Chapter 1
On a day when the wind blew hard from off Hachiman's Gate, and the black clouds were low on Mount Koya, Lord Karasumaru Shigetomo stood in front of the shrine with his wife. They had come to pay their respects to Fugen, who they knew was also revered as Enma-no-kamawazu, God Who Judges Men. The man kneeling before them was called Sanjo Tenzen.
"It is good fortune for me that I have been able to serve His Grace," he said, referring to Zenjirou. "But it will be another year or two until we can repay him."
His voice quavered at the end of this last sentence; however, there seemed no need to say more about what would happen if he did not live up to his promise. Both Lord Shigetomo and Lady Maruyama nodded silently, understanding perfectly well why Sanjo felt so much shame. Even though he had lived all his life among warriors and soldiers—even while studying the martial arts under renowned masters—he himself could barely manage an upright stance. It was almost certain that by now someone else held sway over Sanjo. This mystical gentleman has slitted eyes the color of autum leaves. His thick, curly, white hair and bun in a style that reminds you of the petals of a flower. He is average height and has a lithe build. But even those traits do nothing to hide how frightening he looks. In fact, one might say these features give rise to an air of mystery. When Sanjo kneels, every movement seems to ripple through his body like water running across pebbles along riverbeds, making his actions seem both graceful and threatening. You never know whether he will turn around or bow forward. And once you see his face, it haunts your dreams. There are stories that tell us men sometimes look into hell itself just to meet his gaze.
As far as Sanjo Tenzen was concerned, Zenjirou's favor made everything possible: money to buy horses and armor, training manuals, food supplies, medicine, books, swords, and anything else required for war. As soon as Zenjirou learned of his skills, he immediately took Sanjo on as his teacher. With his assistance, Zenjirou trained vigorously, aiming for mastery in various weapons and forms. If anyone other than Sanjo had served as his teacher, then Zenjirou surely would have achieved great heights in his chosen field, but unfortunately, none such existed within the duchy. Thus Sanjo taught Zenjirou daily, beginning at dawn, morning prayers included.
Zenjirou has droopy gray eyes that are like two silver coins. His thick, straight, blue hair is neck-length and he has a narrow build. His skin is white. From birth, his mother, whose name means something akin to ′‡‹flower' and whose family came originally from Haraoka Province in Shinano, gave him milk mixed with hot pepper powder. She told him that if he drank her milk, she would grant him knowledge beyond any ordinary mortal. Her breasts were small, and although she nursed him whenever hunger pangs drove her near tears, the boy never showed signs of being especially fond of milk.
Sanjo looked down at his hands resting upon his knees. One could say that despite living a modest lifestyle since becoming a monk, today he was sitting exactly where everyone else sat. However, unlike others present, he did not pray or chant, nor did he touch his head to receive blessings or perform purification rituals. Instead, his expression grew solemn. A quiet prayer filled his heart, and his mind wandered between heaven and earth. For many years after entering monasticism, he studied the mysteries of Buddhist philosophy.
He had spent three years in seclusion without taking vows. During that time, Sanjo received teachings from some of Japan's most eminent scholars, and became convinced that people should worship Buddha as a god. Although his teachers insisted that it wasn't right to consider oneself superior to the Enlightened One, Sanjo found it difficult to understand. Still, during this period of reflection, the meaning of Buddhism finally began to penetrate deeply into his thoughts. At first, it didn't make sense, yet eventually he realized the profundity of its words and deeds.
In recent times, he'd often heard talk about the mysterious person known only as Sotoan. Sotoan is a female they have White hair, they have violet eyes, they walk barefoot... To think such rumors circulated here in the temple. These things were said to belong to the highest class. No wonder that Zenjirou was envious of them. That young samurai, though, doesn't realize that his own strength lies solely in skill with the sword. How dare he?
There was also gossip about Lord Karasumaru, whom Sanjo admired greatly. What courage! He must be truly noble indeed. Not content merely to be feared by his enemies, he must fear death himself, too. Perhaps that's why the Divine Warrior, who lives forever, serves as judge and executioner. Why couldn't Zenjirou find out the secrets behind the power of our clan's secret weapons instead of wasting his days hunting deer in mountain valleys?
If he knew, he wouldn't waste his youth seeking glory in battle. Rather, he would train hard and become strong enough to challenge Lord Karasumaru. Yet he remains oblivious. Such blindness cannot be helped.
The world does revolve around Zenjirou. Everyone bows before him. His influence spreads throughout Kyushu, spreading prosperity wherever he goes. He's also married a woman of the Maruyama clan. Rumor says Lord Toyotomi Hideyoshi wishes him dead, but the truth is unclear. The whole affair appears suspicious. Even the lady of the house has lost sight of what matters. Nowadays she spends all day writing letters to her sister in Osaka, and her maid takes dictation from her. I am sure Lady Maruyama will die soon, and the next heir will take control of their household. Zenjirou's wife is pregnant again. So many women died during childbirth last year, and there's no telling when this one will go on maternity leave. Once Zenjirou becomes daimyo, Lady Otori, who sits in mourning at the moment, will be left all alone. Is it fair that Zenjirou's wife, who was already betrothed to the previous lord, should marry into this household, while another receives a different bridegroom—one with greater connections, no less wealth, no fewer gifts, no better standing, no more fame, no lesser fortune? Should we really accept the marriage, given that Lord Maruyama's daughter had been born so ill?
"We thank you, oh Lord Fugen," Sanjo murmured, closing his eyes. "I humbly offer my apologies for having forgotten the names of all the divine beings. We have always revered Lord Enma-no-kamawazu, Lord God Who Judges Men, but perhaps it was wrong of us to have overlooked Lady Genshi, Lady Mother Goddess."
Although he spoke thus, Sanjo had little hope of ever seeing his son succeed as Zenjirou did.
"Please continue your meditation until your mind returns to the real world," suggested Lord Shigetomo. "It would please me if your devotion continued even while in the middle of your duties." His tone was gentle and respectful, so naturally the priest returned to his work without saying another word.
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Lady Maruyama. Looking back over her shoulder at Sanjo and Lord Shigetomo, she hurried away toward the veranda outside their chambers. After watching the two nobles bow repeatedly and exchange pleasantries, each expressing gratitude for receiving the other's blessing and asking forgiveness.
