Autumn Bridge (47 page)

“What has he done?”

“Things that shame me to think of in silence, much less confess aloud,” Kiyori said.

Yorimasa long looked forward to two events. His ascension to the lordship of Akaoka Domain, and his first prophetic vision. Because he was the eldest son of Great Lord Kiyori, he felt assured of the first. His unshakable conviction that a special destiny was his promised him the second. From earliest childhood, his character was shaped by these expectations, despite repeated warnings from his father that life was uncertain and the devolution of prophetic power more uncertain still. Yorimasa had a strong stubborn streak. He would say, Yes, Father, but he did not mean it.

Because Yorimasa’s confidence was so great, those around him had confidence in him, too. This was especially so because he was the first grandson on both sides of his family. The hopes of his relatives naturally rested on him. Fortunately, these hopes seemed well founded. He was a bright and cheerful child who spoke in complete sentences during his first year. He wrote an excellent hand by his third birthday. He wielded his little sword with notable skill, fired well-aimed arrows with his little boy’s bow, and controlled his pony fearlessly, all before he was five. The household servants would have pampered him in any case. His attributes, including his good looks, encouraged even more attention than usual.

The birth of his brother, Shigeru, did not diminish his stature. Shigeru was quieter, shyer, and far less handsome than Yorimasa. It seemed to everyone, when they searched their memories, that everything Shigeru did while growing up, Yorimasa had done earlier, better, and with more flair. If he had any advantage at all, it was in his physical power. He was a very strong little boy. Mere strength, however, did not count as much among men as it did among oxen. In any case, by the governing principles of primogeniture, the second son was always so much less important than the first. How much more so when the first was so extraordinary. Relatives, retainers, and servants could not help but remark to each other on their good fortune in having such a gifted young lord. The future of the clan would surely rest in good hands, especially since every sign indicated that Yorimasa was the one in his generation destined to possess the prophetic power.

Such a young lord, having every gift that natural inheritance and family fortune can bestow, inevitably attracts a following among his peers. Yorimasa was no exception. Particularly because of the unsettled conditions of the time — unrest within, the increased presence of foreign navies without, disturbing political developments on the Asian mainland — the possibility of prophetic power drew even more young lords into his circle than would otherwise have been the case. This might not have occurred had Yorimasa not also been in every other way a sterling example of a lordly samurai. Living such a life, how could he take his father’s warnings seriously?

So it was that his disappointment, when it came, was unutterably great.

On the eve of his twenty-second birthday, his father said, “You will not become Great Lord after me.”

Shocked, all he could say was “Why?”

“Why does not enter into it.”

“I am your eldest son. I will not yield to my younger brother.”

“Shigeru will not become Great Lord either.”

In his pain, he laughed. “If neither Shigeru nor I are to be your heir, then you must be thinking of siring another. Or have you already done so in secret?”

“Stop talking like a fool. I am telling you the truth. Accept it.”

“Is this prophecy?”

“Call it what you will, or give it no name at all,” his father said. “Acknowledge it or ignore it. It changes nothing.”

“Who will be the next Great Lord of our domain?”

“One not yet born.”

“Then you intend to take another wife, or a concubine.” Yorimasa’s initial shock began to simmer into rage. Some manipulative woman had turned his head. In his dazed infatuation, the old fool had promised to make her child the next lord. Who was she? “Are you so sure you will produce an heir? You are no longer young, Father.”

His father’s expression had a strange quality to it. The sternness on the surface seemed exaggerated. Was it to conceal another emotion beneath it? If one was hidden there, Yorimasa could not read it.

“The decision is made,” Kiyori said. “There is nothing more to discuss.”

There was nothing more to discuss, but there was much to do. First, Yorimasa would discover who this woman was, and where his father had hidden her, and the child if one already existed. Then he would dispose of them. This was not a matter of prophecy. Kiyori had spoken of a decision being made. He would not have spoken of a vision in that way. The future was therefore not yet set. Yorimasa did not intend to remain passive while his patrimony was stolen from him.

At first, his most strenuous investigations uncovered nothing. He questioned every servant and every retainer. No one had seen Lord Kiyori visiting any woman. No one knew of any child. Yorimasa assigned his most trusted friends to follow his father. They learned nothing. He himself followed Kiyori, with the same result. Nothing. There was no woman, no child. So what had led Kiyori to his strange decision? No one had any idea.

Then, shortly after Kiyori made his announcement to Yorimasa, his behavior took another strange turn. He began to spend many hours of every day on the seventh floor of the high tower. When he was there, his standing order was that no one could enter the tower beyond the third floor. This was at a time when the navies of outsider nations were becoming ever more frequent in Japanese waters. Their warships had even entered the bay outside Cloud of Sparrows on several occasions. It was highly inappropriate to withdraw in this strange way.

Yorimasa wondered if his father had gone insane. Tragic though it would be, it would also be convenient. If his father was mad, the chief retainers would all support his removal. There were ample precedents. Madness had not been an uncommon clan malady. It seemed to be caused by the same mysterious workings that brought prescience into the bloodline. The secret disinheritance of his only two sons and his newfound preference for life in the tower seemed to point in that direction.

Whispers of a regency headed by Yorimasa began to circulate among the vassals. To Yorimasa’s great satisfaction, he had nothing to do with it. The idea sprang up spontaneously. Even his father’s closest retainers — Lord Saiki, Lord Tanaka, and Lord Kudo — expressed their concern to Yorimasa. He was pleased to find that they, like all the other vassals, had already begun to treat him with greater deference. His father was energetically working his own undoing. All Yorimasa had to do, it seemed, was exercise patience.

But he was not quite patient enough.

His father’s solitary periods in the tower piqued his curiosity. At last, he could resist no longer, and decided to discover for himself exactly what Kiyori was doing there for so many hours, day after day.

Entering the tower undetected was easy. Kiyori had stationed no guards at the entrance, within the stairwell, or on any of the intervening floors between the third and the seventh. He relied entirely on the strength of his command. It was enough to keep everyone out. Except Yorimasa.

Even before his eyes were level with the landing of the highest floor, he could hear his father’s voice in conversation. Whoever was there with him spoke very softly, for Yorimasa could hear no one else.

“You should have told him long ago,” Shizuka said.

“As you advised,” Kiyori said.

“What does it matter who advised it? To leave such an important matter until so late is error, my lord.” She bowed to the floor. “Forgive me for speaking so bluntly.”

“Well, now he knows. He will not be Great Lord.”

“But you have not told him why.”

“No.”

“Nor have you told him that he will not be the one to receive the visions in his generation.”

“No. I hope that when he sees how much suffering comes with the visions, he will not too strongly regret his lack of them.”

Shizuka smiled. “He has not seen you exhibit any signs of suffering, my lord.”

“Because, my lady, I have not actually had visions, have I? You are the one who has had them. You are the one who has told me everything I know of what is to come.”

“Since you believe I myself am a vision, then my telling you of the future is the same as you seeing it yourself.” She paused and pretended to ponder the thought. “But you sometimes believe I am not a vision but a ghost. In that case, are my words still visions for you? I suppose they are, for what else would they be?”

Kiyori frowned. “I will never be able to think my way through it. All I know is that everything you have told me has been true, without trickery or hidden meanings. Whether you are who you say you are or not, you are the way my visions come to me. With Shigeru, it will be different. You have said so.”

“Yes, it will be different.”

“He will suffer.”

“Yes.”

“He will understand nothing.”

“Yes.”

“When Yorimasa sees that, his regret will be diminished.”

“You may hope so.”

“Can you not tell me? Surely you know.”

The door slid violently open and slammed hard against its stop. Yorimasa stood in the doorway, sword in hand. His face was white, his eyes red.

“What are you doing?” Kiyori said. He leaped to his feet, but did not touch his own sword.

Yorimasa saw a sake setting for two. His father’s cup was empty. The lady’s cup was full. But she was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is she?” Yorimasa screamed.

“Put down your sword and withdraw!” Kiyori stepped fearlessly toward his son. “You forget your place.”

Yorimasa ignored him.

He said, “How long have you been a woman’s slave? Don’t glare so fiercely. I heard you admit it. You are a liar and false prophet. She is a sorceress. She must be, to make you abandon both of your sons for her. Where is she?”

His eyes scanned the room for the entrance to the secret passageway. The walls revealed nothing. He looked carefully at the mats on the floor. None of them showed signs of recent movement. She had not gone past him. She would not have gone out of a window, for in daylight, she would be seen from below. The secret entry had to be in the ceiling. His eyes went up.

When they did, Kiyori stepped forward and, in one smooth and economical motion, twisted the sword out of his son’s grasp and threw him head over heels hard against the far wall. Before Yorimasa could rise or draw his other sword, Kiyori struck him in the temple with the hilt of the sword he had taken from him.

Yorimasa recovered consciousness in his own quarters, with Dr. Ozawa in attendance. The right side of his head ached, but he was not seriously injured. There were no guards posted. His swords were where they should be, in a stand nearby. He took them and left the room. No one tried to stop him.

He did not seek out his father. He knew Kiyori would explain nothing. The woman, whoever she was, was gone, back into hiding. If he had not found her before, he certainly would not find her now. There was someone else he needed to see. If everything he had heard was true, then there was little of value left in life for him.