Chapter 3 — The Sorcerer And The Priest (1)

The Gatekeeper Rite carried out by the Eight Pure-Blood Houses, and the tasks assigned in its course, may look at a glance like a put-up job. In truth that is exactly what they are.
But there is one part of it into which no human hand can reach.

That part is the reward the Gatekeeper receives upon completing the task.

This goes back to a far-distant past, when the gates of the Specter Realm were sealed and Aeshin Korea was founded, to a covenant struck between the master of the Specter Realm and the sovereign of Aeshin.
It granted, formally, the qualification of Gatekeeper to the members of the Royal House and the Eight Pure-Blood Houses charged with the Specter Realm’s stewardship, and ordained that a sorcerous brand be engraved upon their bodies to mark them as such.

This sorcerous brand carries the power to let its bearer open and close the gates of the Specter Realm with ease, at any time and in any place, and to manage them; it has been an absolute contributor to the overwhelming authority the Eight Pure-Blood Houses now enjoy.
And because this is no power confined to use within Aeshin alone, it has done much to extend that authority across the whole of the world as well.

A power so enormous demanded, of course, a stern test of qualification, and the form of that test was fixed as a task, handed down generation by generation to the direct-line sons and daughters of the Royal House and the Eight Pure-Blood Houses.

’…Though authority of however great a kind grows feeble when stretched out across hundreds, even thousands of years. And so, I have heard it said, the Gatekeeper’s Brand can no longer summon the strength it once did.’

The Gatekeeper’s Brand is engraved, as a rule, upon the back of the dominant hand, and since those who bear it can sense one another through it, he had wondered whether it was really proper for him, cast out from the Shin House as he was, to receive the brand at all.
And yet.

For all of that, he had been a Gatekeeper, and he had carried his task through to its end.
There was nothing in him that need bow its head before heaven; he was, accordingly, fully worthy to receive the Gatekeeper’s Brand.
Not as the limping youngest son of the Shin House, but as a sorcerer by the name of Hweein, he resolved gladly to become a Gatekeeper.

“Flame-tail. You’ve still got the strength of a Rank Seven at least, haven’t you?”

— Don’t talk to me about standards humans dreamed up! …What sort of things count as Rank Seven, anyway?

When Shin Hweein named off a few species of yokai as best he could remember, Flame-tail wore a deeply put-out expression, brooded over it, then gave a relieved nod.

— That much, I can take! In spiritual power I’m above them too. Even saddled with these ugly shackles!

“Good. From now on I mean to oil those shackles a little, so watch and see.”

— It’s not oil you ought to be putting on them, it’s coming off! These!

The conditions of the task had been met to the letter.
True, he had not beaten the flame-hound by his own strength alone, nor had the contract been concluded purely by his own will. But that flame-hound had been rather more than a Rank Seven at the time, so the master of the Specter Realm would surely make some allowance for that much.

“Then I must perform the rite. Let me see… ah.”

The other Pure-Blood scions, whose tasks were put-up jobs, would have completed theirs the moment they stepped into the Specter Realm, and would set straight to the offering on a portable altar prepared in advance.
Shin Hweein, whose task was never expected to be completed in the first place, had nothing of the sort to hand.
If he’d had so much as a cloth wrapper he could at least have spread it out and set something on top, but he hadn’t even that, and the situation seemed hopeless, until Shin Hweein noticed the bundle still tied at his waist.

Cloth deep black, the weave of fine quality, even imbued with a sorcerous working so that it was kept clean, and a powerful grace lay folded inside it… A priest’s habit. A wrapping cloth.

“…No. No, no.”

It might well be that he was less hurt because he had carried this with him; one cannot repay a kindness with an ill turn.
Shin Hweein shook his head to clear the stray thought away, and as he cast about for some other plan, his thoughts caught suddenly on his staff.
When he had fought Flame-tail, hadn’t he drawn out wooden tendrils from the staff using the power of the tree-dokkaebi still lingering within it?

“Hoa.”
“Yes, my lord. Pray, speak.”

Hoa, whose words had grown few since the moment Shin Hweein concluded the proper shikigami contract with Flame-tail, answered the voice calling her with a soft, lingering smile.

Come to think of it, there was still business he had with her too…
Shin Hweein, his brow knitting in thought, set that aside for the moment and spoke.

“Tell me. Do you know any way of handling the power of a dokkaebi?”
“This maiden has had… no very good fortune with dokkaebi. Why not borrow the name of one who rules over them?”
“There, that’s the way of it.”

Two figures of ancient Aeshin are famed for keeping the dokkaebi in check: one is Cheoyong, and one is Bihyeong¹.
Yet Cheoyong’s name has its strength concentrated in driving the dokkaebi away; Bihyeong, by contrast, was famed as a king to whom the dokkaebi answered, ruling over them and bending them to his will.
So magnificent was that authority that even in Aeshin one occasionally finds sorcerers swaggering about claiming descent from Bihyeong. But Bihyeong, ghost though he was, was the son of a man who had been king, which makes any such claim a usurpation of the royal line; the Royal House cracks down on it severely and, more often than not, concludes the matter with the verdict that “this one is no descendant of Bihyeong.”

“I cannot say whether a corruption of an exorcism-spell will do, but I have no choice save to try. Ahem. In the name of the Young Master Bihyeong, son begotten of the spirit of a holy king, I command thee, O ghost within the tree. Raise me up an altar of wood before my eyes.”

The spell he had cobbled together on the spot, however, was not of much effect.
The tree-stalks made as if to rise a little and then stopped, which so offended Shin Hweein that for a moment a wild urge to snap the staff in two welled up within him; this he pressed down firmly, and tried several other incantations in its place.

Under Hoa’s lukewarm gaze and Flame-tail’s frankly contemptuous one, he tried for some minutes, changing the wording, and the incantation he at last arrived at went like this:

“Your master Shin Hweein commands you. Raise up an altar of wood.”

How exactly the name of Bihyeong had dropped out entirely and his own name had taken its place, even he couldn’t say. But, astonishingly, the effect was unmistakable.
Just as when he had stretched wooden tendrils to bind Flame-tail, he felt his spiritual power being drawn into the staff, and the moment he tapped its tip on the ground in the spot where he wished the altar to rise, a wooden altar, planed and squared neatly, came surging up from the floor.

The sight filled Shin Hweein with feelings half of pleasure and half of pique.

“Time may have moved on, but is even the name of the Young Master Bihyeong forgotten among dokkaebi…?”
“Still, the staff seems to know its own master perfectly well, which is fortunate! And what an uncommonly pretty altar! You’d hardly find another like it.”

Hoa soothed the sighing Shin Hweein.

Well. To rule by one’s own name is a far better thing than to rule by borrowing another’s. So perhaps this would do…
He set out on the altar what remained of the grain he had carried with him, hesitated a moment, then beckoned the flame-hound near and plucked out a single hair.

— Ow! I’m really going to lose my temper!

“You must be made known to the spirits of heaven and earth as well, must you not? It is nothing ill. Do not get so worked up over it.”

— Hngh. No matter how I look at it, this is because you’re short on offerings and using me to make up the difference…!

A laugh nearly escaped Shin Hweein at the words; he checked once that the bandages still wound properly across his face, and then, having put his mind at ease, made his offering of thanksgiving.

“Hweein, third son of Shin Yuhyeon of the Shin House, having carried out the first task laid upon him as a Gatekeeper, offers up this sacrifice in gratitude for the providence of heaven and earth. May the spirits of heaven and earth look down with pity upon this unworthy Gatekeeper and pour out their blessing.”

At the very moment he pressed his hands together and lifted up the offering, the wooden altar evaporated whole, and a bolt of lightning came down upon Shin Hweein.

Hoa shrieked; even Flame-tail sprang bolt upright, only to ease the tension from his body presently, recognizing that this was no divine punishment.
The lightning that had struck did Shin Hweein’s body no harm; rather, dividing itself between his two hands, it engraved upon the backs of them brands in the shape of a gate.

“…Both hands?”

Shin Hweein had kept his eyes firmly shut to savor the mystery of his communion with heaven and earth as long as he might.
When he opened them at last, he found the Gatekeeper’s Brand etched upon the backs of both his hands, and was, for a moment, taken aback.
He had been told that the design of the brand differs from person to person, but no one had ever spoken of a Gatekeeper bearing two brands… Then again, perhaps no one had thought it worth describing in detail, since no one had ever expected him to receive a Gatekeeper’s Brand at all.

— What’s that, then.

When the rite had ended and the currents of heaven and earth had returned to their ordinary course, Flame-tail, who had quietly come up to check on his condition, raised his voice in flat disbelief.

— How could that be on you? That is no power meant for a paltry human creature!

“That, my dear mongrel, is to say that my lord is not so paltry a human creature as you take him to be.”

— You called me a mongrel again!

Ignoring the squabble between the two, Shin Hweein went on examining the brands on the backs of his hands, and as he made out their particulars he let slip a low murmur.

“If I willed it, I think I could leave the Specter Realm from this very spot…. Flame-tail’s words are not so far off the mark. This is too great a power to be granted to a fledgling who has only just qualified as a Gatekeeper.”
“Then let us go at once! This maiden will attend my lord to the very end!”
“Why so?”
“Eh?”

To Shin Hweein’s wholly natural question Hoa shot back a reflexive counter-question, then, with a clear ah, that coming over her face, snapped her mouth shut.
He, for his part, with the faint smile of one who had no intention of pressing the point just now, gave a tap to the bundle tied at his waist.

“First, let us find the owner of this garment. If he is not dead, he should still be somewhere nearby.”
“If he were the sort of fool to scatter his habit and his sorcerous implement around for goblins to pick up, hasn’t he already gotten himself killed by now?”
“In that case, my heart will not rest until we find at least his corpse and bury it back in the present world. You know as well as I do what becomes of those who are left where they have died in the Specter Realm.”
“Ugh…”

Those who die in the Specter Realm become yokai, without exception.
Those who, guilty of nothing, are bewitched by yokai and so meet their end become resentful ghosts, and most of them, forgetting their former life, sink at last into ordinary low spirits.
But when one who possessed some special power dies, the spirit often retains that power undiminished even after death, or else twists in its transformation into a yokai and is reborn the stronger for it.
Whatever it said of him that he had been routed by goblins, his habit and the cross at his neck made it plain he was an exorcist priest of the Catholic Church, and if such a one were to die in the Specter Realm, the damage would be no trifling matter.

He untied the bundle at his waist, gathered the habit and the cross into one hand, and turned his head to Hoa.

“My offering for the sorcery falls short. Have you any grain on you? Ahem. Something sweet would do just as well.”
“Truth be told, this maiden is not so fond of sweet things… Ugh, but if a tanghulu will do².”
“Excellent.”

From within Hoa’s robe, still steaming faintly with cold air, a tanghulu came tumbling out.
A trick no low spirit could possibly have managed. But no one in their company was inclined any longer to take her at the word of “low spirit.”

“By the call of Hweein, last descendant of the Shin House: Aengseol. Old Aengseol. Show me where the owner of this garment can be found.”

As Shin Hweein spoke, he plucked three sugar-coated fruits from the skewer and cast them up into the air, where, with astonishing speed, they aligned themselves and pointed off in a single direction.
At the same moment, the voice came once more to his ear.

— Walk twenty paces this way, then conceal your spiritual power and walk ten more to the west, and you shall find him soon enough. A merely lucky imbecile is floundering about over there; go and bring him onto the proper path.

“I am grateful. Thank you.”

At the specific instructions, Shin Hweein gave a nod.
He had more or less expected it, but it seemed indeed that the other man had only just entered the Specter Realm for the first time, and was suffering no small trial caught in one of those traps where the lay of the land shifts itself at random.

— The offering is better than the last. But it would be even better to have one of those macarons inside that fox’s robes.

When Shin Hweein turned his head sharply at the words, Hoa met his eye, beamed, and arranged her face into the very picture of I haven’t the faintest idea what is being talked about.

The tanghulu vanished into the air just as the earlier grain had done, and as Old Aengseol’s presence faded away with it, Shin Hweein gave up the pursuit, breathed a sigh, and began to move according to her instructions.

“Mind you keep up, and do not lose me.”
“Do not fear.”

— I had thought it strange you weren’t using the powerful sorcerous implement at your hip when you fought me. Don’t tell me you’re moving now to find its owner? Once you’d lost it, you forfeited the right to be its master, didn’t you? Are you stupid?

“My lord is not stupid. He is kind.”

— And yet inside, you’re thinking exactly what I am, aren’t you.

“…This mongrel, I swear.”

Twenty paces with his spiritual power released; ten paces to the west with it tucked entirely away.
Caring nothing whether the two squabbling behind him kept pace or not, Shin Hweein finished his count, raised his head and opened his eyes, and at some point along the way he found himself standing in a thick fog.

“Therefore the LORD shall cut off all flattering lips, and the tongue that speaketh proud things. They say, ‘With our tongue will we prevail; our lips are our own: who is lord over us?’…”

There he was.
In his undergarments alone, gripping a sash of grey silk steeped in some sacred power, the figure of a tall and stately man, lifting up a prayer.

His hair was a brilliant silver, his features unmistakably Western.
Shin Hweein was startled for a moment, but the spiritual power that lay upon them allowed him to make out the man’s incantation, and supposing his ordinary speech would be the same, he plucked up courage and approached.

“O Lord, Thou shalt keep them, Thou shalt preserve them from this generation for ever. Though the wicked walk on every side, and vileness be exalted among the sons of men…”

“This, I would think, is rather the moment for keeping one’s eyes on what is in front of one than on God.”

When Shin Hweein had come up and spoken to him, the man, eyelids still shut and only his brows giving a small twitch, intoned quietly:

“I shall not be deceived any longer. The Lord is with me, and I shall not be taken in by the whisperings of evil spirits. Even in the wilderness, our Lord triumphed against forty days of Satan’s temptations while He hungered, so I, in imitation of Him, four days… at the very least, four hours…”
“Even though your habit and your cross are right here?”
“My sacred relics!”

His eyes, which shone like sapphire, flew open; he reached out at once, took the bundle of his garments from Shin Hweein’s hands, confirmed the cross within it still wholly preserved, and burst into tears of feeling.

“They’re real! O Lord, I thank Thee. The Lord, taking pity on me, has given His foolish lamb another chance!”
“Before that, I should think there’s something you ought to say to me.”
“Of course, my thanks to you as well, Brother! That you have brought my sacred relics. Satan, you are not, then!”

Confronted by the priest who, with eyes shining, was pouring out his gratitude, Shin Hweein gave a short exclamation of admiration.
That the man would give thanks without the slightest hesitation, even to him, a limping creature swathed head to foot in bandages, was indeed exceedingly priestly of him.

Yet between a sorcerer of the Shin House and a priest of the Catholic Church, there is one point where the two are fatally out of accord. And that point was this:

“But, Brother, why is it you keep company with these wicked devils? Perhaps you are in need of an exorcism prayer from this Lucas (Lucas), member of the elite order in which Catholicism takes pride before all the world, the Exorcist Priesthood?”
“Your kindness I appreciate, but I have no need of the prayers of an exorcist priest who was routed by green-faced imps.”

They regard every yokai as nothing more than a hellish devil refusing the teaching of the one true God, and set themselves at once to driving them out…