Traditions of Dead Generations

Round Three - The Widow of Assha Yokuda, Pt. 1

(Judges: The following story takes place in the autumn of 1583, Japan during the Sengoku period. I have used pictures #1, 4 & 7, and tanka #4 [in bold]. I hope you enjoy!)

The widow of Assha Yokuda was mad, but rich. It was her wealth, Yokui knew, that would save her and redeem her family. The Fukui Prefecture did not lack for mad widows these days, but most of them did not have families capable of engaging the services of a zagen of Eihei-ji.

Not, Yokui reminded himself as he finished his porridge and took up his shakujo once more with a reluctant sigh, that the services of the Sōtō monks were usually for hire. But in return for a new Temple at Miyama the daikyōjō could apparently spare one capable man.

Yokui studied the narrow road behind him one last time, then turned and started down the road ahead of him. Gone were the flat, narrow roads overlooking the calm Biwa Lake: now he was entering the mountainous, treacherous paths of Shiga Prefecture. The wider world thus surveyed, he pulled down his gasa and resumed his walk.

Though he had blisters and aching calves, Yokui was content with his assigned task. It was clear enough that the widow was in dire need. He shuddered to remember the perversity he had found in the widow's household at Assha Yokuda. The servants and staff had fled, and the widow lived in unwashed squalor. Household rituals had not been kept, and the shrines were unattended. A feast laid out during the Obon Festival three months ago still sat on the table, festering and augmented by subsequent uneaten meals.

“For my sons,” the widow had informed him. “They are so hungry now, since returning from the service of the Oda.”

Yokui had no doubt they were. The young sons of Niwa Suguru had both died over a year ago at Honnō-ji. The yūrei that returned to the widow would be gaki, spirits hungry for vengeance. The widow's grief gave strength to the gaki such that they had resisted his attempts at exorcism, and spurned their mad mother to attack him during the ceremony. Yokui touched the scab on his cheek where the woman's teeth had gained purchase. No, the widow had required more help than a simple exorcism. Only once the proper funeral rites had been performed would the yūrei move on to the afterlife. That meant collecting their remains from the distant battle where they had fallen more than a year ago.

“Oshō!” Were Yokui a different man, he might have been startled by the voice that addressed him. Instead he turned with practiced calm and raised his chin to see a scrawny, middle-aged heimin waving at him. The man glanced nervously over his shoulder as he jogged towards the monk, and Yokui reconsidered his estimation of the man. Ashigaru, perhaps. A deserter? Bandit? Yokui adjusted his grip on his shakujo just in case. “ Oshō, master, greetings, greetings, I, uh-”

The man continued glancing over his shoulder with a motion like a cat trying to bite its own tail. Yokui put his hand on the man's shoulder and narrowed his eyes at the road behind him. A tendril of dust rose up from the hidden valley just over the horizon, betraying a heavy-footed traveller that had not been there when Yokui last looked.

“Well met, brother,” he greeted the man, looking into his eyes with a calm smile intended to reassure, “How can I help you?” he looked pointedly at the dust cloud again, “Should we find a place to sit, so that we might speak in comfort?”

“Sit? Oshō, master, I had hoped - I am in trouble, master, and they say holy men have spells, curses to hold back enemies-" Yokui sighed. He could hear the thrum of horse hoof now, and estimated they would see whoever was coming up the path in less time than it would take to disabuse this peasant of his superstitions.