by Various
“Oh. Then you know nothing of any mysterious occurrences in the compound recently.”
A long pause. “Well, . . .” Aikiko began. And then she rolled closer to Kishi’s mat and in excited whispers began a torrent of stories that made Kishi’s hair stand on end. Tales of illness, first servants and then minor nobles becoming sick with symptoms never seen before. Children, particularly girl children, and young maids disappearing. “Just last month,” Aikiko said, “there was a girl, very strong and curious like you, who died mysteriously. Only her bloodstained kimonos were found. The Great Lady had looked after her like a daughter, and she was most distraught.”
My predecessor, thought Kishi. “And no one knows who, or what, killed this girl?”
Aikiko sighed. “There are so many stories. Who knows what to believe? Apparitions of pale, skeletal women have been seen in the tea garden, and horse-headed men in the Banquet Pine Grove, and tengu near the Treasury Ministry. Or perhaps the poor girl was just of the wrong family, fell in love with the wrong man, offended the wrong person. It happens.”
“Surely you cannot believe her death was ordinary?” asked Kishi.
Aikiko paused a moment. “I saw her kimonos—before we burned them. They looked as though they had been torn by some giant animal. No, I do not think her death was ordinary.”
“Ah.” Kishi shivered. Bennin had said there was not much left of her. “These monsters that have been seen, were they all in the north end of the Imperial Compound?”
“Yes! So you see why you mustn’t go there.”
“Of course,” said Kishi, thinking precisely the opposite.
Preparations
The next morning, Kishi rummaged through the one trunk that had accompanied her on the journey. It contained her newest kimonos and a few of her personal things. Kishi looked through these with a different eye. The ebony hair sticks could be made sharper and turned into stakes or arrows or throwing stilettos, as could the writing brushes. The fans had edges that could be sharpened for slicing and cutting. Her brothers had taught her the warrior’s art of making arrows. She would simply have to apply those skills to somewhat unusual materials.
At the bottom of the trunk, Kishi found a black hakima jacket and black leggings such as a warrior wears under his armor. There was a note from her brother.
Father suggested you might want these as a keepsake. Never forget your warrior blood, despite what the pasty faces may do to you.
—Higashi
Kishi hugged the black garments. Now she might be able to move about by night unseen and unhindered by the many layers of robes. The warrior garb would be suspicious if she were caught. But she did not intend to get caught.
Aikiko came in from the open verandah. “Ah, I see you are enjoying yourself. I brought you something.” She held out a handful of little spheres of dried purple flowers and silk streamers. “These are old decorations from last year’s Iris Festival. We’ll be replacing them in a few days with new ones. But, given your new name . . . I thought you might like these, to put in letters and things.”
“Do they really protect against demons?”
Aikiko shrugged. “So they say. And where is the harm in having pretty flowers hanging about the palace if they do not?”
“Thank you,” said Kishi, and she put the iris balls into the bottom of her long wide sleeves. Perhaps I can throw them at demons, Kishi thought. Or take them apart and grind the dried petals into a powder I can blow through a bamboo straw.
“Oh, and here is one more thing. A letter.” Aikiko held out a folded piece of plain white rice paper. “Perhaps it is your first love poem from a secret admirer.”
Kishi blushed, hoping her roommate was wrong. Fortunately the note was from Bennin.
How fares our newest iris blossom?
Does she prevail against the weeds yet?
May this one clear any ground for you?
A knothole in the willow by the koi pond will receive your reply. I will retrieve it from there this evening.
—Bennin
After Aikiko had left the room, Kishi wrote out a hasty reply on the back of Bennin’s letter. She didn’t have time to think of fancy allusions, so she stated matters simply.
I think I have learned where the demons are.
And I think I can find or make weapons.
I should be able to do battle soon.
A map of the Imperial Compound would help.
—Kishi
She folded up her note and stuck it in her sleeve until she had a chance to slip away and find the tree by the koi pond.
But that chance did not come. Hour after hour Kishi had to spend at Lady Ankimon-in’s side, arranging the Great Lady’s hair or kimonos or curtain of modesty, handing the Great Lady a teacup, or a writing brush, or a fan. Kishi sat patiently as the Great Lady chanted the Lotus Sutra, repeating the words as the Great Lady demanded that she join in. Midday slid into afternoon into late afternoon, and Kishi was nearly frantic. At last she decided she would have to trust someone else to make the delivery.
When a child-page of perhaps eight years came to deliver a note for the Great Lady, Kishi pulled him aside. “Listen, could you deliver this note for me to the willow tree by the koi pond?”
“Deliver a letter to a tree?” said the boy, in the too-loud voice that children sometimes have.
“No, no,” said Kishi, trying to shush him. “Put it in the tree.”
“Where in the tree?”
At this, Great Lady Ankimon-in glanced up from her correspondence. “What is she asking you?”
Kishi hurriedly answered, “Forgive me, Great Lady. I merely wish a note delivered to my . . . spiritual advisor. Since I cannot leave your side to deliver it myself—”
“Come here, both of you,” ordered the Great Lady.
Oh no. Kishi felt her stomach curdle, but she obeyed. She followed the page over to the Great Lady and knelt before her.
The Great Lady held out her hand. “Give me the note.”
“But, Great Lady, it is merely a reply to my—”
“I heard you. But it would be delivered by my page, along with my correspondence. Have I not said what you do reflects upon me? Let me see it so I can determine whether it is appropriate.”
I am done, thought Kishi as she handed over the letter with a trembling hand. She stared at her lap as the Great Lady read, the room filled with an awful silence. The silence was broken by the sound of tearing paper. Kishi’s letter fell in black-and-white streamers to the floor.
“Your calligraphy is terrible and your poetry is worse,” declared Great Lady Ankimon-in. “Leave us in privacy,” she said to the room, and the other ladies-in-waiting hurried out whispering, even their kimonos whispering. “You too,” she growled at the page, who fled running.
Kishi felt the obsidian gaze fall upon her and linger there long moments.
“Who was to receive this note?” the Great Lady asked, her voice low and rumbling like an earthquake.
Kishi hoped no unfortunate secrets would be revealed by telling the truth. “A priest named Bennin, Great Lady. He is from the Hachiman Shrine in my home province.”
“Hmmm. I am acquainted with a Bennin, though I have not seen him in a couple of years. Why did he not come here if he wished to speak with you?”
What was it Bennin had said? Kishi tried to remember. “He . . . felt it would not be proper.”
“Hm.” The Great Lady paused in thoughtful silence. “Lady Shobu. I will assume that because you were born to a warrior clan, that words such as weapon and battle and map come naturally to you. And that you were writing of personal battles of the spirit. But remember where you are. There is no peace in a royal household. There is constant fear of treachery. Think how your words might be misconstrued if read by the wrong eyes.”
Kishi bowed her head lower. “Hai, Great Lady.”
Another long silence passed, and then, “I will forgive you this once. But you must not make so foolish a mistake again, or I will b
e forced to dismiss you.”
“Yes, Great Lady. May I rewrite my note, so that it is more acceptable?”
“No. I think it best you forgo your . . . spiritual advice, and meditate upon what I have said instead. From now on, any correspondence you plan to send to anyone must have my approval first, is that clear?”
“Yes, Great Lady,” Kishi whispered.
Perseverance
That night, Kishi knelt in her room, alternately fuming and frightened.
“You are very fortunate,” Aikiko said. “I have rarely seen the Great Lady so upset, and yet she did not dismiss you. She must think you have hidden talents worth cultivating.”
Kishi’s hands made fists. “I . . . cannot continue like this. I have duties.”
“We all have duties, no? From the moment we are born.”
“I meant particular duties. I was consecrated at the shrine of Hachiman. I have . . . things I must do. Sacred things, which I cannot speak of.”
“Perhaps if you explain to the Great Lady, she will understand.”
Kishi shook her head. “I may not speak of them to anyone.”
“Ah. That would make matters difficult.” After a long pause, Aikiko continued softly, “I know where the koi pond is, and the willow tree. The Great Lady is not so concerned where I go or what I do. If you write a more circumspect note, I will deliver it for you.”
Kishi stared at her in amazement. “You would?”
“Why not? If you are miserable, it will be difficult to sleep. And these days we need protection from all the gods, no? That is why the Great Lady insists we learn the sutras. So the Amida Buddha will protect us. Why not Hachiman as well?”
“I would be most grateful,” Kishi said, and she hastily took her brush and ink and wrote out a new note. This one merely read:
I am preparing my spirit against the dangers ahead.
I wish your guidance to set me on the correct path.
“I hope he understands this,” Kishi murmured as she folded the paper and handed it to Aikiko.
“Priests and monks are good at understanding in my experience,” said Aikiko as she put the note in her wide sleeve. “Often more than you intend them to.” She departed, and Kishi lay down to try to sleep.
Kishi awoke some time later with a sense that something was very wrong. It was still dark. Moonlight slanted in through the slats of the bamboo blinds, and Kishi could see that Aikiko was still gone. She heard the barest of sighs somewhere outside, drifting in on the night’s breeze. “Kishi . . . Kishi . . .” It was a girl’s voice.
Is it the wind and my imagination?
“Kishi . . . Kishi . . .” A hiss of cloth being dragged. Thump. Hiss. Thump. “Kishi . . . Kishi . . .” It was coming closer.
Kishi’s skin prickled. She shivered and sat up. Are the demons and ghosts coming for me? I am not ready!
“Kishi . . . Kishi . . .” Hiss. Thump. Hiss. Thump. It was on the verandah. Very near now.
Kishi ran to her clothing trunk, reached in, and rummaged until she found one of her long, pointed hair sticks. I am of Minomoto blood. I am a warrior, a slayer-born. I will not be afraid. She lifted the bamboo blinds and stepped out onto the long verandah.
“Oh . . . Kishi . . . Bennin . . .”
Kishi turned. Not far down the verandah, Aikiko lay in puddle of moonlight, her pale face agape in pain and fear.
Kishi ran as swift and silent as she could to Aikiko’s side. But as she arrived, Aikiko’s eyes turned up and her head fell to the wood planking in a final, soft, thump. Kishi could now see the dark, dark blood oozing out of Aikiko’s torn neck, spreading over the back of her kimono. A small piece of white rice paper fluttered in her hand. Kishi fought back her sorrow and rising gorge and picked up the paper. It was a roughly drawn map of the Imperial Compound.
So Bennin gave her a map for me, Kishi thought. But the demons attacked Aikiko on her way back. Oh, Aikiko, this is my fault. I should have known the danger and gone myself. You were as brave as a warrior, Aikiko. I will see that you are avenged. Kishi felt cowardly, running back to her room instead of properly seeing to Aikiko. But if she’d been caught with the body, too many questions would arise and her restrictions would be even greater. It is time for Lady Shobu to disappear.
She removed all her kimonos and put on the black garments her brother had sent. Working mostly by feel, Kishi found the fan and the other hair sticks and combs and placed these in the deep sleeves of the black hakima. She found the bottle of crushed dried iris petals and pocketed that, too. She pulled on the black hood and slipped out into the night.
In the moonlight, she stared long and hard at the map that Aikiko had so dearly paid for. Kishi memorized every building shown, especially those near the north gate. Then she folded the map, placed it in her sleeve, and hurried north.
In the Storehouses
Despite her fear, or because of it, Kishi reveled in the freedom—being able to run with no long kimonos to trip her; being invisible, blending in with the night. She ran through the gardens, over the ornamental foot bridges and crossing stones of the streams. She felt light as a spring-flower fairy. She would pause behind a tree as the occasional nobleman strolled by on his way to a lover’s tryst. She lay low in the shadows when an Imperial Guard walked past in his red cloak, confident that he would not see her.
At last, Kishi came to a row of large buildings, too plain and inelegant to be living quarters or offices of imperial business. These must be the storehouses. Good. I will have a better chance if I have real weapons. She ran to the nearest one. Its entry was a huge wooden sliding door. Kishi expected it to be bolted, but pushed against the door anyway. To her amazement, the door rumbled aside with merely a firm shove. Kishi paused, breath held, to see if anyone would come running at the sound. No one did.
Kishi hopped up onto the raised flooring and shut the door behind her. It was very dark and smelled musty. Something fluttered in the eaves overhead—birds or bats. There were holes in the roof through which some moonlight filtered in. How can a building in the palace be in such disrepair? But she remembered her father once saying that emperors were capricious when it came to spending their wealth.
Once her eyes adjusted, Kishi saw an untidy clutter of cloth and wood and rope and things whose form and function she could not determine. A glimmer of light caught her attention, perhaps metal reflecting the moonlight. She crawled toward it. it looked like a sword! She grabbed the hilt and lifted, but it was so light it nearly flew out of her hand. It was a child’s toy or ceremonial prop, made only of painted wood. Disappointed, Kishi sat on a pile of canvas and silk cloth.
She sensed that something was staring at her and sharply looked to her left. There! A horrible face in the shadows by the wall. But it was only a dancer’s mask, hung in a line with other masks. A painted dragon head hung limply from a roof beam. Once lavish but now tattered kimonos littered the floor. No wonder this storeroom has been allowed to fall apart, Kishi grumbled to herself. It is filled with useless things. She considered leaving to search for the weapons storage.
Voices were coming closer outside. “The noise came from over here. I’m sure of it.”
Ah. So I was heard. Kishi sat very, very still.
“What sort of noise was it again?”
“A low growling, I told you. Beasts are prowling out here. Yoshi says he was attacked. You saw the cuts on his arm. You saw all the blood near the ladies’ wing.”
“Yoshi was drunk.”
“That does not make him wrong. We should double the patrols along these storehouses for the next few nights. Some of these structures are falling to pieces. Anything could have crawled into them.”
“Very well. We can bring some men down from the parapets so that these walkways have constant surveillance, for tonight at least. Then we’ll see what the Captain suggests.” The men’s voices drifted away again.
So the monsters that got Aikiko attacked a guard, too, Kishi thought. I should be out there killing demons. I
nstead I’m stuck in here with no weapons but some sharpened hair sticks and a fan. If only I had my bow and arrows! But I can’t leave if they’re going to double the guard. And what if they search this storeroom?
Kishi looked up at the sad, painted dragon head. Dragons, in the ancient stories, were protectors and granted gifts, though often at high price. Would you protect me? she thought at it. What price would you ask for your guardianship? It did not reply.
Kishi stood and walked cautiously around the storeroom. By the masks, she saw a sakaki branch lying on a lacquered trunk. She picked up the branch, which still had some dry leaves hanging from its twigs. Shinto priests, such as Bennin, used sakaki branches in their rituals. Has its sacredness been used up, or might there be a little left? Kishi wondered if it would be suitable for a bow and she bent it. The branch snapped. Not for a bow, then. But perhaps an arrow or two.
She explored further. On the floor below the hanging dragon head was a bit of its “body,” a partially rotted tube of cloth stiffened with curved slats. Kishi picked it up and pulled out one of the slats. It was whale bone, only as long as her upper arm and hand, and still pliable. It bent but did not break. Perfect! Arigato gozaimas, she thought at the dragon above.
On another wall she found some rusted carpentry tools. She took down an awl, a broken knife, and a hasp. From the tresses of one of the masks, she cut a length of horsehair.
The rest of the night she spent turning the whale bone into a small bow that could be concealed in her wide hakima sleeve. She cut as many arrows as she could from the sakaki branch, pausing only when footsteps went by.
Proving Grounds
As dawn arrived, Kishi became hungry and tired. I will have to steal food from somewhere. Voices and footsteps approached again.
“Try them all. The trail of blood came from this way. To the north and east. The same monster that got Yoshi got the girl, I tell you.”
“Really? I’d heard that was a botched suicide. The girl had probably been discarded by a lover, Lady Ankimon-in said.”