The Harsh Cry of the Heron (32 page)

In front of them
Hiroshi, mounted on the pale grey horse with the black mane and tail that Takeo
had given him so many years ago, waited as still as a carving. Behind him, on
foot, holding lacquer chests, stood the elders of the clan, all in heavy robes
embroidered with gold, and wearing black hats. Within the chests would be the
treasures of the domain, and scrolls of genealogies chronicling Shigeko’s
descent through all the women of Maruyama.

Kaede should be here,
Takeo thought with regret; he longed to see her, imagined himself recounting
the scene to her, pictured the curve of her belly where their child was
growing.

Takeo had had no part
in planning the ceremony - it had all been done by Hiroshi, for it was an
ancient ritual of Maruyama that had not been enacted since Lady Naomi inherited
the domain. He scanned the gathering, wondering where Shigeko was, and when she
would appear. Among the crowds in the boats he suddenly spot- ted Taku, dressed
not in formal robes like his brother, Zenko, but in the ordinary faded clothes
of a merchant. Beside him stood a tall young man and a boy who looked vaguely
familiar. It took Takeo several moments to realize it was his daughter Maya.

He felt astonishment
- that Taku should have brought her here in disguise, that he had not
recognized her - followed by swift, deep relief that she was alive and
seemingly unharmed. She looked thinner, a little taller, her eyes more
noticeable in her pointed face. The young man must be Sada, he thought, though
her disguise was impenetrable. Taku must have been unwilling to leave Maya, or
he would have come in his own guise. He must have known Takeo would spot them,
if no one else did. What message was he conveying? He must see them: he would
go to them tonight.

His attention was
drawn back to the ceremony by the sound of horses’ hooves. From the western end
of the bailey came a small procession of women on horseback. They were the
wives and daughters of the elders who waited behind Hiroshi. They were armed in
the way of women of the West, with bows over their shoulders and quivers filled
with arrows on their backs. Takeo marvelled at the Maruyama horses, so tall and
fine-looking, and his heart swelled even more as he saw his daughter on the
finest-looking horse - the black that she had broken in herself, and that she
called Tenba.

The horse was
overexcited and cavorted a little, tossing its head and rearing as she brought
it to a halt. Shigeko sat as still as if she too were a carving; her hair, tied
loosely back, was as black as the horse’s mane and tail, and gleamed like his
coat in the autumn sun. Tenba calmed and relaxed.

The women on
horseback faced the men on foot, and at one and the same moment the elders all
dropped to their knees, holding the boxes in outstretched hands and bowing
deeply.

Hiroshi spoke in a
loud voice. ‘Lady Maruyama Shigeko, daughter of Shirakawa Kaede and second
cousin of Maruyama Naomi, we welcome you to the domain which has been held in
trust for you.’

He slipped his feet
from the stirrups and dismounted, drew his sword from his belt and, kneeling
before her, held it out in both hands.

Tenba startled for an
instant at the man’s sudden move, and Takeo saw Hiroshi break his composure in
alarm. He realized it was far more than a vassal’s concern for his lady. He
recalled the weeks they had spent breaking in the horse together. His earlier
suspicions were confirmed. He did not know his daughter’s feelings, but there
was no doubt about Hiroshi’s. It seemed so obvious to him now he could not
believe he had not realized it before. He was torn between irritation and pity
- it was impossible to give Hiroshi what he wanted - yet he admired the young
man’s self-control and dedication. It is because they were brought up together,
he thought. She is fond of him, like a brother, but her heart is not touched.
But he watched his daughter closely as two of the women dismounted and came to
hold Tenba’s reins. Shigeko slid gracefully off the horse’s back and faced
Hiroshi. As he looked up at her, their eyes met. She smiled very slightly at
him and took the sword from him. Then she turned and held it out towards each
direction in turn, bowing over it to the crowd, to her vassals and her people.

A great shout rose,
as if everyone present spoke in one voice, and then the sound broke, like a
wave on a shingle, into bursts of cheering. The horses pranced in excitement.
Shigeko thrust the sword in her belt and remounted, as did the other women. The
horses galloped around the bailey, then fell into line along the straight edge,
towards the target. Each rider dropped the reins on her horse’s neck, took the
bow, placed the arrow and drew, all in one swift, fluid movement. The arrows
flew one after another, hitting the targets with a repetition of thunks.
Finally Shigeko rode, the black horse flying like the wind, like a horse of
Heaven, and her arrow hit true. She turned the horse and galloped back, pulling
him to a halt in front of Takeo. She leaped from Tenba’s back and spoke in a
loud voice, ‘The Maruyama swear allegiance and loyalty to the Otori, and in
recognition I present this horse to Lord Takeo, my father.’ She held out the
reins in her hand, and bowed her head.

Another roar came
from the crowd as Takeo rose and stepped down from the platform. He approached
Shigeko and took the reins of the horse from her, more moved than he could say.
The horse dropped its head and rubbed it against his shoulder. It was most
obviously from the same line as Shigeru’s horse Kyu, and Aoi, who had been
fatally injured by the ogre Jin-emon. He was aware of the past all around him,
the spirits of the dead, their approving gaze, and he felt pride and gratitude
that he and Kaede had raised this beautiful child, that she had reached
adulthood and come into her inheritance.

‘I hope he will come
to be as dear to you as Shun,’ she said.

‘I have never seen a
finer horse - and when he moves he seems to fly.’ He was already longing to
feel the horse’s strength beneath him, to begin the long mysterious bonding
between creatures. He will outlive me, he thought with gladness.

‘Will you try him?’

‘I am not dressed for
riding,’ Takeo said. ‘Let me lead him back, and we will ride out together
later. In the meantime, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You could not
have given me a better gift.’

Towards the end of
the afternoon, when the sun was sinking towards the West, they rode in its path
across the coastal plain towards the mouth of the river. The company consisted
not only of Takeo, Shigeko and Hiroshi -though the three of them would have
preferred it - but also of Lord Kono, Zenko and Hana. Zenko declared he was
surfeited with feasting and ceremonies and needed a good gallop to clear his
mind. Hana wanted to take out the hawks, and Kono confessed to sharing her
passion for hawking. Their route took them past the outcastes’ village which
Takeo had established long ago, when Jo-An was still alive. The outcastes still
tanned hides here, and were shunned on that account, but they were left in
peace, protected by the laws of the Three Countries. Now the sons of the men
who built the bridge that enabled Takeo to escape from the Otori army worked
alongside their fathers and uncles; the young people looked as well fed and
healthy as the old.

Takeo stopped to
greet the headman of the village with Hiroshi and Shigeko, while the others
rode on. When they caught up with the hunting party, the hawks were already
released, hovering high over the grasses, which swayed like the waves of the
sea, the last rays of the sun glowing through the tasselled heads.

Takeo had been
getting the feel of the new horse, letting him extend his gallop across the
plain. He was more excitable than Shun had been, possibly not quite as clever,
but eager to please and equally responsive, and much faster. He shied once when
a partridge shot under his feet with a whirring of its barred wings, and Takeo
had to exert some force to remind him who was in control. But I will not have
to rely on him. in battle, he told himself. Those days are over.

‘You have handled him
well,’ he told Shigeko. ‘He seems to have no faults.’

‘Whatever
disabilities Lord Otori has, they have not impaired his horsemanship,’ Kono
commented.

‘Indeed, I forget
them when I am riding,’ Takeo said, smiling. Horse riding made him feel like a
young man again. He felt he could almost like Kono, that he had misjudged him,
and then chided himself for being so susceptible to flattery.

Above his head the
four hawks wheeled, two stooping at the same time and plummeting to earth. One
rose again, a partridge in its curved talons, the down fluttering; the other
screeched in fury. It reminded him that as the strong feed on the weak, so
would his enemies feed on him. He imagined them like hawks, hovering, waiting.

They rode back at
dusk, the full moon rising behind the plumed grasses, the rabbit shape clearly
visible on the gleaming disc. The streets were thronged with people, shrines
and shops overflowing, the air filled with roasting rice cakes, grilled fish
and eels, sesame oil and soy. Takeo was gratified with the response of the
crowd. The townspeople gave way respectfully, many kneeling spontaneously or
shouting his and Shigeko’s names, but they were not cowed, nor did they stare
after him with the desperate, hungry look that had followed Lord Shigeru all
those years ago, of which he himself had once been the target. They no longer
needed a hero to save them. They saw their prosperity and peace as their
rightful way of living, achieved by their own hard work and intelligence.

Castle and town had
fallen silent. The moon had set; the night sky was spangled with brilliant
stars. Takeo sat with Minoru, two lamps burning near them, going over the
evening’s conversation and the young man’s impressions.

‘I am going out for a
while,’ Takeo said when they had finished. ‘I must see Taku before I leave, and
that must be within the next two days if we are to get Kono to Hofu before
winter. Stay here, and if anyone should come asking for me, pretend we are
conducting some urgent and confidential business and cannot be disturbed. I
will be back before dawn.’

Minoru was used to
such arrangements and made no response beyond bowing. He helped Takeo change
into the dark clothes he often wore at night. Takeo wound a scarf around his
head to hide his face, took two flasks of wine, a short sword and the holster
of throwing knives, and hid them inside his garments. He stepped out onto the
veranda and disappeared into the night.

If Kono could see me
now, he thought as he passed the nobleman’s rooms and heard him breathing
deeply in sleep. But he knew no one would see him, for he was cloaked in the
invisibility of the Tribe.

If horse riding made
him feel young again, so did this - he had left the Tribe; his family, the
Kikuta, had pursued him nearly half his life, but the deep pleasure the ancient
skills bring had never left him. At the end of the garden he listened intently
for a few moments, and hearing no sound leaped to the top of the wall between
the garden and the first bailey. He ran along the top of the wall to the
opposite side and dropped down to the horse ground within the second bailey.
The banners still hung there, limp under the starlight. He thought it too cold
for swimming, so after crossing to the further side scaled the wall there and
followed it around to the main gate. The guards were awake: he could hear them
talking as he crossed the wide, curved roof, but they did not hear him. He ran
over the bridge, let visibility return on the far side and walked swiftly into
the maze of streets beyond.

He knew the house
where Taku would be: the old Muto residence. At one time he had known every
Tribe house in Maruyama, its position, size and inhabitants. He still felt deep
regret at the way he had used this knowledge when he had first come to Maruyama
with Kaede; determined to demonstrate his ruthlessness to the Tribe he had
pursued them, had killed or executed most of them. He had thought the only way
to deal with the evil was to eradicate it, but now, if he had that time over,
surely he would try to negotiate without shedding blood . . . The dilemma still
faced him: if he had shown weakness then, he would not now be strong enough to
impose his will with compassion. The Tribe might hate him for it, but at least
they did not despise him. He had bought enough time to make his country secure.

At the shrine at the
end of the street he stopped as he always did, and placed the flasks of wine in
front of the Muto family’s god, asking for forgiveness from the spirits of the
dead.

Muto Kenji forgave
me, he told them, and I him. We became close friends and allies. May you be the
same to me.

Nothing broke the
silence of the night, but he sensed he was not alone. He shrank back into the
shadows, his hand on the sword’s hilt. Leaves had already fallen from the
trees, and he could hear a slight rustling, as if some creature were moving
across them. He peered towards the sound, and saw the leaves scatter gently
under the unseen tread. He cupped his hands over his eyes to open the pupils
further, and then looked sideways out of the corner of his left eye, to detect
invisibility. The creature was staring at him, its eyes green in the starlight.

Just a cat, he
thought, a trick of the light - and then realized with a jolt of surprise that
its gaze had trapped his; he felt the shock of pure fear. It was something
supernatural, some ghostly being that dwelt in this place, sent by the dead to
punish him. He felt he was about to be plunged into the Kikuta sleep, that
their assassins had caught up with him and were using this ghostly being to
corner him. He himself moved into the almost supernatural state that attack of
any sort induced in him. It was second nature to him now to defend himself
instantly, to kill before he was killed. Summoning up all his own power he
broke its gaze, fumbling for the throwing knives. The first came into his hand
and he hurled it, saw the starlight catch it as it spun, heard the slight
impact and the creature’s cry of pain. It lost invisibility at the same moment
as it leaped towards him.