Brilliance of the Moon (19 page)

Fumio was too optimistic. The storm blew for three days, and for two
more the seas were too heavy for Ryoma’s little boat. It needed repairs anyway,
which took four days to complete after the rain stopped. Fumio wanted to send
me back in one of the pirates’ ships, but I did not want to be seen in it or
with them, fearing to reveal my strategy to spies. I spent the days restlessly,
uneasy about Makoto— would he wait for me, would he return to Maruyama, would
he abandon me altogether, now that he knew I was one of the Hidden, and go back
to Terayama?—and even more anxious about Kaede. I had not meant to stay away
from her for so long.

Fumio and I had the opportunity to have many conversations, about
ships and navigation, fighting at sea, arming sailors, and so on. Followed
everywhere by the tortoiseshell cat, who was as curious as I was, I inspected
all the ships and weapons they had and was even more impressed by their power.
And every night, while from below came the noise of the sailors gambling and
their girls dancing and singing, we talked until late with his father. I came
to appreciate even more the old man’s shrewdness and courage, and I was glad he
was going to be my ally.

The moon was past the last quarter when we finally set out on a
calm sea in the late afternoon to take advantage of the evening tide. Ryoma had
recovered from his near drowning and at my request had been received in the
Terada residence on our last night and had eaten with us. The old pirate’s
presence had silenced him completely, but I knew he had felt the honor and been
pleased by it.

There was enough wind to put up the new yellow canvas sail that
the pirates had made for us. They had also given us fresh charms to replace the
ones lost when the boat was damaged, as well as a small carving of the sea god,
who they said obviously had us under his special protection. The charms sang in
the wind, and as we sped past the southern side of the island there was a
distant rumble like an echo, and a small gust of black smoke and ash rushed
upward from the crater. The slopes of the island were shrouded in steam. I
gazed at it for a long time, thinking the local people were right when they
nicknamed it the entrance to hell. Gradually it dwindled and faded, until the
lilac mist of evening came up off the sea and hid it completely.

We made the greater part of the crossing before nightfall,
luckily, for the mist turned into solid cloud, and when darkness came it was
complete. Ryoma alternated between bursts of chattiness and long, brooding
silences. I could do little more than trust him and take turns with him at the
oar. Long before the dark shape of the land loomed ahead of us, I’d heard the
change in the note of the sea, the sucking of the waves on the shingle. We came
ashore at the exact spot we had disembarked from, and Jiro was waiting on the
beach next to a small fire. He leaped to his feet when the boat scraped on the
stones, and held it while I jumped out.

“Lord Otori! We’d given up hope. Makoto was about to return to
Maruyama to report you missing.”

“We were delayed by the storm.” I was filled with relief that
they were still here, that they had not deserted me.

Ryoma was exhausted, but he did not want to leave the boat, nor
would he rest till daylight. I guessed, despite his earlier boasting, he was
afraid: He wanted to return to his home in the dark without anyone knowing
where he’d been. I sent Jiro back to the shrine to fetch the silver we had
promised him and whatever food we could spare. When we returned we would have
to secure the coastline before we embarked, which would mean clearing it of
bandits. I told Ryoma to expect us as soon as the weather settled.

He had become awkward again. I felt he wanted assurances and
promises from me that I was not able to give. I thought I had disappointed him
in some way. Perhaps he’d expected me to recognize him legally on the spot and
take him with me to Maruyama, but I did not want to saddle myself with another
dependent. On the other hand, I could not afford to antagonize him. I was
relying on him as a messenger and I needed his silence. I tried to impress on
him the necessity of utter secrecy, and hinted that his future status would
depend on it. He swore he would tell no one and took the money and the food
from Jiro with expressions of profound gratitude. I thanked him warmly—I was
truly grateful to him—but I couldn’t help feeling that an ordinary fisherman
would have been easier to deal with and more trustworthy.

Makoto, deeply relieved at my safe return, had accompanied Jiro
back down to the beach, and as we walked to the shrine I told him of the
success of my journey, listening all the while to the faint splash of the oar
as Ryoma rowed away in the darkness.

When Takeo left for the coast, and the Miyoshi brothers for
Inuyama, Kaede saw the excitement and anticipation on their faces and was
filled with resentment at being left behind. In the days that followed she was
plagued by fears and anxieties. She missed her husband’s physical presence more
than she would have thought possible; she was jealous of Makoto being allowed
to accompany him when she was not; she feared for Takeos safety and was angry
with him at the same time.

His quest for
revenge is more important to him than I am
, she
thought often.
Did he marry me just to further his plans of revenge
? She believed he loved
her deeply,
but he was a man, a warrior, and if he had to choose, she knew he would choose
revenge.
I would be the same if I were a man
, she
told herself.
I
cannot even give him a child: What use am I as a woman? I should have been born
a man. May I be allowed to return as one
!

She told no one of these thoughts. Indeed, there was no one in
whom she could confide. Sugita and the other elders were polite, even
affectionate, to her but seemed to avoid her company. She kept herself busy all
day, overseeing the household, riding out with Amano, and making copies of the
records that Takeo had entrusted to her. After the attempted theft shed thought
it would be a wise precaution and she hoped it would help her understand the
ferocity of Takeo’s campaign against the Tribe and the anguish it had caused
him. She herself had been disturbed by the slaughter, and also by the piles of
dead after the battle at Asagawa. It took so long to raise a man, and life was
extinguished so easily. She feared retribution, both from the living and from
the dead. Yet what else could Takeo do when so many were conspiring to kill
him?

She, too, had killed, had had men killed on her orders: Had
losing her child been punishment for her own actions? Her desires were
changing; now she was moved to protect and to nurture, to create life, not to
destroy it. Was it possible to hold on to her domain and rule it without
violence? She had many hours of solitude to think about these things.

Takeo had said he would be back within a week; the time passed,
he did not return, and her anxiety grew. There were plans and decisions that
needed to be made about the domain’s future, but the elders continued to be
evasive, and every suggestion she made to Sugita was greeted by a deep bow and
the advice to wait until her husband returned. Twice she tried to summon the
elders for a council meeting, but one by one they pleaded indisposition.

“It’s remarkable that everyone is sick on the same day,” she said
tartly to Sugita. “I had no idea that Maruyama was so unhealthy for old
people.”

“Be patient, Lady Kaede,” he said. “Nothing needs to be decided
before Lord Takeo’s return, and that will be any day now. He may have urgent
commands for the men; they must be kept in readiness for him. All we can do is
wait for him.”

Her irritation was compounded by the realization that, even
though it was her domain, everyone still deferred to Takeo. He was her husband
and she must defer to him, too; yet Maruyama and Shirakawa were hers and she
should be able to act in them as she wished. Part of her was shocked that Takeo
had gone to make an alliance with pirates. It was like his association with
outcasts and farmers: There was something unnatural about it. She thought it
must all come from being born into the Hidden. This knowledge that he had
shared with her both attracted and repelled her. All the rules of her class
told her that her blood was purer than his and that by birth she was of higher
rank. She was ashamed of this feeling and tried to suppress it, but it niggled
at her and the longer he was away, the more insistent it became. “Where is your
nephew?” she said to Sugita, wanting distraction. “Send him to me. Let me look
at someone under the age of thirty!” Hiroshi was hardly better company, equally
resentful at being left behind. He had hoped to go to Inuyama with Kahei and
Gemba.

“They don’t even know the road,” he grumbled. “I would have shown
them everything. I have to stay here and study with my uncle. Even Jiro was
allowed to go with Lord Otori.”

“Jiro is much
older than you,” Kaede said.

“Only five years. And he’s the one who should be studying. I
already know far more letters than he does.”

“That’s because you started earlier. You should never despise
people because they haven’t had your opportunities.” She studied him; he was a
little small for his age, but strong and well put together; he would be a
handsome man. “You are about the same age as my sister,” she said. “Does your
sister look like you?”

“People say so. I
think she is more beautiful.”

“That couldn’t be
possible,” he said quickly, making her laugh. His face colored slightly.
“Everyone says Lady Otori is the most beautiful woman in the Three Countries.”

S

“What have they seen?” she retorted. “In the capital, in the
emperor’s court, there are women so lovely men’s eyes shrivel up when they look
at them. They are kept behind screens lest the whole court go blind.”

“What do their husbands do?” he said doubtfully. “They have to
wear blindfolds,” she teased, and threw a cloth that lay next to her over his
head. She held him playfully for a few moments, then he twisted away from her.
She saw he was ruffled; she had treated him like a child and he wanted to be a
man. “Girls are lucky: They don’t have to study,” he said. “But my sister loves
to study and so do I. Girls should learn to read and write just the same as
boys. Then they can help their husbands, as I am helping mine.”

“Most people have scribes to do that sort of thing, especially if
they can’t write themselves.”

“My husband can write,” she said swiftly, “but like Jiro he
started learning later than you.”

Hiroshi looked horrified. “I didn’t mean to say anything against
him! Lord Otori saved my life and revenged my father’s death. I owe everything
to him, but…”

“But what?” she prompted, uncomfortably aware of some shadow of
disloyalty.

“I’m only telling you what people say,” Hiroshi said. “They say
he is strange. He mixes with outcasts; he lets farmers fight; he has started a
campaign against certain merchants that no one understands. They say he cannot
have been brought up as a warrior, and they wonder what his upbringing was.”

“Who says it? The townspeople?”

“No, people like
my family.”

“Maruyama
warriors?”

“Yes, and some say he is a sorcerer.”

She could hardly be surprised; these were exactly the things that
worried her about Takeo; yet she was outraged that her warriors should be so
disloyal to him.

“Maybe his upbringing was a little unusual,” she said, “but he is
heir to the Otori clan by blood and by adoption, as well as being my husband.
No one has the right to say anything against him.” She would find out who it
was and have them silenced. “You must be my spy,” she said to Hiroshi. “Report
to me anyone who gives the slightest sign of disloyalty.”

After that, Hiroshi came to her every day, showed her what he had
learned in his studies, and told her what he heard among the warrior class. It
was nothing definite, just whispers, sometimes jokes, maybe no more than the
idle chatter of men with not enough to occupy themselves. She resolved to do
nothing about it for the time being but to warn Takeo when he returned.

The time of the great heat began, and it was too sultry to ride
outside. Since Kaede could take no decisions till Takeo’s return, and since she
expected him every day, she spent most of her time kneeling at the lacquer
writing table, copying the Tribe records. The doors to the residence were all
opened to catch the least breeze, and the sound of insects was deafening. Her
preferred room looked out over pools and a waterfall; through the azalea bushes
she could see the silver-weathered tea house. Every day she promised herself
that she would make tea there for Takeo that night, and every day she was
disappointed. Sometimes kingfishers came to the pools and the flash of blue and
orange would distract her momentarily. Once a heron alighted outside the
veranda and she thought it was a sign that he would be back that day, but he
did not come.

She let no one see what she was writing, for she quickly realized
the importance of the records. She was amazed at what Shigeru had uncovered,
and wondered if someone within the Tribe had acted as his informant. She
concealed the original records and the copies in a different place every night
and tried to commit as much as possible to memory. She became obsessed with the
idea of the secret network, watched for signs of them everywhere, trusted no
one, even though Takeo’s first work at Maruyama had been to purge the castle
household. The range of the Tribe daunted her; she did not see how Takeo would
ever escape them. Then the thought would come to her that they had already
caught up with him—that he was lying dead somewhere and she would never see him
again.