Grass for His Pillow (15 page)

She recalled the decisiveness that she had seen in Arai, that made men follow him, that had brought most of the Three Countries under his sway. She must now show the same resolution. Arai would respect their alliance, but if anyone else took her place, would he hold back from war? She would not let her people be devastated; she would not let her sisters be taken away as hostages.

Death still beckoned her, but this new fierce spirit within her would not allow her to respond.
I am indeed possessed,
she thought as she stepped onto the veranda to speak to the men assembled in the garden.
How few they are,
she thought, remembering the numbers her father used to command when she was a child. Ten were Arai's men, whom Kondo had selected and there were twenty or so who still served the Shirakawa. She knew them all by name, had made it her business since she returned to get to know their position and something of their character.

Shoji had been one of the first to arrive and had prostrated
himself before her father's body. His face still bore the traces of tears. He stood at her right hand, Kondo on her left. She was aware of Kondo's deference to the older man and aware that it was a pretense, like most of what he did.
But he killed my father for me,
she thought.
He is bound to me now. But what price will he exact in return?

The men knelt before her, heads lowered, then sat back on their heels as she spoke.

“Lord Shirakawa has taken his own life,” she said. “It was his choice, and whatever my grief, I must respect and honor his deed. My father intended me to be his heir. It was for that purpose that he began instructing me as if I were his son. I mean to carry out his wishes.” She paused for a moment, hearing his final words to her, so different:
I am completely corrupted by you. Now bring me death!
But she did not flinch. To the watching men she seemed to radiate some deep power. It illuminated her eyes and made her voice irresistible. “I ask my father's men to swear allegiance to me as you did to him. Since Lord Arai and I are in alliance, I expect those of you who serve him to continue to serve me. In return I offer you both protection and advancement. I plan to consolidate Shirakawa and next year take up the lands willed to me at Maruyama. My father will be buried tomorrow.”

Shoji was the first to kneel before her. Kondo followed, though again his demeanor unnerved her.
He is playacting,
she thought.
Allegiance means nothing to him. He is from the Tribe. What schemes do they have for me that I know nothing about? Can I trust them? If I find I cannot trust Shizuka, what will I do?

Her heart quailed within her, though none of the men filing before her would have guessed. She received their allegiance, noting
each one, picking out their characteristics, their clothes, armor and weapons. They were mostly ill-equipped, the laces of the armor broken and frayed, the helmets dented and cracked, but they all had bows and swords, and she knew most of them had horses.

All knelt to her save two. One, a giant of a man, Hirogawa, called out in a loud voice, “All respect to your ladyship, but I've never served a woman and I'm too old to start now.” He made a perfunctory bow and walked to the gate with a swagger that infuriated her. A smaller man, Nakao, followed him without a word, without even bowing.

Kondo looked at her. “Lady Otori?”

“Kill them,” she said, knowing she had to be ruthless and knowing she had to start now.

He moved faster than she would have thought possible, cutting down Nakao before the man realized what was happening. Hirogawa turned in the gateway and drew his sword.

“You have broken your allegiance and must die,” Kondo shouted at him.

The large man laughed. “You are not even from Shirakawa. Who's going to take any notice of you?” He held his sword in both hands, ready to strike. Kondo took a quick step forward; as Hirogawa's blow fell Kondo parried it with his own sword, thrusting the other man's blade aside with unexpected strength, wielding his own weapon like an ax. In the return motion he whipped it back into Hirogawa's unprotected belly. Now more like a razor than an ax, the sword slid through the flesh. As Hirogawa faltered forward Kondo stepped out to the right and behind him. Spinning round he struck downward, opening the man's back from shoulder to hip.

Kondo did not look at the dying men but turned to face the others. He said, “I serve Lady Otori Kaede, heir to Shirakawa and Maruyama. Is there anyone else here who will not serve her as faithfully as I?”

No one moved. Kaede thought she saw anger in Shoji's face, but he simply pressed his lips together, saying nothing.

In recognition of their past service to her father, she allowed the families of the dead men to collect the bodies and bury them, but because the men had disobeyed her she told Kondo to turn their dependents out of their homes and take their land for herself.

“It was the only thing to do,” Shizuka told her. “If you had allowed them to live, they would have caused unrest here or joined your enemies.”

“Who are my enemies?” Kaede said. It was late in the evening. They sat in Kaede's favorite room. The shutters were closed but the braziers hardly warmed the chill night air. She pulled the quilted robes more closely around her. From the main room came the chanting of priests keeping vigil with the dead man.

“Lady Maruyama's stepdaughter is married to a cousin of Lord Iida, Nariaki. They will be your main rivals in claiming the domain.”

“But most of the Seishuu hate the Tohan,” Kaede replied. “I believe I will be welcomed by them. I am the rightful heir, after all, the closest blood relative to Lady Maruyama.”

“No one's questioning your legal right,” Shizuka replied, “but you will have to fight to obtain your inheritance. Would you not be content with your own domain here at Shirakawa?”

“The men I have are so few, and pitifully equipped,” Kaede said thoughtfully. “Just to hold Shirakawa, I will need a small army. I
cannot afford one with the resources we have here. I will need the wealth of Maruyama. When the mourning period is over, you must send someone to Lady Naomi's chief retainer, Sugita Haruki. You know who he is; we met him on our journey to Tsuwano. Let us hope he is still in charge of the domain.”

“I must send someone?”

“You or Kondo. One of your spies.”

“You want to employ the Tribe?” Shizuka said in surprise.

“I already employ you,” Kaede replied. “Now I want to make use of your skills.” She wanted to question Shizuka closely about many things, but she was exhausted, with an oppressive feeling in her belly and womb.
In the next day or so I will talk to her,
she promised herself,
but now I must lie down.

Her back ached; when she was finally in bed she could not get comfortable, and sleep would not come. She had gone through the whole terrible day and she was still alive, but now that the house was quiet, the weeping and chanting stilled, a deep sense of dread came over her. Her father's words rang in her ears. His face and the faces of the dead men loomed before her eyes. She feared their ghosts would try to snatch Takeo's child from her. Finally she slept, her arms wrapped around her belly.

She dreamed her father was attacking her. He drew the dagger from his belt but instead of plunging it into his own belly he came close to her, put his hand on the back of her neck, and drove the dagger deep into her. An agonizing pain swept through her, making her wake with a cry. The pain surged again rhythmically. Her legs were already awash with blood.

Her father's funeral took place without her. The child slipped from her womb like an eel, and her life's blood followed. Then fever
came, turning her vision red, setting her tongue babbling, tormenting her with hideous visions.

Shizuka and Ayame brewed all the herbs known to them, then in despair burned incense and struck gongs to banish the evil spirits that possessed her, and called for priests and a spirit girl to drive them away.

After three days it seemed nothing would save her. Ai never left her side. Even Hana was beyond tears. Around the hour of the Goat, Shizuka stepped outside to fetch fresh water, when one of the men at the guardhouse called to her.

“Visitors are coming. Men on horses and two palanquins. Lord Fujiwara, I think.”

“He must not come in,” she said. “There is pollution by blood as well as by death.”

The bearers set the palanquins down outside the gate, and she dropped to her knees as Fujiwara looked out.

“Lord Fujiwara, forgive me. It is impossible for you to come in.”

“I was told Lady Otori is gravely ill,” he replied. “Let me talk to you in the garden.”

She remained kneeling as he walked past her, then rose and followed him to the pavilion by the stream. He waved his servants away and turned to Shizuka.

“How serious is it?”

“I do not think she will live beyond tonight,” Shizuka replied in a low voice. “We have tried everything.”

“I have brought my physician,” Fujiwara said. “Show him where to go and then come back to me.”

She bowed to him and went back to the gate where the
physician, a small, middle-aged man with a kind, intelligent look about him, was emerging from the second palanquin. She took him to the room where Kaede lay, her heart sinking at the sight of her pale skin and unfocused eyes. Kaede's breathing was rapid and shallow, and every now and then she gave a sharp cry—whether of fear or pain, it was impossible to tell.

When she came back Lord Fujiwara was standing gazing toward the end of the garden, where the stream fell away over rocks. The air was beginning to chill, and the sound of the waterfall was bleak and lonely. Shizuka knelt again and waited for him to speak.

“Ishida is very skilled,” he said. “Don't give up hope yet.”

“Lord Fujiwara's kindness is extreme,” she murmured. She could only think of Kaede's pale face and wild eyes. She longed to return to her, but she could not leave without the nobleman's permission.

“I am not a kind man,” he replied. “I am motivated mainly by my own desires, by selfishness. It is my nature to be cruel.” He glanced briefly at her and said, “How long have you served Lady Shirakawa? You are not from this part of the country?”

“I was sent to her in the spring while she was still at Noguchi Castle.”

“Sent by whom?”

“By Lord Arai.”

“Indeed? And do you report back to him?”

“What can Lord Fujiwara mean?” Shizuka said.

“There is something about you that is unusual in a servant. I wondered if you might be a spy.”

“Lord Fujiwara has too high an opinion of my abilities,” Shizuka replied.

“I hope you never have cause to incite my cruelty.”

She heard the threat behind his words and said nothing.

He went on as if talking to himself. “Her person, her life, touch me in a way I have never felt before. I thought myself long past experiencing any new emotion. I will not let anyone or anything—even death—take her from me.”

“Everyone who sees her is bewitched by her,” Shizuka whispered, “but fate has been unusually harsh to her.”

“I wish I knew her true life,” he said. “I know she has many secrets. The recent tragedy of her father's death is another, I suppose. I hope you will tell me one day, if she cannot.” His voice broke. “The idea that such beauty might perish pierces my soul,” he said. Shizuka thought she heard artificiality in his voice, but his eyes were filled with tears. “If she lives I will marry her,” he said. “That way I will have her with me always. You may go now. But will you tell her that?”

“Lord Fujiwara.” Shizuka touched her forehead to the ground and crept away backward.

If she lives . . .

M
atsue was a northern town, cold and austere. We arrived in the middle of autumn, when the wind from the mainland howled across a sea as dark as iron. Once the snows began, like Hagi, Matsue would be cut off from the rest of the country for three months. It was as good a place as any to learn what I had to learn.

For a week we had walked all day, following the coastal road. It did not rain, but the sky was often overcast and each day was shorter and colder than the last. We stopped at many villages and showed the children juggling, spinning tops, and games with string that Yuki and Keiko knew. At night we always found shelter with merchants who were part of the Tribe network. I lay awake till late listening to whispered conversations, my nostrils filled with the smells of the brewery or of soybean foodstuff. I dreamed of Kaede, and longed for her, and sometimes when I was alone I would take out Shigeru's letter and read his last words, in which he
had charged me to avenge his death and to take care of Lady Shirakawa. Consciously I had made the decision to go to the Tribe, but, even in those early days, just before sleep, unbidden images came to me of his uncles, unpunished in Hagi, and of his sword, Jato, sleeping at Terayama.

By the time we arrived at Matsue, Yuki and I were lovers. It happened with inevitability, yet not through my will. I was always aware of her on the road, my senses tuned to her voice, her scent. But I was too unsure of my future, my position in the group, too guarded and wary to make any move toward her. It was obvious that Akio also found her attractive. He was at ease with her as with no one else, seeking out her company, walking beside her on the road, sitting next to her at meals. I did not want to antagonize him further.

Yuki's position in the group was unclear. She deferred to Akio and always treated him with respect; yet, she seemed equal to him in status and, as I had reason to know, her skills were greater. Keiko was obviously lower down in the order, perhaps from a lesser family or a collateral branch. She continued to ignore me, but showed blind loyalty to Akio. As for the older man, Kazuo, everyone treated him as a mixture between a servant and an uncle. He had many practical skills, including thievery.

Akio was Kikuta through both father and mother. He was a second cousin to me and had the same hands shaped like mine. His physical skills were astounding—he had the fastest reflexes of anyone I've ever met, and could leap so high he seemed to be flying—but apart from his ability to perceive the use of invisibility and the second self, and his dexterity in juggling, none of the more unusual Kikuta gifts had come to him. Yuki told me this one day when we were walking some way ahead of the others.

“The masters fear the gifts are dying out. Every generation seems to have fewer.” She gave me a sideways look and added, “That's why it's so important to us to keep you.”

Her mother had said the same thing and I would have liked to have heard more, but Akio shouted at me that it was my turn to push the cart. I saw the jealousy in his face as I walked toward him. I understood it and his hostility to me all too well. He was fanatically loyal to the Tribe, having been raised in their teachings and way of life; I could not help but realize that my sudden appearance was likely to usurp many of his ambitions and hopes. But understanding his antipathy did not make it any easier to bear, nor did it make me like him.

I said nothing as I took the handles of the cart from him. He ran forward to walk beside Yuki, whispering to her, forgetting, as he often did, that I could hear every word. He'd taken to calling me the Dog, and the nickname had enough truth in it to stick. As I've said before, I have an affinity with dogs: I can hear the things they hear, and I've known what it's like to be speechless.

“What were you saying to the Dog?” he asked her.

“Teaching, teaching,” she replied offhandedly. “There's so much he needs to learn.”

But what she turned out to be best at teaching was the art of love.

Both Yuki and Keiko took on the role of prostitutes on the road if they needed to. So did many of the Tribe, men and women, no one thinking any the worse of them for it. It was simply another role to assume, then discard. Of course, the clans had quite different ideas about the virginity of their brides and the fidelity of their wives. Men could do what they liked; women were expected to be
chaste. The teachings I had grown up with were somewhere between the two: The Hidden are supposed to be pure in matters of physical desire, but in practice are forgiving of one another's lapses, as they are in all things.

On our fourth night we stayed in a large village with a wealthy family. Despite the scarcity in the whole area following the storms, they had stockpiles of supplies and they were generous hosts. The merchant offered us women, maids from his household, and Akio and Kazuo accepted. I made an excuse of some sort, which brought a storm of teasing, but the matter was not forced. Later, when the girls came to the room and lay down with the other men, I moved my mattress outside onto the veranda and shivered under the brittle ice points of the stars. Desire, longing for Kaede—to be honest, at that moment for any woman—tormented me. The door slid open, and one of the girls from the household, I thought, came out onto the veranda. As she closed the door behind her, I caught her fragrance and recognized her tread.

Yuki knelt beside me. I reached out for her and pulled her down next to me. Her girdle was already undone, her robe loose. I remember feeling the most immense gratitude to her. She loosened my clothes, making it all so easy for me—too easy; I was too quick. She scolded me for my impatience, promising to teach me. And so she did.

The next morning Akio looked at me searchingly. “You changed your mind last night?”

I wondered how he knew—if he had heard us through the flimsy screens or if he was just guessing.

“One of the girls came to me. It seemed impolite to turn her away,” I replied.

He grunted and did not pursue the matter, but he watched Yuki and me carefully, even though we said nothing to each other, as though he knew something had changed between us. I thought about her constantly, swinging between elation and despair: elation because the act of love with her was indescribably wonderful; despair because she was not Kaede, and because what we did together bound me ever more closely to the Tribe.

I couldn't help remembering Kenji's comment as he left:
It's a good thing Yuki's going to be around to keep an eye on you.
He had known this would happen. Had he planned it with her, instructed her? Did Akio of course know, because he had been told? I was filled with misgivings, and I did not trust Yuki, but it didn't stop me from going to her every time I had the chance. She, so much wiser in these matters, made sure the chance arose often. And Akio's jealousy grew more apparent every day.

So our little group came to Matsue, outwardly united and in harmony, but in fact torn by intense emotions that, being true members of the Tribe, we concealed from outsiders and from one another.

We stayed at the Kikuta house, another merchant's place, smelling of fermenting soybeans, paste, and sauce. The owner, Gosaburo, was Kotaro's youngest brother, also first cousin to my father. There was little need for secrecy. We were now well beyond the Three Countries and Arai's reach, and in Matsue the local clan, the Yoshida, had no quarrel with the Tribe, finding them equally useful for moneylending, spying, and assassination. Here we had news of Arai, who was busy subduing the East and the Middle Country, making alliances, fighting border skirmishes, and setting up his administration. We heard the first rumors of his campaign
against the Tribe and his intention to clear his lands of them, rumors that were the source of much mirth and derision.

I will not set down the details of my training. Its aim was to harden my heart and instill in me ruthlessness. But even now, years later, the memory of its harshness and cruelty makes me flinch and want to turn my eyes away. They were cruel times: Maybe Heaven was angry, maybe men were taken over by devils, maybe when the powers of good weaken, the brutal, with its nose for rot, storms in. The Tribe, cruelest of the cruel, flourished.

I was not the only Tribe member in training. There were several other boys, most of them much younger, all of them born Kikuta and raised in the family. The one closest to me in age was a solidly built, cheerful-faced young man with whom I was often paired. His name was Hajime, and though he did not exactly deflect Akio's rage toward me—to do so openly would be unthinkably disobedient—he often managed to draw some of it away. There was something about him I liked, though I would not go as far as to say I trusted him. His fighting skills were far greater than mine. He was a wrestler, and also strong enough to pull the huge bows of the master archers, but in the skills that are given rather than learned, neither he nor any of the others came near what I could do. It was only now that I began to realize how exceptional these skills were. I could go invisible for minutes on end, even in the bare white-walled hall; sometimes not even Akio could see me. I could split myself while fighting and watch my opponent grapple with my second self from the other side of the room. I could move without sound while my own hearing became ever more acute, and the younger boys quickly learned never to look me directly in the eye. I had put all of them to sleep at one time or another. I was learning slowly to
control this skill as I practiced on them. When I looked into their eyes I saw the weaknesses and fears that made them vulnerable to my gaze: sometimes their own inner fears, sometimes fear of me and the uncanny powers that had been given to me.

Every morning I did exercises with Akio to build up strength and speed. I was slower and weaker than he was in almost all areas, and he had gained nothing in patience. But to give him his due, he was determined to teach me some of his skills in leaping and flying, and he succeeded. Part of those skills were in me already—my stepfather, after all, used to call me a wild monkey—and Akio's brutal but skillful teaching drew them to the surface and showed me how to control them. After only a few weeks I was aware of the difference in me, of how much I had hardened in mind and body.

We always finished with fighting barehanded—not that the Tribe used this art much, preferring assassination to actual combat—but we were all trained in it. Then we sat in silent meditation, a robe slung across our cooling bodies, keeping our body temperature up by force of will. My head was usually ringing from some blow or fall, and I did not empty my mind as I was supposed to but instead dwelt savagely on how I would like to see Akio suffer. I gave to him all of Jo-An's torment that he'd once described to me.

My training was designed to encourage cruelty, and I embraced it at the time wholeheartedly, glad for the skills it was giving me, delighted at how they enhanced those I had learned with the Otori warriors' sons back when Shigeru was still alive. My father's Kikuta blood came to life in me. My mother's compassion drained away, along with all the teachings of my childhood. I no longer prayed; neither the Secret God, nor the Enlightened One, nor the old spirits meant anything to me. I did not believe in their existence and I
saw no evidence that they favored those who did. Sometimes in the night I would wake suddenly and catch an unprotected glimpse of myself, and shudder at what I was becoming, and then I would rise silently and, if I could, go and find Yuki, lie down with her, and lose myself in her.

We never spent the whole night together. Our encounters were always short and usually silent. But one afternoon we found ourselves alone in the house, apart from the servants who were occupied in the shop. Akio and Hajime had taken the younger boys to the shrine for some dedication ceremony, and I had been told to copy some documents for Gosaburo. I was grateful for the task. I rarely held a brush in my hands, and because I had learned to write so late, I was always afraid the characters would desert me. The merchant had a few books and, as Shigeru had instructed me, I read whenever I could, but I had lost my inkstone and brushes at Inuyama and had hardly written since.

I diligently copied the documents—records from the shop, accounts of the amount of soybeans and rice purchased from local farmers—but my fingers were itching to draw. I was reminded of my first visit to Terayama, the brilliance of the summer day, the beauty of the paintings, the little mountain bird I had drawn and given to Kaede.

As always, when I was thinking of the past, my heart unguarded, she came to me and took possession of me all over again. I could feel her presence, smell the fragrance of her hair, hear her voice. So strongly was she with me, I had a moment of fear, as if her ghost had slipped into the room. Her ghost would be angry with me, filled with resentment and rage for abandoning her. Her words rang in my ears:
I'm afraid of myself. I only feel safe with you.

It was cold in the room and already growing dark, with all the threat of the winter to come. I shivered, full of remorse and regret. My hands were numb with cold.

I could hear Yuki's footsteps approaching from the back of the building. I started writing again. She crossed the courtyard and stepped out of her sandals onto the veranda of the records room. I could smell burning charcoal. She had brought a small brazier, which she placed on the floor next to me.

“You look cold,” she said. “Shall I bring tea?”

“Later, maybe.” I laid down the brush and held my hands out to the warmth. She took them and rubbed them between her own.