by Kara Dalkey
Fear came into the ghost’s eyes, but he held his sword steady. For long moments, the guardsman and the ghost stared at each other, measuring, watching, waiting. Kuma reached into the center of his strength, his muscles relaxed and ready. Then with an unworldly wail, Nagaya attacked and the fight began.
Uguisu tried to watch the fighters, but the swift movements of their dim forms were hard to follow in the gloom. All she could clearly see were showers of gold and silver sparks whenever the swords connected. She realized that she was holding her breath.
Suddenly she was distracted by a tugging at her sleeve. Looking down, she saw Hinata mewing and frantically running in circles. “What is it, Hinata-san?”
The cat turned and pawed against one of the screens near the dais. Uguisu looked around and realized she could not see Katte. She’s trying to get away! Uguisu shoved hard as she could against the screen. It fell over onto the one behind it, which knocked over the screen behind, and so on, until the room was clear to the eastern blinds. Uguisu saw Katte creeping towards the blinds, turning to glare at Uguisu as her position was revealed. Uguisu tried to remember where Amaterasu’s Mirror was.
Hinata ran to the near edge of the blinds where the drawstring was and meowed loudly. This time Uguisu caught the hint and rushed after her. Peeking outside, Uguisu suddenly understood, and fast as she could, pulled the blinds open.
In the clear, pale winter sky, to the east, the sun was rising.
Prince Nagaya looked around in surprise. In that moment Kuma brought his sword down in a slashing movement across the ghost’s chest. Nagaya snarled and raised his sword to strike, then his mouth opened in shock as grey fluid oozed from the wound across his chest. He dropped his sword and moaned, clutching his chest as he settled towards the floor.
“The sword has the power to punish those who betray the clan of Yamato,” said the Emperor.
As the spirit in Katte stared at the rising sun in surprise, Uguisu noticed a golden glinting against the wall. Uguisu dived for it, her hands closing around the edge of the Octagonal Mirror. She leaped up, holding the Mirror so that it caught the golden-pink rays of the morning sun and focused them on Katte’s face.
The spirit squealed and raised her arm to block the light, eyes tightly shut. The grey mist flowed out of Katte, but to Uguisu’s surprise, the spirit was smiling. “It is past the Hour of the Hare, and I am still on this earth!” the spirit said triumphantly. “I may now remain for another year, during which time I may yet achieve the revenge for which I hunger. You are all snapping puppies against a bear, and I assure you my claws are still very sharp.”
“Then they shall be most useful in the underworld,” said Amaterasu, rising out of her Mirror. She wore yellow and white robes of such brightness one could scarcely look at her. “You have been fooled, Evil One. It is only the Hour of the Ox. But it is my prerogative to choose when the sun may rise.” Taking beams of dawn light, Amaterasu looped them around Prince Nagaya and his mother.
There came on the air a deep moan. It was barely audible, but the ghosts squirmed in their bonds. “It is the call of Emma-O!” said Nagaya. “Oh, he will give us a most harsh judgement when we return!”
“Fear not,” said Amaterasu. “I did not intend to waste such powerful spirits as you on the pits of Hell. There is another who wishes your service.” The ground rumbled and up from the floor came a wild-looking kami, with hair like a dragon’s mane. He took hold of the bonds of sunlight of the two ghosts and laughed.
“I would like you to meet my brother,” said Amaterasu. “His Impetuous Male Augustness, Susano no Mitoko. Though he was once a kami of storms, his current occupation is ruler of the underworld. It was he who gave me the idea of tricking you—in exchange, of course, for the service of your souls once you were caught. I understand there is much work to be done in his realm within the earth, and your stay will, no doubt, be long.”
With a gleeful shout, Amaterasu’s brother kami tugged on the bonds of sunlight and slid back down into the earth, dragging the two angry spirits with him.
For long moments there was only silence, as they all stared at the floor where the spirits had disappeared. Then Katte sighed, becoming aware of herself again. She crossed the room to Kuma and laid her head against his shoulder. Kuma put one arm around her, but looked at Amaterasu with chagrin. The Sun Kami only gave them a brilliant smile. Uguisu realized that the Mirror had become heavy. Her arms ached. Slowly and reverently, Uguisu placed the Octagonal Mirror at Amaterasu’s feet. Then Uguisu went to the Emperor and knelt beside him.
Amaterasu smiled at them also. “I owe you gratitude beyond measure, Uguisu. Because of your brave and loving heart, my descendant and his people are spared from Nagaya’s wrath.” Turning to the Emperor, she said, “She will be a very fine Empress.”
The Emperor looked adoringly on Uguisu and took her hand. “I have known this for a long time.”
Uguisu beamed with joy, but still found it difficult to meet his kind, loving eyes, and so she blushed and shyly looked away. She spared a guilty glance for Takenoko, wondering what he must think. But the young priest was not even looking at her. He was staring at nothing, a beatific smile on his face. Uguisu wondered at his expression, not knowing that before his eyes was the vision of a little god dancing.
Korimizu and Shonasaki were huddled together against the wall, staring wide-eyed at Amaterasu. The Sun Kami turned her beautiful golden face to them and said, “And I thank you, Korimizu, for your loyalty and courage. Without your unexpected assistance, our efforts might well have failed.”
“It … it is a great honor,” Korimizu managed to blurt out, and he bowed deeply.
The Emperor bowed reverently to Amaterasu. “I thank you, Great Ancestress, for your aid. And, of course, I thank all those present for their help as well.”
Everyone bowed to the Emperor in return.
“It is my duty and my joy to look after my grandson’s descendants,” said Amaterasu.
Hinata jumped onto the Emperor’s lap and licked his face.
“Well!” said the Emperor. “Didn’t I banish you not long ago? No matter, you are pardoned. As are any of you who require it.” He scratched Hinata’s neck and she purred loudly.
Amaterasu said, “That is well. It will be good to have my avatar back in the Palace again. Then I need no longer bear the shame of negligence in my protection of you.”
The Emperor looked at the cat, then at the Great Kami, an expression of chagrin spreading across his face.
“Your avatar?” He bowed again. “Please forgive this thoughtless, empty-headed one for the offense he has caused you. For sending away your little servant, and for denying you the attention and veneration that is your due.”
Amaterasu inclined her head. “You are forgiven, grandson of many grandsons. In future, I shall try to remain closer to Hinata, so that I may better inform you in times of trouble. But you must promise me one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Never say you have a cat who tells you everything. You may find your ministers maneuvering to become regents.” Amaterasu smiled again and turned as if to go.
“Great Ancestress!”
“Yes?”
“What you have just said, I’m afraid, brings a question to my mind which I fear I must have answered. Please tell me why, O Great Mother of the Sun, you have allowed powerful clans like the Fujiwara to overpower your descendants. They have become mightier than Emperors and treat us like puppets. Is this truly looking after our welfare?”
Amaterasu sighed and lowered her head. “The question you ask, grandson of many grandsons, has an answer which, I fear, will be difficult for you to understand. It is by allowing these clans to take your political power that I am, indeed, looking after the welfare of my decendants.”
“You are correct. I do not understand.”
“Perhaps only a mother would understand my reasoning, but it is simple enough! Power is the most treasured and dangerous of all possessions. He who has it must be ever vigilan
t against those who covet it and would steal it from him.”
“I know this all too well.” said the Emperor.
“Then do you not see that if you were the possessor of greatest power, it would endanger your life and the lives of your family?”
“Yes, of course. But is that not why you should help us keep it?”
“Foolish one!” said the kami, looking near tears. “I do not care about your power! I care about you! And your children. And their children. And the stability and harmony the continuance of a royal line will give to this land. I do not wish you to become an iron-fisted ruler, who will only be toppled by another, bigger fist. You are the heart and soul of this empire, not its sword. You are its art, its poetry, its tradition. You are all that makes this land beautiful. I do not wish the Emperor of Japan to be thought a mountain to be conquered, or a prize to be taken. Instead you must be a treasure to be cherished, and loved by your people. Only in this way will my descendants, and yours, outlast the power-hungry. Only in this way will there be hope and stability for our people. Do you understand now?”
The Emperor bowed his head. “I shall try, Great Ancestress.”
“That is good.” Then a small smile appeared on her face. “You may take some solace in this: the Fujiwara will not last forever.” She turned and stepped onto the Octagonal Mirror. Her image wavered and brightened until she turned into a golden column of pure sunlight. Then this sank into the Mirror and she was gone.
Official News
Chancellor Fujiwara no Daimigi watched the clusters of sleepy-eyed nobles as they filled the Great Hall of the Palace of Administration. He sat alone on the Ministerial Dais, feeling at once immensely powerful and extremely vulnerable. Now comes the test of my own survival.
He rubbed his face, trying very hard not to yawn. He had gotten no sleep, having been at the walls most of the night dealing with the priests. He did not know if his efforts had caused them to leave peaceably at dawn, or if that had been their plan all along. Daimigi could not help suspecting someone had set the whole thing up to distract him from working on the promotions. Whoever it was almost succeeded.
He felt fortunate that, at least this morning, he had the element of surprise. The strangely early dawn of this morning seemed to have caught everyone offguard. The Office of Divinations was still trying to determine what it meant. Daimigi chose to interpret it as a sign that he, too, should move sooner than expected.
When the hall seemed full enough, Daimigi clapped his hands for silence. Then he bowed to the assembly, noting carefully the depth of their bows to him.
“A pleasant and prosperous New Year to all of you. I wish this could be like any joyous reception held on this first morning of the year. But I fear very serious matters are before us. Matters that must be dealt with immediately, lest they cause dangerous divisions and squabbles among us. Allow me, then, to tell you how matters stand.
“Our Glorious Imperial Majesty, as many of you know, lies gravely ill. Those who attend him say he may not remain with us long.”
This brought much whispering and muttering from the floor. Daimigi slapped his baton of office on the dais to regain silence.
“I realize this news must bring tears to all eyes, still I wish you to know affairs of state are being carried out smoothly. The Emperor’s nephew arrived, safely, some time ago and he is prepared to inherit the office. He has accepted my daughter as his wife and empress-to-be. I am currently looking into making the best arrangements for His Majesty’s funeral.”
“Aren’t you being a bit premature?” said a voice from the doorway.
All heads turned, and then all heads simultaneously hit the floor.
Daimigi stared back in surprise.
“Good morning!” said the Emperor.
Epilogue
So thus we end our tale. How is that, esteemed reader? You say you wish to know the fates of all the characters? But they are only shadows, visions of a world long past … oh, very well.
Nikao finally did marry a silk merchant and they lived well, and they had many children to bring them joy (and support them in their old age).
Fujiwara no Kazenatsu was sent into exile in a far province. Kitsune went with him, although it is said she wept terribly at leaving the capital.
Shonasaki married Fujiwara no Korimizu. Do not look so surprised, esteemed reader. Yes, he was young, but that was often the way things were done in those days. It was a good match, for he admired her poetry, and she admired his scholarship. Korimizu was one of the few Fujiwara the Emperor would trust, and he grew to be a man of great importance. And it was said that his youth kept Shonasaki feeling young for many years.
As for Prince Nagaya and his mother … well, you know we have many earthquakes in this land. Could it not be that as they toil in the underworld, they sometimes shake the islands with their rage?
Netsubo, Uguisu’s father, was again made governor of Echizen province. It was a wealthy area, so it was not truly a punishment. But His Majesty, in his wisdom, thought Uguisu would be happier without her father near.
Takenoko, during his exorcism of the Emperor, had finally found his Path to Heaven, and he remained a monk. He lived to be old and wise, and much respected by those who knew him and his teaching.
Kuma and Katte, of course, were married. Katte wished nothing to do with the Palace, so the Emperor granted her wish to own a fine inn at the edge of town. Kuma also managed the inn and, at times, did special trusted assignments for the Emperor. There were days he dreamed again of being a guard, and life was not always smooth between him and Katte. But the love that grew from their shared troubles strengthened the bond between them and lasted until the winter of their lives.
Fujiwara no Daimigi remained Chancellor for several years more, despite the doubts of his kinsmen. To Daimigi’s surprise, the Emperor himself wished to keep him in office. He even found His Majesty more agreeable to his advice. But Daimigi could never understand just what it was that caused the Emperor to look so smug.
Of course it was a glorious day when Uguisu was installed in the Palace as Empress. This time she did not deny the Emperor, and, before long, she bore him a son and heir, just as the divinators predicted. And when the Emperor finally acquiesced to the Fujiwara and retired, she went with him to a beautiful hillside palace retreat where they spent the rest of their days in peace and joy.
And as Amaterasu said, the Fujiwara did not last forever. Their overgrown bureaucracy became weak, as offices became more a matter of family standing than of ability. Stronger, more aggressive clans grew in the provinces, and within four centuries, the Fujiwara faded from power.
Great strife has visited this land for centuries since then. But as Amaterasu promised, through it all, her wisdom and her descendants have endured. And the Imperial Line of Japan has remained unbroken to this very day.
AFTERWORD
Uguisu: The Nightingale is based upon the fairy tale classic “The Nightingale”, written by the Danish author and playwright Hans Christian Andersen. The original tale was first published in 1843, along with “The Ugly Duckling” and “Sweethearts”, and has since become one of Andersen’s best known and loved works.
Here is a (much abbreviated) description of the plot of the original “Nightingale.” Some time in the distant past in the land of China, there lived an Emperor in a beautiful palace. Everyone exclaimed how beautiful it was, particularly visitors, who would write about it in books … and what they noticed most of all was the nightingale. When the Emperor came upon such a book with such a description, he became distressed that he had not seen or heard such a bird. So he asked his very pompous gentleman-in-waiting why he had never heard of it and demanded that the bird be brought to him to sing that very evening.
So the gentleman and all the court went in search of the nightingale, and finally found a kitchenmaid who had heard it. The maid led the court out to the woods where they found the little grey bird sitting in a tree. The maid invited the nightingale to sing before
the Emperor at court, and although the bird felt its song sounded better among the trees, it politely agreed.
When brought to the Emperor, the little bird sang so beautifully that tears rolled down the Emperor’s cheeks. When the bird was finished, the Emperor offered his gold slipper for the bird to wear around its neck. But the nightingale declined, saying the tears of the Emperor were its richest reward.
The bird became an insant sensation at court. Ladies would gurgle with water to imitate the nightingale. The bird had its own beautiful cage and footmen to take it for walks. But the nightingale did not much enjoy its situation.
Then one day a box arrived at the palace, and the Emperor believed it was another book about the nightingale. But instead the box contained an artificial clockwork nightingale, studded with diamonds and rubies—a gift from the Emperor of Japan. When wound up, the artificial bird could sing one of the nightingale’s songs and dance on its perch.
The Emperor thought this was a marvelous gift, and everyone’s first thought was that the real and clockwork birds should sing a duet together. But when they tried, the duet sounded awful, for the artificial bird always sang in the same particular way, while the real one always varied its tune. So the clockwork bird sang alone, and everyone made such an appreciative fuss over it that no one noticed the real bird fly away back to its woods. The court was so insulted when they learned that the real nightingale had left that they banished it from the kingdom.
Now the clockwork bird was given an official place on the left side of the Emperor’s bed, to soothe him and sing him to sleep. The court made as much fuss over it as the real one, imitating it and writing books describing its wonders. And this went on for a year.
Then, one night, as the artificial bird was chirping away, something went sproing! inside it and it whirred to a stop. The court watchmaker was sent for, and he proclaimed that the bird was worn out and should be played as little as possible. This distressed all the court, and the Emperor became so sick at heart that he lay ill in his bed and they began to think of a successor.