Stranger Things (1/3)
Stranger Things
pg-13. 20,930. Ohkura Tadayoshi/Kiritani Mirei, Sakurai Sho/Horikita Maki, Ninomiya Kazunari/Yoshitaka Yuriko, plus a few surprise extras.
No one said love during Meiji Japan would be easy, especially if you’re a yokai, or an ex-samurai, a prince-to-be, an artisan, a demon child, or a bum. But hey, stranger things have happened. Originally here.
Written for novemberbaby for je_whiteday 2013. I very much hope I’ve done your favorite pairings & prompts enough justice and that you enjoy this fic. Happy White Day! ♥
This could not have been finished without the super beta handholding of anamuan, dalampasigan & tinyangl. You guys are incredible and I will never have enough words of gratitude and love for you. ♥♥♥
Kiritani Mirei lives under the Togetsukyo bridge.
She hasn’t always lived here-had once nestled under the shade of a great paulownia tree across the valley, despite how little comfort it provided during the rainy seasons. Then the tree was struck down by lightning and Mirei was left without a home.
Since then she’s been offered housing, insistently and persistently, from Ohno and Maki over the years, and though she does take up their offers during particularly cold winter nights, Mirei can’t think of a single place she’d rather live. She loves waking to the smell of fresh dew on the grass and the feel of dirt under bare feet and the echo of kodama in the Arashiyama mountain trees.
It is also here, and only here, where her memory can remain vivid in her dreams.
The first memory she has of her mother is also her last and her only: a beautiful woman with untameable black hair, tanned skin, and haunted brown eyes. She remembers the touch of her mother’s hand against her cheek, gentle, but cold; the press of her mother’s lips against her forehead, gentle, but warm; a whisper, Wait and be safe, Mirei, my beautiful one, you will be found; and the scatter of paulownia petals across a field of withering green before the image flickers electric blue then fades to black.
Mirei cherishes this memory, clings to it in her dreams, burns it against the backs of her eyelids when she wakes. Her mother, she thinks, was a very beautiful woman.
Today she rolls out of her makeshift bed down the grassy slope toward the Oi riverbank, stops just before the water, and sits up, cross-legged. “Good morning, kappa-san,” she greets. A gurgle of bubbles and a cucumber wrapped with paper and twine floats up from the depths. A lazy reply. They must have been out late last night, she thinks, unwrapping the cucumber and taking a bite as she scans the illegible scribbling on the note: Kyu-bu-u-bu-ri-bi.
Another delivery of cucumbers fresh from the gardens of Jojakkoji temple.
Running errands for her fellow yokai should really be more interesting than vegetable deliveries, but it beats trimming and painting the nails of a bakeneko prostitute.
Mirei stretches her arms overhead, cracks her neck, and smells Maki’s approach before she hears the harried clatter of wooden sandals on the dusty road, or the cheerful, “Mirei-chan, good morning!”
Maki smells like earth, like honey and mint and medicinal herbs all at once. Mirei would like to think that this is how her mother would have smelled, like a mother should smell, but Maki’s scent is too human, too real and too alive to reconcile with a distant memory.
Maki waves as she approaches, the sleeve of her kimono pooling around her shoulder. She’s holding a large bundle wrapped in a blue cotton handkerchief, which means she is delivering a special order to Ohno. Which means she has also brought food for Mirei. Sure enough, there is a black-lacquered lunchbox resting neatly on top of the blue-wrapped parcel.
“Good morning, Maki-chan.” She swallows the last bit of cucumber and licks her fingers dry just in time for Maki to catch her.
“You’re going to turn green if you only eat cucumbers,” she tsks, stepping up to Mirei along the riverbank carefully. The bottom of her kimono is already rolled and clipped to the side, so as not to get mud on it. Remnants of a mother’s teaching.
“Not if Maki-chan cooks for me forever.”
Maki rolls her eyes, but presents the lunchbox and chopsticks to Mirei, who digs in gladly-rice and pickled plums and radish, dried seaweed, spicy mushrooms, and fresh slices of tomatoes, of course-stopping only to blow a handful of cherry blossom petals over a large river stone, transforming it into a clean and comfortable straw mat.
Maki shoots her a grateful smile, seats herself and stretches her legs straight over the river. She brings her knees to her stomach, then stretches them out again, her movements so precise that her skirt barely moves an inch. Not that the garment affords much movement to begin with. Mirei prefers her own brand of yukata with a billowed skirt all year long.
“By the way, Tada-nii came back last night.”
Mirei chokes on a plum, submerges her entire head underwater and takes a big gulp to push it down. “Oh, really?”
If Maki notices the hitch in Mirei’s reply, she doesn’t say so, forges on with the warmth and admiration that always accompanies any talk of her older brother. “It’s been seven years since he left Kyoto to seriously study medicine. He was supposed to arrive yesterday afternoon, but his train must have gotten delayed. Natsuki, Satsuki and I were all asleep when he arrived last night, and his note said he was already up and at the temple to visit Ohno-san this morning.”
Mirei eats in thoughtful silence as Maki prattles on about her brother’s accomplishments and what this could mean for their clinic now that he’s home and how proud of him she is and how much she’s missed him.
Mirei doesn’t know how to describe her own feelings toward Yoshi. Years ago, when Mirei first met Maki and wanted to do all the things Maki did and like all the things Maki liked, Mirei tried to like Yoshi. She tried really hard. But he was always so sullen, so quiet, so taken with his books and his studies, not at all like his younger sisters. Eventually Mirei tired of trying so hard and getting rebuffed whenever she asked if he wanted to play with them, found she couldn’t quite miss his presence as much as Maki and her sisters did.
Mirei remembers only three things about Yoshi apart from that:
One, his first words to her were, “Did you know you have really tiny ears?”
Two, she calls him Yoshi because when she tried to call him “Tada-nii” like Maki did, he frowned and rudely replied that he was not her brother. She decided to call him Yoshi shortly after that, because it sounded silly and she could see the irritation on his face whenever she called him.
Three, Yoshi was her first kiss.
Sort of.
The realization occurred at fifteen, over sticks of gooey dango, which Maki had bought immediately upon learning that Mirei had never tried any.
“I sometimes forget you’re actually not just a girl girl,” Maki said, before covering her mouth with her hands and knitting her eyebrows in concern. She was always so apologetic about everything, and it always showed right in her unfairly large brown eyes. Mirei waved the comment off, as she always did, rather distracted by the sweet-and-salty treat.
“It was really scary that day, you know, when we found you.”
“We?”
“Me and Tada-nii.”
“Oh. I always assumed you were the only one who found me.” She assumed because she didn’t much care to think about it. Maki found her, Yoshi was mean, and right now she was more invested in obtaining the rest of Maki’s unfinished dango. Maki rolled her eyes but handed it over.
“No, Tada-nii was accompanying me on my first delivery. I was so adamant about running the delivery that Mother said she just couldn’t refuse me.” She smiled then, a bright, beaming smile that Maki always wore whenever she spoke of her mother. She was always just as quick to drop it, though, in Mirei’s presence. She really worried far too much. “He was the one to realize you were still breathing-sent me off alone to Ohno-san while he delivered the package to the Inoue residence. He probably knew I thought you were the more important delivery.”
And it was then Mirei realized, in the space of her mother’s memory and the image of Maki’s sun-dappled face, there was a faint glimmer of a moment. A warmth on her forehead, gentle and warm and soft, like her mother’s kiss. In order for Maki’s concerned, tear-stained face to have been her second memory, someone else must have been holding her.
But Mirei could do nothing with this newfound knowledge as Yoshi had already left Kyoto by then. Not that she really intended to. Not that she then spent night after night, staring at the moon and the stars in the vast sky above, thinking of the warmth against her forehead.
“Do you want to come see him?”
Mirei blinks and realizes with a start that Maki is staring at her with those insistent brown eyes, has perhaps been staring at her for longer than Mirei is comfortable knowing her daydreams about Yoshi have lasted. “Uh?”
“Well, you’re done with breakfast, right?”
Sure enough, the lunchbox is clean of even a single grain of rice, though somehow Mirei doesn’t feel full at all. Just wet. Very wet. Face and hair dripping rivulets down her neck and back and soaking the top of her yukata straight through. A breeze prickles her skin and sends gooseflesh up and down her spine and Mirei thinks, yes, it is getting colder, this silly, flighty feeling is just from the autumn breeze. “Yes, um, sure. I meant to go to the temple anyway.” Mirei holds out the damp kappa note in her palm, as if her statement required some kind of proof. “Let me just dry myself.”
She picks up a few cherry blossom petals from the grass and throws them into the air, blows, softly, a small cyclone that whirls the petals around her body until she is completely dry and-
“Is that a Western-style dress?”
“It’s something I picked up last time I traveled to Tokyo. Everyone is starting to dress like that,” Mirei says, deliberately not meeting Maki’s eyes.
“Traveling sounds nice,” Maki replies, chin in her hands. She blinks and then reaches a hand toward Mirei’s cheek. “Hm, are your cheeks pinker than usual? You don’t feel warm . . . ”
“Just the sun.”
“I’ve got a cream that should clear that right up. I’ll ask Sat-chan or Nat-chan to run it by for you later.”
“You’ll never make money by giving all your products away for free, Maki-chan,” Mirei tsks, considering the mounting bills from the shop and Maki’s dwindling line of customers with the advent of several new clinics boasting modern medicinal practices in town.
“It’s fine,” Maki says, smiling brighter than she has in far too many years. “Now that Tada-nii is back, everything will be okay.”
⇀
Ninomiya Kazunari is a samurai. An ex-samurai.
Probably.
Ninomiya can’t remember anything prior to waking up in a cold sweat, Maki and Ohno’s then unfamiliar, worried faces hovering over him. He had apparently stumbled into Kyoto in the summer, dressed in dirt- and blood-stained clothes with a katana gripped tightly in his hands. He fainted halfway up the stairs of Jojakkoji, and remained unconscious at the temple for another two weeks.
In the months since he’s been able to remember snatches of things: the clash of steel, the rank smell of blood, the sun, high and merciless above, and a thirst so unquenchable, so unbearable, burning deep within the pit of his stomach.
He can be certain of almost nothing in his life. The name he uses comes from the handkerchief tied around the handle of his sword, Ninomiya Kazunari embroidered in fine golden thread on the corner of the once white cloth.
The only thing he can be certain of is this: he is weak.
The only thing he can do is-
“Ninomiya-san, what did I tell you about exercising in your condition?”
Ninomiya’s shoulders tense and his swing falters, causing pain to criss-cross like lightning down his spine. He turns a disarming grin towards the top of the stairs, where Maki stands with hands at her hips. Mirei waves at him from her side, a pitying, knowing look on her face.
“Maki-chan, I was just-”
“What. Did. I. Tell. You. Ninomiya-san.” Maki’s voice booms overwhelmingly despite her size. He can’t recall any of his former opponents as a samurai, but he thinks Maki might have them all beat.
She’s still alive, after all.
Bitch.
Ninomiya shakes his head slowly. “You . . . told me not to exercise.”
Maki glares.
“At all.”
Mirei motions a slit throat with one hand.
“Ever.”
Maki sighs, hands her parcel to Mirei and walks up to Ninomiya, takes his sword from him and replaces it in the sheath left on the ground with a click of finality, before tucking it under her arm. Then she lifts Ninomiya’s shirt straight up and closely scrutinizes his abdomen.
“Ah, Maki-chan, not in public,” he says faintly, hands on his cheeks.
“You’ve re-opened wounds here, here, and here,” she deadpans, jabbing roughly at each spot with her thumb.
His toes curl instantly in pain and he winces, knees shaking. “Ouch, Maki-chan-”
With one hand on his back she bends his upper body down with a quick jerk, completely ignoring his sharp protests and what definitely sounds like the popping of bones or cartilage or something generally not good for poor Ninomiya. “Your lower back is overextended, too.”
“It tends to happen when pretty girls bend me over, though I’d much prefer it the other w-rrrrrgh.” he cuts off in pain as Maki puts pressure on his lower back.
“If you’re well enough to make jokes, try touching your toes. I’ll help.” She continues to push down on his back and he grits his teeth against the pain and wills his fingers toward the ground.
You are weak.
No, no he is not. He summons every ounce of strength in his body and laughs triumphantly as his fingers graze the tips of his toes, and then his body emits the most horrific, inhuman sound, his knees buckle and he falls.
Weak.
“Ninomiya-san?”
The door to the temple slides opens just as his body hits the ground, rolling so that he’s facing the sky.
“I thought I heard your voice, Maki-san.”
“Ah, Yuriko-san,” Maki says, hands over her mouth in concern. “I think I broke Ninomiya-san.”
“He was broken to begin with,” Yuriko replies nonchalantly.
Fucking bitch.
“Did you happen to bring by Ohno-san’s ointments? He’s been awfully distraught about not being able to go fishing.”
“Oh, er,” Maki looks from Yuriko, to Mirei, to Ninomiya, who shrugs and waves her along with his hand, the only part of his body that seems to be in working order. But hey, Ohno’s fishing dilemma is way more important.
Actually, Ninomiya is pretty certain he’s one sarcastic fucker. With back pain.
“By the way,” Yuriko adds as Mirei unwraps the parcel and Maki goes on in detail about the uses for each one, particularly the white cream in the glass bottle that will keep him from burning in the sun. “Your brother has been regaling me with tales of his Enka tour across Japan.”
The smile slips from Maki’s face-as does the sun cream in her hands. Mirei dives and manages to catch it with one hand before it hits the ground.
“Ooh, nice catch, Mirei-chan!” Tadayoshi hoots, peeping from around the corner of the front door. Maki turns stiffly toward him.
“Tadayoshi onii-sama, how nice of you to join us,” she says, voice stilted and menacingly polite. Ninomiya knows that voice all too well, and is more than a little glad to see it turned on someone else for a change. He rolls over a fraction of an inch, the most his body can manage, to watch the show.
“Er, Maki-chan. So good to see you, sis.”
“What did I just hear about an Enka tour across Japan?”
“I-” Tadayoshi laughs sheepishly, raising both hands and backing away from her slowly. Maki’s hand reaches toward Ninomiya’s sword as she rises and-oh no, no no no no no-
“I didn’t just roam around with them-I-I played the drums!” The last part is squeaked out as Maki swings wildly at him. Ninomiya opens his mouth to protest but nothing comes out.
Weak.
“You don’t even know how to play the drums!”
So fucking weak.
“I learned!”
No wonder she could never love you.
“SHUT UP!” Ninomiya roars, cramming his eyes shut and clutching at his head.
Silence.
“What’s all this noise about?” Ohno’s sleepy voice carries from the end of the hall, followed by padded footfalls. “Did something happen?”
When Ninomiya opens his eyes, he finds everyone motionless, silent, staring at him for an answer he cannot give.
Then several things happen all at once: The sword slips from Maki’s fingers. Ninomiya’s eyes widen because he has to save it he has to save it it will make him strong and he roll-dives for it, crying out as his body convulses in pain. Caught in mid-dodge, Tadayoshi’s foot slips and he tumbles straight into the cucumber patch by the side of the temple. Mirei squeaks.
Yuriko glances at Ohno gravely. “This is what happens when you take in strays and vagabonds in to your temple, Ohno-san.”
Bitch.
Ohno laughs. “Tea?”
⇀
Horikita Tadayoshi was Ohkura Tadayoshi once, in another lifetime in Osaka. Instead of leaving the moment word spread of a fatal, contagious disease, his parents, both prominent doctors in town, chose to stay and treat the sick and the weak. They sent him off-with a hug and a kiss and a promise to see him again soon-to Kyoto, where he was to stay for an indefinite period of time with Horikita Masao and his family.
When the news reached Kyoto that his parents had passed away, Masao gave Tadayoshi a bone-crushing hug and welcomed him into the family permanently.
What was once a childhood dream to become a great doctor like his parents became a desperate need, and Tadayoshi spent the next several years studying medicine under Masao’s guidance, wanting desperately to become the kind of doctor who could cure the illness that took the lives of his parents. The kind of doctor who would do everything in his power, even risk his very life, to save the sick and the weak.
Tadayoshi unceremoniously dumps Ninomiya’s body onto the patio of the temple and laughs at the subsequent groan. “This is why you should always listen to my sister, Ninomiya,” he says, a touch too loudly, glancing hopefully in Maki’s direction. Maki turns and shoots him a displeased look before resuming conversation with Ohno. Whoops. Maki’s anger is a lot like Maki’s love, quick to grow and always lingering.
Ninomiya grunts and Tadayoshi frowns. “That sounds serious, you really shouldn’t be working out at all, let alone taking a literal dive like that.”
“But my sword,” Ninomiya says petulantly, and Tadayoshi is amazed that Ninomiya is probably much older than he looks-older than Tadayoshi himself.
“Is there something about this sword, Nino?” Mirei asks, taking up the sword and unsheathing it by half, enough to see the gleam of blue steel.
“It’s the only thing I had with me when I came to. No memories of who I was or what I had been doing until this point.”
“You never let go of that sword once during the entire two weeks you were unconscious,” Yuriko says, glancing at Ninomiya out of the corner of her eye as she serves them tea.
“I assumed it must have been really important to me, long ago.” Ninomiya winces as Tadayoshi eases him into a sitting position to roll a large gauze bandage around his torso. “That and the handkerchief with a name written on it, my name-well, probably.”
“Ooh, a handkerchief?” Tadayoshi asks, interest piqued. “Like from a lover?”
“Who knows.” Ninomiya shrugs his shoulders lightly and sighs the most dramatic sigh. “What a pitiful life that girl must be living, to be without the presence of her Ninomiya Kazunari. Oh, sweet maiden, I will come find you one day!”
“More pitiful is the girl who must continue to live in the presence of Ninomiya Kazunari,” Yuriko quips after taking a careful sip of tea. “If you ask me, you’re not trying to get better because you don’t want to leave at all, freeloader.”
“You think I want to feel like-”
Tadayoshi tucks the bandage in place, sets it with a resounding thwack and Ninomiya hisses and shoots him a glare. “That should set your back for now, but be careful. I’ve got something in my bag that will help with the pain. I’ll also give you something stronger to help you sleep-you said the other stuff I gave you wasn’t really working, right?”
“You never told me you were having trouble sleeping,” Yuriko says sharply, narrowing her eyes at him.
“You never asked.”
“That’s not-”
“It’s getting a bit hot in here isn’t it, Mirei-chan?” Tadayoshi grins, waving the collar of his shirt. Mirei laughs, a guttural, unabashed noise that seems to envelop her entire body. It’s refreshing. “Want to leave these two lovebirds alone and help me put away my supplies?”
“We’re not-” “I would never-” “Wait, why would you never-”
Mirei covers her mouth sheepishly with her hands and nods quickly, picks up his bag of gauze and rushes out of the room before he can say another word. He blinks, glances at Ninomiya and Yuriko, who have begun to bicker in their own world, and rushes out after her with his remaining bags.
He catches up to her before she heads into the wrong direction-tugs on her wrist and she stumbles straight into him. Her hair smells like cherry blossoms. “My room is this way-are you okay?”
“HA. I mean, yes, I’m fine.”
She wriggles away from him, but not before he manages to lay a hand on her forehead, pursing his lips. “Your head feels a bit warm, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I took a cold bath this morning.” She’s not looking him in the eye, is concentrating on her wrist still in his hands. He drops it when he notices.
“Um, be careful, it’s getting colder lately. Anyway, it’s this way.”
“Wait a minute-did you say your room was this way? Why do you have a room at Ohno-san’s temple already?” She frowns. “Also, how did you already give Nino something to help him sleep when you arrived here just this morning?”
Tadayoshi pauses before opening the sliding door to his room at the end of the hallway, glances back at her with a sheepish grin. “Ah, you found me out.”
He motions for her to sit on his bed in the middle of the room as he packs away his belongings. “I actually arrived a little under a week ago but-had a feeling Maki-chan wouldn’t take kindly to what I’ve been up to for the past few years. Thought I should lay low at Ohno-san’s until I figured out what to do-but Yuriko-san said that one freeloader was already one too many and forced me to have a note delivered this morning.”
“Maki-chan talks about you a lot, you know.”
“Terrible, horrible, rotten things?” he asks hopefully, but Mirei shakes her head and laughter bubbles up from her throat again.
“Not a single bad word.” She smiles as him kindly. “She loves you, you know.”
Tadayoshi groans and collapses onto the blankets next to her. “That’s exactly what makes it harder. She means well, but she takes after mom in that way-so trusting and loving and expecting and it’s just . . . too much pressure sometimes.”
He sighs, glances sideways at her and notices for the first time that Mirei has become quite lovely, from her windswept hair scattered with cherry blossoms to the pleasant flush on her cheeks to the stylish clothing she has on, despite her tendency to still walk everywhere bare feet.
“Nice dress by the way.”
“T-thanks!”
“Western clothing is really in right now.”
“I know, I do a lot of traveling for work.”
“Oh?” He props his head against his arm. “What do you do again, exactly?”
“Um, oh, I run errands and such.”
“Sounds difficult.” Tadayoshi yawns. “I guess you’ve really grown up, huh? Maki-chan, too, come to think of it. Weird.” He sits up, raises a hand to push the hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear. “Heh, but you still have really tiny ears.”
“W-what are you doing?” Mirei shrieks, slipping backwards and landing on her elbows.
He raises his hands in surrender and laughs. “Sorry, my bad, that was probably weird of me.”
“You’ve . . . also grown up, Yoshi.”
“Yoshi. I forgot you called me that. And I used to call you-” he frowns, trying to remember, but this, too, seems like another lifetime ago.
“Rei,” she supplies after a moment. “You used to call me Rei.”
“Rei.” He smiles and Kyoto feels a shade more familiar. “Shall we head back for some tea, Rei?”
Rei nods, and for some reason the smile on her face makes his heart twinge just a little bit.
⇀
Horikita Maki inherited the Horikita Clinic at eighteen, just after her mother passed away. As a child she often dreamed of being a great doctor, just like her father. A doctor who did not discriminate based on class or gender or money or even species-she wanted to treat all the sick and injured creatures of the world as well.
As a child, she was told that it was still much too hard for women to become doctors. Instead, her mother guided her through dusty picture books of plants and herbs, identifying each plant and its best medicinal purpose, taught her the art of grinding herbs and the creation of salves and ointments. Maki-chan, her mother said gently, there is no shame in being an apothecary. You are still treating the sick through the medicines that you make, you are still making a difference in one person’s life.
“More of Maki-chan’s super special cure-all cream. My calloused hands are saved!” Ohno grins, eagerly rubbing the ointments onto his hands.
Maki smiles and shakes her head. “If the pain bothers you so much, you should try fishing less.”
“You can’t take away an old man’s only comfort and joy in the world, Maki-chan.”
“But Ohno-san,” Maki begins, staring at his tanned face, perfectly smooth except for the light peeling of skin across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, “it looks like you haven’t aged a day since I first met you. You are the very same man who tucked a cherry blossom behind my ear, even though the season for them had just passed.”
“I’ve always thought that the gods smiled down fortunately on Jojakkoji-it is the everlasting Pure Land, after all.” He smiles indulgently about the temple grounds, at the cherry blossom trees still in full bloom, bright spots of pink against a backdrop of reds, oranges, yellows and greens. “Thank you for the ointments again, Maki-chan, and the excuse for a distracting cup of tea, but I think I must get back to my meditating now.”
“Of course, please don’t let me keep you, Ohno-san.” Maki bows her head as she stands. “I’ll let myself out shortly.”
Ohno nods and recedes behind a sliding wooden door.
“We all know he’s just going back to sleep,” Ninomiya complains as soon as the footfalls down the hall have subsided.
Maki is quick to cover her mouth with her hands, muffling her laughter, as Yuriko shoots him a look of disdain. She opens her mouth, most likely another hot-headed retort that will get them all fired up again, but then she frowns, looking toward the gate. “Who’s there?”
“Sharp as ever, Yoshitaka-san,” Sho says, peeking out from behind one end of the main gate, a sheepish grin on his face.
“Looking for rabbits, Sakurai-sama?” Maki teases, before realizing her present company and her place.
Sho smiles warmly back at her, though. “No, not this time, Horikita-san. I’m here to talk with Ohno-san-I wanted his advice on something.”
“Unfortunately,” Yuriko says loftily, ignoring Ninomiya’s smirk, “Ohno-san has just gone back to his meditations.”
Sho sighs. “So he won’t be up for another five hours.”
“You are of course welcome to stay, Sakurai-sama. The tea is still warm.”
“And I’m the freeloader,” Ninomiya grumbles, the tail-end of his sentence morphing into a yelp as Yuriko jabs him in the stomach.
“That’s quite all right, I’m sure my time could be spent more productively than waiting for Ohno-san to rouse.” He glances over at Maki, who blinks. “Are you done with your tea, Horikita-san?”
“Oh, I suppose so,” Maki replies, staring down at her empty teacup.
“Then may I escort you back into town?”
“Oh! Well-”
“Ah, Ohno-san is napping again, I see,” Tadayoshi bursts in cheerfully, rejoining them on the patio. Mirei trails behind him, her cheeks still red from the sun. Maki makes a note to send over some cream tonight.
“Ah, Tada-nii, Sakurai-sama and I are about to head back into town, are you coming?”
“Actually . . . I’ve got to get some things together for Nino, and Ohno-san asked me to run a few errands.”
“Oh.” Maki can’t help the disappointment from flooding into her voice. “Will you be home for dinner? I was going to make your favorite.”
“You mean everything?”
“Except shabu-shabu.”
Tadayoshi smiles, but it’s a smile that looks to break her heart. “I’ll try to make it.”
Maki nods, stands and then throws her arms around him, hugging him tight. “Welcome back, Tada-nii.”
He pats her awkwardly on the head, like he’s not quite sure how to deal with her anymore, so Maki releases him and turns to Mirei. “Mirei-chan, coming?”
“I’ve got to see if I can salvage any of the cucumbers from the cucumber patch,” Mirei says, glances sideways at Tadayoshi.
“You’ll turn green if you eat nothing but cucumbers anyway,” he replies flippantly, causing Mirei to chuckle outright and Maki to smile. It was something their mother always said.
“Well, I guess it’s just us, Sakurai-sama.”
“I guess so.”
“Bye Maki-chan, bye Double Jacket!” Ninomiya hollers just as they step past the gate. Sho widens his eyes at her and Maki clamps her lips shut as Ninomiya’s subsequent laughter follows them down the stairs.
“I-I’m sorry,” Maki says, horrified by the look on Sho’s face. “I don’t even know how Ninomiya-san could-I never told anyone except-arghhh Tada-nii!” She’s huffing from anger now, the adrenaline powering her down the stairs.
It’s not until Sho croaks out a feeble, “H-Horikita-san,” that she stops and whirls around, surprised to find Sho trailing back by several flights.
“O-Oh!” She rushes up to meet him halfway and sighs. “I’m so sorry Sakurai-sama, leaving you behind like that when you were so kind to offer to carry my boxes for me.”
“I-it’s quite all right,” Sho replies, though he’s panting and sweating and it’s clearly all but. “I just can’t believe you’re not winded by these stairs.”
“It’s much easier going down, than up.” She hopes it doesn’t sound condescending. “Won’t you have to make this same trek back to go see Ohno-san when he wakes?”
Sho glances up at the temple, then slowly shakes his head. “I don’t think I could stand to make it up there a second time today.”
“Weak lungs,” Maki diagnoses without thinking, before covering her mouth with her hands. But Sho throws his head back in laughter and it makes her feel at ease. “You’ve always had weak lungs since we were children.” She pauses, guiltily. “I’m still sorry about that, you know-Ninomiya-san knowing about the double jackets, I mean. I must have mentioned it to Tada-nii just after meeting you and it always seemed to amuse him more than it amused me.”
“I figured,” he replies drily. “What did your little, pig-tailed, ten-year-old self tell him exactly?”
She speaks without thinking, “I told him I saw a sparkling boy wearing two jackets searching for rabbits.”
Sho stumbles. Maki tries to steady him with an arm, but he has too much momentum and before she knows it, his arms are around her as they skid the remainings steps down on his back.
“Sakurai-sama, are you okay!?” Maki cries, too concerned to recognize the tingling warmth fading from her body as she detangles herself from him, reaching over to check his pulse and his breathing and his pupils. Sho lets out a wheeze that grows into a ripple of laughter and Maki watches him, bewildered. She releases his eyelid only for Sho to catch her hand in his. “S-Sakurai-sama?”
“You said I was sparkling?” His eyes are so warm and his smile is so radiant and how could he be anything but sparkling?
“I was ten,” she huffs, hoping the dust on her cheeks covers the potential flush. “And you were a very pretty little boy.”
“Am I no longer?”
“Do you want to be?”
“Good point.” Sho laughs again, but it’s different this time around. He stands and collects her belongings, apologizes for the broken lunchbox and offers both a new one in the future and a hand to help her up.
“Thank you,” Maki says, and the moment ends. They are just mere minutes away from Kyoto where he is a prince’s heir and she is a common apothecary and they should barely be acquaintances let alone friends. Let alone anything else. Maki smooths the hair back from her face and cools down her cheeks with her hands. She’s disappointed in herself, in letting herself get drawn into a fantasy of a moment.
“Are you okay?” Sho is looking at her with concern and Maki forces a smile on her face as she nods.
“I’m fine. Ah, I can take those now,” she says as they make it toward the last crossroad before the city.
“But your house is-”
“I actually have one last delivery to Aiba-san.”
“Your boxes are empty.” There is a hint of that smile there, the smile reserved only for her, only on the secluded steps to the Jojakkoji Temple, shy and awkward and longing.
She won’t let herself get drawn in again, retrieves a small vial from a hidden pocket sewn into the sleeve of her kimono and presents it to him. “Hime-chan has a stomachache.”
“I see.” His smile dims, but Maki knows that they’re better off this way. “Well then, I’ll be off. Thank you for your company, Horikita-san.” He bows, handing off her boxes with both hands before he leaves. He doesn’t look back.
Maki stares until long after she can tell his faint silhouette from the next. Satisfied with just this, she turns in the other direction toward Aiba’s farm.
“Good evening Maki-chan!” Aiba says cheerfully, throwing open the door at her very first knock.
“Ah, good evening, Aiba-san. How is-”
“Hime-chan still has a stomachache,” he replies somberly.
Maki smiles a little at that. “I was actually going to ask about Becky-san.”
“Oh, her? She’s fine,” Aiba says flippantly, holding out his hands for the medicine.
“Oh, her?” Becky huffs, throwing a damp towel at him from the kitchen doorway. “What a way to speak about your wife.”
“But Hime-chan’s in paaaaaaaain,” Aiba whines until Becky rolls her eyes and relents and shoos him off. Aiba bounds into the bedroom and Becky offers Maki a smile, a seat and a cup of tea.
“I’m okay, I had some with Ohno-san.”
“But I insist. You’re always so sweet to indulge us by bringing over medicine for our animals-anyone else would laugh us out of their clinic!”
“Oh, it’s quite all right, Becky-san. I’m so fond of you both and Hime-chan and all your animals. It’s not a-”
“Maki-chan,” Becky’s words, like her grip on Maki’s arm, is like iron. “Stay.”
“O-okay. Maybe just one cup,” Maki says hesitantly, and Becky sends her a patented thousand-watt Becky smile as she bustles back into the kitchen.
As she takes a seat, Maki marvels at the state of the living room. She’s never seen a cleaner cluttered room in her life. Every corner of the room overflows with little animal knick-knacks, grouped by size and material and even species-littering shelves, topping tables and even piled neatly in the corner of the room, under a multi-colored fleece rug. It is so Aiba yet so Becky at the same time.
“I’m sorry for keeping you, Maki-chan,” Becky says, returning with a bright yellow tea kettle, matching teacups, and a plate piled high with crackers and sweets on top of a bamboo green tray. “It’s just so rare that I get to speak with another intelligent human being.”
Maki coughs her tea up the wrong pipe, caught between laughter and surprise.
“I heard that!” Aiba yells from the bedroom, but Becky doesn’t look at all ashamed.
“I love him, of course, but between him and a farm full of animals, it’s hard to get some decent conversation around here-and believe me, I’ve tried. Nothing but sass from that rooster.”
Maki giggles and Aiba reenters the room with Hime-chan, who is happily wagging her tail at the sight of Maki. Aiba sets Hime-chan onto Maki’s lap and steals a cracker out of Becky’s hands. “Someone’s missed you, Maki-chan.”
“I can tell,” she gasps in-between slobbering kisses.
“Maki-chan is really the only person who will consider Hime-chan’s condition seriously. We’re really thankful.” Aiba presses his cheek against Becky’s, who furrows her eyebrows as she tries to swat him away. The air between them is so comfortable; fills the entire house with warmth and love.
She wonders how they ended up so happily married and then blinks and covers her mouth when she realizes she’s wondered aloud.
“Well, I don’t know about happy-” “Honestly-”
They point at each other accusatorily.
“Why not happy?” “You don’t remember, do you!” Becky smacks him lightly on the head before he can dodge it.
“Well-”
“It wasn’t romantic at all, anyway. Aiba got a postcard from one his friends-did you know Jun-kun?”
Maki considers. “The merchant’s son?”
Aiba nods. “He fell in love with the only daughter of the Inoue family, even though she was engaged to be married. But she also fell in love with Jun-chan.”
“I don’t blame her, he was very good looking,” Becky sighs.
Aiba scrunches up his nose. “I’m sorry you had to settle for just old farmer Aiba Masaki.”
“Me too,” Becky sniffs, holding a cherry blossom pink handkerchief to her eyes.
“Anyway,” Aiba cuts in, “one day I get a letter saying they’d run away to get married-can you imagine? The daughter of Count Inoue and a common merchant-”
Maki purses her lips and Becky quickly continues,“So Masaki turns to me and says, completely out of nowhere and still covered in pig manure: Hey, wanna get married?”
“It was so very romantic,” Aiba says, wiping at his eyes with Becky’s stolen handkerchief.
“Well, more like our marriage was inevitable from the beginning-a union of two farms. He comes from a farm full of animals and I come from a farm full of fruits and vegetables.”
“A match made by the god of love himself.” Aiba grins and steals another cracker from Becky’s hands. She steals it back and stuffs the whole thing into her mouth smugly.
“It worked out for them, though? Matsumoto-san and Inoue-san?”
“Well, Mao-chan’s family was upset for a very long time-they might still be upset, come to think of it.” He shrugs. “But we received a letter from them recently.”
“It says they’re expecting a baby in November,” Becky says through a mouthful of crumbs.
“Jun-chan hopes it’s a girl,” Aiba adds with a silly grin on his face. “Speaking of which, Becky, when do you think we should start planning a family of our own?”
“We already have thirty-five kids, Masaki, how many more do you need?” Becky huffs, though there is a twinkle in her eyes. Before Aiba can advance on her, Maki coughs politely and averts her eyes. “I’ll be on my way then.”
She lets herself out. Aiba and Becky are so lucky to have been born in the same social class, so fortunate to have loved each other before they were to be married. Fortunate to be able to say, I love him, of course, and have it be as simple as that.
“Maki-chan,” Becky calls, waving at her from the window. “It’s possible.”
“What’s possible?”
“A love that transcends class.” Becky grins. “If it worked for Mao-chan and Jun-kun, it can work for you.”
“I don’t know what you-”
“I saw you walking down here with Sakurai-san before you parted ways. I saw the way you looked after him as he left.”
“That is-” Maki rushes to defend herself but Becky shakes her head. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. But it’s definitely possible, so do your best.” Becky gives her a thumbs up and her patented thousand-watt grin again. “Good luck!”
⇀
Yoshitaka Yuriko is not strange.
Strange is a demon child, a child of misfortune, a child who hears things no one else hears, who sees things no one else sees, a child condemned.
It started with voices, whispers of things that Yuriko couldn’t understand, shadows skirting about the corners of her eyes, so she would ask aloud: Why is Yamamoto-san having an affair? Why does a rooster taste best raw? Why is Tanaka-san pregnant? Why can’t the sun rise in the west?
Her parents hushed her, told her not to talk nonsense in public, Be quiet, Yuriko, What will our neighbors think, Yuriko, Never speak of such things again, Yuriko! And then, when she was eight, Yamamoto-san ran off with Tanaka-san, and her parents had looked at her with such stricken terror in their eyes. They called in a priest, a thickset, greasy man who instructed them to lock her in her room for a week without food or water, littering the walls with decorated paper talismans to exorcise the dark spirits residing in her soul. Demon child be purged, her parents chanted at night, child of misfortune be gone, they wailed, even as she cried and begged for them to let her out.
She was so thirsty and so hungry and finally, on the verge of collapse, through her tear-blurred vision she saw them. Cats. Cats standing on their hind legs, faces pinched with pity, forked tails swaying behind their backs. Poor child, they said, sweet child, they said, drink and eat, they said, offering her a bowl of water and a stale loaf of bread. When she was full, they glanced at the paper talismans and the wall and tittered. Mere decoration, they laughed, and she laughed with them.
She was happy.
But it was strange to be happy while locked up in a room, so very strange to have lost not a single kilogram after a week without food or water. Her parents feared her, were still troubled by her, this was much clear on their faces, this much the fork-tailed cats whispered to her at night. So she tried to be normal, spoke demurely with her head bowed and ignored the whispered secrets in her ears when her neighbors skittered away, to no avail.
Why must I be so strange? she would asked her friends at night, and they would purr in reply, There is nothing strange about you, dear Yuriko.
Nearing her tenth birthday she asked, Why does my father say I am not his child? Why does my mother cry every night?
They are merely human.
And again, on her twelfth birthday, to a house empty but for her fork-tailed friends. Why did they leave?
They couldn’t answer her this question. Thousands of years they lived and they had no reply.
So she left to find the answer for herself, followed the voices that lead her from Aomori to Akita, Fukushima to Tokyo, to a dead end in Kyoto. There she remained, at the Jojakkoji Temple with Ohno, because he was the first and only person to ask if she wanted to stay.
Ohno is the first person Yuriko has been mystified by, has felt a strange connection and familiarity toward. Mirei is the possibly the second. Ninomiya the third.
Perhaps that is why, though she won’t dare admit it, she doesn’t actually mind Ninomiya’s company, even possibly enjoys it on occasion.
Perhaps that is why she allows him into her room just before midnight every night to share a plate of dumplings and tea before she kicks him out to sleep.
Only, tonight he doesn’t come, and the tea has cooled to room temperature. So she knocks on his door with lukewarm tea and a mostly finished plate of dumplings and wonders if it’s strange she cares so much.
Ninomiya opens his door with half-lidded eyes, squinting against the light of her oil lamp. “Yuri? What time is it?”
“Past midnight. The tea is cold.”
“Oh.” He blinks. “Oh,” he repeats, eyes widening. “Sorry, I guess I didn’t realize the time. I took some of Tada’s medicine with dinner and fell straight asleep after.”
“Why haven’t you been able to sleep?”
“I-don’t know. It started a few weeks ago when I-I’ve been remembering things more clearly.” The words hang in the air and Yuriko finds her gaze landing on the right corner of his bed, where she knows a handkerchief lays folded into a square, his name embroidered elegantly on top.
“Why-are there waves in the ocean?”
Ninomiya smiles a little. “To tell us that life continues under the sea, even if we can’t see it from the land.”
“Why do clouds turn gray during a storm?”
“Yuri-”
“Why do cats’ eyes glow in the dark?”
“I’m too tired for this right now.”
She tenses, feels in her bones that something is wrong, but she can’t for the life of her understand what. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” Ninomiya says with emphasis. “Just tired. Good night.” The door slides shut softly in her face.
She rests her head against it and mutters, “Why, even though you say you’re fine, do I feel so strange?”
⇀
Sakurai Sho will be a Prince when his father dies.
It’s a stupid title, he thinks. A Westernized ranking of nobility in the name of progress and modernization during a political upheaval; a way to placate the nobility by keeping intact the same archaic class structure under a different name. A way to maintain power and order and smug self-satisfaction over those of a lower “class.” The only people who haven’t remained static are the samurai left landless and wandering, the ones who opposed the emperor, yes, but also the only ones who actually did something to deserve their titles in the first place.
His father was-is-different. His father is the kindest, fairest person Sho knows. His father is also hanging on by a thread. On the best days he is not lucid, the only thing keeping him tethered to this world is Maki’s medicine. On the worst days-
His father’s slack hand twitches, fingers flexing until they are gripping Sho’s wrist tightly.
“Sho-Sho!” he gasps, spittle flying from his mouth, eyes searching wildly about the room and landing anywhere but on Sho. “Where is she-where is she?!”
“Father, I-”
“You must find her, Sho, find her. Please.”
“I will, father.” Sho swallows, patting him on the hand and on his cheek, trying to keep his father calm before he wakes the servants, but it is too late.
“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. I LEFT HER. I HAD TO LEAVE AND SHE WAS ALL ALONE. SHO SHE MUST BE SO SCARED. SO LONELY. FIND HER.”
Sho closes his eyes as the servants rush into the room with their oil lamps. One of them gently removes his father’s hand from Sho’s arm, tells Sho that he should please wait outside while they take care of it. One servant is readying the syringe, another is rummaging through the medicine cabinet. Sho notices vaguely that they are running low. He may have to see Maki again soon, after all.
He’s not sure if he can handle it.
They force him out of the room with a reproving look that says, Didn’t we tell you? Didn’t we tell you not to visit your father so late at night without us around? Look what you’ve done. But of course they could never say these things aloud, even if they’re right and even if he were the stupidest man on earth.
He is to be a Prince.
Numbly, Sho turns toward his room, but not before his aunt’s voice stops him in his tracks. “Ah, Sho-kun, could you come here for a moment?”
The door of his aunt’s bedroom is ajar, and dim lamp light floods into the hallway. He must have woken her up. Great. “Good evening, oba-sama,” he greets politely, walking into her room. His aunt is younger than his father, but no less wrinkled, pale, translucent flesh mottled brown and green. But her eyes are sharp, sweeping over his form imperiously as he bows.
“Get up.” she commands. He does, straightens his legs and his shoulders, but she spots it, makes a disapproving click with her mouth and stares just below his face.
“Quit sloping.”
“I don’t mean to offend you, oba-sama.”
She sighs. “Ten years have come and gone, Sho-kun. Ten years since your father, my dear eldest brother, first fell into a grave illness. Ten long years.”
Sho swallows. “Yes, oba-sama.”
“In those ten years, my other brothers have passed, your cousins have passed, but you have grown from a scrawny little boy into a mostly respectable man. Someone worthy of carrying on the Sakurai legacy. But do you remember what you asked me when your father fell ill, just before the season of your birth?”
“I-asked if I could look for my half-sister.”
“Your father was a fool for filling your head with such nonsense, and you a bigger fool for believing his words.”
Sho opens his mouth to protest, but she silences him with a single finger. “But, it seemed like a wise decision on my part. To take care of the family household and financials while the last-the only-Sakurai heir grew up. So I warmly took up your request, gave you ten generous years to search for your supposed half-sister under the condition that you strictly followed my course of study. Do you remember the condition of my generosity?”
“That, if I couldn’t find my half-sister-that in the event her existence was the fabrication of the madness plaguing my father, I would consent to a match of your choosing. To carry on the Sakurai legacy.”
“She will be here in three days.”
“B-but-”
“It is a match ten years in the making, I expect you not to disappoint me when she arrives.” His aunt glances again at his shoulders and shakes her head. “I suggest you begin cutting off all-ah, extraneous ties before her arrival.”
When Sho doesn’t move, she adds, “That is all.”
Mirei wakes to the sound of a fishing reel slowly spooling into the river.
pg-13. 20,930. Ohkura Tadayoshi/Kiritani Mirei, Sakurai Sho/Horikita Maki, Ninomiya Kazunari/Yoshitaka Yuriko, plus a few surprise extras.
No one said love during Meiji Japan would be easy, especially if you’re a yokai, or an ex-samurai, a prince-to-be, an artisan, a demon child, or a bum. But hey, stranger things have happened. Originally here.
Written for novemberbaby for je_whiteday 2013. I very much hope I’ve done your favorite pairings & prompts enough justice and that you enjoy this fic. Happy White Day! ♥
This could not have been finished without the super beta handholding of anamuan, dalampasigan & tinyangl. You guys are incredible and I will never have enough words of gratitude and love for you. ♥♥♥
Kiritani Mirei lives under the Togetsukyo bridge.
She hasn’t always lived here-had once nestled under the shade of a great paulownia tree across the valley, despite how little comfort it provided during the rainy seasons. Then the tree was struck down by lightning and Mirei was left without a home.
Since then she’s been offered housing, insistently and persistently, from Ohno and Maki over the years, and though she does take up their offers during particularly cold winter nights, Mirei can’t think of a single place she’d rather live. She loves waking to the smell of fresh dew on the grass and the feel of dirt under bare feet and the echo of kodama in the Arashiyama mountain trees.
It is also here, and only here, where her memory can remain vivid in her dreams.
The first memory she has of her mother is also her last and her only: a beautiful woman with untameable black hair, tanned skin, and haunted brown eyes. She remembers the touch of her mother’s hand against her cheek, gentle, but cold; the press of her mother’s lips against her forehead, gentle, but warm; a whisper, Wait and be safe, Mirei, my beautiful one, you will be found; and the scatter of paulownia petals across a field of withering green before the image flickers electric blue then fades to black.
Mirei cherishes this memory, clings to it in her dreams, burns it against the backs of her eyelids when she wakes. Her mother, she thinks, was a very beautiful woman.
Today she rolls out of her makeshift bed down the grassy slope toward the Oi riverbank, stops just before the water, and sits up, cross-legged. “Good morning, kappa-san,” she greets. A gurgle of bubbles and a cucumber wrapped with paper and twine floats up from the depths. A lazy reply. They must have been out late last night, she thinks, unwrapping the cucumber and taking a bite as she scans the illegible scribbling on the note: Kyu-bu-u-bu-ri-bi.
Another delivery of cucumbers fresh from the gardens of Jojakkoji temple.
Running errands for her fellow yokai should really be more interesting than vegetable deliveries, but it beats trimming and painting the nails of a bakeneko prostitute.
Mirei stretches her arms overhead, cracks her neck, and smells Maki’s approach before she hears the harried clatter of wooden sandals on the dusty road, or the cheerful, “Mirei-chan, good morning!”
Maki smells like earth, like honey and mint and medicinal herbs all at once. Mirei would like to think that this is how her mother would have smelled, like a mother should smell, but Maki’s scent is too human, too real and too alive to reconcile with a distant memory.
Maki waves as she approaches, the sleeve of her kimono pooling around her shoulder. She’s holding a large bundle wrapped in a blue cotton handkerchief, which means she is delivering a special order to Ohno. Which means she has also brought food for Mirei. Sure enough, there is a black-lacquered lunchbox resting neatly on top of the blue-wrapped parcel.
“Good morning, Maki-chan.” She swallows the last bit of cucumber and licks her fingers dry just in time for Maki to catch her.
“You’re going to turn green if you only eat cucumbers,” she tsks, stepping up to Mirei along the riverbank carefully. The bottom of her kimono is already rolled and clipped to the side, so as not to get mud on it. Remnants of a mother’s teaching.
“Not if Maki-chan cooks for me forever.”
Maki rolls her eyes, but presents the lunchbox and chopsticks to Mirei, who digs in gladly-rice and pickled plums and radish, dried seaweed, spicy mushrooms, and fresh slices of tomatoes, of course-stopping only to blow a handful of cherry blossom petals over a large river stone, transforming it into a clean and comfortable straw mat.
Maki shoots her a grateful smile, seats herself and stretches her legs straight over the river. She brings her knees to her stomach, then stretches them out again, her movements so precise that her skirt barely moves an inch. Not that the garment affords much movement to begin with. Mirei prefers her own brand of yukata with a billowed skirt all year long.
“By the way, Tada-nii came back last night.”
Mirei chokes on a plum, submerges her entire head underwater and takes a big gulp to push it down. “Oh, really?”
If Maki notices the hitch in Mirei’s reply, she doesn’t say so, forges on with the warmth and admiration that always accompanies any talk of her older brother. “It’s been seven years since he left Kyoto to seriously study medicine. He was supposed to arrive yesterday afternoon, but his train must have gotten delayed. Natsuki, Satsuki and I were all asleep when he arrived last night, and his note said he was already up and at the temple to visit Ohno-san this morning.”
Mirei eats in thoughtful silence as Maki prattles on about her brother’s accomplishments and what this could mean for their clinic now that he’s home and how proud of him she is and how much she’s missed him.
Mirei doesn’t know how to describe her own feelings toward Yoshi. Years ago, when Mirei first met Maki and wanted to do all the things Maki did and like all the things Maki liked, Mirei tried to like Yoshi. She tried really hard. But he was always so sullen, so quiet, so taken with his books and his studies, not at all like his younger sisters. Eventually Mirei tired of trying so hard and getting rebuffed whenever she asked if he wanted to play with them, found she couldn’t quite miss his presence as much as Maki and her sisters did.
Mirei remembers only three things about Yoshi apart from that:
One, his first words to her were, “Did you know you have really tiny ears?”
Two, she calls him Yoshi because when she tried to call him “Tada-nii” like Maki did, he frowned and rudely replied that he was not her brother. She decided to call him Yoshi shortly after that, because it sounded silly and she could see the irritation on his face whenever she called him.
Three, Yoshi was her first kiss.
Sort of.
The realization occurred at fifteen, over sticks of gooey dango, which Maki had bought immediately upon learning that Mirei had never tried any.
“I sometimes forget you’re actually not just a girl girl,” Maki said, before covering her mouth with her hands and knitting her eyebrows in concern. She was always so apologetic about everything, and it always showed right in her unfairly large brown eyes. Mirei waved the comment off, as she always did, rather distracted by the sweet-and-salty treat.
“It was really scary that day, you know, when we found you.”
“We?”
“Me and Tada-nii.”
“Oh. I always assumed you were the only one who found me.” She assumed because she didn’t much care to think about it. Maki found her, Yoshi was mean, and right now she was more invested in obtaining the rest of Maki’s unfinished dango. Maki rolled her eyes but handed it over.
“No, Tada-nii was accompanying me on my first delivery. I was so adamant about running the delivery that Mother said she just couldn’t refuse me.” She smiled then, a bright, beaming smile that Maki always wore whenever she spoke of her mother. She was always just as quick to drop it, though, in Mirei’s presence. She really worried far too much. “He was the one to realize you were still breathing-sent me off alone to Ohno-san while he delivered the package to the Inoue residence. He probably knew I thought you were the more important delivery.”
And it was then Mirei realized, in the space of her mother’s memory and the image of Maki’s sun-dappled face, there was a faint glimmer of a moment. A warmth on her forehead, gentle and warm and soft, like her mother’s kiss. In order for Maki’s concerned, tear-stained face to have been her second memory, someone else must have been holding her.
But Mirei could do nothing with this newfound knowledge as Yoshi had already left Kyoto by then. Not that she really intended to. Not that she then spent night after night, staring at the moon and the stars in the vast sky above, thinking of the warmth against her forehead.
“Do you want to come see him?”
Mirei blinks and realizes with a start that Maki is staring at her with those insistent brown eyes, has perhaps been staring at her for longer than Mirei is comfortable knowing her daydreams about Yoshi have lasted. “Uh?”
“Well, you’re done with breakfast, right?”
Sure enough, the lunchbox is clean of even a single grain of rice, though somehow Mirei doesn’t feel full at all. Just wet. Very wet. Face and hair dripping rivulets down her neck and back and soaking the top of her yukata straight through. A breeze prickles her skin and sends gooseflesh up and down her spine and Mirei thinks, yes, it is getting colder, this silly, flighty feeling is just from the autumn breeze. “Yes, um, sure. I meant to go to the temple anyway.” Mirei holds out the damp kappa note in her palm, as if her statement required some kind of proof. “Let me just dry myself.”
She picks up a few cherry blossom petals from the grass and throws them into the air, blows, softly, a small cyclone that whirls the petals around her body until she is completely dry and-
“Is that a Western-style dress?”
“It’s something I picked up last time I traveled to Tokyo. Everyone is starting to dress like that,” Mirei says, deliberately not meeting Maki’s eyes.
“Traveling sounds nice,” Maki replies, chin in her hands. She blinks and then reaches a hand toward Mirei’s cheek. “Hm, are your cheeks pinker than usual? You don’t feel warm . . . ”
“Just the sun.”
“I’ve got a cream that should clear that right up. I’ll ask Sat-chan or Nat-chan to run it by for you later.”
“You’ll never make money by giving all your products away for free, Maki-chan,” Mirei tsks, considering the mounting bills from the shop and Maki’s dwindling line of customers with the advent of several new clinics boasting modern medicinal practices in town.
“It’s fine,” Maki says, smiling brighter than she has in far too many years. “Now that Tada-nii is back, everything will be okay.”
⇀
Ninomiya Kazunari is a samurai. An ex-samurai.
Probably.
Ninomiya can’t remember anything prior to waking up in a cold sweat, Maki and Ohno’s then unfamiliar, worried faces hovering over him. He had apparently stumbled into Kyoto in the summer, dressed in dirt- and blood-stained clothes with a katana gripped tightly in his hands. He fainted halfway up the stairs of Jojakkoji, and remained unconscious at the temple for another two weeks.
In the months since he’s been able to remember snatches of things: the clash of steel, the rank smell of blood, the sun, high and merciless above, and a thirst so unquenchable, so unbearable, burning deep within the pit of his stomach.
He can be certain of almost nothing in his life. The name he uses comes from the handkerchief tied around the handle of his sword, Ninomiya Kazunari embroidered in fine golden thread on the corner of the once white cloth.
The only thing he can be certain of is this: he is weak.
The only thing he can do is-
“Ninomiya-san, what did I tell you about exercising in your condition?”
Ninomiya’s shoulders tense and his swing falters, causing pain to criss-cross like lightning down his spine. He turns a disarming grin towards the top of the stairs, where Maki stands with hands at her hips. Mirei waves at him from her side, a pitying, knowing look on her face.
“Maki-chan, I was just-”
“What. Did. I. Tell. You. Ninomiya-san.” Maki’s voice booms overwhelmingly despite her size. He can’t recall any of his former opponents as a samurai, but he thinks Maki might have them all beat.
She’s still alive, after all.
Bitch.
Ninomiya shakes his head slowly. “You . . . told me not to exercise.”
Maki glares.
“At all.”
Mirei motions a slit throat with one hand.
“Ever.”
Maki sighs, hands her parcel to Mirei and walks up to Ninomiya, takes his sword from him and replaces it in the sheath left on the ground with a click of finality, before tucking it under her arm. Then she lifts Ninomiya’s shirt straight up and closely scrutinizes his abdomen.
“Ah, Maki-chan, not in public,” he says faintly, hands on his cheeks.
“You’ve re-opened wounds here, here, and here,” she deadpans, jabbing roughly at each spot with her thumb.
His toes curl instantly in pain and he winces, knees shaking. “Ouch, Maki-chan-”
With one hand on his back she bends his upper body down with a quick jerk, completely ignoring his sharp protests and what definitely sounds like the popping of bones or cartilage or something generally not good for poor Ninomiya. “Your lower back is overextended, too.”
“It tends to happen when pretty girls bend me over, though I’d much prefer it the other w-rrrrrgh.” he cuts off in pain as Maki puts pressure on his lower back.
“If you’re well enough to make jokes, try touching your toes. I’ll help.” She continues to push down on his back and he grits his teeth against the pain and wills his fingers toward the ground.
You are weak.
No, no he is not. He summons every ounce of strength in his body and laughs triumphantly as his fingers graze the tips of his toes, and then his body emits the most horrific, inhuman sound, his knees buckle and he falls.
Weak.
“Ninomiya-san?”
The door to the temple slides opens just as his body hits the ground, rolling so that he’s facing the sky.
“I thought I heard your voice, Maki-san.”
“Ah, Yuriko-san,” Maki says, hands over her mouth in concern. “I think I broke Ninomiya-san.”
“He was broken to begin with,” Yuriko replies nonchalantly.
Fucking bitch.
“Did you happen to bring by Ohno-san’s ointments? He’s been awfully distraught about not being able to go fishing.”
“Oh, er,” Maki looks from Yuriko, to Mirei, to Ninomiya, who shrugs and waves her along with his hand, the only part of his body that seems to be in working order. But hey, Ohno’s fishing dilemma is way more important.
Actually, Ninomiya is pretty certain he’s one sarcastic fucker. With back pain.
“By the way,” Yuriko adds as Mirei unwraps the parcel and Maki goes on in detail about the uses for each one, particularly the white cream in the glass bottle that will keep him from burning in the sun. “Your brother has been regaling me with tales of his Enka tour across Japan.”
The smile slips from Maki’s face-as does the sun cream in her hands. Mirei dives and manages to catch it with one hand before it hits the ground.
“Ooh, nice catch, Mirei-chan!” Tadayoshi hoots, peeping from around the corner of the front door. Maki turns stiffly toward him.
“Tadayoshi onii-sama, how nice of you to join us,” she says, voice stilted and menacingly polite. Ninomiya knows that voice all too well, and is more than a little glad to see it turned on someone else for a change. He rolls over a fraction of an inch, the most his body can manage, to watch the show.
“Er, Maki-chan. So good to see you, sis.”
“What did I just hear about an Enka tour across Japan?”
“I-” Tadayoshi laughs sheepishly, raising both hands and backing away from her slowly. Maki’s hand reaches toward Ninomiya’s sword as she rises and-oh no, no no no no no-
“I didn’t just roam around with them-I-I played the drums!” The last part is squeaked out as Maki swings wildly at him. Ninomiya opens his mouth to protest but nothing comes out.
Weak.
“You don’t even know how to play the drums!”
So fucking weak.
“I learned!”
No wonder she could never love you.
“SHUT UP!” Ninomiya roars, cramming his eyes shut and clutching at his head.
Silence.
“What’s all this noise about?” Ohno’s sleepy voice carries from the end of the hall, followed by padded footfalls. “Did something happen?”
When Ninomiya opens his eyes, he finds everyone motionless, silent, staring at him for an answer he cannot give.
Then several things happen all at once: The sword slips from Maki’s fingers. Ninomiya’s eyes widen because he has to save it he has to save it it will make him strong and he roll-dives for it, crying out as his body convulses in pain. Caught in mid-dodge, Tadayoshi’s foot slips and he tumbles straight into the cucumber patch by the side of the temple. Mirei squeaks.
Yuriko glances at Ohno gravely. “This is what happens when you take in strays and vagabonds in to your temple, Ohno-san.”
Bitch.
Ohno laughs. “Tea?”
⇀
Horikita Tadayoshi was Ohkura Tadayoshi once, in another lifetime in Osaka. Instead of leaving the moment word spread of a fatal, contagious disease, his parents, both prominent doctors in town, chose to stay and treat the sick and the weak. They sent him off-with a hug and a kiss and a promise to see him again soon-to Kyoto, where he was to stay for an indefinite period of time with Horikita Masao and his family.
When the news reached Kyoto that his parents had passed away, Masao gave Tadayoshi a bone-crushing hug and welcomed him into the family permanently.
What was once a childhood dream to become a great doctor like his parents became a desperate need, and Tadayoshi spent the next several years studying medicine under Masao’s guidance, wanting desperately to become the kind of doctor who could cure the illness that took the lives of his parents. The kind of doctor who would do everything in his power, even risk his very life, to save the sick and the weak.
Tadayoshi unceremoniously dumps Ninomiya’s body onto the patio of the temple and laughs at the subsequent groan. “This is why you should always listen to my sister, Ninomiya,” he says, a touch too loudly, glancing hopefully in Maki’s direction. Maki turns and shoots him a displeased look before resuming conversation with Ohno. Whoops. Maki’s anger is a lot like Maki’s love, quick to grow and always lingering.
Ninomiya grunts and Tadayoshi frowns. “That sounds serious, you really shouldn’t be working out at all, let alone taking a literal dive like that.”
“But my sword,” Ninomiya says petulantly, and Tadayoshi is amazed that Ninomiya is probably much older than he looks-older than Tadayoshi himself.
“Is there something about this sword, Nino?” Mirei asks, taking up the sword and unsheathing it by half, enough to see the gleam of blue steel.
“It’s the only thing I had with me when I came to. No memories of who I was or what I had been doing until this point.”
“You never let go of that sword once during the entire two weeks you were unconscious,” Yuriko says, glancing at Ninomiya out of the corner of her eye as she serves them tea.
“I assumed it must have been really important to me, long ago.” Ninomiya winces as Tadayoshi eases him into a sitting position to roll a large gauze bandage around his torso. “That and the handkerchief with a name written on it, my name-well, probably.”
“Ooh, a handkerchief?” Tadayoshi asks, interest piqued. “Like from a lover?”
“Who knows.” Ninomiya shrugs his shoulders lightly and sighs the most dramatic sigh. “What a pitiful life that girl must be living, to be without the presence of her Ninomiya Kazunari. Oh, sweet maiden, I will come find you one day!”
“More pitiful is the girl who must continue to live in the presence of Ninomiya Kazunari,” Yuriko quips after taking a careful sip of tea. “If you ask me, you’re not trying to get better because you don’t want to leave at all, freeloader.”
“You think I want to feel like-”
Tadayoshi tucks the bandage in place, sets it with a resounding thwack and Ninomiya hisses and shoots him a glare. “That should set your back for now, but be careful. I’ve got something in my bag that will help with the pain. I’ll also give you something stronger to help you sleep-you said the other stuff I gave you wasn’t really working, right?”
“You never told me you were having trouble sleeping,” Yuriko says sharply, narrowing her eyes at him.
“You never asked.”
“That’s not-”
“It’s getting a bit hot in here isn’t it, Mirei-chan?” Tadayoshi grins, waving the collar of his shirt. Mirei laughs, a guttural, unabashed noise that seems to envelop her entire body. It’s refreshing. “Want to leave these two lovebirds alone and help me put away my supplies?”
“We’re not-” “I would never-” “Wait, why would you never-”
Mirei covers her mouth sheepishly with her hands and nods quickly, picks up his bag of gauze and rushes out of the room before he can say another word. He blinks, glances at Ninomiya and Yuriko, who have begun to bicker in their own world, and rushes out after her with his remaining bags.
He catches up to her before she heads into the wrong direction-tugs on her wrist and she stumbles straight into him. Her hair smells like cherry blossoms. “My room is this way-are you okay?”
“HA. I mean, yes, I’m fine.”
She wriggles away from him, but not before he manages to lay a hand on her forehead, pursing his lips. “Your head feels a bit warm, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I took a cold bath this morning.” She’s not looking him in the eye, is concentrating on her wrist still in his hands. He drops it when he notices.
“Um, be careful, it’s getting colder lately. Anyway, it’s this way.”
“Wait a minute-did you say your room was this way? Why do you have a room at Ohno-san’s temple already?” She frowns. “Also, how did you already give Nino something to help him sleep when you arrived here just this morning?”
Tadayoshi pauses before opening the sliding door to his room at the end of the hallway, glances back at her with a sheepish grin. “Ah, you found me out.”
He motions for her to sit on his bed in the middle of the room as he packs away his belongings. “I actually arrived a little under a week ago but-had a feeling Maki-chan wouldn’t take kindly to what I’ve been up to for the past few years. Thought I should lay low at Ohno-san’s until I figured out what to do-but Yuriko-san said that one freeloader was already one too many and forced me to have a note delivered this morning.”
“Maki-chan talks about you a lot, you know.”
“Terrible, horrible, rotten things?” he asks hopefully, but Mirei shakes her head and laughter bubbles up from her throat again.
“Not a single bad word.” She smiles as him kindly. “She loves you, you know.”
Tadayoshi groans and collapses onto the blankets next to her. “That’s exactly what makes it harder. She means well, but she takes after mom in that way-so trusting and loving and expecting and it’s just . . . too much pressure sometimes.”
He sighs, glances sideways at her and notices for the first time that Mirei has become quite lovely, from her windswept hair scattered with cherry blossoms to the pleasant flush on her cheeks to the stylish clothing she has on, despite her tendency to still walk everywhere bare feet.
“Nice dress by the way.”
“T-thanks!”
“Western clothing is really in right now.”
“I know, I do a lot of traveling for work.”
“Oh?” He props his head against his arm. “What do you do again, exactly?”
“Um, oh, I run errands and such.”
“Sounds difficult.” Tadayoshi yawns. “I guess you’ve really grown up, huh? Maki-chan, too, come to think of it. Weird.” He sits up, raises a hand to push the hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear. “Heh, but you still have really tiny ears.”
“W-what are you doing?” Mirei shrieks, slipping backwards and landing on her elbows.
He raises his hands in surrender and laughs. “Sorry, my bad, that was probably weird of me.”
“You’ve . . . also grown up, Yoshi.”
“Yoshi. I forgot you called me that. And I used to call you-” he frowns, trying to remember, but this, too, seems like another lifetime ago.
“Rei,” she supplies after a moment. “You used to call me Rei.”
“Rei.” He smiles and Kyoto feels a shade more familiar. “Shall we head back for some tea, Rei?”
Rei nods, and for some reason the smile on her face makes his heart twinge just a little bit.
⇀
Horikita Maki inherited the Horikita Clinic at eighteen, just after her mother passed away. As a child she often dreamed of being a great doctor, just like her father. A doctor who did not discriminate based on class or gender or money or even species-she wanted to treat all the sick and injured creatures of the world as well.
As a child, she was told that it was still much too hard for women to become doctors. Instead, her mother guided her through dusty picture books of plants and herbs, identifying each plant and its best medicinal purpose, taught her the art of grinding herbs and the creation of salves and ointments. Maki-chan, her mother said gently, there is no shame in being an apothecary. You are still treating the sick through the medicines that you make, you are still making a difference in one person’s life.
“More of Maki-chan’s super special cure-all cream. My calloused hands are saved!” Ohno grins, eagerly rubbing the ointments onto his hands.
Maki smiles and shakes her head. “If the pain bothers you so much, you should try fishing less.”
“You can’t take away an old man’s only comfort and joy in the world, Maki-chan.”
“But Ohno-san,” Maki begins, staring at his tanned face, perfectly smooth except for the light peeling of skin across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, “it looks like you haven’t aged a day since I first met you. You are the very same man who tucked a cherry blossom behind my ear, even though the season for them had just passed.”
“I’ve always thought that the gods smiled down fortunately on Jojakkoji-it is the everlasting Pure Land, after all.” He smiles indulgently about the temple grounds, at the cherry blossom trees still in full bloom, bright spots of pink against a backdrop of reds, oranges, yellows and greens. “Thank you for the ointments again, Maki-chan, and the excuse for a distracting cup of tea, but I think I must get back to my meditating now.”
“Of course, please don’t let me keep you, Ohno-san.” Maki bows her head as she stands. “I’ll let myself out shortly.”
Ohno nods and recedes behind a sliding wooden door.
“We all know he’s just going back to sleep,” Ninomiya complains as soon as the footfalls down the hall have subsided.
Maki is quick to cover her mouth with her hands, muffling her laughter, as Yuriko shoots him a look of disdain. She opens her mouth, most likely another hot-headed retort that will get them all fired up again, but then she frowns, looking toward the gate. “Who’s there?”
“Sharp as ever, Yoshitaka-san,” Sho says, peeking out from behind one end of the main gate, a sheepish grin on his face.
“Looking for rabbits, Sakurai-sama?” Maki teases, before realizing her present company and her place.
Sho smiles warmly back at her, though. “No, not this time, Horikita-san. I’m here to talk with Ohno-san-I wanted his advice on something.”
“Unfortunately,” Yuriko says loftily, ignoring Ninomiya’s smirk, “Ohno-san has just gone back to his meditations.”
Sho sighs. “So he won’t be up for another five hours.”
“You are of course welcome to stay, Sakurai-sama. The tea is still warm.”
“And I’m the freeloader,” Ninomiya grumbles, the tail-end of his sentence morphing into a yelp as Yuriko jabs him in the stomach.
“That’s quite all right, I’m sure my time could be spent more productively than waiting for Ohno-san to rouse.” He glances over at Maki, who blinks. “Are you done with your tea, Horikita-san?”
“Oh, I suppose so,” Maki replies, staring down at her empty teacup.
“Then may I escort you back into town?”
“Oh! Well-”
“Ah, Ohno-san is napping again, I see,” Tadayoshi bursts in cheerfully, rejoining them on the patio. Mirei trails behind him, her cheeks still red from the sun. Maki makes a note to send over some cream tonight.
“Ah, Tada-nii, Sakurai-sama and I are about to head back into town, are you coming?”
“Actually . . . I’ve got to get some things together for Nino, and Ohno-san asked me to run a few errands.”
“Oh.” Maki can’t help the disappointment from flooding into her voice. “Will you be home for dinner? I was going to make your favorite.”
“You mean everything?”
“Except shabu-shabu.”
Tadayoshi smiles, but it’s a smile that looks to break her heart. “I’ll try to make it.”
Maki nods, stands and then throws her arms around him, hugging him tight. “Welcome back, Tada-nii.”
He pats her awkwardly on the head, like he’s not quite sure how to deal with her anymore, so Maki releases him and turns to Mirei. “Mirei-chan, coming?”
“I’ve got to see if I can salvage any of the cucumbers from the cucumber patch,” Mirei says, glances sideways at Tadayoshi.
“You’ll turn green if you eat nothing but cucumbers anyway,” he replies flippantly, causing Mirei to chuckle outright and Maki to smile. It was something their mother always said.
“Well, I guess it’s just us, Sakurai-sama.”
“I guess so.”
“Bye Maki-chan, bye Double Jacket!” Ninomiya hollers just as they step past the gate. Sho widens his eyes at her and Maki clamps her lips shut as Ninomiya’s subsequent laughter follows them down the stairs.
“I-I’m sorry,” Maki says, horrified by the look on Sho’s face. “I don’t even know how Ninomiya-san could-I never told anyone except-arghhh Tada-nii!” She’s huffing from anger now, the adrenaline powering her down the stairs.
It’s not until Sho croaks out a feeble, “H-Horikita-san,” that she stops and whirls around, surprised to find Sho trailing back by several flights.
“O-Oh!” She rushes up to meet him halfway and sighs. “I’m so sorry Sakurai-sama, leaving you behind like that when you were so kind to offer to carry my boxes for me.”
“I-it’s quite all right,” Sho replies, though he’s panting and sweating and it’s clearly all but. “I just can’t believe you’re not winded by these stairs.”
“It’s much easier going down, than up.” She hopes it doesn’t sound condescending. “Won’t you have to make this same trek back to go see Ohno-san when he wakes?”
Sho glances up at the temple, then slowly shakes his head. “I don’t think I could stand to make it up there a second time today.”
“Weak lungs,” Maki diagnoses without thinking, before covering her mouth with her hands. But Sho throws his head back in laughter and it makes her feel at ease. “You’ve always had weak lungs since we were children.” She pauses, guiltily. “I’m still sorry about that, you know-Ninomiya-san knowing about the double jackets, I mean. I must have mentioned it to Tada-nii just after meeting you and it always seemed to amuse him more than it amused me.”
“I figured,” he replies drily. “What did your little, pig-tailed, ten-year-old self tell him exactly?”
She speaks without thinking, “I told him I saw a sparkling boy wearing two jackets searching for rabbits.”
Sho stumbles. Maki tries to steady him with an arm, but he has too much momentum and before she knows it, his arms are around her as they skid the remainings steps down on his back.
“Sakurai-sama, are you okay!?” Maki cries, too concerned to recognize the tingling warmth fading from her body as she detangles herself from him, reaching over to check his pulse and his breathing and his pupils. Sho lets out a wheeze that grows into a ripple of laughter and Maki watches him, bewildered. She releases his eyelid only for Sho to catch her hand in his. “S-Sakurai-sama?”
“You said I was sparkling?” His eyes are so warm and his smile is so radiant and how could he be anything but sparkling?
“I was ten,” she huffs, hoping the dust on her cheeks covers the potential flush. “And you were a very pretty little boy.”
“Am I no longer?”
“Do you want to be?”
“Good point.” Sho laughs again, but it’s different this time around. He stands and collects her belongings, apologizes for the broken lunchbox and offers both a new one in the future and a hand to help her up.
“Thank you,” Maki says, and the moment ends. They are just mere minutes away from Kyoto where he is a prince’s heir and she is a common apothecary and they should barely be acquaintances let alone friends. Let alone anything else. Maki smooths the hair back from her face and cools down her cheeks with her hands. She’s disappointed in herself, in letting herself get drawn into a fantasy of a moment.
“Are you okay?” Sho is looking at her with concern and Maki forces a smile on her face as she nods.
“I’m fine. Ah, I can take those now,” she says as they make it toward the last crossroad before the city.
“But your house is-”
“I actually have one last delivery to Aiba-san.”
“Your boxes are empty.” There is a hint of that smile there, the smile reserved only for her, only on the secluded steps to the Jojakkoji Temple, shy and awkward and longing.
She won’t let herself get drawn in again, retrieves a small vial from a hidden pocket sewn into the sleeve of her kimono and presents it to him. “Hime-chan has a stomachache.”
“I see.” His smile dims, but Maki knows that they’re better off this way. “Well then, I’ll be off. Thank you for your company, Horikita-san.” He bows, handing off her boxes with both hands before he leaves. He doesn’t look back.
Maki stares until long after she can tell his faint silhouette from the next. Satisfied with just this, she turns in the other direction toward Aiba’s farm.
“Good evening Maki-chan!” Aiba says cheerfully, throwing open the door at her very first knock.
“Ah, good evening, Aiba-san. How is-”
“Hime-chan still has a stomachache,” he replies somberly.
Maki smiles a little at that. “I was actually going to ask about Becky-san.”
“Oh, her? She’s fine,” Aiba says flippantly, holding out his hands for the medicine.
“Oh, her?” Becky huffs, throwing a damp towel at him from the kitchen doorway. “What a way to speak about your wife.”
“But Hime-chan’s in paaaaaaaain,” Aiba whines until Becky rolls her eyes and relents and shoos him off. Aiba bounds into the bedroom and Becky offers Maki a smile, a seat and a cup of tea.
“I’m okay, I had some with Ohno-san.”
“But I insist. You’re always so sweet to indulge us by bringing over medicine for our animals-anyone else would laugh us out of their clinic!”
“Oh, it’s quite all right, Becky-san. I’m so fond of you both and Hime-chan and all your animals. It’s not a-”
“Maki-chan,” Becky’s words, like her grip on Maki’s arm, is like iron. “Stay.”
“O-okay. Maybe just one cup,” Maki says hesitantly, and Becky sends her a patented thousand-watt Becky smile as she bustles back into the kitchen.
As she takes a seat, Maki marvels at the state of the living room. She’s never seen a cleaner cluttered room in her life. Every corner of the room overflows with little animal knick-knacks, grouped by size and material and even species-littering shelves, topping tables and even piled neatly in the corner of the room, under a multi-colored fleece rug. It is so Aiba yet so Becky at the same time.
“I’m sorry for keeping you, Maki-chan,” Becky says, returning with a bright yellow tea kettle, matching teacups, and a plate piled high with crackers and sweets on top of a bamboo green tray. “It’s just so rare that I get to speak with another intelligent human being.”
Maki coughs her tea up the wrong pipe, caught between laughter and surprise.
“I heard that!” Aiba yells from the bedroom, but Becky doesn’t look at all ashamed.
“I love him, of course, but between him and a farm full of animals, it’s hard to get some decent conversation around here-and believe me, I’ve tried. Nothing but sass from that rooster.”
Maki giggles and Aiba reenters the room with Hime-chan, who is happily wagging her tail at the sight of Maki. Aiba sets Hime-chan onto Maki’s lap and steals a cracker out of Becky’s hands. “Someone’s missed you, Maki-chan.”
“I can tell,” she gasps in-between slobbering kisses.
“Maki-chan is really the only person who will consider Hime-chan’s condition seriously. We’re really thankful.” Aiba presses his cheek against Becky’s, who furrows her eyebrows as she tries to swat him away. The air between them is so comfortable; fills the entire house with warmth and love.
She wonders how they ended up so happily married and then blinks and covers her mouth when she realizes she’s wondered aloud.
“Well, I don’t know about happy-” “Honestly-”
They point at each other accusatorily.
“Why not happy?” “You don’t remember, do you!” Becky smacks him lightly on the head before he can dodge it.
“Well-”
“It wasn’t romantic at all, anyway. Aiba got a postcard from one his friends-did you know Jun-kun?”
Maki considers. “The merchant’s son?”
Aiba nods. “He fell in love with the only daughter of the Inoue family, even though she was engaged to be married. But she also fell in love with Jun-chan.”
“I don’t blame her, he was very good looking,” Becky sighs.
Aiba scrunches up his nose. “I’m sorry you had to settle for just old farmer Aiba Masaki.”
“Me too,” Becky sniffs, holding a cherry blossom pink handkerchief to her eyes.
“Anyway,” Aiba cuts in, “one day I get a letter saying they’d run away to get married-can you imagine? The daughter of Count Inoue and a common merchant-”
Maki purses her lips and Becky quickly continues,“So Masaki turns to me and says, completely out of nowhere and still covered in pig manure: Hey, wanna get married?”
“It was so very romantic,” Aiba says, wiping at his eyes with Becky’s stolen handkerchief.
“Well, more like our marriage was inevitable from the beginning-a union of two farms. He comes from a farm full of animals and I come from a farm full of fruits and vegetables.”
“A match made by the god of love himself.” Aiba grins and steals another cracker from Becky’s hands. She steals it back and stuffs the whole thing into her mouth smugly.
“It worked out for them, though? Matsumoto-san and Inoue-san?”
“Well, Mao-chan’s family was upset for a very long time-they might still be upset, come to think of it.” He shrugs. “But we received a letter from them recently.”
“It says they’re expecting a baby in November,” Becky says through a mouthful of crumbs.
“Jun-chan hopes it’s a girl,” Aiba adds with a silly grin on his face. “Speaking of which, Becky, when do you think we should start planning a family of our own?”
“We already have thirty-five kids, Masaki, how many more do you need?” Becky huffs, though there is a twinkle in her eyes. Before Aiba can advance on her, Maki coughs politely and averts her eyes. “I’ll be on my way then.”
She lets herself out. Aiba and Becky are so lucky to have been born in the same social class, so fortunate to have loved each other before they were to be married. Fortunate to be able to say, I love him, of course, and have it be as simple as that.
“Maki-chan,” Becky calls, waving at her from the window. “It’s possible.”
“What’s possible?”
“A love that transcends class.” Becky grins. “If it worked for Mao-chan and Jun-kun, it can work for you.”
“I don’t know what you-”
“I saw you walking down here with Sakurai-san before you parted ways. I saw the way you looked after him as he left.”
“That is-” Maki rushes to defend herself but Becky shakes her head. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. But it’s definitely possible, so do your best.” Becky gives her a thumbs up and her patented thousand-watt grin again. “Good luck!”
⇀
Yoshitaka Yuriko is not strange.
Strange is a demon child, a child of misfortune, a child who hears things no one else hears, who sees things no one else sees, a child condemned.
It started with voices, whispers of things that Yuriko couldn’t understand, shadows skirting about the corners of her eyes, so she would ask aloud: Why is Yamamoto-san having an affair? Why does a rooster taste best raw? Why is Tanaka-san pregnant? Why can’t the sun rise in the west?
Her parents hushed her, told her not to talk nonsense in public, Be quiet, Yuriko, What will our neighbors think, Yuriko, Never speak of such things again, Yuriko! And then, when she was eight, Yamamoto-san ran off with Tanaka-san, and her parents had looked at her with such stricken terror in their eyes. They called in a priest, a thickset, greasy man who instructed them to lock her in her room for a week without food or water, littering the walls with decorated paper talismans to exorcise the dark spirits residing in her soul. Demon child be purged, her parents chanted at night, child of misfortune be gone, they wailed, even as she cried and begged for them to let her out.
She was so thirsty and so hungry and finally, on the verge of collapse, through her tear-blurred vision she saw them. Cats. Cats standing on their hind legs, faces pinched with pity, forked tails swaying behind their backs. Poor child, they said, sweet child, they said, drink and eat, they said, offering her a bowl of water and a stale loaf of bread. When she was full, they glanced at the paper talismans and the wall and tittered. Mere decoration, they laughed, and she laughed with them.
She was happy.
But it was strange to be happy while locked up in a room, so very strange to have lost not a single kilogram after a week without food or water. Her parents feared her, were still troubled by her, this was much clear on their faces, this much the fork-tailed cats whispered to her at night. So she tried to be normal, spoke demurely with her head bowed and ignored the whispered secrets in her ears when her neighbors skittered away, to no avail.
Why must I be so strange? she would asked her friends at night, and they would purr in reply, There is nothing strange about you, dear Yuriko.
Nearing her tenth birthday she asked, Why does my father say I am not his child? Why does my mother cry every night?
They are merely human.
And again, on her twelfth birthday, to a house empty but for her fork-tailed friends. Why did they leave?
They couldn’t answer her this question. Thousands of years they lived and they had no reply.
So she left to find the answer for herself, followed the voices that lead her from Aomori to Akita, Fukushima to Tokyo, to a dead end in Kyoto. There she remained, at the Jojakkoji Temple with Ohno, because he was the first and only person to ask if she wanted to stay.
Ohno is the first person Yuriko has been mystified by, has felt a strange connection and familiarity toward. Mirei is the possibly the second. Ninomiya the third.
Perhaps that is why, though she won’t dare admit it, she doesn’t actually mind Ninomiya’s company, even possibly enjoys it on occasion.
Perhaps that is why she allows him into her room just before midnight every night to share a plate of dumplings and tea before she kicks him out to sleep.
Only, tonight he doesn’t come, and the tea has cooled to room temperature. So she knocks on his door with lukewarm tea and a mostly finished plate of dumplings and wonders if it’s strange she cares so much.
Ninomiya opens his door with half-lidded eyes, squinting against the light of her oil lamp. “Yuri? What time is it?”
“Past midnight. The tea is cold.”
“Oh.” He blinks. “Oh,” he repeats, eyes widening. “Sorry, I guess I didn’t realize the time. I took some of Tada’s medicine with dinner and fell straight asleep after.”
“Why haven’t you been able to sleep?”
“I-don’t know. It started a few weeks ago when I-I’ve been remembering things more clearly.” The words hang in the air and Yuriko finds her gaze landing on the right corner of his bed, where she knows a handkerchief lays folded into a square, his name embroidered elegantly on top.
“Why-are there waves in the ocean?”
Ninomiya smiles a little. “To tell us that life continues under the sea, even if we can’t see it from the land.”
“Why do clouds turn gray during a storm?”
“Yuri-”
“Why do cats’ eyes glow in the dark?”
“I’m too tired for this right now.”
She tenses, feels in her bones that something is wrong, but she can’t for the life of her understand what. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” Ninomiya says with emphasis. “Just tired. Good night.” The door slides shut softly in her face.
She rests her head against it and mutters, “Why, even though you say you’re fine, do I feel so strange?”
⇀
Sakurai Sho will be a Prince when his father dies.
It’s a stupid title, he thinks. A Westernized ranking of nobility in the name of progress and modernization during a political upheaval; a way to placate the nobility by keeping intact the same archaic class structure under a different name. A way to maintain power and order and smug self-satisfaction over those of a lower “class.” The only people who haven’t remained static are the samurai left landless and wandering, the ones who opposed the emperor, yes, but also the only ones who actually did something to deserve their titles in the first place.
His father was-is-different. His father is the kindest, fairest person Sho knows. His father is also hanging on by a thread. On the best days he is not lucid, the only thing keeping him tethered to this world is Maki’s medicine. On the worst days-
His father’s slack hand twitches, fingers flexing until they are gripping Sho’s wrist tightly.
“Sho-Sho!” he gasps, spittle flying from his mouth, eyes searching wildly about the room and landing anywhere but on Sho. “Where is she-where is she?!”
“Father, I-”
“You must find her, Sho, find her. Please.”
“I will, father.” Sho swallows, patting him on the hand and on his cheek, trying to keep his father calm before he wakes the servants, but it is too late.
“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. I LEFT HER. I HAD TO LEAVE AND SHE WAS ALL ALONE. SHO SHE MUST BE SO SCARED. SO LONELY. FIND HER.”
Sho closes his eyes as the servants rush into the room with their oil lamps. One of them gently removes his father’s hand from Sho’s arm, tells Sho that he should please wait outside while they take care of it. One servant is readying the syringe, another is rummaging through the medicine cabinet. Sho notices vaguely that they are running low. He may have to see Maki again soon, after all.
He’s not sure if he can handle it.
They force him out of the room with a reproving look that says, Didn’t we tell you? Didn’t we tell you not to visit your father so late at night without us around? Look what you’ve done. But of course they could never say these things aloud, even if they’re right and even if he were the stupidest man on earth.
He is to be a Prince.
Numbly, Sho turns toward his room, but not before his aunt’s voice stops him in his tracks. “Ah, Sho-kun, could you come here for a moment?”
The door of his aunt’s bedroom is ajar, and dim lamp light floods into the hallway. He must have woken her up. Great. “Good evening, oba-sama,” he greets politely, walking into her room. His aunt is younger than his father, but no less wrinkled, pale, translucent flesh mottled brown and green. But her eyes are sharp, sweeping over his form imperiously as he bows.
“Get up.” she commands. He does, straightens his legs and his shoulders, but she spots it, makes a disapproving click with her mouth and stares just below his face.
“Quit sloping.”
“I don’t mean to offend you, oba-sama.”
She sighs. “Ten years have come and gone, Sho-kun. Ten years since your father, my dear eldest brother, first fell into a grave illness. Ten long years.”
Sho swallows. “Yes, oba-sama.”
“In those ten years, my other brothers have passed, your cousins have passed, but you have grown from a scrawny little boy into a mostly respectable man. Someone worthy of carrying on the Sakurai legacy. But do you remember what you asked me when your father fell ill, just before the season of your birth?”
“I-asked if I could look for my half-sister.”
“Your father was a fool for filling your head with such nonsense, and you a bigger fool for believing his words.”
Sho opens his mouth to protest, but she silences him with a single finger. “But, it seemed like a wise decision on my part. To take care of the family household and financials while the last-the only-Sakurai heir grew up. So I warmly took up your request, gave you ten generous years to search for your supposed half-sister under the condition that you strictly followed my course of study. Do you remember the condition of my generosity?”
“That, if I couldn’t find my half-sister-that in the event her existence was the fabrication of the madness plaguing my father, I would consent to a match of your choosing. To carry on the Sakurai legacy.”
“She will be here in three days.”
“B-but-”
“It is a match ten years in the making, I expect you not to disappoint me when she arrives.” His aunt glances again at his shoulders and shakes her head. “I suggest you begin cutting off all-ah, extraneous ties before her arrival.”
When Sho doesn’t move, she adds, “That is all.”
Mirei wakes to the sound of a fishing reel slowly spooling into the river.