The Harsh Cry of the Heron (60 page)

‘The girl, Mai, told
me Ryume, Taku’s horse, died at the same time as his master,’ he said to Takeo
as they rode side by side. ‘But whether he too was shot is not clear.’

The day was hot,
without a cloud in the sky; the horses dripped sweat as the climb steepened
towards the still-distant ranges.

‘I remember so
clearly when we first saw the colts,’ Takeo replied. ‘You recognized them at
once as Raku’s sons. They were the first sign to me of returning hope, of life
springing always from death.’

‘I will miss Ryume
almost as much as Taku,’ Hiroshi said quietly.

‘Fortunately, the
Otori horses show no sign of dying out. Indeed, under your skilful guidance I
believe they are improving. I thought I would never have another horse like
Shun, but I have to admit I am delighted with Tenba.’

‘He was a challenge
to break in, but he’s turned out well,’ Hiroshi said.

Tenba had been
trotting calmly enough, but just as Hiroshi spoke the horse threw his head up
and spun round to face the direction from which they had come, giving a shrill
neigh.

‘You spoke too soon,’
Takeo said, bringing the horse back under control and urging him to move
forward again. ‘He is still a challenge: you can never take him for granted.’

Shigeko, who had been
riding at the end of the procession with Gemba, came cantering towards them.

‘Something has upset
him,’ she said, and turned in the saddle to gaze back behind her.

‘He misses the kirin,’
Hiroshi suggested.

‘Perhaps we should
have left him with her,’ Takeo said. ‘The idea occurred to me, but I did not
want to part with him.’

‘He would have become
wild and unmanageable in Miyako.’ Hiroshi glanced at Shigeko. ‘He was broken in
with gentleness; he cannot be roughly handled now.

The horse continued
to be unsettled, but Takeo enjoyed the daily challenge of persuading him to
calm, and the bond between them strengthened. The full moon of the sixth month
turned, but it did not bring the expected rains. Takeo had feared they would
have to cross the highest pass in wet weather, and was relieved, but the heat
grew more intense, and the waning moon had a reddish hue that made everyone
uneasy. The horses grew thin; the grooms feared they had intestinal worms or
had eaten sand. Sandflies and mosquitoes plagued humans and animals at night.
By the time the new moon of the seventh month rose in the east, thunder rolled
and lightning played in the sky every night, but no rain fell.

Gemba had become very
silent; often Takeo woke during the night to see him sitting motionless in
meditation or prayer, and once or twice he dreamed, or imagined,

Makoto, far away in
Terayama, doing the same thing. Takeo’s dreams were of broken threads and empty
caskets, mirrors that gave no reflection, men without shadows. Something is
amiss, Gemba had said, and he felt it in the flow of his blood and the weight
of his bones. The pain that had lessened during the outward journey now
returned, seeming more intense than he remembered. With an urgency he only half
understood, he ordered the pace of the journey to increase: they rose before
dawn and rode under the light of the moon.

Before it reached its
first quarter, they were a short distance from Hawk Pass: less than half a day’s
journey, Sakai Masaki, who had gone ahead to scout, reported.

The forest grew
closely around the path, live oak and hornbeam, with cedars and pines on the
higher slopes. They made camp under the trees; a spring provided water, but
they had to eat sparingly, for the food they had brought with them was all but
exhausted. Takeo slept lightly, and was woken by one of the guards calling, ‘Lord
Otori!’

It was barely dawn,
the birds just beginning to sing. His eyes opened, but he thought he was still
dreaming: he glanced, as always, first at the horse lines, and saw the kirin.

It stood beside
Tenba, its long neck bent down, its legs splayed out, its head close to the
horse’s, its white markings gleaming eerily in the grey light.

Takeo stood up, his
limbs stiff and aching. Hiroshi, who had been sleeping not far from him, was
already on his feet.

‘The kirin is back!’
Hiroshi cried.

His exclamation woke
the others, and in moments the kirin was surrounded.

It showed every sign
of being delighted to be among them: it nuzzled Shigeko, and licked Hiroshi’s
hand with its long grey tongue. Its coat was scratched in many places, its
knees grazed and bleeding; it favoured its left hind foot, and its neck was
marked with rope burns, as if it had made many attempts to break loose.

‘What does this mean?’
Takeo said in consternation. He pictured the creature’s flight across the
unfamiliar countryside, its long awkward stride, its fear and loneliness. ‘How could
it have escaped? Did they let it go?’

Shigeko replied, ‘It’s
what I was afraid of. We should have stayed longer, made sure it was happy.
Father, let me take it back.’

‘It is too late for
that,’ he replied. ‘Look at it; we cannot give it to the Emperor in this
condition.’

‘It would not even
survive the journey,’ Hiroshi agreed. He went to the spring, filled a bucket
with water and allowed the kirin to drink, and then began to wash the matted
blood away from its wounds. Its skin flinched and shuddered but it stood quite
still. Tenba whickered gently to it.

‘What does it mean?’
Takeo said to Gemba after the creature had been fed and orders given for their
journey to resume as soon as possible. ‘Should we press on to the Three
Countries and take the kirin with us? Or should we send some restitution back
to Miyako?’ He paused for a moment, gazing at his daughter as she soothed and
petted the animal. ‘The Emperor can only be insulted by its escape,’ he went on
in a low voice.

‘Yes, the kirin was
greeted as a sign of Heaven’s blessing,’ Gemba said. ‘Now it’s shown it prefers
you to His Divine Majesty. It will be taken as a terrible insult.’

‘What can I do?’

‘Prepare for battle,
I suppose,’ Gemba said calmly. ‘Or take your own life, if you think that’s a
better idea.’

‘You predicted
everything - the outcome of the contest, my surrender of Jato, my victory. Did
you not foresee this?’

‘Everything has a
cause and an effect,’ Gemba replied. ‘A violent occurrence like Taku’s death
has unleashed a whole chain of events: this must be one of them. It’s
impossible to foresee - or forestall - them all.’ He reached out his hand and
patted Takeo on the shoulder, in the same way as Shigeko patted the kirin. ‘I’m
sorry. I told you earlier something was amiss. I have been trying to hold the
balance together, but it has been broken.’

Takeo stared at him,
hardly comprehending. ‘Has something happened to my daughters?’ He took a deep
breath. ‘My wife?’

‘I can’t tell you
that sort of detail. I’m not a sorcerer or a shaman. All I know is that
something that held the delicate web together has been snapped.’

Takeo’s mouth had
gone dry with dread. ‘Can it be mended?’

Gemba did not answer,
and at that moment, above the bustle of preparation, Takeo heard the sound of
horse’s hooves in the distance.

‘Someone is riding
fast towards us,’ he said.

A few moments later,
the horses on the lines raised their heads and whinnied, and the approaching
horse neighed back as it cantered around the curve in the path and came into
view.

It was one of the Maruyama
horses that Shigeko had given to Lord Saga, and its rider was Lord Kono.

Hiroshi ran forward
to take the reins as the nobleman came to a halt; Kono jumped from the horse’s
back. His languid appearance had quite gone; he looked strong and skilful, as
he had during the contest.

‘Lord Otori, I am
glad to have caught up with you.’

‘Lord Kono,’ Takeo
returned. ‘I am afraid I cannot offer you much in the way of refreshment. We
are about to move on. We will be across the border by midday.’ He did not care
if the nobleman was offended now. He did not believe anything could redeem his
position.

‘I must ask you to
delay,’ Kono urged. ‘Let us talk in private.’

‘I cannot believe you
have anything to say to me now.’ Unease had turned to rage. Takeo could feel it
building up behind his eyes. He had acted for months with supreme patience and
self-control. Now he saw all his efforts about to be destroyed by a random
event, an animal’s uncontrollable preference for its companions over strangers.

‘Lord Otori, I know
you look on me as an enemy, but believe me, I have your best interests at
heart. Come, give me a little time to deliver Lord Saga’s message to you.’

Without waiting for
Takeo to reply, he walked a short distance away to where a fallen cedar
provided a natural seat. He sat and beckoned Takeo to join him. Takeo glanced
towards the east. The edge of the mountain was stark black against the glowing
sky, already limned with gold.

‘I will give you
until the sun clears the peaks,’ he said.

‘Let me tell you what
has happened. The triumph of your visit had already been dimmed a little by
your early departure. The Emperor had hoped to get to know you better - you
made a strong impression on him. Still, he was contented enough with your
gifts, especially this creature. He was concerned when it became more and more
restless after your departure. He himself went to visit it every day, but it
fretted, and would not eat, for three days. Then it ran away. We pursued it, of
course, but all attempts to catch it failed, and finally it eluded us
altogether. The mood in the city changed from delight that our Emperor had been
blessed by Heaven to derision, that Heaven’s blessing had run away, that it was
Lord Otori whom Heaven favoured, not the Emperor and Lord Saga.’

He paused. ‘Of course,
such an insult cannot be overlooked. I met Lord Saga as he was leaving Sanda;
he immediately turned around. He is barely a day’s ride behind me. His forces
were already mustered; his special troops are always prepared, and they have
been waiting for just such an eventuality as this. You are completely
outnumbered. I am instructed to tell you that if you do not return with me and
submit to the natural outcome of the Emperor’s displeasure: that is, you will
take your own life - I’m afraid the alternative of exile no longer exists -Saga
will pursue you with all these warriors, and take the Three Countries by force.
You and your family will all be put to death - except Lady Maruyama, whom Lord
Saga still hopes to marry.’

‘Is this not what he
intended all along?’ Takeo replied, making no attempt now to control his rage. ‘Let
him come after me: he will find more than he expects.’

‘I cannot say I am
surprised, but I am deeply sorry,’ Kono said. ‘You must know how much I have
come to admire you . . .’

Takeo cut him off. ‘You
have flattered me many times, but I believe you have always wished me ill and
tried to undermine me. Perhaps you feel in some way that you are avenging your
father’s death. If you had any true honour or courage you would challenge me to
my face, instead of conspiring in secret with my vassal and brother-in-law. You
have been an indispensable go-between. You have insulted me and wronged me.’

Kono’s pale face had
gone even whiter. ‘We will meet in battle,’ he replied. ‘Your tricks and
sorcery will not save you then!’

He rose and, without
bowing, went to his horse, leaped onto its back and pulled roughly on its reins
to turn its head. It was reluctant to leave its fellows, and fought against the
bit. Kono drove his heels into its flanks; the horse bucked and kicked in
response, unseating the nobleman, who fell ignominiously to the ground.

There was a moment of
silence. The two guards closest drew their swords, and Takeo knew everyone
expected him to give the order to kill Kono. He himself thought he would,
needing something to release his rage, wanting to punish the man on the ground
at his feet for all the insults, the intrigue and treachery that had hemmed him
in. But something restrained him.

‘Hiroshi, fetch Lord
Kono’s horse and help him mount,’ he said, and turned away so as not to
humiliate the nobleman further. The guards lowered their swords and returned
them to their scabbards.

As he heard the
hoofbeats fade away down the path, he turned to Hiroshi and said, ‘Send Sakai
ahead to inform Kahei and tell him to prepare for battle. The rest of us must
get across the pass as quickly as possible.’

‘Father, what about
the kirin?’ Shigeko said. ‘It is exhausted. It will not be able to keep up with
us.’

‘It must keep up -
otherwise it is kinder to kill it now,’ he replied, and saw the shock come into
her face. The next day might see her fighting for her life, he realized, yet
she had never killed anything.

‘Shigeko,’ he said. ‘I
can save your life and the kirin’s by surrendering now to Saga. I will take my
own life, you will marry him, and we will still avoid war.’

‘We cannot do that,’
she replied without hesitation. ‘He has deceived and threatened us, and broken
all the promises he made to us. I will make sure the kirin does not lag behind.’