Lian Hearn - Heaven's Net Is Wide

“Who was it?” Shigeru said, looking around. “Who knows we are here?”

“There is a small hamlet no more than two hours’ walk away. They often come to leave offerings for the god who provides the water for their fields. They are sharing what they have with him and us.”

Shigeru also bowed in thanks, grateful to the unknown farmers who gave so generously.

“My brother, Takeshi, wants to be taught by goblins,” he said, when the food was finished.

“How old is he now? About ten?”

“He’s four years younger than me; he turned eleven last year.”

“Ah, time goes by fast,” Matsuda said. “I hope he will also come to Terayama.”

“He will be a better fighter than I am. He has no fear. He killed a boy older than himself when he was eight.” After a pause, Shigeru admitted, “I have never killed anyone.”

“In times of peace there is no need,” Matsuda said quietly. “All your training may seem to be a preparation for war, but we hope it will also be its prevention. There are many ways to prevent war-alliances, marriages-but the best way is to be strong enough to make your enemy think twice about attacking you, yet not so aggressive that he feels threatened. Keep your sword sheathed as long as you can, but once it is unsheathed, use it without hesitation.”

“Are the Otori strong enough to prevent war with the Tohan?” Shigeru said, remembering the Kitano boys in Inuyama.

“The Iida family are very ambitious. Once a man has set his foot upon that path to power, little will stop him save his own death. He will always strive to be the greatest, and he lives in constant fear that somewhere another is greater than he and will topple him. And of course this will happen, because everything that has a beginning has an ending.”

Just beyond the shade from the eaves, an army of ants were milling over a dead dragonfly, tugging at the body with their tiny jaws.

“The dragonfly soars above the earth,” Matsuda said, “yet its body becomes food for ants. All creatures are born; all must die.”

“You gave up the desires of the world to follow the teachings of the Enlightened One,” Shigeru said. “You have compassion for all living beings. The Holy One taught his disciples to harm nothing. Yet you are my teacher in the art of war. It’s not possible for me to follow you, even if I wanted to. I have duties to my family, my clan, my country. I cannot renounce that.”

“I would never expect you to. Your path is in this world. But it is possible to live in this world yet not be a slave to it. If I can teach you that, I’ll be happy.” Matsuda added, “Along with swordsmanship and the art of war, naturally, for to answer your question clearly: Yes, the Otori will have to fight the Tohan. Within the next five years is my guess. Either in the south or on the eastern borders.”

“Lord Kitano at Tsuwano has sent his sons to Inuyama,” Shigeru said. “It suggested disloyalty to me.”

“Noguchi also has been making friendly advances to the Iida family. These are the straws that show the direction of the wind. Both these men are highly pragmatic; Noguchi is a coward and an opportunist. They expect war and they do not expect the Otori to win.”

“They are traitors,” Shigeru said furiously, his former sense of patience completely destroyed. “I should be back in Hagi.”

“Your father is still the head of the clan; he must know how things stand. It’s up to him and his advisers to deal with the situation.”

“My father…” Shigeru began, then fell silent, not wanting to sound disloyal himself.

“It’s one of the lessons of adulthood,” Matsuda said. “To see our parents clearly and recognize their strengths and their weaknesses, yet still honor them as our parents.”

“My father has many weaknesses,” Shigeru said with pain. “If the Otori are defeated by the Tohan, it will be because of them.”

Matsuda said, “We hope the onset of war will be delayed long enough for you to take a greater part in the leadership of the clan. And we hope that you have escaped the same weaknesses,” he added dryly.

“You must already know what they are,” Shigeru replied, feeling the blood mount to his cheeks. “And they are many!”

“The usual Otori failings, no doubt. Overhasty temper, lack of patience, a tendency toward easy infatuation. These are minor defects that you will master.”

“I will make every effort to,” Shigeru promised.

The days fell into a regular pattern of meditation and exercise, like the recurring motifs in a woven cloth. In the middle of the day or after the evening meal, Matsuda often talked about the history and politics of the clan and the strategies of war. He questioned the young man about his previous teaching: Shigeru was expected to retain everything in his mind. Matsuda’s memory was astonishing, and Shigeru could feel his own becoming sharper as he absorbed all that the older man could tell him.

After two weeks of following his teacher’s movements daily and practicing on his own, Matsuda told him one morning to bring the poles to the training ground. Shigeru was amazed at how his muscles and coordination had improved. He had been considered a talented pupil in Hagi, but that boy had been clumsy and slow compared to what he had become. Now the pole became what the sword would be, an extension of his own arm and brain. It would move as fast as thought with all his strength behind the blow. And in its return it would be as flexible as his own muscles, as swiftly and easily manipulated as his own hand. Breathe in, breathe out. The emptiness of mind that he achieved in meditation he now entered into effortlessly. He did not think about whom he was in combat with; he forgot Matsuda was his teacher, was an illustrious warrior; he even put aside his overwhelming desire to outwit, outfight his opponent; he saw only the movements of the attack and his response in defense and counterattack.

IN THE LATE AFTERNOONS he explored the mountain paths, finding whatever wild food he could. Sometimes he thought he heard human movements or felt he was being watched, and once he came upon signs that someone had been digging up aconite, arum root, and bugloss. However, he saw no one in the forest, though every now and then a farmer or a village woman came from the hamlet with offerings of food. If they met, Matsuda would give them a blessing and urge them to drink from the spring, while Shigeru questioned them about their farms and crops, their weather predictions, their folktales and remedies. At first they were silenced by shyness, but as the weeks went by, they began to open up to him.

Matsuda teased him about it, saying he must have been a farmer in a former life.

“If we were only warriors, we would all starve,” Shigeru replied. “We should never forget who feeds us.”

“Already wiser than most warriors in Hagi,” Matsuda said, as if to himself.

“If there is to be war, I must be a warrior,” Shigeru said lightly. “But if peace prevails, I will be a farmer, and no one will go hungry in the entire Middle Country.”

The summer solstice came and then the days of the Great Festivals, but Matsuda gave no indication that they would return to the temple. A few days before the Festival of the Dead, two monks came from Terayama, bringing food, bags of rice and dried vegetables, a cask of pickles and one of salted fish. It seemed like a feast after the meager diet of the past weeks. They also brought news from Hagi of the good health of the Otori family and a letter from Takeshi.

“He asks if I have met any goblins,” Shigeru said, reading it eagerly. “He had a fall from Karasu, my black horse, and saw double for a day.” He felt the old anxiety threaten to rise and swallowed, willing it away. “I told him not to ride the black. He is barely broken and too strong for a child. I hope he is not hurt worse than he allows.”