Brilliance of the Moon (29 page)

“Then maybe there will be fewer in pursuit of us,” I said. “They
won’t expect me to move toward the coast. If we ride day and night,
we
can get there in a couple of days.“ I turned to Sakai. ”There’s no point in a child like Hiroshi disobeying his own clan and throwing his
life away on a lost cause. Take him back to Maruyama. I release him and you
from any obligation to me.“

They both refused adamantly to leave me, and there was no time to
argue. The men were awake and ready. It was still raining heavily, but the wind
had dropped a little, renewing my hope that the worst of the storm was over. It
was too dark to go at more than an ox’s pace. The men in front carried torches
that showed the road, but often the rain dimmed them to smoke. We followed blindly.

There are many tales of the Otori, many ballads and chronicles
about their exploits, but none has captured the imagination more than this
desperate and doomed flight across the country. We were all young, with the
energy and madness of young men. We moved faster than anybody could have
believed, but it was not fast enough. I rode always at the rear, urging my men
forward, not letting anyone fall behind. The first day we fought off two
attacks from our rear, gaining precious time for our main force to go forward.
Then the pursuit seemed to die away. I imagine no one thought we would keep
going, for it was clear by now that we were riding into the whirling heart of
the storm. The storm was covering our flight, but I knew that if it grew any
worse, all hope of escaping by boat was gone. On the second night Shun was so
tired he could hardly lift one foot after the other. As he plodded along I
dozed on his back, sometimes dreaming that the dead rode alongside me. I heard
Amano call to Jiro and heard the boy reply, laughing cheerfully. Then it seemed
to me that Shigeru rode next to me and I was on Raku. We were going to the
castle in Hagi, as we had on the day of my adoption. I saw Shigeru’s enemy, the
one-armed man, Ando, in the crowd and heard the treacherous voices of the Otori
lords. I turned my head to cry out to Shigeru to warn him and saw him as I had
last seen him alive on the riverbank at Inuyama. His eyes were dark with pain,
and blood ran from his mouth. “Do you have Jato?” he said, as he had said then.
I snapped awake. I was so wet, I felt I had become a river spirit that breathed
water instead of air. In front of me my army moved like ghosts. But I could
hear the crash of the surf, and when dawn came it showed us the windswept
coast.

All the offshore islands were obliterated by heavy sheets of
rain, and with every moment the wind grew stronger. It was howling like a
tormented demon when we came to the cliffs where Hajime had lain in wait for
me. Two pines had been uprooted and lay across the road. We had to lift them
out of the way before we could get the horses through. I went to the front then
and led the way to the shrine of Katte Jinja. One of the buildings had lost its
roof, and thatch was blowing around the garden. But Makoto’s horse was tethered
in what remained of the building, back turned to the wind, head bowed,
alongside another stallion that I did not recognize. Makoto himself was inside
the main hall with Ryoma.

I knew it was hopeless before they said anything. In fact, I was
amazed that Makoto had made it here at all. That he had found Ryoma seemed like
a miracle. I embraced them both, enormously grateful for their loyalty. I
discovered later that Ryoma had been told by Fumio to come and wait for me with
the message that they would meet me as soon as the weather cleared.

We had not failed through any lack of foresight, courage, or
endurance. We had been defeated in the end by the weather, by the great forces
of nature, by fate itself.

“Jo-An also is here,” Makoto said. “He took one of the loose
horses and followed me.”

I had hardly thought of Jo-An during our flight to the coast, but
I was not surprised to find him here. It was as if I had expected him to appear
again in the almost supernatural way he turned up in my life. But at that moment
I did not want to talk to him. I was too tired to think of anything beyond
gathering the men inside the shrine buildings, protecting the horses as much as
possible, and salvaging what remained of our soaked provisions. After that,
there was nothing any of us could do but wait for the typhoon to blow itself
out.

It took two days. I woke on the night of the second day and
realized I’d been dragged out of sleep by silence. The wind had dropped, and
though the eaves still dripped, it was no longer raining. All around me men
slept like the dead. I got up and went outside. The stars were as bright as
lamps and the air clean and cold. I went to look at the horses. The guards
greeted me in low voices.

“Weathers cleared up,” one said cheerfully, but I knew it was too
late for us.

I walked on into the old graveyard. Jo-An appeared like a ghost
in the ruined garden. He peered up into my face.

“Are you all right, lord?”

“I have to decide now whether to act like a warrior or not,” I
said.

“You should be thanking God,” he replied. “Now that the lost
battle is done with, the rest are for you to win.”

I had said the same to Makoto, but that was before the wind and
rain had dealt with me. “A true warrior would slit his own belly now,” I said,
thinking aloud.

“Your life is not your own to take. God still has his plan for
you.”

“If I don’t kill myself, I will have to surrender to Arai. He is
on my heels, and there is no way the Terada can reach us before he does.”

The night air was beautiful. I heard the muffled whisper of an
owl’s wings, and a frog croaked from the old pond. The crash of the waves on
the shingle was abating.

“What will you do, Jo-An? Will you return to Maruyama?” I hoped
uneasily that the outcasts would be well treated when I was no longer there to
protect them. With the country in turmoil, they would be more vulnerable than
ever, turned on as scapegoats, denounced by villagers, persecuted by warriors.

He said, “I feel very close to God. I think he will call me to
him soon.

I did not know how to reply to this.

Jo-An said, “You released my brother from his suffering in
Yama-gata. If it comes to it, will you do the same for me?”

“Don’t say such things,” I replied. “You have saved my life; how
can you ask me to take yours?”

“Will you? I am not afraid of dying, but I am afraid of the
pain.”

“Go back to Maruyama,” I urged him. “Take the horse you came on.
Stay away from the highways. I will send for you if I can. But you know, Arai
is likely to take my life. We will probably never meet again.”

He gave his characteristic slight smile.

“Thank you for all you have done for me,” I said.

“Everything that has happened between us is part of God’s plan.
You should thank
him
.”

I went with him to the horse lines and spoke to the guards. They
watched in disbelief as I loosened the stallion’s rope and Jo-An leaped onto
its back.

After he had trotted off into the darkness, I lay down again but
did not sleep. I thought about Kaede and how much I loved her. I thought about
my extraordinary life. I was glad I had lived it the way I had, despite all my
mistakes. I had no regrets except for those who had died before me. Dawn came
as bright and perfect as any I’d ever seen. I washed as best I could and
dressed my hair, and when my ragged army awoke, I ordered them to do the same.
I called for Ryoma, thanked him for his service, and asked if he would wait at
least until he heard of my death and take the news to Fumio at Oshima. Then I
gathered the men together and spoke to them.

“I am going to surrender to Lord Arai. In return, I trust he will
spare your lives and accept your service. I thank you for your loyalty. No one
has been better served than I.”

I told them to wait in the shrine under the command of their
captains and asked Makoto, Sakai, and Hiroshi to come with me. Makoto carried
the Otori banner and Sakai the Maruyama. Both were torn and streaked with mud.
The horses were stiff and slow, but as we rode, the sun came up and warmed them
a little. A string of wild ducks flew overhead, and a stag barked in the
forest. Across the water we could see the clouds above Oshima; apart from them,
the sky was a clear, deep blue.

We passed the fallen pines. The storm had gouged out the road
around them and undermined the cliff where Hajime had stood. Boulders had
tumbled down in a small landslide, and as the horses picked their way around
them I thought of the young wrestler. If his arrow had found its mark, Jiro
would still be alive—and so would many others. I thought of Hajime’s body,
lying unbuned not far from there: He would soon have his revenge.

We had not gone far when I heard ahead the rapid tramping of
horses. I held up my hand and the four of us halted. The horsemen came at a
trot, a group of about a hundred, two bannermen carrying Arai’s crest at their
head. When they saw us in the road they stopped abruptly.

Their leader rode forward. He was wearing full armor and an
elaborate helmet, decorated with a crescent moon.

I was thankful for the warmth of the sun, for I was no longer
cold and could speak firmly. “I am Otori Takeo. This is Sugita Hiroshi, nephew
of Lord Sugita of Maruyama. I ask you to spare his life and return him safely
to his clan. Sakai Masaki is his cousin and will accompany him.“

Hiroshi said nothing. I was proud of him.

The leader inclined his head slightly, which I took to mean
agreement. “I am Akita Tsutomu,” he said. “My orders are to bring Lord Otori to
Lord Arai. He wishes to speak with you.”

“I am prepared to surrender to Lord Arai,” I said, “on condition
that he spare the lives of my men and take them into his service.”

“They may accompany you if they come peacefully.”

“Send some of your men with Kubo Makoto,” I said. “He will tell
them to surrender without a fight. Where is His Lordship?”

“Not far from here. We sat out the typhoon in Shuho.”

Makoto left with most of the warriors, and Sakai, Hiroshi, and I
rode on in silence with Akita.

S
pring had moved into summer; the planting was finished. The plum
rains began; the seedlings grew and turned the fields brilliant green. The rain
kept Shizuka inside, where she watched it cascading from the eaves while she
helped her grandmother plait sandals and rain capes from rice straw and tend
the silkworms in the airy lofts. Sometimes she went to the weaving shed and
spent an hour or two at the looms. There was always work to do, sewing, dyeing,
preserving, cooking, and she found the routine tasks calming. Though she was
relieved to lay aside the roles she had played and glad to be with her family
and her sons, often a strange depression took hold of her. She had never been fearful,
but now she was troubled by anxiety. She slept badly, woken by the slightest
sound; when she slept, she dreamed of the dead.

Kaede’s father often came to her, fixing his sightless eyes on
her. She went to the shrine to make offerings, hoping to placate his spirit, but
nightmares still troubled her. She missed Kaede, missed Ishida, longed for
Kondo to come back with news of them, and dreaded his return at the same time.

The rains ended and the hot humid days of high summer followed.
Melons and cucumbers ripened and were pickled with salt and herbs. Shizuka
often roamed the mountains gathering wild mushrooms, mugwort to make moxa with,
bugle and madder for dyes, and the other, deadlier harvest from which Kenji
prepared poison.

She watched her sons and the other children at their training,
half marveling as the Tribe skills awoke in them. They slipped in and out of
sight, and sometimes she saw the trembling, indistinct shape as they learned to
use the second self.

Her older son, Zenko, was less skilled than his brother. He was
only a year or so away from manhood, and his talents should have been
developing rapidly. But Shizuka could see he was more interested in horses and
the sword: He took after his father. Would Arai want to own him now? Or would
he still seek to protect his legitimate son by removing the illegitimate?

Zenko concerned her more than Taku. It was already obvious that
Taku was going to be highly skilled; he would stay with the Tribe and rise high
in it. Kenji had no sons, andTaku might even be master of the Muto family one
day. His talents were precocious: Invisibility came naturally to him and his
hearing was sharp; with the onset of puberty it might even become like Takeo’s.
He had loose limbs like hers and could fold himself into the smallest of spaces
and stay hidden for hours on end. He liked to play tricks on the maids, hiding
in an empty pickling barrel or a bamboo basket and jumping out to surprise them
like the mischievous tanuki in stories.

She found herself comparing her younger son to Takeo. If her cousin
had had the same upbringing, if the Kikuta had known about him from birth, he
would have been one of the Tribe, like her children, like herself, ruthless,
obedient, unquestioning…

Except
, she thought,
I am
questioning. I don’t even
think I’m obedient anymore. And what happened to my ruthlessness? I will never
kill Takeo or do anything to hurt Kaede. They can’t make me. I was sent to
serve her and I came to love her. I gave her my complete allegiance and I won’t
take it back. I told her at Inuyama that even women could act with honor
.