The Eye of the Kami

The merchant was true to his word. He did not bind Yuki except for evenings, and even then, it was just her ankles. They quickly made their way out of the forest and onto an expansive plain that sat between two mountainous regions. On their right was Mount Omukae, its famous peak was easily recognizable. Its surrounding mountains made up the northern part of the range in which Kokoro sat. On the left and much further off, was a smaller collection of mountains and foothills, which looked like rippling blue waves in the distance. She knew that they had reached the Zōji plain, fertile land that grew a considerable amount of the island’s rice. She could see the vast land parsed into innumerable quadratic rice paddies and divided by narrow dirt paths.

This section of land was extremely important and was partly to blame for the long feud between Zōji and Kagi clans. Because the Islands were mostly rugged and mountainous, there were very few open areas that were ideal for agriculture, so places like this were highly coveted. At their elevation, Yuki felt that she could almost see all the way to the northern ocean, but it was just beyond her view.

The merchant nudged her down into the plain, and she continued reluctantly, her feet and body sore from the relentless pace they kept. Her fortitude had suffered a critical blow with Souta’s defeat, and she lost all ambition to run or even hope for help. She drifted along mindlessly, letting her captor guide them as he saw fit. The image of the boy’s eyes, his neck glistening with blood still haunted her. That and the withdrawal from the potion ensured that she was not getting restful sleep, despite the exhaustion of the day.

Her captor was a hard man, a true predator. He never slackened their pace, and they marched on with few breaks. When Yuki began to slow down, he would put her on the horse to give her rest and to keep their pace. When they did break it was brief, and the food that they ate was scant. It was just enough to keep them going, but never enough to satisfy. He avoided outside contact if he could, but in the plain, there were many houses and villages, and some communication could not be helped.

He had urged her not to speak if she could help it. If there was no way around it, he instructed her to simply say she was a bride traveling with her brother on her way to meet her betrothed in the city. She did not know if it was a cruel joke or not, but no one spoke to her as they passed along on the road. She got some glances, some looks of intrigue, some of pity, but no one ever said anything. Perhaps the merchant seemed too trustworthy, or more likely, too dangerous.

On the plain, the green rice stalks were now quite tall, nearly to the point where they would reveal their rice kernels and begin to bow like respectful courtiers. Rice was often harvested at the beginning of the fall, but it depended greatly on the type and the location. Here the stalks grew thick and proud, and the water was clear, having been irrigated from the local rivers and mountains. Yet there were many guard posts and taskmasters, making sure that their land was protected, and that the farmers were working diligently.

Since the Shōgun lawfully owned this land, everything that was grown within it was technically his. He would see a large cut when it was finally harvested. But the provincial lord, the Kagi daimyō was directly in control of this land, and thus it was his responsibility to make sure it produced. The farmers who lived and worked the lands were near the bottom level, but still respected more than traders and merchants. They had quite a bit of control over the day-to-day happenings on their farms, and as long as they paid their share of taxes, they were largely left alone. It had been quite similar for her father, but since Kokoro was so far in the mountains, and not expected to grow a great deal, the tax burden was relatively light and so was his contribution.

Yuki admired the wide plain, and though she regretted her pitiful circumstances, she could not help but feel moved by the beauty and vastness of it all. The green squares of perfectly aligned stalks that stretched on for miles made her feel like she had been transported to another world. It had been many years since she had last seen this kind of land. The rest of her life was spent in the forested uplands. It was a shock to her system to have this much open air. The Islands had such a vast array of wonders to display. She only wished that she could experience them under better circumstances.

After nearly two days of traveling in the open summer sun, both were weary and longed for shade. They made for a peculiar, isolated hill of bamboo and pines amid the sea of rice paddies. They were nearing the actual ocean, and Yuki could smell a faint hint of salt in the air. She knew that her captor would make a change in direction soon, either east or west, and she was growing anxious. Her father would surely be following them, but the further they went, the more difficult it would be for him to find them.

They proceeded into the heart of the small sanctuary and then up a sloping path of crudely built stairs. Yuki thought this was an odd thing to find in the middle of a wide plain, but she remembered that this land had not always been used for farming. It was once heavily forested and brackish swampland that over the centuries been transformed into the fertile land it had become. At the very top of the hill, sitting among tall and tremendously thick trees was an ancient shrine.

Like many of the old shrines, two rows of stone lanterns led up to a simple, wooden building and the archetypal triangular sloping roof. This shrine was quite small, perhaps half the size of her own house, and was made of dark wood that had seen many years of wear. There were cobwebs in all the corners, and the stairs leading up to the shrine were pitted and broken in places. Across from the shrine and before the row of lanterns began there was the ubiquitous gate, two pillars of wood crossed with a thick beam overhead so that worshipers would pass through and know they had entered a sacred site. All shrines, at the very least, had this kind of gate.

“We’ll rest here,” her captor stated, after carefully inspecting their surroundings. Even at the top of the hill, they had quite a bit of shade from the massive trees that dotted the summit.

“Where are we?” she wondered. From a break in the trees, she had a clear vista of the great plain in which they were in. She saw mountains to the east and the west, and also to the south. Roads stretched across land intersecting here and there like linen threads. She saw clusters of the farmers’ wooden houses that made up their tranquil villages. She was awed by the clarity of her vantage from this peculiar hill.

“My father is out there,” she reminded herself. “He is coming for me.”

“A pity,” the merchant said aloud with a scoff. “This would have made a good place for a castle, or a watchtower at least.”

“I’m surprised they have not built one here,” Yuki said, agreeing with him for once. “With so many battles to control this plain, you would have thought one of the past generals would have used this strategic location.”

The merchant motioned to the dilapidated old shrine. “That’s the reason.” His words were bitter. “The locals won’t let it be destroyed. They claim this is a place of great power.”

“Since when do daimyō heed their subjects?” she asked.

The merchant grunted. “When they all threaten to revolt and scorch your most lucrative land to make their point.”

Yuki was shocked. “They would surely be killed if they did such a thing.”

“Then who would be left to farm the land?”

Yuki surveyed the hilltop, this time more intently. There was a power here, she felt it, but what was it? Why was this place so important?

“I’m going to need you to do something for me,” the merchant said. So far, whenever he used this language, it did not bode well. Often it was something that she was not going to like, such as being bound uncomfortably or walking for extended periods in the hot sun. Unfortunately, she had never been able to refuse him.

She looked at him, awaiting his directions with trepidation.

“I need you to walk out to that place,” he said, pointing out to the distance with his unsheathed knife. “Do you see that road; do you see that man on horseback?”

She nodded.

“I want you to go to him. Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you. But he needs to see you. You will give him this message.” He revealed a folded piece of parchment which had been sealed with wax but bore no sigil. “From here I can see everything you do,” he explained. “Do not open the letter and do not try and run.” He stopped short of threatening her, but she could see the danger in his eyes and the gleam of the knife in his hand.

“Why not follow me like a ghost as has been your custom?” she asked. “Why give me this freedom?”

The man merely stared at her. He did not respond.

Yuki sensed that this was a test. He was trying to exert control over her, and she did not know why. He already had physical control of her after all. He could kill her in an instant. Why see if she would obey without him nearby? What did he have to gain from that?

She had read parts of the Methodology of Voice, an esoteric text used by Truists and at times commanders and rulers on how to make oneself powerful through posture, word choice, expression, and intonation. It was a difficult read, but she remembered the words, “If one can compel you with physical force, they have your body. If they can compel you without physical force, they have your mind.”

“What’s in the letter?” she asked, refusing to give him any more of herself.

The merchant laughed. “Do you really think I would tell you that?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head, “But I would open it the first chance I had.” She felt defiance rising in her that she could not explain. “That letter could be the key to my freedom or a death warrant for my father or someone else I care about. I’d rip it to shreds if it were.”

“I see,” the merchant said, his face showing both surprise and amusement. “And what if I told you I would cause you great discomfort if you did that?”

“I would take the risk,” she said firmly, though she quailed inside.

He studied her for several moments and then nodded. “You are stronger than you look.” He hid the letter back in his sleeve. “And perhaps cleverer. I’ll bring him up then, though I would prefer not to be seen.” He turned and put his fingers to his lips and gave a sharp whistle, signaling the man down on the road.

Yuki sat down; she was trying to settle herself. She had taken a gamble in refusing her captor, but it had seemed to pay off. “I will not be his slave,” she told herself. “I may be his captive, but I will not be his slave.”

After some time, the courier made it to the top of the hill, leaving his horse at the bottom alongside Tegata, her captor’s steed. He was a thick man, wide and cumbersome, who puffed heavily when he finally reached the top. He wore the blue-tinted armor of the Kagi but also had a dark cloak that masked some of his figure.

“Kondo-sama,” he said, bowing towards her captor.

“Sama? He uses the honorary suffix with this vagabond?” Yuki wondered. “Who on earth could he be that demands such esteem? Kondo...” She had never heard this name before in the lists of the daimyō. “He may be a lesser lord or retainer,” she assumed.

“Enough with the flowery language,” Kondo said curtly. “You’re late. We were supposed to meet you two days ago at the edge of the plain, no? I need you to get back to the steward with my message before we reach the crossroads.”

“Kondo-sama! Please forgive me!” the man said bowing low, as overwhelming fear caused his voice to waver. “The new steward is strict. I could not get away so easily!”

“Enough!” Kondo said, cutting him off. “I honestly do not care. Let's get this over with.”

The man shifted uncomfortably. “Where are the others?”

A momentary pang of guilt flashed across Kondo’s face. Yuki was startled by this, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “They are dead.”

The courier’s face went white. “Dead?” he repeated.

Kondo held up his arm, showing off his bandaged wound. “Things started a bit worse than I anticipated. However, right now everything is going according to design.”

The courier nodded hesitantly. “So, what shall I tell the steward?”

“Let him know about the dead, but also make sure to give him this.” He then removed the letter he had once offered Yuki and handed it to the courier who rose to accept it.

The courier's eyes darted over towards Yuki for a moment and then back at Kondo. “So, this is what you went to retrieve from Kokoro?” There was a hint of condemnation in the way that he said it as if weighing her life against the lives of his comrades.

“Do not be too hasty to judge our methods,” Kondo retorted sharply. “You cannot fathom what is at stake here. She is not the end, but the means. All you need to do now is your part. My master is putting his faith in you. Do not disappoint him.”

The man nodded as his eyes fell upon the letter and its seal. “I will make sure the steward receives this. I will not let you down.”

“No, you will not,” Kondo agreed. “If you fail me again, I will come for you myself. I hope you understand what that means.”

The man gulped and gripped the letter tightly as if he were afraid to lose it.

“Now go!” Kondo commanded, and turned around, signaling the end of the meeting.

The big man nodded hurriedly. Yuki marveled at how Kondo made this man quake. There was an air of power about him, and a frightening amount of control. The courier bowed several times and then spun, rushing down the path as quickly as his thick legs could take him.

Her captor glanced back at Yuki and smiled. “You probably gathered from this little exchange that my name is Kondo. Allow me to introduce myself formally. My name is Kondo Daisuke. Please extend me your kindness.”

The way he said the last phrase, which was a typical way to greet someone for the first time, made her skin stand on end with loathing. This was a man so confident in himself that everything was just a game to him. All the pain he had caused, the death, the suffering, it did not seem to faze him at all.

She scowled at him and said nothing. By now the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, as night was drawing near. Rain clouds had drifted in from the north and droplets of rain now began to fall sporadically. Kondo strode over to the shrine itself and peered inside.

“Strange,” he said. “There’s nothing inside.”

At every shrine, there would typically be an ancient icon or item that was to be worshiped, so it would be strange that the house would be empty.

This was enough to rouse Yuki’s attention, and she went to inspect the place herself. “You’re right!” she said, acknowledging the emptiness of the small house with great fascination. “But what does that mean? Wait, I think I know where we are!”

“You do?” Kondo asked, with an air of surprise.

“They call this place Hajime-jinja. The Shrine of Beginnings.”

She began inspecting the place more thoroughly but was careful not to enter into the sacred chamber set aside for worship. “Yes, this has to be it! I’ve read all about it, but the texts never gave its exact location.”

“And what’s so special about it that peasants would risk their lives for it?” inquired her captor, bemused by her excitement.

She whirled around to face him. He clearly did not know. “Hajime-jinja is a shrine to the Shinjin, the God-man.”

“Wasn’t the Shinjin the founder of Truism? Truists don’t worship at shrines.”

“Yes, but don’t you know the story?” She assumed everyone had, but Kondo shook his head in the negative.

“The Shinjin was just a simple villager before he became renowned. He grew up and was just like everyone else. Then one day, he went atop a hill to pray. It is said that found a small shrine and from it, he heard the voice of All-Kami. From then on, he began to teach the people about the All-Kami. Shortly thereafter, he made his famous pilgrimage throughout the Islands, and after seeing the suffering of the people, he resolved to fight for them. He fought the Akuma under the Mountain of Dread in the north and saved the Islands from thralldom. But this must be from where it all started. That’s why they call this the Shrine of Beginnings!”

Kondo appeared to be following her and nodded, allowing her to continue.

“Most shrines have items inside that are to be worshiped, right? But this one is empty, much like the part of a Truist temple is empty to leave space for the All-kami, the Deep One. This shrine is special in that it’s not only considered a shrine but also a temple at the same time. The two beliefs are one. It’s the only shrine on the Islands to be this way. This place may be one of the oldest sites in these lands! No wonder the people of this area are so protective of it!”

Kondo gazed around once again and seemed to give his approval. “This then might be the fanciest shrine I’ve ever slept in,” he said with a chuckle. He made his way into the building.

“Wait!” Yuki cried, reaching out for him.

He turned back defensively.

“You can’t do that!” she said but stepped back from his baleful glare.

“Why not?” Kondo snapped, not being one to take orders from his captive.

“This place is sacred,” Yuki explained, almost in a whisper.

“I am no worshiper of kami, and I am no Truist,” he said plainly. “I sleep wherever I please.”

“But...” she started and then lowered her head.

Kondo eyed her for a moment, frowning. “Don’t tell me you believe in this nonsense!” he raged. “No All-kami saved you from me!”

“I know...” she said quietly. “I am not sure if I even believe myself. And, as you say, no god has helped me in my moment of need. But even I, an unbeliever, would not go about defiling a shrine. Besides, of all the stories I have ever read, my favorites were about the Shinjin and his life. His chosen followers became the founders of our people as it is today, and the greatest of his followers was the First Emperor and they did mighty deeds. I feel like this would be an insult to his memory. He deserves at least this courtesy.”

Kondo’s face twisted with rage. “Are you suggesting that we should sleep in the rain when we have a perfectly good place to give us shelter?”

“You can sleep on this outer place, see, it’s still sheltered from the rain, and I can sleep on the step, it’s partially covered by the roof.” She pointed to the outer section of the building that was separated from the inner sanctum by a wooden lip on the floor. It would indeed be enough space for one, but for two it would be tight unless they lay next to each other. She would not permit that.

Kondo considered this for a moment, occasionally glancing inside the empty shrine and back towards her.

“I respect the Shinjin,” he said at last. “And my respect is reserved for very few. The man was said to be the greatest warrior these Islands have ever known. And in his name, many wars have sprung up, and these have caused more death and destruction than I ever could, so remember that the next time you read your precious storybooks. So, I will not go in, but I won’t have you sleeping half in the rain. You could get sick, and that would slow us down and risk the mission. I’ll take the steps, and you can have this space to sleep.”

His words contained finality in them, and she did not resist. They set their belongings in a dry place and then soon laid down to sleep. Kondo was quick to doze off to the tempo of the raindrops, but Yukiana remained awake. She was haunted by the image before her. Her eyes remained on the dark interior of the shrine. The emptiness about it was profound. She imagined a man sitting on this hill long before anyone called him the ‘Shinjin’. She wondered what he thought about his life at that time. He probably felt small, insignificant, and perhaps even hopeless, as she did. Something the old monk had told him changed the course of history. It shattered his mind and reformed it.

But she had spent years among the Truists. She had heard the chants, the sutras, and she had observed the rites. There was nothing but emptiness there. Unless she had missed something.

“There must be something else!”

She peered into the darkness, searching for the answer. There too was emptiness.

“What does this emptiness mean?” she wondered, racking her mind for an answer. “Perhaps it is not empty,” she finally thought. “Perhaps it’s full. Full of something. But how does that help me here? Alone, captured, defeated.” A feeling of desperation came over her, a feeling of utter hopelessness. Then, a sudden wave of inspiration.

“If something is here,” she thought. “I hope it sees me.”

Knowing that there was a small possibility that something beyond her imagination was watching, bearing witness to her struggle, gave her a small measure of comfort. “Behold me,” she whispered into the void. “And if you can, help.”