Chapter One – Spilt Saké

'Maple leaves falling
like sparks, from trees with their boughs
burning in the sun'


After a year's long absence, autumn had once again arrived in Heian-kyo.

From his vantage point upon the verandah, Lord Minamoto no Hiromasa, Provisional Master of the Palace of the Empress and renowned gagaku musician, surveyed the courtyard beyond, admiring the mature trees that stretched flaming branches towards the house's eaves.

He thought that his friend's garden looked like the inside of a treasure trove, with its robust branches and delicate foliage all adorned in sheaths of russet and gold, colours flickering vibrantly in the morning light.

It was true, perhaps, that the garden's condition was a little too… undisciplined to abide by some of the more constrained standards of good taste. Where Hiromasa saw an enchanting glade of ornamental forest, he knew others would see an under-maintenanced tangle of weeds and old wood. He considered this to be a great shame, for the garden impressed him with an unlikely sense of refinement; it lacked the ostentation and contriteness which so pervaded the fashionable styles, a fact which pleased him. This arrangement was natural and simple, yet it had depth; the irregular symmetry of its jutting shapes and its sudden swathes of petulant shade lent it a unique air of mystery.

It perfectly suited the inscrutable demeanour – and eccentric tastes – of his friend.

Hiromasa spent a few moments trying to capture the garden in a poem, seeking a way in which he might convey its charm to some of his more discerning acquaintances at court. He had reached the second line of his composition and was grappling with the syllables – too many in one turn of phrase, not enough in another – when he was interrupted by the sound of liquid sloshing against fine lacquer.

He thus abandoned such a futile occupation – poetry that manifested in the soul could take many forms, and music was the one which came most naturally to him – to instead recite a wordless hymn of appreciation against the edge of his cup.

Satisfied that his guest was well catered for, Abe no Seimei, Onmyodo Master of the Imperial Court and owner of the garden which Hiromasa had been admiring with such concentration, poured another cup of saké for himself.

He was halfway through the menial task of conveying it to his lips, when he stopped.

"Ah," he said.

This remark, slight though it was, was enough to raise Hiromasa's attention from the bottom of his own cup. He turned to his host, in time to see a thin rivulet trickling over the rim of the vessel in his outstretched hand. He was making no effort to right his cup, or otherwise prevent the alcohol from flowing away in a steady stream; he simply watched as it seeped into the tatami mat at his feet, rendering it wholly undrinkable.

"Seimei," Hiromasa said, in a gently teasing tone, "What a waste of good saké! Are you kindly obliging your thirsty floors, or does the cold make your fingers clumsy?"

Seimei grinned wryly; considering how often he played tricks on Hiromasa with his shikigami puppets, he had humour enough to accept this return jibe in good grace.

"It is not my hand that tipped the cup," he retorted. "It was the saké itself that leapt. See, it travels still."

He pointed to the damp tatami mat. Indeed, instead of pooling like a normal spill, the liquid was flowing out in a straight line, heading towards the edge of the verandah, though the deck beneath them was perfectly level. As Hiromasa looked on in amazement, its progression halted; then it split and turned back on itself, forming the shape of an arrow.

"Does all your alcohol behave in such a way?" Hiromasa asked, taking a nervous gulp of air. Having just downed his third draught, he didn't much fancy receiving an arrow- jab inside himself.

"I cannot speak for every vintage that I own," Seimei admitted good-naturedly, tapping the half-empty ceramic bottle from which he had just poured. "However, in this case, it is most curious." He surveyed the direction of the sigil, expertly aligning it, by eye, with the position of the sun.

"North-east," he declared, after a moment's consideration. "Why north-east? Perhaps it correlates with the star-charts I have just completed…"

Breaking the languid pose he had been affecting upon his cushion, he gracefully unfolded his limbs and, with a strident sense of purpose, strode deeper into his house. His divining equipment was kept in a small study which ran adjacent to the verandah; curious instruments were ranged here in neat rows, like an awaiting regiment. There was a tall pile of scrolls in one corner. He snatched up the topmost of these, and unrolled it upon the floor. He began to consult it with a steadfast concentration.

"Hiromasa," he said, without looking up, "if you are done with drink, the soiled matting should be dealt with. If you could…?"

"Ah, c-certainly." Hiromasa obediently set down his cup and shifted off the tatami.

No sooner had he done so, then the whole length of matting bundled itself, and everything set upon it – cups, bottle, plates, cushions and all – into a neat roll. It sat innocuously upon the deck, betraying no trace of the invisible hand that had moved it – nor so much as a chip of crockery.

Hiromasa started back a step.

"Seimei!" he exclaimed, staring at his clever friend, who all this time had not lifted his head, though he smirked privately at his outspread scroll. During their prolonged acquaintance, Hiromasa had become more accustomed to the ways of Seimei's household; still, he found it disconcerting to think that even something as innocuous as a tatami mat could be magicked…

"Here," Seimei was muttering contemplatively, half to himself, "I just mapped the north-eastern quadrant, along with the rest of the sky over Heian-kyo. The stars revealed little of interest for this impending month – a house fire here, the birth of a prince there, a dispute which will settle itself in a mildly irregular fashion – but nothing of real substance."

The chart that he bent over was filled with dots of ink – which Hiromasa took, logically, to be representations of various stars – that were connected by a series of disjointed lines, all painted in Seimei's precise brushstrokes. To Hiromasa, they looked like a mass of silkworms upon a mulberry leaf; but they seemed to be quite transparent to Seimei, though they apparently did not hold the information that he sought.

A shadow of a frown imprinted itself upon his forehead; his brow shifted almost imperceptibly, making his tall black hat tilt forward at a slightly more precarious angle.

"Perhaps it is in the triagrams-"

Impatiently tossing the scroll aside, he seized another and unfurled it. At its centre was a double-magatama, bordered by eight triagrams which Hiromasa vaguely recognized as fusui symbols. Beyond this was a series of characters, including those for 'marsh', 'river', 'swamp', 'spring', 'noon' and 'fall' among many others, all arrayed in a neat octagonal grid. To Hiromasa, it looked like a nonsensical jumble of unrelated words, such as a child might make at writing practise; but to Seimei it must have been quite illuminating, for he was murmuring to himself as he scoured it, tracing various paths of qi energy with his finger as he went. Then he sighed out vexedly between his teeth.

"No, nothing here either," he declared. "A disruption of yang energy to the south, a gathering of strong yin currents to the west;a taboo against travelling in a south-westerly direction – but nothing concerning the north-east. So why…?"

He discarded this chart as well, producing another which, to Hiromasa's relief, appeared to be purely geographical. The Imperial Palace abutted the northern limits of the city; to the east of this, a series of foothills led up towards Mount Hiei, like stepping-stones meant to lead the gods to the shrine near its summit.

"There are many temples to the north-east," Hiromasa suggested, though he had no inkling as to just what it was that Seimei was looking for. "And a few of the lesser nobility have their estates there."

Only lower-ranking nobles lived here, for the land to the north-east was considered less desirable. The hills made it difficult to build a level apartment there, at a scale which befitted the more illustrious members of the noblesse; so only small villas were to be found, their inhabitants having to make do with the meagre proportions that the sloping grounds could accommodate. Besides this, the area's proximity to various major temples made it an open thoroughfare through which a great deal of traffic passed, putting members of the privileged class uncomfortably close to the passing rabble.

Seimei didn't seem to be considering any of this as he peered down at the map spread before him. He stared fixedly at the north-easterly reaches of Heian-kyo, as though he were expecting some sign, an ink-blot or spectral emblem, to appear upon the paper at any moment…

ching!

"Hmmm…?"

Seimei's attuned senses detected a tiny noise; a sliver of sound, rather like the peal of a bell…

He glanced quickly across at his companion. Hiromasa, entertaining himself by gazing perplexedly at the fusui chart, hadn't turned at the sound.

It appeared that Seimei alone had heard it; meaning that perhaps it had issued from some plane that lay beyond the tangible realm…

He gazed again at the map in front of him; this time, he spied something of interest.

A tiny hole, like a pin-prick, now pierced a spot on the map which a moment ago had been whole, unblemished paper. It was a tiny mark, denoting some location that lay among the hills, beyond the north-eastern bounds of the city…

"Ho," Seimei said in a low, confidential tone, speaking to something which was not literally present – yet perhaps still listening. "You would have me go, would you? And for what purpose, I wonder…?"

He considered for a moment; then, turning from the map, he spoke aloud.

"It seems I will be obliged to make a pilgrimage."

"Oh?" Hiromasa said inquiringly, dropping the corner of the chart which he had been slowly turning sideways, in a vain effort to better comprehend it. "For what purpose?"

"As something to do, at any rate," Seimei said, flashing his most enigmatic smile. "Affairs here have been intolerably dull of late, and I wouldn't mind breathing some of the holy air that surrounds Mount Hiei. Would you care to accompany me, Hiromasa?"

"With pleasure," the other returned, with his own characteristically obliging grin. "I may as well seek some diversion; I currently have no pressing duties to attend to in the capital."

"And no lady requesting your presence there?" Seimei suggested; his tone was innocent, but his expression was knowing and sly.

"Seimei," Hiromasa said, affecting an air of outraged dignity, "you have no right to treat my romantic misfortune with such relish."

"Yet it would seem that the arts are benefiting from your lovelorn condition." Seimei seized Hiromasa's sleeve – perhaps to prevent him from further fiddling with the edge of the fusui scroll – and held his hand up to the light. "The state of your fingertips says that you have been playing the koto much of late."

Hiromasa flushed, but managed to look earnest in his humiliation. "I have merely been practising," he protested.

Seimei grinned; the expression augmented his vaulting cheekbones to best effect, making his pale, slender face resemble that of a fox. "Hiromasa is very talented."

"Hiromasa is very talented," echoed another voice at the nobleman's elbow, making him jump.

It was Mitsumushi, Seimei's loyal maidservant. She had appeared suddenly beside him, without so much as a footstep nor a flutter of cloth to foretell her approach. Not even a wing-beat…

"Seimei," she said, obediently turning to her master for instructions.

Seimei smiled benevolently. "I can make the necessary preparations myself, Mitsumushi. Please rest, your health is still delicate."

Mitsumushi deferentially bowed her head, though she perhaps looked a little more pleased than usual. Then her dainty form wavered like smoke, dissipating before Hiromasa's eyes.

"What is wrong with Mitsumushi?" Hiromasa asked, in alarm. He regarded the phantasmic maid with some affection, for she had been an indispensable aid to himself and Seimei in the past, proving herself to be loyal and courageous. He assumed that Seimei felt very much the same way; he had never since seen his friend as angry as he had been when Doson's sword had seemingly sliced the hapless butterfly in two. Though he had calmly continued casting the spell which would eventually defeat his murderous opponent, it had been clear to see that, beneath the surface, he had been seething with silent rage.

However, Seimei's manner now seemed unsuitably nonchalant. "She is convalescing," he said, as though he were merely remarking upon the weather. "The natural lifespan of a butterfly is short compared to that of a human. To remain by my side for so long, Mitsumushi must take extra care, and go through several transformations, each of which greatly prolongs her life."

"I-I see," Hiromasa said, though he was slightly taken aback by this. He was quite aware of Mitsumushi's true nature; but still, he often forgot that she was the mere spirit of an insect, not an actual human girl. "Well, I am sorry to hear that she is so indisposed."

"Hiromasa is a good man," piped up a familiar voice, making him start again.

He recognized it as Mitsumushi's, but now it sounded strangely small and constricted.

"Where is she?" he asked Seimei, who was politely pretending that he was not on the verge of breaking into laughter.

"She is here, resting, as I told her to."

"Here?" Hiromasa repeated, looking about him uncertainly.

"Yes, here. Right beside me." As Hiromasa scanned the floor for some glimpse of a butterfly's wing, Seimei relented, and added: "You shall have to look a bit closer. She is very close beside me; or, to be more accurate, upon my person. Inside my clothes."

Hiromasa, eying Seimei's attire anxiously, flushed as crimson as the maples he had been admiring but a short time ago.

"Seimei-!" he said, in scandalized tones. As a devoted adherent to court etiquette, such suggestions of intimacy embarrassed him greatly.

Seimei chuckled heartily, and lifted the edge of his sleeve. Just within its opening, Hiromasa saw something that adhered to the inner lining of his robe; it was shaped like a tiny conch shell, but appeared to be made of some delicate green fibre, luminous as silk.

"She is resting in there," Seimei said, "and will do so until she is well enough to resume her duties. As such, she shall accompany us on our way; she will take up very little room in our carriage. Shall we prepare for our imminent departure? A pilgrimage can be an uncertain thing, and if this is to be a tiresome one, I should like to be done with it as quickly as possible."

"O-of course," Hiromasa agreed. "I think such an outing will be quite enjoyable. The weather is fine, and the mountainous scenery may prove inspirational." So saying, he set about checking that he carried his flute with him, so that he would be best prepared if an impromptu song were to well up in his soul.

Seimei had his own matters to attend to before he would be ready to leave; however, before turning his attention to them, he spared another glance at the map of Heian-kyo, and the tiny pin-prick upon it. He eyed it with curiosity plainly writ upon his sharp, fox-like features.

Far from being uncertain or trepidatious, his expression was one of barely-veiled eagerness. That tiny mark was, to his sensibilities, an impudent summons; a letter of challenge, daring him to respond.

It was the slightest of signs, and yet, to his bored and latent mind, it held so much promise.

Whether it portended good or ill, he was not yet sure.


Edit: forgot to mention, 'fusui' is the Japanese name for 'feng sui', a Chinese art in which the practitioners attempt to live harmoniously with nature by reading the cosmic energy that surrounds local landforms. Even though feng sui is part of my native culture, I can't claim to understand it much better than Hiromasa does. In modern interpretations it mostly involves home decorating - hanging crystals on certain walls, placing a red ribbon in your relationship zone, and building indoor water-features - but it is traditionally used to determine a fortuitous site for a building, or, more commonly, a deceased relative's grave (since ancestors who were well-furnished in the afterlife were believed to reflect their favour back upon the living).

I'm not sure how prevalent fusui is in Japan, nor if it was known of there in the Heian era, but a lot of onmyodo practises are based on Chinese five-elements theory, so I figured Seimei may have been adept at it as well.