Grass for His Pillow (9 page)

“Yamagata.” Akio handed the drum to Yuki and held out a wooden tablet. It had our names inscribed on it, the name of our
guild and our license from the city. The commander gazed at it for a long time, deciphering our names, every now and then looking across at each of us in turn, scanning our faces. Keiko was spinning the tops. The men watched her with more than idle interest. Players were the same as prostitutes as far as they were concerned. One of them made a mocking suggestion to her; she laughed back.

I leaned against the cart and wiped the sweat from my face.

“What's he do, Minoru?” the commander said, handing the tablet back to Akio.

“My younger brother? He's a juggler. It's the family calling.”

“Let's see him,” the commander said, his thin lips parting in a sort of smile.

Akio did not hesitate for a moment. “Hey, Little Brother. Show the lord.”

I wiped my hands on my head band and tied it back round my head. I took the balls from the bag, felt their smooth weight, and in an instant became Minoru. This was my life. I had never known any other: the road, the new village, the suspicious, hostile stares. I forgot my tiredness, my aching head and blistered hands. I was Minoru, doing what I'd done since I was old enough to stand.

The balls flew in the air. I did four first, then five. I'd just finished the second sequence of the fountain when Akio jerked his head at me. I let the balls flow in his direction. He caught them effortlessly, throwing the tablet into the air with them. Then he sent them back to me. The sharp edge of the tablet caught my blistered palm. I was angry with him, wondering what his intention was: to show me up? To betray me? I lost the rhythm. Tablet and balls fell into the dust.

The smile left the commander's face. He took a step forward. In that moment a mad impulse came into my mind: to give myself up to him, throw myself on Arai's mercy, escape the Tribe before it was too late.

Akio seemed to fly toward me. “Idiot!” he yelled, giving me a cuff round the ear. “Our father would cry out from his grave!”

As soon as he raised his hand to me, I knew my disguise would not be penetrated. It would have been unthinkable for an actor to strike an Otori warrior. The blow turned me into Minoru again, as nothing else could have done.

“Forgive me, Older Brother,” I said, picking up the balls and the tablet; I kept them spinning in the air until the commander laughed and waved us forward.

“Come and see us tonight!” Keiko called to the soldiers.

“Yes, tonight,” they called back.

Kazuo began to sing again, Yuki to beat the drum. I threw the tablet to Akio and put the balls away. They were darkened with blood. I picked up the handles of the cart. The barrier was lifted aside and we walked through to the village beyond.

K
aede set out on the last day of her journey home on a perfect autumn morning, the sky clear blue, the air cool and thin as spring water. Mist hung in the valleys and above the river, silvering spiders' webs and the tendrils of wild clematis. But just before noon the weather began to change. Clouds crept over the sky from the northwest, and the wind swung. The light seemed to fade early, and before evening it began to rain.

The rice fields, vegetable gardens, and fruit trees had all been severely damaged by storms. The villages seemed half-empty, and the few people around stared sullenly at her, bowing only when threatened by the guards and then with bad grace. She did not know if they recognized her or not; she did not want to linger among them, but she could not help wondering why the damage was unrepaired, why the men were not working in the fields to salvage what they could of the harvest.

Her heart did not know how to behave. Sometimes it slowed in
foreboding, making her feel that she might faint, and then it sped up, beating frantically in excitement and fear. The miles left to travel seemed endless, and yet, the horses' steady step ate them up all too quickly. She was afraid above all of what faced her at home.

She kept seeing views she thought were familiar, and her heart would leap in her throat, but when they came at last to the walled garden and the gates of her parents' home, she did not recognize any of it. Surely this was not where she lived? It was so small; it was not even fortified and guarded. The gates stood wide open. As Raku stepped through them Kaede could not help gasping.

Shizuka had already slid from the horse's back. She looked up. “What is it, lady?”

“The garden!” Kaede exclaimed. “What happened to it?”

Everywhere were signs of the ferocity of the storms. An uprooted pine tree lay across the stream. In its fall it had knocked over and crushed a stone lantern. Kaede had a flash of memory: the lantern, newly erected, a light burning in it, evening, the Festival of the Dead perhaps; a lamp floated away downstream, and she felt her mother's hand against her hair.

She gazed, uncomprehending, at the ruined garden. It was more than storm damage. Obviously it had been months since anyone had tended the shrubs or the moss, cleared out the pools, or pruned the trees. Was this her house, one of the key domains of the West? What had happened to the once powerful Shirakawa?

The horse lowered his head and rubbed it against his foreleg. He whinnied, impatient and tired, expecting now that they had stopped to be unsaddled and fed.

“Where are the guards?” Kaede said. “Where is everyone?”

The man she called Scar, the captain of the escort, rode his
horse up to the veranda, leaned forward, and shouted, “Hello! Anyone within?”

“Don't go in,” she called to him. “Wait for me. I will go inside first.”

Long Arm was standing by Raku's head, holding the bridle. Kaede slid from the horse's back into Shizuka's arms. The rain had turned to a fine, light drizzle that beaded their hair and clothes. The garden smelled rankly of dampness and decay, sour earth, and fallen leaves. Kaede felt the image of her childhood home, kept intact and glowing in her heart for eight long years, intensify unbearably, and then it vanished forever.

Long Arm gave the bridle to one of the foot soldiers and, drawing his sword, went in front of Kaede. Shizuka followed them.

As she stepped out of her sandals onto the veranda, it seemed the feel of the wood was faintly familiar to her feet. But she did not recognize the smell of the house at all. It was a stranger's home.

There was a sudden movement from within, and Long Arm leaped forward into the shadows. A girl's voice cried out in alarm. The man pulled her onto the veranda.

“Let go of her,” Kaede commanded in fury. “How dare you touch her?”

“He is only protecting you,” Shizuka murmured, but Kaede was not listening. She stepped toward the girl, taking her hands and staring into her face. She was almost the same height as Kaede, with a gentle face and light-brown eyes like their father's.

“Ai? I am your sister, Kaede. Don't you remember me?”

The girl gazed back. Her eyes filled with tears. “Sister? Is it really you? For a moment, against the light . . . I thought you were our mother.”

Kaede took her sister in her arms, feeling tears spring into her own eyes. “She's dead, isn't she?”

“Over two months ago. Her last words were of you. She longed to see you, but the knowledge of your marriage brought her peace.” Ai's voice faltered and she drew back from Kaede's embrace. “Why have you come here? Where is your husband?”

“Have you had no news from Inuyama?”

“We have been battered by typhoons this year. Many people died and the harvest was ruined. We've heard so little—only rumors of war. After the last storm an army swept through, but we hardly understood who they were fighting for or why.”

“Arai's army?”

“They were Seishuu from Maruyama and farther south. They were going to join Lord Arai against the Tohan. Father was outraged, for he considered himself an ally to Lord Iida. He tried to stop them from passing through here. He met them near the Sacred Caves. They attempted to reason with him, but he attacked them.”

“Father fought them? Is he dead?”

“No, he was defeated, of course, and most of his men were killed, but he still lives. He thinks Arai a traitor and an upstart. He had sworn allegiance, after all, to the Noguchi when you went as a hostage.”

“The Noguchi were overthrown, I am no longer a hostage, and I am in alliance with Arai,” Kaede said.

Her sister's eyes widened. “I don't understand. I don't understand any of it.” She seemed conscious for the first time of Shizuka and the men outside. She made a helpless gesture. “Forgive me, you
must be exhausted. You have come a long way. The men must be hungry.” She frowned, suddenly looking like a child. “What shall I do?” she whispered. “We have so little to offer you.”

“Are there no servants left?”

“I sent them to hide in the forest when we heard the horses. I think they will come back before nightfall.”

“Shizuka,” Kaede said, “go to the kitchen and see what there is. Prepare food and drink for the men. They may rest here tonight. I shall need at least ten to stay on with me.” She pointed at Long Arm. “Let him pick them. The others must return to Inuyama. If they harm any of my people or my possessions in any way, they will answer with their lives.”

Shizuka bowed. “Lady.”

“I'll show you the way,” Ai said, and led Shizuka toward the back of the house.

“What is your name?” Kaede said to Long Arm.

He dropped to his knees before her. “Kondo, lady.”

“Are you one of Lord Arai's men?”

“My mother was from the Seishuu. My father, if I may trust you with my secrets, was from the Tribe. I fought with Arai's men at Kushimoto, and was asked to enter his service.”

She looked down at him. He was not a young man. His hair was gray-streaked, the skin on his neck lined. She wondered what his past had been, what work he had done for the Tribe, how far she could trust him. But she needed a man to handle the soldiers and the horses and defend the house; Kondo had saved Shizuka, he was feared and respected by Arai's other men, and he had the fighting skills she required.

“I may need your help for a few weeks,” she said. “Can I depend on you?”

He looked up at her then. In the gathering darkness she could not make out his expression. His teeth gleamed white as he smiled, and when he spoke his voice had a ring of sincerity, even devotion. “Lady Otori can depend on me as long as she needs me.”

“Swear it, then,” she said, feeling herself flush as she pretended an authority she was not sure she possessed.

The lines around his eyes crinkled momentarily. He touched his forehead to the matting and swore allegiance to her and her family, but she thought she detected a note of irony in his voice.
The Tribe always dissemble,
she thought, chilled.
Moreover, they answer only to themselves.

“Go and select ten men you can trust,” she said. “See how much feed there is for the horses, and if the barns provide shelter enough.”

“Lady Otori,” he replied, and again she thought she heard irony. She wondered how much he knew, how much Shizuka had told him.

After a few moments Ai returned, took Kaede's hand, and said quietly, “Should I tell Father?”

“Where is he? What is his condition? Was he wounded?”

“He was wounded slightly. But it is not the injury. . . . Our mother's death, the loss of so many men . . . sometimes his mind seems to wander, and he does not seem to know where he is. He talks to ghosts and apparitions.”

“Why did he not take his own life?”

“When he was first brought back, he wanted to.” Ai's voice broke completely and she began to weep. “I prevented him. I was so weak. Hana and I clung to him and begged him not to leave us.
I took away his weapons.” She turned her tear-streaked face to Kaede. “It's all my fault. I should have had more courage. I should have helped him to die and then killed myself and Hana, as a warrior's daughter should. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't take her life, and I couldn't leave her alone. So we live in shame, and it is driving Father mad.”

Kaede thought,
I also should have killed myself, as soon as I heard Lord Shigeru had been betrayed. But I did not. Instead, I killed Iida.
She touched Ai on the cheek, felt the wetness of tears.

“Forgive me,” Ai whispered. “I have been so weak.”

“No,” Kaede replied. “Why should you die?” Her sister was only thirteen; she had committed no crime. “Why should any of us choose death?” she said. “We will live instead. Where is Hana now?”

“I sent her to the forest with the women.”

Kaede had rarely felt compassion before. Now it woke within her, as painful as grief. She remembered how the White Goddess had come to her. The All-Merciful One had consoled her, had promised that Takeo would return to her. But together with the goddess's promise had come the demands of compassion, that Kaede should live to take care of her sisters, her people, her unborn child. From outside she could hear Kondo's voice giving orders, the men shouting in reply. A horse whinnied and another answered. The rain had strengthened, beating out a pattern of sound that seemed familiar to her.

“I must see Father,” she said. “Then we must feed the men. Will anyone help from the villages?”

“Just before Mother died, the farmers sent a delegation. They were complaining about the rice tax, the state of the dikes and fields, the loss of the harvest. Father was furious. He refused even
to talk to them. Ayame persuaded them to leave us alone because Mother was sick. Since then everything has been in confusion. The villagers are afraid of Father: They say he is cursed.”

“What about our neighbors?”

“There is Lord Fujiwara. He used to visit Father occasionally.”

“I don't remember him. What sort of a man is he?”

“He's strange. Rather elegant and cold. He is of very high birth, they say, and used to live in the capital.”

“Inuyama?”

“No, the real capital, where the Emperor lives.”

“He is a nobleman, then?”

“I suppose he must be. He speaks differently from people round here. I can hardly understand him. He seems a very erudite man. Father liked talking to him about history and the classics.”

“Well, if he ever calls on Father again, perhaps I will seek his advice.” Kaede was silent for a moment. She was fighting weariness. Her limbs ached and her belly felt heavy. She longed to lie down and sleep. And somewhere within herself she felt guilty that she was not grieving more. It was not that she did not suffer anguish for her mother's death and her father's humiliation, but she had no space left in her soul for any more grief, and no energy to give to it.

She looked round the room. Even in the twilight she could see the matting was old, the walls water-stained, the screens torn. Ai followed her gaze. “I'm ashamed,” she whispered. “There's been so much to do, and so much I don't know how to do.”

“I almost seem to remember how it used to be,” Kaede said. “It had a glow about it.”

“Mother made it like that,” Ai said, stifling a sob.

“We will make it like that again,” Kaede promised.

From the direction of the kitchen there suddenly came the sound of someone singing. Kaede recognized Shizuka's voice, and the song as the one she had heard the first time she met her, the love ballad about the village and the pine tree.

How does she have the courage to sing now?
she thought, and then Shizuka came quickly into the room carrying a lamp in each hand.

“I found these in the kitchen,” she said, “and luckily the fire was still burning. Rice and barley are cooking. Kondo has sent men to the village to buy whatever they can. And the household women have returned.”