The Harsh Cry of the Heron (46 page)

Shigeko had sailed
many times between Hagi and Hofu, but she had never been further east, along
the protected coast of the Encircled Sea as far as Akashi. The weather was
fine, the air brilliantly clear, the breeze from the south gentle yet strong
enough to fill the ship’s new sails and send them scudding through the
green-blue water. In every direction small islands rose abruptly from the sea,
their slopes dark green with cedars, their shores white-fringed. She saw
vermilion-red shrine gates glowing in the spring sunshine, the dark
cypress-roofed temples, the sudden white walls of a warrior’s castle.

Unlike Maya she had
never been seasick, even on the roughest voyages between Hagi and Maruyama when
the north-easterlies raced across the iron-grey sea, carving its flecked
surface into cliffs and chasms. Ships and sailing delighted her, the smell of
the sea, of the ship’s rigging and timbers, the sounds of sail flapping, wake
splashing and wood creaking, the song of the hull as it drove through the
water.

The ship’s holds were
filled with all manner of presents, as well as decorated saddles and stirrups
for Shigeko and Hiroshi, and formal and ceremonial robes, all newly
embroidered, dyed and painted by the most skilled craftsmen of Hagi and
Maruyama. But the most important gifts stood on the deck itself, under a straw
shelter: the horses bred at Maruyama, each fastened by two ropes to the head
and a strap under the belly; and the kirin, held with cords of red silk.
Shigeko spent much of the day next to the animals, proud of the horses’ health
and beauty, for she had raised them herself: the two dapples, one light, one
dark, the bright chestnut and the black. They all knew her and seemed to take
pleasure in her company, following her with their eyes when she left to walk
around the deck, and whickering to her. She had no qualms about parting with
them. Such fine horses would be valued and well treated, and while they might
not forget her they would not pine for her. But she was more troubled about the
kirin. The exotic creature, for all its gentleness, did not have the easy-going
nature of a horse. ‘I am afraid it will fret when it is separated from us and
all its other companions,’ she said to Hiroshi on the afternoon of the third
day of their voyage from Hofu. ‘See how it constantly turns its head back in
the direction of home. It seems to be looking yearningly for someone: Tenba,
maybe.’

‘I’ve noticed it
tries to approach you closely, whenever you are near,’ Hiroshi replied. ‘It
will indeed miss you. I am surprised you can bring yourself to part with it.’

‘I have only myself
to blame! It was my suggestion. It is a consummate gift: even the Emperor must
be astonished and flattered by it. But I wish it were a carving, in ivory or
some precious metal, for then it would have no feelings, and I would not worry
about it being lonely.’

Hiroshi looked
intently at her. ‘It is, after all, only an animal. It may not suffer as much
as you think. It will be well looked after, and well fed.’

‘Animals are capable
of deep feelings,’ Shigeko retorted.

‘But it will not have
the same emotions that humans have when they are separated from those they
love.’

Shigeko’s eyes met
his; she gazed firmly at him for a few moments. He was the first to look away.

‘And maybe the kirin
will not be lonely in Miyako,’ he said in a low voice, ‘because you will be
there too.’

She knew what he
meant, for she had been present when Lord Kono had told her father of Saga
Hideki’s recent loss, a loss that had left him, the most powerful warlord in
the Eight Islands, free to marry.

‘If the kirin is to
be the consummate gift for the Emperor,’ he continued, ‘what better gift for
the Emperor’s general?’

She heard the
bitterness in his voice, and her heart twisted. She had known for some time now
that Hiroshi loved her as deeply as she loved him. A rare harmony existed
between them, as if they knew each other’s thoughts. They were both trained in
the Way of the Houou, and had attained deep levels of awareness and
sensitivity. She trusted him completely. Yet there seemed no point in speaking
of her feelings, or even fully recognizing them: she would marry whomever her
father chose for her. Sometimes she dreamed that he had chosen Hiroshi, and woke
suffused with joy and desire; she lay in the dark, caressing her own body,
longing to feel his strength against it, fearing that she never would,
wondering if she might not make her own choices now she was ruler of her own
domain and simply take him as her husband; knowing that she would never go
against her father’s wishes. She had been brought up in the strict codes of a
warrior’s family: she could not break them so easily.

‘I hope I never have
to live away from the Three Countries,’ she murmured. The kirin stood so close
she could feel its warm breath on her cheek as it bent its long neck down to
her. ‘I confess, I am anxious about all the challenges that await me in the
capital. I wish our journey were over - yet I want it never to end.’

‘You showed no sign
of anxiety when you spoke so confidently to Lord Kono last year,’ he reminded
her.

‘It’s easy to feel
confident in Maruyama, when I am surrounded by so many people who support me -
you, above all.’

‘You will have that
support in Miyako too. And Miyoshi Gemba will also be there.’

‘The best of my
teachers - you and he.’

‘Shigeko,’ he said,
using her name as he had when she was a child. ‘Nothing must diminish your
concentration during this contest. We must all put aside our own desires in
order to allow the way of peace to prevail.’

‘Not put them aside,’
she replied, ‘but transcend them.’ She paused, not daring to say more. Then
suddenly she was seized by a memory: the first time she had seen the houou,
both male and female birds together, when they had returned to the forests
around Terayama to nest in the paulownia trees and raise their young.

‘There is a bond of
great strength between us,’ she said. ‘I have known you all my life - maybe
even in a former life. Even if I am married to someone else, that bond must
never be broken.’

‘It never will be, I
swear it. The bow will be in your hand, but it is the spirit of the houou that
will guide the arrows.’

She smiled then,
confident that their minds and thoughts were one.

Later, when the sun
was descending towards the west, they went to the stern deck and began the
ancient ritual exercises that flowed through the air like water, yet turned
muscle and sinew to steel. The sun’s glow tinged the sails, rendering the great
heron crest of the Otori golden; the banners of Maruyama fluttered from the
rigging. The ship seemed bathed in light, as though the sacred birds themselves
had descended on it. The western sky was still streaked with crimson when in
the east rose the full moon of the fourth month.

A few days after this
full moon Takeo left Inuyama for the East, farewelled with great enthusiasm by
the townspeople. It was the season of the spring festivals, when the earth came
alive again, sap rose in the trees and in men and women’s blood. The city was
possessed by feelings of confidence and hope. Not only was Lord Otori on his
way to visit the Emperor - a semi-mythical figure for most people - but he left
behind a son: the unhappy effect of twin daughters was removed at last. The
Three Countries had never been so prosperous. The houou nested at Terayama,
Lord Otori was to present the Emperor with a kirin; these signs from Heaven
confirmed what most people already saw in their plump children and fertile
fields: that the evidence of a just ruler is in the health and contentment of
the people. Yet all the cheering, the dancing, the flowers and the banners
could not dispel Takeo’s feelings of unease, though he attempted to hide them,
maintaining constantly the calm, impassive expression that was now habitual. He
was most troubled by Taku’s silence, and all that it might imply - Taku’s
defection or his death. Either one was a disaster, and in either case, what had
become of Maya? He longed to return and find out for himself, yet each day’s
journey took him further away from any likelihood of receiving news. After much
deliberation, some of which he shared with Minoru, he had decided to leave the
Kuroda brothers in Inuyama, telling them that they would be more use to him
there, and that they were to send messengers immediately if any news came from
Taku.

‘Jun and Shin are not
happy,’ Minoru reported. ‘They asked me what they had done to lose Lord Otori’s
trust.’

‘There are no Tribe
families in Miyako,’ Takeo replied. ‘Really, I have no need of them there. But
you know, Minoru, that my trust in them has been eroded: not through any
failing of theirs, simply that I know their first loyalty will be to the Tribe.’

‘I think you could
have more confidence in them,’ Minoru said.

‘Well, maybe I am
saving them from a painful choice, and they will thank me one day,’ Takeo said
lightly, but in fact he missed his two Tribe guards, feeling naked and
unprotected without them.

Four days out of
Inuyama they rode past Hinode, the village where he had rested with Shigeru on
the morning after their flight from Iida Sadamu’s soldiers and the burning
village of Mino.

‘My birthplace lies a
day’s journey from here,’ he remarked to Gemba. ‘I have not been this way in
nearly eighteen years. I wonder if the village still exists. It was there that
Shigeru saved my life.’

Where my sister
Madaren was born, he reminded himself, where I was raised as one of the Hidden.

‘I wonder how I dare
appear before the Emperor. They will all despise me for my birth.’

He and Gemba rode
side by side on the narrow track, and he spoke in a low voice so that no one
else would hear. Gemba glanced at him and replied, ‘You know I have brought
from Terayama all the documents that testify to your descent: that Lord
Shigemori was your grandfather, and that your adoption by Shigeru was legal -
and endorsed by the clan. No one can question your legitimacy.’

‘Yet the Emperor
already has.’

‘You bear the Otori
sword, and have been blessed with all the signs of Heaven’s approval.’ Gemba
smiled. ‘You probably weren’t aware of the astonishment in Hagi when Shigeru
brought you home: you were so like Takeshi. It seemed like a miracle: Takeshi
had lived with our family for some time before he died. He was my elder brother
Kahei’s best friend. It was like losing a beloved brother. But our grief was
nothing to Lord Shigeru’s, and it was the final blow of many.’

‘Yes, Chiyo told me
the story of his many losses. His life seemed full of grief and undeserved ill
fortune; yet he gave no sign of it. I remember something he said the night I
first met Kenji: I am not made for despair. I often think of those words, and
of his courage when we rode to Inuyama under the eye of Abe and his men.’

‘You must tell
yourself the same thing: you are not made for despair.’

Takeo said, ‘That is
how I must appear, yet, as with so much of my life, it is a pretence.’

Gemba laughed. ‘It’s
lucky your many skills include mimicry. Don’t underestimate yourself. Your
nature is possibly darker than Shigeru’s, but it is no less powerful. Look at
what you have achieved: nearly sixteen years of peace. You and your wife have
brought together all the warring factions of the Three Countries; between you
you hold the realm’s well being in perfect balance. Your daughter is your right
hand, your wife supports you completely at home. Have confidence in them. You
will impress the Emperor’s court as only you can. Believe me.’ Gemba fell
silent and after a few moments resumed his patient humming.

The words were more
than comforting; they acted as some kind of release, not allaying the anxiety
but enabling Takeo to dominate it, and eventually to transcend it. As the man’s
mind and body relaxed, so did the horse’s: Tenba lowered his neck and
lengthened his stride as the miles were swallowed up, day after day.

Takeo felt all his
senses awaken: his hearing became as acute as when he was seventeen; the eye
and hand of the artist began to reassert themselves. When he dictated letters
at night to Minoru he yearned to take the brush from him. Sometimes he did, and
in the same way as he wrote, supporting the maimed right hand with the left and
holding the brush between his two remaining fingers, he would sketch quickly
some scene imprinted on his mind during the day’s ride: a flock of crows flying
among cedars, a chain of geese like foreign writing above a curiously shaped
crag, a flycatcher and a bellflower against a dark rock. Minoru gathered the
sketches and sent them with the letters to Kaede, and Takeo recalled the
drawing of the flycatcher he had given her so many years ago at Terayama. The
disability had prevented him from painting for a long time, but learning to
overcome it had honed his natural talent into a unique and striking style.

The road from Inuyama
to the border was well maintained and broad enough for three to ride abreast.
Its surface was trodden smooth, for Miyoshi Kahei had come this way just a few
weeks previously with the advance guard of the army, about one thousand men,
most of them horsemen, as well as supplies on packhorses and ox carts. The rest
would move up from Inuyama over the next few weeks. The border country was
mountainous. Apart from the pass through which they would travel, the peaks
were inaccessible. To keep so large an army in readiness throughout the summer
would demand huge resources, and many of the foot soldiers came from villages
where the harvest would not be brought in without their labour in the fields.