Tears in the Rain

 

            The next day a cold mantle of grey settled over Shenobi. It was the day the funerary procession was to be carried out. Alone, from one of the palace's windows, Ayaka gazed over the city streets.

            Thirty thousand had ridden to battle, and of these, more than ten thousand would never return. The daiymo said it was the greatest loss Shenobi had suffered in a single battle in over a century.

            Yesterday at twilight the five thousand surviving warriors, led by general Masuro, reentered the city. Ayaka did not want to see them carrying his body, and so she retreated to the palace, locking herself away in her chamber. She ordered her retainers to inform anyone who came looking for her that she was resting. When Midori and Akemi came, she had one of the retainers tell them she was not at the palace. The only person she had admitted since was Noribuko. Whatever they'd spoke of, it was lost in a fog now, as everything seemed to be. Ayaka knew she should've gone to see the royal family by now, but she felt unprepared. Thus today she remained at this window, by herself, in a lonely reach of the palace.

            From this vantage, Ayaka obtained a more tangible sense of the reality. People in the streets carried on slower, plodding, often pausing to talk. Now and then forlorn wisps of conversation drifted to her. They were trying to assimilate what had happened. Ayaka closed her eyes. A part of her longed to fade into the fog. Sons, brothers, fathers, had been lost, and smiles and laughter had abandoned Shenobi. Along the street below, there were two people sitting on one of the benches beside the trees. One wept, and the other wiped their eyes. Another, perhaps a family member, friend, or a complete stranger, came to offer their sympathy.

            Morning advanced to early noon and the streets became mostly empty. It would begin soon, but Ayaka did not know if she could go. She still couldn't understand. So many valiant warriors gone. They will never be seen in this world again, ... and among them, ...      

            Ayaka held the mizu-quartsel in her hand. As always, since the day she had put it on for the first time, she wore the necklace. The clouded sky reflected pure in the translucent jewel. What of the dream of their future? Sighing, she pressed her hand around the jewel and closed her eyes.

 

            Last night she wanted to learn if it were true. There had to be some mistake. Sometime after the wake, she went alone to seek Masuro. When she arrived to the general's antechamber it was dark and empty. In one of the adjoining rooms she overheard voices. By the dim candlelight on the other side of the partitioned wall, she faintly discerned two shadows sitting. One of the voices was Takaneda's. Quietly, she sat near the paper wall.

            "The clansmen were sent to lure us out. Sons-of-a-thousand-w****s. They must've known we would pursue." Takaneda continued, like a stark secret were being recounted, "On the other side of the river the mists were thicker. We hadn't ridden even five ri before we couldn't see more than a stone's throw in any direction."

            Takenda faltered, perhaps loathe to relive the experience. However, the other, who Ayaka soon surmised was Hidetsugu - Daisuken's uncle by way of his mother - requested, "Please, go on."

            "That is when the Eastern force fell on us." There was a note of anger, twisted with bitter regret. "It was a madness of blades and yells in the mist. They weren't clansmen. These were elite Shinigami samurai."

            Takenda lapsed into silence. After a spell Hidetsugu goaded, "You needn't hold back. What more?"

            "Forgive me. It is hard to explain," Takaneda answered. "There were other samurai, larger, brutally fierce, and almost impossible to stop. Together with the Shinigami they mauled us apart."

            In the subsequent quiet, Ayaka had breathed shallowly so they wouldn't hear her.

            "I see," Hidetsugu said, and steeped in his own hushed lull, before asking. "How did he fall?"

            Takaneda began, then faltered. Hidetsugu beseeched him, "Please, tell me everything. He was my nephew. I need to know the truth of his end."

            At that point Ayaka had nearly risen to leave; nonetheless, by some extraneous power, she remained near the door, and listened.

            "During the ambush our regiments were separated in the forests." Takaneda forced himself to continue with grim resolve. "After an hour of fighting, Masuro rallied several thousand of our men. The Eastern forces gave no further battle and melted back into the wilderness.

            "The mists cleared a bit, and our forces reassembled. But thousands were missing. No one could find Lord Daisuken or Okata. Masuro sent out search companies. I led one. In the wake of the ambush bodies were strewn throughout the woods, some dragging themselves yet, asking to be put out of their misery. The search went on for hours, taking us further north where there'd been less fighting." Takaneda took a deep, steadying breath. "We found my lord there, along the banks of the Silver River. He already lay lifeless, and was surrounded by piles of corpses. They'd pierced him with many arrows. His chest riven by sword, ... and a spear impaled through his torso into the ground."

            Takaneda paused. The tension of emotion he was restraining had almost been palpable. "It would seem the prince and a detachment of Hiryu became separated in the accursed mists. A great pack of enemy must've surrounded them. Save for a handful of Hiryu samurai, most of the bodies there belonged to Eastern warriors. Prince Daisuken surely fought until he was the last Southern warrior standing." Takaneda's words ground with remorse, "If only we'd found him sooner! If only I could have died beside him!" His shadow doubled over, bowing to the mat before his contemporary, and his words drenched with grief, "Forgive me Hidetsugu-sama! Forgive me for my failure! I should have protected ... " the rest broke into sobs.

            "It's alright to weep. We are all bereaved," Hidetsusu said. "Just remember, there is nothing you could've done to prevent it. My nephew was too eager for battle."

            "All the same, I cannot live with this shame." Takaneda was sitting upright again. "I beg you, allow me to make amends by committing seppuku. Allow me to die with honor."

            "No!" Hidetsugu returned harshly. "You are not the only one who has requested this, but now is not the time. Lord Kodai-Otosan has forbidden it. We will need every able bodied man to help in what is to come, our commanders most of all. Let us avenge Prince Daisuken. Bringing death to our enemies will regain far more honor."

            Ayaka had been frozen where she sat. It had not been her intention to learn all these details. She could not reconcile the way they spoke of Daisuken, as if he were truly gone. They shouldn't speak that way. They shouldn't make it more real.

            "At the very least I've found a measure of consolation in your report," Hidetsugu said. "Now I know my nephew met a most honorable death. He fought alongside his men to his last breath, and conquered the humiliation of being captured. I would expect nothing less of him, and can think of few other ends he would have preferred."

            A longer silence trailed. Was it really Daisuken they were talking about, or perhaps some stranger? Ayaka felt numb, detached. When she had closed her eyes she became lost in those same mists they spoke of. When they started talking again, she'd almost forgot where she was.

            "Do you think it was Jiroda?" Hidetsugu asked.

            "Too early to say. There's been no word of him. Mayhaps he perished too."

            "It was treachery nonetheless. And not just the Shogun's. Somehow he knew they'd be vulnerable on the return. Highly likely it was someone among the prince's men." Hidetsugu paused, mulling over the words. "And a strange coincidence it happened so soon after Jiroda parted ways. If he betrayed us this time, surely it was he who tipped the Black Hand off about the Moon Festival as well."

            "Treachery, everywhere treachery. The weather itself conspired against us. Those mists crept in, by some fell art I'd venture, sent with the purpose of concealing the Eastern forces and crippling ours." Takaneda's voice broiled, "I swear, by the eight million kami of Isodoro, this enormity will not go unpunished! The South must avenge this massacre tenfold!"

            "Yes Takaneda. We shall," Hidetsugu answered. "At any cost. Even if it brings the world to an end."

            Ayaka had felt dizzy, as if everything were sinking into an abyss.

            After that Takaneda and Hidetsugu went over preparations for war, and were so focused, she did not think they ever heard her leave.

 

            Ayaka continued gazing out the palace window, holding the mizu-quartsel jewel, never wanting to let it go. Last night, after Masuro returned with the badly depleted and wounded division, Lord Kodai-Otosan had his palace servants announce to the populace that the funerary ceremony would be held today. It's almost time. The procession and the sepulture would be within the hour. Maybe it was already underway. Ayaka didn't know what to do. The other casualties had been burned or abandoned. Lord Kodai-Otosan refused to have his son cremated however, instead decreeing that his body would be preserved in a mortuary chamber in the Fields of Eien. Today was the populace's last chance to pay their respects and farewells before the casket was taken to its final resting place.

            I cannot attend. Ayaka cast her vision down. Never.

            There had been a wake last night for family and the highest ranking daiymo. The palace servant Shinji had tried to persuade her to come, dispelling apprehensions by explaining how well the prince looked, that the sogi-ya embalmers in Eruku had preserved the body with meticulous care, submerging it in a pool of alchemic agents, fused primarily with crystalline mercury. Ayaka knew that in death, such processes often rendered the departed impeccable in appearance. Nevertheless she had been unable to make herself go to the wake and see. She did not want to see what could not be true then, and she did not want to see it now either. There must be a mistake. Something is wrong. Soon there'll be an answer.

            Outside the high window the overhanging fog had condensed into a tenuous drizzle. And what if it is true? - a small voice in her whispered. What if it is the last time? Uncertainly, Ayaka looked at the aqueous light reflected in the necklace's jewel.

            I must go see him. She wrapped her hand tightly around the mizu-quartsel. She trembled, composing herself determination. Daisuken, my love. She put the necklace jewel back under her robe, and left the window.

 

            Wearing a black kimono and a translucent veil, Ayaka made her way up the dreary street, a white chrysanthemum in hand. Accompanying her was Noribuko and Harumi, and the nine retainers in tow. The little servant girl looked at Ayaka with concern, perhaps trying to read what emotions afflicted her, but Ayaka did not speak.

            The funeral was to be held at the Dojen temple, not far from the palace. Thousands of citizens had already gathered on Tenshi-nobara Street, awaiting the procession that would move east along the way of cherry trees, to the cemetery outside the city walls. At the terminus of the street near the palace, ranks and ranks of samurai and ashigaru warriors had assembled. The crimson of their full regalia shone lucidly amid the grey hour.

            Ayaka, her aunt, and the little girl arrived at the Dojen temple's courtyard; a spacious area guarded by trees and gardens. At the far end was the pagoda, and the palace rearing up beyond. Hundreds of daiymo were in attendance. Word had spread during Masuro's march back, and various feudal lords from the nearest houses had had time enough to make the trip. Everyone wore dark, colorless raiment, mostly white kimonos, or black with a bit of simple white embroidery. Women wore no jewelry or any such finery, and very little makeup if any. Ayaka ordered her retainers to stay by the entrance, and entered the courtyard.

            The ceremony was more than midway through. Most people had paid their respects. With everyone standing, Ayaka could not see the coffin, but she knew it must be under the pagoda's roof, at the temple's entrance. Priests grouped near there, offering incense and chanting sutras in subdued tones. Master Enzen was not present, most probably since he was a Kin-yoku priest, and all the priests here looked to be Dojen. The Kasainotora family had gathered around the front of the pagoda. They received many condolences, and gave them as well. Wandering without Noribuko or Harumi, Ayaka gradually made her way towards the royal family. All around, an empty, lost look resided in most people's eyes.

            One by one, Ayaka sought out the members of the Kasainotora family, and extended her sympathies. They, and the military captains present, offered her their deepest regrets. It surprised her how much comfort she received, as if she'd lost most and everyone were concerned for her wellbeing. More than one of the feudal lords who spoke to her mentioned she should be proud, and find solace in the most valiant and honorable bushido death Daisuken had attained. Ayaka merely nodded, often looking past everything with blank melancholy. Standing near  pagoda temple, she met Lord Kodai-Otosan.

            “My other daughter, dear Ayaka chan.” He gave her a brittle smile, perhaps to ensure her that despite this loss everything was alright. But through the feigns of fortitude she could see that the man was finished, as if age had caught up with him overnight. His eyes wandered in a hazed perdition, as if the ground, and what he imagined the world to be, had been robbed from him. More to himself than anyone in particular, he repeated several times, "I should have sent more men. I should have given him the entire army."

            Ayaka spoke with Daisuken’s two younger sisters, but she did not get the opportunity to extend condolences to his mother. Above the somber conversation and murmur of the daiymo gathered, the queen's voice rose in awful desperation, “My son! My son! Please! Wake up!" She wailed, reprimanding him for what he had gone and done to himself. "You cannot leave us! You are stronger than this!” and she went on shouting, holding onto the coffin at the same time. Her family rushed to console her. The wails that followed from her were so tortured that any words were incomprehensible. 

            Ayaka caught her breath. It was a difficult to see a woman, especially one at the queen's age, undergoing this. More members of the royal family gathered, comforting the mother as best they could, guiding her to one side of the temple where she continued to sob, shaking and muttering. Dismayed, Ayaka looked around. Surely this is some grey dream I'll soon waken from.

            Briefly, she met with Masuro. The general stood tall, in full armor, and had composed his expression like an emotionless mask. However, when he said her name and bowed - deeper than he ever had - she perceived the strain he was undergoing to maintain such composure, to be strong for the people of Shenobi. Coupled with the grief, the weight of duty must surely weigh heavy on him now.

            "Ayaka!"

            Through the crowd came Midori, and Akemi beside her. Both looked like they'd been crying recently. They put their arms around Ayaka.

            "Where have you been?" Midori asked.

            "We looked for you last night, and today in the morning," said Akemi. "We looked all over!"

            Feeling strangely detached from everything, Ayaka could only give a weak nod while she gazed at the gathering, and far past to an unseen horizon, obscured to her. 

            "I'm so sorry, Ayaka." Akemi's voice was small and conquered. "I can't believe any of it."

            As they stood huddled together, prince Akihiro strode toward them. He knelt before Ayaka, lowering his brow. "My deepest apologies, Denka Soranoyume. We did everything we could, but it was not enough."

            Ayaka muttered, "It is alright, Akihiro-sama."

            Still kneeling he said, “This is for you." He reached into a fold of his blue robe, and offered her a violet silk sash; the very same she had gifted Daisuken by the river, months ago.

            "I remember Lord Daisuken wearing it," said the prince of Ao-kuraoudo. "It was found among his horse's saddlebags."

            Ayaka received the sash, forgetting to bow. She held it in her hands and looked at it. What had happened? Had he forgotten to wear it? Why? Perhaps he'd been too confident, or taken it off on the way back, and then there'd been no time to put it back on before the fighting started.

            "Worry not, Denka Soranoyume," said Akihiro, holding his position. "I vow I will avenge this. Jiroda has few days left in this world."

            Ayaka had heard no confirmation that the Lord of Kusa-no-tani was the traitor, yet it was true he had not shown for the funeral, and there was no word from him either. Maybe he was dead, like so many others. But Ayaka thought it more likely he was indeed the traitor, the very same who had facilitated the attempt on her life the night of the Moon Festival.

            She nodded to Akihiro, and said, "That is what I hope."

            "It shall be done. Tomorrow I will join with Lord Okata," said Akihiro. "He returned forthwith to his castle to gather all his forces. Azai Mobutane and his men are with him too. Even as we speak they are surely hunting our enemies."

            Ayaka thought many others would be joining Akihiro in this. War was coming. No. It is here. It is encircling us. Yet the part of it that was coming next was going to be incomparably worse than what had already taken place.

            A rage stirred in Ayaka, a distant thunder strong enough to make her shake within. Kage-waru had deceived Shenobi in the most dishonorable way, feigning peace, then waiting for the returning allied forces to be at their most vulnerable. He is not a Shogun. He is a lord of murder. In her dazed state, the magnitude of what these events would lead to was difficult to envision. It was clear however, that Lord Kodai-Otosan, and every Southern daiymo with a shred of honor, would be forced to endeavor in fullest for retribution, and ultimately, the survival of the Southern Kingdoms.

            Nevertheless, amidst the shock and grief of the recent losses, few at the funeral spoke of this impending future. All Ayaka could be certain of presently, and until the day she died, was that the Shogun was her enemy now more than ever, as was any who supported him. She wished the killing would stop, forever, and at the same time she wanted to tell Akihiro to slay them all, to order every captain in Shenobi to do so - and yet, she was too crushed to summon the will to fight. In this hour it was hard to even contemplate such a future, or possibilities in any direction. All was veiled to her, and she felt a stranger adrift in a profound mist.

            Ayaka put the sash in her robe, and with the white chrysanthemum in her hand, she went up the three steps at the inception of the pagoda temple, and tentatively approached the dark lacquered casket. It had been set upon a dais of thick wood, with its front pointing north. The dais was covered by a beautiful cerulean pall; and on this were laid many such flowers as the one she bore. The priests no longer chanted, instead standing off aside, consulting with members of the royal family. Nearby - the pallbearers - a unit of seven Hiryu samurai in the finest regalia, were in attendance to carry the coffin upon the signal for the procession to begin. The coffin's lid had been left open so everyone could behold the prince.

            "Daisuken," Ayaka muttered in shock, and yet was also relieved to see how well preserved he was, beautiful even. The same man, only sleeping, howbeit in a profound iciness. Others remarked how handsome and at peace he appeared, how strong still. Indeed, the skill of the sogi-ya morticians in Eruku was praiseworthy. Daisuken had been washed, with no visible injury upon him. He wore a deep purple kimono with gems and lustrous fine-threaded golden dragons woven, and his long dusky hair was combed back. There were white chrysanthemums around his shoulders and head. His hands, folded on his chest, gripped his ancestral dragon-steel sword, set in its elegant scabbard. It must now defend him from evil spirits on his journey until he reached Nirvana.

            It was a cruel irony, thought Ayaka; he had always wanted to lay his sword down, but now she wished he could rise with it again; Shenobi needed him. Such hopes were wholly in vain, Ayaka now saw. He was not here anymore; the body was vacant, like a house abandoned. This man only resembled the exterior of the one she had loved. Yet it was all she had left, and thus she must cherish it. What more, perhaps the part of him, that animating breath of life, yet lingered in some way, and could hear her? Carefully, she placed the white chrysanthemum on the table. The others had left her alone so she could say her farewell.

            "We were never able to get married," she whispered to him, imagining he was merely asleep and her words might echo in his dreams. "That chance was robbed from us. But I do not care, do you hear - I do not care. You are my husband, and I am your wife. Nothing can change that."

            From within her robe she produced a purple iris. She had arrived at the funeral late because she had gone outside the city to find it, near the place he had proposed to her the second time, when she had accepted. Ayaka moved her veil aside, and bent over him, and with utmost tenderness she set the iris on his chest, and then kissed his brow, whispering, "For you, my dear husband."

            The time for the procession had come. Ayaka forced herself step back from the coffin, grimacing as she turned away. Immediate relatives would be closest to the body, and Lord Kodai-Otosan had asked her to walk with them, along with Noribuko and Harumi, if she wished. Masuro would be near the front. He ordered the unit of samurai pallbearers. They closed the casket, hoisted it up.

            As they carried it to the decorated, open-sided funeral vehicle, the queen moaned in ineffable anguish. She put a hand to her brow, on the verge of fainting, before her daughters and nephews steadied her.

            “We cannot bring her,” said one of the nephews. “She need not see more.”

            In an empty stupor, Ayaka watched. There was nothing she could do. There never had been. Though the royal family wanted to take the queen to rest, she refused, insisting she was fine. Verily, the queen did not lament further. For the time being, her outpouring had spent the first of many waves of sorrow to come.

            In the middle of the Dojen temple courtyard, the procession assembled. Daiymo would be in the front, the priests flanking them, and the warriors would follow. Ayaka's retainers joined with the rest of the Hiryu that stood to the rear, in a long line a few ranks wide. Silence dominated the city as drizzle fell from the cinereal sky. Three times a gong was struck; its reverberations carried over the damp streets, where citizens had flocked, waiting. Following the gong’s echoes, a slow but steady taiko drumbeat ensued, and with it the procession embarked. The priests near the front held juzu prayer beads while they repetitively chanted ancient sutras to guide the departing soul across the Seishin River.

            Ayaka walked alone. Not far behind her went Midori and Akemi, and then Noribuko, holding Harumi's hand. Her aunt often dabbed her tears with a handkerchief. Ahead, Masuro stood, maintaining a stern demeanor while looking ever forward. Motionless to either flank of Tenshi-nobara Street were multitudes of people of all ages, watching in somber reverence. Sadness shadowed their faces. Quiet reigned but for the steps of those in the procession, and the priests' mumbled chants. The samurai pallbearer unit set the time, their boots clomping in patient unison with the hollow resonance of the drum. At intervals of every few minutes the gong resounded anew. The crying of people in the crowd was a soft murmuring. To Ayaka, the journey down Tenshi-nobara felt endless. 

            By and by, as the procession approached the portal in the eastern walls, the drizzle condensed into a light pattering rain. Ayaka removed her veil to feel the cool touch of the drops. It was upon this final stretch of street leaving the city that women as well as a number of men to either side of the procession surrendered their restraint and wept freely. They groaned and called out to Daisuken. He was their beloved protector and had always been good to them. Ayaka closed her eyes, against her surroundings, against the memories, but still she heard them weep. They could not bear to say goodbye to the great Prince of the South. Until then there was still some reach in her that did not wholly believe it was even Daisuken's body in the coffin. How could it be? He was the strongest man she'd ever known. He couldn't be killed so easily. And, we were to be married in a week .... Instead he was being taken from her, to somewhere so, so faraway ...

            The samurai unit transported the coffin beyond the city walls, and the procession followed, down an earthen lane edged by green meadows, towards the Fields of Eien - the ancestral cemetery at the edge of the southeastern woods. Shenobi's citizens were forbidden to follow further so as to allow the royal family and their chosen guests these parting moments with the deceased. Most of the samurai ranks remained in the city as well. Thus the diminished procession advanced alone, with but fifty Hiryu samurai accompanying. The pallbearers closed the coffin lid on account of the increasing rain. Ahead, passing a low rise, the Fields of Eien opened before them, spreading over a few slightly sloping acres, all guarded by a low stone wall. Rectangular headstones and small shrines jutted across the greensward.

            Beholding this place, Ayaka wondered what had become of her and Daisuken's dream of a new dawn, ...

            The gates to the cemetery were opened and the daiymo, priests, and remaining samurai entered. Shenobi was very ancient, and thus a long dynasty was buried herein the Fields of Eien, dating centuries back to the era of the Celestial Empire. To the north, close to the forest, a large necropolis like temple stood. Huge pillars beside the front led to charnel darkness. In tiered niches on the interior walls the ashes of hundreds had been stored in decorative stone urns. At the center sat a massive shrine of Kyuseishu, the Shining One, before which people often went to place flowers and offer incense to their ancestors. 

            On a low rise opposite the crematory temple was a separate, much smaller building - a mausoleum of ornate design and carving. Since Kodai-Otosan had not wanted his son’s body reduced to ash or buried in the ground, he had chosen to set him apart in this private sepulcher. The lord of Shenobi had intended his own remains to be placed therein, but surely he never imagined he would outlive his son. Now the prince would be enclosed in this vault, in dignity, where his body could be preserved for many years. It was the least that could be offered Daisuken after all he had done in service and sacrifice for the Southern Kingdoms.

            Through the Fields of Eien the procession advanced. The sky rumbled with a cracking boom, and the rain fell harder until it thrummed, forcing the daiymo to lower their brows and squint. The drumbeat stopped when they halted before the sepulcher. A massive circular stone slab sealed the entrance. The samurai pallbearers set the coffin vehicle down, and with great effort pushed until they rolled the stone seal, inch by grudging inch. Thunder reverberated and the rain fell in a downpour.

            Ayaka caught a glimpse of the mausoleum's interior: little more than cold, inert gloom. With the seal removed, the samurai rested their arms a lapse before hoisting the coffin anew. As they began to move toward the sepulcher, Ayaka broke away from everyone and started forth.

            “No!" She threw her arms over the coffin, trying to weigh it down. "Don't take him in there!"

            Noribuko shouted, pleading with Ayaka, as did her friends, but she was deaf to their voices and those of the other daiymo. She held onto the coffin with every jot of her strength. The nobles tried to calm her, but nothing in this forsaken world mattered to her any longer. She was holding onto him, to everything they’d had and were supposed to have. She cried his name over and again, and pressed the side of her face against the polished wood of the casket. Midori and Akemi rushed to her side, trying to comfort her, and to reason with her so she might regain some measure of composure.

            “Hold her back,” Masuro ordered the samurai. “I know. But we have to.”

            In as respectful manner as they could, the Hiryu guards attempted to restrain Ayaka. She struggled desperately against their arms and continued screaming and reaching towards the coffin. Once they succeeded in pulling her away, Noribuko, Akemi, and Midori, held her in the restraining shelter of their embraces, and told her all they could to console.

            Amid the tumult of grief, Ayaka heard her aunt’s tortured, yet caring voice, “I’m with you, my dove. I'm here. I’m here.”

            “Please, don’t let them take him away!” Ayaka begged through her sobs.

            The rain fell harder, spattering the samurai’s armor as they lifted the coffin anew. Thus Prince Daisuken's body was conveyed into the sepulcher. There, amid the central floor, the coffin was set atop a large stone dais, for rest eternal. The massive stone seal was rolled back into place, scraping shut with finality, locking the mausoleum in darkness. The skies rumbled and the rain poured vigorously. Ayaka continued to weep. Little by little the daiymo and royal family returned for the city until only Ayaka, Noribuko, Midori, Akemi, Harumi, her retainers, and Masuro remained. They beseeched Ayaka to return to Shenobi with them, but she refused. After some time, seeing the rains would not let up, Akemi took Harumi back to the city so the little girl wouldn’t catch a cold.

            “Please,” begged Ayaka when they asked her to come with them, “Just leave me.” When they would not listen, she ordered them to go, screaming, "Leave me!"

            She waited until at last they respected her wishes and departed. With the solitude of the Fields of Eien encompassing her and the rain falling ceaselessly, Ayaka sunk to her knees in the drenched grass. It was getting cold and she was soaked through but could not feel anything except the heave of sobs that wracked her body, and the warmth of tears on her cheeks, washing into the rain.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Reviews

[C. Rose]

"his body pierced by many arrows, chest riven by sword, and a spear driven..." - items of a list should match in form. Riven and driven near each other looked a bit strange.
"Shenobi just sufficient motive to send" - the use of "just" tripped up this sentence for me.
I agree with setting the scene with the first paragraph, but the next six paragraphs are flashbacks, speculations, and information about the embalming process. These all have a taint of telling, and I recommend spreading the information out.
For example, a bit later it is mentioned that Ayaka had gone for a walk. Perhaps she could be thinking about the rumors of his death and observing the mood of the people of Shenobi while on this walk.
CTRL FIND: "as if"
On that note, watch out for shifting perspectives. For example "as if she'd given up on her son rising again" - a groan doesn't not give that much information.
"until heaving herself against the coffin" - how about "she heaved" - it feels a little strange.
"this man only resembled (the) exterior of the one she had loved"
"felt hanging over them" feels strange
"if she'd be ok or not" - I recommend always using 'okay'.
"going to get married" - this didn't feel like Ayaka's voice. What about "to be married"

I was confused when "the royal family and certain daiymo, advanced alone" - does this include Ayaka and her aunt and friends? I recommend starting a new paragraph here so that the lazy reader won't be confused which could happen when sentences give direction are buried.

In summary, I like the parallel of Ayaka's grief and the empress's grief. There were about five places where I enjoyed the phrasing, but I didn't mark them this time around. "the journey ... felt endless" was one. Watch out for POV shifts, telling in clumps, and grounding the scene when the mourners divide.

[Kuandio]

THank you CRose! It's been so long I thought maybe you'd bailed out of this story

A lot of good things you point out. I'd already made a note for the next revision about the vague, almost omniscient pov that pervades the first part of the chapter. I'm going to fix it probably by having Ayaka in mourning attire, standing by window, looking out over the city, weather, etc, and thinking these things of events and rumors recounted

Well, do you feel things are moving along? Was there any emotional power in what was happening? Do you think it is enough to make the reader want to continue?

Thanks again.

What is it you're looking to get reviewed nowadays? I'm not sure you want the Betrayed Traitor to keep getting reviewed

[C. Rose]

I'm not as much a fan of this chapter as I am of your next chapter. I'm only at December and I already like how her depression is lifting just the tiniest bit.

This is the second time you've thought I abandoned you! :O I don't abandon, I don't even forget :)

[Kuandio]

I'd imagined you'd like this one more than the next chapter. Readers can be unpredictable!
Thank you for sticking with the story
Is there anything of yours you'd like reviewed?

[C. Rose]

I'll send you a RR for The Book of Elbourne.