by Kara Dalkey
Kiyomori felt anger, then. The same anger he had felt when his father was insulted by the lofty lords of Heian Kyō. The same anger he felt whenever he heard of slander against the Taira. And, unwise as it might have been, he felt that anger reach his mouth and speak. “You chose me as your hero to save this world, and this is how you treat me? You disregard my judgment, even though I know the mortal realm and you do not? If you are so powerful, what need do you have of a magic sword? If such a sword matters so much to you, why can’t you make another? If you are such a mighty kami, why do you have to bully puny mortals into doing your work for you?”
The Dragon King raised back his head and roared. His serpentine tail rose out of the water and struck it with a mighty slap that boomed like thunder and nearly drenched Kiyomori. “Foolish mortal! You have no idea what disasters await you. Perhaps it is true what is said … that the arrogance of the Taira is such, they strive to be greater than gods. So be it. Since you will not bring me Kusanagi, I withdraw my aid and protection. Let us see how long the Taira, and their sad mortal realm, will last through their own efforts.”
For a moment the sea boiled as if a volcano were rising from beneath its surface. The Dragon King’s great head sank back down into the water, glaring at Kiyomori as it went. And then all was dark and silent once more.
Kiyomori leaned against the railing, trying to control the pounding of his heart and the rapidity of his breathing. I am Chancellor Kiyomori, chief of the mighty Taira clan. I have no reason to fear.
Running footsteps rumbled behind him, and Kiyomori turned to see several priests approaching.
“Lord Chancellor, are you all right? We heard noises like thunder. You are wet. What has happened?”
Kiyomori made placating gestures. “It is nothing. Some errant waves boomed against the pier beneath me, and one sent water splashing up. That is all.”
The priests sighed and laughed with relief, though one or two seemed uncertain about Kiyomori’s response. He knew they would not dare question him, however.
“If you please, Holy Ones,” Kiyomori went on, “I should like to go to my lodgings now, and put on robes that stink a little less of the sea.”
The Reproachful Carp
That night, Tokiko was writing an advice-full letter by lamplight to her daughter Kenreimon’in, the Empress. Her brush jerked as she was startled by the sound of violent splashing out in her garden pond. For a moment she hoped it was merely a duck taking flight. But as the splashing continued, she knew it could be only bad news.
Tokiko called for a servant bearing a lantern on a stick and together they went out to the pond. Tokiko knelt by the water’s edge, and a great golden carp swam over to her. “You were slow this time,” said the fish.
“I do not want to hear what you have to say,” responded Tokiko. “But I am here. What is the news from my father?”
“He says it is all over. Your husband remains obstinate. Ryujin says it is time for you to return home, under the sea. There is no more for you to do here. You must leave the mortals to their fate.”
Tokiko sighed. She turned and looked back at Rokuhara, where she had borne and raised so many children. How the years had flown by since Kiyomori had brought her to Heian Kyō. It had been twelve years since the Hōgen Disturbance, nine years since the Heiji. And she had managed to live through it all, teaching her children to become wise and accomplished, all but Motomori, of course, who now resided in the Pure Land. She thought about Shigemori, of whom she was so proud, and poor, untalented Munemori who needed so much guidance. And her daughter Kenreimon’in who needed guidance as well, not just for herself but for the entire land of Nihon.
Ryujin’s palace under the sea was beautiful, but so full of gloom, Tokiko remembered. It was so lonely, empty at times, visited only by the dead. To return now would mean not seeing the sun again for who knew how long. It would mean not knowing what would happen to her children. It meant never seeing her youngest grow to maturity. It meant never seeing a future grandchild seated on the Jeweled Throne. It meant never seeing some grandchildren at all.
“Tell my father … I cannot return. Not just yet.”
“He will not be happy with you,” chided the carp.
“Tell him I might yet be able to look after his interests. That we should not give up hope just yet. There might yet be a Taira who can do what my father requires. I cannot give up on these people,” said Tokiko, feeling a hot tear roll down her cheek. “I cannot.”
“You are a foolish female,” said the carp. “Still, I do not think your father can force you. Do what you will. You understand, however, that you may be placing yourself in danger?”
“That is the risk in becoming a mortal,” said Tokiko. “I accepted that risk long ago.”
“Have it your way, then,” said the carp, “but don’t expect any help from home.” With a flash of his golden scales in the lamplight, the fish turned and swam away into the depths of the pond.
Tokiko sighed.
“My lady, did you learn what you … hoped?” asked the servant uncomfortably. She wouldn’t have been able to hear the carp, so to her it only seemed like Tokiko was talking to herself. But the servants had long ago learned of Tokiko’s eccentricities and resigned themselves to thinking she was either mad or a sorceress. In either case, they were careful not to insult or upset her.
“Not what I hoped,” replied Tokiko. “But I must carry on. It is chilly out here, neh? Let us return to the house.”
“Yes, my lady.”
A Wooden Sword
For others besides the Taira, the nine long years since the end of the Heiji had brought great changes as well. At the mountain monastery of Kuramadera, where the Kamo river begins its flow through the forested hills down to Heian Kyō, eight-year-old Ushiwaka, son of general Minomoto Yoshitomo and the unfortunate Tokiwa, half brother to Minomoto Yoritomo, was serving in exile as a page for the monk Tōkōbō.
As he had on every evening he could remember, Ushiwaka brought in the wood for the cooking fires, and buckets of water from the Kamo River. He swept the corridors and scrubbed the flagstones of the garden pathways. As the temple bell boomed and the monks began their evening meditations, Ushiwaka slipped into his room and pulled his hand-carved wooden sword from its hiding place between the paper walls. Making as little noise as possible, he sped down the garden paths and out into the forest.
Ushiwaka’s mind was not on his work or the philosophy and sutras the monks were trying to teach him. His thoughts were on vengeance.
Though he had been only a month old when the great Lord Kiyomori of the Taira spared his life, and had been told nothing by the monks of Mount Kurama of his past, Ushiwaka had slowly learned who he was. Even here, in the mountains, stories came up from Heian Kyō with the pilgrims and the rice merchants and the noble visitors. Even the monks loved to hear the latest gossip from them.
Ushiwaka would spend hours hidden behind the bamboo blinds, listening to the wagging tongues of the people from the capital. He heard noble pilgrims ask the monks about him, whether he knew he was a Minomoto, that his father had been a great general, that his father had been murdered by treachery. They asked if Ushiwaka knew his life had been bought by his mother’s dishonored bed. Well, he knew now.
Ushiwaka walked and walked until he came to a small clearing in the mountain forest, surrounded by pines and sugi trees. There he planted his feet and began his sword exercises. A few months before, Ushiwaka had begged the guardsman of a noble lady to show him some sword-fighting moves. The guardsman had been quite bemused by the serious little boy and therefore showed Ushiwaka techniques more advanced than might have been taught to a child his age. Moves that might not have been wise to teach at all to a boy with Ushiwaka’s past. But Ushiwaka had memorized everything he was taught and now practiced diligently every night.
“Hai! Hai!” Ushiwaka swept the sword before him in the Circling Monkey move, imagining each stroke connecting with Lord Kiyomori’s legs, arms, neck. He imag
ined flesh parting, blood flowing, Kiyomori’s body collapsing to the ground. He imagined himself placing Kiyomori’s head on a lance and riding triumphantly through Heian Kyō, receiving the cheers of the people. Ushiwaka thrust again with his little wooden sword, but he stepped forward onto a rock, lost his footing, and fell over.
“Ha, ha-ha!” He heard cawing laughter behind him. “You must watch your step, young man, if you are to defeat your enemies.”
Ushiwaka jumped to his feet and spun around, pointing his sword at the trees. “Who are you? I’m not afraid of you!” But, in fact, Ushiwaka was afraid, for he feared at any time the Ise Taira might change their minds about their leniency and send someone to kill him.
“Peace, young fellow.” A figure glided out of the trees and alighted in the clearing before him. It was a strange-looking creature—a man with a long nose in black robes that billowed behind him like wings. He wore a little boxlike hat on his upper forehead in the manner of the ubasoku mountain wizards, and carried a ringed staff in his hands.
Ushiwaka gasped. “A tengu!” He did not know whether to stay or run; the shape-changing demons of the mountains could be helpful to mortals, but also could play nasty, mischevious tricks.
The tengu inclined his head. “You are a perceptive boy. I am Sōjō-bō, prince of the tengu of Mount Kurama. We have been watching you. We are curious as to why a little lad like you is disturbing our forest with his toy sword and his silly cries and stumbling footsteps.”
Ushiwaka reddened, but he lifted his chin, and said, “I want to be a great warrior, like my father.”
“That is admirable.”
Ushiwaka knew it would be unwise to say, but he could not help himself. “And I want to kill Lord Kiyomori of the Taira!”
“Ah,” said Sōjō-bō. “A worthy goal indeed.”
Ushiwaka could not tell if the tengu was mocking him. “Lord Kiyomori is responsible for my father’s death. And … and … he dishonored my mother.” Ushiwaka was too young to know what sort of dishonor his mother suffered, but it seemed to be a very bad thing and deserving of vengeance.
“Lord Kiyomori has a great deal to answer for,” the tengu agreed. “We have been watching events in Heian Kyō, and we do not like what we see. The Taira have become pompous tyrants, and we tengu have no patience for such. The Great Kiyomori has even angered King Ryujin of the Sea. A poor choice indeed to stave off the dark times to come. But Lord Kiyomori made a fatal mistake, didn’t he?”
“Mistake?” asked Ushiwaka.
“Yes. He let you live. You and your brothers.”
“I have brothers?”
“Yes, at least two or three, I think.”
“Where are they? Please tell me!”
“They are in exile, as you are, in faraway places, and now is not the time for you to find them, little Minomoto. They would be in danger if they came to Lord Kiyomori’s attention, just as you would, wouldn’t they?”
Ushiwaka swallowed his hopes hard. “Yes. Of course. But I want to see them someday.”
“And so you will. Someday. But I wonder if you will be worthy when you meet them. One of them, after all, has received the blessing of Hachiman, the god of war, and he is destined for greatness. Another of them is already learning sacred magic. But what will you have to show for yourself, hmm? I wonder …” The tengu stared up at the trees and tapped his chin thoughtfully.
Ushiwaka fidgeted with his wooden sword. He knew the stories that told how the tengu were masters of all the fighting arts, especially swordsmanship. He had heard how great heroes of the past had been taught by tengu sensei. It was also said that one should beware the gifts conferred by demons, for they exact a high price. Those heroes taught by tengu were never again the same as ordinary men, isolated and sometimes feared and hated for their differences. But Ushiwaka knew he was already unlike other boys and that his fate would take an extraordinary path. “Will you … would you … teach me, Sōjōbō-sama? Teach me to fight with the sword and become a great warrior, worthy of my brothers?”
A slow smile spread beneath the tengu’s long nose. “Well, now, there is an interesting notion. One which, I am sure, my fellow tengu will think foolish and perhaps a waste of our time. But … why not? Perhaps, if you are dedicated and follow our lessons well, then at least you will not fall on your face when you meet your brothers, neh?”
Ushiwaka got to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground in gratitude. “Thank you, Sōjōbō-sama! I want to learn everything! I will do anything you wish!”
“Anything I wish? No, no, no, little Minomoto, we tengu are not tyrants. We make no demands. Only learn, and then do with your skill what you think best.”
“Will I get to kill Lord Kiyomori?”
“Well, now, as to that I cannot say. But we will teach you all the skills you might need so that, should you have a chance … well, you may do what is necessary.”
Ushiwaka got back to his feet, and asked, “When can we begin, Sōjōbō-sama?”
The tengu raised his hands toward the trees. “Now.”
There arose a great fluttering in the pine branches, and many winged creatures descended. Some were no larger than ravens; others were of raven shape at the size of a man, with both wings and muscled arms. They stared at Ushiwaka with glittering eyes and laughed with clattering beaks.
“These are my Leaflet Tengu,” said Sōjō-bō. “They will begin your training. If you do well with them, then I will take up your training myself later. So. Begin.” Sōjō-bō clapped his hands, and the smaller tengu flew at Ushiwaka’s face.
He swung his wooden sword wildly at them but missed, and he stumbled around the clearing like a drunken nobleman. One little tengu got close enough to scratch his face with its talons.
“Your stance is too narrow!” shrieked one of the tengu. “Keep your feet even with your shoulders!”
“Bend your knees more,” cried another, flying at his face. Ushiwaka missed that one, too, but he was able to duck out of the way. “Remember to breathe!”
Ushiwaka felt angry but exhilarated. The tengu worked him hard for an hour, and he was very tired by the end but felt he was learning so much that his skill had improved already. He knew he was on the way to becoming a great warrior.
When the tengu were done, they flew up into the night sky, becoming shadows against the stars. They called down to him, “Come back tomorrow night, little mortal, so we can laugh at you some more.”
Ushiwaka bowed to them, and then happily walked the moonlit path back to the monastery, his soul seared with joyous fire.
He had hoped to return to his room unseen. But as he neared the pages’ dormitory, Ushiwaka had to pass the open shōji of the abbot’s quarters. He could see the gray-robed abbot, Tōkōbō, seated cross-legged on his floor mats, moonlight glinting off his shaved head. He was quietly copying a sutra by lamplight. Ushiwaka tried to tiptoe past, hoping not to be noticed, but it was not to be.
“Ushiwaka?” said Tōkōbō without looking up from his brush and paper.
“Hai, Holy One,” Ushiwaka replied, dropping into a low bow, holding his wooden sword behind his back.
“Come here.”
Ushiwaka stepped onto the verandah beside the abbot’s room but did not enter. “I am here, Holy One. What do you wish?”
“Where have you been?” Tōkōbō asked in the tone adults use when they know very well where a child has been.
“In the forest, Holy One. I have been … meditating.”
“Hmm. It is a curious meditation that leaves one’s face so flushed and scratched.”
“I ran home, Holy One. And … I ran into some pine branches along the way.”
“Hmm. It must be the weight of that pointed stick you carry that makes such a run so wearying, neh?”
Ushiwaka glanced guiltily at the sword behind his back. “It must be so, Holy One.”
The abbot set down his brush and at last looked up at him. “I am worried for you, Ushiwaka.”
“Please,
do not even think of me, Holy One. I am well. All is well.”
“How can I not worry? I had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that you would never learn of your lineage. But it seems I could not prevent it. What I have long feared may be coming to pass.”
“What have you feared, Holy One?”
“That you would neglect your religious studies, and lose yourself in dreams of vengeance.”
“But, Holy One—”
Tōkōbō held up his hand for silence. “Your life was spared because Lord Kiyomori hoped the circle of vendetta could be broken by mercy. There is no sense in men killing one another over past injustices, for such killing never stops. Your father died in war, Ushiwaka, and in war men do dreadful things. There is no sense in laying blame upon the Taira for doing that which war demands. Trust that the evil men do shall be visited upon them in lives to come. You must forget your past and focus on your future.”
Ushiwaka wondered if the abbot somehow knew that Ushiwaka had met the tengu. Tōkōbō sometimes surprised Ushiwaka with his understanding of things, but Ushiwaka did not know if this was because the abbot had mystical powers, as some of the monks claimed, or was just old and wise. But Ushiwaka could hear no words of mercy or forgetting. The certainty of his destiny was singing too loud in his blood.
Tōkōbō looked back at the sutra on his writing table. “You know that we have entered mappo, do you not?” He went on.
“So it is said, Holy One.” In fact, Ushiwaka had tired of hearing the monks drone endlessly on the subject of mappo, the Buddhist Age of the End of the Law. Every little mishap, misfortune, or rumor of new Taira evil was attributed to the inevitable decline of the world.
“Then you know there can only be days of darkness and despair ahead. And you are no longer too young to know that, if not careful, you will find yourself at the heart of it.”