Lian Hearn - Heaven's Net Is Wide

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.

Shigeru took up traveling again, in unmarked clothes with his face hidden, taking care to change his appearance on every new journey, hoping to avoid recognition. In the course of the year, the new boundaries were established more firmly and barriers set up at bridges and crossroads. The Otori had lost the whole of the South and had been pushed back from the East into a narrow strip along the coast. Shigeru walked through all the remaining territory, knowing it intimately, talking to the farmers, feeling that they often suspected who he was but knew how to keep his secret. He learned about how they organized village life, who the headmen were, their indomitable readiness to confront their lords with their grievances.

When the plum rains put an end to his travels early in the sixth month, he spent the days making careful records of everything he had seen and heard, working until deep into the night with Ichiro.

Late one afternoon, as the rain fell steadily on the roof, dripping from the eaves, trickling down the chains, filling the new ponds in the garden, Chiyo appeared and told him a visitor had arrived.

“On a day like this?” Ichiro muttered. “He must be a madman.”

Chiyo, who with her increasing age and the new informality of the household had become ever more familiar, said, “Certainly, rather an unusual caller, if not a madman. He looks like some kind of merchant, but he asked for Lord Shigeru as if he were an old friend.”

“What is his name?” Shigeru said, only half paying attention.

“Muto,” Chiyo replied.

“Ah.” Shigeru finished the sentence he was writing and laid down his brush. He flexed his fingers for a moment. “You had better show him in.”