The Dragon's Flower

by Wyn Estelle Owens

  “Kill him.” Katsumi snapped.

  Shichiro considered himself to be a fair man, and give credit where credit was due. And, in the spirit of honor, Katsumi’s samurai did try, rather hard in fact.

  He danced among them, the rhythms of the fight as familiar to him as the steps of the fan dance his Mother had danced under the cherry trees in spring. Shichiro ducked under the blade of one samurai, only to cut the legs out from underneath his companion. A third tried to bring a blade down on Shichiro’s head, but Shichiro was already gone, and three more men lay dead on the field.

  Shichiro dealt death to the left and the right, weaving around their blades and cutting them down as he forged a path to where Katsumi stood in front of her palanquin. She had stepped out and drawn herself up like the royalty she was, her chin tilted up at a haughty angle as she held her fan up to her face, only revealing the malicious gleam of her eyes peeking over its edge.

  There.

  Once she was dead, all would be well. Shichiro knew it deep in his gut, and he had no intention of letting this chance slip through his fingers.

  One poor samurai saw the threat to his Lady and darted in front of the ronin, intent on stopping him from harming his precious mistress. His katana swung forewarned in a glittering arc, but Shichiro dodged to the side, spun, and swung his sword in an arc of his own—and the samurai’s head fell to the floor.

  Shichiro was already leaping towards Katsumi, his katana arcing towards the princess, bringing death in its wake. Just one moment, then Hanako would be safe, Daisuke would be safe, the Seven Realms would be safe—

  Katsumi gracefully bowed out of the way, her moves fluid and supple as a ninja.

  Time and time again as he had trained, Shichiro had been warned not to commit over-much to any one single strike, but he had forgotten. He was not expecting his strike to be dodged, and when his sword swung forward without any resistance, he stumbled forward, falling to one knee. He looked up the next moment, seeking his enemy, but he only caught a glimpse of her scarlet kimono before a shimmer of black material and white roses darted across his vision and—

  Pain.

  Pain and blackness.

  He dropped his sword and fell forward, hands darting to his face, trying to wipe the blood away from his vision—but he pawed and swiped at his face again and again and again and the darkness would not go away.

  His ears were roaring, and he could barely hear anything over the pain. Where was Katsumi? He couldn’t let her get away—but he was—he was—

  Her voice, high and cool and mocking, filtered through his senses, carried by her trilling laugh. “The great samurai Nishimura Shichiro—the genius swordsmaster, the greatest warrior of our generation, crawling at my feet like a worm in the mud. How far the mighty has fallen.”

  Shichiro stumbled to his feet, spinning around drunkenly, his mind screaming in pain, trying to find the source of the voice.

  “I almost wonder if I should spare your miserable life… you’re certainly entertaining enough at the moment,” Katsumi said, and laughed again. “But I suppose that would be cruel of me. After all, when a horse breaks its leg, it loses all its purpose and you put it down. I suppose the same principles should be applied to a blind ronin, don’t you agree?”

  Blind. No, no it can’t be as he feared—his fingers flew to his face, probing and prying, No no no no no no no, but all he found was blood and pain and he couldn’t open his eyes—

  “Ikesugi! Come and put the useless ronin out of his misery!” Katsumi called and Shichiro couldn’t say anything because she was right. He lost his sight, and without his sight, how could he wield a sword? There would be no one to protect Hanako, and his one dear possession, his budo, was lost to him… he was truly, utterly inescapably useless.

  “You will do no such thing.”

  The voice was not loud. It was calm and quiet but stern, but somehow everyone on the battlefield (in the clearing? Does it actually count as a battlefield?) heard it. Katsumi spun around to snarl at the arrogant upstart that dared to speak to her in such a fashion, but stopped and staggered back, startled.

  She was looking at an incredibly tall woman, in a silver-grey formal kimono decorated with white feathers, her long black hair adorning her head, and a nearly impossibly beautiful face. She fixed her gaze (and it was deep, deep gaze, that made Katsumi feel as if she were drowning in it) and repeated, in that same quiet, stern, and strangely carrying tone. “You will do no such thing.”

  Katsumi glared at her vassals, but they were all staring at the strange woman (where had she come from?), and none of them even moved a step towards the pathetic husk of a ronin. “Fine.” Katsumi hissed. “I’ll kill him myself, though it won’t be as satisfying as claiming his head.” She withdrew her bloodied tessen from her obi and stalked towards the man, nose crinkling in disgust. She hated to dirty her hands if she could avoid it… but her father had always told her the best jobs were always done by oneself. Removing this wretched thorn from her flesh was certainly deserving of a job done well.

  “Tsudzuri Katsumi, do not take another step.” The woman said, using Katsumi’s near-forgotten maiden name. Katsumi froze, against her will. Some part of her mind was screaming at her, that this strange woman was dangerous, and Katsumi did not dare to cross her.

  “Who are you?” She snarled.

  The woman laughed, gently. “I have many names, Tsudzuri-ojou-san. But the one you are most familiar with would likely be Momoe Chiyo.”

  All the breath froze in Katsumi’s lungs. Momoe Chiyo, the eldest of the Celestial Guardians, who is said to have helped found Karigane, the first realm of the Seven. The mother of the Six, and the wife of Tamotsu Eiji, the Imperial Dragon. “If that is true, Momoe Chiyo-dono, then why are you here? I am a pious follower of the Heavenly Emperor—you should have no quarrel with me.”

  “There is more to following and to piety, mortal child,” Momoe Chiyo said, and she had drawn closer, so close that she was directly behind Katsumi, but she did not, could not, turn around to see. “Than donating gold and offering incense at the festivals. And I assure you that the Heavenly Emperor is not so indecisive as to be swayed from his wrath by small token honors such as a name. And do not think I am so ignorant as to not recognize the stench of serpent upon you.”

  Momoe Chiyo passed Katsumi, her stride calm, gliding, and unhurried. Katsumi valiantly managed to move her suddenly leaden tongue and asked, “Then why are you here, Guardian?”

  Momoe Chiyo stopped, and turned slightly to face Katsumi, her deep eyes glimmering and her mouth smiling in faint amusement. “The world does not revolve around you, Tsudzuri-oujo-san, despite how much you might think it does. Be simply glad I have been told to offer you mercy and one more chance. Some are not so lucky. Now go, and take your men with you. Leave my sight.”

  Katsumi found herself stepping back, once, twice, before she turned and walked out of there as fast as she could, her samurai meekly falling in behind her.

  Momoe Chiyo paid them no mind.

  *****

  Shichiro had fallen to the ground, clawing fiercely at his face, hoping that a sliver of light would break through if he merely clawed deeply enough. Suddenly, a gentle, firm grip snatched ahold of both his wrists.

  “I’m afraid I must ask you to desist, Shichiro-kun.” A voice said—the same voice that had spoken earlier, but he had barely heard it then. Now his attention was as focused as it could be—pain pain pain and darkness—and he could focus on it. It was low, lower than woman’s wont, and gentle and warm, and it thrummed strangely with power.

  “Why…” he gasped, and he felt those gently hands carefully pull him up until he was seated before her. The fingers danced over his face, skimming the stinging marks that he had inflicted upon himself, and sighed gently.

  “Because I have been told to. And because you needed help.” The woman said. “I can fix these scratches, with no difficulty whatsoever. However, the eyes…”

  NO, please, no, you don�
�t know what you are saying---

  “I am sorry, Shichiro-kun. I have not the power to fix that which is completely destroyed.”

  Shcihiro felt his world crack and break into pieces. He sat there, still and silent, as the lady gently washed his face and smoothed a cream over the scratches and cuts, and he felt her carefully binding fabric (bandages, perhaps? He wondered) around Shichiro’s useless eyes.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his voice raw and sore as it left his lips in a mere whisper.

  There was a pause, then the woman said, “Who do you think I am, Shichiro-kun?”

  The gentle hands took his own and assisted him carefully to his feet, with such gentleness as he had not known since he was a child. And with that, he knew the answer. “You’re a Mother.”

  He felt the hands against his cheeks, pulling his head downward slightly, and then a soft brush against his forehead. “Yes. I am indeed Mother to many. Now I have a question for you, child—what will you do now?”

  He froze, dread washing over him. What was he supposed to say? He… he had hoped, that thanks to his skill, he would be able to return to Hanako. That they would journey together to Nagisa, and live in peace in the house of his brother. Hanako… wait, Hanako!

  “Do you—do you know where my wife is?” He gasped, Shichiro’s hands reaching out blindly in search of her own.

  Long, thin fingers, warm and soft (not as nice as Hanako’s, not so small or cool), caught his scrambling hands and held them gently. “Do not fret, mortal child, for all is quite well. Your wife is quite safe. My son is guarding her and spiriting Hanako away from this place. They are awaiting your return so you three may go down to Nagisa together so she may prepare to take her rightful place on the Imperial Throne.”

  A faint trickle of joy slipped in between the clouds of pain and worthlessness and hate, and he felt his heart began to beat faster, just for a moment. Hanako was kind and loving and full of life and mercy—she would make an excellent empress, and everyone would love her, and he would be by her side to protec—

  And his heart fell into a lake of ice and froze.

  “Shichiro-kun?” The Mother’s voice prompted gently.

  He couldn’t stand by her, he couldn’t protect her. He would only drag her down, for he was a useless hollow copy of the samurai prince she had wed. How was he supposed to wield a sword in her defense with any eyes?

  His presence would only destroy her—he should have known better. He was cursed, after all. He’d known it since he saw his mother fall to the ground with the front of her pale pink kimono stained dark. If Shichiro went away now, if he left her alone, she might have a chance of reaching the heights of glory belonging to her.

  He didn’t want to feel the blood of one more woman clinging to his hands.

  “What will you do, Shichiro-kun?” The Mother asked again.

  “I..” He tried to say, and his voice almost failed him as a result from the screaming war in his mind. As dearly as he did not wish to bring her harm, some part of his violently protested leaving Hanako behind. But… it was for the best. For Hanako, her life, her happiness.

  “I am going to go away.” Shichiro said. “As I should have done ages ago, before I had a chance to spread my curse on her. I was… foolish.”

  “How so?” The Mother asked. Her voice was calm, not judging or sympathetic, merely placid.

  “I should have known better.’ Shichiro said. “I should have known that she is… too high for me to risk her life. I am only a ronin, after all. Nothing more than a wanderer.” Nothing more than a curse. Nothing more than a blind man, he thought, but he didn’t dare say the words out loud, not yet. Maybe not ever.

  The Mother sighed, gently, and she said, “It is not my place to advise you for or against any course of action at the moment, Shichiro-kun. I merely say that others would disagree with your assessment.”

  Shichiro heartily disagreed, but he knew better than to contradict such a high and noble lady as the Mother evidently was.

  “For now, I can only give you two things. First,” And he felt something press into his fingers, which rolled into his palm and settled there with a comfortable weight. When he pulled his fingers closed over it, he heard the unmistakable clinking of coin, and nearly gasped in shock. Before he could think of protesting or trying to hand it back, the lady spoke again. “And secondly, I give you my blessing. May the Heavenly Wander guide your paths, and the Eight Guardians protect your footsteps. And…” There was a little pause, and he felt the Mother’s hands on his cheeks again, and then the warmth of her breath and the gentle press of her lips as she kissed each place where Shichiro had once had eyes. “May you find a light in the Darkness.”

  There was a sudden, rushing surge of warmth surrounding him, and there was a brush of something across his face and shoulders and down his arm, like soft feathers skimming against him, but when he reached out in curiosity, he found he was alone.

  *****

  They stopped for the night some miles down the river, in a nice cave that overlooked the river rushing below. Akashi Keiji had thoughtfully provided her with a thick haori against the damp chill, and she curled up against the warmth of his giant form, cocooned in the fuzz of fur from his side and tail. He in turn had curled around her protectively, and did not sleep, keeping watch throughout the night.

  When the sun rose high enough to shine into the mouth of the cave, the Fox roused her cautiously, before changing back into the form of a man and presenting her with a bento. Hanako had no idea where he had managed to procure such an item, but he was a Celestial, so she was confident he hadn’t stolen it.

  When the sun rose high enough to shine into the mouth of the cave, the Fox roused her cautiously. Hanako stirred sleepily and sat up, still clutching the over-large haori she had used as a blanket about her.

  “Did you sleep well, little empress?” Akashi Keiji asked, and Hanako blinked owlishly at him, surprised to find a man in the place of a fox. Immediately she scolded herself for her surprise, this apparently random switching between forms would have to be something Hanako would have to get used to. It was certainly not polite to be taken aback all the time at the appearance of her guide.

  “Ah, yes, thank you,” Hanako said with a small, thankful bow. “It was much more pleasant than I anticipated.”

  The Clever One nodded, and then presented her with a bento. “My mother made this for you, with her compliments.”

  “Oh!” Hanako gasped, her eyes wide and shocked. “Oh, thank her very much for me.” No one had ever done something for her like that before, not even Shichiro. It made the area around her heart swirl pleasantly, and she accepted the boxed meal eagerly. And that was when her errant mind caught up to her.

  “Akashi Keiji-sama, when you said mother, did you mean Momoe Chiyo-sama?”

  The man—who was now a fox again—smirked and stretched out on the ground, settling his chin on his paws. “Well, it’s not like I have another mother. Who did you think I was referring to?”

  She flushed, embarrassed, but at the sight the fox slid to his feet and sauntered over, batting her foot with one paw. “Now, now, little empress. It was just a bit of teasing, I meant nothing by it.”

  “Oh.” Hanako said, and bit her lip. How strange people were outside her pagoda! Then she realized that perhaps she was being a tad unfair, for this was the only person (besides her husband) from outside her pagoda that she had yet met, and he was a Celestial, so he was expected to be a little odd, she supposed. It’s not like she could expect a near-divine entity to be very much like Hanako and her fellow mortals.

  The Fox sighed, rolled his eyes, and batted her foot again. “I see we have a lot to work on.” He said, but this time, Hanako listened to his voice, carefully and with all her intent, and she heard only gentle affection in his tone. It was very similar to the way Mother used to speak to her, but… deeper. Truer.

  Like Shichiro’s smile, she realized in a moment of brilliant epiphany, and she beamed happily at
that discovery. This Fox, this Celestial, truly cared for her. With that realized, she set the bento down on the floor of the cave and met the Clever One’s eyes.

  “Akashi Keiji-dono,” She said, slowly and carefully, toeing carefully the line of her boldness. Akashi Keiji flicked his magnificent tail curiously at the sudden change of address—the term used by a noble to their equal, instead of the humble honorific sama she had been using earlier.

  “Yes, little empress?” he said.

  “Akashi Keiji-dono,” she repeated, and decided she very much liked the sound, “Would you like to be my friend? I have only one, but I would be thrice honored to add you to the number.”

  The Fox watched her with his bright, golden, glittering eyes, and then suddenly he was a man again. Hanako happily congratulated herself at how she did not even flinch at the sudden change, but her eyes did widen when he bowed before her—a polite bow, a bow between equals.

  “It would be my very great delight, Nishimura Hanako-dono, to account you amongst my friends as well.”

  With a pleased smile, Hanako returned his bow, and thought giddily about how she now had two friends. Being outside the pagoda was far more wonderful than she had ever dreamt it might be.

  With that, Hanako ate the bento provided, and tried to convince her friend to share with her, but he refuse, saying that Celestial Spirits did not have the same needs as mortals. It was just as well, Hanako thought (shoving down the fain tendrils of guilt slithering through her heart), for they happened to be very good rice balls.

  It was only after they were done eating that Akashi Keiji sat down in front of her in the formal style, hands in his lap and his eyes oddly hooded and serious. “I have news, imparted to me by my celestial Mother when she delivered the bento.”

  “Oh?” Hanako asked politely, but her heart clenched within her breast (or should I use the word bosom? Or chest? I am unsure). She knew the language of faces far better than that of the tongue, and gathered foreboding from every line of his face.

  “It concerns your honorable husband, Hanako-hime, the ronin known as Nishimura Shichiro.”