Yamada Monogatari: To Break the Demon Gate

by Richard Parks

  Kenji shrugged. “Nor I. There must be some other explanation.”

  I hoped Kenji was right and there was, indeed, some other explanation. There had to be.

  Our walk back into the city was far more sober than the trip down through Rashamon. As usual the streets were deserted, or nearly so. All decent people were at home. Which left me, Kenji, and whatever other lowly reprobates, thieves, demons, and ghosts might be about. Yet, not quite completely buried in the gloom and uncertainty, a thought occurred to me.

  “Kenji, where are you going now?”

  He shrugged. “To the hostel. There are signs of rain, and I’d rather not get caught out in a storm later tonight.”

  True enough. There was an ominous cast to the northern sky, but I read nothing supernatural in that. It just looked like rain. As the breeze freshened, it even felt a bit like rain.

  “Let me go with you, at least so far as the streets near where we walked last night.”

  “Glad of the company,” Kenji said, “or do you have another reason in mind?”

  “Say rather I’m curious about something. Another trip to the area south of the Demon Gate might satisfy that curiosity.”

  “You’re being mysterious,” Kenji said. “I hate that.”

  “The object of my curiosity isn’t clear enough in my own mind to be much more than that. Not a suspicion, or anything easily explained. Likely not even relevant. When I know more, I’ll be glad to share that poor knowledge with you.”

  “As you will.”

  As we walked, we saw nothing more or less than we expected to see. It had been something of an exaggeration to say that no decent folk were about. Say rather there were many, none of whom wanted their faces to be seen. Lovers walked by, their faces veiled but their intentions clear, hurrying off to their chosen trysting places; now and then a servant nervously made his or her way through the darkened streets with only a small lantern for light, sent on business that could not wait until morning; and, here and there, were ghost-lights and moving shadows with eyes. As we drew closer to the scene of the previous night’s events, I waited for something, anything, to change.

  Nothing did.

  We reached the hostel. Kenji acknowledged the monk on duty but did not enter. “Well?”

  “Walk a little further with me, and perhaps the matter will be clearer to both of us.”

  We kept heading north, closer and closer to the demon gate. We were nearly there before Kenji finally let out a gasp. “The ghosts! They’re still here!”

  We stopped. “Yes.”

  Kenji frowned. “But we saw then absorbed into the darkness! Did it miss these?”

  We both paused to watch a ghost in the form of a walking stick hop by, and I was somewhat startled to see a pair of lanterns just beyond the city gate, but neither was Seita.

  “We both saw the nature of that cloud. How could it have missed anything? How could these have escaped? I’m guessing they didn’t escape at all. They were absorbed, but not permanently.”

  I called after the walking-stick ghost, but of course it ignored me, as did the second and third spirit I tried to contact. It was the reason sources of information like Seita were so highly prized in the profession of nobleman’s proxy: ghosts made the best spies and informants of all. No human could match them for either stealth or access. Yet most ghosts were so involved in their own interests and concerns they simply ignored humans, unless that human happened to be one they bore some grudge against.

  It was nearly impossible to get a ghost to speak to you that did not wish to do so. Just as it was also nearly impossible to shut one up if it did. I had been very fortunate to find Seita, who had retained most of his worldly desires and simply wanted a bit of rice now and then, otherwise to be left alone with the memory of his former life. Now it seemed our luck in this regard was at its end, for both of us.

  “The ghosts know what happened,” Kenji said. “They may even know what that thing is.”

  “Possible,” I conceded. “But getting any of them to answer our questions will be very difficult. Since by your own admission this is out of your realm, it may require a specialist.”

  “You know my opinion of that,” Kenji said.

  I did. While Kenji might be one of the worst excuses for a priest who ever lived, he was still primarily a Buddhist worst excuse for a priest who ever lived. The idea of Yin-Yang or Daoist magic made him very uncomfortable. Even those dedicated to the ancient Way of the Gods did not always get full respect from Kenji.

  “Do you have an alternative?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “I do not. But I’ll have no part in it. Do as you think you must, Lord Yamada. You can be certain that at least I will not interfere. But if you find yourself changed into something grotesque or worse, do not look to me to set matters right.”

  I smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t think of it. Goodnight, Kenji-san.”

  Kenji went to the hostelry, and I turned south toward Gion; while the ghosts were most active now, there was nothing more I could do that evening, nor much chance I could do more in the morning if I did not get some sleep. Despite my weariness I took the long way home, past the compound of Lady Snow. There were no lights within, and the gate sealed from the outside.

  “Lady Snow has, indeed, taken her leave of the city. At least she told the truth about that.”

  It wasn’t much to be cheered by, and yet I was a little. So much had gone wrong that day I was grateful for even the slightest bit that bothered to go exactly as I expected.

  The next morning there were warrior-monks from Enryaku-ji on the streets of the capital. Armed, but in no large numbers; no real force. They appeared in groups of two, three at most. I saw them walking on Shijo-dori and Sanjo-dori, and then again on Karasuma-dori. They did not accost or otherwise pay any heed to the throngs of people moving about the street and so passed through the crowds leaving no disturbance or, indeed, little to remark on in their wake. Yet they did leave small eddies of people who whispered to each other in very low tones and shot many furtive glances in the monks’ direction.

  The monks did not belong there. We knew it, and they knew it; and yet here they were, walking with the unhurried pace of people with no particular destination in mind and all the time in eternity. Still, I had no doubt they could move quickly enough if the need arose. Yet who would determine that need?

  Curious.

  I found Master Chang Yu seated at his worktable in his small shop off Karasuma. Unlike some Daoist practitioners he really was, as his name implied, Chinese. He was a short and round little old fellow with a drooping gray mustache and a none-too-clean yellow robe. The image he displayed was no more or less than the truth, but one did not have to scratch his genial surface too hard to find dross.

  He was, in most regards, a charming charlatan.

  The way of things dictated he would always remain a foreigner in his adopted country, but he had built that very strangeness, that “otherness” into a fairly lucrative concern. I had to admire his ability to turn a disadvantage to his favor; it was no surprise his reputation was greater than his reality, nor when it came to the true measure of his abilities that there was a great deal of chaff mixed with the rice. Still, what he could do, he could do, and for the proper consideration he would attempt nearly anything. Profit made him reckless. Frankly, I was surprised he’d lived as long as he had.

  “Lord Yamada. How can this humble one serve you this morning? I have a wonderful cure for the excesses of rice wine.”

  “The only cure for rice wine is more of the same. That’s not why I am here, Chang-san. I need to conjure a ghost.”

  “You always have such strange requirements, when the right herb cures most ills. I think you should try some.”

  “I think I must find someone else.” I said and made as if to leave.

  He scowled. “I should let you go, you know,” he said. “I think it would be wisest.”

  “Since when have you done what is wise?”

&n
bsp; “True, and this hardly seems the time to start.” The old man sighed. “Can you pay? Forgive my asking but, well, just forgive me.”

  “Yes. But no more than four bags of uncooked rice.”

  He shrugged. “So long as it is a small ghost.”

  “What about if the ghost has been exorcised?”

  Chang Yu laughed. “There isn’t that much rice in China. Besides, summoning a ghost from hell upsets balance and order. In order to remain true to the Way, I must avoid such things.”

  I sighed. “I’ll settle for a small ghost then. But it has to be one that normally haunts the area just south of the Demon Gate.”

  He frowned. “Any one?”

  “Anyone who can speak.”

  He tugged at his scraggly beard. “Most spirits can converse with the living, after a fashion, if properly motivated. For an extra bag of rice, I’ll undertake that as well.”

  I wasn’t in a mood to argue. Kanemore’s means were vast but not inexhaustible, and I had already spent more than I wished. Still, I needed this answer very badly, and unless I had been mistaken in Kanemore all this time, so did he.

  “Agreed.”

  “Two bags now, but I’ll need time to prepare. Return as evening falls with the balance, and we’ll see what can be done.”

  I gave Chang Yu the payment and went looking for Kenji. While he of course would have nothing to do with Chang Yu and his Chinese magic, now there were other matters to discuss. I found him near the Demon Gate as usual, but he was neither hawking talismans nor begging alms. Instead he merely sat in a shady spot with his back to the wall near the gate, looking. He nodded to me as I approached.

  “Sit, Lord Yamada. I think I know why you have come.”

  “The monks of Enryaku-ji,” I said. “I assume you have seen them?”

  “Oh, yes. I have indeed,” he said, but that was all.

  “And?”

  He took a long breath and let it out slowly. “The city is not their rightful place. They should not be here.”

  “You’ll find no argument from me on that score,” I said dryly. “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know. But it echoes a very troubling precedent.”

  “You mean this has happened before?”

  “Not exactly. Yet I believe there are parallels . . . do you remember the Emperor, Kammu Tennou?”

  “Since he died over two hundred years before I was born, no,” I said, and Kenji sighed gustily.

  “Even you spent some little time in the Great School, so you know very well what I mean. Do you remember the stories of his reign?”

  “A very active Emperor, if I remember my lessons. He made war against the Ezo—the barbarians—in the north and expanded the Imperial domains,” I said, considering. “And he moved the capital, which was then in Nara, to its present location.”

  “Very good,” Kenji said. “Now, do you recall why he moved the capital?”

  “Oh.” Now I thought I could see where Kenji’s rather meandering path was leading. “To escape the power of the temples. Now, if only the Fujiwara were as easy to elude.”

  “Be that as it may,” Kenji said, “the point remains that, like Emperors before and after, Kammu sought means of consolidating his power without undue interference. The temples at Nara had grown wealthy and influential under Kammu’s reign, so much so he realized his only method to escape them was simply to move and leave them behind, cutting them off from their base of power which was, ironically enough, the proximity of the Emperor Kammu himself.”

  “So why was one of his earliest official acts to endow Enryaku Temple?”

  Kenji smiled. “Did he have a choice? The northeast is an unfortunate direction, regardless of your location. How better to defend the city from evil influences than to locate a temple in that very direction, acting as a buffer between the northeast and your shining new city? Besides, it was not the Eightfold Way he sought to escape, merely the power of the chief priests at Nara. From that standpoint, his action was a complete success. The temple complexes at Nara faded. Yet now . . . ”

  “Yet now, two hundred years or more after his death, you see the same dynamic at work?”

  He looked at me. “Don’t you? Enryaku-ji had its own private army for some time before Lord Sentaro became hojo. Do you consider it mere happenstance that now we find armed monks wandering the streets of the capital?”

  “Not in the least. Yet all we’ve done so far is discuss history with, perhaps, some idle speculation. What have you heard?”

  “Not much,” Kenji admitted. “I sent a letter to Master Saigyo at Mount Oe just this morning, so I do not expect a reply for some weeks. Even so, I consider it very unlikely he’s heard anything—Enryaku-ji is a world unto itself. Even the temples within the city do not have extensive commerce with it, but I intend to find out what I can.”

  “The Emperor is in residence,” I said. “Not on pilgrimage or under any ceremonial spiritual obligations that would require his absence?”

  “There is nothing on the calendar that I am aware of,” Kenji said, frowning. “Why do you ask?”

  “I find it very hard to believe the monks of Enryaku-ji have been allowed into the city without the Emperor’s permission, or at least his forbearance. If that’s the case, it’s possible Kanemore might have some knowledge of the matter.”

  “I’ll leave that to you,” Kenji said, rising. In a moment I followed his example, and we stood facing each other beside the Demon Gate. “The mendicants will be gathering in their usual places. I will seek their watchfulness in this as well.”

  That was sound thinking. The mendicants covered most of the city in their daily search for alms and, in some cases, mischief. They could prove useful, but if so it would be Kenji’s field to harvest. I had, I hoped, my own; again I went to the easternmost gate of the Imperial Compound, but the guard there said Prince Kanemore was away, and no message could reach him for at least a day. Instead, Kanemore had left a letter for me.

  I thanked the guard and took Kanemore’s sealed scroll back to my rooms at the Widow Tamahara’s establishment to read:

  When treeless mountains

  Uproot and walk as pilgrims,

  Then might another

  Seek an opposite true path

  and in their footsteps wander.

  At the end of the poem, Kanemore had simply written: “I would welcome your thoughts on my pilgrimage, for I know such things are of interest. Until my return—Kanemore.”

  While it was required of all men of Kanemore’s rank to be accomplished poets, Kanemore was not the subtlest I knew. That was a good thing; despite Kenji’s confidence in my education, my ability to follow the classical allusions was somewhat less than my alleged station in life should require. It had been a long time since my days at the Imperial University, and I was quite out of practice.

  Still, “treeless mountains” was a pretty obvious reference to the monks of Enryaku-ji, with their bald heads and their current habit of walking within the city proper. Unless I badly misread the piece, Kanemore had gone to Enryaku-ji himself. Now, it was quite possible that a stranger who intercepted Kanemore’s message could decipher it as I had. Even so, I understood the context where another might not, and so Kanemore’s poem acted as a workable cypher despite its limitations as art.

  This fact left many questions, one of which was why he bothered. Kanemore’s communications tended to be fairly straightforward as a rule: “Meet me at Gion Shrine tomorrow afternoon,” or “I am going to Mutsu Province for two months”—that sort of thing. It rather fit his temperament and helped explain why he had chosen the bushi path, when most men of his station considered a poetry contest a better judge of a man’s worth than whether he could ride or shoot. Kanemore’s martial interests were looked at rather askance at Court, but that had never stopped the Emperor or his ministers from making use of those skills when it suited them.

  Of course, Kanemore could write poetry at need, but as a general rule he didn’
t bother writing poems to me, and why was he going into the viper’s den that was now Enryaku-ji? Had he gone on the Emperor’s behalf or his own? It was one tangle I was not going to unknot without Kanemore’s help, and there was nothing for it but to wait and speak with him upon his return. Until then I was on my own pilgrim’s path and very uncertain where it would take me.

  My meal had arrived in my absence and I ate it cold, more concerned with its benefit than the proper savour of the food. After that I rested for the coming evening, as there was little else I could do, but I did not feel inclined to enclose myself in my shabby rooms while the day passed. I took the last of the tea out onto the veranda so I could enjoy the garden in the Widow Tamahara’s courtyard. Granted, it was not much of a garden to one who had been privileged to walk the gardens on the grounds of the Imperial Palace. Yet it was what it was, and the sight was pleasant enough as I sipped my tea.

  I was, however, somewhat surprised when the Widow Tamahara joined me. With Kanemore’s patronage I had stopped dreading the old woman’s presence as much since I wasn’t tied to thinking up excuses for my tardy obligations. Even so, there was a hesitance in her manner I found a little disconcerting. It was simply not in the Widow Tamahara’s nature to be either shy or tentative, and yet she was positively demure as she kneeled some distance from me and waited until I had acknowledged her presence.

  “Yes, Tamahara-san? Is there something you wish of me?”

  “I was wondering, Lord Yamada, if you had heard anything. I mean, about the priests of Enryaku-ji taking over the city. Do you know what that is about?”

  I sighed. “I do not know what you have heard, Tamahara-san, but I am quite certain they have done no such thing. The guards at the gates and the Imperial Compound are not changed.”

  “I suppose, but it is very strange. Rumors have been flying like a flock of crows, and nothing but ill comes on their wings. Evil spirits have entered the city, and people are dying. You’ve not heard these things?”