Tamamo-no-Mae
Fiction
Sophia Sanikidze
MIKUZUME
A girl of maybe seventeen knelt prostrate in court.
One could not see her face in such a position, but what one could see spoke of finery, finery far beyond an orphan girl’s means. Jade hairpins were woven into her hair, which itself was glossy and blue-black with the exception of thin streaks of gold throughout it. Her karaginu was a bright green with black dragonflies embroidered across it.
“Rise,” said the young Emperor from behind a screen. The girl rose slowly and gracefully, a pleasant tilt to her lips, as you would see on the face of the Buddha on his statues.
She reminded all who were gathered of a ningyo, a doll, a puppet, for she was so flawlessly pretty. Her eyes were narrow and dusted with the faintest hint of rose powder. This was the only powder on her face, for her face was unmarked and snow-pale. Her lips were painted to look like little petals. Yes, a perfect statue or doll or puppet, the court thought; part of her own mind, a part that was far away, thought this was an apt description.
A mind, certainly not the mind of a young human girl, could handle the nearly one thousand years of experience and the horrors behind it. And so the creature made up of eight tails sank those tails into the human girl’s spinal cord and brain and puppeted her body to its liking. After all, a little servant girl would do anything to be a princess.
“I have been told that you specialize in poetry and philosophy,” the boy Emperor said. She bowed her head in agreement, her puppet face uncracked, unmoving from that little smile. “Impressive for one so young. I do not think I believe it. Will you prove yourself to us?”
“Of course, my lord,” she said, her voice oh-so soft and gentle, with the cadence and comfort of a lullaby. Inside her, the girl that was supposed to be called Mikuzume was lulled to sleep, and the eight tails wrapped around her body and face before bringing her inside itself, consuming her. “Is it a poem you wish from me, or an answer?”
“…An answer,” the Emperor said finally. “In my studies, I have been told that delusion is the same as enlightenment, and samsara is the same as nirvana. If this is the case, what is the point? As I understand it, it seems that there is no point in devoting ourselves to nothingness if it all leads to the same place.”
How funny it is, that a child can answer a question so simple that humans make so complicated.
The girl did not say such a thing. Instead, she said, “This is a question that even the most devoted and isolated monks struggle to answer, my lord, and so asking a mere girl such as me, who is at the whim of the Five Obstructions and the Three Obediences, is a rather cruel task, don’t you think?”
Gasps rang out from the court, for how dare a girl issue such a retort to the Emperor.
“That being said,” the girl continued, “the way I will answer the question is thus: delusion and enlightenment, samsara and nirvana, are two sides of the same coin. You cannot have one without the other, and they are forever at odds with each other. One needs both in life. If one falls into delusion and is swept away by the tides of samsara, they are no better than an animal. Without understanding the risks of such a thing, however, there is no point in so-called enlightenment and nirvana, for you cannot appreciate what you have overcome. You must understand the bad to appreciate the good.”
She saw the young Emperor nod, though she doubted he understood a word she said. Unlike her, he was actually a child. He was younger than this body, and was probably just quoting a question someone told him to ask her. But through her fox eyes, she saw the shadows moving strangely from behind the screen, and a new voice rang out with a question.
“Would the girl in front of me be willing to answer the question of an old man?”
She once again bowed her head in acquiescence, even as the creature inside her stirred. Saliva started to pool in her mouth, for she could smell the power in the new man’s blood. The rumored divinity of old gods.
“What do you think of spirits?”
She blinked, and her composure cracked for a second, causing her to look directly up at the screen before immediately bowing her head once more. “May this girl ask the honorable one who speaks to clarify his question?”
“According to the teachings, all things have spirits, even the clouds. Do you believe such a thing?”
“Most definitely, my lord. Every person and thing has a spirit. All have different types of spirits, but spirits they have. Perfumes have spirits, mountains and oceans each have their own spirit. Birds, dragons, beasts, fish, all have spirits. Heaven has a spirit, and kings have their own spirits. For us mortals, the good have spirits, and the bad have spirits. Does this answer your question?”
KESHOU
She was given a room in the palace, her purpose to entertain, whether with song and poetry or to settle debates between high ranking officials. She was the judge, and the Emperor and the court were the jury.
Every day, the one who was with the young Emperor behind that screen called her and asked her a question about the heavens, about the next life, about gods and kami. Every day, she answered the questions, centuries of knowledge and philosophy from empires long dead at her beck and call.
One day, the young Emperor released a decree.
“The girl known as Mikuzume shall henceforth be known as Lady Keshou.” The Emperor’s mouth moved, but she could hear the other man’s voice from the shadows.
It is all a puppet show, she thought numbly as she walked down the halls.
Her puppet body performed well when the man in the shadows, the Former Emperor Toba, asked her to be his. Her puppet face broke apart to show off mother-of-pearl teeth in a delighted smile.
The thing was, she could never tell if she was the puppet or the puppet master. For she was delighted. Mikuzume was still here, still part of the collective that made up her mind. She delighted in the favor she was granted, in the luxurious clothes, in the fine food, in the knowledge that she was the wife of an Emperor.
Even so, she would sometimes look in bronze mirrors and not recognize her face, nor the soul behind coal-dark eyes. She would realize that the eight streaks of gold in her hair were not supposed to be there. She would see creatures, foxes, in the gardens, and an urge to bite and scratch and run would try to bubble up under layers of kimono and history.
Puppet or master?
It did not matter anymore.
No matter what role she played, she would always return for a new stage and show.
She was the keshou, the avatar, for something she could not understand in this body, with this mind and brain.
~~~
The Cloistered Emperor held his own court in the shadows he favored so, and all the officials and courtesans who held any real power attended it.
The autumn moon shone through the windows of the concert hall, where poetry, song, and dance were performed for the Emperor, giving Keshou a break for once. She sat next to Toba’s Shadow Throne watching the youths do their best.
Time passed, and moon beams crawled towards the Emperor and Kesho. She paid no attention to the moon; she did her best to ignore it, but centuries of borrowed, stale memories made her head hurt and her vision swim when she tried to remember.
Gasps suddenly rang out across the hall, and she blinked and looked around. It was hard to see, for the moonlight was in her eyes. She frowned. Surely moonlight could not be this bright—
People were staring at her, faces twisted in fear. But next to her, the Emperor roared out a laugh.
“How wondrous it is that the body of Lady Keshou should give off light, so much so that the moon is envious of her!”
A chill ran down her spine, even as her puppet face spread into a demure and embarrassed smile as she thanked the Emperor for his praise.
Should the moon be envious of me… surely she was going to be punished by the old one that had made her.
TAMAMO
A new edict was announced to the court the next day, once again from the puppet mouth of the young Emperor Konoe.
“The Lady Keshou is as beautiful as seaweed glowing like jade on a midnight shore, and so, henceforth, she shall be known as Lady Tamamo.”
Emperor Konoe was looking rather sickly, the newly named Tamamo thought as she bowed to receive the edict. He always looked a little… off, and she had a feeling it was because he was just a puppet, and his father was the puppet master. In this, she felt a certain kinship with him, someone who could be considered a son of hers now.
He looked wan. Gray, with the only color in his face being the purple shadows under his eyes. He shook a little.
His brothers were wondering when he was going to die. She wondered if they knew becoming the master of an Empire meant becoming the most pathetic puppet of them all.
~~~
As Lady Tamamo, the design of her puppet body was improved. Better clothes, better care for her beautiful face, new songs and new poems to recite, new shows to perform. People were jealous of her now she was an Empress in all but name. And she did not need such a name, for she now had the name of Tamamo, and that was all the title she needed.
New questions were asked in an attempt to crack her wooden puppet skin. She was asked about the old gods that used to have sole rulership of this island nation. She studied and found the gods interesting, but still nothing more than gods, and gods she had dealt with before. She told stories of Izanagi and Izanami, of Susano’o and Amaterasu: a new play for her upgraded puppet body.
Then came questions of music, which she also answered, speaking of lucky numbers of gods that gave the court beautiful melodies and harmonies.
She was the voice of human pleasure, even as she warned them against such temptations as one would expect of a demure and proper lady. It just made people want her more, want her title, and inside her soul, the creature was glutted on the attention. Power swam under her skin, through her veins, pumped through her heart.
As she got stronger, the other puppet of the court grew weaker and weaker. She did not notice how far he had declined until one day—
He was gone.
~~~
Tamamo grieved Konoe. He did not have much personality by the end of his life, having spent too much time as a puppet without the relief of being a master, but he had been a sweet boy who enjoyed music and the scent of mild flowers. She mourned him, for the girl realized that that was what she would be without the help of the thing inside her. The thing that was so hungry for power.
She did not care who would come next as the official Emperor, for the Shadow Emperor was in her bed, and every day, he asked her questions, and she answered.
And every day, he too grew a little weaker. He could feel his heart thumping a little harder to keep his body moving, his skin grew a little thinner and paler every day, until he sat slumped in his Shadow Throne while he held his Shadow Courts.
The courtesans whispered. Perhaps a curse had been placed on the royal line, to make them so weak in heart despite having the blood of old gods running through their veins.
As this Emperor, her false master, grew weaker, Tamamo sat next to him and the pallor of her face turned gray with worry. For what was a puppet without her master? As the years passed, she seemed to forget about the tailed thing living inside her.
Finally, when the Shadow Emperor could not get out of bed one day, the court physician was called.
He took the Emperor’s pulse from his wrist, and his own face darkened.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “you must go to the head of the Bureau of Geomancy. I cannot help you, for this is a sickness of the spirit.”
“What?” Tamamo fretted, her hands fluttering to her mouth. “Of the spirit?”
“Indeed, my lady.”
“That cannot be,” the Emperor rasped, reaching a hand out to Tamamo, who took it faithfully and pressed a kiss to his fingertips, breaking decorum. “For my spirits could not be higher with the shining lady, Tamamo-no-Mae by my side. You lie, physician. That, or you are unskilled.”
The physician fell to his knees and bowed, begging His Majesty for pardon. Tamamo ignored him, squeezing the Emperor’s fingers a bit.
“Perhaps, my love, you have over-indulged in me,” she said softly, “it could not hurt to heed the physician’s advice. I shall summon Abe no Yasunari, the head of the Bureau of Geomancy.” She smiled her sweet smile to the Emperor, and then to the physician. As soon as their eyes met hers, she felt puppet strings bind them both to her, bringing them under her spell.
~~~
A summons was issued to Abe no Yasunari, and the next day, Tamamo found him kneeling in wait at His Majesty’s rooms.
“Rise,” she commanded him, and he raised his head. For a moment, Tamamo thought she was staring into a mirror, not because the man looked like her, but for the placid mask he seemed to have on. A face unburdened by wrinkles of stress and tire, a small smile of content on his lips, and shuttered eyes.
Images flew through her head, of a statue in a forest, of statues littered all over the damn kingdom in temples, of a face in the moon, and her hands started to shake, hidden by the grand sleeves of her clothing.
Killhimheknowskillhimheknowskillhimheknows—
“My lady,” he said. His voice was like hers, quiet and smooth, like a lullaby is made to comfort, “I have heard many a legend of your skin like porcelain without powder, and I see that the stories of your beauty do not do you justice. However, this humble astronomer thinks you look a touch faint. Are you alright?”
Her lips spread. Too wide. She was overcompensating.
“Perhaps I am a bit tired. I am worried for my love, His Majesty.”
“Of course, my heavenly lady.”
Claws erupted from the tips of her fingers, tearing silk-soft skin for the first time in this life. The thing inside her was stirring.
Do not call me that!
He blinked, a surprise painted on that stone mask of his oh-so perfectly. “I apologize, my lady, I meant only to compliment, not insult.” He touched his forehead to the floor. “Please forgive this one’s transgressions.”
“I— I do not believe I said anything, sir.”
“No? Perhaps your face shouted at me your displeasure.”
“I am sure I do not know what you mean,” she managed to say through her own panic and ancient rage clawing up her throat.
“Please, I must ask you to forgive me once again. All I do is stare at stars in the empty sky. Perhaps I’ve gone a little empty in the mind.” That damned smile—
The moon is staring at you
You are being watched
HE KNOWS KILL HIM
“Please keep your wits about you as you treat His Majesty,” she said quietly, but not like a lullaby. Not anymore.
“Of course, my lady.”
“You may enter!” shouted the attendant inside the Emperor’s rooms, and in they entered.
Abe no Yasunari took His Majesty’s pulse, checked the color of his skin, watched the pupils of his eyes. All the while, Tamamo sat in seiza, her head bowed, trying not to shake.
“The physician was right to call me,” the Geomancer said. “His Majesty’s illness is one of spirit, for it seems that another spirit is feeding off of his. There is barely any spirit left.”
She ducked her head into her sleeve and sobbed prettily at the declaration, but she looked at the man with slitted eyes through eyelashes clumped with fat tears.
“This is a dire possession; this spirit has either resided within His Majesty’s vicinity for a long while or is incredibly powerful. It has its claws latched deep into His Majesty’s soul. I will send messengers to temples across the country, perhaps even the shrines should it be a spirit outside of our expertise, and have them pray for you and recite sutras.” He bowed deeply to His Majesty. “Please, Your Majesty, have the Emperor Go-Shirakawa give an edict for such a thing. Your life, and more importantly, your immortal spirit are at stake.”
SAIGO
For a week, the entire country prayed for the Cloistered Emperor.
Tamamo did not participate, having flown into a hysterical fit for fear of her love dying because of a malevolent spirit. She was banished to her rooms for a week of bedrest, to be fed sleeping draughts.
She only opened her windows and the curtains to pour the sleeping draughts out them, before keeping her room dark, paranoia crawling up her throat at the thought of the moon watching her.
The fit was an act, one of her best, she thought. For she did not feel fear. No. She did not fear anything, perhaps pain, but that was a strong dislike, not fear.
For she never died. She never could die. Four times the tailed thing inside of her came back, and through it she, Tamamo, would live forever. She did not die.
So why? Why did she fear the moon?
She sat in her bed, staring at the wall in front of her, claws ripping her bedding to shreds and her fangs getting caught on her lips. She was not used to the transformation. She had believed herself the puppet master for so long because of the puppets around her she forgot about the tailed thing moving her limbs with those damn tails.
She was and wasn’t. What was she? What was she? What was she?
HE IS WATCHING YOU
~~~
The last time she saw Toba was after the week of prayer. He remained weak still, his skin pulling tight over his bones and his pulse thready.
“I knew that our time would come to an end,” he told her, voice thready, “for all our times come to an end.”
Not me, not me, I will not die, I will not be in his hands—
“I just didn’t realize it would be so fast.” He laughed as her mask leaked tears from the eyeholes. “I am not afraid, you know?”
“How so?” She gasped on a sob, “I am so afraid.” The words came out against her will, and she clapped a clawed hand over her mouth. She gasped and reeled back, hiding her hands underneath her sleeves once more. But he had seen. His tired eyes had seen the black gleam of her claws.
“Mikuzume,” he said softly.
“No,” she said, “no.”
“I’m glad I got to see your real face.”
“Stop,” she begged, “stop, please.”
“I am not afraid of death, but of leaving you behind? I fear for you so much.”
“What did you do?” She clawed at her face, wanting to tear the mask off. “What did you do?!”
“I know you don’t love me. Perhaps you loved Banzoku, or You, perhaps the son of Bao, perhaps a father and mother and brother, or perhaps no one but yourself, but I love you. I hope you know that. And so, because I love you, I have one word left for you: “Run.”