Heaven's Net Is Wide

35

Shigeru’s next concern was the coming Festival of the Dead. It had been his custom, at this time, whenever possible, to visit Terayama, where many of his ancestors were buried. He had heard that his father’s ashes had been taken there after the battle, but he had not attended the funeral; nor had any ceremony been conducted in Hagi-only his brief prayers in the Tribe village. It was his duty, he felt, to go there now, to pay his respects to his father and have prayers said for him, their ancestors, and the Otori dead, and to escort his brother home, for Takeshi was still at the temple. And he longed to see Matsuda Shingen, to hear from the Abbot some words of wisdom that would teach him the way to live the rest of his life.

He spoke to Ichiro of his desire to travel to Terayama, and the older man said he would approach the Otori lords and see if such a journey would be permitted. Rage swept through Shigeru at the implications of this reply; he was no longer free to travel through the Middle Country; he had to seek his uncles’ permission in everything. But he was more able now to control his anger, and he gave no indication of it to Ichiro, merely asking him to seek permission as soon as possible, as arrangements needed to be made and he wanted to send messages ahead to Matsuda.

He did not receive a direct refusal, but constant evasive replies made him realize that permission either would not be granted or would be given too late for him to arrive at the temple before the first day of the festival. He decided to take matters into his own hands and put on the disguise that he had worn with Muto Kenji: the old, unmarked traveling robe and the sedge hat; he wrapped Jato’s hilt in sharkskin, took a small pouch of food and a string of coins, crossed the river at night by the fish weir, and began to walk through the mountains.

If anyone challenged him, he had decided he would say he was on a pilgrimage to one of the remote shrines in the mountains to the south of Hagi, but no one seemed to suspect his identity. The months after the battle had seen many masterless or dispossessed warriors crossing the Three Countries, making their way home or seeking refuge in the forest, often resorting to petty banditry to survive. He realized his face and person were not known; people did not recognize him. When they had looked at him before, they had seen not him, the individual, but the heir to their clan. Now that he no longer traveled with all of the trappings of Lord Otori, he was invisible. It was both a shock and a relief.

Many people traveled with their faces hidden, wrapped in scarves or concealed beneath conical hats like his. He walked, seemingly deep in his thoughts, as impenetrable as any black covering, but studying the land as he passed through it, taking note of the state of the rice fields, the management of the forests, the fields cut from the mountainside where villagers grew vegetables, fenced with stakes against wild boars. It was high summer, the rice fields brilliant green, the forests deep and shaded, sonorous with the strident cicadas, the air heavy and humid. The forest echoed with birdsong and the sound of insects; and every night the cries of frogs rang from the dikes and pools.

He kept away from the high roads, following steep narrow tracks, getting lost from time to time but always continuing south, until he came to the hut where he had spent the summer with Matsuda. He arrived at dusk, startling the tanuki, which dived under the veranda, and spent the night in the hut. It seemed to have been closed for some time: the air was musty, the embers in the fine gray ash long cold. It was filled with memories for him, of Matsuda’s teaching, of Miura’s death, of the fox-spirit who had become a friend called Muto Kenji; he ate the last of the food he had brought with him and then sat in meditation on the veranda while the starry vault of the sky wheeled above him and the tanuki went out on its nighttime prowling; when it returned just before dawn, Shigeru also retired inside the hut and slept for a few hours. He awoke refreshed, feeling somehow more whole than he had for months, breakfasted on spring water, and resumed the last stage of his journey.

In the middle of the day, he rested for a while beneath the massive oak where he had seen the houou. He could still recall, clearly imprinted in his mind, its white feather, tipped with red. Matsuda had spoken to him then of death, of choosing the right path toward making his death significant-but now he was still alive when so many had died; had he made the right choice? Or would the result of his actions simply be to drive the houou away from the Middle Country, never to return?

There was no sign of the warriors who Kitano had said were surrounding the temple-maybe when the surrender treaty was signed they had all returned to Yamagata, its many inns and beautiful women, or had gone home to Tsuwano to prepare for the harvest. Nevertheless, despite the apparent peace and tranquillity of the temple, the serene curve of the roofs against the deep green of the forest, the white doves fluttering around the eaves, endlessly croo-crooing, Matsuda Shingen could not hide his concern at Shigeru’s arrival. Shigeru had just walked into the main courtyard and spoken to one of the monks raking the gravel and sweeping the paths-the temple was not fortified at that time, and the main gate was kept open from dawn to midnight. The monk, mistaking him for an ordinary traveler, had directed him to the guest rooms. It was only when Shigeru removed the hat he wore and asked to speak to the Abbot that he was recognized and taken at once to Matsuda’s office. He knelt before the old man, but Matsuda rose, stepped swiftly toward him, and embraced him.

“You have come alone, in these clothes? It is hardly safe for you. You must know what danger you are in.”

“I felt I had to celebrate the Festival of the Dead in this place,” Shigeru said. “This year above all I must honor my father’s spirit and those of the fallen.”

“I will show you where Lord Shigemori’s ashes were buried. But first let me call your brother. You must long to see him.” Matsuda clapped his hands, and when the monk who had escorted Shigeru reappeared, he asked him to fetch Takeshi.

“Is he well?” Shigeru asked.

“Physically he’s in good health-excellent. But since the news of the defeat and your father’s death, he has been very disturbed-angry and defiant. He has threatened to run away several times. For his own safety, I try to keep a close watch on him, but the constant supervision irks him.”

“In other words, he has become very difficult,” Shigeru said. “I will take him off your hands. He must return to Hagi.”

“Lord Kitano has offered to send an escort,” Matsuda said. “But Takeshi refuses to go with him, saying he does not keep company with traitors.”

“I have been concerned that Kitano might attempt to delay him in Tsuwano, thus turning him into a hostage,” Shigeru said. “I would prefer to take him back with me.”

“But then your journey would be revealed to everyone,” Matsuda warned him.

“My journey was not sanctioned by my uncles, but it was completely justifiable,” Shigeru replied. “I must perform the necessary ceremony for my father, here, where his ashes are buried, and at this time, the Festival of the Dead.”

“Iida will seize on the slightest pretext as proof that you broke the terms of the surrender. I don’t see how he will allow you to live. He will have you either assassinated in secret or executed publicly. You are safe only if you stay in what’s left of the Middle Country, in Hagi.”

“I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life in what amounts to prison!”

“Then how will you spend it?” Matsuda gave no sign of sympathy, regret for the defeat, or recrimination. Shigeru had acted from the best of his knowledge and ability. He had been defeated, but the action had been the right one. This attitude strengthened and comforted Shigeru far more than any pity would have done.

“I will become a farmer, among other things; I will retire from the world. And I will wait.” These answers came to him now, in the quietness of the temple. “But I need to know the land. I intend to walk it and discover it. Even Iida cannot see that as a provocation. My self, my person, will be my weapons against him. Everything that Iida is not, I will become. I must live-to counter him, to defeat him, even if I only outlive him. If I can provoke him to murder me, my death will achieve what my life cannot. And I will come here every year I can; I hope you will continue to advise and teach me.”

“Naturally I will be glad to, as long as I am not endangering your life further.”

“I would have killed myself on the battlefield,” Shigeru felt bound to explain. “But my father’s sword, Jato, was delivered into my hands, and I believe it was a command to me to live.”

“If the sword came to you, it must be for a purpose,” Matsuda said. “Your life is not yet fulfilled. But the path from here on will be much harder than the one you have already traveled.”

“I no longer know who I am,” Shigeru confessed. “What am I, if I am not the head of the clan?”

“This is what you will learn,” Matsuda said. “What it is that makes you a man. It will be a harder battle than Yaegahara.”

Shigeru was silent for a few moments. “My wife is expecting a child,” he said abruptly.

“I hope it is a girl,” Matsuda said. “Your uncles will be very disturbed if you have a son.”

They were interrupted by a sound outside, and the door slid open. Takeshi rushed in and threw himself at his brother as Shigeru rose to embrace him. Shigeru felt his eyes grow hot; he held Takeshi by the shoulders and looked at him. Takeshi had grown and filled out; his face was thinner and more mature, showing the high cheekbones and strong nose that gave the Otori their hawkish look. Takeshi’s eyes were bright, and he sniffed a couple of times but fought back tears.

“Have you come here to kill yourself?” he demanded. “You must let me join you. Lord Matsuda will assist us.”

“No, we are going to live,” Shigeru replied. “It was our father’s express wish. We will live.”

“Then we must take to the mountains and fight the Tohan there!” Takeshi exclaimed. “We can rally what is left of the Otori army!”

Shigeru interrupted him. “We can only do what is possible. I have signed the surrender treaty and have agreed to retire from political life. You must do the same, unless you want to serve our uncles, swear allegiance to the Tohan, and fight for them.”

He remembered his concern about Takeshi’s future: he had hoped to give him a domain of his own. Now that would never happen. What would Takeshi do with the rest of his life?

“Swear allegiance to the Tohan?” Takeshi repeated incredulously. “If you were not my brother, I would think you were insulting me! We must act with honor-it is all that is left to us. I would rather take my own life than serve my uncles!”

“That is something I forbid you to do. You are not yet an adult; you must obey me.”

“You are no longer the heir to the clan.” Takeshi’s voice was bitter; it was clear he sought to wound him.

“But I am still your older brother.” Shigeru could understand that Takeshi was disappointed in him; nevertheless, he found it painful.

“Lord Shigeru is right,” Matsuda said mildly. “You must obey him. He wants you to return to Hagi with him.”

“I suppose anything’s preferable to staying here,”Takeshi muttered. “But what am I to do in Hagi?”

“There will be much to do: continue your studies, assist me.” And learn what I have to learn, Shigeru thought, how to be a man.

“Tomorrow we will bid our father farewell,” he said. “As soon as the festival is over, we will return home.”

TAKESHI DID NOT weep during the short service, but he obeyed Shigeru without argument and said good-bye to Matsuda with gratitude, for all his teaching, and what seemed like sincere affection. They returned the same way Shigeru had come, on foot, in unmarked clothes, through the mountains.

Takeshi asked once, “Is this how we must always be, from now on?”

“It is very hard,” Shigeru admitted. “And will get harder still. But it will not be forever.”

Takeshi’s face, which had been sullen and closed, brightened a little. “We will take our revenge?”

They were alone in a way that they might not be again for months or years. Shigeru said quietly, “We will. I promise you that. Our father’s death and our defeat will be avenged. But it means secrecy and deception, something neither of us has ever practiced. We have to learn how to do nothing.”

“But not forever?” Takeshi said and smiled.

THE WEEKS PASSED. Life resumed its rhythms. In order to keep Takeshi occupied, Shigeru found his own days filled. Takeshi no longer trained in the castle areas with his cousins and the other boys and young men of the clan. Instead, Shigeru taught him on the riverbank or in the forest. Miyoshi Kahei and his younger brother, Gemba, often accompanied them with their father’s permission and many other young men sneaked away to observe, for Shigeru, taught by Matsuda, had become a swordsman of great skill, and Takeshi seemed set to equal or even surpass him.

One day Mori Hiroki, Kiyoshige’s brother and the last surviving son of the horsebreaker’s family, was among the small crowd at the edge of the river. He had been dedicated to the shrine of the river god six years ago, after the stone battle in which his oldest brother, Yuta, had drowned and Takeshi had nearly died. He was now fourteen years old. He approached Shigeru after the training session and asked if he might speak to him.

Shigeru had always had a certain interest in the young man, who had been the subject of his first adult decision. He had suggested that Hiroki be sent to the shrine to serve the river god; he had advised the boys’ father, Yusuke, not to take his own life but to continue to serve the Otori clan with his great skills as a horseman. He had watched Hiroki grow into a well-educated and perceptive young man, who had retained his love of dancing and become highly skilled at it.

“My father has certain things he wants to say to you,” Hiroki said. “Would it be possible for you to come to visit him?”

“I would like to,” Shigeru replied, feeling there was much he should tell Kiyoshige’s father about his son’s life and death. He made arrangements for the following day and left early in the morning, taking Takeshi with him. Ichiro had suggested Takeshi might be better employed in studying handwriting, history, and philosophy. Takeshi might excel at the martial arts, but his energetic nature disliked inactivity and he lacked the self-mastery required for diligent learning. Both Ichiro and Shigeru tried to impress on him how intellectual understanding enhanced physical skills and how self-control was acquired through devoting oneself with as much enthusiasm to what one disliked as to one’s favorite pursuits, if not more. Takeshi received all this advice with ill-concealed impatience and often disappeared from the house, fighting in stone battles with boys from the town and even in forbidden sword fights with warriors’ sons. Shigeru was torn between anger at his brother’s conduct and fear that Takeshi would be killed or would run away altogether and join the bands of lawless men who were living rough in the forest, preying on farmers and travelers. They pretended to be unvanquished warriors but in reality were little better than bandits. He made every effort to involve Takeshi in his own life and interests.

They did not cross the river by the fish weir but walked across the stone bridge. Shigeru paused to make an offering and pray at the stonemason’s grave, hoping Akane’s restless spirit would find peace. He thought of her often, raged against her, missed her and grieved for her in equal measures, as Moe’s body swelled with his child. Moe’s sickness abated as the weeks passed, but she remained sallow-looking and thin apart from her belly, as though the growing child drained all nourishment from her, and her physical discomfort was replaced by a mental anguish as her time drew nearer, for she had always had a deep-rooted fear of childbirth.

They went on foot since Shigeru had no horse-Karasu had died in the battle, and he had not yet replaced him. Almost as many horses had been killed as men; the living ones had been appropriated gleefully by the Tohan. Among all the Otori losses, the shortage of horses was one of the deepest felt and most resented.

They were accompanied by one of the few old men that remained of his mother’s retainers. The man walked a few paces behind him, his demeanor subdued, yet he and Takeshi must have been aware, as Shigeru himself was, of the buzz that went ahead of them-the murmur, a mixture of sorrow and excitement that brought merchants from their warehouses and craftsmen from their workshops to stare in his direction, drop to their knees as he passed by, then rise to follow him with their eyes.

The Mori residence lay a short way upstream from the lands that belonged to Shigeru’s mother, on the southern bank of the Higashigawa. It had become almost a second home to Shigeru during his boyhood: it had always been a place of quiet cheerfulness, despite the frugality and discipline of the Mori’s way of life. It saddened him now to enter the untended garden, to see the deserted stables and meadows. There were a few mares with foals at foot, and the old black stallion who had fathered Karasu but no full-grown horses, and only four two-year-old colts: two blacks, two black-maned grays.

Hiroki met them at the gate to the house, thanked them for coming, and led them across the wide wooden veranda to the main room, where his father was already sitting. Fresh flowers had been placed in the alcove and silken cushions spread on the floor for the visitors. An old man was trying to restore order to the garden, the rasp of his bamboo rake the only sound apart from the cicadas’ constant background song.

Yusuke looked calm, but he had grown very thin, and the powerful horseman’s muscles in neck and shoulder had wasted. He was dressed in a plain white robe, and Shigeru felt a pang of sorrow and regret, for the white robe signaled that Yusuke intended to kill himself and was already dressed for burial.

They exchanged deep bows, and Shigeru sat in the place of honor, his back to the alcove, looking out over the neglected garden. Yet even its wildness had a certain beauty: he could see how nature struggled to take possession of it again, the seeds sprouting where they fell, the shrubs bursting into their natural shape, escaping from the hand of man. This place of honor was no longer his, yet neither he nor Yusuke could conceive of any other way of relating to each other.

“I am very sorry for your son’s death,” he said.

“They tell me he died through the treachery of Noguchi.”

“I am ashamed to have to report it,” Shigeru said. “It is true.”

“It was terrible news,” Takeshi added. “I cannot believe my friend died in such a way.”

“And Kamome?” the old man said, for his horses were nearly as dear to him as his sons.

“Kamome was brought down by the Noguchi arrows. Kiyoshige died with his drawn sword in his hand, as if he would fight the entire Noguchi clan himself. He was the best friend anyone could have.” They sat in silence for a few moments; then Shigeru said, “You have lost both your sons to my family. I deeply regret it.”

He wanted to tell Yusuke that he intended to seek revenge, that he would wait patiently, that Iida and Noguchi would pay for Kiyoshige’s death, and his father’s… But he did not know who might be listening, and he knew he must not speak rashly. He prayed Takeshi would also keep silent.

“The lives of our entire family already belong to Lord Shigeru,” Yusuke replied. “It’s only through your wisdom and compassion that we have lived till now.” He smiled and tears shone suddenly in his eyes. “You were only twelve years old! But this is the reason I’ve asked you to come today. As I say, my life is yours. I’m asking you to release me from this obligation. I cannot serve your uncles. My only surviving son is a priest: I do not expect the river god to give him back to me. My only wish is to end my life. I seek your permission to do so and ask that you will assist me.”

“Father!” Hiroki said, but Yusuke held up a hand to silence him. “I see you have your father’s sword,” he said to Shigeru. “Use Jato on me.”

Again Shigeru felt the pull toward death. How could he take the life of this skilled and loyal man and live himself? He feared Yusuke would be the first of many-fathers who had lost their sons, warriors who had survived the battle, who would not live with the shame and dishonor of defeat. The best of the Otori would follow those already lost; the clan would destroy itself. But if he were already dead, none of this would concern him. Better perhaps to accept it, order his wife, mother, brother, to kill themselves and die himself. He could almost feel Takeshi next to him willing him to do it.

He heard the stallion neigh from the field, a sound so like Karasu’s it was as if he were hearing a ghost.

“We need more horses,” he said. “I will release you from your obligations to me-indeed your son, Kiyoshige, has paid all debts many times over-but I have one more request to make of you: that you will build up the horse herds before you leave us.”

He could think of nothing that would better restore the clan’s pride and spirit than to restore their horses.

The stallion neighed again, and one of the colts answered, echoing, challenging its father.

“I’d have to travel to look for some,” Yusuke said. “We won’t find any in the Three Countries for a while; the horses of the West are too small and too slow, and the Tohan certainly won’t help us.”

“Father used to talk, in the past, of the horses of the steppes,” Hiroki said. “Didn’t Father always wish to travel to the mainland and see them for himself?”

“The horses from the edge of the world,” Yusuke murmured. “Fiercer than lions, faster than the wind.”

“Bring back some of them as your last service to the Otori,” Shigeru said.

Yusuke sat in silence for many long moments. When he spoke, his voice, which had been so firm before, was broken. “It seems I put on my funeral robe prematurely. I will obey you, Lord Shigeru. I will live. I will go to the edge of the world and bring back horses.”

The tears that he had not shed before were now coursing down his cheeks.

“Forgive me,” he said, wiping them away with the white sleeve. “This is the grief I had hoped to escape. It is far harder and more painful to live than to die.”

Takeshi said very little, but when they left, he murmured to his brother, “Lord Mori is right. It is harder to live.”

“For my sake, you must live,” Shigeru replied.

“I would take my own life if you ordered me to; if you tell me not to, I suppose I must obey you. But it seems so shameful.”

“We are obeying our father, there is no shame in that. And never forget, it will not be forever.”