"Kizan" by Ono Fuyumi (Twelve Kingdoms)
English translation by canis_m. Work in progress. This post will be updated. Do not reproduce without permission.
Status: 26/42 pages
Last updated: 3/14/09
Home to the Mountain
by Ono Fuyumi
--
The city spread along the shore of a brimming blue-green lake. Unruffled by a single ripple, the lake's surface reflected the white stones of the city and the pale gray cloudcap mountain that towered behind them. For the traveler who was making his laborious way uphill on the main road to the city, the scene came into view just as he crested a rise: vast green fields surrounded by mountains, the glittering lake, the peak that pierced the clouds with the white city at its feet.
"What a sight."
The man who had spoken wiped sweat from his brow and turned to another traveler stopped near him.
"Shisou is an awfully pretty place."
The traveler, who had been gazing at the scenery from a widened overlook at the top of the hill, turned in surprise toward the man who had spoken. The man gave a crooked smile.
"You've been walking ahead of me all this time. I was watching you, thinking it's a curious fellow who climbs a hill on foot when he could be riding his fine mount. But you had the right idea."
With a grin the traveler agreed and patted the tigerlike beast. He seemed to be in his early twenties, and was well-dressed; certainly the beast he was leading looked expensive.
"Are you from Shisou yourself?"
"No."
I see, the man nodded. He wiped his brow again. The climb had left his face flushed and covered with beads of sweat. The sunlight pouring down was bright and strong with early summer, but a refreshing breeze blew on the hilltop. Clasping shut his open collar against the cool air that crept into his coat, the man drew a breath and murmured lovely place once more, then started down the hill. The traveler with the riding beast stood and watched the man leave, then for a time went on gazing at the scenery from the hilltop. At last he too took up the reins of his beast and started down. The white city below him was the capital of the kingdom of Ryuu, and what looked like a mist-shrouded forest on the peak of the white mountain was the residence of King Ryuu, Funka Palace.
The road wound gently down the hill, crossing green fields dotted with villages near and far on either side. At length the traveler came to a white wall. Across the wall lay a highway, also white. The city was built of white stones tinged faintly with gray, quarried and piled high. Trees were scarce in the region surrounding Shisou, and rather than hauling lumber from far away, it was easier to quarry stone from the cloudcap mountain that stood like a pillar supporting the heavens. The white city had arisen from the mountain's hollowed-out belly, chip by chip, which was why it seemed part of the mountain itself. Only the roofs were supported by wood, a particular type of wood from the heartland of Ryuu that was the color of ink. With its roof tiles of the same color, the city was decked out primly in black and white. The stones that paved the main roads, too, were white, while across them the people came and went, vivid in their many colors.
He passed through the Meridian Gate and entered the city, gazing for a while at the bustling crowd in front of the gate. The people on the street walked with a spring in their steps, and their faces were bright, as if they had not a care in the world.
He furrowed his brow slightly. "This isn't good."
"What isn't?"
Spoken to out of the blue, he spun around as if pulled on a string. When he recognized the nearby figure he blinked, then smiled broadly.
"I run into you in a place like this?"
"Where else but a place like this? It's been a while, Rikou."
Rikou laughed in spite of himself. It had been "a while" since they'd last met, to be sure. Almost thirty years had passed since then.
"Oh, indeed. And you, Fuukan--still footloose as ever, I see."
"Same as you."
"How long have you been here?"
Only two days, answered Fuukan. He pointed east along the road.
"My inn's that way. The food is awful, but the stables are good."
"Then I'll impose on them as well."
Anyone traveling with an uncommon riding beast had to choose his lodgings carefully. Finding a place with decent stables and stablehands took time and trouble. Rikou followed Fuukan gratefully through the crowd.
When was it that they'd first met, he wondered. Ages ago, in any case. He'd lost track of where it had happened, and no could no longer remember the particulars of their meeting or their separation. At the time he'd thought the other man merely peculiar. He'd expected that once they went their separate ways, they would never meet again, but as time went on they had met again, in a different kingdom. Rikou had understood then that the man could not possibly be the vagabond he styled himself to be, if only because sixty years had passed in the interim. An ordinary person would've been dead, or if not dead then changed by age beyond recognition.
Since then they'd met in various places. Eventually he realized who the man must be, though he'd never inquired directly to check. Even without confirming it, he knew. The number of people in the world who'd been traveling long enough to rival Rikou was limited.
They always encountered each other in "places like this." Namely, in the capital cities of kingdoms that had begun to show cracks, and always in similar locations. Rikou had heard rumors that Ryuu was in danger. After a hundred and twenty years of the current king's reign, the kingdom was beginning to falter. He'd come here to make sure of it, and now he'd met Fuukan yet again.
"So what isn't good?" Fuukan turned to ask as he walked in front.
"The look of the city."
The kingdom was beginning to falter, but its residents still seemed blithe. Long years of experience had taught Rikou that this was proof of the danger the kingdom was in. When a kingdom first began to decline, its people would laugh. Though they might seem somehow uneasy, when spoken to they would laugh as they badmouthed the government or the king. When the decline worsened, they would grow worried and downcast. Then, as it worsened further and drew near to collapse, they would go around on tiptoe acting strangely cheerful. As soon as cracks formed in that unnatural good cheer, the kingdom would break down all at once.
It was difficult for outsiders to discern the inner state of such a kingdom. When the kingdom started to crumble in earnest, it would be plain for anyone to see, but when the king's reign had only just begun to decline, while the strain was growing, that strain was almost never apparent to the eyes of other kingdoms. But the people felt it. If they couldn't see it with their eyes, they felt it in their bones. Because of that, one could tell the state of a kingdom by watching its people. Rikou could tell--he had made a study of it. Here rumors of danger had spread even to other kingdoms, but the residents of the capital seemed sunny. It was a sign that they were already on dangerous ground.
"If they were still acting gloomy, they might have pulled through," he said with a sigh. Fuukan spoke low in answer.
"They've passed that stage, it seems. I'm afraid there's no stopping it now." Here we are, Fuukan added. He pointed at an inn that was impressive in looks only. Countless colored engravings adorned its white stone walls, and although it was still midday, the shouts of drunken idlers rang from within the outer wall that surrounded the buildings.
"Is Ryuu as bad as that?" Rikou asked, tossing his bags into the room he'd rented. Fuukan, who had followed along as if he had nothing better to do, opened the window. Noise from the bustling streets outside came pouring in.
"Hard to say. I hear no tales that the people are being persecuted. No rumors that the king leans excessively to wildness or extravagance, either. But the provincial officials seem fairly derelict. The further you get from the center, the more you hear rumors that so-and-so's up to no good."
"And that's all?"
"For now."
Really, murmured Rikou. He stretched himself out in a chair. Sometimes that was how things went: hardly a hint of trouble on the surface, while any number of cracks formed beneath. The people could perceive those hairline cracks growing under their noses, which made them uneasy, and their unease revealed itself in rumors of danger, but no foreigner would be able to see where the problem lay. In such a case, when the visible breakdown began, the end would come almost at once.
"...I'm surprised it came so fast."
"Spoken like a true gentleman of Sou. A hundred and twenty years is 'fast,' he says."
I suppose you're right, laughed Rikou. He was a resident of the southern kingdom. Sou's dynasty had lasted for six hundred years, and if the king held on for another eighty, it would become the longest known to history. Certainly it was the longest among the twelve kingdoms at present. A mere hundred years behind it was En, the great kingdom of the northeast.
"But somehow I'd thought Ryuu would hold up longer," said Rikou.
"Oh?"
The current king of Ryuu was called Jo Rohou. As for how he'd attained the throne, even Rikou was unsure of that. Given how rarely news of Ryuu reached his ears, Sou and Ryuu might as well have been at opposite ends of the earth. He could visit the kingdom, as he was doing now, but he could hardly expect to learn anything of the situation inside the palace. In the usual run of things, it often happened that not even the king's name would be widely known. Rikou knew it only because of his position.
In any case, it seemed at least that Rohou had never been an official of high rank, nor had he sought to become king by attempting pilgrimage, or shouzan, to meet the kirin on Mt. Hou at the heart of the world. On the other hand, he hadn't been chosen from among common farmers or tradesmen, either. His ascent, in other words, had been so unremarkable that it provoked no talk. On top of that, Rikou knew for certain that some twenty years had passed between the previous king's era and Rohou's ascent, which meant that Ryuuki had taken his time in choosing the new king. Normally when a kirin met its end, a new one would bud at once and be born within a year. A few more years would pass before the kirin matured enough to receive Heaven's decree, but if things went swiftly, the next king could reach the throne as soon as that.
Though there was no direct connection between the speed of a king's ascent and his strength as a sovereign, with his early days so ill-defined, somehow Rohou seemed lackluster. Perhaps because of that, Rikou had at first heard almost nothing of his ascent, not even rumors, but with time Rohou's fame began to grow. By now Ryuu was well known as a singularly law-abiding nation--but that nation was sinking nonetheless. Rikou could hardly call it anything but unexpected.
Fuukan cocked his head. "Whereas I was surprised it held up as long as it did. When Rohou first took the throne, he didn't make much of an impression. He was a prefectural or district governor before, popular enough in the province, I hear, but not so popular that he was known in the capital. Not a standout, anyway."
Fuukan, too, knew Rohou's given name--proof that his position was akin to Rikou's.
"Spoken like a true man of En," said Rikou. "Is it being neighbors that keeps you so well-informed?"
"Must be. I did pay a call not long after he took the throne. Middling--that was the impression I got. It looked to me as though he'd fall before he got up the first hill."
The first hill, murmured Rikou.
The ruler of a kingdom was immortal. As long as he served the will of Heaven, his reign would last, but to maintain that reign over time was surprisingly difficult. Surprising, because it was supposed to be those fit to rule--those who possessed the qualities of a good king--who received Heaven's mandate in the first place. In deference to that mandate, kirin chose the kings who would become their masters. Even so, the reigns of kings were short lived. Sou's six hundred years and En's five hundred were exceptions. Next was King Han of the great kingdom to the west, whose reign was approaching three centuries, but the next longest beyond that was Kyou at ninety.
For some strange reason, there were certain turning points in the course of any reign--or so Rikou had come to believe after six hundred years of watching kingdoms rise and fall. The first turning point was at ten years. Survive that, and the king would last for thirty to fifty. Then came the second turning point, which was a tall mountain to climb. For some reason that point coincided with what would have been the time of the king's death.
When a king was enthroned, he joined the ranks of the divine immortals, and would neither age nor die. But if he took the throne at age thirty, the danger came thirty years later, perhaps more--at the time when, had he not entered the immortals' ranks, he would have been in sight of the end of his natural life. Until that point, both kings and the officials who served them went on counting the years, despite the fact that there was no longer any need to. They kept scrupulous track of their true ages. They recognized when they reached the point at which it would've been natural for them to die. They then grew keenly conscious that, had they not become immortal, the sum of their alloted lifespan would've been almost spent. Meanwhile the people they knew in the world below succumbed to death, one after another.
Granted, they didn't witness those deaths happening before their eyes. When you joined the ranks of the immortals, your ties to those you'd known in the world below were cut. Once you ascended above the clouds, the place you'd come from became nothing more than one small part of an entire kingdom. No news from below would reach you, nor would you have occasion to visit. But you would envision the losses: that person you'd once known must be gone by now. Another must be on the brink. You would be hounded by the sense that you alone had been left behind in this life, a life whose end you couldn't even know. Hounded by all the things you'd done in the months and years of a single lifetime, by all the things you hadn't done.
Some immortals looked back on the past and were stricken with a stark sense of emptiness, while others looked to the future in dread. The turning point came not just for kings, but for officials, too: it was a time when many of them would suddenly resign. But it wasn't so easy for a king to resign of his own volition. Resignation was linked directly to death. No king would step down from the throne and put an end to his own life merely out of some vague sense of emptiness or fear. Perhaps that was why they began to run wild instead, as if to force Heaven to settle the issue for them. It was the passive way to resign, as Rikou and others like him understood.
Then, if a king at last reached the point when so much time had passed that his natural life should have ended long ago, he would tend to survive. If he scaled the hill, the length of his reign would extend dramatically. The next hill came at perhaps three hundred years. Exactly why that moment should be such a dangerous turning point was unknown to Rikou, but when a king's reign collapsed after that amount of time, the fall was often disastrous. Kings who had until then been known as wise rulers would suddenly transform into tyrants. They would massacre the people, ravage the land.
"Over the first hill, then a hundred and twenty years," said Rikou. "Sort of half-baked, isn't it?"
"Half-baked?" Shouryuu laughed. "I see what you mean. A good number of kings who get past the first hill tend to keep the throne longer--maybe three hundred years, give or take. But aren't there just as many who don't?"
"Well, yes, I suppose that's true."
But Rikou had visited Ryuu just when it was approaching that first hill. He had wandered the kingdom to gain a sense of its condition--in other words, to see whether it would scale the hill or not. At the time he'd been left with a very good impression.
It was true indeed that many kings' reigns survived the first hill only to collapse long before they approached three centuries. Perhaps those were the majority, but in such cases there would always be some premonition beforehand: they might scale the hill by the skin of their teeth, but problems were still rife.
When Rikou said as much, Fuukan narrowed his eyes faintly. "I thought the same. I remember thinking Ryuu was uncanny."
"Uncanny?"
"A type we haven't seen before. I talk of the 'first hill,' but the truth is, the tallest mountain in a king's reign stands right at the start. When a king takes the throne, he needs to put his government in order within the first ten years or so--whether he can manage that is the biggest question. But based on what I saw, it seemed to me Rohou had failed to do it."
"If things aren't put more or less in decent order to begin with, the reign won't last," Rikou agreed, but when he looked at Fuukan, he had to laugh. "Then again, there is the rare monster of an exception who not only couldn't be bothered to put things in order, he left them in chaos, and managed to last five hundred years in spite of that."
Fuukan only grinned broadly.
Rikou gave a smaller smile. "But normally a king won't last a hundred and twenty years if he doesn't set up properly, will he?"
"You'd expect not. But Rohou did. Not only that, when I came to visit around the time of the first hill, Ryuu was completely changed. I was struck by the improvements to the legal system, especially. Even if the king fell asleep on his throne, the kingdom would keep right on going--I couldn't see it any other way."
"Yes--yes, that's just it. How accomplished, I thought. If he's put the kingdom's foundations in such good order at this stage, he ought to last three hundred years without a hitch."
"To me the sudden change was unsettling. I'd seen plenty of examples where a king took a sudden turn for the worse when everything was on track, but never the reverse."
"En might be the only one. I thought En wouldn't last ten years, but when the first hill came, it suddenly turned around," said Rikou. He folded his arms. "But if Rohou were following that pattern, he wouldn't be failing now. You're right. It really is a type I haven't seen."
The kings whose reigns had surpassed three centuries were Sou and En: those two alone. In other words, that was how fragile the other kingdoms were. Out of every ten kings, seven would never surmount the first hill. Their dynasties were born and died in a matter of decades. That was why Rikou had seen so many of them rise and fall.
"Even the way it's failing is peculiar," muttered Fuukan. Rikou cocked his head.
"Peculiar?"
"I don't know why Ryuu has come so far only to falter at this point, either. Well, no, it's not that I have no idea what's going on. To put it simply, Rohou is changing his ways again."
"What, now?"
"Yes, now. It looks to me as if Rohou has stopped caring whether the laws he put in place are ignored or trampled altogether. Not only that, it's as if he's tearing holes in the walls of a castle he himself built to be a fortress."
"Holes in the walls?"
Fuukan nodded. "In order for laws to function, I believe three things have to be brought together first. Just because you issue a prohibition, that doesn't mean the law's going to work."
"You need a system or organization to make sure the ban is put into effect and upheld in good faith, of course. Without that, the law is just for show. And the last thing?"
"The positive side," said Fuukan. "A law that prohibits officials from engaging in unscrupulous or self-serving acts has to be coupled with regulations that reward and promote the good officals. If any of those three parts are missing, it won't work."
"I see what you mean."
"And Ryuu had it all down pat, but Rohou's begun to destroy that. Carelessly changing one part, but leaving the rest alone. What he's doing is inconsistent. It creates gaps throughout the whole system."
"That is strange." Rikou fell into thought. "I wonder if perhaps Rohou isn't even on the throne anymore."
"Not on the throne?"
Rikou nodded. "He might have grown tired of ruling, and cast aside his power altogether."
"I wouldn't be surprised."
Fuukan rose from his seat and went to the window. The early summer sunlight had begun to slant, and the streets were alive with more vibrant noise than ever. With the shouts of drunken revelers raised in glee as if a barrel had just been opened, and women's voices ringing like wild music, it seemed as if the entire city were in the midst of a banquet.
"The system Rohou built was sturdy enough to hold up even if he did throw away his power. The kingdom has yet to really go bad, but Rohou himself may have gone bad long ago. Bad enough to lose the mandate of Heaven."
Rikou frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Youma are coming into Ryuu along the coast of the Empty Sea."
Rikou was startled. The appearance of youma meant that the king's reign had reached the end of its decay, but the kingdom wasn't yet ruined, or not so ruined that it was plain for an outsider like himself to see.
"I've heard there have been blizzards in parts of Ryuu where it rarely snows. The fortunes that turn according to Heaven are spinning awry. The kingdom's sinking before the government has even begun to fall. Usually it's the other way around, of course."
"The trouble's gone as far as that without showing on the surface?"
"So it seems. And it seems En is posting guards along the border."
Listening to Fuukan--who spoke as if En were someone else's business entirely--Rikou nodded.
"It sounds as if Ryuu's days really are numbered, then," he murmured. Kings' reigns were fragile indeed.
It pained him to hear the noise coming in through the window. A chasm was forming beneath those people's feet. Sooner or later the bottom would drop out of their banquet seats, and the abyss below them would open. No one could stop it. When a king lost his way, the kirin who had chosen him would sicken. When his kirin sickened, it would become clear to the king--to any king--that he had strayed from the path. If the king would only mend his ways, the kirin would recover, and the kingdom would come back to life. In spite of that, Rikou had almost never seen it happen. There were kings who recognized their own failures, but those who then repented and managed to restore their kingdoms were extremely few. A kingdom that had begun to fall would not stop. The tragic heroics of its ruler counted for nothing.
As Rikou brooded, Fuukan turned from the window and asked him what was wrong. "Are you so disappointed that your predictions missed the mark?"
"Whether my predictions hit or miss is neither here nor there, but yes." Rikou sighed. "I am disappointed. I thought it would be a great dynasty." Ryuu had been brilliant enough to convince him of that, and here it was, falling after a mere (to Rikou it was a mere) hundred and twenty years. "And if even a dynasty like that can suddenly fall...."
"Is that how a gentleman from Sou should talk? After all this time? Haven't you seen more kingdoms fall than you can count?"
Rikou smiled wryly. "It's because I'm from Sou that I think this way. You wouldn't understand, Fuukan. You're still only a spring chicken."
Fuukan raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
"Out of all the twelve kingdoms, Sou is the oldest."
Is that it, said Fuukan. He looked out the window with a rueful smile.
"Yes, it is. And no one from En has any idea how oppressive that can be. At least En can look to an example that's a hundred years older." Sou had no example to look to at all. In another eighty years, it would lose even the examples spoken of in rumor and legend. No king's reign had ever survived so long.
"Every time a king's reign comes to an end, I remember this. Every time I stand at a kingdom's deathbed, I remember--whether I like it or not--there's no such thing as a dynasty that never dies." Surely Sou and En would be no different. "When I think of that, my breath stops. I know there's no such thing as a dynasty that never dies. An eternal reign is impossible. And if that's true, then someday Sou will fall as well."
Fuukan spoke without shifting his eyes from the window. "Nothing lasts forever."
That's just it, said Rikou, with another crooked smile. "That's true of everything, I know. I know it, but for some reason I can't imagine the end of Sou."
"Of course not. No one can ever really imagine how he's going to die."
"You don't think so? If it's my own death, I can imagine that. I'll get caught in some pointless little brawl and be killed in it, or eaten by a youma while I'm off traipsing hither and yon."
Fuukan laughed and turned toward him. "Being able to imagine the possibility is different from being able to imagine the thing itself."
"Ah," said Rikou, "perhaps you're right." For a moment he put his imagination to work. "No, it's no use. I can't see it happening in Sou. Not even the possibility."
It was hideously difficult for him to conceive of how King Sou might lose his way. Treason by an official was possible in theory, regardless of the king's qualities, but when Rikou tried to picture it, the faces of the officials themselves sprang into his mind. Of all the retainers under King Sou's rule, he couldn't imagine that any of them would have anything to do with insurrection.
"I can imagine how En would fall, though," he murmured.
Fuukan looked intrigued. "Oh really?"
Rikou smiled. "With perfect confidence. Well, given King En's temperament, I'm sure it won't be a case where he strays from the path and that's the end of it. Whether he really understands the way or not is an open question, but it's been laid down clearly, and he's not the sort of charming oaf who'd stumble off it by mistake. If some petty villain tries to assassinate him, he's not a man to take that lying down. No, if En is to fall, it'll fall when King En chooses."
"I see."
"And he'll do it competely off the cuff, mark my words. For no apparent reason. One day out of the blue the thought will come to him that it might not be so bad. But he's a mulish fellow--just because the thought's occurred to him, it doesn't mean he'll charge straight out and do the deed. It's more likely that he'll gamble."
Fuukan looked quizzical. "What do you mean, gamble?"
"Just what I said. He'll make a bet with Heaven. Say, for instance, he'll decide to do it if he happens to meet a certain person he rarely encounters. As long as they don't meet, Heaven wins. If they do meet, Heaven loses."
"Ah, now it makes sense." Fuukan laughed aloud.
"And when the time comes, he'll be thorough. I expect there'll be nothing left of En. No people, no officials--no Taiho, certainly. No palace, no capital. En will be a perfectly blank slate."
"If he kills his Taiho, the king's life will end, too."
"Not immediately. Kill the Taiho, and after that it's a race against Heaven. Which will be faster--Heaven's judgment? Or will King En manage to wipe En clean first? He'd enjoy that sort of thing, I'm sure."
"And? Which would be faster?"
"If he made up his mind to do it, I suspect he could pull it off. ...But I'd hate to see it happen, so let's say at the very end there's one last village left, and he dies in the throes of self-mockery. How's that?"
Not bad, laughed Fuukan. "I can imagine the end of Sou, come to think of it."
"Oh?"
"The vagabond prince gets fed up with being chained to this mortal coil, and kills the king."
Rikou blinked, then sniggered. "Dreadful of me. For a second I thought it seemed plausible."
Fuukan grinned broadly, then turned to face the window. "The fates we can imagine won't come to pass."
"I hope not," said Rikou. He too turned to look at the sky above Shisou, which was growing dark with dusk.
"For the most part, we've already dodged them."
Rikou only answered maybe, and closed his mouth. Noise from outside began to drift into the darkening room. The fates he could imagine had already befallen a great number of kings. If Sou or En could be felled in the usual way, they never would have lasted long enough to be dubbed extraordinary. They'd overcome the typical dangers. That was what made it so difficult to see what lay ahead.
Why do dynasties end? Rikou wondered. Why would a king enthroned by Heaven's mandate lose his way? Did kings truly fail to recognize when they'd strayed from the path? If they failed to recognize even that much, weren't they ignorant of the way from the start? Could such people be granted Heaven's mandate? If not, it meant that all kings possessed knowledge of the way, and that they strayed from it despite that fact. A moment came when they took a step down a path they knew to be wrong.
By looking at past examples, he knew when those missteps tended to be made. But just as he couldn't picture the moment of his own death, he couldn't imagine the frame of mind in which he would step down a path he knew to be wrong. What could cause someone to do it? How could it be stopped?
He was still pondering when Fuukan's clear voice suddenly rose.
"Will you be staying long in Shisou?"
"I'd planned to, but I suppose I'd better not." If Ryuu's danger was more than a mere rumor, Rikou knew he had to report the news. "I'll stay for two or three days. I'd like to have a look at things with my own eyes, just to confirm. And you?"
"I leave tomorrow. I only dropped by on a little detour from the borders of En."
"Still doing exactly as you please, then."
"You're in no position to talk."
Rikou was on the verge of needling him--your position and mine are hardly the same--but he thought better of it. They were eccentric vagabonds, both of them. Until they met under circumstances that insisted otherwise, that was good enough for Rikou. Although considering how long they'd been meeting by chance in far-flung corners of the world, without ever meeting in the setting one would naturally expect, it was possible they never would.
"In that case, I'd like to hear about your little detour. I'll buy you dinner, if nothing else," Rikou said with a smile.
They had wine to drink, and the food that came with it was as bad as Fuukan had claimed. It was well past midnight before they moved to retire, parting ways at the top of the stairs. Rikou had no interest in seeing Fuukan off bright and early in the morning--he intended to sleep until noon. If fortune favored both Sou and En, they'd meet again someday when this night was long forgotten.
"Well, take care, at any rate," said Rikou, heading for his room.
Oh, that's right, said Fuukan behind him. "I was going to tell you something funny."
Rikou turned to find him slouching against the banister with a grin.
"I'm not much good at Go," said Fuukan, "but every so often I win a game. When I win, I always pocket one of the stones and take it with me. I've got a pile of eighty-some stones from doing that."
Rikou stood still in his tracks. "And?"
"That's it. Eighty-three stones, I think I had. Then I realized it was daft."
Rikou sputtered a laugh. "Do you still have them?"
"Good question. I don't remember throwing them out, so unless someone else got rid of them, I suppose they're still tucked away at home somewhere."
"And when did this happen?"
"Two hundred years ago, give or take."
Grinning again, Fuukan waved a hand and retreated. When Rikou heard a blithely careless farewell over one shoulder, he laughed.
"To hell with you, Fuukan," he said.
*
The capital of the great southern kingdom of Sou was called Ryuukou. At the peak of Mt. Ryuukou sprawled Seikan Palace, the dwelling place of King Sou, who had built a dynasty of more than six hundred years.
At royal palaces it was usually the king's residence, Seishin, that formed the center around which all else revolved, but in Sou that center had shifted slightly. The heart of Sou lay in the Inner Palace, in Tenshou Hall, where it had settled at the king's enthronement six hundred years ago and never budged since.
Seikan Palace looked less as if it were built on a mountain peak than on a chain of islands, some larger and some smaller, that emerged from the Sea of Clouds. Most of the buildings overflowed from the islands to extend over the clear surface of the sea, and dozens of bridges connected the buildings to one another. If Seishin itself was an island, the Inner Palace was yet another. To reach Tenshou Hall from Seishin, one had to cross a bridge and pass through a gate, continue through a tunnel that penetrated the base of a minor promontory, and climb a short stone stairway on the far side of the promontory to its top. The hall had an unbroken view of a small inlet. Skyways stretched through midair from both sides of the cliffs that ringed the inlet, leading deeper into the Inner Palace, the North Palace, and the East Palace.
The curtain of night had already fallen when the shape of a riding beast appeared above the calm and lucid Sea of Clouds. Bathed in the light of a half-waned moon, the beast flew like a shadow, crossing the inlet to make straight for Tenshou Hall. Soaring over a balcony that clung to the cliff face, interrupted now and then in its descent toward the surface of the sea, the beast alighted on a narrow rocky space outside the rear window of the hall.
The lamp in the window was lit, and the interior of the hall could be seen through the crystalline glass. In the middle of the room was a table covered with dishes of all sizes, as if the evening meal had only just been finished. Around the table sat five figures with teacups in hand.
"Here you all are," said Rikou. "I might've known you would be."
Laughing, he climbed in through the window. The figures seated at the table turned as one toward him and exclaimed in surprise or in exasperation. The eldest of the women stilled her hands and heaved a deep sigh.
"Young man, do you have any intention of learning where the door is? It certainly doesn't look like it."
The woman who had spoken was Meiki, king's consort, queen of Sou. By custom a king's consort would normally reside in the North Palace. For the queen to be in the Inner Palace, the sleeves of her exquisite gown knotted back with her sash as she sat peeling a small mountain of peaches--it was a sight unlikely to be seen anywhere but Sou.
"And I've told you not to ride that beast of yours into the palace. How many times do I have to remind you, hmm, o prodigal son of mine?"
"I can't help forgetting things, Mother, I'm getting on in years." Rikou beamed with cheerful unconcern. Meiki let out another sigh and shook her head.
"So you managed to remember the way home at last, in spite of your senility. Where were you off to this time?"
Still smiling, Rikou took his position in the single empty seat at the table. "Here and there."
"Another grand tour, in other words. I swear, I'm amazed at you. I hardly know what to say."
"Then what's all this coming out of your mouth?"
"It's called a scolding, and you'd do well to remember it."
"Am I capable, do you think?"
Mother, said another voice, with an even deeper sigh than Meiki's. It was Rikou's elder brother Ritatsu, known as Prince Eisei.
"Ignore the idiot. Attention will only encourage him."
"That's not very nice," said Rikou.
Their younger sister Bunki, whose title was Princess of Letters, snickered at them. "It's for the pleasure of getting scolded that my lord brother comes home. He's Mother's little boy, really."
"Now hang on--"
"Well, you do look awfully pleased. It's always like this. Why don't you try looking in a mirror?"
"Really?" Rikou was patting at his own face when the golden-haired lady at the table smiled gently.
"In any case, my lord, we are all glad of your safe return. Welcome home."
That was Sourin, whose name was Shoushou. Rikou bowed his head to her in an exaggerated nod.
"Shoushou, you're the only one who bothers to worry about me."
"Well, Shoushou can't help it--she's a kirin," said Bunki, and Ritatsu nodded.
"Big lumps of benevolent mercy, that's what kirin are."
"Shoushou would fret over the well-being of the worst villain in the world."
When even his mother weighed in, Rikou had to wince. He leaned back in his chair.
"And?" prompted the head of the household in a generous tone. That was Senshin, king of Sou. He paused in putting dishes away on a sidetable to pour a cup of tea and bring it to his son. This, too, was perhaps a sight rarely seen in any other kingdom. "How was it, here and there?"
"Things aren't looking good for Ryuu."
Clank, went the teacup Senshin was setting down.
"Ryuu?"
Ritatsu's eyes narrowed as he put down his writing brush and pushed the letter he was writing to one side. "Not another one. Lately there's no end to it."
"Are you sure?" asked Senshin. Rikou nodded.
"More or less. Based on what I've seen, it seems certain. Apparently there are youma on the coast, along the Empty Sea. The people seem to think they're coming from Tai, since they've only appeared on that coast, but youma wouldn't be able to get near if Ryuu weren't already losing Heaven's mandate. En has called up his forces and deployed them to guard the border between Ryuu and En."
Hmm, rumbled Ritatsu. "If the mastermind is moving his armies, there's no mistake about it."
Bunki sighed. "More trouble for King En. Tai is such a mess that it's overrun with youma, and Kei next door is always shaky--and now Ryuu on top of that?"
"And Kou, too. A good number of refugees are crossing into En via the Blue Sea."
"How was Kou?"
"As bad as ever. The passage between the Red and Blue Seas is utterly closed. There are so many youma you can't get through the Southeast Channel. What on earth did King Kou do, I wonder? It's hardly been any time at all since the hakuchi fell, and already the place is swarming with youma."
*
TBC...
Status: 26/42 pages
Last updated: 3/14/09
Home to the Mountain
by Ono Fuyumi
--
The city spread along the shore of a brimming blue-green lake. Unruffled by a single ripple, the lake's surface reflected the white stones of the city and the pale gray cloudcap mountain that towered behind them. For the traveler who was making his laborious way uphill on the main road to the city, the scene came into view just as he crested a rise: vast green fields surrounded by mountains, the glittering lake, the peak that pierced the clouds with the white city at its feet.
"What a sight."
The man who had spoken wiped sweat from his brow and turned to another traveler stopped near him.
"Shisou is an awfully pretty place."
The traveler, who had been gazing at the scenery from a widened overlook at the top of the hill, turned in surprise toward the man who had spoken. The man gave a crooked smile.
"You've been walking ahead of me all this time. I was watching you, thinking it's a curious fellow who climbs a hill on foot when he could be riding his fine mount. But you had the right idea."
With a grin the traveler agreed and patted the tigerlike beast. He seemed to be in his early twenties, and was well-dressed; certainly the beast he was leading looked expensive.
"Are you from Shisou yourself?"
"No."
I see, the man nodded. He wiped his brow again. The climb had left his face flushed and covered with beads of sweat. The sunlight pouring down was bright and strong with early summer, but a refreshing breeze blew on the hilltop. Clasping shut his open collar against the cool air that crept into his coat, the man drew a breath and murmured lovely place once more, then started down the hill. The traveler with the riding beast stood and watched the man leave, then for a time went on gazing at the scenery from the hilltop. At last he too took up the reins of his beast and started down. The white city below him was the capital of the kingdom of Ryuu, and what looked like a mist-shrouded forest on the peak of the white mountain was the residence of King Ryuu, Funka Palace.
The road wound gently down the hill, crossing green fields dotted with villages near and far on either side. At length the traveler came to a white wall. Across the wall lay a highway, also white. The city was built of white stones tinged faintly with gray, quarried and piled high. Trees were scarce in the region surrounding Shisou, and rather than hauling lumber from far away, it was easier to quarry stone from the cloudcap mountain that stood like a pillar supporting the heavens. The white city had arisen from the mountain's hollowed-out belly, chip by chip, which was why it seemed part of the mountain itself. Only the roofs were supported by wood, a particular type of wood from the heartland of Ryuu that was the color of ink. With its roof tiles of the same color, the city was decked out primly in black and white. The stones that paved the main roads, too, were white, while across them the people came and went, vivid in their many colors.
He passed through the Meridian Gate and entered the city, gazing for a while at the bustling crowd in front of the gate. The people on the street walked with a spring in their steps, and their faces were bright, as if they had not a care in the world.
He furrowed his brow slightly. "This isn't good."
"What isn't?"
Spoken to out of the blue, he spun around as if pulled on a string. When he recognized the nearby figure he blinked, then smiled broadly.
"I run into you in a place like this?"
"Where else but a place like this? It's been a while, Rikou."
Rikou laughed in spite of himself. It had been "a while" since they'd last met, to be sure. Almost thirty years had passed since then.
"Oh, indeed. And you, Fuukan--still footloose as ever, I see."
"Same as you."
"How long have you been here?"
Only two days, answered Fuukan. He pointed east along the road.
"My inn's that way. The food is awful, but the stables are good."
"Then I'll impose on them as well."
Anyone traveling with an uncommon riding beast had to choose his lodgings carefully. Finding a place with decent stables and stablehands took time and trouble. Rikou followed Fuukan gratefully through the crowd.
When was it that they'd first met, he wondered. Ages ago, in any case. He'd lost track of where it had happened, and no could no longer remember the particulars of their meeting or their separation. At the time he'd thought the other man merely peculiar. He'd expected that once they went their separate ways, they would never meet again, but as time went on they had met again, in a different kingdom. Rikou had understood then that the man could not possibly be the vagabond he styled himself to be, if only because sixty years had passed in the interim. An ordinary person would've been dead, or if not dead then changed by age beyond recognition.
Since then they'd met in various places. Eventually he realized who the man must be, though he'd never inquired directly to check. Even without confirming it, he knew. The number of people in the world who'd been traveling long enough to rival Rikou was limited.
They always encountered each other in "places like this." Namely, in the capital cities of kingdoms that had begun to show cracks, and always in similar locations. Rikou had heard rumors that Ryuu was in danger. After a hundred and twenty years of the current king's reign, the kingdom was beginning to falter. He'd come here to make sure of it, and now he'd met Fuukan yet again.
"So what isn't good?" Fuukan turned to ask as he walked in front.
"The look of the city."
The kingdom was beginning to falter, but its residents still seemed blithe. Long years of experience had taught Rikou that this was proof of the danger the kingdom was in. When a kingdom first began to decline, its people would laugh. Though they might seem somehow uneasy, when spoken to they would laugh as they badmouthed the government or the king. When the decline worsened, they would grow worried and downcast. Then, as it worsened further and drew near to collapse, they would go around on tiptoe acting strangely cheerful. As soon as cracks formed in that unnatural good cheer, the kingdom would break down all at once.
It was difficult for outsiders to discern the inner state of such a kingdom. When the kingdom started to crumble in earnest, it would be plain for anyone to see, but when the king's reign had only just begun to decline, while the strain was growing, that strain was almost never apparent to the eyes of other kingdoms. But the people felt it. If they couldn't see it with their eyes, they felt it in their bones. Because of that, one could tell the state of a kingdom by watching its people. Rikou could tell--he had made a study of it. Here rumors of danger had spread even to other kingdoms, but the residents of the capital seemed sunny. It was a sign that they were already on dangerous ground.
"If they were still acting gloomy, they might have pulled through," he said with a sigh. Fuukan spoke low in answer.
"They've passed that stage, it seems. I'm afraid there's no stopping it now." Here we are, Fuukan added. He pointed at an inn that was impressive in looks only. Countless colored engravings adorned its white stone walls, and although it was still midday, the shouts of drunken idlers rang from within the outer wall that surrounded the buildings.
"Is Ryuu as bad as that?" Rikou asked, tossing his bags into the room he'd rented. Fuukan, who had followed along as if he had nothing better to do, opened the window. Noise from the bustling streets outside came pouring in.
"Hard to say. I hear no tales that the people are being persecuted. No rumors that the king leans excessively to wildness or extravagance, either. But the provincial officials seem fairly derelict. The further you get from the center, the more you hear rumors that so-and-so's up to no good."
"And that's all?"
"For now."
Really, murmured Rikou. He stretched himself out in a chair. Sometimes that was how things went: hardly a hint of trouble on the surface, while any number of cracks formed beneath. The people could perceive those hairline cracks growing under their noses, which made them uneasy, and their unease revealed itself in rumors of danger, but no foreigner would be able to see where the problem lay. In such a case, when the visible breakdown began, the end would come almost at once.
"...I'm surprised it came so fast."
"Spoken like a true gentleman of Sou. A hundred and twenty years is 'fast,' he says."
I suppose you're right, laughed Rikou. He was a resident of the southern kingdom. Sou's dynasty had lasted for six hundred years, and if the king held on for another eighty, it would become the longest known to history. Certainly it was the longest among the twelve kingdoms at present. A mere hundred years behind it was En, the great kingdom of the northeast.
"But somehow I'd thought Ryuu would hold up longer," said Rikou.
"Oh?"
The current king of Ryuu was called Jo Rohou. As for how he'd attained the throne, even Rikou was unsure of that. Given how rarely news of Ryuu reached his ears, Sou and Ryuu might as well have been at opposite ends of the earth. He could visit the kingdom, as he was doing now, but he could hardly expect to learn anything of the situation inside the palace. In the usual run of things, it often happened that not even the king's name would be widely known. Rikou knew it only because of his position.
In any case, it seemed at least that Rohou had never been an official of high rank, nor had he sought to become king by attempting pilgrimage, or shouzan, to meet the kirin on Mt. Hou at the heart of the world. On the other hand, he hadn't been chosen from among common farmers or tradesmen, either. His ascent, in other words, had been so unremarkable that it provoked no talk. On top of that, Rikou knew for certain that some twenty years had passed between the previous king's era and Rohou's ascent, which meant that Ryuuki had taken his time in choosing the new king. Normally when a kirin met its end, a new one would bud at once and be born within a year. A few more years would pass before the kirin matured enough to receive Heaven's decree, but if things went swiftly, the next king could reach the throne as soon as that.
Though there was no direct connection between the speed of a king's ascent and his strength as a sovereign, with his early days so ill-defined, somehow Rohou seemed lackluster. Perhaps because of that, Rikou had at first heard almost nothing of his ascent, not even rumors, but with time Rohou's fame began to grow. By now Ryuu was well known as a singularly law-abiding nation--but that nation was sinking nonetheless. Rikou could hardly call it anything but unexpected.
Fuukan cocked his head. "Whereas I was surprised it held up as long as it did. When Rohou first took the throne, he didn't make much of an impression. He was a prefectural or district governor before, popular enough in the province, I hear, but not so popular that he was known in the capital. Not a standout, anyway."
Fuukan, too, knew Rohou's given name--proof that his position was akin to Rikou's.
"Spoken like a true man of En," said Rikou. "Is it being neighbors that keeps you so well-informed?"
"Must be. I did pay a call not long after he took the throne. Middling--that was the impression I got. It looked to me as though he'd fall before he got up the first hill."
The first hill, murmured Rikou.
The ruler of a kingdom was immortal. As long as he served the will of Heaven, his reign would last, but to maintain that reign over time was surprisingly difficult. Surprising, because it was supposed to be those fit to rule--those who possessed the qualities of a good king--who received Heaven's mandate in the first place. In deference to that mandate, kirin chose the kings who would become their masters. Even so, the reigns of kings were short lived. Sou's six hundred years and En's five hundred were exceptions. Next was King Han of the great kingdom to the west, whose reign was approaching three centuries, but the next longest beyond that was Kyou at ninety.
For some strange reason, there were certain turning points in the course of any reign--or so Rikou had come to believe after six hundred years of watching kingdoms rise and fall. The first turning point was at ten years. Survive that, and the king would last for thirty to fifty. Then came the second turning point, which was a tall mountain to climb. For some reason that point coincided with what would have been the time of the king's death.
When a king was enthroned, he joined the ranks of the divine immortals, and would neither age nor die. But if he took the throne at age thirty, the danger came thirty years later, perhaps more--at the time when, had he not entered the immortals' ranks, he would have been in sight of the end of his natural life. Until that point, both kings and the officials who served them went on counting the years, despite the fact that there was no longer any need to. They kept scrupulous track of their true ages. They recognized when they reached the point at which it would've been natural for them to die. They then grew keenly conscious that, had they not become immortal, the sum of their alloted lifespan would've been almost spent. Meanwhile the people they knew in the world below succumbed to death, one after another.
Granted, they didn't witness those deaths happening before their eyes. When you joined the ranks of the immortals, your ties to those you'd known in the world below were cut. Once you ascended above the clouds, the place you'd come from became nothing more than one small part of an entire kingdom. No news from below would reach you, nor would you have occasion to visit. But you would envision the losses: that person you'd once known must be gone by now. Another must be on the brink. You would be hounded by the sense that you alone had been left behind in this life, a life whose end you couldn't even know. Hounded by all the things you'd done in the months and years of a single lifetime, by all the things you hadn't done.
Some immortals looked back on the past and were stricken with a stark sense of emptiness, while others looked to the future in dread. The turning point came not just for kings, but for officials, too: it was a time when many of them would suddenly resign. But it wasn't so easy for a king to resign of his own volition. Resignation was linked directly to death. No king would step down from the throne and put an end to his own life merely out of some vague sense of emptiness or fear. Perhaps that was why they began to run wild instead, as if to force Heaven to settle the issue for them. It was the passive way to resign, as Rikou and others like him understood.
Then, if a king at last reached the point when so much time had passed that his natural life should have ended long ago, he would tend to survive. If he scaled the hill, the length of his reign would extend dramatically. The next hill came at perhaps three hundred years. Exactly why that moment should be such a dangerous turning point was unknown to Rikou, but when a king's reign collapsed after that amount of time, the fall was often disastrous. Kings who had until then been known as wise rulers would suddenly transform into tyrants. They would massacre the people, ravage the land.
"Over the first hill, then a hundred and twenty years," said Rikou. "Sort of half-baked, isn't it?"
"Half-baked?" Shouryuu laughed. "I see what you mean. A good number of kings who get past the first hill tend to keep the throne longer--maybe three hundred years, give or take. But aren't there just as many who don't?"
"Well, yes, I suppose that's true."
But Rikou had visited Ryuu just when it was approaching that first hill. He had wandered the kingdom to gain a sense of its condition--in other words, to see whether it would scale the hill or not. At the time he'd been left with a very good impression.
It was true indeed that many kings' reigns survived the first hill only to collapse long before they approached three centuries. Perhaps those were the majority, but in such cases there would always be some premonition beforehand: they might scale the hill by the skin of their teeth, but problems were still rife.
When Rikou said as much, Fuukan narrowed his eyes faintly. "I thought the same. I remember thinking Ryuu was uncanny."
"Uncanny?"
"A type we haven't seen before. I talk of the 'first hill,' but the truth is, the tallest mountain in a king's reign stands right at the start. When a king takes the throne, he needs to put his government in order within the first ten years or so--whether he can manage that is the biggest question. But based on what I saw, it seemed to me Rohou had failed to do it."
"If things aren't put more or less in decent order to begin with, the reign won't last," Rikou agreed, but when he looked at Fuukan, he had to laugh. "Then again, there is the rare monster of an exception who not only couldn't be bothered to put things in order, he left them in chaos, and managed to last five hundred years in spite of that."
Fuukan only grinned broadly.
Rikou gave a smaller smile. "But normally a king won't last a hundred and twenty years if he doesn't set up properly, will he?"
"You'd expect not. But Rohou did. Not only that, when I came to visit around the time of the first hill, Ryuu was completely changed. I was struck by the improvements to the legal system, especially. Even if the king fell asleep on his throne, the kingdom would keep right on going--I couldn't see it any other way."
"Yes--yes, that's just it. How accomplished, I thought. If he's put the kingdom's foundations in such good order at this stage, he ought to last three hundred years without a hitch."
"To me the sudden change was unsettling. I'd seen plenty of examples where a king took a sudden turn for the worse when everything was on track, but never the reverse."
"En might be the only one. I thought En wouldn't last ten years, but when the first hill came, it suddenly turned around," said Rikou. He folded his arms. "But if Rohou were following that pattern, he wouldn't be failing now. You're right. It really is a type I haven't seen."
The kings whose reigns had surpassed three centuries were Sou and En: those two alone. In other words, that was how fragile the other kingdoms were. Out of every ten kings, seven would never surmount the first hill. Their dynasties were born and died in a matter of decades. That was why Rikou had seen so many of them rise and fall.
"Even the way it's failing is peculiar," muttered Fuukan. Rikou cocked his head.
"Peculiar?"
"I don't know why Ryuu has come so far only to falter at this point, either. Well, no, it's not that I have no idea what's going on. To put it simply, Rohou is changing his ways again."
"What, now?"
"Yes, now. It looks to me as if Rohou has stopped caring whether the laws he put in place are ignored or trampled altogether. Not only that, it's as if he's tearing holes in the walls of a castle he himself built to be a fortress."
"Holes in the walls?"
Fuukan nodded. "In order for laws to function, I believe three things have to be brought together first. Just because you issue a prohibition, that doesn't mean the law's going to work."
"You need a system or organization to make sure the ban is put into effect and upheld in good faith, of course. Without that, the law is just for show. And the last thing?"
"The positive side," said Fuukan. "A law that prohibits officials from engaging in unscrupulous or self-serving acts has to be coupled with regulations that reward and promote the good officals. If any of those three parts are missing, it won't work."
"I see what you mean."
"And Ryuu had it all down pat, but Rohou's begun to destroy that. Carelessly changing one part, but leaving the rest alone. What he's doing is inconsistent. It creates gaps throughout the whole system."
"That is strange." Rikou fell into thought. "I wonder if perhaps Rohou isn't even on the throne anymore."
"Not on the throne?"
Rikou nodded. "He might have grown tired of ruling, and cast aside his power altogether."
"I wouldn't be surprised."
Fuukan rose from his seat and went to the window. The early summer sunlight had begun to slant, and the streets were alive with more vibrant noise than ever. With the shouts of drunken revelers raised in glee as if a barrel had just been opened, and women's voices ringing like wild music, it seemed as if the entire city were in the midst of a banquet.
"The system Rohou built was sturdy enough to hold up even if he did throw away his power. The kingdom has yet to really go bad, but Rohou himself may have gone bad long ago. Bad enough to lose the mandate of Heaven."
Rikou frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Youma are coming into Ryuu along the coast of the Empty Sea."
Rikou was startled. The appearance of youma meant that the king's reign had reached the end of its decay, but the kingdom wasn't yet ruined, or not so ruined that it was plain for an outsider like himself to see.
"I've heard there have been blizzards in parts of Ryuu where it rarely snows. The fortunes that turn according to Heaven are spinning awry. The kingdom's sinking before the government has even begun to fall. Usually it's the other way around, of course."
"The trouble's gone as far as that without showing on the surface?"
"So it seems. And it seems En is posting guards along the border."
Listening to Fuukan--who spoke as if En were someone else's business entirely--Rikou nodded.
"It sounds as if Ryuu's days really are numbered, then," he murmured. Kings' reigns were fragile indeed.
It pained him to hear the noise coming in through the window. A chasm was forming beneath those people's feet. Sooner or later the bottom would drop out of their banquet seats, and the abyss below them would open. No one could stop it. When a king lost his way, the kirin who had chosen him would sicken. When his kirin sickened, it would become clear to the king--to any king--that he had strayed from the path. If the king would only mend his ways, the kirin would recover, and the kingdom would come back to life. In spite of that, Rikou had almost never seen it happen. There were kings who recognized their own failures, but those who then repented and managed to restore their kingdoms were extremely few. A kingdom that had begun to fall would not stop. The tragic heroics of its ruler counted for nothing.
As Rikou brooded, Fuukan turned from the window and asked him what was wrong. "Are you so disappointed that your predictions missed the mark?"
"Whether my predictions hit or miss is neither here nor there, but yes." Rikou sighed. "I am disappointed. I thought it would be a great dynasty." Ryuu had been brilliant enough to convince him of that, and here it was, falling after a mere (to Rikou it was a mere) hundred and twenty years. "And if even a dynasty like that can suddenly fall...."
"Is that how a gentleman from Sou should talk? After all this time? Haven't you seen more kingdoms fall than you can count?"
Rikou smiled wryly. "It's because I'm from Sou that I think this way. You wouldn't understand, Fuukan. You're still only a spring chicken."
Fuukan raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
"Out of all the twelve kingdoms, Sou is the oldest."
Is that it, said Fuukan. He looked out the window with a rueful smile.
"Yes, it is. And no one from En has any idea how oppressive that can be. At least En can look to an example that's a hundred years older." Sou had no example to look to at all. In another eighty years, it would lose even the examples spoken of in rumor and legend. No king's reign had ever survived so long.
"Every time a king's reign comes to an end, I remember this. Every time I stand at a kingdom's deathbed, I remember--whether I like it or not--there's no such thing as a dynasty that never dies." Surely Sou and En would be no different. "When I think of that, my breath stops. I know there's no such thing as a dynasty that never dies. An eternal reign is impossible. And if that's true, then someday Sou will fall as well."
Fuukan spoke without shifting his eyes from the window. "Nothing lasts forever."
That's just it, said Rikou, with another crooked smile. "That's true of everything, I know. I know it, but for some reason I can't imagine the end of Sou."
"Of course not. No one can ever really imagine how he's going to die."
"You don't think so? If it's my own death, I can imagine that. I'll get caught in some pointless little brawl and be killed in it, or eaten by a youma while I'm off traipsing hither and yon."
Fuukan laughed and turned toward him. "Being able to imagine the possibility is different from being able to imagine the thing itself."
"Ah," said Rikou, "perhaps you're right." For a moment he put his imagination to work. "No, it's no use. I can't see it happening in Sou. Not even the possibility."
It was hideously difficult for him to conceive of how King Sou might lose his way. Treason by an official was possible in theory, regardless of the king's qualities, but when Rikou tried to picture it, the faces of the officials themselves sprang into his mind. Of all the retainers under King Sou's rule, he couldn't imagine that any of them would have anything to do with insurrection.
"I can imagine how En would fall, though," he murmured.
Fuukan looked intrigued. "Oh really?"
Rikou smiled. "With perfect confidence. Well, given King En's temperament, I'm sure it won't be a case where he strays from the path and that's the end of it. Whether he really understands the way or not is an open question, but it's been laid down clearly, and he's not the sort of charming oaf who'd stumble off it by mistake. If some petty villain tries to assassinate him, he's not a man to take that lying down. No, if En is to fall, it'll fall when King En chooses."
"I see."
"And he'll do it competely off the cuff, mark my words. For no apparent reason. One day out of the blue the thought will come to him that it might not be so bad. But he's a mulish fellow--just because the thought's occurred to him, it doesn't mean he'll charge straight out and do the deed. It's more likely that he'll gamble."
Fuukan looked quizzical. "What do you mean, gamble?"
"Just what I said. He'll make a bet with Heaven. Say, for instance, he'll decide to do it if he happens to meet a certain person he rarely encounters. As long as they don't meet, Heaven wins. If they do meet, Heaven loses."
"Ah, now it makes sense." Fuukan laughed aloud.
"And when the time comes, he'll be thorough. I expect there'll be nothing left of En. No people, no officials--no Taiho, certainly. No palace, no capital. En will be a perfectly blank slate."
"If he kills his Taiho, the king's life will end, too."
"Not immediately. Kill the Taiho, and after that it's a race against Heaven. Which will be faster--Heaven's judgment? Or will King En manage to wipe En clean first? He'd enjoy that sort of thing, I'm sure."
"And? Which would be faster?"
"If he made up his mind to do it, I suspect he could pull it off. ...But I'd hate to see it happen, so let's say at the very end there's one last village left, and he dies in the throes of self-mockery. How's that?"
Not bad, laughed Fuukan. "I can imagine the end of Sou, come to think of it."
"Oh?"
"The vagabond prince gets fed up with being chained to this mortal coil, and kills the king."
Rikou blinked, then sniggered. "Dreadful of me. For a second I thought it seemed plausible."
Fuukan grinned broadly, then turned to face the window. "The fates we can imagine won't come to pass."
"I hope not," said Rikou. He too turned to look at the sky above Shisou, which was growing dark with dusk.
"For the most part, we've already dodged them."
Rikou only answered maybe, and closed his mouth. Noise from outside began to drift into the darkening room. The fates he could imagine had already befallen a great number of kings. If Sou or En could be felled in the usual way, they never would have lasted long enough to be dubbed extraordinary. They'd overcome the typical dangers. That was what made it so difficult to see what lay ahead.
Why do dynasties end? Rikou wondered. Why would a king enthroned by Heaven's mandate lose his way? Did kings truly fail to recognize when they'd strayed from the path? If they failed to recognize even that much, weren't they ignorant of the way from the start? Could such people be granted Heaven's mandate? If not, it meant that all kings possessed knowledge of the way, and that they strayed from it despite that fact. A moment came when they took a step down a path they knew to be wrong.
By looking at past examples, he knew when those missteps tended to be made. But just as he couldn't picture the moment of his own death, he couldn't imagine the frame of mind in which he would step down a path he knew to be wrong. What could cause someone to do it? How could it be stopped?
He was still pondering when Fuukan's clear voice suddenly rose.
"Will you be staying long in Shisou?"
"I'd planned to, but I suppose I'd better not." If Ryuu's danger was more than a mere rumor, Rikou knew he had to report the news. "I'll stay for two or three days. I'd like to have a look at things with my own eyes, just to confirm. And you?"
"I leave tomorrow. I only dropped by on a little detour from the borders of En."
"Still doing exactly as you please, then."
"You're in no position to talk."
Rikou was on the verge of needling him--your position and mine are hardly the same--but he thought better of it. They were eccentric vagabonds, both of them. Until they met under circumstances that insisted otherwise, that was good enough for Rikou. Although considering how long they'd been meeting by chance in far-flung corners of the world, without ever meeting in the setting one would naturally expect, it was possible they never would.
"In that case, I'd like to hear about your little detour. I'll buy you dinner, if nothing else," Rikou said with a smile.
They had wine to drink, and the food that came with it was as bad as Fuukan had claimed. It was well past midnight before they moved to retire, parting ways at the top of the stairs. Rikou had no interest in seeing Fuukan off bright and early in the morning--he intended to sleep until noon. If fortune favored both Sou and En, they'd meet again someday when this night was long forgotten.
"Well, take care, at any rate," said Rikou, heading for his room.
Oh, that's right, said Fuukan behind him. "I was going to tell you something funny."
Rikou turned to find him slouching against the banister with a grin.
"I'm not much good at Go," said Fuukan, "but every so often I win a game. When I win, I always pocket one of the stones and take it with me. I've got a pile of eighty-some stones from doing that."
Rikou stood still in his tracks. "And?"
"That's it. Eighty-three stones, I think I had. Then I realized it was daft."
Rikou sputtered a laugh. "Do you still have them?"
"Good question. I don't remember throwing them out, so unless someone else got rid of them, I suppose they're still tucked away at home somewhere."
"And when did this happen?"
"Two hundred years ago, give or take."
Grinning again, Fuukan waved a hand and retreated. When Rikou heard a blithely careless farewell over one shoulder, he laughed.
"To hell with you, Fuukan," he said.
*
The capital of the great southern kingdom of Sou was called Ryuukou. At the peak of Mt. Ryuukou sprawled Seikan Palace, the dwelling place of King Sou, who had built a dynasty of more than six hundred years.
At royal palaces it was usually the king's residence, Seishin, that formed the center around which all else revolved, but in Sou that center had shifted slightly. The heart of Sou lay in the Inner Palace, in Tenshou Hall, where it had settled at the king's enthronement six hundred years ago and never budged since.
Seikan Palace looked less as if it were built on a mountain peak than on a chain of islands, some larger and some smaller, that emerged from the Sea of Clouds. Most of the buildings overflowed from the islands to extend over the clear surface of the sea, and dozens of bridges connected the buildings to one another. If Seishin itself was an island, the Inner Palace was yet another. To reach Tenshou Hall from Seishin, one had to cross a bridge and pass through a gate, continue through a tunnel that penetrated the base of a minor promontory, and climb a short stone stairway on the far side of the promontory to its top. The hall had an unbroken view of a small inlet. Skyways stretched through midair from both sides of the cliffs that ringed the inlet, leading deeper into the Inner Palace, the North Palace, and the East Palace.
The curtain of night had already fallen when the shape of a riding beast appeared above the calm and lucid Sea of Clouds. Bathed in the light of a half-waned moon, the beast flew like a shadow, crossing the inlet to make straight for Tenshou Hall. Soaring over a balcony that clung to the cliff face, interrupted now and then in its descent toward the surface of the sea, the beast alighted on a narrow rocky space outside the rear window of the hall.
The lamp in the window was lit, and the interior of the hall could be seen through the crystalline glass. In the middle of the room was a table covered with dishes of all sizes, as if the evening meal had only just been finished. Around the table sat five figures with teacups in hand.
"Here you all are," said Rikou. "I might've known you would be."
Laughing, he climbed in through the window. The figures seated at the table turned as one toward him and exclaimed in surprise or in exasperation. The eldest of the women stilled her hands and heaved a deep sigh.
"Young man, do you have any intention of learning where the door is? It certainly doesn't look like it."
The woman who had spoken was Meiki, king's consort, queen of Sou. By custom a king's consort would normally reside in the North Palace. For the queen to be in the Inner Palace, the sleeves of her exquisite gown knotted back with her sash as she sat peeling a small mountain of peaches--it was a sight unlikely to be seen anywhere but Sou.
"And I've told you not to ride that beast of yours into the palace. How many times do I have to remind you, hmm, o prodigal son of mine?"
"I can't help forgetting things, Mother, I'm getting on in years." Rikou beamed with cheerful unconcern. Meiki let out another sigh and shook her head.
"So you managed to remember the way home at last, in spite of your senility. Where were you off to this time?"
Still smiling, Rikou took his position in the single empty seat at the table. "Here and there."
"Another grand tour, in other words. I swear, I'm amazed at you. I hardly know what to say."
"Then what's all this coming out of your mouth?"
"It's called a scolding, and you'd do well to remember it."
"Am I capable, do you think?"
Mother, said another voice, with an even deeper sigh than Meiki's. It was Rikou's elder brother Ritatsu, known as Prince Eisei.
"Ignore the idiot. Attention will only encourage him."
"That's not very nice," said Rikou.
Their younger sister Bunki, whose title was Princess of Letters, snickered at them. "It's for the pleasure of getting scolded that my lord brother comes home. He's Mother's little boy, really."
"Now hang on--"
"Well, you do look awfully pleased. It's always like this. Why don't you try looking in a mirror?"
"Really?" Rikou was patting at his own face when the golden-haired lady at the table smiled gently.
"In any case, my lord, we are all glad of your safe return. Welcome home."
That was Sourin, whose name was Shoushou. Rikou bowed his head to her in an exaggerated nod.
"Shoushou, you're the only one who bothers to worry about me."
"Well, Shoushou can't help it--she's a kirin," said Bunki, and Ritatsu nodded.
"Big lumps of benevolent mercy, that's what kirin are."
"Shoushou would fret over the well-being of the worst villain in the world."
When even his mother weighed in, Rikou had to wince. He leaned back in his chair.
"And?" prompted the head of the household in a generous tone. That was Senshin, king of Sou. He paused in putting dishes away on a sidetable to pour a cup of tea and bring it to his son. This, too, was perhaps a sight rarely seen in any other kingdom. "How was it, here and there?"
"Things aren't looking good for Ryuu."
Clank, went the teacup Senshin was setting down.
"Ryuu?"
Ritatsu's eyes narrowed as he put down his writing brush and pushed the letter he was writing to one side. "Not another one. Lately there's no end to it."
"Are you sure?" asked Senshin. Rikou nodded.
"More or less. Based on what I've seen, it seems certain. Apparently there are youma on the coast, along the Empty Sea. The people seem to think they're coming from Tai, since they've only appeared on that coast, but youma wouldn't be able to get near if Ryuu weren't already losing Heaven's mandate. En has called up his forces and deployed them to guard the border between Ryuu and En."
Hmm, rumbled Ritatsu. "If the mastermind is moving his armies, there's no mistake about it."
Bunki sighed. "More trouble for King En. Tai is such a mess that it's overrun with youma, and Kei next door is always shaky--and now Ryuu on top of that?"
"And Kou, too. A good number of refugees are crossing into En via the Blue Sea."
"How was Kou?"
"As bad as ever. The passage between the Red and Blue Seas is utterly closed. There are so many youma you can't get through the Southeast Channel. What on earth did King Kou do, I wonder? It's hardly been any time at all since the hakuchi fell, and already the place is swarming with youma."
*
TBC...