by Kara Dalkey
“How are you, my daughter?” The voice was familiar, and came from a woman draped in a gray kimono and hood.
“Mother!” Kenreimon’in said with joy. Though her mother, Nii no Ama, had sent her many letters of encouragement, Kenreimon had not seen her in a long time. “You are coming with me to Rokuhara?”
“I will stay with you until the child is born, and even after.”
Kenreimon’in smiled and ascended the little ladder up to the carriage. With the help of many hands, she squeezed through the narrow doorway and fell heavily onto the bench seat beside her mother. As she arranged her many layers of kimonos, five of the other ladies-in-waiting climbed in as well and jammed themselves onto the bench opposite her. One last lady appeared at the doorway carrying a long, narrow object wrapped in brocade white silk. Kenreimon’in knew what it was at once.
“Stop!” Kenreimon’in cried. “Do not bring that in here!”
“But Majesty,” protested the baffled lady-in-waiting, “this is part of the Imperial Regalia!”
“I know that it is Kusanagi, and I will not allow it near me. It is … a powerful thing, and its magic might bring harm to the baby. Or it will surely bring bad fortune. Send it with His Majesty’s carriage.”
“But Majesty,” the lady continued, “the Emperor directed that this should be sent with you, since the Imperial Divination Office has determined that your child will be a boy. He felt it would bring good fortune to the new Crown Prince to have the symbol of Imperial power nearby.”
“I will not have it with me,” Kenreimon’in said firmly.
“But Majesty—”
“Did you not hear her?” said one of the ladies seated inside. “She is the Empress. Do you disobey her orders?”
The lady-in-waiting bowed. “I am most humbly sorry for my disagreeable nature. I will, of course, comply.” She hurried away with the wrapped sword, and the door to the ox-carriage was slammed shut.
Kenreimon’in sighed and turned to her mother. But Nii no Ama was staring at her in distress. “Mother? What is wrong?” Then she remembered there was some connection between Kusanagi and her mother’s father, the Dragon King of the Sea. But Kenreimon dared not tell her mother, particularly in front of the court ladies, why she did not wish to be near Kusanagi again. “Did I not do the right thing?”
Nii no Ama glanced warily at the other ladies. She was also, apparently, keeping secrets. She took Kenreimon’in’s hand and held it. “You did what you felt was best for your child. That is all a mother can do.” She smiled, but her smile was tight and sad.
Two Brothers
Munemori looked up from his teacup as Shigemori barged past the servants and into the room. “Brother, this is exceedingly rude of you.”
“Rude of me? It is you who insult our sister and the Emperor by not attending the lying-in!”
Munemori glanced away. “I have sent my apologies and my reasons.”
“Yes, yes, you mourn for your lost wife and child. We are sorry for your grief, Munemori, but locking yourself away at this time does no honor to you or her. Meanwhile, you embarrass our family.”
“You once told me there is no shame in a nobleman shedding tears.”
“A nobleman knows what times are appropriate for displaying his sensitivity. What has come over you, Munemori? Once you were an affable, if foolish, fellow. Once you at least tried to please others around you. You have turned sullen and cold. Surely this cannot be due entirely to grief. If you would only be more open with those of us in your family, we might lighten your burden for you.”
“Father finds the changes in me to be admirable.”
“Father is—” and the Shigemori shut his mouth and turned away.
“You were about to say Father is mad, weren’t you?”
“I was only going to say he tires easily these days and does not always say what he means.”
“Well, it appears you take after our father in at least one way, after all. Some of us had been worried you were someone else’s get.”
Shigemori whirled around and glared at him with narrowed eyes. “These are not the words of a man in grief. Why do you not come to Rokuhara?”
“I have said.”
“Then why did you insist on where the lying-in should be if you knew you would not attend? What does it matter to you?”
“Better Rokuhara than To-Sanjō and the aegis of Go-Shirakawa.”
Shigemori sighed loudly. “Whatever you may think of him, Go-Shirakawa-In is a man of peace. He would have treated our sister and her child well.”
“He also is the enemy of our father, had you forgotten?”
Shigemori shook his head like a horse clearing away flies. “There is no cause for them to be enemies. If only Kiyomori would treat the In with trust and respect—”
“He would be trampled over, and our family’s fortunes would lie in the dust. If only you would trust our father more, your sight might be more clear on these matters.”
“I see that there is no talking sense to you. I beg you to reconsider and come to Rokuhara. For our sister’s sake, if no one else. She is fond of you, and it would cheer her to know you are there.”
“Please give my regrets to the Empress, but I have made my decision.”
“As you wish.” Shigemori spun on his heel and departed.
Munemori sighed and went to the verandah where he stared out at the winter garden. He regarded the bare, dead trees, his bare, dead heart. And he shed one genuine tear, for his sister’s sake.
The Thousand–Armed Sutra
Kenreimon’in awoke with a scream. Immediately she was grasped by servants and ladies, who began to raise her up. It felt like the lower half of her body was burning.
“What is it, Majesty? Is it the baby? Is the baby coming?”
Kenreimon’in grabbed a fistfull of silk and hair, she didn’t know whose. “My mother … where is my mother?” she demanded.
“I am here,” said Nii no Ama, her face appearing like a beneficent moon among the concerned women around her. “What is it? Is it time?”
“Mother, I have had a horrible dream! Some man … some terrifying man was trying to … to enter me. He … he’s trying to take the baby, Mother!”
The ladies-in-waiting wailed and fluttered. “How awful! What a terrible experience! But it is normal for pregnant women to have nightmares, neh? Surely this is nothing.”
But Nii no Ama loosened Kenreimon’in’s kimono and rubbed her arms with warm cloths damp with water in which chrysanthemum petals had been steeped. “Tell me more of your dream, if you can.”
Kenreimon’in could hardly speak, still gasping in pain and fear. “He was ugly, and grinning, and said something, but I forget what. I don’t know now … if he was going to kill the baby or possess it! Oh, Mother, it hurts!” Kenreimon’in wished desperately, irrationally, for a knife to slice open her belly, to get the painful thing out.
Nii no Ama said to one of the ladies, “Go and bring us an exorcist. Now!”
• • •
Go-Shirakawa sat in an antechamber with Taira Kiyomori, but not companionably close. Here we are, he thought, two old monks about to become grandfathers again, and yet we barely trust one another enough to converse politely.
The birth was not going well. Despite the presence of all of the abbots from the major temples, each performing his special ritual—the abbot from the Ninna-ji doing the Peacock Sutra ritual, the Tendai abbot executing the Seven Healing Buddha’s rite, the Miidera abbot enacting the Kōngo Dōji—there was a spiritual disturbance with the Empress. Despite the Five Great Bodhisattvas ritual and the Five Great Mystic Kings ritual, some evil force was trying to have its way. Rokuhara vibrated with the sounds of bells and holy chanting. Smoke from incense and burning offerings filled the corridors. And still a yamabushi with his assistant mediums had to be called for to attend the Empress. Go-Shirakawa could hear the young mediums wailing and thrashing within the chamber. With so much being done on her behalf, how could the Empres
s be experiencing discomfort?
Go-Shirakawa looked again at Kiyomori. The grizzled old Taira was pale and seemed to be trembling. He often sighed and wiped sweat from his brow. Already there were whispers that the difficult birth was the vengeance of the spirits of the Minomoto warriors who had fallen at Taira hands. This must be nearly intolerable for him to hear, thought Go-Shirakawa. The Buddha taught that compassion is one of the greatest of virtues. Surely, at this time of mutual concern, I can show compassion even to my greatest adversary.
The Retired Emperor got up and sat next to Kiyomori. “It is difficult, this waiting, neh?”
“Do you know,” Kiyomori said softly, “I have never felt such fear, even during the worst of my battles.”
“That is because in this battle we are only the standard-bearers. Your daughter’s fate must be left to the skills of the holy men.”
“Are we not holy men?” asked Kiyomori with a wry, sad smile.
Go-Shirakawa could not think of a reply.
The yamabushi emerged from the birthing chamber, also pale and trembling.
“What news?” asked Go-Shirakawa and Kiyomori together.
The yamabushi shook his head. “I fear I am at a loss, Majesty, Lord Kiyomori. It is a very strong spirit that we fight, stronger than any I have encountered. He taunts us from the mouths of the mediums and says he will kill the Empress if we do not let him have his way. If only I could learn the spirit’s name or the identity he had in life, that might give me the leverage I need. But he is clever and evades my questions. Please excuse me. I must get some air to clear my head a moment so that I may continue the struggle.” The yamabushi bowed low and shuffled away. He left behind him the scent of ashes hanging in the air.
The scent triggered a memory for Go-Shirakawa, a memory of the last time he had stayed at Rokuhara. He remembered a dream in which a spirit spoke to him, the spirit of his dead brother Sutoku, the Shin-In. Go-Shirakawa stood and faced the doorway to the birthing chamber. “Oh, no,” he whispered. “No, brother, you shall not have your way. You may have been falsely removed from the throne, but you shall not regain it in this fashion. I swear by the vows I have newly taken to the Amida, I will defeat you.”
Go-Shirakawa turned and shouted after the yamabushi, “It is the Shin-In! It is Sutoku!” But the yamabushi could apparently not hear him over the din of the mediums and the chanting monks. Go-Shirakawa went to Kiyomori and, grasping his arm, hauled the bewildered Taira to his feet. “You are right, my friend, we are indeed holy men! Let us now put that to good use.” Clapping his hands, Go-Shirakawa began to chant loudly the Thousand-Armed Sutra. He began to stomp his feet in time with the chanting and clapping, and, nodding to Kiyomori to do the same, the Retired Emperor began to march around the building.
He stopped at the group of monks from Ninna-ji and, without pausing the chanting in the slightest, he commanded them with his eyes to join in. As he was the Retired Emperor, the monks had little choice but to obey.
Go-Shirakawa continued on to the monks from what was left of Enryakuji, and those from Kiyomizudera, and those from Miidera, Izu, and Nara, and commanded them also to join in. Soon hundreds of voices were chanting as one the Thousand-Armed Sutra. The monks followed Go-Shirakawa marching in circuit around the building, hundreds of hands clapping, hundreds of handbells chiming. Even the Shinto priests joined in, shaking their sacred sakaki branches in time with the chanting. The very floorboards of the building shook with the stamping feet, the walls vibrated with the pulsing drone of so many voices speaking as one.
As the fourth circuit was completed, there came screams from within the birthing chamber. This sound was soon followed by the tiny wail of a newborn baby. The shōji was flung open and Kiyomori’s fifth son, Shigehira, who was Assistant Minister of the Empress’s Household, knelt there, his face flushed with joy. “The Empress has delivered safely,” he announced, “and it is a boy!”
A mighty shout of joy erupted from all the throats that had been chanting, rattling the very roof tiles. Tears streamed from Lord Kiyomori’s eyes, and many wondered at the sight of Go-Shirakawa and Kiyomori grinning and dancing with each other as if they were old friends.
Shigemori, dressed in his finest robes, fired off arrows made from mugwort boughs from a bow made of mulberry wood into the four directions as well as to Heaven and Earth, to drive off any lingering evil spirits. Go-Shirakawa and Kiyomori together followed Shigemori into the birthing chamber to watch him place ninety-nine gold coins on a pillow for the new prince. Shigemori intoned to the baby, “Heaven is your father and Earth is your mother, and the spirit of the Sun-Goddess Amaterasu is your own.”
There was much singing and dancing and drinking in celebration throughout the day. The Seven Yin-Yang Masters arrived to perform the purification rituals, although one had such trouble making his way through the crowd that his sandal and hat were knocked off. The customary rice steamer was rolled from the ridgepole of the building—it should have been rolled to the north, for the birth of a boy, but it instead was dropped to the south. But these small, inauspicious portents were overlooked in the general gaiety of the occasion.
When Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa at last prepared to depart, Lord Kiyomori intercepted him. “Whatever disagreements we may have had, Majesty,” Kiyomori said, “it is impossible to express my gratitude for the use of your holy power in saving my daughter and grandson.”
“You forget we have done this together,” said Go-Shirakawa. “Would that we could always share skills so well in the cause of peace.”
A cloud seemed to cross Kiyomori’s eyes. “Of course, of course,” he said. “But, nonetheless, I am having sent to your home a thousand taels of gold dust, as a small token.”
Gasps went up among those around them who heard. It was an unseemly large sum, and of greater value than the many horses that Go-Shirakawa had given the Empress as a birthing gift. To outshine the Retired Emperor in such a manner was, in the very least, rude. Go-Shirakawa chose to overlook it. “This is … more than generous, Kiyomori-san.”
“It is my hope,” said Kiyomori bowing, “that it will bring you to remember this day fondly in times to come.”
Or to be lenient with you should there be future transgressions? wondered Go-Shirakawa. Truly, no matter how many vows you have taken, Kiyomori-san, the scheming old warrior in you never vanishes.
The news of the Imperial birth spread throughout the capital, and for just a moment of time the sorrows of past years were erased from people’s thoughts. They danced and sang openly in the streets with great, uncaring joy.
Munemori’s Visitor
Munemori received with equanimity the news of the Imperial birth. He was pleased to hear, at least, that his sister was in good health and spirits. But how well will she be, he wondered, when, in time to come, the boy’s demonic nature begins to show itself?
Unable to sleep, Munemori sequestered himself again, with only one brazier for warmth and only a pot of green tea for sustenance. He began to contemplate ending his life.
What use is there for me now? True, I have been promised chieftanship of the Taira, but what good would it be when serving under a demon Emperor? I would have to watch the destruction of Heian Kyō and preside over the fall of my family and clan. I have no wish to see such things.
The Shin-In surely has no more use for me. But how might I accomplish my own destruction? I do not have the courage for the cuts to the belly that have become popular among noble warriors these days. I am no warrior, despite what Father hopes. I could use the knife to the neck and let my blood in woman’s fashion, but that would be dishonorable. Poisons are unreliable. I do not think I could starve myself—
His thoughts were disrupted by a strong scent of ashes in the air. Munemori looked up and saw the shade of the Shin-In floating above him. “Well. Congratulations,” Munemori said, sardonically. “What will be your first task as Emperor, biting my sister’s breast?”
The Shin-In scowled thunderously at him. “Do
not take that tone with me. We have failed.”
“Failed?” Munemori felt an unexpected surge of happiness within him. “How can that be?”
“The Empress refused to have Kusanagi near her. And my meddling brother—never mind. They will feel my vengeance. All of them. We must consider what to do next.”
“We?” Munemori’s heart sank once more.
Nii no Ama, formerly Tokiko, wife of Lord Kiyomori, lay on her side gazing fondly at the new little Crown Prince in his mother’s arms. She remembered holding her own little infants, a blissful smile on her face, just as Kenreimon’in was wearing now, all her pain forgotten. It was one of the wonders of this strange mortal world, this giving birth. The fear and the pain, the joy and the love.
It brought an all-the-more-poignant stab to the heart to think it would all come to an end. They had averted disaster this time, but there would not always be a divinely inspired Retired Emperor to save the day.
If only Kenreimon’in had allowed Kusanagi to come with her, Nii no Ama thought sadly. Somehow Shigemori and I would have slipped away with the sword, perhaps replacing it with the copy Shigemori says lies at Ise. We could have returned the sword to my father the Dragon King, and humanity might yet have a chance. I would do such a thing no matter the risk, even if I had to pay for such theft with my own life.
But now it is clear that the Demon Realm has designs upon the Imperial Throne itself. If they should gain control of the regalia, especially Kusanagi … Nii no Ama shuddered, startling Kenreimon’in.
“Mother? Are you all right?”
“Merely a chill, my daughter.”
The newborn Crown Prince began to cry, a thin, pitiful wail.
Yes, cry, my grandson, thought Nii no Ama, for you will rule over the most terrible days this land has seen.
Shigemori’s Dream
He had walked a long way, along a beach that he had never seen before. The ocean was a deep green, and the sand felt spongelike beneath his feet. Deer nibbled at the grasses at the inland edge of the strand. One of them, a white deer, looked up at him, then bounded away. Shigemori walked and walked, aware that he was in a world not his own.