Seikei banished the thought from his mind. He was in plenty of trouble now and it was unworthy to expect Bunzo to get him out of it. Seikei had to do the job himself.
He turned another corner and came to a quiet street with a few small pottery shops and a Shinto shrine. This would be as good a spot as any to examine the scroll.
Walking through the torii gate that marked the entrance to the shrine, Seikei clapped his hands. This was intended to draw the attention of the kami who resided there. Sometimes the noise attracted a Shinto priest, who would appear to receive a donation.
This time, none did. Seikei had the feeling that he was alone here, except of course for the spirit who occupied the honden. This was a small wooden building that usually surrounded some natural object—a rock, a tree, or a place that had been identified as one of the sacred spots where Heaven and Earth met.
No one other than the priests was allowed inside the honden. When ordinary people assembled here for religious festivals, they gathered in the gravel courtyard outside. Here it was that Seikei sat, folded his legs, and carefully began to unroll the scroll. Despite the emperor’s taunting, Seikei was eager to find the secret it contained.
10
THE INVINCIBLE KUSANAGI
The language of the scroll was more difficult than Seikei had expected. He remembered one of the two ministers telling him that he could not read it. The problem wasn’t just the elaborate calligraphy. Seikei was an admirer of the artistic styles of writing, and he could usually determine what any of them meant.
But this was apparently a very old form of language. Seikei had heard that members of the priesthood and certain palace officials had to be trained to read ancient literature.
He had no time for that. He concentrated on the symbols, trying to make sense of them. He said a prayer to the kami that inhabited the shrine. After a time, the pattern became clearer. It was as if a mist in the forest suddenly lifted and Seikei found himself in a beautiful world that was somehow different from any other place he had ever seen. . . .
It was in the time before time began, before Ninigi came to rule the land of Nippon. Amaterasu reigned over Heaven and Earth and all the other kami paid homage to her. All except her brother, the mischievous Susanoo, who was jealous of his sister’s power and beauty. Susanoo stomped through Heaven, causing thunder and lightning to appear in the sky. He opened the floodgates, sending torrents of rain to Earth, ruining the rice paddies. He made volcanoes erupt and tore the land asunder with earthquakes. Finally, he came to Amaterasu’s weaving hall and threw a horse inside, causing everyone to scatter in terror.
Frightened and upset, Amaterasu withdrew into a cave. The sun disappeared, and darkness engulfed Heaven and Earth. The other kami gathered and begged her to come out, but they had no success. Even Susanoo regretted what he had done.
The kami decided on a trick. Someone hung a mirror on a tree outside the cave. The goddess Uzume performed a dance that made all the other kami laugh. Curious, Amaterasu came to the entrance of the cave and peeped out. Seeing her own reflection in the mirror, she emerged to see who such a beautiful spirit was. Two of the strongest kami clasped her hands and would not let her return to the cave. That was the origin of the sacred mirror.
To celebrate Amaterasu’s return, the other kami presented her with a beautiful jewel. That was the origin of the sacred jewel.
The kami decided that Susanoo must be punished for his actions, and banished him to Earth. They told him he must stay there until he atoned for the trouble he caused. He wandered through the world until he encountered an old couple and their daughter. Weeping, the couple explained that a dragon with eight tails had stolen seven of their daughters and would soon return for this one.
Susanoo tricked the dragon into drinking a barrel of wine so that it fell asleep. He then used his sword to cut off each of the dragon’s tails. Inside the last one he discovered another sword, one of great power. He returned to Heaven and presented it to his sister so that she would forgive him. That was the origin of the sacred sword.
At a later time, Amaterasu sent Ninigi, one of her sons, to descend to Earth and rule the land. As a sign of her authority, she gave him three gifts: the mirror that drew her from the cave, the jewel that the other kami gave her, and the sword found by Susanoo.
Ninigi’s son Jimmu became the first emperor and received the three gifts, passing them on to his son when he died. And so it was done until the time of the twelfth emperor, named Keiko. When Keiko realized that not all the people had accepted his authority, he called for his son Yamato. He gave the sacred sword to Yamato and told him to conquer all the lands he could find.
Yamato set out to obey his father’s command. Soon many more lands had been brought into the emperor’s domain. But the enemies of Yamato plotted to kill him. They waited until he was riding through a vast plain of dry grass. Then they surrounded him and set the grass on fire. Seeing the danger, Yamato drew his sword and cut down the burning grass. Afterward, he cut off the heads of as many enemies as there had been blades of grass. And so the sword became known as Kusanagi—“the sword that cut the burning grass.”
After Yamato completed his conquest of all the lands, he placed the sword in the Atsuta Shrine at Nagoya. Yamato feared that anyone who came into possession of the sword would gain its power. So he placed a spell on it to make sure that only a descendant of Amaterasu would have the ability to remove it from its resting place.
The other two gifts of Amaterasu, the mirror and the jewel, are kept in the imperial palace. They are used, along with a replica of the sword, in the ceremony for enthroning a new emperor.
At the end of the manuscript, in a form of calligraphy that was obviously done by a different person, was written:
No one but the high priest shall learn of this.
Seikei shivered and looked around him, surprised to have returned to the world he usually lived in. The sun had disappeared, but only because a storm was blowing up late in the afternoon. Cascades of autumn leaves were losing their last grip on the trees. As they fell, they surrounded Seikei on the gravel courtyard. Seikei thought of Amaterasu and her brother Susanoo, about the thousands of warriors who fell like blades of grass when Yamato wielded the mighty sword named Kusanagi.
Some parts of this story he had heard before. Seikei’s mother had told him about the creation of the world and that the emperor was descended from Amaterasu. Seikei himself had visited the shrine of Ise and asked for Amaterasu’s aid when he pursued the actor Tomomi along the Tokaido Road.
But he had never heard the story of the sword that cut the burning grass. Nor did he understand how it explained why the emperor—Risu, the Squirrel—believed he wasn’t really the emperor.
Of course, Risu had told Seikei that he wouldn’t understand. So had the Ministers of the Right and Left, or at least one of them had. The other one had said, “And even if you did understand . . .”
What? Had the minister finished the sentence? Seikei couldn’t be certain.
If he did understand, maybe he couldn’t do anything about it? Yabuta seemed to have understood the message in the scroll. He was doing something about it. But what?
Seikei decided not to worry about that right now. What he had to do was find the emperor and bring him back before Yabuta could. Unfortunately, the scroll gave no clues as to where the emperor was now.
Or did it? The shrine mentioned in it . . . Atsuta Shrine at Nagoya. If the emperor wanted to gain the power of the sword, might he have gone there?
Somehow, Seikei thought, the Squirrel didn’t seem like a person who wanted to gain power. Possession of a bowl of ginkgo porridge was enough power for him.
But of course, someone had killed the two monks. That certainly had not been the Squirrel, no matter what Yabuta believed. So if whoever did it knew about this scroll, maybe they were on the way to Nagoya, taking the emperor along. The Squirrel might have learned that not everyone was reluctant to force him to do things.
A flash of lightning streaked through the sky, followed a moment later by a clap of thunder. Susanoo would romp through Heaven tonight, thought Seikei.
11
AMATERASU APPEARS
The storm came on swiftly, accompanied by a cold wind, a reminder that winter would soon be here. Shopkeepers rushed to lower the bamboo curtains in front of their stores to keep the rain from coming in. Seikei searched the nearby streets in vain for an inn. Either he was in the wrong part of the city, or the inns had filled up early and taken down their signs.
By now Seikei’s clothes were sopping wet. The wind chilled him through, and he began to shiver. In desperation he went up an alleyway and crawled into an empty barrel that was lying on its side. Here at least he was sheltered from the storm, and could sleep.
All night long, however, crashes of thunder and the howling wind awakened him. He dreamed that Susanoo, with the fierce face of a demon, was beating on the sides of the barrel. Seikei scrunched up, trying to collect as much warmth as possible.
When he awoke, his clothes were still damp, but now he felt warm. Uncomfortably so, and he ached all over. The only good thing was that the rain had stopped and the sun shone through the open end of the barrel.
Then a shadow fell across the sun, startling Seikei enough to make him look. A face was there, staring back at him from the center of the sun. A woman’s face. Amaterasu? He tried to speak her name, but only a croak escaped from his throat.
“What are you doing in there?” she asked.
Seikei attempted to smile, but wasn’t sure he succeeded. Amaterasu must be joking with him, for she knew everything that went on. Everything there was to know. . . .
The next time he awoke, he was inside, in a room. It was hot, but someone had put a quilt over him. He wanted to cool off. He was sweating. He tried to throw the quilt off, but it was too heavy.
Then Amaterasu appeared again. “Drink this,” she said, helping him sit up. The liquid in the cup she held to his lips was hot too, and at first he didn’t want it. But after he tasted a little, he realized it was good. It would help him grow strong. His mother had made him some tea like this when he was very little, so that he would get well and become strong. Strong enough to throw off the quilt.
He slept some more. Now it was dark again, but Susanoo had gone away and the heavens were peaceful. Seikei realized he no longer felt hot, but he was still weak. He remembered that Amaterasu had visited him and he wondered if that had been only a dream. It seemed important. He tried to think why. It had something to do with the scroll.
The scroll! He sat up suddenly and realized that someone had taken his clothes and, along with them, the scroll.
He started to think. Obviously whoever had found him had not simply desired to rob him. Otherwise he would not be lying under a quilt in a warm room. But where was he? He clapped his hands, thinking that would attract Amaterasu again.
The sound faded away in the darkness, and nothing happened. Seikei thought about getting up, but it was comfortable here, and as long as no one was going to appear . . .
The door to the room slid open and Amaterasu was there, holding a candle. This time, though, Seikei could see that she was only a girl, a year or two younger than he was—too young yet to have her hair drawn up and pinned in a woman’s style. Instead, it hung down on either side of her face, making it seem as round as the moon.
“I thought I heard something,” she said. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yes,” Seikei said. “But I’m hungry.” All at once he realized that he had a terribly empty feeling in his stomach.
“I can’t get you anything until morning except some pickled daikon root,” the girl said.
“Whatever you have will be fine,” replied Seikei.
The girl nodded and disappeared. When she returned, bringing the sliced daikon root, Seikei found its tartness delicious. “I am sorry we have so little to give you,” the girl said. “The kitchen fire has been banked for the night.”
Seikei found her apology strange. “Where am I?” he asked.
“This is the house of Moriyama Yasuo,” she replied. “A rice merchant.”
“Why did he treat me so generously?”
“Oh, he doesn’t know anything about you,” she said. “He is away on a business trip.”
Seikei blinked. “Well, then . . .”
“I found you in the barrel,” the girl explained. “And of course I knew at once who you were.”
“You did?”
“Well, of course I knew, because you had that scroll.”
“The scroll, yes. Where is it?”
“It’s in the cabinet by the wall here. Along with your clothes. I cleaned them myself. Well, Araori helped. She’s the other servant. I’m sleeping in her room. This one was mine.”
There was something about the conversation that puzzled Seikei. He was still thinking slowly, even after the fever had gone down. “You say you know who I am? Because of the scroll?”
“Well, that wasn’t the only reason. Everyone has heard you were missing. And the scroll has a chrysanthemum seal on it.” She bowed her head. “I could guess where that came from.”
Seikei nodded slowly. The chrysanthemum was the symbol of the emperor, and this girl must have known he took the scroll from the imperial library. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?” Seikei asked anxiously. If the girl knew he was missing, Yabuta must be hunting for him.
“Just Araori. I couldn’t hide you from her. But the rest of the household—it’s only the merchant’s wife and mother—they don’t know. As long as we keep the house clean and serve them their meals on time, they take no interest in us. But when the master comes home . . .” She lowered her head.
“When will that be?” asked Seikei.
“Not for several days,” replied the girl. “We can be gone by then.”
We?
“Oh,” she continued, ignoring Seikei’s startled look. “That reminds me. Here is your headband.” She took it from the sleeve of her kimono. “I protected it, for I knew you would want it.”
She tied it around Seikei’s forehead. “This was another way I knew who you were,” she said, sitting back and giving him an admiring look.
“I see,” said Seikei, wondering how he could subtly ask who she thought he was. “What’s your name?” he said.
“Hato,” she answered. “Pigeon. As you know, the pigeon is always a faithful servant of the hero in many stories. She flies ahead and warns him of danger.”
“Yes,” Seikei said. “Well, of course I wouldn’t want to put you in danger. And besides, your master needs you here.”
“He beats me,” she said.
“He does? I can hardly believe—” Seikei stopped because Hato had turned away from him and lowered her kimono. Ugly bruises and welts marked the skin on her back.
“He shouldn’t be allowed to do that,” Seikei said.
Hato rearranged her clothing and faced him. “He can do anything he wishes,” she said. “For I have no other place to go.”
Seikei knew this must be true. “But you can’t come with me. It would be too . . . difficult.”
Hato knelt before Seikei, despite his protests. “I swear to you,” she said, “that I will not be a burden. I will kill myself rather than reveal your secret.”
Seikei took a deep breath. He remembered what the judge had said about not wanting to have too much responsibility.
“What do you think my secret is?” he asked.
Hato started to respond, then caught herself. She smiled. “I see,” she said. “You were testing me. No, I will never let your secret pass my lips.”
12
DANGER ON THE ROAD
Hato served as the cook for the household. Her master would miss her, Seikei thought as he sipped the last of the fish and seaweed broth she had made. It tasted so good that even the judge would have enjoyed it.
It was the early morning of the following day. The sun had not yet risen, but the two of them pl
anned to slip out of the house before anyone else had awakened. Hato’s friend Araori knew of their intentions, but fortunately (from Seikei’s point of view), she would rather remain a servant than go on a journey with “chrysanthemum boy,” as she called Seikei.
Most of Seikei’s strength had returned, but when he stepped outside, he felt a pang of doubt. Fog had settled close to the ground between the houses, making it seem as if he and Hato were in an empty wilderness. He wondered if they were setting out on some mad quest. Would the judge approve of this? Perhaps Seikei should have used the short sword after all.
He shook his head to clear it. “Follow the path,” the judge always said. The path led to the Atsuta Shrine. Seikei must do his utmost to reach it. He and Hato passed through the city gate without being questioned, and once again Seikei found himself on the great Tokaido Road.
At this hour the road was lightly traveled. The fog stubbornly remained, making the scene around them look like gray cotton, only occasionally marked by splashes of color when a tree branch pierced the mist.
Seeming nervous for the first time, Hato told Seikei about her life. She remembered nothing of her parents. They had been lost in a flood, and Hato’s grandmother raised her until she was six. Then, because the grandmother needed money to feed Hato’s two brothers, she sold Hato to the rice merchant. At that time, he had an elderly woman as his cook. He wanted her to teach Hato everything she knew.
Unfortunately, the cook died before Hato’s training was finished. Her master completed the cooking course by beating her whenever she prepared a dish he did not like.
“But you’re a fine cook now,” said Seikei. “Why is he still beating you?”
The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass Page 6
