The Nightingale

by Kara Dalkey

  Uguisu sat in the gloom, trying to recover her breath. She heard a soft thump in a nearby room, and then a strange scrabbling sound approached her. She felt something soft rub against her and heard a muffled “Mrow.”

  Korimizu, Takenoko and the other two ladies came in, Takenoko also bearing a lantern. Shonasaki was leaning heavily on Korimizu, and he eased her gently to the floor.

  “Thank you, My Lord. Your rescue was most timely.”

  “It was very strange,” said Korimizu. “A cat came up to me and led me out to the veranda. There I heard your voice in distress and saw you and those men.” Uguisu wondered why Korimizu was staring at Shonasaki so, then realized that the boy had probably not been this close to a woman since he was a babe. She smiled to herself and discreetly looked away.

  Uguisu heard a thunk beside her and looked down. There sat Hinata, looking impatient. In the cat’s mouth was a scarlet cord, which was attached to a magnificent gold and cedarwood flute.

  “Oh, were you the one making those mysterious noises?” Uguisu carefully took up the flute. “This is what you want me to play, is it?”

  Korimizu looked at her and gasped. “That’s Emperor Kammu’s flute, Cloud Chaser! It is very ancient and … you’re Uguisu! And that’s Hinata! Both of you have been banished—”

  Shonasaki turned and grasped Korimizu’s sleeve. “Please, My Lord, be quiet a moment. I have brought these people at your request to help Our Majesty.”

  “Ah!” said Korimizu, “then it was you who brought all those priests! I am impressed and grateful, Shonasaki, but I do not know how we will bring them into the Palace. My father—”

  “They aren’t going to come inside, My Lord. They are there to distract the guards. The priest who will truly help is already inside.” She pointed at Takenoko.

  “This one is a priest?”

  Takenoko smiled awkwardly. “It is so, My Lord.”

  Uguisu leaned towards Korimizu. “I am sorry, my lord, to bring our troublesome selves into your hands, but we are here at your request. Amaterasu herself has sent us to revive Our Majesty. Please trust her wisdom. Please help us.”

  Korimizu looked at Shonasaki, who said, “It is true, My Lord.”

  Korimizu sighed. “Lately it seems those most trustworthy have become treacherous, and the traitors become the ones to trust. Very well. Follow me.”

  But when they reached their destination, Uguisu’s heart stopped a moment. Two very alert guards sat beside the shoji that led to the Emperor’s sickroom. Korimizu strode up to them confidently. “My father has sent these women to wait upon His Majesty.”

  The guards gave them only a bored glance as they opened the shoji and let them through. As Takenoko passed, one guard said to the other, “Huh. They’re recruiting them younger every day.”

  “Probably a Minamoto or a Taira,” said the other. “They’re always competing for early rank.”

  Uguisu crept cautiously behind Korimizu through what seemed to be a labryinth of screens. The faint light from the few lamps in the room was diffused by the silk and paper partitions, gloomy as a full moon behind clouds.

  At last they gathered around the imperial dais. Uguisu gasped when she saw the Emperor, lying utterly still on the cushions. How pale and thin he is! Seeing his kind, elegant face once more, Uguisu felt tears come to her eyes. “I hope we are not too late.”

  “I think not,” Takenoko said. He removed his guard’s jacket and pulled sutra scrolls out of his robe. “You must play now, Uguisu. His Majesty must be awake and ready for his ordeal.”

  Katte looked around frantically. “Where is Kuma? You said he would be here!”

  “Shhh. He was delayed at the shrine. He should be here soon.”

  “He is all right, isn’t he?”

  “I believe so. He had only to convince the priest that we needed the Mirror.”

  “You mean you don’t have the Mirror?” said Shonasaki. “How will we succeed without it?”

  “We must start as best we can. Amida willing, he will bring it soon. Now, play, Uguisu.”

  Uguisu lifted the unfamiliar flute to her lips and tentatively tried a few notes, then a bit of a melody. She faltered as she became used to the instrument. Then she played an old saibara she had heard, “Cherry Blossom Girl.” It seemed to express the joy of spring mornings and beautiful things that make life on this earth a time to be cherished, not merely endured. Uguisu did not know if this flute was magical, but she assumed it was chosen for her for a reason. So into the song she poured all the love she felt for the Emperor, all the joy she felt in his presence, all the yearning she felt for his recovery. Her heart leaped with hope when, after a few minutes, the still form on the dais stirred.

  Kuma slowly drew his sword from its sheath.

  The priest’s eyes widened, but he lifted his chin defiantly.

  “You will not speak to Amaterasu?”

  “I would not debase myself enough to bring a ruffian such as you to her attention.”

  “Then I have no choice.” Kuma raised the long tachi blade and looked at it a moment. It had been handed down from his grandfather, who had been a commander under Shogun Sakanoue, in the service of Emperor Kammu, during the Great Barbarian Uprising. The sword had always been carried with honor. No shameful act had ever stained its blade.

  “My life is a small price to pay to serve the Great Kami loyally.”

  “Silence, priest. You know nothing of the price to be paid.” Kuma turned and went to a table along the side wall. There he picked up a bowl of water that had been left as an offering. Carefully, he poured the water over the blade of the sword. Then taking a piece of white silk that had also been an offering, he wiped the blade dry. Finally, he took another piece of white silk and wrapped it around the blade. Kuma turned and approached the priest again. Kneeling, Kuma placed the sword at the priest’s feet. “Please accept this as an offering and speak to Amaterasu.”

  Slowly, the priest took up the sword, keeping his eyes fixed on Kuma. Ever so slowly, he placed the sword on the altar.

  As soon as the blade touched the table, golden light blazed out through cracks in the cabinet. There came a rattle and banging on the altar doors as if something within was trying to get out.

  With shaking hands, the priest opened the doors, and the shrine filled with sunlight. “Please, good servant,” said Amaterasu from the Mirror, “allow this man to take what he needs. I have promised my aid so that we may save the Emperor.”

  But the priest flung himself prostrate on the floor, praying loudly and begging forgiveness.

  Kuma stepped quickly forward, past the priest, and took from the altar the octagonal golden Mirror of Amaterasu. “Excuse me,” he said to the Mirror and slipped it into his kimono. Without another word to the priest, Kuma turned and ran out of the shrine.

  Ah, I hear music. The music of a flute, thought the Emperor.

  It is only the wind and your sick imagination. Nothing more.

  No. No! It is my Uguisu! She plays for me again.

  It is merely some lord who has drunk too much New Year’s sake.

  Ah, then you admit it is a flute. If it is as you say, open my eyes and let me see for myself.

  No. Tonight of all nights I cannot waste my energy to cater to your whims.

  Not even to open my eyes? Well, at least you cannot stop up my ears. Over them you have no power.

  I could give you nightmares such that you could not listen.

  Ah, but that would take some of your precious energy. Tonight of all nights, you cannot risk that, eh? Let me open my eyes.

  No!

  You are afraid, spirit. I can feel it. Yes, it must be my Uguisu. No one else plays so beautifully. How she lifts my heart! Why did I ever send her away?

  Because you are a fool.

  I shall be a fool no longer.

  Takenoko lit incense at the foot of the dais, then began to wave the wands of purification. Uguisu played the flute softly in the background. Katte held open the scrolls
for Takenoko as he began to chant. As his master had taught him, Takenoko reached out with his mind and the power of his voice. Directing his power against the spirit in the Emperor, he felt as though he had caught a very big fish in a net. And the fish was resisting every attempt to pull it from the water.

  He chanted on, and the Emperor began to struggle and thrash about on the dais. This gave Takenoko hope that the spirit was weakening and he chanted and waved the wands with even more effort. Takenoko felt his throat going dry. His arms ached. Sweat dripped on his face, despite the winter night chill. He began to gasp for breath between his words. It seemed to Takenoko that he could not continue much longer. Then, at the edge of his awareness, he heard the faint chanting of the priests outside the walls. He concentrated on their voices, and chanted in rhythm with them. He tried to take strength from them, and channel their fervor through his words. But something was not right. The priests outside were chanting a different sutra and their voices rose and fell in the wrong places, disrupting the rhythm with which he sang. Takenoko’s voice faltered and he began to lower his arms, ready to admit defeat.

  Then Takenoko became aware of the tune Uguisu was playing. He had never heard it before, but the melody rose and fell in stately tones … and the pattern felt similar to the sutra Takenoko had been reading. He swallowed and raised his arms again, softly chanting, testing to see if he could match the sutra to Uguisu’s song. And it worked. The phrases fell together perfectly, and Takenoko felt his voice grow stronger and more confident. His heart was delighted that he could share his endeavor with her, that they could blend so well. He filled his voice with his joy.

  Then Uguisu’s tone began to change and for a moment Takenoko felt panic. What is she doing? It was just beginning to work! She mustn’t change it now! But as he listened carefully, Takenoko realized her song had not actually changed. Uguisu was adding complexity to the melody, while retaining the rhythm … but the extra notes followed a different pattern that somehow blended with the first. Something about the new pattern felt familiar to Takenoko. The chant of the monks outside! Takenoko concentrated on his chant once more, allowing Uguisu to blend the two chants in the music of her flute.

  Like the silken cord that binds the slats of armor, Uguisu’s tune wove the voices together. Takenoko felt the power in the voices build and grow stronger. He suddenly felt a surge of power, and his strength felt directed, more coherent. It was as if his stream of words became the Sword of Fudo, the Curer of Madness, with which he could thrust at the spirit.

  The Emperor writhed more violently on his cushions. Takenoko sent his voice higher in pitch and volume, feeling as though it was soaring to Heaven, to reach the ears of the Amida Himself. He felt dizzy and saw fuzzy dots dancing before his eyes. The dots gathered together to become a vision—the bodhisattva Aizen-myo, whose statue he had seen on the road to his temple—dancing above the Emperor’s dais. The bodhisattva sang a poem with the tune of Uguisu’s flute:

  “Has the tadpole finally found his legs?

  See how he leaps upon the path of Heaven!”

  And Takenoko chanted joyously, not to be blended with Uguisu, but for the sheer pleasure of watching the bodhisattva dance.

  Then Takenoko felt something snap, and the Emperor sat bolt upright. The Emperor’s mouth opened wide, and there issued from it a streaming gray mass, neither liquid nor smoke. More and more poured out of the Emperor and formed into a column over the dais. The Emperor fell heavily back onto his cushions as the column formed a face … the face of an old woman.

  “Stop!” shrieked the spirit. “I can scarcely think with all this noise!”

  “We will gladly stop,” said Takenoko, “when you heed the call of the Lord Emma-O and leave this world.”

  “The Lord’s call is not so compelling, yet. And I have much to do before I depart. You may think you have won, little monk,” the spirit rasped. “But I assure you, greater battles await you.” The face and the column melted back into formlessness and suddenly streamed towards Takenoko. Instinctively he closed his eyes and began again to chant. He felt a wave of coldness pass over him. Then he heard, behind him, Shonasaki scream and fall to the floor.

  ***

  Kuma came up to the Seriyō Den, running as fast as he could. To the three clearly drunk guards outside he yelled, “I’ve an important message for His Majesty.”

  “Go ahead,” said one of the guards, waving him on. “Everyone seems to want to see him tonight. He must be having a party.”

  Kuma nodded and dashed up the steps and down the long corridor. He stopped at the two guards at the shoji. “I have an urgent message for His Majesty.”

  “He is holding services,” said one guard, “and cannot be disturbed. Can’t you hear the chanting? Give us your message and we will tell him later.”

  “It cannot wait!” said Kuma.

  “One moment, you look familiar. Weren’t you once a lieutenant? Yes, the one involved in that scandal with the noblewoman. I heard you deserted and she disappeared.”

  Kuma scowled and reached for his sword, only to remember he had left it at the shrine. If I deny their accusation, I might get away with a bluff and escape. But then I couldn’t get the Mirror to His Majesty.

  The shoji slid open and Korimizu’s head popped out. “What’s going on out here? We need quiet for the services.”

  Kuma felt his stomach sink as he saw the young general who had sullied his name. There would be no escape now.

  “Are you the one with the Mirror?” Korimizu asked.

  So. Takenoko or the others have been caught too and have told the story. We have failed and the Emperor is doomed. There is no point in lying now. Kuma nodded.

  “Well don’t just stand there!” said Korimizu. “Hurry up and get in here! They need you!”

  Shonasaki had not expected the possession to feel so cold, so intense. Yet she steeled her mind and thought, I am ready for you.

  Are you, little poem painter? Is that not fear rippling down your spine? You will have much more to fear once I truly begin.

  But you cannot begin, where there is no beginning. You cannot possess the mind you cannot catch. And Shonasaki sent her mind to that private place that was the wellspring of her art. She imagined herself running freely over meadows that were full of spring flowers. But the spirit caught up to her, and turned the grass to fire.

  … Which Shonaski turned to bright red plum blossoms.

  … Which were turned into great, stinging red ants.

  … Which she turned into children in bright scarlet robes.

  … Which were turned into horrible tengu demons.

  … Which became a flock of elegant cranes.

  … Which became spears in the hands of fierce horsemen.

  … Which became the surf of a beautiful ocean.

  … But one wave grew huge and dark, threatening to drown Shonasaki.

  … But she solidified it into Mount Fuji-san, tall and unmovable.

  … But the spirit caused the mountain to grow and spread into an enormous dark cloud that blotted out all light. Shonasaki felt blinded, suffocated. There were no images to work with, only darkness. Shonasaki felt the beginnings of despair.

  Suddenly, bright sunbeams stabbed through the black clouds, melting them away. Surrounded by golden warmth, she wondered if she had somehow died and been taken into one of the seven Heavens … perhaps reached Nirvana itself.

  I regret that I do not have the power to offer you that fate, said Amaterasu’s gentle voice. You must earn that yourself. But I can protect you in this world, for now.

  Shonasaki felt the spirit’s mind slip further and further away. She opened her eyes slowly and saw Korimizu hovering over her, gently smoothing her hair away from her face. Shonasaki gave him a little smile and he jerked his hand away and blushed. Then, slowly, he smiled in return.

  Kuma gave a great sigh of relief. “So, it is done. We have succeeded.” Reverently, Kuma put down the Mirror.

  At the end of a passage
of the sutra, Takenoko stopped his chanting and Katte set down his scroll and stepped away. But Kuma could see a joyous light remained in the young priest’s eyes.

  Kuma went to the imperial dais. There, he saw His Majesty the Emperor sitting up on the cushions, holding Uguisu’s hand. Kuma bowed low. “My Lord, are you well?”

  “I … appear to be,” said His Majesty. “I owe many thanks to all of you. In time, no doubt I—”

  Suddenly there came a clang from the other end of the room. The Octagonal Mirror went skidding over the wooden floor to a far corner. Between them and the Mirror stood Katte, a vicious snarl on her face. “This one was not prepared,” she hissed. “This one I can possess easily. You have been very foolish.”

  “Katte-chan!” Kuma leaped to his feet and rushed at her.

  But before he reached Katte, another grey column rose out of the floor in front of her. This resolved into a man with intense eyes and a rope around his neck. In his hand was a sword whose blade shimmered as if made from pure moonlight. “You will come no closer. I shall see that my mother succeeds.”

  “Nagaya-chan!” said the strange voice from Katte’s mouth, “You were not to become involved in this! Do not endanger yourself—”

  “Mother, we have waited too long for this! I will not permit these fools to defeat us!”

  Kuma felt helpless without his sword. He could only watch as the ghost and Katte began to back away from the dais. He heard Takenoko try to chant again, but his voice cracked and faltered and fell silent.

  Then the Emperor called out, “Here, Guardsman! Use this!”

  Kuma turned and caught the object thrown at him. His mouth dropped open. It was the Emperor’s own Sacred Imperial Sword. Kuma bowed deeply to the Emperor and drew the blade. Holding it, Kuma felt renewed strength and power: the power of all the Emperors, the might of all Japan. Smiling, he advanced on the ghost of Prince Nagaya.