Kaede shivered. “Why does Lord Iida hate them so?”
Shizuka glanced over her shoulder, even though they were alone in the room. “They say the secret god will punish Iida in the afterlife.”
“But Iida is the most powerful lord in the Three Countries. He can do what he wants. They have no right to judge him.” The idea that a lord’s actions should be judged by ordinary village people was ludicrous to Kaede.
“The Hidden believe that their god sees everyone as equal. There are no lords in their god’s eyes. Only those who believe in him and those who do not.”
Kaede frowned. No wonder Iida wanted to stamp them out. She would have asked more but Shizuka changed the subject.
“Lady Maruyama is expected any day now. Then we will begin our journey.”
“It will be good to leave this place of death,” Kaede said.
“Death is everywhere.” Shizuka took the comb and with long, even strokes ran it through Kaede’s hair. “Lady Maruyama is a close relative of yours. Did you meet her when you were a child?”
“If I did I don’t remember it. She is my mother’s cousin, I believe, but I know very little about her. Have you met her?”
“I have seen her,” Shizuka said with a laugh. “People like me don’t really meet people like her!”
“Tell me about her,” Kaede said.
“As you know, she owns a large domain in the southwest. Her husband and her son are both dead, and her daughter, who would inherit, is a hostage in Inuyama. It is well known that the lady is no friend to the Tohan, despite her husband being of that clan. Her stepdaughter is married to Iida’s cousin. There were rumors that after her husband’s death, his family had her son poisoned. First Iida offered his brother to her in marriage, but she refused him. Now they say he himself wants to marry her.”
“Surely he is married already, and has a son,” Kaede interrupted.
“None of Lady Iida’s other children has survived beyond childhood, and her health is very poor. It might fail at any time.”
In other words, he might murder her, Kaede thought, but did not dare say it.
“Anyway,” Shizuka went on, “Lady Maruyama will never marry him, so they say, and she will not allow her daughter to either.”
“She makes her own decisions about who she will marry? She sounds like a powerful woman.”
“Maruyama is the last of the great domains to be inherited through the female line,” Shizuka explained. “This gives her more power than other women. And then, she has other powers that seem almost magic. She bewitches people to get her own way.”
“Do you believe such things?”
“How else can you explain her survival? Her late husband’s family, Lord Iida, and most of the Tohan would crush her, but she survives, despite having lost her son to them and seeing them hold her daughter.”
Kaede felt her heart twist in sympathy. “Why do women have to suffer this way? Why don’t we have the freedom men have?”
“It’s the way the world is,” Shizuka replied. “Men are stronger and not held back by feelings of tenderness or mercy. Women fall in love with them, but they do not return that love.”
“I will never fall in love,” Kaede said.
“Better not to,” Shizuka agreed, and laughed. She prepared the beds, and they lay down to sleep. Kaede thought for a long time about the lady who held power like a man, the lady who had lost a son and as good as lost a daughter. She thought of the girl, hostage in the Iida stronghold at Inuyama, and pitied her.
LADY NOGUCHI’S RECEPTION ROOM was decorated in the mainland style, the doors and screens painted with scenes of mountains and pine trees. Kaede disliked all the pictures, finding them heavy, their gold leaf flamboyant and ostentatious, save the one farthest to the left. This was of two pheasants, so lifelike that they looked as if they might suddenly take flight. Their eyes were bright, their heads cocked. They listened to the conversation in the room with more animation than most of the women who knelt before Lady Noguchi.
On the lady’s right sat the visitor, Lady Maruyama. Lady Noguchi made a sign to Kaede to approach a little closer. She bent to the floor and listened to the two-tongued words being spoken above her head.
“Of course we are distraught at losing Lady Kaede: She has been like our own daughter. And we hesitate to burden Lady Maruyama. We ask only that Kaede be allowed to accompany you as far as Tsuwano. There the Otori lords will meet her.”
“Lady Shirakawa is to be married into the Otori family?” Kaede liked the low, gentle voice she heard. She raised her head very slightly so she could see the lady’s small hands folded in her lap.
“Yes, to Lord Otori Shigeru,” Lady Noguchi purred. “It is a great honor. Of course, my husband is very close to Lord Iida, who himself desires the match.”
Kaede saw the hands clench until the blood drained from them. After a pause, so long it was almost impolite, Lady Maruyama said, “Lord Otori Shigeru? Lady Shirakawa is fortunate indeed.”
“The lady has met him? I have never had that pleasure.”
“I know Lord Otori very slightly,” Lady Maruyama replied. “Sit up, Lady Shirakawa, let me see your face.”
Kaede raised her head.
“You are so young!” the older woman exclaimed.
“I am fifteen, lady.”
“Only a little older than my daughter.” Lady Maruyama’s voice was thin and faint. Kaede dared look in the dark eyes, with their perfect shape. The pupils were dilated as if in shock, and the lady’s face was whiter than any powder could have made it. Then she seemed to regain some control over herself. A smile came to her lips, though it did not reach her eyes.
What have I done to her? Kaede thought in confusion. She had felt instinctively drawn to her. She thought Shizuka was right: Lady Maruyama could get anyone to do anything for her. Her beauty was faded, it was true, but somehow the faint lines round the eyes and mouth simply added to the character and strength of the face. Now the coldness of her expression wounded Kaede deeply.
She doesn’t like me, the girl thought, with an overwhelming sense of disappointment.
· 5 ·
he snow melted and the house and garden began to sing with water again. I had been in Hagi for six months. I had learned to read, write, and draw. I had learned to kill in many different ways, although I was yet to put any one of them into practice. I felt I could hear the intentions of men’s hearts, and I’d learned other useful skills, though these were not so much taught to me by Kenji, as drawn up out of me. I could be in two places at once, and take on invisibility, and could silence dogs with a look that dropped them immediately into sleep. This last trick I discovered on my own, and kept it from Kenji, for he taught me deviousness along with everything else.
I used these skills whenever I grew tired of the confines of the house, and its relentless routine of study, practice, and obedience to my two severe teachers. I found it all too easy to distract the guards, put the dogs to sleep, and slip through the gate without anyone seeing me. Even Ichiro and Kenji more than once were convinced I was sitting somewhere quietly in the house with ink and brush, when I was out with Fumio, exploring the back alleys around the port, swimming in the river, listening to the sailors and the fishermen, breathing in the heady mix of salt air, hemp ropes and nets, and seafood in all its forms, raw, steamed, grilled, made into little dumplings or hearty stews that made our stomachs growl with hunger. I caught the different accents, from the West, from the islands, even from the mainland, and listened to conversations no one knew could be overheard, learning always about the lives of the people, their fears and their desires.
Sometimes I went out on my own, crossing the river either by the fish weir or swimming. I explored the lands on the far side, going deep into the mountains where farmers had their secret fields, tucked away among the trees, unseen and therefore untaxed. I saw the new green leaves burgeon in the coppices, and heard the chestnut groves come alive with buzzing insects seeking the pollen on their golden
catkins. I heard the farmers buzz like insects, too, grumbling endlessly about the Otori lords, the ever-increasing burden of taxes. And time and again Lord Shigeru’s name came up, and I learned of the bitterness held by more than half the population that it was his uncles, and not he, in the castle. This was treason, spoken of only at night or deep in the forest, when no one could overhear except me, and I said nothing about it to anyone.
Spring burst on the landscape; the air was warm, the whole earth alive. I was filled with a restlessness I did not understand. I was looking for something, but had no idea what it was. Kenji took me to the pleasure district, and I slept with girls there, not telling him I had already visited the same places with Fumio, and finding only a brief release from my longing. The girls filled me with pity as much as lust. They reminded me of the girls I’d grown up with in Mino. They came in all likelihood from similar families, sold into prostitution by their starving parents. Some of them were barely out of childhood, and I searched their faces, looking for my sisters’ features. Shame often crept over me, but I did not stay away.
The spring festivals came, packing the shrines and the streets with people. Drums shouted every night, the drummers’ faces and arms glistening with sweat in the lantern light, possessed beyond exhaustion. I could not resist the fever of the celebrations, the frenzied ecstasy of the crowds. One night I’d been out with Fumio, following the god’s statue as it was carried through the streets by a throng of struggling, excited men. I had just said good-bye to him, when I was shoved into someone, almost stepping on him. He turned towards me and I recognized him: It was the traveler who had stayed at our house and tried to warn us of Iida’s persecution. A short squat man, with an ugly, shrewd face, he was a kind of peddler who sometimes came to Mino. Before I could turn away I saw the flash of recognition in his eyes, and saw pity spring there too.
He shouted to make himself heard above the yelling crowd. “Tomasu!”
I shook my head, making my face and eyes blank, but he was insistent. He tried to pull me out of the crowd into a passageway. “Tomasu, it’s you, isn’t it—the boy from Mino?”
“You’re mistaken,” I said. “I know no one called Tomasu.”
“Everyone thought you were dead!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I laughed, as if at a great joke, and tried to push my way back into the crowd. He grabbed my arm to detain me and as he opened his mouth I knew what he was going to say.
“Your mother’s dead. They killed her. They killed them all. You’re the only one left! How did you get away?” He tried to pull my face close to his. I could smell his breath, his sweat.
“You’re drunk, old man!” I said. “My mother is alive and well in Hofu, last I heard.” I pushed him off and reached for my knife. “I am of the Otori clan.” I let anger replace my laughter.
He backed away. “Forgive me, lord. It was a mistake. I see now you are not who I thought you were.” He was a little drunk, but fear was fast sobering him.
Through my mind flashed several thoughts at once, the most pressing being that now I would have to kill this man, this harmless peddler who had tried to warn my family. I saw exactly how it would be done: I would lead him deeper into the passageway, take him off balance, slip the knife into the artery in the neck, slash upwards, then let him fall, lie like a drunk, and bleed to death. Even if anyone saw me, no one would dare apprehend me.
The crowd surged past us; the knife was in my hand. He dropped to the ground, his head in the dirt, pleading incoherently for his life.
I cannot kill him, I thought, and then: There is no need to kill him. He’s decided I’m not Tomasu, and even if he has his doubts, he will never dare voice them to anyone. He is one of the Hidden, after all.
I backed away and let the crowd carry me as far as the gates of the shrine. Then I slipped through the throng to the path that ran along the bank of the river. Here it was dark, deserted, but I could still hear the shouts of the excited crowd, the chants of the priests, and the dull tolling of the temple bell. The river lapped and sucked at the boats, the docks, the reeds. I remembered the first night I spent in Lord Shigeru’s house. The river is always at the door. The world is always outside. And it is in the world that we must live.
The dogs, sleepy and docile, followed me with their eyes as I went through the gate, but the guards did not notice. Sometimes on these occasions I would creep into the guardroom and take them by surprise, but this night I had no stomach for jokes. I thought bitterly how slow and unobservant they were, how easy it would be for another member of the Tribe to enter, as the assassin had done. Then I was filled with revulsion for this world of stealth, duplicity, and intrigue that I was so skilled in. I longed to be Tomasu again, running down the mountain to my mother’s house.
The corners of my eyes were burning. The garden was full of the scents and sounds of spring. In the moonlight the early blossoms gleamed with a fragile whiteness. Their purity pierced my heart. How was it possible for the world to be so beautiful and so cruel at the same time?
Lamps on the veranda flickered and guttered in the warm breeze. Kenji was sitting in the shadows. He called to me, “Lord Shigeru has been scolding Ichiro for losing you. I told him, ‘You can gentle a fox but you’ll never turn it into a house dog!’ ” He saw my face as I came into the light. “What happened?”
“My mother is dead.” Only children cry. Men and women endure. Within my heart the child Tomasu was crying, but Takeo was dry-eyed.
Kenji drew me closer and whispered, “Who told you?”
“Someone I knew from Mino was at the shrine.”
“He recognized you?”
“He thought he did. I persuaded him he was wrong. But while he still thought I was Tomasu, he told me of my mother’s death.”
“I’m sorry for it,” Kenji said perfunctorily. “You killed him, I hope.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t need to. He knew almost as soon as he’d formed the question. He thwacked me on the back in exasperation, as Ichiro did when I missed a stroke in a character. “You’re a fool, Takeo!”
“He was unarmed, harmless. He knew my family.”
“It’s just as I feared. You let pity stay your hand. Don’t you know the man whose life you spare will always hate you? All you did was convince him you are Tomasu.”
“Why should he die because of my destiny? What benefit would his death bring? None!”
“It’s the disasters his life, his living tongue, may bring that concern me,” Kenji replied, and went inside to tell Lord Shigeru.
I WAS IN DISGRACE in the household and forbidden to wander alone in the town. Kenji kept a closer eye on me, and I found it almost impossible to evade him. It didn’t keep me from trying. As always, an obstacle only had to be set before me for me to seek to overcome it. I infuriated him by my lack of obedience, but my skills grew even more acute, and I came to have more and more confidence in them.
Lord Shigeru spoke to me of my mother’s death after Kenji had told him of my failure as an assassin. “You wept for her the first night we met. There must be no sign of grief now. You don’t know who is watching you.”
So the grief remained unexpressed, in my heart. At night I silently repeated the prayers of the Hidden for my mother’s soul, and for my sisters’. But I did not say the prayers of forgiveness she had taught me. I had no intention of loving my enemies. I let my grief feed my desire for revenge.
That night was also the last time I saw Fumio. When I managed to evade Kenji and get to the port again, the Terada ships had vanished. I learned from the other fishermen that they had left one night, finally driven into exile by high taxes and unfair regulations. The rumors were that they had fled to Oshima, where the family originally hailed from. With that remote island as a base, they would almost certainly turn to piracy.
Around this time, before the plum rains began, Lord Shigeru became very interested in construction and proceeded with his plans to build a tea room on one end of the house. I
went with him to choose the wood, the cedar trunks that would support floor and roof, the slabs of cypress for the walls. The smell of sawn wood reminded me of the mountains, and the carpenters had the characteristics of the men of my village, being mostly taciturn but given to sudden outbursts of laughter over their unfathomable jokes. I found myself slipping back into my old patterns of speech, using words from the village I had not used for months. Sometimes my slang even made them chuckle.
Lord Shigeru was intrigued by all the stages of building, from seeing the trees felled in the forest to the preparation of the planks and the different methods of laying floors. We made many visits to the lumberyard, accompanied by the master carpenter, Shiro, a man who seemed to be fashioned from the same material as the wood he loved so much, brother to the cedar and the cypress. He spoke of the character and spirit of each type of wood, and what it brings from the forest into the house.
“Each wood has its own sound,” he said. “Every house has its own song.”
I had thought only I knew how a house can sing. I’d been listening to Lord Shigeru’s house for months now, had heard its song quiet into winter music, had listened to its beams and walls as it pressed closer to the ground under the weight of snow, froze and thawed and shrank and stretched. Now it sang again of water.
Shiro was watching me as though he knew my thoughts.
“I’ve heard Lord Iida has ordered a floor to be made that sings like a nightingale,” he said. “But who needs to make a floor sing like a bird when it already has its own song?”
“What’s the purpose of such a floor?” Lord Shigeru asked, seemingly idly.
“He’s afraid of assassination. It’s one more piece of protection. No one can cross the floor without it starting to chirp.”
“How is it made?”
The old man took a piece of half-made flooring and explained how the joists were placed so the boards squeaked. “They have them, I’m told, in the capital. Most people want a silent floor. They’d reject a noisy one, make you lay it again. But Iida can’t sleep at night. He’s afraid someone will creep in on him—and now he lies awake, afraid his floor will sing!” He chuckled to himself.