Lian Hearn - Tales of the Otori 03 - Brilliance of the Moon

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Book Information:

Genre: Epic Fantasy

Author: Lian Hearn

Name: Brilliance of the Moon

Series: Tales of the Otori, Book 3

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BRILLIANCE OF THE MOON

TALES OF THE OTORI, Book 3

By LIAN HEARN

CHARACTERS

The Clans

THE OTORI

(Middle Country; castle town: Hagi)

Otori Shigeru: rightful heir to the clan (I)

Otori Takeshi: his younger brother, murdered by the Tohan clan (d.)

Otori Takeo: (bornTomasu) his adopted son (I)

Otori Shigemori: Shigeru’s father, killed at the battle of

Yaegahara (d.) Otori Ichiro: a distant relative, Shigeru andTakeo’s teacher (I)

Chiyo (I)

Haruka: maids in the household (I)

Shiro: a carpenter (I)

Otori Shoichi: Shigeru’s uncle, now lord of the clan (I)

Otori Masahiro: Shoichi’s younger brother (I) Otori Yoshitomi: Masahiro’s son (I)

Miyoshi Kahei: brothers, friends of Takeo (I)

Miyoshi Gemba (I)

Miyoshi Satoru: their father, captain of the guard in Hagi castle (3)

Endo Chikara: a senior retainer (3)

Terada Fumifusa: a pirate (3)

Terada Fumio: his son, friend of Takeo (I)

Ryoma: a fisherman, Masahiro’s illegitimate son (3)

THE TOHAN (The East; castle town: Inuyama) Iida Sadamu: lord of the clan (I) Iida Nariaki: Sadamu’s cousin

(3)

Ando, Abe: Iida’s retainers (I)

Lord Noguchi: an ally (I)

Lady Noguchi: his wife (I)

Junko: a servant in Noguchi castle (I)

THE SEISHUU

(An alliance of several ancient families in the West; main castle towns: Kumamoto and Maruyama) Arai Daüchi: a warlord

(I)

Niwa Satoru: a retainer (2)

AkitaTsutomu: a retainer (2)

Sonoda Mitsuru: Akita’s nephew (2)

Maruyama Naomi: head of the Maruyama domain, Shigerus

lover (I)

Mariko: her daughter (I) Sachie: her maid (I)

Sugita Haruki: a retainer (I) Sugita Hiroshi: his nephew (3) Sakai Masaki: Hiroshi’s cousin (3)

Lord Shirakawa (I)

Kaede: Shirakawa’s eldest daughter, Lady Maruyama’s

cousin (I) Ai, Hana: Shirakawa’s daughters (2)

Ayame (2)

Manami (2)

Ayako: maids in the household (3)

AmanoTenzo: a Shirakawa retainer (I)

Shoji Kiyoshi: senior retainer to Lord Shirakawa (I)

lhe lribe

THE MUTO FAMILY Muto Kenji: Takeo’s teacher, the Master (I) Muto Shizuka: Kenji’s niece,

Arai’s mistress, and Kaede’s

companion (I) Dr. Ishida: his physician

Zenko, Taku: her sons (3) Muto Seiko: Kenji’s wife (2) Muto Yuki: their daughter (I) Muto Yuzuru: a

cousin (2)

Kana(3) Miyabi: maids (3)

THE KIKUTA FAMILY Kikuta Isamu: Takeo’s real father (d.) Kikuta Kotaro: his cousin, the Master

(I) Kikuta Gosaburo: Kotaro’s younger brother (2) Kikuta Akio: their nephew (I) Kikuta Hajime: a

wrestler (2) Sadako: a maid (2)

THE KURODA FAMILY Kuroda Shintaro: a famous assassin (I) Kondo Küchi (2) Imai Kazuo (2)

Kudo Keiko (2)

Others

Lord Fujiware: a nobleman, exiled from the capital (2) Mamoru: his protege and companion (2) Ono

Rieko: his cousin (3) Murita: a retainer (3)

Matsuda Shingen: the abbot at Terayama (2) Kubo Makoto: a monk, Takeo’s closest friend (I)

Jin-emon: a bandit (3) Jiro: a farmer’s son (3) Jo-An: an outcast (I)

Horses

Raku: gray with black mane and tail, Takeo’s first horse, given by

him to Kaede

Kyu: black, Shigeru’s horse, disappeared in Inuyama Aoi: black, half brother to Kyu Ki: Amano’s chestnut

Shun: Takeo’s bay, a very clever horse

bold — main character

(I, 2, 3) = characters first appearance, in Book I, 2, or

(d.) = character died before the start of Book I

Others too, in far-flung villages,

Will no doubt be gazing at this moon

That never asks which watcher claims the night…

Loud on the unseen mountain wind,

A stag’s cry quivers in the heart, And somewhere a twig lets one leaf fall.

ZEAMI, THE FULLING BLOCK (KINUTA)

The feather lay in my palm. I held it carefully, aware of its age and its fragility. Yet its whiteness

was still translucent, the vermilion tips of the pinions still brilliant.

“It came from a sacred bird, the houou” Matsuda Shingen, the abbot of the temple at Terayama, told me.

“It appeared to your adopted father, Shigeru, when he was only fifteen, younger than you are now. Did he

ever tell you this, Takeo?”

I shook my head. Matsuda and I were standing in his room at one end of the cloister around the main

courtyard of the temple. From outside, drowning out the usual sounds of the temple, the chanting, and the

bells, came the urgent noise of preparations, of many people coming and going. I could hear Kaede, my

wife, beyond the gates, talking to Amano Tenzo about the problems of keeping our army fed on the march.

We were preparing to travel to Maruyama, the great domain in the West to which Kaede was the rightful

heir, to claim it in her name—to fight for it if necessary. Since the end of winter, war-

riors had been making their way to Terayama to join me, and I now had close to a thousand men, billeted in

the temple and in the surrounding villages, not counting the local farmers who also strongly supported my

cause.

Amano was from Shirakawa, my wife’s ancestral home, and the most trusted of her retainers, a great

horseman and good with all animals. In the days that followed our marriage, Kaede and her woman,

Manami, had shown considerable skill in handling and distributing food and equipment. They discussed

everything with Amano and had him deliver their decisions to the men. That morning he was enumerating

the oxcarts and packhorses we had at our disposal. I tried to stop listening, to concentrate on what Matsuda

was telling me, but I was restless, eager to get moving.

“Be patient,” Matsuda said mildly. “This will only take a minute. What do you know about the houou}”

I reluctantly pulled my attention back to the feather in my palm and tried to recall what my former teacher,

Ichiro, had taught me when I had been living in Lord Shigeru’s house in Hagi. “It is the sacred bird of

legend that appears in times of justice and peace. And it is written with the same character as the name of

my clan, Otori.”

“Correct,” Matsuda said, smiling. “It does not often appear, justice and peace being something of a rarity in

these times. But Shigeru saw it and I believe the vision inspired him in his pursuit of these virtues. I told him

then that the feathers were tinged with blood, and indeed his blood, his death, still drive both you and me.”

I looked more closely at the feather. It lay across the scar on my right palm where I had burned my hand a

long time ago, in Mino, my birthplace, the day Shigeru had saved my life. My hand was also marked with

the straight line of the Kikuta, the Tribe family to which I belonged, from which I had run away the previous

winter. My in-

heritance, my past, and my future, all seemed to be there, held in the palm of my hand.

“Why do you show it to me now?”

“You will be leaving here soon. You have been with us all winter, studying and training to prepare yourself

to fulfill Shigeru’s last commands to you. I wanted you to share in his vision, to remember that his goal was

justice, and yours must be too.”

“I will never forget it,” I promised. I bowed reverently over the feather, holding it gently in both hands, and

offered it back to the abbot. He took it, bowed over it, and replaced it in the small lacquered box from

which he had taken it. I said nothing, remembering all that Shigeru had done for me, and how much I still

needed to accomplish for him.

“Ichiro told me about the houou when he was teaching me to write my name,” I said finally. “When I saw

him in Hagi last year he advised me to wait for him here, but I cannot wait much longer. We must leave for

Maruyama within the week.” I had been worrying about my old teacher since the snows had melted, for I

knew that the Otori lords, Shigeru’s uncles, were trying to take possession of my house and lands in Hagi

and that Ichiro continued stubbornly to resist them.

I did not know it, but Ichiro was already dead. I had the news of it the next day. I was talking with Amano

in the courtyard when I heard something from far below: shouts of anger, running feet, the trampling of

hooves. The sound of horses plunging up the slope was unexpected and shocking. Usually no one came to

the temple at Terayama on horseback. They either walked up the steep mountain path or, if unfit or very

old, were carried by sturdy porters.

A few seconds later Amano heard it too. By then I was already running to the temple gates, calling to the

guards.

Swiftly they set about closing the gates and barring them. Matsuda came hurrying across the courtyard. He

was not wearing armor,

but his sword was in his belt. Before we could speak to each other, a challenge came from the guardhouse.

“Who dares to ride to the temple gate? Dismount and approach this place of peace with respect!”

It was Kubo Makoto’s voice. One of Terayama’s young warrior monks, he had become, over the last few

months, my closest friend. I ran to the wooden stockade and climbed the ladder to the guardhouse. Makoto

gestured toward the spy hole. Through the chinks in the wood I could see four horsemen. They had been

galloping up the hill; now they pulled their heaving, snorting mounts to a halt. They were fully armed, but the

Otori crest was clearly visible on their helmets. For a moment I thought that they might be messengers from

Ichiro. Then my eyes fell on the basket tied to the bow of one of the saddles. My heart turned to stone. I

could guess, only too easily, what was inside such a container.

The horses were rearing and cavorting, not only from the exertion of the gallop, but also from alarm. Two

of them were already bleeding from wounds to their hindquarters. A mob of angry men poured from the

narrow path, armed with staves and sickles. I recognized some of them: they were farmers from the

nearest village. The warrior at the rear made a rush at them, sword flailing, and they fell back slightly but

did not disperse, maintaining their threatening stance in a tight half circle.

The leader of the horsemen flung a look of contempt at them and then called toward the gate in a loud

voice.

“I am Fuwa Dosan of the Otori clan from Hagi. I bring a message from my lords Shoichi and Masahiro for

the upstart who calls himself Otori Takeo.”

Makoto called back, “If you are peaceful messengers, dismount and leave your swords. The gates will be

opened.”

I already knew what their message would be. I could feel blind fury building up behind my eyes.

“There’s no need for that,” Fuwa replied scornfully. “Our message is short. Tell the so-called Takeo that

the Otori do not recognize his claims and that this is how they will deal with him and any who follow him.”

The man alongside him dropped the reins on his horse’s neck and opened the container. From it he took

what I dreaded to see. Holding it by its topknot, he swung his arm and threw Ichiro’s head over the wall

into the temple grounds.

It fell with a slight thud onto the petaled grass of the garden.

I drew my sword, Jato, from my belt.

“Open the gate!” I shouted. “I am going out to them.”

I leaped down the steps, Makoto behind me.

As the gates opened, the Otori warriors turned their horses and drove them at the wall of men around them,

swords sweeping. I imagine they thought the farmers would not dare attack them. Even I was astonished at

what happened next. Instead of parting to let them through, the men on foot hurled themselves at the

horses. Two of the farmers died immediately, cut in half by the warriors’ swords, but then the first horse

came down, and its rider fell into the pack around him. The others met a similar fate. They had no chance

to use their swordsmanship: They were dragged from their horses and beaten to death like dogs.

Makoto and I tried to restrain the farmers and eventually managed to drive them back from the bodies. We

restored calm only by severing the warriors’ heads and having them displayed on the temple gates. The

unruly army threw insults at them for a while and then retired down the hill, promising in loud voices that if

any other strangers dared approach the temple and insult Lord Otori Takeo, the Angel of Yamagata, they

would be dealt with in the same way.

Makoto was shaking with rage—and some other emotion that he wanted to talk to me about—but I did not

have the time then. I went back inside the walls. Kaede had brought white cloths and water in a wooden

bowl. She was kneeling on the ground beneath the cherry trees, calmly washing the head. Its skin was

blue-gray, the eyes half-closed, the neck not severed cleanly but hacked with several blows. Yet, she

handled it gently, with loving care, as if it were a precious and beautiful object.

I knelt beside her, put out my hand, and touched the hair. It was streaked with gray, but the face in death

looked younger than when I had last seen it, when Ichiro was alive in the house in Hagi, grieving and

haunted by ghosts yet still willing to show me affection and guidance.

“Who is it?” Kaede said in a low voice.

“Ichiro. He was my teacher in Hagi. Shigeru’s too.”

My heart was too full to say more. I blinked away my tears. The memory of our last meeting rose in my

mind. I wished I had said more to him, told him of my gratitude and my respect. I wondered how he had

died, if his death had been humiliating and agonizing. I longed for the dead eyes to open, the bloodless lips to

speak. How irretrievable the dead are, how completely they go from us! Even when their spirits return, they

do not speak of their own deaths.

I was born and raised among the Hidden, who believe that only those who follow the commandments of the

Secret God will meet again in the afterlife. Everyone else will be consumed in the fires of hell. I did not

know if my adopted father Shigeru had been a believer, but he was familiar with all the teachings of the

Hidden and spoke their prayers at the moment of his death, along with the name of the Enlightened One.

Ichiro, his adviser and the steward of his household, had never given any such sign—in fact, rather the

opposite: Ichiro had suspected from the start that Shigeru had rescued me from

the warlord Iida Sadamu’s persecution of the Hidden, and had watched me like a cormorant for anything

that might give me away.

But I no longer followed the teachings of my childhood, and I could not believe that a man of Ichiro’s

integrity and loyalty was in hell. Far stronger was my outrage at the injustice of this murder and my

realization that I now had another death to avenge.

“They paid for it with their lives,” Kaede said. “Why kill an old man and go to all that trouble to bring his

head to you?” She washed away the last traces of blood and wrapped a clean white cloth around the head.

“I imagine the Otori lords want to draw me out,” I replied. “They would prefer not to attack Terayama;

they will run into Arai’s soldiers if they do. They must hope to entice me over the border and meet me

there,” I longed for such a meeting, to punish them once and for all. The warriors’ deaths had temporarily

assuaged my fury, but I could feel it simmering in my heart. However, I had to be patient; my strategy was

first to withdraw to Maruyama and build up my forces there. I would not be dissuaded from that.

I touched my brow to the grass, bidding my teacher good-bye. Manami came from the guest rooms and

knelt a little way behind us.

“I’ve brought the box, lady,” she whispered.

“Give it to me,” Kaede replied. It was a small container woven from willow twigs and strips of red-dyed

leather. She took it and opened it. The smell of aloes rose from it. She put the white wrapped bundle inside

and arranged the aloes round it. Then she placed the box on the ground in front of her, and the three of us

bowed again before it.

A bush warbler called its spring song and a cuckoo responded from deep in the forest, the first I had heard

that year.

We held the funeral rites the following day and buried the head next to Shigeru’s grave. I made

arrangements for another stone to be

erected for Ichiro. I longed to know what had happened to the old woman, Chiyo, and the rest of the

household at Hagi. I was tormented by the thought that the house no longer existed, that it would have been

burned: the tea room, the upper room where we had so often sat looking out onto the garden, the nightingale

floor, all destroyed, their song silenced forever. I wanted to rush to Hagi to claim my inheritance before it

was taken from me. But I knew this was exactly what the Otori hoped I would do

Five farmers died outright and two died later from their wounds. We buried them in the temple graveyard.

Two of the horses were badly hurt, and Amano had them killed mercifully, but the other two were

unharmed; one I liked in particular, a handsome black stallion that reminded me of Shigeru’s horse, Kyu,

and could have been its half brother. At Makoto’s insistence we buried the Otori warriors with full rites,

too, praying that their ghosts, outraged at their ignoble deaths, would not linger to haunt us.

That evening the abbot came to the guest room and we talked until late into the night. Makoto and Miyoshi

Kahei, one of my allies and friends from Hagi, were also with us; Kahei’s younger brother Gemba had been

sent to Maruyama to tell the domain’s senior retainer, Sugita Haruki, of our imminent departure. Sugita had

assured Kaede the previous winter of his support for her claim. Kaede did not stay with us—for various

reasons, she and Makoto were not at ease in each other’s presence and she avoided him as much as

possible—rbut I told her beforehand to sit behind the screen so she could hear what was said. I wanted to

know her opinion afterward. In the short time since our marriage I had come to talk to her as I had never

talked to anyone in my life. I had been silent for so long, it seemed now I could not get enough of sharing

my thoughts with her. I relied on her judgment and her wisdom.

“So now you are at war,” the abbot said, “and your army has had its first skirmish.”

“Hardly an army,” Makoto said. “A rabble of farmers! How are you going to punish them?”

“What do you mean?” I replied.

“Farmers are not supposed to kill warriors,” he said. “Anyone else in your situation would punish them with

the utmost cruelty. They would be crucified, boiled in oil, flayed alive.”

“They will be if the Otori get hold of them,” Kahei muttered.

“They were fighting on my behalf,” I said. Privately, I thought the warriors had deserved their shameful

end, though I was sorry I had not killed them all myself. “I’m not going to punish them. I’m more concerned

with how to protect them.”

“You have let an ogre out,” Makoto said. “Let’s hope you can contain it.”

The abbot smiled into his wine cup. Quite apart from his earlier comments on justice, he had been teaching

me strategy all winter and, having heard my theories on the capture of Yamagata and other campaigns,

knew how I felt about my farmers.

“The Otori seek to draw me out,” I said to him, as I had said earlier to Kaede.

“Yes, you must resist the temptation,” he replied. “Naturally your first instinct is for revenge, but even if

you defeated their army in a confrontation, they would simply retreat to Hagi. A long siege would be a

disaster. The city is virtually impregnable, and sooner or later you would have to deal with Arai’s forces at

your rear.”

Arai Daüchi was the warlord from Kumamoto who had taken advantage of the overthrow of the Tohan to

seize control of the Three Countries. I had enraged him by disappearing with the Tribe the previous year,

and now my marriage to Kaede would certainly enrage him

further. He had a huge army, and I did not want to be confronted by it before I had strengthened my own.

“Then we must go first to Maruyama, as planned. But if I leave the temple unprotected, you and the people

of the district may be punished by the Otori.”

“We can bring many people within the walls,” the abbot said. “I think we have enough arms and supplies to

hold the Otori off if they do attack. Personally, I don’t think they will. Arai and his allies will not relinquish

Yamagata without a long struggle, and many among the Otori would be reluctant to destroy this place,

which is sacred to the clan. Anyway they will be more concerned with pursuing you.” He paused and then

went on: “You can’t fight a war without being prepared for sacrifice. Men will die in the battles you fight,

and if you lose, many of them, including you yourself, may be put to death very painfully. The Otori do not

recognize your adoption: They do not know your ancestry; as far as they are concerned you are an upstart,

not one of their class. You cannot hold back from action because people will die as a result. Even your

farmers know that. Seven of them died today, but those who survived are not sad. They are celebrating

their victory over those who insulted you.”

“I know that,” I said, glancing at Makoto. His lips were pressed together tightly, and though his face

showed no other expression, I felt his disapproval. I was aware yet again of my weaknesses as a

commander. I was afraid both Makoto and Kahei, brought up in the warrior tradition, would come to

despise me.

“We joined you by our own choice, Takeo,” the abbot went on, “because of our loyalty to Shigeru and

because we believe your cause is just.”

I bowed my head, accepting the rebuke and vowing he would never

have to speak to me in that vein again. “We will leave for Maruyama the day after tomorrow.”

“Makoto will go with you,” the abbot said. “As you know, he has made your cause his own.”

Makoto’s lips curved slightly as he nodded in agreement.

Later that night, around the second half of the Hour of the Rat, when I was about to lie down beside

Kaede, I heard voices outside, and a few moments later Manami called quietly to us to say that a monk had

come with a message from the guardhouse.

“We have taken a prisoner,” he said when I went to speak to him. “He was spotted skulking in the bushes

beyond the gate. The guards pursued him and would have killed him on the spot, but he called your name

and said he was your man.”

“I’ll come and talk to him,” I said, taking up Jato, suspecting it could only be the outcast Jo-An. Jo-An had

seen me at Yamagata when I had released his brother and other members of the Hidden into death. It was

he who had given me the name of the Anael of Yamagata. Then he had saved my life on my desperate

journey to Terayama in the winter. I had told him I would send for him in the spring and that he should wait

until he heard from me, but he acted in unpredictable ways, usually in response to what he claimed was the

voice of the Secret God.

It was a soft, warm night, the air already holding summer’s humidity. In the cedars an owl was hooting.

Jo-An lay on the ground just inside the gate. He’d been trussed up roughly: His legs were bent under him,

his hands bound behind his back. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, his hair matted. He was

moving his lips very slightly,

praying soundlessly. Two monks were watching him from a careful distance, their faces twisted in

contempt.

I called his name and his eyes opened. I saw relief shine in them. He tried to scrabble into a kneeling

position and fell forward, unable to save himself with his hands. His face hit the dirt.

“Untie him,” I said.

One of the monks said, “He is an outcast. We should not touch him.”

“Who tied him up?”

“We did not realize then,” the other said.

“You can cleanse yourselves later. This man saved my life. Untie him.”

Reluctantly they went to Jo-An, lifted him up, and loosened the cords that bound him. He crawled forward

and prostrated himself at my feet.

“Sit up, Jo-An,” I said. “Why are you here? I said you were to come when I sent for you. You were lucky

not to be killed, turning up here without warning, without permission.”

The last time I’d seen him I’d been almost as shabbily dressed as he was, a fugitive, exhausted and

starving. Now I was aware of the robe I wore, my hair dressed in the warrior style, the sword in my belt. I

knew the sight of me talking to the outcast would shock the monks profoundly. Part of me was tempted to

have him thrown out, to deny that there was any relationship between us, and to throw him from my life at

the same time. If I so ordered the guards, they would kill him immediately with no second thought. Yet, I

could not do it. He had saved my life; moreover, for the sake of the bond between us, both born into the

Hidden, I had to treat him not as an outcast but as a man.

“No one will kill me until the Secret One calls me home,” he muttered, raising his eyes and looking at me.

“Until that time, my life

is yours.“ There was little light where we stood, just the lamp the monk had brought from the guardhouse

and placed on the ground near us, but I could see Jo-An’s eyes burning. I wondered, as I often had before,

if he were not alive at all but a visitant from another world.

“What do you want?” I said.

“I have something to tell you. Very important. You’ll be glad I came.”

The monks had stepped back out of pollution’s way but were still close enough to hear us.

“I need to talk to this man,” I said. “Where should we go?”

They threw an anguished look at each other and the older man suggested, “Maybe the pavilion, in the

garden?”

“You don’t need to come with me.”

“We should guard Lord Otori,” the younger said.

“I’m in no danger from this man. Leave us alone. But tell Manami to bring water, some food, and tea.”

They bowed and left. As they crossed the courtyard they started whispering to each other. I could hear

every word. I sighed.

“Come with me,” I said to Jo-An. He limped after me to the pavilion, which stood in the garden not far

from the large pool. Its surface glittered in the starlight, and every now and then a fish leaped from the

water, flopping back with a loud splash. Beyond the pool the grayish white stones of the graves loomed out

of the darkness. The owl hooted again, closer this time.

“God told me to come to you,” he said when we were settled on the wooden floor of the pavilion.

“You should not talk so openly of God,” I chided him. “You are in a temple. The monks have no more love

for the Hidden than the warriors.”

“You are here,” he muttered. “You are our hope and our protection.”

“No,” he agreed docilely, “I have to fetch the others.”

“What others, Jo-An?”

“The rest of us. The ones who came with me. You saw some of them.”

I had seen these men at the tannery by the river where Jo-An worked, and I would never forget the way

they had stared after me with burning eyes. I knew they looked to me for Justice and protection. I

remembered the feather: Justice was what Shigeru had desired. I also had to pursue it for the sake of his

memory and for these living men.

Jo-An put his hands together again and gave thanks for the food.

A fish leaped in the silence.

“How many are there?” I asked.

“About thirty. They’re hiding in the mountains. They’ve been crossing the border in ones and twos for the

last weeks.”

“Isn’t the border guarded?”

“There’ve been skirmishes between the Otori and Arai’s men. At the moment there’s a standoff. The

borders are all open. The Otori have made it clear they’re not challenging Arai or hoping to retake

Yamagata. They only want to eliminate you.”

It seemed to be everyone’s mission.

“Do the people support them?” I asked.

“Of course not!” he said almost impatiently. “You know who they support: the Angel of Yamagata. So do

we all. Why else are we here?”

I was not sure I wanted their support, but I could not help but be impressed by their courage.

“Thank you,” I said.

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======================Notes:ScannedbyJASCIfyoucorrectanyminorerrors,pleasechangetheversionnumberbelow(andinthefilename)toaslightlyhigheronee.g.from.5to.95orifmajorrevisions,tov.1.0/2.0etc.Currente-bookversionis.9(someformattingerrorshavebeencorrected—butOCRerrorsstilloccurinthetext.Unproofed)Comment...

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Lian Hearn - Tales of the Otori 03 - Brilliance of the Moon.pdf

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Lian Hearn - Tales of the Otori 03 - Brilliance of the Moon

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