Chapter 9

          The next morning the last rain-clouds rumbled east; the trailing drifts were like vaporous creatures chased by the fretful winds, hurrying to rejoin their titan herd. It felt colder than it should for summer. The Hydrangea Festival rolled on, and over the next several days Isae would need to fulfill her previously arranged obligations at various events. The first day’s schedule required her to entertain the rich daiymo lords at two extravagant gatherings. During the free moments between however, her thoughts, and often her vision, turned towards Fujiyama Castle. From most spots in the town proper, the higher walls and the upper donjon were visible. It made it hard to focus on performing her art, knowing that while festival guests reveled, not far from their kingdom's borders the remaining Sangenji were being hunted and slaughtered in the wilderness. While for the prince, locked in the castle donjon, the day of execution drew near.

          When not required to perform, Isae wandered off to be alone, wracking her mind for solutions. No matter how she looked at it, there seemed nothing she could do. If she had an army she might storm the castle. A simple musician wielded no power though. At least Tadoro already submitted Shinyasu’s request to General Daihara, who supposedly agreed to forward it to Lord Hojotara. This permitted a meager hope that the ruler of the Minotara might at least alter the sentence; but Isae knew to expect a change of heart in such a man was naive. Perhaps better to pray a lightening bolt of enlightenment struck the murderous warlord, filling him with the compassion he lacked.

On the second morning, Isae made her way to a small temple in the surrounding hills. To be discreet she wore a straw hat with hanging veil, and went unaccompanied. Outside the temple she washed her hands with a ladle in the fountain, then rang the roped bell while invoking the shrine’s spirit. She concluded by offering incense to the Shining One, and prayed for the Heavens to intercede on behalf of the Sangenji and their prince. Were the petitions even heard? Not knowing felt an impossible futility; especially as time dwindled, and any chance of averting disaster quickly faded.

Hours later Isae returned to Fujiyama. Nearing sunset, she stood on the crimson bridge over the Megawa River. Here she had returned yesterday, and the day before. Not knowing what else to do, she besought the skies for guidance. Somewhere amid the effulgent clouds and horizon an answer must exist.

That evening, at one of the city’s central mansions, Isae played the biwa in the gardens for a large company of daiymo and their retainers. Afterwards, as the guests sipped rice wine, she wandered along a path hedged by bamboo. From the other side of the hedge she overheard a conversation unfolding, and inclined her ear;

“It is true,” said one daiymo.  “I heard him that night, from afar. Those moments were a gift. Never have I heard such brilliance with the flute. And whoever accompanied was exceptional as well.”

“Hmm, do you think it was her?”

“Perhaps,” commented another of the men. “Unlikely though I’d say. Do you think General Daihara would allow it? A far chance. Whoever else played was harder to hear anyways. The flute carried farther.”

Isae’s first instincts told her to slip away. Instead, through the bamboo foliage she peered, descrying slivered glimpses of the men gathered. One had a long moustache and beard, and wore a black eboshi hat. Isae recognized his voice as the first she had heard, when he shook his head, saying, “A shame the prince is Sangenji.”

The daimyo served each other fresh wine. In the ensuing silence they relished their drinks, the crisp night air, and the silver melody of a nearby fountain.

“Does the prince really need to be killed?” another speculated. “With the war nigh over, what is there to be gained by ending this young man?”

“That’s right,” added a third; this individual was red-faced from drink and expressed himself with less reserve. “Besides that, most people don’t believe he had a thing to do with those massacres at Heikena.”

“Maybe so,” joined a fat daiymo in opulent robes. “In any case, we should not dwell on it overmuch, neh. Nothing can change his fate. Look at what cruel fate befell Prince Hyuga at the Battle of Ujihagara. The Sangenji dogs showed no mercy. There is no room for forgiveness at this stage. Those birds have flown, I’m afraid. Lord Hojotara cannot lose his son, and now his nephew, and fail to mete out proper retribution. Impossible!” He scoffed, then slurped up his wine. “We are Minotara, after all. Let us rejoice at the Sangenji’s fall.”

“Yes, I suppose.” The one with the moustache and black hat sighed. “Nevertheless, it is a pity, neh. An individual gifted with art of such nature is only born once in many generations, it is said. Surely Isodoro will not know it again. A sorrow to lose such a talent.”

The group of daiymo continued drinking, though a melancholy hung over them - or perhaps it was Isae’s own, which she had begun to sense everywhere. The men turned to conversing of other matters, and Isae went her way, pondering upon their discussion, and other likened snippets and comments she heard over the last days. Not long ago consensus reigned demanding Shinyasu’s death. Rumor had spread howbeit, of the high musical gifts the young prince was blessed, and of his courteous and humble character. This had sown doubts. Thus it became clear to Isae that a critical opportunity presented itself.

She knew what she must do. There would not be another chance.

 

*     *     *

 

Over a dozen of Fujiyama’s most powerful samurai lords were gathered in the Council Hall. Sitting on the floor, sheathed swords lain at their flanks, they faced General Daihara, who presided over the the meeting from a marginally raised platform. Eager to join the campaign and take part in the killing of Sangenji, several of the samurai had come suited in lacquered armor, with kabuto helmets in their laps or beside them. For hours they had been discussing recent war developments. By and large for that duration their taciturn expressions remained nearly unwavering, as if cut from wood.

They are determined, noted Daihara. They want blood.

He meticulously went over the particulars of the current situation: Several large bands of Sangenji had broken off from the core of retreating forces. Fujiyama’s battalions were to be called into action at any moment to cut off potential escape routes. Nearing the end of the council, Daihara selected three warlords to ride forth that very afternoon. They would lead one third of the castle’s forces, joining the effort to intercept the marauding rebels. The gathering dissipated as these three warlords and other samurai departed the hall, followed by their companies of retainers waiting outside. Solely four samurai yet tarried in the Council Hall when one of Daihara’s personal guardsmen arrived with a message;

“Someone has come to speak with you.”

“I will not be seeing anyone else today,” Daihara answered.

The guardsman hesitated. “It is just a young woman, but she refuses to leave.” He faltered, cautious of reprimand, “She has already waited the entire day, and swears she’ll go on standing outside through the night, and tomorrow, if need be.”

Such stubbornness struck Daihara as thoroughly insolent. At the same time it provoked his curiosity to learn what roused this determination in the woman.

Grudgingly, Daihara yielded, “Very well, allow her entry.” He motioned for the guardsman to see to it.

Minutes after, he was quite surprised to see Isae enter the Council Chamber. The pretty musician knelt before Daihara; formalities were exchanged. What on earth has occasioned her presence? - he wondered amid their pleasantries. She never sought him before, and he was not the sort to request the brand of entertainment she offered. Whatever Isae’s intentions, a troubled seriousness was plainly writ in her mien.

When the apt moment came, Daihara broached, “To what do I owe this honor?”

She took a deep breath, settling herself. “There is a matter of concern I wish to speak of, … regarding Prince Shinyasu.”

The single-minded way Isae looked at Daihara was enough for him to begin to understand. Of certain, this was not a subject he felt keen to discuss in front of the others. Politely, he asked the remaining samurai to take their leave. In short order they obliged, retiring from the Council Hall, until only Isae and Daihara remained on the spacious floor.

          "Pardon me. It is not in my interest for anyone else to suspect I allowed you to see him a second time,” said Daihara. “All the same, I extend you my gratitude, for providing our prisoner hours of your pleasant company and the privileged leisure of your art. I reserve no doubt this made his days at Fujiyama bearable.”

“It has been an honor to play for Shinyasu. Thank you for the opportunity.” Isae held her bow an extra breath, then pressed on, “First, I wanted to ask if the prince’s final wish has been relayed?”

Daihara nodded. "Tadoro already met with me on that concern. In fact, yesterday morning I dispatched a carrier pigeon bearing a missive to Lord Hojotora.”

Why does this young woman display such tenacity on behalf of the prince? The answer revealed itself quickly enough. She has feelings for him … Of course. Daihara should have anticipated the potential. How nice, it might seem, under other circumstances. Then, churning up from the pit of Daihara’s conscience, a cold doubt warned him against giving her false hopes. Hesitating, he struggled with his conscience. Instants later he gave up and told her the truth;

“But with everything that is unfolding, I doubt Lord Hojotora will pay the letter much heed. That is, if it even reaches him.”

An uncomfortable silence gripped the room. Isae’s expression, soft and composed moments ago, became taut, her eyes looking down with dark worry. Rather uneasy himself now, Daihara folded his arms over his chest.

“Now, is that all?” he asked. “It has been a long day, and there are a number of matters I must yet attend to.”

The young musician appeared powerless to respond. Daihara unfolded to his feet, and gave his back to her and the room. To remove his attention further, he directed his vision past the slightly open doors which provided a partial view of the inner courtyard gardens. In this scenery he tried to lose himself. The sun was westering however, and in it’s deepening golden light, there lived a poignant essence that stirred him, bringing instead to sharp awareness everything he would have rather forgotten.

“But, …” Isae’s voice was small with uncertainty, “… Lord Hojotora, … he has to know. We must be sure he does …. What if the bird is lost?”

Daihara stared intently into the flaming sky. He felt distant, and at the same time, more present in himself than in scores of years.

“Although I know at first it was my idea to have you comfort Shinyasu, I have already granted you one favor by allowing you to visit him a second time. In so doing I risk my authority as General of Fujiyama. Nevertheless, I was in agreement. Now what would you have me do now? Eh?” Daihara fought not to raise his voice. “Even if other recourses existed at my disposal, do you truly believe that ultimately it would make one jot of difference when, and if, Lord Hojotora bothers to read the missive?”

Suddenly he was furious at this young woman, so naive, causing him to lose what vestiges of mental peace still survived in him after this drawn out war. Focusing on the sun, breathing deep, he did his best to temper himself. There was no point in sidestepping the matter though. He had to say it;

“Even if I sent Lord Hojotora a hundred letters, ... nay, I thousand - It would be chaff in the wind.” Daihara pivoted to face her. “Can you not see? Hojotara plans to end the Sangenji line. What more, he thirsts for vengeance! The Sangenji slaughtered his son! Things are too far gone. Do you imagine by Earth or Heaven, he could show Prince Shinyasu mercy?”

           A blank look of hopelessness struck Isae. Despite the truth of it, Daihara regretted the callousness of his words. The young woman's mouth opened futilely whilst she gazed ahead, at nothing. The gleam in her eyes reflected the dying day.

Confused, Daihara spun away from the chamber. Over the pines in the gardens, the skies and clouds blazed with the sorrow and wisdom of the gods.

"You must understand, Isae-san," he said, absently looking into the gardens as he rested a hand on the door frame. “My place is solely to follow orders. There is nothing more I can do.” He shook his head. “I am sorry.”

Minutes slipped slowly past, and neither spoke. Daihara saw no path free of this mire. In an unknown wilderness he had become mazed. In a sense, he realized he was also being condemned, perhaps not to execution, but to forever wander as an exile. Against this intuition he rigidly reminded himself he was samurai. Nothing took the place of honor and loyalty to his masters, at all costs.

Bolder than before, Isae calmly declared, “It would not be right to kill such a man.”

Shocked at her behavior, Daihara fell short of a reply. Although it became clear she shared a bond with the prince, that her sentiments could be this strong, was far beyond anything he could have predicted.

"There must be another way," Isae insisted; the uneven timbre belied she could scarcely hold her emotions back. “Please, tell me there is."

While waiting for a solution Daihara did not possess, she went on, more urgent, “Why must they kill a man when the war is ending? Someone virtuous, who plays and sings so beautifully?"

Daihara took a deep breath. The garden outside, its creation inspired by a harmonious vision to promote meditation, was now distressing to contemplate. A vast rift existed between its perfection and the imprisoning reality.

Isae’s tremulous objection shot up, “Shinyasu has done nothing! How can the Minotara be so cruel and execute an innocent man!?”

Provoked by this brazen insolence, Daihara whirled to face her and unleash harsh reprimands … Upon seeing her sorry state however, the insults stuck in his throat, and his fury dissipated. The young musician was bowed over the floor, arms extended, and brow touching the rush mats as she wept.

           "Please, General Daihara." She meekly pressed her palms on the floor. “I beg you show mercy. Shinyasu had no part in the massacre at Heikena. It was his brother. Shinyasu is incapable of any crime. He is not like his family. All his life he has endeavored to follow the Shining One’s path, and achieved better than others could under the circumstances allotted.”

           The manner she pleaded, with tears in her eyes, extinguished Daihara’s remaining anger. He merely stood in place, feeling completely unqualified to deal with this. Moreover, what she spoke of Heikena was true. Shinyasu had no hand in the atrocity; Daihara simply knew it. And what an I do about it? It felt as likely he learn to snatch a cloud from the sky than find a solution for Shinyasu. This made Daihara despise the world. It was an accursed place. None could argue otherwise. He stepped back to the doorway, squinting into the last light, pondering.

           "Nor do I believe Shinyasu deserves to die," he confessed. "Verily, if it were in my hands, I would forbid the execution."

His vision set heavenward, Daihara scried for insight. Interminable emptiness there, nothing more. Then, in flashes, memories of his past returned by a volition seemingly beyond his own. These fragments echoed what he had lost. Before he could hold onto the vivid reflections, they were gone, consumed by the sunset.

At length he sighed, lowering his brow in resignation.

“The ultimate decision is not mine,” he said, “But I will at least see if there is anything more I can do.”

Isae prostrated herself to the floor anew. "Thank you, General Daihara!"

          "Maybe if I consult with Lord Hojotora, there could be a possibility." An ember of inspiration slowly kindled. Do the outcomes of war always need be so bleak? No, of course not … He rubbed his coal-bearded chin, analyzing the situation. Might it be his master did not truly intend to kill Shinyasu, but purposed to intimidate the prince’s family? Or at the least could he be convinced of such an option? As if brushing aside drifts of sand, in his mind’s eye, Daihara began to uncover a path that could potentially influence Hojotora towards the latter course of action.

"It will not be easy, what you ask. However, Lord Hojotora owes me favors, thus I know he will hear me out.” Daihara paced thoughtfully along the platform. “I will submit a formal letter explaining there is reason to believe Shinyasu had no doing in what befell at Heikena.” He paused, another idea dawning. He held up a finger as he spoke, “I recall Lord Hojotara always sought one who could play the shakuhachi flute, to replace the legendary minstrel Kobanori. From what I have gathered, Shinyasu is blessed with ability to spare, and a voice to match. Yes, I will clearly emphasize the Sangenji Prince’s extraordinary talents.”

            Isae profusely expressed her gratitude. Despite his own earnestness, Daihara was afraid of getting her hopes up too high;

"Remember though, Isae-san, I cannot promise anything, save that I shall try. At the very least, I do not doubt I can delay the execution. With the war ending, perhaps delay it indefinitely."

           This meager reassurance set the young musician to shed tears in thanks. It was as if life had been given back to her. Daihara's spirits lifted too. Can the sentence be undone? If Hojotora could meet Shinyasu, I know he would never want to execute the prince. Daihara spoke as one who thinks aloud, "There is another option, doubtful, but it could be woven with what I already mentioned. That is Hojotora could perhaps allow Shinayasu to become a vassal. Of course, the prince would need to abrogate his family titles, and take up a Minotara name.”

“If that’s what it takes, Shinyasu can do it,” Isae claimed. “I can convince him. I promise.”

Daihara nodded. He had faith in her. “If only it can be arranged for the lord to hear Shinyasu play the flute. Above all else, that is key.”

“It’s true,” said Isae. “Then Hojotara would never want to kill Shinyasu. No one would.”

          She continued thanking Daihara, bowing repeatedly. At last she smiled, and overflowing with relief, she wiped away the tears on her kimono’s long sleeves. Daihara smiled faintly in return. He felt mountains better. Day to night. With his mind made up to defend the prince’s well-being through the petition he intended to write, an enormous weight left him.

Daihara walked out onto the veranda, drinking in the sky, the gardens. Everything appeared different to him now.

Perhaps the world need not be such a terrible place.

Verily, perhaps there is hope not just for Shinyasu, but all of us …