“There was no need: He could see all the advantages of an alliance with you, and he recognizes you as the rightful heir to the clan. But I don’t think he would have agreed if you had not come, in person, alone. He was impressed. He likes boldness.”
I had known I must come in that fashion, but the knowledge weighed on me. So much to achieve, only I to achieve it, only I to hold together my patchy alliance.
Fumio wanted me to stay longer, but I was now more eager than ever to get back to Maruyama, to start preparations, to forestall at all costs an attack by Arai. Besides, I did not trust the weather. The air was unnaturally still and the sky had clouded over with a solid leaden color, black-tinged on the horizon.
Ryoma said, “If we leave soon we’ll have the help of the tide again.”
Fumio and I embraced on the quayside and I stepped down into the little boat. We waved farewell and cast off, letting the tide carry us away from the island.
Ryoma kept gazing anxiously at the leaden sky, and with reason, for we were barely half a mile from Oshima when the wind began to pick up. Within a few moments it was blowing hard, driving a stinging rain into our faces. We could make no headway against it with the oar, and as soon as we tried to put the sail up it was ripped from our hands.
Ryoma shouted, “We’ll have to turn back.”
I could not argue, though my spirits sank in despair at the thought of further delay. He managed to turn the fragile boat with the oar. The swell was getting heavier with every minute, great green waves that loomed above us and flung us upward only to drop us as if into a chasm. We must both have gone as green as the waves, and on the fourth or fifth drop we both vomited at the same time. The slight acrid smell seemed painfully feeble against the huge backdrop of wind and water.
The gale was blowing us toward the port, and we both struggled with the oar to guide the boat into the entrance. I did not think we would make it; I thought the force of the storm would drive us out into the open sea. But the sudden shelter in the lee of the land gave us a moment’s grace to steer behind the breakwater. But even here we were not out of danger. The water inside the harbor was being churned like a boiling vat. Our boat was driven toward the wall, sucked back, and then thrown against it with a sickening smack.
It tipped over. I found myself struggling underwater, saw the surface above me, and tried to swim upward to it. Ryoma was a few feet from me. I saw his face, mouth open, as if he were calling for help. I caught hold of his clothes and dragged him up. We surfaced together. He took a great gasp of air and began to panic, flailing his arms and then grabbing me and almost strangling me. His weight took me underwater again. I could not free myself. I knew I could hold my breath for a long time, but sooner or later even I, with all my Tribe skills, had to breathe air. My head started to pound and my lungs ached. I tried to free myself from his grip, tried to reach his neck so I could disable him long enough to get us both out of this. I thought clearly, He is my cousin, not my son, and then, Maybe the prophecy was wrong!
I could not believe I was going to die by drowning. My vision was clouding, alternately black and filled with white light, and I felt an agonizing pain in my head.
I am being pulled into the next world, I thought, and then my face burst through the surface and I was taking great gulps of air.
Two of Fumio’s men were in the water with us, attached by ropes to the quay. They had swum down to us and dragged us both up by the hair. They pulled us up onto the stones where we both vomited again, mostly seawater. Ryoma was in a worse state than I was. Like many sailors and fishermen, he did not know how to swim and had a terrible fear of drowning.
The rain was lashing down by now, completely obliterating the distant shore. The pirates’ boats grunted and groaned as they were rocked together. Fumio was kneeling beside me.
“If you can walk now, we’ll get inside before the worst of the storm.”
I got to my feet. My throat ached and my eyes stung, but I was otherwise unhurt. I still had Jato in my belt, and my other weapons. There was nothing I could do against the weather, but I was filled with anger and anxiety.
“How long will it last?”
“I don’t think it’s a real typhoon, probably just a local storm. It could blow itself out by morning.”
Fumio was too optimistic. The storm blew for three days, and for two more the seas were too heavy for Ryoma’s little boat. It needed repairs anyway, which took four days to complete after the rain stopped. Fumio wanted to send me back in one of the pirates’ ships, but I did not want to be seen in it or with them, fearing to reveal my strategy to spies. I spent the days restlessly, uneasy about Makoto—would he wait for me, would he return to Maruyama, would he abandon me altogether, now that he knew I was one of the Hidden, and go back to Terayama?—and even more anxious about Kaede. I had not meant to stay away from her for so long.
Fumio and I had the opportunity to have many conversations, about ships and navigation, fighting at sea, arming sailors, and so on. Followed everywhere by the tortoiseshell cat, who was as curious as I was, I inspected all the ships and weapons they had and was even more impressed by their power. And every night, while from below came the noise of the sailors gambling and their girls dancing and singing, we talked until late with his father. I came to appreciate even more the old man’s shrewdness and courage, and I was glad he was going to be my ally.
The moon was past the last quarter when we finally set out on a calm sea in the late afternoon to take advantage of the evening tide. Ryoma had recovered from his near drowning and at my request had been received in the Terada residence on our last night and had eaten with us. The old pirate’s presence had silenced him completely, but I knew he had felt the honor and been pleased by it.
There was enough wind to put up the new yellow canvas sail that the pirates had made for us. They had also given us fresh charms to replace the ones lost when the boat was damaged, as well as a small carving of the sea god, who they said obviously had us under his special protection. The charms sang in the wind, and as we sped past the southern side of the island there was a distant rumble like an echo, and a small gust of black smoke and ash rushed upward from the crater. The slopes of the island were shrouded in steam. I gazed at it for a long time, thinking the local people were right when they nicknamed it the entrance to hell. Gradually it dwindled and faded, until the lilac mist of evening came up off the sea and hid it completely.
We made the greater part of the crossing before nightfall, luckily, for the mist turned into solid cloud, and when darkness came it was complete. Ryoma alternated between bursts of chattiness and long, brooding silences. I could do little more than trust him and take turns with him at the oar. Long before the dark shape of the land loomed ahead of us, I’d heard the change in the note of the sea, the sucking of the waves on the shingle. We came ashore at the exact spot we had disembarked from, and Jiro was waiting on the beach next to a small fire. He leaped to his feet when the boat scraped on the stones, and held it while I jumped out.
“Lord Otori! We’d given up hope. Makoto was about to return to Maruyama to report you missing.”
“We were delayed by the storm.” I was filled with relief that they were still here, that they had not deserted me.
Ryoma was exhausted, but he did not want to leave the boat, nor would he rest till daylight. I guessed, despite his earlier boasting, he was afraid: He wanted to return to his home in the dark without anyone knowing where he’d been. I sent Jiro back to the shrine to fetch the silver we had promised him and whatever food we could spare. When we returned we would have to secure the coastline before we embarked, which would mean clearing it of bandits. I told Ryoma to expect us as soon as the weather settled.
He had become awkward again. I felt he wanted assurances and promises from me that I was not able to give. I thought I had disappointed him in some way. Perhaps he’d expected me to recognize him legally on the spot and take him with me to Maruyama, but I did not want to saddle myself with
another dependent. On the other hand, I could not afford to antagonize him. I was relying on him as a messenger and I needed his silence. I tried to impress on him the necessity of utter secrecy, and hinted that his future status would depend on it. He swore he would tell no one and took the money and the food from Jiro with expressions of profound gratitude. I thanked him warmly—I was truly grateful to him—but I couldn’t help feeling that an ordinary fisherman would have been easier to deal with and more trustworthy.
Makoto, deeply relieved at my safe return, had accompanied Jiro back down to the beach, and as we walked to the shrine I told him of the success of my journey, listening all the while to the faint splash of the oar as Ryoma rowed away in the darkness.
· 6·
hen Takeo left for the coast, and the Miyoshi brothers for Inuyama, Kaede saw the excitement and anticipation on their faces and was filled with resentment at being left behind. In the days that followed she was plagued by fears and anxieties. She missed her husband’s physical presence more than she would have thought possible; she was jealous of Makoto being allowed to accompany him when she was not; she feared for Takeo’s safety and was angry with him at the same time.
His quest for revenge is more important to him than I am, she thought often. Did he marry me just to further his plans of revenge? She believed he loved her deeply, but he was a man, a warrior, and if he had to choose, she knew he would choose revenge. I would be the same if I were a man, she told herself. I cannot even give him a child: What use am I as a woman? I should have been born a man. May I be allowed to return as one!
She told no one of these thoughts. Indeed, there was no one in whom she could confide. Sugita and the other elders were polite, even affectionate, to her but seemed to avoid her company. She kept herself busy all day, overseeing the household, riding out with Amano, and making copies of the records that Takeo had entrusted to her. After the attempted theft she’d thought it would be a wise precaution and she hoped it would help her understand the ferocity of Takeo’s campaign against the Tribe and the anguish it had caused him. She herself had been disturbed by the slaughter, and also by the piles of dead after the battle at Asagawa. It took so long to raise a man, and life was extinguished so easily. She feared retribution, both from the living and from the dead. Yet what else could Takeo do when so many were conspiring to kill him?
She, too, had killed, had had men killed on her orders: Had losing her child been punishment for her own actions? Her desires were changing; now she was moved to protect and to nurture, to create life, not to destroy it. Was it possible to hold on to her domain and rule it without violence? She had many hours of solitude to think about these things.
Takeo had said he would be back within a week; the time passed, he did not return, and her anxiety grew. There were plans and decisions that needed to be made about the domain’s future, but the elders continued to be evasive, and every suggestion she made to Sugita was greeted by a deep bow and the advice to wait until her husband returned. Twice she tried to summon the elders for a council meeting, but one by one they pleaded indisposition.
“It’s remarkable that everyone is sick on the same day,” she said tartly to Sugita. “I had no idea that Maruyama was so unhealthy for old people.”
“Be patient, Lady Kaede,” he said. “Nothing needs to be decided before Lord Takeo’s return, and that will be any day now. He may have urgent commands for the men; they must be kept in readiness for him. All we can do is wait for him.”
Her irritation was compounded by the realization that, even though it was her domain, everyone still deferred to Takeo. He was her husband and she must defer to him, too; yet Maruyama and Shirakawa were hers and she should be able to act in them as she wished. Part of her was shocked that Takeo had gone to make an alliance with pirates. It was like his association with outcasts and farmers: There was something unnatural about it. She thought it must all come from being born into the Hidden. This knowledge that he had shared with her both attracted and repelled her. All the rules of her class told her that her blood was purer than his and that by birth she was of higher rank. She was ashamed of this feeling and tried to suppress it, but it niggled at her and the longer he was away, the more insistent it became.
“Where is your nephew?” she said to Sugita, wanting distraction. “Send him to me. Let me look at someone under the age of thirty!”
Hiroshi was hardly better company, equally resentful at being left behind. He had hoped to go to Inuyama with Kahei and Gemba.
“They don’t even know the road,” he grumbled. “I would have shown them everything. I have to stay here and study with my uncle. Even Jiro was allowed to go with Lord Otori.”
“Jiro is much older than you,” Kaede said.
“Only five years. And he’s the one who should be studying. I already know far more letters than he does.”
“That’s because you started earlier. You should never despise people because they haven’t had your opportunities.” She studied him; he was a little small for his age, but strong and well put together; he would be a handsome man. “You are about the same age as my sister,” she said.
“Does your sister look like you?”
“People say so. I think she is more beautiful.”
“That couldn’t be possible,” he said quickly, making her laugh. His face colored slightly. “Everyone says Lady Otori is the most beautiful woman in the Three Countries.”
“What have they seen?” she retorted. “In the capital, in the emperor’s court, there are women so lovely men’s eyes shrivel up when they look at them. They are kept behind screens lest the whole court go blind.”
“What do their husbands do?” he said doubtfully.
“They have to wear blindfolds,” she teased, and threw a cloth that lay next to her over his head. She held him playfully for a few moments, then he twisted away from her. She saw he was ruffled; she had treated him like a child and he wanted to be a man.
“Girls are lucky: They don’t have to study,” he said.
“But my sister loves to study and so do I. Girls should learn to read and write just the same as boys. Then they can help their husbands, as I am helping mine.”
“Most people have scribes to do that sort of thing, especially if they can’t write themselves.”
“My husband can write,” she said swiftly, “but like Jiro he started learning later than you.”
Hiroshi looked horrified. “I didn’t mean to say anything against him! Lord Otori saved my life and revenged my father’s death. I owe everything to him, but . . .”
“But what?” she prompted, uncomfortably aware of some shadow of disloyalty.
“I’m only telling you what people say,” Hiroshi said. “They say he is strange. He mixes with outcasts; he lets farmers fight; he has started a campaign against certain merchants that no one understands. They say he cannot have been brought up as a warrior, and they wonder what his upbringing was.”
“Who says it? The townspeople?”
“No, people like my family.”
“Maruyama warriors?”
“Yes, and some say he is a sorcerer.”
She could hardly be surprised; these were exactly the things that worried her about Takeo; yet she was outraged that her warriors should be so disloyal to him.
“Maybe his upbringing was a little unusual,” she said, “but he is heir to the Otori clan by blood and by adoption, as well as being my husband. No one has the right to say anything against him.” She would find out who it was and have them silenced. “You must be my spy,” she said to Hiroshi. “Report to me anyone who gives the slightest sign of disloyalty.”
After that, Hiroshi came to her every day, showed her what he had learned in his studies, and told her what he heard among the warrior class. It was nothing definite, just whispers, sometimes jokes, maybe no more than the idle chatter of men with not enough to occupy themselves. She resolved to do nothing about it for the time being but to warn Takeo when he returned.
>
The time of the great heat began, and it was too sultry to ride outside. Since Kaede could take no decisions till Takeo’s return, and since she expected him every day, she spent most of her time kneeling at the lacquer writing table, copying the Tribe records. The doors to the residence were all opened to catch the least breeze, and the sound of insects was deafening. Her preferred room looked out over pools and a waterfall; through the azalea bushes she could see the silver-weathered tea house. Every day she promised herself that she would make tea there for Takeo that night, and every day she was disappointed. Sometimes kingfishers came to the pools and the flash of blue and orange would distract her momentarily. Once a heron alighted outside the veranda and she thought it was a sign that he would be back that day, but he did not come.
She let no one see what she was writing, for she quickly realized the importance of the records. She was amazed at what Shigeru had uncovered, and wondered if someone within the Tribe had acted as his informant. She concealed the original records and the copies in a different place every night and tried to commit as much as possible to memory. She became obsessed with the idea of the secret network, watched for signs of them everywhere, trusted no one, even though Takeo’s first work at Maruyama had been to purge the castle household. The range of the Tribe daunted her; she did not see how Takeo would ever escape them. Then the thought would come to her that they had already caught up with him—that he was lying dead somewhere and she would never see him again.
He was right, she thought. They must all be killed; they must be rooted out, for they seek to destroy him. And if they destroy him, they destroy me.
The faces of Shizuka and Muto Kenji often rose before her mind’s eye. She regretted the trust she had placed in Shizuka and wondered how much of Kaede’s life her companion had revealed to others in the Tribe. She had thought that both Shizuka and Kenji had been fond of her; had all that affection been feigned? They had nearly died together in Inuyama Castle; did that count for nothing? She felt betrayed by Shizuka, but at the same time she missed her badly and wished she had someone like her to confide in.