by Kara Dalkey
The servants hurried off to comply and Kiyomori stood to walk to his bedchamber feeling a strange and terrible calm.
Under the Tachibana Trees
Kenreimon’in and her mother, Nii no Ama, sat under the tachibana trees in a side garden of the Inner Ward of the Imperial Compound. The barest hint of a summer breeze brought the scent of oranges wafting down from the tiny flowers overhead. An ornamental stream wound around the mossy knoll on which the ladies sat, sunlight sparking on its surface.
“This is like reading a beautiful poem, written by a friend who has died,” Kenreimon’in murmured. “Pleasant, but I can take no joy in it.”
“I understand,” said Nii no Ama.
A peal of laughter arose from another knoll across the stream, where the maidservants were fussing over and playing with the little Crown Prince. “Have you decided what he will be named yet?” asked Nii no Ama.
“The Council of Ministers are saying that when the boy becomes Emperor, he should have the name Antoku.”
Nii no Ama nodded. “And do they know when that will be?”
“How can anyone say?” replied Kenreimon’in, looking down at the withering grass beside her. “Are you so eager to be an Emperor’s grandmother that you wish it to be soon?”
“Oh, no, no,” replied Nii no Ama, gently grasping her arm. “I do not ask from ambition or vanity. I am worried, my daughter. I do not know … how much time we have left.”
“You speak of the whirlwind,” Kenreimon said, still not looking up. She plucked at the drying tips of the grass beside her.
“Yes. The fish in my pond still insist it was Kusanagi.”
Kenreimon’in grasped a handful of grass in her fist, viciously pulled it up, and threw it on the ground. “I thought the fish were no longer speaking to you.”
“After the whirlwind, I visited the pond at Rokuhara. Oh, they spoke to me then. Ryujin is very concerned.”
Kenreimon’in stared down at the hem of her outmost kimono and rubbed at a grass stain. “It cannot have been Kusanagi, Mother. The sword has never left the palace. I checked on it myself, after I received your troubling letter. Someone is always watching the regalia. Naturally, I could not inquire too much, lest I raise suspicions. But I have heard of no tampering with the sword.” Kenreimon’in noticed one of the young ladies-in-waiting looking back at her with a worried expression. I should not speak so loud, Kenreimon’in chided herself. An Empress should never raise her voice. Particularly on this matter.
“Nothing else … untoward happened in the palace that day?” asked Nii no Ama.
“There were bad omens, if that is what you mean,” said Kenreimon’in. “The birds and animals were noted to be particularly quiet. Munemori delivered a box of kimonos that turned out to be for the wrong season. Then he, himself, became sick and went home, an hour or so before the whirlwind came. The Crown Prince fussed more than usual. His Majesty noticed that—”
“What was that about Munemori again?”
“That he became sick and left early, you mean? It was a stomach ailment, I believe. No one else in the palace caught it, that I know of.”
Nii no Ama seemed particularly thoughtful, her face shadowed by her gray silk cowl. “There has been some reconciliation between Shigemori and Munemori. They have been corresponding more of late. I am pleased to see my sons amicable toward each other again, but there is something … secretive about their new friendship. Something Shigemori is not telling me.”
“Before the whirlwind, Munemori occasionally used to have tea with me. Should he do so again, should I ask him about it?”
“Do not press him on it. But if he should reveal a thing or two …”
“I will let you know.”
“Thank you.”
Louder laughter from the knoll opposite made Kenreimon’in look over at the maidservants. One was holding up the Crown Prince and swinging him around, swooping him here and there as if he were a chubby little bird.
“Be careful!” Kenreimon’in called out. “Do not drop him in the stream! He might drown.”
Nii no Ama glanced sharply up at her.
“What is it, Mother?”
“Merely … a dream. I was reminded of a dream.”
“A dream?”
Nii no Ama shook her head. “One should not speak of bad dreams.” Slowly she stood, grimacing from the aches in her joints. “I believe … I will go play with my grandchild. While I still can.”
Kenreimon’in watched her mother walk carefully across the ornamental stream over the perfectly placed stepping-stones. She wished she could tell her mother about the time she had touched Kusanagi. But guilt always seemed to stop her mouth and catch her voice in her throat. Did my sin bring the whirlwind? How will I live with myself if that is so? She looked down at her hands in her lap. They were stained with the green blood of the grass she had pulled.
The Empress sighed.
Wet Robes
Walking the many li in their white pilgrims’ robes, Shigemori, his sons, and their entourage were most of the way to the Kumano Shrine when the messenger reached them with news of the whirlwind. “It was a wondrous and most terrible sight, my lord,” the messenger said. “Five city blocks were damaged. No one had ever seen anything like it. Surely it is an omen of great import.”
Shigemori felt his stomach grow cold. Kusanagi commands the winds they say. But surely Munemori would not … did not …
Koremori, now a young man himself of sixteen, interrupted his thoughts. “Should we return to Heian Kyō, Father?”
Shigemori paused and then asked the messenger, “Were any of my family … harmed?”
“No, my lord, no Taira holdings were touched. This has caused some people to wonder, as you might understand.”
“And the Imperial palace? There was nothing untoward there?”
“Spared also, blessed be the Amida, although the whirlwind was moving in that direction. Only the homes and shops of merchants and a few lesser noblemen’s mansions were destroyed.”
“Ah, no one of account, then,” said Koremori.
“Say no such thing, my son,” Shigemori chided him. “A person of lesser rank is by no account a lesser person. Anyone’s fortunes may change, as our own family has seen.” Turning back to the messenger, Shigemori asked, “And what of the Retired Emperor and his household?”
“Also spared, my lord.”
Shigemori sighed. He stared up at the sky as if answers might be written in the clouds. “Well, there is little my returning to the city would accomplish, then. It would be better to continue on and ask the kami at the shrine the meaning of this extraordinary event.” He paid the messenger, and the procession continued onward to Kumano.
But when Shigemori and his sons reached the cedar-shaded main shrine of Kumano, he was faced with disappointment. His request for a medium to interpret his dream was denied.
“We are most sorry to disappoint you, noble lord,” said the priests, “but we have no one suitable here right now. Our best mediums were sent to the capital to serve at the Imperial birth seven months ago, where they quite wore themselves out. Our last one nearly tore all her hair out foretelling the coming of the whirlwind, and she is now recovering. We have not yet found any worthy replacements among our shrine maidens.”
Shigemori took this as a sign that no further interpretation of his dream was needed. He had been told all the kami would permit him to know. Shigemori ensconced himself within the Hongū Shōjōden Hall all day and all night, kneeling in prayer. To the kami Kongō Dōji, he prayed, “I find I have not the skill or the courage to bring peace and prosperity to my people. Though I try to correct my father, as unfilial as that may seem, I am powerless to change him. Let it be, then, O Kongō Dōji, that if we Taira are still worthy in the sight of the gods, then may you or some other great power change Kiyomori’s heart and make him a man of wisdom and peace.
“But if we are not worthy, then please remove whatever divine protection I may have, so that my life
may be taken from me. I have no wish to see my sons’ and relatives’ fortunes decline, to watch a world grow in misery. If the whirlwind was only a foretaste of disasters to come, then spare me from them. Let my spirit journey on to a better life and leave this world of woes behind.”
A voice emanated from behind the curtain that hid the kami’s image. “Blameless Shigemori, you have been heard. But your fate already has been sealed. Be at peace. The winds of Fortune blow beyond you now.”
It was later said by the chujo boys of the temple that Lord Shigemori glowed with an eerie light when he finally left the chamber of prayer in the dark hours before dawn.
As Shigemori walked back toward the rooms in which he and his sons were lodged, a summer thunderstorm announced its arrival with a great flash of lightning and a mighty rumble of thunder. It was so bright, Shigemori had to shield his eyes a moment. Then came a strong gust of wind, which tugged hard at his hair. He gasped, and fat drops of rain lodged in his throat. Shigemori choked and coughed, but though he cleared the water from his throat, he had difficulty breathing, as if he had been poisoned. The lightning flashed again and in its afterimage, Shigemori saw the face of Akugenda Yoshihira, the executed son of Yoshitomo, who had claimed he would become a thunder demon, smiling in satisfaction. Shigemori understood. The kami have chosen to allow you your vengeance. He bowed to where the lightning had been and continued on.
Shigemori did not run to the shelter of the overhanging eaves as the rain came down in a torrent. Instead, he walked calmly the long path to his rooms, as if the night were fine weather. He allowed the wind to batter at him, allowed the rain to drench his clothing. After all, his fate was now sealed, his life now in the hands of the gods.
The Empty Vessel
Dead?” asked Kiyomori, unbelieving.
“Yes, Great Lord,” said the servant, his forehead pressed to the tatami mat. “We followed the yamabushi Mukō, as you directed. For three days we watched him in his wretched hovel, performing foul-smelling rituals. Then he fell over and did not rise again. We sent for a physician, who said, from the condition of the body, that Mukō had been dead not one hour but one week.”
“That is impossible.”
“Of course. Stranger still, according to papers hidden in the hems of the old man’s robes, his name had been Sewa and he had been troubled by visits from the spirit of the Shin-In.”
Kiyomori remembered the official document “Mukō” had shown him, signed with the chop of the Shin-In. “Blessed Amida,” whispered Kiyomori. “What have I done?”
The Hidden Chest
All the shōji were open to the gardens outside, but no breeze came in to ease Munemori on a hot summer night. He tossed and turned on his sleeping mat. Beneath him, underneath the floorboards, was a possible cure for the weather. But Munemori had sworn to himself never to touch Kusanagi again.
Since the whirlwind, Munemori had again sequestered himself in his home, pleading an intermittent illness that kept him from his brother’s duties at the palace. Munemori had no intention of giving the sword to his brother Shigemori. He had told Shigemori that he had been prevented from taking the sword, first by his illness, then by the tumult caused by the whirlwind.
But Munemori could not risk returning Kusanagi to the Imperial palace. Not yet. And choosing never to wield it again himself, there was little to do but keep the sword hidden. Munemori had considered over and over what further lies he would tell Shigemori, but he had thought of none yet that would be convincing. And his mother, demons take her, was sending letters of subtle inquiry. She was suspicious, and Munemori knew he had not the skill to dissemble to her.
As for the Shin-In, though Munemori had expected the demon ghost to appear every night since the whirlwind, he had had no such visitation. Munemori had expected to be punished for his failure to send the whirlwind into the palace. Munemori had hoped the Shin-In would choose to kill him and free his soul from this troubled, confusing world. But no such mercy had arrived.
As these thoughts bedeviled him, Munemori became aware of someone in the room. Ah, he thought. My time has come.
Munemori sat up, and, indeed, it was the Shin-In, floating at the foot of his sleeping mat. “Good evening, Majesty,” Munemori said. “I am ready.” He inclined his head as if expecting a sword blade to fall across his neck.
“Ready for what? Oh. You truly do conceive some strange notions. I have come to bring you news.”
“News?” Munemori did not wish to hear any news from the Shin-In.
“You are on your way to becoming head of the Taira, as you requested of me.”
“How is that so?”
“Your much envied brother, Shigemori, is dying.”
Munemori had thought he could not possibly feel worse than he had already. The ache in his stomach told him he was wrong. “Dying?” he asked weakly. “How soon?”
“A few months yet. Akugenda Yoshihira and I intend for Shigemori to suffer. And thereby your father Kiyomori also. As well as most of the Taira who love and respect Shigemori. It will be a glorious period of sorrow, neh?”
Munemori fell back on the sleeping mat and stared up at the ceiling. “Why don’t you just slay us all and be done with it?”
The Shin-In’s hollow-cheeked face drifted over to hover above Munemori’s. “Vengeance, done properly, is like a fine geisha. One must spend a long time savoring the many entertainments she has to offer. It would be an insult to thrust the sword blade quickly, once, twice, and be done. Vengeance is no common street whore. Attention must be paid to detail or else one invites embarrassment at the least, disaster at the worst. You, once an appreciator of women, should understand this.”
“Very well, I understand,” Munemori nearly shouted. “What do you want of me?”
“Of you? For now, nothing, since you have chosen to be good for nothing. Be at ease. Watch the dance of Fate and Fortune. The time will come for you to take your place again upon the sacred platform. I will have further instructions for you then.”
“What should I do with the sword?”
“It is best where it is, where no one can find it.”
“I won’t wield it again for you.”
“I know. No matter. A master of vengeance never uses the same blow twice. One must keep the opponent guessing and off guard. I have other tricks in mind to play upon the good people of Heian Kyō. The greatest favor you did us was to help us destroy Enryakuji. Without the monastery to guard the northeast mountain passes—”
“Please! I beg you, go away!” Munemori wrapped his head in the bedclothes to shut out the sound of the Shin-In’s voice.
“Very well. I will overlook your rudeness and go. I have said enough. For now.”
Munemori waited long moments before he pulled the cloth down from his face. The Shin-In had gone.
Offers of Assistance
Summer faded into autumn, and Taira Shigemori faded with the seasons. He could eat less and less and became thinner and thinner. Yet, through it all, Shigemori remained very calm and peaceful. He shaved his head, took Buddhist vows and changed his name to Jōren. He spent his days lying alone in a room, studying the sutras.
On one such day, a messenger came from Nishihachijō. “Lord Shigemori, I am sent by your father Kiyomori,” said the messenger, distress and pity obvious on his face. “He begs you to reconsider your refusal to accept any medical help.”
Shigemori managed to smile, and he spoke barely above a whisper. “My father is … kind. But as I have said many times, the gods have decided. This is how it shall be. Who am I to defy the will of the Buddha and the Kasuga kami?”
“Begging your pardon, noble lord,” said the messenger, bowing, “but your father has found a physician from the great kingdom of Chang’an who has been traveling in our land. Kiyomori is most impressed with the wisdom of this man, and he asks that you permit him to see you, so as not to insult such a distinguished visitor.”
Shigemori sighed. “Please tell my father I am grateful for his
efforts. But I am a Minister of State. For me to accept treatment from a foreign doctor, when I have already turned down the help of the good physicians of Nihon, would be an insult to my countrymen. Please help my father to understand. My life is in the hands of Heaven.”
The messenger let his head droop sadly. “Lord Kiyomori expected this might be your answer. He wishes you to know his prayers are with you. As you do not require his help, he will be leaving for Fukuhara. As he might not be with you at the end, he wishes to know if there is anything you would ask of him upon your … departure.”
“Nothing that he surely does not know already. I wish my son, Koremori, to be Ason of the Taira, although he is yet too young for any responsibilities. I remind my father to be respectful in his dealings with the Retired Emperor. I ask my father to give up his meddlings in matters of the world and accept the freedom from care that his gray robes permit him. Tell him these things, if you please.” Shigemori ended with a rasping cough.
“As you wish, Lord Shigemori,” said the messenger. “Shall I leave you now so that you may recover in peace?”
Still coughing, Shigemori nodded and waved him away.
Shigemori’s cough eased a short while after the messenger left and he sipped at some cold green tea. There was a scratching at the shōji beside him. “Who is it?” Shigemori whispered.
The shōji slid aside to reveal Nii no Ama kneeling there in her gray robes and cowl.
“Mother.”
“My son. I heard you coughing and came to see if there is anything I can do for you.”
Shigemori shook his head.
Nii no Ama came in, walking on her knees, until she was beside him. “I was told you turned down your father’s offer of a physician.”
“I did.”
Nii no Ama looked down and gently caressed his sleeve where it lay on the floor between them. “I have a last offer of my own to make. You know my father, the Dragon King, accepts the souls of admirable noblemen into his palace under the sea.”
