The Kalavinka's Child and the Musician (Part 5)

Outside the cave where the curtain of night had fallen, the chirping of owls echoed between the trees. Their whistle-like cries sounded somewhat mournful, deepening the density of the darkness that enveloped Mount Ryumon.
Yoshitsugu Kashihara, Naomasa Hatsuse, and Oto. The three of them, having crossed over to Tang for different reasons, spent the night as they pleased, huddled around the smoldering campfire.
Having filled her belly, Oto leaned against the pack Yoshitsugu had been carrying, her mouth half-open as she breathed in peaceful sleep. A crumb of charred rabbit meat stuck to her lower lip slowly tumbled off in rhythm with her gentle breathing.
Naomasa was playing with his koto as usual. On the body where the black lacquer had peeled away, the white hair strung in place of silk threads trembled weakly. Unlike the resonance of silk strings, the sound of the thin threads, which could only produce a faint noise like the buzzing of a mosquito, was overlaid by the cries of the owls.
That melody did not reach Yoshitsugu's ears. The only ones who could perceive the minute vibrations of the plucked white hair were Naomasa himself, the player, and Oto, who possessed extraordinary hearing.

"Tell me again. Why—"

—Why did you stray from the proper path of the koto?
Yoshitsugu interrupted Naomasa's performance. His thoughts, clouded by questions, were as vague as the white mist that had enveloped the mountain.
As one who had crossed to Tang as a musician, there was no doubt that he had once wished to master the path of the koto. Was the melody that Naomasa had boasted 'no musician serving in the capital could match'—a tone woven from the joys and sorrows of the mountain—a realm beyond the reach of ordinary understanding, accessible only to the highly skilled? Or was it merely the groaning of a pathetic old man who had fallen off the path and was now struggling in the mud?
After much hesitation, Yoshitsugu stopped himself. He feigned a natural demeanor so as not to provoke Naomasa's spirit and hastily patched together a question.

"...You left Naniwa in the 24th year of Enryaku. I heard there was a ship suspected of being a pirate vessel."

The anecdote of the fleet that crossed the sea during the Enryaku era was widely known in the capital of Kyoto. The voyage of about fifty years ago, in which two of the four ships were wrecked and the two that reached Tang also met with disaster, had become a topic of conversation because a high-ranking monk in his youth had been on board.
Naomasa nodded slightly and answered without hesitation, as if looking back on an event that had happened just yesterday.

"It was indeed the first ship I was on. The ambassador had poor penmanship, and we were put in a difficult spot because he wrote a worthless petition. If not for the help of a studious monk with a good hand, every one of us sailors would have been beheaded."

Yoshitsugu relaxed his furrowed brows and listened to Naomasa's reminiscences.
Even if he had doubts about Naomasa's skill as a musician, there was no doubt that Naomasa had been a member of the Enryaku fleet. As someone who had crossed the sea long before him, a sense of reverence for Naomasa was beginning to sprout in Yoshitsugu's heart.

"...I still cannot forget those lively, powerful eyes. You said you were aiming for Chang'an to seek the Dharma, but was your wish fulfilled?"
"It seems so. Not to mention the bringing back of the Dharma and treasures, the achievements left behind after returning to the capital are countless. Even now, more than a decade after his passing, there is no one who does not know the name of that high monk."
"...I see. So that young man's journey to Tang was not in vain. To leave this life earlier than me, what a tragedy."

The pale flame light emitted from the dying campfire reflected in Naomasa's cloudy eyes. His unfocused gaze was not on the rock wall, but was staring at some distant place.

"I have lived for over eighty years, but I had thought that the role of the Kentoshi had long since ended... To think they would come again, risking the lives of hundreds. What on earth is the ambassador thinking?"

The aged eyes were eventually turned toward Yoshitsugu.
The ambassador. The Kentoshi ambassador. The one who leads the Kentoshi mission.
There was not a single day that he did not feel the weight of the status he had abandoned. Yoshitsugu swallowed hard, tightly sealing away the chilling thought.

"...It was not the ambassador who decided on the dispatch. In any case, it is not a matter for a sailor like me to know."

More than two hundred years had already passed since the imperial court began sending envoys to Tang. During that time, the number of continental-derived cultures brought back, whether tangible or intangible, was immeasurable.
However, the Kentoshi, which had contributed greatly to the nation's development and cultural maturity, had also begun to lose its purpose.
Items from the continent that were previously obtained through tribute were now being imported frequently by merchant ships. Furthermore, under the hand of the newly enthroned emperor, the momentum for the suppression of Buddhism was rising in various parts of Tang. The Tang, where many monks had once wished to study, was no longer a country where one could harbor a longing for the Dharma.
In such changing times, the Kentoshi had become a mere shell of its former self. As some questioned the necessity of risking the voyage and resigned from their posts at the risk of exile, Yoshitsugu accepted the role of ambassador.
The intention he held in his heart was not something he could boast of to others, such as a grand cause or a sense of mission.

"...The ambassador had the resolve to expose his life to the rough seas. He must have steeled himself, thinking that if he were swallowed by them, that would be the end of it."
"If that is the case, he is an irresponsible fool. It is amazing that you were able to entrust your life to him as well."

Yoshitsugu muttered, pretending it was someone else's business to the very end. In response to that tone, Naomasa returned a voice that sounded half-exasperated.
Ever since he lost his beloved daughter, Yoshitsugu had been searching for a place of death beyond his own control. Whether the monk's admonition that he could not go to his daughter even if he killed himself was the true teaching of the Buddha or a convenient excuse to care for his mind and body, Yoshitsugu, a layman, had no way of knowing.
Even so, Yoshitsugu tried to believe in another convenience. His daughter, who loved to sing, must be dancing in the heavens with the Kalavinka, filling the Pure Land with song. Even if it were just a convenience, that sermon became the sustenance for Yoshitsugu, who had fallen to the depths of despair.
Yoshitsugu understood deep in his heart that a half-human, half-bird creature that sang with a beautiful voice did not exist, much less appear in this world.
However, when he encountered the Kalavinka on the Kentoshi ship, those words finally took on a meaning beyond mere convenience.

"In the end, we safely set foot on Tang soil... If that was due to the ambassador's will, perhaps we have found a reason why we cannot easily die yet, why we must continue to live."

Yoshitsugu lowered his gaze to his side and turned his long, narrow eyes toward Oto.
Oto continued to sleep, her amber eyes hidden behind closed lids. Her pure white skin, resembling fresh snow, was slightly tinged with red as it was illuminated by the warm flames. Her appearance, with the wings on her back and the talons on her feet wrapped in linen cloth, was no different from a human girl walking through the city led by her parents.
Oto, who talked all the time, forgot words only in her dreams, spending a time of rest undisturbed by anyone. The figure of the weak and frightened girl who had hidden in a box in the cabin was now nowhere to be seen.
—As I thought, they don't look alike.
Kashihara Otoko died after falling to an epidemic that struck the capital. Her black eyes, shining like exquisite Go stones, and her lustrous cheeks, reminiscent of ripe peaches, were all cremated and turned to ash. The emotion that naturally crossed Yoshitsugu's heart was not disappointment, but a sense of relief that he could still clearly remember her as she was.
Following Yoshitsugu, who was drawn to Oto, Naomasa also lowered his gaze.

"...Oto, you said. A clever child. She must have truly heard my melody from outside this cave."
"She has better ears than others. I am constantly surprised by her."

Yoshitsugu lowered his eyes from Oto and lowered his voice as if they were having a secret conversation.

"She says she can always hear a song. A singing voice woven in a foreign language from somewhere unknown seems to echo from the far west from time to time. She feels she is being called by the song... I have never heard such a song, though."

Naomasa felt an indescribable sorrow at the sight of the big man bowing his head slightly.
However, without paying any mind to that, Naomasa asked a question.

"You don't mean to say you are aiming for the source of the song? No matter how bright a child she is, she is, after all, just a young child with no connections or ties. Even though she might just be being teased, do you have the obligation to go that far?"
"...I slightly doubted the sound of the strings she caught while we were pushing through the thickets. But even if it was something beyond my understanding, that tone certainly seemed to be in this place. I believe that her ears do not lie. No, I had to believe it."
"So you believe in that song, too?"
"Yes... Besides, the place where the caller is might be the same place I have been aiming for all along. Until we reach that place, we must never die."

Yoshitsugu's sharp eyes looked up at the ceiling. His gaze had the strength to pierce through the heavy rock wall and stare at the starry sky spreading outside the cave.

"...You are a stubborn fool."
"Say what you will."

Silence flowed back into the cave. In place of the two who had closed their mouths, the crackling firewood chimed in.