by Kara Dalkey
After some while, he rounded a sharp cliff spur and beheld an enormous torii standing out in the water. The torii was taller than any he had ever seen. Its uprights and crossbeams were larger than any natural tree. “To what shrine or god does this torii belong?” he asked himself.
“It is for the Kasuga kami,” a voice rumbled out of the ocean.
Shigemori wondered at this, for the god of the Kasuga Shrine was one of the most venerated of the ancient kami. The kami was originally known as Ama no Koyane, and had been the priestly god whose prayers helped bring Amaterasu out of her cave. What should such a venerable one have to say to me? thought Shigemori.
As if out of mist, a crowd of people appeared upon the beach, walking toward him. Shigemori was not afraid of them until one of them held up in both hands the severed head of an elderly monk.
Shigemori asked, “Whose head is that? Why do you show it to me?”
“It is the head of the one who calls himself Jōkai, the Taira Chancellor-Novice. The Kasuga god brings justice to him to pay for the many great sins he has committed.”
“My father,” Shigemori breathed, now recognizing the face. Jōkai was the monk-name Kiyomori had taken, though he never used it. The Kasuga god had once said, through an oracle, that it would accept nothing from a man with an impure heart. Has my father, because he ignores his holy vows, so offended the Kasuga god that it now demands justice?
Shigemori awoke suddenly, his heart pounding. He sat up, and thought he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the pale ghost of Akugenda Yoshihira, the late general Minomoto Yoshitomo’s eldest son, standing beside him. Shigemori turned his head, and the apparition was gone.
The sun was rising and a sweet breeze of spring was wafting through the blinds. Six months had passed since the birth of the Crown Prince, and the happiness the event had brought had faded like New Year’s irises. Again Lord Kiyomori was behaving with suspicion regarding Go-Shirakawa. Shigemori suspected that his father was jealous of Go-Shirakawa’s impressive display of holy magic at the Imperial birth. Despite Kiyomori’s attempt to have the Taira dominate the event by having the lying-in at Rokuhara, the Retired Emperor had outshone the Taira lord, and Kiyomori would likely never forgive that.
Shigemori sighed in regret for his father’s pigheadedness. The feel of the ominous dream stayed with Shigemori while he rose and dressed, as dew will cling to sleeves when one has walked through tall grasses. “It is time, then,” Shigemori said to himself. “The luck of the Taira has run out.”
He was startled by an urgent rapping at the shōji. “Who is it?”
“My lord, your father’s advisor, Kaneyasu, is here. He seems quite distressed.”
Fearing the worst, Shigemori arranged his robes around him. “Send Kaneyasu in.”
The old general entered, his tanned and weathered face a mask of concern. Kaneyasu’s gray hair was unknotted, and his robes hung wrong on his thin frame as though he had hastily dressed.
“Your face does not bode good news, good Kaneyasu,” said Shigemori. “Do you bring word of my father?”
Kaneyasu bowed and sat down. “Not news as such, Lord Shigemori. But … something has occurred, and I do not know whom to tell of it. You are his son, and acting chief of the Taira, and therefore, perhaps, I thought it best to bring it to you. Although, it may be nothing, and I am disturbed by only a mist on the mountains.”
“Please feel free to unburden yourself to me. Any matter of concern to the Taira and Lord Kiyomori I will hear with greatest interest.”
Kaneyasu sighed and stared at the floor. “You may think it foolish, my Lord. But … I have had an extraordinary dream.”
Shigemori’s skin prickled. “Does it concern a long beach and a great torii and the voice of the Kasuga god?”
Kaneyasu looked up, his face pale. “So it does, my lord.”
“I have, just this morning, had this same dream.”
“Then it must be more than a mere dream, my lord. It is a message from the divine.”
“I fear so. Have you told my father?”
“I have not. I am afraid of what his reaction might be.”
“I understand. I would tell him myself, but it would be pointless. My father no longer fully trusts me, though he has no cause for such suspicion.”
Kaneyasu rubbed his gray-stubbled chin. “There is a thing I wish to confess to you, Lord Shigemori.”
“What is it?”
“It was my men, under my orders, who saw to the death of your brother-in-law Narichika. I was commanded by your father to see that it was done.”
Shigemori looked away. “I had suspected it. My father was upset that I overstepped his authority in pleading for Narichika’s life. I suppose I am as guilty of Narichika’s death as you are, Kaneyasu.”
“But your father is most guilty of all,” said Kaneyasu. “Even if Narichika had been involved in a rebellion, exile should have been enough punishment. He did not deserve to die in such a dishonorable fashion.”
Shigemori nodded. “It is no wonder the Kasuga god demands justice. So much unnececessary death has been dealt at my father’s urging.”
“There was one thing in the dream, my lord … I wonder if you heard it, too?”
“What thing is this?”
Kaneyasu took a deep breath. “The Kasuga god said that now the Dragon King’s promise has been fulfilled. But because Lord Kiyomori has broken his promise to the Dragon King, and has broken his vows to the Amida, the kami are lifting their protection from the land and allowing the demons to have their way. Do you know what this might mean, my lord?”
Shigemori found himself in the uncomfortable position of having to lie. “No, I awoke before I heard any such thing. I cannot imagine what that part of your dream might mean, although it does not bode well.”
With another sigh, Kaneyasu slowly stood. “I agree, it portends bad times to come. I fear I must leave now, Lord Shigemori, before Kiyomori learns of my whereabouts.”
“I understand. I thank you for having the courage to come here and speak with me. If there is ever anything you require of me, you need only let me know. Your loyal service to my family has always been … admirable.”
Kaneyasu paused and tilted his head. “Except for Narichika?”
“As I have said, I hold you blameless for that. To have disobeyed my father would have required your own death.”
“A true warrior does not shirk death in the face of doing what is right. I do not hold myself blameless. Good day, Lord Shigemori.” The old man bowed and departed.
What can I do? thought Shigemori, his pulse beginning to pound harder with fear. Has my caution in dealing with the matter of Kusanagi doomed the world? Surely it cannot be so. Perhaps Kaneyasu misunderstood his dream, and yet it is so full of truth. I must learn if there is anything I can yet do. I will go to consult the famous oracles at the Shrine of Kumano, and see what they can tell me.
Shigemori called for his servants and told them to make preparations for a pilgrimage. But by midmorning, another visitor was announced to him.
“My Lord, your brother Munemori has come. He says he wishes to relate to you a dream.”
Shigemori went cold inside. How many others have the gods informed of my father’s shameful behavior? “Yes, of course I will see him. Let him enter at once.”
Munemori entered the meeting room with dignified calm and even managed to bow and sit with a manner of grace. How he has changed, Shigemori thought in wonder. Perhaps bearing up under the burden of his grief has made him a more sober and thoughtful gentleman.
“Brother, your visit delights me,” Shigemori said. “I am glad to see you have chosen to leave your seclusion and be part of the world once more.”
“While it is true that the time for personal grief has passed,” said Munemori, “I fear a time for greater grief may be upon us. I have had a most terrible dream, brother.”
“Ah. Did it involve a beach, a torii, and the voice of the Kasuga god?”
Munem
ori’s brows rose, but his eyes held no surprise. “Why, so it did. Have you had the same dream?”
“I did and so did one other, who, I am sure, would prefer to be unnamed. How did your dream … end?”
Munemori glanced away. “With the showing of our father’s head and warnings of dire events to come.”
“Ah.” Shigemori’s heart sank. “It would seem the good fortune of our clan has run out at last.”
“Perhaps not,” said Munemori, hastily. “I woke in the middle of the night from my dream and immediately consulted … a spiritual person as to what it might mean, what I might do. And I received an answer.”
“Yes?”
Munemori leaned closer. “Are you certain there are no servants listening?”
“One can never be certain, brother. But speak softly, and I am sure no one else will hear.”
“Very well. Um, I am aware of our family’s … duties concerning the Imperial Sacred Sword.”
“You are?”
“Mother has been worried of late. What if something should happen to you? Naturally it was best that I also be informed.”
“Ah. Yes. Of course.” Shigemori was certain he was missing something in Munemori’s meaning, but he could not comprehend what. “Did the … spiritual person you consulted refer to the sword?”
“Indeed,” said Munemori. “It is important that Kusanagi be given to the proper hands.”
“I know that. I have been awaiting the proper time—”
“The time must be soon, brother,” Munemori said.
Shigemori looked away, chagrined. “Yes, yes. I understand. But I will be leaving very soon on a pilgrimage to Kumano to learn more of this dream. As soon as I return—”
“A pilgrimage!” said Munemori. “But that is perfect!”
“Yes, I thought it would be appropriate but—”
“You misunderstand. It is better that you be far from matters, and therefore be thought blameless.”
Shigemori paused. “You are correct. I do not understand.”
Munemori looked humbly down at his hands. “I am offering to take your burden from you, brother.”
“Burden?”
Munemori sniffed and dabbed at one eye with his sleeve. “Though I may have returned to the world, I have found I take no joy in it. My grief has drained me of all interest in continuing my existence.”
“Do not speak so, brother. It saddens me to hear you say such things.”
“It is true. Therefore, I am willing to take the risk, to save our clan. To save the world. I will steal Kusanagi. If I am caught, I will blame no one but myself. I will accept my execution gladly, and join my beloved wife and child in Paradise.”
Shigemori reached over and touched his weeping brother’s sleeve. “This is a most courageous offer. But I cannot ask such sacrifice of you, Munemori.”
“You must!” Munemori said, gripping Shigemori’s arm so hard it almost hurt. “Our clan relies upon you, brother. Without your leadership, we are lost. You are the most respected of the Taira. If you are dishonored, so are we all. While I, I am of no account. No one expects anything of me. If I am to fall, people will merely shrug and say, ‘It is no matter. He was no one of importance.’”
Shigemori had to admit Munemori was right. “You speak no less than truth, Munemori-san, much as it pains me to say so. Already you are proving that you are worthy of much more in people’s estimation.”
Munemori waved his hand. “That is of no consequence. I no longer care what others think of me. Only … please allow me to do the world this one service. If I succeed, only the gods will know, but my soul will be at peace, and I will feel like my insignificant life has had some worth.”
Shigemori was touched by his brother’s plea. To deny him this chance to prove himself would be heartless of me. And he is right, the matter of Kusanagi must be dealt with soon. “Is there anything you require of me?”
Munemori’s tears dried almost instantly. “A small thing, only. You are Palace Minister, and therefore permitted to go wherever you wish in the Imperial Compound. Assign to me some of your duties while you are gone to Kumano. Give me a writ with your permission and seal. That way I may have access to … whatever I may need.”
“I understand. Yes, that makes sense. You are wise, Munemori. I regret having underestimated you in times past.”
A slight smile appeared on Munemori’s lips. “It is my hope, dear brother, that my deeds may elicit from you even more such regret in time to come.”
The Whirlwind
And so, as Shigemori made preparations for his pilgrimage, Munemori gradually began to take over some of Shigemori’s duties at the Imperial palace. Every morning, Munemori would arrive just before dawn, dressed entirely correctly in First Rank black robes and silk hat. Munemori would proceed to Shigemori’s office in the Palace Ministry Building and look over the plans for further repairs on the older palace buildings. He approved only those which Shigemori had already authorized. Then Munemori would hear the recommendations from the household ministries on preparations for the upcoming Iris and Weaver Festivals. Again, he would approve only those preparations Shigemori had instructed him to.
At midmorning, Munemori would conduct an inspection of the chamberlains to ensure they were in proper dress and deportment. Munemori would visit each of the Household Ministries offices to learn what resources they needed and authorize purchasing of rice and silk for them. At midday, Munemori would take a modest meal with others of middle rank of the Taira clan who served at the palace. In the afternoon, Munemori would speak with the various ministers of the palace guards and police. There were many different, often competing, martial offices in the Imperial Compound, and Munemori would have to play peacemaker and ombudsman, ensuring that the Guards of the Left were no more favored than the Guards of the Right, and the Guards of the Inner Ward had their requirements met as often as the Guards of the Outer Walls.
In late afternoon, Munemori would pay a call upon his sister the Empress, to see if there was anything she or the Crown Prince needed.
In all these things, Munemori performed exactly according to Shigemori’s instructions, in a calm and dignified manner. In this way, although the Fujiwara and other non-Taira nobles of the palace did not initially trust Munemori, soon they took no notice of him whatsoever. As the days passed, Munemori was able to walk anywhere within the Imperial Compound without incurring challenge or suspicion.
Fourteen days went by and then, on the Twelfth Day of the Fifth Month, Rice-Sprouting Month, in the third year of the era Jishō, Munemori received word that Shigemori was departing at last for Kumano. Munemori arrived at the Imperial palace at the usual hour, only this time he brought with him a large, long chest of lacquered wood. Within it lay several silk brocade winter kimonos, and the copy of Kusanagi that had been hanging in the shrine at Ise. Shigemori had apparently spared no expense to purchase the silence of the priests at Ise, and Munemori doubted that even the shrine attendents who had delivered it to Munemori’s mansion had known what they were bringing him.
At his midmorning inspection of the chamberlains, Munemori arranged the meeting for a room next to the Fan Window Chamber where the Imperial Regalia were currently being kept. At the end of the inspection, Munemori opened the lacquered box, saying, “My brother, Lord Shigemori, offers these as a gift for your servants in hopes for their prayers for his safe journey—What is this? Why, these are for the wrong season! There must have been some mistake. Please forgive me, my lords. I must have been given the wrong box. I will see that the matter is corrected immediately.”
The chamberlains politely bowed, saying they took no offense, and they were certain the generous Shigemori had made a simple mistake, and they certainly would include him in their prayers.
Munemori thanked and dismissed them. In the moment he was alone, Munemori slid open the shōji to the Fan Window Room and carried the box in.
Two young women, only sixteen or seventeen, lay on the floor, scribbling poetr
y. Beside them, on the wall, hung Kusanagi and the jade jewel. The mirror, of course, would be in the Imperial Shrine. It was a sign of the decadence of the times, the ghost of the Shin-in had told Munemori, that the Imperial Regalia were no longer guarded by warriors but often only by little maidservants. Fortunately for Munemori.
The girls’ long raven hair spilled down their backs like the flow of ink from a brush, and Munemori realized it had been a long time since he had enjoyed the company of a woman. One of them looked up at him and coyly hid her face behind her wide sleeve, smiling.
“Oh, look, a great Taira
Comes blundering amid the
ripe cherry blossoms …
Have you lost your way, my Lord?”
Munemori recovered himself. “Didn’t you hear the chamberlains calling for you? They have something important to announce to all the household servants. You had better go at once.”
The girls gasped and sat up, straightening their kimonos, dithering because it was improper to be seen standing up, improper to be seen by a strange man at all, improper to leave the regalia unattended.
“I will remain with the regalia, ladies,” Munemori said, “until you can send someone to watch in your place.”
The girls bowed low to him. “Thank you, you are most kind and generous—”
“Go, go, do not make the chamberlains upset with your tardiness.”
The girls lifted the hems of their long kimonos and hastened out through the shōji, closing it behind them.
As soon as the shōji was shut, Munemori pulled the copy of Kusanagi from the lacquered chest and went to the wall. He took Kusanagi from its scabbard, feeling the faintest hum and vibration when he grasped its hilt. Swiftly, he placed the copy into the scabbard and placed Kusanagi in the chest, tossing the kimonos over it. He put the lid firmly back on the chest and sat down to wait.
It was some minutes before the girls noisily returned, arguing with each other as they opened the shōji.