Pleased with the morning’s work he descended with a lighter heart, shaking his head to rid his ears of the rumbling of the waterfall. When it did not work he assumed the noise must be coming from the sea crashing on the rocks below, then he realised it was coming from behind. Danno turned around to establish the source of the noise just as a lahare raced around the bend. He was swept off his feet and over the cliff edge by a torrent of mud, ash and stones from high up on the mountain. Scenes from his life flashed before him. His last thoughts were for Zen.
Zen woke with a start at the sound of his name. He rubbed his hands through his hair and stared around him in confusion. He wondered where Danno was and why he had not woken him. He had been dreaming of sea serpents again and of being sucked into an abyss.
*
Chapter 10
The monks were wondering why Danno and Zen had missed morning meditation. They were half-way through breakfast when Zen appeared in the doorway. They knew by the way he pronounced Danno’s name that he was looking for him. All eyes turned to Akemi Roshi for an answer. He paused between spoons of rice to say that Danno must have gone to collect the rock orchids and pointed in the general direction of the cliffs for Zen’s benefit.
A sense of unease spread over the monks like rain clouds coming in over the mountains. They each knew how treacherous the path could be in inclement weather. Silent prayers were said for Danno’s safe return.
At a loss what to do, Zen went to inspect the herb garden for any damage it might have sustained overnight. He tended each plant as Danno had taught him, collected the dew and tried to work out what time he might have left and when he should be back. He had made his mind up to go look for him when there was a commotion at the gates. They were opened to allow a group of villagers through. They were bearing a body on a mat strung between two bamboo poles. Zen knew it was Danno before he even reached the lifeless form.
The monks watched in horror as he tried to shake the body back to life. When Akemi Roshi tried to get him to release his hold he pushed the abbot so hard that he fell backwards. Everyone froze, and then Kado took charge. He ushered the villagers away, thanking them for bringing the body which would receive a Shinto burial. Following his lead, Benjiro suggested that the monks begin the ritual chants. Akemi Roshi dusted himself off and left to prepare for the funeral rites. Zen cradled Danno’s body in his arms and carried it back to the hut.
A short while later Kado entered the hut with a bucket of salt water and indicated that he had come to cleanse the body. Zen withdrew to a corner of the hut from where he watched Kado strip and clean the body. He placed a large pink pearl in Danno’s mouth before covering the corpse with a rush mat and four of the monks to help carry it to the main hall where they continued chanting until sunset. Zen walked behind them when Akemi Roshi led the way to the burial ground. Standing by the graveside he said a silent prayer for Danno’s soul, mourning the loss of another friend and brother who had succumbed to a watery death.
*
Chapter 11
Emperor Go-Udo’s visit went ahead as planned. At the appointed hour, the imperial cortege made its way along the path from the village. First came an honour guard of samurai, then the bearers carrying the Emperor, his priests and consorts in cedar palanquins with latticed shutters and silk curtains. A second cohort of samurai brought up the rear. Each man wore the dust of the road.
The palanquins were set down at the gateway. The Emperor alighted in a silk kimono embroidered with golden chrysanthemums, which shimmered in the sun as he glided towards the line of monks.
Akemi Roshi made a deep bow of greeting before directing the party along the newly raked white sand path towards the shrine. The Emperor and his priests followed. The rest of the party remained at the tori as this was a sacred ceremony.
The participants gathered around the natural rock spring which served as a temizuya where worshippers purified themselves before advancing to the shrine. Joben poured water over Akemi Roshi’s hand, then Yasashiku passed him a wooden ladle to rinse his mouth. Akemi Roshi had spent the three days prior to the ceremony taking frequent baths and eating certain foods in order to cleanse both his mind and body in order to perform the ritual.
Resplendent in a black silk sefuku, the formal costume of a Shinto priest, he led the procession along the avenue of cherry trees bedecked with twisted sacred ropes of rice straw. When they reached the altar Kado clacked two wooden blocks together to mark the start of the ceremony. Akemi Roshi made offerings of rice, sake and seaweed to Amaterasu. He clapped his hands twice and made a deep bow which he held during the recitation,
‘We have prepared the way with much fasting and prayer to subject our body to the will of our Spirit to draw notice to the kami Divine that they might attend our words and bestow their favour and rain down their blessings …’
Having called on the gods to bless those present, he asked the kami to continue to protect the coastline from foreign invaders.
Emperor Go-Udo dedicated a piece of cypress wood to Amaterasu. The donation came from the shrine at Ise, which was rebuilt every twenty years. Once the kami moved into the new shrine, the old one was dismantled and the pieces distributed amongst all the shrines sacred to the Emperor’s divine ancestor.
Akemi Roshi accepted the gift with a deep bow, and then indicated to Zen to come forward. He had been given the honour of presenting the Emperor with a box of rare orchid essences, a task which Danno would normally have performed. Zen’s bow was too shallow and he held the Emperor’s gaze too long. Everyone held their breath but the Emperor pretended not to notice. He looked from the monk to the abbot and back again but reserved his judgement for later.
Laughter escaped from the palanquins as the Emperor and his entourage departed. He could not understand why his father had abdicated his throne to become a cloistered monk. For his part he preferred the company of refined young ladies to that of such simple men who had neither manners nor conversation. He could not wait to return to the delights and intrigues of court life and had no wish to follow in his father’s footsteps.
*
Chapter 12
On the seventh moon in the year of the Snake 1282, Zen was kneeling before the shrine he had built to Danno at the edge of the beach where the rocks were exposed beneath the cliff side. Akemi Roshi observed him from the veranda of his hut. Danno’s death had driven a wedge between them which fissured into a chasm following the Emperor’s visit.
The sultry weather covered the ocean in a shroud of mist. Zen finished his prayers and scanned the horizon before getting up to return to the monastery. He thought he noticed strange shapes in the fog and strained to make out what they were as a fleet of war ships ghosted into view. Zen shuddered to think where Kubilai Khan had found the trees and men to build a second armada. The fleet he sailed with was the biggest ever but this one must be ten times the size. He watched in awe and wonder as the ships streamed round the bluff and into the mouth of the harbour. He did not move until an arrow whizzed past his left ear, then he tore back up the beach.
The temple drums were already beating to warn nearby villagers of the invasion. Zen pushed the sound to the back of his mind as he struggled with joining his former comrades and seeking the sanctuary of Shukuoka-ji. As he reached the main path, men from the village sprinted past on their way to the bay where the battle would take place. Their women and children were heading for the safety of the mountain caves. The temple gates were closed. Zen hammered on them to no avail.
For the first time in six years he wondered what had happened to the clothes he had been wearing when he was rescued. Akemi Roshi would know. He tried to scale the bamboo fence but failed to find enough footholds. He debated what to do next as the sound of battle carried from the bay. It would not be long before the invaders reached the temple compound and they would mistake him for one of the monks. Then he remembered the secret steps.
He skirted round the path to the beach again, seeking cover from trees whenever po
ssible and approached the area with caution. He remembered the skirmishes along the coast last time when General Lin Fok Heng had sent raiding parties off away from the main focus of the battle. Hauling in the spoils had been easy but had cost them dearly, allowing Shogun Tokimune to muster more men. He doubted the Mongols would make the same mistake again.
The coast was quiet, too quiet. The hairs on Zen’s skin bristled as he realised how highly charged the air had become. A wave of horror hit him as he noticed the white line on the horizon.
‘Amaterasu!’ he yelled as the skies darkened.
While the battle between sword and crossbow raged in the bay the sun-goddess had been busy whipping up the power of the wind and waves to protect her island chain once again. The first wave crashed against the cliffs as Zen flung the trap door open. The water pulled back, creating a strong undercurrent and rammed into the fleet. Some of the ships tried to scuttle out of the way but there were so many in the harbour that the mouth was blockaded. There was no escaping the maelstrom.
Thunder rolled and lightning flashed as the goddess wielded her weapons. Decks ran with water, masts snapped, both man and beast were crushed as the ships broke up and floundered in the bay. Those struggling to get on board were smashed against the sides. Those left on shore were sucked under by the second black wave which left a trail of destruction well inland.
In the seconds it took for the storm to subside, there was enough debris in the harbour to make a floating bridge across the bay. The only movement came from the multi-coloured dragon pennants which flapped about in the water like sodden prayer flags.
Zen tiptoed across Akemi Roshi’s hut and peered round the doorway. The world was silent. Nothing moved. Not even the trees. The wind had died down and the sun had come out again. He made his way through the compound with caution. The first body he found was Kado’s. He was laid by the open gates with an arrow through his heart. The rest of the monks were in the main hall, slain as they chanted. Akemi Roshi was not among them. Zen was considering the likelihood of his being taken prisoner when it occurred to him that there was one more place to look.
As he approached Amaterasu’s shrine, Zen called out to the motionless form prostrated before the statue. There was no reply. Angered by the thought that Akemi Roshi would choose to ignore him even now, Zen rushed up to pull him to his feet but stopped short when he realised that he was in fact dead. His throat was slit from ear to ear. Zen collapsed to his knees. As he rocked backwards and forwards he thought about the twists and turns of the winds of fate that had brought him to this temple overseas and to the brother to whom he was bound.
Then his mind strayed to the other monks, and what if Jun should have said that his destiny was bound to that of his brothers overseas. Suddenly, he knew what to do.
Zen made a circuit of the temple complex. He closed the battered gates to seal the community off from the world and dragged Kado’s body into the main hall. He piled him up with the other monks, covered them with tatami mats, bowed to Amida Buddha and turned around.
He walked out of the hall and along the corridor in a straight line, placing one front in front of the other, heel to toe, heel to toe. As he performed this walking meditation, oil etched a pattern in the ground behind him. He poured the last of it over the statue of Amaterasu and took up the lotus position facing the body of Akemi Roshi. He lit the fire with the same attention he would an incense stick and waited for the flames to take hold. As they licked at his feet he began the sacred chant of, ‘Katsu! Katsu! Katsu!’
The monks ascended together as a plume of smoke rose into the air high enough for the villagers to see in the mountains. When it was no longer visible they left the safety of the caves to assess the damage and rebuild their lives along the coast until faced with the next change wrought by the wind or the waves.
Epilogue
Defeated by the elements for a second time, Kublai Khan failed to raise a third armada and turned his attention to fulfilling his grandfather’s dreams of building a great Mongol Empire.
Emperor Go-Uda played with the court geisha while the Shogun ruled in his name. When he abdicated his throne to his son, he became a cloistered Emperor like his father before him.
Amaterasu maintained her protection of the island chain for a further six hundred and sixty-three years until the next foreign invasion.
###
About the Author
Judith Lesley Marshall was born in Bishop Auckland, Co. Durham. She works as a freelance writing coach and co-ordinates arts/heritage projects across the North East of England. The highlight of her career to date is leading the Winning Words cultural Olympic project for Barnard Castle during 2012.
Judith draws on both family and local history for much of her poetry and non-fiction writing. ‘The Second Wave’ was written to help her come to terms with her father’s stroke. The setting for the story was inspired by reading a book called ‘The Weather Factor’ which considers how different weather events have influenced the course of history. Although no Mongols were thought to survive either armada, ‘The Second Wave’ responds to the question ‘What if?’
Read Judith’s blog at https://www.judithlesleymarshall.com.
Follow her on
[email protected] or tweet:@julema.
Coming soon from Judith Lesley Marshall
The Encircling Isles
Thera
Spring 1460B.C.
For forty years I have heard their voices calling me back home. Now I stand on the island of my ancestors staring at the striations in the cliffs across the bay. The steep slopes run red and black, as if the blood of animal and human sacrifices congealed in their veins when the island was blown into three.
Hephaistos smoulders to my left, renewing itself from a charred stump that spreads its tentacles like an octopus laid out to dry in the sand. The water around its base is green and orange. Everywhere else is grey and black, petrified in layers of ash and lava. There are no trees on this side of the island.
A shroud of mist surrounds the area, making it difficult to navigate in and out of the bay which is too deep for any boat to drop anchor. Sailors dare not stay here too long for fear that the hulls of their ships will erode. My eyes smart and my nostrils twitch at the smell of sulphur even at this height.
When the wind blows, waterspouts whirl across the basin like demons of the air. No wonder they call this ‘Devil’s Island.’
Eidokos is waiting in the boat below with my parents’ bones. When I give the signal, he will lead the goats up the tortuous path while the sailors offload the rest of our supplies. They say that it is too early to return here, that the island is not yet ready to support life again, but I have reports of fresh water springs inland. My father taught me how to fish with both net and spear so we will not starve. But first, I need to take my bearings from the sun to find the beach where my parents asked to be buried.
The beach is at the foot of the mountain where my father ran the footrace that changed the course of their lives. If my mother had not been angry with him that day he would never have competed for a place at the games in Delos and I would never have been born.
Some would say that the gods had a hand in this. They do indeed play a part in our lives but we are the actors. We decide how to portray the roles we are given. The Fates may select the threads, but we choose how to weave them together. Knots can be both done and undone. Such is the will of the gods.
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