Shike, p.73
Shike, page 73
What were Yukio's final words? "Strike, and burn this house down." The command made Jebu think of the verses of the Lotus sutra: "In the Three Worlds there is no rest; it is even as a house that has taken fire." He picked up the little oil lamp that burned on a table before Kwannon's statue and tipped it, spilling a thin trail of burning oil along the polished wood floor to the plaster wall. The swirling orange flames leaped up, and the chapel was brightly lit. Jebu saw clearly the lavender and pale blue robes of Yukio and Mirusu and their children, the eight scrolls of the Lotus sutra spattered with blood, the sweet white face and pink cheeks of Kwannon. The goddess was the only living thing left in the room. A shame to let her be destroyed. Jebu picked Kwannon up and, cradling .the heavy porcelain figure in his arms, climbed down the ladder to the first floor of Yukio's quarters. I have only a few breaths of life left to me, he thought.
He emerged from the building to find himself staring into a ring of surprised Mongol faces. They expected me to commit seppuku in there with Yukio, Jebu realized. A strange sight I must look, in bloodstained black armour with arrows sticking out all over me, and instead of a weapon, I hold a statue of the goddess of mercy.
The blunt tip of an armour-piercing arrow struck the statue squarely. With a ringing sound the porcelain goddess vanished. His arms were empty and a thousand white shards lay at his feet. She was gone, irrevocably, just as Yukio was gone for ever. The devastating realization of the loss of Yukio struck him with the force of a spear thrust. He staggered backwards. Ignoring the arrows that bounced off or stuck in his armour, moving neither slowly nor hastily, he turned and went back into the burning building. His naginata was leaning against a wall where he had left it. As soon as he held it, he felt a sensation of enormous power coursing into his hands, through his arms and shoulders, spreading throughout his entire body, as if a superior being were taking him over. Not Kwannon, but Hachiman, the god revered by all the Muratomo. He came out of the house at a run, swinging the naginata in a circle, feeling it bite through leather armour and flesh and bone, hearing screams.
He gave himself over to the forms and movements of battle that he had been practising from the time he was old enough to stand upright. The warriors surrounding him fell back before the whirling blade. They were veterans enough to read the face of the giant advancing upon them; they had seen men possessed by battle madness before. They knew that no ordinary soldiers, no ordinary weapons, could bring down a man in that state. They were cautious, because this was the last enemy they had to finish. None wanted to die this close to victory.
A lucky blow of a battle-axe cut through the staff of Jebu's naginata, and the Mongols shrieked in triumph as the blade clanged to the ground. Jebu drew the sword that had killed Yukio and rushed his opponents. They tripped over one another, trying to escape, and many fell to the sword that looked so small in the hands of the huge man who wielded it. Steadily, sword in one hand, naginata staff in the other, Jebu drove them back past the ruined palisade to the narrow path where their numbers were useless to them, forced as they were to come at him one at a time. One at a time, they died.
Jebu was aware that some had slipped past him and were behind him in the ruins of the fort. He glanced over his shoulder and saw them hurrying in and out of the blazing building where Yukio had died. They're after Yukio's head, he thought. He wanted to return to the fort and stop them, but he could not turn his back. What happened to Yukio's head no longer mattered, anyway. Nothing mattered now. Jebu was beyond wanting or not wanting. He felt a peace and a bliss beyond comprehension. His mind was filled with a pure, endless white light that blotted out every individual thought or feeling. At the same time, the world around him, its sights and sounds, its feel and its smells, was more vivid than it had ever been at any time in his life. In the midst of the howling Mongols he was perfectly happy, incredibly happy. There would never be a better time for him to die.
He had become the Self. In battle he could make no mistake. He was his opponents, and he was the sword in his hand. Time stretched towards infinity. The Mongols attacked him ever so slowly, as if wading through water. It was no trouble at all to drive his sword past their clumsy defences. There was even time for him to say the Prayer to a Eallen Enemy for each opponent who joined the pile of bodies in the ravine. This was the state Jebu's masters in the Order called ultimate insight, that ecstatic condition in which the individual achieved complete union with the Self and could see the universe through the eyes of the Self. A single instant of ultimate insight, he had been taught, was worth a hundred lifetimes of ordinary consciousness.
The Mongols were backing away from him now, not attacking, and only their restricted position prevented them from running in panic. Each knew this superhuman being was going to kill him. Jebu was almost to the bend in the path now. It was growing darker. In winter, night fell in these mountains at about the hour of the ape. If he lasted until darkness was total, there was actually a chance of his escaping. At night, in these mountains, it would be nearly impossible to track down a single man. The thought disappointed him. He no longer wanted to live.
The intrusion of desire into his mind was enough to bring him down from the peak of ultimate insight. It was an ordinary warrior, sad, wounded, tired, who rounded the outcropping shielding the main body of Arghun's troops from him. Beyond the rock the path was empty. The roadway curved in a long, concave arc, and at the other end of that arc, shadowy in the twilight, a line of mounted bowmen stood up in their stirrups, eyes narrowed, arrows unwaveringly pointed at him. At the head of the line sat Arghun on a stocky black Mongol pony, his deep red cloak rippling in the wind.
"Kill me!" Jebu roared, and held his arms out wide.
His face hard and immobile, Arghun raised a gauntleted hand and brought it down in a sweeping motion. Bowstrings thrummed in unison, a deep musical note that echoed from the rock walls. Arrows whistled and shrieked across the ravine. His arms still outstretched as if to gather the arrows in, Jebu felt their impact all over his body. There was no pain, only uncountable numbing shocks. He saw Taniko looking at him with her bright eyes, just as he had seen her in the heart of the Jewel earlier today. His last thought was: the Jewel. I should have thrown it away. Now Arghun will get it. Then he lost consciousness as he began the long fall into darkness.
PART TWO
THE BOOK OF TANIKO
Those who hold rank and power claim that the gods have set them up to rule over the people. In truth, rulers become rulers by tricking the people with just such stories as this, and by using force to make them submit. Whoever says the gods are responsible for the privilege of the few and the oppression of the many, slanders the gods.
THE ZINJA MANUAL
Chapter One
From the pillow book of Shima Taniko:
The wisteria blooms cluster like purple clouds among the pines. The cherry blossoms on the grounds of the Shogun's castle are a delight. The sweet songs of the bush warbler beguile the ear. In the hills the creeks have become rivers, and the frozen silence of the waterfalls has turned to thunder. The roads to the north-west are open again. Already parties of samurai have set out in the direction of the land of Oshu. All this winter I have buried my dread under a calm exterior, even as the land lay buried under snow.
There has been much to occupy me and help me to keep calm. Continuously, I work on my kung-an. Driven by fear of Eisen's mockery and scolding, I try to become the face I had before I was born, for I dread going to him without an answer. The chapel Eisen built himself in the woods above Kamakura has become part of the landscape. Pine seedlings grow from the roof tiles, and moss is spreading over the walls. Sametono, who is now officially my foster son, always goes with me to see Eisen. These two have a way of talking to each other that has nothing to do with speech. It is all winks and growls and gestures and strange cries. They greet each other with shouts of "Kwatz!"
My cousin Munetoki has become Sametono's kenjutsu master. Hideyori's suspicion is like a drawn bow pointed relentlessly at our hearts, and I fear for Sametono's life, should he show that he has his father and grandfather's proficiency with the sword. Still, he must learn the way of the warrior, unless he is to end up as a monk.
Hideyori has said nothing to me at all about Oshu. He busies himself with his two favourite occupations, statecraft and religion. The Bakufu is now as highly organized and has as many officials as the court of Kublai Khan. Whenever weather permits, Hideyori rides to the temple of Hachiman Dai-Bosatsu, where he is building a stupa, a holy tower, dedicated to his mother. I never met the lady, who died in exile after Domei's insurrection, but Hideyori insists that she was a saint. I am sure his hatred of Yukio must arise, in part, from the rivalry between his mother and Yukio's mother, my friend Lady Akimi.
Third Month, twentieth day
YEAR OF THE DOG
Visiting Taniko in the women's hall of the Shogun's palace, Ryuichi and his burly eldest son, Munetoki, accepted ch'ai from her with courteous compliments. When, she asked herself, had she seen that uneasy expression, a strange mixture of sorrow, shame and apology, on Uncle Ryuichi's face? Long ago she had seen it, so long that she could not place it, even though the sight of it filled her with terror.
Where was Sametono? She wanted to draw him close to her.
"That is very handsome handwriting," said Ryuichi politely, gesturing with his cup towards the alcove where Taniko had hung a large sheet of pale green paper. On it, Sametono had written a verse of the Diamond sutra, suggested by Eisen as a calligraphic exercise:
Though we speak of goodness, the Tathagata declares that there is no goodness. Such is merely a name.
Taniko lowered her eyes modestly. "It is the poor work of my unworthy son."
"Sametono, madame, may grow up to be one of the finest swordsmen the Sunrise Land has ever seen," said Munetoki fiercely. The epicene Ryuichi could hardly have produced a son more unlike him than Munetoki. Munetoki's voice was always on the verge of a parade-ground shout. He sounded angry even when he was at his most benevolent. His eyes blazed and his thick moustache bristled. Seated on cushions in Taniko's chambers, he had the air of a resting tiger. Since Taniko's father, Bokuden, had no sons of his own, Munetoki was heir apparent to the chieftainship of the Shima clan. Sametono adored him.
"I am happy that my son's efforts please his sensei," said Taniko softly. Then she looked up quickly and fixed Munetoki's piercing brown eyes with her own. "I would prefer that you not praise the boy too highly or too publicly, Munetoki-san. It might prove embarrassing."
Munetoki glowered at her as if she had said something outrageous. "Madame does not realize that there are samurai in the western provinces who would cheerfully give their lives for her. There are such men all over the Sunrise Land." Taniko remembered the old samurai in the capital, years earlier, who had died defending her and Atsue from Motofusa's retainers.
She dropped her eyes. "The first loyalty of all samurai is to the Shogun and the Bakufu. The Shogun in his vigilance against threats to the peace of the realm finds it hard to forget that Sametono is the last of Sogamori's line, or that we Shima are a branch of the Takashi. I do not wish the Shogun to be unnecessarily vexed."
"Concerning the peace, Lord Hideyori has less to fear now," said Ryuichi with that same expression of sorrow. Now she recognized his look. It was the same he had worn the day she learned Kiyosi had been killed.
"My honoured uncle and cousin did not visit me to admire my son's calligraphy and praise his swordsmanship," Taniko said, fear tightening its cold grip on her heart.
"Taniko-san," Ryuichi said slowly. "Long ago I failed you by allowing you to hear terrible news from the lips of a stranger. I vowed that if the occasion should arise, I would not play the coward again."
Taniko put her hand to her heart. "Tell me quickly, Uncle."
"The monk Jebu and the Lieutenant Muratomo no Yukio are dead."
The cup Taniko was holding crashed to the floor. Munetoki's hand was on her arm instantly, steadying her.
"How clumsy of me," Taniko murmured as she wiped the pale green liquid from the polished floorboards. "What were you saying, Uncle?"
Ryuichi went on. "I know that you cared deeply for both men. I wanted to be the one to tell you."
"Please tell me how Jebu-how they died," Taniko whispered.
Munetoki answered her, his voice softer than usual. "Most heroically, as the story is told. The Lieutenant and twelve followers, among them the giant monk Jebu, held out for half a day against a thousand Mongols. The Zinja in particular performed superhuman feats in battle. At last Yukio and his men succumbed, but not before they had killed over three hundred Mongols. Yukio and his wife and children all committed seppuku. The story will be told down through the ages."
I can't believe Jebu is dead, Taniko thought. Aloud, she said, "With so many against so few, might not one or two have slipped away unnoticed?"
"They were trapped in a fort on the side of a said Munetoki. "An easy place to defend, but impossible to escape from. They are certainly all dead." He spoke with some satisfaction. By Munetoki's martial standards, if any of Yukio's men had got away, it would have tarnished the glory of the event.
"Besides, the heads of Yukio and Jebu have been identified," said Ryuichi sadly. "As soon as the snow melted in the passes, Lord Yerubutsu of Oshu sent a delegation of his warriors with the heads of Yukio and Jebu preserved in black-lacquer boxes filled with sake. When they arrived here, the Shogun was occupied with the rites dedicating the new stupa to his mother. It would have been unseemly for him to inspect severed heads. So he delegated my honoured brother, Lord
Bokuden, to go and see the heads. Then they were burnt on the beach." His face took on an even more miserable look. "I'm sorry, Taniko-san."
I will not scream, Taniko told herself. I will hold myself together. This has happened to me before, and I have lived through it. I will live through it this time. I will not scream.
"Do you know Moko the shipbuilder, Uncle? Please send him to me. He was devoted to Jebu and Yukio. I want to do the same service for him that you did for me-make certain he does not get this news from a stranger."
"A common carpenter is your friend, Cousin?" said Munetoki with a puzzled frown.
"A very old and dear friend," said Taniko, feeling a sob swell in her chest until it threatened to tear her apart. "I need to be alone now. Will you excuse me?"
After they left, she sat still for a long time. A maid came to remove the ch'ai service, but Taniko waved her away. Alone, she poured water into the brazier under the pot to extinguish the coals. Thus life ends-a little fire that is suddenly overwhelmed and snuffed out. The windows of her room faced south, and bars of sunlight streamed through the lattice. Whenever I saw the sun, she thought, it always comforted me to think that wherever he was, the same sun was shining on him. It shines on him no more. Cut his head off and put it in sake, and then burn it on the beach! Oh no, no. Yukio's wife killed herself to die with him. Where is the girl Shizumi? I must try to get word to her as well as to Moko. She will probably want to kill herself, too. If only I could have died with Jebu. And yet I have only myself to blame for being apart from him. I held Kiyosi's and Atsue's deaths against him. I felt I couldn't live with him. I was a fool. Perhaps if I had stayed with him he would not have been killed with Yukio. Oh, Jebu, Jebu. I never knew how much I loved you until now.
She stood, holding her fists clenched at her sides, and screamed his name, so loud and so hard that it hurt her throat. Then she collapsed like a bird, arrow-shot in flight. She lay curled on the floor, weeping violently. Her maids rushed in. With little cries of pity and dismay they washed her face with cold water and put quilts over her. Not knowing what was wrong, they wept along with her even so, pressing their flowing sleeves against their faces. Taniko was unable to speak to the women, but part of her mind was clear. She was surprised at the sharpness of her grief, the violence of her reaction. She had thought that Zen somehow protected a person from the suffering of life. Eisen seemed so resilient, so calm and cheerful, that she had expected Zen would make her that way, too. That she hurt so much seemed almost a betrayal.
She lay helpless, tortured by a grief ,that would not let her eat or sleep or talk to anyone. Sametono came and tried to talk with her and ran out of the room crying when she could not answer him. He did not come back, and one of the maids, who realized that Taniko could hear and understand even though she did not speak, told her that her Uncle Ryuichi and Aunt Chogao had taken the boy to live with them for a time.
Eor four days she remained in that condition. Then she fell into a deep sleep, dreamless, almost a coma. When she woke, the first thing she saw was the terrified face of a maid, saying that Lord Hideyori was on his way to see her.
She felt beyond fear. She remembered Hideyori's rage when the dancer Shizumi publicly avowed her love for Yukio. How must he have felt on learning that Taniko, the woman he wanted to marry, was prostrate with grief at the news of Yukio's and Jebu's deaths? Having no idea of what had existed between her and Jebu, he would think, of course, that her grief was for Yukio. And some of it was. She had come to like Yukio, in China, and next to the Order, he had been Jebu's whole life. She might have given Jebu a reason to go on living after Yukio's death. But she had not. Jebu died believing that she did not love him. She began to cry again. It was thus that Hideyori found her, when he hurried into her chamber before the maids could give her warning.
Despite the suddenness of his entry, sliding back the shoji screen with his own hand, he looked unhappy rather than angry. He wore billowing white silk robes of mourning with a taboo tag, signifying that he was bereaved and was to be left alone, dangling from his black cap. No sword hung from his belt.
