“We’re here,” Morofusa said.
“Here” was the late Princess Shigeko’s mansion. At first glance, one would not think it the abode of a princess. It was located in the desirable third ward, yes, but the compound was nearly at the edge of the city. At one time this might have been for greater privacy, but there was an aura of desolation about the place that made its separation from the other great houses of the ward more poignant.
“This is a place for shoro,” Kenji said. “And not just one.”
While Kenji was much more sensitive than I was when it came to ghosts, this much certainty was unusual even for him.
“Have you already sensed something?” I asked. “We haven’t even passed the gate yet.”
“Yes. I can’t be more precise until we get closer, but I don’t think Princess Shigeko is alone.”
That was curious. From what Fujiwara no Yorinobu had told me, I expected only one ghost, Princess Shigeko. According to Kenji, that was not the case.
A pair of Fujiwara bushi stood on watch at the gate, but they were expecting us. Before we entered, I had a few questions.
“May I ask if you gentlemen have heard anything from within the compound?”
They glanced at each other, and the eldest spoke. “There have been strange sounds from within, and especially in the evening, as other guards have reported. We had strict instructions not to investigate.”
This was understandable, considering what had happened to other people within. “And you have seen nothing outside the walls?”
“Only an occasional onibi, usually in the distance. Nothing else, my lord.”
The Capital, as I well knew, had its share of ghosts and demons just in the normal course of things. As the man implied, a distant onibi was not strange. It would have been stranger had they seen nothing. I thanked them, and they opened the gate for us. Inside was a garden going to weeds and a fine home in shinden style starting to show signs of neglect. Several of the screens showed tears that had not been repaired, and a few tiles had fallen off the roof of the western wing corridor.
“The spirits will not be at their strongest during the day,” I said to Morofusa and Ujiyasu, “but dusk is approaching. While this is a scouting mission and I do not plan to venture inside this evening, that time will come, and likely very soon. Ghosts can be dangerous, and these have already proven so. We cannot risk blessing our weapons, as harming Princess Shigeko would undo our purpose here. It would probably be best if, when that time does come, Master Kenji and I go in alone.”
“My instructions are clear,” Morofusa said. “So, with respect, I cannot allow that, but we are prepared to accompany you unarmed.”
Considering that Morofusa was far more concerned with keeping me alive than being gentle with anything that might threaten me, I knew what it had cost him to offer even this much compromise.
“That is acceptable. We’ll take our kodachis, but under no circumstances are you to draw them without an order directly from me or Master Kenji. Is that understood?”
“Hai, Lord Yamada,” Morofusa and Ujiyasu said together.
The buildings were off limits for the moment, but there were substantial grounds within the walls to cover. We made a slow circuit of the walls, noting the layout of the mansion. It was fairly typical: one large audience hall, one sleeping hall for the family, two wings on the east and west, the west consisting of a long corridor ending in a pavilion such as where we’d encountered the inugami. The eastern wing led to a storage building, as did two corridors off of the main building. Other sleeping quarters were situated off of the easternmost hall directly. All showed signs of slow decay.
Kenji studied the buildings intently. “This is puzzling. I know there are ghosts inside, yet something feels . . . odd. As if there are ghosts but other things as well.”
“Since the place is essentially abandoned, it would seem likely that smaller demons and youkai would take shelter there,” I said.
Kenji demurred. “But it is not abandoned. Princess Shigeko walks these halls, and the testimony of the two guards outside implies that she does not leave it. Which suggests that she is a jibakurei, a spirit bound to a place—this place. A few have tried to enter and some were harmed in the attempt. Even Lord Yorinobu himself was denied entry, by his own account. So. Why would a ghost as powerful as Princess Shigeko is alleged to be deny her own family but allow incursions from such riff-raff as youkai into her home?”
“The obvious answer is that she wouldn’t,” I said. “So what does that leave us?”
Kenji shrugged. “Lord Yamada, I wish I knew, but whatever it is, it must have a close association with the late princess.”
Princess Shigeko was one unknown, but now Kenji had added another. I knew we could find out only so much from those who knew her. Eventually we must, prepared or not, venture in.
We finished our circuit of the mansion and its walls and returned to the garden. “I want to get a little closer,” I said. “Perhaps the full scope of the area she is protecting might yield some information.”
“By which you mean you’re going to try to see how close you can get without getting killed?” Morofusa asked.
The way Morofusa said it, the whole endeavor sounded a little mad. Even so, understanding the limits of the haunting could be invaluable later. Especially if one avoided being killed.
“Well, yes, more or less,” I said.
“Which means that you or anyone might well be attacked, and so anyone could serve the purpose. I will do it, Lord Yamada.”
I frowned. “I cannot ask you to do such a thing. It is dangerous.”
“Which is precisely why I must do it in your stead,” Morofusa replied, infuriatingly impassive. “It is my duty.”
“What my companion says is true,” Ujiyasu chimed in. “Either one or both of us must attempt this, my lord, not you.”
“I trust neither of you will attempt to stop me when I do need to enter the mansion? I already told you that such was inevitable.”
“As long as we can lead the way and accompany you, we will not stop you,” Morofusa said.
“I have your word? Then very well, but be careful, and if we order you to return, you must do so.”
“Understood. I do think it wise that only one of us makes the attempt. Ujiyasu-san, I will go. If anything happens to me, make sure nothing happens to Lord Yamada.”
“Good luck,” Ujiyasu said.
I was thinking the same thing, though I believed it would embarrass Morofusa for me to say so. I kept silent as he carefully approached the sliding screen that served as the main entrance. When he was no farther than the length of a man from the door, an onibi flared within the mansion, and in its cold light there was the shadow of a woman on the screen.
A kage-onna? No.
“Morofusa-san, that is close enough. Please return.”
Morofusa paused with his hand outstretched to touch the screen, but as we agreed, he turned then and made his way back to us.
“I assume you saw it too,” he said.
“The shadow of a woman. I thought perhaps it was no more than a kage-onna, but then I realized it was the ghost light that had cast the shadow,” I said.
Ujiyasu frowned. “What is a kage-onna?”
“Just a youkai,” Kenji said. “It appears as the shadow of a woman on the back of a screen, but when you open the screen there is no one there. Startling, perhaps, but harmless. A kage-onna needs no light, as it is a shadow itself. This shadow didn’t appear until the onibi flared, so it was casting a shadow from someone or something. The presence of the ghost-light suggests it was Princess Shigeko.”
“One more step and I likely would have been attacked,” Morofusa said.
“If you’d opened that screen, I can almost guarantee it,” I said. What I didn’t think needed to be said was how much of a problem it was going to be to discover the source of Princess Shigeko’s anger if she wouldn’t allow us to make contact. I had an idea. I wasn’t sure if it was a good one, but it was better than nothing. I hoped we might be able to uncover something useful from another source before I was reduced to trying this particular idea.
“Let’s return to my house,” I said. The words still seemed odd to me. “My house.” In a city I had lived most of my life and yet never had a house of my own before. So much had changed, but so much had not, and here I was in Heian-kyo again, chasing ghosts.
“Agreed. We’re not accomplishing anything here,” Kenji said.
We walked out the gate and back down the street. As we passed within sight of Prince Kanemore’s town mansion again I did not feel the need to second-guess Prince Kanemore’s arrangements for Princess Tagako’s safety. I felt a little melancholy as I realized my chances discovering why she was being targeted or how to negate the threat seemed to be diminishing by the day.
Perhaps, once the matter of Princess Shigeko’s ghost is settled . . .
Assuming, of course, that I survived this little undertaking. I called myself the fool I was and tried to concentrate on the issue at hand. Nothing could be resolved until Shigeko-hime’s spirit was at peace.
As soon as we arrived in my new compound, Takamasa presented himself.
“You’ve received a letter, my lord,” he said, and held it up to me. “The courier returned not more than an hour hence.”
It was my reply from Abbot Daiwu:
Old Friend. I would be delighted to meet with you. I will be at leisure for the next three days. Please call upon me at your convenience.
The irony of his salutation was the first thing that got my attention, for once we had been mortal enemies. Yet the man who triggered the events that led to Princess Teiko’s death was not the same man who now served as Abbot at Enryaku Temple. I understood this better than anyone. I informed Morofusa and Ujiyasu of my intention of visiting Enryaku-ji the next day and sent them off for a meal and rest. Kenji suggested the same for us, and I was not inclined to argue. We ate on the south veranda, and Kenji then left to find his assigned room, after a partly joking warning from me to leave the maids in peace. He sighed and shook his head.
“At my age . . . ”
“At your age,” I confirmed. “Behave yourself.”
After he was gone, I remained on the veranda. The moon had since risen. Even though it was only a few days past new, I had to look at it for a little while. It did not cast a great deal of light, so when the onibi appeared in the garden, I noticed it immediately. There was only the one, and I knew even before the thought manifested itself completely in my mind who was responsible.
Princess Teiko.
We had not seen any evidence of her since my dream. Perhaps the effort of appearing to me then had forced her spirit to rest, to the extent that it could, for a little while. I started to rise, wondering if Princess Teiko had something else to say to me, but I had no sooner gotten to my feet again than the light winked out. I didn’t need its absence to understand she was gone. Princess Teiko’s spirit had already communicated what it wished to me.
A reminder. No more than this. Perhaps no more than she was capable of at this time, but not less important.
I was not done. Whether this concerned Princess Shigeko’s ghost, or some further desire on Teiko’s behalf for her son, it was not over. I was starting to wonder if it ever would be. Even though Teiko’s ghost was now gone, I was still not alone. I had heard a gasp from the doorway when the onibi first appeared.
“You can come out now, Takamasa-san.”
The screen slid aside, and there he was. “Lord Yamada, I didn’t mean . . . ”
To eavesdrop, had there been anything to hear? Of course you did.
“You saw it, didn’t you?” I asked.
He gulped, then nodded. “A ghost. Here . . . ”
I sighed. “Do not worry, Takamasa-san. When I depart, the ghost will either be at rest, or it will follow me.”
“My lord?”
“This house isn’t haunted, Takamasa-san. I am.”
The next morning Kenji and I and our two shadows departed for Enryaku-ji. The temple was about four leagues to the northeast atop Mount Hiei, so we went on horseback. As we were preparing to depart I received another letter, this time from one of my own messengers from Kamakura.
“It’s from Taro. All is well . . . perhaps even better than well. Taro met a young woman while he was in Mino . . . a daughter of the Seiwa Genji. If I’m reading this correctly, he seems quite smitten. Perhaps I will soon have an official daughter-in-law.”
“And another tie to the Minamoto clan,” Kenji said.
“I’m sure Lord Yoriyoshi would be pleased,” Morofusa added.
I frowned. I hadn’t thought of it in terms of political alliance, any more than I had considered this in the case of my adopted daughter Mai’s marriage into the Hino clan, but then such a union inevitably would be, whatever clan one married into. “Yes . . . well, there is that. He also says we have a visitor. He did not say who, so I suppose it is of no consequence, and he is as capable of showing hospitality as I am.”
“Better, I would think,” Kenji said, but I ignored him.
Kenji looked thoughtful. “He handles your horse breeding operations, he administers your estate in your absence, yet you still call him Taro. That is a child’s name.”
I sighed. “An old habit I’ve had difficulty breaking. His proper name is Yamada no Kiyomichi. I still call him Taro, and he indulges me.”
“He’s what . . . seventeen?”
“Probably eighteen, as close as we’ve been able to determine. He was perhaps seven or eight when he entered Prince Kanemore’s service in the stables, fourteen or fifteen when I adopted him.”
Kenji raised an eyebrow. “I trust you’ve never regretted that decision?”
“Only that one time, when he rode a stallion through my garden at Kamakura. He claims it was because the horse was still being broken, but I have my doubts.”
Both of the bushi chuckled; Kenji just sighed and glanced toward heaven.
“For someone who claims to be unlucky, you have more than your share of happiness,” he said.
“I only claim to be unlucky so the gods don’t presume I need more worries.”
Which was a lie of sorts, except for the part about not needing more worries. As I had told Tagako-hime, I was genuinely unlucky in many ways, and especially in the lives of those nearest to me, nearly all gone too soon. But my adoptive children had never been among them. I prayed this never changed.
The trip to Mount Hiei was not trivial, but we arrived in good time. We left the horses at a guest station near the base with Ujiyasu looking after them, and then Kenji, Morofusa, and I made the climb up to the temple complex near the summit. The last time I had been on the temple grounds, I had barely prevented a double execution—which was the reason I now had a home within the city and soon, I hoped, more information about the unfortunate Princess Shigeko.
Abbot Daiwu received us by the dais in the cavernous lecture hall. Behind him was a statue of Thousand-Armed Kannon and other figures that I didn’t pretend to know, though I was certain Kenji could name them all. As for the abbot, I had not seen the man in several years. He had aged a bit but was otherwise the serene, gentle soul that I remembered. This had not always been the case, but sometimes even the greatest darkness could be banished—something I tried to remember, especially when dealing with people who seemed more shadow than light.
He indicated the cushions prepared for us, and we all kneeled.
“I’m delighted to see you, Lord Yamada, as well as Master Kenji, but I know you too well to believe this is strictly a social visit,” he said.
“Your Eminence, I must admit to the truth of that. I am here because I am hoping you can help me.”
“Anything I can do, of course. You need only ask.”
It came to the moment when I had to make a decision. The fewer people who knew of my mission, of course, the better, and yet there were questions I needed to ask which of themselves would reveal it. Events at Princess Shigeko’s mansion had convinced me that there really was no choice at all.
“It is my understanding that Princess Shigeko was very fond of this holy place. I believe you knew her personally?”
He frowned. “Of course. She was a generous patron as well as a most pious woman. Her death was a great loss. Why do you ask?”
I took a breath. “I have some reason to believe she was deeply unhappy about something in her life. There is a . . . circumstance that has arisen, perhaps because of it.”
“You’re referring to the rumors that her former mansion is haunted, aren’t you?” he asked.
I had wondered how much he knew about the situation, and now I saw no point in dissembling. “Yes, Eminence. I have been asked to determine if this is true and what could be done about it.”
“By someone very important, I would think,” Daiwu said, looking thoughtful. “It is no secret that your circumstances have changed since our last meeting, so only such a person would have the influence to engage your aid. Someone in the family, or perhaps His Majesty himself?”
There was that much of Lord Fujiwara no Sentaro left in the man—a sharp mind in the service of a very dark purpose once. The mind remained, if now turned to better purposes. My faith in this remained unshaken, but the reminder was a little disconcerting. He must have noticed the look on my face; he smiled.
“An old habit, but I do not need or want to know any more. I was very fond of Princess Shigeko. She was a good and gentle soul, and if you are trying to help her, that is enough. It is true that Shigeko-hime was troubled, and I counseled her on more than one occasion.”
“May I ask what was troubling her? I would not do so if it were not important.”
Abbot Daiwu hesitated, then finally sighed. “This is not something I would normally choose to reveal, but keeping it secret helps no one. Princess Shigeko never had children with the crown prince, now emperor. That, I dare to presume, is well known. What is not well known is that Princess Shigeko suffered miscarriages. There were at least two, and both of those occurred even before the pregnancy was announced.”
“I had not heard this,” I said.
He shrugged. “Nor would you. Princess Shigeko kept it a secret. Even the crown prince didn’t know. Perhaps she didn’t want to disappoint him or her family—it’s also no secret the Fujiwara would have liked another potential Fujiwara heir. I only learned of it after her second miscarriage. That’s when she came to me for counseling. She was very ill for a long while after the second time. She recovered, but I knew it was dangerous for her to try again. There are . . . ways, such things could be prevented, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She was determined.”
“It happened during her third attempt, didn’t it?” Kenji asked.
Abbot Daiwu nodded. “The pregnancy was too advanced to be hidden, this time, nor did Shigeko-hime feel any need to do so. She was so happy, Lord Yamada, you should have seen her. Such joy on another human being’s face I have rarely seen before . . . but then something went horribly wrong. The child, a boy, was stillborn. Princess Shigeko passed a few days later.”
I had known a stillbirth had caused Princess Shigeko’s death. I had not known of the previous two failed pregnancies. “Do you know why she was so determined? Was it simply to produce an heir?”
Abbot Daiwu’s expression was pure sadness. “She gave all the expected reasons at one time or another: a desire to please the prince or to please her family. Which is the true one? Honestly, Lord Yamada, I don’t know, and I don’t believe she did either. If you want my opinion, the first two reasons were simply a nod to duty, and the real one was that she wanted more than anything to be a mother. This fits with what I knew of her, but as I said, this is only my opinion. I claim no more insight into another’s soul than the next person.”
Such a frustrated desire is more than enough to create an angry ghost.
Perhaps the situation really was this simple. Simple and extremely difficult to resolve. Now that she was dead, how could such a desire be fulfilled? The obvious answer was that it could not. If everything that Abbot Daiwu told me was the absolute truth—and I firmly believed that it was—I was still left with a problem almost impossible to unravel.
“It was good of you to see me, and I humbly thank you for your help. We won’t take up any more of your time.”
“If you can help Shigeko-hime find peace and free her from this world, I will be in your debt. If anyone on this earth deserved to be happy, she did. As this was not to be, the least we can do is end her misery. If there is anything else I can do, please call upon me.”
We took our leave. By the time we returned to Ujiyasu and our horses, it was well into the afternoon, but there was time enough to reach the city before dark. We met a momonjii at one of the road crossings as evening fell, but Kenji easily drove it away before it could sicken any of us.
“If I actually had the proper ward for every different monster we might meet . . . well, this poor horse couldn’t bear the weight of them,” he said. “Fortunately, a reciting of the proper sutra works well enough for such riff-raff as that.”
“For which you have our thanks,” I said. “And the patronage of your temple, of course.”
“So you keep reminding me. Speaking of that, you never refer to me as ‘eminence.’ ”
“Only because I’ve usually had to refer to you as far worse. Don’t you worry about one day being transformed into a nodera-bo or some other disgusting monster?”
Kenji was unconcerned. “It is said there once was a temple with a stone figure of the Buddha which would come alive during the night and go visit brothels. I think I’m more likely to be transformed into something of that sort,” he said. “I would not mind.”
I knew Kenji would not mind it. He was the soul of piety, but in his own fashion.
“I’ve been thinking about what Abbot Daiwu said. I know you’re thinking of a yurei, of course, in relation to Shigeko-hime? An angry ghost?”
“As Abbot Daiwu made clear, she does have unfinished business,” I said. “Of a sort that may be impossible to finish. So, yes, I think it likely that her frustration at not being able to bear children was what drove her to this state.”
“In which case we would have little choice save for exorcism . . . which would only be sanctioned if we can prove the reason for her haunting is as we believe,” Kenji said. “Does this faithfully relate the nearly impossible situation we are faced with?”
“I fear so,” I said. “It is the likely and sensible answer.”
Kenji looked at me. “So why do you hesitate to accept it?”
Kenji was right. Something didn’t fit what Abbot Daiwu had said. While I believed his recall of those sad events, something was still out of place.
“I merely suspect simple answers, even when they appear to be the correct ones. Something is still bothering me about Shigeko-hime’s situation, something I’m missing.”
Morofusa, who had been frowning even more than was normal for a bushi, finally spoke up. “My lords, there is something that is troubling me as well. May I ask a question?”
“Of course,” I said.
“While I am no expert on the subject of ghosts, it was my understanding that an angry ghost was, well, angry. Always. Is this not so?”
“Yes,” Kenji said. “What is your point?”
“Then why were some people simply denied entry while others were harmed? Should not everyone have been attacked, regardless of their past relationship with the princess? Would an angry ghost be capable of such distinctions?”
This was not the first time in my life I wanted to curse myself for being an idiot. Yet rarely had I felt like such a complete and absolute idiot.
“Morofusa-san, the answer to your question is—they would not.”
Kenji scowled. “Yamada-san, are you forgetting about the ghost of Hanako?”
I was not. Rather, Morofusa’s question had immediately brought her to mind. Hanako was a woman betrayed and murdered by her husband, the shock of which had transformed her into an ogre. She had blocked a road, but she had not harmed anyone, despite her vicious appearance. She had only wanted to be reunited with the husband she still loved. Which had happened, though in a rather gruesome yet oddly appropriate fashion.
“I am not. Hanako was not an angry ghost, though she had every reason to be. She was focused on a goal, and harming people at random was not part of that goal. Or are you forgetting?”
Kenji looked stunned. “Oh. Are you saying—” He stopped himself. I immediately understood why. This was not something that should be spoken in front of anyone, even Morofusa and Ujiyasu.
“I am not saying anything for the moment. We have other things to consider first,” I said. “But that is for later. For now, Morofusa-san, understand that your question helped clarify a few things. Thank you.”
He bowed. “I am glad to be of service, even if I do not know what I have done.”
For all our sakes, we had best keep it that way.