“Shigeko-hime?”
Her voice was faint but clear. “You should not be here.”
I had seen many ghosts in my time. Sad spirits, angry yurei bent on revenge, lost souls needing help. Princess Shigeko was perhaps the most melancholy ghost I had ever seen. There was none of the transformation of face or form that were often the case with yurei. I had never seen Shigeko-hime in life, but I had no doubts what I saw now was a faithful representation of the way she had appeared at the time of her death, and her voice carried only concern.
“You are the one who should not be here, Highness. You—”
“I know what I am. I know why I am here. You and your men must go, before it is too late.”
“Why, Highness? For your sake, I need to know why.”
“There is nothing to be done for my sake. In my obsession, I caused this, and I must pay the price. Only me. No one else. Go. Quickly.”
With the exception of Princess Teiko and a long-gone spirit I had once known named Saito, this was perhaps the longest, most coherent, and frustrating conversation I had ever had with a ghost. Her answers explained nothing. Her warnings made no sense. While I understood the priorities and perspective of a ghost were not always the same as those of a living person, and so they were sometimes incomprehensible to one another, I had to try again. “Why must we go? What will happen if we don’t?”
“What happened to the other one . . . oh.”
I heard it then. A flapping, shuffling sound that could have been the wind wafting through tears in a paper screen, except I knew it was not. Something was coming. Now I could hear sounds like sobs and laughter both together, as if the creature was unable to decide which one it should be, and the sounds were coming from two or more directions. I knew, in another few moments, I would see what had attacked Shinjurou—the things that had nearly killed him were coming for me.
What are they?
I did not want to die. I knew I had hesitated far past the time when it would have been prudent to do what Shigeko-hime’s ghost urged me to do, but I could not yet look away. I had to understand what was happening here. Everything—the emperor’s security, Shigeko-hime’s spirit’s chances for peace, even an easing of grief to a hated Fujiwara, all depended upon it.
I caught a glimpse of movement to the left, just at the edge of my perception, and there it was—a twisted parody of a human being, just as Shinjurou described. Its neck was long, but not so long as a rukurokubi, perhaps no more than the length of a man’s arm. The face was distorted, with bulging eyes and a wide mouth full of yellowed teeth. Such a creature could have easily bitten Shinjurou in all the places he had wounds, but I knew it had not done so. I could hear the others now, closing in from the front and the sides, still shuffling but moving quickly despite this, their mouths gaping in anticipation of the first bite. I had a good look into the first one’s eyes, but it wasn’t malice I saw there or anger or viciousness. No, what I saw was much more terrifying—a need, a need without end or hope of being sated.
Hunger.
“Back! Now!” I shouted.
I felt Morofusa and Ujiyasu grip and pull me backwards even as I produced Kenji’s ward. The sound of the creatures stopped for a moment, no more. We moved toward the door, or rather the two bushi pulled me in that direction as I stared into the darkness, still trying to see what was making the horrible noise. I was surprisingly calm about the self-evident fact there was simply no way we would reach the door in time.
“Go!”
Before that moment, I didn’t know one could be physically struck by a shout. At least, that is how it felt, as if the word itself suddenly had the force of a typhoon behind it. In an instant I was lifted off my feet and thrown backward, flying through the air like a tossed stone. I heard wood splintering, saw a glimpse of sunset and then nothing else for some time.
When I woke again I almost wished I hadn’t. My head felt as if I’d packed a week’s worth of saké into the previous day. I groaned.
“You’re alive. Good. Morofusa was starting to worry he’d need to report your death, followed by his own.”
I groaned again. “Am I alive? I am not so certain. Kenji?”
My vision was a spinning blur, and everything sounded strange and distant.
“I’m here,” he said. “So far as I can tell, nothing is broken, aside from your dignity. Can you sit up?”
“I have no idea. Help me and we will both see. What happened to Morofusa and Ujiyasu?”
“They’re fine . . . well, better than you, who got the brunt of the attack. They both have a few scratches and bruises, no more. When you flew through the door you took them with you.”
My head was spinning a bit; “up” was a direction which had no meaning for me. I felt hands on my back and shoulders, moving me into another position. After a few moments the spinning eased, and I could see well enough to recognize Kenji, Morofusa, and Ujiyasu, despite the reality that the sun—the last thing I remembered seeing—was now gone.
“What happened?” Morofusa asked.
“The same thing that happened to Shinjurou, though with—I hope—a more fortunate result. Princess Shigeko saved our lives.”
“Almost killing you all in the process,” Kenji muttered. “You could have easily broken your necks. This doesn’t look like concern to me. Are you certain she is not an angry spirit?”
“I am now,” I said. “She is sad and in pain, but she is not angry. She did not attack Shinjurou, nor us, nor even the servant who died.”
“My lord, if not her, then what?” Morofusa asked.
“I’m still not sure,” I said, which was simply the truth. “But I have an idea. It will require testing.”
“If such testing involves entering that mansion again,” Morofusa said, “I must object in the strongest terms, Yamada-sama.”
“It very well might, but not now, and not until—again, I hope—the situation is very different.”
“Then what is this ‘test’ you’re referring to?” Kenji asked.
“There are two parts to it. If the first goes well, we may proceed to the second—” I noted the scowl on Morofusa’s face and added, “Both can be accomplished without entering the mansion, Morofusa-san.”
“Very well,” he said. “What must we do first?”
“Go get some food and rest—all of us—tomorrow I visit Tagako-hime again.”
Kenji frowned. “Does she have something to do with this?’
“If I am right, she has everything to do with it.”
The next morning I sent the following poem to Princess Tagako:
On a lonely street,
Three shadows of past regret
Flitted by my path.
By mid-morning I had her answer:
All my regrets have passed by,
Only one I now hold close.
Her note added, I have no idea what regrets you speak of, but come see me.
Morofusa, Kenji, Ujiyasu, and I set out in early afternoon. We again went through the ritual of surrendering our weapons under the watchful eye of the Taira bushi. Princess Tagako’s kicho was set up on the veranda overlooking the garden as usual, though this time we all approached to kneel before her.
“It is good to see all of you again,” she said. “Master Kenji, Morofusa-san, Ujiyasu-san. I wondered if I would ever have this opportunity.”
“I wondered as well,” Kenji said, “as it seemed Yamada-sama was determined to keep your company to himself.”
I shot Kenji a hard glance, but he blissfully ignored me . . . and damn him, I was blushing again. Princess Tagako laughed delicately.
“If he had been as solicitous as you say, I would not have had such cause to reprimand him as I did earlier. I was delighted to hear from him, of course, but something makes me suspect this happy meeting is not simply a social call.”
I bowed. “I regret to say it is not. I know you suspected something of my questioning last time, concerning the unfortunate Princess Shigeko. As much as it pai
ns me, I must trouble you about this once more.”
“As I’ve said before, I owe you my life—all of you. I will do whatever I can to be of use, though in my isolation I am not certain what I can do.”
I remembered the last line of her answer to my poem: Only one I now hold close.
There was something in Tagako’s voice which went beyond simple frustration at her confinement. While I did not count myself among the most perceptive of people, even I could see something was troubling her.
“Is something wrong, Highness?” I asked.
She hesitated for several long moments, so long I feared I had crossed some line of delicacy that would not require an answer, but she finally bowed behind the veil.
“Wrong? No. Such things are both a duty and an honor. That I am in a melancholy mood is my own failing.”
Kenji frowned. “What such things, if I may be bold enough to ask?”
“I knew there was this possibility. I believe I may have mentioned it, though I did not expect confirmation this soon and under these unusual circumstances. I received word this morning the emperor has arranged for me to be married.”
No one spoke for a moment. I found Kenji glancing at me as if he was expecting me to speak, but I wasn’t certain I trusted myself to do so, even though I understood, as the ranking guest, it was my obligation.
“You have my sincere wishes for a happy union,” I said, though it sounded like the most feeble thing I had ever said in my entire life. “May we ask who the fortunate person is?”
She hesitated. “I hope you will not think me rude if I do not answer that question for now, nor is the groom’s identity important. It is enough that I understand my place, gentlemen. All princesses, if they marry, marry for reasons of state alone, so it is not as if I expected to be the exception, even at my age and relatively low rank. There is always an advantageous union to be made, and so the emperor and his advisors use the resources available to them. Poor as I am, I am one such.”
I didn’t like to think of Tagako-hime as a pawn in some political game, yet I had long known it was no game at all; people’s hopes, dreams, and even their lives were always at risk. I knew this better than anyone. I also knew what Tagako said was neither more nor less than a clear-eyed understanding of her situation. I did not know what to say to her, so I bowed again and said the only thing that came to me.
“Whatever the future holds, it is always my wish to be of service to you.”
“You are very kind, Yamada-sama. Yet today, perhaps, it is I who can be of service to you. What was it you wished to ask me?”
I was relieved to be able to move on to a different subject, one that did not dwell on the reality of Tagako’s impending marriage. I did not want to think about that now. “In our previous conversation, you mentioned there was a naming ceremony conducted for the three as-yet unborn children Princess Shigeko wished to have, yes?”
She hesitated. “I know it was foolish of me to indulge her, but yes, the ceremony was held. I think . . . no, I believe, if I had the chance to change my mind, I would still have done as she asked. I was fond of her, and she was in such distress. I would have done anything to ease her mind.”
“It was not foolish at all, in my opinion,” I said. “Considering the difficulties she was having, the thought of keeping evil spirits away from an impending pregnancy seems entirely sensible. You did say milk names were used, did you not? Do you happen to remember what they were?”
“The names? Certainly. They were hardly the sort of names one could forget. Yet, it is difficult . . . ” her voice trailed off.
“How so?” I asked.
“Well . . . these names . . . they’re not the sort one would wish to repeat in polite company.”
I smiled. “Perhaps, if you were to write them down, it might prove less . . . embarrassing, for all concerned?”
“Yes, thank you. A splendid suggestion.”
Tagako-hime sent one of her attendants to prepare ink, and the young woman soon returned with what we recognized through the kicho as a portable writing desk. Tagako took a moment to reflect and then wrote quickly.
“Gentlemen, even on paper it is embarrassing. May I request you refrain from reading them until later?”
“Of course, Highness.”
It was only after we had taken our leave and were headed back to my house that I unrolled the paper Tagako-hime had provided. Kenji, of course, couldn’t resist a peek.
“Drool-Face? Smelly-Butt? Crying-Terror?” he read aloud. “What sort of names are these for children?”
“When it comes to milk-names, fairly common,” Morofusa said. “My first we called ‘Vomiting Buddha.’ ”
“You’re joking,” Kenji said.
“Well, his actual name is Kinichiro. But did any evil spirits trouble his infancy? They did not,” Morofusa said with evident satisfaction.
“I think I see the logic,” Kenji said. “Though I will grant you, such things are outside my experience. However, I fail to see the significance of these three particular ones. Princess Shigeko had no children, remember?”
“I do. The significance—if any—has yet to be demonstrated. Learning the names, while crucial, was the easiest part. The second part of this test could easily get us all killed if I am wrong.”
“This would not be a first for either you or me,” Kenji said. “And yet we still live.”
“You might consider this could be the day the goddess of luck turns her back on us.”
“That would not be a first either,” Kenji said dryly. “What is next?”
“I need to send a letter,” I said. “I’m afraid nothing else can be done until it is answered, one way or the other.”
Two days passed before I had a response to my message. I was promised the resources I had requested would be provided at the day and time specified. I was also promised consequences if my plan went awry. I wished for more confidence than I had, but it also occurred to me, if the plan did go awry, further consequences might be moot. I informed Kenji and Morofusa on the specifics, and two days later we met again on the grounds of the late Princess Shigeko’s mansion.
Waiting for us were three priests of the Enryaku Temple, a score of Fujiwara bushi, and a closed palanquin containing, I had no doubt, Lord Fujiwara no Yorinobu, though for the moment he was keeping his presence discreet. Kenji spoke to the priests and gave them their instructions. The three, in turn, removed themselves to positions east, west, and north of the mansion, each accompanied by an escort of two armed men. Kenji himself would cover the south, though I hoped he wouldn’t be needed.
A house surrounded by priests chanting the rites of exorcism. Exactly what Lord Yorinobu said he did not want.
I held my breath, because it was about to get worse. In a moment the priests were chanting the names of the spirits to be exorcized:
“Drool-Face!”
“Smelly-Butt!”
“Crying-Terror!”
Not more than a few moments later there was a Fujiwara bushi at my elbow informing me my presence was “requested” at the palanquin. I had heard such requests before and knew how quickly they could escalate to dire threats and worse. I kneeled before the palanquin and awaited what I knew was to come.
“Lord Yamada, what have I done to you to deserve such an insult? I trusted you against my better judgment to provide the priests, only to discover they are to provide the rite of exorcism! For this alone I should help my brothers force the emperor from his throne, but the disrespect you show my beloved daughter—”
“To what disrespect do you refer, Yorinobu-sama?”
“Why . . . those names! They—”
“Are not in reference to the Princess Shigeko, and thus no insult is tendered. Rather they refer to the three spirits that keep her trapped here. The rites of exorcism are for them, not your noble daughter.”
“I do not understand. What three spirits?”
“Your daughter’s children. Those are their milk-names, given by Shigeko-h
ime’s own request in the naming ceremony conducted by the high priestess of Ise.”
For a moment there was only stunned silence from within the palanquin, and then Lord Yorinobu remembered his anger. “My daughter had no children!”
“True, but the naming ceremony was intended to clear the path for the children she hoped to one day have. Instead, those names intended to deter evil spirits attached themselves to the spirits of the potential children she lost, and for whom she still grieved—her two miscarriages and the stillborn.”
“The spirits of those children? They are here?”
“In a way. They were never children, rather they were little more than potential, but naming them made them more—a potential with a name and an identity but forever separated from the life they failed to grasp. Three lost potential spirits, denied the one thing they desired above all else. What do you think happened then, Lord Yorinobu?”
His voice faltered, his anger done. “H-hungry ghosts.”
“I fear this is so. They are what attacked Shinjurou. Their goal was not to kill but to devour. Princess Shigeko never intended for this to happen, but she knew them for what they were. That is why she never departed—she could not abandon her children, even if they were monsters. She keeps watch over them and does what she can to restrain them. She saved Shinjurous’s life . . . and my own. I owe her gratitude and my aid. I would never insult her.”
“Lord Yamada . . . wait. Something’s happening!”
I heard the first howl even before he’d stopped speaking.
“Please excuse me, Lord Yorinobu.”
I rose and sprinted as fast as I could toward the mansion.
I knew they wouldn’t go quietly.
Princess Shigeko had managed to confine the three creatures to her mansion, but the rite of exorcism was making the veils between their proper world and our own very thin. One side effect, I now realized, was Shigeko’s power over them was weakening. I saw a shimmering apparition on the west veranda and had no doubt more would appear.
The Emperor in Shadow Page 17
