Autumn Bridge (3 page)

Hanako and Genji? Shigeru was shocked. Hanako was a maid in the castle. How could she be destined for a lord? Surely his father was not plotting some kind of devious mischief against his own grandson? Shigeru had to see Kiyori’s companion. Whenever he spoke, Shigeru could tell the direction in which Kiyori faced by the waning and waxing of his voice. He waited for the appropriate moment and silently moved the sliding door enough to create a sliver of an opening. Moving across it from side to side, he scanned the room within as the conversation continued.

“I wish to know no more than what I must know to insure the well-being of our clan.”

Kiyori sat in the center of the room sipping tea. The setting was for two. Another cup, filled, sat untouched across from Kiyori. Shigeru completed his survey of the room. There was no one else there. Had the person left through a secret passage unknown to Shigeru? That seemed unlikely. But he remembered that Kiyori had designed the tower himself, and no one else had seen the plans. Whoever had met with him certainly had not gone out the window. The only other way down was past Shigeru.

“What is it?” Kiyori said.

Thinking he had been seen, Shigeru went to his knees and bowed. He hesitated for a moment, not knowing what to say, and during his hesitation Kiyori spoke again.

“Then I consent.”

Shigeru rose quickly. So someone was still there. Again, he looked into the room. Kiyori looked straight ahead and spoke again as if addressing someone directly in front of him.

“This is a most unfair request,” Kiyori said. “You have tricked me into agreeing to do what I have pledged my life and honor not to do.”

Shigeru shrank back, suddenly cold.

“Very well,” he heard his father say. “Just this one night.”

Shigeru retreated, moving with care at first, then he fled from the castle as swiftly as he could. His father could not help him, for he, too, was insane. Kiyori had been speaking to a woman. It might have been Lady Sadako, Kiyori’s wife and Shigeru’s mother. That was bad enough. Lady Sadako had died shortly after Shigeru’s birth. But he didn’t think the lady in question had been his late mother. Kiyori had spoken of a broken pledge in a peculiar, conspiratorial manner. He would not use such a tone with his own wife, not even the ghost of his wife.

The high tower of Cloud of Sparrows Castle, where Kiyori always spent so much time alone, had long had the reputation of being haunted. It was said the uncertain shadows of twilight there often resembled ancient bloodstains. Such stories always arose around places of ancient tragedy, and what castle in Japan had not seen its share? In this case, the tragedy had been treason, assassination, and gruesome murders that had nearly extinguished the Okumichi clan in its earliest days. That had been in the fall of the tenth year of the Emperor Go-Nijo.

The witch and princess, Lady Shizuka, had spent her last hours in that very room of the tower.

His father was consorting with a ghoul dead for more than five hundred years.

Shizuka and Ayamé looked out the windows of the high tower and watched the three streams of warriors moving toward Cloud of Sparrows.

“How many do you think they are?” Shizuka said.

“Six hundred from the east, three hundred from the north, another hundred from the west,” Ayamé said.

“And how many are we?”

“Your sixteen ladies-in-waiting are within the tower. Thirty men, all personal retainers of Lord Chiaki, await the traitors at the gates of the castle. They came as soon as they were summoned. Messengers have been sent to find him. Perhaps he will arrive before the assault begins.”

“Perhaps,” Shizuka said, knowing he would not.

Ayamé said, “I find it difficult to accept that Go has betrayed Lord Hironobu and yourself. Is there no other possibility?”

“Go has arranged for Chiaki to be away from here at the critical moment,” Shizuka said, “because he knows his son’s loyalty is unshakable. Chiaki’s absence is the proof. Go does not wish to kill him when he kills me.”

“How cruel life is,” Ayamé said. “Lord Hironobu would have died in childhood if not for Go. He would not have lived to become a Great Lord without Go’s steadfastness and courage. And now this. Why?”

“Jealousy, greed, and fear,” Shizuka said. “They can destroy heaven itself if the gods are lax for even a moment. How much more vulnerable are we here below.”

They watched the enemy multitude merge and form a huge pool of warriors. Well before the sun fell behind the mountains, campfires sprang to life among them.

“Why do they wait?” Ayamé said. “They have an overwhelming advantage. One thousand against less than fifty.”

Shizuka smiled. “They are afraid. Night falls. It is a time of power for witches.”

Ayamé laughed. “Such fools. And they aspire to rule the world.”

“Such is the aspiration of fools,” Shizuka said. “Tell my attendants and Chiaki’s samurai to rest. We are safe for a while.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“You need not return right away, Ayamé. I will be fine. Spend time with your sister.”

“Are you certain, my lady? What of the child?”

“She’s well,” Shizuka said, “and will arrive when she should and not before.”

“She?”

“She,” Shizuka said.

If it was truly possible to feel great joy and great sorrow in a single moment without distinction, then perhaps Ayamé managed it then, as tears fell from her eyes and her face brightened with a perfect smile. She bowed low and departed in silence.

Shizuka composed herself and awaited Kiyori’s arrival.

Hanako walked through the central garden of the castle. She would not usually presume to do so. The garden existed for the benefit of the lords and ladies of the clan, not for servants. But she was willing to risk censure. Tomorrow she would leave for Edo. Who knew when she would return? Perhaps never. She wanted to see the roses before she left. They blossomed here in such profusion, the castle was sometimes called Rose Garden Keep, instead of Cloud of Sparrows. She preferred the flowery name.

One blossom caught her eye. It was smaller than the rest, but fully petaled, and so red it could have been that color’s definition.

Its brilliance in the fading light of day was irresistible. She reached out to touch it. An unseen thorn pricked her. When she drew her hand away, she saw a single drop of blood, the exact color of the petals, forming a tiny rosebud on her fingertip.

Hanako shuddered. Was it not an omen?

She hurried away to resume her evening duties.

“What are you doing here?” Kiyori said.

Hanako and a second maid carrying the settings for dinner entered as he expected. Behind them, unannounced, came Shigeru.

Shigeru bowed at the threshold of the doorway.

“I apologize for appearing without your prior approval.”

His quick survey of the room revealed no one other than his father. The dimensions of the room were unchanged, so no secret compartments had been installed since he had last been here. Yet tonight, as earlier in the day, he was sure his father had been talking to someone.

Kiyori did not like to be surprised. Hanako should have alerted him before she opened the door. He cast a disapproving look her way. But her startled expression showed that she had been unaware of Shigeru’s presence. That could only mean that Shigeru had used stealth to remain undetected behind her. He noted his son’s newly gaunt facial features and excessively bright eyes. Under other circumstances, his bizarre behavior and the clear outward signs of a deep inner turmoil would make Shigeru the immediate center of his focus. Tonight, however, Lady Shizuka must have his full attention. For all the years he had been seeing her, her visits had been no more often than twice a year at most. During the past week, he had seen her every day. This was surely a sign of his own mental deterioration. Okumichi prophets with rare exception were immolated by their prophetic powers at the end. Why should he be an exception? But he was determined not to shame himself and his clan. If his own time had come, and he was no longer of use to anyone, he would put an end to his own life rather than die a madman. He would have to deal with Shigeru later. If there was a later.

“Well, what is it?”

“I had hoped to speak with you on an important matter. However, I see that you are expecting a guest, so I will not intrude further. I will ask for your indulgence at another time.” Shigeru bowed and departed. He had already done what was necessary earlier while the food was being prepared. He had come only to verify what he suspected. The guest was visible to no one other than his father.

“The turning points of his life have already been reached,” Lady Shizuka said after they were once again alone. “There is no more to do but to await the inevitable unfolding.”

“That is not encouraging,” Kiyori said.

“Why must you be encouraged or discouraged?” Shizuka said. “Facts are clearest when emotional qualities are not unnecessarily imposed upon them.”

“Human beings,” he said, “always feel emotions, though by training, inclination, or circumstance, they cannot and do not always act upon them.”

“Human beings,” she said. “Was it my imagination, or did you emphasize those words?”

“I did. I don’t know what you truly are, but you are not human.”

She raised a sleeve to cover her mouth and laughed, her eyes sparkling with an almost childish merriment.

“How alike we are, my lord, and how unalike. At the end of our time together, you have reached a conclusion similar to the one I reached at the beginning, when you first appeared to me.”

It was several moments before Kiyori recovered enough to speak. “When
I
appeared to
you
?”

She rose, the silk of her layered kimonos rustling ever so slightly, the sound of wisteria leaves gently touched by a light breeze, and went to the eastern window.

“Will you indulge me, my lord?”

Kiyori, too shocked to resist, rose and stood beside her. She gestured out at the landscape.

“What do you see?”

“Night,” he said.

“And what features of the night stand out?”

He struggled to center himself. Regulating his breathing, slowing his racing heart, ignoring the storm of thoughts that pressed against his eyes and temples, he concentrated on the night. At sea, a vigorous onshore wind raised whitecaps the height of a man and threw them against the rocky shore below. The same wind had blown the sky clear, and the stars sparkled unobstructed by clouds or mist. Inland, the sound of the wind in the trees drowned out the call of nightbirds.

He said, “A strong wind, a clear sky, rough seas.”

She said, “It is night, but there is no wind at all. Mists roll down through the valleys, drift eastward over the campfires, and out into the ocean. In the morning, it will return to land as heavy fog. In the hour of the dragon, when the fog lifts, I will die.” She smiled. “Of course, that means nothing to you, since you believe I am already dead, and have been for five hundred years.”

“I see no campfires,” he said.

“I know you do not,” she said, “because just as I am not really there, you are not really here.” She moved suddenly with unexpected speed, and before he could evade her, she touched him briefly. He felt, not the warmth of another’s hand, but instead—

“A chill,” she said, completing his thought, “not on the skin but deep within the bones, not like that brought by a northern wind, but sharper, as of a premonition of disaster.”

“Yes,” he said. “And for you?”

“The same,” she said. “Listen. What do you hear?”

“The wind, rising.”

“I hear a flute,” she said. “Lady Ayamé, playing ‘The Unseen Moon.’ ”

“I know the song,” he said. “When Genji was a child, he played it often.”

“What does it sound like?”

He felt that chill again.

He said, “The wind, rising.”

“Yes,” she said. “The wind, rising.”