“It’s all a long time ago,” Shizuka said with assumed lightness. “During Iida’s rule, and in the civil war, many acted in a way that might be called treachery. Zenko’s father turned on Takeo after vowing alliance with him, yet who could blame him? Everyone knew sooner or later the Arai would fight the Otori for control of the Three Countries. The Otori won—the Tribe went with the victor, as we always do, as we will continue to do.”
“Unh,” Yoshio grunted. “Now it looks as though the Arai will be challenging the Otori again. No one thinks Takeo is going to retire meekly into exile, whatever happens in the contest in Miyako. He’ll come back and fight. He might defeat Zenko in the West, and possibly, though it’s less likely, Saga in the East, but he can’t win against both of them. We should go with the victor…”
“And then the Kikuta will have their revenge,” Bunta said. “They’ve waited long enough for it. It goes to show, no one escapes the Tribe forever.”
Shizuka heard the words like a ghostly echo, for she had said the same thing about Takeo’s future to Kaede years ago, at Terayama.
“You can save yourself, Shizuka, and very likely the Muto family too. All you have to do is recognize Zenko as head of the family. We detach ourselves from Takeo before he’s defeated; we don’t get dragged down with him, and whatever secrets might lie in your past will remain buried.”
“Taku will never agree to it,” she said, voicing her thoughts.
“He will if you tell him to, as head of the family and his mother. He’s got no choice. Anyway, Taku’s a reasonable sort of fellow. He’ll see it’s for the best. Zenko will become Saga’s vassal, the Tribe will be united again, we regain our power, and since Saga intends to bring all the Eight Islands under his rule, we will have interesting and lucrative employment for years to come.”
And I will not have to seek my son’s death, Shizuka thought.
SHE LEFT FOR the Muto village, Kagemura, the next day. It was the day after the full moon and she rode in a somber mood, disturbed by the previous night’s conversation, fearing that the Muto family in the secret village would have the same views and urge her to follow the same course. Bunta said little, and she found herself angry and uncomfortable with him. How long had he suspected her? Ever since he had first started reporting to her on Shigeru’s relationship with Maruyama Naomi? She had lived with the fear that her betrayal of the Tribe would be discovered for many years, but since she had admitted it to Kenji, and received his approval and forgiveness, the fear had receded. Now it surfaced again, making her alert and defensive in a way she had not been for years, prepared at any moment to have to fight for her life. She found herself assessing Bunta and the boy, working out how she would take them if they turned on her. She had not allowed her skills to diminish, still trained every day as she had done all her life, but she was no longer young; she could outfight most men with the sword but knew she could not match them in physical strength.
They came to the inn at nightfall and rose early the next morning, leaving the boy and the horses there, to walk on foot, as she had with Kondo, through the mountains. She had slept lightly, aware of every sound, and her heaviness of spirit had increased. The morning was misty, the sky overcast. She had an almost uncontrollable desire to weep. She could not stop thinking of Kondo—she had lain with him in this very place. She had not loved him, but he had touched her in some way. She had pitied him, and then he had appeared at the very moment when she thought her life was about to be brought to a slow and agonizing end, only to be burned to death in front of her eyes. His stolid, pragmatic character seemed to take on an almost unbearable tragic nobility. How pathetic he had been, and how admirable! Why was she so moved by his memory now? It was almost as if his spirit was reaching out to hers, to tell her something, to warn her.
Even the sudden sight of the Muto village in the hidden valley failed to delight her as it usually did. It was late afternoon when they arrived, but though the sun had come out briefly at midday, now that it was setting behind the steep mountain range, the mist was rising in the valley again. It was cold, making her glad of the hooded cloak she wore. The gates of the village were barred, and, it seemed to her, were opened reluctantly. Even the houses had a closed and hostile look about them, the wooden walls dark with moisture, roofs weighted down with stones.
Her grandparents had died years before, and the old house was now inhabited by families the age of her sons, with young children. She did not know any of them well, though she was familiar with their names, their talents, and most of the details of their lives.
Kana and Miyabi, grandmothers now, still ran the household, and they at least greeted her with unfeigned pleasure. She was less sure of the sincerity of the welcome from the other adults, though the children were excited by her arrival, especially Miki.
It was barely two months since Shizuka had last seen her—she was surprised by the change in the girl. She had grown taller and had lost weight, so that she appeared stretched and attenuated. The sharp bones in her face were more pronounced and her eyes glittered in their hollow sockets.
When they gathered in the kitchen to prepare the evening meal, she asked Kana, “Has Miki been unwell?” for spring was often the time of sudden fevers and stomach troubles.
“You should not be in here with us!” Kana scolded her. “You are the honored guest—you should be sitting with the men.”
“I’ll join them soon enough. Tell me about Miki.”
Kana turned to look at the girl, who was sitting by the hearth, stirring the soup in an iron pot that hung over the fire on a fish-shaped iron hook.
“She’s grown very thin,” Kana agreed. “But she hasn’t complained of anything, have you, child?”
“She never does,” Miyabi added, laughing. “She’s as tough as a man. Come here, Miki, let Shizuka feel your arms.”
Miki came and knelt close to Shizuka without speaking. Shizuka closed her hands round the girl’s upper arm. She felt like steel, no flesh at all, just muscle and bone.
“Is everything all right?”
Miki gave the slightest shake of her head.
“Come take a walk with me—you can tell me what’s troubling you.”
“She will talk to you when she will not talk to anyone else,” Kana said in a low voice.
“Shizuka,” Miyabi whispered even more quietly, “be on your guard. The young men…” She glanced toward the main room of the house where the male voices could be heard, muffled and indistinct, though Shizuka could pick out Bunta’s. “There is some discontent,” she said vaguely, obviously afraid of being overheard.
“So I have been told. It is the same in Yamagata, and Tsuwano. I am going on to Hofu, where I will discuss the whole situation with my sons. I will leave within a day or two.”
Miki was still kneeling close to her, and Shizuka heard the slight intake of breath and felt the increased tension as the girl stiffened. She put her arm round Miki’s shoulders, shocked by the sharpness and fragility of the bones beneath the skin, like a bird’s wing.
“Come, get your sandals. We’ll walk down to the shrine and greet the gods.”
Kana gave Miki some rice cakes as an offering for the gods. Shizuka threw the hooded cloak over her shoulders; it had grown even colder. The moon shone dimly through the misty air, a huge halo around it, casting shadows across the street and beneath the trees that surrounded the shrine. Even though it was two days past the full moon of the fourth month, it was still too cold, high in the mountains, for frogs or cicadas to be heard. Only the owls called in their fractured mating song.
The shrine was lit with two lamps on either side of the altar. Miki placed the rice cakes in front of the statue of Hachiman, and they both clapped their hands and bowed three times. Shizuka had prayed here long ago for Takeo and Kaede, and now she made the same request, and she prayed for Kondo’s spirit and told him of her gratitude.
“Will the gods protect Maya?” Miki said, staring up at the carved features of the statues.
“Did you ask them to?”
“Yes, I always do. And Father. But I don’t see how they can answer everyone’s prayers, when everyone wants different things. I pray for Father’s safety, but many others pray for his death.”
“Is it this that has made you so thin, worrying about your father?”
“I wish I was with him. And that Maya was too.”
“Last time I saw you, you were so content, and doing so well. What’s happened since then?”
“I don’t sleep well. I am afraid of the dreams.”
“What dreams?” Shizuka prompted her when she fell silent.
“Dreams where I am with Maya. She is the cat and I am its shadow. It takes everything from me and I have to follow it. Then I try to stay awake and I hear the men talking. They always talk about the same thing, about the Muto family, and whether the Master should be a woman, and Zenko, and the Kikuta. I used to love being here. I felt safe and everyone liked me. Now the men fall silent when I walk past; the other children avoid me. What’s going on, Shizuka?”
“Men always grumble about something or other. They’ll get over it,” Shizuka replied.
“It’s more than that,” Miki said with great intensity. “Something bad is happening. Maya is in some terrible trouble. You know how we are together: We know what’s happening to each other. We always have done. Now I can feel her calling for help, but I don’t know where she is.”
“She is in Hofu with Taku and Sada,” Shizuka said with a confidence that masked her own unease, for it was true that the twins had always had an almost supernatural link with each other, had seemed to know each other’s thoughts from afar.
“Will you take me with you when you go there?”
“Maybe I should.”
Indeed, she thought, I must. I cannot leave her here now, to be used against Takeo in any way. The sooner I speak to Taku and Zenko, the better. We must settle the question of leadership before this discontent gets out of hand.
“We will leave the day after tomorrow.”
SHIZUKA SPENT THE next day in consultation with the young men who now formed the core of the Muto family. They treated her with deference and listened to her politely, for her lineage, history, and talents all commanded their respect, and, in some cases, their fear. She was relieved that despite her age and her slight physical stature she could still exercise power and control over them. She repeated her intention of discussing the leadership question with Zenko and Taku, and emphasized that she would not relinquish her position as Master before Lord Takeo returned from the East, that it had been Kenji’s wish and that she expected full obedience from them all according to the traditions of the Muto.
No one dissented, and no one argued when she told them Miki would be going with her, but on the road two days later, after they had retrieved the horses and were on their way back to Yamagata, Bunta said, “Of course, they know in the village now that you don’t trust them. If you trusted them, you’d have left Miki there.”
“I trust no one at the moment.” They rode side by side, Miki ahead on the back of the boy’s horse. Shizuka planned to borrow another horse for her from Lord Miyoshi’s stables in Yamagata. It would make them both more flexible, safer.
She turned and looked at Bunta directly, challenging him. “Am I wrong? Should I trust you?”
“I’ll be honest with you. It’s all a question of what the Tribe decides. I’m not going to cut your throat while you sleep, if that’s what you mean. I’ve known you for a long time—and anyway, I’ve never liked killing women.”
“So you’ll inform me before you betray me,” she said.
His eyes crinkled slightly. “I will.”
“Send Bunta and his son back,” Miki said later, when they had arrived at Yamagata and were alone. Rather than stay in the Muto house with Yoshio, Shizuka had gone to the castle, where Kahei’s wife made them welcome, tried to persuade them to stay longer, and when that failed offered to provide an escort as well as the extra horse.
“It’s difficult to judge,” Shizuka said to Miki. “If I send them back, I no longer have any contact with the Muto family on the road, and I’ll drive Bunta further away from me. If I accept Lady Miyoshi’s offer, we go openly—you as Lord Otori’s daughter.”
Miki made a face at this suggestion. Shizuka laughed. “Decisions are never as simple as you think.”
“Why can’t we go together, just the two of us?”
“Two women, traveling alone, with no servants or escort only attract attention—usually of the undesirable kind!”
“If only we had been born boys!” Miki said, and though she made an effort to speak lightly, Shizuka glimpsed the sadness behind the words. She thought of Kaede’s adoration of her baby son, the intense love that she had never shown to her twin daughters, saw the loneliness of the girls, growing up in two worlds. If the Muto family turned against their father, they would reject the girls, too, would do their utmost to eliminate them along with Takeo.
“Bunta and his son will come with us to Hofu. When we get there, Taku will look after us; you will be with Maya, and we will all be safe!”
Miki nodded and forced a smile, but though she had spoken the words to comfort her, Shizuka found herself regretting them. They seemed to have fanned into flame some tiny spark of unease. She felt she had tempted the gods, and that they would turn and strike her.
There was a small earthquake that night, making buildings shake and causing fires in some parts of the city. The air was still filled with dust and smoke as they left with two extra horses, one ridden by a groom from the Miyoshi household. They met Bunta and his son as arranged, on the bank of the moat, just outside the castle gates.
“Do you have any word from Taku?” Shizuka asked Bunta, thinking her son might have made contact with the Muto family.
“Yoshio’s heard nothing since the last new moon, and then only a report that he was still in Hofu.” Bunta grinned suggestively as he said this, and winked at his son, who laughed.
Does everyone know of his infatuation with Sada? Shizuka asked herself, feeling a wave of irritation against her younger son.
However, on the first night of their journey, after Shizuka and Miki had gone to bed, Bunta came to the door, calling softly to her. He had been drinking with other travelers in a tavern in the small post town. She could smell the wine on his breath.
“Come outside. I’ve just heard some bad news.”
He was not drunk, but the wine had dulled his sensibilities and loosened his tongue.
She took her knife from beneath the mattress and tucked it inside her night robe, pulling her cloak around her. She followed him to the end of the veranda. There was no moon; the town had fallen silent as travelers snatched a few hours’ sleep before dawn saw them on the road again. It was too dark to make out any expression on his face.
“It may be just a rumor, but I thought you’d want to hear it.” He paused and said clumsily, “It’s not good news—you should prepare yourself.”
“What?” she said, more loudly than she intended.
“Taku, your son, has been attacked on the road—by bandits, apparently. He and his woman, Sada, were both killed.”
“It can’t be true,” she said. “What bandits are there in the Middle Country?”
“No one knows the details. But people were talking about it in the tavern.”
“Tribe people? Muto?”
“Muto and Kuroda.” He added awkwardly, “I’m sorry.”
He knows it is true, she thought, and knew it herself. When she had felt such sadness on the way to Kagemura, when she had felt Kondo’s spirit near her, the dead had been calling out to her, and now Taku was among them. This will kill me, was her next thought, for the pain was already so intense she did not see how she could survive it, how she could keep living in a world in which he did not exist. She felt inside her robe for the knife, meaning to plunge it into her throat, welcoming the physical pain that would put an end to her anguish. But somethi
ng prevented her.
She lowered her voice, aware of Miki sleeping nearby. “Lord Otori’s daughter Maya was in Taku’s care. Is she also dead?”
“No one’s mentioned her,” Bunta said. “I don’t think anyone knew she was with them, apart from the Muto family in Maruyama.”
“Did you know?”
“I heard that the child they called the Kitten was with Taku. I worked out who it must be.”
Shizuka did not reply. She was fighting for self-mastery. Into her mind came an image from the past, of her uncle, Kenji, on the day he heard the news of his daughter’s death at the hands of the Kikuta. Uncle, she called to his spirit. You know what I am suffering and now I feel your pain. Give me the strength to carry on living, as you did.
Maya. I must think of Maya. I will not think of Taku, not yet. I must save Maya.
“Will we go on to Hofu?” Bunta said.
“Yes, I must find out the truth.” She thought of all the rituals that would need to be performed for the dead, wondered where the bodies were buried, felt the anguish tighten its bands of steel around her chest at the thought of the corpse that had been her son, in the earth, in the dark. “Is Zenko in Hofu?” she said, amazed that the words emerged calm and intelligible.
“Yes, his wife left for Hagi by ship a week ago, but he is still there. He is overseeing the trade arrangements with the foreigners. He has become very close to them, it is reported.”
“Zenko must know. If it was bandits, he is responsible for capturing and punishing them, and rescuing Maya if she is still alive.”
But even as she spoke she knew her son had not been killed randomly by bandits. And no one from the Tribe would touch Taku—no one but the Kikuta. Akio had spent the winter in Kumamoto. Akio had been in touch with Zenko.
She could not believe Zenko was involved in his brother’s murder. Were both her sons to be lost to her?