Chapter 14

Chapter 14

 

The gods despaired, their work undone,

The Race of Kings defeated,

But knew they something Man did not,

Their task was yet completed,

For Dragons lived, but hid in fear,

Of Man’s relentless fury,

They dwelt in caves and seas but still,

Were never safe from worry,

Thus said the gods, “This cannot be,

The order is asunder!

The rightful king is he we made,

To set aright our blunder.”

Yet knew they then what would ensue

Should man be overthrown,

For now that Dragons were so loathed,

They’d never gain the throne,

So thought they up a plan to give,

The Dragons some relief,

To let them freely roam the earth,

And sooth much of their grief,

So set they out to find a Man,

A vessel for their use,

A mind to mold, a body change,

To bring, at last, a truce,

But found they first, instead, a girl,

Of wealth and local fame,

But wont of greed, of Man-like sins,

Free of her Race’s shame,

Selected they this Elder child,

To bring to life their plan,

They placed a flame within her chest,

And no more was she Man.

 

Bright, early morning light poured in through an open window and shone upon an empty bed. It was one of many empty beds distributed between many equally empty rooms. Floors of polished redwood and lacquered tatami had just begun gathering the thinnest layer of dust, but otherwise, one never would have supposed a house so grand was so very void of tenants. Futons were still unrolled, their pillows dented from use, covers thrown asunder, as though done in a hurry. In the sitting room, large, expensive cabinets and miscellaneous pieces of furniture remained untouched. Dishes remained in their closets. Kimonos remained neatly folded and stacked in their decorative boxes.

The only area of the house that appeared to be in accordance with its true state was the servants’ quarters. Their dismissal had been abrupt, but at least they had been afforded time to pack their possessions and leave quietly at their leisure.

The morning was still, too still for Sakura’s taste, but the world had shown her rather tactlessly how little it cared for her taste when it had deprived her of her father. Without trumpet, without warning, without the faintest hint of distress or reason, he had drifted away in the night. Quite different from her mother, who she heard had been slain during a fire fight, her father had died without cause, leaving her no one to blame for his death. She might have blamed herself. “Surely there must have been some sign?” the doctors had asked her. And while they might have blamed her the oversight, she knew that nothing, nothing at all had seemed the matter with her jovial, ever-smiling, ever-laughing father until the morning she was awoken by the stomping of many hurried feet and the racking sobs of servants.

While Sakura, at the time, would not allow herself the luxury of grief, the servants were right to mourn, not for her beloved father, but for their own livelihoods. With their master died their income, but more than that, their protection. Protection from Sakura.

She would have kept them all had she been able. The money was plenty and the company might have offered her some much-needed solace. But they feared her, too much to stay, but not so much as to refuse the generous parting salary she had ordered for them prior to their leaving. “Take what you need and go,” she had said with a stoic expression, throwing wide the doors of one of her father’s mid-sized gold cabinets. Still wearing the kimono from her father’s burial ceremony, she had left them all staring dumbly like stricken dogs as she lumbered down to the beach.

That was a month ago, and she had yet to return.

One month had passed since she had spoken, and it had been nearly as long since she had seen a human soul. The valley had quickly grown as vacant as her home. Businesses, homes, even the temples were all empty, quickly abandoned once news had spread of her father’s death. They all knew what she was, or strongly suspected. Without a master to keep her tame, they all feared  her strength, her power, but mostly they feared that within her that made her different, inhuman, and therefore, unpredictable.

Sakura woke that morning to the gentle peal of wind-stirred bells. The shadows within the small temple were heavy, added to by the shadows of the thick trees in the surrounding forest. She had taken refuge there shortly after the priests had abandoned it, priests who should have been among the few enlightened who would sympathize, even respect her current condition. But it was too much to have hoped for. Apparently the enlightened were not enlightened enough to recognize the work of their patron gods, not schooled enough in their faith to recognize a gift from a curse.

Even Sakura had doubts. The fox, the goddess Kitsune, had told her it was a gift, though she had failed to ask her consent. It was she who Sakura waited for, who she hoped to meet again in the same spot she had first appeared.

Her kimono had grown dingy, her blonde hair mussed and tangled. She hadn’t eaten, hadn’t moved beyond the temple grounds in four weeks, and she wouldn’t until she had met her fox, and she had taken back her “gift.” It had cost her everything. Thirteen years it had been her curse, and now it had become too much to live with. She had known from childhood that she would never be normal, her hair the color of harvest wheat, eyes blue like water. Though the servants and women of the town had petted and praised her as a child, among the people of her community she was always something of a pet, rather than a human. Like a trained dog, she was loved and kept by those who knew her nature, but given a wide berth by those suspicious many who did not.

Sakura’s ears perked up when she heard a rustle. She had learned to pick out the stirring of small creatures from larger ones, and this was definitely larger. Sakura leapt up, fumbling to secure her kimono with a thin strap of cloth, the restraining oobi long forgotten. Barefoot, the train of her garment dragging the ground like a mermaid tail, she rushed to the entrance of the temple and gazed out upon the courtyard.

 

*          *          *          *          *

Yuta and Andria were once-again on-foot. Andria was visibly groggy, having only enjoyed a mere two hours of rest before Yuta decided they needed to start moving again. He had promised they would find a ryoukan to lodge in, and at the additional promise of breakfast, Andria needed no further persuasion. Her stomach was thin and hard from neglect, roaring like a lion to the point where she thought it might split her in two.

Yuta lead the way, tromping through the forest at least ten feet ahead of her. She kept her eyes on her own feet. Barefooted, her soles were danger to any number of silent predators, from pinecones and twigs, to snakes and scorpions.

Suddenly, Yuta stopped. Andria became aware of him through her peripherals, and instantly her attention was drawn away from her own feet. He had reached a clearing. Andria hurried to his side.

The first thing Andria noticed looking out upon the scene was the temple. Tucked between two giant trees, it stood tall and proud as though it had been carved from one of its brothers, rather than crafted together piece by painstaking piece over the course of several years. Two lion-like Dragon statues guarded the base of a stone staircase leading up to the temple entrance. And there, standing like another proud statue, was a woman.

She stood shrouded in shadow in the temple doors, the heavy bell ropes swaying lightly in front of her. Her hair hung loose to her waist in wavy golden locks. Her eyes were wide with shock, as though she was as surprised to see them as they were to see her. Andria glanced at Yuta. The expression on his face was dumbstruck, not a typical kind of surprise one would expect should they happen upon a foreigner by chance. No, these were eyes that beheld the impossible, that had disbelief deep within them. These were the eyes of a man staring at a ghost.

Andria elbowed Yuta. He started, his expression softening somewhat, as though he were regaining some sense of reality. “Do you know her?” Andria whispered.

Before Yuta could muster a response, the woman called in perfect Japanese. “Who are you?” She took a few hesitant steps down the staircase, holding the train of her kimono above her ankles and reaching for the head of one of the stone Dragons for support.
            “Yuta Odashima,” he replied mechanically. “And this is Andria.”

“Why did you come here?” Sakura snapped. Her face was suspicious, but intrigued. Once in the light, Andria could see that Sakura’s eyes were every bit as dramatic and blue as her own.

“We’re lost,” Yuta called back. Sakura hesitantly closed the short distance between them. Yuta continued, “We’ve been walking since yesterday and are trying to find some lodging.”

“The inns are all closed,” Sakura snapped. She starred at Yuta with defiance, as though daring him to question her.

Yuta and Andria looked at each other. Andria’s eyes were orbs of amazement and confusion. The wheels were slowly turning in her mind. This woman was familiar to her, impossibly so. Andria looked at Yuta somewhat pleadingly, as if he might offer an explanation to her feelings of familiarity, explain exactly how she knew her.

Yuta looked from Andria to Sakura, who now had her arms crossed in front of her, suspiciously observing the silent communication between them. All of a sudden, something clicked in Yuta’s mind. He understood perfectly.

“I suppose we should move on, then,” he abruptly directed at Sakura. “Please, can you point us in the direction of the nearest village?”

“Wait,” Andria interjected. Her curiosity was not yet satisfied. Yuta wanted to force his hand over her mouth. Now that he understood their situation, he couldn’t imagine a worse one to be in. They needed to get away from this woman, immediately.

“Where are the priests?” Andria continued. “I remember hearing that temples kept empty rooms for passing travelers. Could we use one of those?” Andria was no longer concerned with rest or lodging, but the itching feeling inside of her was telling her to stay close to the strange woman for as long as she could. The more she stared at her, took in her features, the more difficult it became to take her eyes off of her. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

Sakura observed them a moment longer. They wore unusual clothing, but other than that, they seemed to be unarmed. They carried no bags, no weapons, nothing, and by their stink and overall mussed appearance, it was evident that they had indeed been traveling hard.

Slowly, Sakura’s expression softened. She opened her mouth to speak, but Yuta cut her off, “That won’t really be necessary,” he offered. “Please, we can make it to the next town, if you’ll just give us directions.”

Andria shot him a threatening look, but he paid no attention to her.

“No.” The word escaped Sakura involuntarily. For the first time in a month, she was having a conversation. It had been two years since she had encountered anyone who didn’t know her secret and fear her for it, whether openly or secretly, as her father had. Suddenly she had discovered that she didn’t want them to leave. For the first time in a long time, she felt human.

She continued, “I mean, please. Please stay. There is plenty of room,” she lied. The temple was modest, to say the least. Where the small fortune she had donated to it after her father’s passing had disappeared to, she could only guess. Probably to the same place all the priests had gone.

“Great,” Andria answered for the both of them.

Yuta said nothing else in protest, not wishing to appear suspicious by refusing obviously needed hospitality. Instead, he smiled as warmly as he could and replied, “Thank you.”

Sakura led the two up a narrow path lined with more trees. A small hut was constructed not far from the temple, for the use of the poor and downtrodden that frequently came to the temple seeking shelter. Of course, the steady stream of beggars, homeless wanderers, and travelers on pilgrimage had ceased almost completely once the secret of Sakura’s condition became public knowledge. 

Sakura pushed aside a paper door on a polished wooden frame to reveal a single room. Light seeped in through slitted windows just below the ceiling. The floor was tatami and in a corner, four or five futon mattresses were folded in half and stacked, an equally tall stack of trimmings and blankets beside them. Pushed into another corner was a low, wooden table.

“You can sleep here,” Sakura offered, after giving the room a quick once-over for snakes and other critters. “If you want to bathe,” she added suggestively, “I can prepare some breakfast.”

Yuta nodded and Andria added, “Thank you. Where can we bathe?”

“Well,” Sakura began. “The lake is a five-minute walk downhill. A path leads straight there from the temple. There are hot springs in the mountains, but the nearest is about a half-hour from here.”

Upon mention of the lake, Andria had a sudden lurching feeling in her stomach. She still had not fully recovered from her violent encounter with Miroshi, and did not wish to relive it. Yuta noted the look on Andria’s face with satisfaction. “I think we’ll take a hike to the hot springs.” This would give him an opportunity to get Andria away from Sakura long enough to have a serious, urgent conversation.

Andria nodded in assent. Though her feet would not thank her for the added journey, hopefully they would be soothed some by the warm waters.

For a moment, Sakura looked as though she would protest, but eventually nodded. “If you follow this path farther, you’ll eventually happen upon it,” she said, motioning uphill.

There were a few words mentioned in parting and assurances of meeting again for the morning meal before Sakura departed for the temple and Andria and Yuta began their hike towards the hot springs. Yuta walked briskly uphill, leaving Andria lagging shortly behind, as was usual. He checked over his shoulder every few seconds. Once he had reached a point on the path that he deemed far enough away from the temple where they would be safe from being over heard, he rounded on Andria.

Andria stopped suddenly, surprised by the sober, warning look on his face. “What?” she asked innocently, unaware that she had done something wrong.

“Where is the Stone?” he hissed, rather close to her face.

Shocked and silent, Andria obediently produced the Stone from her skirt pocket. Yuta snatched it unapologetically and pointed it threateningly at her face. “How did you get us here?” he demanded, angrily.

Aghast, Andria replied defensively, “I don’t know! You act like I’ve done this before!”

“What,” he demanded more forcefully, adding emphasis to each word, “were you thinking? How did you make it work?”

“I-“ she stammered, “I don’t remember.”

Exasperated, Yuta took a step back and ran one hand through his hair, letting the other that held the Stone fall limply to his side.

“Who is she?” Andria demanded. “I saw the look on your face when you saw her for the first time. You know her.”

Yuta gave her a sideways look. After a moment of careful thinking, he resolved that the best thing would be to divulge the truth. It would be the only way to keep her from saying anything…dangerous.

“Sakura,” he replied in a somber, barely audible whisper.

Andria muddled over the name for a moment. It was familiar. In Japanese, it meant “cherry blossom,” but she knew she’d heard it somewhere else before.

“From the story?” she offered. “About the princess?”

“That’s the one.” Yuta glanced at the path beyond Andria, from where they had just come. “Come,” he suggested. “I need a bath. We’ll talk as we walk.”

Obediently, Andria followed. “But,” Andria began, once more struggling to keep up with his long, steady strides, “she’s foreign.”

Yuta shrugged.

“So the story really is true, then?” Andria begged. “Is she a Dragon?”

“Maybe,” shrugged Yuta. “It depends on when we’ve found her.”

“When?” Andria asked, severely puzzled.

“When,” he confirmed. “I have a hunch, and my hunch is that whatever you did to make the Stone go crazy sent us back in time. If I had to judge by the terrain, I would say about 300 years.” When Andria said nothing, he continued. “What’s curious is how you were able to do it, and why you chose this point in time.”

Andria looked helpless under the weight of the question. Yuta said nothing else. His own thoughts were busy working through the intricate puzzle before them. They marched in silence.

After about thirty minutes, true to Sakura’s assurances, they came upon the hot spring. It was small, about 10 feet in diameter, the waters foggy. Reminiscent of her bath in Yuta’s lair, it too was walled on one side by stone from which a steady trickle of water fed the pool below.

Yuta didn’t waste much time considering who would go first. In a matter of seconds, without a word passed between them, Yuta’s clothes were thrown across a low-hanging branch and he was wading into the steaming water. Andria averted her gaze as soon as the first garment had been hastily discarded.

“So,” Yuta pressed, only his head and neck visible above the water, “what was it?”

 “Are we still talking about this?” Andria protested with annoyance. She took a seat on a nearby tree stump and began rubbing her trail-blackened feet. She made a point not to look over at him, increasingly aware of his nudity. A lump caught in her throat.

“You bet,” he replied. Andria heard the water slosh as Yuta’s arms came out of the water and rested along the edge of the pool. His head lolled back against the rock as he spoke, “I have a theory, you know.”

Andria snorted, trying to appear uninterested while picking small rocks from the soles of her throbbing feet.

“I think,” Yuta continued, “that Sakura may be your mother.”

Andria temporarily lost her balance and fell sideways from the tree stump. “What?” she asked stupidly, this time meeting Yuta’s gaze.

“It makes sense,” he shrugged. “Sakura leaves Japan, and no one ever hears from her again. She meets a nice American human, has a kid, and dies. How did you say she died, again?”

Andria said nothing. Blood pulsed through her cheeks, hot as mercury. The truth was, she didn’t know. She had never known. No one had ever told her. But she knew she was dead. There had been a funeral, a wake. She remembered her father picking her up and lifting her over the cedar casket. She could still recall looking down on her mother’s lovely, angelic face, creased slightly with age, dusted with makeup she had never bothered to wear in life. She could still smell the flowers that had been placed about the mortuary, still hear the baritone of a cello drifting in smooth, melodic strains from a C.D. player somewhere. Could it be true? Sakura, this strange woman, was so young. But the more Andria thought, the more she began to remember about her mother. Her scent, her eyes, her smile. It began to make sense. It began to seem real.

Yuta noted the serious, empty look on Andria’s face and continued, “I suppose it doesn’t matter. The point is,” he emphasized, pushing himself from the wall and wading towards Andria, “that if Sakura is indeed your future mother, that makes you her heir.” Andria looked down at him. He stared at her with a stupid, expectant smirk on his face, as though he’d just happened upon something ironic, yet wonderful. “How didn’t I see it before?!” he laughed to himself. “You enter the country, and all of a sudden, Kazi’s in a frenzy! There must be something there, something left of Sakura that he can still sense. It all makes perfect sense, now!” Yuta was now laughing in earnest. Andria, however struggled to process this new, very important bit of information. Theory, she corrected herself. Just because Yuta had an interesting hunch, and just because it could be true, didn’t make it fact. Yet.

“Why would Kazi be able to sense her?” Andria inquired. “Can he sense all Dragons?”

Yuta gave her a puzzled look before remembering that Andria was not yet completely wise to the more obscure facets of Dragon culture. “Oh,” he stated rather matter-of-factly, and explained, as though to a child, “when Dragons choose a Mate, a bond is formed. It’s very strong, every bit as strong of that of a Messenger. This allows them to hear each other’s thoughts, know where they are, what they’re feeling, etc. It has limits, though. When Sakura left the country, Kazi wasn’t able to contact her or sense her presence anymore. Drove him crazy. He had no way to find her. And then,” Yuta paused, a wild, excited look dancing in his eyes, “you showed up!”

“So Kazi,” Andria began, “was Mates with Sakura?”

Again, Yuta felt a little embarrassed for assuming Andria knew such things. After all, everyone knew this type of stuff. Every Dragon, at least. “Yep,” he confirmed. “They were together for about 300 years before she went AWOL. But more important than that,” he continued impatiently, “is what she was. Sakura was special. She knew the gods, she met them, talked to them. They gave her special gifts. Many believe that Dragons’ ability to change Forms began with her. So,” he paused, “if Sakura is your mother, it’s very, very possible that you, dear Andria, inherited some of her gifts.”

Yuta stared at Andria expectantly, internally scolding his own oversight. How, oh, how could he not have known? In his defense, sure, they looked alike, but so little of what made Sakura Sakura was evident in this human girl. She had shown little of her bravery, her wisdom, her power, her pure, unadulterated, god-given power! Where was that magic? Then again, he reminded himself, Sakura had been pushing 250 years old when Yuta had been born. Andria was merely a teenager, an earnest adolescent, unlike himself. He was 75 years old already when the A-bomb was dropped, and even still he looked barely old enough to legally buy a glass of sake.

The moment lingered on. Then, suddenly, Andria burst into tears.

This caught Yuta by surprise. Helplessly, he watched as Andria began sobbing into her hands, offering no explanation. Uncomfortable, he stared for a moment, feeling as though he was intruding on some personal, tragic epiphany, unsure of what he should say or do, compelled primarily by a strong impulse to run away. That not having been an option, however, he turned to his secondary, human impulse and thought he might make an attempt at condolence.

Yuta began climbing out of the water. Andria barked, “No. Just stop. Just,” she stammered through flowing tears, choking on racking sobs, “just stay there.” Yuta obeyed, confused.

Andria continued crying as Yuta settled once more into the warm, soothing water. Flustered and growing annoyed with what he interpreted was a very inappropriate reaction to unbelievably wonderful news, Yuta interjected, “I don’t understand.” The flat, direct statement hit Andria like a blow from a mallet. She stopped, mid-sob, and shot him a look of pure venom. “This is fantastic! You should be happy!” he pleaded. “I mean, I would kill to have Sakura, the Sakura for a mother.” This was very true. Many times throughout his childhood, he had very similar thoughts about the legend he so admired. When Andria gave a neutral response, only barely seeming to hear him, he tried again. “Just think,” he reasoned. “Sakura was the closest thing the Dragons have to a Queen, so once Kazi dies, that puts you next in line, even above his other unsavory spawn. And,” he pressed further, looking at Andria with eyes glazed with childlike admiration and delight, “that makes you part Dragon.” He whispered these last words, as though he feared that voicing them too loudly might cause these newfound facts to shatter back into fantasy.

Another long, uncomfortable moment passed. Andria continued to weep. Her tears streamed down her cheeks silently, her distress somewhat contained. Then, in a barely audible whisper, she spoke. “She’s alive.”

Yuta cocked his head in confusion, and Andria looked at him, really looked at him. “My mother. That was her. She’s,” she paused, struggling slightly with the word, “alive.”

Silence resumed, falling over the forest like a warm blanket. Yuta’s face fell. This was not a consequence he had anticipated.

Yuta waded back to the water’s edge. He extended a moist hand to lightly grasp one of Andria’s which hung limp at her side. “No,” he breathed. Andria looked at him pleadingly, desperately, hopelessly. Her eyes cut through his heart like a thousand swords, but he forced himself to speak. “She’s not. Sakura is dead.”

Andria withdrew her hand, stung by his bluntness, his lack of understanding, his know-it-all indifference to new possibilities. “But I saw her,” Andria stated, rising to her feet. “That was her, right? You said that was Sakura, just down that hill,” she motioned toward the path.

Yuta rubbed his temples, his elbows resting on the ledge of the pool. “Andria, I understand. I get it.” Andria opened her mouth and was about to protest, but Yuta cut her off. “Sakura is alive here,” he emphasized, “but she isn’t alive now.”

“What do you mean ‘she isn’t alive now,’” Andria spat. “We just saw her!”

“This,” Yuta reiterated, motioning to the forest, the pool, everything around them, “this isn’t now. This is 300 years ago. That woman down there,” he motioned to the path, “doesn’t even know who you are. She hasn’t even imagined you yet. She hasn’t met your father. Hell, your father won’t be born for another two-and-a-half centuries!”

This seemed to strike at something within Andria. She slumped weakly to a sitting position on the tree stump. After a second, she meekly offered, “But what if we simply went back and explained-“

Yuta cut her off. “No,” he said simply. “We aren’t going back.”

Andria recoiled.

“I understand this is all a shock to you, and you’re craving to experience that relationship with your biological mother that you may have missed out on. But,” he continued, “if we go back, either of two things could happen, or both.”

Andria waited for him to elaborate. “First,” he continued, “without a doubt, Sakura isn’t going to understand. Hell, I barely understand the concept of time travel, but somehow, that’s exactly what we’ve done. She’s going to look at us, at you, like we’re crazy, and Andria, I swear, it’s only going to hurt you that much more.”

A silent tear escaped Andria’s despair-filled eyes and splashed against a trembling hand. “Then,” Yuta pressed on, “we run the risk of altering the future. Our presence alone might already have done some damage to the natural, intended order. I can’t know, yet. We can be certain, however, that if we do stick around, something is bound to be changed however many years down the road, and as neither of us has technically been born yet, I personally don’t want to run the risk.”

Andria remained silent, taking it all in like a serious of blows borne, with much effort, in silence. Her eyes drifted longingly to the trail.

“Andria,” Yuta whispered sympathetically. “I know it’s hard to resist, but we have to. We have no choice. We need to go back.”

Andria gave a curt nod, and with a shaking hand, wiped dry both of her cheeks.

For the first time in a while, Yuta wished that he was not naked. Because in that moment, the only thing he wanted to do was gather Andria, heir of Sakura, in his arms, and make her stop hurting.