Genpei

by Kara Dalkey

  Tokiko blinked at the change of subject. “Yes, it is a thing required of nuns. At first it was tedious, but now I find it soothing. I do not know why I comply … I do not even know if I have a mortal soul like yours. I suppose it can do no harm. I tell myself I do it for our children.”

  “Our children …” Kiyomori echoed still not looking at her.

  “We have been blessed, neh? Shigemori has become quite a man.”

  The fan snapped in two in Kiyomori’s hand. “Hai,” he growled. “Quite a man.”

  So that is it. “You are upset with him.”

  Kiyomori turned a gaze upon her so full of hate that she hardly recognized him. “What have you done to him, witch?”

  Tokiko paused. “I have done nothing but advise him.”

  “You have transformed him! You have taught him sorcery! Turned him against me!”

  “I have done no such thing!”

  “I received word last night that Shigemori sent out a secret request to be caretaker of the Imperial Sacred Regalia while the Imperial palace is being repaired.”

  Ah, I had forgotten, Tokiko thought, that Kiyomori still has spies in high places, and that he is not entirely a fool. “Shigemori had every right to make such a request. He is effectively head of the Taira clan and brother-in-law to the Emperor.”

  Kiyomori leapt upon her, pushing her shoulders down to the floor. “Do you think me an idiot?” he shouted in her face. “Shigemori wants control of Kusanagi!”

  “Shhh! I pray you, keep your voice down, husband! Servants will hear.”

  “Let them hear! Let them learn of my family’s duplicity! The Dragon King has made another deal, hasn’t he? Only this time with my son!”

  Tokiko tried to control her breathing. “It is true that I have spoken to my father again. He says his oracles still tell him the sword must and shall be delivered to him by one of Taira blood. We have given up hope that you would ever return the sword. So why not Shigemori?”

  Kiyomori slapped her, hard, with the back of his hand. “Treacherous woman! How will our grandson, the Emperor-to-be, rule with no Imperial sword?”

  Tokiko sucked at blood from her split lip. “Listen to me. We have learned that a copy of Kusanagi was made long ago and is being held safe at Ise Shrine. No one need know when the real Kusanagi is gone.”

  “A copy!” Kiyomori roared. “How nice! A copy! If my grandson should need the magic of Kusanagi to make men bow and the winds howl, he will have to be content with a copy!”

  Servants came in and fluttered their hands at Kiyomori. “Please, my lord, desist! Look at what you are doing. You mustn’t treat a nun this way.” And behind them she heard the murmurs, “So it is true, Kiyomori has gone mad!”

  “These things should no longer be your concern,” Tokiko told Kiyomori. “You now wear gray robes, as I do. You took the same vows I took. You have declared your intent to retire from worldly matters, and now you should do so!”

  “A wife does not speak to her husband like this.”

  “I am an old nun, and I say what I choose!”

  “You have always said what you choose,” said Kiyomori, getting up off her. “You have never needed gray robes for that. I must go speak with Shigemori.”

  “Leave him be!”

  “Silence, wife. I am done with you.”

  As he strode off, the servants helped Tokiko to sit up and dabbed at her lip with silk kerchiefs. Tokiko waved them away, saying, “Go after him! Detain him somehow! Warn Shigemori he is here!” The servants hurried out to do her bidding.

  As his father had gone to speak with his mother, Munemori took advantage of the opportunity to talk privately with Shigemori. “This is good, is it not?” he said, “We so rarely chat brother to brother anymore.”

  Shigemori fidgeted impatiently with a writing brush. He had clearly been doing administrative work, and Munemori had been an unwelcome interruption. “It is true, we have become distant. But the demands of duty often interfere with familial pleasures.”

  “Demands of duty!” cried Munemori, laughing. “Why should duty demand anything of us? We are Taira, brother. The most powerful clan in Nihon and perhaps the world. We may do whatever we choose!”

  “Possibly so,” murmured Shigemori.

  “I am Major Captain now, and I have underlings begging to do my duties for me,” said Munemori. “Who am I to deny them? Yet look at you, you are still acting as though you are a Sixth Rank Administrator, not the Palace Minister. People laugh at you, you know, behind your back. They say ‘there goes Taira Shigemori, who still writes his own requisition forms.’”

  Shigemori sighed. “An administrator who loses sight of the daily workings of his office soon loses all control of it as well. As you say, brother, we Taira may choose our pastimes. I’ve chosen mine.”

  “Suit yourself. Listen, I’ve heard that you’ve asked the Emperor to allow you to be caretaker of the Imperial Regalia—”

  Shigemori glanced worriedly from side to side. “Where have you heard this?”

  “Father knows, of course. Father knows everything. But if Takakura agrees, why not let me take that burden, at least, from you? You needn’t tell anyone.”

  Munemori saw immediately the distrust in Shigemori’s eyes. “If His Majesty agrees,” Shigemori said, “I would not ever be so dishonest as to let him think I am performing a duty I am not. I could not honorably do what you ask, brother.”

  You don’t think I’m worthy, do you? Munemori thought. You think of me only as the worthless younger brother who can’t do anything. You are the precious eldest son, and only you deserve praise and glory, is that it? “How dare you speak of honor,” Munemori said softly, “when you used sorcery on our father.”

  Shigemori shut his eyes and opened them. “I did not enchant Kiyomori. I merely wanted to see if our warriors would respond to an urgent call. These are perilous times, and we need whatever advantage we can hold.”

  “You don’t trust Father, do you? You don’t trust me, you don’t trust him, you don’t trust anyone but yourself!”

  “That is not so.”

  “Oh, that is right. You trust Mother. You moved her here so that she would share all the secrets of the Dragon King with you.”

  “I moved her here in filial devotion. A son has the duty to look after an aging mother.”

  “I offered to let her move into my mansion, but she chose you. The shining Shigemori. Father laughs at me, Mother ignores me, you don’t trust me. What is there in the world for poor Munemori?”

  “Do not talk like that. There is much you could accomplish if you would only try.”

  “Is there? When I am doomed before I begin by people’s opinions of me? I offered my services to Go-Shirakawa, but he turns away my requests for audience as though I were nobody. At court, the Fujiwara keep me away from anything important. How can a man accomplish anything in such a situation? It could all be overcome, of course, if only Father would help, but he still treats me like a child!”

  “You should not concern yourself so much with our father’s opinion,” said Shigemori, softly. “He is… changed, of late. Or, rather, he has not changed, and that is not seemly in one who has taken religious vows. I fear he may not be fully master of his own mind and heart.”

  A servant appeared at the shōji. “My lord, your father, Ki—.” He was roughly shoved aside, and Kiyomori stepped in.

  “Father!” Munemori stood and bowed. “We were just talking about you.”

  Kiyomori ignored him. To Shigemori he said, “So, what your servants say is true. You think I am mad.”

  “That is not so,” said Shigemori. “But I am concerned for your health, Father.”

  “More than you are concerned for the health of the Taira?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Kiyomori leaned close to Shigemori. “Are you really going to throw Kusanagi into the sea?”

  “What?” cried Munemori, but no one took note of him.

  Shigemori wiped his bro
w, and said softly, “If it will ensure peace in our land, then yes, I would do such a thing.”

  “Peace.” Kiyomori spit out the word as if it were a fly that had gotten into his mouth. “You would choose peace over the fortunes of your clan. I tell you that if there is peace but the Taira are weak, then it is a worthless peace. If there is war, but Taira are the victors, then it is a good war.”

  Shigemori said, “We will never agree on this matter.”

  Kiyomori paused, glaring at him. At last, he said, “Then you are no true Taira, and I regret that you are my son.”

  Munemori gasped.

  Shigemori sucked in his breath as if he had been cut by a knife. Standing, he went to the nearest shōji and called for a servant. “My father is not feeling himself. He must return to Nishihachijō at once.” To Munemori, he said “Please arrange escort for our father and see that he does no further harm to himself or others.”

  Munemori saw opportunity in the midst of turmoil. “Father, let me take you home. Clearly, Shigemori no longer cares for your concerns. I will gladly listen with open ears—”

  “What good can you do me, you worthless, whining, chattering monkey?” Kiyomori roared at him. “I should never have had sons!” He stormed out of the room and could be heard ranting as he departed down the corridor.

  Shigemori gave Munemori an awkward little bow. “Please excuse me.” And he hurried out of the room after their father.

  So, thought Munemori, nearly shaking with roiling emotions. That is it. Munemori is worthless, and there is nothing to be done. Well, we will see about that. He called for his carriage, but instead of telling the ox-driver to return him to his own mansion, or Nishihachijō, Munemori asked to be driven to Rokuhara.

  Night had fallen by the time the carriage bumped over the gate lintel at Rokuhara. Munemori was greeted by only a pair of elderly servants as he exited the carriage.

  “My lord, if only you had sent word that you were coming. There are very few of us in residence right now, and we fear that our service to you will not be of appropriate quality.”

  Indeed, Rokuhara seemed to be largely dark and deserted. “That is fine,” said Munemori sharply. “This suits my needs quite well. Bring me a lantern and a brazier with hot coals and then begone.”

  The servants did as they were bid, and soon Munemori was walking down a long empty corridor into the Southwest Wing of Rokuhara, the wing that was haunted.

  Munemori’s hand shook, and the lantern swayed, casting shadows that seemed to leap out of the corners at him as he walked. He started so that it was all he could do not to spill the coals out of the little brazier. His feet kicked up ashes and dust from the recent fire, and he could not see his feet, as though he were, himself, a ghost. In the dark, the rooms seemed like a labyrinth, and he felt lost, even though he had been born and raised in Rokuhara.

  After Munemori had told his mother about the Shin-In’s visit to Rokuhara, she had brought in monks to purify that wing of the mansion. But she had confided in Munemori that even the monks had been disturbed by what they felt in those rooms, and therefore they had worked hurriedly and left the task unfinished. Not every room had been cleansed. With cold irony, Munemori thought, Their mistake is now my advantage. He made his way to the one room his mother told him he must, at all costs, avoid.

  It was a tiny storage room, and the walls were water-stained and smelled of rot. Munemori set the lantern in one corner and the brazier before him. The room felt cold even though it was the height of summer.

  He placed on the coals a lock of his hair, a sakaki twig, and a torn piece of paper from a document he had stolen from the Imperial archives.

  As the items burned, Munemori shut his eyes, and intoned, “Once you greeted me as an equal. Let me greet you again, that I may be of service to you.” He waited for long seconds, but nothing seemed to happen. He opened his eyes and stared at the brazier but saw nothing in the smoke. With a sigh, he prepared to give it up and go. He looked up—

  And the Shin-In was sitting across from him, sunken-cheeked and hollow-eyed. “I have been waiting for you,” the Shin-In said.

  “W-waiting?” Munemori asked, suddenly certain this had been a bad idea.

  “I knew we would meet again, eventually. And here we are.”

  “Yes,” said Munemori. There was a long, awkward pause.

  “Well? What would you?”

  All the grand speeches Munemori had rehearsed flew out of his head in a second. Instead, Munemori pressed his forehead to the dirty floor, and wailed, “No one respects me! Everyone tells me I’m worthless! Even though I’m a Taira! I don’t want to be worthless! I want to be somebody! I would do anything to be somebody.”

  “There, there,” the Shin-In said in a consoling tone. “I know exactly how you feel. Rejected and abandoned. But you have made the right decision. I am the right person to help you. Perhaps the only one who can. Together we will see that great things become of you.”

  “Truly?” sniffed Munemori, sitting up. “Such as what?”

  “Well, what would you? How about Lord of the Taira? Chief of the clan? How does that sound? Serve me, and that title shall be yours.”

  “C-could you do that? Could I be Ason, chosen even over Shigemori?”

  “Tcha, Shigemori will not be an issue.”

  Munemori began to feel much better. “Kiyomori will not object?”

  “He will not be an issue either. It will happen that you will be the perfect choice. The only choice.”

  A choking laugh escaped from Munemori’s throat. “That will surprise all of them, won’t it? Me, worthless Munemori, Chief of the Taira!”

  “All will be surprised, yes.”

  “Chief of the Taira! That is even better than Emperor!”

  The ghost’s mouth quirked. “A matter of opinion, but I am glad you think so.”

  “Good! Then let it be done.”

  “There is, you understand, a price.”

  “A price? What would you? Should I have a stupa built for you, or a temple dedicated to you, or arrange to have a hundred monks chant your name for a hundred days?”

  “Nothing so grand. I follow the old ways. A sacrifice is a sacrifice.”

  Munemori felt a chill. “Someone must… die? Who?”

  “No one important.”

  “Oh.” Munemori sighed with relief. If it was just some servant, well, they die all the time, do they not? “I… I won’t have to …”

  “Fear not, you will wield no sword and let no blood.”

  “But I will… cause it to happen?”

  “Indirectly. You won’t even know until it is done.”

  “Ah. What could be better then? I agree to your price. It is a bargain.”

  Faster than an arrow from a bow, the arm of the Shin-In shot out and his clawlike hand grasped Munemori’s head in a fierce, cold grip. Munemori sat bolt upright as though a shaft of frozen lightning had been driven down his spine. “Welcome to my service, Taira Munemori,” said the Shin-In.

  A Visitor from Shijō

  Ushiwaka was tending to the gardens of Kuramadera when Abbot Tokobo came by, escorting a visiting monk. Ushiwaka had heard that the visitor was named Shōmon, also known as the Holy Man of Shijō, and was a personage highly regarded in religious matters. They were near enough that Ushiwaka could easily overhear their conversation.

  “Yes, Kuramadera has a marvelous setting,” said Shōmon. “Such views! Just as it was described to me. I should like to see more. If you could have one of your acolytes show me around the mountain paths, I would appreciate it greatly.”

  “I can easily arrange a guide for you,” said Abbot Tōkōbō.

  “How about him?” said Shomon, pointing at Ushiwaka.

  “Oh, you wouldn’t want that one,” said the abbot. “He is obstinate and stubborn.”

  “Stubborn? I find that an entertaining quality in an acolyte. It brings forth spirited arguments.”

  Tōkōbō lowered his voice, but Ushiwaka could still h
ear him. “That is one of the sons of the famous general Yoshitomo. He should have taken the tonsure long ago, but he takes little interest in his studies. He would rather practice the sword than the holy teachings. Just the other day a ruffian warrior-monk from Enryakuji appeared demanding to be allowed to be that one’s servant. I expect he is actually teaching the boy bugei. It is intolerable. If we cannot force the tonsure on him soon, we will have to return him to the capital.”

  Ushiwaka knew what that meant. He hoped the tengu would come up with a plan for his escape soon.

  “How fascinating,” said Shōmon. “Why not let me talk with the boy as he guides me. Perhaps I can be … persuasive, where others have not been.”

  “If you wish,” grumbled Abbot Tōkōbō. “But I doubt even you can get through to him.” He turned and glared at Ushiwaka. “You! Ushiwaka! Come here!”

  Ushiwaka sighed, dreading that he was going to be lectured at for the next several hours. But he dared not upset the abbot any further. He put down his rake and went over to them. “What may this lowly one do for you?” Ushiwaka asked with a polite bow.

  “You will guide Shōmon-san through our mountain paths, and you will listen to him, for he has some things to say to you.”

  “As you wish.”

  When Tōkōbō had left them alone, Shōmon favored Ushiwaka with a small, knowing smile. “I am pleased you have agreed to speak with me. I think you will find it worth your while.”

  “Will I?” asked Ushiwaka, not very hopeful.

  “Judge for yourself when I have finished. Come, let us walk.”

  When they were far enough from the monastery buildings that no ears could hear, Shōmon said, “So, you are a son of the great Minomoto general, Yoshitomo, neh?”

  This was more worrisome than a religious lecture would have been, and Ushiwaka feared he was in the presence of a Taira spy. “So they tell me,” he answered cautiously.

  “And you study the arts of the sword.”

  “Well, I enjoy the exercise. That is all.”

  Shōmon smiled again. “Sōjō-bō is a good teacher, isn’t he?”

  Now Ushiwaka was truly frightened. If the Taira had learned of his dealings with the tengu …