Genpei

by Kara Dalkey

  The attack by the monks upon the palace seemed a spiritual dagger aimed at the Imperial family itself. One of whom, the Empress, was her daughter. Tokiko could work very little magic, but she hoped she could still pull the right political strings.

  Before long, a maidservant came running up to her and knelt and bowed in the wet grass. Tokiko recognized her as one of her daughter’s handmaidens. “My lady, I have just come from the palace,” she gasped.

  “What news?”

  “The Council agrees with your concerns for the safety of the Imperial family, and they will be moved to other residences within the city.”

  “Blessed Amida be thanked,” Tokiko murmured, and then was surprised at the ease with which the prayer fell from her lips. “What of the regalia?”

  “My lady, the sword, the mirror, and the jewel will also be moved to remain with the Emperor’s person at all times.”

  Tokiko paused. If only there were some way she could become caretaker, for however short a time, for the sword … she might find a way to return it to the sea. But she could think of no way it would be permitted. She would be able to visit her daughter, Tokuko, of course. Although her daughter now had a name suiting an Empress, Kenreimon’in, for great ladies of the court traditionally took the name of a gate in the Imperial Compound. Tokiko had wondered if there was something symbolically obscene in the practice of naming a woman after an opening, but she never voiced this to anyone.

  Tokiko had told her daughter some things about Kusanagi, but she had never intended her to play a part in Ryujin’s demands. By paying call on her I could be close to the regalia. But what then? What could an old woman like me do?

  To the servant, Tokiko said, “Send word when it is known where the Empress Kenreimon’in will be living.”

  “We will, my lady.”

  As the girl bowed and departed, Tokiko sighed. It is like moving a large pile of rocks by removing only the lowermost stones, she thought. Pick the right one, and the pile tumbles where you will. Pick the wrong one and you are crushed beneath an avalanche. The trick is picking the right stone.

  Summer Wind

  Empress Kenoremon’in awoke suddenly. She had been having disturbing dreams, threads of which still clung to her mind like frayed strands of silk cling to the hand on a dry day.

  Takakura slumbered on, snoring contentedly beside her beneath the bedclothes. She envied the young man his ability to sleep. Kenreimon’in was now all of twenty-two and she was beginning to wonder if she suffered the old woman’s disease of insomnia. She certainly had not slept well since having to leave the palace after the monks’ attack, fourteen days ago. Certainly she was not comfortable here in her husband’s grandmother’s mansion. All her servants thought of it as a holiday to change residence, but growing up in the Taira household, Kenreimon’in knew it meant “we are in danger.”

  She slipped off the sleeping platform and put on an overrobe. The air was warm and still, so not much clothing was needed or desired. Pushing back her long hair with her hands, Kenreimon wandered out into an adjoining room where some of her handmaidens slept, hoping a short walk might help.

  They had left the shōji open out onto the garden, so moonlight spilled into the room. Kenreimon’in gazed over the sleeping forms, sensing that she was looking for something. Or something was looking with her eyes. Something left from her dreams.

  Her gaze fell on the wooden stand on which was hung the Sacred Sword Kusanagi. Drawn to it, Kenreimon’in went to the stand, stepping over two handmaidens as she did so, and knelt before the sword. The sheath glimmered in the moonlight.

  “It’s something, isn’t it, Majesty?” whispered one of the handmaidens, who had woken up at Kenreimon’in’s passing.

  “Yes,” Kenreimon’in said softly.

  “You know, they say whoever wields it can command the winds.”

  Kenreimon’in nodded. Something within her knew that very well.

  “They say it can be wielded only by one of Imperial blood.”

  Kenreimon’in knew that, too. “My father, everyone says, is the son of an Emperor.”

  “Well then, Majesty, you can swing it.”

  “Me? A woman?”

  “Why not?” giggled the maid. “We handle men’s swords all the time.”

  Kenreimon’in smiled. She lifted the sword off the stand and held it in two hands. It was heavy. “Do you think I should?”

  “I think His Majesty would forgive you. And we won’t tell the priests.”

  Kenreimon’in tugged on the hilt and slowly drew the sword from the scabbard. She was disappointed in what she saw. The blade was tarnished, and the edge was chipped. It looked very old and worn and used. “Why hasn’t someone cared for this?”

  The handmaiden shrugged. “Kusanagi is so sacred, I suppose no one dares, Majesty.”

  Kenreimon’in held it up to catch the moonlight. She did not know if she imagined it, but the blade appeared to glow. “Command the winds, you say?”

  “So the tales go, Majesty. Why not try it and see? We could use a breeze to ease this heat and let us sleep.”

  Filled with a mischevious spirit she had not felt in years, Kenreimon’in said, “Let’s find out.” She carried the sword out onto the verandah and held it up to the sky. “O Great Kami, I who am descended from Amaterasu request that you send a wind to ease our discomfort.” Kenreimon’in swung the sword from right to left, from southwest to northeast. A shimmer of light ran up the sword blade, but that was all.

  Kenreimon’in dropped the point of the sword and it stuck in the wood planking of the verandah with a thunk. Her arms were heavy and tired, and she felt a strange combination of satisfaction, disquiet, and fear. “What have I done?”

  Her hair blew around her face as a strong wind came up suddenly from the southeast.

  “Majesty! You have done it!” whispered the handmaiden in delight.

  Fear became Kenreimon’in’s overriding emotion. “I think … I should not have done this.” She hurried back inside and placed Kusanagi into its sheath once more. She hung the sword back on the stand, and said to the servant, “Tell no one about this.” Then Kenreimon’in went back to the Imperial sleeping dais and crawled beneath the bedclothes. And trembled.

  The Dancer’s Fire

  That same night, that same hour, the monk Saikō was standing on a street corner in the southeast section of Heian Kyō, an area where artists and entertainers commonly lodged. He, too, felt the warm, early summer wind come up from the southeast and he smiled. The Shin-In said weak is the mind of woman. It appears he was right.

  Saikō walked into a modest tavern nearby, bowed to the tavern keeper and went up the wooden stairs to the lodgings in the second story.

  There he was greeted by three young women and a young man, all smiling and eager to see him. They had clearly spent the last hour straightening up, but their room was still bestrewn with dancing kimonos, fans, long silk scarves, and other bits of costume of their art. The girls were clearly from lower-class households, as there wasn’t a single kichō in the room, and they greeted him without covering their faces.

  “It is an honor that you come to us, Holy One,” said one of the dancers, a pretty but very thin girl.

  “It is fortunate that I have found you,” said Saikō, bowing to them all. “His Retired Majesty is very selective about the dancers he wishes for his Festival of the Weaver party. Though it is still two months away, the In asked me to begin the search, for that is how particular he is. And so I have wandered up and down the streets of Heian Kyō, asking who is best, who is best? You would be surprised how often I heard your names.” Which is to say, not at all.

  The dancers bobbed and bowed and smiled.

  Saikō clapped his hands. “Let us have some refreshment, and then let me watch you dance.” He sent down to the tavern below for pitchers of sake, plates of rice and pickled vegetables. Tavern girls brought these up, along with three braziers over which they cooked fish for Saikō and the dancers. As th
e food was laid out and prepared, the monk was careful to sit near the door.

  The expense was nothing to Saikō, for, being the chief advisor of the Retired Emperor, he was a wealthy man. The dancers, however, feasted as if they had been transported to Paradise. It was likely they had never seen such a meal.

  After much sake and plum wine had been drunk, mostly by the dancers, Saikō clapped his hands again, and declared, “Enough feasting! Now let me see the marvelous dancing for which you are renowned.”

  “Tanoshiko!” the three other dancers said to the thin girl. “You are the best of us! You must dance first.”

  The girl smiled shyly and stood, wavering a bit. Apparently the sake had had a strong effect on her small body. The other dancers moved aside to give her room, as she put on a silk brocade dancing jacket that was a little too large for her, the bottom of the wide sleeves brushing the floor. It had clearly been made for someone else and seen years of wear since.

  The young man picked up a small drum and began to beat out a slow, measured rhythym. Tanoshiko held out her arms, bowed her head, and began to move in stately, sweeping patterns across the floor. Despite her inebriation, she managed to bob in time to the drum and snap her fan at the appropriate moments. Saikō could see that, had she been blessed with the right family and upbringing, the girl could have had promise. Alas, she will have to hope for better in a future life, Saikō thought.

  After she executed one slightly wobbly spin, Saikō interrupted her, and said, “That was marvelous, that move! Let me see it again!”

  Blushing, Tanoshiko again performed the spin, not recovering her balance very well.

  “Oh, how splendid! I know his Retired Majesty loves dancing such as this! Come closer and let me watch it again.”

  With only a little sigh of tried patience, Tanoshiko walked over to where Saikō sat next to the cooking braziers and again performed the open-armed spin. Her sleeves drifted over the top of the braziers and one of them caught on the grate. She did not notice, and her movement pulled the brazier over, spilling hot coals on the hem of her dancing jacket and the frayed straw mats on the floor. They caught fire at once. Tanoshiko looked down and screamed. One of the other dancers flung the dregs of the plum wine on the flames, which only made matters worse.

  Saikō jumped up, kicking over another brazier. “Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I shall go get help at once!” He hurried out the door and down the steps, ignoring the shouted questions of the tavern keeper. Out on the street, Saikō slowed his step and walked as if nothing was the matter. He found a shadowed doorway upwind of the fire and waited a bit, watching the tavern. Soon flames roared out of the windows of the upper story and he could hear the desperate, dying screams of the dancers. The flames leapt to the thatch roof and quickly engulfed it. There had been several months without rain, and the dry straw was perfect tinder for the fire.

  People rushed past Saikō, carrying buckets of water, but as he was an old monk they paid him little heed. He nodded and blessed them as they passed, knowing they were too late to help.

  The wind from the southeast was quite strong now, and the sparks and embers from the tavern roof were flung onto neighboring buildings. Their wood roofs also exploded into flame until the entire neighborhood became a conflagration. Would-be firefighters staggered screaming in the streets, their clothing burning against their skin. People fleeing the buildings trampled one another in their haste to get to safety, and panicked horses and oxen ran down still more. Women with wide sleeves afire unintentionally set more fires on carts, carriages, store banners, and other refugees as they dashed hither and thither, shrieking in confusion, fear, and pain.

  As the fire intensified, the smoke became so thick that even those who escaped the flames themselves lay choking and gasping in the streets like beached fish. Buildings exploded with the great heat, and their thatch-and-wood roofs were blown into the air as enormous fiery pinwheels, to land on other buildings and start more fires afresh.

  Saikō smiled. Only several blocks to the northwest, directly downwind, lay the Imperial palace itself. And it was clear now that no bucket brigades, no high stone wall, no prayers or archers or chanting priests would keep this horror from engulfing the Imperial Compound. The Emperor and Empress were not there at the moment, but it didn’t matter—their deaths were not the aim. To diminish all courage and hope of the people of Heian Kyō, however, was, and it appeared that was being accomplished nicely.

  Saikō hurried westward, allowing the crush and flow of frightened refugees to carry him along. His mind was awash with wonder at how a little evil could lead to such a great one. It had the power to change the world. He looked forward to making his midnight report. The Shin-In would be pleased.

  The Bronze Mirror

  As twilight fell the next evening, Ushiwaka, now fifteen years old, slipped away from Kurama monastery and headed back into the forest where he had been training for seven years with the tengu. He had not had the chance to meet with Sōjō-bō and the Leaflet Tengu for several weeks. But now, with the monks occupied with the refugees from the fire in Heian Kyō, Ushiwaka saw his chance.

  But when he reached the clearing where he had been training for so many years, no tengu greeted him. Ushiwaka looked around, and called out for them, but no one answered. Finally, in the dim light, he saw on the ground one black feather pointing to a path that led farther up the mountain. Ushiwaka followed the path and found that it led to a cave he had never seen before. He entered into a large chamber and there, beside a glowing fire in a bronze brazier, stood Sōjō-bō in half-bird, half-human form.

  “Ah, there you are, Ushiwaka. I see you got my little message.”

  Ushiwaka bowed. “Sōjōbō-sensei. I was surprised no one had met me at the training place. I thought perhaps you had lost faith in me. I am very sorry I have not attended lately.”

  “Oh, we understand. Life is getting … interesting for you at the temple these days?”

  Ushiwaka sat on a rock and sighed. “Abbot Tōkōbō is determined to make me take the vows. He has not said so outright, but I believe that if I continue to refuse, he will turn me over to the Taira. If they learn that I have violated the terms of my exile, they will very likely execute me.”

  “Ah. You fear the Taira. Is that why you have been spending many evenings hurrying down into the capital to the Temple of Kwannon? I understand to get to it, you must go right by Rokuhara, hmm? Or do you enjoy tempting fate?”

  “My mother often worships at that temple, and she has claimed that it was Kwannon’s intercession that turned Lord Kiyomori’s heart and saved our lives. Though, I admit, I have been looking over Rokuhara as I pass.”

  “Looking for a way a resourceful swordsman might enter unseen, eh?”

  “You could say so.”

  Sōjō-bō chuckled. “You are a good student of tengu-do.”

  “But I do not know if the great fire has done my work for me and burned Rokuhara to the ground.”

  “My spies have flown over the city,” said Sōjō-bō, “and they tell me Rokuhara still stands, more’s the pity.”

  “It is strange, but I am glad of it,” said Ushiwaka. “It means I have not been robbed of my dream.”

  “The Imperial palace, however,” Sōjō-bō went on, “has been quite badly damaged. Many venerable buildings destroyed.”

  “How can that be?” asked Ushiwaka. “Who can harm the Emperor, who is descended from gods? Who can harm his palace, which is warded day and night from demons and evil spirits?”

  Sōjō-bō chuckled. “You believe so much of what you are told.”

  “Sōjō-bō-sensei, what caused the fire? Was it the wrath of the gods, or a curse of the Hiei monks, or the work of demons?”

  The tengu shrugged his great black wings. “The signs are unclear. Even our wisest tengu wizard was baffled. He said that, as far as he could determine, one of the Imperial family used the Sacred Sword Kusanagi to summon a great wind. The fire itself could have started any number of ordinary ways.�
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  “Why would the Emperor want to burn down his own palace and half the city with it?”

  “How would I know?” squawked Sōjō-bō. “We tengu don’t know everything. We merely act like we do.”

  “It has been fortunate for me that you know everything about sword fighting.”

  “Yes, that is a thing we know. And you have been an excellent student. So good, in fact, that I have the pleasure of telling you that your studies are ended.”

  “Ended?” Ushiwaka stood up, his joy mingled with regret.

  “Just so. You have learned all we have to teach you, and much faster than we expected, to be honest. The time is coming soon, it is clear, for you to make your way in the world.”

  “It is true that I cannot stay at Kuramadera much longer,” agreed Ushiwaka. “But I don’t know how I can escape without being caught. The monks are watchful.”

  “Leave that to us. We tengu have some skill in these things. Now, I have a parting gift for you.”

  “A gift? Oh, no, sensei, it is I who should be giving a gift to you, after all you have taught me. If I had known—”

  “Hush. Your gift to me will be the good use of our teachings. My gift to you has been acquired with no little trouble, so you would do well to pay attention. Take note of that Chinese mirror hanging on the wall.”

  Ushiwaka looked and saw a great round mirror of polished bronze, as tall as he was, leaning against the far wall of the cavern.

  “Pick up the sakaki twig and the cryptomeria branch lying near it, and perform the Spirit Summoning rite I taught you.”

  Assuming this was some sort of final test, Ushiwaka picked up the branches, one in each hand. He drew a circle in the dirt of the cave floor and began his dance. He stepped precisely in the pattern he had been taught, feet never leaving the circle, but Ushiwaka knew he would always be a better swordsman than sorcerer. He chanted the right words at the right time, if not with such fluency as he might wish. When he finished, the mirror began to glow with a golden light.