Heaven's Net Is Wide

16

Shigeru had allowed his thoughts to stray to the stone-mason’s daughter once or twice, but he did not know about Kiyoshige’s negotiations, and he had very little time to pursue any of his own in that direction-for shortly after the entombment, messengers arrived from Chigawa, a small town on the high road between Yamagata and the coast, right on the eastern border of the Middle Country. The reports were that the Tohan were carrying out some sort of campaign against their own peasantry to root out an obscure sect known as the Hidden-Shigeru remembered Nagai talking about the same sect at Yamagata. The persecuted were fleeing over the border into the Middle Country. Tohan warriors were pursuing them, torturing them and killing them, along with any Otori peasants that might have given them shelter. It was this that outraged Shigeru when he heard it. The Tohan were entitled to do what they liked within their own borders, and Shigeru did not care one way or the other about the sect: there were a lot of religious movements that sprang up and withered away, and most of them seemed harmless, presenting no threat to the stable order of society. But if the Tohan started believing they could come and go as they liked into Otori lands, sooner or later they would come and stay. A further complication was that the border incursions all took place around Chigawa, an area rich in silver and copper. Such aggressive provocation had to be met with equal boldness and decisiveness: it was the only way to stop it.

As always, and to Shigeru’s displeasure, his uncles were present at the meeting Lord Shigemori called to discuss what the Otori reaction should be. He felt that now that he was an adult and could advise his father, there was no need for his uncles to be present. It seemed to him to indicate confusion about who actually led the clan and to say that Shigemori dared do nothing without his brothers’ agreement. Again, his uncles advised appeasement, reiterating their thoughts on the strength of the Tohan and the dangers of insulting the Iida again so soon after Miura’s unfortunate death. In his turn, Shigeru voiced his opinion forcefully and was supported by the senior retainers Irie and Miyoshi.

But the arguments went on. He saw how skillfully his uncles played his father, seeming always to defer to him, flattering him, wearing him down with their persistent reasoning. They claimed always that their only goal was the well-being of the clan, but he wondered what the secret desires of their hearts might be. What advancement to themselves did placating the Tohan bring? It did occur to him, then, that they might seek to usurp both his father and himself-such baseness seemed unbelievable, and he did not think the clan would ever allow it, but he also saw how ineffectual his father had become, and he feared pragmatic men like Endo and Miyoshi might, if not actively seek, at least accept a stronger head. Which will be no one but me, he swore to himself.

They sat in the great hall of the residence behind the castle itself. It had rained earlier, but now the sun had come out and it was very hot. Shigeru could hear the sea surging against the wall beyond the garden. All the doors stood open, and the deep verandas were cool pools of shade beyond which the summer light shimmered, making leaves a more brilliant green and the colors of the flowers-wisteria and lotus-more intense. The discussion continued all afternoon, while the heat intensified and the cicadas’ shrilling grew more strident and the men’s tempers more frayed.

Finally, just before sunset, Lord Shigemori said he would like to delay the decision until he had been able to consult a shaman, who fortunately was visiting the shrine in the forest above the castle. A messenger was sent and the meeting broke up; it would be continued and a decision made the following day.

Shigeru spoke with the barest necessary politeness to his father and uncles and went to walk in the garden to cool his temper. The sun was sinking below the hill on the western side of the bay, but the air was still stifling. His skin itched beneath the formal robes and his head ached.

At the far end of the garden, Takeshi was sitting on the stone wall overlooking the sea. Shigeru rarely saw his brother like this, sitting quietly, thinking himself unobserved, apparently wrapped in thought. He watched him for a few moments and found himself wondering what his brother’s life would be like. He was so often the center of attention, admired and praised, yet he was not the clan heir and, unless something happened to Shigeru, would never hold the power that he obviously longed for-and seemed created for. There were many instances in the chronicles of the clans where brother fought brother for power, where younger siblings turned against their elders, overthrew and killed them-or were defeated and put to death or forced to take their own lives. His father’s brothers, right in front of his eyes, were proving themselves disloyal. They were half brothers, it was true, from a different mother, but what if it was a sign of an inescapable part of Otori history that would be repeated in each generation? What if Takeshi were to prove disloyal to him?

How could he keep him occupied and make use of all his talents? Really, he should be given land of his own, a domain within the fief-maybe Tsuwano or even Yamagata.

Takeshi seemed to snap suddenly out of his reverie. He jumped from the wall and saw Shigeru. His face lit up in a smile so spontaneous and full of affection that it allayed some of Shigeru’s fears.

“Have you come to a decision?” he demanded.

“Our father is consulting a shaman,” Shigeru replied, unable to keep the anger from his voice as he should have. “We are to meet again tomorrow.”

Takeshi’s smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “It would be better to act immediately. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I do, and everyone knows it by now. I have been saying it all afternoon. But I am not being listened to. Worse, I am constantly undermined by my uncles, who never cease reminding me of my youth, my inexperience, and their great wisdom.”

“They have no wisdom,” Takeshi replied shortly.

Shigeru did not correct his brother for his disrespect. Takeshi glanced up at him and went on, emboldened. “My older brother should act, for the sake of the clan.”

“I can do nothing against our father’s wishes,” Shigeru replied. “I must obey him in whatever decision he makes. The trouble is, he makes no decisions at all!”

Takeshi put on a voice like a mischievous child’s and said brightly, “My teachers can’t forbid me to do things they don’t know about. And if they don’t forbid me, I’m not being disobedient.”The voice was a child’s, but Takeshi’s eyes were narrowed like an adult’s. “Mori Kiyoshige taught me that,” he added.

“Did he?” Shigeru said. “Go and find Kiyoshige now and ask him to come to me. I’m thinking of trying the horses out-maybe early tomorrow morning.”

“Can I come?” Takeshi said at once.

“Probably not.”

Takeshi looked disappointed but did not argue. Instead, he bowed formally to Shigeru as a younger brother should to an older and walked swiftly away.

He knows how to be obedient, Shigeru thought. He has had the best upbringing. I am sure I will always be able to trust him.

AS THEY LEFT the city, he saw the girl again on the bridge-the miraculous bridge so perfect and beautiful. The river did not fight it now but caressed its stone arches, whose footings had cost so many lives. Weeds were already attaching themselves to the lower stones, streaking the gray with dark viscous green, and fish gathered in the shadow of the arches, finding shelter from the sunlight and from the sharp beaks of herons and gulls.

He noted the carved boulder he had erected-it had been a decisive act, like this dawn departure. But both were inspired by the same desire-for justice-and the same impatient intolerance of cruelty and disloyalty.

Even at this early hour there were people on the bridge, bringing offerings to the stonemason, and it made Shigeru think about death and how this man’s death, for all its cruelty, led to a sort of a new life, inspiring people-the stonemason was as important and active in death as he had been in life; his memory would never die.

He could not see into the future, and therefore could not know how his own grave would become a center of pilgrimage as long as the Middle Country endured and how he would be worshipped as a god forever.

And although he meditated often on his own death, as Matsuda had taught him, and prayed that it would be honorable and significant, death did not weigh heavy on his mind this morning.

A sudden thunderstorm in the night had cleared the air and sluiced the streets clean. Huge gray-white clouds banked up on the horizon, tinged pink by the sunrise, as the sky began to deepen to blue. The horse beneath him was eager and excited, and he could feel its coiled energy through his legs and thighs. It was a young creature, like him. They were riding out together. He would not have to sit through another endless day of discussions, arguments, half-truths, and evasions.

Ostensibly he was exercising the horses with Kiyoshige, Irie, and about thirty men, but he did not intend to return to Hagi before the day’s meeting started. In fact, he did not intend to return for many days, for as long as it took to assess the border situation for himself and deal with the Tohan if necessary.

The light below the clouds turned to yellow as the sun rose farther, making their gray undersides gleam like newly polished steel. The riders followed the street that ran along the riverbank. Like most of the city streets, it was unpaved and the horses’ hoofs sent showers of water splashing from the puddles.

Shigeru turned and looked back at the bridge. The low rays of the sun turned the water to silver. He had noticed the woman-Akane… he began at that moment to think of her as Akane-kneeling by the grave, head bowed as he rode past, and he had felt a sudden rush of recognition of a bond between them. He was not surprised now to see that she was gazing after him, with the look of someone peering out to sea, trying to make out some great ship nearing or leaving harbor.

He reined his horse back slightly, so he and Kiyoshige were riding side by side.

“When we come back, I would like to see her.”

“Who?” Kiyoshige replied teasingly.

“The stonemason’s daughter. Akane.”

“Akane?” the younger boy repeated. “I thought you were not interested.”

“I may be interested,” Shigeru replied. It was, it seemed, a day of decisions. He would choose his own war and his own concubine.

“It has already been arranged,” Kiyoshige said quietly, leaning sideways slightly in the saddle so only Shigeru could hear. “She is waiting for you to send for her.”

Shigeru smiled. There was a host of things he might have expressed-pleasure, surprise, amusement at his friend’s connivings. Kiyoshige laughed. There was no need to say any of them. They understood each other.

In the same way, he had not needed to explain his plan to Kiyoshige the day before. His friend had grasped Shigeru’s intentions immediately. Irie had been invited to come and speak with the young men in the garden. Shigeru felt he needed at least one of his teachers to approve his scheme. Irie, who had traveled with him to Yamagata and returned to the town to meet him in the spring, was the one he trusted most, suspecting from what he noticed about Irie during the meetings that the man’s loyalties had been transferred to him. They had had no discussions; Shigeru had not sought advice. He had made up his mind, had told Irie of his intentions and asked-though ordered was closer to the truth-the older man to come with him.

The old warrior had obeyed impassively, but he had met them early, before the appointed time, and Shigeru felt his eagerness was as great as their own. Irie’s outrage had been as deep as Shigeru’s when they had uncovered the duplicity of Lord Kitano and his approaches to the Iida family, and he had been the most affronted by the Tohan version of Miura’s death.

The men who came with them-ten from each one’s personal retainers-were told nothing of the mission. Kiyoshige casually mentioned the need to try out the horses, and he made sure his men rode the youngest, greenest colts to give some appearance of truth; but just like the man who had spoken to Akane on the bridge, what all the Otori men hoped for was the chance to confront the arrogant, insufferable Tohan and teach them a lesson.

The last of the snows had melted and all the mountain passes were open. At first they followed the coast road toward Matsue; after three days they turned east, riding up and down steep mountain paths, sleeping wherever night overtook them, happy to be out of doors while the rain held off, away from towns and villages that might be infiltrated by spies, until they came to the edge of the wide plateau known as Yaegahara. It was circled by mountain ranges that appeared ever more faintly, one behind the other, as far as the eye could see. The most distant were the High Cloud Ranges, which formed a natural barrier to the Three Countries. Beyond the ranges, many weeks’ travel to the east, lay Miyako, the capital of the Eight Islands -the seat of the Emperor, who, in name, ruled over them all. In reality, the Emperor’s power was small, and outlying fiefs like the Three Countries practically ruled themselves. If local clans and individual warlords rose to power and conquered and subdued their weaker neighbors, there was no one to object or intervene. Whatever rights might seem to be ensured by inheritance or oaths of fealty were all subsumed by the final single legitimacy of power. Among the Tohan, the Iida family had risen to supremacy: they were an ancient house, high-ranking warriors, established at Inuyama for hundreds of years-but none of these things made them first among their equals as much as their lust for power and their ruthless and decisive pursuit of it. No one could be at ease with such neighbors.

Inuyama, the Tohan castle town, lay behind the mountains far to the south.

They camped on the edge of the plain, not knowing that most of their party would die there before they were three years older, and rode across it the following morning, urging their horses to gallop over the grassy slopes, surprising pheasants and hares that made the young horses startle and leap like hares themselves. It seemed the thunder-storms had brought an end to the spring rains; the sky was the deep blue of early summer, and it was very hot; both men and horses poured with sweat; the colts were excited and hard to control.

“It turned out a good exercise for them after all,” Kiyoshige said when they stopped to rest in the middle of the day in the shade of one of the few scattered woods on the grassy plain. There was a cold spring nearby where the steaming horses were watered and the men washed hands, faces, and feet before they ate. “If we were to fight an enemy on terrain like this, half our horses would be out of control!”

“We get too little practice,” Irie said. “Our troops have forgotten what war is like.”

“This would make a perfect battleground,” Shigeru said. “Plenty of room to move and a good terrain. We from the West would have the sun behind us at the end of the day, and the slope in our favor.”

“Bear it in mind,” Irie said briefly.

They did not speak much, but dozed beneath the sonorous pine trees, half-stupefied by the heat and the ride from the grasslands. Shigeru was almost asleep when one of the men posted as a guard called out to him, “Lord Otori! Someone is coming from the east.”

He got to his feet, yawning and drowsy, and joined the guard on the edge of the wood, where a pile of large boulders gave them cover.

In the distance, a lone figure was stumbling across the plain. It fell repeatedly, struggled to its feet, sometimes crawled on hands and knees. As it came closer, they could hear its voice, a thin anguished howling that now and then quietened to sobbing only to rise again in a note that made horror touch the spines of the watching men.

“Keep out of sight,” Shigeru called, and swiftly the thirty men hid themselves and their horses behind boulders and among trees. Shigeru’s second reaction after horror was one of pity, but he did not want them to fall into a trap by showing themselves suddenly, or to frighten the man away.

As the figure came closer they could see that his face was a mass of blood, around which flies buzzed viciously. It was impossible to discern any features, but the eyes must have remained and something of the mind, for it was clear that the man knew where he was going: he was heading for the water.

He fell at the pool’s edge and thrust his head into the water, moaning as its chill hit his open wounds. He seemed to be trying to drink, sucking at the water, heaving and retching as he choked on it.

Small pale fish surfaced at the smell of blood.

“Bring him to me,” Shigeru said. “But be careful. Don’t frighten him.”

The men went to the water’s edge. One of them put his hand on the fugitive’s shoulder and pulled him up, speaking to him slowly and clearly. “Don’t be afraid! It’s all right. We won’t hurt you.” The other took a cloth from his pouch and began to wipe the blood away.

Shigeru could tell from the man’s posture that he was terrified anew, but as the blood was washed away and he could see the face more clearly, behind the pain and the fear there was intelligence in the expression of the eyes. The men lifted him and brought him to where Shigeru stood and set him down on the sandy ground.

The man’s ears had been sliced off, and blood oozed from the holes.

“Who did this to you?” Shigeru said, disgust creeping across his skin.

The man opened his mouth, moaned, and spat out blood. His tongue had been ripped out. But with one hand, he smoothed the sand and with the other wrote the characters Tohan. He smoothed the sand again and traced, incorrectly, clumsily.

Come. Help.

Shigeru thought the man near death and was reluctant to inflict further suffering by moving him. But he himself made a gesture at the horses, indicating that he would guide them. Tears poured from his eyes when he tried to talk, as though the realization that he had been silenced forever had only just sunk in-yet neither agony nor grief would deter him from his entreaties. All those gathered around were moved to something like awe at such courage and endurance and could not refuse him.

It was hard to know how to transport him, since he was rapidly losing his remaining strength. In the end, one of the strongest of the retainers, Harada, a man with a broad solid build, took him on his back, like a child, and the others bound him tightly on. The two were helped onto one of the quieter horses, and, touching the man who carried him on the left or right side of his chest, the suffering creature guided them to the far side of the plain.

At first they went at a walk to spare him extra pain, but he moaned in frustration and beat his hands against the chest of the man carrying him, so they urged the horses into a canter: it was as if the colts sensed the new gravity of their riders, and they went forward sweetly and smoothly, as gently as mares with foals.

A stream flowed from the spring, and for a little while they followed the slight depression it made between the rounded slopes. The sun was lowering toward the west and their shadows rode before them, long and deep. The stream widened and flowed more slowly, and suddenly they were in cultivated land, small fields cut from the limestone, diked and filled with the river’s silt, where the young seedlings glowed green. The horses splashed through the shallow water, but no one came out to grumble at the damage to the plants. The air smelled of smoke and something else-charred flesh and hair and bone. The horses flung up their heads, eyes huge and nostrils flared.

Shigeru drew his sword and all of them followed, the steel blades sighing from the scabbards in unison. Harada turned his horse in response to his guide’s bloodied hands and rode to the left along the dike.

The fields were the outermost of a small village. Hens were scratching on the banks, and a wandering dog barked at the horses, but otherwise there were none of the usual sounds of village life. The horses’ splashing sounded astonishingly loud, and when Kiyoshige’s gray whinnied and Shigeru’s black replied, their neighs echoed like a child crying.

At the far end of the dike a small hill, hardly more than a mound, rose abruptly among the flooded fields. Its lower half was covered in trees, making it look like a shaggy animal, and craggy gray rocks crowned it. Their guide signaled to them to stop, and by his contortions indicated to Harada to dismount. He gesticulated toward the other side of the mound, holding his hands to his ruined mouth to tell them to be silent. They could hear nothing except the hens, the birds, and a sudden crackling sound like branches breaking. Shigeru held up one hand and beckoned to Kiyoshige. Together they rode around the side of the hill. Here they saw steps cut in its side, leading up into the dark shade of oaks and cedars. At the foot of the steps, several horses were tethered to a line between two trees; one of them was trying to tear leaves from a maple. A guard stood near them, armed with both sword and bow.

The horses saw one another and neighed. The guard immediately took aim with the bow and let the arrow fly. He shouted loudly, drew his sword. The arrow fell short, splashing into the water near the horses’ feet. Shigeru urged the black into a gallop. He had no idea who this sudden enemy was but thought he could only be from the Tohan. Their own Otori crests were clearly visible: only the Tohan would attack them so boldly. Kiyoshige had his bow in his hand, and as his horse broke into a gallop alongside Shigeru’s, he turned his body sideways in the saddle and let the arrow fly. It hit the other man in the side of the neck, finding the gap in his armor. He staggered and fell to his knees, clutching vainly at the shaft. Kiyoshige passed Shigeru and cut the horses’ lines, shouting and flailing at them to scare them away. As they splashed off through the fields, kicking and squealing, their riders appeared, leaping down the steps, armed with swords, knives, and poles.

There was no exchange of words, no challenge or declaration, just the immediate grappling in battle. They were equal in numbers. The Tohan had the advantage of the slope, but the Otori were mounted, could withdraw and attack with speed, and in the end the horsemen prevailed. Shigeru killed at least five men himself, wondering as he did so why he should end the lives of men whose names he did not know, and what fate had led them to his sword, late in the afternoon of the fifth month. None asked for mercy when the outcome became clear, though the last few remaining alive threw down their swords and tried to run through the shallow water, stumbling and slipping, until the pursuing horsemen brought them down, and their blood drifted across the sky’s peaceful reflection in the fields’ mirror.

Shigeru dismounted and tethered Karasu to the maple. Ordering some of the men to gather the bodies and take the heads, he called to Kiyoshige to come with him and began to climb the steps, sword still in his hand, alert to every sound.

After the clashing and screaming of the short battle, the hillside’s usual sounds were returning. A thrush was calling from the bushes, and wood pigeons cooed in the huge oaks. Cicadas droned plaintively, but beneath all these everyday noises, beneath the rustle of leaves in the breeze, something else could be heard-a dull moaning, hardly human.

“Where’s the man we brought?” Shigeru asked, stopping on the step and turning to look back.

Kiyoshige called to Harada and the soldier came running. The tortured man had been removed from his back, but his clothes and armor, even the skin of his neck, were soaked in his blood.

“Lord Shigeru, he died during the battle. We laid him down out of harm’s way, and when we returned, his life had left him.”

“He was very brave,” Kiyoshige murmured. “When we find out who he was, we will bury him with honor.”

“He will surely be reborn as a warrior,” Harada said.

Shigeru did not reply but went on up the steps to discover who it was the man had sought so desperately to help.

Just as the sound had been hardly human, so the bodies that hung from the trees were barely recognizable as men and women-and, he saw with a searing mixture of disgust and pity, children. They hung head down, slowly circling in the smoke of the fires lit below them, the skin swollen and roasted, eyes bulging from reddened sockets, pouring useless tears that the heat dried instantly. He was ashamed of their suffering, that they could be treated worse than beasts, that such humiliation and pain could be inflicted on them and they still remained human. He thought with a strange longing of the swift and merciful death brought by the sword and prayed that such a death would be his.

“Cut them down,” he said. “We will see if any can be saved.”

There were fifteen in all-seven men, four women, and four children. Three of the children and all the women were already dead. The fourth child, a boy, died immediately when they lifted him down, as the blood flowed back into his body. Five men still lived, two because their skulls had been opened to stop the brain swelling. One of these had had his tongue torn out and died from loss of blood, but the other could speak and was still conscious. Once he had been strong and agile. His muscles stood out like cords. Shigeru could see in his eyes the same gleam of intelligence and strength of will as he had seen in their rescuer. He was determined this man should live, that the other man’s fortitude should not have been in vain. The remaining three were so near death it seemed kindest to give them water and end their suffering, and Kiyoshige did so with his knife, while the conscious man knelt with joined hands and spoke a prayer that Shigeru had never heard before.

“These are Hidden,” Irie said behind him. “That is the prayer they use at the moment of death.”

When the dead were buried, while it was still light, Shigeru went with Irie to the top of the hill where the Tohan heads were laid out before the entrance to the shrine. The place was deserted, but signs of their enemies’ encampment were still evident-stores of food, rice and vegetables, cooking utensils, weapons, ropes, and other more sinister instruments. He gazed impassively on the dead, while Irie named those he recognized from their features or from the crests taken from their clothes and armor.

Two were, surprisingly to Shigeru, warriors of high rank: one, Maeda, closely related to the Iida family through marriage, the other, Honda. He wondered why such men should defile their reputation and honor by participating in torture. Had they been acting on Iida Sadayoshi’s orders? And what were the Hidden that they aroused this vindictiveness and cruelty? His mood was somber as he descended the steps again. He did not want to sleep near the shrine, tainted as it was with torture and death, and he sent Harada and some other men to look for alternative shelter. The one survivor of the atrocity was being looked after in the shade of a camphor laurel that grew on the bank. Shigeru went to him; fireflies were beginning to glitter in the blueness of twilight.

His face and head had been washed, and salve applied to the burns. The slashes in the skull oozed dark blood but looked clean. He was conscious, eyes open, staring upward at the dark shade of the tree, where the leaves were rustling slightly in the evening breeze.

Shigeru knelt beside him and spoke quietly.

“I hope your pain has been eased.”

The man’s head turned toward his voice. “Lord Otori.”

“I am sorry we could not save the others.”

“They are all dead, then?”

“Their suffering is over.”

The man said nothing for a moment. His eyes were already glistening and reddened. It was impossible to tell if he wept or not. He whispered something Shigeru could not quite hear, something about Heaven. Then he said more clearly, “We will all meet again.”

“What is your name?” Shigeru asked. “Do you have any other family?”

“Nesutoro,” he replied. The name was unfamiliar: Shigeru could not recall ever hearing it before.

“And the man who came to us?”

“Tomasu. Is he already dead too?”

“He had great courage.” It was the only consolation Shigeru could give.

“They all had courage,” Nesutoro replied. “Not one recanted; not one denied the Secret One. Now they sit at his feet in Paradise, in the land of the blessed.” He spoke in gasps, his voice rasping. “Last night the Tohan lit a great fire in front of the shrine. They taunted us, saying, ‘See where the light bursts forth in the east. Your god is coming to save you!’ ” Tears begin to well in his eyes then. “We believed it. We thought he would see our suffering and our fortitude and come for us. And we were not wholly wrong, for he sent you.”

“Too late, I’m afraid.”

“God’s ways are not for us to question. Lord Otori, you saved my life. I would offer it to you, but it already belongs to him.”

There was something in the way he said it, an attempt at humor that raised Shigeru’s spirits, almost comforted him. He felt an instinctive regard for this man, a recognition of his intelligence and character. At the same time the words bothered him. He did not fully understand the man’s meaning.

It was nearly dark by the time Harada returned, his men carrying torches that flamed and smoked, hastening nightfall. The village from which the Hidden had been taken lay a short distance away. Some of its buildings still offered shelter, though most had been destroyed during the Tohan attack. Many of its inhabitants had escaped, run away and hidden; they returned when they saw the Otori crest. A rough stretcher was made for the injured man, and two men carried him on foot while the rest rode, leading their horses and three others whose masters had died during the clash with the Tohan. A narrow stony track led from the hill along the side of the cultivated fields, following the course of the stream. The water babbled and sparkled in the torchlight; frogs were croaking among the reeds. The summer evening air was soft and caressing, but Shigeru’s mood was dark as they approached the village, and the sight of the destruction there angered him still more deeply. The Tohan had crossed the border and come deep into Otori land. They had tortured people who, whatever their beliefs, were Otori, and who had been unprotected by their own clan. He regretted that he had not acted earlier, that these attacks had not been punished before. If the Otori had not appeared so weak and indecisive, the Tohan would never have grown so bold. He knew he had been right to come, right to engage in the brief battle, but at the same time he was aware that the deaths of the Tohan warriors, especially those of Honda and Maeda, would enrage the Iida family and worsen relations between the two clans.

Grief and distress hung over the village. Women wept as they brought water and prepared food. Fifteen of their community had died-it must have been close to half-neighbors, friends, relatives.

Shigeru and his men were given makeshift accommodations within the small shrine, sitting under the carved figures and the votive pictures. The armor from the dead Tohan was presented to the shrine. The priest’s wife brought water to wash their feet, then tea made from roasted barley. Its pungent smell made Shigeru realize how hungry he was. It did not look as if much food would be available; he tried to put all thoughts of eating away. The gratitude of the villagers, the warmth of the welcome in the midst of suffering, only increased his unease, though he gave no outward sign of it, sitting impassively as the headman knelt before him to give his account.

“Every village from here as far as Chigawa has been attacked,” he said bitterly. He was a man of about thirty, blind in one eye but otherwise healthy and strong-looking. “The Tohan act as if this were already their land, exacting taxes, taking whatever they please, and trying to eradicate the Hidden as they do in Iida’s own domain.”

“Already?” Shigeru questioned.

“Forgive me, Lord Otori, I should not speak so bluntly, but polite lies don’t help anyone. Everyone fears the Iida plan to attack the Middle Country once they’ve unified the East. This must also be known in Hagi. For months we have been asking ourselves why no help comes, if we will be handed over to the Tohan by our own lords.”

“To what domain do you belong?”

“To Tsuwano-we send rice every year, but we are so far from them-only you and your father can save us. Help must come directly from Hagi. We thought you had already forgotten us. And anyway, Lord Kitano’s sons are in Inuyama.”

“I know it,” Shigeru replied, fighting to master his anger. Kitano’s ill-considered decision to send his sons to the Tohan capital had proved a fatal weakness in the Otori position. The boys were hostages in all but name: no wonder their father took no action on the eastern borders. Shigeru feared his former companions might pay for his attack with their lives, but the fault did not lie with him. It had been their father’s decision to send them away, a decision that Shigeru already regarded as near-treachery. If the outcome was the death of his sons, it would be no more than justice.

“If this sect fled from the East, they should be returned there,” Kiyoshige said, for no one was free just to walk away from their own land.

“It is true that some of the Hidden are from the East,” the headman replied. “But most have always lived here in the Middle Country and are of the Otori clan. The Tohan lie about them as they lie about everything.”

“They live among you, peacefully?”

“Yes, and have done so for centuries. Outwardly they act the same as any of us. That is why they are called the Hidden. There are a few differences. We worship many gods and honor them all; we know we have salvation through the grace of the Enlightened One. They worship the one they call the Secret One, and they will not take life. They will not kill either themselves or others.”

“Yet they seem courageous,” Kiyoshige observed.

The villager nodded in agreement. Shigeru felt the man had more to say on this matter, but something held him back, some other tie or loyalty.

“You know the man who survived, Nesutoro?”

“Of course. We grew up together.” After a pause, he swallowed hard and said, “My wife is his sister.”

“You are one of them?” Kiyoshige exclaimed.

“No, lord, I have never been a believer. How could I? My family have been heads in this village for generations. We have always followed the teachings of the Enlightened One, and we honor the gods of the forest, the river, and the harvest. My wife does the same, but secretly in her heart she worships the Secret One. I forbade her to declare the truth openly, like those who died. She had to trample on their sacred images…”

“What are they?” Shigeru asked.

The man shifted uncomfortably and stared at the floor. “It is not for me to say,” he said finally. “Speak to Nesutoro. He will know if he can tell you or not.”

“So you saved your wife’s life?” Irie had been silent till now, watching and listening carefully.

“She is not dead, nor are our children; but she does not thank me for it. She obeyed me, as a wife should, but she feels she disobeyed the teachings of her god. Those who died have become martyrs, saints, and live in Paradise. She is afraid she will be cast into hell.”

“THIS IS THE REASON the Tohan hate this sect so much,” Irie said later, after the headman had been dismissed and they had eaten a sparse meal. “Wives should obey their husbands, vassals their lords, but these people have another loyalty-to an unseen power.”

“Unseen and nonexistent,” Kiyoshige said briefly.

“Yet we’ve seen tangible proof of the strength of their belief,” Shigeru observed.

“Proof of the belief, not of the god’s existence.”

“What proof is there of the existence of any spirit?” Shigeru said, but then remembered how he himself had seen-had talked to-a fox-spirit who could appear and disappear at will.

Kiyoshige grinned. “It’s better not to question too closely. The monks and priests could occupy you for years with their discussions.”

“I agree,” Irie said. “Religious practices should keep the fabric of society in good shape-they should not unravel it.”

“Well.” Shigeru stretched his legs, then settled himself cross-legged and changed the subject. “From tomorrow we will ride the length of the border, from sea to sea. We must know the full extent of Tohan incursion. We have nine weeks-maybe three months before the first typhoons.”

“We have few men for a long campaign,” Irie said. “And the Tohan will be seeking revenge for this recent defeat.”

“I will write tonight to Yamagata and Kushimoto. They can each send a couple of hundred. You and Kiyoshige may go north with half of them. I will go south with the others.”

“I should accompany Lord Shigeru,” Irie protested. “And, forgive me, Lord Kiyoshige is too young to undertake such a mission.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Kiyoshige muttered.

Shigeru smiled. “Kiyoshige-and all of us-need all the experience we can get. That is why you will go with him. We are not engaging in a major battle; we are simply demonstrating to the Iida that we will not tolerate encroachment of our borders. But I fully expect these skirmishes to lead to all-out war. You can wait for the extra men in Chigawa. We will ride there together tomorrow. I will send Harada tonight with the letters. And then I wish to speak to the man we rescued.”

HE HAD CARRIED writing materials and his seal with him, as always, in the saddlebags, and now he asked for more lamps to be brought and water for the inkstone. He mixed the ink and wrote swiftly to Nagai at Yamagata and to Lord Yanagi of Kushimoto, ordering them to send men directly to Chigawa. Then he gave the letters to Harada, saying, “There is no need to contact Hagi or anyone else. Above all, Kitano must not be told. You must impress upon them both: They must obey at once.”

“Lord Otori.” The man sprang into the saddle with no sign of fatigue and, accompanied by two soldiers carrying torches, rode off into the night.

Shigeru watched the lights shrink until they were indistinguishable from the fireflies or the stars against the utter blackness of the Yaegahara plain.

“I hope you approve,” he said to Irie, who stood beside him. “Am I doing the right thing?”

“You have acted decisively,” Irie replied. “That is the right thing, whatever the consequences.”

Those I have to live with, Shigeru thought, but did not say it to Irie. He felt the sense of liberation that action brought. Irie was right: far better to act decisively than to sit in endless discussion and consultation, paralyzed by superstition and fear.

“Now I will speak to Nesutoro,” he said. “There is no need for you to come with me.”

Irie bowed and went back to the shrine. As Shigeru walked to the house where the village headman lived and where his brother-in-law was being tended, Kiyoshige joined him out of the shadows.

“The horses are tethered and fed. And guards have been set all around the village. There’s not a lot to eat, but the men are not complaining. In fact, they’re happy-they can’t wait to have another go at the Tohan.”

“I think they’ll get that soon enough,” Shigeru replied. “Word of this encounter will reach Inuyama within days, and the Tohan will respond. But by then we’ll have reinforcements. And from now on our borders will be patrolled and guarded properly.”

They came to the headman’s small house. It had an earthen floor with a tiny raised matted area for sleeping. Here Nesutoro lay, a woman kneeling beside him. When she saw the visitors, she bowed to the floor, staying low until her husband spoke quietly to her. Then she rose and brought cushions for them, placing the cushions on the step near the injured man. She helped her brother to sit and leaned his head against her own body, acting as a support to him. In the dim lamplight her face appeared drawn, bruised with grief and tears, but Shigeru could perceive the likeness to her brother in the planed cheekbones and almost triangular eyes.

Nesutoro’s eyes glittered like coals with fever and pain, but the sharp features softened into a real smile at the sight of Shigeru.

“Are you able to talk a little?”

The man nodded.

“I am interested in your beliefs and want to know more about them.”

Nesutoro looked anguished. His sister wiped the sweat from his face.

“Answer Lord Otori,” the headman pleaded, then added apologetically, “They are so used to keeping everything hidden.”

“There is no danger from me,” Shigeru said impatiently. “But if I am to protect you from the Tohan, I must know what I am defending. I leave here at dawn. You are not fit to travel with me. So, if you are able, we must talk now.”

“What does Lord Otori want to know?”

“For a start, what are the images that you have to defile?”

The woman made a slight sound as if she was about to sob.

Nesutoro moved his hand and traced a character on the matting, two lines crossing each other, as in the number ten.

“What does it signify?”

“We believe the Secret One sent his son to Earth. The son was born to an ordinary woman and lived as a man. He was put to death in the cruelest way, nailed to a cross, but he came back from the dead and now sits in Heaven. He will judge us all after death. Those who know him and believe in him will join him in Heaven.”

“Everyone else goes to hell,” the headman added, sounding remarkably cheerful about it. His wife was weeping silently now.

“Where does this teaching come from?” Shigeru questioned.

“From far away in the West. Our founder, the saint whose name I bear, brought it from Tenjiku to Shin over a thousand years before, and from there teachers came to the Eight Islands hundreds of years ago.”

It sounded like any other legend to Shigeru, possibly founded in truth but overlaid by centuries of human imagination, wishful thinking, and self-delusion.

“You may think we are mad,” Nesutoro said, sweat pouring from him. “But we know our God’s presence: He lives inside us…”

“They have a ritual meal,” the headman explained. “When they share food and wine, they believe they eat their god.” He laughed as if to show that he did not share such outlandish beliefs.

The wife spoke suddenly. “He gave himself for us. He suffered so we might live. Everyone, anyone-even me, a woman. In his eyes I am as good as a man, as my husband, even as…”

Her husband slammed his fist into the matting. “Be quiet!” He bowed low to Shigeru. “Forgive her, Lord Otori, her grief makes her forget herself.”

Shigeru was astonished by her words and equally by the fact that she had dared to speak in his presence at all. He could not remember ever hearing a peasant woman speak directly to him. He was both affronted and intrigued. He felt Kiyoshige tense next to him and held up his hand to restrain the younger man. He thought Kiyoshige might draw his sword and cut her down-anywhere else the woman would have been punished immediately for her insolence, but here in the bare, impoverished house, alongside the suffering man, it was as if they had moved into a different world, where the rigid codes of his society no longer applied. He felt compassion stir within him. He had, after all, inquired about the beliefs of these people called the Hidden. Now he was learning about them, not only through words but directly through the person of the woman in front of him, who believed herself to be his equal.

“There is another image,” she said abruptly. “Lord Otori should know…” Again she glanced directly at him, but after that one look, she lowered her eyes again. Her voice became softer-he had to strain to hear it, leaning forward toward her. “It is the mother and child,” she whispered. “She is the mother of God, the child is God’s son. Our way honors women and their children and seeks to protect them against the cruelty of men. God will punish those who persecute us-even the Iida lords.”