Lord of the Darkwood (15 page)

He knew he had great powers; he saw they were meaningless. He embraced the nothingness of his name.

He lost all track of time. He seemed to take leave of his body and fly above the land. At first it looked like a Go board and then more like a vast scroll, presenting various scenes to him. He left the Darkwood behind and soared over Lake Kasumi. He saw the lake was shrinking, its marshlands drying out, a rim of half-dried, foul-smelling mud clogging its beaches. He was above a city, to the north of the lake. Could this be Kitakami? He peered down, through buildings that seemed to have no roofs, so he could see straight into them. He saw Kiku, grown older, surrounded by servants and retainers. Mu perceived the network of his business empire, spreading like a spider's web over the land.

Then the wind took him and blew him to the south. He saw a young woman on a pleasure boat, entertaining a man who looked like a merchant, one of Kiku's rivals perhaps, and he looked deep down into the lake, where someone lay hidden, breathing through a reed. To his surprise, he recognized Chika. On the shore red lanterns denoted a festival. A troupe of acrobats were performing with monkeys. Mu noticed a strong, well-built boy, about twelve or thirteen years old, and an older lad, maybe in his twenties, wiry and flexible, a natural performer, with attractive, expressive features, who kept the crowd spellbound. A young girl of the same age beat time on a drum, her eyes fixed on the performer. A large black bird with a sprinkle of gold feathers hovered above him and it suddenly soared upward, as if it sensed Mu's presence. He saw its bright yellow eyes searching, but it did not see him.

Now he was over the capital, floating above mansions and palaces. In a sumptuous room a great lord, his face gray-tinged and gaunt, was retching into a silver bowl. Outside, warriors and noblemen gathered anxiously. Along the riverbank were strewn corpses. Dogs scavenged among them. The river was a thin, dirty trickle. He was above a temple, newly built from gleaming cypress and cedar. Again he could see straight down into the halls and cloisters. An old man sat with a lute on his knees. He seemed to be dozing, but as Mu passed overhead he startled and turned his face upward, listening. Mu saw into the depths of the lake, where a sleeping dragon lay coiled, its scales shimmering dully in the murky water. A swirling motion began, a whirlpool formed, the dragon stretched and flexed. In the main hall of the temple a figure knelt, chanting sutras, before an altar where golden statues and painted deities kept watch. A woman's voice rose and circled around the lutist's song. The notes vibrated and echoed against one another until the friction became unbearable. At the edges of the land, smoke was rising, as when a scroll is first thrown on the fire. Its edges blacken, it begins to contort in the heat, scorch marks appear here and there, finally flames seize hold.

The land is about to burn
, Mu realized.

Only the Darkwood seemed untouched. With a sense of gratitude and relief, he turned back to its dark green mass. He and Tadashii had made many journeys through the forest, but now Mu went farther than he ever had before. He was shown a building hidden among the trees, high in the mountains, a small shrine perhaps, or a hermit's retreat. Looking down through the canopy of leaves he saw two silver-gray horses grazing in a clearing. Nearby a wolflike creature kept watch.

Gen!

In the clearing were four figures involved in an intricate dance. One was clearly a woman, though she dressed like a man. Two wore black cloths over their faces, covering everything but their eyes. The fourth wore a mask, a stag's head with one broken antler.

“Shikanoko!” Mu cried.

Shikanoko looked up, the only person to notice Mu's presence. Unlike the bird, he could see him. Mu felt their eyes meet and lock, but before he could speak he sensed he was losing the power of flight. For a moment he thought he would plummet to earth, and he almost blacked out as he rushed through the air, but he calmed himself and summoned his concentration, and found himself with a thump back on his mountain ledge.

Tadashii was sitting waiting for him. “Not a very elegant landing,” he said. “But otherwise, my masters have reported you did quite well. You have seen the state of the board. I hope we will soon be ready for my next move.”

“Do you think you could explain a little more clearly?” Mu said.

The tengu did not reply.

“I saw many strange things that I don't understand,” Mu persisted.

“Meditate on them.” Tadashii refused to say anything else.

*   *   *

Her father was so preoccupied during the years of the tengu's training, he hardly noticed Kinpoge growing up. She turned more and more to Ima, who took care of her, fed her, and taught her how to hunt and to cook. She liked to catch fish, taking them out of the water with her bare hands; she knew where to gather fern heads and burdock, mushrooms and chestnuts. She looked after the fake animals that remained and, particularly, the skull horse, Ban. She gave it grass and water every morning and, in the evenings, rode it through the air. She wove reins for Ban from the green rushes, and tied two cross pieces onto the pole, one as a handhold and one for her feet. In spring and summer she made garlands of flowers and decorated the skull.

Sometimes she wished she had a real horse, but, as Ima pointed out, a real horse could not fly and it would grow old and die, whereas Kiku had, unwittingly, given Ban another kind of life.

Ban responded to her attentions, turned its head to her when she approached, and leaped joyfully into the air when she untethered it.

She did not go far from the hut where she had lived all her life. Mountains surrounded it and she did not think Ban could fly that high. But she often followed the course of the stream that flowed past the hut. After a few miles, it divided into two, one branch continuing to the west, the other turning southward. Once she had gone south, but after a while the land became cultivated and there were too many people around. She knew instinctively that she should keep hidden and that she should never give away the location of the hut.

So, instead, she and Ban explored the west branch, which flowed through a steep, thickly wooded valley. Occasionally she saw movements in the trees and she realized monkeys lived there.

The monkeys fascinated her. She watched the mothers and babies with a kind of hunger—she who had hardly known her own mother. The mothers took such good care of the babies. In the summer they roamed carefree through the forest, leaping from tree to tree like her father, and in winter they gathered around the pools of the hot springs. Kinpoge spied on them through the branches of the leafless trees. Once or twice they noticed the skull horse and shrieked in alarm, as they did when eagles flew overhead.

One day, near sunset, it was maybe her tenth or eleventh spring on earth—like her father she had matured quickly and was nearly an adult—she and Ban were hovering over the thick canopy, hoping to catch sight of the monkeys, when a boy's face popped out through the leaves, staring at her in astonishment. She could not tell his age, but he seemed taller than she was. His eyes were long and narrow, his nose rather sharp, his cheekbones high. The sun's rays shone round him like a halo.

“Hello!” he exclaimed, and then, hurriedly, “Don't be frightened! Don't leave!”

Ban was quivering beneath Kinpoge's hands. She knew she should escape quickly, but then the boy pulled himself a little higher so his feet were planted firmly in the crook of the branches, and stood up. Two monkeys pushed through the leaves. One climbed onto his shoulders, peering at Kinpoge and Ban and chattering excitedly. The other sat beside the boy, holding on to his leg with one hand and scratching his own belly with the other.

“Who are you?” the boy said. “Are you some magic creature? You must be, for you are so small and you are riding a very strange-looking steed. Do you understand human speech?” When she did not reply he persisted. “Do you speak some fairy language?” He began to mime his words with extravagant gestures that made her laugh.

“I understand you,” she called across the space between them.

“What's your name? Mine is Takemaru—everyone calls me Take—but that's a child's name. Soon I will take an adult name, for I am nearly grown up.”

“Kinpoge,” she said.

“Like the flower? That is so beautiful. And it suits you, you are so small and bright! Where do you live? In the treetops?”

“I live with my father and my uncle. A little way upstream. I must go now.”

“Come again,” he said. “I will look out for you.”

“Goodbye!” Kinpoge cried, turning Ban's head to the east.

She did not tell her father or Ima about the encounter. Both had warned her never to let herself be seen, never to talk to anyone. But she could not stop thinking about the boy, Takemaru, and she wanted very much to see him again. The next day she wove a fresh garland of spring flowers for Ban and, in the afternoon, she set out again. She knew she should not fly toward the west, but somehow she could not help it.

The days were lengthening and there were still several hours before nightfall. The sun in the west dazzled her. It made the shiny new green leaves glisten as they danced in the breeze. It was the fourth month and already very hot. There was no sign of rain and even the dew, which usually soaked the forest every night, had dried up. Every tree was familiar to her and she could tell each one was suffering. They had responded to the demands of the season and had put out new leaves, but it had cost them; they were becoming frail, their roots no longer held firmly by the embracing earth.

She guided Ban to the same tree and there was the boy, alone this time. His face lit up when he saw her and he held out his hand. Kinpoge took it and, still holding Ban's bridle so the skull horse could not fly away, stepped nimbly onto the branch.

The tree swayed in the wind, the leaves rustled, the humming of insects rose around them. There was a strong, heady smell of blossoms and catkins. Take held her firmly.

“I'm all right,” she said, easing herself from his grasp and sitting down astride the branch. “I won't fall.”

“You should be an acrobat,” he said, sitting down facing her. “You are so light and adroit. But, I don't know why, girls never are, only boys. Even Kai, who is agile like you, has to be content with playing the drum.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said. They were so close, their knees almost touched. “What's an acrobat? Is it something to do with the monkeys?”

“In a way. We do tricks with the monkeys. People like to watch us. They give us food, clothes, even coins sometimes. We go to all the markets and every year, at this time, we come to the forest to look for suitable monkeys to train—do you know what train means?”

“I do!” Kinpoge screwed up her face. “My father is being trained by a tengu. It's been going on for years. I hope your monkeys don't take as long!”

“A tengu?” She could tell this interested Take very much. “A real tengu? What is he teaching him?”

“Everything. But mostly how to fight with sword and bow.”

“How to kill people?” Take's eyes gleamed.

“I suppose so, though I think it's more about not letting them kill you, as far as I can see. And then there's a lot of meditation and spiritual exercises. My father is often absent for weeks and when he comes back he seems like a different person.”

“Different in what way?” Take asked, and then added quietly, “I have never known my father.”

“You haven't missed much. Fathers are very tiresome, at least mine is. He has seen and learned things most people don't know about. Well, I can't really say what most people do or don't know, as you are the only real person I've met. But the tengu teaches him secrets and shows him hidden things.”

Take sighed. “I'd give anything for that kind of instruction. I feel I should have been born to the way of the sword and the bow. But the acrobats I grew up among follow a different path. They will not kill anything. They eat only fruit and plants.”

“Come back with me,” Kinpoge said eagerly. “Ima, my uncle, will make you roast hare or a meat stew. And we'll ask my father if he will share the tengu's teaching with you.”

*   *   *

Ima was out in the forest, somewhere. Mu was alone, going through the rigorous exercises he followed every day. The tengu no longer lived at the hut—he had gone away on a mission he did not reveal—but Mu continued to work as if Tadashii still breathed down his neck with his hot peppery breath and clacked his beak in admonishment.

He was inside the hut, in front of the altar that Shisoku had made years before. The tengu had shown him the meaning of all the objects the old hermit had collected: the augury sticks, the reed arrows, the protective carvings made of peachwood, the panels depicting the twelve cardinal points, the twelve-month guardians, the twelve animals of the cycle of the years. He had explained how to use them, and access their power, just as he had explained the curses that lay sealed, with the five poisonous creatures, in their jars—curses that killed an enemy and then controlled his soul.

Mu had grown up among these things and had never appreciated their power, though Kiku had. His brother had known enough to perform rituals in this place, with the fox woman, Shida. After that time, Mu could hardly bear to enter the hut and at one time had wanted to burn it down. Through Tadashii's teaching, he had faced that pain and humiliation and seen them as illusions of heart and mind. The memory no longer touched him.

He did not like to be interrupted or even watched. Usually, Kinpoge and Ima kept out of his way. But now his daughter's voice broke into the clear well his mind had become, sending unwelcome ripples through it. At first he ignored her, wanting to stay in that removed state of concentration that had become the source of knowledge and power for him, but her voice was as sharp and insistent as a crow's.