Brilliance of the Moon (24 page)

Mamoru bowed without replying.

After a short silence Fujiwara said, “Leave us alone,” and when
the young man had gone, he picked up the chest and rose to his feet.

“Come,” he said to Kaede.

She followed him like a sleepwalker. Some unseen servant slid
open the screen at the rear of the room and they stepped into another chamber.
Here beds had been spread out with silk-covered quilts and wooden pillow
blocks. The room was scented with a heavy fragrance. The screens closed and
they were alone together.

“There is no need to be unduly alarmed,” Fujiwara said. “Or
perhaps I have misjudged you and it will be disappointment you feel.”

She felt for the first time the sting of his contempt. He had
read her clearly, had discerned her desire. A wave of heat swept over her.

“Sit down,” he said.

She sank to the ground, keeping her eyes lowered. He also sat,
placing the chest between them.

“We must pass a little time together. It’s only a formality.”

Kaede did not reply, not knowing what to say. “Speak to me,” he
ordered. “Tell me something interesting or amusing.”

It seemed a complete impossibility. Finally she said, “May I ask
Lord Fujiwara a question?” You may.

“What am I to do here? How am I to spend my days?”

“Doing whatever it is that women do. Rieko will instruct you.”

“May I continue my studies?”

“I think educating a girl was something of a mistake. It does not
seem to have improved your character. You may read a little—K’ung Fu-Tzu, I suggest.”

The wind gusted more strongly. Here in the center of the house
they were protected from its full force, but even so, the beams and pillars
shook and the roof creaked.

“May I see my sisters?”

“When Lord Arai has finished his campaign against the Otori, we
may go to Inuyama in a year or so.”

“May I write to them?” Kaede said, feeling fury build within her
that she should have to beg for such favors.

“If you show Ono Rieko your letters.”

The lamp flames flickered in the draft and the wind moaned outside
in an almost human voice. Kaede thought suddenly of the maids she’d slept
alongside at Noguchi Castle. On wild, stormy nights, when the wind kept
everyone awake, they would scare each other more with ghost stories. Now she
felt she could hear the same ghostly voices she’d imagined then in the
many-tongued speech of the wind. The maids’ stories were all of girls like
themselves who’d been killed unjustly or had died for love, who had been
abandoned by their lovers, betrayed by their husbands, murdered by their
overlords. Their angry, jealous ghosts cried out for justice from the world of
the shades. She shivered a little.

“You are cold?”

“No, I was thinking of ghosts. Maybe one touched me. The wind is
strengthening. Is it a typhoon?”

“I believe so,” he replied.

Takeo, where
are you
? she thought.
Are you out somewhere
in this weather? Are you thinking of me at this moment? Is it your ghost that
hangs behind me, making me shiver
?

Fujiwara was watching her. “One of the many things I admire about
you is that you show no fear. Not in the earthquake, not in a typhoon. Most
women are thrown into a panic by these things. Of course, that does seem more
feminine, and your boldness has taken you too far. You must be protected from
it.“

He must never
know how afraid lam of hearing of their deaths
, she
thought.
Takeo most, hut also Ai and Hana. I must never show it
.

Fujiwara leaned forward slightly and, with one pale,
long-fingered hand, indicated she should look at the chest.

“I have brought a wedding gift for you,” he said, opening the lid
and lifting out an object wrapped in silk. “I don’t expect you are familiar
with these curiosities. Some are of great antiquity. I have been collecting
them for years.”

He placed it on the floor in front of her. “You may look at it when
I have left you.”

Kaede eyed the package warily. His tone warned her that he was
enjoying some kind of cruel teasing at her expense. She had no idea what it
might be: a small statue, perhaps, or a flask of perfume.

She raised her eyes to his face and saw the slight smile play on
his lips. She had no weapons and no defenses against him except her beauty and
her courage. She gazed past him, serene and immobile.

He stood and wished her good night. She bowed to the floor as he
left. The wind shook the roof and the rain lashed against it. She could not
hear his footsteps as he walked away: It was as if he disappeared into the
storm.

She was alone, though she knew Rieko and the maids were waiting
in the adjoining rooms. She let her gaze fall on the deep purple silk and after
a few moments picked it up and unwrapped the object inside.

It was an erect male member, carved from some reddish, silky
wood, cherry perhaps, and perfect in every detail. She was both repelled and
fascinated by it, as no doubt Fujiwara had known she would be. He would never
touch her body, he would never sleep with her, but he had read her awakened
desire, and with this perverse gift he was both despising and tormenting her.

Tears sprang into her eyes then. She rewrapped the carving and placed
it back in the box. Then she lay down on the mattress in her marriage chamber
and wept silently for the man she loved and desired.

I feared I would have to report your disappearance to your wife,“
Makoto said as we made our way through the darkness to the shrine. ”I dreaded
it more than any battle I have ever faced.“

“I was afraid you
would have deserted me,” I replied. “I hope you know me better than that.‘ It
would have been my duty to tell Lady Otori, but I was going to leave Jiro here
with horses and food and return as soon as I had spoken to her.” He added in a
low voice, “I would never desert you, Takeo; you must know that.” I felt
ashamed of my doubts and did not share them with him. He called to the men who
were keeping guard and they shouted in reply.

“Are you all awake?” I said, for usually we shared the night
watch and slept in turns.

“None of us felt like sleep,” he replied. “The night is too still
and heavy. The recent storm, the one that delayed you, came up out of nowhere.
And for the last couple of days we’ve had the feeling there is someone spying
on us. Yesterday, Jiro went to look for wild yams in the forest and saw someone
lurking in the trees. I thought the bandits the fisherman mentioned might have
got word of our presence and were checking out our strength.“

We’d been making more noise than a team of oxen as we stumbled
along the overgrown path. If anyone was spying on us, they would have no doubt
of my return.

“They’re probably afraid we’re competition,” I said. “As soon as
we get back with more men we’ll get rid of them, but the six of us can’t take
them on now. We’ll leave at first light and hope they don’t ambush us on the
road.”

It was impossible to tell what hour it was or how long it would
be till dawn. The old shrine buildings were full of strange noises, creaks from
the timber, rustling in the thatch. Owls called all night from the woods, and
once I heard a pad of feet: a wild dog, perhaps, or maybe even a wolf. I tried
to sleep, but my mind was full of all those who wanted to kill me. It was quite
possible that we had been traced here, and the delay made it even more likely.
The fisherman—Ryoma, even—might have let slip something about my trip to
Oshima, and I knew only too well that the Tribe’s spies were everywhere. Quite
apart from the edict they had issued against me, many of them would now feel
bound by blood feuds to avenge their relatives.

Though by day I might believe in the truth of the prophecy, as
always in the early hours of the morning I found it less comforting. I was
inching toward achieving my goal; I could not bear the thought of dying before
I’d succeeded. But with so many arrayed against me, was I as much of a lunatic
as Jo-An to believe I could overcome them?

I must have dozed off, for when I next opened my eyes the sky was
light gray and birds were starting to sing. Jiro was still asleep next to me,
breathing deeply and evenly like a child. I touched his shoulder to wake him
and he opened his eyes, smiling. Then as he returned from the other world I saw
disappointment and grief spring into his face.

“Were you dreaming?” I said.

“Yes. I saw my brother. I was so glad he was alive after all. He
called to me to follow him and then walked away into the forest behind our
house.” He made a visible effort to master his emotions and got to his feet.
“We’re leaving right away, aren’t we? I’ll go and get the horses ready.”

I thought of the dream I had had about my mother and wondered
what the dead were trying to tell us. In the dawn light the shrine looked more
ghostly than ever. It was a bitter, hostile place and I could not wait to leave
it.

The horses were fresh after the days of rest, and we rode fast.
It was still hot and oppressive, with gray clouds and no wind. I looked back at
the beach as we went up the cliff path, wondering about the fisherman and his
remaining child, but there was no sign of life from the hovels. We were all
jumpy. My ears were alert to every sound, straining to hear above the pounding
of the horses’ feet and the creak and jingle of the harness as well as the dull
roaring of the sea.

At the top of the cliff I halted for a moment and gazed out
toward Oshima. It was hidden in the mist, but a heavy crown of clouds showed
where it lay.

Jiro had stopped alongside me, the others riding on into the forest
ahead. There was a moment of silence, and in that moment I heard the
unmistakable sound, somewhere between a creak and a sigh, of a bowstring being
drawn.

I shouted out a warning to Jiro and tried to reach him to push
him down, but Shun leaped sideways, almost unseating me, and I found myself
clinging to his neck. Jiro turned his head and looked toward the forest. The
arrow passed whistling above me and struck him in the eye.

He let out a cry of shock and pain; his hands went to his face
and then he fell forward onto his horse’s neck. The horse neighed in alarm,
bucked a little, and tried to take off after its companions in front, its rider
swinging helplessly from side to side.

Shun stretched out his neck and went snaking across the ground
toward the shelter of the trees. Ahead, Makoto and the guards had turned. One
of the men rode forward and managed to grab the panicked horse by the bridle.

Makoto lifted Jiro from the saddle, but by the time I reached
them the boy had died. The arrow had penetrated right through his head,
shattering the back of the skull. I dismounted, cut off the bolt, and drew out
the shaft. The arrow was massive and fletched with eagle feathers. The bow that
had sent it must have been huge, the sort that solitary bowmen use.

I was filled with almost unbearable anguish. The shot had been
meant for me. If I had not heard it and evaded it, Jiro would not be dead. Mad
rage erupted in me. I would kill his murderer or die myself. Makoto said in a
whisper, “It must be an ambush. Let’s take shelter and see how many there are.”

“No, this was meant for me,” I replied, as quietly. “This is the
work of the Tribe. Stay here; take cover. I’m going after him. There will be
only one—two at the most.” I did not want the men with me. Only I could move
silently and invisibly; only I had the skills to get close to this assassin.
“Come when I call you; I want to take him alive.” Makoto said, “If there’s only
one, rather than take cover we’ll ride on. Give me your helmet; I’ll ride Shun.
We may be able to confuse him. He’ll follow us and you can come on him from
behind.”

I did not know how far this deception would work or how close the
bowman was. He would have seen the arrow miss me. He would guess I’d be after
him. But if my men rode ahead, at least they would not be hindering me. The
bowman might be anywhere in the forest by now, but I reckoned I could move
faster and more silently than he could. As the horses trotted off with their
sad burden, I went invisible and ran up the slope, threading my way between the
trees. I did not think the bowman would have stayed in the place from which he
had sent the fatal arrow; I figured he would have moved in a southwest
direction to cut us off where the road turned back to the south. But even if he
was still watching us, unless he had supreme Tribe skills, he would not know
where I was now.

Before long I heard the sounds of a man breathing and the slight
pressure of a foot on the soft earth. I stopped and held my own breath. He
passed within ten paces of me without seeing me.

It was Kikuta Hajime, the young wrestler from Matsue, with whom I
had trained. I had last seen him at the wrestlers’ stable when I had left for
Hagi with Akio. I had imagined then that he had thought he would never see me
again. But Akio had not been able to kill me as he had planned, and now Hajime
had been sent against me. The huge bow was slung over his shoulder; he moved,
like most heavy men, balanced on the outside of his feet and, despite his
weight, swiftly and silently. Only my ears could have discerned him.