A large gray heron was fishing in the stream. It sensed her movement, swung its beak toward her, and launched itself into flight, its wings making a sudden sharp clack like the sound of a fan.
In the waters of the stream, a gold carp leaped. The fish splashed, the bird flew on silent wings overhead, the water trickled: It was just like it always was.
She set her ears to listen to the sounds of the house, longing now to see Haruka and Chiyo. They will be surprised, she thought. And happy. Chiyo will cry for joy like she always does. She thought she heard their voices from the kitchen.
But above the murmur she heard other voices, coming from outside the wall, from the riverbank. Boys’ voices, chattering, laughing.
She shrank down behind the largest rock as Sunaomi and Chikara came splashing through the stream. At the same moment there were footsteps from inside the house, and Kaede and Hana came out onto the veranda. They were not at the castle after all. They were here.
Kaede was carrying the baby. He was about eight weeks old, already active and alert, smiling and trying to grasp his mother’s robe. She held him up so he could watch the boys approach.
“Look, my treasure, my little man. Look at your cousins. You will grow up to be as fine a boy as they are!”
The baby smiled and smiled. He was already trying to use his feet and stand.
“How dirty you are, my sons,” Hana scolded them, her face glowing with pride. “Wash your feet and hands. Haruka! Bring water for the young lords!”
Young lords! Maya watched as Haruka came and washed the boys’ feet. She saw their confidence and arrogance, saw the love and respect they commanded effortlessly from all the women surrounding them.
Hana tickled the baby and made him giggle and squirm. A look of complicit affection passed between her mother and her aunt.
“Didn’t I tell you,” Hana said. “There is nothing like having a son.”
“It’s true,” Kaede replied. “I did not know I could feel like this.” She hugged the baby to her, her face rapt with love.
Maya felt a pure hatred like nothing she had felt in her life, as if her heart had cracked and its blood washed through her, molten steel. What will I do? she thought. I must try to see Mother alone. Will she listen to me? Should I go back to Miki? Go to the castle to Lord Endo? No, I must see Mother first. But Hana must not suspect I am here.
She waited silently in the garden as dusk fell. Fireflies danced above the stream, and the house glowed from the lamps lit within. She smelled the food being taken to the upstairs room, heard the boys talking, boasting while they ate. Then the young maids took the trays back to the kitchen, and the beds were spread out.
The boys slept at the back of the house, where the maids would also go when their last tasks were done. Hana and Kaede would sleep in the upstairs room with the baby.
As the house fell silent, Maya dared to go inside. She crossed the nightingale floor without conscious effort, having been familiar with it all her life. She tiptoed up the stairs and watched her mother feed the child, saw him suck hungrily and strongly until his eyelids began to flicker and close. Maya felt an intimation of some presence beside her. She glanced sideways and saw the ghost woman, Yusetsu, who had once been Muto Yuki. She no longer wore the hooded cloak but was dressed as she had been when Maya first saw her, in the white garments of the dead, as white as her flesh. Her breath was cold and smelled of earth, and she stared at the mother and child with an expression of naked jealousy.
Kaede wrapped the baby tightly and laid him down.
“I must write to my husband,” she said to Hana. “Fetch me if the baby wakes.”
She went downstairs to Ichiro’s old room, where the records and writing materials were kept, calling to Haruka to bring lamps.
Now I must go to her, Maya thought.
Hana sat by the open window, running a comb through her long hair; she was humming a lullaby to herself. A lamp burned in an iron stand.
Hana sang:
Write to your husband,
My poor sister.
He will never get your letters.
He does not deserve your love.
You will soon find out
What kind of a man he is.
How dare she sing so, in my father’s house! Maya thought. She was torn between conflicting desires to throw herself at Hana and to run downstairs to her mother.
Hana lay down, her head on the pillow block. I could kill her now! Maya thought, feeling for the knife. She deserves it! But then she reflected that she should leave such punishment to her father. She was about to go out of the room when the baby stirred. She knelt beside him and looked at him. He gave a little cry. His eyes opened and he gazed back at her.
He can see me! she thought in surprise. She did not want him to wake properly. And then she found she could not stop looking. She had no control over what she was doing. She had become a channel for the conflicting emotions that raged within and around her. She gazed at her brother with her Kikuta eyes, and he smiled once at her and fell asleep, never to wake again.
Yuki said beside her, Come, we can leave now.
Maya knew suddenly that this was part of the ghost woman’s revenge, revenge on her mother, a terrible payment of an old score of jealousy. And she realized that she had committed an act for which there was no forgiveness, that there was no place for her anywhere anymore except in the realm between the worlds where spirits walked. Not even Miki could save her now. She summoned the cat and let it take her over, and then leaped through the walls, running across the river, into the forest, tireless and unthinking, back to Hisao.
Yuki followed her, floating above the ground, the ghost child in her arms.
50
Kaede’s son died on the night before the full moon of midsummer. Infants often passed away—no one was particularly astonished—in summer from illness or plague, in winter from cold or croup. Generally it was thought wise not to become too attached to young children, since so few survived infancy. Kaede tried to control and contain her grief accordingly, aware that as the ruler of the country in her husband’s absence she could not allow herself to break down. Yet privately she wanted simply to die. She went over and over in her mind what failing of hers had brought about this unbearable loss: She had fed him too much or too little; she should not have left him; she had been cursed, first with twins, then with this death. In vain Dr. Ishida tried to convince her that there might be no reason, that it was a common thing for infants to die for no apparent cause.
She longed for Takeo’s return, yet she dreaded telling him. She longed to lie with him and feel the familiar consolation of their love, yet she also thought that she could never bear to take him inside her again, for the idea of conceiving another child only to lose it was unendurable.
He must be told, yet how was it to be done? She did not even know where he was. It would take weeks for letters to reach him. She had heard nothing from him since he had sent letters from Inuyama, which she had received at the beginning of the fifth month. Every day she determined to write to him, yet each day she could not bring herself to do so. All day she longed for night to come so she could give rein to her grief, and all night lay sleepless, longing for dawn, so she might lay the pain aside temporarily.
Her only comfort was the company of her sister and the boys, whom she loved as if they were her own children. They distracted her, and she spent much time with them, overseeing their studies and watching their military training. The baby was buried at Daishoin; the moon had waned to a tiny sliver above his grave when messengers came finally with letters from Takeo. When she unrolled the scroll, the sketches he had done of birds observed on the journey fell out. She smoothed them out and gazed on them, the quick black strokes catching perfectly the crow on a craggy rock, the flycatcher and the bellflower.
“He writes from a place called Sanda,” she said to Hana. “He is not yet even at the capital.” She looked at the letter without really reading it; she recognized Minoru’s h
and, but the birds Takeo had drawn himself—she could see the power of the stroke, saw him supporting the right hand with the left, forcing skill from disability. She was alone with Hana; the boys were at the riding ground, the maids occupied in the kitchen. She let the tears flow. “He does not know his son is dead!”
Hana said, “His grief will be nothing compared to yours. Do not torment yourself on his behalf.”
“He has lost his only son.” Kaede could hardly speak.
Hana held Kaede and spoke into her ear. Her voice was very quiet. “He will not be sad. I promise you. He will be relieved.”
“What do you mean?” Kaede pulled away slightly and stared at her sister. She saw dully how beautiful Hana still was, and regretted her own scars, the loss of her hair. Yet none of this mattered. She would have plunged into the fire again, torn out her own eyes to bring her child back. Since his death, she had come to rely completely on Hana, had put aside her suspicions and lack of trust, had almost forgotten that Hana and her sons were in Hagi as hostages.
“I was thinking about the prophecy.”
“What prophecy?” Kaede recalled with almost physical pain the afternoon of the last day of the year at Inuyama, when she and Takeo had lain together, and they had talked afterward of the words that had ruled their lives. “The Five Battles? What has that go to do with it?” She did not want to talk about this now, but something in Hana’s voice had alerted her. Hana knew something that she did not. Despite the heat, her skin was cold, and she was trembling.
“There were other words spoken then,” Hana said. “Did Takeo never tell you?”
Kaede shook her head, hating to admit it. “How do you know?”
“Takeo confided in Muto Kenji, and now it is common knowledge among the Tribe.”
Kaede felt the first flash of anger. She had always hated and feared Takeo’s secret life: He had left her to go with the Tribe, left her with his child, which she had lost, almost dying. She thought she had understood his choice, made in the face of death when he was half out of his mind with grief, had forgiven and forgotten, but now the old resentment stirred within her. She welcomed it, for it was an antidote to grief.
“You had better tell me exactly what was said.”
“That Takeo is safe from death, except at the hands of his own son.”
For a few moments Kaede did not respond. She knew Hana was not lying to her. She saw at once how Takeo’s life had been shaped by this, his fearlessness, his resolve. So many things he had said in the past made sense to her now. And she understood his relief when all their children had been girls.
“He should have told me, but he was protecting me,” she said. “I cannot believe he will be happy that our child died. I know him better than that.” Relief swept over her—she had feared something far worse from Hana. “Prophecies are dangerous things,” she said. “Now this one cannot possibly come true. His son has died before him, and there will be no more children.”
He will come back to me, she was thinking, as he always has. He will not die in the East. Even now he is probably on his way home.
“Everyone hopes Lord Takeo will have a long and happy life,” Hana said. “Let us pray that this prophecy does not refer to his other son.”
When Kaede stared at her without speaking, she went on, “Forgive me, older sister, I assumed you knew.”
“Tell me,” Kaede said with no emotion.
“I cannot. If it is something your husband has kept from you…”
“Tell me,” Kaede repeated, and heard her voice crack.
“I dread causing you more pain. Let Takeo tell you when he returns.”
“He has a son?” Kaede said.
“Yes.” Hana sighed. “The boy is seventeen years old. His mother was Muto Yuki.”
“Kenji’s daughter?” Kaede said faintly. “So Kenji had known all along?”
“I suppose so. Again, it was no secret among the Tribe.”
Shizuka, Zenko, Taku? They had all been aware of this, had known it for years when she had known nothing? She began to shiver.
“You are not well,” Hana said solicitously. “Let me get you some tea. Shall I send for Ishida?”
“Why did he never tell me?” Kaede said. She was not so much angry at the infidelity—she felt little jealousy for a woman who had been dead for years—it was the deception that shattered her. “If he had only told me.”
“I suppose he wanted to protect you,” Hana said.
“It is just a rumor,” Kaede said.
“No, I have met the boy. I saw him a couple of times in Kumamoto. He is like most of the Tribe, devious and cruel. You would never believe he is half-brother to Shigeko.”
Hana’s words stabbed her afresh. She recalled all the things that had troubled her about Takeo throughout their life together: the strange powers, the mixed blood, the unnatural inheritance embodied in the twins. Her mind was already unbalanced by grief, and her shock at this revelation distorted everything she had lived by. She hated him; she loathed herself for devoting her life to him; she blamed him for everything she had suffered, the birth of the accursed twin girls, the death of her adored son. She wanted to wound him, to take everything from him.
She realized she was still holding the sketches. The birds had made her think of freedom, as always, but that was an illusion. Birds were no more free than humans, bound equally by hunger, desire, and death. She had been bound for over half her life to a man who had betrayed her, who had never been worthy of her. She ripped the sketches into pieces and trampled them beneath her feet.
“I cannot stay here. What shall I do?”
“Come with me to Kumamoto,” Hana said. “My husband will take care of you.”
Kaede remembered Zenko’s father, who had saved her life and been her champion, whom she had defied and turned into an enemy, all for Takeo’s sake.
“What a fool I have been,” she cried.
A febrile energy seized her. “Send for the boys and get them ready to travel,” she told Hana. “How many men came with you?”
“Thirty or forty,” Hana replied. “They are lodged in the castle.”
“My own men are also there,” Kaede said. “Those that did not go with him to the East.” She could not bring herself to say my husband or to speak his name. “We will take them all with us, but let ten of your men come here. I have a task for them. We will leave before the end of the week.”
“Whatever you say, sister,” Hana agreed.
51
Miki had waited all night on the riverbank for Maya to return. By dawn she realized that her sister had fled into the world of the spirits, where she could not follow her. She wanted to go home above all; she was exhausted and hungry, and she could feel the power of the cat, unleashed and all-demanding, drawing her energy from her. But when she came to the gate of the house by the river, she heard the screams of grief; she realized that the baby had died in the night, and a terrible suspicion grew in her, filling her with dread. She crouched down outside the wall, her head in her hands, afraid to go inside but not knowing where else to go.
One of the maids rushed past her without noticing her, and returned within the hour with Dr. Ishida, who looked shocked and pale. Neither of them spoke to Miki, but they must have seen her, for not long afterward Haruka came out and crouched beside her.
“Maya? Miki?”
Miki looked at her, the tears beginning to trickle from her eyes. She wanted to say something, but she did not dare speak, in case she voiced what she suspected.
“What in Heaven’s name are you doing here? It is Miki, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“This is a terrible time,” Haruka said, weeping herself. “Come inside, child. Look at you, the state you’re in. Have you been living in the forest like a wild animal?”
Haruka led her quickly into the back of the house, where Chiyo, her face also wet with tears, was tending the fire. Chiyo shrieked in surprise, and started muttering about bad luck, and curses.
> “Don’t carry on so,” Haruka said. “It’s hardly the child’s fault!”
The iron kettle hanging above the fire made a soft hissing sound, and steam and smoke filled the air. Haruka brought a bowl of water and washed Miki’s face, hands, and legs. The hot water made all the cuts and scratches sting.
“We’ll prepare a bath for you,” Haruka said. “But eat something first.” She put rice in a bowl and poured broth over it. “How thin she is!” she said aside to Chiyo. “Shall I tell her mother she is here?”
“Better not,” Chiyo replied. “Not yet, anyway. It might upset her further.”
Miki was crying too much to eat, her breath coming in sobs.
“Talk to us, Miki,” Haruka urged her. “You’ll feel better for it. Nothing’s so bad it can’t be shared.”
When Miki shook her head dumbly, Haruka said, “She’s like her father when he first came to this house. He didn’t speak for weeks.”
“His speech came back in the end,” Chiyo murmured. “Shock took it away, and shock brought it back.”
Some time later, Dr. Ishida came to talk to Chiyo about brewing a special tea to help Kaede sleep.
“Doctor, look who is here,” Haruka said, indicating Miki, who was still huddled in one corner of the kitchen, pale and shivering.
“Yes, I saw her earlier,” Ishida replied distractedly. “Don’t let her near her mother. Lady Otori is overcome by grief. Any further stress could push her into madness. You will see your mother when she is better,” he told Miki somewhat sternly. “In the meantime you must not be a nuisance to anyone. You can give her some of the same tea, Haruka; it will calm her down.”
Miki was confined to a solitary storeroom for the next few days. She heard the sounds of the household around her as her Kikuta hearing increased in intensity. She heard Sunaomi and Chikara whisper to each other, subdued yet somehow excited by the death of their little cousin. She heard the terrible conversation between her mother and Hana and longed to run to them and intervene, yet she did not dare open her mouth. She heard Dr. Ishida remonstrate with her mother in vain, and then tell Haruka that he would go himself to Inuyama to meet her father.