Authors: Lian Hearn
Emperor of the Eight Islands: Book 1 in the Tale of Shikanoko (The Tale of Shikanoko series) (17 page)
There were many people trying to escape, for the attackers, the Prince Abbot’s men, were setting the palace buildings on fire, one after another. The wind that sprang up just before dawn was driving the flames westward toward the city. Already the Hall of Light from the East was alight, and next to it the Hall of New Learning stood gutted, its rafters black against the red inferno. Priceless treasures, irreplaceable scrolls were being consumed and reduced to ashes. She felt the lute in her hand vibrate again and moan softly.
Yoshimori was quivering, too, tremors running from his hand to hers. She bent and whispered, “Be brave. Remember your own words. Your destiny is to live.”
He made no reply, but his grip tightened and as they hurried through the gate, rather than she being the guide, he was leading her.
Kai stopped for a moment and made a sign to Aki.
From behind Aki heard a great shout, as if one of the gods had appeared and was announcing his presence.
“I am Kiyoyori of the Kakizuki, lord of Matsutani and Kuromori.”
The girls looked at each other with wide, startled eyes and then hurried Yoshi on toward the river.
Kiyoyori had ridden straight from Masafusa’s residence to the Crown Prince’s palace. It was not far away, on the east side of the Greater Palace compound where the Emperor lived (and presumably now lay dead). As he and his small band of men forced their way through the streets, he thought of Hina left alone, wondered if he would ever see her again, if anyone would stay and look after her or if they would all run away, wondered what had happened to his steward, Iida no Taro, and then saw the man himself, standing on the corner of an alley.
Taro’s face changed at the sight of Kiyoyori. It was as if he had been waiting for him. For a moment hope shot through him.
He brings good news. Tsumaru is alive, hidden somewhere in safety.
But then Taro made a helpless gesture and Kiyoyori understood.
I must talk to him. I must find out what happened.
He was prepared to face death, but he could not bear the thought of not knowing the manner in which his son had passed over before him.
There was no time. The horses swept past. Kiyoyori turned in the saddle briefly and saw Taro begin to run after him, weaving through the crowd. His horse shied, and he looked ahead again.
It was around the end of the hour of the ox, still a while before dawn. The gates of the palace were barred with armed men on both sides. He could see at a glance they were too few. He stationed his men on the outside facing the street, and then convinced the guards he was who he claimed to be and that they should summon someone to speak to him. A nobleman came out, leading his horse, and the guards closed the gate behind him.
Kiyoyori knew him slightly—Lord Hidetake.
“Kiyoyori,” Hidetake said in relief. “You have arrived just in time. We received word an hour ago that an attack is imminent. The Prince is putting on his armor now.”
“I would stay and fight alongside you,” Kiyoyori said, leaning down from his horse. “But Lord Keita has ordered me to rescue his grandson and escort him to Rakuhara.”
“So, Keita is fleeing,” Hidetake said. “He will not come to our aid?”
“At least we can save Yoshimori if we act quickly. Where is he?”
“I have already sent him away. My daughter is taking him to Rinrakuji.”
“I must go after them,” Kiyoyori said, but at that moment the sound of horses coming up the street made them both turn. Men carried torches that showed their weapons and their helmets. They stopped just beyond arrow’s reach and their leader announced, “I am Yoshibara no Chikataka of the Miboshi. I have been sent by Lord Aritomo and His Holiness the Prince Abbot of Ryusonji to arrest Prince Momozono for inciting rebellion against the Emperor.”
Kiyoyori rode toward them, announcing his name in a voice louder than thunder.
“We serve his Imperial Highness and we will never surrender him to you.”
“You should have stayed in Kuromori, Kiyoyori. The Shimaura barrier has fallen and fifty thousand Miboshi are advancing on the capital.”
“Then we will die here and you with us,” Kiyoyori replied, grim elation welling up in him, sharpening his vision and strengthening his arm.
The gates behind him opened and the Crown Prince himself rode out, at the head of a hundred men. As they swept past Kiyoyori, Hidetake leaped onto his horse, took up his bow, and set an arrow to it. The horsemen all had bows ready and a hail of arrows sped toward the Miboshi, making them fall back momentarily. Kiyoyori thought the Prince had the numbers and the will to prevail, but hundreds more men had been waiting out of sight in the alleys. Now, with white banners gleaming in the light of torches, they rushed into the broad avenue, letting fly a barrage of arrows. Prince Momozono was hit in the throat. Kiyoyori galloped toward him, but his own horse screamed and staggered, its chest pierced. He jumped from it as it fell.
A circle had formed around the wounded Crown Prince as his men strove to defend him, fighting hand to hand with swords, pikes, and daggers. One by one they fell, their lifeblood mingling with that of their prince. Kiyoyori saw there was no hope; they were completely overwhelmed by the mass of the Miboshi. His own men formed a larger semicircle, their backs to the gate. Kiyoyori remembered his orders to rescue the child, now almost certainly the Emperor. He did not want to be thought to be fleeing, but he had to save the child. Shouting to his men to fall back behind him and protect the entrance, he ran inside the gate, closing it himself. His last sight of the battle was Sadaike, blood streaming from a head wound, gesturing to show he understood.
The palace was already on fire—attackers must have broken through the other gates, unless there were traitors inside the Prince’s household—and women ran shrieking from the flames. Kiyoyori ran, too, hoping to catch up with Hidetake’s daughter before she left the compound. He was brought to a halt by the sight of Lord Keita’s daughter, Lady Shinmei’in, the child’s mother, standing outlined against the blackened pillars and rafters of what had once been a great hall.
“Lady,” he called, “where is your son? I am sent to find him and you. Your father commanded me to come. I am Kakizuki.”
She held a dagger in her hand. Her eyes gazed on him without seeing him.
“My son, I come to join you,” she said, so softly he could hardly hear her against the roar of the flames and the crash of falling beams.
She slashed her throat with the blade. Blood flew, covering him. She stood for a long moment, her eyes huge, her hands fluttering. Then she crumpled before him.
Miboshi men burst into the courtyard. Kiyoyori turned to face them, his long sword in his hand. He had no fear, just a resolve to take as many as possible into death with him and on to Hell afterward. The sight of him, covered in blood, surrounded by flames, made them pause for a moment, and in that sliver of time a man appeared at his side like a shadow. Taro.
“What are you doing here?” he shouted.
“I have to tell you about Tsumaru!”
“What is there to tell? That he is dead and you killed him?”
“The dragon child took him. It’s true he died, in the lake, but he lives on in the dragon child.”
A Miboshi warrior ran screaming toward them. Kiyoyori felled him with one sweep of his sword.
“It was my fault,” Taro cried over the clamor. “I am going to die with you and when we face the Judge of Hell I will take your place.”
“If we don’t both die here I will pursue you and kill you,” Kiyoyori yelled, ducking to avoid a sword thrust, then parrying the returning stroke, disarming the blade’s owner and skewering him. He wrenched at his sword to release it and slipped in the pool of blood. Taro stepped in front of him to protect him while he recovered his footing.
“I could not be a warrior in life,” he said, bending over Kiyoyori. “Maybe I will be one in death.”
Aki’s father had trained her in the arts of war. She had practiced for many hours on the polished floors of the halls of Rinrakuji, she had ridden horses and shot arrows at their country estate, Nishimi, on the shores of Lake Kasumi, but she had never been out in the city on her own or mingled with common people. She did not know how to beg, or steal, or barter for food. Yoshimori had hardly ever walked on his own two feet in the palace, let alone outside in the dark over a rutted road filled with people, oxen, carts, horses, all flooding toward the northern gates of the city, and the river.
The temple, Rinrakuji, where her father had told her to seek refuge, was on the eastern side of the lake, a long way to the north. As her father had said, she had been there many times before, but she had only rarely gone there by road, more often by boat from Nishimi. It took a couple of hours across the lake, no more, but now she had to make her way from the south, either by road or over water from Kasumiguchi, where the two roads from the north converged at the barrier.
Cocks were crowing and in the east the sky was turning pale. Behind them the city burned like another fiery dawn in the south. Yoshimori’s eyes were wide with shock and disgust at the smell, the rude jostling, the unpleasant closeness of so many bodies, but he did not cry out or complain, just clutched Kai’s hand as if he would never let it go. Kai said nothing, her small face set in an expression of determination. Aki’s mother had tied a scarf around her head, but it could not completely hide the long hair. She was limping a little.
Aki caught snatches of information: the barrier towns to the east had fallen, the Miboshi were pouring into the city from the south, the Kakizuki were fleeing …
Many in the crowd wavered, some deciding to follow the Kakizuki and taking the road to the west, some pressing on to Kasumiguchi. Aki reasoned the town would be in enough confusion to allow them to slip through the barrier. Maybe they could take a boat there; if not, they would follow the road along the east side of the lake.
The boy was getting tired. He leaned against her, his feet dragged. The lute was heavy; she changed arms and felt its muted response to the movement. As the light grew she could see the river on their right. Horses and men towed boats upstream; none were returning to Miyako. Some of them carried produce, lumber, casks of rice wine and vinegar, barrels of grain. One boat was laden with musicians and young women dressed in robes of scarlet silk, holding parasols decorated with moons. The musicians played, lute, flute, harp, and drum, and the women sang, their voices ringing out in the cool dawn air.
Kai was staring at them. “What beautiful ladies,” she said.
Yoshi waved to them. “I wish we could ride in the boat with them!”
His refined speech caught the attention of a man walking beside them. “Beautiful ladies!” he scoffed. “You’re a bit young for a ride with them! But you’re a pretty boy—get on that boat and someone will ride you. And those pretty girls, too.”
He thrust his pockmarked face toward them, leering. Aki’s hand was on her dagger as she pulled Yoshi away.
“You must not speak,” she whispered. “Didn’t my father make that clear?”
A few paces later they came upon a dead body. A man lay on his back, grinning vacantly at the sky, blood congealing around the wound in his throat where flies crawled. Who could he have been? Aki wondered. Victim of a robbery, perhaps, or the thief himself, dealt a rough justice. Or maybe just some unfortunate who had offended the wrong person. She wished she had not just mentioned her father, for now she could not stop thinking about him, and her mother, and them both dead.
Yoshi went white, swayed on his feet, and vomited a rush of yellow liquid. Aki knelt beside him, wiped his face and mouth. He was crying silently. Kai was also in tears.
The same pockmarked man came close, saying, “Here, I’ll carry the little lord for a while,” but Aki saw something lascivious in his face and drew out the dagger, backing away, her arm around Yoshi.
“Oh, an armed girl, a young warrior!” The man’s leer embraced her, too. “Never been opened by a man, I’ll wager. I’ll take you first and then the boy, and sell the little girl.”
They were at the water’s edge. She could back away no farther. A horse came between them and the man, its handler shouting at them to get out of the way before the two ropes fastened to the bow and the stern threw them into the water beneath the boat’s hull.
A woman’s voice called to her from the deck. “Give us the children, little sister, and then jump yourself.” Aki just had time to realize it was another pleasure boat, filled with musicians, when many hands reached out and seemed to pluck Yoshi, and then Kai, from her. She tucked the dagger in her belt, a woman took her hand, and she leaped onto the boat, clutching the bundle with the other, terrified the lute would fall into the water. It moaned with its almost-human voice.
On the shore the man made a vulgar gesture toward her and yelled something she did not understand.
“Don’t worry about him,” the woman said, the same voice that had told her to jump. “Stay with us and you will come to no harm.”
They had placed Yoshi on a bench covered with scarlet cloth and cushions embroidered with dragons and flowers. Kai stood beside him, still holding on to him, still clutching the ritual box. A young woman was bathing Yoshi’s face and hands and another pressed a cup of lukewarm broth into Aki’s hands.
“I did not even bring water with me,” she said, horrified by her own helplessness. She had no idea how the world worked or who these people were. They had rescued her from one danger, but were they not simply another? How was she going to keep Yoshi safe? They were almost certainly alone in the world now, her parents dead, Yoshi’s, too. Her eyes grew hot as she drank the broth, but she struggled not to let the tears fall.
“Where are you going, little sister?”
“I don’t know exactly. Our parents are dead and we are fleeing from the fighting. Maybe we will go to Rinrakuji, maybe as far as Kitakami.” Aki remembered the name of the port on the Northern Sea, even though she had never been there. “Where is this boat going?”
