Seasons of Many Sorrows

            Days after the prince’s funeral, Lord Kodai-Otosan, backed by Shenobi’s ruling daiymo, proclaimed the full autonomy of the Southern Kingdoms, and declared war against the Shogunate. There was no turning back. A massive blow had been dealt the South, and the alliance had to strike back. With the prince gone, Masuro was elevated to the rank of Shirei-kan, and took command of the military.

            To Ayaka, the events unfolding felt part of another time and place she couldn’t reach even if she had the will to try. She had a distant sense things were in motion, a giant boulder beginning to roll, and once its momentum gathered it would not be stopped from bringing down an avalanche and crushing everything. It did not matter. Days after the funeral, Ayaka spent most hours lying on the floor of her chamber, hiding under the blankets, neither resting nor fully awake, hoping to sink into oblivion. Noribuko was beside her often, trying to soothe her. Though her aunt had the palace servants to bring tea and food, Ayaka scarcely touched any of it. Her friends and other acquaintances also came, yet even in their company she spoke no more than a few words in a day.

            It took Noribuko several days until she got Ayaka to leave her chambers and go to the palace gardens.

            "Some fresh air and sunshine will do you good," she said.

            Wearing her dark funeral raiment, Ayaka sat on a mat laid atop one the terraces. She could not really see the gardens, or feel anything. Regardless, the next day Noribuko and the servants persuaded her return there. That that was when Ayaka heard a familiar voice;

            "Denka Soranoyume."

            Lost in her emptiness, she had not noticed master Enzen's arrival. He knelt on the edge of her mat.

            "I wanted to find you before," he said, "but the servants always said you were gone."

            Ayaka said nothing. The yoku master offered his condolences, at the end of which she managed to nod and thank him. Afterwards she continued gazing into the garden.

            They sat thus in silence, until Enzen remarked what a nice day it was. Ayaka noticed his cheer. Such paltry efforts were ineffectual now, fallen leaves.

            With a note of concern, he asked, "Why don't you come to the temple? We've missed you there." After waiting fruitlessly for a reply, he added, "Or I could come here. It could be beneficial to practice meditations, during these trying times."

            Ayaka's silence did not abate. Her gaze fell, her mouth opened slightly; inside was a wincing pain.

            "I cannot," she answered.

            "I see," Enzen said. "Perhaps in time -"

            "No." She shook her head, eyes still downcast. "It's too late."

            "What? No, Denka. That is never the case."

            "There's no use," she said. "My prayers did not help Daisuken. And they did not help my family ... Now I see what I was always afraid to admit."

            "What is that?"

            "That everything is in vain."

            "Denka -"

            "You were wrong about me," she stated forcefully. "The dreams were false. I have no gift."

            "Denka, I know you feel this now, but give yourself a chance and you will-"

            "No." She stood, shaking her head. Her hands were at her sides, and tightened into fists. She trembled, returning his gaze. "I no longer believe in any of it. I will not search for the source. My vision was a lie. There is no Seishin-yodo! There's nothing! Please, go and do not ever come back!"

             The following afternoon Ayaka's turmoil drove her beyond the palace. She no longer deemed it necessary to have guards, nevertheless, Daisuken's uncle, Hidetsugu, ordered them to continue. "The Black Hand does not like to fail," he had said. Ayaka disregarded this caution, and as they were leaving through the courtyard she addressed her retainers, "You need not protect me anymore. Your charge is finished."

            "Denka," the foremost pleaded. All nine stood by one of the portals leaving the gardens. "Please, allow us to accompany you. We were sworn to protect you."

            She dismissed their petitions, ordered them to remain, and went out alone. In the city she wandered aimlessly, searching for some faraway memory, some answer or question shrouded from understanding. Over the next few days she did the same, leaving alone. The royal family would surely have reprimanded her, if they were not so occupied with imminent military affairs. Besides, I am no longer going to marry Daisuken. What does it matter anymore? If an assassin finds me, let them.

            The days drifted by in a grey blur. Ayaka no longer partook of the activities she once had; instead of returning to the silk house, she went for long meandering walks by the rive and through the countryside. In Shenobi she took to carrying a parasol, held low to cover her eyes. Before, people had looked to her with hope. She didn’t want to dampen their already troubled spirits by letting them see she had no faith to impart. Wherever her wanderings took her, she saw that life continued, yet all she found was emptiness in everything once full of color and warm familiarity. She continued wearing her black robes of mourning, and her need to be inconspicuous led her to walk most oft in late evenings, like a lost shadow. On one occasion she did not return until the cusp of dawn, dismissing the palace servants and retainers, then sleeping the day away.

            Her tears were sparse, but a part of her, growing a little everyday, wanted her life to end.

            “We’re all very worried about you” said Akemi, seating herself on the bench beside Ayaka.

            She didn't know what day it was, though she had been gone the entire day, and it was twilight by the time Noribuko, Akemi, and Midori, found her by one of the principal streets.

            “My dove, please say something” Noribuko begged.

            Ayaka stared across the street, past the trees, the people, buildings; all of it a gloom. She failed to acknowledge the presence of her aunt or her friends.

            It was a long time before she responded, her voice a murmur, "It makes no difference."

            Midori and Noribuko looked at each other with concern.

            “What happened to Daisuken is a tragedy," Midori said, "but you are still alive, Aya-chan. You can't sink into despair. He wouldn’t want that. No one does.”

            “Yes my dove, be strong,” Noribuko begged. “Please come back to the inn. I’ll make your favorite kaiseki ryori. Just tell me what I can do to help you, anything.”

            A single tear, reflected in the distant lantern light, gleamed down Ayaka's cheek. Looking away, her lips quivered, “Nothing matters anymore.” 

            In early August, the month of the departing birds and last blossoms, the first tidings returned from the east. At the palace Ayaka could not escape learning what was unfolding, nor could she ignore the apprehension that had gathered in Shenobi. With the prince gone, the aura of invulnerability which the citizens trusted had disappeared as well; the bulwarks of their stronghold cracked, and so every report was received with paramount importance.

            Leading four divisions, Masuro converged with forces from Shinrin and Eruku. Okata's men were also there, as were Azai Mobutane's. Akihiro had ridden back to Ao-kuraoudo to call on the blue samurai. The allied armies engaged Fumei-noyorou's hosts in the woods near the Silver River, in a series of clashes of which neither side gained the upper hand, but left hundreds dead.

            When Noribuko came to the palace, she and Ayaka discussed the possibility of returning to Gurinhiruzu.

            “For the time being it’s safer here," her aunt concluded. "We could never defend ourselves from Kenkoya Castle if the Shogun reached us."

            Ayaka knew her aunt was afraid of saying: if Shinrin falls. It mattered not. They could remain in Shenobi as long as they saw fit. Kodai-Otosan had informed Ayaka the palace was her home, regardless of the marriage. He also offered an adjoining room for Noribuko and Harumi. Noribuko had humbly declined the honor as too lofty. The Lord of the South then paid her lodgings at the inn indefinitely, and insisted on apportioning the dowry.

            "Please, it would give me much happiness," the grief-stricken ruler had explained Ayaka one night. "For I know Daisuken would have wished it thus."

            Because of these words, Ayaka acquiesced. Consequently she received a large chest of gold tsuka coins and exorbitant jewels. Neither she or Noribuko knew know what to do with the riches. Invest them back home when the South was stabilized? Save it for the time being? Ayaka cared nothing. No amount of treasure could abrogate death. Besides, mountains of gold might be worth ash before long. Nor did Ayaka care if she remained in Shenobi or returned to Gurinhiruzu. If the world was to fall apart and perish, so be it.

*          *          *

Autumn

            In September, the long month, birds and riders brought back news with increasing regularity. The days were dusky and it drizzled often; and short-lived were the days the sun shone its forlorn rays. When at court, Ayaka heard dispatches recounted. A second engagement had taken place. The Southern allies, by virtue of a tactical gamble credited to Masuro, had captured Tozaibashi Bridge of the Silver River, and crushed the Oku-no kawa Clan, fulfilling the first major stage of their vengeance.

            Citizens in Shenobi rejoiced. Daiymo and nomin alike proclaimed Shenobi was handedly winning the war. Then report followed that Lord Jiroda had switched sides, joining the Shogun. Thus it was revealed Jiroda had indeed betrayed the South when he led Daisuken into the ambush by the Silver River.

            Until this treachery was confirmed, Ayaka did not know she was capable of anymore emotions. Her hatred of Lord Jiroda was born.

            Reports continued trickling south, and estimated casualties were unintentionally disclosed to the public. Seven thousand allied warriors were assayed to have perished in northern Shinrin. Over the next days, as friends and family learned names of the slain, initial celebrations were overshadowed with grief. Ayaka had a forewarning the road ahead was to be heaped with greater woes. She no longer prayed however. She knew Heaven would not answer.

 

            October was known as the month of falling leaves. Shawls of grey overcame the skies, and as they days shortened, a cold wind from the northeast hastened profuse rain. On one drizzling afternoon, Ayaka roamed the palace gardens. Two and a half months had past since the funeral. Everywhere she went she ran into memories of moments she had shared with him. She had worn the mourning attire longer than anyone else; just a few days ago setting the dark robe aside for the first time. She was given no choice. Noribuko had hidden the robes. Now she wore a long white, decorate-less kimono, which she chose for it could also symbolize mourning. 

            The green leaves of maple and sweet gum had turned pale gold and amber-crimson. Ayaka stopped beside the koi pond, where she once wrote haikus. Fluctuating gusts moaned, blowing damp leaves across the stone walks, and some over the dusky pool.

            I wanted to make him happy, to cool the fire of war in him. To have him know what it is like to be loved by someone, always. She recalled the dream of their blissful future, the one she’d been so naïve to believe. Even the most beautiful dreams don't have to mean anything. Some reveries heralded the future, others revealed shades of the past, and then there were the rest - nothing but fears and strewn wishes. That dream had been destiny’s cruel way of showing what could’ve been. Now it was another blossom lost in a nebulous realm of unattainable yearning. 

            Ayaka sat against a tree, her flat-soled zori sandals dangling over the water-rim.

            Maybe none of the things I hoped in exist? Maybe love was never supposed to come true for me?

            The wind blew colder. Yesterday another ten thousand Shenobi samurai marched east. After Masuro won the bridge, Kage-waru had swiftly organized a counterattack, taking the allies off guard by employing secretly built barges to cross the river at various points. With their front circumvented, the allies had been forced to relinquish control of much of the Silver River in Shinrin. Thousands were lost in the retreat. In the wake of this defeat, the Southern forces were preparing the outlying fortresses' defenses surrounding Shinrin-Oka. Citizens of Shenobi cursed the odious river passage where so much blood had been spilt in gainless struggle. It was horrible to think, that while Ayaka rested in the gardens, lives were likely being torn apart by sword, arrow, spear, and whatever brutal means availed themselves. She shivered against a wave of futile pity.

            While sitting by the koi pond, the bright orange, red, white, and black mottled fish swam in the darkled water, shyly emerging from beneath the lilies. Ayaka envied their obliviousness. 

            The wind sighed through the leaves. They've all been taken from me. Memories drifted before her mind’s eye - her parents, her brother and sister. It pained her, yet it couldn’t be helped; over the years their faces had blurred. At least when between sleep and wakefulness, or certain moments like now, she could almost hear the faint echoes of their voices. All the suffering she'd carried during these years had been welling in a deep place inside her, and with what had happened to the prince, it became an all-enfolding burden.

            Until today, Ayaka realized an irrational part of her had expected the prince to reappear, hold her, and and lead the South to victory. Maybe she’d find him waiting for her on Hanibara Street, or by the river? If only they could stroll along its shores one more time..                      Ayaka slumped in dejection. Everything was so fleeting, like the seasons since she’d come to Shenobi. The falling leaves, setting suns, the breeze rustling the bamboo, the dance of fireflies. The prince was the only man she ever loved; even if it wasn’t how she envisioned the bond, it had been love nonetheless. It's not fair. For years she intuitively imagined her past would one day be amended. If a young girl's world crashed into rubble, surely the gods would extend their aid, or at least let her know they cared? Such a day would never come, she understood. The movement of things was ever forward, towards a misted end.

            The skies darkened, bleeding to twilight. A light rain fell. Ayaka hadn’t brought an umbrella, nevertheless she remained by the pond, watching the rings the drops created between the lilies and lotuses. In one hand she held the glass box containing the white origami swan. 

            We never had a chance to share our destiny.

            Hopes were as ephemeral as the falling sakura blossoms. One strong storm could blow them all away.

            Ayaka opened the glass case and cupped the origami swan in both hands. She held it to her lips and closed her eyes as if to kiss it, then set it on the water. It floated unsteadily between the aquatic plants toward the pond's center. The tapping rain rocked the swan like a fragile boat, absorbing the water that would become its dissolution, carrying it away, to disappear like a dream.

             “Where have you been!?” Noribuko cried in dismay. 

            Soaked and shivering, Ayaka stood in the doorway of their lodgings at the Bathhouse Inn. Giving her destination little thought, she'd come here instead of the palace. Noribuko reprimanded her for wandering about in the rain and making everyone worry. Ayaka's lips quivered, and she began to cry. Noribuko hugged her, brought her inside, threw a towel over her and sat her beside the crackling hearth amid the room. Harumi boiled tea as Noribuko dried her niece off. 

            Ayaka spoke little, and later crawled into bed where she lay on her side, hugging her knees and staring at the floor.

            “My dove.” Noribuko sat beside her. “You cannot carry on like this. If you’re sad, cry. Tell me anything you want. It’s ok.”

            “Yes Aya-chan,” Harumi said. The little girl sat in the bed as well, holding Ayaka’s hand.

            The innocence in Harumi’s voice was a glimmering thread, enough to make Ayaka aware of the how starkly happier times contrasted with those of today. It stirred a pang in her that made her grimace, biting her lip. 

            Noribuko and Harumi slid their beds next to Ayaka's. Her aunt comforted her like she used to when Ayaka was a girl, after losing her family. Ayaka curled up and sobbed horribly. Afraid to lose her, Noribuko held Ayaka through the night.  

*          *          *

            November was known as the month of the frost. Ayaka took to sleeping at the inn more often than the palace, finding a meager comfort there that the austerity of the daiymo residence lacked. Harumi slept with her, always holding her doll, Koribito, close. When Ayaka woke in morning Noribuko usually had a fire crackling to heat the room. The rare mornings that the sun shined, the dew-frost on the roof tiles, eaves, and clinging to every leaf, made for a resplendent sight. In defiance of the war and weather, life in the city continued with routine normalcy. People still had to go about their day-to-day business and chores. With the frigid air pressing, everyone bundled up; their breaths, like plumes of ice-smoke, trailed them wherever they went. Midori and Akemi visited often and did their best to cheer Ayaka, but she was destitute of smiles. She did not go with them to the taverns or other locales she once frequented.

            It was still early in the month when Ayaka was summoned to council. She did her best to set her sadness aside when she entered the Phoenix Chamber. With Masuro, Takaneda, and most of the officers gone, few daiymo were present. There was Kodai-Otosan, with Shinji-san at his side. There was Hidetsugu - Kodai-Otosan's brother, who was more than less a younger, taller, version of the lord, with a beard more gray than white. Also in attendance was Hidetsugu's son - Keisuke, who was now the heir of the Kasainotora family. He resembled his cousin, the late prince Daisuken, somewhat, with his long raven hair, but was younger, thinner, with half the strength and confidence.

            Before approaching Ayaka thought she was to be reprimanded for her lack of prudence in staying at the inn. Right away however, she saw that the lord of Shenobi brooded, his eyes faraway, severe. In the thick of war, matters such as where she quartered were surely far from his mind. Sitting before Kodai-Otosan, she noted he appeared older, paler, eyes haunted with dark circles. Behind him, its wings reaching towards the high ceiling, the enormous wall carving of the fire bird loomed, like a god commanding Kodai-Otosan to its unbending will.

            Hidetsugu filled her in on the military matters they had been discussing;

            "Prince Akihiro and two divisions of blue samurai joined us in Shinrin. With Masuro it has been enough to stop the Shogun's advance. However, we've yet been unable to recapture lost ground." Hidetsugu sounded reluctant to concede, "Not only does Kage-waru have the numbers, but the siege of Jiroda's castle continues, diverting forces that could be used elsewhere."

            Anger tightened in Ayaka's core. "And where is Jiroda?"

            "Northeast," Hidetsugu (supplied). "He and the bulk of his forces absconded before the siege. He now rides against us in Shinrin."

            Kodai-Otosan put forth, "I must concede that Ishigoda is a formidable tactician." The old lord stewed it over, glaring down, hardly blinking, as if his mind was afire in strategy.

            "What shall the allies do to defeat this formidable tactician?" Keisuke asked, a bit too nonchalant, it seemed to Ayaka.

            "We must push them back to the Silver River," Hidetsugu said. "But we need more swords, and unfortunately other potential allies are reluctant to join the fray."

            Kodai-Otosan was looking at Ayaka. She understood why she'd been summoned.

            "Hasn't Lord Raiju answered?" She asked. "Won't the North send aid?"

            "The North is silent," Kodai-Otosan replied.

            Cautiously, Ayaka presented her question, "Would Gurinhirizu's forces be enough?"

            "Perhaps," Hidetsugu considered. "Anything could tip the balance at this point."

            "My kingdom is pledged to Shenobi," Ayaka added, still wary.

            "Yes, it is true. I could give your uncle the order," Kodai-Otosan said. "And I will. But first I wished to consult with you. Soon you shall come of age and be ruler in Gurinhirizu. Thus I deem you should have some say as to what role your kingdom might play. What more, I cherish you, as a daughter, and would not skirt your opinion on this matter."

            Ayaka nodded. Was he in part asking her permission? Suddenly she felt the weight of the entire South on her. She thought of the warriors in her kingdom. Many will die. Even uncle Tayori might. But what if nothing is done? Jiroda had betrayed them for he must believe the South's cause was lost. That could not be. Ayaka weighed vengeance also, for her father, for Daisuken. It would bring her nothing, yet for their honor, she must be committed to it. Even more than vengeance though, there was justice to uphold, and the survival of the South. So much had led to this. Things had gone too far. There was no longer any choice.

            Ayaka looked up, meeting Kodai-Otosan's gaze. "My kingdom should commit everything."

            The lord of Shenobi was a mite taken aback by her conviction. He regarded her, perhaps to be certain; she did not waver.

            "Very well." Kodai-Otosan nodded. "I will send your uncle the order anon."

            The first snowflakes fell by mid November. Sharp cold permeated the day; icy winds slashed the night. After the council Ayaka accepted having a unit of retainers posted at the inn's entrance and by her door, as well others to accompany her if she went into the city. When she recounted the council to Noribuko, it was hard to tell if her aunt was of accord about their kingdom's involvement. Even if it was Gurinhirizu's duty as vassals of Shenobi, she and Noribuko worried for Tayori and their samurais. Noribuko prayed often. Despite her angst, Ayaka did not pray or visit the temples. Besides, their army's fate was beyond their reach now. The order had already been sent.

            Towards the end of the month snow flurries blew in from the north and fell for days. It was uncommonly harsh weather for autumn in the south. Maybe I should have asked Kodai-Otosan to wait for Gurinhiruzu until spring? That her uncle and his troops were trying to wage war in such a climate could not be favorable. Fear and doubt followed Ayaka into sleep every night, and she began to dream again, but of visions of anguish, and nightmares.

            In these grim conditions of snowfall reports wended back to Shenobi's palace. There Ayaka learned of how the war forged on its bloody path. Masuro, Okata, Akihiro, and the lords of Shinrin and Eruku had reengaged the Shogun's forces for control of outposts and roads in the forests bordering the Silver River. Shinrin's situation grew precarious. The Shogun had divided his hosts and crossed further up the river to attack Shinrin from a new flank. Akihiro and his blue samurai were riding north to meet the new threat. Through it all there was no word of Gurinhiruzu's army save that they were on their way. And so Ayaka waited.

            The days shortened, approaching winter solstice. House and tavern lanterns and hearths glowed long hours into the night, providing comfort to those who gathered there. Ayaka found no comfort. The shock of Daisuken's death slowly continued to wear off, only making the rift of absence greater. Weighted by grief and uncertainty, Ayaka caved into her friends' invitations and accompanied them to the taverns again. Anything to keep her mind off the war. Thus she yielded to Missa Nightingale's entreaties that she come to the palace to learn her arts. Numbly, Ayaka attended the geisha ateliers several times a week. She didn't have the heart for song, but still participated in learning some trades, such as the weaving of rakuen robes, making okimono fans, and ink-brush paintings.

*          *          *

Winter

            By the first days of  December, known as the month of ice in the trees, the countryside was blanketed in white, the forests sleeping. When the month was still young, a rider entered Shenobi, hooves cracking up the street to the palace.

            Disastrous news had come, and an emergency council was organized. Wearing a heavy layered white and beige-gold haori robe, Ayaka attended. The daiymo leaders gathered in the temple teahouse, which kept a view of the snowed gardens. She was the only woman. Kodai-Otosan was present, Shinji-san, as well as Hidetsugu, Keisuke, and Ryoma, a veteran commander with harsh eyes and rough features. Fumio had come too. With his strange, opalescent eyes, and swathed all in white, the old starseer looked like a ghost that had wandered in from the winter desolation. The recently arrived messenger was also among them. He was a low-ranking officer who served under Masuro. A young maiko served them green tea.

            "Is it true?" asked Hidetsugu.

            "Shinrin-oka has fallen," Kodai-Otosan replied, his voice and expression deadpan.

            "After Kage-waru deployed his second horde at Shinrin's northern flank, Lord Ryudono hastened to counter him," the messenger told. "I fear the enemy baited him out, for the move stretched our lines, and somehow the Shogun learned of the weakness and speared through to attack Shinrin-oka. In just two days both capital and holdfast fell." Reluctantly, the officer added, "The Eastern samurai beheaded every single daiymo, and the royal family."

            In her horror, Ayaka spilt some of the tea on her hand. It was scalding hot but she barely felt it. It took a troubled spell for the council to digest the news.

            "What of Lord Ryudono?" Ryoma pressed; he was the least fazed among them.

            "Things are worse than we thought," the messenger went on. "They waylaid him in the Aokigahara Forests. His forces have been completely cut off. He might well be captured or dead by now."

            Lord Kodai-Otosan swatted their misgivings aside. "Bah! Ryudono is fiercer than you know. Cornering him in the woods is harder than trying to face a mad badger in its den."

            "I'm afraid that is not all," the messenger said. "We can no longer count with Ao-kuraoudo's support. The Shogun's forces have cut Prince Akihiro and his riders off in north Shinrin."

            A troubled quiet ensued before Keisuken questioned, his voice uneven, "Has there been a response from any of our prospective allies?"

            "Nothing," Hidetsugu shook his head.

            "They cower back, waiting to see who gains the advantage," Fumio spoke.

            "So, we are in this alone." Kodai-Otosan gazed dejectedly at no one and nothing.    Ayaka felt the tsunami she had forebode turning against them. Her anxiety worsened, and she broke the silence, "Is here word of my uncle?"

            "Forgive me for not reporting sooner, Denka Soranoyume." The messenger bowed to her. "Tayori-sama is alive and well. Your forces have fought valiantly in eastern Eruku, supporting Masuro and Okata. Their last orders saw all four thousand swords sent to reinforce Inudoro Castle."

            Ayaka nodded, breathing deep, and trying to mask her relief.

            Kodai-Otosan's eyes lit with a focused rage. He stared at them, and asked for solutions. With the imminent loss of Shinrin, the allies had been separated from one of their primary supply sources. Kodai-Otosan did not want Eruku to shoulder the entire burden; thus it was decided that patrols of samurai would scour Shenobi's countryside for what provisions could be availed.

            "Make sure they leave the nomin with enough for winter," Kodai-Otosan instructed Ryoma, who was charged with overseeing the task. "Also take into account the refugees that are sure to follow."

            Ayaka noticed that refugees had been trickling into the city over the past months. Because of its proximity with Shinrin, few took shelter in Eruku. Now, with the fall of Shinrin, a flood of refugees could be expected in Shenobi.

            "Lots of daiymo have sought haven elsewhere," said the messenger, "but the Black Hand's knives are hunting down the Southern families for execution. No roads are safe. Many daiymo from Shinrin won't reach Shenobi's walls."

            "It is an evil shadow that moves those assassins," Fumio said, looking somewhere above them all, as if descrying a mystery. "It is an evil shadow that moves against us."

            "It is a tragedy," Keisuke said, melancholy, more like a poet than a leader. "First Ryusako, now lord Ryudono. What will be of his vengeance, and of Shinrin's vengeance? This war has made me wonder what has become of Heaven's justice?"

            Unblinking, Kodai-Otosan glared across the room, through the wall, perhaps spearing a path forward with his mind. "We shall have to make it ourselves."

            The days that followed saw the beginning of a massive influx of refugees enter the Jade Gates, stumbling, bedraggled, even starving. The Southern capital did not turn a single displaced away. In the beginning, due to Ayaka's bereavement, the conflict had seemed faraway to her imagining. Perhaps living or dying didn't matter to her, but the lives of her kingdom's warriors did; also she harbored empathy for the plight those in the South endured. She hoped the fighting would end soon, but she did not pray.

            Carrier pigeons with important missives found their way to Shenobi in those days. Lord Ryudono and his men had perished in the Aokigahara Forests, slaughtered by an unknown division of elite Fumei-noyorou samurai. Masuro and Okata strove to recapture Shinrin-oka. The enemy had the tactical advantage though, and thousands of Southern warriors fell in the attempts. Henceforth, the allied divisions abandoned efforts to retake any part of Shinrin, instead turning to protecting Eruku's.

            During this harsh time at the beginning of winter's reign, Ayaka heard disturbing rumors. There were refugees who claimed the Shogun's samurai waxed stronger in winter, and if not stopped soon, would shatter each line of defense to sweep through the kingdoms until their battering rams were booming against the Jade Gates. Foreboding ruin, of the thousands of refugees who arrived, nearly half stayed in Shenobi only briefly before journeying on to realms in the Far South.

            Ayaka placed her trust with the majority of citizens, maintaining confidence the Phoenix would be victorious. Nonetheless, as winter deepened, prescience warned her otherwise, with a mysterious sense akin to that of birds fluttering in their cages, desperate to fly away before it was too late.

            Amid the winter storms and violence ravaging the kingdoms, only the company of Noribuko, Akemi, Midori, and Harumi, afforded Ayaka breadths of peace, even if forlorn. More than anyone, the little servant girl, in her youth and innocence, was a beacon that gave Ayaka reason to strive for remnants of faith.

            Due to events, Ayaka had forgotten about New Years. Thus it came to her as a surprise there would be a celebration. Reports were scarcer, and because of the cold everyone assumed there was a lull in the fighting. Whether or not war was being waged, most folk Ayaka encountered seemed to put it out of their minds. People wanted to hold onto what they yet had. That included the most important holiday. Although it felt a forced celebration, like smiling through tears, it was also a manifestation of their resolve.

            Ayaka spent New Years's evening with Noribuko and Harumi. First she took the little servant girl to buy sweets and see the decorations. There'd be no fireworks this year, but lanterns every hue of the rainbow were hung along the streets and houses. Despite the flourishes of color and spirited cheer, it was the most solemn New Year's in Ayaka's memory; yet sufficient to forget her sorrows and fears for a time. People visited shrines to pray, games were played, and there was paltry exchange of gifts. At the inn, Noribuko made their favorite dishes, including mochi. Harumi indulged in the sweets until she felt sick.

            "Enough of that," Noribuko reprimanded Harumi. "Do you want to be a chubby little girl, neh?"

            Harumi shook her head. She was so stuffed she couldn't get up from the pillowed corner she'd slumped against, and looked like on the verge of falling into a queasy sleep.

            At midnight bells were rung and songs were sung. Before dawn thousands of people woke to go somewhere sacred to see the first sunrise of the year. Harumi had recuperated - even if sleepy - and accompanied Ayaka and Noribuko outside, bringing her doll with her. They went to Lake Seinaru. Ayaka held the little girl's hand; their steps crunched over the smooth blanket of snow on the shores. The lake had not frozen entirely, thus its waters undulated to the horizon. They watched the dawn blazing over the lake. Ayaka imagined Amaterasu-Okami was renewing the world with her power.

            While gazing into the dawn, Ayaka prayed for the first time in months; to the sun goddess, and the Seishin-yodo.

            Early in the month of the new sunrise, winter intensified to a fury Ayaka nor anyone she knew had ever experienced in the South. The hyperborean skies spread their shadow and glacial winds over the city and surrounding countryside. Almost three feet of snow fell, obstructing roads and passes. Sending supply wagons became an arduous and uncertain task. Enemy units often ambushed the caravans, and several trains were lost. At the palace she sought tidings, but the snows had dwindled reports. From the little gathered, barring isolated skirmishes, the unforgiving weather had grinded the war close to halt. Ayaka was reassured after learning her uncle and his troops were still stationed at Inudoro Castle in northern Eruku. Safe, for the time being.

            Winter's icy hold grew into the middle of the month, and Ayaka remembered the starseers' portents, and feared the season could last forever. Amid the coldest days, she attended a meeting in the Phoenix Chamber. Near a brazier's warmth, she sat down with Kodai-Otosan, Shinji, Ryoma, and Keisuke. Hidetsugu had gone to try and rally a neighboring clan. There were three samurai as well, just returned from Eruku, as their armor told, and their visages, whipped by freezing winds and burned by snow-glare. One man had been badly wounded and was bandaged around the head, his arm wrapped in a sling. Though they were eight present, the chamber was so spacious it still felt empty. And outside the moaning winds made Ayaka feel smaller still.

            "I regret to verify the missive," one of the samurai said, dipping his brow and placing his palms on the ground. "Prince Akihiro aimed to continue the fight, but his father overrode his wishes and has signed a truce with the Fumei-noyorou."

            Ayaka's heart plummeted. This was a massive blow. If Kodai-Otosan was upset he did not show it. It was clear he had been sleeping poorly, his obsession with the conflict leaving him in a strange daze. But if the lord of Ao-kuraoudo had decided to withdraw from the conflict, it could only mean he saw the South's struggle a lost cause. Dread constricted in Ayaka's stomach.          

            "So, the Mid-northerners have reverted to their old ways, neh?" Kodai-Otosan said wistfully to no one in particular. "Hiding in the Giant Forest, cowering from the world behind Shiro-ganseki's walls. I should've know it wouldn't be long."

            "Lord Akihira never had a clear vision for what this age requires of the kingdoms," Ryoma said. "He's always preferred secluding his people from troubles of Isodoro."

            "If only that imbecile would die, so his son could rule in his stead," Kodai-Otosan said with poorly tempered malice.

            "Mayhaps it's the harsh winter, neh?" Keisuke suggested. "Come spring, I bet the blue samurai will take up the efforts anew."

            Kodai-Otosan shot his nephew a sharp glance, as if the young prince were a fool. A troubled silence pervaded until the lord of Shenobi spoke, "Every kingdom on this cursed peninsula should take a lesson from houses like Gurinhiruzu." A shade gentler, he regarded Ayaka. "When a smaller house does not quail at defying the Shogunate, that demonstrates they have tenfold the bravery of the major houses who recoil at battle."

            The praise uplifted Ayaka, yet in the end the words were empty. Everyone knew the truth. Ao-kuroado backing out meant Kage-waru could now focus completely on Eruku. What will be of my uncle and our warriors? Ayaka felt helpless. Whichever way the tide turned, it would sweep everyone in the South with it.

            Keisuke sighed. "At least Jirodia's castle has been taken."

            "A small prize," Kodai-Otosan remarked. "Neither he or his family were there. Nor were the bulk of his samurai."

            "True," joined Ryoma. "But at least we can use his castle if we need it."

            The reminder that Kusa-no-tani had fallen was enough to change the mood from freezing over completely. Kodai-Otosan called for warmed sake, which a female servant promptly furnished. Everyone save the lord of Shenobi and Ayaka took a cup.

            "Wasn't there a separate matter you wished to address?" Kodai-Otosan asked after allowing the men to relax. There was more a note more of ire in his question interest.

            One of the samurai cleared his throat, and ventured. "About the reports of the unknown class of samurai units. We've encountered them ourselves."

            Still dispirited by the first tidings, Ayaka listened vaguely. She'd heard of this strange cast of warrior. By now most of the South was aware of the accounts of how the mysterious samurai were purportedly responsible for many of the allies' losses.         

            The speaker shook his head, at a loss. "We think they may be gaijin, but they are unlike the barbarian warriors from Rodan. The truth is we don't know where they're from. They were black armor and masked helms with red plumes and horns. They bear no standards."

            Another of the samurai added, "Their armor is all but impenetrable, their weapons are brutal. ... And .... their skin, ..." The man's eyes shone with perturbing memory. "Their skin is grey, like granite, and nearly as hard."

            Keisuke scoffed, but Kodai-Otosan was squinting hard at the three warriors. "Is this true?"

            The first who had spoken nudged the bandaged warrior. "Tell them what happened. Tell them what you saw."

            His wounded comrade nodded towards Kodai-Otosan. "My unit engaged them in the Aokigahara Forests. It cost us five men to slay one of fiends, and far more to beat them back." With trembling hands, the man downed a second cup of rice wine. He looked away, as if into a darkness, and spoke with shame, "They can only be Akuma ... I and many others are willing to stake our lives that it was these beast samurai that slaughtered Lord Ryudono and his men in the Aokigahara Forests. The Shogun is eviler than we know."

            Kodai-Otosan stared down, into the brazier, perhaps espying the same darkness within the flames. "I will consult with Fumio on  this matter," he said. "The starseers will know."

            Ayaka tried to maintain her incredulity. Kodai-Otosan did not appear to be placating the warrior. And a glint in the man's frightened eyes warned her not to dismiss his account so lightly. Too much goes against us. Her life meant little to her, howbeit she had not lost the hope for others to survive. The South must endure. However, the Shogun was beginning to corner all of them with his cold shadow.

            At the end of the month of the new sunrise, a monstrous blizzard besieged the city, threatening to bury them all in an ice-locked grave. As if hurled from the canyonous lungs of a kyojin ice god, ashen-black clouds crashed over the Blue Mountains, far to the northeast, thundering and wailing like banshees, eclipsing the South. Nomin houses and buildings in the city shivered and groaned; roofs were torn asunder, or collapsed under the drifts. 

            “The world is ending,” a palace servant said to Ayaka. Out of a high window near the donjon they beheld the engulfing white haze.

            The snowstorm carried into February, the month of changing clouds. People spent further time indoors to ride out the cold. The hearth warmth at the inn did not suffice, and Ayaka, Noribuko, and Harumi had to sleep in one bed to fend off the cold.

            "As soon as spring comes and the snows thaw, we are returning to Gurihiruzu," her aunt said.

            "Isn't it dangerous there too?" Ayaka asked.

            "From there we'll go north and find protection in Ryoshu-kita." Then she added, "I won't have you remain in a place of grief and war."

            Harumi was pressed next to Ayaka. After a minute or two, in her small, uncertain voice, she asked, "Um, you're gonna leave, Aya-chan?"

            "Don't worry," Ayaka reassured, caressing the top of the little girl's head. "You'll come with us. Wherever we go."

            Ayaka realized the main reason she'd stayed in Shenobi all this time was mostly for Daisuken's memory. Other than her friends, there was no abiding reason to remain. She could manage her kingdom's involvement in this war just as effectively there as here.

            Later that night, while lying under her blankets, Ayaka heard the mournful howls of dogs rise above the city. It perturbed her deeply, for it reminded her that while she was safe in this room, hundreds, perhaps thousands of Shenobi's troops had perished in the ruthless temperatures without. Even more refugees had been killed by the winter, and nomin across the countryside were dying in comparable numbers. Daily, Ayaka saw scores of fathers, mothers, wives, and children, mourning the frost petrified bodies returned in wagons to Shenboi, on route to be incinerated in the crematory temple in the Fields of Eien. Closing her eyes did not ward off the echoes of lamentations she'd heard in the ice-laden streets. Their weeping was joined by the howls of dogs, who sensed their masters' grief. In the end all their lamentations were swallowed up by the storming skies.

            What haunted Ayaka most was the look in the samurai's eyes at the council. She recalled the play of the Ronin and the Demon of Winter. Had it been a forewarning of the future? The South was frozen. They were all prisoners in a limbo of war and wrathful cold. When her thoughts turned East, behind it all, a misted darkness threatened her spirit.

            Despite her attempts at prayer, Ayaka remained troubled. Her aunt's plans to leave Shenobi belied that for the first time, she was uncertain about the outcome of this strife. Eruku was all that stood in the way of the Shogun's hosts and Shenobi. Ayaka prayed through the night, yet she drowned in doubt that there was no Seishin-yodo, no Heavens, and if the gods existed, they had abandoned the South.

            Perhaps it's true? Perhaps we have been forsaken?

            Indeed, it was better they flee before the Shogun's forces might ever reach the Jade Gates. For then, whatever nightmare dwelt in the East would fall upon all who remained.

 

*          *          *

Spring

 

            Winter continued to turn the South into a vast, snow-covered cemetery, but the next weeks past, the winds slackened, and the storms began a grumbling retreat to their forbidding domain in the remote north, thus making way for March, the month of new life. It was far colder than usual; the better parts of the day grey, yet the sun began to break winter's hold, showering the country with warmth on days now and then.

            Ayaka had not been sure spring would ever return. With so many horrors afoot, she feared the magic that moved the season had been lost. Nevertheless nature showed them it could not be touched by the ruinous deeds of man, and spring stirred from its dormancy, with green shoots, new leaflets, unfurling bountifully to the song of returning birds.

            Instead of imparting Ayaka peace however, the start of spring breathed life back into the war. By mid-March, Kage-waru commenced an assault on Eruku. It did not bode well. Allied casualties already surpassed sixty thousand - almost half from Shenobi.

            It was a crisp, golden morning when Ayaka went to see the two divisions assemble at the Jade Gates. Several thousand onlookers had gathered to see them off. Prince Keisuke was mounted at the van, wearing armor that caught the early light. She knew he had not been eager for this charge - he had no experience in battle - yet he was the heir, and by tradition the lords of Shenobi always led their armies, to inspire their warriors. Regardless, Ayaka felt great empathy for him. He is so young. He is not ready. Fortunately, Ryoma would ride alongside him, to offer all military advice. In a few days the two divisions would converge with her uncle Tayori. Thereafter Gurinhiruzu's warriors would be involved in a massive joint effort soon to be underway to halt the Shogun's onslaught.

            The notes of white conches signaled, and rank upon rank of samurai and ashigaru started forth to the cheers of the people. Wielding a myriad of spears and brilliant red Phoenix banners, they marched into the green forests, the braying drones of conches following. Ayaka watched them go, and feared for them.

            New leaves had come with spring, but so had death. This year there would be no Spring Festival, no parade of dragons, no plays in the garden-park amphitheatre, no grand floral markets of art, or martial arts tournaments, no fireworks, and the Celestial Dragon would not to be seen.

            April was the month of u-no-hana, and in the first week the sakura bloomed. Other flowers were opening as well. To see the new colors imparted Ayaka a ray of hope. Beholding the sakura she could almost swear she felt the merciful smile of Megami-iro Okami. The nature goddess was showing people the innocence they thought lost, letting them know they were not forgotten.

            It was a sunny morning as she walked down the street of a thousand cherry trees. Soon she would return to Gurinhiruzu, and so she was also saying goodbye to the sacred trees. Among the crowds, she held her umbrella low, so no one would recognize her. She had hoped to take her mind off things, but the street reminded her of Daisuken, as well as the troops that lined up here every other week or so, before issuing from the Jade Gates. Where are Gurinhiruzu's warriors? With all the couriers lost, contact with north Eruku had become intermittent, and she knew little of what might be unfolding. Her country's samurai were probably on the verge of plunging into battle, or in the thick of it.

            Sitting on one of the benches, Ayaka gazed through the canopies of white petals. Finches and skylarks chirped. She closed her eyes. She could not entirely forget her worries, but being in the sakuras' presence soothed her with a mysterious assurance. Thus she remained hours, watching the flower-laden boughs sway.

            During these days when the cherry blossoms were with her again, there were moments Ayaka drifted into a forgotten peace, feeling the embrace of a presence, a spirit, that was her best friend, herself, and everyone, and everything that was good. The sakura gave her a glimpse of the truth she needed to go on living.

             Ayaka, Noribuko, and Harumi were preparing to depart for Gurinhiruzu when in the third week of March, Shinji-san found them at the lodgings.

            "It just arrived to the palace by bird," he said with a bow, handing Ayaka a letter. "From your uncle in Gurinhiruzu."

            Ayaka held the folded kozogami paper like it were delicate as a fresh petal. This was wondrous news. It meant he was alive. But from Gurinhirizu? It did bear the stamp of blue wren. The last they heard, her kingdom's forces were sent to northwest Eruku to defend the Hikage Road against clansmen trying to disrupt supply transports. That had been two weeks gone. In the silence Ayaka had feared the worst. What made the letter especially significant was that it was the first dispatched directly to either of them since her uncle sent her his condolences.

            Ayaka gave Noribuko the letter to read. Her aunt rejoiced, holding it close. Then she unfolded the paper, and read in a voice slightly deeper, more serious, in imitation of her brother;

            "Dear Ayaka and Noribuko, I pray the bird reaches you, and that this letter finds you both well. I sent word to the allied captain, so mayhaps you know already. However I thought I should speak to you directly regarding matters of such importance. We were faced with the decision of whether or not to abandon our station at Hikage Road when news reached us that Gurinihiruzu had been attacked."

            Noribuko's smile waned, disbelief taking its place.

            "Attacked?" Ayaka's body tensed with a jolt.

            Noribuko held the letter closer. She read on, hesitant with each word. "Captain Takaneda granted our wish and ordered us to retake our realm. Upon arrival we discovered it was the Ueda Clan. They have already raided the nomin villages, slaughtered the defending garrison, and taken Kenkoya Castle..." Noribuko's hands were trembling, and each breath shaken. She read in an injured voice, "We tried to retake the castle, but before we drove them out they destroyed it with fire."

            Nearly dropping the letter, Noribuko put her hand over her mouth. "Heaven and Earth." She lowered the paper, crumpling it. The words grinded through her teeth, "The backstabbing curs! Because the Southern armies are busy with the Shogun they think they can do whatever they want! That there's no law!"

            Ayaka was stunned. The Ueda Clan? Why would they do it? Their country neighbored Gurinhiruzu, to the northwest. Though they were rivals generations ago, peace had held since. Had they allied themselves with the East? Ayaka didn't know, but surmised that Ao-kuraoudo's withdrawal had emboldened the Ueda. They also think the South is going to lose.

            "There has to be justice!" Noribuko cried.

            Ayaka wasn't sure such existed; perhaps it had run dry in another era. Her aunt was too distraught to continue reading. Carefully, Ayaka received the letter from her, and read, mumbling, though loud enough so Noribuko heard;

            "We have endeavored our best to defend the homeland, but winter has been harsh and the Ueda raided most of the provisions. Many companies of our men have perished, leaving us with little more than two thousand able-bodied warriors. We are cut off from the allied forces. With Kenkoya's defenses ruined, we cannot repel the Ueda when they return."

            This was a nightmare. Ayaka took a deep breath. She did not want to read more, but Noribuko was desperate to hear the rest, and so Ayaka went on. "It is with great regret and shame that I have decided to abandon Gurinhiruzu and go north, to Ryoshu-kita. I will take as many of the nomin as I can muster. I am conscious of the dishonor in my actions. Thus I vow that one day, as soon as we are prepared, I shall return and drive out the murderous Ueda and take back Gurinhirizu. For now I shall treat with Lord Raiju to convince him to help the Southern Kingdoms against the Shogun. If I fail I fear the South can very well lose this war. In such a contingency Ryoshu-kita must be sanctuary for you both. Ayaka's uncle is lord of the North Kingdom and is supported by honorable daiymo. They would welcome their kin openly, and the White Citadel of Kitakaze is defended by a powerful army. You would be safe there. Think on it, but not overlong. Time is of the essence. If Eruku falls, make for the North Kingdom."

             Sincerely, with love, uncle Tayori

            Ayaka studied the signature to be certain, then dropped the letter, and gazed blankly across the room. Nigh three thousand Gurinhiruzu warriors were dead. Whether facing the Shogun had been inevitable, this did little to ease the remorse that crushed Ayaka. At least in part, it had been her decision to send them into the field. And this had led to their deaths, and their kingdom's downfall.

            While Noribuko wept, Ayaka sunk into a daze, incredulous at the enormity of this folly and ruin. It is likely to get worst. Can uncle Tayori make it past the Ueda? Ayaka's vision melting into where the floor reached the wall. After everything, how could this happen? She and her aunt were probably going to lose everything they'd ever had, including the people closest to their hearts. It was possible this was the end of the Soranoyume name. When she thought of her deceased family, wherever their spirits were, surely they grieved.

            Sobbing, Noribuko buried her face in her hands. Ayaka could offer no comfort. I should commit seppuku. That would be best. I should have told Kodai-Otosan not to send them, I should have begged him to have mercy on our kingdom. Her duty had been to protect her people, instead she had failed them utterly. Gods ...

            Ayaka prostrated herself before Noribuko. She bowed over and again, crying. "It is my fault. Everything is my fault. Please, forgive me!"

            At first Noribuko could not speak, for she wept to. Then through her sobs she said, "It's nobody's fault. There was no choice." And with strained determination she regained some of her composure to say, "We must go north."

            It was true Ayaka's uncle Raiju was lord in the White Citadel of Kitakaze, but it was a long journey there. And nothing could ever replace her country of green hills and shimmering pastures, ... and all the people ... Memories evoked a hopeless anguish. Running across the fields with her brother and sister, playing with the ducks and chickens. The seasonal festivals in the villages with the nomin that were like family; and the birthdays, weddings, and gatherings in the castle. Her father often picked her up when she was a toddler, tossing her in his arms until she giggled uncontrollably. Every night her mother whispered soothing verses to her until she fell asleep. All the friends she’d grown up with. Every nook and bend. Each familiar country-person and the texture of their voices; the light of their laughter in the beautiful countryside. Everything had been snuffed out.

            "They're all gone," Ayaka said, still bowed to the ground. "We're alone in the world."

            She could not say how long she groveled in tears until Noribuko lifted her to her knees.

            "No," said her aunt. "That's not true."

            She embraced Ayaka. Amidst her tears, they held each other.

*          *          *

Summer

 

            In May, the month of tall grasses, the Shogun brought his onslaught to a halt and drew his forces back into Shinrin. Beyond all hope, an unspoken truce ensued. Rumor had it that after extensive losses of their own, the servants of the Kyojin-Wolf had lost their taste for battle. Ayaka agreed with others, who suspected that behind this lull a more sinister motive was at play. Notwithstanding the reprieve, Kodai-Otosan and Shenobi's leaders advanced preparations, training additional conscripts, and summoning more samurai from vassal daiymo.

            With summer, days of clouds were fewer; the sun poured its healing balm on them, easing bad memories, helping envision a future. It was a mild summer though, comparable to spring, and successive days of full sun were seldom.

            On an afternoon of late June, Ayaka, Midori, and Akemi, walked through a small nomin village neighboring Shenobi, and spread along the banks of the Sukai River. A retinue of over a dozen servants and retainers accompanied them; none were Ayaka's. After Gurinhiruzu fell she had ordered hers away, since she was nothing but a destitute daiymo now.

            They walked slowly, admiring the artisan market. Scores of local craftsmen had set their work on tables, and strung colorful assortments of paper chochin lanterns. It was all in preparation for the Watern Lantern Festival. Akemi and Midori opined about what was nicest, and which they should purchase. There were also candles, and the small, square-cut bamboo boats the lanterns needed to sit on. The Water Lantern Festival was annual, but this year would be held on a far larger scale; for when lit, the chochin lanterns represented the departed.

            "Now that the war is ending, things are going back to normal," Akemi said, delighting in artisan work beside the lanterns.

            Ayaka nodded with a weak smile. "I don't understand ..." her words were so faint they didn't hear her. She wondered why the Shogun did not press his attack when he'd been gaining momentum. It made no sense, especially during summer; the season when campaigns were most often waged. Everyone owed it to allied strength, but others speculated it was the mists, and that the enemy merely waited for winter's darkness to strengthen them again. If so, peace will be short-lived as the seasons.

            "Have faith, cousin." Midori must've noticed her ruminating glumly; daily that was the case. Cheering her up was the principal reason they'd insisted in brining her to walk by the river.

            "Shenobi will restore order to the South," Midori said. "And Gurinhiruzu will not be forgotten. We will take it back from the Ueda, and they will be punished."

            Ayaka nodded. In truth she did not think she'd ever go back home. Despite the cessation of hostilities with the East, an increasing number of the outlying Southern clans were falling into conflict. Warlords had taken advantage of the chaotic situation for their own gain, and to settle ancient feuds. A whirlwind of lawlessness ravaged villages and small kingdoms along the fringes. Shenobi, nor any of the major houses had yet been able to quell this turmoil. If this course continued, the South might succumb to an anarchy of battling houses with no remnant of unity.

            "We are lost," Ayaka muttered while they strolled up the riverside.

            "Don't say that," Midori replied.        

            Ayaka thought Gurinhiruzu was conquered and finished. She'd heard nothing from her uncle Tayori again. Most likely the Ueda had killed him going north. Doubt was among the main reasons Ayaka had not yet set out to Ryoshu-kita.

            "You still have a home, in Shenobi." Midori put a hand on her shoulder. "Gurinhiruzu will also forever be your country. One day all this will end, and what was lost shall be restored." There was a sadness behind her cousin's smile. "Like during the Spring Festival, neh. Remember how happy we were then?"

            Ayaka returned a shadow of a smile. She wanted to breathe the air of her homeland again. Now she thought the day would never come.

            That night the people of Shenobi carried their glowing lanterns outside, set them atop the little rafts, and released them upon the Sukai River. There were tens of thousands of lanterns, more than Ayaka had ever seen, yet still not enough to account for all the dead. A presentiment told her that next year there would be far more, if anyone was still here to even hold the festival. The cool waters carried the illumed lanterns through the city, guiding the souls under arched bridges, near the palace's West Gardens, and Hanibara Street; flowing in a procession hours long, a river of golden stars churning, then spreading into the freedom of Lake Seinaru's black void.

            Suns and moons past, the days drifting into July, the month of lavender and lilac. No further battles were fought. With the nightmare of it all receding, Ayaka searched for solace in the abeyance.

            On a warm night she took Harumi to the surrounding countryside to see the fireflies. Normally the firefly season started in April, lasting through June. Unseasonably cold weather this year had delayed the spectacle, however. Late or not, folk were happy the fireflies came at all. Families brought their children to the fields. There Harumi ran and jumped about with kids her age, laughing, chasing the small, floating lambent green orbs which danced between the tall blades of grass. 

            “Um, can we take it back, and put it in a bottle?” asked Harumi, showing Ayaka the firefly she’d caught.

            “That would be nice. But they only live a short time, and it would die sooner if you kept it in a bottle. Play with them tonight, but before we leave set them free, so they can enjoy the short life they have.”

*         *         *

Autumn

 

            Near the end of August, cold eastern winds invaded summer, ushering fleets of grey clouds. That summer would die so young stirred fear in peoples' hearts. Ayaka sensed the mists to the east had awoken, and were stalking closer.

            By early September, carrier pigeons alighted to Kami-no-goza Tower, bearing dire tidings. The enemy hordes had amassed north of Eruku, joined by reinforcements in the tens of thousands. Meanwhile the Southern Kingdoms could not even replace half their casualties. Ayaka forebode that if the war continued as it had the previous year, they would not survive the coming winter.

            In the third week of September the Shogun hurled everything forth against Eruku. Fighting erupted, and a series of enormous battles ensued. The South hung over an abyss. Ayaka prayed, but nearly every night was plagued by nightmares of shadows, lamentation, howling wolves, and snarling beasts. The Dragon of Fire devoured the wilderness with jaws of flame, and raised its scaled head over mountains, searching for her. Its deafening roar echoed across Isodoro.

            In one nightmare Ayaka discerned shadows in a forest at night, and mists. From afar came a rumbling, and neighing. A herd of crazed, giant horses, trembled the ground. Nostrils aflame with fear and rage, the monstrous horses crushed everything. Ayaka fled, yet the forests were too dark and she could not see the way. The thunder of their hooves shook the trees. When they fell upon her she screamed ...

            Ayaka woke with a gasp. She was sweating and breathing rapidly. There were no horses. Just silence in the room where Harumi and Noribuko slept. Ayaka could not go back to sleep. It had been worst, most vivid nightmare. She could almost hear the last echoes of her screams when the horses stampeded over her.

            Don't worry. Dreams are not true. You well know this.

            She had promised Missa Nightingale she would attend her atelier today. At early noon she went to the palace. When she arrived, scores of daiymo were hurrying to the central donjon. Ayaka had an ill feeling. She found Missa Nightingale in her room, with several of her attendants, and a few other daiymo women. The geisha sat, sulking before her mirror and assortments of makeup.

            "Eruku is gone." The famed singer's voice was small and rattled. Her charcoal eyeliner bled into the rice powder makeup on her cheeks. "The messenger arrived over an hour ago."

            Ayaka was speechless. Preposterous. "Shinrin withstood for months. How can Eruku be beaten in less than three weeks?"

            "They attacked at night," one of the daiymo women said. "The cowards. They killed thousands of our warriors."

            Missa Nightingale sunk, covering her eyes with her palms. "I'm sorry," she said to them. "I cannot practice."

            Ayaka doubted another time would come. Were her nightmares coming true? But why dream of something that cannot be avoided?

            Swifter than fire in a house of paper walls, the news spread throughout the city. Eruku had been obliterated; their daiymo massacred to send a message to those who opposed the Shogunate. Ayaka walked back to the inn, past people who bewailed the fall of their brethren kingdom. Refugees from Eruku wept. Ayaka shook her head, in disbelief. Shinrin, now Eruku, ancient and closest of Shenobi's allies, were no more.

            "What are we going to do?" Ayaka asked Noribuko after returning to their lodgings.

            "I'm not sure," her aunt answered. Her movements were flustered, hands shaking slightly as she went about a few chores. "This is not the time to give up. If any kingdom can stop Fumei-noyorou, it's always been Shenobi."

            Ayaka prayed. Of the major houses, only Mitsubayashi remained to support Shenobi. It already felt they were alone however, the island of protection shrinking rapidly.

            The next day a council was held at the palace. Ayaka did not attend. There was less hope than ever, and dread was in her very blood. Instead she went to the palace to learn what she could from secondary sources. All she garnered was that Masuro, with Keisuke, had led three allied divisions in retreat to southern Eruku.

            While the council unfolded, Ayaka walked to one of the palace's inner verandas, overlooking water gardens. In the golden afternoon light she tried to find some peace, some clarity. She must've remained more than an hour. When Hidetsugu found her there the council had ended.

            "Masuro has fallen back to the pass of Saigo no Teiko," the older daiymo recounted at her inquiry. "My son and the general hold it with fifty thousand under their command. Kage-waru marches there as we speak, with a hundred and fifty thousand under the wolf's banner."

            Ayaka stuttered, incredulous. Saigo no Teiko was a mere three days march from Shenobi. Did Masuro have sufficient men to hold the pass? If the Shogun won it, nothing would stand between him and the city walls.

            "Lord Kodai-Otosan has resolved to muster all of Shenobi's remaining troops. Only the Phoenix Guard, and enough to man the defenses will remain," Hidetsugu told.

            She calculated another seventy thousand at best. Even with such numbers, would it be enough? "How many lords will join us?" - most had abandoned the war, and with this turn of events, surely more had followed. A steady but growing number of citizens were fleeing from Shenobi and the South, or preparing to.

            "Lord Harudo, Yojinsu, Azai Mobutane, and Okata still stand with us," Hidetsugu answered.

            Hearing Okata's name reassured Ayaka. There's a man who fears nothing. If only my Daisuken was with us too.

            "Will Lord Koda-Otosan go as well?" Ayaka had heard rumor he intended to.

            "That is his wish, but since he is somewhat ill, we have convinced him to remain. I will go in his stead."

            "What a great honor, to stand beside your son." Ayaka bowed.

            "I could not be prouder, of Keisuke, and all who will defend Saigo no Teiko. We will fight to our last breath so the Shogun does not take the pass."

             That afternoon chill clouds billowed in, veiling the skies. Too distraught to return to the inn, Ayaka wandered the city. With twilight's approach and the promise of rain, the streets were mostly empty. Her meandering took her to one of the bridges over the Sukai River. There she stood, losing herself in the first reflections of lamp light on the swift flowing waters, as delicate drops tapped her pink parasol.

            She was affected by a sense it was already too late, that everything was lost. Watching the brief rings the drops made falling into the river, she remembered the dream she and Daisuken had shared -for Shinseina Heiwa, a new dawn of peace. When he died, that hope had died too. The river's indifference, flowing the same day and night no matter what happened, mesmerized her with futile loss. Everything was like a drop of rain, joining the sea, to be forever lost.

            An old nomin man approached her while she stood on the bridge. He wore a conical kasa hat and straw raincoat. The weight of a large pack hunched his shoulders.

            "Good evening, Denka."

            Ayaka turned, surprised. "Master Enzen." She returned his bow. With the traveling garb over his robes, she had not realized it was the yoku priest. Seeing his bundle was a traveling pack, she asked, "Where are you headed?"

            "To the Asatsuyu Mountains."

            "But that is far away, neh?"

            "True. It's only a one way journey however."

            "What about the temple?"

            "I'm leaving it to the supervision of the highest ranked monk ... of those who have chosen to remain. Others are departing the city too."

            "I see." Ayaka wasn't sure what to say. So many were departing these days. They see no future here either.

            "It was always my plan," Enzen said. "To go back, to live in the countryside in my mountain village, and tend to its small shrine and temple."

            Ayaka was quiet. She was suddenly ashamed of the way she spoke to him the last time; and now that he was leaving, she was also sad.

            The rain fell a little harder.

            "You shouldn't stay out in such weather, Denka. It might be  October, but it's almost freezing out here."

            "It's alright." Then she offered him her umbrella, apologizing for not doing so earlier.

            "You needn't. You'll get wet if you try to share it," Enzen said. "Besides, I'm quite fine. The cold never bothered me."

            The yoku priest stood beside her while they contemplated the river. From his pack, Enzen produced a strip of dried beef. Ayaka cordially declined his offer to share - saying she had no appetite. Enzen chewed away. The waters murmured sleepily below.

            "What is going to happen?" she asked.

            As if attuned to her thoughts, he replied, "I don't know who will win. The truth is, I've never been so uncertain of the future. But rest assured the forces of karma are at work. Even if we can't see how, things will unfold as they must. Someday, we'll understand."

            Ayaka pondered his words. It no longer bothered her to hear his wisdom.

            "I'm sorry for the way I behaved the last time, and the things I said." She bowed to him. "I was just very, ... disappointed ... I suppose I still am." Ashamed, she turned back to the river.

            "Don't worry about any of that. It's important to speak forthright. How else can we learn the truth?" He paused, frowning slightly, as if considering something else. "You know, Denka. I am an old man, older than I look. You wouldn't believe the imprudent person I used to be."

            "You shouldn't say that, master Enzen."

            "But it's true. Oh, I was once very disillusioned, and brimming with miserable feelings. If only I could have had half the wisdom you have now when I was your age then. The troubles I would've avoided!" Enzen smiled wistfully. "I neglected what mattered most when I had it. My parents have been gone for more of my life than not. My wife, gone too. Yes, I was married once. Funny thing, it feels like yesterday I was a child, then a husband, then a father. I've even outlived two of my children." Enzen looked into the river, perhaps reflecting on his hardships.

            Ayaka was somewhat shocked. "I would never have imagined, everything you've endured." She thought on it a breath longer, then nodded. "It is very admirable you have overcome so much, to become the person you are now. You ... you are an inspiration, ... I can only hope to be like you one day."

            Enzen laughed. "You praise me too much. You needn't look to anyone else's example. I for one know you can overcome anything." He looked at her carefully. "But you must face your fears, Denka. Otherwise they'll follow you like a pack of wolves. Never stop going forward on this journey. I know you'll find the sun's blessing again, and better."

            Ayaka nodded, masking her doubt. She wanted to believe, but felt it was impossible for her. Hoping, she listened to the lulling melody of the rain.

            "Now I must be on my way, Denka," Enzen said. "But before I go, could you promise me, that regardless of the difficulties, you won't ever give up?"

            Although she did not quite believe in herself, she could not find it in her to deny the old, amiable yoku priest. Thus she forced herself to bow. "I promise it."

            Despite the rain, Enzen gave a bright smile. "You are also an inspiration, Denka, and more important than you know."

            It felt like too high praise, nevertheless, Ayaka nodded, and thanked him.

            Enzen sighed. "Now I bid you farewell, Denka Soranoyume. It's been an honor to share your company this fine evening."

            Ayaka bid him farewell. Perhaps it was true, that she should go on living regardless of how she felt, or what was to come. She remembered the glimmer of hope she had seen in the sakura. Though the flowers were gone now, she held onto this hope now. She believed she must hold onto it always.

            Enzen was already nearing the far side of the bridge when Ayaka called to him. He stopped and looked at her through the rain.

            "I will try to find it," she said with what conviction she could muster. "I will try to find the source of the Seishin-yodo."

            Enzen nodded, and smiled. "I always believed in you, and I always will"

            "Thank you." Ayaka bowed. If you believe in me, master Enzen, then I will try to believe in myself.

            The old yoku priest turned to wave a last time, then faded into the twilight misted rain. She never saw him again.

            In the first days of October, the month of falling leaves, Kage-waru and his army approached the Ko-joryoku Mountains, continuing their onerous march to the pass of Saigo no Teiko. During this time droves of refugees from Eruku entered the Jade Gates, as if fleeing from a titan crushing the earth.

            Ayaka was slightly heartened by reports. All the allied remnants had positioned themselves on the high ground of Saigo no Teiko's western opening. Under the command of Masuro, they vowed victory. And while waiting for reinforcements, Okata's archers and Shenobi's sword-rangers were doing their best to make hell for the Eastern host, slowing them by harrying their advance through the forests of the Ko-joryoku.

            A vast army under the crimson banners of the Kyojin Phoenix mustered in Shenobi by the middle of the first week of the month. The day of their sending off  was overcast, the autumn air nipping. Thousands of people lined Hanibara street. Ayaka stood on the edge of Danketsu Square, with other daiymo, to bare witness. She didn't even want to think about the looming battle, but the departure of Shenobi's army was too monumental an event to miss. Not a single division would be held in reserve. It was a staggering sight. Numbering almost eighty thousand, it was the greatest force the Southern capital had mobilized in nearly a millennium, sine the gaijin barbarians from the empire of Rodan had tried to cross the sea and invade Isodoro.

            Lord Kodai-Otosan wanted the populace to see the strength that protected them; thus he had the troops form ranks starting at Danketsu Square, at the golden doors of Tengokundoa Temple. The echelons of armored warriors and horses shone in fierce crimson under the grey sky. They bore an iron forest of long-bladed spears; proud red standards, large and small, swished in the intermittent breeze. Saddled atop a massive tysuoi chestnut steed at the vanguard, and wearing a menacing kabuto helmet, was Hidetsugu, readying to lead them.

            Among the crowds hope was rekindled. Yet Ayaka saw fear also; despite their brave demeanors, many warriors could not conceal it. Thousands of young men with minimal training, who had never tasted combat, had been called upon to join the ranks of ashigaru. Their families had had to let them go. Such was the need for this decisive battle.

            From a palace balcony overlooking the square, Lord Kodai-Otosan declared Shenobi would meet Fumei-noyorou's challenge. A roaring wave of shouts ascended, followed by a series of horn blasts that flew into the grey sky. Hidetsugu pointed his long-sword forward, and the ranks set into motion. It was glorious to behold, but it made Ayaka feel sick her spirit. All their lives are at stake. What will become of them? Their families? What manner of horrible world is this?

            Weaving among the daiymo crowds, Midori found Ayaka.

            "I have come to say goodbye,” her cousin said.

            “What? Where are you going?”

            "To Ao-kuraudo," Midori answered.

            "Why?"

            "Akihiro asked me to go. Our families have finally arranged the marriage."

            "Oh, that is wonderful. Congratulations, Midori-san." Ayaka bowed. "When are you going to leave?"

            "Within the hour. Riders are waiting outside the city to escort me. I would have left already but I wanted to see you. I went to the inn first, and bid farewell to Nori and Haru-chan."

            "I see." Ayaka had difficulty responding. She didn't want her cousin and dear friend to leave. Looking back now, she realized that Midori had been a pillar that helped keep the weight of grief from crushing her. But Ayaka had to think of what was best for her cousin.

            "It's a good decision," she said to Midori. "The Shogun won't attack Ao-kuraoudo. It's too far north. What more, you must go and be with him."

            "Thank you. But please, I want you to know that I'm not running away. I was confused about the timing of this. I thought I should stay in Shenobi." Midori pondered for a lapse, her expression grave. "It took me a long time. I made up my mind just last night. It is not just to be with Akihiro. I decided I should go to Ao-kuraoudo now, because through our marriage, I may be able to help the South. Here I'm helpless, but there, ... Together we can convince his father to help the South." Midori was looking into Ayaka's eyes. "The truth is, while there is still life in me, I swear I shall do everything I can to save the South."

            Ayaka was surprised how much her cousin had changed over the past year. Once Midori had been primarily concerned with finery, and the light pastimes of courtly life. Much of that person had been destroyed, and through anguish for her people, been remade, stronger, with inexorable purpose.

            "I know," Ayaka said. "Then you must go, for the alliance, ... and because love is hard to find, ... and harder to keep."

            "Aya-chan." Midori's eyes reflected an understanding for Ayaka's loss. On the verge of tears, Midori said, "You should come too. You, Akemi, Nori, and Haru-chan. I don't know if it's safe here. I'm afraid maybe we've all fooled ourselves into thinking this home we share is unassailable, everlasting even. Beautiful as it it's been, that was a dream we were living."

            "I have to trust Shenobi is strong enough," Ayaka said. "But if the battle goes ill, I will go north, and find you in Ao-kuraoudo."

            "Wherever I see you again, whenever, I will always be very happy." Midori held Ayaka's hands in hers.

            "What about Akemi?" Ayaka asked.

            “She’s very distraught. Please watch over her. Everything that’s happening, it's too much for her. She needs to be comforted. I think we all do.”

            “I will look out for her," Ayaka promised. "You're both like sisters to me. You always will be."

            "Always." Midori smiled. "I wish I could stay longer, but I have to hurry. We have to reach Oduwara. The roads are not safe after dark." She hugged Ayaka. "I'm going to miss you. I must see you again. Promise me?"

            Ayaka nodded. "I promise."

            With tears in their eyes, they bid each other farewell. Midori turned a final time and waved, and then she was gone, lost in the currents of people.

            Alone, Ayaka beheld the great Kyjoin Phoenix army march in timed, ponderous rhythm down Hanibara Street. There was nothing showy about the sending off, no raucous cheering or ceremony. It reminded her of a funeral. These were an embattled people, even the haughtiest daiymo, all had lost brethren. Nevertheless everyone claimed, and firmly attested to believe they would win at Saigo no teiko. There could be no doubt. The power of the legendary Phoenix had woken and went with them, as did Heaven's favor. 

            Ayaka perceived a more uncertain story unfolding in peoples' eyes however.            

            She prayed to Izagami-no-Okami - great creator kami - and Amaterasu Omikami, and all the gods and everything high and sacred, to grant Shenobi victory.

 

 

 

Author's Note

Reviews

[C. Rose]

https://diigo.com/0733xz

Green is for things I liked.
Blue is for everything else.

I like the month of pattern.
I don't like the clusters of telling and POV shifts.

Consider including more of Ayaka's view. Show her interactions with the refugees and develop how she helps with supplies.

My personal way of dealing with telling has three steps:
1. Is it important for the reader to know?
- If no, delete it
2. Is it possible to show through dialogue or visuals?
3. Is it important for the reader to know right now?
Clusters of telling or "info dumping" slow down the story. Spreading out telling lets you keep the information without burdening the reader.

[Kuandio]

I have to bow down to you yet again. Going through with the diigo makes the review so much more helpful. I think this may be the most in depth review you've given me so far. Most things you pointed out I definitely agree with.

My main worry about this chap is that it is a year long and I need to recount a lot of things in a condensed amount of pages. I think these are pretty major events that are unfolding, so they need to be included at least briefly. I could go with more dialogue, and I will, but I think I will try to intertwine events more closely with Ayaka, to give it an almost memoir like feeling (what do you think?)

One of the styles I've been trying to achieve in my stories, which I'm mostly failing to do, is to give it a little bit of a storytelling feel like a myth being recounted

I was just wondering, that although the pov gets ambiguous at times, is the main qualm you have with this simply that it happens, as in how-to books say it shouldn't? Or is that it really throws you out of the scene? I've been trying to stick to one pov in most chapters, but I don't know if the rule needs to be applied constantly everywhere. I've read a few authors recently who get loose with pov at times, but if the way I'm doing it is not working, well then, it's not working. I guess the same would go for some parts where there is telling rather than showing

some of the paragraphs you highlighted in green I realize that I need to change, because they are kind of relentless in their present continuous tense

Overall, I am very, very thankful and happy with your review

[C. Rose]

Good idea. Intertwining events more closely with Ayaka can solve a lot and will reduce telling.
read moreGood idea. Intertwining events more closely with Ayaka can solve a lot and will reduce telling.

You say you've been going for a 'myth' feeling. I've been getting a dreaming feeling that flits between peace and anxiety, love and devastation - what with Ayaka's reflections and attention to beauty/nature - in addition to her dreams. I do remember the play from early on, and had been thinking it would be relevant, but so far it hasn't applied.

I don't have a personal problem with POV shifts. I was just referencing the "rules", but since it is an intentional choice I'll drop it. It probably only distracted me because I was in editor mode.

Glad to hear I helped :D