One of the maids, Haruka, came and lit the lamps, and immediately a large blue-green moon moth blundered into the room and flapped towards the flame. I stood and took it in my hand, felt its powdery wings beat against my palm, and released it into the night, sliding the screens closed before I sat again.
Lord Shigeru made no reply to Kenji, and then Haruka returned with tea. Kenji did not seem angry or frustrated. He admired the tea bowls, which were of the simple, pink-hued local ware, and drank without saying any more, but watching me all the time.
Finally he asked me a direct question. “Tell me, Takeo, when you were a child, did you pull the shells off living snails, or tear the claws from crabs?”
I didn’t understand the question. “Maybe,” I said, pretending to drink, even though my bowl was empty.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“My mother told me it was cruel.”
“I thought so.” His voice had taken on a note of sadness, as though he pitied me. “No wonder you’ve been trying to fend me off, Shigeru. I felt a softness in the boy, an aversion to cruelty. He was raised among the Hidden.”
“Is it so obvious?” Lord Shigeru said.
“Only to me.” Kenji sat cross-legged, eyes narrowed, one arm resting on his knee. “I think I know who he is.”
Lord Shigeru sighed, and his face became still and wary. “Then, you had better tell us.”
“He has all the signs of being Kikuta: the long fingers, the straight line across the palm, the acute hearing. It comes on suddenly, around puberty, sometimes accompanied by loss of speech, usually temporary, sometimes permanent. . . .”
“You’re making this up!” I said, unable to keep silent any longer. In fact, a sort of horror was creeping over me. I knew nothing of the Tribe, except that the assassin had been one of them, but I felt as if Muto Kenji were opening a dark door before me that I dreaded entering.
Lord Shigeru shook his head. “Let him speak. It is of great importance.”
Kenji leaned forward and spoke directly to me. “I am going to tell you about your father.”
Lord Shigeru said dryly, “You had better start with the Tribe. Takeo does not know what you mean when you say he is obviously Kikuta.”
“Is that so?” Kenji raised one eyebrow. “Well, I suppose if he was brought up by the Hidden, I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ll begin at the beginning. The five families of the Tribe have always existed. They were there before the lords and the clans. They go back to a time when magic was greater than strength of arms, and the gods still walked the earth. When the clans sprang up, and men formed allegiances based on might, the Tribe did not join any of them. To preserve their gifts, they took to the roads and became travelers, actors and acrobats, peddlers and magicians.”
“They may have done so in the beginning,” Lord Shigeru interrupted. “But many also became merchants, amassing considerable wealth and influence.” He said to me, “Kenji himself runs a very successful business in soybean products as well as money lending.”
“Times have become corrupt,” Kenji said. “As the priests tell us, we are in the last days of the law. I was talking about an earlier age. These days it’s true, we are involved in business. From time to time we may serve one or other of the clans and take its crest, or work for those who have befriended us, like Lord Otori Shigeru. But whatever we have become, we preserve the talents from the past, which once all men had but have now forgotten.”
“You were in two places at once,” I said. “The guards saw you outside, while I saw you in the garden.”
Kenji bowed ironically to me. “We can split ourselves and leave the second self behind. We can become invisible and move faster than the eye can follow. Acuteness of vision and hearing are other traits. The Tribe has retained these abilities through dedication and hard training. And they are abilities that others in this warring country find useful, and pay highly for. Most members of the Tribe become spies or assassins at some stage in their life.”
I was concentrating on trying not to shiver. My blood seemed to have drained out of me. I remembered how I had seemed to split in half beneath Iida’s sword. And all the sounds of the house, the garden, and the city beyond rang with increasing intensity in my ears.
“Kikuta Isamu, who I believe was your father, was no exception. His parents were cousins and he combined the strongest gifts of the Kikuta. By the time he was thirty, he was a flawless assassin. No one knows how many he killed; most of the deaths seemed natural and were never attributed to him. Even by the standards of the Kikuta he was secretive. He was a master of poisons, in particular certain mountain plants that kill while leaving no trace.
“He was in the mountains of the East—you know the district I mean—seeking new plants. The men in the village where he was lodging were Hidden. It seems they told him about the secret god, the command not to kill, the judgment that awaits in the afterlife: You know it all, I don’t need to tell you. In those remote mountains, far from the feuds of the clans, Isamu had been taking stock of his life. Perhaps he was filled with remorse. Perhaps the dead called out to him. Anyway, he renounced his life with the Tribe and became one of the Hidden.”
“And was executed?” Lord Shigeru spoke out of the gloom.
“Well, he broke the fundamental rules of the Tribe. We don’t like being renounced like that, especially not by someone with such great talents. That sort of ability is all too rare these days. But to tell the truth, I don’t know what exactly happened to him. I didn’t even know he had had a child. Takeo, or whatever his real name is, must have been born after his father’s death.”
“Who killed him?” I said, my mouth dry.
“Who knows? There were many who wanted to, and one of them did. Of course, no one could have got near him if he had not taken a vow never to kill again.”
There was a long silence. Apart from a small pool of light from the glowing lamp, it was almost completely dark in the room. I could not see their faces, though I was sure Kenji could see mine.
“Did your mother never tell you this?” he asked eventually.
I shook my head. There is so much that the Hidden don’t tell, so much they keep secret even from each other. What isn’t known can’t be revealed under torture. If you don’t know your brother’s secrets, you cannot betray him.
Kenji laughed. “Admit it, Shigeru, you had no idea who you were bringing into your household. Not even the Tribe knew of his existence—a boy with all the latent talent of the Kikuta!”
Lord Shigeru did not reply, but as he leaned forward into the lamplight I could see he was smiling, cheerful and openhearted. I thought what a contrast there was between the two men: the lord so open, Kenji so devious and tricky.
“I need to know how this came about. I’m not talking idly with you, Shigeru. I need to know.” Kenji’s voice was insistent.
I could hear Chiyo fussing on the stairs. Lord Shigeru said, “We must bathe and eat. After the meal we’ll talk again.”
He will not want me in his house, now that he knows I am the son of an assassin. This was the first thought that came to me as I sat in the hot water, after the older men had bathed. I could hear their voices from the upper room. They were drinking wine now and reminiscing idly about the past. Then I thought about the father I had never known, and felt a deep sadness that he had not been able to escape his background. He had wanted to give up the killing, but it would not give him up. It had reached out its long arms and found him, as far away as Mino, just as, years later, Iida had sought out the Hidden there. I looked at my own long fingers. Was that what they were designed for? To kill?
Whatever I had inherited from him, I was also my mother’s child. I was woven from two strands that could hardly be less alike, and both called to me through blood, muscle, and bone. I remembered, too, my fury at the guards. I knew I had been acting then as their lord. Was this to be a third strand in my life, or would I be sent away now that Lord Shigeru knew who
I was?
The thoughts became too painful, too difficult to unravel, and anyway, Chiyo was calling to me to come and eat. The water had warmed me at last, and I was hungry.
Ichiro had joined Lord Shigeru and Kenji, and the trays were already set out before them. They were discussing trivial things when I arrived: the weather, the design of the garden, my poor learning skills and generally bad behavior. Ichiro was still displeased with me for disappearing that afternoon. It seemed like weeks ago that I had swum in the freezing autumn river with Fumio.
The food was even better than usual, but only Ichiro enjoyed it. Kenji ate fast, the lord hardly touched anything. I was alternately hungry and nauseated, both dreading and longing for the end of the meal. Ichiro ate so much and so slowly that I thought he would never be through. Twice we seemed to be finished when he took “Just another tiny mouthful.” At last he patted his stomach and belched quietly. He was about to embark on another long gardening discussion, but Lord Shigeru made a sign to him. With a few parting comments and a couple more jokes to Kenji about me, he withdrew. Haruka and Chiyo came to clear away the dishes. When they had left, their footsteps and voices fading away to the kitchen, Kenji sat forward, his hand held out, palm open, towards Lord Shigeru.
“Well?” he said.
I wished I could follow the women. I didn’t want to be sitting here while these men decided my fate. For that was what it would come to, I was sure. Kenji must have come to claim me in some way for the Tribe. And Lord Shigeru would surely be only too happy now to let me go.
“I don’t know why this information is so important to you, Kenji,” Lord Shigeru said. “I find it hard to believe that you don’t know it all already. If I tell you, I trust it will go no further. Even in this house no one knows but Ichiro and Chiyo.
“You were right when you said I did not know whom I had brought into my house. It all happened by chance. It was late in the afternoon, I had strayed somewhat out of my path and was hoping to find lodging for the night in the village that I later discovered was called Mino. I had been traveling alone for some weeks after Takeshi’s death.”
“You were seeking revenge?” Kenji asked quietly.
“You know how things are between Iida and myself—how they have been since Yaegahara. But I could hardly have hoped to come upon him in that isolated place. It was purely the strangest of coincidences that we two, the most bitter enemies, should have been there on the same day. Certainly if I had met Iida there, I would have sought to kill him. But this boy ran into me on the path instead.”
He briefly told of the massacre, Iida’s fall from the horse, the men pursuing me.
“It happened on the spur of the moment. The men threatened me. They were armed. I defended myself.”
“Did they know who you were?”
“Probably not. I was in traveling clothes, unmarked; it was getting dark, raining.”
“But you knew they were Tohan?”
“They told me Iida was after the boy. That was enough to make me want to protect him.”
Kenji said, as though changing the subject, “I’ve heard Iida is seeking a formal alliance with the Otori.”
“It’s true. My uncles are in favor of making peace, although the clan itself is divided.”
“If Iida learns you have the boy, the alliance will never go forward.”
“There is no need to tell me things I already know,” the lord said with the first flash of anger.
“Lord Otori,” Kenji said in his ironic way, and bowed.
For a few moments no one spoke. Then Kenji sighed. “Well, the fates decide our lives, no matter what we think we are planning. Whoever sent Shintaro against you, the result is the same. Within a week the Tribe knew of Takeo’s existence. I have to tell you that we have an interest in this boy, which we will not relinquish.”
I said, my voice sounding thin in my own ears, “Lord Otori saved my life and I will not leave him.”
He reached out and patted me on the shoulder as a father might. “I’m not giving him up,” he said to Kenji.
“We want above all to keep him alive,” Kenji replied. “While it seems safe, he can stay here. There is one other concern, though. The Tohan you met on the mountain: Presumably you killed them?”
“One at least,” Lord Shigeru replied, “possibly two.”
“One,” Kenji corrected him.
Lord Shigeru raised his eyebrows. “You know all the answers already. Why do you bother asking?”
“I need to fill in certain gaps, and know how much you know.”
“One, two—what does it matter?”
“The man who lost his arm survived. His name is Ando; he’s long been one of Iida’s closest men.”
I remembered the wolfish man who had pursued me up the path, and could not help shivering.
“He did not know who you were, and does not yet know where Takeo is. But he is looking for you both. With Iida’s permission, he has devoted himself to the quest for revenge.”
“I look forward to our next meeting,” Lord Shigeru replied.
Kenji stood and paced around the room. When he sat down, his face was open and smiling, as though we had done nothing all evening save exchange jokes and talk about gardens.
“It’s good,” he said. “Now that I know exactly what danger Takeo is in, I can set about protecting him and teaching him to protect himself.” Then he did something that astonished me: He bowed to the floor before me and said, “While I am alive, you will be safe. I swear it to you.” I thought he was being ironic, but some disguise slipped from his face, and for a moment I saw the true man beneath. I might have seen Jato come alive. Then the cover slipped back, and Kenji was joking again. “But you have to do exactly what I tell you!”
He grinned at me. “I gather Ichiro finds you too much. He shouldn’t be bothered by cubs like you at his age. I will take over your education. I will be your teacher.”
He drew his robe around him with a fussy movement and pursed his lips, instantly becoming the gentle old man I had left outside the gate. “That is, if Lord Otori will graciously permit it.”
“I don’t seem to have any choice,” Lord Shigeru said, and poured more wine, smiling his openhearted smile.
My eyes flicked from one face to the other. Again I was struck by the contrast between them. I thought I saw in Kenji’s eyes a look that was not quite scorn, but close to it. Now that I know the ways of the Tribe so intimately, I know their weakness is arrogance. They become infatuated with their own amazing skills, and underestimate those of their antagonists. But at that moment Kenji’s look just angered me.
Shortly after that, the maids came to spread out the beds and put out the lamps. For a long time I lay sleepless, listening to the sounds of the night. The evening’s revelations marched slowly through my mind, scattered, re-formed, and marched past again. My life no longer belonged to me. But for Lord Shigeru I would be dead now. If he had not run into me by accident, as he said, on the mountain path . . .
Was it really by accident? Everyone, even Kenji, accepted his version: It had all happened on the spur of the moment, the running boy, the threatening men, the fight . . .
I relived it all in my mind. And I seemed to recall a moment when the path ahead was clear. There was a huge tree, a cedar, and someone stepped out from behind it and seized me—not by accident, but deliberately. I thought of Lord Shigeru and how little I really knew about him. Everyone took him at face value: impulsive, warm-hearted, generous. I believed him to be all these things, but I couldn’t help wondering what lay beneath. I’m not giving him up, he had said. But why would he want to adopt one of the Tribe, the son of an assassin? I thought of the heron, and how patiently it waited before it struck.
The sky was lightening and the roosters were crowing before I slept.
THE GUARDS HAD A LOT of fun at my expense when Muto Kenji was installed as my teacher.
“Watch out for the old man, Takeo! He’s pretty dangerous. He might stab you with the brush
!”
It was a joke they never seemed to tire of. I learned to say nothing. Better they should think me an idiot than that they should know and spread abroad the old man’s real identity. It was an early lesson for me. The less people think of you, the more they will reveal to you or in your presence. I began to wonder how many blank-faced, seemingly dull-witted but trustworthy servants or retainers were really from the Tribe, carrying out their work of intrigue, subterfuge, and sudden death.
Kenji initiated me into the arts of the Tribe, but I still had lessons from Ichiro in the ways of the clans. The warrior class was the complete opposite of the Tribe. They set great store by the admiration and respect of the world, and their reputation and standing in it. I had to learn their history and etiquette, courtesies and language. I studied the archives of the Otori, going back for centuries, all the way to their half-mythical origins in the Emperor’s family, until my head was reeling with names and genealogies.
The days shortened, the nights grew colder. The first frosts rimed the garden. Soon the snow would shut off the mountain passes, winter storms would close the port, and Hagi would be isolated until spring. The house had a different song now, muffled, soft, and sleeping.
Something had unlocked a mad hunger in me for learning. Kenji said it was the character of the Tribe surfacing after years of neglect. I embraced everything, from the most complex characters in writing to the demands of swordplay. These I learned wholeheartedly, but I had a more divided response to Kenji’s lessons. I did not find them difficult—they came all too naturally to me—but there was something about them that repelled me, something within me that resisted becoming what he wanted me to be.
“It’s a game,” he told me many times. “Play it like a game.” But it was a game whose end was death. Kenji had been right in his reading of my character. I had been brought up to abhor murder, and I had a deep reluctance to take life.
He studied that aspect of me. It made him uneasy. He and Lord Shigeru often talked about ways to make me tougher.