The Golden Naginata (10 page)

The crayfish captured the minnow and tore it to pieces.

Across the river at the small temple, acolytes began to appear, and then a priest. They looked down the path together. Soon, Tomoe heard a procession of laughing, singing children. Tomoe was shaken from her moodiness and, despite herself, was won over by the beautifully clad children and other celebrators who swarmed up the path to the temple. The children sang a special song and received their cakes. Then the parade began to cross the stream on a narrow bridge. The path brought them near the place where Tomoe was sitting on a rock. The children were delighted to happen upon a samurai. They halted and began to sing a song for her, although she had no cakes to give them. She gave them smiles and nods instead, and one pretty girl ran forward and placed her bamboo branch in Tomoe's lap and ran back to the group again, looking shy.

The mothers and older sisters came forward to the very edge of the stream. The poems and prayers which they had gleaned from bushes in Isso were thrown into the water. The papers floated away, encouraged by a farewell song to go up into heaven so that Weaver and Herder could read and enjoy the verses. When at length the parade of children started on its way back toward the city, Tomoe felt curious indeed. She couldn't explain the feeling. She reached into her kimono sleeve and pulled out a wadded piece of paper. Why she had saved it she didn't know, for it was an infuriating thing: It was the poem that Ich 'yama had written her, and which she had angrily torn from a bush. Despite its false charge of inconstancy, it was a pretty poem. Tomoe thought that perhaps Weaver and Herder would like it. Therefore the samurai threw the paper into the stream where it trailed after the others.

“I am being very strange today,” Tomoe said aloud, after the reveling children were gone and she was with her solitude once more. The poems had all drifted away, except a few caught on twigs and eddies. The water hurried by her vision. Miniature, mountain-like waves rose and fell and rushed away, seeming like eons of Time compressed into each second. The stream's quick, simple beauty made Tomoe feel inconsequential.

The voices of the children and women faded away into the woods. The priest and acolytes went back into their temple. Once again the only other person in eye's sight was the hunchbacked fisherman up the way.

Tomoe stood from the rock she'd been sitting on, leaving the bamboo branch behind as a small offering to Oho-iwa Dai-myo-jin, the great and unchanging rock god, and for his consort Iwa-naga-hime, Lady of Rock Perpetuity. It was fitting for a samurai to honor that strong pair on a lovers' holiday!

As there was half the day to wait before returning to fight in the gardens, Tomoe walked upstream, going slowly, watching birds and plants and insects. Her nostrils were assailed by autumn's aromatic decay. It was largely an evergreen woods, yet patches of colorful, deciduous leaves broke the greenness here and there.

Because she did not want to bother the wizened fisherman or scare the fish so that his luck was even worse, she gave him wide berth. She intended to pass him without so much as a nod. But, as she was about to go by, he hooted with delight and pulled his line from the water. There was a big toad caught on the end! The line flicked in the air and the toad came loose, landing near Tomoe's feet. She jumped one direction and the toad jumped another. The fisherman came hopping, too, and chased the toad through the grass, shouting, “A fine dinner! A fine dinner for me!” Tomoe smiled at these antics, being in a very much better mood after listening to the children sing. Then she noticed something odd about the fisherman: There were feathers showing from underneath the hem of his ragged kimono. The feathers were blue.

“Old Uncle Tengu,” said Tomoe, her voice even and calm. The fisherman looked her straight in the eye, his toad held firmly in one hand. The weathered peasant-face melted away and the tengu's long-nosed face showed instead. He said,

“You have seen through my disguise.”

Tomoe asked, “Have you come to exact vengeance on me?” She did not sound worried about the possibility.

“I have two reasons to wish vengeance now,” he replied. “I have many lumps on my head because my nephews took your advice and flew above me, dropping stones. Until my flight-feathers have grown back, I am unable to chastise them properly. Because of my shame in not being able to fly, I have disguised myself to travel around the country afoot until the sky is mine again. However, despite my grudge against you, it seems that I will be unable to have vengeance in any usual fashion. This is because you were kind to my nephews, sparing their lives, feeding them, and even giving them useful advice, albeit advice annoying to my pate. There are tengu-diviners among my tribe who made a magic-circle flying beneath the moon; they divined that Tomoe Gozen was the Patron of Demon Children. An honorable appointment for you! Now, even an old tengu like me must honor your name, although I like the idea a very small amount.”

“What you say is interesting,” said Tomoe. “To be appointed Patron of Demon Children merely for feeding tengu brats a few roots I pulled in the forest! It would seem that tengu tribes bestow honorific titles for low prices.”

“Well you may scoff! But famous heros of history have talked to tengu-diviners for guidance. If they have divined that you are a
kami
or deity to our race, then neither you nor I can say they are wrong. It has even been suggested to me that I should be proud to have some of my feathers clipped, and consider it a boastful mantle that the rest of my feathers were dyed blue by Tomoe-sama.”

“If I accept the diviners' commission as Patron of demon brats,” said Tomoe, “it does not mean I won't kill full grown demons as I decide!”

“Of course not,” said the tengu, his tone matter-of-fact. “Nor does it mean that demons will no longer cause you trouble. Even I, whose hands have been tied by my tribe's authority, may find ways to make your life unhappy.”

“It would be interesting to have you try.”

“Good.” The tengu grinned wickedly and his long nose turned up. “I will try immediately.”

Tomoe bowed politely. “Please do so.”

“I will start by telling you a story,” said the tengu: “In a town not far from here there was an important official who often went riding on his horse. His horse was trained for war and resented that he was taken out for purposes other than fighting. The horse grew angrier and angrier each time he was ridden about casually. Finally, the horse could no longer tolerate being treated like a useless, gentle pet. He threw the official onto the ground and trampled him in the legs and belly.

“The official was taken home and the doctor came to set the broken legs as best as was possible, but said, ‘He will never walk again.' The doctor gave medicine to the official's mother (for the wife had long since died birthing a son) and said, ‘Give him this medicine and maybe he will live, but I doubt it. His broken legs are bad enough, but the hoof in the belly will surely cause him to die.'

“Now the official's son was behind a screen and heard the doctor's words. The son and father had been on evil terms for a while, so that now the son felt remorseful. He went out to the stables where the horse was waiting. The son took the horse into the exercise yard, bridling the murderous beast as if for war. Then the son said, ‘We will have a grudge match! You have fatally injured my father. Now, show me a warhorse's better virtues!' The young man drew his sword. The horse's eyes were red with hatred and delight.

“The battle went on a long while. Sometimes the son was almost trampled. Sometimes the horse's tendons were nearly cut by the sword. Eventually the horse knocked the young man over; but he rolled aside in time to not be trampled as had happened to his father. As he rolled, he cut the horse's belly. Viscera fell out. But the horse would not give up. Although its back legs stomped upon its own innards, the horse neighed with bloodlust, not agony. It reared and jumped straight into the air. The young man moved aside too slowly to keep from having his arm broken by a ferocious kick.

“And still the battle went on, in a grisly way. The official's son fought one-handed, his broken arm dangling limp. The horse's blood reddened the exercise yard from one side to the other. Guards came to help, but the son said, ‘Don't meddle!' At last he cut the horse's throat and it could only fight a little while after that.

“The doctor came again and set the young man's arm and said it would probably heal fine. ‘But,' the doctor said, ‘your valor will not save your father. I have looked at him again, and am more certain than ever that he will die.' So, despite his victory, the young man wept.”

The tengu seemed to have finished the story, so Tomoe said, “Old Uncle Tengu is a good storyteller. How will his tale help in his vengeance?”

“I have not told you the young man's name.”

“That's so,” said Tomoe.

“Nor the official's.”

“Then do so,” Tomoe suggested.

“I will, and gladly. The official's son is Imai Kanchira.”

“My brother!” Tomoe looked stricken. The tengu's evil grin grew larger. Its nose twitched back and forth.

“And the official is Nakahara Kaneto, your father!”

Tomoe fell to her knees before the tengu and cried. She said through bitter tears, “Thank you for bringing me the news.”

“It was my pleasure,” said the tengu. “And it is good revenge, do you think? To bring a samurai to her knees before me, thanking me for delivering pain!”

“It is good revenge,” Tomoe agreed. She bowed her head to the ground and begged to know, “How long before my father dies?”

“If you left immediately,” said Old Uncle Tengu, “you could see him before he dies. But you cannot leave, can you? You have an errand to complete! If you leave tomorrow, it may be too late.”

Tomoe did not rise from her bowing posture. She didn't care if the tengu saw her weep. Her shoulders shook.

“Now my vengeance is complete and I am fully satisfied,” said the tengu. “It will be easier for me to obey the command of the tengu-diviners from this moment on. To prove I am at least partially your friend, I'll grant you a vision. I will let you see your father before he dies.”

Tomoe looked up. Her cheeks were wet. She said, “You can do this? We can see each other?”

“He cannot see you. But this toad I fished from the stream is not ordinary, for I used a special bait.” The tengu held up the creature he had caught on the fishing line. It looked like an ordinary toad except its eyes. When Tomoe looked closely, she realized the eyes were like two small mirrors. She gasped and backed away on hands and knees.

“O-gama!” she exclaimed.

“The toad-goblin can grant you the vision to see all the way to your home in Heida.” The tengu placed the toad on the ground. It opened its mouth like a little
shibi
urinal, and white mist began to exude. The mist swept up around Tomoe. She felt a rush of panic as her arms and limbs went numb; but the mists parted a bit so that she could see the countryside of Heida far from Isso. Her soul was being whisked away to her hometown! Directly, she was viewing her father who lay on a thick futon and was covered with two lighter futons. Tomoe's grandmother sat on her knees near the foot of this bed. Tomoe's brother, his arm bound to his breast, sat at the bedside, crying.

The inability to feel her body was unsettling to Tomoe. She struggled mentally for some control, but could not succeed. It did not seem possible to get closer to her father.

Nakahara Kaneto breathed deeply. He looked older than his years, aged by family troubles and then by sickness and injury. Yet his eyes remained open and alert; he must have known he was dying.

Tomoe's brother said, “Come to the side of the bed, Grandmother. Please make peace with Father as I have done.”

“My son is dead already, Kanchira,” the old woman said. She was tired but stubborn. Obviously she had been taking care of her dying son; but she was still not speaking to him, because he had declared Tomoe dead. “He is dead for as long as my granddaughter is dead,” she explained. “I will not speak to his ghost. I am his ancestor; he is not mine. So I need not do his ghost honor.”

It was a sorrowful situation. Kanchira was torn between love for both his father and grandmother. It caused him pain that they would not make up. He said, “Father. Is it so hard to beg Grandmother's forgiveness?”

The old man lay still, looking at the rafters.

“Grandmother!” Imai Kanchira stood up, hurried to the foot of the bed and got down on his knees again. “For my sake, Grandmother! Father cannot live much longer. How can his ghost rest if you will not forgive him?”

“As well as mine shall rest,” said the old woman.

The dying man tried to speak. His son hurried back to his side and asked, “Will you speak, Father?”

He said, “I regret,” then gasped for breath.

Kanchira bowed closer to his father's face. “What do you regret, Father?”

“I regret … that I cannot see Tomoe.”

The old woman tried to remain severe, but water filled her eyes. It was the first time since pronouncing Tomoe dead that Nakahara Kaneto had said his daughter's name. It was as good as an apology. The old woman bowed to the floor and began to weep the many tears she had held back for so long. She wailed, “Do not die, Kaneto my son! I'm certain Tomoe will come home soon! We will all be united in happiness a final moment before you are gone!”

It was an impossible wish, Tomoe knew; she could not leave for home in time. Unable to face the sadness in the room, Tomoe struggled to escape back to Isso. She felt her heart beat; it was the first thing she felt as her soul returned to its body. Then she felt nothing again. The mists parted and once more Tomoe saw her weeping grandmother, sad brother, and dying father. She fought to regain her body, but the magic of the toad was stronger. “I don't want to see anymore!” Tomoe shouted, but didn't make a sound. She found her hands in the mist; they were the only things she could see. With them she felt near her waist and discovered where her swords were kept. She drew the shortsword and threw it. The mist popped like a bubble and vanished instantaneously.