Authors: Lian Hearn
The women clapped their hands and raised their voices, but the bird would not be dislodged.
“Go call your father,” Aki’s mother said. “It’s giving me a headache. And what terrible disasters does it portend?”
Aki found her father and told him the news, then asked, “Should I bring my bow?” It was the ceremonial catalpa bow she had been given at the temple, along with a ritual box that held a doll, a weasel’s skull, and her prayer beads.
“Yes, and I’ll bring mine,” her father replied, but when he saw the bird he laid the bow aside quickly, even furtively. He stepped out into the garden and said angrily, “How dare you come here? Go tell your master to cease trying to spy on me!”
Aki raised her bow and twanged the string as she had been taught, to alert the spirits. The bird swung its head toward her, gave a scornful cry, and flew away to the north.
“What was it, Father?” Aki said, going to stand at his side, following his gaze as the bird disappeared.
“A werehawk, a sort of magic hawk. The Prince Abbot has several at his command. They have speech of a sort that only he can understand. Vile birds! I hate them!”
“You should have shot it, Father.”
“I did not want to show I am armed and prepared to use my bow. They are almost impossible to kill anyway.” He said in a quieter voice, “He is suspicious of me. What will he do next? I am glad you will soon be at Rinrakuji. You will be out of his reach, and what you learn there may help us in our struggle against him.”
Aki shivered as if she sensed a dark shadow stretching out over the city from Ryusonji.
Like most girls of that time who lived in the provinces, Tama had been taught to ride and fight with a lance. When she came of age, her mother had presented her with a dagger so she could defend herself or take her own life if necessary. The only time she had been tempted to use it was when she and the estate she had inherited had been taken from her husband and given to his older brother. She had lain awake at night, furious in her helplessness, imagining plunging the dagger into the throat that lay exposed next to her. She had never contemplated killing herself, for to do so would be to lose Matsutani, the family home where she had grown up and which she loved passionately.
She waited for love to develop for Kiyoyori. She could see rationally that he was an admirable man. He was courageous and intelligent, kind to his daughter, good-looking in a way, though not as handsome as his younger brother. But love never came; it had come once, for Masachika, and her heart refused to be unfaithful though her body had to be. Even after their son, Tsumaru, was born, she felt only indifference for her husband. Now she was also afraid of him. Since the attack by Akuzenji and the apparent disloyalty of Enryo and his wife, his suspicions of her had increased. She had to conceal her grief for her friend and her anger at her husband. She was determined that she would give him no excuse to kill her.
She knew she did not love Tsumaru passionately as some mothers seemed to, and Hina was always cool toward her, but she made sure the children were brought up properly. She prided herself on carrying out her duties. She oversaw the running of the household, the making of clothes, the supplies of food and charcoal, the pleasure gardens, rice paddies, and vegetable fields. She made the most of the life that had been given to her, tried to shut away all memories of Masachika, and was not unhappy, until the arrival of the sorceress who had enthralled Kiyoyori with a single look and who now lived in the summer pavilion.
Tama hated this woman for her supernatural beauty and strangeness, for her self-confidence, her indifference to everyone but Kiyoyori, for the way she had taken up residence as spiders and foxes move into deserted houses. Sometimes Tama took out the dagger and felt its sharp edge, and imagined slashing that beautiful face to ribbons. She imagined setting fire to the pavilion, and ordered the winter’s firewood to be stored along its southwestern side. Her loathing embraced the old scholar. Until now she had paid little attention to him though his presence in her well-ordered home irritated her. He had come without permission or invitation; he upset the maids by never allowing them to clean his room, and she disliked his sharp eyes and his air of superiority. Now she suspected him of some close connection with Kiyoyori’s woman. She sensed that they were two of a kind, both involved in sorcery. Her dislike included Shikanoko, even though Hina and Tsumaru admired him and followed him around while he cared for the horses and carried out Lady Tora’s orders. He seemed to tolerate their company and was patient with them, but Tama still disapproved and tried to forbid it. The children, however, were adept at disappearing outside, and Hina, she was sure, took pleasure in disobeying her.
She began to watch Shikanoko obsessively, following him as much as the children did, resenting how assiduously he served Lady Tora. She saw how, after Kiyoyori had decided he should live, Shikanoko had been given the choice of Akuzenji’s horses and had taken the white stallion for himself, as well as the brown mare. She thought the horses gave him undeserved status, the right to be fed along with the rest of Kiyoyori’s men; she knew he slept on the veranda outside the summer pavilion while her husband was within, and that he was aware of her as she prowled jealously through the gardens.
* * *
In the tenth month Kiyoyori decided to go to Miyako. It would probably be the last chance he would have before the snow came, and he had said he was disturbed by rumors of intrigue and unrest, which he wanted to investigate for himself. Hina moped and had bad dreams. A few days after his departure the weather was suddenly fine and warm and, feeling it was the last of the pleasant autumn days, Tama allowed the children to play outside. They did not return for the midday meal, but she assumed they were eating with their former nurse, Haru. Haru had two children of the same age, Chika and Kaze, and the four often played together. She was busy overseeing the fulling of cloth, and reflecting, as the heavy sound rang out in the still air, how peaceful Matsutani was, when one of the maids approached her.
“Lady, the children are not back yet.”
“Where is Shikanoko? They are probably trailing after him somewhere.”
“The men say he went out earlier with his horses,” the girl replied. “He didn’t take the children.”
“They must be at Haru’s. Go and get them; it will be dark soon and it is time they came home.”
“Lady,” the girl said nervously. “I have been to Haru. They are not there. They called at her door in the morning, but her two children are sick, so she told them not to come in. She thinks they might have gone up toward the Darkwood. Her husband is out looking for them.”
The first sense of unease pricked her and immediately she began assigning blame. Kiyoyori should not have left them so unprotected; he should never have let that woman into their home, or, come to that, the old man Sesshin. Some sorcery was at work. Shikanoko had stolen them. They had been abducted by foxes or wild mountain men for secret rituals, to be carved up or eaten. She began to run toward Haru’s house. From the forest she could hear men’s voices calling hauntingly.
Tsumaru! Oh-e! Hina!
But the only response was the whir of a startled pheasant and the hooting of owls as dusk fell.
Then from the other direction, from the road that led west, she heard shouts that were more relieved, joyful in tone.
They have been found!
She ran back to the west gate and saw a cluster of people hurrying toward her, carrying …
O Merciful Heaven, not a corpse! And only one? Where is the other?
It was Hina; she looked limp, lifeless, and Tama feared the worst. Her heart was threatening to choke her, but the child stirred when she took her in her arms. She was alive. She had been struck on the temple, the bruise already darkening the pale, delicate skin. She opened her eyes and stared vacantly at her stepmother. Her pupils were dilated and she did not seem to know where she was.
“Hina,” Tama cried. “What happened? Where is Tsumaru?”
Light came back into the child’s stare. “Mother,” she said haltingly. “Men took him. I tried to stop them. One of them smacked me.”
“What sort of men? What did they look like? Was Shikanoko with them?”
“No! He would have protected us. It wasn’t him. Oh, my head hurts so much!”
Kongyo, Haru’s husband, arrived at Tama’s side. “Lady, I would it had been my son.”
“Why was no one watching them?” she said in anger. “How can one child be snatched away and the other left for dead, and no one saw?”
“They often hide,” Kongyo said. “It’s no excuse, I know, but it’s a game they play. They can cross the whole estate without anyone seeing them.”
“Your children taught them this! They must be punished!”
“Whatever my lady commands.”
“Ride to the capital,” she cried, with a mixture of dread and anger. “Lord Kiyoyori must be told.”
“It is almost dark, Lady Tama.”
“Take torches! Ride all night! And remember, your children are now hostages to me.”
She herself carried Hina inside and then gave her to her waiting-women, who laid her carefully down and began to apply compresses soaked in vinegar to the bruise. The girl vomited once or twice, pale, pearl-hued strands unlike any food she might have eaten, and then fell into a deep sleep.
Tama stared obsessively at the black eyelashes quivering against the fragile skin, through which she could see the faint blue veins where the blood pulsed slowly, and listened to the unnaturally heavy breathing. She shook Hina gently, but the girl did not waken. Slowly the conviction grew within Tama that her stepdaughter had been placed under a spell.
“Where is Shikanoko?” she cried. When she was told he had not returned, she commanded, “Bring the old man to me.”
Shikanoko had taken the horses out in the late afternoon, as he often did, training Nyorin to know his voice and respond to his commands. He had just got back and was feeding them, planning to go next to Lady Tora to see if she had any requests for him before night fell, when he saw Sesshin, already in his night attire, being escorted to Lady Tama’s rooms. A tense atmosphere had descended over Matsutani. Grooms were preparing horses and blazing torches. He saw Kongyo ride off at a gallop with three other men. Nyorin whinnied loudly, watching their departure with raised head and nervous eyes.
Tora stepped out of the summer pavilion onto the narrow veranda. Shikanoko saw the curve of her belly against the western light.
“What’s happened?” he said.
“Lady Tama’s son has disappeared. I suppose someone has taken him to persuade his father to submit to his will.”
He glanced up at her face, disconcerted by the indifference in her voice.
She smoothed the robe over her belly. “I will give him more sons,” she said. “You had better follow Master Sesshin and make sure he comes to no harm.”
Shikanoko went to the residence. In the confusion no one had thought to close the shutters, and from where he stood outside he could clearly see and hear everything that was happening within.
He heard Tama’s voice. “You are so wise, Master Sesshin, and my husband admires you so much. Why have you repaid him in this vile way?”
“Lady,” the old man replied, “this has nothing to do with me. If I can be blamed for anything it is my failure to put adequate protection around Lord Kiyoyori’s children, which I regret deeply.”
“That is crime enough—you admit you could have protected them and did not?”
“Even I cannot foresee all the evil deeds of men,” Sesshin said. “Don’t be too anxious. The boy must have been taken for a purpose. Therefore he is in no immediate danger.”
“How do you know this? You are involved! Shikanoko took them, didn’t he?”
“I am simply making deductions. Neither Shikanoko nor I had anything to do with it.”
Tama stared at him for a moment and then said abruptly, “Release Hina from the spell she is under.”
“Let me look at her,” the old man said, and then, “She is concussed. It is not a spell. She will wake in the morning, fully recovered. Your women have done the right thing—vinegar compresses, nothing better. I believe you have sent for Lord Kiyoyori. There is nothing else that can be done now. We should all get some sleep. Forgive me, as I grow older my eyes grow weary.”
Shika heard something snap in the lady’s voice as she replied. “Weary? Oh, let me cure you of that. Let me show you how it feels to lose the light of your eyes, that which is dearest to you.”
She turned to the men who had brought Sesshin to her. “Put them out.”
They did not understand. “Lady?” one queried.
“Put out his eyes.” She drew out her dagger and held it to her throat. “Do as I say or I will take my own life. Explain that to Lord Kiyoyori when he returns.”
Shika wanted to call out:
Don’t obey her! Let her kill herself. You will be doing the lord a favor.
But they were retainers from her household, accustomed to following her commands without question, and besides, he thought, seeing their faces, there was not one among them who shrank from the idea of blinding a man accused of sorcery.
He heard one sharp cry of agony, then another. He could not prevent himself from running forward. The men pushed Sesshin, his face streaming blood, off the veranda and threw the useless globes after him. Lady Tama came forward to watch the old man scrabble in the dirt. When she saw Shikanoko approach him she called out, “You, take him away! Let me never see either of you again!”
“My books, my books! I will never read again!” Sesshin’s chest was heaving as he moaned.
Shika knelt beside him, his heart expanding and contracting with such force he felt it would burst from his chest. He was engulfed by pity and horror. “I will get some for you. I will read to you. Tell me what I should bring.” His reassurances sounded futile and hollow in his own ears. He said dully, “It is I, Shikanoko.”
“You will take nothing,” Tama commanded. “I will burn it all. Now go before I add you to the fire!”