“But something changed her plan?” said Tomoe, buying time, urging him to tell her everything, boastful as he was; for she hoped to learn some small thing which would improve her situation.
“I wove a spell around her,” the rokubu continued. “I thought it would fail, for how could a mortal wizard place a glamour on a god? Nonetheless, I tried, for I had nothing to lose but my life, which I would lose anyway. And the spell worked! Possibly the Dragon Queen was so infatuated with her experiment she chose to allow my success as part of her scheme; I hope not. Perhaps the cause is that I am mightier than I knew! In whatever case, none could have been more surprised than was I.
“The spell was one which should have faded quickly, at least it would have if set upon a mortal woman. But on the immortal Dragon Queen, it took a different measure. The spell endured, and she has ever loved me with vengeance.”
“A goddess who makes herself mortal,” said Tomoe, “is only playing for a while. Death is an interlude to their everlasting lives. And divine love, whether gift or booty, is not to be spurned. Such fools are men! You might have lived with a goddess, and you took the road to revenge instead.”
“And you? What kind of fool are you?”
“As vast a fool as you. For I have betrayed a friend.”
“You have indeed! So now it is time that I return you to the hairy men of my Buddhist sect. They are the only ones among the sea-dead I could convince to serve me before Keiko; they think me, in fact, the personification of Smaller Mountain, for I have more disguises than you have seen today.” He laughed again. “They think they have defied me, defied the spirit of Smaller Mountain. But they serve me better by torturing you. The jono priestess will surely come when she hears you screaming. And I will have her name!”
“I regret it,” said Tomoe. “I regret all that I have done.”
The coldness passed from her numb limbs, and she was again in the rafters, three hairy men brandishing knives around her.
In the corner of the room stood the magician-ninja, and Tomoe was sorry to see her. She did not wear her mask at all, as though she knew it would be to no avail to hide herself from the rokubu, who thanks to Tomoe knew her only too well.
Tomoe could barely see the figure standing there, but still she would recognize that shining face, even in the misty world to which the rokubu had returned her, even with the agony of tight bonds blurring her vision more.
The magician-ninja raised a hand, and the saffron robes of the menacing, hairy beasts turned crimson with fire! They fell upon one another screaming, trying to put each other out. Their hair quickly caught fire as well, the whole of their bodies aglow. They hurled themselves like meteors through the opening in the floor, plunging to the large temple chamber below. The smell of burning fur and flesh lingered. The sound of their wails and writhings faded into moans, then ended altogether. The magician-ninja said,
“Only fire can permanently put the enslaved sea-dead to rest.”
The voice was deeper than Tomoe had expected, and relief engulfed her aching body when she realized it was Noyimo’s brother and not Noyimo who had come to the aid. He walked forward, knelt beside Tomoe, but made no effort to unbind her. He looked upon her with a kind of sorrow but not a hint of anger at her inadvertent treachery. She was attracted to him, she realized, because he looked like his sister.
“You must flee!” she said. “The rokubu is somewhere near, upon the invisible path.”
“I am not afraid,” he said. His voice was at once serene and mighty, wise with years but very young; and it sounded far away. Tomoe wondered if the jono priest were truly standing over her, or was a kind of projection as had visited her behind a waterfall long ago. Then, Tomoe had struck out with her swords, and found a jono priestess as intangible as air.
In the distance, Smaller Mountain rumbled with an angry sound, the first noise Tomoe had heard from outside the city’s walls since Keiko sent her here. Tomoe said,
“Your manner of killing the hairy one does not please the volcano.”
A throaty growl rose again, vibrating the stone building.
“The one you call a rokubu invented the story of necessitated sacrifice, to encourage the hairy Buddhists to serve him in lieu of Keiko. They were of a race which came originally from a mountainous land called Llusa, further than the Celestial Kingdoms, and they preferred to worship mountains. Because they hailed from far inland, the Dragon Queen’s hold on them was less than on other peoples she has managed to drown through time; and the rokubu was able to sway them from her with ancient Naiponese magicks, and his lies.”
The magician-ninja pulled his mask up around his face, a face too much like another’s for Tomoe to bear not seeing. He finished, “If the mountain erupts, it will be because Keiko wills it, not because of the hairy priests or the story the rokubu made them believe.”
“He told me something similar,” said Tomoe; “but not all his power is a lie. You will fight him? I would make myself useful in that battle!”
“I will fight him if I have to.”
“Cut my bonds for me! I will fight him for you, to redeem myself.”
“You cannot fight him, any more than you were able to fight me in Shigeno Valley.” He raised his palm to remind her how he had once pushed her away though she had not been close enough to touch. “If the fight must be, it is for me to do; but for the moment we are safe. He will not know that I am here until the moment you are free—then a battle will begin, if he cannot be wavered.”
“Then leave me tied!” she said. “I am very sorry to be the cause of all this trouble, and deserve to die in this place.”
“Your blame, too, the rokubu invented. He is master of lies! You are one of many tools, and not necessarily his. Do not think yourself blameworthy. But you will stay bound a while longer, until you and I have said all that we must say to one another. When you are free, it could be that we will not meet again.”
“You doomsay!” said Tomoe, trying not to show the pain of her arms and whole body, so that he would not unbind her suddenly, bringing the inevitable upon himself.
“I urge you against worry,” he said, soothing. “The felon lies even to himself, if he thinks to defeat the jono. Even with our leader’s name, we do not fear his kind. Our clan defeated his many generations ago, and the few who straggle have gained only one new sorcery against our many advances: the one who poses as a rokubu has discovered a method of conversing with the vague creatures upon the invisible path. We cannot do that, and are uncertain of its import. But it will not be enough for him! Even if I am slain, others will defeat him in time.”
These words did not much encourage Tomoe, for the magician-ninja spoke still of his possible demise. She said, “He does have further aid. He has Keiko.”
“That remains to be proven,” he said. “A dangerous game he entered, to cast a spell upon a goddess. The greatest mages are careful of simple demons. But deities! Only idiots compel them.”
“Still, he has the name I gave him.”
“That is an annoyance, but will serve him very little. He might use it to call Noyimo upon himself, then contend with both of us at once.”
“If it is of slight circumstance that I betrayed her name, why is it that your sister stays away?”
“Not for fear of him,” said the magician-ninja, and looked at Tomoe with sorrow richer in his eyes. The eyes were all that showed of his face. “She will not see you.”
Tomoe was stricken, and gasped.
“It may be that I should not tell you,” he said, “but I will. My sister came to you one time, to a place behind a waterfall, intent on saving you from jigai. Toshima Shigeno had asked her aid especial, but in truth, Noyimo later said, she would have helped you anyway. But when she came, twice you swung with swords, slashing through her image. It was not possible to hurt her bodily, but your attempt injured her love for you.”
“She thinks I would wish her dead? Tell her for me—tell her that I knew that I would fail. I had already faced
you on the battlefield, and you pushed me back with one raised hand. I did not know my swords would pass through her as through smoke, but I knew by some means I would be unable to hurt her. I slashed to show contempt! Not to kill. But I have no contempt for her anymore, and even then, it was contempt for myself, who slew the lord Shojiro Shigeno.”
“I will tell her,” said the magician-ninja, “if I survive to do so. She will be glad to understand you.”
“Then it is imperative you survive! Will you cut my bonds now, that I might return to my life among the ghosts?”
“I cannot unbind you. You are not bound.”
“I am! It hurts!”
“The objects of the sea-dead are no more real than are themselves. You must escape this misty place altogether, not merely the ropes you think bind you.”
“Keiko says I can never leave.”
“The Dragon Queen is mad. The one called a rokubu saw to that many years ago.”
“She was mistaken?”
“What she said to you is true only for those who come to her by drowning. You may return to the living world as you did once before, when you were cast onto the road to hell.”
The remembrance of Ushii Yakushiji brought pain to match that in her rope-constricted body. She asked, “Have I ever truly left the road to hell?”
“Take heart, Tomoe. Do not imagine defeat. You can succeed again.”
Tomoe was encouraged. She said, “I fought my way from hell with swords! Give me my weapon, and tell me whom to slay!”
“Slay only your fears, Tomoe.” The jono priest moved away, to take up Tomoe’s sword where the hairy men had put it with the magic saké bottle. That he could lift objects bodily made her wonder if he were a projection or not. Jono magic was beyond her understanding! He told her, “Yet you may in every case require a soul.” So saying, he thrust the sheathed sword into her obi, but still made no effort to unbind her.
Tomoe struggled against the ropes, but it remained of no avail. She nearly swooned from the agony of every pulled muscle. She had been bound so long; pain was cumulative, save in parts of her gone numb. It was difficult to believe she was caught within illusion. The hairy men had tied her cleverly. It could not be denied.
“That is not the way to struggle,” said the magician-ninja.
She stopped pulling at her bonds, looked up at him pitifully, like a wretched captured wolf. He reached forth and touched the double-scar on the samurai’s forehead, and said, “Focus on this. Place all your will near the center of your brow. You must relax your body, as you would before a battle. You have been trained to find your center in your belly? Move it up your spine. Move it up until your center finds the scar.”
“You are a Shinto warrior,” said Tomoe, reminding him of things he knew quite well. “You would teach me Zen?”
“Another taught you Zen, not I. I help you use what capacities you have already gained without knowing. Shinto magic alone cannot free you, for it is magic of Naipon alone, and we are far from Naipon. The Dragon Queen is as much a deity of the Celestial Kingdoms as of the Eternal Isles; indeed, her domain encompasses the whole of the ocean, touching the shores of many Buddhist nations, extending to lands of which we know nothing. From certain of these countries Naipon inherited the forerunners of Zen; thus Buddhist magic is useful to preserve against the Dragon Queen. I will aid you with Shinto magic; you must aid yourself with Zen. Think of it as ryobo-shinto, the Two Ways of the Gods, the Mikado’s own faith. Together, with your strength and mine, the two magicks may return you to the unmisted world.”
He held her with his eyes, eyes remarkably like Noyimo’s. She could not look away, could not help but listen as he intoned, “Focus. Focus.”
Saiminjutsu, the art of hypnosis, was among the jono repertoire. He pointed with two fingers at her double-scar. “Focus. Focus.”
At first she was sinking deeper into the sea, captivated by the magician-ninja’s mesmeric intonation. Then she was rising, moving upward through the central axis of her being, toward the top of her spine. From the middle of her brain, her attention moved forward to a point, until it seemed she was peering outward through an eye she had not known she possessed.
Light shone from her forehead, brighter than the face of the jono priest who looked so much like someone else that Tomoe wished to touch him, trusted him entirely, allowed his spells to weave around her and help her with what she must do within. The light began to grow, the light which was a part of her, and she imagined that the scar of her forehead came unattached and floated before her face, shining like a shuriken from a burning kiln. The scar—her family crest—two waves of the sea—the sea which held her captive on an isle—two waves like a vagina, growing large. She could no longer see the jono priest beyond the expanding, whirling circle of light.
The haze which had for so long surrounded her dispersed, burned away by the waves of light. The ropes which bound her legs to her arms behind her back also disappeared, like mist. She moved slowly to hands and knees, crawled to the yoni-light, the vaginal portal, the glowing funnel—and when she had passed through it, she found herself surrounded by the all too familiar coldness of the invisible path. In nothingness she drifted—freed from the deathly city at last, but arriving in something by no measure more pleasant.
The light which had sprung from her forehead winked out the instant she entered the path. Utter darkness enclosed her, and the sensation of weightlessness—no up, no down—was worse than it had been before. Before, it had been possible to find one’s feet, and to walk. This time she kicked her feet and could in no manner place them on anything. She made swimming motions, and thought she might be propelling herself through the frightful limbo, but was not certain.
Another thing was different from other visits here: the half-seen winged things which chattered and the shambling beasts who groaned a soundless dirge were not in evidence. The eeriness of those inhabitants had lent substance to the nowhere-place, and their absence made Tomoe feel completely deprived of sensory input. She tried to cry out, but no sound burst from her lungs. A horrific thought crossed her mind: she might only think she was moving like a swimmer. Since she could not feel her own body, it was possible she only imagined she still had one and that it moved.
Had it gone on longer, madness might have gripped her. But it became evident that she was moving through the emptiness, for at length she sensed the chattering and the dirge far off through the ether.
She realized her bodilessness was a kind of defense, wrought by jono magic, not by danger. Below her was a single figure in the darkness, the fat dirty rokubu. He held his arms out from his side in a dramatic pose of entreaty, as he addressed his half-visible audience of large shamblers and minute fliers. They did not perceive the witness adrift above the rokubu’s pretended theater, for she was less tangible than they.
She could not hear the rokubu speak, but the fliers and shamblers did hear, for they grew excited. They closed in around him, the shamblers swaying to their dirge, the fliers a cloud of anxious swallows. The rokubu was laughing soundlessly, joyously, so that Tomoe Gozen guessed the beasts were convinced of his reason, won to his intent.
The rokubu would free the monsters from their limbo-world, to defeat all among the jono cult, beginning with Noyimo’s brother. For this end he had wandered, unaging, upon the invisible path, resolving one of its riddles which the jono only suspected.
As if this knowledge were the only thing she had come to witness, Tomoe Gozen was drawn out into reality, swam out of the cold, black pit. She escaped from the invisible path on the moment of her realization, and lay upon wood, not the city’s stone.
Her hand went instinctively to the double-scar which had glowed and grown and provided the initial escape from Keiko’s deathly city. But the scar was gone, and Tomoe somehow missed its smooth presence upon her brow. She had used it like an eye, and now she felt by some means partly blinded because it had left her.
She lay in a place of rafters much smaller than the temple�
�s loft had been. She heard a prayer-drum beaten in a rhythm, and a woman’s voice chanting below. Around her was a cache of weaponry, and she remembered that Toshima had mentioned a gymnasium and armory hidden between the ceiling and the roof of the false farmhouse.
The invisible path had led her back to Toshima.
Looking about for a trapdoor, she found it, and slid it noiselessly aside. Below, Toshima sat on her knees before a little shrine, beating on the tiny drum and chanting a prayer against destruction of a friend or lover, with no mind for herself. For a moment Tomoe thought she could still hear the dirge of the shamblers on the invisible path, but realized quickly enough that she heard the rumble of a volcano, the source of Toshima’s concern.
Yet Tomoe was more disconcerted by the sight of the Lady than by the sound of the mountain. It was Toshima whom the samurai had fled, though the workings of her mind caused Tomoe to believe she fled for fear of magic.
The Lady was more beautiful than Tomoe had ever realized, although always Tomoe saw the surface beauty. Lady Toshima had changed miraculously while her samurai lover was away (and how long had Tomoe been gone? The hairy priests said she had slain each of three a dozen times, but only one per day. Forty days, therefore, had Tomoe dwelt among ghosts). It would be difficult to imagine this new Toshima hiding a more impressive nature behind coy allusions and childlike mannerisms ever again.
The Disfavored Hero Page 22