Yamada Monogatari: To Break the Demon Gate (23 page)

“True, and this is not always a bad thing. So, how long are we to remain at Enryaku-ji?”

“We’ll leave tomorrow morning, assuming Master Dai-wu’s gift is ready by then. You may be able to indulge yourself in the fine gardens here for a little longer.”

“For that alone it was worth the trip. Thank you, Highness.”

Prince Kanemore left me then and I, for want of a better plan, went to the main garden to find a place to think. There were three nuns in meditation by a small bridge crossing a stream, two of whom I recognized as being in our party on the trip out. I withdrew to the relative solitude of a small grove bordering the garden proper and found a tree to lean against; just in time, for suddenly my legs didn’t seem to want to support me any longer. Again, and for several moments, I thought I was going to be sick. I knew the signs. This wasn’t some passing disease demon; I felt as if I had been exposed to something of extreme power and malevolence, and even with the clear air outside the hall it took a little while for the effect to pass. It didn’t take much thought to know what and who had caused it.

Lord Sentaro.

He was something else that did not make sense. Before I met Master Dai-wu, I had never believed that Lord Sentaro was anything other than what he had always been—an agent and vessel of Fujiwara ambition. Then in a moment I had been snatched from believing Lord Sentaro had changed for the better to understanding that, perhaps, he had changed for the far worse.

Fujiwara no Sentaro was callous, ruthless, and ambitious, and I had hated the man almost from the day we met, but even I had never thought of him as evil. Yet Lord Sentaro at his worst was not a match for what I had felt in the temple.

Is it . . . a transformation
?

The lore of ghosts and demons was full of such accounts, and while I made no claim to know all the instances—despite my time at University, I was no scholar—I had seen one or two such things myself.

The priests taught that this physical body was not our true nature, and in this regard at least I knew they were right. Sometimes what people felt, or believed, or desired as human beings became too great or too vile for a mere human body to contain. So a woman who had lost her children might transform into an ogress that ate
only
children, trying in the only way she could to regain what she had lost. Alternatively, a priest overcome with lust might transform literally into a cunning rat, or a woman into a devouring snake, to better pursue the objects of their lust.

Yet what had Lord Sentaro become? A monk? Hardly. He looked like Lord Sentaro playing the part of a monk, and that was all. He had not transformed even in that small degree. More, he was no ogre or demon. What I felt made no sense, and while I trusted what I felt far more than what I had seen—and I had seen and heard more than enough as it was—I still had nothing that would convince Prince Kanemore or anyone else of “Master Dai-wu’s” plainly spoken intention. Teiko’s son was in great danger, and I did not know how to protect him.

I will not fail you, princess.

Empty words, empty thoughts. I needed action, a plan, and I had neither. Lord Sentaro was right, unfortunately. I did not know when or how he planned to strike, only that the strike was indeed coming. The nature of the attack had to show some delicacy, but I had no doubt Lord Sentaro would indeed stoop to simple assassination. While it was true that Kanemore was in line for the throne in such a case, there was nothing to say that a dagger used on one could not be used on another. Perhaps Lord Sentaro planned to kill both; direct, uncomplicated, and had the added virtue of completely clearing a path to the throne for Prince Norihira. And, while I would not wish to be the assassin set against Prince Kanemore, at least in theory the plan was simply a problem of execution. Despite what Lord Sentaro had said, there was no need to look for anything more subtle.

Except that I knew there was need to look for something more subtle, because the small voice in my brain that never hesitated to call me an ass when I was being stupid was doing so now, and very loudly.

Would it be too much to ask, Little Man, that you once explain yourself before I have to sort it out for myself
?

I wished then Teiko was still alive, and it was not the first time I had done so; mostly for my own selfish reasons, true, but also because she was, no argument, far more perceptive than I would ever be. She would know what to do to protect her son. Yet she was not here with me and never would be again. She had done what she felt she needed to do and left Prince Kanemore and me behind, trusting us to deal with whatever happened next. If Takahito was to live long enough to inherit the throne, it was now up to us. Just then I felt the matter was disproportionately up to me.

When we returned to the capital the following day, I parted company with Prince Kanemore and the procession at the Demon Gate. I returned to my rooms at the Widow Tamahara’s establishment to find a poem from Lady Snow:

The cranes fly away,

Writing songs on the cold wind.

In winter they leave,

In spring return. Which season

brings back the sound of your wings?

I smiled. It was almost . . . sweet. It had been a long time since anyone had bothered to take notice of where I was, even if I knew her reasons were not as I might wish. Still, the poem made me feel even more the bastard for what I was about to do. While, perhaps, it would serve both our interests, I couldn’t escape the feeling that my next course of action would require me to deceive Lady Snow. I’d do that and worse besides if it would help save Teiko’s son. That did not mean I had to enjoy what I was about to do.

According to Tamahara-san, Nidai had brought the message and promised to return each and every evening to await a reply. When evening came, I was waiting.

“You may tell your mistress that, if it is convenient, I will call upon her tomorrow evening.” Nidai hesitated. I raised an eyebrow. “Was there something else?”

“You should write her a poem, too,” he said, then added, “She deserves a poem.” Nidai looked at me then, fearful but defiant.

I sighed. “Master Nidai, I consider myself properly chastened. If you will wait a bit yet, I shall see what I can do.”

I considered the matter for a bit as I made fresh ink, and despite my own fearfulness at attempting the gentlemanly art, I then wrote:

Cranes may soar on wings,

but donkeys must plod the earth.

And yet a road brings

both to their destination,

though they must soon start anew.

I handed the paper to Nidai without bothering to seal it. “Can you read?”

“A little. Lady Snow has been teaching me,” he said proudly. He studied the paper for a while and then looked up at me. “I’m not sure I understood it all. Does this mean you’ve agreed to help my mistress?”

“Yes, Nidai-kun,” I said. “That is what it means. I think you and Lady Snow must prepare for a journey.”

The following evening I called on Lady Snow as agreed. This time we both sat down for a meal and Nidai served. He was so serious and determined to bring each course in the proper order with no spilling, that I inwardly cheered when he managed two delicate bowls of
miso
soup without spilling a drop.

“I must say you have trained that little monkey very well.”

She turned the compliment aside. “I have done little. He is a quick student.”

We talked about very little for a while. Then Nidai served a pot of green tea to close the meal, and Lady Snow and I both sat in complete silence for a time, broken only by faint sips as I attempted to match Lady Snow’s delicacy of manners. The attempt was not a complete success, though I felt it necessary to try.

“I suppose,” she said at last, “that I should not ask you why you changed your mind.”

I shrugged. “I have not changed my mind. How could I, since my mind was not resolved one way or another before now?”

She was having none of it. “You were clearly leaning away from me, just as now we seem to be leaning together. While that should be enough, I still find myself wondering how the wind has changed.”

I thought I understood Lady Snow’s motivations enough to trust her up to a point, but I also did not think now was the time to get careless. “There is no obligation holding me here, as you yourself pointed out at our last meeting. While I tell you bluntly that I do not expect to find what you hope to find at Nara, I’m no longer certain enough of that to take the chance. So to satisfy myself in this matter I will go with you to Nara, and we shall see what we find there.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the entire truth either. Lady Snow’s goals and mine were not the same. While I was not averse to avenging my father if possible, my primary concern was Takahito’s safety.

If Lady Snow was correct that my father was betrayed and falsely accused by Lord Sentaro, then Lord Sentaro’s execution of my father was not an execution—it was murder. If such charges could be substantiated, even to the degree required to launch an inquiry by the Ministry, then Lord Sentaro could be removed as
hojo
of Enryaku-ji at least temporarily, perhaps long enough to interrupt and possibly discover and thwart his plans for Takahito. It was a gamble born of desperation and I did not pretend otherwise. Yet I was a drowning man with no other straws in sight.

“What man would not enjoy placing himself in your company?” I said.

She smiled demurely. “As lies go, that one was gallant enough. No matter. You may keep your reasons to yourself; it is enough for me you have agreed. When can we leave for Nara? Dare I hope for tomorrow?”

“I see no obstacle to that.”

She bowed. “I will inform Nidai we will be retiring for the evening.”

I hesitated. “As much as that prospect delights me, I must return to my own rooms for now, Lady Snow. Shall we meet tomorrow morning at the Rasha Gate? Since our road lies to the southeast, that seems the most reasonable departure point.”

Her expression was as unreadable as a stone’s. “If that is your wish.”

I was not always the quickest to understand anything, but it occurred to me that Lady Snow might feel insulted. I didn’t have any answer to that except the absolute truth.

“It is not my wish, though I do think it is the wisest course.”

“If you are worried about my patron, I assure you he is not in the city at present.”

It was all I could do to keep from smiling. “Your patron does not concern me now, Lady Snow. You do.”

She frowned. “Me? I am harmless.”

“No,” I said, “you are not harmless, any more than I am.”

She smiled a rueful smile. “The passing of an evening in the company of a man is no more than I am accustomed to.”

“And as an
asobi
you well know that to many men such opportunities are no more than sport, or the chance at a good meal, quickly enjoyed and quickly forgotten. I have never been able to master that philosophy, Lady Snow, which is perhaps one reason why I spend most of my nights alone. I did not pass that night with you with no thought of the morning, nor will I forget. If you did and will, then you will not mind that I do not remain here tonight. If you did not . . . well, you may at least understand my caution.”

There was a tear in the corner of her eye. “Until tomorrow, then, Lord Yamada,” was all she said.

Outside all was quiet except for a faint breeze. There was a chill on the wind, despite the season. I looked carefully, but there was no sign of the Dark Cloud or even so much as a moth-demon about, for all I could tell. I almost hoped for a spiritual or physical attack to materialize, to give me something to distract me from my own dark mood, but of course there was nothing. Thanks to the monks of Enryaku-ji, the streets of the city were as serene as a temple hall; even the ghosts were keeping themselves more inconspicuous than usual. At most I saw one or two
onibi
down the alleys off Shijo-dori before reaching the Widow Tamahara’s establishment. There was the sound of laughter from the large front room that served as the wine shop as I started to pass through the gate.

I recognized that laughter. It was Kenji.

I stepped away from the gate and hurried past the curtains, the only barrier to the night air now that the large main door was open. I stepped inside just in time to see Kenji, quite obviously drunk, raise a cup of saké in salute to the Widow Tamahara, who was staring at the monk in open consternation. She saw me enter and hurried up.

“Lord Yamada, thank the gods . . . will you please remove this crazy
baka
before he brings those monks down on my head?”

“This ‘
baka
’ isn’t through drinking,
Tamahara-sama,
” Kenji said in a voice loud enough to wake a dead ogre. “I am celebrating!”

The other patrons, a few
bushi
in visitation with some lord or other, were openly scowling, and I thought that in a few minutes the monks of Enryaku-ji might be the least of Kenji’s problems; and by association, my own. I took the saké jar from the Widow Tamahara.

“Then we shall share a drink in my rooms and you can tell me all about why you are celebrating,” I said.

Kenji stared up at me blearily. “Yamada-san! Took you long enough to get here, you ingrate. Or perhaps I should have gone looking at another lady’s home, yes?”

I hauled Kenji to his feet. He protested loudly but was too drunk to do much about it.

“Friends share good news. Let’s leave these good people in peace and go do so.”

The Widow Tamahara slipped up to the side of me, opposite Kenji and whispered, “Must you take the jar, too?”

“If I don’t, I won’t be taking Kenji anywhere. Consider it the price of getting rid of him.”

“Cheap at that,” the old woman muttered. “Just hurry.”

“I heard that,” Kenji said. “I’m drunk, not deaf.”

“We’ll use the saké to soften the insult,” I said. “You’ll feel better. Or you won’t feel anything.”

He laughed then but let me lead him through the curtains, out into the street, then back through the gate to the Widow Tamahara’s courtyard.