by Kara Dalkey
“There truly is much you do not know. Takakura has the protection of Amaterasu herself, and I am not so powerful as the First Kami. I could have possessed your sister’s child until the moment your brother made the incantation giving Antoku’s spirit to Amaterasu. If only my meddling brother hadn’t interfered. No, were things so simple, Munemori-san, I would have done them long ago.”
“So what is your intent, Majesty?”
“I intend to ride the mappo like a wild horse. As I am still denied rule, I will destroy that which I cannot have. I have done well so far, with the fire, the whirlwind, and the earthquake. But it is not enough. I will see to it that Heian Kyō itself ceases to be a place of any importance.”
“I suppose you will want more of my help in this endeavor.”
“Perhaps. Eventually. But it is Kiyomori-san himself who is helping the most at the moment.”
“I had noticed,” said Munemori.
Snow on Mount Fuji
Minomoto Yoritomo sat in the uppermost garden on the grounds of the monastery of Hirugashima, admiring the distant snow on Mount Fuji. It was only a week until the New Year, the beginning of the fourth year of the era of Jishō, and the air was bright with sunlight, but cold. Beside him sat a monk named Mongaku, who had been recently exiled from the capital himself.
“What perfection,” murmured Yoritomo, nodding toward the cone-shaped mountain.
“Yes,” agreed Mongaku. “How different from matters of this world.”
“But that is why you became a monk, is it not?” asked Yoritomo. “To remove yourself from worldly matters?”
“Not entirely, I confess,” said Mongaku. “Or not as it turned out. Did I tell you of the time I—”
“Got thrown out of one of Go-Shirakawa’s music parties because you were demanding temple donations from him? Yes, you had mentioned it.”
“Ah. Did I tell you I spent twenty-one days beneath the waterfall at Kumano chanting invocations to the Mystic King Fudō?”
“And how you were rescued by his messengers. And of the time you lay on a sun-baked hillside for three days, letting flies and mosquitoes bite to see if you could withstand suffering. Yes, Mongaku, your austerities are legendary, there is no doubt of it.” Yoritomo had spent nearly eighteen years in exile now, and although his mild behavior had earned him the respect of his captors, he was still allowed few visitors. Mongaku was one of the few, and Yoritomo enjoyed discussing philosophy and history with the lively and strange little monk.
“Ah. I should save some of my stories, so I will not bore you with repetition, then.”
“You are never boring, Mongaku.”
“That is reassuring, in any case. The New Year approaches. Do you and your wife’s family have any plans for the occasion?”
“A quiet observance, I think, will be all. What good is it to plan a celebration when I can invite so few to attend?”
“True.” Mongaku sighed. “What good is it to plan a celebration when there is so little to celebrate these days? I do not know what will become of our poor country.”
“It is said these are the Latter Days of the Law,” Yoritomo murmured. “I suppose we cannot expect much.” He looked around and noticed that the monks who normally observed him seemed to have wandered off. They often did when Mongaku came to visit. It seemed they had heard his stories too often themselves.
Mongaku apparently noticed the absence of the watchers, too. He narrowed his eyes at Yoritomo, and said in a low growl, “It is one thing to not expect much. But to ignore calamity, that is entirely another!”
“Ignore calamity? What are you talking about?”
“Have you not been hearing the news from the capital?”
“I believe my guardians tried to shield me from it, when they can.”
“You have not heard of the fire and the whirlwind and the earthquake?”
“Ah. Yes, I had heard of those. Sure signs of the mappo.”
“Surely signs that the gods are not pleased with things, neh?”
“So they say,” Yoritomo replied cautiously. He feared where Mongaku’s words were leading.
Mongaku leaned closer, and said in a harsh whisper, “Have you not heard that Taira Shigemori has died?”
“Yes, there was some word of that, but what is that to me?”
“It should be everything! The wisest man in the capital is gone, and now there is no check upon his father. Have you not heard that Kiyomori has locked up the Retired Emperor in the Toba Mansion and will not say when he will free him?”
Yoritomo blinked, startled. “I had not heard this.”
“Just as that fool Nobuyori did, he locked up the Retired Emperor. Rumor has it Kiyomori might even kill Go-Shirakawa.”
“He would not dare!”
“What would he not dare? Kiyomori is supreme, now. They say he is going to make Takakura abdicate soon and put his own puling infant grandson upon the Jeweled Throne. No doubt, Kiyomori will then make himself Regent, and the Taira hold upon the land will be complete. No other family will have the highest posts. No one will dare speak against the Taira, or deny them anything they demand. Their tyranny will be total.”
Yoritomo felt his jaw clench. “That would be … regrettable.”
“Regrettable! Is that all you can say? You, whose clan was nearly exterminated by the Taira? I realize it is improper to speak for any other man, but it surprises me your blood is not boiling!”
Yoritomo looked around again, hoping no one was in listening distance. “Given my situation, good Mongaku, I have felt it important for the sake of my clan not to cause trouble.”
“How much worse could it be? With Taira Kiyomori in complete control, he may have his men seek out what is left of your clan and wipe you out entirely. What is there to stop him? Your time may be running out. If the Minomoto at least attempt to fight back, there will be honor and glory to your name. If you continue to do nothing, you and all your family has known and accomplished will vanish like books burned in a fire.”
Yoritomo noticed some movement in the woods nearby, and he feared his guardians might be returning. “I am one who upholds the law, Mongaku. It would stain my reputation and that of my clan were I to turn renegade now.”
Softly, Mongaku said, “I have had word from the Dharma Seal Jōken, who now is one of the few to tend the Retired Emperor in his exile. Jōken says Go-Shirakawa was contemplating sending an Imperial edict to you before he was arrested. Would such a thing not change your mind?”
Yoritomo swallowed hard. “If I were commanded by Imperial edict, how could I not obey? But until I see such a thing, I will obey the strictures of my exile.” The guardian monks had moved out of the trees and were now approaching through the garden. Yoritomo stood, and said, “I thank you, good Mongaku, for your history lesson today. You have such interesting views on matters of the past. I must go to prayers now. But, as always, I will think on what you have said.”
“Do so,” said Mongaku. “Think upon it. There are many who would thank and bless you if you do. We will speak again.” Mongaku stood and bowed and walked away.
Yoritomo took a last glance at Fuji-san as a cloud passed across the sun, causing a shadow to flow over the perfect mountain. A cold wind rose, and Yoritomo had to pull his robes closer around him. He nodded to his guardians and began to walk back to the monastery buildings, putting his hands into his sleeves for warmth. His left hand fell upon a folded piece of paper. He did not pull it out, for he knew what it was—he read it almost every night. It was a message from someone claiming to be his brother. “This fledgling white dove …”
A New Emperor
So. He has done it at last,” muttered Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa over his cold, meager bowl of rice.
“He has,” said Dharma Seal Jōken, sadly. “Your son must abdicate the throne and now a one-year-old shall sit upon it, wearing the vermilion robes.”
“A one-year-old Taira,” growled Go-Shirakawa. “That is all that matters.” In the distance, he cou
ld hear the fulling mallets of weavers and the boom of the bell of a nearby temple. Looking out on the winter garden, he saw the snow was unswept from the path, untouched by even the footprints of birds. “While I matter not at all, it would appear.”
“That is not so, Majesty, or he would not keep you here.”
“Keep me alive, you mean. Alas, while my son was Emperor, I had some modicum of protection but now … I fear these days may be my last.”
“I would not worry so, Your Majesty. Had Kiyomori wanted you dead, he would have done so shortly after your arrest.”
“He’s just biding his time. Remember Narichika? Kiyomori wanted him dead, but waited months before he had the execution carried out. What think you? Is there a fall off a cliff onto sharpened stakes in my future, too?”
“Surely not, Majesty. You are of an entirely more elevated rank. Kiyomori might defy the law of the land, but surely he would not defy the law of the gods.”
“You do not know Kiyomori-san as I do. I would not put it past him to defy anything. Even his son, Shigemori, thought he was mad. Do you know, there are rumors Kiyomori hired a wizard to kill Shigemori?”
Dharma Seal Jōken sat back in astonishment. “I can scarcely believe such a thing.”
“Oh, I would believe it. I would.”
Jōken paused before saying, “I have heard Kiyomori is extending to himself and his wife the Equality of Three Empresses.”
“Hah. I am not surprised. It merely means Kiyomori can now come and go as he pleases in the Imperial palace. He can use any palace servant or bureaucrat, high or low, as if they were a Taira household servant. It’s as much as if Kiyomori had appointed himself Emperor.” Go-Shirakawa flung down his rice bowl bitterly and cradled his head in his hands.
“Majesty, Majesty, take heart. Calm yourself, for I have other news as well.”
“What other news can matter?”
“Only this. I have a source who has spoken with Minomoto Yoritomo at Izu. The Ason of the Minomoto is reported to have said that if an Imperial edict was sent him, he would obey it.”
Go-Shirakawa snorted a laugh. “What a shame I did not issue one while I could.”
“Majesty, you still have breath within you, and there are those here who will serve you unwaveringly. Whether your days are long or short, only the Amida and the bosatsu can know, but do not spend them in despair. Is it not more honorable to spend one’s last hours fighting to save the land one loves? Your chance to change the course of things, however, may be fleeting.”
Go-Shirakawa rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. “But you feel there is a chance, nonetheless.”
“There is, Majesty. The people on the streets mutter that it is unseemly that Kiyomori, who has reputedly renounced the world with his monk’s vows, now drains wealth from the Imperial palace into Rokujō and Nishihachijō. They resent the red-jacketed thugs whom the Taira send after any speaking ill of Kiyomori. The noble families resent being shut out of all promotions and fear losing their livelihoods. The support for opposition is there, Majesty, if you will only use it.”
Go-Shirakawa sat up straight. A cold wind blew in from the garden, ruffling the hems and sleeves of his robes. But he did not feel the chill, for a fire of determination spread through him of a sort he had not felt in a very long time.
Three Goddesses
Newly Retired Emperor Takakura stood on the great platform of the Shrine of Itsukushima, looking out upon the Inland Sea. The sun was setting, framed within the great torii standing out in the water. The early-spring breeze brought the scent of new-growing things from Aki Province across the sea. But Takakura did not feel the optimism of spring, despite being only seventeen. He felt the desperation of a man who did not know how much time he had left in the world.
He had come to Itsukushima, the great shrine Kiyomori had built, on the advice of Kenreimon’in and her mother Nii no Ama. When word arrived at the palace that Takakura was to abdicate, Takakura had accepted the news calmly. He knew it was inevitable.
But Kenreimon’in became beside herself with worry. She told Takakura to go on a pilgrimage to Itsukushima and seek the protection of the Dragon King of the Sea.
And so, Takakura let it be known that he would undertake pilgrimage to the great shrine of the Taira, to show he bore them no ill will. For eight days he sailed downriver and by sea to the great shrine. There he was received with great celebrations and ceremonies. He had made a show of admiring the pagoda, the rich votive hangings, the bronze and gold fixtures. Sutras were dedicated for the occasion, and shrine maidens danced to the honor of the Imperial family and to Benzaiten and her sisters.
At last, Takakura had managed to convince the shrine priests that he wanted some time alone to commune with the kami of the sea. The entire east wing of the shrine, where the walkway jutted out over the water, was cleared of attendants, shrine maidens, priests, nobles, and servants, so that Takakura could have solitude.
Takakura took some sacred rice cakes from a box and crumbled them over the water. “Lord Ryujin-wo, Great Kami, Dragon King of the Sea, hear me. I, who am descended from Amaterasu, beg that you hear my plea. I have come—” But he stopped speaking in astonishment as three women rose from the sea until they hovered over it, their toes just above the waves. Their long black hair hung down their backs, just touching the water. Their kimonos were the same gray as the sea beneath them, the same gray as is worn for a funeral.
“Hail, former Emperor of Nihon,” said the one on the left.
“Hail, Retired Sovereign,” said the one on the right.
“Hail,” said the one in the middle.
Takakura bowed to them. “Greetings to you, goddesses of the sea. Am I correct in assuming that you”—he nodded to the one in the middle,—“are Benzaiten herself?”
“I am,” said the goddess. “We are honored, former Emperor, that you bring your petitions all this way to us. We are not often so noticed by those so exalted as you. Tell us what you wish of us, and we will answer.”
“I have come at the behest of your sister, Nii no Ama.”
The three ladies laughed. “Yes, we have heard she is a nun now. How strange. And only of Second Rank.”
“Please, hear me,” Takakura persisted. He knelt on the wet boards of the pier and grasped the railing uprights as if they were the bars of a cage.
“You have come to ask for the Dragon King’s protection,” said Benzaiten. “That is a bold request, even from a former Emperor.”
Takakura took from his sleeve a small knife and swiftly, before he could change his mind, he sliced a cut across the palm of his left hand. He let the blood flow freely down to join the seawater below. “By the blood of the Imperial line, I beg you, hear my plea! I will spill all I have, if I must.”
Benzaiten reached up her hand and clasped Takakura’s palm. “There is no need, Majesty. We are pleased to listen to your request.”
“We merely wished to know the strength of your resolve,” said one of her sisters.
Takakura felt as if ice was pressed into his left hand. He looked at it as Benzaiten took her hand away. His cut had completely healed. “Then I ask you this, honorable Benzaiten. I wish protection, but not for myself. I ask on behalf of my father, Go-Shirakawa. He has the courage and wisdom to rule this land well, I know he does. But he has always been opposed by Kiyomori. I am told by your sister Nii no Ama that the Dragon King withdrew his protection from Kiyomori. So I now ask that that same protection be given to my father, so that he may prevail over Kiyomori. For myself I ask nothing. I will be content enough if my father may be saved.”
“Such filial piety is impressive,” said Benzaiten. “I have conveyed your words to my father Ryujin, he has listened through my ears, and he says he agrees to your request. Go-Shirakawa will be spared and supported by the kami of the sea.”
“Thank you!” Takakura breathed. “Thank you! If there is anything else I may do to seal this pact of protection, you and your father need only ask it.”
&n
bsp; Benzaiten said, “Alas the thing you might have done to bring peace to your land, you can no longer do. Had you come to us while you still held the Jeweled Throne, and commanded the Sacred Regalia, there was a way. But now … it cannot be asked of you. Now only your son can perform that task.”
“Then I hope he will prove brave of heart enough to accomplish it.”
Benzaiten opened her mouth to speak again, but her eyes suddenly went wide and she and her sisters vanished into sea mist. Takakura heard footsteps behind him and he turned.
An old warrior, one of Kiyomori’s cronies, had come up behind him, concern on his creased face. “Majesty, are you all right?”
“I thought I had instructed the priests that I should be left alone.”
“So you had, Majesty. But even in solitude, you must have guards who watch you from afar. I thought I saw you injure yourself, so I came to see that all was well.”
“All is well, I assure you.” Takakura stood up.
“You have been weeping, Majesty.”
“Who would not weep, in my situation?”
“Ah. And did the gods hear you?”
“They did,” Takakura said.
“I see,” said the old warrior. “And were your prayers answered?”
Takakura wondered how much the old Taira retainer had heard. But it hardly mattered, Takakura thought. Bravely he answered, “They were.”
“Then will you return to the main compound, Majesty, and let your former subjects rejoice with you? I am told the sea can be untrustworthy, and dash you with its waves when it pleases.”
Takakura managed a smile. “The sea can dampen my sleeves all it likes, so long as it bears another boat to safety.” He turned and walked back to the main shrine building, aware of the old warrior’s gaze on his back.
A Distressing Revelation
Kiyomori sat on the verandah of his mansion at Fukuhara, watching the spring sunlight dancing on the water of the sea. I hope the spirit of Shigemori is watching from the Pure Land or wherever he has gone, Kiyomori thought. I know he does not approve, but surely he must see the importance of what I have done since he left. All is proceeding as it should.