The Golden Naginata

by Jessica Amanda Salmonson

  “Instructor. I have brought her as you said.”

  Tomoe approached the platform and sat on her knees before it. The bonze backed out of the dojo and shuffled to his post of guarding the grounds this night. Outside, Taro whined a little. “Sohei,” said Tomoe, addressing him by the respectful title for soldier-clergy. “Officially I am here about this monastery’s allegiance to the Knight of Kiso. Unofficially I am here about the Gate to Hell, through which I petition entrance for a cause. Most personally, I am here about bonze Shindo, who performed the wedding ceremony for Yoshinake and myself.”

  The priest stood, still facing the reliquary, and bowed to the funeral tablet therein. Then he turned around to see Tomoe Gozen, but stood so much in shadow that Tomoe could not see his features. For an uncomfortable length of time, he stood there, a mountainous mountain-priest, his dark robes and rosary and shortsword and personal bulk making him a frightful, ghostly shape. Then he stepped down from the platform and approached the samurai, coming not too close before he got down on his knees as she. Now his face was visible, long-bearded and thick-browed and gloomy to extreme. Tomoe looked startled. Even with his hair long and face fully bearded, she recognized him. She exclaimed, “Goro!” for it was her lost friend Goro Maki.

  “That is not my name anymore,” his resonant, measured voice explained. “I am Makine Hei, chief instructor of the temple, and after special services tomorrow, head priest as well.”

  “Delightful news!” exclaimed Tomoe, but caught herself, for it was a sorrowful occasion as well, the previous Zasu having died. But she and Goro were old friends. She could be honest with him, and said softly, “There were doubts that the yamahoshi would ride with the rival yamabushi into battle. Now I see there is no more need for concern.”

  Makine Hei did not reply, nor alter his severe expression.

  Tomoe regained her natural composure, for she had bad news to offer. She held out the shaku and said, “This was the head of a staff belonging to a bonze whom you instructed …”

  “I know it,” said Makine Hei, more quickly than he usually spoke. “It was forged in this temple and no two are the same. How have you come by so personal a treasure?”

  “It was Shindo’s last request,” said Tomoe, halting before adding, “He was my friend, but it became necessary that he die. He agreed to it, but wanted to send his apology to you, for he had promised to return when … when … ” Goro—or Makine Hei—made it difficult to continue. He scowled with so dark an expression that Tomoe almost regretted placing her longsword and Inazuma-hime in the outer room. She must imagine things, though, for this was her old friend.

  “Shindo was a pious man, and innocent of bad feeling,” said Makine Hei. “Who would require him to die?”

  Tomoe could barely hide her shame. “My own Lord Kiso asked that I behead him, because of things he knew and which must be kept secret.”

  A rumbling sound rose from Makine Hei’s chest as Tomoe placed the shaku on the floor and slid it halfway to him. Makine Hei reached forth and pulled the object to himself, then lifted it, then looked at it on all sides, its rings rattling faintly. The corners of his mouth were turned down, his brow knit tightly. He spoke to the shaku, saying, “Ahu,” which meant stupid fellow, “I told you your soft heart would make you die.”

  Makine Hei stood in a flourish of long sleeves and robe, so quickly that Tomoe nearly winced from the threat of that motion, although not showing this feeling. But the huge priest merely turned toward the platform and went again to the reliquary and sat the shaku in front of it. Then, upon his knees, he picked up a tiny mallet and struck the bronze incense bowl so that it gave a high, pure, sustained note. Then he called angrily, “Shindo! How dare you seek forgiveness from me in this way! Did you not know that I am a man without a single heir? Did you not know I planned to adopt you as my son? How can I forgive you now!”

  He stood in another angry flourish and went to the edge of the stage, looking down at Tomoe where she sat stolid but uncomfortable.

  “You say you brought the shaku as a favor,” said Makine Hei, “but I think you did it as a boast! How clever you must think yourself, strong as you are, stronger than Makine Hei’s prize pupil!”

  “You are too harsh!” Tomoe was injured by such words.

  “It is impossible that the yamahoshi would aid the Knight of Kiso now! Do you not know that I have already been your own worst enemy? I am less Sohei than Shugenza!”

  Now Tomoe’s veneer of calmness was undone. She reared as far as she could without falling backward from her knees, for Shugenza meant “man or men of magic” and so Makine Hei claimed to be more sorcerer than fighting priest. She said,

  “Bonze Shindo told me that the yamahoshi do not use evil magic, but seek to destroy it, or hold it inside Hell!”

  “I am the exception!” the big man on the shadowy stage exclaimed.

  It made awful sense to Tomoe, who felt stupid not to have seen what Goro Maki’s nature had become. The yamahoshi committed their lives to understanding enough of supernatural evil that they could do it battle; but a truly bitter man could use this knowledge differently, to become part of the things others sought to defeat.

  “It was you, then,” said Tomoe Gozen, “who sent Tsuki Izutsu against me, against her very will!”

  “It was I,” Makine Hei admitted. “Many years ago you killed a warlord who was my master. It was my desire to avenge him by killing you before joining him through junshi. But my master’s daughter loved you too well and refused me first the privilege of revenge, and then the privilege of going to Lord Shigeno by ‘following-after suicide.’ Don’t mistake my feelings! I am not a bitter man and do not act for selfish reasons! I am pleased to live a retired life, and have learned that those warriors who seek great notice are weak-minded and deserve to be chastised. You gained fame after a battle that caused me ruin, although it was I and not you who behaved in accordance with the Way. You have merited punishment for a long time! I am the Fist of Buddha who will crush the evil pride from Tomoe Gozen!”

  Saying this, Makine Hei leapt upon the floor of the dojo to strike Tomoe with the fist which clenched the rosary. Tomoe somersaulted backward and came up to a crouch, her shortsword drawn and slashing upward. The priest’s rosary was clipped. Beads scattered and rolled noisily across the floor.

  Makine Hei stood unmoving, a few beads left in his outstretched fist. Tomoe was equally still, a statue of a warrior crouched with shortsword held upward in one hand.

  “Shugenza!” she addressed. “You cannot whisper magic charms against me inside the temple grounds, and you cannot punish me while I am armed and strong. Give up your resolution now!”

  The other motionless figure answered, “My punishment is more subtle than fighting you at once. When I sent the oni devil into hell to fetch back the spirit of your friend Tsuki Izutsu, the soul of the oni was irrevocably bound to that of the nun; neither can survive without the other after their experience. Through the oni, I can control the nun, who has gained magic powers because of the additional possession of the Naruka she met while dead. She is the first instrument of my torture, for you must either kill your friend, or let her kill you; and you are punished in either event. The second instrument of my torture is a woman warrior like yourself, upon whom I have visited the unloosening desire to meet you in battle. Killing her will be the same as seppuku, for she thinks and acts as you did at that age. I have other punishments in mind, too! When your misery is its most profound, and you are the most forlorn, only then will I forgive your excessive pride, and I will come to you to fight, to free you from worldly agony, to show you my occult kiaijutsu, the art of killing with the voice!”

  They glared at one another in the dark room for long moments of silence. Tomoe Gozen thought of many things to say, but could not make herself say any of them. She did not think Makine Hei understood his own motivations, and fooled himself if he believed he held no bitterness. Perhaps his retirement had caused him to go mad, for it was true he could
have been a famous samurai; if so, then indeed Tomoe Gozen must confess some degree of guilt regarding his ruin. More likely, he had pursued the yamahoshi tenets without a clear mind and, in confronting evil to destroy it, had been destroyed instead. In whatever case, he was a terrifying foe to have.

  Makine Hei lowered his fist and Tomoe Gozen relaxed her poised shortsword. The priest said, “You seek the Gate of Hell? As the abbot has died, I am now the guardian! I will show you gladly, for it will be interesting to see if you can return without the help of the yamahoshi. Or will you change your mind about this excursion, knowing there is none to help you come out from the Hollow Land again?”

  “I am resolved,” said Tomoe Gozen. She sheathed her shortsword. “I will have my weapons and a Shinto dog. What use the yamahoshi?”

  “Bravely said,” Makine Hei replied sarcastically. “I am honored to point the way.”

  In the outer room, she took up her longsword and placed it in her obi next to the short one. She took the Golden Naginata in her left hand, and stepped out into the night, following Makine Hei through the dark grounds. Taro growled at the big priest, with a voice as deep and disapproving as Makine Hei’s. “Be still, Taro,” said Tomoe. “Stay close to me.” Taro lowered his head, looking properly chastened. Directly, they came to a low-walled garden of large stones arranged on small bits of gravel, and no plants at all. A group of young novices were called and ordered to push one big stone from its position, which requirement made them all look fretful and afraid, but they obeyed. The critically balanced boulder was heaved against by the young men until it leaned away from the black pit it covered. Taro sniffed near the hole, and Tomoe gazed calmly. Makine Hei took a lantern from one of the boys and held it out so that Tomoe could see there was a moist stairway leading down. He said,

  “You will go first through the Land of Roots of the Hollow Land, where there is a dry river bed. A difficult trail will lead eventually to the Land of Gloom. The river is not dry in all places. If you drink from it, you will die at once. Should you find a way to escape, I will be surprised; if you do not, then I will put aside my animosity and judge you sufficiently castigated, and pray for your soul thereafter.”

  “You are generous,” said Tomoe Gozen, descending the slippery stairwell. Taro was at her side, his tail tucked between his legs and his ears pressed flat. She turned around at the bottom of the steps and looked up from the pit, seeing the severe priest flanked by youngsters with worried faces. Then Makine Hei reached across the opening with both hands and, with his own great strength, pulled the boulder back with a thump which sounded all too final.

  Darkness reigned with absolute tyranny.

  There was no sound but that of a panting dog and the breathing of a samurai. The darkness was so total that Tomoe Gozen feared to take a single step, certain that she was falling into some bottomless hole. Slowly, she ran her hand up the shaft of the Golden Naginata and removed the carved scabbard from the blade. Now a ruddy, golden light revealed her habitat, including, truly enough, the black well into which she might have stepped. Of the stairway she had just descended, there was no evidence; of the boulder-covered hole, she could see no mark above. All around her were roots which obscured her view entirely. These roots hung down from the crust of the world and some were big as trees while others fine as hairs. They were like horrid, grasping appendages. There was a path which wound amidst these roots; and it was easy enough to follow by the light of Inazuma-hime.

  As she went down the path in search of the dry riverbed, she began to notice moving stars of light among the roots. These were the eyes of lizards reflecting the light of Inazuma-hime. Lizards such as these Tomoe Gozen had never seen on the face of Naipon, nor suspected lived below. They were miniscule and winged, flitting among the roots, grabbing hold of them here and there, watching her and Taro with round, malevolent eyes.

  “You are too small to hurt us!” Tomoe shouted, and Taro barked at them as well. The lizards scattered away like a frightened flock of birds.

  A footfall sounded behind, causing Tomoe Gozen to wheel about, but she saw nothing in the Golden Naginata’s light. “Ushii?” she whispered, but no reply was forthcoming. Taro whined uncomfortably, wagged his tail with slow uncertainty, and looked at Tomoe.

  The path grew narrower so that, in time, it was necessary to carve a better route. When Inazuma-hime cut a root, it would fall onto the ground and writhe like a dying serpent, then fade away to mist as though it had been illusion. After what seemed a very long time, Tomoe could make out no path whatsoever, and had to cut her way through every step. “I think we’re lost already,” she said to Taro. “Or we would have found the riverbed by now.” Taro gave a short bark of reply, looking intensely in a direction Tomoe had not been leading them. His ears stood straight and rigid, and Tomoe knew that a dog’s hearing was better than her own. Feeling somewhat relieved by the demon-dispelling swish of Taro’s happy tail, she began to cut a path for herself and him, in the direction he had indicated.

  Before much longer, she heard what Taro had noticed first. It was the sound of children singing. The song was a simple one, performed by a large number of tiny voices which became more and more distinct as the dog and the samurai came nearer. The words went, “Bless our mothers, bless our fathers, bless our brothers and sisters; keep them happy in the living world, where we no longer stay.” Although the words were a bit sad, the sweet tune was pleasant, and hardly what Tomoe had expected to hear in the Land of Roots.

  The next moment, she had broken out of the root-woods and stood abruptly on the bank of a waterless river. Here, there was a dreary, vague, weird light which hung in the air like vapor. But Tomoe kept her naginata bared anyway, against danger if not against black night.

  Playing among the pebbles of the dry river were the singing children. Their numbers seemed to go in both directions for infinity. It was sad to see these shades of children, whose bodies were ill-clad or naked, and transparent to Tomoe’s vision. They had no fireplaces to keep them warm, no toys to make them happy, no house to live inside, and no parents to give them love. The banks of the dry river were the only walls they had, the only things to define their wretched home.

  The riverbed was covered with smooth pebbles and rocks, which made it impossible to walk in zori or geta. So the children went about their business with sore and naked feet. Their business consisted of more than their sweet singing. The smooth rocks served as surrogate toys, and they built little drum-towers with these, in honor of their lost parents. They also built little cribs for the youngest children. The largest children and the strongest cared for those who were too young to walk or who came into Hell crippled for some reason.

  Despite the sadness of their spare and useless existence, they were remarkably cheerful children. As Tomoe stood on the bank watching them, she realized their brave, stout hearts found strength and satisfaction by singing their prayers of good fortune for their families. “Spare mother, father, brother, sister the misfortune of such an existence as ours!” sang the children, sincere in their desire to suffer for a filial cause, to keep others of their clans from having to retire to some part of the Hollow Land when they died.

  They were proud of their work, too, for the rock-pile pagodas were precious to see. It was difficult to make the pagodas stand, because the rocks were round and would not stack easily. So the children struggled for success. Tomoe shook her head, unable to accept the Buddhist way of life and death, unable to understand why, if Buddhas were so merciful, children had to come to Hell, even when their lives in Naipon were too brief for them to have sinned.

  Tomoe had yet to see the worst of these poor spirits’ torment. Far down the dry river there was a commotion and what looked to be a smoky cloud. In that direction, children were crying and screaming. Tomoe watched in horror as the cloud came up the river. Soon she could see that it was a dusty storm of three-eyed devils not much larger than the children, but much stronger. They beat the children with whips and flails, knocking over the
pagodas they strove so hard to build. “This is too much!” said Tomoe. The small bit of usefulness and pride the children were able to create among themselves in this bleak place were scattered and spoiled by the laughing, hideous devils. The innocent were smitten. Those who could run went in every direction to no avail, sometimes trying to carry the infants who could not walk. Those infants left behind in stone-built cradles had their beds kicked apart, and their tiny bodies rolled and dashed upon the rocky ground.

  Tomoe Gozen could not hold back. She leapt into the riverbed with her Golden Naginata twirling. The smoky devils could not be cut into pieces, for they were intangible beings; yet the shining metal of Tomoe’s supernatural weapon sent them squealing out of the riverbed to hide among the roots. Taro tore among the devils, too, and while his long white teeth could not hold them, they feared his jaws just the same, for he was a Shinto dog and they were Buddhist monsters. They could feel the pain of the dog’s dislike.

  When the devils were gone, Tomoe shouted, “Do not torment these children for a long time! Or I will come back and fight you!” The children began to dust themselves off, collect their friends, and take their places in order to rebuild their ruined pagodas, as they had done a thousand times before. They began to sing for the safety of their families, and things returned to their previous order. A child’s translucent hand passed over Taro’s fur, but not a hair was moved by that ghostly stroke, and the child, feeling nothing on his hand, went away looking sober.

  There was only one child who had seemed unaffected by the horror, who neither took part in the building of pagodas, nor was sent fleeing by the smoky three-eyed devils. This child was particularly beautiful and richly clad. He sat on a high, smooth boulder near the further bank of the waterless river. In the beautiful boy’s hand was a paper ball on which a crane-design was printed, so Tomoe recognized him as Koshi, although his spirit was so unlike his mortal flesh.