Heaven's Net Is Wide

37

Of course, it was a great relief to Sadamu,” Kikuta Kotaro remarked to Muto Kenji. It was over a year since the Battle of Yaegahara and the Tribe Masters had met by prior arrangement in the port town of Hofu, now ceded to the former Otori vassal, the traitor Noguchi. “If Shigeru had had a son, followed by other healthy children, it would have added considerably to Sadamu’s anxieties. Or so it was reported to me in Inuyama.”

Shizuka poured more wine into the bowls and the two men drank deeply. They were both her uncles, Kotaro on her mother’s side, Kenji on her father’s. She listened carefully to the conversation, hiding her feelings, which were complex toward Lord Shigeru. She had never been able to completely forgive herself for her betrayal of him. She felt a stab of pity for him now, wondering if he grieved for his wife’s death; he must surely regret that of his child, even if it was not a son. She thought with a sense of pride of her own son, now six months old, a robust and precocious child, the image of his father, Arai Daiichi. He was sleeping in another room, but she could hardly bear to let him out of her sight, and her pride was mixed with an anxiousness for him that made her breasts tingle and the milk start to flow.

She was half ashamed of her sentiments, she who had always been praised for her ruthlessness and lack of emotion, so valued by the Tribe. She pressed her arms across her chest, hoping the milk would not stain or smell, knowing that both the men in the room would catch the change in her scent.

Indeed, Kenji glanced at her in his amused, sardonic way as Kotaro continued, “But the possibility of future sons has persuaded Sadamu that he made a mistake last year not insisting on Shigeru’s death. He has become even more obsessed by him. Only Shigeru’s death will free him and give him peace.”

“Why did he spare him before?” Shizuka asked. None of them were confidants to Lord Iida, but Kotaro lived in Inuyama, had his own spies there, and dealt with Iida’s retainers, Ando and Abe. He knew the warlord’s thoughts and intentions better than any of them.

“He had some curious idea that he was acting with honor. His vanity was undermined by the fact that he won the battle only through treachery and that Shigeru had saved his life two years earlier in the underground caverns. He thought he was canceling a debt.”

“It is as impossible for Sadamu to act with honor as it is for Shigeru to act with dishonor,” Kenji said and laughed as though he were joking.

“That’s what many are saying,” Kotaro agreed, “though not within earshot of the Tohan, if they value their tongues and ears.” He laughed, too, and went on, watching Kenji’s face closely. “But I’ve received a request, though in fact it was not put quite that delicately, from Ando, for Shigeru to be removed, before the end of the year.”

Kenji gestured to Shizuka to fill his bowl and drank before replying. The three of them were sitting in the back room of a merchant’s house; at the end of the room was a small veranda and beyond that an unpaved yard. Someone had placed a few pots of sacred bamboo and silver leaf around the edge of the veranda, but the yard was filled with pallets, boxes, and baskets. Near the gate two packhorses and some porters were waiting patiently to be loaded up. From beyond the walls came the sounds of the port city. The rhythm of life in Hofu followed the winds and the tides; it was midday; the high tide and the sudden change in the direction of the wind had brought a flurry of activity that masked Kenji’s long silence.

Finally, he said mildly, “I thought we agreed last year that Iida was better kept off balance, that Shigeru should remain alive.”

Shizuka reflected that she had never seen either of them lose their temper. When they became angry, they spoke more and more gently, never relinquishing their iron self-control. She had seen both of them kill with the same cool precision and lack of emotion. She had a sudden vision of Shigeru under their knives and was astonished at the pain it caused her and a completely uncharacteristic feeling of guilt.

The wind rattled the flimsy screens. “It is an easterly,” Kotaro said with some irritation.

“It will keep you in Hofu for a while,” Kenji remarked, for Kotaro was on his way home to Inuyama from the West. “We will have time for a few more games.”The two men had been playing Go, and the tray holding the board and its pieces sat on the matting between them. “What took you to Maruyama anyway?”

“Another extremely well paid mission for Lord Iida,” Kotaro replied. “It must not be repeated beyond these walls, but I don’t mind telling you. Sadamu’s furious that the Western clans did not join him in the attack on the Otori. He lost too many men at Yaegahara to undertake any more military campaigns, yet he wants to punish the Seishuu, Lady Maruyama in particular. He hopes to persuade her to obey her husband’s family as a good wife should.”

He glanced at Shizuka. “Your warrior has had his wings clipped, has he not? Is he suitably shamed and repentant?”

“He tries to pretend to be,” Shizuka replied. “His life depends on it. Underneath, he is very angry. He resents being forced to serve a traitor, and he fears his brothers will usurp him if his father should die while he is away from the domain with the Noguchi.”

“Serves him right!” Kotaro returned, laughing again. “Make sure you keep a close eye on him, as you did last year, especially if he is contemplating any more rash meetings. Let us know at once. You’re in a perfect position to carry out any judgment, and I won’t have to make another long and tedious journey.” He leaned forward and said more quietly to Kenji, “I had no idea there were so few Tribe families in Maruyama, and no Kikuta at all. That’s why I had to go myself. Are we dying out? Why do we have so few children?”

He turned to Shizuka and demanded, “What’s your son like? Does he have Kikuta hands?”

It had been the first thing she had checked as soon as the baby was born, looking for the straight line across the palm that marked the Kikuta family, that she had inherited from her mother. She shook her head. “He takes after his father.”

“Mixing the blood seems to mostly decrease the skills,” Kotaro grumbled. “That’s why the Tribe has always been against it. But it’s disappointing. There have been exceptions where it increases them. I hoped he might be one of them.”

“His talents may develop as he grows older,” Kenji said. “As the Muto’s do. He has, after all, Muto blood in him.”

“How old is he?” Kotaro asked.

“He is six months,” Shizuka replied.

“Well, don’t get too attached to him. Infants can pass away suddenly for a variety of reasons.” He grinned as he finished speaking. “Like Maruyama Naomi’s son who died a few days ago. He was about the same age.”

“He died while you were in Maruyama?” Kenji said more coolly than ever.

“Sadamu wanted her warned. There’s no better way to strike at a woman.”

“You killed her child?” Shizuka could not help exclaiming.

“‘Kill’ is a strong word. I hardly had to do anything. I just looked in his eyes. He slept, never to wake again.”

She tried to conceal the shudder that ran through her. She had heard about this skill that only the Kikuta possessed, to induce instant unconsciousness through their gaze. An adult, she knew, would wake from it, though they were more usually killed while they were disabled; a baby would be completely vulnerable…

Kotaro was proud of himself; she detected a trace of boastfulness in his voice. Suddenly she hated him, for the murder and for the pleasure he took in it. She hated these men who controlled so many lives, including her own, with their ruthlessness and cruelty. They had made her get rid of the first child she had conceived. Now she thought she discerned a threat against her living son, a reminder to obey them. She was filled with bitter resentment even toward Kenji, though she had always believed him to be genuinely fond of her.

She looked at him now. His face was expressionless, with no sign of shock or disapproval.

“So Shigeru is next,” Kotaro declared. “I admit, he will be harder.”

“We have not quite reached an agreement on Shigeru,” Kenji replied. “Indeed, the Muto family are under orders to take no part in any attempt on his life.”

When Kotaro made no immediate response to this, Kenji went on. “Shigeru is mine; I saved his life at Yaegahara; but apart from that, he is more useful to all of us alive.”

“I don’t want to fall out with you over this,” Kotaro said. “The unity between the families of the Tribe is far more important than either Sadamu or Shigeru. Let’s draw lots for him. We’ll see if Heaven is on his side.” He scooped up a handful of Go pieces from where they lay on the board after the last game and placed them in their bag. He held it out to Shizuka. “Take one,” he said.

She drew it from the bag and laid it down on the matting between them. It was white. They all stared at it for a few seconds.

“Match it and he’s yours,” Kotaro said. “Shizuka, close your eyes. I will put one stone of each color into each of your hands. Then Kenji will choose.”

She held her closed fists out to her uncle, praying that Heaven would guide him. Kenji tapped her left hand. She opened it; the black piece lay on her Kikuta-marked palm. Involuntarily, not trusting Kotaro, she opened her other hand. The stone was white.

Kenji said with infinite gentleness, “This covers one attempt. I’ll go along with that. But if you fail, Shigeru’s life reverts to me.”

“We will not fail,” Kotaro said.