![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sub_dividedMy overall impression is AUGH DEAD FROM LACK OF ENDING. The Twelve Kingdoms spends half its time developing a storyline that’s never fully explained, and what’s worse is it was clearly all planned out and if only the production company hadn’t run out of money...! The credits say “adapted” but of course this is from a series of fantasy novels I’ll never read. AUGH.
The Twelve Kingdoms--Junni Kokki--is a Romance of the Three Kingdoms version of El Hazard, sort of. The setting is the real star, but the characters are pretty cool too. And it is REALLY well done. I've got the commercial DVD rip, so I listen in English (the English voice acting is surprisingly good). I also keep the subtitles on, so that I can compare the literal and interpreted translations and maybe triangulate myself back to the original from there. Umm but this may only be me.
The series starts off slow and confusing and with annoying major characters. But you shouldn't be discouraged, because they get a lot more likable. One of the major themes of this show is "becoming a better person."
ALSO, love the foreshadowing. It wasn’t treated like an ominous narrative device at all, more like a regular part of the story that didn’t make sense at first but later did.
ALSO, for many many episodes character development is the plot. *thrills*
About the WIP: According to my outline, I’m just over halfway done. If the wordcount holds, this will be a third again as long as the longest thing I’ve ever written. (Andrew, you can stop laughing. I know my idea of “long” is pathetic.) ALSO: original characters. Dear lord, original characters.
Title: Umm. Help?
Series: The Twelve Kingdoms
Spoiler Warning: For the whichever episodes explain the mechanics of the world (the teens, I think).
Note: this is, like, barely edited. I need to sit down and make it less awful, STAT.
***
It was night, and a company of Shusei were walking down the road. Some trudged wearily, but others, still high from that evening's performance, joked and stepped lightly, humming snatches of music and occasionally breaking out in song. And overall sense of satifaction hung over the group. There were just over three dozen of them; Gyokuyou, the youngest, laughed and ran ahead. Suddenly, she stopped. There was a man by the side of the road.
“Who are you?” she asked, and crouched down to peer up from underneath his wide-brimmed peasant’s hat. His face was lined; she thought he was probably at least forty years old, although it was hard to tell by moonlight. He was very dirty. “Why are you here? Are you cold? Winter started last week.”
The man shivered, but didn’t say anything.
Their most frightening (to outsiders) member walked up behind her and looked down with what was obviously meant to be disapproval, though Gyokuyou knew better. “Another Kaikakyu?” Kotetsu said, shaking his head. He frowned, but he also was removing his cloak. He draped it across the man’s shoulders, taking care that the fabric should cover the most threadbare parts of his clothing.
The moonlight glinted off her mother’s teeth as she smiled gently. “We do seem fated to help them,” she said. The leader of their company cackled at that; the rest exchanged grins.
Kotetsu snorted. “Fate has nothing to do with it, not when we’re the ones who keep taking them in.”
“Are you Kaikakyu? Can you understand me?”
“It doesn’t matter what you say, Gyokuyou, but try to sound reassuring. We wouldn’t want to frighten him.”
“Aren’t you going to say anything? We won’t hurt you, I promise!”
The man clearly his throat, finally. “I am not from across the sea,” he said, sounding embarrassed. He drew himself up until his back was straight. “I am from the Kingdom of Ryuu.”
If being mistaken for an outlander was enough to embarass him, it would be better not to point out his odd, slow way of speaking. “Oh good, you can understand us then! Would you like to spend the night at our camp? I’m Gyokuyou.”
“Kotetsu.”
“I am Bishin,” her mother said.
The rest offered their names. The man stood stiffly and gave a small bow.
“Shinsei. I am touched by your unexpected kindness and could not think of refusing.”
~~~~~~
Camped under a Yaboku tree, they did not dare light a fire, but instead distributed blankets from the saddlebags and sat close together. Shinsei had at first objected to close contact, but he withdrew his complaint when a cool wind blew through the forest. It was only the first week of winter, and the weather in Kyou was not as harsh as in the man’s own Kingdom of Ryuu. But Shinsei was dressed almost in rags, and they were very far north--less than a day away from Ryuu by the northeast road--and anyway he was old. He relented.
How would he have survived in his homeland at this time of year? Ryuu’s winters weren’t just colder than Kyou’s, they were also less predictable, characterized by early frosts and freak snowstorms. It would be very rude to ask him, Gyokuyou supposed. She’d have to point out his poor clothing, and to mention the difficulty of life in Ryuu would naturally be to criticize the reign of King Jo. No one they’d met when traveling though that Kingdom had been willing to admit that the unusually bad weather or frequent youma attacks could have been caused by his bad judgment.
Gyokuyou didn’t blame them. When a king’s reign crumbled, there was nothing the ordinary people could do but struggle through until the next king. Who’d want to face a truth like that?
“I must thank you again for your kindness,” Shinsei said, rubbing his hands together. He had a very deliberate way of moving that was similar to the way he talked -- unnaturally deliberate and formal, Gyokuyou decided, not slow. She wondered if he was really as old as she'd thought.
Bishin shook her head. “It’s no more than what anyone would have done. Which way are you going? If you’re heading towards the capital, you can come along with us.”
“You’ll have to work, of course,” Kotetsu put in. “Our charity doesn’t extend to giving free rides to strangers.”
“Of course.” Shinsei cleared his throat; a little hestitantly. He seemed to be considering something. “This close to the border, have you been having trouble with Youma?" he asked, finally. "I can’t promise to be of much help against a Kocho or a Ronso, but against the smaller Youma I am not bad protection.” He lifted his right arm, and Gyokuyou noticed for the first time that he wore a brace there. Kotetsu examined it with great interest.
“This is one of Han’s newest exports, isn’t it? A small bow you can draw back in advance? It doesn’t look very powerful.”
“It isn’t,” Shinsei admitted. “That’s why I said only small youma. I have less than a dozen immortal-killing arrows for it. Back home, my job was only to warn the village of a youma attack, not to actually fight against them.”
“Really? Where are you from? What did you do? Why did you leave? How old are you? What…”
“Shh, Gyokuyou, it isn’t polite to pry.”
“But…”
“It’s alright,” the man said, and Gyokuyou thought she saw him smile. “It will probably be easiest if I start from the beginning. I was young when I married, barely seventeen. My wife, who was the same age as me and very beautiful, came from the city of Shou, which is the capital of the Gyosei province. I was from the village of Enrai in the same province. We met in Shou at an autumn festival and -”
“What does this have to do with youma?” Kotetsu interrupted.
“Kotetsu! Please continue, Shinsei, we’d love to hear your story.”
Shinsei self-consciously cleared his throat. Gyokuyou curled up on the ground, her head in her mother’s lap, and watched him over the edge of her blanket. Shinsei took a deep breath, and when he began again his voice was clear and unhurried. It seemed as if he'd already told this story many times before.
“Although my wife and I were both very young, we knew that neither of us would ever find anyone more suitable than the other. It is customary in Ryuu to live together for many years before marriage, but we married right away. We wanted, more than anything, to pray to Tentei for a child. We were both orphans of the same plague, you see. We wanted to create a new family for ourselves.
“We were living in my wife’s family home in Shou. It is expensive to maintain a house in the city, and some amount of debt had already accumulated, but my wife thought our child would have better prospects in Shou. In order to pay for the house and the debts, I was obliged to take a job as Youma-rei of the Shousou forest.”
“Mama? What’s a youma-rei?” Gyokuyou whispered. Shinsei cleared his throat.
“Is your mother telling this story, or am I?” he asked, mock-serious.
“You are!” she said quickly. “Go on, I’m listening. I promise not to interrupt again.”
Shinsei nodded and adjusted his cloak. Teasing me, Gyokuyou thought. He's just like Kotetsu.
“Youma-rei means ‘beast-watcher.’ Not many people know this, but the Youma are not born from the fruit of a Yaboku tree as an animal is, but directly from the earth. The more inaccessible its place of origin, the rarer and more dangerous the youma. Kocho, for example, are born from the highest mountain cliffs, and I have heard that there are enormous youma in the Western Ocean which are born from unfathomably deep crevasses. Compared to monsters like that, the youma of Shousou forest are not very fierce. However, the forest stands at the base of a great mountain range, and occasionally a truly dangerous beast will descend from the heights. My job was to watch the edge of the forest, to kill the smaller youma that emerged and to sound a warning for the larger ones.
Shinsei suddenly looked sheepish. “At least, that was what I was supposed to do. In all my time as Youma-rei, I never saw anything bigger than a Kouri. Still, it was dangerous work no one else wanted to do, and I was paid very well. Being young, I believed myself invincible and was not bothered by the risks I was taking.
“Only a few months after I started my job as Youma-rei, my wife began to weave the ribbon we would use to pray to Tentei for a child. She was very clever and skilled with her hands, and it only took her a week to weave the most magnificent blue striped ribbon. I remember thinking that any child born from that ribbon would have to be beautiful. We traveled together to the temple in the center of Shou City, and tied out ribbon to one of its branches. It was the lowest branch because…well, because my wife and I were both very short, and neither of us could reach the upper branches.
Gyokuyou giggled, and the man made a face at her from the other side of their circle.
“After we had tied the ribbon and made our prayers, we left the city to return to our house at the edge of the forest. Although I thought my wife should stay in Shou, where it was safe, she insisted on living with me in the woods, and truthfully I was glad and did not protest very much. We did not return to the city for many months, because of my work and because we had heard from the priest that Tentei looks more kindly on patient and trusting couples.
“When we returned, we saw immediately that there was a fruit growing on the lowest branch. However, the ribbon tied around the fruit was not our beautiful blue-striped one, but a very unattractive muddled brown. My wife marched straight to the priest and demanded to be told what had happened to our ribbon.
“’I am very sorry,’ the priest said, ‘but when it had been four months and there was no sign of a fruit, I assumed that you had changed your minds and that Tentei, sensing this, was not going to grant your wish. I removed your ribbon and allowed another couple to tie theirs to the lowest branch.’
“When my wife and I heard this, we were of course extremely distressed, but we determined immediately to try again. I found a man willing to do my work for the time being.
“’Maybe Tentei didn’t grant our wish because I did most of the weaving, and you only added the trim,’ my wife said. ‘This time we must work equally.’ I agreed, but I was not at all skilled at weaving the work took a very long time. My wife was very patient with me despite my extreme clumsiness. In the end, we produced a ribbon almost as beautiful as the last one, in pale green and yellow. We tied this ribbon a few feet away from the first one, and my wife told the priest, ‘This time, if we do not return, it will not be because we have changed our minds but because we are working for the money to provide for our child. Please do not remove our ribbon.’ The priest, chastised, bowed his head and agreed.
“We lived in the forest for the next seven months, and every day we prayed to Tentei for a child. We returned to Shou in the spring and immediately entered the temple. There was a fruit growing on the lowest branch, but again, the ribbon was not ours.
“’I thought I told you not to remove our ribbon!’ My wife said to the priest. ‘We may not visit every day, but we pray just as everyone else does.’
“The priest bowed very low. ‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘but when it had been five months and there was still no sign of fruit, I assumed that Tentei did not wish to grant you a child and allowed another couple to fasten their ribbon to the lowest branch. You must admit that you are both very young. Perhaps if you were to wait a few years before tying another ribbon, Tentei would be more inclined to grant your wish.’
“My wife and I discussed this possibility at length. I believed the truth of the priest’s words. Tentei created the world as it is so that there would be order and the people would be happy. Would such a God grant a child to parents who were not able to care for it? But my wife disagreed, saying that we had almost worked off our debt and that, loving as we were, we would make excellent parents despite our age. We quarreled for a long while, and eventually she agreed to wait five years before trying again. We would both be twenty-four then.
“But after this there was a barrier between us. Living alone on the edge of the forest, under difficult conditions, we naturally argued about many things. But previously, although we’d argued about this or that, we’d always been able to forgive each other afterward. Now whenever my wife disagreed with me, she would bring up our quarrel as proof that I didn’t love her. This was very hurtful to me, as you can imagine, and I became very angry. When I was angriest, I would say it was because of her stubborn attitude that Tentei wouldn’t grant us a child. This hurt her a great deal, because she was secretly afraid that it was true.
“Our relations became so strained that my wife left me to live alone in her parents’ house in Shou, saying that someone needed to look after it. While in the city, she began to take orders for various things, shawls and the like. She started with small things, but her skill with cloth was such that she was soon doing very well. This was a great relief to both of us, as it meant that after a few more years I would be able to retire as youma-rei to live with her in the city. I wouldn’t be able to help her weave, of course, and I had never been very good managing money either, but we thought that I could look after the child.
“Although we did not realize it at the time, we had come to rely on the child. It would be the key to everything—to my retirement, to our reunion, to everything. That was why, when events occurred as they did, we were so heartbroken… sometimes I think that if I had only been a little more perceptive, a little more willing to rely on my wife, to live with her even without being able to contribute anything to our home…
Shinsei paused. He had the most peculiar expression on his face - sadness mixed with self-recrimation.
“Well? What happened?” Kotetsu asked, and immediately studied his feet as if he did not much care what the answer was. For a Shusei, an entertainer, he really was a terrible actor.
Still, it was all the encouragement Shinsei needed.
“When we were both twenty-four, just before spring, we returned to the temple to tie another ribbon to the Riboku. This one was not as beautiful as either of the other two, but it had all of our hopes woven into it. It was red with a gold trim. I have never been happier than I was that day, thinking about the wonderful new life awaiting us. We determined that this time we would not be discouraged, we would wait however long it took, we would pray every day. My wife would visit the Riboku at least once a week, and on the third of every month I would return to Shou to pray with her. We did this for three months, and by the beginning of the third month there did indeed seem to be a slight growth on the branch, what could perhaps be the beginning of a fruit.
“At this point my wife became very ill. The priest, who was also a doctor, said that her illness was caused by a combination of stress and too much work. He recommended that she be completely removed from the city. And of course, my wife had been running a business all by herself, in addition to worrying constantly about our child. While she was still delirious with fever, I moved us both to the house at the edge of the forest. I wanted to be able to care for her myself and I could not bear the thought of remaining in the house in the city where, after all, my wife’s entire family had fallen sick and died.
“When my wife became well enough to understand what had happened, she was very upset with me. ‘Why didn’t you remain in the city?’ she said. ‘I don’t trust that priest. What if he unties our ribbon again while we aren’t looking?’ I told her that this was a horrible thing to say. We argued and she became ill again. By this point I was nearly frantic. Still, I thought I knew what was best for her and we did not return to the city.
“My wife became very bitter and resentful, but, sick as she was, there was nothing she could do. It wasn’t until the first week of winter that we were able to return to Shou. I assured her that we would not have to worry: I had been praying every night for both of us, and as it had not yet been nine months since we tied the ribbon, our child could not possibly have been born without us. My wife was silent.
“We reached the Riboku tree. There was a very large fruit hanging exactly where we had tied our ribbon. But the ribbon wasn’t ours.
Shinsei fell silent. Gyokuyou felt sorry for him. Even Kotetsu let him have a moment before he prodded him with a foot.
“And then?”
“And then we returned to our house in the city. My wife still had not spoken. When I had closed the door behind us, she flew into a rage.
“’I do not believe it!’ she said. ‘I refuse to believe that after everything we’ve been though, we are still not considered fit parents by Tentei. There must be some other explanation. Someone is taking advantage of our misery.’
“I became alarmed. In the past such fits had often lead to the return of her illness. I pleaded with her to calm herself, saying that we could always try again for a child, but only if she did not kill herself first.
“My wife would not hear of it. ‘Calm!’ she said. ‘When such an enormous crime has been perpetrated against us! When our children have been stolen from us! I am not sure how, but I am sure the priest is behind it! I have never trusted him.’
“Her voice rose with every word. Terrified, I tried to reason with her. ‘After a fruit has begun to grow,’ I said, ‘it is impossible to pluck it or to untie the ribbon until it has matured. The priest could not possibly have stolen our children from us. It is as he said, there was no fruit on the tree. I am not sure why, but for some reason Tentei…’
“‘Tentei! Tentei does not think we would make good parents. Oh, that is funny. Have I ever told you? My younger brother was born when the entire city was sick with plague.’ She said this between laughs. Her laughter became more and more hysterical, and then she began to sob. I was overwhelmed with fear, and could only watch helplessly as she worked herself into greater and greater grief.
“‘My parents were too sick to pluck the fruit,’ she said. ‘I had to do it. I cared for my brother, too. It was hard. All three of them were dead in less than a year. Children are born every day to families that cannot care for them. Children are still being born in Tai! Tell me the truth, dear husband. I know we are not perfect, but surely we will provide a better life for our child than he would know in Tai!’ By this point she was completely hysterical. She had to stop to catch her breath. When she continued, it was in a low, helpless voice, and she did not seem to be breathing properly.
“’Tentei does not have the time to weigh the merit of every couple who beg him for children,’ she said. ‘As long as both parents are alive, as long as their prayers are sincere and they follow the proper forms…!’
“There was nothing I could say. My wife was very smart. I had never considered the situation in this way before. But I could not allow myself to dwell on the implications as long as she was so frenzied. I tried to reassure her. I said that she was right, that something must have happened, and that as soon as she had recovered herself we would return to the temple, we would confront the priest, we would learn the truth. This seemed to calm her, and she was soon in an exhausted sleep.
“The next day, her fever returned. She died a week later.”
“I returned to the temple alone. The fruit was gone. Since there hadn’t been a Shoku, the only explanation was that the fruit had ripened and been plucked by unbelievably lucky strangers. Did they know how lucky they were? I sank into despair.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about my wife’s last words. Had the priest tricked us? I didn’t see how it was possible—the Riboku system is undefeatable. After a couple ties a ribbon, after their prayers are heard by Tentei, no one can untie the ribbon, or remove the fruit, not even the couple themselves. Not until the baby is ready to be plucked. But somehow it must have happened.
“The trick was a very simple one, of course. We did not see it because we did not believe that anyone could be so wicked. I think that in normal circumstances it would not have been possible--or at least, not profitable. But there is something you must understand about the end of a reign. When a king’s judgment fails, it is not only the land that begins to decline. It is the moral character of its people. King Ryuu’s reign is failing, the land is growing infertile, there are storms and youma. But more serious than any of this, there is wickedness throughout the Kingdom of Ryuu.
“I realized what had been done to us when I thought of the fruit that had just been plucked. It was now the second week of winter. Six months ago, in the second week of summer, my wife and I had seen what might have been the beginning of a fruit growing on the branch. It takes Riboku fruit nine months to grow, everyone knows this. There wasn’t enough time for a new fruit to have grown to maturity in that time, even if the priest had untied our ribbon that very instant. The fruit that had just been plucked could only have been ours.
“How was this deception practiced? The answer is very simple. The priest did not untie our ribbon from the lowest branch. He simply dyed it a different color.
“I was immediately consumed by rage. Hardly knowing what I was doing, I found myself at the gates of the temple. I had never confronted anyone before. I was easy-going and I disliked making enemies. I left such tasks to my wife, who was much better at them.
“Today there was only me. I would not have allowed the priest to escape my wrath in any case. I think I might have frightened away an old couple, I do not remember. I only remember the priest’s face as I laid out the facts. Perhaps sensing that it would have been useless, he did not try to deny what he had done. He grew very pale for only an instant. Then he smiled.
‘Yes, I dyed the ribbon,’ he said. ‘It is not the first time I have done so. Labor is a very precious commodity. There are not many extra people laying around. Why, even in times of great prosperity, the population hardly grows at all! And in times of trouble, times like these, the situation is even worse. You have to understand, selling babies is very profitable business. The amazing thing…’
“He was laughing. My vision was clouding.
“’The amazing thing is not that I would do such a wicked thing, but that I was able to play the same trick three times on the same two people. Usually prospective parents wise up after the first time. On one other occasion, I was able to take two babies from a single couple. But three! You two must really be very stup-‘
“The priest did not say any more than that, because he couldn’t. I was choking him. We were alone in the temple gardens. I have always been shorter than most people, but I swear his legs lifted off the ground. He thrashed. His face turned colors.
“I released him before he died. I needed to ask him something.
“’Our children,’ I said, while he was doubled up on the ground, retching. ‘Where are our children?’
“He shook his head. I shook him. ‘If you do not tell me,’ I said. ‘I’ll kill you.’ I meant it. He knew I meant it. He shook his head. Thinking that it would be a few moments before he had the air to speak with, I waited.
“He recovered at length, a very long length. But I had never choked anyone before and I didn’t know how long it would be. I waited. He eventually drew a deep, if shaky, breath. Still I waited.
“’Help!’ he cried. ‘Help, someone, I’m being attacked! This man is-‘
“He couldn’t speak because I was choking him again. At that moment two members of the city guard, who must have been just outside the gate, rushed forward. I was knocked insensible—at least, that’s what I’m told happened. I have no memory of it. While I was waiting in the dungeons of the provincial lord, the guards told me I almost killed the man who tried to separate us. They said the priest was in the hospital for a week, the guardsman for a month. I couldn’t tell whether they were lying or not, because I couldn’t remember what had happened. I suspect the head injury had something to do with that.
“I was kept in the dungeon for what seemed like many years. It may have only been three years. To the men in the dungeon, I was a lunatic who had almost killed a priest with his bare hands and, even worse, put a fellow guardsman in the hospital for a month. They refused to hear my side of the story. No one would talk to me at all. I thought I really would go crazy, just as everyone expected me to.
“Before that happened, the doors opened and I was released. I hadn’t actually killed anyone, after all, and Ryuu is renowned for the justness of its laws. I learned on my release that all of my money had been given to the guard, and my wife’s house to the priest. Compensation for undue injury, they said. Although no one wanted to tell me what had happened to the priest or where he was now, I eventually learned that he’d died in his sleep while I was in prison.
“This was very unfair, I thought. If this priest had to die while I was in prison, thus robbing me of the only way I knew of to find my children, who were the only thing I still had of my wife’s, he could at least have done me the courtesy of dying painfully. Dead in his sleep? That was much too peaceful an end for such a wicked man. But you know, the world is a very unfair place.”
Shinsei sighed, heavily. The company held their breath, but he did not seem inclined to continue.
“And then?” the company leader asked. “Young man, you do realize that you can not possibly end the story there.”
And then morning overcame Shinsei, and he fell silent… Just kidding. It shouldn’t take more than one night to read this guy’s life story, but unfortunately it’s going to take me one than one night to write it in the first place.
The second half should be up by the end of the week. I meant to finish yesterday, but I realized I was defeated at about 2am when all of my sentences were coming out only four words long.
The Twelve Kingdoms--Junni Kokki--is a Romance of the Three Kingdoms version of El Hazard, sort of. The setting is the real star, but the characters are pretty cool too. And it is REALLY well done. I've got the commercial DVD rip, so I listen in English (the English voice acting is surprisingly good). I also keep the subtitles on, so that I can compare the literal and interpreted translations and maybe triangulate myself back to the original from there. Umm but this may only be me.
The series starts off slow and confusing and with annoying major characters. But you shouldn't be discouraged, because they get a lot more likable. One of the major themes of this show is "becoming a better person."
ALSO, love the foreshadowing. It wasn’t treated like an ominous narrative device at all, more like a regular part of the story that didn’t make sense at first but later did.
ALSO, for many many episodes character development is the plot. *thrills*
About the WIP: According to my outline, I’m just over halfway done. If the wordcount holds, this will be a third again as long as the longest thing I’ve ever written. (Andrew, you can stop laughing. I know my idea of “long” is pathetic.) ALSO: original characters. Dear lord, original characters.
Title: Umm. Help?
Series: The Twelve Kingdoms
Spoiler Warning: For the whichever episodes explain the mechanics of the world (the teens, I think).
Note: this is, like, barely edited. I need to sit down and make it less awful, STAT.
***
It was night, and a company of Shusei were walking down the road. Some trudged wearily, but others, still high from that evening's performance, joked and stepped lightly, humming snatches of music and occasionally breaking out in song. And overall sense of satifaction hung over the group. There were just over three dozen of them; Gyokuyou, the youngest, laughed and ran ahead. Suddenly, she stopped. There was a man by the side of the road.
“Who are you?” she asked, and crouched down to peer up from underneath his wide-brimmed peasant’s hat. His face was lined; she thought he was probably at least forty years old, although it was hard to tell by moonlight. He was very dirty. “Why are you here? Are you cold? Winter started last week.”
The man shivered, but didn’t say anything.
Their most frightening (to outsiders) member walked up behind her and looked down with what was obviously meant to be disapproval, though Gyokuyou knew better. “Another Kaikakyu?” Kotetsu said, shaking his head. He frowned, but he also was removing his cloak. He draped it across the man’s shoulders, taking care that the fabric should cover the most threadbare parts of his clothing.
The moonlight glinted off her mother’s teeth as she smiled gently. “We do seem fated to help them,” she said. The leader of their company cackled at that; the rest exchanged grins.
Kotetsu snorted. “Fate has nothing to do with it, not when we’re the ones who keep taking them in.”
“Are you Kaikakyu? Can you understand me?”
“It doesn’t matter what you say, Gyokuyou, but try to sound reassuring. We wouldn’t want to frighten him.”
“Aren’t you going to say anything? We won’t hurt you, I promise!”
The man clearly his throat, finally. “I am not from across the sea,” he said, sounding embarrassed. He drew himself up until his back was straight. “I am from the Kingdom of Ryuu.”
If being mistaken for an outlander was enough to embarass him, it would be better not to point out his odd, slow way of speaking. “Oh good, you can understand us then! Would you like to spend the night at our camp? I’m Gyokuyou.”
“Kotetsu.”
“I am Bishin,” her mother said.
The rest offered their names. The man stood stiffly and gave a small bow.
“Shinsei. I am touched by your unexpected kindness and could not think of refusing.”
~~~~~~
Camped under a Yaboku tree, they did not dare light a fire, but instead distributed blankets from the saddlebags and sat close together. Shinsei had at first objected to close contact, but he withdrew his complaint when a cool wind blew through the forest. It was only the first week of winter, and the weather in Kyou was not as harsh as in the man’s own Kingdom of Ryuu. But Shinsei was dressed almost in rags, and they were very far north--less than a day away from Ryuu by the northeast road--and anyway he was old. He relented.
How would he have survived in his homeland at this time of year? Ryuu’s winters weren’t just colder than Kyou’s, they were also less predictable, characterized by early frosts and freak snowstorms. It would be very rude to ask him, Gyokuyou supposed. She’d have to point out his poor clothing, and to mention the difficulty of life in Ryuu would naturally be to criticize the reign of King Jo. No one they’d met when traveling though that Kingdom had been willing to admit that the unusually bad weather or frequent youma attacks could have been caused by his bad judgment.
Gyokuyou didn’t blame them. When a king’s reign crumbled, there was nothing the ordinary people could do but struggle through until the next king. Who’d want to face a truth like that?
“I must thank you again for your kindness,” Shinsei said, rubbing his hands together. He had a very deliberate way of moving that was similar to the way he talked -- unnaturally deliberate and formal, Gyokuyou decided, not slow. She wondered if he was really as old as she'd thought.
Bishin shook her head. “It’s no more than what anyone would have done. Which way are you going? If you’re heading towards the capital, you can come along with us.”
“You’ll have to work, of course,” Kotetsu put in. “Our charity doesn’t extend to giving free rides to strangers.”
“Of course.” Shinsei cleared his throat; a little hestitantly. He seemed to be considering something. “This close to the border, have you been having trouble with Youma?" he asked, finally. "I can’t promise to be of much help against a Kocho or a Ronso, but against the smaller Youma I am not bad protection.” He lifted his right arm, and Gyokuyou noticed for the first time that he wore a brace there. Kotetsu examined it with great interest.
“This is one of Han’s newest exports, isn’t it? A small bow you can draw back in advance? It doesn’t look very powerful.”
“It isn’t,” Shinsei admitted. “That’s why I said only small youma. I have less than a dozen immortal-killing arrows for it. Back home, my job was only to warn the village of a youma attack, not to actually fight against them.”
“Really? Where are you from? What did you do? Why did you leave? How old are you? What…”
“Shh, Gyokuyou, it isn’t polite to pry.”
“But…”
“It’s alright,” the man said, and Gyokuyou thought she saw him smile. “It will probably be easiest if I start from the beginning. I was young when I married, barely seventeen. My wife, who was the same age as me and very beautiful, came from the city of Shou, which is the capital of the Gyosei province. I was from the village of Enrai in the same province. We met in Shou at an autumn festival and -”
“What does this have to do with youma?” Kotetsu interrupted.
“Kotetsu! Please continue, Shinsei, we’d love to hear your story.”
Shinsei self-consciously cleared his throat. Gyokuyou curled up on the ground, her head in her mother’s lap, and watched him over the edge of her blanket. Shinsei took a deep breath, and when he began again his voice was clear and unhurried. It seemed as if he'd already told this story many times before.
“Although my wife and I were both very young, we knew that neither of us would ever find anyone more suitable than the other. It is customary in Ryuu to live together for many years before marriage, but we married right away. We wanted, more than anything, to pray to Tentei for a child. We were both orphans of the same plague, you see. We wanted to create a new family for ourselves.
“We were living in my wife’s family home in Shou. It is expensive to maintain a house in the city, and some amount of debt had already accumulated, but my wife thought our child would have better prospects in Shou. In order to pay for the house and the debts, I was obliged to take a job as Youma-rei of the Shousou forest.”
“Mama? What’s a youma-rei?” Gyokuyou whispered. Shinsei cleared his throat.
“Is your mother telling this story, or am I?” he asked, mock-serious.
“You are!” she said quickly. “Go on, I’m listening. I promise not to interrupt again.”
Shinsei nodded and adjusted his cloak. Teasing me, Gyokuyou thought. He's just like Kotetsu.
“Youma-rei means ‘beast-watcher.’ Not many people know this, but the Youma are not born from the fruit of a Yaboku tree as an animal is, but directly from the earth. The more inaccessible its place of origin, the rarer and more dangerous the youma. Kocho, for example, are born from the highest mountain cliffs, and I have heard that there are enormous youma in the Western Ocean which are born from unfathomably deep crevasses. Compared to monsters like that, the youma of Shousou forest are not very fierce. However, the forest stands at the base of a great mountain range, and occasionally a truly dangerous beast will descend from the heights. My job was to watch the edge of the forest, to kill the smaller youma that emerged and to sound a warning for the larger ones.
Shinsei suddenly looked sheepish. “At least, that was what I was supposed to do. In all my time as Youma-rei, I never saw anything bigger than a Kouri. Still, it was dangerous work no one else wanted to do, and I was paid very well. Being young, I believed myself invincible and was not bothered by the risks I was taking.
“Only a few months after I started my job as Youma-rei, my wife began to weave the ribbon we would use to pray to Tentei for a child. She was very clever and skilled with her hands, and it only took her a week to weave the most magnificent blue striped ribbon. I remember thinking that any child born from that ribbon would have to be beautiful. We traveled together to the temple in the center of Shou City, and tied out ribbon to one of its branches. It was the lowest branch because…well, because my wife and I were both very short, and neither of us could reach the upper branches.
Gyokuyou giggled, and the man made a face at her from the other side of their circle.
“After we had tied the ribbon and made our prayers, we left the city to return to our house at the edge of the forest. Although I thought my wife should stay in Shou, where it was safe, she insisted on living with me in the woods, and truthfully I was glad and did not protest very much. We did not return to the city for many months, because of my work and because we had heard from the priest that Tentei looks more kindly on patient and trusting couples.
“When we returned, we saw immediately that there was a fruit growing on the lowest branch. However, the ribbon tied around the fruit was not our beautiful blue-striped one, but a very unattractive muddled brown. My wife marched straight to the priest and demanded to be told what had happened to our ribbon.
“’I am very sorry,’ the priest said, ‘but when it had been four months and there was no sign of a fruit, I assumed that you had changed your minds and that Tentei, sensing this, was not going to grant your wish. I removed your ribbon and allowed another couple to tie theirs to the lowest branch.’
“When my wife and I heard this, we were of course extremely distressed, but we determined immediately to try again. I found a man willing to do my work for the time being.
“’Maybe Tentei didn’t grant our wish because I did most of the weaving, and you only added the trim,’ my wife said. ‘This time we must work equally.’ I agreed, but I was not at all skilled at weaving the work took a very long time. My wife was very patient with me despite my extreme clumsiness. In the end, we produced a ribbon almost as beautiful as the last one, in pale green and yellow. We tied this ribbon a few feet away from the first one, and my wife told the priest, ‘This time, if we do not return, it will not be because we have changed our minds but because we are working for the money to provide for our child. Please do not remove our ribbon.’ The priest, chastised, bowed his head and agreed.
“We lived in the forest for the next seven months, and every day we prayed to Tentei for a child. We returned to Shou in the spring and immediately entered the temple. There was a fruit growing on the lowest branch, but again, the ribbon was not ours.
“’I thought I told you not to remove our ribbon!’ My wife said to the priest. ‘We may not visit every day, but we pray just as everyone else does.’
“The priest bowed very low. ‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘but when it had been five months and there was still no sign of fruit, I assumed that Tentei did not wish to grant you a child and allowed another couple to fasten their ribbon to the lowest branch. You must admit that you are both very young. Perhaps if you were to wait a few years before tying another ribbon, Tentei would be more inclined to grant your wish.’
“My wife and I discussed this possibility at length. I believed the truth of the priest’s words. Tentei created the world as it is so that there would be order and the people would be happy. Would such a God grant a child to parents who were not able to care for it? But my wife disagreed, saying that we had almost worked off our debt and that, loving as we were, we would make excellent parents despite our age. We quarreled for a long while, and eventually she agreed to wait five years before trying again. We would both be twenty-four then.
“But after this there was a barrier between us. Living alone on the edge of the forest, under difficult conditions, we naturally argued about many things. But previously, although we’d argued about this or that, we’d always been able to forgive each other afterward. Now whenever my wife disagreed with me, she would bring up our quarrel as proof that I didn’t love her. This was very hurtful to me, as you can imagine, and I became very angry. When I was angriest, I would say it was because of her stubborn attitude that Tentei wouldn’t grant us a child. This hurt her a great deal, because she was secretly afraid that it was true.
“Our relations became so strained that my wife left me to live alone in her parents’ house in Shou, saying that someone needed to look after it. While in the city, she began to take orders for various things, shawls and the like. She started with small things, but her skill with cloth was such that she was soon doing very well. This was a great relief to both of us, as it meant that after a few more years I would be able to retire as youma-rei to live with her in the city. I wouldn’t be able to help her weave, of course, and I had never been very good managing money either, but we thought that I could look after the child.
“Although we did not realize it at the time, we had come to rely on the child. It would be the key to everything—to my retirement, to our reunion, to everything. That was why, when events occurred as they did, we were so heartbroken… sometimes I think that if I had only been a little more perceptive, a little more willing to rely on my wife, to live with her even without being able to contribute anything to our home…
Shinsei paused. He had the most peculiar expression on his face - sadness mixed with self-recrimation.
“Well? What happened?” Kotetsu asked, and immediately studied his feet as if he did not much care what the answer was. For a Shusei, an entertainer, he really was a terrible actor.
Still, it was all the encouragement Shinsei needed.
“When we were both twenty-four, just before spring, we returned to the temple to tie another ribbon to the Riboku. This one was not as beautiful as either of the other two, but it had all of our hopes woven into it. It was red with a gold trim. I have never been happier than I was that day, thinking about the wonderful new life awaiting us. We determined that this time we would not be discouraged, we would wait however long it took, we would pray every day. My wife would visit the Riboku at least once a week, and on the third of every month I would return to Shou to pray with her. We did this for three months, and by the beginning of the third month there did indeed seem to be a slight growth on the branch, what could perhaps be the beginning of a fruit.
“At this point my wife became very ill. The priest, who was also a doctor, said that her illness was caused by a combination of stress and too much work. He recommended that she be completely removed from the city. And of course, my wife had been running a business all by herself, in addition to worrying constantly about our child. While she was still delirious with fever, I moved us both to the house at the edge of the forest. I wanted to be able to care for her myself and I could not bear the thought of remaining in the house in the city where, after all, my wife’s entire family had fallen sick and died.
“When my wife became well enough to understand what had happened, she was very upset with me. ‘Why didn’t you remain in the city?’ she said. ‘I don’t trust that priest. What if he unties our ribbon again while we aren’t looking?’ I told her that this was a horrible thing to say. We argued and she became ill again. By this point I was nearly frantic. Still, I thought I knew what was best for her and we did not return to the city.
“My wife became very bitter and resentful, but, sick as she was, there was nothing she could do. It wasn’t until the first week of winter that we were able to return to Shou. I assured her that we would not have to worry: I had been praying every night for both of us, and as it had not yet been nine months since we tied the ribbon, our child could not possibly have been born without us. My wife was silent.
“We reached the Riboku tree. There was a very large fruit hanging exactly where we had tied our ribbon. But the ribbon wasn’t ours.
Shinsei fell silent. Gyokuyou felt sorry for him. Even Kotetsu let him have a moment before he prodded him with a foot.
“And then?”
“And then we returned to our house in the city. My wife still had not spoken. When I had closed the door behind us, she flew into a rage.
“’I do not believe it!’ she said. ‘I refuse to believe that after everything we’ve been though, we are still not considered fit parents by Tentei. There must be some other explanation. Someone is taking advantage of our misery.’
“I became alarmed. In the past such fits had often lead to the return of her illness. I pleaded with her to calm herself, saying that we could always try again for a child, but only if she did not kill herself first.
“My wife would not hear of it. ‘Calm!’ she said. ‘When such an enormous crime has been perpetrated against us! When our children have been stolen from us! I am not sure how, but I am sure the priest is behind it! I have never trusted him.’
“Her voice rose with every word. Terrified, I tried to reason with her. ‘After a fruit has begun to grow,’ I said, ‘it is impossible to pluck it or to untie the ribbon until it has matured. The priest could not possibly have stolen our children from us. It is as he said, there was no fruit on the tree. I am not sure why, but for some reason Tentei…’
“‘Tentei! Tentei does not think we would make good parents. Oh, that is funny. Have I ever told you? My younger brother was born when the entire city was sick with plague.’ She said this between laughs. Her laughter became more and more hysterical, and then she began to sob. I was overwhelmed with fear, and could only watch helplessly as she worked herself into greater and greater grief.
“‘My parents were too sick to pluck the fruit,’ she said. ‘I had to do it. I cared for my brother, too. It was hard. All three of them were dead in less than a year. Children are born every day to families that cannot care for them. Children are still being born in Tai! Tell me the truth, dear husband. I know we are not perfect, but surely we will provide a better life for our child than he would know in Tai!’ By this point she was completely hysterical. She had to stop to catch her breath. When she continued, it was in a low, helpless voice, and she did not seem to be breathing properly.
“’Tentei does not have the time to weigh the merit of every couple who beg him for children,’ she said. ‘As long as both parents are alive, as long as their prayers are sincere and they follow the proper forms…!’
“There was nothing I could say. My wife was very smart. I had never considered the situation in this way before. But I could not allow myself to dwell on the implications as long as she was so frenzied. I tried to reassure her. I said that she was right, that something must have happened, and that as soon as she had recovered herself we would return to the temple, we would confront the priest, we would learn the truth. This seemed to calm her, and she was soon in an exhausted sleep.
“The next day, her fever returned. She died a week later.”
“I returned to the temple alone. The fruit was gone. Since there hadn’t been a Shoku, the only explanation was that the fruit had ripened and been plucked by unbelievably lucky strangers. Did they know how lucky they were? I sank into despair.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about my wife’s last words. Had the priest tricked us? I didn’t see how it was possible—the Riboku system is undefeatable. After a couple ties a ribbon, after their prayers are heard by Tentei, no one can untie the ribbon, or remove the fruit, not even the couple themselves. Not until the baby is ready to be plucked. But somehow it must have happened.
“The trick was a very simple one, of course. We did not see it because we did not believe that anyone could be so wicked. I think that in normal circumstances it would not have been possible--or at least, not profitable. But there is something you must understand about the end of a reign. When a king’s judgment fails, it is not only the land that begins to decline. It is the moral character of its people. King Ryuu’s reign is failing, the land is growing infertile, there are storms and youma. But more serious than any of this, there is wickedness throughout the Kingdom of Ryuu.
“I realized what had been done to us when I thought of the fruit that had just been plucked. It was now the second week of winter. Six months ago, in the second week of summer, my wife and I had seen what might have been the beginning of a fruit growing on the branch. It takes Riboku fruit nine months to grow, everyone knows this. There wasn’t enough time for a new fruit to have grown to maturity in that time, even if the priest had untied our ribbon that very instant. The fruit that had just been plucked could only have been ours.
“How was this deception practiced? The answer is very simple. The priest did not untie our ribbon from the lowest branch. He simply dyed it a different color.
“I was immediately consumed by rage. Hardly knowing what I was doing, I found myself at the gates of the temple. I had never confronted anyone before. I was easy-going and I disliked making enemies. I left such tasks to my wife, who was much better at them.
“Today there was only me. I would not have allowed the priest to escape my wrath in any case. I think I might have frightened away an old couple, I do not remember. I only remember the priest’s face as I laid out the facts. Perhaps sensing that it would have been useless, he did not try to deny what he had done. He grew very pale for only an instant. Then he smiled.
‘Yes, I dyed the ribbon,’ he said. ‘It is not the first time I have done so. Labor is a very precious commodity. There are not many extra people laying around. Why, even in times of great prosperity, the population hardly grows at all! And in times of trouble, times like these, the situation is even worse. You have to understand, selling babies is very profitable business. The amazing thing…’
“He was laughing. My vision was clouding.
“’The amazing thing is not that I would do such a wicked thing, but that I was able to play the same trick three times on the same two people. Usually prospective parents wise up after the first time. On one other occasion, I was able to take two babies from a single couple. But three! You two must really be very stup-‘
“The priest did not say any more than that, because he couldn’t. I was choking him. We were alone in the temple gardens. I have always been shorter than most people, but I swear his legs lifted off the ground. He thrashed. His face turned colors.
“I released him before he died. I needed to ask him something.
“’Our children,’ I said, while he was doubled up on the ground, retching. ‘Where are our children?’
“He shook his head. I shook him. ‘If you do not tell me,’ I said. ‘I’ll kill you.’ I meant it. He knew I meant it. He shook his head. Thinking that it would be a few moments before he had the air to speak with, I waited.
“He recovered at length, a very long length. But I had never choked anyone before and I didn’t know how long it would be. I waited. He eventually drew a deep, if shaky, breath. Still I waited.
“’Help!’ he cried. ‘Help, someone, I’m being attacked! This man is-‘
“He couldn’t speak because I was choking him again. At that moment two members of the city guard, who must have been just outside the gate, rushed forward. I was knocked insensible—at least, that’s what I’m told happened. I have no memory of it. While I was waiting in the dungeons of the provincial lord, the guards told me I almost killed the man who tried to separate us. They said the priest was in the hospital for a week, the guardsman for a month. I couldn’t tell whether they were lying or not, because I couldn’t remember what had happened. I suspect the head injury had something to do with that.
“I was kept in the dungeon for what seemed like many years. It may have only been three years. To the men in the dungeon, I was a lunatic who had almost killed a priest with his bare hands and, even worse, put a fellow guardsman in the hospital for a month. They refused to hear my side of the story. No one would talk to me at all. I thought I really would go crazy, just as everyone expected me to.
“Before that happened, the doors opened and I was released. I hadn’t actually killed anyone, after all, and Ryuu is renowned for the justness of its laws. I learned on my release that all of my money had been given to the guard, and my wife’s house to the priest. Compensation for undue injury, they said. Although no one wanted to tell me what had happened to the priest or where he was now, I eventually learned that he’d died in his sleep while I was in prison.
“This was very unfair, I thought. If this priest had to die while I was in prison, thus robbing me of the only way I knew of to find my children, who were the only thing I still had of my wife’s, he could at least have done me the courtesy of dying painfully. Dead in his sleep? That was much too peaceful an end for such a wicked man. But you know, the world is a very unfair place.”
Shinsei sighed, heavily. The company held their breath, but he did not seem inclined to continue.
“And then?” the company leader asked. “Young man, you do realize that you can not possibly end the story there.”
And then morning overcame Shinsei, and he fell silent… Just kidding. It shouldn’t take more than one night to read this guy’s life story, but unfortunately it’s going to take me one than one night to write it in the first place.
The second half should be up by the end of the week. I meant to finish yesterday, but I realized I was defeated at about 2am when all of my sentences were coming out only four words long.
