chapter 7

chapter 7

A Chapter by Kuandio

 

 



           They all sat on small cushions, and drank, ate a bit, talked, and by and by they even laughed. Isae gazed at Shinyasu often. If she could have gotten away with it without anyone noticing, she would have gazed at him nearly the entire time. Although his troubles repressed him from joining in laughter, she saw now and then a faint smile ease his careworn aspect; this made her smile as well. Anything she could do to help the prince uplifted her.

What a strong individual, she thought, to be cognizant of his house's destruction, and nearing his own end, yet able to hold himself together. Before meeting Shinyasu in the prison chamber, she sensed he had been steeped in mournful reflections. In their company now, he emerged from that gloom, if tentatively, like a deer on a meadow’s edge, unable to venture fully from the forest gloom.

Throughout the afternoon the storm held sway, hushing the world outside, while in the room the gathering progressed cheerfully. Nevertheless there came a point Isae perceived Shinyasu brooding. He tried to shield it behind a stony composure, yet something in his faraway eyes belied the truth. Perhaps the half cup of wine stirred the prince to express himself; or maybe he could no longer bottle up the afflictions;

          "I am glad to be here with all of you," he spoke, as one who gives a subdued avowal. "However, I must voice a concern. As a Sangenji, I want it to be remembered of me, that I was never in favor of the war, and always wished it never been. It is a barbaric thing of unspeakable cruelty. Remembering things done pains me, and I grieve for the losses on both sides." He looked away, his vision confronting a dread;

"It is true the Sangenji have caused misery for many in Isodoro. There can be no denial of our guilt. Still, I cannot help fear what will happen to my family. All I can do is pray what remains of my house might make peace with the Minotara. This hope for peace, is my greatest wish." He bowed steeply, holding the obeisance longer to emphasize sincerity.

Isae, the maikos, and housemen, joined in unison with Shinyasu’s hope the conflict would end in the manner of least suffering.

           "I bid any of you here, please deliver my words to General Daihara," the young prince entrusted. "Let it be known that my final wish is to plead for my family to surrender to the Minotara. Perhaps General Daihara can relay this intention to Lord Hojotora, and in turn to my surviving family members."

After a pensive silence, Tadoro bowed. “I will see to it, Prince Shinyasu. You have my word.”

           The promise served to mitigate Shinyasu’s angst. To keep him from sinking into melancholy, Isae opened the koto case, and tuned the strings. Music often transported emotions above the limits of the present. In honor of their mutual dream for a harmonious future, they chose for Isae to play Crane of Paradise. Interweaving gentle and strident koto notes, she sang the ancient lyrics;

 

The crane left its flock to search for Paradise

He was the first to venture to the Far North

There, where legends claimed the way could be found

 

Look, look how the brave crane flies, so faraway

 

So many perils beset the unknown journey

Braving windstorms, enduring snows,

Flying high, flying low, escaping birds of prey

And outsmarting the deceptive spirits of the wild

Overcoming so many trials and setbacks

The crane flew ever onward, and on

 

At intervals Isae’s voice drew the lyric’s syllables long and even, at  passages tremulous, or high and striking; like a hawk soaring into the sky; she kept the timbre gliding there before meandering down. This artistry matched and accentuated the unfolding of the crane’s voyage.  

 

Look, look how the brave crane flies, so faraway

 

Once he arrived, all alone in the Far North

A giant blizzard engulfed him, and he was lost

And on death’s brink, when the snow country gods

Found him, intervening, and bestowing mercy

Raising the crane, rewarding its valiant efforts,

Blessing him with warmth and white feathers,

New magical feathers invulnerable to the cold

Oh, look how far the crane has flown

 

The gods revealed the secret path to Paradise

Beyond the edge of Isodoro, across the icy sea

You may journey thither, they told the crane

Just remember to return to the mortal world

So you may show other seekers the way

So you may show the lost hope

 

The gods anointed the crest of the crane’s head red

Saying, so when guiding fellow cranes to Paradise

They will not be lost in the snowstorms

 

Thus this voyage became the privilege of cranes

 

Look, look how the brave cranes fly, so faraway

 

           Isae’s rendition impressed Shinyasu so, that when she finished he bid her play another.

           "Of course," she replied. "But could you help me this time? You are a poet, Shinyasu-sama. Something tells me you have a gift for music as well."

Timid at the proposal, Shinyasu wavered. Isae suggested he at least play a drum.

The prince ventured, "I used to play the flute, ... years ago."

"Oh really?" Isae grinned. It so happened she had brought a shakuhachi flute. Compared to other instruments she was not particularly skilled with it, therefore usually she kept it hidden in the folds of her robe, for the off chance a patron requested a piece requiring the instrument. Producing the flute from her kimono’s bosom, she handed it to the prince. He contemplated it with reverence.

The skies rumbled and the rain thrummed infinite. Shinyasu and Isae chose to play the The Sun Goddess and the Moon God. A fresh round of rice wine was served among the guests, enhancing their warm mood. When they were settled in, Isae opened the song with a trickling of the koto’s strings; overlaying her singing with soft, hovering notes. The lyrics recounted a fate during the Age of Gods, when Amaterasu, the sun goddess, and Tsukuyomi, the moon god, fell in love. Isae played tempered, inviting Shinyasu to use the flute.

           Tentative and a bit unwieldly, the prince commenced. Isae almost regretted asking him to play; it was difficult and even seemed embarrassing for him. As Shinyasu recovered his ability, the notes rose however. Like a breeze swimming through leaves, the flute came to life, expressing the story’s love and longing.

           During Shinyasu’s rests, Isae continued singing the tale:

All was beautifully harmonious between Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi, until other jealous deities, killed Amaterasu's brother, and deceived her into believing Tsukuyomi was to blame. Aggrieved, Amaterasu vowed to never look upon Tsukuyomi again, and exiled herself to a distant realm of the skies, retreating behind the blinding rays of the sun. For his part, Tsukiyomi was banished to the moon. Thus he became the lunar deity. Eventually, the sun goddess learned the truth. Repentant of her error, she prayed to be reunited with the moon god. Nevertheless, nothing could change that their chance had past.

Thus Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi’s story revealed why day and night were never together. Before the two deities might ever meet again, they must wait until the day the Wheel of Transmigrations was broken, and time itself ended.

Shinyasu played with increased sentiment. Isae's koto and his flute sounded as if they understood each other, in a language truer than humans possessed. Both musicians were adrift in a sphere of freedom. Outside the chamber, the stoic guards inclined their ears, and were moved. Through the subdued rain, notes of the Sun Goddess and Moon God’s aria sailed over the castle. Whoever heard stopped what they were doing, mesmerized, their sensibilities awakened.

           Lowering the flute, the Sangenji prince ventured in song. His melodious voice brought to life the tragedy binding the deities. Isae carried verses with him, but the last she gave to him. He sang how the moon god, abandoned, called out to the sun goddess from across constellations, to behold her a last time.

           The prince ended with the flute. The final notes evanesced into the afternoon storm. 

           “Never have I heard the shakuhachi played so magnificently.” Isae wiped the corner of her eye. Composing herself, she bowed. "It was beautiful."

The rest of the guests showered Shinyasu their highest admiration, also praising his and Isae’s combined performance.

"I did not realize it beforehand," said the prince, "but one of my greatest wishes has been fulfilled."

          "What is that, pray-tell?" asked Isae.

          "To play the flute, and sing with you.” He bowed. “Thank you, for this honor.”

Cups were replenished with rice wine, and the afternoon unfurled merrily. Amid jokes about trivial matters, Isae managed to make Shinyasu to laugh at several jests. Such moments were glimpses of the wonderful person he truly was;  a man who would have shined if not for the circumstances besieging him. She had wanted this; for Shinyasu to gain respite. Within this, in some measure, he could maybe be reminded of his true self. This This might then serve as solace and refuge in the days that loomed.

The rain’s drowsy, mesmeric hymn continued through the day’s last hours. It was time for the entourage to depart. Isae instructed a maiko to take the flower arrangement to Shinayasu's chambers. Once they descended the stairs and collected on the veranda outside the prison chamber, Isae stopped.

 “Go on ahead without me,” she said to the rest of the company. “I wish to speak with Prince Shinyasu, just for a while.”

They complied, and courteously bid farewell.



© 2020 Kuandio


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Added on May 5, 2020
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Author

Kuandio
Kuandio

CA



About
I started drawing comics when I was about four or five (not much better than dinosaur stick figures). Over time I found I couldn’t express enough through just drawing and was always adding more.. more..

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