The Harsh Cry of the Heron (18 page)

The ground was rough
and stony, often slippery from the rain. After a while, one of the men picked
Sunaomi up and carried him. The sky was a clear, pale blue, the sun just rising
over the Eastern mountains. The path levelled out and led through a forest of
beech and live oak. Summer wildflowers carpeted the floor, and bush warblers
called their morning song, echoing and answering each other. Later it would be
hot, but now the air was perfect, cooled by the rain, and still.

Takeo could hear the
rustle in the leaves and the flap of wings that indicated the presence of the
houou in the forest ahead. Here among the broad-leaved trees was a stand of
paulownia, which the birds favoured for nesting and roosting, though they were
said to feed on bamboo leaves.

Now the path was
easier Sunaomi demanded to be put down, and to Takeo’s surprise ordered the two
men to wait while he went ahead with Lord Otori.

When they were out of
earshot, he said confidentially to Takeo, ‘I did not think Tanaka and Suzuki
should see the houou. They might want to hunt them or steal their eggs. I’ve
heard a houou’s egg is very valuable.’

‘Your instinct is
probably right,’ Takeo replied.

‘They are not like
Lord Gemba and Lord Makoto,’ Sunaomi said. ‘I don’t know how to put it. They
will see but they will not understand.’

‘You put it very
well,’ Takeo replied, smiling.

A curious fluting
call came from above them in the canopy, followed by a harsh cry in answer.

‘There they are,’
Takeo whispered, feeling as always the sense of astonishment and awe that the
presence of the sacred birds aroused in him. Their call was like their
appearance, beautiful and strange, graceful and clumsy. The birds were both
inspiring and somehow comical. He would never get used to them.

Sunaomi was staring
upwards, his face rapt. Then one bird burst out from the foliage and fluttered
to the next tree.

‘It is the male,’
Takeo said. ‘And here comes the female.’

Sunaomi laughed in
delight as the second bird swooped across the clearing, its long tail silky,
its eyes bright gold. Its plumage was made up of many colours, and as it landed
on the branch one feather fluttered down.

The birds were there
for no more than an instant. They turned their heads towards each other, called
again, each in its distinct voice, looked briefly but intently towards Takeo,
and then flew away into the forest.

‘Ah!’ Sunaomi gasped
and ran after them, staring upwards so that he missed his footing and fell face
down in the grass. When he stood, the feather was in his hand.

‘Look, uncle!’

Takeo approached the
boy and took the feather. Once Matsuda had shown him a houou’s feather, white
pinioned, tipped with red. It had come from a bird that Shigeru had seen when
he was a boy, and had been preserved at the temple ever since. This feather was
deep gold in colour, apart from the pure white quill.

‘Keep it,’ he said to
Sunaomi. ‘It will remind you of this day, and of the blessing you received.
This is why we seek peace always, so the houou will never leave the Three
Countries.’

‘I will give the
feather to the temple,’ Sunaomi said, ‘as a pledge that I will return one day
and study with Lord Gemba.’

This boy has such
fine instincts, Takeo thought. I will bring him up as my son.

After Takeo had left
with Sunaomi, Taku sat for a while on the veranda looking out over the
rain-soaked garden, thinking about all his mother’s cousin had told him. It
disturbed him more than he had revealed, for it threatened to bring him into
open conflict with his older brother, something he had hoped to avoid. What a
fool Zenko is, he thought, and always has been. Just like our father!

At ten years old, in
the moment just before the earthquake had shattered the city, he had watched
his father betray Takeo. Zenko had blamed Takeo for Arai’s death, but Taku had
interpreted the whole scene differently. He already knew his father had ordered
his mother’s death in a fit of rage: he would never forget or forgive his
readiness to throw away the lives of his sons. He had thought Takeo would kill
Zenko - often afterwards dreamed that he had - and could never understand Zenko’s
resentment that Takeo had spared his life.

He had
hero-worshipped Takeo as a boy, and now, as a man, respected and admired him.
Moreover, the Muto family had sworn allegiance to the Otori: he would never
break that oath. Quite apart from the obligations of honour and loyalty, he
would have to be as big a fool as Zenko: his position in the Three Countries
was every- thing he could desire, giving him power and status and enabling him
to take full advantage of all his talents.

Takeo had also taught
him many things that he had learned from the Kikuta. Taku smiled to himself,
remembering the many times he had succumbed to the Kikuta sleep until he had
learned to evade it - and even use it himself. There was a strong bond between
the two of them; they were alike in many ways, and both knew the conflicts
caused by mixed blood.

Still, an older
brother was an older brother, and Taku had been brought up to respect the
hierarchy of the Tribe. He might be prepared to kill Zenko, as he had told
Takeo, but he would not insult him by ignoring his right to have a say in who
would take over the leadership of the Muto family. He decided he would suggest
his mother, Shizuka, Kenji’s niece. It might be an acceptable compromise.

His mother’s husband,
Dr Ishida, would take Zenko’s younger son to Hagi. He could take letters or
verbal messages to Shizuka. Ishida, Taku believed, was trustworthy enough. His
main weakness was a certain innocence, as if he found it hard to comprehend the
depth of wickedness possible in human nature. Perhaps he had taught himself to
ignore it in Lord Fujiwara, whom he had served for many years, and was all the
more shocked by it when it emerged. Apart from the courage it must take to go
off on his explorations, he was not physically brave, and did not like
fighting.

Taku himself would
stay close to Zenko and Kono, possibly even travel with Kono to the West, where
he would arrange a meeting with Sugita Hiroshi, his oldest friend. It was
important that Kono took a true picture of the Three Countries back to the
capital, making it clear to the Emperor and his general that Lord Otori was supported
unconditionally in Maruyama and Inuyama, and that Zenko stood alone.

Reasonably satisfied
with these decisions he went to the stables to see how the old horse, Ryume,
had recovered from the journey. He was pleased with what he found there:
whatever his brother’s faults, his knowledge and care of horses was unparalleled.
Ryume had been groomed: mane and tail were free of mud and untangled; the horse
looked dry, well fed and content. Despite his age, he was still a fine horse,
and the grooms admired him openly, even treated Taku with greater deference on
his account.

He was still petting
the horse and feeding him carrots when Zenko came into the stable area. They
greeted each other with their usual show of warmth.

‘You still have Raku’s
son,’ Zenko said, putting his hand out and rubbing the horse’s brow. Taku
remembered Zenko’s jealousy when they had returned to Hagi in the spring with
the two beautiful colts, one Hiroshi’s and one his, a clear indication of Takeo’s
fondness for them both, only serving to emphasize his coldness towards Zenko.

‘I will give him to
you,’ he said on an impulse. ‘He is not too old to get foals.’ Apart from his
children, he could not have offered his brother anything more precious. He
hoped the generosity of the gesture would soften Zenko’s feelings towards him.

‘Thank you, but I
will not accept him,’ Zenko said. ‘He was a gift to you from Lord Otori, and
anyway, I think he is too old to breed.

‘Like Lord Otori,’ he
remarked as they returned to the residence, ‘who has to get his sons from
younger men.’

Taku perceived that
this was meant to be a joke, but it had a bitter ring to it. Truly my brother
construes everything as an insult, he thought.

‘It is a great honour
to you and your wife,’ he said mildly, but Zenko’s face was dark.

‘Is it an honour, or
are they now hostages?’ he demanded.

‘That surely rather
depends on you,’ Taku replied.

Zenko made some
noncommittal reply and dropped the subject.

‘I suppose you will
go to the Muto family home for the funeral ceremonies?’ he said when they were
seated inside.

‘I believe Lord Takeo
wishes to conduct a ceremony in Hagi. Our mother is there, and since there is
no corpse to bury . . .’

‘No corpse? So where
did Kenji die? And how do we know he is dead? It would not be the first time he
disappeared to suit his own purposes.’

‘I am sure he is
dead.’ Taku glanced at his brother and went on, ‘He was in ill health: he may
have died of the lung illness, but the mission he was undertaking was extremely
dangerous, and he had arranged to come immediately to Inuyama if he had been
successful. I am telling you this in confidence. The official story will be
that he passed away from the disease.’

‘I suppose it was at
the hands of the Kikuta?’ Zenko said after a long silence.

‘What makes you think
that?’

‘I may bear our
father’s name, brother, but that doesn’t alter the fact that I am as much one
of the Tribe as you. I have contacts among the Muto - and among the Kikuta,
come to that. Everyone knows that Akio’s son is Kenji’s grandson. I imagine
Kenji longed to see him - he was an old man, his health was failing. Akio, they
say, has never forgiven him or Takeo for Kotaro’s death. I am just drawing
conclusions from the facts. I have to because Takeo does not confide in me as
he does in you.’

Taku noted again the
resentment in his brother’s voice, but it concerned him less than his comment
that he had contacts with the Kikuta. Could it be true, or was Zenko merely
boasting?

He waited in silence
to see what else Zenko would reveal.

‘Of course there was
the gossip in the Muto village about the boy,’ Zenko went on. ‘That Takeo was
the father, not Akio.’ He spoke idly, but Taku was aware of the deep interest
beneath the words.

‘Only Muto Yuki would
know for sure,’ he replied. ‘And she died shortly after the child was born.’

‘Yes, I remember,’
Zenko said. ‘Well, whoever the father is, the boy is Kenji’s grandson, and the
Muto family have an interest in him. If I am to become the Master, I shall
contact the Kikuta about him.’

‘I believe it would
be better to leave the question of who is to succeed Kenji until we have
discussed it with our mother,’ Taku said politely. ‘I would be surprised if I
had to remind you that the Master of the family usually possesses high skills.’

Zenko flushed in
anger, his eyes three-cornered. ‘I have many Tribe skills, little brother. They
may not be as showy as yours, but they are very effective!’

Taku made a slight -
and insincere - movement with his head to show submission, and they moved on to
safer subjects. After a little while Lord Kono joined them; they ate the midday
meal together and then went with Hana and the two younger boys to see the
kirin. Afterwards Dr Ishida was invited back to the residence to become better
acquainted with Chikara before taking him to Hagi.

Ishida had seemed
very nervous on meeting Kono, and had become even more tense as the nobleman
questioned him about his time in Fujiwara’s household. He accepted the
invitation with reluctance, and arrived somewhat late for the evening meal,
already, Taku realized with apprehension, quite drunk.

Taku himself was
tense, disturbed by his conversation with Zenko and aware of all the
undercurrents in the room as they ate. In his habitual way, he gave no sign of
this, conversing lightly but courteously with Kono, complimenting Hana on the
food and her sons and trying to draw Ishida into innocuous subjects such as the
customs of the Gen nomads or the life cycle of whales. He had a guarded,
somewhat barbed relationship with his sister-in-law, whom he did not
particularly like or trust but whose intelligence and spirit he could not help
admiring - and no man could help responding to her beauty. Taku recalled how
they had all been besotted by her when they were boys - he, Zenko and Hiroshi.
They had followed her around like dogs with their tongues hanging out and had
competed for her attention.

It was common
knowledge that Kono’s father had preferred men to women, but Taku saw nothing
to indicate that the son took after him. Indeed, he thought he saw a natural
enough attraction behind Kono’s attention to Hana. Impossible not to desire
her, he thought, and wondered fleetingly what it would be like to wake in the
dark with her alongside him. He could almost envy Zenko.

‘Dr Ishida took care
of your father,’ Hana remarked to Kono. ‘And now he looks after Lord Otori’s
health.’

Taku heard both
duplicity and malevolence in her voice, and desire gave way to dislike. He was
thankful he had recovered from his infatuation - and had never suffered
another. He thought gratefully of his own straightforward wife, whom he knew he
could trust and whom he missed already. It was going to be a long, tedious
summer.