The fifth year of Emperor Bidatsu's reign, Yayoi. Asuka, Isonokami.
There was no moon.
It wasn't hidden by clouds. It was the night of the new moon. Only the stars filled the sky, and even they were blurred by a thin haze. The Mononobe residence standing on the hills of Isonokami lay sunken in darkness.
Only one torch was lit.
In a room deep inside the residence, enclosed by earthen walls, mats had been spread across the wooden floor. The light from four oil dishes illuminated four faces.
The Mononobe Ōmuraji.
Head of the Mononobe clan. His body, just past the age of thirty, was lean and tightly built, with thick bones. A thin beard covered his chin, and dark circles lay beneath his eyes. It was the face of a man who had endured one sleepless night after another.
To the Ōmuraji's right sat the Nakatomi Ritualist.
A ritual official of the Nakatomi clan. Thirty years old. He wore a gentle smile on his round face, but his eyes did not smile. He spoke the language of Baekje, read books from the continent, and oversaw the court's rites. In the light of the oil dish, only his eyes gleamed strangely.
To the Ōmuraji's left sat two Baekje merchants.
One was a gaunt old man: The Haku Elder. A necklace made of tiger fangs hung over his chest, and the knuckles of his fingers were unnaturally thick. They were the hands of a man who had mined lapis lazuli and mica. He owned several mines on the continent and had used his wealth to gain influence in the Baekje court.
The other was a young man: The Yō Strategist. He wore a bull-hide belt and silk robes. A designer, he was skilled at reading people's hearts and giving shape to their desires. He was the Elder's right hand, interpreter, and strategist.
The four men gathered around the oil dishes.
“And so?”
The Ōmuraji spoke. His voice was low. He was irritated.
“Where is this Kowakuni Soul?”
The Elder smiled. He had no teeth. In the firelight, his toothless mouth looked like a black hole.
“My lord Ōmuraji. There is no need to be hasty.”
“I am not being hasty. I am asking.”
“I understand. But if we knew where it was, we would have had no need to cross the sea and come here.”
The Ōmuraji's brow twitched.
The Yō Strategist smoothly cut in.
“My lord Ōmuraji. For three hundred years, we of the Haku people have searched the continent for the emperor's relics. Wedge-shaped characters carved into clay tablets. Marks engraved in stone. Vessels buried beneath the desert. By piecing them together, we finally learned one thing.”
“What did you learn?”
“The Kowakuni Soul was carried beyond the eastern sea. The Jūsara People placed it in a sacred coffin and transported it. And the descendants of those Jūsara People live in this country.”
The Ōmuraji fell silent.
The Nakatomi Ritualist opened his fan and hid his mouth.
“The Six Clans, then.”
The young man nodded.
“The Six Kowakuni Clans. The Jūsara People crossed into Izumo and split into six. Kaku-kari, Yama, Ame-taka, Garan, Naja, and Fuchi-kami. The princesses of those six clans bear a birthmark passed down through the generations. It is called the Inherited Flame.”
“What of the birthmarks?”
The Ōmuraji cut him off.
“If we gather the birthmarks, we can learn where the soul of the country lies.”
“Gather the birthmarks. How?”
Silence fell.
The oil in one dish popped. Tiny sparks scattered, briefly lighting the Elder's face.
“…That, we do not know.”
The Elder spoke quietly.
The Ōmuraji's eyes hardened.
“You do not know?”
“No.”
“After searching for three hundred years, you do not know?”
“That is so.”
The Ōmuraji glared at the oil dish, his lips pressed into a thin line.
The Ritualist gave a small laugh behind his fan.
“My lord Ōmuraji. It is precisely because we do not know that there is value in joining hands. If we knew, the people of Baekje would have handled the matter themselves.”
The Elder looked at the Ritualist. The Ritualist's smile did not falter.
“Lord Nakatomi, do you know something?”
“I do not. However, Imibe is making a move.”
The air in the room changed.
The Ōmuraji raised his head.
“Imibe?”
“Yes. He is trying to gather the princesses of the Six Kowakuni Clans at Tachibana Palace of Asuka.”
“For what purpose?”
“Who can say? Imibe's thoughts are always needlessly roundabout. But they possess old records, so they may know things we do not.”
The Ōmuraji rose. The sound of his feet on the wooden floor reverberated against the earthen walls.
“Imibe is gathering the princesses. Then we should abduct them.”
The Elder shook his head.
“Even if we abduct them, it will be meaningless if we do not know how to read the birthmarks.”
“Then abduct Imibe as well.”
“Imibe is close to Soga. If you lay a hand on him, Soga will move.”
The Ōmuraji clicked his tongue.
The young man spoke quietly.
“First, we should watch.”
“Watch?”
“What the princesses do. What Imibe is plotting. What will happen when all six birthmarks are gathered. We should witness that first, then take them.”
The Ōmuraji looked at the young man. The young man's eyes were calm, but their depths could not be seen.
“We need someone to witness it.”
The Ritualist closed his fan.
“We have people. In Izumo, there are some who can be put to use.”
“Who?”
“Sarutahiko. Ama-ukezume. Yatagarasu. The three clans of Izumo.”
The Elder's eyes glinted.
“The three clans. Those people—”
“Yes. They originally split from the Six Kowakuni Clans. They serve the Heavenly Descendants and are also connected to Lord Mononobe. Since they carry the blood of the Six Clans, no one will suspect them even if they stay close to the princesses.”
The Ōmuraji stared at the wall without windows. The darkness of the moonless night spread beyond it.
“Can they be used? Those people?”
“They are servile,” the Ritualist said flatly.
“They are collateral branches without the Inherited Flame. They cannot become princesses or clan leaders, and they serve as underlings to the Heavenly Descendants. Such people are easy to use. Dangle a reward before them and they will run; threaten them and they will obey.”
The Ōmuraji nodded.
“Good. Do it.”
The secret council ended, and the Baekje merchants departed.
Only the Ōmuraji and the Ritualist remained in the room. The oil in the dishes had burned low, and the light had weakened.
The Ōmuraji spoke.
“What is the Kowakuni Soul?”
“Who can say?”
“You do not know either?”
“I do not. However—”
The Ritualist stared at the light of the oil dish.
“The people of Baekje say it is the source of wealth. Wheat yielding eighty times the amount sown. Rich catches of fish. They say it is the power that produces such things.”
“Do you believe them?”
“Whether I believe them or not is beside the point. It is something the people of Baekje have crossed the sea to seek. It cannot be worthless.”
The Ōmuraji snorted.
“You want it because it has value? Just like a dog. Show it a bone and it runs.”
“You are running too, my lord Ōmuraji.”
The Ōmuraji glared at the Ritualist. The Ritualist did not lose his smile.
“My lord Ōmuraji. We may as well be dogs. We can learn what the bone really is later. The one who gets the bone in his teeth first wins.”
The Ōmuraji fell silent.
The oil-dish flame wavered. The two men's shadows stretched across the wall, shrank, then stretched again.
“Imibe knows, does he not?”
“Most likely.”
“They are always like that. They know, but refuse to tell anyone. They hoard records, stockpile secrets, and believe they alone are right.”
An old anger colored the Ōmuraji's voice.
“The rites of Shinto originally belonged to Imibe. We Mononobe took them up, gave them form, and made them a pillar of the imperial court. Yet Imibe holds a grudge. They think they were robbed. We did not rob them. They simply could not do it. They lacked the power. It is dangerous for those without power to clutch nothing but secrets.”
The Ritualist said nothing.
The Ōmuraji settled back down.
“Use Sarutahiko and the others. Have them watch the princesses. Have them report everything Imibe is plotting. And then—”
The Ōmuraji held his hand over the oil dish. Flames slipped between his fingers, and shadows crawled across the wall.
“Once we know where the soul of the country lies, we will have no further need of the princesses or Imibe. I will take it all into these hands.”
The Ritualist bowed deeply.
“As you command.”
The Baekje merchants who had left the residence at Isonokami walked through the darkness.
They carried no torches. There was no moon. Yet the Elder's steps were sure—the steps of a man accustomed to walking through the darkness of mines.
The young man spoke in a low voice. It was not the language of Baekje, but an older tongue from the depths of the continent.
“Can the Mononobe be used?”
“He can. He is deeply greedy. A greedy man is easy to control.”
“And Nakatomi?”
“He is troublesome. His mind is quick. But a quick-minded man has weaknesses of his own. He thinks he is the cleverest person in the room.”
The young man laughed.
“Are we not the same?”
The Elder stopped. In the darkness, the tiger-fang necklace gave off a faint gleam.
“No. We know that we do not know what the Kowakuni Soul is. The Mononobe and Nakatomi do not even know what they do not know. That is the difference.”
“But we do not know where it is either.”
“We do not. But once the six birthmarks are gathered, a path will open. That is what the clay tablets say.”
“Does Imibe not possess the same clay tablets?”
The Elder began walking again.
“They must. That is why Imibe is gathering the princesses. We will have Imibe gather them, have the Mononobe watch them, and take them once they are all together. We have waited three hundred years. We can wait a little longer.”
The shadows of the two men moved along the dark road.
The fields of Asuka were quiet. Only the croaking of frogs drifted across the surfaces of the rice paddies.
The Elder murmured.
“When the emperor's kingdom fell, the Jūsara elders placed the Kowakuni Soul in a coffin and fled east. They escaped their pursuers, crossed mountains, crossed the sea, and hid it at the far end of this island country. Our ancestors remained on the continent, entered the courts of kings, sold their skills, and built their wealth. But wealth is not enough. Hegemony on the continent is decided by power. We need power.”
The young man listened in silence.
“If only we had the Kowakuni Soul, the continent's wheat would yield eightyfold. We could feed armies. We could feed the people. We could raise up a king. The four clans of our people could once more restore the glory of the emperor.”
The Elder's voice was quiet, but beneath that quiet lay three hundred years of thirst.
“Elder, one thing.”
“What?”
“Where in the clay tablets was it written that the Kowakuni Soul is the source of wealth?”
The Elder did not stop walking.
“It was not written.”
“Then—”
“It is tradition. The emperor's kingdom was prosperous. It fell after losing the Kowakuni Soul. Therefore, the Kowakuni Soul must have been the source of that prosperity. It makes sense.”
The young man said nothing.
It made sense. But there was no proof. The foundation of three hundred years of obsession was nothing more than the fact that it made sense.
The two men continued walking through the darkness.
The frogs' cries faded as they entered the hill road. From the direction of Isonokami came the distant howl of a dog.
The moonless night had not yet ended.