Warrior Born - Part 3

Part 3
Matsuo takes Hikaru to his home where he is reluctantly received by Matsuo’s wife, Hinata.
***
Matsuo and I strolled through between the buildings. The guardsmen had instructions Daisuke’s head be preserved in rice wine and presented to the Court the following morning.
"This trouble can’t continue. The Prince must succeed the throne soon,” said Matsuo.
“That child?”
“He is the same age as us,” said Matsuo. I scoffed.
“Eighteen summers in the Kuanto is a lifetime against twice that in the Court. You expect he can curtail the Taira? The Taira lust for power ruins all.”
“Even Lord Kiyomori is bound to the Throne.”
“Yes? Then what fate befell the Emperor?” I asked. Matsuo was silenced for a moment.
“Some blame the Tengu,” he finally replied.
“Then why was he so far from the palace?” I asked. Matsuo groaned.
“This is the same argument and I’m tired of it,” he said.
“The Taira want war.”
“If war starts we will be at its centre. Perhaps you should consider that," said Matsuo.
I slapped his shoulder. “Matsuo, you need me and you know it. I’m the side of you that gets away doing all the things that you want to but can’t,” I said. He made a wry face.
"Like a pet monkey,” he teased. “You look barely fit to stand. Come stay at my house tonight."
"And your wife won’t mind?" I asked. Matsuo hesitated only a moment.
"It's the least I can do, even for a useless drunk,” he replied. Despite my doubts I had eaten little for four days and the thought of warm food in my stomach was too great to resist.
"That would be kind," I said.
Matsuo lived in one of the small tenement houses, huddled between the riverside warehouse district and a small shrine dedicated to a patron deity of merchants. It peaked above a line of pines, its crested roof tiled in tarnished bronze.
It was late. Somewhere a dog barked and I could hear the muffled snore of an elderly man. Otherwise the buildings were quiet. No lanterns guided us through the alleys until we turned the last corner. A yellow lantern hung beneath the eaves of the little tenement, its light a beacon in the night.
The door slid open and Matsuo’s wife appeared. She tried to keep her expression stern but a smile chased her lips. That changed when she recognized me. I bowed my head.
" Hinata," I said. I realized my dishevelled appearance and saw the distaste in her expression. She pinched her nose and her eyes hardened. I regretted now that I had not taken the time to tidy myself, it was thoughtless to neglect my appearance. Daisuke’s blood was still splattered on my clothing and I stank of smoke and wine. My father was heir of the largest warrior-born clan in the Isles and a distant relative of the Imperial House. That made no difference to Hinata.
"Master Hikaru, I did not expect the pleasure. Your revelries are concluded for the evening?" she asked. She was as fierce as a general on a battlefield. Matsuo didn’t meet her eyes.
"Yes they are Lady, sorry to intrude upon your kindness.”
"It's no trouble.” Her tone implied the opposite. Matsuo shuffled between us.
"I told you not to leave a light on, what if a thief had come?”
"Then he would be a poor thief. Who would try to rob the household of a guardsman without the cover of darkness?" She asked. I laughed.
“You set a high standard for those who don’t know better,” I said. Hinata scanned me from head to toe.
We were ushered in and seated near the fireplace. Hinata prepared a simple meal of rice, stewed vegetables and some small, silver-scaled fish that charred from the fire. Matsuo would be forced to share with me, though Hinata found an extra serving of rice and boiled a bean-curd soup with radish. A long time had passed since I had shared such a simple meal but it warmed my stomach and the wine-induced fog in my head melted away, filling me with a calm I had not enjoyed in a long time.
"You are a very lucky," I told Matsuo. Hinata preened at the compliment. After our meal Matsuo and I lounged on the veranda, enjoying the cool night air.
"I'm sorry," I said. Matsuo waved my apology away.
"It is a little difficult timing of late, Hinata may be with child,” he replied. Seeing my surprise, Matsuo could not hide his own delight and turned to conceal a beaming smile. He waved away my congratulations. "It is only early, and no one is to know yet. Hinata worries it will be bad luck. It's changed her moods a little.” He looked awkward and I noticed his eyes slipped from mine.
“You two are like rabbits, what is Tomoki now, two months?"
"Six," he replied.
"So soon! Your father will be proud." Matsuo's father was my father's closest councillor and his family well known in the Kuanto. “Has he seen his grandson yet?"
"My mother visited in autumn, but my father," he thought for a moment, "he’s always a busy man," he finished. I laughed, I knew his father well and he could never be away long from his lands.
"You've built quite a life for yourself here,” I said.
"For now, but how long before father demands my return?" Matsuo was the youngest of three and the only boy.
“He will be happy for the skills you learnt in the guard,” I replied. Matsuo scoffed. We both knew the Genji’s view of the Keibishi. “Well he will be happy for his grandson. What of Hinata’s family?”
“They still live in the north. It makes no difference to them.”
We spoke lightly for a time of people we knew and laughed as we shared stories and memories. We reminisced of our childhood training in the Kuanto and the stories of our peers.
“Could you imagine, we might now be riding with them in the cadres?” he asked. His words struck me like a blow to the face.
“It is for the best. Fate decided differently and we are now each scattered to the winds. Like us both, they are pursuing their own destinies.”
A long silence stretched between us. We stared up at the sky, the chill wind caressing our faces.
"Every year I dread the flowering of the plum blossoms," said Matsuo.
"Quite the poet. Your father would be right to fetch you, you’ve spent too long in the capital. Soon you’ll be powdering your face like the Taira,” I teased. Matsuo groaned.
“Do not confuse civilized life for foppery,” he said. Our conversation came to an abrupt halt when a baby's cry pierced the building. Matsuo was on his feet. "My son and heir"
“You move faster for a baby’s cry than Daisuke’s sword. Did we wake him?" I asked, but Matsuo shook his head.
"He's not sleeping well, perhaps it’s his teeth? He’s taken to the nightly habit of kicking me in the head.”
I laughed. “Better him than Hinata,” I replied. He shot me a withering glare.
“I’d better check," he said, just as Hinata appeared in the doorway. Swaddled in bedding, Tomoki was wide-eyed, his face red from crying. He took a moment to survey his surroundings, then his face screwed up and he bawled.
"He has grown so much, yet he’s still so tiny," I said. I wiggled a finger near his head and for a moment the crying stopped. He reached a tiny hand that gripped my finger. "He’s like a little monkey. He will be a strong swordsman, maybe stronger than his father.”
“Warriors ride and they draw bow,” said Matsuo. He excelled at both.
"May I hold him?" I asked Hinata. She warned me to take care and reluctantly delivered the bundle into my hands.
"You can clean him if you so wish," she said.
"I'm not sure that's for the best, but thank-you for the offer," I replied. Hinata muttered something beneath her breath. In truth, she was a good woman and an excellent match for my friend, though she would not warm to me. Matsuo had regaled her with the stories of our childhood and I wondered if he’d exaggerated my share of trouble. She saw me as the reckless, youngest son of her husband's lord. I feared she was right.
Matsuo prodded his son, poking an inquisitive finger through the swaddling. "I think we need water," he said weakly. He left for the alley between the buildings where a community well was sunk and returned with a pail, water sloshing at its rim. "Water, dear wife," he said. I passed him his son.
"And the young master, I believe he has a present for you. Please excuse me.”
Like the well, the tenements shared a small bathroom, tucked away from view beneath the trees of the shrine. I thought it best to give Matsuo some time with his wife, so when I was finished I stumbled through the darkness. My eyelids were heavy after the long night and the taste of the wine soured in my mouth, mixing with the food in my stomach.
I ventured on the shrine. It was dedicated to one of the twelve protector spirits. Nominally he was the patron of fisherman and he touted a fishing rod, on the end of which hung a fat trout. The merchants had long ago adopted him as their own and the shrine had prospered. The god wore a peaked cap, in the fashion of the courtiers of the capital, perched on a round face with long earlobes, a symbol of good wealth. Beneath the pines was a sprawling cherry blossom tree and although the branches were bare now, in the coming days the blossoms would open and the shrine would float on a cloud of white flowers. It was a wealthy shrine to maintain such a garden. Matsuo's house was surrounded by the modest families of the smaller traders. Many carried their trade over the highways between the capital and the smaller villages and as their work took them away from their homes and families they were grateful for the house of a guardsman so near their own.
I strolled beneath the gateway. It was a horned arch painted bright vermillion. Hung between the pillars was a rope woven from rice stalks, festooned with strips of white paper. I following a short path that led to the shrine. In the centre of the path stood a bronze incense bowl and a light but pungent smoke wafted through the air, the last of the incense offering from the day. A bundle of the incense sticks still burned, the cluster of embers weaving thin tendrils of smoke.
I fished my pipe case from inside my sleeve, loosened the braiding and filled the pipe’s bowl, pressing it in with my thumb. I touching the incense sticks to its contents. After a few puffs the bowl lit. I took a long draft and lazed against the cistern, enjoying the numbness as a puff of blue smoke curled around my face and wreathed my head, the pipe smoke mixing with the incense. After the third draw my mind floated and my limbs grew heavy. I found myself studying the shadows and saw monstrous figures shifting on the edges of my vision, yet the moment was so calm, so peaceful, that they commanded no fear of me and I challenged my tormentors.
"If you would have me then come forward," I demanded, but no monsters appeared and the shrine stayed quiet. I chuckled aloud at my strange behaviour. Suddenly a white figure emerged from the gloom. I jumped and the pipe fell from my mouth. My scabbard was in my left hand and my thumb flicked the blade loose in its throat. "Who in the hell's are you?" I demanded, masking my fear and surprise beneath anger. The words tumbled from my lips. Too late, I saw his robes and guessed him the shrine’s priest. I quickly muttered an apology and bowed stiffly.
The priest looked surprised, but not nearly as much as I was. As he recovered his mouth shifted into a half grin. He stepped nearer and I could see the laughter in his eyes. "It's not me you should apologize to, Master Warrior," he said, and motioned to the shrine's crested roof. Beneath its peak a figure of the deity was carved into the timber. I stooped to retrieve my pipe, concealing my shame. The fall had knocked the contents from its bowl. It smouldered at the foot of the incense basin.
"Sorry to have offended, Master Priest, I was only seeking a quiet moment from a busy night," I said. I bowed my head stiffly.
"A worthy sentiment." His words were soft.
His robes were more ornate than those of a priest, more akin that of a courtier in style, though far plainer and free of adornment. He was bare-headed and at first I thought him bald, but as he shuffled past I realized his head was shaven smooth. At stood before the shrine's altar, clapped twice and then bowed. As he prayed the world became still. As I bore quiet witness to his prayers a calm fell over the air. The shadows melted from the recesses of my vision. He stepped back from the altar.
The priest had such depth in his face. His features were sharp and his long jaw was square and drew to a pointed chin. He had a wide forehead and his brows were thick and black, untouched by age. What remarked him though were his eyes. In his eyes I saw a wisdom earned through long years. They glittered as they watched my face and I saw no judgment, only patience as deep as the ocean.
"Pardon, Master Priest, but I think you must be a great holy man," I said. He laughed.
"I am not the priest of this shine so you have nothing to fear from me," he replied. I was embarrassed.
“Please forgive my rudeness, but I noticed the scriptures hung across the Demon Gate.”
“Yes, the rites are almost upon us.” He sighed. “It seems time neglects us as we age, for each season passes quicker than the last.”
“Of course, Master. Perhaps it is my crude eyes, but is it possible one of the characters is incorrect?” I asked. The priest frowned. He stood beneath the vermillion arch, studying the scraps of cloth and the characters painted on each.
“The sixth… you are correct.” I’d thought he would be upset, but instead he smiled. “You are Genji, are you not?”
“I am,” I replied. He clapped his hands together with joy.
“And a man of learning!”
“It is no big thing, my knowledge is modest at best. I have some familiarity with the scriptures of Shoki, the Demo-Queller.”
“More perhaps than the young priest who painted the evocation?”
"I have studied a little," I replied. In truth I knew the scripture very well. I had spent many long hours over the scrolls but, as always, the answers I yearned for evaded me. “I’m a swordsman, not a priest.”
“Of course,” he said, soothing my pride. “Still, you may have avoided disaster. The rites strengthen the Demon Gates. Who knows what calamity might have visited those near here? It is fortuitous we both ventured here tonight.”
“It is nothing,” I said. He smiled.
“I was on my home and thought visit the shrine. I worry over the danger the future holds for those closest to me and I pray for direction." He laughed. "It is foolish of me, are we not taught that nature is inexorable? Yet still I pray."
"Ours is to understand true nature," I said. The priest looked surprised.
"The Diamond Vessel," he said with pleasure. His eyes fell on my sword. “Is that the path taken by the Genji?”
“No. It is not the path for the warrior-born," I said. The words spilled from my lips, so often had I heard them. I relented. “But then, perhaps there are many ways to the same end, each as different as there are souls.”
The priest folded his hands and lowered his head. To my embarrassment he bowed. “There is wisdom in your words.”
“Please forgive me, I did not mean to be rude.”
“The Enlightened One’s wisdom manifests from a myriad of sources.” He looked delighted, though I couldn’t guess at his meaning. “I have been rude not to introduce myself. I am Tatsumaru of the Sugimoto,” he said. I felt the shame burn in my ears and bowed deeply. I had quoted the Diamond Vessel to the man to fetch it from the Mainland.
“Master Sugimoto, please forgive me.”
“Not at all. What is your name, Genji?”
“Hikaru of the Genji.”
“The third son of Yoshida, I know of you. I think that perhaps you have a long journey, Master Hikaru, but at least your feet are on the path. I wish you all the best in your search,” he said. I muttered my gratitude for his blessing and watched as he left, waiting until the last of his footsteps faded into the night. He created a serenity that lingered even after his absence.
I returned to Matsuo's house. The Sugimoto Patriarch was famed for his courage and I pondered our meeting as I neared Matsuo’s house. I stopped when I heard his wife's voice raised in argument. "He has no responsibilities," she said.
"I have known him my entire life. His grandfather is my Patron Lord, my father is oathsworn to his own father,” Matsuo said.
“He is a reckless man barely out of childhood. He doesn’t understand responsibility.”
“We are almost brothers. We would have been in the same cadre. I would have been sworn in service of his life.”
“But you aren’t. You are a guardsman. So too is he, yet look how he behaves! He is little more than a gangster, not the honoured grandson of a Great Name.”
Matsuo took a moment to reply. When he did his voice was softer. “You don’t understand. If it wasn't for what happened to Lady Genji... he blames himself,” he said.
"It doesn’t matter. It doesn't matter who he is, he will sully your career or worse, he’ll get you killed.”
There was a long silence.
“I am warrior-born, Hinata, just as your father. You must act as his daughter. He saved my life. If he hadn't been there I would not have come back tonight
“Matsuo, I know you feel your honour deeply. Don’t let it be spoiled by one who doesn’t. He repaid you debt he owed you a thousandfold. You have to think of your family as well. You are your father’s heir and Tomoki yours. You duty is to your father, not to Hikaru. He may be born to the Genji, but his actions make him nobody," she said. My ears could barely catch Matsuo’s meek reply.
I could linger no longer to eavesdrop on their conversation, I'd heard more than I could stomach. I steered myself for my lodgings, my resentment growing with each step as Hinata’s words rolled through my mind. She was right. Fate, I thought. What cruelty made me so when I was born privilege? Karma was terrible indeed and no amount of prayer would ever spare me my demons.
The air cool prickled my skin as I strolled the streets. Perhaps I might meet the knives of the Hachimoto in the shadows? A part of me relished nursed the hope. I wanted to feel something - anything that would distract me from the thoughts that haunted me. I could not face the night. My stride grew faster as with resentment came another kind of longing.
***