Brilliance of the Moon (12 page)

It was not the first time that she had felt sickened by the
constant pretense, the ruthlessness, the brutality. She thought of Shigeru and
his desire for peace and justice, and of Ishida, who sought to heal, not to kill,
and felt her heart twist with more pain than she
would
have thought possible.
I am old
, she
thought.
Next year I will
turn thirty.

Her eyes went hot and she realized she was about to weep. The
tears trickled down her face, and Kondo, mistaking them, held her more closely.
Her tears lay wet between her cheek and his chest, forming a pool on the
vermilion and sepia pictures that were tattooed on his body.

After a while she stood up and went to the waterfall. Dipping a
cloth into the icy water, she washed her face, then cupped her hands to drink.
The forest around her was silent apart from the croaking of spring frogs and
the first tentative cicadas. The air was already cooling. They must hasten if
they were to reach the village before nightfall.

Kondo had already picked up their bundles and slung them onto the
pole. Now he lifted it to his shoulder.

“You know,” he said as they walked on, raising his voice so she
could hear him, for she, knowing the path, was in front, “I don’t believe you
would hurtTakeo. I don’t think it would be possible for you to kill him.“

“Why not?” she said, turning her head. “I’ve killed men before!”

“I know your
reputation, Shizuka! But when you speak of Takeo, your face softens as if you
pity him. And I don’t believe you would ever bring grief to Lady Shirakawa
because of the strength of your
affection for her.“

“You see everything! You know everything about me! Are you sure
you’re not a fox spirit?” She wondered if he had discerned her affair with
Ishida and prayed he would not speak of it. “I have Tribe blood in my veins
too,” he returned. “If I am far from Takeo, I will not be torn two ways,” she
said. “The same goes for you.” She walked on for a while in silence and then
spoke abruptly. “I suppose I do pity him.”

“Yet, people say you are ruthless.” His voice had recovered its
hint of mockery.

“I can still be moved by suffering. Not the sort people bring on
themselves through their own stupidity, but the suffering that is inflicted by
fate.”

The slope steepened and she felt her breath catch. She did not
speak until it lessened again, but she was thinking of the threads that bound
her life with Takeo and Kaede, and with the destiny of the Otori.

There was room on the path now for two, and Kondo came up
alongside her.

“Takeo’s upbringing among the Hidden, his adoption into the
warrior class by Shigeru, and the demands of the Tribe seem irreconcilable
elements in his life,” Shizuka said finally. “They will tear him apart. And now
this marriage will arouse more hostility against him.”

“I don’t suppose
he’ll live for long. Sooner or later someone will catch up with him.”

“You never know,” she replied, pretending a lightness she did not
feel. “Perhaps it would not be possible for me, or anyone else, to kill
him—because we would never get near him.”

“Two attempts were made on his way to Terayama,” Kondo said.
“They both failed and three men died.”

“You did not tell
me that!”

“I suppose I didn’t want to alarm Lady Shirakawa and make her ill
again. But with every death the rage against him grows stronger. It’s not a way
I would like to live.”

No
, Shizuka thought,
nor would any of us. We would like
to live without intrigue and suspicion. We would like to sleep deeply at night,
not listening for every unfamiliar sound, fearing the knife through the floor,
the poison in the meal, the unseen archer in the forest. At least for a few
weeks I can feel safe in the secret village
.

The sun was beginning to set, sending brilliant rays between the cedars
and turning their trunks black. The light spilled extravagantly across the
forest floor. For the last few minutes Shizuka had been aware that someone was
following them.

It must he the
children
, she thought, and remembered with a flash of
clarity how she had honed her own skills as a child in this very area. She knew
every rock, every tree, every contour of the land. “Zenko! Taku!” she called.
“Is that you?”

One stifled giggle was the only reply. She thought she heard
footsteps; loose rocks fell somewhere in the distance. The children were taking
the quick way home, running up the ridge and down again while she and Kondo
followed the winding path. She smiled and tried to shake off her dark mood. She
had her sons; she would do whatever seemed best for them. And she would follow
her grandparents’ advice. Whatever they told her to do, she would do. There was
a certain comfort in obedience, and, as Kondo said, it meant everything to the
Tribe. Again, she tried not to think of her own deep disobedience in the past
and hoped it would remain buried with the dead.

They left the main path and, clambering over a pile of boulders,
followed a smaller one that wound through a craggy ravine. At the far end it
made one more twist and began to descend into the valley. Shizuka stopped for a
moment; the view never failed to enchant her, the hidden valley in the middle
of the rugged mountain country was so surprising. Through the slight haze made
up of mist rising from the stream and smoke from hearth fires they could look
down on the small collection of buildings, but by the time they had followed
the path through the fields the houses stood above them, protected by a strong
wooden wall.

The gate, however, was open, and the men guarding it greeted
Shizuka cheerfully.

“Hey! Welcome home!”

“Is this how you greet visitors now? Very casual; suppose I was a
spy?”

“Your sons already told us you were coming,” one of the guards
replied. “They saw you on the mountain.”

A sweet relief ran through her. She had not realized until this
moment the depth of her constant anxiety for them. But they were alive and
healthy.

“This is Kondo—” She broke off, realizing she did not know his given
name.

“Kondo Kiichi,” he said. “My father was Kuroda Tetsuo.”

The guards’ eyes narrowed as they registered the name, placed him
in the Tribe hierarchy, and summed him up by appearance as well as by history.
They were cousins or nephews of hers: She had grown up with them, spending
months on end with her grandparents, sent there for training while she was
still a child. When they were boys she had competed with them, studied and
outwitted them. Then her life had led her back to Kumamoto and to Arai.

“Be careful of Shizuka!” one of them now warned Kondo. “I’d
sooner sleep with a viper.”

“You’ve got more chance,” she retorted.

Kondo said nothing but glanced at her, one eyebrow raised, as
they walked on.

From outside, the village buildings looked like ordinary
farmhouses, with steep-pitched thatch roofs and faded cedar beams. Farming
tools, firewood, sacks of rice, and reed stalks were all stacked away neatly in
the sheds at the ends of the buildings. The outer windows were barred with
wooden slats and the steps were made from rough-hewn mountain stone. But,
within, the houses held many secrets: hidden passageways and entrances, tunnels
and cellars, false cupboards and floors, which could conceal the whole
community if necessary. Few knew of the existence of this secret village, and
even fewer found their way here; yet the Muto family were always ready for
attack. And here they trained their children in the ancient traditions of the
Tribe.

Shizuka felt an involuntary thrill at the memory of it. Her
heartbeat quickened. Nothing since then, not even the fight at Inuyama Castle, came anywhere near the intense excitement of those childhood games.

The main house lay in the center of the village, and at its
entrance her family were already waiting to greet her: her grandfather with her
two sons and, to her surprise and pleasure, next to the old man, her uncle,
Muto Kenji.

“Grandfather, Uncle,” she greeted them demurely, and was about to
introduce Kondo when the younger boy ran to her excitedly and threw his arms
round her waist.

“Taku!” his older brother rebuked him, and then said, “Welcome,
Mother. It’s been such a long time since we saw you.”

“Come here and let me look at you,” she said, delighted by their
appearance. They had both grown and had lost their childhood chub-biness. Zenko
had turned twelve at the beginning of the year, and Taku ten. Even the younger
boy had strength and hardness in his muscles, and they both had direct,
fearless eyes.

“He is growing like his father,” Kenji said, clapping Zenko on
the shoulder.

It was true, Shizuka thought, gazing on her older son. He was the
image of Arai.Taku, she thought, had more of a Muto look, and he, unlike his
brother, bore the straight line of his Kikuta relatives across his palms. The
sharp hearing and other skills might already be manifesting themselves. But she
would find out more about that sort of thing later.

Kondo, meanwhile, had knelt before the two Muto masters, telling
them his name and parentage.

“He is the one who saved my life,” Shizuka said. “You may have
heard: There was an attempt to murder me.”

“You are not the only one,” Kenji said, catching her eye as if to
silence her, and indeed, she did not want to say too much in front of the boys.
“We’ll talk about it later. I’m glad to see you.”

A maid came with water to wash the dust from the travelers’ feet.

Shizuka’s grandfather said to Kondo, “You are very welcome, and
we are deeply grateful to you. We met a long time ago; you were only a child,
you probably don’t remember. Please, come and eat.”

As Kondo followed the old man inside, Kenji murmured to Shizuka,
“But what has happened? Why are you here? Is Lady Shirakawa all right?”

“Nothing has changed your fondness for her, I see,” Shizuka
replied. “She has joined Takeo in Terayama. I expect they will marry soon—
against all my advice, I might add. It is a disaster for them both.”

Kenji sighed quietly. She thought she saw a slight smile on his
face. “A disaster, probably,” he said, “but one ordained by fate.”

They stepped inside the house. Taku had run ahead to tell his
great-grandmother to bring wine and cups, but Zenko walked quietly next to
Kondo.

“Thank you for saving my mother’s life, sir,” he said formally. “I
am in your debt.”

“I hope we will get to know each other and be friends,” Kondo
replied. “Do you like hunting? Maybe you can take me out on the mountain. I’ve
eaten no meat for months.”

The boy smiled and nodded. “Sometimes we use traps and, later in
the year, falcons. I hope you will still be here then.”

He is a man
already
, Shizuka thought.
If only I could
protect him… if only they both could stay children forever
.

Her grandmother came with the wine. Shizuka took it from her and
served the men. Then she went with the old woman to the kitchen, breathing in
deeply, savoring all the familiar smells. The maids, cousins of hers, welcomed
her with delight. She wanted to help with the food as she always had, but they
would not let her.

“Tomorrow, tomorrow,” her grandmother said. “Tonight you can be
the honored guest.”

Shizuka sat on the edge of the wooden step that led from the
earthen-floored kitchen to the main part of the house. She could hear the
murmur of the men talking, the higher voices of the boys, Zenko’s already
breaking.

“Let’s drink a cup together,” her grandmother said, chuckling.
“We didn’t expect you, but you’re all the more welcome for that. What a jewel,
isn’t she?” she appealed to the maids, who readily agreed.

“Shizuka is prettier than ever,” Kana said. “More like the boys’
sister than their mother.”

“And she’s got a good-looking man in tow as usual.” Miyabi
laughed. “Did he really save your life? It’s like something out of a story.”

Shizuka smiled and drank the wine in a gulp, happy for the moment
to be home, listening to the sibilant dialect of her relatives as they pressed
her for gossip and news.

“They say Lady Shirakawa is the most beautiful woman in the Three
Countries,” Kana said. “Is it true?”

Shizuka downed another cup, feeling the warmth of the wine hit
her stomach and send its cheerful message through her body.

“You’ve no idea how beautiful,” she replied. “You say I’m pretty.
Well, men look at me and want to sleep with me, but they look at Shirakawa
Kaede and despair. They can’t bear the fact that such beauty exists and they
will never possess it. I tell you, I was far prouder of her looks than of my
own.“

“They say she bewitches people,” Miyabi said, “and whoever
desires her dies.”

“She’s bewitched your uncle,” the old woman cackled. “You should
hear him talk about her.”

“Why did you leave her?” Kana asked, deftly dropping vegetables
sliced as thin as paper into the steamer.