Dragon Sword and Wind Child (5 page)

The Prince was armed for battle, wearing chain mail, helmet, and gauntlets, with a quiver slung across his back and a long sword resting at his hip. The clothes beneath his armor were white, his shirtsleeves bound by cords ornamented with small beads. His face under the shining helmet was fine-featured, with an aquiline nose and exquisitely gentle eyes. He exuded an air of refinement and grace, while at the same time radiating an awe-inspiring strength, an overwhelming power such that, just by standing there, he caused the night to change its shape and the forest its fragrance.

Saya was so lost in admiration that she completely forgot he could see her face clearly, too. By the time she came to her senses and covered her face with her sleeve, Prince Tsukishiro had already had plenty of time to inspect her.

“Why do you hide your face?” he chided gently.

“I was crying.” She was so embarrassed. She blushed behind her sleeve to think how awful she must look.

“I know. You cried a long time.” His voice held the hint of a smile. It had a beautiful timbre.

“Lift up your face.” Although his tone was gentle, his words commanded. Saya obeyed him automatically, before she had even had time to think.

As she gazed up at him, he said, “Are you not the Water Maiden?”

Saya recoiled as if she had been slapped in the face. Her eyes grew to twice their size. “How . . . how do you know that name?”

His eyes were hidden now in the shadow of his visor. But his voice remained gentle. “I know a maid with a face like yours. No, I knew her . . . a long time ago. It was just a short while, but she lived in my palace at Mahoroba.”

Who am I?
thought Saya in despair.
Am I just the shade of Princess
Sayura?
She clasped her hands together tightly to keep them from trembling and replied in a small voice. “Some demons came to me tonight and called me by that name. They told me that I belong to the people who serve the Goddess of Darkness. But until today such a thing had never occurred to me. I was raised in Hashiba and have always worshipped at the shrine of the mirror. In spring before the planting, I prayed to the moon, and in fall before the harvest, I prayed to the sun. I don't know what to do. I long to be blessed by the light, even now. But can this still be possible for me? I have always—”

Despite her efforts, her voice broke. She was amazed that she still had tears left to weep.
Go on, Saya,
she told herself fiercely.
Say it now, or never.
Summoning all her courage, she continued, “I have always loved you, Lord . . .”

For a moment, Prince Tsukishiro gazed down at her silently. The armed soldiers of his party slowly appeared and formed a guard behind him. Saya felt her courage seep away as she watched.

But then the Prince undid his chinstrap and removed his silver helmet. He shook his head with pleasure, and the beads woven into the long, looped braids on either side of his head made a pure, clear sound.
He's so young!
He looked so much younger than she had imagined.

“WHAT'S YOUR NAME?”

“Saya,” she replied, her eyes fixed upon his face, begrudging every blink.

“We came here following the thick spoor of darkness. Although we did not find our enemy, we gained instead something infinitely precious,” he said gaily. Then he asked, “Tonight they should be celebrating the Kagai in Hashiba. Is it near here?”

Saya nodded distractedly, still overwhelmed.

“Take me there. It has been so long since I have seen the Kagai. For months on end I have traveled over mountains and rivers, only for the sake of war. No, we won't go on foot.” The Prince turned and called out, “Bring me my steed.”

The people of Hashiba, including Chief Azusahiko, were dumbstruck. Legend had come to life. A god had descended to earth to visit the Kagai. The only horses in the village were sleepy plow horses. No one but the head chieftain owned a saddle horse, and even his mount looked like a different species from the majestic gray stallion with star-dappled flanks that seemed to float suddenly into the circle of firelight. And the one who rode him, one whom even the shrine maiden had only glimpsed distantly in the shrine mirror, far exceeded the people's imagination.

The milling crowd, held back by the stern-faced warriors who guarded the Prince, gazed in open-mouthed astonishment. But what astounded them most was the sight of the slender girl, a maiden from their very own land, perched sidesaddle on the gray stallion in front of the Prince.

Prince Tsukishiro's retinue advanced slowly, parting the wall of people, and came to a halt before the platform where the head chieftain sat. By this time the chieftain had scrambled from his seat and prostrated himself on the ground, his face almost scraping the dirt. The shrine maiden, keeper of the mirror, had done likewise. Seeing this, the villagers came to their senses and followed suit, hurriedly throwing themselves upon the ground.

Prince Tsukishiro looked over the backs of the crowd of silent worshippers who filled the glade. The crackling and popping of the bonfire echoed strangely and sparks danced in the night sky. “On with the festival!” he said. “You need not fear. I have come to watch the Kagai. Dance and sing, drink and be merry. Find yourselves good wives. I will celebrate your vows. Strike up the music.”

Thus commanded, Chief Azusahiko raised his face a fraction and spoke in a trembling, muffled voice. “It is an unexpected honor that the Prince of Light should deign to attend our humble festival. We desire to obey, but unfortunately the musicians have disappeared . . .”

“No musicians?” Prince Tsukishiro said in a puzzled tone and looked at Saya questioningly. Unable to reply, she shrank in embarrassment. In fact, she was longing to get down from his horse, where it stood amid her people who knelt with their foreheads pressed to the ground.

“How can you celebrate without music? Never mind. I will play for you,” the Prince said casually. He slipped easily to the ground, lifting Saya down after him; then, drawing out a flute, he leaped lightly onto the musicians' platform. Crossing his legs and brushing the hair back from his face, he took a deep breath and began to play a clear, ringing melody.

No one could believe it: the festival would continue to music played by the Prince of Light himself. It was inconceivable that they should celebrate the Kagai in the presence of the hallowed Prince whom they worshipped. But before they knew it, they were dancing, and the festival continued even more merrily than before. The sound of the flute melted their hearts like magic and filled their hands and feet with joy. They wept and laughed and clapped in time, drunk with excitement.

Saya, watching from where she stood behind the platform, suddenly noticed that no one could look Prince Tsukishiro in the face. They glanced up at him only to turn their heads away immediately as if his countenance were too bright to behold. But their smiling faces glowed as if a torch had been lit in their hearts. Passionate vows were exchanged in the clearing.

Am I the only one who can see him?
wondered Saya. It was a strange thought, but her feet were itching to move. She, too, wanted to dance with abandon around the fire. Just as she was about to stand up, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned in surprise to find Chief Azusahiko. He looked at her intently and said, “You're Otohiko's daughter, aren't you? How on earth did you manage to bring the Prince of Light to our festival? But never mind that. Don't leave his side tonight. You must stay and serve him. Offer him sake and fish. You understand?”

And so it was that Saya bore the tray of offerings to the Prince when he rested from his music-making. He sat back, relaxing with one knee raised as he watched the festival, and his handsome features softened into a smile when he saw Saya standing shyly before him.

“Come,” he said. Saya knelt before him and offered him a sake cup. As she poured, Prince Tsukishiro asked, “Did you receive a gift tonight?”

For a moment she thought of the magatama, but immediately dismissed it. He was asking about the Kagai and it certainly was not a betrothal gift. “No.”

“In that case, will you accept mine?”

Saya raised her head in surprise. The Prince's gaze was deep and unfathomable. But she supposed that when they were feeling relaxed, the Children of Light must jest, too.

“As the Prince of Light wishes,” she replied noncommittally, and he smiled faintly.

“Your heart is pure. It has not yet been tainted by the Darkness. How fortunate that I found you so soon. I would protect that purity. Come and be a handmaiden at my palace. Won't you come with me to Mahoroba, Saya?”

The handmaidens served the immortal Children of Light in their palace in the capital of Mahoroba. This was the highest honor a shrine maiden could attain and was reserved for the daughters of select families in the most powerful clans. Saya was taken aback. “But that's impossible. I have no training. And my family—”

“There is no need to concern yourself with your origins,” the Prince said lightly. “It is a peculiarity of the people of Toyoashihara to be so concerned about lineage. It doesn't concern our celestial father, ruler of the heavens. And I have heard that the Goddess of Darkness doesn't choose people by their lineage when it comes to rebirth. Isn't that so?”

Saya could only stammer, nonplussed.

A smile touched the corners of his mouth, but there was little joy in it. “The people of Darkness are reborn. The Children of Light are ageless immortals. In neither case is the God or Goddess concerned with kinship or lineage.”

He drained his cup, revealing his shapely white throat. Saya, sensing some derision in his words, wondered whom he was mocking.

Setting down his cup, the Prince commanded, “Look at me.”

She obeyed, but could not read his expression, for his noble features surpassed the splendor of the moon in the sky above.

“That is what qualifies you as my handmaiden. Don't you understand?” the Prince said softly. “The people of Toyoashihara never look me in the face. They can't. It would be unthinkable.”

He turned his face toward the people of Hashiba, who were enjoying the festival. Couples, friends, everyone was laughing merrily.

“I know.” And this time, she did understand. She also sensed, though vaguely, that some sorrow enveloped him.

“Come to Mahoroba, Saya. Whatever happens, I want you by my side,” he said more forcefully perhaps than he had intended.

Before she answered, scenes from her nine years in Hashiba flashed through her mind: the peach tree behind her house, her playmates, rice flowers, frogs on the embankment, frosty mornings, midsummer afternoons, her mother and father pounding straw, light through the window. Sorrow and joy were so intermingled that she felt emotionless. She heard her own voice as if from a great distance.

“As the Prince of Light wishes.”

For a brief moment the Prince's face was brightened by a joyful look that suited his youth. “How fortunate that I found you. How fortunate that it was I and not my sister,” he said with a curious intensity.

As soon as she had agreed to go with him, Saya felt a weight lift from her heart, and she was filled with relief. It was as if, after wandering for so long, she had at last found something to hold on to.

I will follow him
, she thought.
I am lost no longer
.

4

THAT NIGHT
would surely be talked about for generations to come. The tale of the Kagai at Hashiba spread far and wide. The extraordinary rumor that Prince Tsukishiro had left the battlefield just to grace the festival and had chosen a mere village girl to become his handmaiden, an unprecedented appointment, was spoken of with hushed astonishment. Hashiba became famous overnight, and Chief Azusahiko, who suddenly found himself a successful and prominent figure, could not stop smiling. The Prince had provided priceless fabrics and gold to outfit Saya as a court handmaiden, so that Hashiba had prospered in fact as well as name. Saya was amazed at the turn of events that found her cosseted and protected by the head chieftain, but otherwise felt numb and empty.

She stared in disbelief at the fine silks and wondrously dyed woven cloth, which had arrived in numerous wicker boxes and now filled the tiny house with a rainbow of color that seemed totally out of place. “Are these all to be made into clothes for me?” she asked.

“Yes! And we're going to have to ask the village women for help. I can't possibly sew them all before you leave!” her mother said, half laughing, half crying, as she caressed the shimmering fabrics with her gnarled fingers. “I never thought to cut such valuable cloth in all my life.”

“Let's leave some of it here, then,” said Saya. “Surely it's not necessary to make it all into clothes at once.”

Yatame shook her head. “No, it's not as simple as that. I won't have you made miserable among the great princesses.”

“Mother!” Saya laughed dryly. “I can't possibly hope to rival any princess! I'm just a village maid, nothing more or less, and that will have to do.”

“No. You're different,” Yatame insisted. She paused for a moment before continuing. “Somehow I always knew that you wouldn't exchange ordinary vows with an ordinary man at the Kagai and come back to me. Of course, maybe I did hope a little that my dream would be fulfilled, that your children would be born in this house, that we would make a happy, noisy family. But the sky didn't fall when they told me the news.”

Saya looked at her mother. She was old, her face creased with wrinkles and her back bent by hard work in the fields. For Yatame, who had lost her son in an accident and had adopted Saya in her old age, the birth of her grandchildren was the only thing she had to look forward to.

“I'll come home soon,” Saya said quickly. “Maybe they'll send me back.”

At this Yatame snorted, bristling with pride. “What a foolish thing to say! If you come back, what will the rest of the village think? I won't even let you in the door. Now let's get to work on these clothes. Just because you're going to become a handmaiden doesn't mean I'll let you be lazy.”