness, or attack. It was easier, she thought with sorrow, to love her twin daughters from a distance, when their unnatural birth and strange talents could be overlooked.
She was not lonely, for she had Shizuka and the little boys to keep her company, as well as the girls’ pets, the monkey and the lion dogs. In the absence of her daughters she lavished all her care and affection on her nephews. Sunaomi and Chikara enjoyed the move, too, away from the formalities of castle life. They played on the riverbank and on the fish weir. “It’s as if Shigeru and Takeshi lived again,” Chiyo said with tears in her eyes as she listened to the shouts of the children from the garden or their footsteps on the nightingale floor, and Kaede enfolded her swelling belly in her arms and thought of the child growing there, for Sunaomi and Chikara had no Otori blood in their veins, but her son would have. Her son would be Shigeru’s heir.
Several times a week Kaede took the boys to the shrine, for she had promised Shigeko she would keep an eye on Tenba and the kirin and make sure the horse did not forget everything he had learned. Ishida usually accompanied her, for his affection for the kirin was as strong as ever, and he could hardly bear to let a day go past without checking on its welfare. Mori Hiroshi saddled and bridled Tenba and lifted Sunaomi onto his back, and Kaede led him around the meadow. The horse seemed to scent something in her pregnant body and loved to walk gently beside her, nostrils flared, nuzzling her from time to time.
“Am I your mother?” she chided him, but his trust delighted her, and she prayed her son would be as bold and as handsome. She thought of her horse, Raku, and of Amano Tenzo—both long dead, yet surely their spirits would live as long as there were Otori horses.
Then Shigeko wrote to send for the horse, for she had decided to present him to her father, asking her mother to keep it a secret. Tenba was prepared for the journey and sent with the young groom by ship to Maruyama. Kaede was afraid the kirin would fret when its companion had gone, and Ishida shared her concern. The kirin did seem somewhat dispirited, but this only seemed to increase its affection for its human companions.
Kaede wrote often, for she still loved the art of writing—letters to her husband in reply to his; to Shigeko and Miki, urging them to work hard and obey their teachers; to her sisters, telling Hana of the good health and progress of her sons and inviting them both to visit her in the spring.
But she did not write to Maya, telling herself there was no purpose since Maya was living in secret somewhere in Maruyama, and letters from her mother would only endanger her.
She went to the other shrine, where Akane’s old house had stood, and admired the slender, graceful figure that slowly emerged from the wood while the new home was erected around it.
“She looks like Lady Kaede,” Sunaomi said, for she insisted he always came with her to face the place of his shame and fear. Mostly he had regained his confidence and high spirits, but at the shrine she saw traces of the humiliation and the scars it had left, and she prayed that the spirit of the goddess would emerge from the wood and bring healing.
Shortly after Takeo had left for Yamagata, Fumio returned. During Takeo’s absence and Kaede’s semi-withdrawal, he and his father acted as their representatives. One of their most annoying and persistent problems was what to do with the foreigners who had so inconveniently arrived from Hofu.
“It’s not that I dislike them,” Fumio told Kaede one afternoon in the middle of the tenth month. “As you know, I am used to foreigners; I enjoy their company and find them interesting. But it’s hard to know what to do with them, day after day. They are very restless; and they were not too pleased when they learned Lord Otori was no longer in Hagi. They want to meet him, negotiate with him; they are getting quite impatient. I have told them nothing can be arranged until Lord Otori returns to Hagi. They demand to know why they cannot go to Yamagata themselves.”
“My husband does not want them to travel throughout the country,” Kaede replied. “The less they know about us, the better.”
“I agree—and I don’t know what understanding they came to with Zenko. He allowed them to leave Hofu, but for what purpose I don’t know. I’ve been hoping they might send letters that would reveal something, but their interpreter cannot write much—certainly nothing that Zenko could read.”
“Dr. Ishida could offer to be their scribe,” Kaede suggested. “That would save you the trouble of intercepting their letters.”
They smiled at each other.
“Perhaps Zenko just wanted to get rid of them,” Kaede went on. “Everyone seems to find them something of a burden.”
“Yet there is much to gain from them too—great knowledge and wealth, as long as we control them and not the reverse.”
“For that purpose I must begin my language lessons,” Kaede said. “You must bring the foreigners and their interpreter here to discuss it.”
“That will certainly give them something to do through the winter,” Fumio agreed. “I will impress on them what a great honor it is to be invited into the presence of Lady Otori.”
The meeting was arranged, and Kaede found herself awaiting it with some trepidation—not on the foreigners’ account but because she had no idea how she should behave toward their interpreter, the child of a peasant family, a woman from a house of pleasure, a follower of the strange beliefs of the Hidden, her husband’s sister. She did not want to be brought into contact with this part of Takeo’s life. She did not know what to say to such a person, or even how to address her. All her instincts, heightened by her pregnancy, warned her against it, but she had promised Takeo she would learn the foreigners’ language, and she could think of no other way.
Of course, she had to admit, she was curious, too—mostly, she told herself, about the foreigners and their customs, but in fact she wanted to see what Takeo’s sister looked like.
HER FIRST THOUGHT, when Fumio ushered the two large men, followed by the small woman, into the room, was, She is nothing like him, and she was conscious of a deep relief that no one would suspect a connection. She spoke formally to the men, welcoming them, and they bowed, while standing, before Fumio indicated that they should be seated.
Kaede herself sat with her back to the long wall of the r
oom, facing toward the veranda. The trees, touched by the first frosts, were just past their finest moment of color, and the ground was carpeted with their crimson leaves, contrasting with the cloud-gray stone of rocks and lanterns. On her right, a scroll hung in the alcove, the calligraphy her own, from one of her favorite poems about the autumn bush clover for which the city of Hagi was named. The allusion was of course completely lost on the foreigners and their interpreter.
The men sat somewhat awkwardly with their backs to the scroll. They had removed their footwear outside, and she noted the long skin-tight clothing that covered their legs, disappearing beneath the hem of their strange outer garments, which were puffed out, making their hips and shoulders unnaturally large. The material was mostly black, with colored patches stitched into it—it did not appear to be silk, cotton, or hemp. The woman crawled to the space they left at Kaede’s side, touched her head to the matting, and stayed low.
Kaede continued her covert study of the men, aware of their unfamiliar smell that filled her with a vague disgust, but she was also intensely conscious of the woman at her side, of the texture of hair, the color of skin, so like Takeo’s. The reality of it hit her like a slap that made her heart thud. This really was his sister. For a moment she thought she must react—she did not know whether she would cry, or faint—but fortunately Shizuka came into the room with bowls of tea and sweet bean cakes. Kaede regained her self-control.
The woman, Madaren, was even more overwhelmed, and her first attempts at translating were so subdued and muffled that both sides were completely at a loss as to what was actually said. They assumed courtesies and pleasantries, presents were received, the foreigners smiled a lot—rather terrifyingly—and Kaede spoke as gently and bowed as gracefully as possible. Fumio himself knew several words of the foreigners’ language, and used them all, while everyone said Thank you, A great pleasure, and Forgive me in their own tongue many times over.