Dragon Sword and Wind Child (9 page)

Feeling their gaze upon her, Saya started and answered hurriedly, “Uh, yes. Of course. Thank you.”

She was taken to a drab-looking building, which she later learned was where handmaidens of lower rank worked, and there she remained without setting foot outside until dusk. She practiced walking for the entire day. She walked from one corner of the room to the other hundreds of times, and by the end she was so exhausted that she could barely stand. Her instructors, however, paid no attention.

“Tomorrow we'll begin practicing how to carry a tray. Come here promptly after your morning meal,” and with those words they left. Their departure, like that of the women in the morning room, was incredibly swift. No doubt she would soon undergo training in how to leave the room, Saya thought in exasperation.

As the lady-in-waiting did not seem likely to come and get her, she tried to find her own way through the intricate passages of the enormous complex. At one point she almost collided with some servants who were hurrying along with trays, but otherwise she managed to find her way back to the familiar roof of her quarters without incident. An unexpectedly large number of people passed to and fro along the corridors and passageways. The majority of them were servants: serving girls and child servants wearing ankle-length pleated skirts. The handmaidens ministered to the personal needs of the immortals, preparing their meals, sewing their clothes, purifying the royal throne. In return, however, they were not required to lift a finger for themselves. All their needs were taken care of by other servants. Beneath these servants were more servants, and beneath them again more servants, so that Saya wondered how many people the palace supported as their numbers multiplied. She could not begin to guess.

Walking along the passage after finally locating her room, she suddenly became aware of voices coming from behind the reed screen of another room. Several of the handmaidens were gathered there.

“Even some of the servant girls are of better birth than she is.”

“They say that she didn't even bring a manservant with her. She just sneaked into the palace without a proper ceremony.”

“His Highness is occasionally subject to strange whims, you know.”

“Anyone with a grain of sense would have restrained themselves and declined his offer. She has some nerve!”

Saya stopped walking. She could have cleared her throat to let them know that someone was there, but practicing how to walk all day had dampened her sprits. The voice continued.

“Did you hear that she actually ate that evening?”

“What! With Her Highness here? Even though the Prince is always so bad-tempered when the Princess is in the palace?”

“An oddity only attracts while the novelty lasts—like girls of lowly birth.”

“We mustn't let it go to her head. It's ridiculous that she should be considered one of us.”

Deciding that she had heard enough, Saya walked quietly away.
I
never expected them to welcome me with open arms,
she told herself.
And it's fine with me if they complain about my lowly birth. It's far
better than if they knew I was one of the people of Darkness. If they
knew that, they'd stop at nothing.

She recalled the face of the shrine maiden from her village as she had raised the dagger above her head. Would these beautiful, elegant girls become like that? The thought was too depressing, and she shook her head to chase it away. But that night, memories of her home in Hashiba flooded her mind and she could not sleep.

2

DISMAL DAYS
of drizzling rain continued.

Saya practiced constantly, but was puzzled to find that the more she learned, the more distant she felt from the Prince of Light. On the day she had first innocently looked into his face, she had imagined that she could at least partially understand his feelings, whereas now, in Mahoroba, although he was but a stone's throw away, he was fast becoming distant and unattainable. He closeted himself within his hall, so that she rarely saw him, and even when she glimpsed him from afar, he never noticed her.

Saya sat on the edge of the damp porch gazing out through the curtain of rain falling from the eaves. Clouds hung low in the sky, water dripped from the trees, and the surface of the ancient pond surrounded by moss-covered rocks in the inner garden was clouded. Though it rained, she never got wet. Any outside business was taken care of by servants responsible for the outer area. How miserable to be imprisoned by damp floorboards and wooden posts, watching the rain like an indifferent bystander! If she could just get her feet wet, just step in a puddle, she would feel how the earth and the plants rejoiced in this weather.

She could not understand why people living in the palace made such a fuss about getting their hair or feet wet. Without touching the rain, how could they know its diversity, or the delight it could bring? Of course, depending on the type of cloud, rain could be hard, cold, or bitter. But summer rain was usually sweet and gentle. Each time it fell, it bore a different fragrance from the distant heavens.

On this particular day, the senior handmaiden had suddenly canceled the lesson, and Saya had nothing to do. She was so bored that she felt mold would sprout inside her. Watching a snail crawl along the top of the wet railing, her thoughts returned to the question that nagged her.

What am I doing here?

The other handmaidens continued to exclude her and did not forgo even the most trivial excuse to make things unpleasant, but Saya viewed this optimistically as an endurance test. This was not the first time she had experienced such rejection. When she had first arrived in Hashiba, all the neighborhood children had ostracized her. No matter how friendly or how meek and obedient she might be it had no effect on them. In the end, time had solved the problem. As long as she did not complain or exaggerate her suffering, she knew that someday the door would open to her. And she had no intention of brooding over it. No, the cause of her depression was the unattainable Prince Tsukishiro.

Although she tried not to let the rumors that she had followed the Prince out of vanity bother her, she had known that it was partly true. Her aching heart, however, gradually informed her that it was much more than just partly true. The night of the Kagai when they had exchanged look for look seemed like a dream of long ago. She had believed that she alone could touch his heart, and that likewise his was the only gaze that would ever reach hers. She had left her home in response to his kind words, only to find that this belief had been nothing but the conceit of an ignorant girl. It hurt to know that not even she could grasp the moon, which illuminated the world from on high.

How could I have fallen so in love with him?
Saya asked herself.
I
turned away those who had come so far to find me just to follow him
here.
Deep in her heart, she knew the answer: she had fallen for his face. She thought back to the night of the Kagai, remembering his gentle smile, his handsome profile as he gazed into the bonfire.

I followed him because he seemed so lonely. Forgetting everything else,
blindly. But I should have known that it was impossible for me, a lowly
village girl, to ease his pain, when his grief is not that of mortal men.

She pulled out the azure stone, a habit she had fallen into whenever she became depressed. Unable to throw it away, and fearful that someone like the lady-in-waiting might find it, she always carried it with her, and strangely enough, looking at its color and curved shape always comforted her. It was a warm pastel blue, gentle yet at the same time imbued with hidden strength. Gazing at it, she thought,
I wonder why the magatama of the Water Maiden who drifts in darkness is such a bright blue, the color of the sky. It seems odd.

THAT DAY
she could not finish her supper. Considering that she felt a pain in the pit of her stomach whenever she saw the senior handmaiden and her assistant, it seemed strange that she could not eat today when there was no lesson. But the lessons, in which sparks often flew, were still preferable to boredom. Anger at least gave her energy. Leaving her food virtually untouched, an unusual thing for her to do, she rose and, for the first time, realized that this was as much as the other handmaidens ever ate.

Perhaps everyone here is suffering from melancholy,
she thought.

All the handmaidens were as slender as willow branches swaying in the breeze. Saya had always tended to be thin, and although she had filled out somewhat since her childhood, her friends in the village still teased her about her small chest, her narrow waist. Here, however, she seemed to compare favorably with the rest.

Returning to her room, she found the lady-in-waiting already there. Saya braced herself when she saw her kneeling respectfully. The woman had not come for some time, and whenever she did appear, it was usually to complain.

“What is it?”

“I'm here to accompany you. Please follow me,” she said with some reluctance, and rose. Saya was startled. The lady-in-waiting had spoken to her this way only once before. After hurriedly smoothing her hair, Saya traveled along the dark passages, following the light of the oil lamp held by the lady-in-waiting. As she had expected, she was led deep into the palace to the Prince's chamber.

Although a full month had passed, the Prince and his surroundings remained unchanged. It was as if only a day had passed since she had first come. The only difference was that this time the Prince wore white. He looked at her as though he had met her just recently. She felt that she alone had aged.

“Just as I thought, that sash is much better,” the Prince said with satisfaction, leaning on the armrest, his long hair flowing over his white robe. “And you are better dressed, much better than last time.”

“A month has passed, O Prince of Light.” While she felt it was useless to remind him, she could not help herself, although a month must seem no more than the blink of an eye to one who lived forever.

“You have grown even more beautiful in that short time,” said the Prince, making her glad that she had said it after all.

“Come.” He invited her to sit in front of him. A simple meal had been prepared.

“Would you care for some sake?” the Prince asked. Saya, surprised, accepted the jade-colored sake cup he offered and took a tiny sip. The sake had a slightly bitter taste.

Although both the immortals drank sake, they rarely touched their food. The place set for the Prince in the morning and evening rooms was merely a formality, for he never came. The Children of Light had no need of sustenance from the earth. This thought made Saya a little sad. They were different: they had no connection with the land.

“Why do you cast down your eyes?” Prince Tsukishiro asked curiously.

She was surprised that he needed to ask. “I am being instructed in matters of etiquette, Your Highness,” she replied. Unintentionally, a note of reproof had crept into her voice, as if she felt her efforts deserved praise. “I have learned many things.”

“Etiquette can be very tedious at times,” Prince Tsukishiro said.

“Customs are formed, and the descendants of men are trapped therein. The generations pass without a chance to weed out the foolish from the essential—a regrettable situation.”

Reaching out his hand, he touched Saya's chin and raised her face. She felt as if the sky would fall in her shock that the Prince of Light had touched her.

“And you, Water Maiden, aren't you here having transcended those very conventions?”

Unable to speak, Saya could only stare at his fresh, handsome face. To her surprise, her chest constricted and she felt tears well in her eyes. Yet she could not look away, for she had no idea when she would see him again. In a husky voice, she managed with great effort to put her thoughts into words. “All I have is now. I cannot transcend anything. I know nothing of the past. I am simply Saya, Your Highness.”

“That is your strength. You're able to start afresh,” said the Prince almost enviously. “On the night of the Kagai you consented to accept a gift from me, didn't you?”

“Yes,” she replied in a small voice. “And I have come to Mahoroba. But”—her voice grew even fainter so that it was difficult to catch her words—“I now realize my conceit.”

Prince Tsukishiro looked somewhat taken aback. “Did you think that I would break my promise?”

“No, of course not.” Saya shook her head, wiping away the tears that fell. “I don't know how to say it. But . . . I didn't realize what it meant to become your handmaiden.”

“Little Water Maiden,” Prince Tsukishiro said softly, “it seems you really do not understand. That is my fault for not knowing how to hurry.”

He ran his hand through his hair, and then leaned forward, looking at Saya with a merry gleam of mischief in his eyes. “I meant that I wanted to give you a betrothal gift. You can't imagine that I brought you to faraway Mahoroba just to clean and dust.” He took her hand in his and laid his other hand upon it. “I thought you knew that a man and woman who join hands like this on the night of the Kagai exchange more than just a jewel or comb.”

Certainly Saya should have known this. Her mother had spoken of it obliquely, and her friends had whispered about it. The gift was a symbol of permission to exchange love, and it was love that was most important. It was sacred and mystical, and looking into each other's eyes, lovers would know how to express it. But his words took her completely by surprise, and her mind, in its confusion, went totally blank. She was at such a loss that she felt like an owl that had fallen out of its nest in midday.

“I—” Gripped by an instinctive fear, she tried to pull away.

But Prince Tsukishiro would not release her hand, and her fear, whose cause she did not know, increased. Although he appeared slender and elegant, his grip was like iron.