Shadows on the Moon (16 page)

Terayama-san did not see it. He was too busy directing the servants to remove the arrows from the targets. “Come now, Otieno-chan,” he said. “Where is your bow? Surely you have not forgotten it?”

“I have it here, Terayama-san.”

And it was there, in his left hand, just as if it had always been. It was tiny, not half the length of Terayama-san’s
yumi,
and with a sharp recurve that bent it almost exactly in two.

Terayama-san blinked. “What a clever trick. An odd bow, though, if I may presume to comment.”

Otieno raised an eyebrow. “To me, your bow also seems strange. Please inspect it, if it interests you. There is no magic in it — I promise.”

Terayama-san took the unstrung bow and turned it over in his hands. “It is heavy,” he said, giving it a little shake, as if he expected to hear it rattle.

Otieno took the bow back from Terayama-san and, having been handed a coiled string by one of his countrymen, quickly tied a figure-eight loop to one of the white nocks, and then pressed that end to the ground, bending the bow so that he could slip the string over the other nock and loop it into place. The young man who had given him the string said something to Otieno in a different language, a quiet mouthful of melodious sounds. Otieno laughed and so did the others, apart from A Suda-sama, who clapped Otieno on the shoulder.

Terayama-san broke in on the moment. I could tell he did not like their laughter: not when he could not tell if it was directed at him. “Such a small bow must have rather a shorter range than we are accustomed to. It is not fair to expect Otieno-chan to hit the targets as I have done. We will bring them closer.”

“You are very good, Terayama-san,” A Suda-sama said. “But if my son is to improve, it is best for him to have targets which are a little too difficult for him rather than a little too easy.”

“That is very true,” said the man who had given Otieno the string. “My father is wise. I recommend we move the targets back another length.”

“Brother!” Otieno tried to cuff the man’s head, but he danced away from the blow, smirking.

Terayama-san was not one to blow away gold dust when it landed on his palm. He nodded. “Very well. We will move them back.”

As servants hurried to do his bidding, I could see Terayama-san calculating the odds of his making such a shot himself at this distance, and then, after glancing at Otieno’s small bow and smaller frame, smiling. I bit my lip. I knew elder brothers sometimes teased their younger siblings, but surely not in a situation like this?

I looked at Otieno again. He was not laughing now. His face was serious, his eyes focused on the targets as he took up his stance. A Suda-sama and his countrymen moved away from Otieno, leaving him alone in position. They were no longer laughing either, not even the brother who had been smirking moments ago.

Something shimmered on Otieno’s back, and then there was a black leather quiver there, the strap slung diagonally across his chest. I drew in a sharp breath. He was shadow-weaving, right there in public. I was astonished that no one had noticed it, but then, perhaps no one else had believed their eyes.

Holding his bow in one hand, Otieno raised his carved, moon-shaped pendant to his lips and let it rest there, his eyes closing as his chest filled with a deep breath.

Then he let the pendant drop.

His bow was in position by the time the pendant hit his chest. It had not bounced once before he had reached back, found an arrow, and nocked it. The first arrow left Otieno’s bow with a high-pitched whistling noise, and a second seemed to fly almost in the same movement. The final arrow was released before the first had hit the target. My ears filled with their screaming as, for an instant, they hung in the air together.

Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.

Three arrows stood in the targets, each one at the exact center. Even from where I stood, I could see that they had sunk so deeply that they would have to be cut from the targets, not pulled free. I clutched the tree for balance.

Otieno was the greatest archer I had ever seen. Better than Terayama-san. Better than my father. Better than my father’s legendary teacher Honma-sensei. And he was still in training. No wonder the Moon Prince wanted these people as friends. They might abhor killing, but if they had a thousand archers like that, their enemies would die regardless.

No one clapped this time. Terayama-san and his friends stood frozen, and the foreigners simply moved forward to surround Otieno, patting and punching him on his arms and back.

His father smiled at him and spoke in their own language. I did not have to know the words to understand what was said.
You shot well, son. I am proud of you.
They hugged each other, right there in public, with Otieno holding his bow awkwardly out to one side to avoid poking his father with it.

Otieno’s brother shrugged. “You hesitated on the third shot. If the target had been moving, you would have missed it.”

“I don’t want to hear that from the man who shot our uncle for lack of hesitation,” said Otieno. He held up his bow as a shield when his brother made a threatening movement toward him.

“I missed him! I missed him by a clear foot.”

“More like an inch, Kayin. Ask him yourself.”

“Enough, enough,” said one of the other men in the group. His ropes of hair were mostly gray, and I thought he might be the oldest, though he stood straight and had no wrinkles on his face. “You are neglecting our host. You must thank him for letting you practice today.”

Otieno turned immediately, bowing to Terayama-san. “I thank you for the practice,” he said. “My bow was growing brittle with disuse.”

Terayama-san’s free hand clenched and unclenched as Otieno’s father stepped up to him with a broad smile. “Do you see now why I insisted that to us, bow and arrow are . . . your word is . . . business?”

Terayama-san stared at them both in silence for a second, eyes blank and glittering. Then he laughed, and I sagged with relief. I did not trust his look of resigned humor — but it seemed the immediate danger was past.

“If your son is representative of a mere half-trained warrior of Athazie, then I am certainly willing to consider your point.”

“Oh, Otieno is not a warrior,” A Suda-sama said. “He is a scholar! An Akachi. He is my cleverest son, far too clever to risk in hunting or battle. We teach him archery and other skills to force him away from his papers and out into the sun once in a while.”

Terayama-san’s expression flickered as he absorbed the implication that he had been beaten by a mere scholar. “Well, after such exertions, I think that some shade and refreshments might be in order. I am sure my wife will be interested to hear about Otieno-chan’s studies,” he said in a voice of strained patience.

Otieno did not move. He squared his shoulders and asked, slightly too loudly, “Before we go in, there is something I have wished to ask you since we became your guests, Terayama-san.”

“Oh? Ask, then,” Terayama-san said, a little too tolerantly.

“I wonder when I might have the honor of meeting your daughter, Suzume.”

I nearly fell out from behind the tree and had to grab a low branch to steady myself.
Oh, no. What on earth is he doing? Of all the questions to ask!
Yet, even as I tensed with worry, another part — a tiny, unreasonable part — was suddenly flushed with warmth.
He knows my name. He remembers me. . . .

Terayama-san’s expression of genial inquiry did not change, but I saw his throat work before he replied, “Suzu-chan is my stepdaughter. My wife’s child from her first marriage.”

“Really?” Otieno’s face was utterly innocent. His father closed his eyes as if in exasperation. “How strange. We do not make such distinctions where I am from. You called her your daughter on the ship.”

“I am very attached to her,” Terayama-san said. “She is visiting relatives of her father’s in the country at the moment. She is much missed.”

I was leaning out at such an acute angle now that only my desperate grip on the tree branch was keeping me from sprawling facedown on the grass.

The servants and Terayama-san’s friends all seemed to be echoing my posture, their faces rapt. So my sudden absence had been noticed and remarked upon, and not just within the household. People had wondered, even if they had not dared to question Terayama-san. Abruptly he seemed isolated, almost vulnerable, not lifted up by people’s unspoken fear and admiration but pinned down by the curiosity of their stares.

“I have certainly been sorry not to see her again,” Otieno said. “I was looking forward to it.”

Terayama-san’s eyes never strayed from Otieno. “Of course. Suzu-chan was very beautiful.”

There was an echoing silence that seemed to go on and on, one that even the quiet sounds of water and wind song and birds calling could not touch.

“Was?”

Terayama-san’s face twitched. A tiny, betraying movement of unease. “She is not well. That is why she is resting in the country now.”

“And when will she be back?” Otieno asked.

Before Terayama-san could formulate another lie, the veranda door slid open.

I jolted as I saw my mother’s slender form there, her face and hands intensely white against the black of her formal kimono. The bones of her face seemed to push sharply against the skin of her face, threatening to break through, and when she stepped forward, it was with the careful movement of one who knows that carelessness will be painful.

“Yukiko,” Terayama-san said, his attention leaving Otieno abruptly. He stepped up onto the veranda and reached for her arm. “You should not come into the sun in this heat. The doctor said it would be too fatiguing.”

My mother flinched when Terayama-san laid his hand on her, then sighed and leaned into his support. “I am sorry, Shujin-sama, but I was curious, since all the servants had disappeared.”

Terayama-san glanced around, as if noticing the clustered servants for the first time. A curt jerk of his head was enough to send them scurrying about their business.

“We are finished now, my dear,” he said, voice tender. “We were about to come inside.”

He gently guided her back through the opening, ignoring his guests, who slowly began trailing after him.

So Terayama-san still cared for my mother — as much as a man like him could care for anyone. And why would he not, when she had given him everything he wanted: his sons, and her compliance and silence? He was the picture of the devoted husband. Yet she was bone tired and ill, and her first reaction to his touch had been to wince from it.

Did she regret the choice she had made? Seeing her like that, I allowed myself to believe it. Allowed myself to believe that she thought of me, missed me, despite everything.

Otieno was the only one to hesitate on the veranda as everyone else slipped inside. He made as if to step through the doorway, but at the last moment turned back, as if he was unable to help himself.

Our eyes met.

My breath stopped. His did, too. I could see it.

We each stood in the shadows, reaching for one another across the sunlit space between us. Without ever touching, we touched. I felt his hand on me, and it was warm and familiar and wanted.

Then someone on the other side of the screen caught Otieno’s hand and forced him to step inside or fall. Otieno crossed the threshold. The screen slid into place, breaking our contact like a pair of scissors severing a stretched thread.

I sat down on the grass, my legs no longer strong enough to hold me.

I tipped the pail of rubbish into the trench, and the skinny stray cats converged on it. My eyes did not really see them; instead, I saw three black-and-white arrows finding their target, a pair of bare, determined shoulders covered in blue marks, and those eyes, those pale eyes that should have been strange in the dark face but somehow were not. . . .

There was a footstep behind me.

I jumped and the wooden pail thudded to the ground, cats scattering as I turned.

Otieno A Suda stood in the gateway, arms crossed, one shoulder propped against the fence.

Awareness and elation burst over me, making every inch of my skin flush. Then I realized that my shadow-weaving was not in place.

I put my head down so that my hair fell everywhere and yanked Rin’s grimy, blank face over my own.
Baka-yarou,
I cursed myself. This man was not like the kitchen staff. He would not see only what he wished to see. No, no, it would be all right. Otieno had glimpsed Suzume for a bare moment a year ago. It was twilight now, and everything was smudgy and gray. Surely no one could make out Suzume in Rin’s tattered and grimy form. He was not here for Suzume.

Then . . . Why was he here? Why did he look at me — at little, tattered Rin — as if he knew me?

“Honored guest-sama.” I let my voice rise into a timid treble. He was not to know that Rin did not normally speak at all. “How may this humble one be of service to you?”

Even in the dimness his eyes were uncomfortably sharp. I forced myself not to fidget, and after a moment, he bent to stroke one of the cats, which had returned to cautiously sniff at his boots. “I am just enjoying the night air. What are they called, these creatures?”