Heaven's Net Is Wide

41

When he was alone, Shigeru went to the seashore and washed himself all over, plunging into the chilly water, welcoming the numbness it induced, wishing it would numb his emotions as well. Then he set himself to training vigorously, striving to regain his self-mastery, but he kept seeing her image before him, her brilliant eyes, the sheen of sweat on her skin, her slender body shaking, in passion, with tears.

At midday, one of the women from the village brought him some fresh grilled fish from the previous night’s catch. He thanked her and, after he had eaten, took the wooden bowl back to her and helped the men prepare the nets for the evening’s work. They spoke little. He told them he would warn Terada against attacking them when the ship’s captain returned that afternoon. They expressed their gratitude, but he could tell they were not convinced-and indeed, on the high seas and in these remote places, Terada could act as it suited him, according to his own laws.

The ship appeared out of the afternoon haze, tacking against the southwesterly. Shigeru waded out to it and was pulled over the side. The decks were slippery with the blood of fish that had already been gutted and packed in barrels of salt. Huge vats of seawater held the living catch. The smell was strong, stomach-turning, the fishermen tired, dirty, and keen to get home.

“Did you see any apparitions?” Fumio asked eagerly, and Shigeru told him the story of the girl betrothed to Death, and the phantoms at the wedding feast.

“And you saw them in Katte Jinja?” the boy said.

“I certainly did,” Shigeru said in the same earnest tone, aware of Terada’s eyes on him. “I shall go home and write it down. One day perhaps you will read my collection!”

Fumio groaned. “I hate reading!”

His father cuffed him. “You will read Lord Otori’s book and enjoy it!” he said.

THEY SAILED INTO Hagi harbor early the next morning. Shigeru was awake most of the night, watching the stars and the waning moon, seeing the first hint of dawn and then the vigorous sunrise as the orange sphere pushed itself above the eastern mountains and spilled its extravagant light across the surface of the sea. He thanked Terada at the dock and thought he saw again both scorn and disappointment in the older man’s expression.

He ambled back to his house, stopping to talk to several shop-keepers and merchants along the way, discussing the spring planting, examining various goods introduced from the mainland, drinking tea with one, rice wine with another.

When he came to his own gate and walked through it into the garden, greeting the guards cheerfully, he saw his mother seated inside the room that gave on to the eastern veranda. He walked around and wished her good morning.

“Lord Shigeru!” she exclaimed. “Welcome back.” She glanced rapidly at his attire and said, “You have not been out in the city like that?”

“I have been at sea for a few days,” he said. “It was very interesting, Mother. Do you know they catch bream, squid, mackerel, and sardines between Hagi and Oshima?”

“I have no interest in bream or squid,” she replied. “You stink of fish-and your clothes! Have you completely forgotten who you are?”

“I’d better go and bathe then, if I stink,” he said, refusing to be ruffled by her annoyance.

“Indeed, and take some care when you dress. You are to go to the castle. Your uncles wish to speak to you.”

“I shall tell them about the ghosts I saw,” Shigeru replied, smiling blandly. “I’m thinking of compiling a collection of ancient tales of apparitions. What a fine title that would make! Ancient Tales of Apparitions.”

The expression on his mother’s face was not unlike Terada’s: disappointment, scorn. He was perversely annoyed that she should be so easily fooled, that she should think so little of him.

He considered making his uncles wait, sending a message to say he was tired after his journey, but he did not want to antagonize them or give them reasons to curtail his activities. After bathing and having his forehead and beard plucked and shaved by Chiyo, Shigeru dressed carefully in his formal robes but chose the oldest and least ostentatious. Before he left, he placed Jato, its hilt still wrapped in its sharkskin cover, in his sash and tucked the piece of cord that Fumio had given him inside his outer garment, all the while pondering on the best way to make the short journey to the castle. He decided to leave his black stallion Kyu behind. Horses were still scarce, and he did not want to be tricked into having to present his own to either of his uncles. He had settled on walking-it seemed suitably eccentric-but his mother’s shock was so great that he relented and allowed her to send for the palanquin.

The hot water after the sleepless night had brought fatigue closer. His eyeballs itched, and his head felt almost unbearably heavy. The time at Katte Jinja already seemed like a mirage, and his current state like the results of possession. When he arrived at the castle and emerged from the palanquin, he could not help recalling his father’s words five years ago, warning him against infatuation-and Matsuda Shingen’s observation that it was one of the faults of the Otori nature. Now he had succumbed in the same way; he did not know where it would lead him. He only knew it was too late to turn back.

He was greeted by Miyoshi Satoru, Kahei’s father. They spoke for a while about Takeshi, who had been living in the Miyoshi household since the previous summer. Lord Miyoshi spoke favorably of the young man, who served under him in the castle guard. Takeshi had celebrated his coming of age; it seemed he was settling down.

They walked together to the residence, Shigeru noting the new decorations that had cost so much and been so resented in the town. It reminded him of the ever-increasing taxation that affected everyone, even Terada and his fishing fleet. He must speak to his uncles about it; he must stand up for his people, maintain his pretence… see her again.

His uncles made him wait; he had expected this and was not angered by it; rather, he was grateful, for it gave him time to sit quietly and control his breathing, regathering his thoughts and strengthening his resolve. Miyoshi sat in silence, too, occasionally looking up as footsteps echoed within or on the outside veranda and glancing at Shigeru, as if he would apologize for the lords’ lack of courtesy.

Eventually the steward of the household appeared and, with many apologies, ushered Shigeru into the main reception room. The man was an elderly retainer who had served Lord Shigemori and whom Shigeru knew well. He thought he saw embarrassment in his demeanor and regretted once more the disappointment and shame he had brought on so many in the clan. He wished he could express to this man and to so many others his perverse gratitude that they served his uncles loyally and would preserve the Otori until Iida was dead and Shigeru head of the clan.

His older uncle, Shoichi, was seated in Shigeru’s father’s former position, and the younger brother, Masahiro, where Shigeru used to sit on Lord Otori’s left-hand side. Shigeru neither liked nor admired Shoichi, but these feelings were coldly indifferent compared to the hatred Masahiro aroused in him for his seduction of Akane. He gave no indication of any of these emotions now, merely greeted his uncles in formal language, bowing deeply to the ground, raising himself only when Shoichi returned his greeting and instructed him to sit up.

They exchanged inquiries about each other’s health and families and comments about the fine weather, the onset of summer, and other innocuous matters. Shigeru spoke at some length about his farming experiments, allowing himself to ramble on enthusiastically about the possibilities of the sesame crop and the necessity of good fertilization. He was explaining his theories on the ideal way to treat horse manure when Lord Shoichi interrupted him.

“I am sure all the clan’s farmers will benefit from Lord Shigeru’s wisdom in such things, but we have more important matters to raise with you today.”

“Please tell me, Uncle. Forgive me for having been so tedious. I am becoming a bore about my hobbies, I know.”

“I suppose this recent trip with Terada was in pursuit of some other hobby?” Masahiro said, smiling unpleasantly.

His expression made Shigeru uneasy; Masahiro’s lecherous character gave him a nose for sniffing out illicit love affairs. If he mentions her, I will kill him here, and then myself. He forced his own smile.

“Indeed, it was,” he replied. “I am interested in fishing techniques. Terada showed me their best fields, their nets, the way they preserve the catch, both salt and fresh. And his son taught me some useful knots.” He took the cord from his breast and showed them Fumio’s tricks. “Delightful, aren’t they? You should let me teach you, Uncle, and you can entertain your children.” He deftly twisted the cord into the pattern Fumio called the Helmet and displayed it. “Of course, this was not the only hobby. I spent some time in a haunted shrine and collected a fine account for my compilation.”

“Your compilation?” Lord Shoichi repeated in some puzzlement.

“Ancient Tales of Apparitions. That’s what I have decided to call it. It will be a collection of ghost stories from the Three Countries. These stories are passed on by word of mouth. Some are extremely old. I don’t believe anyone has ever written them down.”

“You take after your father,” Masahiro said, grinning. “He was also a believer in the supernatural, in signs and apparitions.”

“I am my father’s son,” Shigeru replied quietly.

“Terada seems to grow more influential every day.” Shoichi leaned forward, looking intently at Shigeru. “Did you sense any disloyalty toward us?”

“Certainly not,” Shigeru replied. “He is as loyal to the clan as anyone in Hagi. But the increasing taxation irks him. He likes to make a profit-if the castle takes too much money from him, he will be driven to resist.” He spoke calmly and rationally, hoping that his uncles would see the sense in his argument. “There is no need to take more than thirty parts in a hundred from anyone-merchants, farmers, or fishermen. If we devote our energies to improving our crops, our small industries, and our catch from the sea, everyone benefits and taxes can be reduced.”

He meant what he said sincerely but also took advantage of the moment to discourse a little more on composting and irrigation. He saw scorn and boredom come into their expressions. Finally, Masahiro interrupted him. “Lord Shigeru, you are becoming too solitary.”

“Almost a recluse,” Shoichi agreed.

Shigeru bowed and said nothing.

“There would be no objection to you marrying again,” Shoichi said. “Let us find you a wife.”

Shigeru felt it represented a turning point and rejoiced inwardly. If his uncles were willing to give him permission to marry and have children, it meant they now saw him as harmless, were taken in by the mask he had assumed.

“You are very kind,” he said. “But I have not yet recovered from my wife’s death, and do not wish to undertake the responsibilities of marriage.”

“Well, keep our offer in mind,” Masahiro said. “A man cannot live without women.” He ran his tongue over his lips and gave Shigeru a glance of complicity, igniting the hatred again.

I will kill him, Shigeru vowed inwardly. I will wait for him outside one of his haunts and cut him down.

“The next matter we have to discuss is your brother,” Shoichi said.

“I believe Lord Miyoshi is pleased with his conduct,” Shigeru replied.

“He does seem to be settling down at last,” Shoichi said. “I have no complaints about him at the moment, though Lord Masahiro may feel differently.”

“Takeshi’s always been a problem, in my opinion,” Masahiro muttered. “No more so than usual recently. All the same, it will be a pleasure to be rid of him for a while.”

“He is to go away?” Shigeru questioned.

“Lord Iida has suggested he should go to Inuyama for a few years.”

“Iida wants Takeshi as a hostage?”

“There is no need to put it in such blunt terms, Lord Shigeru. It is a great honor for Lord Takeshi.”

“Have you already replied? Is it all decided?”

“No, we thought we would discuss it with you first.”

“You must not do it,” he said urgently. “It puts the Otori clan at an insupportable disadvantage with the Tohan. Iida has no right to demand this now; it was not part of the terms of the surrender. He is trying to bully you; you must not give in to him.”

“This was also Lord Miyoshi’s opinion,” Shoichi said.

“Sooner or later we will have to enter into a closer alliance with the Tohan,” Masahiro objected.

“I would not advise it,” Shigeru said, trying to hide his anger.

“But you know more about farming than statecraft, Lord Shigeru. And you are certainly more successful with your crops than you were on the battlefield.” Shoichi smiled lightly. “Let us make an agreement. Continue to confine yourself to your spirits and your sesame, and Takeshi stays in Hagi. If your behavior causes us any disquiet, your brother will go to Inuyama.”

Shigeru forced himself to smile in return. “These are my only interests, so I will not be deprived of my brother’s company. Thank you, Uncle, for your wisdom and kindness.”

HIS MOTHER QUESTIONED him closely about the meeting when he returned to the house; he told her about Terada and the suggestion of marriage but kept his uncles’ discussion of Takeshi from her. However, later that night, exhausted as he was, he confided in Ichiro all that had been said, and the old man made a record of it, placing the scroll inside one of the many chests that filled the room.

“You seem like a different man when you enter this room,” he remarked, glancing at Shigeru.

“What do you mean?”

“Lord Shigeru, I’ve known you since you were a child, have watched you grow up. I know which is your real self and which is a role you assume.”

“My brother is now hostage to my role-playing,” Shigeru said with a deep sigh.

“I’m glad to see you have profited so from my instruction,” Ichiro said obliquely. “Especially in the art of patience.”

ICHIRO SAID NOTHING more on the subject, but it was a comfort to Shigeru in the coming months to know that his teacher, at least, understood his secret motives and sympathized with them.

In the sixth month, news came from Inuyama of the birth of a son to Iida Sadamu. Official celebrations were held in Hagi and lavish gifts sent to Inuyama, and Shigeru rejoiced privately, for if Iida’s wife had given him an heir, he had no reason to divorce her and look elsewhere.

The plum rains came, followed by the days of high summer. He was fully occupied with overseeing the harvest, rose early, and retired late. When he had time, he gathered more ghost stories-and people, learning of this interest, went out of their way to bring him new material or to suggest haunted places for him to visit. In the autumn, after the typhoons had abated, he took a few days to travel north from Hagi along the coast, stopping at each village and temple, and hearing the local legends and folktales. The journey was partly to maintain his new character, partly to test how much he might travel freely without being recognized or followed, but mostly to alleviate his restlessness as the months since his last meeting with Naomi stretched away with no word from her or any way of contacting her. He returned the night before the full moon of the ninth month with several fine new tales, reasonably sure that he had not been trailed, and was writing them down when Chiyo came to the door and said, “That friend of Lord Shigeru’s, the strange one, is at the gate. Do you want to see him tonight, or will we tell him to come back tomorrow?”

“Muto Kenji?” Shigeru said, delighted, for it was over a year since Kenji’s last visit. “Bring him in at once, and bring wine and prepare something to eat with it.”

“Will you move to the upper room?” Chiyo inquired.

“No. Let him come in here. I will show him my compilation.”

Chiyo looked pleased, for she had already supplied him with many grim and weird stories.

“He can probably tell you a few stories of his own,” she said as she left the room. “If he’s not an apparition himself.”

After they had exchanged greetings, Kenji cast an eye over the collections of scrolls and asked, “What are you so engrossed in?”

“It is my compilation of supernatural tales, haunted places, and so on,” Shigeru replied. “Chiyo thinks you might be able to add to it.”

“I can tell you some chilling things, but they are not tales-though they involve ghosts and their masters.” Kenji laughed. “They are all too true.”

“Histories of the Tribe?” Shigeru inquired. “They would make an interesting addition.”

“They certainly would!” Kenji was studying him closely. “Have you been away?”

“Just along the coast. I enjoy traveling-and now I have this new hobby…”

“Yes, a perfect excuse!”

“You are too suspicious, my dear friend,” Shigeru said, smiling.

“I like traveling, too. We should go together sometime.”

“Gladly,” Shigeru said and dared to add, “There’s a great deal I would like to learn from you.”

“I’ll pass on to you all I can that helps you,” Kenji replied and went on more seriously, “I can tell you something of the Tribe too. I know we interest you. But to reveal all our secrets is impossible: I’m one of the two most important figures in the Tribe, but it would still cost me my life!”

Shigeru longed to question Kenji about his father’s lover, the Kikuta woman, and her child-what had become of him, had he had children, was he still alive-but he remembered she had warned his father never to speak of it; the Tribe had not known of the affair. Perhaps it was better that they never did. He put the matter aside for the time being.

“Do you have any news for me?”

“You’ve heard about Iida’s son, no doubt?”

Shigeru nodded. “Has it changed Iida?”

“It’s calmed him down, temporarily. But now that he has an heir it will spur him on to consolidate the Tohan lands and his new territories. My niece often asks after you, by the way.”

Chiyo returned with flasks of wine and cups and trays of food. Shigeru poured wine. Kenji drained his cup in one gulp. “Arai, it seems, still harbors some hopes of alliance against Iida.”

“I have given up all such ideas,” Shigeru said blandly, drinking more slowly. “Shizuka betrayed both Arai and me,” he went on. “I am surprised he lets her live!”

“Arai is less astute than you. I do not believe he ever suspected her. If he did, he must have forgiven her, for they have another son,” Kenji remarked.

“They are lucky.”

“Well, children are always welcome,” Kenji said. “Zenko was born the year of the battle. He is now two years old. The younger one is called Taku. But Arai is to be married next year, and that may make Shizuka’s position more precarious.”

“Presumably you will look after her,” Shigeru said.

“Naturally. And more than any woman I know, Shizuka can take care of herself.”

“But her sons must make her vulnerable,” Shigeru said. “Who will Arai’s bride be?”

“Someone selected by the Tohan. No one of any importance. Arai is still in disgrace.”

“Am I?” Shigeru said.

“Iida thinks you have been made harmless. He is not afraid of you, at the moment.” Kenji paused as though wondering if he should say what he said next. “Your life was in some danger last year, but that danger is not so great now. If Iida feels anything for you, it is contempt. He often expresses it. He even refers to you as the Farmer!”

Shigeru smiled inwardly.

“Of course, the clever hawk hides its talons,” Kenji remarked.

“No, my talons are drawn, my wings clipped.” Shigeru laughed. “And I believe Sadamu has given up hawking.” He reminded himself of the day he saw the now all-powerful lord of the Tohan naked. He was relieved and encouraged that his new role was accepted even as far away as the East. Moreover, he felt that if any rumors of his meetings with Naomi had reached Kenji, the Tribe Master would have let him know. Kenji seemed to take pleasure in telling him things he knew about him. If he said nothing, it meant he probably knew nothing. The young man, Bunta, had not given them away. He was not from the Tribe. He smiled again at his own suspicions and refilled the wine cups.

Kenji stayed for a few days, and the two men grew closer. The events from their past, a common delight in the good things of life, and a certain mutual attraction deepened their friendship. In fact, Kenji was becoming the closest friend Shigeru had ever had, apart from Kiyoshige. Like Kiyoshige, the Fox was excessively fond of women and often urged Shigeru to accompany him to the pleasure houses of Hagi, particularly the famous House of the Camellias, where Haruna still held sway. Shigeru always refused.

At the end of the week, they made a short journey into the mountains to the east of Hagi. Kenji was an excellent companion, endlessly knowledgeable about wild plants and animals, acquainted with many hidden paths that led deep into the forest, tireless, and prepared to endure all the discomforts and surprises of travel with sardonic good humor.

He also told Shigeru a certain amount about the Tribe, but when, once home, Shigeru started to write this information down, he realized it was largely superficial-an address, a family relationship, some old story of punishment or revenge. Kenji deftly avoided giving any real details. Shigeru began to believe he would never penetrate the wall of secrecy the Tribe had constructed around themselves and their activities, never discover his half brother…

Kenji came once more before winter put an end to such journeys, and then again in the fourth month of the following year. He always brought news of events beyond the Middle Country: the continued good health of Iida’s son, the warlord’s various conquests, the sporadic persecution of the Hidden, Arai Daiichi fretting with impatience in Noguchi castle, the Shirakawa’s oldest daughter, Kaede, who had been sent to the same castle that year as a hostage. Occasionally, he had news from Maruyama, and Shigeru listened to it impassively, hoping Kenji would not discern his quickened heartbeat, silently giving thanks that she was well, that her daughter was not yet a hostage.

The summer was hot, with early, violent typhoons, bringing the usual anxieties about the harvest. Shigeru’s mother was unwell on and off throughout the summer-the heat did not agree with her, and her temper became very unpredictable.

After the full moon of the tenth month, the weather finally began to cool. The meeting with Naomi the previous year seemed like something imagined. Shigeru had almost given up hope of ever hearing from her again when a messenger brought a letter from Eijiro’s widow, saying that she had been given permission to make one last journey to her old home to dedicate a memorial to her husband and sons in their former local temple. Was it possible for Lord Shigeru to attend? It would mean so much to her and to the spirits of the dead. She would be traveling with her sister, Sachie. They did not expect an answer but would be there at the next full moon.

Shigeru was puzzled by this message: did it mean she would be there too? Yet the occasion sounded like a formal one: if he went, he would have to go as Otori Shigeru, not as some unrecognized traveler. Eijiro’s lands had been ceded to the domain of Tsuwano, which was still part of the Middle Country but whose lord, Kitano, was in favor of alliance with the Tohan and no friend to Shigeru. Was Kitano setting up a trap for him on behalf of Iida Sadamu?

Yet for all his suspicions, the remote possibility of seeing her meant he had to go. He approached his uncles for permission to travel and was surprised, delighted, and alarmed in equal measures when this was readily granted. He put his affairs in order as far as he could, in case he should not return, and set out on Kyu with a few of his own retainers, reflecting that it was a very different way of traveling compared to his recent journeys with Kenji, on foot and in unmarked clothes. Now he wore the formal clothes of a lord of the Otori clan, and Jato rested undisguised at his hip.

The excessive heat and the typhoons had resulted in a poor harvest, and he saw signs of hardship in villages and farms, where fields had been destroyed and buildings not yet restored. Yet the weather was fine and mild, the colors of autumn just beginning to stain the forest, as they had two years ago when he had traveled in secret to meet Lady Maruyama at Seisenji. It was the first time he had ridden this way since then, and he could not help being aware of the effect his appearance had on the people. They thronged to watch him pass and followed him with eyes in which he imagined he saw a desperate appeal not to forget them, not to abandon them.

Eijiro’s old house was still standing, and to Shigeru’s surprise Lord Kitano’s younger son, Masaji, greeted him when he rode through the gate.

“Father wanted me to take over the estate,” he explained, looking a little embarrassed, as though like Shigeru he was remembering the day when they had been made welcome here by Eijiro himself, had competed with his sons and daughters. Now the men of the family were all dead and the women in exile. “Lord Otori Eijiro was a fine man,” he added. “We are happy to accommodate his wife in this matter of the memorial and delighted Lord Shigeru could also attend.”

Shigeru inclined his head slightly but said nothing in reply.

“The ceremony will be held tomorrow,” Masaji said. “In the meantime, you must enjoy our hospitality.”

The younger man was both uncomfortable and nervous, Shigeru realized.

“You would like to bathe, no doubt, and change your clothes. Then we will eat with my wife and the ladies. Lady Maruyama is also here; her companion is Lady Eriko’s sister, and their brother, Lord Sugita, accompanied them.”

Relief, joy, desire, all came flooding through him. She was here; he would see her. He nodded but still did not speak, partly because he did not trust his voice, partly because he could see Masaji was intimidated and unnerved by his silence. Despite all that had happened since they last met, Masaji still held him in awe and treated him with deference. It both amused and consoled him.

THE OLD HOUSE had been redecorated, new mats laid, new paper screens installed. Its intrinsic beauty was enhanced, but the warmth that had made it so charming was gone forever.

When he was shown into the room where the ladies were already seated, he did not dare look at Naomi. He was aware of her presence, could smell her fragrance. Again, it was like a blow. He concentrated his attention on Lady Eriko, thinking how unbearably sad for her it must be; indeed, her face was pale and strained, though her manner was composed. They greeted each other warmly, and then Eriko said, “I believe you have met Lady Maruyama and my sister.”

Naomi said, raising her eyes to his, “Lord Otori and I met by chance at Terayama several years ago.”

“Yes, I remember,” he said, amazed that his voice matched hers in calmness. “I trust Lady Maruyama is well.”

“Thank you, I am recovered. I am well now.”

“You have been sick?” he said too rapidly, unable to mask his concern.

Her eyes smiled at him, as if trying to reassure him.

“Lady Maruyama was very ill for a long time,” Sachie said quietly. “There has been a lot of plague in the West this summer.”

“My mother has also been unwell,” he said, striving for a conversational tone. “But the cooler autumn weather has restored her health.”

“Yes, the weather has been beautiful,” Naomi said. “I have heard so much about this place but have never visited it before.”

“My husband will show Lady Maruyama around,” Masaji’s very young wife began nervously.

“Lord Shigeru is the farming expert,” Masaji interrupted her. “He was always more interested in such things than the rest of us. And now he is called the Farmer.”

“Then perhaps Lord Otori will show me around tomorrow,” Naomi said. “After the memorial service.”

“If it is Lady Maruyama’s wish,” he replied.

THE SERVICE WAS held in the small shrine in the garden, and tablets with the names of the dead man and his sons were placed before the altar. Their bones lay in the earth of Yaegahara, along with ten thousand others’. Smoke from incense rose straight upward in the still air, mingling with the sharp scents of autumn. A stag barked in the forest, and wild geese cried distantly as they crossed the sky.

Shigeru had spent the previous evening and the night swinging between sheer happiness at being in her presence and despair at being unable to touch her, take her in his arms, even to talk to her openly without watching every word. They had hardly addressed each other, and when they did, it was in formal language on unimportant matters. When they had the opportunity to walk alone together through the fields, still in sight though out of earshot, they were constrained and reserved.

“It has been such a long time,” Shigeru said. “I did not know you had been ill.”

“I was very ill. I could not eat or sleep for weeks. I should have written to you, but my illness robbed me of confidence, and I did not know what to say to you or even how to send it.”

She paused, and then went on in a low voice, “I would like to hold you now, lie down with you here on the grass, but it is impossible this time. But I am feeling more hopeful-I don’t know why: perhaps I am deluding myself-but I feel with Iida’s son growing up a healthy boy and with everything so settled now-I can see no reason why we should not marry.”

She glanced back at the house. “I must talk quickly. I don’t know how long we will have alone. I must leave tomorrow, and we may not have another opportunity. I am resolved to discuss the question with my senior retainers and the elders of the clan. They will approach your uncles with offers and promises they cannot refuse: trade, gifts, ships, maybe even part of the border country. The Arai will be in favor, and so will the rest of the Seishuu.”

“It is my sole desire,” he replied. “But we will only have one chance: if we make such a request, we risk exposing what we are to each other; if it is refused, we will lose what little we have.”

She was staring straight ahead, seemingly calm, but when she spoke, he realized her self-control was near breaking. “Come back to Maruyama with me now,” she begged. “We will marry there.”

“I cannot leave my brother in Hagi,” Shigeru said, after a moment. “I would be condemning him to certain death. And such an act would unleash war-not only on a battlefield like Yaegahara but throughout the Three Countries, in this peaceful valley, in Maruyama itself.” He added, with pain, “I already lost one terrible battle. I do not wish to begin another war unless I am sure of winning it.”

“You must start telling me about these crops,” she said swiftly, for Lady Kitano was approaching them. “But first I will say that I am so happy for this chance of seeing you, no matter how painful it is too. Just to be in your presence fills me with joy.”

“I feel the same,” he replied. “And always will.”

“Next year I will write to your uncles,” she whispered, before speaking more loudly about locusts and the harvest.

THE FOLLOWING DAY, after farewells had been made and Lady Maruyama and her party had left to ride toward Kibi, Kitano Masaji accompanied Shigeru on his way north, saying he had a young horse that needed the exercise. Shigeru had been allowing himself to indulge in dreaming: that Naomi’s plan would work, that they would marry, he would leave Hagi with all its painful associations of defeat and death, and live with her in Maruyama. He replied to Masaji’s comments and questions with only half his attention.

They had almost reached the pass at the head of the valley when a horseman appeared suddenly out of the forest on the eastern side. Shigeru’s hand went immediately to his sword, and Masaji’s did the same, as they reined the horses in and turned to face the stranger.

The man leaped from his horse, removed his helmet, and fell on one knee, bowing deeply.

“Lord Otori,” he said, not waiting for the others to speak or giving any formal greeting. “You have returned. You have come to call us to arms again. We have been waiting for you!”

Shigeru stared at him. There was something familiar about the man’s face, but he could not place him. He was young, less than twenty, his face gaunt and bony, his eyes glittering in deep sockets.

He is a madman, Shigeru thought, unhinged by some great loss.

He tried to speak gently but firmly. “I have not come to call you or anyone to arms. The war is over. We live at peace now.”

Masaji drew his sword. “This man deserves to die!”

“He is just a lunatic,” Shigeru said. “Find out where he comes from and return him to his family.”

Masaji hesitated for a moment, long enough for the stranger, with the single-minded swiftness of the insane, to mount his horse again, and rein it backward toward the forest. He cried out in a hoarse voice, “So it is true what they all say. Otori failed us at Yaegahara and fails us now.”

He turned the horse and galloped back, weaving between the trees and quickly disappearing.

“I’ll go after him and capture him,” Masaji exclaimed, and he called to his men. “Did you know him, Lord Shigeru?”

“I don’t think so,” Shigeru replied.

“There are many masterless men between here and Inuyama,” Masaji said. “They turn to banditry. My father is trying to eradicate them. Good-bye, Shigeru. I am glad we had this chance to meet again. I’ve long wanted to tell you I don’t blame you for not taking your own life, as many do. I’m sure you had good reasons, and it does not mean any lack of courage.”

There was no time to reply to this. Masaji and his men had already put their horses into a canter in pursuit of the madman. Shigeru urged Kyu into a gallop up the steep track to the pass, wanting to leave them both behind, the lunatic and the man who had once been a friend, and to forget their words, which revived all too strongly his sense of failure and dishonor. It was only that night, just before sleep, that he remembered where he had seen the man before. It had been at his wife’s parents’ house in Kushimoto. The man was from the Yanagi, who had been all but wiped out in the battle by the traitorous Noguchi, whose very name had been eradicated. It was distressing and disturbing, awakening all his feelings of guilt and grief about Moe, his doubts about the path he had chosen, his feeling that death by his own hand would have been the braver choice.

Soga Juro Sukenari waited eighteen years to avenge his father. It was only three years since Yaegahara and his own father’s death. Was he deluding himself that he would have the patience to wait as long as another fifteen years, suffering constant humiliations like those of today?

The turn of the moon had brought a change in the weather. It was much colder, and he could hear rain making its first tentative patter on the roof. He thought of the power of water. It allowed itself to be channeled by stone and soil, yet it wore away the first and washed away the second. He fell asleep to the sound of the rain, his last thought that he would be as patient as water.