A well-designed garden was meant to imitate a landscape, real or imagined, in miniature: large boulders for mountains, streams or channels of white sand for rivers, pools for lakes.
Crossing into Senkyō, Sekken felt as if he’d stepped out of a garden into the real world.
It wasn’t that anything was bigger – not exactly. The mountain that loomed to the north didn’t tower several times higher into the sky; the trees didn’t grow to a size that dwarfed him. But everything was more present, suggestive of greater depth and complexity. As if his whole life he’d been living in a simplified representation of true nature, and for the first time he faced the thing itself.
The sheer wonder of it stopped his breath. Although his interest had always been more in scholarship than art, he found himself wishing he were a skilled painter or a poet, to capture this greater reality with color or words. I would fail, and spend the rest of my life happy in the trying.
A long, drawn-out sigh of pleasure broke him from his reverie. At his side, Sayashi bent to the ground, stretching like a cat; by the time she finished stretching, she was a cat.
She sat and scratched vigorously behind one ear with a hind paw, then licked her forefeet in turn, spreading her finger-length claws to give her tongue access to the spaces between. “You have no idea how good this feels,” she said when she was done. “An endless month, pretending to be human! Not being able to stretch properly! And I was expected to be awake all day.”
“My sympathies,” Sekken said, with the sort of exquisite politeness that was, at its heart, a rebuke.
Her feline eyes regarded him with flat disdain. “Don’t tempt me to go back on my word.”
A spirit of Chikushō-dō shouldn’t do such a thing, but Sayashi was only nominally of that allegiance. As are all cats, Sekken thought wryly. They have to be able to dangle their tails to one side or the other at will. Ironic, then, that nekomata – with their forked tails – were so firmly on the side of trickery and malice.
Such thoughts weren’t useful right now. “My apologies, sensei,” he said, with all the sincerity he could muster. Correctly guessing that she wanted deference would do no good at all if he couldn’t follow through. “I am simply impatient to be on our way.”
“Why?” Sayashi said, whiskers flicking. “You know that time here doesn’t pass the same. A day here might be only a minute back where you come from.”
“Every minute matters. And it might go the other way; each day might be a year.”
“With that way of thinking,” she sighed, “you’ll never do well in Senkyō.” But she climbed to her feet nevertheless.
Sekken gazed around. He recognized their location as being somewhat like the ledge that held the shrine, only without any sign of habitation or human touch – and lit by daylight, instead of fading into night. Through the branches he could see the seemingly boundless expanse of the northern mountains, grey stones and dark trees stretching off into the distance. The songs of birds and the rustling of unseen creatures in the brush ornamented the constant melody of the wind.
Somewhere in all of this, there was a human girl with a priceless ward in her possession.
He wished they could have brought the inugami with them. Sekken’s traveling bundle held Chie’s pillow, a battered little case stuffed with buckwheat hulls, because while they had no exact trail for a hound to follow, any creature with a sufficiently sensitive nose might be able to pick up her scent, if it got close enough. In this kind of place, “close enough” might be astonishingly far.
He just needed to find such a creature… and then persuade it to help.
From his studies, Sekken knew that areas which were only lightly settled in the mortal realm tended to be the homes of the most powerful spirits in Senkyō. None of those texts, however, told him how to find such things. “You must have come from near here,” he said to Sayashi, “for you to follow the members of the Night Parade when they crossed over. What can you tell me about who rules this land?”
“You’re also far too attached to human notions of space,” she sniffed.
This time he wasn’t put off. “I know it’s possible to travel with extraordinary speed here, but the geography of Senkyō more or less mirrors that of Rokugan. Even if you followed the yōkai that were called to Seibo Mura a long way, you still traveled through this area. Who is the Great Tengu here? And are they of Chikushō-dō, or of Sakkaku?” Despite the name, it wouldn’t necessarily be a tengu. Those great, bird-like creatures were revered throughout this realm, though, and so any yōkai or spirit that rose to a position of power over its neighbors was called a Great Tengu, just as major samurai lords were called daimyō, “great names.”
Sayashi’s tail lashed with irritation. “Chikushō-dō, and I will tell you nothing else. Unlike mortals, we don’t gossip and whisper amongst ourselves. If you want to meet the Great Tengu, I will lead you; otherwise, choose your path, and let us be on our way.”
What had her so on edge? Some crime against the local lord, perhaps. “I’m afraid any path I chose would be nothing more than random chance. And I would not want to give offense here by not paying my respects. Please, sensei, bring me to the Great Tengu.” He bowed again, for good measure.
“Let’s get this over with,” Sayashi grumbled, and headed up the slope.
Sekken expected to be exhausted by the climb. He’d lived enough of his life at high elevations to have a good balance of Air in his body; he didn’t become out of breath in the mountains the way lowlanders did. Weighed against that, though, was his generally sedentary life, where some moderate horseback riding was the most exertion he ordinarily got.
Here, everything was different. The air kami felt stronger, and the endurance of the earth seemed to rise up through his feet into his body. He climbed and climbed, following the elegant sway of Sayashi’s tail, and had no sense of how much time had passed. It was still daytime – but was that even possible?
Human notions. He could hear what Sayashi would say if he asked her. Sekken clamped his jaw shut and climbed.
As he went, he began to hear whispers from all around him, too faint to make out. Whenever he looked for the source, he saw nothing. Until he remembered his sensei’s lessons – his human sensei, not Sayashi – and looked indirectly: then he saw tiny, bark-brown figures perched on tree branches and roots, murmuring amongst themselves. Kodama, emerging from the trees they guarded to watch him go by.
It wasn’t only the trees that seemed to be commenting on the human in their midst. Sekken began to feel as if every flower, every bush, every blade of grass was aware of his presence. He knew, intellectually, that everything in the world had a spirit, and furthermore that in Senkyō those spirits were awake to a degree the mortal realm could not even imagine… but it was a very different matter experiencing it first-hand. He began to understand why some orders of Shinseist monks refused to eat not only meat but even root vegetables, whose harvest meant the death of the plant. I feel almost as if I should apologize to the rocks before I step on them.
Then he looked at the enormous black cat ahead of him, and his perspective changed. There are still predators here, and creatures whose place in the Celestial Order is to die to feed others. Which was higher in spiritual merit, he wondered: the cat who ate the rabbit, or the rabbit whose life sustained hers? Orthodox theology agreed that virtuous demons reincarnated as simple animals, and virtuous animals as animal spirits; there had to be some monk or priest who had taken the question further and determined the relative merits of the different kinds of animals.
Sekken clung to that last thought. Someone had written about it. He would find what they had written. Which would require going back to the mortal realm. Senkyō was a seductive place, for all that it masqueraded as pure simplicity; indeed, that very simplicity was its lure. If he let himself, he would fall prey to his own desire to understand this place… and he would never leave.
Ryōtora is waiting for you. That was an even stronger rope to bind himself with. Even if their relationship could never be what Sekken wanted, he could still do this for Ryōtora.
But before Sekken could make good on that promise, he had to reach the top of this mountain, which seemed like it was going to stretch all the way into the Celestial Heavens.
“Who is this you’ve brought, Sayashi?”
Sekken would have sworn there was no one on the path before them, but out of nowhere a young woman had appeared a few paces ahead. Her hair fell like a waterfall of ink, all the way to the ground, and her kimono was simple but elegant, patterned with a design like raindrops. When she caught him looking at her, she snapped open a fan and hid behind it.
His mind promptly began cataloguing all the kinds of yōkai she might be – most of them malevolent. Was Sayashi actually of Sakkaku, and she’d led him into a trap?
The bakeneko yawned. “You’re off-target, Shiwa. If you want to tempt this one, I suggest looking like a stone-faced Dragon shugenja.”
Sekken hoped his surprise didn’t show. Had his attraction been so obvious? Then he retreated a step as the young woman’s form shimmered and became a good deal shorter. When that stopped, an otter stood on her hind legs before him, her thick fur sleek in the light. “I never was much good at imitating men,” she sighed.
A kawauso. Tricksters, yes, but generally benign ones. “He wants to see the Great Tengu,” Sayashi told her.
For no reason he could see, Shiwa laughed. “And you’re bringing him? How delightful. I think I’ll come along, just to watch.” Sayashi growled, and the sound made the hairs on the back of Sekken’s neck stand up – but the kawauso, who might well have been prey for a cat of that size, bounded up the path without any concern at all.
“Go on,” the bakeneko said ungraciously, and Sekken did.
The otter led them to the very top of the peak, where boulders rose like pillars to form a kind of natural hall. Yōkai of various kinds ringed the place; for them to be here already, either they spent much of their time lounging about waiting for something to happen, or word of his approach had spread. Sekken suspected the latter. At the far end was a flat slab of stone, like a dais, which yet stood empty.
I didn’t think to bring a gift. Sekken kicked himself mentally. His first journey as an envoy, and he hadn’t brought anything for the local lord? Not that he knew what to bring, when the local lord might be anything from a weasel to a kappa to another bakeneko–
A flutter of wings arrowed out of the sky to alight on the stone dais. The Great Tengu, yōkai called their rulers… but this one was a good deal smaller than a tengu. In fact, it was smaller than Sayashi herself.
The bakeneko made a displeased noise deep in her throat, and Sekken could guess why. From the way Shiwa had greeted her, she was a member of this court – and the yōkai who ruled over her, the proud bakeneko, was a crow.
A three-legged one – a yatagarasu. Now Sekken understood the unvarying sunlight: yatagarasu were the crows of the sun. Their three legs were variously said to represent the Celestial Heavens, Senkyō, and the underworld; or the kami, humans, and animals; or even the Three Sins and transcendence from their grip. Certainly they were noble creatures; of all the yōkai he might have encountered here, this one was a fortunate omen.
He bowed deeply and held it, waiting for some official to announce him.
But this was no human court, with a strict hierarchy and officials assigned to every possible task. Sekken heard a mutter that sounded like it came from Shiwa, prodding Sayashi; when the bakeneko spoke, her voice was tight with affront. “Great Tengu, I bring you a human, Asako Sekken.”
“Rise.” The yatagarasu’s voice was melodious, not a crow’s harsh caw.
Sekken straightened. The Great Tengu said, “You are no hunter, crossed over while roaming the mountains. What brings you to my realm?”
Before Sekken could answer, Sayashi spoke up. Her reluctance had vanished as if it had never been. “That is my doing, Great Tengu. This human has bowed to me and acknowledged me as his sensei.”
Only while we’re in Senkyō, and only in matters related to this place, Sekken thought. He knew better than to say it, though. Sayashi had clearly realized she might gain prestige by boasting of her superiority over him; undercutting that would only antagonize her.
Besides, he didn’t have to. The yatagarasu chided her, saying, “Sayashi, beware of pride. It was pride that cost you your status; if ever you have hope of regaining it, you must learn to bow your head.”
For a heartbeat Sekken was reminded of Ryōtora, even though the Dragon shugenja was a deeply honorable man, and Sayashi was none of those things. The mountains never learned to step aside – and cats never learned to bow. The proud carriage of her tail faltered at the rebuke, though, and Sekken wondered what status she had lost.
“Lord Asako.” The three-legged crow had transferred his attention to his guest. “You honor us with your presence, however it came to be.”
“I am the one who is honored, Great Tengu,” Sekken said. On impulse, he reached into his kimono and drew out his writing kit. “Forgive my poor gift, but I did not realize I was to be attending the court of a sun crow. I bring you this, made with vermilion from the village of Seibo Mura, which in the mortal realm lies at the base of your mountain. It is, after a fashion, an heirloom of my family.”
He bowed and presented his writing kit. At a flick of the yatagarasu’s wing, Shiwa took it from Sekken and presented it to her lord, who studied it thoughtfully. “Sebō Mura,” he said.
Hope stirred in Sekken’s heart. “That you speak that name, Great Tengu, suggests that you are aware of the village’s significance.”
“And that you bring me this gift, Lord Asako, suggests that you have a particular reason for coming to my court.”
“I do,” Sekken admitted. “But it is perhaps not the reason you expect.”
In his experience, it was never a bad thing to pique the curiosity of someone from whom he intended to ask a favor. “Explain,” the yatagarasu said, shifting forward on the flat stone of his dais.
Sekken tucked his hands into the opposite sleeves: a way of looking elegant and dignified, and also of hiding any tremor in his hands. “I was sent here by a noble shugenja of the Dragon Clan, Agasha no Isao Ryōtora, whose duty it is to protect Seibo Mura against the depredations of the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. Even now – if too much time has not yet passed in the mortal realm – he fights to keep their leader contained. But Sir Ryōtora’s battle is doomed to fail, if I cannot bring him what he lacks.
“The woman who stopped the Night Parade, revered now as Kaimin-nushi, had an amulet which protected the bearer against that leader. A peasant girl named Chie found it in the ruins of Seibo Mura’s shrine. Because of this, the yōkai of the Night Parade kidnapped her away into Senkyō. Great Tengu, I come to ask your aid in finding and rescuing Chie.”
Silence fell. The sun blazed down, not shifting in the sky. How fast was time moving? Had years gone by at home, or mere heartbeats? Was Ryōtora still defending Seibo Mura – was he still alive?
“Rescuing the girl,” the yatagarasu said. “Not the village.”
Sekken bowed deeply. “Great Tengu, if you wish to offer your assistance there, I would hardly refuse. But I recognize that I have little to offer you. Merely to ask for your help with Chie is an imposition; it would be the height of folly for me to assume you would risk your own people in the mortal world, when you have so little to gain.”
Except, of course, for the continued imprisonment of Nurarihyon. Even a court of Chikushō-dō, however, could not be relied upon to act solely on the basis of virtue. Such purity could only be found in the Celestial Heavens – and the denizens of that place rarely intervened directly, lest their actions upset the delicate balance of the world.
“The girl is not far from here,” the three-legged crow said. Before Sekken’s hopes could rise, he added, “She has been given into the keeping of one who is neither a member of my court, nor a follower of the Night Parade.”
Something about his tone said, You should be afraid. Knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer, Sekken asked, “What creature guards her?”
“An ōmukade.”
A giant centipede – but “giant” fell pitifully short of describing the reality. Their bodies could wrap seven times around a mountain; they were known to attack even dragons. No ordinary weapon could pierce the armor of their skin. Sekken knew precisely one tale of someone defeating an ōmukade; Daidoji Chizuru had shot it with an arrow coated in her own saliva, which was the creature’s sole weakness.
He had not a drop of moisture in his own mouth.
“Rest for now,” the yatagarasu said kindly. “You will need your strength when you go into the ōmukade’s den.”