To Break the Demon Gate Read online

  There were tears in her dark eyes. “There are things we may not speak of, even now. If it is our fate to reach Suma together, speak to me then and I will answer you.”

  The demons were teasing me in my dreams; at least, so I believe. In a vision I saw Teiko and myself on the beach at Suma. The land was desolate, but the sea was beautiful and it met most of our needs. We walked on its shore. Teiko was laughing. It was the most exquisite of sounds, at least until she started laughing at me, and it wasn’t Teiko at all but some ogress with Teiko’s smile.

  “What have you done with Teiko?” I demanded, but the demon just mocked me. I drew my sword, but the blade was rusted and useless; it would not cut. I looked frantically at the sea, but there was nothing but gigantic waves, one after another racing toward the beach. Sailing against them was one small boat. I could see Teiko there, her back turned to me, sailing away. I ignored the demon and chased after her, but the sea drove me back again and again until her boat was swallowed by the attacking sea.

  “—amada!”

  Someone was calling me. The ogress? I did not care. Teiko was gone.

  “Lord Yamada!”

  I was shaken violently awake. Kanemore kneeled beside my blankets, looking frantic.

  “What . . . what’s happened?” I said, trying to shake off the nightmare.

  “My sister is missing! Help us search!”

  I was awake now. “But . . . how? Her guards worked in paired shifts!”

  Kanemore looked disgusted as I scrambled to my feet. “The fools swear they never took their eyes off of her, that Teiko and her maids were sleeping peacefully, and then suddenly Teiko wasn’t there! Nonsense. They must have been playing Go or some such rot. I’ll have their heads for this!”

  “We’ll need their heads to help us search. She could not have gotten far. Go ahead. I will catch up.”

  Kanemore ran through the camp with me not far behind, but when I came to the place where I knew Teiko and her ladies had been sleeping, I paused. The two maidservants were huddled together looking confused and frightened, but I ignored them. There was a small screen for some privacy but no way Teiko could have left the spot without one of the guards seeing her. I looked in and found her bedding empty and undisturbed. I pulled her coverlet aside and found a crumpled piece of paper.

  “She’s up there!”

  I heard Kanemore call to me from the shore of the lake and I raced to join him. Just a little further down the shoreline was a place where the mountains dropped sheer to the water. On the very edge of that high promontory stood a small figure dressed in flowing white, as for a funeral.

  “Teiko, no!”

  I started to shout a warning to Kanemore, but he was already sprinting ahead, looking for the quickest route up the slope, and I followed hot on his heels, but it was far too late. In full sight of both of us, Teiko calmly stepped off the edge.

  With her broad sleeves fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, one could almost imagine Teiko’s fall would be softened, but the sound of her body striking the water carried across the lake like the crack of ice breaking on the rivers of Hokkaido in spring.

  One could also imagine, first hope having failed, that there would be nothing in the water to find except, perhaps, a few scraps of paper. One tried very hard to hold on to this hope and only relented when the fishermen from a nearby village helped us locate and remove the cold, broken body of former Princess Teiko from the deep, dark waters of the sacred lake.

  The moon was high again and cast its reflection on the river. The modest funeral rites for Teiko were well under way, and once more I stood on Shijo bridge, staring down at the moon and the dark water beneath it. I saw the onibi flare out on the water. I knew if I waited long enough, the ghost-lights would be followed by the graceful spirits of women who had drowned themselves for love in Kamo River.

  I had seen them before; they would soon appear just above the water in solemn procession, drifting a bit as if with the currents below. The legend was that men unfortunate enough to stare at them too closely would drown themselves out of love as well. I wondered if I, before I drowned myself in turn, might see one small figure with the face of Princess Teiko.

  I didn’t know what Kanemore intended when he appeared beside me on the bridge. At that moment I did not care. I simply gazed at the moon’s reflection and waited for whatever might come.

  “I was told I could find you here,” he said, then placed a small scroll on the railing in front of me. “This is for you, Lord Yamada,” he said formally.

  I frowned. “What is it?”

  “A letter,” he said, “from my late sister. I have already opened and read the one intended for me.”

  I didn’t move or touch the letter. “Meticulous. She had this planned before we even left the city. She never intended to go to Suma.”

  “The shame of her disgrace was too much to bear,” he said. He sounded as convinced as I was.

  “I rather doubt,” I said, “that there was anything your sister could not bear, at need.”

  “Then why did she do it?” he asked softly.

  A simple question that covered so much, and yet at that moment I didn’t have a clear answer. I think I understood more of what had happened than Kanemore did, but the “why” of it all was as big a mystery to me as it was to him. I shared the one thing I thought I knew for certain: “I’ve only been able to think of one clear reason. I have been drinking for the past day or so to see if I could perhaps forget that reason.”

  “Have you succeeded?”

  “No.”

  He leaned against the rail with me. Out on the water, the mists were forming into the likenesses of young women. Kanemore glanced at them nervously. “Then share that reason with me. Preferably someplace else.”

  I smiled. “You must drink with me then.”

  “If needs must then let’s get to it.”

  I picked up Teiko’s letter, and we left the ghostly women behind. From there we went to the Widow Tamahara’s establishment, since it was the closest. As usual, it was filled with drinking, boisterous bushi and other retainers currently not at service. We found a relatively quiet corner, and Kanemore ordered saké, which the smiling Widow Tamahara delivered personally. Kanemore poured out two generous measures, and we drank in companionable silence, as Prince Kanemore eyed the drinking bushi with distaste.

  “A sorry lot, and yet they are the future.”

  I frowned. “These louts? What makes you think so?”

  He sighed. “Think? Rather, I know. Every year more and more land and wealth is concentrated in the hands of the provincial nobility, and their private armies are filled with these samurai,” Kanemore said, now using the more common, corrupted word, “whose loyalty is first to their lords and not the Emperor, as is right. It is for this reason only that upstarts like the Abe Clan can make so much trouble.”

  “Darker days are ahead if you are correct.”

  “Dark enough at present,” Kanemore said, then he could stand the waiting no longer. “So, what is the answer you drink to forget?” he asked, as he topped off his cup and my own. “Why did Teiko kill herself?”

  “The only obvious and immediate answer is, upon her death, you would be free to return to the capital and look after Takahito.”

  He frowned. “But you were going to be with her.”

  I sighed deeply. “Which did not alter her plans in the slightest, as apparently I was not an acceptable alternative.”

  “That is a very sad thing to bear,” he said after a while, “and also very odd. I know my sister was fond of you.”

  “Maybe. And yet . . . ”

  “Yet what?”

  I took a deep breath and then an even deeper drink. “And yet there is a voice deep in my brain that keeps shouting I am a complete and utter ass, that I do not understand anything, and the reason Teiko killed herself had nothing to do with me. Try as I might, drink as I might, that troublesome fellow only shouts louder.”

  “You have su
ffered greatly because of my family,” Kanemore said. “And I know that I have no right to ask more of you. Yet it was my sister’s wish that you read her letter. Will you grant her last request?”

  I didn’t answer right away. “I once asked what you were afraid of, Kanemore-san. I think it only fair to tell you what I am afraid of. I am very afraid of what Princess Teiko will say to me now.”

  Yet there was never really any question of refusing. I took out the letter. After hesitating as long as I dared, I broke the seal. In doing so I discovered that, when I feared the very worst, I had shown entirely too little imagination.

  And, yes, I was in fact a complete and utter ass.

  The letter was very short, and this is most of what it said:

  The crane flies above

  The lake’s clear shining surface.

  White feathers glisten,

  Made pure by sacred water,

  As the poet’s book was cleansed.

  At the end of the poem she had simply written: “Forgive me—Teiko.”

  I thought, perhaps, if one day I was able to forgive myself, maybe then I would find the strength to forgive Teiko. Not this day, but that didn’t matter. I had other business. I put the letter away.

  “Kampai, Kanemore-san. Let us finish this jar of fine saké.”

  I knew Kanemore was deeply curious about the letter but too polite to ask, for which I was grateful. He hefted the container and frowned. “It is almost empty. I’ll order another.”

  “No, my friend, for this is all we will drink tonight. From here we will visit the baths, and then go to sleep, for tomorrow our heads must be clear.”

  “Why? What happens tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow we restore your sister’s honor.”

  The Imperial Court was composed more of tradition and ritual than people: everything in its time, everything done precisely so. Yet it was astonishing to me how quickly matters could unfold, given the right impetus.

  Kanemore kneeled beside me in the hall where justice, or at least Fujiwara no Sentaro’s version of it, was dispensed. The minister had not yet taken his place on the dais, but my attention was on a curtained alcove on the far side of the dais. I knew I had seen that curtain move. I leaned over and whispered to Kanemore.

  “His Majesty Reizei is present, I hope?”

  “I believe so, accompanied by Chancellor Yorimichi I expect. He will not show himself, of course.”

  Of course. The acknowledged presence of the Emperor in these proceedings was against form, but that didn’t matter. He was here, and everyone knew it. I was almost certain he would be, once word reached him. Kanemore, through another relative in close attendance on His Majesty, made sure that word did so reach him. I think Lord Sentaro convened in such haste as a way to prevent that eventuality, but in this he was disappointed. He entered now, looking both grave and more than a little puzzled.

  Kanemore leaned close. “I’ve sent a servant for a bucket of water, as you requested. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Kanemore was obviously apprehensive. Under the circumstances I did not blame him. Yet I was perfectly calm. I claimed no measure of courage greater than Kanemore’s; I simply had the distinct advantage that I no longer cared what happened to me.

  “What is this matter you have brought before the Imperial Ministry?” Lord Sentaro demanded from the dais.

  “I am here to remove the unjust stain on the honor of the late Princess Teiko, daughter of the Emperor Sanjo, Imperial Consort to the late Emperor Suzaku II,” I said, clearly and with more than enough volume to carry my words throughout the room.

  There was an immediate murmur of voices from the clerks, minor judges, members of the Court, and attendants present. Lord Sentaro glared for silence until the voices subsided.

  “This unfortunate matter has already been settled. Lady Teiko was identified by my nephew, who died a hero’s death in the north. Consider your words carefully, Lord Yamada.”

  “I choose my words with utmost care, Your Excellency. Your nephew was indeed a hero and brought honor to the Fujiwara family. He did not, however, name Princess Teiko as his lover. This I will prove.”

  Lord Sentaro motioned me closer, and when he leaned down, his words were for me alone. “Shall I have cause to embarrass you a second time, Lord Yamada?”

  Up until that point I almost felt sorry for the man, but no longer. Now my blade, so to speak, was drawn. “We shall soon see, Lord Minister of Justice. May I examine the letter?”

  He indicated assent, and I returned to my place as Lord Sentaro’s stentorian voice boomed across the room. “Produce my nephew’s letter so that Lord Yamada may examine it and see what everyone knows is plainly written there.”

  A few snickers blossomed like weeds here and there in the courtroom despite the seriousness of the proceedings, but I ignored them. A waiting clerk hurried up, bowed low, and handed me the letter in question. I unrolled it and then signaled Kanemore, who signaled someone waiting at the back of the room. A young man in Taira livery came hurrying up with a bucket of clear water, placed it beside me, and then withdrew.

  Lord Sentaro frowned. “Lord Yamada, did you neglect to wash your face this morning?”

  More laughter. I was examining the poem closely and did not bother to look up. “The water is indeed to wash away a stain, Lord Sentaro. Not, however, one of mine.”

  The letter was not very long, and mostly spoke of the things Kiyoshi had seen and the hardships of the camp. There was one strange bit that caught my attention—there was a reference to Lord Sentaro and my father, and some “mistake” that Kiyoshi hoped to correct. Whatever the matter was, it had apparently been rendered irrelevant soon after, as my father had been executed on that very expedition.

  Curious.

  Still, my father was long dead and our family’s honor and future had been burned to ashes with him. I forced my attention back to the matter at hand. The lover’s poem actually came after Kiyoshi’s personal seal. I unrolled the letter in its entirety, no more than the length of my forearm, and carefully dipped the paper into the water.

  There was consternation in the court. Two guards rushed forward, but one glare from Prince Kanemore made them hesitate, looking to Lord Sentaro for instruction.

  “Lady Teiko’s sin dishonors us all,” Lord Sentaro said, and his voice was pure sweet reason, “but the letter has been witnessed by hundreds. Destroying it will change nothing.”

  “I am not destroying the letter, Lord Sentaro. I am merely cleansing it. As the poet Ono no Komachi did in our great-grandsires’ time.”

  Too late the fool understood. Once, long ago, a Lady of the Court had been accused by an enemy of copying a poem from an old book and presenting the piece as her own work. She faced her accuser and washed the book in question in clear water, just as I was doing now, and with the same result. I held the letter up high for all to see. Kiyoshi’s letter was, of course, perfectly intact.

  Except for the poem. That was gone.

  More consternation. Lord Sentaro looked as if someone had struck him between the eyes with a very large hammer. I didn’t wait for him to recover.

  “It is a sad thing,” I said, again making certain my voice carried to every corner—and alcove—of the court, “that a mere hundred or so years after the honored poet Ono no Komachi exposed this simple trick, we should fall for it again. The ink in Fujiwara no Kiyoshi’s letter is of course untouched, for it has been wedded to this paper for the past fifteen years. Clearly, the poem slandering Princess Teiko was added within the month.”

  “Are you accusing me—” Lord Sentaro stopped, but it was too late. He himself had made the association; I needed to do little else.

  “I accuse no one. I merely state two self-evident facts: that Teiko-hime was innocent, and that whoever wrote the poem accusing her had both access to the letter,” and here I paused for emphasis, “and access to a Fujiwara seal. These conclusions are beyond dispute, Excellency. At the present time the identity of the
person responsible is of lesser concern.”

  The man was practically sputtering. “But . . . but she was here! Why did Princess Teiko not speak up? She said nothing!”

  I bowed low. “How should innocence answer a lie?”

  The murmuring of the witnesses was nearly deafening for a time. It had only just begun to subside when a servant appeared from behind the alcove, hurried up to the dais, and whispered briefly in Lord Sentaro’s ear. His face, having slowly turning a bright pink, now turned ashen gray. Kanemore and I bowed to the court as the official part of the proceedings were hastily declared closed. The proceedings that mattered most, I knew, had just begun.

  That evening Kanemore found me once more on Shijo Bridge. The moon was beginning to wane, now past its full beauty, but I still watched its reflection in the water as I waited for the ghosts to appear. Kanemore approached and then leaned against the rail next to me.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “Teiko’s honors and titles are to be posthumously restored,” he said. “Lord Sentaro is, at his own expense and at Chancellor Yorimichi’s insistence, arranging prayers for her soul at every temple in Kyoto.”

  “If you’ll pardon my saying so, Kanemore-san, you don’t sound happy about it.”

  “For the memory of my sister, I am,” he said. “Yet one could also wish we had discovered this deception soon enough to save her. Still, I will have satisfaction against Lord Sentaro over this, Minister of Justice or no.”

  I laughed. “No need. Even assuming that the expense of the prayers doesn’t ruin him, Lord Sentaro will be digging clams at the beach at Suma or Akashi within a month, or I will be astonished,” I said. “It’s enough.”

  “Enough? It was his slander that killed my sister! Though I must ask, while we’re on the subject—how did you know?”

  I had hoped to spare us both this additional pain, but clearly Kanemore wasn’t going to be content with what he had. There was that much of his sister in him.

  “Lord Sentaro did not kill your sister, Kanemore-san. We did.”

  One can never reliably predict a man’s reaction to the truth. I thought it quite possible that Kanemore would take my head then and there. I’m not sure what was stopping him, but while he was still staring at me in shock I recited the poem from his sister’s letter. “I trust you get the allusion,” I said when I was done.