[Senkumo Saga: Book of Blossoming]: Veneration

Beneath the dazzling moonlight in the night sky, the swishing sound of a broom swiping the ground filled the air. A lone, Buddhist monk cleaned the walkway that led into the temple. He swept leaves out of the path dutifully and with respectable patience, taking pleasure in the quiet simplicity of the task. The fuddled sound of two pairs of footsteps interrupted the hypnotic swish of his broom against the ground. The monk stopped and opened his eyes to see Tsukiakari and Bishamon.

“Excuse me, sir,” Bishamon politely interrupted.

It takes a lot to unnerve a monk, but the air surrounding those two gave him goosebumps on his skin that the cold, night air never could. He was right to assume that the two standing before him were not humans.

“Y-yes? Do you need something?” the monk responded.

“I would like to know the location of a head priest by the name of Rennyo. Would you happen to know where he might be?”

“Do you wish to attend his next lecture? No one here knows where he lives, but he is scheduled to speak soon at…”

“I'm afraid that will not suffice,” Bishamon interrupted. “You see, I'm very eager to see him.”

“Well, sir, I must apologize. I don't know where he is at this hour.”

“We know you aren't just monks," Tsukiakari interjected. “We know this temple isn't merely a temple either. Everyone is calling you Ikko-ikki, the usurpers of daimyo and lords.” 

The monk's eyes met with Tsukiakari's. Staring into them felt as if he were falling into an empty, crimson abyss.

“S-so...you know who we are,” the monk stuttered.

Bishamon raised his palm towards the nervous monk. “Yes, and now that we've had the pleasure, perhaps you'd like to know who we are. I am Bishamonten, the god of war and one of the Four Heavenly Kings. You shall obey your lord.”

The flesh and skin of his palm began to pull themselves apart as a black eyeball sprouted in the middle of his hand. As soon as he stared into Bishamon's palm, the monk's eyes turned completely black, as if his humanity had been hollowed out and replaced by endless darkness. He dropped the broom and fell to his knees as black tears ran from his eyes and down his cheeks, dripping off of his chin and staining the stone tiles beneath him.

“Now, I shall ask you again,” Bishamon said, asserting himself. “The head priest Rennyo...where is he?”

The monk was forced to obey. “He has a house...not far from Kotobikihama beach...”

“Kotobikihama? I know where that is," Tsukiakari recalled. “What does this house look like?”

“It's small...humble...he keeps a shrine for Shinran outside...”

“Very good," Bishamon complimented. “Now then, go to sleep, young monk. Thank you for the information.”

As Bishamon commanded, the monk fell to the ground with a hard thud.

“Tsukiakari. It looks like we're heading to the beach.”

Tsukiakari stood petrified witnessing Bishamon’s hypnotism. She shivered beneath her robes, struggling to speak. “…Right…” 

Rennyo, the 8th Monshu and head priest of the Hongan temple, sat alone at the table of his small home near the beach, reviewing and writing a pastoral letter. The light of three candles illuminated his work as he sat cross-legged in his white kimono and haori, dipping his brush in black ink and writing down his teachings on a long scroll that stretched across the table.

He was completely bald and his face cleanly shaven. He had the heavy, baggy eyes of a man who had spent much of his acquiring all the knowledge he could. All was peaceful in his humble home as the moonlight shined through the wooden bar clerestory, and the distant sound of the ocean's waves whispered in his ears whenever the water kissed the shore.

The candles flickering on his table were suddenly snuffed out in ominous unison. Single, aromatic trails of smoke arose from their hot wicks as Rennyo ceased all movement, sensing a threatening energy entering his abode. The next thing he knew, a blade enwreathed in shimmering moonlight protruded into his peripheral view. The silent intruder drew the blade closer to his neck.

“Is it really so polite to draw a blade on a monk?” Rennyo asked calmly.

Tsukiakari removed the hood of her cloak and kept a firm, balanced hold of her blade, holding it so her thumb faced the butt of the sword.

“You don't sound very scared. There's nothing but a wall behind you. So then, how did this intruder manage to trap you like this? Aren't you curious?”

“Yes. I admit, I am very curious. However, I take it you didn't come here merely to impress me with your ability to break into homes," Rennyo snidely insulted

“I have demands, and you are going to accept them. If you refuse or try anything that I deem even remotely suspicious, I will cut you down.

Rennyo took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “If it's money you want, you'll be disappointed to know that I don't have much to give you. I am not a very rich man.”

“No, it's not your money. Pick up your brush and grab a new scroll. Slowly.”

“Very well.”

Rennyo shoved his work aside and started anew with another scroll. He stared at the empty stretch of parchment and awaited further instruction.

“The Ikko-ikki are raising hell across the country, overthrowing their feudal lords and fracturing whatever order is left after the Onīn War. I know you don't have much control over their actions, but you can affect their beliefs," Tsukiakari inferred.

“What exactly are you demanding of me?” Rennyo asked

“The factions of the Pure Land sect will listen to your instruction. If the Ikko-ikki are going to continue their circus of chaos, then at least make their existence beneficial to us. I want you to write a pastoral letter allowing the veneration of Shinto gods in Pure Land Buddhism.”

“What? Why would you want me to do something like that?” Rennyo calmly questioned.

“Do you really think a mortal could sneak up behind someone when there's a wall to their back?”

A bead of cold sweat dripped off of Rennyo’s chin. “Just who are you?”

“Tsukiakari Senkumo, a war goddess. I come under the authority of Bishamonten, the god of war. Do as I command you to. If you behave yourself, I will spare your life and we can go our separate ways. I know where you live, I know who to target if you go into hiding, and I know how to make even the most disciplined monk break.” 

Knowing the intruder was a disciple of Bishamon, he instantly recognized who he was dealing with.

“I see. So you’re from the Senkumo clan. We’ve heard all about you. You claim to be led by Lord Bishamonten. I thought you to be a band of heretics until you won in Kyoto. Now I wonder if you truly are executing his will.”

“I’m honored you know who we are. Now write exactly what I tell you," Tsukiakari demanded

. “Or you can refuse and earn Lord Bishamon’s ire. Your choice.”

Rennyo swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “I can’t take that chance. I’ll write the letter…”

A half hour later, Tsukiakari finally emerged from the little house after everything was done. The corpses of slain and bloodied monks were strewn about on the road and in the sands of the beach, along with their weapons. An absolute, horrific mess was made of them, with the full moon lingering above as a witness.

Bishamon waited on the tiny stone steps of the house that led to the front door. He stood as soon as Tsukiakari came out, rolling up his whip and hiding it beneath his cloak again. The cool, coastal winds ran through Tsukiakari's hair, making it ebb and flow in the radiant moonlight. She brushed aside her hair, folding it behind her ears as she sheathed her blade.
“How did it go," Bishamon asked with his hands on his hips.

“I got him to do it. He’ll deliver a pastoral letter that will allow the veneration of Shinto gods.”

Bishamon, pleased with the news and with Tsukiakari, gleefully grinned.

“Excellent. You truly are Amaterasu's flesh and blood.”

That night, the two discarded their cloaks and teleported back to the Senkumo base. Knowing most of the members would be asleep, they made sure to lighten their footsteps so the wooden floors wouldn't creak as much. They could hear the resting soldiers snore and turn on their futons as they passed by their doors, stopping in front of Tsukiakari's room. Their mission was done.

“Good work tonight, Tsukiakari," Bishamon congratulated. “We’ll let the situation in Kaga fester for a while. That will give us time to build our ranks a little more. When the time comes, be prepared to enter the field again with Taeko, Mayumi, and Ebina.”

“Yes, Lord Bishamon," Tsukiakari replied with a humble bow.

Bishamon smiled, seeing more and more of himself in the war goddess. “Hmph...You're definitely on your way...”

Bishamon quietly marched down the hall, waving goodnight as Tsukiakari entered her room. Noticing the girls were sleeping, she did her best not to make any noise. As she put down her sheathed blade and folded her cloak, Taeko, still awake, whispered to her from her futon

.
“Psst! Tsukiakari!”

The startled Tsukiakari bowed apologetically. “I’m sorry, Taeko. Did I wake you?”

Taeko smiled. “No! I just wanted to say welcome home!”

Realizing Taeko stayed up just to be able to say that to her, Tsukiakari’s chest tightened. Her shoulders felt heavy and her heart shuddered inside of her chest. Despite everything she had accepted about the difference between gods and mortals, she couldn’t deny the burden she was laying on her own friends in pursuit of her goal. She had told herself many times that a subject could never be equal to that which he worships. But did she believe that her friends were worth less than her? Tsukiakari herself struggled to find the answer.