by Lian Hearn
The three of them stared at him with expectant eyes.
“So, what’s your plan?” Kiku said.
“I will go to Ryusonji now, alone, empty-handed,” Shika said. “You must return to the hut in the Darkwood, as I said. Nagatomo, I release you from my service, if I can even call it that, it has been so short.”
“You are joking!” Nagatomo said in alarm.
“That’s not a plan,” Kiku cried. “Why don’t you want us to help you? We got in before, we can do it again.”
“He will let you in, but he will not let you out,” Shika replied.
“I refuse to be released,” Nagatomo said stubbornly. “I’m coming with you.”
“I’m trusting you to take care of the boys, and Gen. See that all three get home safely.”
“I don’t think Gen’s going to leave you!” Nagatomo said, and the fake wolf shook its head and said, “Ne-er.”
“What about Jato and your mask?” Kiku said. “You’re not leaving them?”
“I said, I must go with nothing, as if I am no one. If I die today, Nagatomo may have Jato, and my bow, Kodama, and you and Kuro must take the mask back to the hut and place it on the altar.”
“Can we use it?” Kuro said, frowning.
“Only if you want your face burned like Nagatomo and Eisei. Don’t try it,” Shika warned. “No one can wear it but me.”
“Then you should take it with you,” Kiku argued. “And don’t talk about dying!”
“You know what you said once,” Shika replied. “Everyone dies in the end.”
“And the Princess’s bow, which we went to so much trouble to bring back?” Kuro asked.
That made Shika hesitate, for the bow was not his to dispose of. “I suppose you should take that to the forest, too,” he said finally, “if the Princess is also dead.”
He knelt before the sword and the mask, thanking them, relinquishing them. He washed his face and hands, untied his hair, combed and retied it, and brushed as much mud from his clothes as he could. Then he embraced the boys and Nagatomo, advised them to leave right away, and went out into the rain-soaked city. Gen padded at his heels, growling under his breath as if he were complaining, but Shika could not tell if it was about the wet or his own actions.
The main gate at Ryusonji was surrounded by worshippers who had come to beg the Prince Abbot to stop the rain. They fell back at Shikanoko’s approach, staring at him and Gen in alarm and surprise.
Eisei was just inside the gate, as though he had been waiting for him, and told the guards to let him in.
“You’ve come alone?” he whispered.
Shikanoko nodded.
“Where are Nagatomo and your boys?”
“I sent them home.”
Eisei’s eyes widened. “You’re just going to give yourself up? I thought you would challenge him!”
“I’m giving myself up in exchange for the Princess’s life,” Shika replied.
“They will never let either of you go until they find out where Yoshimori is, and will probably kill you then anyway.”
“Then we will die together,” Shika replied. “Go and tell him I am here.”
He waited in the outer courtyard, Gen pressing against his legs.
On the southern side, there was a shrine where a pure white stallion was kept to be worshipped and honored as a living god. A boy was futilely washing the horse’s legs, but the rain splattered them again immediately. The horse stamped impatiently and swung its head around, taking deep breaths. Then it gave a loud whinny, both joyful and challenging.
“Nyorin,” Shika whispered, recognizing his old stallion immediately. He wanted to touch him again before he died. He went to Nyorin and held out his hand, not sure how the horse would react to him. Nyorin lowered his head and allowed Shika to embrace him. Then he neighed again, more loudly still. An answering whinny came from the stables. Risu.
She was tied up just inside the entrance. The foal was loose, standing at her side. Risu whickered at him while the foal stared at him with bold, curious eyes.
“Lord Kiyoyori,” he said, seeing in amazement the embodiment of the spirit he had called back from the banks of the river of death, all those months ago.
The foal gave a shrill whinny, and Risu nuzzled Shika, as though she had forgiven him.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Eisei returned. “Come with me,” he said. Risu whickered after them and the foal dashed from her side to follow them, and then back again, his hoofs scattering gravel.
Chanting came from the main hall, the dragon sutra, its familiar words springing onto Shika’s tongue. And then behind them he heard his old teacher’s voice, singing plaintively.
“The dragon child, he flew too high—”
The voice was silenced with a blow. Then came the Prince Abbot’s voice: “For the last time, you stubborn old fool, tell me how you gave your power to Shikanoko, or I will burn you alongside the princess.”
Eisei said, “They are in the interrogation room.”
As they approached the room, Shika heard Sesshin say, “It is given. I cannot take it back. And you may burn me, but you cannot destroy me.”
“What do you mean?” The Prince Abbot’s voice was almost unrecognizable, husky with exhaustion. The interrogation must have been going on all night.
“I found it, my old friend. The secret we had both been looking for, all our lives. The elements that, combined together, cheat death.”
“You cannot die?” Disbelief was mixed with envy.
“I don’t believe I can,” Sesshin said. “Actually, it’s more of a burden than I thought it would be, but there is no unalloyed good in this world, just as there is no perfect evil. All is sun and shadow, darkness and light.”
“What is this magic?” the Prince Abbot said. “Is it a potion? An incantation?”
“It was written down in one of my books, but they were all burned in Matsutani.”
“Do you not remember? Your memory was always faultless.”
“I am an old man. I remember very little.” Sesshin’s voice lightened. “Ah, here comes my boy,” he said with delight.
The Prince Abbot spun around to face the doorway as Eisei led Shika and Gen through it.
“Shikanoko,” he said, gazing at him. “We have been waiting for you.” Shika could not resist the look and felt his will begin to tremble and submit. Then Sesshin’s words pierced his mind. My boy, he had said. It was the old blind man who was his true master. He felt the nugget of power begin to glow within him.
The Prince Abbot said to Shika, “You have come to surrender yourself?”
“I am already a prisoner to your monk Eisei,” Shika said.
“You will submit to me and refrain from challenging me?”
“Show me Akihime, promise to let her go, and I will do everything you ask of me,” Shika said.
“You are too late. You should have come earlier. The burning is already arranged. Lord Aritomo will attend it.”
“Then you can burn me with her.”
He heard a slight sound from the corner and turned toward it. He had not noticed her in the darkness, kneeling, hands tied behind her back, her head thrown back, her slender throat pale. She moved her head and looked at him. In her gaze he saw not trust, or forgiveness, but a steady acceptance of their destiny.
“I will, with pleasure,” the Prince Abbot said, the cruelty in his voice now undisguised. “But first I will take from you what I want. Where is the mask?”
“I didn’t bring it. In fact, I’ve sent it away.”
The Prince Abbot smiled slightly. “It cannot be sent away. Remember, I cast spells on it to make sure it would never escape me, and nor will you.”
“Nevertheless, I came without it.”
The Prince Abbot was silent for a few moments, as if disconcerted. Then he said, “What about those demon boys who were here last night? Have they accompanied you? Are they hiding somewhere?”
“They have been sent away, too,�
� Shika replied steadily.
“I am sure they can be easily tracked down. Eisei reported to me what he learned at Matsutani. Sesshin gave his power to you, though I still don’t understand how. Is it through that power that you control the demons, or is it through the mask?”
“Neither,” Shika said. “They are my sons. I brought them up.”
“Sons disobey their fathers all the time,” the Prince Abbot stated, as, from behind, Shika heard his old teacher sigh and say, “That soft heart is going to be your undoing, my boy, just like I said. I told you to kill the demons.”
“Bring Sesshin forward,” the Prince Abbot commanded. “And the Princess. I want them to watch how I treat those who disobey me, who try to challenge me.”
Their hands were untied and they were dragged forward.
“I would have made you my follower,” the Prince Abbot said to Shikanoko, “even my successor. Why did you run from me?”
Shika heard the sorrow in his voice. “I will do whatever you command, give you whatever you want, if you will spare Akihime,” he said, falling to his knees.
The Prince Abbot made a beckoning gesture. “Come here.”
Shika crawled toward him. The priest knelt, took Shika’s head in his hands, and, raising it, placed his mouth over Shika’s just as Sesshin had done before.
A gong sounded in the distance, and a cloud of perfume and incense enveloped him. For a moment he thought the whole magical process would happen in reverse. The snakes awakened in his veins, the catlike creature yowled in his brain, but they were fighting against being taken from him. Even if he consented to it they would not be released.
He tried to pull away, but the Prince Abbot’s grip was too strong. He could not breathe. He felt the teeth begin to bite into him. All the suppressed horror of the secret rituals of Ryusonji welled up.
He heard the Prince Abbot’s thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken.
And now I will send you down into Hell!
Through the darkness that was rising around him came the sound of a bow twanging.
He knew at once what it was. Aki’s catalpa bow, used to summon spirits. He had left it in his lodgings. How had it miraculously appeared here? In that moment the Prince Abbot released him, throwing him to the ground.
“You still resist me?” he said. “You will not relinquish it to me?”
Sesshin said, as if from far away, “I did give him my power, it’s true, and in that very way that you divined when you tried to take it from him. But I haven’t taught him how to pass it on, and won’t for a long time, if ever.”
Shika tasted the blood in his mouth. For a moment he felt so sick and dizzy, he wondered if he could stand. He felt Gen’s tongue on his hands, licking, encouraging him.
The bow twanged again. Akihime called, “Dragon Child! Come to our aid!”
Shika turned to look at her and saw not the tortured captive he had seen earlier but a beautiful shrine maiden, powerful, pure, dangerous. A deep relief washed through him. His instincts had been right. Through his brokenness had been manifested her strength.
As he struggled to his feet the air parted and the mask emerged: the branching antlers, one broken, the lacquered surface, the reddened lips, the black-fringed eyeholes. It seemed more expressive than ever. It said to him, You tried to leave me, but you cannot. Now I am here. Put me on.
“Put it on,” Kiku said, becoming visible right in front of him, holding out the mask in both hands.
The boys had disobeyed him. Kuro had brought Aki’s bow and Kiku the mask. The first act might save them, but he feared the second would destroy him. “I don’t need it,” he said, stepping back, but the mask leaped at him and fastened itself over his features.
Kiku left a shadow of his second self as he slid away.
“Didn’t I tell you it would return to me?” said the Prince Abbot, and he spoke a word of power.
Without thinking, Shika countered it with one of his own. He felt something inside him purr with approval and tasted in his mouth a cleansing bittersweetness. But he knew he could not prevail against the Prince Abbot, here in Ryusonji, in the priest’s center of power.
Their eyes locked and the struggle began. Shika fought off a new terror as he penetrated deep into the priest’s mind and soul. He saw the spiritual forces the Prince Abbot could call upon arrayed against him. He faltered, like a wary stag in the forest, catching the huntsman’s scent, conscious of its broken antlers, seeing already the thicket that would entrap it.
Their minds circled each other, searching for weakness. Shika felt the older man’s great strength and subtlety. Visions flashed before him, of endless pain and suffering. Demons rose from the underworld to taunt him. “Soon you will be ours,” they jeered, revealing to him all the torments of Hell. Ancient sorcerers threatened him. “You have dared to question one of us and rebel against him? Your soul is lost for all eternity,” and they showed him the barren, everlasting wastes that awaited him.
Gen, who was as close at his side in this realm as in any other, said, “Something missing.”
Shika was holding on to the power of the forest, the world that existed before men were created and would endure long after they had disappeared, a world that reformed and replenished itself endlessly. He called on the stag whose child he had become, on the greatest oak tree and the most delicate clover, the eagle and the hawfinch, the wolf and the weasel, the snake and the centipede. At Gen’s words, for a moment, he saw that the Prince Abbot’s guardians were counterfeit, a flashy show with no substance, less real than Shisoku’s fake animals. Something was missing, something had forsaken the Prince Abbot, now when he most needed it.
The demons and the sorcerers rose in a huge cacophony, screaming at him. Maybe they were fake, but he could not withstand them. Maybe something was missing, but the knowledge was no use to him. He felt the Prince Abbot’s rage and, even more disabling, his pity and his regret, the affection of a father, the wise guidance of a teacher, the unmatchable power of the adept—all these were being withdrawn from Shika, the disobedient child, the rebellious disciple. He was on the point of calling out, Forgive me! I surrender. I should never have tried to oppose you, when again the gentle twang of a bow cut through the noise and the confusion.
Aki plucked the bowstring again and called, “Dragon Child! Representative of the gods in this place! Forgive me for offending you. Take my life as punishment, but come to our aid now!”
In the distance Shika could hear the foal’s frantic neighing. Tsumaru! it seemed to cry. Tsumaru!
Tsumaru, the dragon child. In that moment he realized what was missing. The Prince Abbot no longer commanded the power of the dragon. Ryusonji itself had forsaken him.
The guardians surrounded him. “Tsumaru is merely a dead child,” they wailed. “There is no dragon.”
His spirit quailed, his body shuddered. I am lost, he thought, I have failed.
“Yes,” the priest jeered. “In the end there is nothing. This is what awaits you—complete annihilation. You thought you would destroy me, but we will fall into the abyss together.”
“At least you will be destroyed,” Shika cried with his last shred of defiance.
Then a lick of fire swept through the counterfeits, charring and shriveling them like insects on a burning log. The ground shook. There was a roaring outside and thunder clapped directly overhead. Three lightning balls crashed through the walls and circled the room, crackling and flaring. They all converged at once on the figure of the Prince Abbot.
The fire consumed him instantly in a bright incandescent pillar. The dragon’s roar filled the room, sending the monks fleeing in terror. The fire touched Shika’s face, but the mask protected him. He fell to his knees, meaning to give thanks, but at that moment a rush of steam from the boiling lake, like a fine scalding mist, enveloped him, clouding his vision. He lifted his hands to his face, but the mask seemed to have fused to his skin. He knew then that the forest had claimed him. It had given him power, and now he mus
t pay for it. That would be the price of destroying the Prince Abbot.
A profound sadness swept over him, as though he already saw all he would lose. When his vision cleared, he looked around the hall. Flames were licking at the roof beams and smoke filled the air. Aki and Sesshin lay on the ground, their faces hidden. Eisei stood against the wall, his eyes reddened.
Sesshin raised his head and called, “Shikanoko! You must kill the demons. I told you before.”
“What demons?” Shika said, confused, his ears ringing.
“The imps, the boys. Lady Tora’s children.”
“They are your children, too,” Shika replied. “And mine and Lord Kiyoyori’s.”
“Act quickly, my boy, or regret it for the rest of your life.”
Kuro had gone to Shika’s side, as had Kiku. Now Kuro turned, the snake in his hand, and said, “Why would Shikanoko kill us? He brought us up. He is our older brother.”
He threw the snake toward Sesshin. It spun through the air, hissing, writhing, its mouth agape, its fangs bared.
It fell short of the old man and seemed to disappear through a crack in the floorboards.
Shika went to Aki, who lay trembling, still holding the catalpa bow, and tried to take her in his arms, but she rebuffed him gently. Again sadness engulfed him. He had lain with her, he had longed for her, but he barely knew her.
“Shikanoko,” she whispered. “I am sorry.”
“It is I who should apologize to you. Can you ever forgive me?”
“I do forgive you.” It seemed she wanted to say more, but her strength was failing. The bow slipped from her grasp.
“Where is Yoshimori?” Shika said urgently. “We will find him and everything will be right again.”
“Yes, you must find him. Promise me you will. But I cannot stay now, my life is forfeit.”
“No!” he cried, though he could see she was burning with fever. “We can heal you. Sesshin! Kuro!”
