by Kara Dalkey
Genpei
Kara Dalkey
A Tom Doherty Associates Book
New York
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Table of Contents
About the Author
Copyright Page
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For Lisa Anne
For the friendship and the music
Author’s Note
Genpei is a fantasy treatment of the great war, or series of wars, really, that ended the Heian period in Japanese history. The events referred to in the story took place roughly between 1153 and 1185 C.E. However, Genpei should in no way be taken as an accurate depiction of these events, not merely because of the fantasy elements. Although I tried to tie the narrative as closely to the incidents surrounding the fall of Heian Kyō as I could, I found this to be an impossible task. Many of the historical sources I drew from were written years, even centuries, after the events took place and they all contradicted each other as to what happened when, and who was present where. I’ve tried to make as coherent a narrative as I could, given the sources.
This book is written somewhat in the style of the war tales of the Heian and Kamakura periods, though I have made many stylistic concessions and simplifications for the sake of the Western reader. For example, there are far fewer characters than appear in the traditional war tale, far fewer allusions to famous ancient poems and heroes, and I spend far less time lovingly describing every bit of armor, weaponry, and clothing that each of the warriors wear. I hope the reader will see fit to forgive me for these omissions.
Nonetheless, there are some matters concerning Heian culture that the reader might wish to be aware of in order to forestall confusion. First and foremost, the Heian calendar was not in accord with the European calendar (which the Japanese would not even become aware of for another four hundred years after the events in the book). The beginning of their “First Month” corresponds roughly to somewhere in the first two weeks of February in our calendar, and their New Year was considered to be the first day of spring. Their hours of the day are the equivalent of two of our hours, and they did not measure days into anything like our weeks.
Heian people did not retain the same name throughout their lives—infants were given a child’s name to be changed at the capping or trouser ceremony when a boy reached about seven or so. Noblemen were often referred to by their current government position, warriors often included their home province as part of their appellation, and if a man became a monk he took on another name as well. Noblewomen were often named for the residence they lived in, or their father’s rank and position. And ladies of the highest noble families, who served or reigned in the palace, took the name of a gateway in the Imperial Compound. For the sake of the Western fantasy reader, I have greatly simplified this in Genpei so that names are more consistent for each character through the narrative.
Heian people were given responsibilities at a far younger age. Boys could become warriors as early as twelve years old. Boys and girls both might marry between the ages of thirteen and sixteen. And Emperors could rise to the throne as toddlers of three or four.
Regarding the structure of noble Heian families, a man of high rank was expected to have concubines in addition to a principal wife. The children of a noble household might be sent to be raised by another family, either to receive particular training in either martial or courtly arts, or for political reasons. In some houses, siblings rarely saw one another until they were adults.
Government during the Heian period was rigid in terms of protocol, but fluid in terms of who might hold actual power. The ruling Emperor did not always have complete command of the government—more often than not, in fact, he was merely a ceremonial figurehead. Power often shifted between the most noble families (the Fujiwara, for example), or other members of the imperial family. At times, a ruling emperor might abdicate the throne, leaving the onerous ceremonial duties to one of his offspring, and control the government from the sidelines as a highly respected Retired Emperor. And, of course, the capital could be controlled by those who had the greatest number of fighters at their ready command—an important factor as the warrior clans of the Minomoto and the Taira gained greater status at the end of the Heian period.
Genpei is heavily influenced by The Tale of the Heike, sometimes called the Japanese Iliad, as well as the Hōgen Monogatari and Heiji Monogatari. Further influences were The Chronicles of Yoshitsune, written three hundred years after the Genpei War; the Hojoki, a collection of diary poems written a few decades after the events; and the Azuma Kagami, a compilation of diary notations from the period assembled some one hundred years later.
Readers who wish to learn more about the unique and fascinating Heian culture might wish to look at The World of the Shining Prince by Ivan Morris, as well as literary works of the period such as The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu, The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon, A Tale of Flowering Fortunes, and, of course, the grand Tale of the Heike itself.
—Kara Dalkey
Prologue
THE BELL OF GION TEMPLE SINGS ALL THINGS MUST FADE AS SURELY AS THE BLOSSOMS OF THE SALA TREE. THE PROUD LAST NO LONGER THAN A SPRING NIGHT’S DREAM, THE MIGHTY VANISH, DUST UPON THE WIND.
So begins the great story of The Heike, beloved of the blind tale-singers who chant the tale as they strum upon their biwa. So sang the blind monk Hoichi, unknowing, to the ghosts of the Ise Taira, thereby losing his ears.
Great was the rising fortune of the Taira clan and great was its fall, like the tumbling of a boulder down a cliff face into the sea. And with the Taira fell the dream of the Heian Kingdom, the heavenly world of Those Who Live Above The Clouds, whose lives were filled with music and poetry, dancing and finely perfumed clothes, all elegantly suited to the seasons. This world of peace and beauty was overturned by rough men of war, whose arts were of the sword and bow, not brush and ink.
Much of the truth of the Genpei War has been lost with the passage of time. But the legends remain. What if the legends were all true? Who knows. Perhaps, somewhere, the Buddha created such a world where what follows was, indeed, how it happened….
Scroll 1
Beginnings
The White Fish
Who can say when the seeds of a war are sown? Sometimes the roots of conflict grow for generations before the clash of steel upon steel is heard. Sometimes a war may be only a continuation of past battles, as one prayer bead follows another on a silken string. Sometimes conflict becomes as inevitable as rain in autumn. Sometimes a change in circumstances will bring about conflict where none might have been thought possible before. The Genpei War may be said to have been all of these.
Let us begin, then, on a chill spring morning, in the fourteenth year of the reign of Emperor Sutoku, in the second year of the era called Hōen. Taira no Kiyomori, stocky and strong at nineteen years of age, stood at the pro
w of his boat, sailing the waters of the Seto Inland Sea. Some legends say that on this day he was on a pilgrimage to the shrines on the sacred island called Miyajima. Some say he and his men were patrolling the waters of Aki Province searching for pirates. Perhaps he was doing both.
For as long as could be remembered, the Taira had been remarkable sailors and warriors of the coastal waters. Under the leadership of Tadamori, Kiyomori’s father, the Taira achieved more glory by doing battle with the pirates who had been harassing the merchants and fishermen along the coast of the Inland Sea. So successful were the Taira in this endeavor that rewards were showered upon them by Shirakawa and the Emperors that followed, Horikawa, Toba, and Sutoku. By the time Kiyomori was twelve, he held the post of Assistant Commander for the Military Guards. By the time he was eighteen, Kiyomori was elevated to Fourth Rank, and thereby officially made a nobleman of the realm.
On this spring morning, as Kiyomori and his men neared Miyajima, the air was still, and no wind stirred the boat’s sails. His men had to row the becalmed craft across the smooth waters. There were no other boats to be seen, not even those of fishermen, who normally would be numerous. Kiyomori felt some concern and wondered if rumors of new pirates in the area had kept the fishermen away.
“What do you make of this?” Kiyomori asked one of his men, who wore the shaved head and plain robe of a Buddhist monk.
“My lord, I am as baffled as you,” said the monk. “I cannot think of any sign in the Heavens or significance in the calendar that would be keeping the fishermen home.”
As he gazed toward the horizon, Kiyomori saw something else that brought him unease. At first he thought it only a trick of his eyes—but a thick fog was rising from the waters, like steam from a hot bath on a winter’s day. Denser and denser the fog became, swiftly obscuring their view, until Kiyomori and his men could scarcely see beyond the blades of their oars. Their ship seemed an island itself adrift in a world of gray.
“This becomes stranger every moment, neh?” Kiyomori commented to one of his men. “Normally a morning fog is melted away by the westering sun, not summoned by it.” He sniffed the air, but there was no taint of ashes, so this was no smoke from a fire. The mist was rich with the brine scent of the sea.
“My lord, perhaps we should wait a while,” suggested one of the rowers. “We cannot find our way in this fog, and we have no wish to run your boat aground. If this is any natural mist, it will lift in time, and we can proceed safely.”
“If this is any natural mist,” repeated Kiyomori, with a feeling in his bones that it was not. The Inland Sea was the realm of many mysterious things, including, it was said, the undersea palace of the Dragon King Ryujin. Kiyomori could not help but wonder if he or his family had done something to offend the kami of the sea. Or perhaps this fog was a whim of the gods he had merely blundered into, through no fault of his or his clan.
Kiyomori took up a handful of the rice cakes they carried for provender. He broke them apart and scattered the pieces onto the metal-gray waters, murmuring to the kami who reside there, “If I, or my own, have offended, forgive us. If not, and if this mysterious weather is the work of gods or demons who are bent on mischief, please aid us.”
Huge fishes rose from the depths to suck the rice into their enormous gaping mouths, but Kiyomori could not tell what manner of fish they were. The boat rocked in the gentle swells of the sea, and the only sound was the lapping of the water at its flanks.
Suddenly, a great white bass leapt out of the water and landed on the deck of the boat. The big fish flopped about madly, and one of the rowers had to strike it on the head with an oar to subdue it. As the white bass lay still, gasping its last breaths, Kiyomori and the monk approached it.
“This is most remarkable,” said Kiyomori.
“Surely it is a sign of the kami’s favor,” said the monk. “Though it violates the Ten Prohibitions, I believe we should eat this fish as soon as possible, and partake of the good fortune it will provide us.”
“Yes,” said Kiyomori, “I have heard of such events as this. Is it not said that, long ago, a white fish leapt into the boat of King Wu of Zhou?”
“My lord,” said one of the rowers, “a sail.”
Kiyomori peered through the mist. He saw what seemed to be a red sail, not too far away.
“Know you any fishermen in this region,” Kiyomori asked, “who has such a sail on his boat?”
“No, my lord,” said the rower. “And no merchant ship would be so foolish as to announce his presence so when there are pirates about.”
“And might a pirate have such a sail?” Kiyomori asked.
“It would be a bold or mad pirate indeed, my lord, to have such an attention-catching sail when it is known the mighty Taira patrol these waters.”
Kiyomori smiled. “Then let us row toward that sail,” he told his men, “and see who this bold or foolish personage might be.”
“My lord,” cautioned one of the rowers, “there is danger that we might collide with the other boat, for we cannot see its speed or location clearly.”
“Then you must row very carefully, neh? Begin. I will watch the sail and guide you.”
So the rowers took up their oars once more and began to pull against the gray waters of the Inland Sea. Kiyomori told them when to steer to the right or left and when to feather their oars and drift. Closer and closer they came to the red sail. Then suddenly the mist between the two boats parted, as if blown aside by a kami’s breath.
What Kiyomori saw nearly took his own breath away. The red sail belonged to a little boat in the shape of a dragon whose scales were made of pearly iridescent shell. The silken sail was adorned with the crest of a coiled white serpent. Sitting in the boat were three beautiful ladies, dressed in the many-layered kimonos of the nobility of Heian Kyō, whose colors reflected the blues, greens, and grays of the sea. Kiyomori wondered how such ladies might have come to be here so far from land, although he was old enough to know that women often had fancies unfathomable to men. “Good morning, most noble ladies,” he said, bowing to them.
“Hail, Assistant Commander Taira no Kiyomori,” said one.
“Hail, Lord Governor to come,” said another.
“Hail, Chancellor yet to be,” said the third.
Kiyomori stepped back in astonishment, rocking his ship. “Surely you ladies are joking at my expense. Governor of a province someday, perhaps, should I prove myself worthy of it to the court. But Chancellor? Only those of the great Fujiwara clan, or of Imperial blood, ever rise so high. I am but of the lowly Taira. We are warriors, not governmental officials. Why do you mock me thus?”
The loveliest of the ladies smiled at him. “We do not mock you, Lord Kiyomori.”
“Perhaps he truly does not know,” whispered one of the other ladies.
“Does not know what?” demanded Kiyomori. “What do I not know?”
“That you are of Imperial blood,” said the loveliest lady.
Kiyomori scowled. “You are repeating treasonous gossip. My father is Tadamori, Chief of the Taira clan. He is the only father I have known.”
“Truly, it was he who raised you. But your mother—”
“Yes, she had been an Emperor’s consort. She never let my father forget that.”
“And she was with child when she was given to your father for services he had rendered to Emperor Shirakawa. That child was you.”
“And it was that Emperor,” said the lady to her left, “who gave you your name, in hopes that it would bring to you the limitless prosperity that your name implies.”
Kiyomori felt a shiver run down his spine. Of course he had heard the whispered gossip. Naturally, as a boy, he had wanted to believe he was a secret prince of the Imperial line. But when he had traveled to Heian Kyō with his father and seen how the nobles sneered at him and Tadamori, claiming such provincial warriors were no better than servants, he realized the gossip was only meant to slander his father. “How can I possibly believe you?”
&nb
sp; The beautiful woman blinked. “What may I do to make you believe?” She stroked the water with her hand and tiny winged women in pale gauze kimonos, their lower halves tucked into snail shells, rose fluttering into the air. They sang with sweet, piping voices for a moment, then plopped back beneath the surface.
Kiyomori gasped. “You, then … can it be that you are … Benzaiten, mistress of art and music and daughter of the Dragon King?”
Her smile grew wider. “At last you recognize me. I am pleased.”
He bowed again, much lower this time. “How can I not know you, to whom my family prays so often for good fortune upon the sea? The white fish, then, came from you?”
“It is a gift to you from my father, Ryujin. Eat of it and good fortune shall be yours. So you understand, if we say you may one day become Chancellor, then it may indeed be so?”
“Of… of course, Great Lady.” Kiyomori’s mind reeled, trying to accept this new view of things. A vision of who he was, and what his future might be. “But why do you so favor me by telling me of my destiny? Why here and now?”
Benzaiten flirtatiously stroked the surface of the sea with her fingertips, letting her long sleeves float upon the water like seaweed. “Your prowess upon the sea is well-known, Lord Kiyomori, even to those in the court of the Dragon King. We have watched you from below, and we are impressed.”
Kiyomori inclined his head to her. “I am pleased to have been noticed by one so illustrious as your father.”
“And we have noted that your clan has … ambition.”
“Naturally, as has every clan in the Empire, Great Lady. We all strive to climb as high as we can. That is the way of things. But the power of the Fujiwara clan is like a great wall against which other men only bloody themselves in striving for rank and position.”