Lian Hearn - Heaven's Net Is Wide

“Muto Shizuka!” he said. “I know it is you. Show yourself to me.”

There was no reply. He said more angrily, “Show yourself!”

Two men came around the corner, pushing a barrow laden with chestnuts. They stared at Shigeru in amazement.

“Lord Otori! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “Nothing’s wrong. I am on my way home.”

They will think I’ve gone mad. “Not only the farmer but the crazy farmer,” he muttered as he came to the gate of his mother’s house, certain that the two would go straight to the nearest inn and start gossiping about him.

The dogs got up, wagging their tails at the sight of him. “Has anyone come in?” he called to the guards.

“No one, lord,” one replied.

Chiyo said the same when she came out to welcome him. He walked into every room: there was no one there. Yet he was sure he could still smell the faint unfamiliar scent. He bathed and ate distractedly, uncomfortably aware of his vulnerability to the Tribe. There might be poison in his food; a knife might suddenly come out of the air: a mouthful of needles might be spat out with supernatural force and speed, directed at the eye. He would die almost without knowing it.

He had removed his sword when entering the house. Now he called to Chiyo to bring it to him; he laid it on the floor next to him and placed it in his sash when, after the meal, he went to the room where he usually spent the evening reading and writing. Ichiro had retired early, suffering from a heavy cold. Chiyo had already placed two braziers in the room, but the air was still chilly enough for him to see his own breath.

And someone else’s. A tiny, hardly perceptible cloud hung at knee level.

“Muto,” he said, and drew his sword.

She came out of nowhere: one moment the room was empty; the air shimmered; the next moment she knelt on the floor in front of him. Though he had seen Kenji do this, it still made him dizzy, as though reality itself were dislodged. He took a deep breath.

“Lord Otori.” She lowered her brow to the ground and remained there, her hair spilling over her face, revealing her slender neck.

If he had met her in the street or in the forest, if she had been standing, walking-in any position but this-he would have fought with her and killed her to punish her for her duplicity and treachery. But he had never killed a woman or an unarmed man-though she was hardly an ordinary woman, she seemed to be unarmed; furthermore, the idea of shedding blood within his own house repelled him. And she had kindled his curiosity: now he had seen with his own eyes what his father had seen, the Tribe woman who could disappear and reappear at will. Why had she come to him like this, putting herself, it seemed, in his power? And what might he learn from her?

He sat cross-legged, placing the sword next to him. “Sit up,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“There are many things I want to talk to you about,” she replied as she raised herself, looking directly at him. “I came here because your house is safe: there are no spies here, no members of the Tribe. Your household are very loyal to you-as is most of Hagi.”

“Did your uncle send you?” he asked.

She nodded. “Part of my commission is from him. I will tell you his news first. There’s been an unfortunate development that he thought you should know about. There was an attempt to assassinate Iida Sadamu two weeks ago.”

“What happened?” Shigeru said. “It failed, presumably. Who was behind it?”

“You had nothing to do with it?”

“Am I under suspicion?”

“The would-be assassin was from your wife’s family, the Yanagi.”

Shigeru remembered the madman who had ridden out of the forest: he knew at once it must be the same man.

“He was apparently seeking to avenge the annihilation of the clan,” Shizuka continued. “My uncle and I believe he was acting individually, out of rage and despair. It was a clumsy attempt: he tried to ambush Iida on the road when he was returning to Inuyama for the winter. He never got near him. He was taken alive and tortured for five days, but he said little except that he was the last of the Yanagi. He was a warrior, but Iida declared him stripped of all privileges: he died finally on the castle wall. Iida immediately assumed he was in your service. It has reawakened all his suspicions. He will demand some sort of retribution from the Otori.”

“I am in no way involved,” Shigeru exclaimed, appalled at the implications of this rash act of which he had had no knowledge. “How can I be held responsible?”

“Many people would like to assassinate Iida; he will always see your hand behind it. And besides, something more implicates you. Kitano Masaji reported that the same man had spoken to you as you left Misumi. He said you must have given him some secret message or sign.”

“I thought he was a lunatic and tried to prevent Kitano from killing him!”

“A grave mistake. He eluded Kitano’s men and went straight to the high road between Kushimoto and Inuyama to attack Iida. My uncle’s advice is to lie very low. Don’t leave the Middle Country. Stay in Hagi if possible.”

“I only travel for agricultural research and religious duties,” Shigeru said. “And both must be laid aside during the winter.” He gestured at the writing materials and the boxes of scrolls that filled the room. “I have plenty with which to occupy myself until spring comes.” He gave her his openhearted smile, but when he spoke again, his voice was bitter. “You may tell your uncle that-and Iida, of course.”

She said, “You are still angry with me. I must also talk about this. I was acting on the orders of my family when I betrayed you and the man I love, the father of my sons. From the Tribe’s point of view, I was doing my duty. It is not the worst thing I have done at their command. Yet I am deeply ashamed of it, and I ask you to forgive me.”

“How can I forgive you?” he replied, trying to control his anger. “The betrayal and death of my father, my best friend, thousands of my men; the loss of my position-and after you swore to Arai Daiichi and to me that we could trust you.”

Her face was white, her eyes opaque. “Believe me, the dead haunt me. That is why I want to make amends.”

“You must take me for a fool. Am I supposed to trust you again and express my forgiveness to ease your pangs of conscience? For what purpose? I have retired from politics; I have no interest in anything other than farming my estate and pursuing my spiritual duties. What is past is past. Your remorse cannot undo the battle or bring back the dead.”

“I will not defend myself against your contempt and distrust, for I deserve both. I just ask you to see things from the point of view of a woman from the Tribe who now wants to help you.”

“I know you are a consummate actor,” he said. “You outdo yourself in this performance.” He was on the point of ordering her to leave, of calling the guards and having her thrown out, having them put her to death.

She held out her hands to him, palms upward. He saw the unusual lines that ran straight across the hand as though cutting it in half. He stared at them, trying to remember… something his father had said, about the Kikuta woman.

“Lord Otori, how can I convince you to trust me?”

He raised his eyes from her hands to her face. It was impossible to tell if she was sincere or not. He said nothing for a few moments, making an effort to curb his anger, trying to assess the dangers and the advantages to him in this sudden new development, thinking with brief sorrow of the young Yanagi man, his pain, his humiliation. He turned away from her and said abruptly, “What do the lines on your hands signify?”

She glanced down at them. “Some of us who have Kikuta blood carry this mark. It is supposed to indicate high skills. My uncle has told you something of these things?”