Dragon Sword and Wind Child (33 page)

Lord Shinado did not utter another word.

Granted just seven days, Saya was given a horse and provisions on the condition that Torihiko fly back daily to report. After they left the meeting, Torihiko flew over and perched on her shoulder. “That must have been quite a blow to Lord Shinado,” he said. “It looks to me like he's the love-struck one—although I can sympathize with his unrequited feelings.”

Saya gave a small sigh. “Well, I won't pretend that I don't understand what you're talking about. But it's no use, though I feel badly for him.”

“What do you think about what Lady Iwa said?”

“It never occurred to me before,” she said hesitantly, her eyes downcast. “If Lady Iwa says so, then I suppose it must be true, but it's hard for me to believe. After all, I hardly understand Chihaya myself. I have yet to guess correctly what he'll do next.”

She fell silent, but after they had walked a little farther, she suddenly added, “But at the same time, I think that probably no one else understands him better than I do.”

The crow shrugged his wings. “Either way, it doesn't really matter to me, so long as you're happy.”

“Either way?” Saya asked.

“Whether you're lover or priestess. Either way, it isn't the business of a bird.”

IVY LEAVES REDDER THAN FLAME
and clusters of red berries on the bare branches of the shrubs vied for attention. A biting wind blew in gusts along the ground, and the trees shed their colorful leaves with each blast. The fallen leaves lay thick upon the forest floor, and with each passing day the scraggly branches of the trees were further exposed. Birds left, birds came: migrating throngs at the end of their journey.

Torihiko gazed up at a flock of large white birds crossing the sky high above and said, “Those birds are no help. They won't join our ranks. They feel no attachment, no loyalty to Toyoashihara because they come from across the sea.”

“So somewhere across the sea is another land.”

From her horse Saya gazed across a wide sandbar out into the distance. The sea was very near. She could feel it even in the breeze.

“Let's go over there.”

“To the seashore? Is there some reason?”

“Not really. I just wanted to see the ocean again.”

Grumbling about the dangers of going where there was no cover just to please a foolish whim, he flew into the air, returning almost immediately.

“I've sent out some scouts. We'll stay here until they report.”

They waited for a while in front of a field of swaying reeds until the birds returned. A flock of about twenty greenfinches appeared one after the other, beating their gray-green and yellow wings. As soon as they caught sight of Torihiko perched on Saya's shoulder, the friendly round-eyed birds swooped down in a rush and perched without fear on her arms and fingers, chirping merrily.

“All right, then. Let's go,” Torihiko said in human speech, and the flock rose once more into the air. Saya parted with them somewhat reluctantly. She urged her mount forward and rode until they came to the tideland. Only migrating snipe could be seen in this forlorn and desolate landscape, resting their wings and poking their beaks in the mud. They learned nothing from them, and as Torihiko judged open spaces to be too dangerous, Saya was forced to turn back and follow a path through the black pine forest that grew in a belt along the coast. It climbed up from the shore, bringing her to the top of a sheer cliff where, through the branches, she could glimpse whitecapped waves crashing against the rocks below.

She slept each night under the open sky and was on her own most of the day. Although Torihiko was extremely cautious, he spent most of his time flying in all directions, searching for Chihaya. When night began to fall, Saya would tether her horse to a tree and gather dry branches to make a small fire. Despite having gone to all the trouble of gathering dry leaves to make a bed and curling up in it, she often found that she could not sleep. More than the cold or loneliness, the fear that she was heading in the wrong direction and traveling farther and farther away from Chihaya tormented her at night.

“You know, a lot of things become clearer when you're on your own,” Saya said to Torihiko when he flew down to join her. “It's funny but, although I always thought I was alone, I never really have been, at least, not in the true sense of the word.”

“Are you feeling discouraged?”

Saya shook her head. “No, it doesn't make me feel like that. But for some reason I feel like the girl I was before I came to Hashiba.”

From the first day she awoke in Hashiba, Saya had hated the frightened little girl in her dreams. She had despised her fear, her wretchedness; had rejected her and scorned her helplessness. She had not wanted to recognize her as part of herself. But she had been wrong. For was she not even now wretched, crushed by fear, pitifully pleading and searching for the warmth of love? She was no different from that little girl who wandered lost in the middle of the night. Now, at last, she realized that she must accept and recognize this part of herself. For without accepting it, she could never transcend her fear, could never move forward.

Perhaps the place that she was searching for and never found was
me,
Saya thought.

At night the wind carried the faint sounds of battle, and, peering through the trees, she could see torches flickering like foxfires on the distant shore. Although she knew from the reports gathered by Torihiko that the battle was still limited to local skirmishes, it was obviously bloody. Far removed from the tranquil peace of the passing autumn season, the final battle between Light and Darkness, on which hinged the fate of Toyoashihara, was about to begin.

The next morning an unusual number of gulls wheeled over the coast. Diving through the white-winged flock, an excited Torihiko flew toward her like an arrow. “We've found him!”

At his triumphant cry, blood pulsed hotly through Saya's veins and she was surprised to find herself feeling faint.

“Where is he?”

“On the beach at the foot of the cliff on the cape. The stupid plovers mistook him for a drowned man and never said a word.”

The cliff protruded like a nose, and it was with great difficulty that Saya clambered down the rocks. At the bottom was a shallow cove covered in coarse sand. When she finally saw Chihaya, she could not blame the plovers for their mistake. He lay across the sand like a beached corpse, half-submerged in the waves that washed the shore. From the fact that he was half-buried in sand, and from the small crabs that scuttled heedlessly over his body, it was obvious that he had not stirred for a considerable time. Seaweed had twined itself around his hands and feet, and his salt-stained clothing was charred and torn. She felt her heart beat wildly with every step she took toward him. Perhaps there was a chance in a thousand, one in a million, that even a Prince of Light could die.

But when she came to a halt, hesitating to touch him, Chihaya opened his eyes and looked up at her.

“Are you awake?” The words that fell from her lips sounded ludicrous.

“I'm so tired,” he whispered weakly. “I didn't know that the bottom of the sea was so far away.”

“You went there?” Saya and Torihiko exchanged looks of surprise. “I wished to meet the God of the Sea . . . but I couldn't reach him.”

“Can you stand?”

“Yes.” Chihaya sat up slowly, but he seemed so weary that she had to help him walk.

“How did you find me? In the end I stopped caring and just let the tide carry me.”

“Torihiko found you,” Saya replied. “We've been traveling all over for the last six days. And it took another day to get here once we had found you. It will soon be dark. We've used up all seven of the days given us.”

A little way along the narrow beach was a small hollow in the bottom of the cliff, enough to serve as a shelter from the weather, and Saya helped him over to it.

“I'll carry the news to Lord Akitsu and the others before night falls,” Torihiko said. “If possible, I'll bring some help. It doesn't look as if we'll be able to make it up the cliff with him like this.”

After watching the crow fly away, Saya went in search of dry driftwood. When she returned with the kindling, she found Chihaya leaning against a rock as if asleep once more. But when she began rummaging in her bag for a flint he said abruptly, “You brought the Sword. I thought you loathed carrying it around with you.”

She looked at the Dragon Sword protruding from her bag and smiled. “I used it as a talisman. I felt that if I had it with me, I would find you.”

“Why did you come looking for me?” Chihaya whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Because I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“For thinking that you killed Natsume.”

“But what does it mean, to apologize?”

She looked at him, perplexed, and then realized that he actually did not understand. “It means to say ‘I'm sorry.' But don't you know that?”

“I've never heard the word before,” he said seriously.

“Well! What a predicament!”

For the first time Saya felt that she understood what the novices had been taught in the Palace of Light; why a priestess who lost favor with the gods was held responsible to the degree that she would take her own life. It was because the gods could not forgive. If one erred, one could not make amends. There was no second chance. For the immortal Children of Light, this was accepted as a matter of course. The words of Princess Teruhi came back to her: “ . . . we who may never hope, nay, are not permitted to run away from our mistakes.” To them, reflecting on one's mistakes must surely appear to be an aberration. Saya suddenly felt unsure of herself and, with eyes downcast, began hesitantly to explain.

“To apologize is to tell someone that you realize you've made a mistake, that you wish you'd never done it. And then to beg them, in consideration of this feeling, not to punish you, not to be angry with you; to ask them to forget the past and have no bitter feelings. I know it's a very selfish thing to do. But among our people, when we realize that we've done something wrong, the first thing we do is apologize . . .” Saya's voice grew fainter, finally fading away completely.

Chihaya remained silent. Just when she felt sure that he could not understand, he asked abruptly, “Then, if I apologize, do you think Lord Ibuki will forgive me?”

“He already forgave you, even before you could apologize,” Saya replied gently.

“Can I see him again?”

“No.”

“Then he died?”

Seeing Saya nod slightly, Chihaya said softly, “Then it's the same as not being forgiven.”

“No, it isn't!” she said hastily. “That's not true. Before he died, Lord Ibuki said that he hoped to see you once more. In some other guise, he said. After all, we have the saying ‘until we meet again.' ”

“I don't understand.” Chihaya turned his face away and pressed his forehead against his arms, which were folded upon his knees. “Everyone dies. Natsume died right before my eyes. She sought my help, but I could only watch her die. I'm different. I can't be like my brother or my sister, yet I'm shunned by the people of Darkness. I only cause harm to Toyoashihara. Do you think that gods or people can be brought back to life just by apologizing? It can't be done. Because I cannot go to the Land of the Dead to apologize.”

“If you think that you're all alone, you're wrong,” Saya said. “I'm here.”

“But even you, Saya, you'll die, too. You, too, will leave me.”

“Yes, that's true. Someday.” Then taking a deep breath, she said, “Yes, maybe even tomorrow. And that's why I came to apologize. Even if you can't forgive me—before we're parted, at least I want to do that much.”

“Well, if you must apologize,” Chihaya muttered, “you'd better find someone who's angry and wants to punish you. I don't know who that might be, but it certainly isn't me. Who on earth could think of you like that?”

“Well then,” Saya began, and then suddenly realized that she could say nothing at all. She wanted to laugh or cry but could do neither. Finally she said, “Let's eat. That should make us feel better.”

The driftwood was permeated with salt and, as it burned, the flames turned grass-green. Intrigued, Saya kept feeding the fire until it blazed brightly and the hollow in the rock was warm. She divided all the remaining provisions in half: chestnuts, walnuts, and a bamboo flask of sake. When she offered Chihaya chestnut dumplings that she had roasted over the fire, he said with feeling, “It's a long time since I last ate. I had totally forgotten.”

“But you always ate normally before, didn't you?” she asked in surprise. “Or did you stop eating, like Princess Teruhi and Prince Tsukishiro?”

“They don't eat because they wish to retain their youth. If they eat too much of the things of the earth, they don't feel right. When I was in the shrine, I was rarely allowed to eat.” Then, as though the thought had just occurred to him, he added, “Maybe that's why my sister said that I had changed.”