Chapter 4
Early Summer, 1236 - Second City
Summer court was fast approaching, and already the days were looking to become a long, hot misery. Mushari had warned her, had done everything he could to assist. He had taken her ‘calling’ on his friends throughout the high houses in the city. He slowly introduced her to new foods such as lentils and mangoes, discussing each and helping tame her reactions. He warned her of the heat, and gave her hints on how to keep her composure in such wilting temperatures.
But some things he could do nothing about. He could not change the way many of the other samurai of Second City smelled. He assured her it was simply because they lacked soy and therefore consumed more red meat, garlic, and cumin in their foods than the samurai of the Crane Clan. But the stench of grease and death was pervasive about them, and it was an exercise in discipline and courtesy to keep all trace of it from her features. She was rather proud of her ability to hide it.
The other thing he could not change was the way the young men looked at her. The shorter, lightweight kimono that seemed to reveal the lines of her body far too immodestly, the deep cut neckline, these were bad enough. But they were shared by all in the court. It wasn’t until Arahime finally could no longer avoid Seiho and his offer to escort her into the city that she found out why.
The streets of the city were crowded and the heat was oppressive even in the early evening. The Military District, hardened stone and tall buildings made an impressive wall around the central Imperial area. Seiho led Arahime and a half-dozen ‘friends’ and hangers-on through the Imperial District. He pointed out the various buildings, describing to her the history of city. Here where the ruins of Fuan-ti’s tower had been before the deadly monsoon season of 1213, there the Great Baths. The young man had an unending supply of gossip, much of it salacious, and was eager to share it. There were several in her own clan back at the Academy who indulged in such, though Arahime’s mother always warned her that, for gossip, it is best to hear and never listen. Little truths are rarely found there. Arahime merely nodded along politely.
The Military District was cramped and oppressive, ornamented primarily with colorful banners. Arahime could see that having the bushi of many clans in such a small area could swiftly lead to fights. On the other hand, there was much to encourage the sharing of different fighting styles. In one tight courtyard, the duelist watched as a Crab bushi instructed a group of rinjin in a technique performed with polearm with a U shaped hook at the end.
Arahime had grown up sheltered, perhaps, but every year the students of the Kakita Academy came to watch the melee and dueling in the Topaz Championship, and every other contest that the Crane could arrange. After each event, the students were tested extensively on their observations of the fighting styles of all the clans present, and Arahime had been a quick study on the subject. She could see traces of the styles of other clans, especially of Spider and Mantis, but the styles were rapidly merging towards something new. Something that drew from all of them. Perhaps determining what that was, and countering it, would be a distraction during the heat of Summer Court.
Seiho saw her interest and smiled. “Perhaps we will spar later, you and I? I have long heard of the artistry of the Kakita techniques. Of course, here we must be plain. Brutal even. We actually fight, you see. But do not worry…if we spar, I will be careful not to damage such loveliness.”
A chorus of titters from behind them as some of Seiho’s companions found the comment humorous. One of the Arashi’s companions, a lean, muscular man a few years older than him, gave a low chuckle. “So, Seiho-sama. I heard the Crane have a word for the second strike in a fight.” He paused dramatically for a moment, and continued in a fake, high-pitched voice, “‘Please don’t hit me again!’ I wonder if that is true.“
Seiho shot his companion a glare. “Parushi-san. You should apologize. That was rude of you to say to our lovely guest from the Crane.”
Arahime’s hand drifted down to the comfortable weight of her blade in her saya as she struggled to keep her face composed. Her gray eyes glittered, but she held her tongue.
The man known as Parushi bowed deeply to Arahime. “My apologies, Kakita-san. I am but a simple rinjin. I could not possibly know any better.”
The Crane kept her eyes fixed ahead of her, pushing down her anger and ignoring both him and his apology.
Arashi Seiho smiled. “Our ways here are surely less refined than you are used to. Thank you for being so forgiving, Arahime-san.” He led the way on towards the Temple district.
Arahime silently fumed.
The Temple District, in many ways, resembled her mother’s home in Otosan Uchi. The streets here, as everywhere else in the city, were crowded, but it smelled less badly than other areas of the city due to the heavy fragrance of incense in the air. Considerable damage had been done to this district recently, and large buildings had become nothing but piles of broken stone. Narrow roads were cut through the rubble as passage through the district.
Lining every road that had been cut between the blocks of stone, there were shrines. Some were very minimalist, a pile of stacked rocks and nothing more. Some clearly honored Fortunes that Arahime knew from Otosan Uchi or Kuyden Kakita. But many had statues that she did not recognize. In Rokugan, shrines would be decorated with a small arrangement of blossoms, a small bowl with a rice ball, or strips of red paper and incense. Here, all were decorated with brightly colored wreaths of paper flowers, great bowls of tropical fruit, and cards and tokens in every color, in gold and silver beside. Each shrine seemed to shout for more attention than the next. Both the round-eyed Ivinda and Rokugani tended the shrines around them.
As they walked, Seiho explained that six years before, a shugenja explorer had ventured westward into the lost cities in search of sacred artifacts, either for himself or for some more noble purpose. He found an artifact, a simple, smooth brown stone with some sort of light within. The shugenja brought it back to the Temple District and there tried to break it open. In so doing, he triggered an earthquake that destroyed most of the district and killed dozens. Since then, independent exploration had stopped. The Warlord permitted no more expeditions into the western jungles. Future development was occurring only in the east, where there were fewer threats and less risk of unleashing some hidden horrors. The search for artifacts of the Ivinda had ended. Arahime found that position perfectly reasonable, considering the extent of the damage.
Seiho was eager for her to see the remaining districts with him. Despite his condescension about her fighting prowess, the Arashi seemed to be working hard at being charming and genteel. But the space between Arahime’s shoulder blades continued to itch when she was around him. She fought to repress her irritation. You’re just upset about Harun still, girl. You need to put that aside. Harun has every right to make a life of his own; you don’t need to hang on him like an moon-addled doe. You must accept this moment as the Fortunes will it to be.
But the itch between her shoulder blades didn’t go away.
The next day, Arahime found herself again touring the city with Arashi Seiho in the last few hot evenings before Summer Court. She noticed that his friend Parushi was no longer present. But Seiho’s retinue only grew, and she found herself the center of attention amongst fifteen young men and women, lesser stars circling the court of Second City’s moon.
And with them, their ‘compliments’.
“We are glad you could join us…we were concerned that you exhausted yourself last time,” one, a rugged type who might have been a Crab twenty years ago, but now with the name Arashi Huriko, offered.
Arahime’s eyes narrowed slightly. I can play this game if I must. They’re children. “Oh, Huriko-san. If you found yesterday exhausting, you should have said something. We could have stopped earlier.”
Another…a Tenmei, smiled warmly at her while fanning herself. “That kimono is just lovely. I’m certain my grandmother would have approved of it…”
Arahime wished she had a fan but retorted sharply, “Your grandmother must be a woman of great talent and dignity, bringing honor to her family. It is for us to endeavor to do the same.”
Seiho smiled, and touching her elbow to lead her away from the group. She flinched at the unexpected and uninvited touch. “They are just jealous, Kakita-san,” the Arashi offered with smooth flattery, pretending to ignore what he had done. “We should leave if we are going to be able to see an offering in the Artisan District this evening.”
The Merchant District had less stone than the Military District, perhaps a little less oppressive without the tall buildings leaning over the streets. But it was far more noisy, crowded, and full of life and color. The older sensei had told her of the days before the war, when the streets around Tsuma village were crowded with merchants eager to sell their wares. The years before the rationing and the travel restrictions and the gaijin pepper. During her own Topaz Championship, there were a full seven merchants in the busy village, including one from the Unicorn lands who brought a few, very restricted and approved, gaijin goods to offer. The throng of merchants of every land and language was overwhelming, the list of goods they offered at least equally so.
Arahime could not permit Seiho or his retinue to see her wide-eyed naiveté.
The merchants of the district carried a wide range of goods, and at least a third of which look nothing like the items she would find in Rokugan. Intricately carved wooden screens and pierced brasswork were offered side by side with fine pottery and wall scrolls fit for any Rokugani kamidana shrine. There was a style of carved stonework that she liked in a pale cream and green stone, and Arahime picked up a piece, an intricately nested set of spheres one inside the other. As she looked down she felt a presence behind her, felt the pressure of a man standing so closely at her back she could feel him leaning against her. She was trapped against the table. Seiho reached around her and took the stone sphere away, leaning in close, then straightening to look at the choice approvingly. “Shall I buy it for you? I can tell you want it.”
At the Academy, I would duel him for that. But at the Academy, he would not /dare/. Arahime sidestepped to get out of his reach and straightened to look at him coldly. “Please stop,” she said simply.
But Seiho just smiled and tossed the sphere from one hand to the other with casual ease. “Stop what? Is something the matter, Arahime-san? If so, I apologize. The ways of the rinjin are different than the ways of Rokugan, especially the ways of the cultured Crane. We never know when we might accidentally hold our teacups incorrectly or forget to fasten our geta ‘just so’.”
One of his hangers-on, a sharp-eyed Nobumoto girl, laughed aloud. “She is blushing. Do you see? She actually turned pink. Seiho-sama…how fortunate you are. Look at that beautiful, pale complexion. Such a treasure. How boring we must all look in comparison.”
I cannot call a duel here. Not for this. She exhaled slowly out her nose. “Such…closeness…is not the way of the Crane, Seiho-sama.” she answered stiffly.
Seiho’s smile broadened. “Another reason to love Zogeku, then.”
They reached the Artisan’s District just after sunset. Brightly colored lanterns hung across the streets, and in front of the geisha houses and theaters. The lights gave the whole area the feeling of a festival, like New Years when the dancers would stage their performances at the Academy and all would turn out to see them. Despite her previous fury, Arahime allowed herself a little seed of excitement at the idea of seeing a play. It was a common occurrence at her home, and the timeless stories, great heroes and villains, songs of tragedy and courage and sacrifice all spoke to her. Their plots had been the background of her childhood, even though her mother said she never watched the plays themselves.
The buildings in the Artisans’ District were of better construction and finer make than those of the Merchants’ district, as though they were built to weather the storms of time better than the Merchant District counterparts. Some of the buildings had shops; Arahime was drawn to a humble-looking shop named the Flowers of the Colonies, its beautiful, exotic ikebana modestly displayed.
“So…ikebana.” A yawn from another of the Arashi¬. “I’ve heard how much the Crane care for such things. You must be an expert. You must teach me all about it some time.”
“I’ll have to see if I can find the time,” the Crane snapped back tartly.
The theater Seiho sought out was decorated in a very non-Rokgani fashion, built of solid stone, the stonework itself painted in many bright colors. A number of people were entering, and Arahime caught odd expressions being thrown her way as they passed. Seiho, for his part, seemed confident and pleased, again, with a light touch, taking her arm and steering her into the darkened building. The others gathered around, making sure to leave the young woman space to sit only next to the grandson of the Warlord. She sat.
The lanterns on the stage were lit, the music of many instruments began, and the play started.
The form of a tall woman, pale with dramatic geisha-style kabuki paint, and adorned with a carefully styled wig of white hair, stepped out onto the stage. She was dressed in multiple layers of blue kimono and exotic hair ornaments. Blue scarves fluttered at the movement of unseen stagehands as she dramatically cried out to the Wrathful aspect of Suitengu, Fortune of the Oceans, that she must be conveyed across the seas to go to her Mantis lover or she would die of sorrow.
Another, dressed as the great Ocean Fortune in a costume of black, blue, and green with a coral crown, came out to answer her, telling her she would be taken to her Mantis lover if she did what she was bid by the three guardians of the sea that came to her.
The woman agreed.
Arahime looked away from the stage to see Seiho watching her. When he caught her eye he smiled and turned back to the stage, but Arahime could feel his hand slide closer to her. She stiffened.
An actor dressed as a shark emerged from the hinted waves, his shiny armor of scales glittering in the lantern light. The Shark spirit demanded that the woman release her hair and her hairpins and give them to him. The woman did so, letting her long, white hair down to flow around her.
Arahime could not help her thoughts from straying to the time she had to put her hair up, when the Emperor brought his son Kiseki to join the Academy, the same year as her brother Masarugi. All the girls were supposed to look extra special for the Emperor, so all had their hair done. Harun had laughed at the lacquer necessary to hold the hair in place and how terrible it looked when the pins were removed until it was cleaned properly.
She smiled at the memory. But then she felt a warmth at her side as Seiho had drawn closer to her, sitting right next to her in the crowded theater, his arm behind her. She pulled away as she could, but he just smirked.
An actor dressed as an Eel, wearing a smooth, shiny black silk kimono with jet hair, came from the waters. He demanded that the woman remove her kimonos as his price for taking her to her lover. He grabbed at her obi, taking the end of the obi in his teeth.
Arahime knew full well what that action in kabuki meant. She felt sick at what the convention implied. But looking around the theater, it was clear that the audience did not, instead simply enjoying the lurid and horrifying spectacle with no understanding of its significance.
The drums pounded out the music of tragedy as the woman shed the first layers of her kimono, leaving only the sheerest scarlet underkimono, trimmed with blue. It barely reached her knees.
Arahime could feel every eye in the theater turning at that moment to look at her intently, eager to see her response. How could I explain what this means…what they are showing? They can’t possibly understand this. She hardened her face against it, keeping a neutral expression.
Seiho slithered nearer.
The Eel receded into the blue waters, and the final guardian emerged from the depth. This guardian was not played by one actor, but two, both dressed in red, moving together. Guardian Octopus. The actor of the two that served as the Guardian’s voice declared that the woman’s lover was dead, lost at the bottom of the endless sea, and the will of the Octopus was to take her to him. The Octopus wrapped its arms around the woman and disappeared, taking her deep beneath the waves.
The theater erupted in cheers and applause. Arahime felt Seiho’s hand on her back. As she turned to look at him, pulling away again, he smiled broadly.
“What do you think, Arahime-chan? A fine performance, is it not?”
The question seemed innocent. But there was a coldness, a calculation, in the Arashi’s eyes as he looked at her.
He knows what it meant. He knows. He just doesn’t care.
Early Summer, 1236 - Second City
Summer court was fast approaching, and already the days were looking to become a long, hot misery. Mushari had warned her, had done everything he could to assist. He had taken her ‘calling’ on his friends throughout the high houses in the city. He slowly introduced her to new foods such as lentils and mangoes, discussing each and helping tame her reactions. He warned her of the heat, and gave her hints on how to keep her composure in such wilting temperatures.
But some things he could do nothing about. He could not change the way many of the other samurai of Second City smelled. He assured her it was simply because they lacked soy and therefore consumed more red meat, garlic, and cumin in their foods than the samurai of the Crane Clan. But the stench of grease and death was pervasive about them, and it was an exercise in discipline and courtesy to keep all trace of it from her features. She was rather proud of her ability to hide it.
The other thing he could not change was the way the young men looked at her. The shorter, lightweight kimono that seemed to reveal the lines of her body far too immodestly, the deep cut neckline, these were bad enough. But they were shared by all in the court. It wasn’t until Arahime finally could no longer avoid Seiho and his offer to escort her into the city that she found out why.
The streets of the city were crowded and the heat was oppressive even in the early evening. The Military District, hardened stone and tall buildings made an impressive wall around the central Imperial area. Seiho led Arahime and a half-dozen ‘friends’ and hangers-on through the Imperial District. He pointed out the various buildings, describing to her the history of city. Here where the ruins of Fuan-ti’s tower had been before the deadly monsoon season of 1213, there the Great Baths. The young man had an unending supply of gossip, much of it salacious, and was eager to share it. There were several in her own clan back at the Academy who indulged in such, though Arahime’s mother always warned her that, for gossip, it is best to hear and never listen. Little truths are rarely found there. Arahime merely nodded along politely.
The Military District was cramped and oppressive, ornamented primarily with colorful banners. Arahime could see that having the bushi of many clans in such a small area could swiftly lead to fights. On the other hand, there was much to encourage the sharing of different fighting styles. In one tight courtyard, the duelist watched as a Crab bushi instructed a group of rinjin in a technique performed with polearm with a U shaped hook at the end.
Arahime had grown up sheltered, perhaps, but every year the students of the Kakita Academy came to watch the melee and dueling in the Topaz Championship, and every other contest that the Crane could arrange. After each event, the students were tested extensively on their observations of the fighting styles of all the clans present, and Arahime had been a quick study on the subject. She could see traces of the styles of other clans, especially of Spider and Mantis, but the styles were rapidly merging towards something new. Something that drew from all of them. Perhaps determining what that was, and countering it, would be a distraction during the heat of Summer Court.
Seiho saw her interest and smiled. “Perhaps we will spar later, you and I? I have long heard of the artistry of the Kakita techniques. Of course, here we must be plain. Brutal even. We actually fight, you see. But do not worry…if we spar, I will be careful not to damage such loveliness.”
A chorus of titters from behind them as some of Seiho’s companions found the comment humorous. One of the Arashi’s companions, a lean, muscular man a few years older than him, gave a low chuckle. “So, Seiho-sama. I heard the Crane have a word for the second strike in a fight.” He paused dramatically for a moment, and continued in a fake, high-pitched voice, “‘Please don’t hit me again!’ I wonder if that is true.“
Seiho shot his companion a glare. “Parushi-san. You should apologize. That was rude of you to say to our lovely guest from the Crane.”
Arahime’s hand drifted down to the comfortable weight of her blade in her saya as she struggled to keep her face composed. Her gray eyes glittered, but she held her tongue.
The man known as Parushi bowed deeply to Arahime. “My apologies, Kakita-san. I am but a simple rinjin. I could not possibly know any better.”
The Crane kept her eyes fixed ahead of her, pushing down her anger and ignoring both him and his apology.
Arashi Seiho smiled. “Our ways here are surely less refined than you are used to. Thank you for being so forgiving, Arahime-san.” He led the way on towards the Temple district.
Arahime silently fumed.
The Temple District, in many ways, resembled her mother’s home in Otosan Uchi. The streets here, as everywhere else in the city, were crowded, but it smelled less badly than other areas of the city due to the heavy fragrance of incense in the air. Considerable damage had been done to this district recently, and large buildings had become nothing but piles of broken stone. Narrow roads were cut through the rubble as passage through the district.
Lining every road that had been cut between the blocks of stone, there were shrines. Some were very minimalist, a pile of stacked rocks and nothing more. Some clearly honored Fortunes that Arahime knew from Otosan Uchi or Kuyden Kakita. But many had statues that she did not recognize. In Rokugan, shrines would be decorated with a small arrangement of blossoms, a small bowl with a rice ball, or strips of red paper and incense. Here, all were decorated with brightly colored wreaths of paper flowers, great bowls of tropical fruit, and cards and tokens in every color, in gold and silver beside. Each shrine seemed to shout for more attention than the next. Both the round-eyed Ivinda and Rokugani tended the shrines around them.
As they walked, Seiho explained that six years before, a shugenja explorer had ventured westward into the lost cities in search of sacred artifacts, either for himself or for some more noble purpose. He found an artifact, a simple, smooth brown stone with some sort of light within. The shugenja brought it back to the Temple District and there tried to break it open. In so doing, he triggered an earthquake that destroyed most of the district and killed dozens. Since then, independent exploration had stopped. The Warlord permitted no more expeditions into the western jungles. Future development was occurring only in the east, where there were fewer threats and less risk of unleashing some hidden horrors. The search for artifacts of the Ivinda had ended. Arahime found that position perfectly reasonable, considering the extent of the damage.
Seiho was eager for her to see the remaining districts with him. Despite his condescension about her fighting prowess, the Arashi seemed to be working hard at being charming and genteel. But the space between Arahime’s shoulder blades continued to itch when she was around him. She fought to repress her irritation. You’re just upset about Harun still, girl. You need to put that aside. Harun has every right to make a life of his own; you don’t need to hang on him like an moon-addled doe. You must accept this moment as the Fortunes will it to be.
But the itch between her shoulder blades didn’t go away.
The next day, Arahime found herself again touring the city with Arashi Seiho in the last few hot evenings before Summer Court. She noticed that his friend Parushi was no longer present. But Seiho’s retinue only grew, and she found herself the center of attention amongst fifteen young men and women, lesser stars circling the court of Second City’s moon.
And with them, their ‘compliments’.
“We are glad you could join us…we were concerned that you exhausted yourself last time,” one, a rugged type who might have been a Crab twenty years ago, but now with the name Arashi Huriko, offered.
Arahime’s eyes narrowed slightly. I can play this game if I must. They’re children. “Oh, Huriko-san. If you found yesterday exhausting, you should have said something. We could have stopped earlier.”
Another…a Tenmei, smiled warmly at her while fanning herself. “That kimono is just lovely. I’m certain my grandmother would have approved of it…”
Arahime wished she had a fan but retorted sharply, “Your grandmother must be a woman of great talent and dignity, bringing honor to her family. It is for us to endeavor to do the same.”
Seiho smiled, and touching her elbow to lead her away from the group. She flinched at the unexpected and uninvited touch. “They are just jealous, Kakita-san,” the Arashi offered with smooth flattery, pretending to ignore what he had done. “We should leave if we are going to be able to see an offering in the Artisan District this evening.”
The Merchant District had less stone than the Military District, perhaps a little less oppressive without the tall buildings leaning over the streets. But it was far more noisy, crowded, and full of life and color. The older sensei had told her of the days before the war, when the streets around Tsuma village were crowded with merchants eager to sell their wares. The years before the rationing and the travel restrictions and the gaijin pepper. During her own Topaz Championship, there were a full seven merchants in the busy village, including one from the Unicorn lands who brought a few, very restricted and approved, gaijin goods to offer. The throng of merchants of every land and language was overwhelming, the list of goods they offered at least equally so.
Arahime could not permit Seiho or his retinue to see her wide-eyed naiveté.
The merchants of the district carried a wide range of goods, and at least a third of which look nothing like the items she would find in Rokugan. Intricately carved wooden screens and pierced brasswork were offered side by side with fine pottery and wall scrolls fit for any Rokugani kamidana shrine. There was a style of carved stonework that she liked in a pale cream and green stone, and Arahime picked up a piece, an intricately nested set of spheres one inside the other. As she looked down she felt a presence behind her, felt the pressure of a man standing so closely at her back she could feel him leaning against her. She was trapped against the table. Seiho reached around her and took the stone sphere away, leaning in close, then straightening to look at the choice approvingly. “Shall I buy it for you? I can tell you want it.”
At the Academy, I would duel him for that. But at the Academy, he would not /dare/. Arahime sidestepped to get out of his reach and straightened to look at him coldly. “Please stop,” she said simply.
But Seiho just smiled and tossed the sphere from one hand to the other with casual ease. “Stop what? Is something the matter, Arahime-san? If so, I apologize. The ways of the rinjin are different than the ways of Rokugan, especially the ways of the cultured Crane. We never know when we might accidentally hold our teacups incorrectly or forget to fasten our geta ‘just so’.”
One of his hangers-on, a sharp-eyed Nobumoto girl, laughed aloud. “She is blushing. Do you see? She actually turned pink. Seiho-sama…how fortunate you are. Look at that beautiful, pale complexion. Such a treasure. How boring we must all look in comparison.”
I cannot call a duel here. Not for this. She exhaled slowly out her nose. “Such…closeness…is not the way of the Crane, Seiho-sama.” she answered stiffly.
Seiho’s smile broadened. “Another reason to love Zogeku, then.”
They reached the Artisan’s District just after sunset. Brightly colored lanterns hung across the streets, and in front of the geisha houses and theaters. The lights gave the whole area the feeling of a festival, like New Years when the dancers would stage their performances at the Academy and all would turn out to see them. Despite her previous fury, Arahime allowed herself a little seed of excitement at the idea of seeing a play. It was a common occurrence at her home, and the timeless stories, great heroes and villains, songs of tragedy and courage and sacrifice all spoke to her. Their plots had been the background of her childhood, even though her mother said she never watched the plays themselves.
The buildings in the Artisans’ District were of better construction and finer make than those of the Merchants’ district, as though they were built to weather the storms of time better than the Merchant District counterparts. Some of the buildings had shops; Arahime was drawn to a humble-looking shop named the Flowers of the Colonies, its beautiful, exotic ikebana modestly displayed.
“So…ikebana.” A yawn from another of the Arashi¬. “I’ve heard how much the Crane care for such things. You must be an expert. You must teach me all about it some time.”
“I’ll have to see if I can find the time,” the Crane snapped back tartly.
The theater Seiho sought out was decorated in a very non-Rokgani fashion, built of solid stone, the stonework itself painted in many bright colors. A number of people were entering, and Arahime caught odd expressions being thrown her way as they passed. Seiho, for his part, seemed confident and pleased, again, with a light touch, taking her arm and steering her into the darkened building. The others gathered around, making sure to leave the young woman space to sit only next to the grandson of the Warlord. She sat.
The lanterns on the stage were lit, the music of many instruments began, and the play started.
The form of a tall woman, pale with dramatic geisha-style kabuki paint, and adorned with a carefully styled wig of white hair, stepped out onto the stage. She was dressed in multiple layers of blue kimono and exotic hair ornaments. Blue scarves fluttered at the movement of unseen stagehands as she dramatically cried out to the Wrathful aspect of Suitengu, Fortune of the Oceans, that she must be conveyed across the seas to go to her Mantis lover or she would die of sorrow.
Another, dressed as the great Ocean Fortune in a costume of black, blue, and green with a coral crown, came out to answer her, telling her she would be taken to her Mantis lover if she did what she was bid by the three guardians of the sea that came to her.
The woman agreed.
Arahime looked away from the stage to see Seiho watching her. When he caught her eye he smiled and turned back to the stage, but Arahime could feel his hand slide closer to her. She stiffened.
An actor dressed as a shark emerged from the hinted waves, his shiny armor of scales glittering in the lantern light. The Shark spirit demanded that the woman release her hair and her hairpins and give them to him. The woman did so, letting her long, white hair down to flow around her.
Arahime could not help her thoughts from straying to the time she had to put her hair up, when the Emperor brought his son Kiseki to join the Academy, the same year as her brother Masarugi. All the girls were supposed to look extra special for the Emperor, so all had their hair done. Harun had laughed at the lacquer necessary to hold the hair in place and how terrible it looked when the pins were removed until it was cleaned properly.
She smiled at the memory. But then she felt a warmth at her side as Seiho had drawn closer to her, sitting right next to her in the crowded theater, his arm behind her. She pulled away as she could, but he just smirked.
An actor dressed as an Eel, wearing a smooth, shiny black silk kimono with jet hair, came from the waters. He demanded that the woman remove her kimonos as his price for taking her to her lover. He grabbed at her obi, taking the end of the obi in his teeth.
Arahime knew full well what that action in kabuki meant. She felt sick at what the convention implied. But looking around the theater, it was clear that the audience did not, instead simply enjoying the lurid and horrifying spectacle with no understanding of its significance.
The drums pounded out the music of tragedy as the woman shed the first layers of her kimono, leaving only the sheerest scarlet underkimono, trimmed with blue. It barely reached her knees.
Arahime could feel every eye in the theater turning at that moment to look at her intently, eager to see her response. How could I explain what this means…what they are showing? They can’t possibly understand this. She hardened her face against it, keeping a neutral expression.
Seiho slithered nearer.
The Eel receded into the blue waters, and the final guardian emerged from the depth. This guardian was not played by one actor, but two, both dressed in red, moving together. Guardian Octopus. The actor of the two that served as the Guardian’s voice declared that the woman’s lover was dead, lost at the bottom of the endless sea, and the will of the Octopus was to take her to him. The Octopus wrapped its arms around the woman and disappeared, taking her deep beneath the waves.
The theater erupted in cheers and applause. Arahime felt Seiho’s hand on her back. As she turned to look at him, pulling away again, he smiled broadly.
“What do you think, Arahime-chan? A fine performance, is it not?”
The question seemed innocent. But there was a coldness, a calculation, in the Arashi’s eyes as he looked at her.
He knows what it meant. He knows. He just doesn’t care.