Lord of the Darkwood (11 page)

“I had heard about the problems. Last week I went to see for myself. I wanted to prepare for the anniversary of my brother's death, pay my respects and mourn him. Women, as you know, are not usually permitted to enter into spiritual mysteries, yet my brother recognized that in me dwelled an ancient soul that had acquired great wisdom. He often sought my advice and he promised me that if he died before me he would attempt to reach me from the other world. When I knelt before the half-completed altar I felt him call to me. He wants me to move into Ryusonji. I will be able to ensure that the repairs progress smoothly and the various disruptive spirits are appeased. My son will come with me. It is fitting that the Emperor should be in the spiritual heart of his capital.”

“I am not at all sure that it is fitting,” Aritomo said, wanting to speak with his customary frankness yet fearing to offend her. “How shall I put it? The events that took place there, the deaths, the dark forces unleashed…”

“I can handle any darkness at Ryusonji. The shadows are a source of power just as much as the light. When the new palace is finished maybe my son can live there. But it is imperative that I move quickly, for someone else is about to take possession of the temple.”

“What do you mean?” Ever since he had been told of the details of the confrontation between the Prince Abbot and Shikanoko, he had had nightmares in which a masked half-human figure confronted him in judgment. Now the Empress's words summoned up that image. He feared it was what he would find at Ryusonji. Yet Shikanoko was surely far away, in the Darkwood.

“An old man is there, camped out in one of the cloisters. He plays the lute and sings. I was told he was harmless, wandering in his mind, but his presence seemed offensive so I ordered him to be removed. However, no matter how many times he was thrown out, he always returned. Finally the guards lost patience with him and beat him to death, they thought, but the next day they heard the lute and his voice—he was back in the cloister. Now no one dares approach him. I believe I know what he is doing there. He has obtained the Book of the Future and means to erase my son's name and inscribe that of Yoshimori.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. The trickling of the stream seemed suddenly louder and birds called from the garden.

“Who is he?” Aritomo whispered.

“The monks who survived told me he is Sesshin, once many years ago a fellow student of my brother. He became a great master who gave his power away to the evil man they call Shikanoko.”

“Gave his power away?” His skin was crawling. He had heard of Sesshin before, some connection with Matsutani and Masachika. And then he remembered, and the terrible day Takaakira died came back to him.

“So he could pass as a foolish old man,” Lady Natsue explained. “But little by little he is gathering knowledge again. He has all the time in the world since he has made himself immortal.”

He stared at her in disbelief, wondering if he had misheard.

She repeated the word, “Immortal.”

“What is his secret?” Aritomo said hoarsely.

“That interests you, Lord Aritomo?” Her gaze pierced him. “Would you steal it from him? Would you wish never to die?”

“I want more time,” he replied. “I don't want to die before I have achieved all I strive for.”

“None of us can know the hour of our death,” she said, her eyes not leaving his face. “The water from the well at Ryusonji is reputed to prolong life. My brother and I have both drunk from it. I am much older than you think, but I am still as mortal as my brother proved to be.”

The wind had risen and leaves rustled from outside, a branch scraping against the roof. A crow called harshly as if it were sitting directly above them. He felt parched, almost feverish. Surely it was hotter than it should be?

“Lord Aritomo,” she said. “Are you unwell?”

“No!” he replied, his voice suddenly loud. He was never sick; he denied illness access to his body. Even battle blows glanced off him, hardly leaving a wound. But the idea of an immortal at Ryusonji, slowly rewriting the Book of the Future, had struck deeply inside him. He struggled to regain calm.

“I will inspect Ryusonji myself,” he said. “If I consider it suitable you and His Imperial Majesty may move there.”

“Let us not waste any more time.” Lady Natsue inclined her head graciously.

*   *   *

When Aritomo returned to his own palace, the one abandoned by Lord Keita when the Kakizuki fled from the capital, he sent for Masachika, who, he knew, had just come back from Minatogura. It was not long before the Matsutani lord was kneeling in front of him, apparently in perfect submission. Aritomo studied him for a few moments. Masachika was undeniably a handsome man, and he had gained great popularity and respect since the discovery and capture of the Autumn Princess, but Aritomo thought he could read his deeper character clearly, seeing how opportunistic and self-serving all his actions and words were. He did not trust his loyalty, yet, though he did not like admitting it, Masachika had made himself indispensable.

First he told Masachika of the Empress's request and asked him to inspect the temple and make all necessary preparations.

“I will come with you. I have not visited Ryusonji myself since the Prince Abbot died. But what news do you bring from the east? I hope you have sorted out your personal life.”

Masachika smiled, a little embarrassed. “I finally convinced Keisaku and his daughter that I was never going to marry her. I could have taken her as a second wife, but I did not want to distress Lady Tama, after all she has suffered. I found a suitable husband for the young woman, and released Keisaku from all obligations to me. They will hold Keisaku's estate in vassalage to you, which protects Minatogura from the north. It seemed an acceptable solution all around, provided Lord Aritomo agrees, of course.”

“It will be good to have someone loyal in between the port and the Snow Country. I had hoped Takauji would be removed. I cannot trust him not to challenge me sooner or later. But I hear the cousins failed in their efforts to get rid of him?”

“Yes, and they are all dead now. The mother arranged an archery contest. An unknown archer, who she claimed was the deer god, came out of the forest to win it, and the challengers were all killed. She said it was the judgment of the forest. Takauji is, unfortunately, more secure than ever.”

When Aritomo made no response Masachika said, “He is the son of the man who betrayed you. You cannot trust him.”

“I am fully aware of that,” Aritomo snapped, enraged that Masachika should speak so of Takaakira, who had been so superior to him in every way. Yet he knew he was right. Unless he was removed, Takauji would be a continuing threat. “I cannot deal with him now,” he said, more calmly. “First we must destroy the Kakizuki. Did you find out the identity of this so-called deer god?”

Masachika said, “All the evidence—the antlered mask, the skill with the bow, the fake wolflike creature—suggests it was Shikanoko.”

Aritomo kept his face still, his expression impassive, yet a kind of dread was welling up in him.

Masachika went on. “By the time my men investigated he had disappeared again. The archery contest took place weeks ago. Shikanoko could be anywhere by now. Takauji was extremely hostile and my men were lucky to return alive. Unlike those I sent immediately after the disaster at Ryusonji, who never came back. Remember, we are not dealing with an ordinary fugitive but with a sorcerer.”

“Is it his power that makes the rain dry up? How do I combat that? I don't mind facing a thousand men on a battlefield, but this one sorcerer keeps evading me.”

“Shikanoko has no men, no army,” Masachika said. “All were destroyed at Kumayama. If he had been going to challenge you he would have done it immediately after the death of the Prince Abbot. I don't think he will ever emerge from the Darkwood. If you don't provoke a snake it will not bite you.”

“Is he completely alone?”

“He has a few companions, I believe: the ones they call the Burnt Twins, one is a former monk from Ryusonji, the other from Kumayama, and one other whose name and identity I have not been able to discover.”

“So some survived from Kumayama?”

“These were already with him. But there are always some survivors. Some hide, some run away, some are left for dead but recover from their wounds.”

“I will never eradicate all my enemies,” Aritomo said.

Masachika nodded in sympathy. “But we will do our best to control and weaken them. I did find out something else, probably not very important. One of the women left at Kumayama told me. Shikanoko's mother became a nun, after her husband, Shigetomo, died. Apparently she is still alive and is in a convent a little way from Aomizu, on Lake Kasumi.”

“What would she know about anything? It must be years since she forsook the world.”

“As I said, it's not likely to be important.”

“Well, follow it up anyway,” Aritomo said. “Arinori is in Aomizu now. He can look into it. There's no need to go yourself. Write a message.”

Arinori had served him for years and had been rewarded with Lake Kasumi and the surrounding districts. He was an experienced seaman, ambitious and determined. Aritomo trusted him far more than Masachika, though he had to admit the latter was considerably more intelligent.

*   *   *

The next day they rode in an ox carriage to Ryusonji. Both had dressed carefully and soberly in formal clothes, each with a small black hat on his head. A large retinue followed on horseback. Aritomo traveled frequently around the capital, inspecting new buildings and repairs, overseeing merchants and craftsmen, keeping an eye out for excesses of luxury and extravagance that would attract new taxes to pay for horses, armor, and weapons.

People dropped to their knees as he went by, but he inspired fear, not love. The city ran smoothly, his officials keeping every section meticulously administered, but neither he nor they could make the rains fall at their appointed time or save the crops when they failed.

The lake at Ryusonji had shrunk; the exposed bed was muddy and foul-smelling. A charred spiral of black across rocks and moss still showed where the burst of flame had scorched the ground and set fire to the buildings. Most of the blackened beams had been removed and new lumber was stacked in the courtyards. There seemed to be some desultory activity, workmen sawing planks and preparing floors, but it was still far from finished.

“The Empress wants to move here as soon as possible,” he said to Masachika as they descended from the carriage. “See if there is anywhere suitable for temporary lodging. If she is to be believed, her presence here will speed the completion.”

Masachika went to speak to the head carpenter. Aritomo waited in the shade of the cloister, trying to sharpen all his senses, to discern what was really going on at Ryusonji.

The sound of a lute came to him, its mournful, plangent notes turning his spine cold. Masachika came back, saying enthusiastically, “This hall is nearly finished. It could be ready before the end of the month. I will start arranging furnishings and servants.”

“They will need many rooms,” Aritomo said. “And priests, guards, and so on. What happened to all the priests and monks who were here before?”

“Some died in the fire, I believe. The rest must have run away.”

“Well, the Empress will bring her own, no doubt. Consult the steward of the Imperial Household.”

Masachika inclined his head. “I will, lord.”

If he resented being given this tedious, if prestigious, responsibility, he gave no sign of it. Aritomo knew he could rely on him, that Masachika would complete the task as swiftly and efficiently as he did everything. Yet, no matter how competent Masachika was, Aritomo would never warm to him.

The notes of the lute trickled through the air as if they were summoning him.

“Let us inspect the other courtyards,” he said.

The sun beat down on the blindingly white stones, making his head ache. The new moss was an unnaturally brilliant green. The shadows under the cloisters were deep black.

The lute player sat cross-legged, the lute in his lap, his face turned to them as if he had been waiting for them.

Aritomo saw the hollow eye sockets, the shriveled lids.

Masachika exclaimed, “It is Master Sesshin!”

“The one whom your wife had blinded?”

“Yes, it was his eyes that I replaced at Matsutani and so subdued the guardian spirits.”

“I remember,” Aritomo said coldly. He could not take his eyes off the old man. So this was what immortality looked like! When the physical body could not die, did it simply mean endless pain and suffering? The deformed frailty before him tempted him briefly, savagely. He had often seen how under torture life persisted longer than he would have believed possible, but eventually it was extinguished. The Empress had told him the old man could not be killed and he wanted to put her claim to the test.

“Your lordship should not concern himself with the old lute player.” The head carpenter had followed them into the courtyard and stood beside them, regarding Sesshin with an indulgent smile. “He is our talisman, aren't you, grandfather?”

He spoke in a loud voice and Sesshin nodded and smiled with senile glee.

“As long as he is left alone to play and sing, our work progresses. I bring him some food every day, not that he takes more than a mouthful. Since he returned there have been no accidents, no fires. The men say the dragon child must like his songs.”

“Does he have any books?” Aritomo said, remembering what the Empress had said.

The workman shook his head. “I don't think so. What use would he have for books since he cannot see?”

Aritomo leaned over Sesshin and said loudly, “Where is the Book of the Future?”

“I will show it to you, one day,” Sesshin replied, his voice low and rational. “And you will see whose name is written in it. There is no need to shout. I am not deaf.”