When the ceremony was over we went back to join Kenji, who seemed to be deep in a one-sided discussion with the Tohan man about art and religion.
“We have a gift for the lord abbot,” Shigeru said, picking up the box, which I had left with Kenji.
A twinkle appeared in the priest’s eye. “I will take you to him.”
“And the young men would like to see the paintings,” Kenji said.
“Makoto will show them. Follow me, please, Lord Otori.”
The Tohan man looked taken aback as Shigeru disappeared behind the altar with the old priest. He made as if to follow them, but Makoto seemed to block his path, without touching or threatening him.
“This way, young man!”
With a deliberate tread he somehow herded the three of us out of the temple and along a boardwalk to a smaller hall.
“The great painter Sesshu lived in this temple for ten years,” he told us. “He designed the gardens and painted landscapes, animals, and birds. These wooden screens are his work.”
“That is what it is to be an artist,” Kenji said in his querulous teacher’s voice.
“Yes, master,” I replied. I did not have to pretend to be humble: I was genuinely awed by the work before our eyes. The black horse, the white cranes, seemed to have been caught and frozen in an instant of time by the consummate skill of the artist. You felt that at any moment the spell would be broken, the horse would stamp and rear, the cranes would see us and launch themselves into the sky. The painter had achieved what we would all like to do: capture time and make it stand still.
The screen closest to the door seemed to be bare. I peered at it, thinking the colors must have faded. Makoto said, “There were birds on it, but the legend goes that they were so lifelike, they flew away.”
“You see how much you have to learn,” Kenji told me. I thought he was rather overdoing it, but the Tohan man gave me a scornful glance and, after a cursory look at the paintings, went outside and sat down under a tree.
I took out the ink stone, and Makoto brought me some water. I prepared the ink and unfolded a roll of paper. I wanted to trace the master’s hand and see if he could transfer, across the chasm of the years, what he had seen, into my brush.
Outside, the afternoon heat increased, shimmering, intensified by the crickets’ shrilling. The trees cast great pools of inky shade. Inside the hall it was cooler, dim. Time slowed. I heard the Tohan man’s breathing even as he fell asleep.
“The gardens are also Sesshu’s work,” Makoto said, and he and Kenji sat themselves down on the matting, their backs towards the paintings and me, looking out onto the rocks and trees. In the distance a waterfall murmured, and I could hear two wood doves cooing. From time to time Kenji made a comment or asked a question about the garden, and Makoto replied. Their conversation grew more desultory, until they also seemed to be dozing.
Left alone with my brush and paper, and the incomparable paintings, I felt the same focus and concentration steal over me that I’d felt the previous night, taking me into the same half-trancelike state. It saddened me a little that the skills of the Tribe should be so similar to the skills of art. A strong desire seized me to stay in this place for ten years like the great Sesshu, and draw and paint every day until my paintings came to life and flew away.
I made copies of the horse and the cranes, copies that did not satisfy me at all, and then I painted the little bird from my mountain as I had seen it flying off at my approach, with a flash of white in its wings.
I was absorbed by the work. From far away I could hear Shigeru’s voice, speaking to the old priest. I was not really listening: I assumed he was seeking some spiritual counsel from the old man, a private matter. But the words dropped into my hearing, and it slowly dawned on me that their talk was of something quite different: burdensome new taxes, curtailment of freedom, Iida’s desire to destroy the temples, several thousand monks in remote monasteries, all trained as warriors and desiring to overthrow the Tohan and restore the lands to the Otori.
I grinned ruefully to myself. My concept of the temple as a place of peace, a sanctuary from war, was somewhat misplaced. The priests and the monks were as belligerent as we were, as bent on revenge.
I did one more copy of the horse, and felt happier with it. I had caught something of its fiery power. I felt that Sesshu’s spirit had indeed touched me across time, and maybe had reminded me that when illusions are shattered by truth, talent is set free.
Then I heard another sound from far below that set my heart racing: Kaede’s voice. The women and Abe were climbing the steps to the second gate.
I called quietly to Kenji, “The others are coming.”
Makoto got swiftly to his feet and padded silently away. A few moments later the old priest and Lord Shigeru stepped into the hall, where I was putting the finishing strokes to the copy of the horse.
“Ah, Sesshu spoke to you!” the old priest said, smiling.
I gave the picture to Shigeru. He was sitting looking at it when the ladies and Abe joined us. The Tohan man woke and tried to pretend he had not been asleep. The talk was all of paintings and gardens. Lady Maruyama continued to pay special attention to Abe, asking his opinion and flattering him until even he became interested in the subject.
Kaede looked at the sketch of the bird. “May I have this?” she asked.
“If it pleases you, Lady Shirakawa,” I replied. “I’m afraid it is very poor.”
“It does please me,” she said in a low voice. “It makes me think of freedom.”
The ink had dried rapidly in the heat. I rolled the paper and gave it to her, my fingers grazing hers for a moment. It was the first time we had touched. Neither of us said any more. The heat seemed more intense, the crickets more insistent. A wave of fatigue swept over me. I was dizzy with lack of sleep and emotion. My fingers had lost their assurance and trembled as I packed away the painting things.
“Let us walk in the garden,” Shigeru said, and took the ladies outside. I felt the old priest’s gaze on me.
“Come back to us,” he said, “when all this is over. There will always be a place for you here.”
I thought of all the turmoil and changes the temple had seen, the battles that raged around it. It seemed so tranquil: The trees stood as they had for hundreds of years, the Enlightened One sat among the candles with his serene smile. Yet, even in this place of peace men were planning war. I could never withdraw into painting and planning gardens until Iida was dead.
“Will it ever be over?” I replied.
“Everything that has a beginning has an ending,” he said.
I bowed to the ground before him, and he placed his palms together in a blessing.
Makoto walked out into the garden with me. He was looking at me quizzically. “How much do you hear?” he said quietly.
I looked around. The Tohan men were with Shigeru at the top of the steps. “Can you hear what they are saying?”
He measured the space with his eye. “Only if they shout it.”
“I hear every word. I can hear them in the eating house below. I can tell you how many people are gathered there.”
It struck me then that it sounded like a multitude.
Makoto gave a short laugh, amazement mixed with appreciation. “Like a dog?”
“Yes, like a dog,” I replied.
“Useful to your masters.”
His words stayed with me. I was useful to my masters, to Lord Shigeru, to Kenji, to the Tribe. I had been born with dark talents I did not ask for, yet I could not resist honing and testing them, and they had brought me to the place I was now. Without them I would surely be dead. With them I was drawn every day further into this world of lies, secrecy, and revenge. I wondered how much of this Makoto would understand, and wished I could share my thoughts with him. I felt an instinctive liking for him—more than liking: trust. But the shadows were lengthening; it was nearly the hour of the Rooster. We had to leave to get back to Yamagata before nightfall. There was no t
ime to talk.
When we descended the steps there was indeed a huge crowd of people gathered outside the lodging house.
“Are they here for the Festival?” I said to Makoto.
“Partly,” he said, and then in an aside so no one else could hear him: “But mainly because they have heard Lord Otori is here. They haven’t forgotten the way things were before Yaegahara. Nor have we here. . . .
“Farewell,” he said as I mounted Raku. “We’ll meet again.”
On the mountain path, on the road, it was the same. Many people were out, and they all seemed to want to take a look with their own eyes at Lord Shigeru. There was something eerie about it, the silent people dropping to the ground as we rode past, then getting to their feet to stare after us, their faces somber, their eyes burning.
The Tohan men were furious, but there was nothing they could do. They rode some way ahead of me, but I could hear their whispered conversation as clearly as if they poured the words into my ears.
“What did Shigeru do at the temple?” Abe asked.
“Prayed, spoke to the priest. We were shown the works by Sesshu; the boy did some painting.”
“I don’t care what the boy did! Was Shigeru alone with the priest?”
“Only for a few minutes,” the younger man lied.
Abe’s horse plunged forward. He must have jerked on the bridle in anger.
“He’s not plotting anything,” the young man said airily. “It’s all just what it seems. He’s on his way to be married. I don’t see why you’re so worried. The three of them are harmless. Fools—cowards, even—but harmless.”
“You’re the fool if you think that,” Abe growled. “Shigeru is a lot more dangerous than he seems. He’s no coward, for a start. He has patience. And no one else in the Three Countries has this effect on the people!”
They rode in silence for a while, then Abe muttered, “Just one sign of treachery and we have him.”
The words floated back to me through the perfect summer evening. By the time we reached the river it was dusk, a blue twilight lit by fireflies among the rushes. On the bank the bonfires were already blazing for the second night of the festival. The previous night had been grief-filled and subdued. Tonight the atmosphere was wilder, with an undercurrent of ferment and violence. The streets were crowded, the throng thickest along the edge of the moat. People were standing staring at the first gate of the castle.
As we rode past we could see the four heads displayed above the gate. The baskets had already been removed from the walls.
“They died quickly,” Shigeru said to me. “They were lucky.”
I did not reply. I was watching Lady Maruyama. She took one quick look at the heads and then turned away, her face pale but composed. I wondered what she was thinking, if she was praying.
The crowd rumbled and surged like a sorrowful beast at the slaughterhouse, alarmed by the stench of blood and death.
“Don’t linger,” Kenji said. “I’m going to listen to a little gossip here and there. I’ll meet you back at the inn. Stay indoors.” He called to one of the grooms, slid from his horse, gave the reins to the man, and disappeared into the crowd.
As we turned into the straight street I had run down the night before, a contingent of Tohan men rode towards us with drawn swords.
“Lord Abe!” called one of them. “We are to clear the streets. The town is in turmoil. Get your guests inside and put guards on the gates.”
“What set this off?” Abe demanded.
“The criminals all died in the night. Some man claims an angel came and delivered them!”
“Lord Otori’s presence is not helping the situation,” Abe said bitterly as he urged us towards the inn. “We’ll ride on tomorrow.”
“The festival is not over,” Shigeru remarked. “Travel on the third day will only bring bad luck.”
“That can’t be helped! The alternative could be worse.” He had drawn his sword and now it whistled through the air as he slashed at the crowd. “Get down!” he yelled.
Alarmed by the noise, Raku plunged forward, and I found myself riding knee to knee with Kaede. The horses swung their heads towards each other, taking courage from each other’s presence. They trotted the length of the street in perfect stride.
She said, looking forward, in a voice so quiet that no one but I could hear it above the turmoil around us: “I wish we could be alone together. There are so many things I want to know about you. I don’t even know who you really are. Why do you pretend to be less than you are? Why do you hide your deftness?”
I would have gladly ridden alongside her like that forever, but the street was too short, and I was afraid to answer her. I pushed my horse forward, as if indifferent to her, but my heart was pounding at her words. It was all I wanted: to be alone with her, to reveal my hidden self, to let go of all the secrets and deceptions, to lie with her, skin against skin.
Would it ever be possible? Only if Iida died.
When we came to the inn I went to oversee the care of the horses. The Otori men who had stayed behind greeted me with relief. They had been anxious for our safety.
“The town’s alight,” one said. “One false move and there’ll be fighting on the streets.”
“What have you heard?” I asked.
“Those Hidden the bastards were torturing. Someone got to them and killed them. Unbelievable! Then some man figures he saw an angel!”
“They know Lord Otori is here,” another added. “They still consider themselves Otori. I reckon they’ve had enough of the Tohan.”
“We could take this town if we had a hundred men,” the first muttered.
“Don’t say these things, even to yourselves, even to me,” I warned them. “We don’t have a hundred men. We are at the mercy of the Tohan. We are supposed to be the instruments of an alliance: We must be seen to be such. Lord Shigeru’s life depends on it.”
They went on grumbling while they unsaddled the horses and fed them. I could feel the fire starting to burn in them, the desire to wipe out old insults and settle old scores.
“If any one of you draws a sword against the Tohan, his life is forfeit to me!” I said angrily.
They were not deeply impressed. They might know more about me than Abe and his men, but still, to them I was just young Takeo, a bit studious, fond of painting, not bad with the sword stick now, but always too gentle, too soft. The idea that I would actually kill one of them made them grin.
I feared their recklessness. If fighting broke out I had no doubt that the Tohan would seize the chance to charge Shigeru with treachery. Nothing must happen now that would prevent us getting unsuspected to Inuyama.
By the time I left the stables my head was aching fiercely. I felt as if it had been weeks since I’d slept. I went to the bathhouse. The girl who had brought me tea that morning and had said she would dry my clothes was there. She scrubbed my back and massaged my temples, and would certainly have done more for me if I had not been so tired and my mind so full of Kaede. She left me soaking in the hot water, but as she withdrew she whispered, “The work was well done.”
I’d been dozing off but her words made me snap awake. “What work?” I asked, but she was already gone. Uneasy, I got out of the tub and returned to the room, the headache still a dull pain across my forehead.
Kenji was back. I could hear him and Shigeru speaking in low voices. They broke off when I entered the room, both staring at me. I could see from their faces that they knew.
Kenji said, “How?”
I listened. The inn was quiet, the Tohan still out on the streets. I whispered, “Two with poison, one with the garrote, one with my hands.”
He shook his head. “It’s hard to believe. Within the castle walls? Alone?”
I said, “I can’t remember much about it. I thought you would be angry with me.”
“I am angry,” he replied. “More than angry—furious. Of all the idiotic things to do. We should be burying you tonight, by all rights.”
I braced myself for one of his blows. Instead he embraced me. “I must be getting fond of you,” he said. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I would not have thought it possible,” Shigeru said. It seemed he could not help smiling. “Our plan may succeed after all!”
“People in the street are saying it must be Shintaro,” Kenji remarked, “though no one knows who paid him or why.”
“Shintaro is dead,” I said.
“Well, not many people know that. Anyway, the general opinion is that this assassin is some sort of heavenly spirit.”
“A man saw me, the brother of one of the dead. He saw my second self, and when it faded he thought it was an angel.”
“As far as I can find out, he has no idea of your identity. It was dark, he did not see you clearly. He truly thought it was an angel.”
“But why did you do it, Takeo?” Shigeru asked. “Why take such a risk now?”
Again, I could hardly remember. “I don’t know, I couldn’t sleep. . . .”
“It’s that softness he has,” Kenji said. “It drives him to act from compassion, even when he kills.”
“There’s a girl here,” I said. “She knows something. She took my wet clothes this morning, and just now she said—”
“She’s one of us,” Kenji interrupted me, and as soon as he said it I realized I’d known that she was from the Tribe. “Of course, the Tribe suspected at once. They know how Shintaro died. They know you are here with Lord Shigeru. No one can believe you did it without being detected, but they also know there is no one else who could have done it.”
“Can it be kept a secret, though?” Shigeru asked.
“No one’s going to give Takeo away to the Tohan, if that’s what you mean. And they don’t seem to suspect anything. Your acting’s improving,” he told me. “Even I believed you were no more than a well-meaning bumbler today.”
Shigeru smiled again. Kenji went on, his voice unnaturally casual, “The only thing is, Shigeru, I know your plans; I know Takeo has agreed to serve you in their execution. But after this episode, I don’t believe the Tribe will allow Takeo to remain with you much longer. They are now certain to claim him.”