Lord of the Darkwood (18 page)

“We should leave things as they are,” Yayoi said. “He will have a far happier life here.”

“But if he is restored to the throne, maybe the drought will stop and the lake will go back to how it used to be. And we would gain considerable rewards.”

“Restored to the throne? You are dreaming if you think that will happen! The Miboshi will put him to death, and probably everyone who knows of his existence!”

“You are always so pessimistic, Yayoi! You always expect the worst!” Fuji turned away, biting a hangnail in exasperation.

Isn't that how my life has turned out?
Yayoi thought.
My mother passed away when I was a child, my father died at the side of the Crown Prince in the Ninpei rebellion, my little brother was killed by mistake after he had been kidnapped. My own life has been spared only through Fuji's discretion.

Fuji spat out the nail and said in a malicious voice, “It happened when you were away at the temple so I don't believe you ever heard of it, but Lord Aritomo forced his favorite, Yukikuni no Takaakira, to commit suicide.”

“I did not know,” Yayoi said. “But what has it to do with me?”

“He was accused of harboring a Kakizuki girl, Kiyoyori's daughter in fact, first in Miyako and then at Nishimi.” She looked up at Yayoi, her usual charming smile on her face. “Aritomo saw it as unpardonable treachery. Takaakira ripped his belly. They say it took him hours to die. Nobody knows Kiyoyori's daughter survived, except me. And you, of course.”

Yayoi had not known he was dead, the man who had saved her life when the capital fell to the Miboshi. He had, undoubtedly, had his own motives, of which she had been vaguely aware as a child; he would have made her his wife, once she was old enough. But he had been kind to her; he had taught her to read and write, and so many other things. Deep grief assailed her and then she turned cold with sudden fear, hearing the threat, knowing that Fuji would not hesitate to sacrifice Yoshi to gain some advantage for herself. And that Yayoi and Take were no more than pawns in Fuji's game. The safety of all three of them depended on Fuji's silence. But how could she be prevented from betraying them?

*   *   *

Yayoi did not have time to reflect more on this disturbing conversation, for her first guest arrived, and then she was kept busy for the rest of the day. Her last visitor was one of her favorites, a merchant from Kitakami. He was no longer young, but not quite middle-aged, the son of an influential family whose specialty was fermentation—soybean products, rice wine, and so on. Their name was Unagi, or Eel, and they guarded carefully both their secret recipes and the contracts they made with farmers all around Lake Kasumi, in which the promise of beans at harvest was exchanged for tools necessary in the planting season, lengths of cloth for summer weddings and festivals, drums for local temples, cord ropes and bamboo baskets.

He lived up to his family name, Yayoi thought, being intelligent, strong, and enterprising, as well as able to slither out of any unpleasant situation. She enjoyed his company as much as his gifts, and the wholehearted pleasure he took in lovemaking reminded her of grilled eel—rich, tasty, good for the health.

But on this day, though they brought considerable pleasure to each other's body, afterward he seemed unusually preoccupied, almost despondent.

“Something is troubling you?” Yayoi said, and called softly to one of the girls to bring more wine.

“Forgive me, Lady Yayoi. I thought I would leave my troubles on the shore, or at least on the boat my servant brought me over on. It's been a strange spring … but I don't want to burden you with my problems.”

“You can talk to me about anything,” Yayoi said. “Even if I can't help, voicing these concerns often clarifies the way you see them.”

“Maybe you can help, you are the wisest woman I've ever met. You know my family has been in this business for as long as anyone can remember. We've dealt fairly with people, our house was founded on mutual trust, and that's the way we've always run things. This year more than half of our suppliers have said they can't carry on in the usual way. It appears someone is muscling in on contracts we've had for years, taking them over, blackening our name, and deliberately trying to ruin us. They call themselves the Kikuta—they have been around for some years, though no one seems to know where they came from, but now they have become much more aggressive. The head of the family lets people believe he is Akuzenji's son, though all Akuzenji's children were supposedly killed by Kiyoyori's men years ago.”

Yayoi said, “I have never heard of them.” She remembered clearly the day Akuzenji died, when she had been so afraid her father would have Shikanoko executed, too.

“We have competitors, naturally, always have had, but this family is different. They use intimidation, and don't hesitate to follow through with their threats, to the point of murder. And not only of farmers but of their wives and children, too. No one dares stand up to them. Now they have started on us, demanding we sell our business, our warehouses, our stock, the vats and all our tools, as well as our secrets, to them. If we don't, they say they will destroy everything and eliminate our family. I didn't take them seriously at first, but now I don't know what to do about it. My father isn't well and I'm afraid the anxiety is going to kill him. I hate to buckle under to bullying, but I have to be realistic.”

“What can you do?” Yayoi felt a twinge of unease.

“I am trying to come to some agreement with them. After all, there are precedents—we used to pay Akuzenji to ensure safe transport of our goods overland, and we still employ seamen, who many would describe as pirates, to protect our ships at sea. It's to be expected and saves us keeping a small army of bodyguards. But the Kikuta will not discuss or negotiate; they want complete control. Our only weapon is that they cannot match us for quality, yet. My father has always had the highest standards and he refuses to compromise on that. But even if our buyers are loyal to us, we are falling behind in supplying them because we cannot get our raw ingredients.”

Yayoi poured more wine. “Do these people seek to control other merchant houses or only yours?”

“We are the first, I believe,” Unagi said, draining the bowl. “However, if we go under, they will start to attack the rest. They treat it like a military campaign. They are the Miboshi with their white banners and we are the red-flagged Kakizuki.” He smiled wryly. “And we all know what happened to them! I often wonder if we should not pack up and flee to the west, while we still have the chance.”

“But do they ally themselves with the Miboshi? Do they have their support or protection?”

“No, that was just a figure of speech. They ally with no one. But sometimes I feel we are in a kind of war and I must prepare weapons and men. Maybe the Kakizuki should not have fled but fought back, and so should I. That's what my sons want.” He sighed. “This isn't what I'd meant to discuss with you tonight. I had another suggestion to put to you.”

He took her hand and gazed intently at her face. “I wish I could bring you with me to Kitakami. I've dreamed of approaching Lady Fuji with an offer. But would you be willing?”

Yayoi was touched and for a moment deeply tempted. She liked and respected Unagi; she knew he would give her a good life.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I shouldn't have brought it up at this time. Let me deal with the Kikuta one way or another and then I will speak to Lady Fuji. At least let me know you will consider it.”

“I will,” she said. “Thank you. I am very grateful.”

He stood up. “I will send you a message. Thinking of you is going to give me courage.”

He refused Yayoi's offers of food or music, saying he preferred to return to his lodgings before nightfall. She heard the splash of the oar as his servant sculled the boat away.

*   *   *

Yayoi washed and changed her clothes. She took out the Kudzu Vine Treasure Store, intending to study it as she often did at night, but her heart was heavy. The way Unagi had, uncharacteristically, spoken of his problems had unsettled her, and her mind was full of thoughts of the dead. Takaakira must have died years ago, but she had not known of it, and the news had awakened many memories of the past. She had heard snatches of information and gossip on the boats and in the markets, but mostly men came to forget the world of intrigue and strife. If Takaakira had died without her knowing, there was every possibility Shikanoko had, too. She was trapped here in Lady Fuji's world; she would never escape, never find out. Unagi's offer to buy her freedom pulled at her. She tried to imagine for a moment what her life would be like, but she could get no further than the love of a good man, maybe a child, and then she heard Asagao's voice from years ago:
Are they going to marry you to a merchant? What a waste of a beautiful girl!

She thought how useful she might be to him, since she knew how to write and to calculate. But how far removed it was from her dreams as a child, when she was a warrior's daughter. She wanted to talk it over with Asagao, but it was getting late.
We will talk tomorrow
, she thought, and turned to the text, trying to calm herself in prayer. Whenever she took out the text, she began by meditating on Sesshin, who had given it to her. She did not know if he was alive or dead; she had heard nothing of him since he had been blinded by her stepmother and turned away from Matsutani. She sat motionless, eyes closed, with one hand on the pages.

She felt them rustle, as if a strong wind had suddenly blown through the boat. She opened her eyes and saw for a moment a page that showed the mirrorlike stone. Her hands curved instinctively as if they would clasp it, but then the page turned and, search as she might, she could not find it again.

“Well, I will not read more tonight,” she said, almost addressing it as
you wretched book
, trying to control her frustration and disappointment. As she sat back, the pages rustled again. She looked down and saw the text had opened at a place it had never showed her before.

An image leaped out at her. It was a mask, carved from a stag's skull, with antlers. She had seen such things at festivals. Men wore them to dance in, becoming animals or birds, bridging the spaces between the worlds. There were living eyes behind the mask. They looked at her with silent appeal.

“Shikanoko!” she whispered.

But, before she could be sure, the text had closed the page and opened another, showing her a second mask, made from a human skull. Its eyes glittered with gemstones, its lips were painted red, black silky hair had been pasted to the bone. It seemed to turn and look in her direction, as if it were seeking her out. She felt its malevolence and its jealous, restless desire. It was not content with its own power, it could not endure anyone else's but sought to claim all power for itself. With all her effort, she folded the text closed, feeling its resistance, and sat shaking with fear.

What did it mean? Was Shikanoko dead? Or trapped in the world of sorcery, where his mother had warned Yayoi not to follow him? She felt tears forming and struggled not to weep aloud. She remembered so clearly the evening when he had come to tell her about Tsumaru's death. And then she could not keep the tears from falling, recalling her little brother, the last time she had seen him alive, before he had been kidnapped. He had wanted to play with Chika and Kaze, but the other two children had been unwell, and she and Tsumaru had gone out alone into the Darkwood. After that she could only remember the strangers, Tsumaru's cry, her helplessness, her aching head.

Someone called softly, “Hina!” A voice and a name from the past, a whisper, almost lost among the lap of the waves against the side of the boat and the intermittent sound of music.
Hina
, her childhood name, all but forgotten, so long had it been since anyone had used it.

“Hina! Are you awake? I must speak with you.”

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she hid the Kudzu Vine Treasure Store under a cushion, then lifted the bamboo blind and looked down onto the water. Unagi's narrow skiff was just below, and gripping the side of the pleasure boat to hold it steady was his servant. She had never looked at him closely before, but now, in the light of the lanterns, she recognised him as her childhood companion, the son of Kongyo, one of her father's senior retainers, and of Tsumaru's nurse, Haru.

“Chika? Can it really be you?”

“Can you come down? I need to talk to you.”

She pulled a cloth from the rack and wound it around her head and face, then, just as she was, in her nightclothes, climbed over the side and stepped nimbly into the skiff. It rocked and Chika held her to steady her. It was too familiar a touch for a servant and she wondered briefly if she had been wise, trusting a boy she used to play with, now a man, a stranger.

“Don't worry,” he said, reading her mind. “I am not going to hurt you or force myself on you. I can't deny I've dreamed you were my wife. I used to imagine we would be married when we were children, playing at being the emperor and the empress. Perhaps we might have been, back then, when we were almost equals. Now I am obliged to work for a merchant and you have ended up a pleasure woman. We have both fallen, but we are further apart than ever.”

“The great wheel turns,” Yayoi said. “We all rise and fall with it, as we reap the harvest from seeds sown in former lives.”

“No,” he said. “The harvest we reap is sown by those who wronged us. If neither Heaven nor Earth gives us justice, then we must seek our own revenge.”

He helped Yayoi sit in the bow, then took up the single oar at the stern and began to scull. It was a warm evening and the surface of the lake was only slightly ruffled, like twisted silk.

“Unagi is a good man,” Yayoi said finally.

“They say he is a good lover,” Chika replied.