Amecon LJ Community

> The Amecon T-shirt And Pillow Are Now Available For Pre-order!

2008-07-21T14:16:36Z

Hey everybody!

T-shirts

We'd like to announce the design for the official Amecon T-shirt has been released. Again in addition to the T-shirt we now offering you pillows as well. Please pre-order on the link below so we know the least amount needed for you guys and gals!

http://amecon.org/apply_tshirt.php

If you have any issues with the pre-ordering process or any queries though please contact alx@amecon.org

Closing date for pre-orders is 3rd August 2007.

Cheers

The Amecon Committee

amecon @ 2008-05-18T21:06:00

2008-05-18T20:08:04Z

Were still looking for content for this years conbook!

This is you're opportunity to get you're artwork or article published and seen by everyone at the convention so get scribbling now ^_^

If you have some aspect of anime, manga or Japanese culture/pop culture that you would like to tell everyone about why not take this opportunity to do so!

Were also taking fun stuff like anime jokes, puzzles and word games so if you have an idea let us know.

Artwise, were looking for B&W art and short comic strips for the inside of the conbook and for the Front Cover, this years competition is:

Front Cover Artwork Competition
This year we are looking for pictures of our mascot Ame-chan as a Space Girl for the front cover of the conbook. Lets see some great sci-fi inspired artwork! The best submission will be published on the front of this years conbook!! With runners up on the inside and back covers.

Submissions for the cover art should be colour and at least 300dpi.

See the website for full guidelines or contact me James at conbook@amecon.org with any ideas or submissions.

AmeCon Discussion Forum

2007-12-03T23:35:51Z

From the AmeCon Discussion Forum:

The AmeCon Discusson Forums are now live!

We apologise for the delay over the last few weeks, he have been having some technical difficulties which are now resolved. :)

There are also a two small changes we have implemented, these are:

- New Forum Rules. It is very important that you read over the new rules before making posts, ignorance to the new rules is not an excuse! The board rules can be found here:

http://amecon.org/forum/index.php?act=boardrules

- We will have new moderators soon! Under no circumstance will we be accepting applications or request to become a moderator, we will send personal requests to those we wish to become moderators. Any unsolicited requests will be ignored.

Now that's over, we hope you are all looking forward to Amecon 2008 and please look out for places to put your input and contributions for next year's event!

Have fun guys!

Kazz

Amecon 2008 Registrations are open!~

2007-11-18T19:23:12Z

It's the moment you've been waiting for! I'm very pleased to announce that Registrations for Amecon 2008 are now open!

Registration this year costs £45 - You can register for the convention at http://www.amecon.org/register.php

We hope to see you at the convention!

~Kate Bentley~
Amecon Registrations Officer

AmeCon 2008

2007-10-25T21:02:07Z

The AmeCon Committee are proud to announce that AmeCon will return to the University of Leicester Campus on 8-10 August 2008.

This November, we'll be launching the 2008 website and forums to the public, with information and prices for the forthcoming convention. Registrations for AmeCon 2008 will open shortly after on November 18th.

2007 was the most successful AmeCon to date and next year we hope to take things further. The AmeCon Committee are also proud to announce that the latest issue of UK magazine SFX Collection: Total Anime features an excellent special about AmeCon 2007. This issue is available from all good retails stores until November 15.

Thank you for reading and we hope to see you on our forums in early November ^_^

AmeCon 2008

2007-10-08T21:34:55Z

http://amecon.org/forum/index.php?showtopic=2317

Halko Momoi at Amecon?

2007-09-14T15:30:51Z

So I got back from Connichi in Germany, having had dinner with Halko Momoi,(re http://www.strawberry-crush.co.uk and http://www.pori.co.uk ) Momoi, as in the truelly epic J-Idol that makes everyone perform Wotagi ( http://nichi.kooan.de/ bottom link for recording of her live at Connichi ). During the dinner Momoi said that she'd really like to perform at a convention in the UK if she was asked.

So what's do we think the chances of getting Amecon commitee to ask her are?

Momoi's manager speaks English, she'll bring an international crowd, and would be a truelly epic guest both due to her singing and her seiyuu activities.

She's a great influence and a fantastic role model for us Otaku.

Anyway thought I'd throw that fact into the hat.

Cosplay Events Photographs

2007-08-30T12:08:41Z

Photographs from the Cosplay Masquerade and Competition are now available to view and download:

http://amecon.org/forum/index.php?showtopic=2294

AmeCon 2007 Writing Contest Winners!

2007-08-20T11:44:31Z

The winners of the writing contest have now been posted here on the forums!

Her mother already had a growing suspicion of Sayaka leaving the house for some nights when she returned, they’d be fresh dirt on her shoes. Just like there was fresh dirt tonight not only on her daughters shoes, but Keijirou’s too.

Her mother laughed, slowly at first before it grew into a fully fledged deep laugh without a trace of warmth in it. Sayaka had stopped crying, fear the only thing rooting her to her spot.
”Mother?”

“Get out.”

“What? I don’t understand…”

“GET OUT!” Her mother shrieked uncontrollably. “Not only do I have a murderer for a daughter but a whore as well.” Sayaka’s face paled even whiter at this point, shaking her head, not sure at what she was denying.

Her mother, having lost all reason grabbed her arms, dragging her across the floor. When Sayaka shook herself out of her stupor she began to fight back, her mother once again grabbing her by the hair and using that to pull her distraught daughter towards the genkan, screams resounding off the walls. Sayaka fell over the ledge and her mother pushed open the door, using a shoe to hit Sayaka until she scrambled outside to defend herself from the blows. Sayaka screamed pitifully, crying, in pain and confused. She cried out for her mother to understand, telling her she was mistaken but the door slammed in front of her.

“Mother? MOTHER! Please I beg of you, it wasn’t my fault… it wasn’t my fault… it wasn’t’…”

She slumped into the ground, the grief too overwhelming, not caring how loud she cried or who heard her, for nothing could be worse than the suffering she felt weighing down in her heart like a rock, tied to her legs in a lake, dragging her into the deepest depths of despair.

She wasn’t sure how long she remained there or when she stopped crying, but she knew she couldn’t stay there. Thinking of the only place she knew, she walked around the back of her house, her mother having closed the window blinds together, shutting the outside world out. She walked over to where her father used to work and pried open a small door within the ground. They had a small cellar where her father would sometimes keep stacks of wood to work with and as she descended solely the sweet stench of dirt, old wood and dust filled her senses. The air was thin here, so it was a little hard to breathe, but it’d have to do. She shut the door above her and was thrown into total darkness. Lying on the ground, she shivered, the images of her brother haunting her mind, robbing her of sleep. She didn’t know whether she was dreaming, or envisioning the replay of scenes in her mind awake, but the night her world began to fall apart played over and over again and again, as if this was her sentence for her stolen moment of peace today.

She awoke to the drops of water from above splashing on her cheek. All light shut from her, she couldn’t tell how long she had remained down in the cellar, but she knew that she was bruised, cold, hungry and heartbroken. Her little brother had died and she could not shrug off the sense of guilt on her part.

She struggled to rise, feeling her way up the wall, raising her hands until she found he wooden panel and pushed it open. The sun had already began to set, it was twilight, around the time she’d usually with a happy heart be waiting to hear a familiar tap on the window, but that was to be no more. She got out and sat on the ground, unsure of what to do or where to go. Her mother would still be in the house and she knew that she couldn’t go back. As if she had mentally summoned him, a shadow stood over her in which she turned. Despite all her sorrow, all her grief, her heart still leaped at the sight of the only person that was still true to her. He knelt down, distraught at how frail she had become within a day already.

She cried.

A new fresh set of tears streamed down her face as she buried herself in his arms, the only comfort she had in this terrible time. Once she had calmed down she said, “my mother… she thinks I killed him. She… she knows about us.”

Keijirou’s body stiffened slightly upon hearing her last sentence but he remained silent, so she continued. “She… somehow knew from my shoes… since we were meeting outside… Anyways, I don’t think I can go back inside.”

He ran his hands through her hair to comfort her, whispering soft reassurances has he’d done the night before. “Maybe she’s just upset, you know grief makes people to things they’d usually not…” She felt Sayaka shake her head against her chest.

“She means it; I’ve never seen such… hatred in her eyes before. I was scared Kei-kun, really scared. When she struck me-”

“She struck you?”

“I thought I’d be joining my brother there and then. Maybe I deserve to-”

Keijirou shook her at this point and looked her straight in the eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t!” He added when she lowered his head. “I know and you know if that latch was fixed, your brother wouldn’t have been able to escape from his playpen and he’d still be alive. It’s not your fault Sayaka, understand?”

She nodded feebly. Her father had not been around for days and she wondered briefly how he would take the news… or if he’d even care.

“Listen.” He waited until she looked up at him. “Maybe it’s sooner than planned but we can leave the village. You and me, alone. I have money saved from work, all I need is some time to gather and pack everything, but we can leave this behind.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief and she shook her head furiously. “But your mother-”

“Is dying.” He continued as she looked up him dumbfounded. “My aunt spends the days at my home and sometimes nights, looking after her. Even if… even if by the time we leave she is still alive, I will go. I’ll say my goodbyes and leave, but only if you come with me.”

Still confused, Keijirou grabbed her hands and pleaded silently to her with his eyes. “I will remain by your side forever Sayaka and will never leave you, if you agree to leave this village with me. It’s a promise.”

She nodded again, a shaky smile on her lips but she agreed silently. It seemed to be the only option left for her for she could no longer go back. Keijirou holding her tightly, pleased with her decision stayed with her for a little while longer, both unaware of the presence of another close by.

It had been decided that they were to leave by the next full moon, five days away. During that time, Sayaka, risked going into her home in the early afternoons when she was sure it’d be abandoned and began packing things that she’d need for the trip. She had not many possessions, and so concentrated on taking light cotton kimono’s with her, some hair clips, tabis, very few accessories and some books. She often snuck some food with her, although the cupboards were often bare without a family to feed and sit in the garden, hidden from sight, until, the sun began to set and she’d take refuge in the cellar.

Keijirou visited every evening, again alerting his presence with a soft tap on the cellar door. He’d update her with news from the village about her brother’s death, the funeral arrangements and the speculation that had spread through gossips tongues like wildfire; that indeed, Sayaka had something to do with her brothers death. People had come to pay their respects in the evenings, whilst Sayaka mourned silently below.

Four days had passed when Keijirou regretfully told her of the event at her brothers funeral at her home. He had attended on behalf of his mother, Sayaka’s own mother showing no indication of knowing their secret and witness her father appear. Her mother had lost control and called him all kinds of names, revealing that it was his fault their son was dead, if only he wasn’t so selfish for abandoning his family. She threw the broken latch at him, which he had picked up and that was enough for him to understand. Eventually he left at the request of others and a few hours later, the police had mentioned finding his body in the nearby river at the edge of the village.

He had committed suicide.

Sayaka nodded as she digested the news, not really feeling any remorse for her father or his fate. Keijirou left her some piece of bread, planted a kiss on her cheek and headed off with a smile, for tomorrow, at their favourite spot by the lake, they’d meet and leave their childhood village forever.

The late afternoon of the next day, Sayaka looked at her home for a final time before she headed for the door. She did have good memories here and tried to recall them but the past two years had been of hardship and those were all that would come to mind. Closing this chapter of her life, she took her packed belongings and headed for the lake.

The sun had fully set, the various shades of blue ranging from dark navy to pale blue gracing the sky. She sat among the pebbles, tossing some into the lake carelessly when she heard the crunch of grass behind her. Standing with a smile, she turned only to meet the last person she could ever imagine coming across.

Taka Nakamura, the village troublemaker stood a few feet ahead of her, with that chilling leering smile he had worn at the gates of the shrine. She lost her smile immediately, her voice hard as she said, “I have no business with you.”

“Oh but I think you do my sweet Saya-chan.”

She dropped her belongings on the floor, her fists forming balls from her anger, but all this did was to amuse Taka further.

“I always knew that you were a passionate one. Ever since we were kids, I’ve been watching you. Watching how you and your fancy boy Kei would lead the other kids around. Watching how the two of you would team up, laugh together, play together, but I never imagined that you’d fall for him after you had separated.”

She paled. Had they been so careless? How could he have possibly known? He took her confusion as a chance to grab her, in which she slapped him resoundingly, but this didn’t faze him, rather it excited him more. She tried to fight back as much as she could, but he was too strong, adolescence offering him additional strength that was bestowed on men more than women. With the fury of her mother, she kicked and bit, casing Taka to curse at times but she still held her, pulling the top hem of her kimono down, exposing her shoulders, before his hands went to untie her obi which was fastened around her waist. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She felt sick, disgusted and with the fury inherited from her mother, she focused all her strength in pushing him away, screaming loudly, but Taka had already anticipated this for he whispered to her,

“Your mother sends her love.” She paused in horror and he continued. “She hoped that I’d treat you as I’d treat any common whore, soiled enough to the point where even our darling Kei won’t want to touch you. You’re almost at my level anyways, seeing as you abandoned your brother like that.”

Upon hearing his words as he expected, the fight had gone out of her and she lay limp as her brain tried to comprehend the reality of the situation.

Her mother had told him everything…

By now he had already taken advantage of her helplessness, his dirty hands groping her breast inside of her kimono, his tongue down her throat. He had thrust too far enough to make her choke and realise what he was doing to her. In her rising panic, he vaguely heard her name being shouted from afar before realising whose voice it was.

With a desperate final cry, she pushed at Taka with every fibre of her body but he released her just as easily, causing her to fall. She turned her head towards a disbelieving Keijirou, who looked at her with the same alien look her mother had given her once she snatched Kentarou from her arms. Sayaka shook her head and hastened to rearrange her kimono as best as she could, her eyes begging for him to understand her innocence, that the situation was not as it seemed.

“Kei-kun, he…he…”

But he took a step back from her as she got closer and her heart broke.

No… no this can’t be happening.

“Kei-kun, believe me! He forced himself onto me!” She screamed. He seemed confused, fighting against what he had heard and what he had seen, fighting to believe her, but the seeds of doubt had long been planted in his mind. Taka took this as his chance to make them grow.

“Force myself? Why Kei, you saw how she gave herself to me so easily. Sure she denied it and fought me, but it was with the same passion that you submitted to me last year.”

“LIES!” She screamed again, but he continued.

“Yes… that’s why you couldn’t face me at the festival. That’s why you turned your face away from me, but I knew our secret. Our dirty little secret of what we had done, but I didn’t mind keeping quiet, for I was always going to be your first.”

“LIES! I’ve never touched you! You’re disgusting and filthy and I hate you!” She touched Keijirou’s arm but he flinched and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

“Kei-kun? Let’s go… let’s… let’s leave like we promised.”

But he shook his head slowly and stepped away from her. She fought down the sob that rose in her throat, every move he made to leave her was another stab in her heart, but she had to fight.

“He’s lying, Kei-kun. You were my first, I’ve never touched another man, I don’t know who has said terrible things to you, but it’s not true, I swear on my life, it’s not true!”

He paused; she could see the fight in his eyes between his love for her and the things he had heard and what he’d just seen. Just as it seemed as if he was going to side with her, Taka whistled, twirling a hairclip in his hands.

Her hairclip.

The one she had worn on the night of the festival, her sunflower clip that had pinned her ponytail together. She hadn’t taken it with her, simply because she could not find it, but now she knew where it had gone. But sadly this was enough. Keijirou had lost the fight and submitted to his fears.

“Your mother told me how devious you could be. You definitely have grown more beautiful by the day but your heart is poisoned and that poison can so easily confuse a man’s senses.”

She shook her head, tears streaming freely. Her mother had talked to him too, spread lies about her and no doubt with the rumours in the town, he must have been influenced.

However her heart told her that he was with her the night of her brothers death, he knew she was not a fault. He had even said that to her!

“Kei-kun, you said it was not my fault, you said that you’d never leave me. You promised me!” She screamed her last sentence.

He looked at her as if she was something pitiful and turned his back to her walking away. She uttered a string of no’s and ran after him, holding onto his arms whilst he tried to pry her from him.

“Don’t do this to me, don’t do this to me! I love you! I’d never do this, it’s all lies! Please, please believe me!”

Keijirou grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him, his face now a mask of anger, his eyes cold. She had never seen him like this, not so hurt, so disillusioned and she felt weak. “Then why does he have your hairclip.”

“He stole it!”

“Why when I came here was he kissing you, touching you like he had done so before?”

“He forced himself onto me!” She sobbed.

“Then why didn’t you fight him? Answer me!” He added with a shake, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t get the words to explain that the shock of her mother’s betrayal had rendered her useless, so it looked like an act of wilful submission. Keijirou took her silence and downcast eyes as a sign of guilt and threw her to the floor. She looked up, her hands reaching for him, sobbing opening as her heart tore in two. Whatever heartache she had felt at her brother’s death was nothing in comparison to the only light in her life leaving her, disbelieving her, betraying her.

He looked at her almost sadly as if to say ‘you could have had it all’, before turning his back to her, walking away.

“Kei-kun? Kei-kun? KEI-KUN!”

She tried to move, but her grief and shock had paralysed her, for life was too cruel for this to be real, the pain was too intense to want to carry on to live. She screamed his name over and over, watching him disappear from her sight until all that was left was the lake and the memories where he had promised her so many things, looked at her with such love, where she had given him her first kiss.

The memories too painful to bear, she lowered her head to the ground and cried, her body shaking with the intensity of it all.

She wanted to die, she wanted to die, she thought over and over in her mind. Her mother had somehow got her twisted revenge at the loss of her brother and life was hard enough but to be abandoned by the one person she had adored all her life was too much.

She raised her head, Taka no longer around, finding herself alone under the light of the full moon. She looked at the lake, thinking how peaceful and serene it was that it seemed like the right place for her to go. And so she stood as if in a trance, each heartbeat shooting fresh pain to her senses until that was all she acknowledged, until that was all she knew, so she hadn’t even realised that she had reached the lake until she felt the cold wet chill of the surface touch her foot.

She hesitated for a second, as her brain registered what she was about to do but then proceeded further down, the surface of the lake rising to meet her until it was neck high. She held her breath and let herself sink into the darkness, her heart beating rapidly for oxygen sending a new kind of pain to her senses. She expelled her breath and immediately began choking as she swallowed in water. Her instincts kicked in for survival but it was too late, too much water had been swallowed and she blacked out to her fate…

She heard someone shout at her, rousing her to wake up, the pain overwhelming as she choked, her lungs gasping for air. But then the pain left her lungs and moved to her ribs. The grass turned into stone but the same chill remained. She opened her eyes only to see someone creeping into the prison, dragging her by the arms to wake her up. The memory from her dream of the man who rescued her from drowning in the lake began to fade as her conscious took over. Not too long after that night, he had placed her on a carriage to an unknown destination, travelling for many days, given very little food or water along the way. The man had looked after her somewhat but obviously had further plans for her. Wherever she was going, it couldn’t be any worse than what she had left, so she had submitted to her fate as easily as she was doing now as the guards dragged her across the halls of the prison.

The sun hit her eyes and she lowered her face, her hair providing some protection. She was in the palace grounds, a crowd had appeared ahead of the gates. There was a horse ahead of her with a rope dangling from its harness. She vaguely made sense of what was to happen next and was afraid. The guards saw her reaction and laughed amongst themselves. Whether she’d survive being dragged along the ground, she wasn’t sure, but she knew it’d be painful. Holding onto her sense of calmness that she had felt ever since the prince had died she looked defiantly ahead. The last time the sun had shone so brightly like this was when she had reached her destination after leaving her hometown. She was taken to some kind of building with many women inside. There was an old lady that talked with her driver, gave him a bag with what she had figured to have been money before she turned towards her.

She had just been sold.

The horse neighed, shaking her from her reprieve. Her hands here tied together from the rope, her feet not. A moment of relief passed her mind before she remembered what was to happen still. Sure enough Gennosuke appeared next to her, venom in his voice.

“It’s been decided to take you to the fighting ground to hear your judgement and face your deserved fate. But before that happens, we are going to allow the people to punish you as they see fit. The people have a fight to see the murderer of their beloved prince and the shame shall stay with you for eternity.”

They were going to stone her, she concluded. She may end up being dragged anyways if the blows were too strong. Somehow the guards would control her surviving the journey but they were going to make it as painful as they could within an inch of her life.

The horse began to move and she was forced to break into a small run to keep up with it. As she got closer to the gate, many faces turned to look towards her. It was like a twisted form of a parade where she was the entertainment…

To be continued…

"Natural Course of Things" by Cheza-chan

AmeCon 2007 Writing Contest Winners!

2007-08-20T11:39:49Z

The winners of the writing contest have now been posted here on the forums!

Attakai…

Warm…

So very warm.

She welcomed this foreign feeling that was slowly creeping up her arms, through her chest, towards her heart, this unfamiliar heat that was soothing her soul like a balm on an open wound.

It was so very warm…

She looked down to the source, unsurprised at the sight of seeing her hand submerged in a crimson pool. Rather, she wondered if she stared hard or long enough would it flow deep enough for her to glance at her reflection. She had forgotten to put on her usual make-up this morning due to the incident that occurred earlier. She hoped that she wouldn’t be scolded too badly for that.

A geiko must always be a flower that has freshly bloomed in the springtime. Elegant, fresh and forever radiant.

She certainly wasn’t fresh or elegant, sitting on the floor her kimono in disarray as it was, but she agreed with herself that she certainly was radiant.

“And it’s all thanks to you, Hiroshi-sama. You have given me so much already and now to offer me this final gift…” She bowed slightly before continuing. “It is more than I could ever imagine. I am forever indebted to you.”

She smiled at him knowing that it was unrequited. But she didn’t mind. Surely, one could not think wrong of the person that made her feel as alive as she was feeling now, her heart beating strong, painless and consistent.

She smiled, swishing her hand in the liquid warmth so caught up in her pleasure that her ears barely registered the scream that tore through the air like a piece of cloth being forcefully ripped.

Ragged, long and full of despair.

“Hi-Hiroshi-sama?”

Despondent to being forced to already leave her tranquil nirvana so soon, she allowed her mind to register the sights and sounds of the room as reality slowly drew back the curtain to the world that she had momentarily left. Turning her head, she saw a familiar figure crawl on all fours towards her although their eyes were completely focused on the sight beside her.

“Hiroshi-sama!” Came the scream, followed by eyes that she knew very well, like recognising an old friend that’s come to greet her.

“Why?”

The question was repeated again on a scream.

“Why Mieiko? Why?”

Mieiko blinked unfazed and turned to meet the eyes of her inquisitor. Oh, how she knew those eyes so well. Full of heartache for a situation you’ve yet to comprehend. Full of anguish, despair, confusion but most of all, deep within it all, a tiny seed of utmost cold certainty. A certainty that was as soon as it was realised, it’d be final like hammering down the final nail to a coffin.

And there was no way of stopping or reversing that ultimate blow.

Mieiko smiled as she remembered those emotions, now a thing of the past for her. Confusion now became apparent through the facial features of the person opposite her, reality still having not quite reached their mind. Seeing as they were good friends, Mieiko thought the least that she could do was to help the person to understand. True to her name stated, Tomoki was indeed a ‘precious friend’ and Mieiko knew that good friends always helped each other when the time arose.

“Because Tomoki, Hiroshi-sama loved me. And I did what any woman true to her heart did for a man that she loves…”

She paused, excited in the anticipation of witnessing the results of her charitable deed.

“I accepted his greatest gift to me. See look,” Mieiko added as she raised her hand close to their faces, crimson drops splashing freely onto her kimono.

“Look how radiant I’ve become. I’ll be the most beautiful geiko in all of Kyoto and it’s all thanks to Hiroshi-sama.”

Then she waited, knowing that it wasn’t long before her friend reacted to what she had just said, and sure enough Tomoki’s eyes became focused and so very very clear, the black of her pupils growing as realisation sunk in. Mieiko marvelled at the beauty of it all, seeing her own astonished image reflected in her friends’ eyes.

Yes, the final blow had been delivered, for Tomoki paled as white as the powder that they used to decorate their faces. Her delicate hands so skilled at playing the shamisen, were now trembling with fear, her eyes as wide, vast and black as the deepest pools of the universe.

Mieiko agreed with herself that it was indeed a very beautiful sight and wondered if that was the secret to all the rumours that she had heard about her.

Tomoki crawled slowly backwards, now uncertain of the unknown creature sat before her, sheer horror and panic threatening to engulf her crippling her senses completely until all that she could do was scream.

And scream that she did; a pain wrenching scream full of loss and the cruelty of having her future snatched away from her so merciless.

Other sounds accompanied Tomoki’s screams, Mieiko noticed. Sounds of shocked or horrified gasps, the heavy thuds of the royal guards’ feet, sounds of curses whispered into the air and then even more sounds of anguish, despair, loss. Everyone around her seemed so troubled, yet Mieiko did not mind for they could not understand the gift her beloved Hiroshi-sama had given her.

It was meant for her soul only after all.

The sounds dimmed down all at once as soft thuds of a single person’s footsteps entered the room before stopping. Mieiko didn’t need to look up to see the face belonging to the powerful, commanding yet secure presence that she felt. Only two people within the palace could carry such power and one lay beside her on the ground. The only other person that remained was the King himself.

Having established that mentally, Mieiko did look up, but only to see if the King would or could call upon his mask that was almost like second nature to him. It was the face he used to the public in any political or non political situation. Not even the greatest of mind readers could fathom the feelings from the King when he had his mask on, but Mieiko observed very closely. His features were composed, unfazed but there had finally been a crack in his facial armour. His eyes went through the same transformation as Tomoki’s did just a moment ago, only a lot faster so realisation hit sooner.

His son was dead, murdered. The country had lost their only heir to the throne, the fact of it casting an immediate grim deep shadow over everyone that lived on this island that they so adored. It was an issue to worry over later as for now he must deal with the most present problem.

As if sensing that Mieiko had read his mind, he looked at her unfazed uttering only two words to those around him.

“Arrest her.”

Her arms were ruthlessly dragged up behind her by two guards, sending sharp pain to her shoulders, but she endured it. The ribbon, loose in her hair before now fell to the floor spilling her long raven hair free, her face now slightly obscured. Her face was level with everyone else in the room, her eyes taking in the kaleidoscope of expressions cast upon her. A man stepped in front of her, eyes burning like wildfire full of hatred. Ah yes, she too had the same eyes once, felt that same burning feeling in her heart. But of course, that was a thing of the past.

She accepted the sharp blow to her cheek that followed. It was only to be expected, after all Gennosuke was the right hand man and most trusted friend of the prince, and she instead had been the one to receive Hiroshi-sama’s greatest gift of all.

“Death is too kind a fate for you. I hope your soul remains in jigokudō for all eternity.”

“I believe I was already there Gennosuke, despite being born as a human.” She raised her head slightly, now peering at him through her hair and added, “Hiroshi-sama was so noble to offer me the kind of peace that most humans strive for in this life, I’ve no desire to be reborn into tendō. That is not a heaven for me.”

He spat at her, words failing to express his absolute loathing for Mieiko at the current moment. Upon hearing his name from the King, he turned away in disgust storming out of the room.

“Leave me,” ordered the King. At once everyone began to follow his commands, the maids struggling to escort an inconsolable Tomoki out of the room and she wailed pitifully, repeatedly crying out the name of her fiancé.

“Hiroshi-sama! Hiroshi-samaaaa! Don’t leave me, I beg of you, Hiroshi-sama!”

The King closed his eyes momentarily, his own anguish now threatening to overtake him, but he held his ground, his mask intact.

Mieiko was now dragged across the room, her kimono leaving a bloody trail across the tatami floor. Just before they passed through the door, she heard the King order the guards to stop. He spoke with his back to them all, although his words were for Mieiko’s ears only.

“You’ve taken the only thing precious to me in this world. I knew from the moment my son laid his eyes on you, he was trapped as an alcoholic old man is when his hands grasps a bottle of sake. He was drunk in lust for you and you knew that… You knew that and yet you have betrayed and forsaken the people of this land as there is no future emperor to rule…”

As if saying it aloud made it all the more profound, the king paused for a moment to allow his true emotions to leave his voice before continuing.

“You’ve doomed us all Mieiko. True to your name, you, a child of eternal beauty is as deadly one eating a piece of fugu. Simple pleasures that bring upon instant death…”

Mieiko could tell that he was barely holding himself together and was mildly affronted that she couldn’t witness his despair.

“Leave me. Throw her in the darkest, deepest prison. We will deal with her tomorrow, for now we must inform everyone of this very sad day and make preparations.”

The guards uttered their replies and dragged Mieiko harder than before. She cringed from the onslaught, the discomfort now getting to her but not minding it as she was offered one last final consolation. Just before she was dragged down the hall, from the corner of her eye she saw the king fall to his knees in front of the corpse of his only son, his shoulders shaking.

She did manage to glimpse his despair after all.

Even if just for a heartbeat, it was enough.

She was dragged deep, deep into the foundations of the palace where misery lived and care was forsaken. Her bare feet were now bruised from the harsh battering they received whilst being dragged down the ragged stone steps of the palace prison quarters. The guards were intent on inflicting as much pain as they could whilst she was in their possession and she accepted this, just like she accepted being thrown mercilessly into a tiny hole, no higher than a couple of feet and no wider than four. She fell on her side, her ribs impacting on the uneven stone floor sending a sharp shot of pain to her chest, her breath knocked out of her. A few more guards spat at her and cursed her with the cruellest fates that they could imagine before slamming the small metal panel shut, trapping her in absolute darkness.

Now curled up in a foetal ball, Mieiko began shivering, her earlier injuries screaming to life. The sound of water dripping from within somewhere of her prison was the only sign of anything else other than herself for the present time. She let her mind focus on the drip, drip of the leak remembering of a time long ago when this sound was as normal as hearing the cock crow every morning signalling the start of the day.

It was the sound of home… well home as she knew it.

Sayaka Ishikawa was born of the Ishikawas in the tiny village of Niyodo, inland of the smallest island of Japan, Shikoku. As life in a village must have been no matter where you were, Sayaka’s childhood days were spent mainly outdoors with the other village children that lived not too far away. Of all the village kids, her most favourite was Keijirou Takahashi. He was an only child alike Sayaka when she was four years old and so from their similarity they formed a mutual respect for each other that didn’t quite reach out to the other children.

Nonetheless, they involved everyone in their games that often changed as frequently as the seasons did. There was so schooling to speak of, save during the spring and summers where regretfully the children would be forced to spend hours inside the old shrine hall being taught hiragana, katakana and simple math, many often gazing out of the window daydreaming of an alternate world where they could play outside all day long.

Fortunately school time was only for a few hours per weekday, so they resumed their fun in the evening until the sun set and the children departed towards their homes for fear of being beaten for returning so late.

Sayaka’s home was pleasant in comparison to the homes in her village. It was not by far the most grandest but comfortable enough that there was space enough for her own bedroom as well as her parents room and a bathroom. The guest room shared the same main space of the house as the kitchen, where her mother often resided. Often Sayaka would come home to various smells of food depending on what her mother had decided to make for the day and try to pinch a vegetable or piece of meat before being admonished by her mother for her thieving and being sent to the bathroom to wash.

By the time she was washed and dressed, her father would come home, smelling as he always smelt, his signature scent of pine.

For Sayaka’s father was a carpenter and a very talented and successful one at that, hence they lived in moderate comfort. On weekends he would sit in their garden, chewing on tobacco, a chisel in one hand and a small piece of wood. With his brow raised in deep concentration, he would stare at the wood for anything from ten to forty-five minutes doing nothing. To a random stranger passing by, seeing such a sight would seem odd, but to Sayaka, she knew that this was where some of his greatest creations where being called forth into his mind, mentally presenting and shaping themselves until he was satisfied. Only then, would he put chisel to wood and begin working.

Whenever his pieces were completed, he’d load them onto the cart and ride into town to sell. Sometimes this meant he was gone from home for days at a time, but when he did return, he’d usually come back with a small gift for both her and her mother as well as his earnings from the sales of his pieces.

Despite Sayaka’s father’s success, her mother was by no means idle. When not looking after the house or cooking, she’d use the spare room that they had to sew cloth to be used to create kimono. Her mother was a talented designer and despite making so very few designs, her work was always sought after. Other times when the season called, she along with other housewives in the village would go into the fields to pick tea in the afternoons. It was often a pleasant occasion for the women of the village for they would sing songs or gossip whilst they worked, enjoying the limited time they had together before returning to their own households to tend to their families.

And thus was life as Sayaka knew it for many years.

But just has even the most beautiful sakura will wither and die so quickly, so did Sayaka’s rose coloured life change for the worst as well, for her mother had announced that she was going to have a baby. She wasn’t particularly please nor upset by the matter, however everyone around her seemed to be ecstatic. Everyone expect her closest friend, Keijirou.

One warm August evening, the pair of them sat on side of the lake as the had done for many years, skimming small pebbles onto the lake, each seeing how far they could make a pebble bounce across the surface before sinking. Both were slightly contemplative as Sayaka told him the news of her new sibling to be. They had always revelled in the fact that they were the only kids around to be the sole born and now that fact was changing.

“It’s not to bad Kei-kun, I mean I’ll still be your friend and play with you like before. Nothing will change I promise.”

Keijirou remained sullen and tossed another pebble onto the lake, gaining three bounces before it sank. The pair of them stared at the river, their thoughts alike. Having a little baby brother or sister in Sayaka’s life was like tossing a pebble into the lake. Despite looking the same on the surface, the lake had changed for now there was an additional pebble at the bottom that wasn’t there before. They both knew that the bond that they had formed wouldn’t last.

“Things will change Saya-chan. Even if we don’t want it to be that way, things will change.”

Sayaka could think of nothing to say that could counter his words or comfort him, for she felt the same way. They continued tossing pebbles onto the lake until twilight had fallen upon them and they made their way back to their separate homes.

A few months later, baby Kentarou Ishikawa was born into their world. Sayaka, now aged eleven peered over her little brother who was fast asleep, eyes and fists scrunched up as if he was deeply concentrating within his dreams. Despite her best efforts to remain aloof, she couldn’t help but be touched at the sight of him. This was her little brother whom she had to protect. As if she had been born with these new feelings from birth, she found that her older sister instincts had kicked in already before she’d even realised.

She had begun to already love her new sibling.

Just like a flower that blossoms in the springtime, to stare at it, you’d think nothing was happening, but sure enough within every few days or so it’d grow into a new shape, did a change envelop Sayaka and Keijirou’s lives ever so quietly. Sayaka often found herself babysitting her little brother whilst her mother was in her bedroom sewing a new pattern for kimono. She had finally moved to the spare room when she was six years old, but they had all agreed that it could still remain her mother’s workplace, so Sayaka often went to sleep with the sights of coloured silk threads, pins and needles poking out of various cushions and her mother’s beloved sewing machine.

As she grew older, her responsibilities increased as she learnt to cook various meals that she’d someday need to do for her own future husband and often cleaned the house or deal with everyone’s laundry, especially her baby brothers.,

It was on typical day such as this that she heard hurried footsteps near her house and then rapid knocking on the door. Sensing alarm, Sayaka quickly dried her hands on her apron and rushed over to the genkan where she would have to slip into her outdoor shoes if she crossed the ledge. She answered yes in which the door opened and a figure stepped in.

Time must have stood still, or was that the beating of her heart, for the person that was standing in front of her was her old beloved friend Keijirou, who she had known seen for over half a year. Both were thinking the same thing, their eyes greedily scanning each others bodies, updating their brains, their memories with the new information that was presented to them. For within those six months, they had begun to look less like children and more like adults. Over the last year they had passed each other in the village but never really stopped to sit or chat as they were able to, and so neither had actually realised that they had already started to grow.

Heartbeats later, Keijirou found his voice first, the urgency of the present situation now once again foremost in his mind.

“Is your mother here?”

Sayaka nodded and called her mother, who came from her workroom holding a happily gurgling Kentarou in her hands, with a slight look of concern on her face towards Sayaka.

“I keep on telling your father to fix the latch for Ken-chan’s playpen; he escaped again in our bedroom. You know what they’re like at this age, they’ll grab the nearest thing they can find…” She stopped as she saw that a guest had arrived.

“Kei-kun, long time since I’ve seen you.” After seeing the expression on his face, she immediately knew that he had not come around for a social visit. “What’s happened?”

Keijirou took a moment to keep his voice steady and then said, “It’s your husband. He’s at the hospital just outside of the village. There was an accident at one of the stalls of the market where he was selling one of his carvings. As one of the bigger ornaments began to fall, he pushed a little girl out of the way but was hit instead... his hand…”

At this point both women in the family had realised the extremity of this injury. If his working hand was injured to the point that he could not carve anymore, that’d be the end of his beloved career has they knew it.

Sayaka’s mother acted quickly. She passed Kentarou to Sayaka and rushed into her bedroom to get ready to depart. This left Sayaka and Keijirou alone with a inquisitive Kentarou who had discovered the delights of Sayaka’s ponytail and now playfully tugged on it. But she didn’t seem to mind, or rather she didn’t notice, for her mind had gone blank as she struggled to find the words to say something that wasn’t worthless.

“So how are your parents?” She finally asked, hoping to change the topic to something less depressing but that was not to be the case.

“Well… I’m not sure if you heard but my father’s very ill. So much so that I’m already covering most of his shifts at the factory… I may work there full time. Mother is also very worried, she tries to hide it from me, but I can see that her health is also declining whilst she looks after my father… I don’t think he’ll have very long to go…”

Immediately contrite at having to make him recall a painful memory she apologised in which he hastily waved off and smiled bravely at her a little. She was sure her heart skipped a beat, but couldn’t ponder on it as her baby brother had began to pull painfully so she had to extract his hands from her hair.

By this point her mother was ready.

“Look after your brother and the house; I’ll be home soon with your father.” She smiled at them both before stepping into the genkan, slipping into her outdoor shoes and headed outside. Keijirou who had been standing in the genkan all this time, unsure of what to say, just flashed another brief smile and left, shutting the door behind him.

The sound was a deafening as a hammer that had been struck to a nail to imbed it firmly into a door to seal it tight.

Whenever Sayaka looked back at this moment, she realised that indeed this door was the gateway to her happiness that had just been shut from her.

As it turned out her premonition of apprehension came true. Her father had broken his right wrist and despite having an operation to repair the damage to the point where his bones would mend allowing him to use them again, his heart could not, for he fell into an emotional slump whilst recovering, knowing that his livelihood and his passion had ended. The family of the girl he had rescued often visited Sayaka’s house, offering already cooked meals and various fruit and vegetables as an apology for the hardship that her family had to face. She appreciated their kind gestures, but surely soon even that had stopped. Couple of months had passed and their father was home but it was never the same. He’d either sit outside at the back of the house staring into space holding his bandaged hand, ignoring the rest of the family or go out to the village and not return until the middle of the night. Sayaka’s mother had to now work almost full time to support them, whilst Sayaka, took the role of housewife. Her mother had tried to remain positive, sure that her husband would try to figure out a way to carve or draw designs of his creations once his hand had healed, but sadly that was not to be. Money became ever tighter, things in the house began to fall into disappear as their father no longer cared enough to mend them and her mother lost her usual vibrancy as she continued to work almost daily just to make ends meet.

Sayaka knew things were bad and it seemed that this bad luck had spread throughout the town for she had gained news of Keijirou’s father having passed away and that his mother had also fallen sick, most likely due to having lost her partner.

She regretted not being able to attend the funeral as she had to look after her brother who was nearing two years old, causing chaos in the house, but continued to do her best as she could for the present time.

Over the months that followed, Sayaka began to notice the subtle changes that had infected their lives. Her father no longer smelled of pine but rather sake as he drunkenly returned home and passed out in the chair. Her mother often berated him to fix things in the house, especially the latch for the playpen that had father and designed and built for Kentarou to sit and play in. At best of times the latch would withhold the blows from the toddler’s hands and he fiddled or pounded at the surroundings of his prison. At worst of times, the latch would be too loose to hold, by then Kentarou realised his chance of escape, would push open the gate and run about the house, grabbing whatever he could find. It was one such occasion whilst Sayaka was washing up that she heard a crash and quickly run to her parents’ bedroom. He had pulled down a necklace that partially hung over the edge of his mother’s vanity desk, bringing down her jewellery case that hit him squarely on the head. He let out a wail as to protest of having to be subjected to such cruelty that didn’t abate no matter how much Sayaka tried to calm him down. Sure enough he had a small lump on his forehead, which their mother having heard him cry at the front door, rushed over and snatched him from Sayaka.

“What have you done?!”

“I did nothing, mother! The latch… it must have failed again…”

“How many times have I told you to keep a closer eye on him, huh?”

Kentarou continued to cry over his mothers shouting, so Sayaka was spared a lecture as she sullenly went back to the kitchen to continue.

That night her mother didn’t sleep at her usual time, but stayed in the main room ready to confront her father instead. Sayaka was in her bed but couldn’t sleep, for the tension that had grown had become unbearable. She heard the front door shut, immediately followed by her mothers raised voice. Her father’s voice, slurred at best seemed to take no notice for a while until after a few seconds of silence she heard a thud and then his raised voice. Sayaka shrunk in fear under her covers. She was sure of what had happened but didn’t want to believe it, so she shut her eyes tightly and thought of Keijirou, not as her childhood friend but the adult stranger that he had now become.

Time continued to progress as things in her home did not. As late summer had come around once more, Sayaka turned thirteen. She didn’t expect any presents or even any well wishes but she was determined to treat herself. After reluctantly asking her mother to allow her to go to the village summer festival, her mother who had nothing to give Sayaka allowed that.

And so, now looking in the mirror twirling at her sun flowered patterned yukata, her hair tied in a long ponytail, closed with a matching sunflower clip, she smiled excited and rushed through the house, stepping into her geta at the genkan and left all her miseries at the door as she walked happily to the festival.

Sayaka heard rather than saw the taiko drums, for their strong beat resounded a few hundred yards away from the main entrance of the festival. As she approached the gates of the shrine, pale yellow light spilled upon her growing brighter with every step, until she was in the midst of various tones of light from stalls set up throughout the shrine grounds. After paying her respects to the shrine by tossing in a coin, ringing the bell to alert the Shintō gods to her prayer and then clapping her hands, she turned around giddy with excitement and made her way to the stalls that ran some of her favourite festival games.

An hour or so later, walking happily with her chocolate covered banana lolly, she walked to the centre of the festival where in the centre a stand was erected about ten feet into the air with the MC chanting out the different moves to the Bon dance. Many people dressed in yukatas, male and female, young and old alike were dancing around the stall in precise steps according to the song that was played for them.

Hurriedly finishing her chocolate banana, Sayaka went to toss the stick in the bin when she encountered a familiar face and gave a small cry of surprise.

“Kei-kun! I didn’t know you were coming, what are you doing here? Are you with your mother?”

Keijirou who had recovered first smiled warmly, feeling slightly sheepish.

“Well… I remembered that we used to come to the festivals on your birthdays in the past… I wasn’t sure if you’d be at home or if visitors were allowed so I just came here to get away for a while and relax.”

Sayaka’s eyes narrowed in mild suspicion. “You were stalking me, weren’t you?” She accused.

“No no! I wasn’t, I swear-”

Keijirou’s quick denials were cut off by Sayaka’s laugh. “I’m just joking. Anyways, if I had to have a stalker, I rather it be you.”

He knew she was still joking, but somehow their childhood jokes didn’t seem as innocent as they used to be when they were younger. He looked at her, more womanly, a lot taller, her hair braided in the ponytail now reaching to the mid of her back. As if she had sensed his silent visual run down of her, she lowered her head and turned towards the dance. A new song had begun that roused everyone’s spirits including Sayaka’s. Before she could say anything, Keijirou offered her his hand.

There was no need for words, her smile answered his question and together they walked into he crowd, joining in with the dance.

With deliberate movements of their palms and feet, they danced and sang most of the night away in rhythmic joy. Neither one could remember when they had so much fun in each other’s company for a long time, however it felt like years had never passed between their absence. Hours passed and the crowd began to thin out from the shrine grounds, children now irate with staying up past their bedtimes and elderly couples retiring early for the night. Sayaka and Keijirou decided to head off to their favourite lake spot and so after buying a couple of grilled sausages on a stick the size of a chopstick, they wandered out of the shine gates, content with their culinary delights. Sayaka’s smiled dropped slightly as she walked past the gate, sensing a chill in the air. A few feet away, she looked back, meeting the eyes of another local boy of their village, one she didn’t particularly like though. He grinned at her, a little too lecherous for her liking and she turned her head away, focusing straight ahead resuming on eating her sausage.

A minute later Keijirou added, “Don’t pay any attention to him. There’s no need to worry okay?”

He wasn’t looking at her whilst she said it, but she nodded her response. Soon they had reached their spot and took their seats on the grassy bank, picking out a few good pebbles to toss.

Sayaka still proved to be the better of the two, acquiring four skips across the surface before the pebble sank into the black depths of the lake. The moon has half full so there was some light shed upon them. Not that she minded either way; she was the natural surroundings of her childhood home with her old childhood friend. Life seemed to be just right at the moment. Neither one of them had spoken although their desire to say something hung heavy in the air between them. A quick simultaneous decision resulted in them both speaking at the same time.

“Kei-kun.”

“Saya-chan.”

They laughed, Sayaka allowing him to go first.

“I know last time we sat like this, I said things will change... which they have. But I’ve just realised that change isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I like spending time with you Saya-chan and I’d like to see you as much as possible.”

Sayaka nodded silently for he had spoken what she had already felt. “I wish time could stand still at this moment and we could remain here like this forever.”

“We can.”

She looked up at him, puzzled.

“I mean, someday I’ll leave this village.” He hastened to finish at her shocked expression. “I’ve been thinking about it see. Once mother passes away there’s nothing left for me here… or so I thought.”

“Kei-kun-“

“I plan to leave here someday soon Saya-chan. And… I hope that you come with me too.”

She was speechless. Leave the village? Leave her home, her family, her brother? Even if she wanted to spend more days with her childhood friend, she had too many responsibilities to abandon just for her own desires. Her eyes conveyed her sadness at the impossibility of it all before she found her voice to protest.

“Kei-kun, I-”

He kissed her.

Just a touch of their lips, but it was enough. He pulled back, gauging her reaction, his breath held as she put her fingers to her lips as if to convince herself that his lips had just been there a moment ago. From the moment of her head, now bowed downwards he could tell that she was blushing.

“Saya-chan?”

He wanted to know if he had gone too far. He wanted to know if she was okay. He wanted to know most of all, if she felt the same and to answer him, she moved in closer to him, pressing her head onto his chest. Expelling his breath, he wrapped his arms around her and held her silently.

No words were needed for unspoken promises.

Childhood habits dying hard, they relished in the fact that they once again had a fact to bond with, unique to only them. Despite their relationship being permissible, they had decided to keep it a secret. Just a piece of knowledge that belonged to only them to savour over on their lonely nights, to smile over on their reminiscing days. They had dreamt and talked about where they could go, what they’d do, where they’d live and their ideas where endless. They had also worked out a time where they could meet each other. Since Sayaka was home alone all day babysitting and looking after the house, they agreed that for thirty minutes each weekday that Keijirou could meet her at the back of her home where her father used to work, right next to her parents bedroom so she could peer over the window to keep an eye on her brother. They could invent a more plausible excuse for his visits in her backyard rather than his presence inside their house.

And so it began.

With a soft tap on the window of her main room, she quickly dried her hands and removed her apron. Having played with Kentarou most of the afternoon, allowing him to run free before feeding him, she had set him down in his playpen and sure enough he was napping. She covered him and made sure that he was comfortable before heading to the genkan to slip into her shoes and sneak outside.

She hugged him fiercely, revelling in his warmth, feeling at peace. For some meetings, they talked about their day, other times about their futures together expanding on their fantasies. Other evenings they simply hugged or kissed, but true to their words they stayed together for thirty minutes for Keijirou didn’t want to leave his mother alone too long once he had finished working for the day and Sayaka was slightly apprehensive about her younger brother. Each time they departed it was bittersweet for thirty minutes felt like a heartbeat, however it made their reunion a much awaited one, all the more thankful for whenever they could gain a stolen moment together.

As summer ended and autumn began to fade in, their meetings would sometimes only happen every few days, sometimes depending if Kentarou would sleep of just cry at being left alone in the quietness, or whether Keijirou had to work late or head straight home to his mother. Sometimes it rained too heavily for anyone to even imagine stepping outside, but that they didn’t mind, for their reunion would be all the more better.

The weeks passed and the whether slowly grew colder, the air fresh and crisp. Sayaka would normally be held close within Keijirou’s arms, not just for their pleasure but also to remain a little warm. It was on a night such as this, that when she looked through the window she gasped and shook her head, Keijirou sensing her alarm immediately.

“No… no”

He walked up to her looking at an empty playpen.

“The latch… it failed again, I was so sure that he was falling asleep. This is bad.”

And as if to emphasise her point, they heard a crash. Panic filled her chest as she bounded from the back to her door, hastily stepping out of her shoes and ran to her parents’ bedroom. But there was nothing to see here.

It took a second for her mind to register what could have possibly happened; the worst case scenario for the sound of the crash was mighty. She slowly walked into her bedroom, fearful of seeing what her mind had already seen, delaying her steps as to prevent the inevitable.

She looked, frozen to the spot. Ahead of her was a scattered bed of needles, pins and spools of thread, spread around the body of her brother covered with the silk of the kimono that she must have pulled down from the table. And surely as her worst fears had suspected, the sewing machine in which the cloth was bound to on the sewing plate had joined the spilt needles and pins on the floor, sickeningly close to where Kentarou’s head was laying.

Keijirou had caught up with her by this point and stood behind her, also witnessing the horror. Sayaka feeling his presence was snapped back to reality and she took tentative steps towards the body of her little brother.

“Ken-kun.”

He didn’t respond, he didn’t even cry, for there was never a time when hearing his cries would be so welcomed.

She knelt down and shook his body slightly, before emitting a small scream of horror. Now close she could see a small trail of blood in his hair and his body was just so still. She picked up him, deadweight in her hands, the patterned cloth still wrapped around.

“Ken-kun? Ken-kun. Please wake up, ken-kun!” By this point tears were spilling freely from her eyes, the quiet certainty of what had happened in the back of her mind but she refused to acknowledge it.

“Ken-kun. Ken-kun!” She screamed.

Keijirou had to repeat himself three times before Sayaka heard him.

“I’ll go get the doctor, so I’ll be back soon. Check his breathing and heartbeat and stop the bleeding if you can.”

She nodded dumbly for she could not see the rise or fall of his chest, nor feel his heartbeat next to hers. She held him close, rocking back and forth at the tragedy, so wrapped in her anguish that she did not realise that her mother had come home until she heard a heart piercing scream.

Her mother rushed over, snatching Kentarou from her hands although not as easily as last time and ran her hands over his cold peaceful face. Sayaka made to stand and head towards her mother.

“Mother-”
Her mother stepped back rapidly, looking at her daughter as if she was a snake, ready to strike at her any minute. Sayaka looked at her mother in confusion and tried to explain.

“Mother, I-”

“Don’t you dare come near me!” She commanded abruptly. “Keijirou’s gone to get the doctor and it’ll be okay.” Still watching her with gross apprehension, she stepped into her own bedroom, leaving Sayaka where she was. At that moment the door opened and the Keijirou stepped into the room with the doctor. When Sayaka pointed to the other room, the doctor went ahead, leaving Keijirou alone to rush up to her and hug her close whilst she sobbed uncontrollably in his arms.

“I-I killed him.”

“No you didn’t. As you said, the latch didn’t work.”

“Bu-bu I-I knew that! Why did I leave him alone? Why didn’t I check earlier? Oh Kei-kun, what have I done?”

She made soft reassurances that it was her fault and things will be alright and that he was here for her. That seemed to be enough to calm her down until a pitiful cry from her mother stopped both their hearts. Keijirou extracted himself from her and they both walked to the main room where the doctor soon passed them, his eyes downcast. With one curious glance at Sayaka, he bowed slightly and left the house. Her mother now stood in the hallway, not quite focusing on them although she was looking towards their direction. As if sensing each others thoughts, Sayaka looked up at Keijirou frightfully but nodded as she squeezed her hand and turned to leave.

The door shut, its sound seeming louder than ever.

Desperate to fill the silence Sayaka said the only thing that would come to her mind. “Mother I’m-”

She never finished her words for her mother had struck her, something that she’d never done in her life. Sayaka fell to the floor, more from the shock of receiving such a blow than the action itself. She sat up, one hands on her cheek the other shielding herself as if it’d stop her mother from advancing any further.

“Mother, I didn’t mean to-”
Sayaka screamed and scrambled back on her hands, trying to get away, but her mother had caught her long hair in her grasp twisting painfully, until tears of pain now stung Sayaka’s eyes.

“MURDERER! FILTH! EVIL WITCH!”

“Mother, it wasn’t my fault, I swear! The latch… the latch…” She cried even harder as her hair felt like it was being pulled from its roots.

“You’re just like your father! Uncaring, cruel, selfish!” Her mother spat out the last word, throwing Sayaka to the floor, her ribs painfully hitting the wooden floor.

“Why weren’t you in the house? Where were you? Huh?!”

Sayaka just continued to sob, not before she could stop herself from guilty glancing at the door for a split second. It was all her mother needed as the truth dawned on her. Her mother didn’t look at the door but at the genkan.

Her shoes.

"Natural Course of Things" by Cheza-chan

AmeCon 2007 Writing Contest Winners!

2007-08-20T11:31:27Z

The winners of the writing contest have now been posted here on the forums!

The alarm currently sounding was a work of art in itself. It had been designed in Switzerland by an elderly gentleman who was regarded to be the greatest clock smith in the entire world, and his prices certainly did that title justice. A huge ornate clock face, complete with diamonds set into the hour, minute and second hands, with a slight tint to the face glass, which, when the sun shone on it, gave of a dazzling rainbow effect. It was rumoured to be accurate to within one second over ten years. Behind the face, the bells that were sounding was also unique. Instead of making the usual dingalingalingaling sound that bells make, they were slightly out of synch, so made more of a dingalinglingalinglingaling sound, which provided the recipient with an incredibly annoying aural assault with which to contend with.

The particular person whose ears were being bombarded sat up in her bed. She yawned with a quaint delicacy, just in case her security team had, though some incredible lapse, allowed a camera to get this close to her. She stared at the devilish clock with demonic intent, her bleary eyes attempting to put the thing out purely with their gaze. Since her attempt at clock based telekinesis had failed, she shuffled out from under her covers, and gingerly touched her feet to the floor. A chill shot up her foot, and made her shudder. Every morning, she completely forgot about the cold wooden beams that comprised the floor of her room. She sought out her slippers, cute pink fluffy things with equally cute black cat faces on them, and stood slowly. She shuffled over to the alarm, and pressed down on the top of the ringer system, which halted the noise, but left a ringing in her ears for a few seconds. Finally. Now, The eternal dilemma. Do I go back to sleep, or do I do stuff? Ah, sleep can be done at any time, Miu, I should go see how Minamo is this morning, I haven't seen him for the last few days... She thought, as she made her way to her huge body length mirror, where she regarded herself.

Miu Ryuzoki, twenty two years old, and the greatest Idol singer in Japan She had shot to fame back in school, where she had won the 'Young Voices' award, an accolade which practically guaranteed a singer a career. The significant thing about this was that she had done it on her thirteenth birthday, which made her the youngest person ever to win the award. She had also met Kanzaki Minamo in school. He had been her vocal teacher, and, through the time they had spent with each other, she had fallen for him. Quite drastically, in fact. She had never been able to tell him, back then. Her career didn't really pick up until she went to University, where it was with the help and encouragement of Keira, a girl whom Miu had befriended on her second day at Toudai, and had quickly formed a bond of friendship closer than family, that made her self-release a CD. The only reason the thing didn't reach the number one slot in the charts was because Miu didn't have the capitol to make enough copies. The CDs success had been noticed by both EMI and Sony, and both of the publishing companies had offered her recording contracts, but she turned them down, claiming to have wanted to finish her dual degrees, Theoretical Mathematics, and Ancient Languages.

Miu had, even back then, had her future in mind. She was an incredibly intelligent person, with an IQ tickling the underside of the 200 mark, and she had planned to use her fantastic singing voice to make her enough money to live comfortably, then found a job she enjoyed but didn't have to put too much effort into. However, Fate, which has a nasty habit of ding such things, intervened. On her graduation day, who should be there to graduate her than Minamo-sensei? Apparently, he had begun to work for a company that focused on the promotion of Idols. Miu was so overjoyed to see the man that she had signed a recording contract on the very day. Of course, she hadn't been idiotic enough to just sign, she had made sure the contract was satisfactory before doing so, but it was still incredibly impulsive of the girl. On that day, Mew-chan was born. The next few months of her life were the most hectic she had ever experienced. Recording sessions, video recording, concert arrangements, interviews, meetings, more recordings, more meetings, It was overwhelming. She took Japan in the palm of her hand, her music appealed to everyone, from the young and heartbroken to the old and miserable, and everyone in between. She even managed to crack into international markets, and was the first ever Japanese idol singer to have a number one song in America, and in the UK.

It was on the evening of her first live concert that she managed to finally tell Minamo how she had felt, and still did. The man had sat, staring at her for a good ten seconds, before leaning forwards, and kissing her. Miu was so overjoyed she actually told the whole crowd that she had just confessed her love, and that it had been reciprocated. The cheer from the crowd was so loud the company actually had to pay a fine after the concert for noise pollution. A year down the line, and she was standing in her room, trying to comb the entangled mess that her hair had degenerated into, without much success. She loved her hair, it was one of Mews many trademarks. Bright yellow hair, hair that couldn't even be called gold, or blonde, but Yellow, with, once she had done combing, hundreds of hair clips, all with kitties on them. She removed her silk pyjamas, making sure she put them in the dirty clothing basket, and padded lightly over to her wardrobe. Opening the massive doors, she regarded the range of outfits Mew had acquired Again, Mew was not prejudiced when it came to clothing. She had almost every type of style within the cupboard, everything from the overly frilly Gothic lolita style dresses with lots of monochrome to punky torn trousers, elegant flowing gowns, cosplay dresses, and of course, her Kitty dresses. Mew wasn't Mew without her black and white spotted kitty ears, large padded kitty paws and black and white tail. Miu selected a rather bland pair of trousers, and a blue T-shirt from the box marked 'Miu', that was sat at one end of the space, and slipped into the clothing. Regarding herself in the mirror again, she selected three of the hair clips, and removed the rest. She was Miu today, not Mew.

Placing her phone into its holder on her bag, she slipped the kitty branded bag over her shoulder, grabbed her purser, and popped it into the bag too. She opened the hotel room door, looked left and right, and giggled. Each side of the room there was a burly looking person, one male and one female, wearing well fitting black suits, white shirts and sunglasses. Standard issue bodyguard uniform... She mused, closing the door behind her. She span, allowing her hair to billow outwards, and clicked her heels together, winking at the female.

"Miu's going to go shopping today, so don't follow me. I've arranged to met up with Minamo-kun, so I'll be OK." She said, before jogging down the corridor, catching a lift just before the doors closed, and waving, calling out "JA NE!" as the door closed. Within the lift, she began giggling like a little girl, she loved playing around with the bodyguards. And what I told them wasn't technically a lie. I AM going to meet up with Minamo. I just hadn't arranged it with him. He's scouting new talent today, and I'm going to surprise him and take him for coffee. It's only the proper thing for a mans' Fiancee to do. She thought, as she watched the numbers fall. In the Lobby, there were a few more guards, and one or two photographers, but thanks to a little foresight from Miu, she was not recognised. Mainly because she had also picked up a coat, and had worn it over her hair, which made her look like just another girl.

Down the steps of the hotel Miu hopped, a wide smile on her face. She was going to see Minamo! She couldn't wait until she saw his face when she turned up at the end of his interview. Miu knew exactly where she was heading, Kanzaki always used the same Café for doing his Idol interviews. It had been the same place Miu had told him how she felt, and the same place he had proposed to her, two months ago. Of course, the marriage itself was nearly a year away, their dual schedules played hell with arranging a date for the thing. Fortunately, it was also very close to the Hotel that Miu had been staying in. Miu bounded up to it, full of energy. She looked across, and saw Alex. He was wearing a blue suit, and green shirt, which gave him an incredibly sophisticated look, especially with his gelled up black hair, and round, orange tinted sunglasses. He was sitting next to a young girl, possibly seventeen, or eighteen years old, who was wearing a dress that was best described as 'frilly'. She had long, black hair, which she had tied into a ponytail. She's pretty. But his heart already belongs to me, so I have nothing to fear. Miu thought, as she watched a little longer. A few words were exchanged, and drinks were ordered. A joke was told, and the two got a litter closer. Another joke, with a little bit too much laughter for Mius comfort. She began to head towards the Café, when she saw it. Kanzaki had leant in, and kissed the girl lightly on the cheek. Miu felt a dagger drive itself through her chest. Surely not...Did he...did he kiss her? I must be imagining it, I HAVE to be imagining it. There's no way my Minamo would kiss someone else like that... Miu panicked as she continued to watch from her safe distance. But no, she was not mistaken, for he kissed her again a few minutes later, and once more, as they got up to leave.

Miu was infuriated. She was incandescent with rage, and consumed by sorrow all at once. She wanted to confront him, wanted to rip her face off, but, at the same time, she wanted to lock herself in her room, and never, ever come out. HOW COULD HE!? HE LOVES ME! HE...he...loves....me...doesn't he? Miu thought, her mind running wild, trying in vain to make the events that had just transpired vanish. She eventually decided to confront the two as they were leaving.

"Kanzaki-Kun!" Miu called out, masking her inner turmoil perfectly. As a liver performer, she had to be able to mask her emotions well.

"M..MIU! What are you doing here, you're supposed to be getting some sleep, recovering from last nights concert. I don't want you over-exerting yourself." The tall man

"I wanted to surprise you. I thought we could go get a coffee, or maybe watch a film...Who's this, new talent?" She said, acting as though she had only just noticed the new girl.

"Yes, this is Tomoyo. She's got a wonderful singing voice."

"Is she your sister?" Miu asked, her tone changing suddenly, becoming icily cold.

"Wh..What? What do you mean?" The man asked, taken aback by her sudden questioning.

"Are you related? Sister, Cousin, Niece? Is she a blood relative of yours?" Miu sad, stamping her feet, and waving her arms.

"No. Why are you asking these stupid questions, Miu?"

"Well, if you had been related, it would have provided me a reason as to why YOU KISSED HER! WHY DID YOU KISS HER? YOU LOVE ME!"

"I think I'd better leave...." Tomoyo muttered. Miu span, and glared at her, her voice beginning to waver, and tears forming on the sides of her eyes.

"I think you'd better. RUN ALONG!!" She screamed, which caused the girl to flinch, and stumble backwards. She turned, and ran off.

"Miu..." Kanzaki began, but Miu held up her hand.

"Save it. I only want to know the answer to one question. Look me in the eyes, and answer me this. Do You Love Me?" Miu said, looking deeply into the mans' eyes, fearing what she might see. There was silence. A silence which caused the tears to flow over Mius eyes, and causing her to wail.

"WHY!? WHY LIE TO ME!? HOW COULD YOU? I TRUSTED YOU!!!" She screamed, and she turned, and ran away from the man. She ran back to the hotel, back into the lift, where she collapsed to her knees, the tears now flowing freely, her sobs coming out in huge gasps. When the lift reached her floor, and the doors opened, she did not get out, merely trapping her leg in the door, so the lift would not move from there. She stayed there for nearly twenty minutes, bawling her eyes out, before one of her bodyguards finally approached her. By this time, she was completely numb, she didn't care about anything. The man picked her up, and carried her back to her room, where he set her on her bed. He whispered "I'm sorry, Miu..." before lumbering away, back outside the door.

"I guess she found out about Kanzaki not really loving her, then." The female guard sad, as the male closed the door. He nodded.

"Yup. Looks like she's taken it pretty hard..." The man replied, assuming his usual position to one side of the door.

"Poor kid..."

Months passed, and Miu refused to move from the hotel room. Several times, people tried to get to her, but every time, she made them leave. She had threatened on more than one occasion to leap out of the window, and plummet to her death. No-one wanted her death on their hands, so they left her alone. After a little while, packages began to turn up to the hotel, addressed to her. They were generally picked up by the security staff, who left it outside her room. This was the only time she appeared to anyone, when she took her packages. It was clear to the staff that she had begun to deteriorate. Her hair became pale cream, her eyes faded, and grew a lot darker, after a while, it was difficult to even tell that she had eyes, that was the level of shadow that built up. Her skin grew paler as well, and, after the third month, always had bizarre Arabic writing on it. One hundred and thirty seven days after she had found out about Kanzaki, she emerged from her room. Her skin was no longer covered with writing, and she looked, for all intents and purposes, the same as when she had left.

"M..MIU-Sama!" The male outside the door cried. Coincidence had chosen that the two guards were the same two who had been on guard so long ago. She regarded him, and smiled brightly.

"I'm sorry I made you worry. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I cannot let my fans down, even through this." She said, before turning, and padding down the hallway. She was in full Miu dress, the first dress she had appeared in public in. She allowed the guards to follow her as she got into the lift, and even spoke a little to them as the lift fell to the ground floor. As the doors opened, the noise of people hit the three. The lobby was crowded with press officials.

"Wh..What's going on, Mew-chan?" The female guard asked.

"I told them to come. I've got an important announcement to make. EVERYONE!! Mew-chan apologises to you all for locking herself away. I shouldn't have been selfish, but Mew-chan wanted Mew-chan all to herself. BUT! Mew-chan has decided to share herself again, and Will be doing a free open air concert in three days to say sorry!" She exclaimed, prancing about, making kitty gestures, and, generally, show boating the gathered crowd.

The three days in between her announcement were Chaos incarnate. Mius announcement was pushing the Company to its limits, getting the licenses, contracts, permits and arena alone was taking nearly thirty percent of their manpower, then there was ticketing, distribution, film coverage, recording rights, copyrighting, health and safety, advertising, Everything needed to be done, and done quickly. Miu, however, did very little. It was almost as if she was testing her company, to see what they were capable of. She had also avoided Kanzaki in those three days. The concert itself broke nearly every record it was capable of breaking. Nearly half a million people turned up to watch the show, and it was broadcast simultaneously to every single country of the world. It was estimated that nearly half the globe watched the concert. Miu performed perfectly, even performing a few songs that hadn't been heard before. The event lasted nearly five hours, but, afterwards Miu had barely broken into a sweat.

A few hours after the concert, Kanzaki was in his private apartment. The place was an incredibly modern house, quite sizeable, and, currently, full of paperwork. He was currently beavering away, trying to work out exactly how much money Mius little stunt had cost his company, and it was not looking good. Right before pressing the enter button on his laptop, to calculate the final figure, a knock came to the door. Sighing, he hit the enter button, and stood up, not really wanting to look at the number.

"Just a second" He called out, shuffling the papers back into a rough pile, and kicking himself free of the mountain of pillows that he was sat in. He moved slowly over to the door, which he opened without much enthusiasm.

"Ah! Miu! Please, come in!" He said, a lot brighter than he actually felt. Miu was still in her stage outfit, a garish bright pink frilly dress, and, of course, her trademark ears, tail and paws. She had an amused expression on her face.

"Hello, Kanzaki-san. Burning the midnight oil, aren't we?" She said, the very slightest hints of sarcasm in her voice. The man shrugged, and allowed the woman entry. He offered her a drink, but she refused.

"The concert..went well, didn't it?" Kanzaki said, after a while.

"The concert was an amazing experience for the fans. For the company, though, and for you, it was probably a little bit less enjoyable." She said, smirking.

"Ah. So, it was all just a stupid little way of getting back at me, wasn't it? Is this what you spent months in that room plotting? This is nothing, I can bring the company back from this." Kanzaki said, smiling. "And did you forget about the hundreds of other people who work for the company? They're more likely to lose their jobs than I am. Or are you so selfish that you'd sacrifice their happiness for your own gain?" Mius expression changed, for a spilt second. She dropped her smile, and scowled, but was back to her extremely fake smile within moments.

"Selfish? I didn't do that concert to get back at you, you big headed son of a bitch. I did it to apologise to my fans. To say sorry for abandoning them. I've come over here, now, to get back at you." She said, her voice becoming deeper, and quite gravelly, and hoarse. Her hair began to change too, the colour draining from it, turning it from bright yellow into a dull cream. Her eyes also darkened, and became enveloped in shadow. Her skin became a lot paler, and masses of black Arabic scrawling seemed to write itself over her entire body. Even her clothing changed, the pink dress seeming to evaporate into the air, leaving a figure hugging black leotard, and simple black skirt.

"I didn't spend all my time in that room being mopey and self depreciating. Even the simplest of minds would get bored after a few months, so my intelligence was wanting more within days. So I spent my time, and an awful lot of money on research. trying to find things out. And do you know what I found?" The man shook his head, his eyes wide. He was still shocked at seeing the stark change to the girl happen within a few seconds.

"I found a book, Kanzaki. It's called Five of Nine, and it's a gripping read. So much so that it latched itself to my very skin. Turns out, this book was written by one Fureek Al Maghib, a sorcerer from around five thousand years ago. It wasn't the only interesting book I found.."

"You're freaking me out, Miu..." Kanzaki blurted, suddenly.

"GOOD!" She shouted, and, seemingly from behind her, a huge gust of wind blew, catching the man by surprise, and causing him to stumble backwards, falling onto the pile of cushions.

"Another interesting book I found is called the Codex Magus. It's sort of like a combination of a guide and rule book, for Wizards." She said, before smirking.

"W..Wizards..." Kanzaki whispered, now visibly shaking.

"Did you know that the very first law of the High council, whatever that is, states it is forbidden for a Mage to use their power to kill a mundane, that's someone who doesn't know about, or have, magical powers." Kanzaki breathed out a huge sigh of relief.

"But, fortunately, this is neither my power, nor am I a Mage." She said, slyly. As she did, several shards of ice appeared out of the thin air, hovering around Miu like birds around their keeper.

"Wh..What are you going to do?" Kanzaki said, his voice punctuated by fear.

"I'm going to show you exactly what kind of pain you put me through. I'm going to stab your heart, and turn your soul into a frozen, barren wasteland. I'm going to grind your eyes, make you feel what it's like to have no tears left to cry. I'm going to make you wish you had never lied to me, never said those three little words 'I love you'. I'm going to make you suffer unimaginable pain. And then I'm going to kill you." As she said this, the first of the ice shards shot forwards, embedding itself through Kanzakis leg, staining itself red with his blood. He screamed in out in pain.

"Hurts, doesn't it? The cold will make it go numb after a while. Imagine that hapenning to your very Being. IMAGINE WHAT I HAVE BEEN THROUGH!!!" She screamed, as another of the ice shards darted forwards, impaling through the mans' chest, spraying blood everywhere, and nailing him to the floor. Kanzaki convulsed, coughing up speckles of red.

"YOU DESTROYED ME! I TRUSTED YOU WITH MY HEART, AND YOU BETRAYED ME! YOU RUINED MY LIFE!!!" Miu wailed tears now rolling down her cheeks. A third spear shot forwards, cutting into the mans' forehead, skewering his skull. Blood, and brain, burst forth from the wound. The mans' eyes grew wide, in terror, at the fact that he was, effectively dead.

"M..m..mi..u....." He managed to stammer, through the pain. after a few seconds, he finally noticed the faint yellow glow that he had around him. Miu was staring at him through cold, distant eyes. She began to chuckled. As she did, the ice spikes removed themselves from Kanzaki, but still hovered above him, almost poised to strike, and his wounds began to heal.

"How did it feel, to have an icicle through the brain, and to still be living? Was it painful beyond all belief? Did you wish you were dead? Did you wish you had never been born in the first place? Did you want the endurance to have ended?" The man whimpered, and nodded. Another two spears shot forth from Miu, and buried themselves in his eyes. He let of an ear piercing scream.

"That was how I felt...I wanted to have never existed. I wanted to die. But I could not. How could I? I had...responsibilities...I had fans...and friends...I...couldn't..." Miu whispered, tears still falling from her eyes. She fell to her knees.

"Does that make me weak? I couldn't end my own life...I was afraid. I was so alone.." She mumbled. She wanted more than anything right now to hug the man currently sat with his eyes bleeding opposite her, but she knew could not. He did not love her. He had been using her. Even as she thought this, the tears dried up, and became enveloped with shadow again. She stood, slowly.

"Did you ever care about me? Even a little?" she said, her voice barely audible. The man coughed. "Answer me truthfully, or so help me, God, I will rip your soul to shreds, and plunge you into the depths of hell." Miu snapped, suddenly. There was silence.

"No..." He said, after a while. "Even back when I was your Sensei, I was manipulating you, doing things that would make you fall in love with me. I was using you." He pushed himself up, a little, and grinned.

"Did you ever wonder how I found out when you were graduating? Your little 'soul mate', Keira, told me." Miu gasped.

"Keira...no...she..wouldn't..." Miu mumbled.

"Oh, she was a very loyal friend. She kept on calling you her soul mate, and swore she would protect you, and keep me from you. A little rape sorted her right out." He said, smiling suddenly.

Miu sad nothing, but tears began falling anew. She was stunned into paralysis, completely frozen. She couldn't think, she couldn't move. Kanzaki pulled himself towards the table, where he pulled from a hidden ledge a handgun.

"Thank you for revealing to me the existence of Magic, Mew-chan. You have been the greatest little puppet I've ever owned. Such a shame you had to get broken..." He said, pointing the gun at Miu, and firing. The bullet sailed through the air, getting to within an inch of Mi, where it slowed down to a stop. As this hapenned, it began to deteriorate, melting into nothing. The air around Miu began to waver, becoming hazy. Around her, thousands of shards of ice formed, turning the apartment into a freezer.

"You...bastard..." She mumbled, her voice quiet, and broken. "You've killed me twice already. Is that not enough for you? Do you have to keep killing me before you are happy? HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO DIE BEFORE YOU ARE SATISFIED!!!" She screamed, grabbing the man, and shaking him. He merely smiled at her.

"Here's something else I bet you didn't know," Kanzaki said, his smirk still wide, "She loved you. Keira was besotted with you. She was going to tell you on that graduation day, but you saw me first." He laughed. Miu let go of him, and turned towards the door.

"You are scum. You are a waste of human existence, you do not deserve the life you have had." Miu said, walking towards the door. When she reached it, she turned back.

"You know, you'll get caught. I have CCTV all over this place, and panic button was pressed nearly ten minutes ago. The police will be hear in minutes."

"You fucking conceited arsehole! I won't get caught. You think I'm stupid enough to just storm in and kill you? Your CCTV is disabled, the Police will not be coming, and even if they did, how on earth is a Japanese Idol supposed to have stabbed someone thousands of times with spikes of ice? I have Magic" She shouted, her fists bunched. She turned away from him. "Goodbye, Minamo-sensei. We will not meet again, even in the afterlife." She said, opening the door. As the door closed behind her, the magical field that had been holding the ice upright above the man faded, letting the sharpened spikes fall.

"Watashi wa Mew-chan desu!!" by The Pale Rider

AmeCon 2007 Writing Contest Winners!

2007-08-20T11:23:49Z

The winners of the writing contest have now been posted here on the forums!

From the moment in which I can softly and oh-so sweetly reminiscence the starting point of my first joyous thought of clearness and of the beautiful Earth which so rapturously surrounds my succumbed body, I remember that I had almost always been told to have had a fabulous ability to memorize events and sounds, pictures and places in every way as well as form by my friends and family, my clan and my servants, my allies and even my enemies. Onii-san¹ often shamelessly teased me greatly about my ability to memorize specific calculations during my lessons with sensei², as well as when I counted how many steps I had taken from the candy shop and back to our home. Reminiscing previously upon such matters at this current moment, however, as I wonderingly place my cold, shaking, right index finger to my warm, unchaste lips, I believe the number of paces taken that day in August were four-hundred and fifty-five, but the image I have of my little feet pressing against the warm surface of the dusty, warm streets is fogged by my restless, silly mind at this calmly silent yet indescribably troubled time. Yet I do remember such abilities of mine caused Onii-san to dub me various names which did not necessarily warm my heart with pure pleasantness, yet throughout such horrid moments when he called me such violent and inappropriate terms, I feel as if it was out of jealously rather than someone holding a common dislike in the different, and such a secret admiration that Onii-san had for me still warms my heart at this most terrible of days.

Ah, yet ever-so loftily thinking as I begin to breathe a breath of hopeless hope softly into this most heavy of dawning mornings, I still sometimes pray that I can simply close my eyes in an ecstatic wave of true, cool emotion and simply let my body drift away back to where I had been, to where I was, and who I had been. Though ashamed I was of my past, being such a silly little boy who had within himself etiquette of none whatsoever and most likely did not even understand what the word meant, or even probably never even heard of such a term, every moment my small ears become gently tickled by the whispering winds that blow the simmered, sinless sakura in the distance, my young, sinful heart aches greatly as I remember the same sound fluttering through my dreams when I had been so small and so innocent. Well, not necessarily innocent, as I was quite a rowdy little thing, if I had been someone such as Otou-san³ I would have no doubt have lost my mind trying to control such a little monster as myself. Yet, as I sigh while thinking, as I calmly inhale the listened, virgin air of the coming sunrise, I regress. As my cold, kneeling legs and precarious arms shake viciously in the frozen chill of my own weakened bones and papered flesh, as my pale skin rises in a field of frightful goose bumps, I look up at the wooden ceiling in the grey, monochromatic lightened room around me and sigh deeply, and as my mouth opens to taste the flowery air of the nature in which inhabits the outside world before me, my face flushes as my eyes close and feel as if I vanish into thin air. Wandering in the darkness of the unknown, I remember.

I remember those wondrous, shimmering sunsets that glaringly shone like golden flares over the large, rich tan hills of Mino-no-kuni"⁴when I was a child. I remember I used to have loved to have run from the misty, rose-walled onsen⁵ after bathing in its steam and warm waters, hardly dressing myself during that evening and sprinting bare-legged and bare-footed from the cloudy springs and down the streets of the large village of Gifu, the strangely soothing sounds and songs of the many brown cicadas singing melodiously in my ears as I continued my journey towards the outer-reaches of the town. With the thin, summer wind airily blowing across my roasted, heated cheeks and dampened hair, I headed towards those ominous, beautiful hills that so called me in the thick, sweltering summer air. I remember running as fast as a humming bird would fly towards spring’s new nectar as my tiny feet moved on their own, burying themselves slightly into the sensitive Earth of the roads below me, each step implanting themselves deeper and deeper into the dust, springing quickly like a soldier running for his life. I wonder if during that time, during that moment of myself restlessly moving towards those foreboding structures of nature’s passion and creativity, I had not found my reason for living, my reason for breathing those tiring, excited, panting breaths I took with each two steps of my legs as I ran through those shimmering, towering fields of bronze and green. I wonder how alone I was, how sorrowful and meaningless my existence had been at that very moment, a tiny speck of a boy in a large, gorgeous land, running faster than the eye could see, so much that one, overlooking the colourful, beautiful world in which we live in, would see my movements as bothersome and obnoxious, and simply disregard my own self and move onto a more important subject within their viewing range for observation, something more exciting, more meaningful that they could identify with. Whom I was at that time is one of the only things I do not remember, what I so deeply felt and passionately desired in that vanishing, lowering light of the gentle, baking ray of the orange sun, I have forgotten. What I do know, however, was why I ran, and why I longed to gaze upon such a glorious spectacle every fifth day of a summer’s week, for unlike a soldier, I knew that I had been chasing life, rather than running from it.

At that moment in which I had inhaled the evening air, at that moment when my now filthy, dirt-covered little feet had finally grown exhausted as they now restively stood upon the soft, cushioning plains of the grassy, cooling land; at that beautiful, exciting moment when I had finally climbed to the top of those delicate, golden hills and fell backwards on to the soft Earth, looking up at the yellow sky and then quickly rising into a seated position, I gazed upon the fantastic and fabulous site that was of the mind-cleansing flame known as the sun that disappeared beyond the sprouting mountains of Mino. I was wonderfully carefree at that time, a boy whom messily styled his thick, silky black hair from the front to the back in the most quirky of fashions and became the dirtiest child in the village just after his bath in a mere five-minutes was something oddly to be proud of, yet as well as horribly and painfully ashamed. I was so small, so new to such a radiant, alluring world and so free of worries as I ate what was mostly likely five kin of sashimi and udon every night and appeared afterwards as if I had not gained one hyakume from my “feasting”. I took four baths a day due to my mysterious excessive love for getting unclean and stayed awake so deep into the night that I heard the morning birds sing when the gleaming silver moon was still fully raised high into the dusking twilight. I even once remembered stealing Otou-san’s katana⁶ from its display and slicing one of his room’s fusuma⁷ in two, which resulted in a quite interesting dilemma on my part, for my father, whom was more amazed that I had made such an accidental straight cut of the door, had not actually even bothered coming to the obvious realization that I had actually destroyed a part of our home, and his own room, at that.

“Perfectly straight!” Otou-san used to shout proudly to the villagers during the festivals every time he would introduce me, despite my overwhelming embarrassment, “Perfectly straight, and the bottom half still attached!”

Though what I still do not understand, however, is that when he had been saying such things, if he had been speaking of the door or of his own sanity at the time.

I lived the life of a child, I was isolated, I was unattached, I was a meaningless being for my own existence, a lonely boy who chased the stars yet only found the surrounding darkness in the end.

私は森長定でした、無でした。

I was Mori Nagasada, I was nothing.

私は森蘭丸、全部です。

I am Mori Ranmaru, I am everything.⁸

It was in the autumn of August when I had first met him, well, first truly met him. When I had first experienced that strangely warming chill of sin up my spine that struck my sensitive, delicate skin upon my back like a passionate, fiery bolt of lightning that used my tailbone as its sky and shot upwards like a white, silver, sparking arrow deep into the chilly, goose-bumped Earth that was the back of my neck, striking my body mercilessly into a shivering yet wild and arousing state that caused my young, joyous face to glow and burn like the sizzling red colour of the most soft and lush of roses. I had been so small, a hopeful and bouncy child of five years old when I had finished my daily morning bathe and began now my daily morning festivities in which, once again, meant getting as dirty and filthy as my body possibly allowed itself to be. I remember that early morning, the hazy grey weather overcoming Gifu like an enormous foggy creature that lingered cloudily and muffingly across the Earth, the entire world seeing as if it were covered with thick, heavy, sad clouds that dreamily entranced you in a field of still, awkward winds yet oddly gorgeous and wondrous atmosphere.

After escaping from the steaming, damp and heated airs of the baths, I immediately “dressed myself properly”, somewhat, and rushed from the humid, hazy onsen, upon my little youthful body wearing, embarrassingly, with such prideful childish confidence, a rather light nagajuban"⁹, which, though such horrifyingly informal wears, was curiously beautiful with a simple yet pretty set of garments that was of a dull, blue colour. With its soft and frothy material rubbing easily and coolly against my bare, clean skin, I ran in joy and glee barefoot through the streets of the inner city, my dear Otou-san previously struggling to advise me to wear at least waraji¹⁰ before I began my shameless and exciting sprints through and into the dust and filth of the world beyond. Though, as I blushingly am so deeply ashamed to admit, I am rather proud of such miserable misbehaving activities of immature, boyish fun; such facts of myself being so ridiculously quick and fast for me to leap from the steaming waters of the warm, indoor springs, dry my slippery, wet self and “appropriately” style my hair, though, it was rather seemingly “inappropriate”, as I simply and quite hastily almost always grabbed the beauteous, silky black fringe of my hair and ferociously clumped them back from my large, hideous pale forehead, grabbing them together and quickly, in an incredibly tight and displeasing knot, drew towards the back of my ever-so large scalp. It was almost as if I, at the time, did not understand what chonmage¹¹ truly meant, yet in creating my own bizarre and unusual style, I caused much entertainment and had taken much attention from the passing villagers around me as I charged like a speeding, galloping horse down through the dusty, hard roads of Mino, my soft, delicate bare feet padding and treading against the warm Earth as, with each passing motion of my sweaty, shaky, premature legs, my “chonmage” bouncing happily as if it were a small, furry black creature dancing on its own, finding its home upon my dark, hard, smooth top of my head and, in its own, joyous variation, performing Atsumori¹² to all of its surrounding neighbours.

I remember being strangely energetic more than usual that day, my warm, adolescent face sweating gently as it gradually began to burn in a heated rouge colour of exhaustion and heat. Panting and panting I ran faster and faster, across quiet residences, playful shops, happy people, and worried people, all such images of the world around me blurring, foggy, rushing winds as they passed me like mystic paintings of old.

With the harmonious sounds of my youthful, pale legs, slippery with the oh-so vile yet youthfully healthy perspirations of my continuous charges, beating and tapping the ground with its small, delicate feet musically and rhythmatically singing as I ran faster and faster, farther and farther through the town streets, unknown to the blurry world around me to where I was headed with a sense of fiery and passionate energies that blinded even myself. I questioned my sense of thinking even at such a young age of what I had planned to do next. I was running, yet, what was I running towards? Instead of chasing the sun, simply and quite embarrassingly becoming over excited with the image of the gorgeous sparkling river ahead, I simply did not know where to go or what in the world I had been doing. Yet, I did know, however, I recognised, I saw it, I felt it as it shimmered before me and caused my young body to flare in an ecstatic sensation and dyscontrol and excitement that I needed to go somewhere, I had to escape, I had to flee to the carpeted emerald hills of the north, I had to run to the crystal, dazzling waters of the river to the east, I had to rush to the rugged yet rainy and gentle mountains of the west like a kamosika¹³, one whom playfully searched for its own morning breakfast within the fluorescent nature which ever-so surrounded it. I had to fly and spread my gliding wings over the whispering, windy trees of the green, breezing forest, like a sparrow lusting to snatch the dawn’s meal for her hungry children. I simply had to live.

With the whizzing sights of the rugged town of my home now slowly becoming thinner and thinner in image and sound, I began to truly and, finally, wonder what or where I was going towards so helplessly. Struggling and standing almost dazedly and humorously at the great, large and yet rather too plainly decorated gate of the province’s city, I actually, to now as I reminiscence on such memories with giggles in my small, strained and sorely wounded throat, was then becoming more concerned of the nature of my health now more than my future, or rather, they could relate to each other as the same subject! With my small, lightly coloured legs shaking, my once pale, innocent face now a blazing red which had become so incredibly filthy with sticky perspiration and, combined with the overwhelming dusts and sands of the streets in which I had stomped upon like a God wanting to create the clouds in the Heavens, I had successfully completed my daily duty in becoming as dirty as the day had allowed me to be. Oh, thinking of such things now, I hold the trembling sides of my arms in anguish as I think how obscene and offensive of a begrimed body I must have had! When to such a day of today I simply can not even stand the sight of grossly grime and filth! Shameless!

With such a an unkempt appearance of such a dark and bedraggled little boy, I added on to my image of a roughly treated, poverty-stricken person as, with the exhaustion of my soul and obviously and incredibly tiresome body, my poor chest burned with the frozen icicles that stabbed deep into my premature heart like an icy storm of fire which caused my entire self to sweat uncontrollably, my throat to stop functioning and my breaths to never cease, panting never-endingly with the most painful and dreadful sounding of little-boy-coughs. I held my sweaty hands over my large, dirty mouth and behaved myself and covered my rudeness. During such an event, however, standing by the gate before stood a lone bushi¹⁴, in which, judging by his rather undecorated and common appearance yet also is quite recognizable charming hat, he was a most likely to be an ashigaru¹⁵, yet my education at such a time with such things was particularly low, and as I loudly suffered with my rusty gags and heavy breaths, the young soldier approached me in shining, full glory in kindness and concern, and with his low yet mighty, manly voice which, when sounding so swiftly like the most noblest of young lords singing during a festival, my young boyish body simply felt overwhelmed by his majestic and wondrous presence, causing me to sinfully almost dream of being kidnapped by such a warrior. His beautiful armoured plates glazed wondrously in the cloudy, silver sun as if he were wearing a suit of pure and positively gorgeous steel, and approaching before me, the shadows of the evening clouds slowly beginning to vanish around his head, his appearance coming to light suddenly underneath his helmet as he was revealed, with his masculine, exciting and wild yet delicate face, I blushed at the fact of being stolen away on horseback by such a marvelous, sweet man, wrapping my tiny arms around him at such a healthy young age and my little hands gently rubbing against his torso as I rest my face against his soft yet hard and metal back. Oh, but how distracted I could be! And while I had been daydreaming so sinfully and sadly, I had not even noticed I had been so rude as to not have realized him asking me a question! Honestly, the poor man!

“Boy, are you all right?” I was such a silly little child, with my flushing face and energetic outbursts that overshadowed my true, delicate and sensitive emotions; I loudly bursted out in a frightening manner to the sad soldier,

“Yes, I’m fine!” I bellowed loudly with, to such a painful remembrance, my legs spread out and my hands upon my hips, the image of a rowdy boy with the etiquette of a hog shining right out before the Army of Oda, “I run lots and lots every day! I’m used to it! I’m fine!”

When thinking of such events now, however, my matured body oozes with regret as well as aching reminiscence when remembering the way the soldier looked upon me next. With his face contorted in such a worried, gentle fashion, and with his shimmering, youthful yet strong brown eyes gazing upon me as if he were to weep, though, I am quite sure he would not, however, for being a soldier and crying over a child so trivial as I seems preposterous in any way imaginable. Yet despite such terrible troubling personal botherations of mine own private concerns and worries, such a voice still strikes my soul to this day,

“All right,” he spoke, his voice windy yet rough with handsomeness as if he were a rogue, yet his clean-shaven face showing a different light of warmth and sensitivity that I longed so deeply and passionately yet oh-so forbidden to simply leap into his arms and cry, he continued, “Just be more careful, okay, boy? Don’t want you to faint on me!”

O, watakushi no kami, how I ever wished to swoon in front of him and be caught in his warm tender embraces of manhood! Oh I am an awful child! Please forgive me!

“Mori-sama should be a good boy and behave, ne?”

“U-Uun,” I ever-so hesitatingly and rather bewilderingly responded to the glorious figure of a man whom stood so lovingly before my distressed and helpless presence, my trembled, dear, soft and wettened lips, which had now grown so painfully numb and pathetically swollen due towards the cold, yet eased and blowingly flowed morning winds of my so tiring runnings. As in the cold airs of the winded trees around me which gently cooled and froze the pours of my premature smooth, perspired skin, I stood so proudly planted and hideously positioned as my continuing displeasured bodily functions of recover had finally awoken from its wounded monstrous effects the shameless abuse I had caused it, slowly regaining its strength and assisting my body, mind and spirit in healing and unphysical and physical mending as I struggled so foggily gazedly to continue to look upon the man whom stood before me in the most passionate and loving of admirance and so deeply innocent crushes.

Oh, such a dear, sweet man, for whom, a soldier of the Oda Army, whom were indeed most disciplined warriors of both young and old, and despite such grim and darkened negativities in which the bloomed so ungloriously throughout the separated provinces, whom were quite unfortunately not fortunate to be under the Oda Rule and remained independent of unification and continued to oppose various surrounding clans including the Oda. The young, prideful, youthful and healthy young man whom stood before me did not possess the Youkai¹⁶ face which so many other provinces exaggeratingly claimed for the Oda Army to have, but one of gentility, of kindness, of warmth, of beauty and of the most alluring of golden and sparkling passion. Oh, and how he looked upon me, how his simmered, natural, innocent, yet ferociously wild and non-egotistical, selfless brave hazel eyes ever-so tenderly shimmered greatly and glistened upon the child that stood before him in a most ecstatic mixture of concern and warmth which would have caused any soul of purity or impurity whom saw the man to be simply overwhelmed with the ever-so terrible yet uncontrolled thoughts of sin and arouse.

Slowly, my strength regaining, slowly my cold, frozen heart heating in its own graciously brave and nearly hopeless attempts to continue to pulse and beat, breathe and revive in its own, injured, disabled spirit in which I had so selfishly nearly torn apart due to my unthinkably ravenous ways of insatiable enthusiasm and rapaciousness. A mere child, whom had terribly and frightfully taken the violent advantage of his own healthy, youthful body of adolescence and personally torn it apart for the simple yet dangerous word of “Fun”. With the soft, warmed earth so ticklingly hugging the soles of my heated, soft and filth-covered little feet and toes which so buried themselves within the sensitive dust and ground below me, I remained stilled and frozen, I breathed, my heart warming and my innocent, smooth, thin and chaste boyish body warmly drenching with the hot and steamed oils of exhausted perspiration.

I believe that is when my heart sunk, from the highest of the Heavens down into the depths of the Earth my spirit suddenly crashed deeply into the cold, lonely and forsaken ground. I had always been weary of my family and clan’s history and honours, and with the ever-so selfish wish and want to live a normal life, I longed for the simple and dutiless pleasures of being a peaceful child whom the villagers did not stare upon when I exited my home, though, when recollecting the events in which I have just described, however, I do suppose such local daily viewings of my entertaining ‘morning runs’ had nearly absolutely nothing to do with my social standing. Despite previously mentioned degradations, I faithfully did, however, dream and lust deeply on being accepted as a “normal boy”, one whom would have been able to have lived the life of a boy without the thoughts of war, without the blindness and stupidity of pride and honour in which the nobility such as us so grossly exploited daily. I merely wished, I merely hoped to have been treated as an equal, and live a life without the fear of Otou-san and Onii-san being brutally murdered upon the salted battlefields of foreign provinces, and with such fears over-clouding my little mind, such things were most likely the reason in which why I constantly was so overly joyful, for perhaps I had been wishing, I had been longing to forget about my own self and my family as I continued to leap out of my bath every morning and sprint like a mad horse down the long, straight paths and roads of the city. Yet instead, despite such idealistic praiseful thinking and truly wondrous dreaming thoughts, I still could not help but be so immature and selfish as to spoil myself with the lavishes of the Mori clan and its grand and noble privileges. Having a personal onsen to one’s self, a home in which commoners might believe is a castle (yet, of course it was hardly such a pretty place, compared to an actual palace, yet such lovely people had not the privilege to see a real one in their simple little lives), private festivals that were exclusive to the family as well as friends whom we more than often invited to celebrate joyfully and grandly with. And, of course, oh my, food.

Reminiscing upon my earlier youth, I do, in fact, remember a quite rather horrific moment in which, if I remember correctly as I once again place my index finger to my soft, pink lips, and ponder towards a memory that is rather most distant to even myself, I was a mere child, I believe, a little baby in Otou-san’s warm and tender arms as he rocked me gently and dreamily to my innocent, pleasant slumber. Yet, contorting my lip in a most oddest of fashions in rather severe discomfort and distastefulness, my memory stretches too deeply as I remember the face of the child I once was. Oh, please forgive me for my awful dislike of myself, yet I was told I was quite hideous and frightening little thing. Oh, how a deep agony in my delicate little heart erupts as I ever-so hardly close my seared, watery and anguished eyes as I painfully remember the cries and exclaims of Otou-san and Onii-san struggling to describe to be in which my birthed appearance had previously been. I had the lips of an animal foreign to even that of the Heavens and eyes that had been so abnormally large that, in which Otou-san stated with the most evil and positively vile and cruelest of chuckles that I so deeply loathe and he knows I ever-so do, even when the most closest of friends, the most loving of acquaintances, even if they had looked upon me with their sparkling eyes of friendliness many times before, still repeatedly leaped at the sight of my demon-like appearance and clasped their chest in embarrassment and grief. Yet, one must know, such stories of days of old were not only Onii-san’s own tales, though rather a trustworthy young man himself, but were also as well as my own Otou-san’s retellings, which, the man often being the chosen “storyteller” during family festivals and legal gatherings, as he personally held the incredibly responsible though as well as incredibly shocking title of “Judge” in our own city of Gifu, was more than known to terrifyingly exaggerate even the most simplest of truths. One time, if I can remember quite correctly, he stated in one of his “remembrances”, that one of the lord’s horses, which he had described as “the most outstandingly decorated brute you’d ever seen, a red saddle with golden lining and all!” had stormed into our old house unmanned and tore apart our living quarters. This was “the precise reason why my sons and I had to move”, he said, swinging his right index finger with the utmost lying passion he could possibly offer over his deeply and marvelously captivated poor and dear audience, when the true tale of why we had relocated from our original home was because our landlord had kindly and desperately requested my father a new home for his wife, whom, the poor dear pregnant with her darling own child, wished to expand their home and our own had been obstructing such plans. Thus, our home was torn down due to Otou-san’s generosity and sympathy. What he meant by his over-fabulous story of lords and raging stallions, I truly do not know nor even wish come to the simple conclusion of wishing to understand, yet, despite such ridiculousness and absolutely, totally blown-overly-out-of-proportion lies that he more than often told (which actually caused a small unease and discomfort for myself and even Onii-san, because often the villagers would ask of such stories and our perspectives upon such tales in which we would have to explain in some way, and we were quite creative if I might say so myself, that we mysteriously did not remember such events described) Otou-san did, however, have an interesting story in which I can vaguely remember as true.

Oh, dear, forgive me of my rambling; I am so terrible and just so selfish! Please forgive me, I really would like to return to where I previously was when I was a child, I am just so awfully sorry, I apologise so deeply for my insolence of speaking too much! I truly thought he taught me well! Yet if you would ever-so kindly and selflessly allow my poor and silly self to continue, if I may tell a story which is quite funny. I believe Otou-san stated the events in which he described occurred one evening, the sun glazing the warm, autumn skies with the wondrous, tender, glistening golden colour of the rays of the Heavens spreading across the horizon like a field of roasted clouds, sleeping and slumbering within the fragile, milky plain that was of the sky. With the heartwarming, glorious sunset rippling from the eastern winds, Onii-san had brought home sashimi from the local store nearest to our home. Otou-san, who’s tender, wondrous smile of kindness and excitement would truly warm even the faintest of hearts before each meal served, stood care freely by the entrance to our small, cosy little home, his eyes brightened in slits of joy and love which must have truly blessed Okaa-san¹⁷’s heart with love and passion, unease and ease. With adorable face and mighty, crossed arms and hanging legs which remained easily balanced and slowly, cutely kicking from the edge of our house, he widened his lovely little expression into a wide grin of pure pleasantry and just oh-so wonderful playfulness at the sight of Onii-san walking home. Otou-san had planned such delicacies to be served to our family during that lovely autumn night for dinner, and with his usual silly and energetic self, had ordered Onii-san to take his sword, yes, his sword, why he thought he needed it, its one of the many mysteries of the man, and “commanded” him to “RUN” to the store and “CHARGE” returning to our home. Nonetheless, Onii-san walked. Returning home, however, with the sounds of the gentle feel of steam swiftly passing throughout our delicate home in the most warm and lovable of motions and fashions, Okaa-san prepared our most scrumptious and lovely of meals and set them each softly before us. Now, upon what Otou-san tells me, yet I must remind you that I am only speaking of this because it is the only story in which I believe is the closest being towards the truth, once my family had sung their thanks calmly and pleasantly, Otou-san tells me that with a tremendous and almost spectacularly fantasy-like leap from my poor Okaa-san’s arms, I fell, or more appropriately, dived into Okaa-san’s bowl of Ochazuke and frighteningly splattered my tiny little soft, baby body in a violent and silly green mess that splashed upon myself and coated me in a glaze of a thick green tea. Oh, how I giggle so much as I remember such a lively scene and as my mouth shivers tickling with the feeler of joyous and sparkling laughter, oh how I must hold it! Thinking upon such eventful things now, my lips scrunching up in a little button trying to stifle my sweet and sounding, mischievous giggles, I gently clasp my small hands over my mouth and, within my silly little mind, think of the blessed image of my little baby-self covered in such a funny little liquid disaster! In fact, with my appearance in conclusion to the event, I most definitely can see myself, oh dear, with my boyish, large eyes and moist, innocent wondrous yet foreign pupils and my frightening head, oh goodness, I truly pray, I truly must have been a Kappa!¹⁸

Yet this was not the end of the story, oh dear, no, my poor face lights and glows with the rosey redness of embarrassment and shame at the true ending of such a story. Continuing from his rather highly absorbing tales of such, Otou-san states, though, curiously unlike the Ochazuke incident, I myself do not remember such a following occurrence, that after in which I had completed my swimming lessons in the river of green tea, I began to rather gluttonously and frighteningly devour Okaa-san’s sashimi as well, and as a mere small child appearing as some sort of possessed, hungry monster, shamelessly shoving down the meats of Okaa-san’s delicacies as if it were water down in my little throat into my tiny stomach. Apparently, however, even this was not the finale of the story, for Otou-san, whom had been so greatly and sadistically amused by such “rare behaviour of a child”, which he notably dubbed it as even during the incident, that, with an enthusiasm as if he were witnessing some sort of grand and one-opportunity performance, “took”, in which he recorded, though rather I personally believe he most likely “snatched”, Onii-san’s plate (instead of his own, at that!) from underneath his starving little mouth (the poor dear) and placed it gently in front of me. And yes, if what Otou-san says is the absolute truth (though I highly doubt such a child, even if it were indeed my awful, greedy self), I ate his dinner as well.

I believe after then I was full, yet I still personally can not fathom why Otou-san so selfishly grabbed Onii-san’s plate instead of his own, but he states because he “cared about my safety” and that he had “too much food” on his plate, and deeply feared within his heart that I would “explode”, yes, “explode” is the word he chose so cheerfully, and I must tell you that he had been grinning so menacingly lecherously when he had spoken to me of these previous occurrences. And not only such, unless Otou-san was positively starving that evening during our dinner, such descriptions of the past are an absolute, outright lie, because both of us know that Otou-san is the smallest eating person in the family, and that Onii-san, whom I must admit to you was dreadfully hungry even during that meal, is the largest eating person in our family. Thus, in conclusion, unless the laws of the Earth had somehow reversed in a most wonderful, fabulous way, my father is a mean, mean man, yet, oh how I loved him so.

Oh dear, how so many raving negativities cause me to sound so terribly cynical! I am sorry, for I am truly not as such! I am merely describing to you of this tale for the importance of its relation to the subject in which I would like to return to, which is food. Despite my family’s most strong and rather important political status in the large, beautiful province of Mino, and also now with the land under a new order by the law of the Oda clan, the Mori Clan of Iwamura remained a most privileged clan, and with such everlasting qualities of a body as well as a position in which my family had been placed, Otou-san, as the leading head of our own noble clan as well as the very Judge of Gifu, and containing within his wise and incredible, unpredictable self the bravery of the most fierce and glorious of warriors, made the most courageous and threatening of decisions, though rather it had been before I myself was born, to join the Oda Clan as a supporting and protective family in its operations to unite the land as well as the end the warring states and save our families.

The clan in which Otou-san, whom at this current time now so graciously began to willingly and so selflessly support, the Oda clan, were a most exciting yet positively terrifying and interesting of clans which contained within their infamous selves a history of both idolatrous admiring passion and bloodshed; a massive, terrifying and powerful clan from the province of Owari, the Oda were, since the miraculous Battle of Okehazama and the unfortunate death of Yoshimoto Imagawa-dono¹⁹, a family whom had almost been literally uniting various provinces and lands by viciously painting them with the one equal, thick and haunting colour: red. Finally gaining the opportunity and ability to gain full control over Mino, however, the province soon quickly became a centre for trade and relations between the remaining Saito family, whom had originally controlled the province before the Battle of Inabayama, and the Oda clan, whom now ruled it completely. In accordance to what a certain someone has told me, most often upon occurrences in playful conversations of exciting family history as well as during festive meals, for the longest of times Otou-san had apparently supported the Oda Clan in an interesting combination of playfully growing curiousity yet as well as everlasting and passionate loyalty. Yet when at finally deciding to almost literally merge himself with the Oda family, such things meant that the Mori Clan, who for the longest of times had been a more traditional and ever-so succumbed and calming family, were now leading and most powerful and warring clan of the new as well as most violent of ages.

The Oda family was a clan in which, shockingly and surprisingly unlike even the closest of its allies, the Tokugawa clan, fully and oh-so passionately embraced the art and dream of the exciting and wondrous ability of foreign trade. To many of the old and wise villagers, however, the poor and gentle dears whom had the thoughts of difference and wonder in their hearts and minds when gazing upon the gates of the new world which stood opening frighteningly before them; the elders of Mino were the peoples whom, in their most grand and new of youths, the dear children whom had, with their strong, young and healthy hands, constructed and built their own farms and homes for their pretty and happy families, such news of foreign influence on their old, traditional lands were worrying.

As a child, as I treaded excitedly throughout the dusty, tan roads of the city, my joyful smile and glistening, vivacious eyes of curiousity and bliss disappeared slowly as I unchangingly witnessed the sad and melancholy looks upon the senior peoples as they gasped upon the sights of the Oda supply soldiers rushingly and hurriedly lifting and rolling their colourful wagons and beautiful carriages of the marvelous, fantasy spectacle of foreign treasures. Yet despite such unrest and fear, much of the delicate elderly peoples brightened with an unexpected and pleasant enthusiasm that shone like an incredible blinding light of gold and life when their adorable, aged, charming and experienced eyes opened and sizzled in the watery and horribly lovely and sinful taste of Portuguese cow. To many great unfortunance, however, few privileged peoples had the ability and social status such as my family whom, due to the Mori clan’s alliance with the Oda, had been joyously fortunate to have been able to feast upon the most breathtaking and exotic of foods and delicacies, and, to many great shame and deep hate for my despicable and loathsome self, I simply offered them a sympathetic and childish look of sadness when I greatly and horribly chewed on a large and luscious piece of deliciously soaked, fried tempura. A terrible and spoiled little Kappa I was, and with my never-ending hunger for more, I positively and absolutely gorged my tiny, boyish flat stomach with everything in which my father had been able to obtain from the Oda clan’s foreign market of deliciousness. Tempura, Portuguese tonkatsu, fried dishes, panpukin, oh, all were just so scrumptious!²⁰ Yet now, gazing upon within my memory before the time of now, I detest myself for being so awful and selfish when I engorged myself in such lavishes of food and over-privileges of the Mori clan.

Despite such remembrances and hatefulness of my youth in which memories I hurtfully hold to my reminiscing, tiny heart of regret and slight pain, I still remain a most frightening boy whom mirrors that of his times past when my gentle, soothing, shadowed hazel eyes gaze helplessly and excitedly upon the shimmering and colourfully bouncing, splendid dish of desserts that was of the holiest name which I worship, kasutera.

Kasutera, which was apparently of the adorable little word “Castella”, was originally imported from Portugal, like many other of our foreign treasures, yet I may have been told it originated originally from Spain, but I am not sure. Like many of our new foods, kasutera was an incredibly foreign dish, and with its positively outrageous appearance, which more than often had the similar looks of a thin brick, many hesitated to approach such a bizarre, fluffy surprise. Many, however, humorously and oh-so excitedly fell in love with the sight of when one of the Western salesmen would demonstrate playfully the way of feasting upon such a little dessert, performing for the peoples watching upon him as if he were a dramatic spectacle by his cute and friendly self. With the foreign trade bringing new fantastic yet strange and mysterious new items such as those adorable brightly coloured plants called pumpkins and as well as the tobacco plant, Portugal also brought us a new type of amazing and wonderful baked good known as “pan”²¹. “Pan, with its infinite possibilities in texture and shape, preparation and even different tastes, was most likely the most marvelous, at least, in my giggle-filled opinion, and the most lovely and delicious of the foods in which we had been ever-so generously given, and due to such incredible amounts of fantastic differences in ways of baking and creation, with pan came kasutera. Oh my heart, my spirit! The mere thought of a dinner of simply and only kasutera! With a thin, delicate and gentle slice of a knife through the soft, wiggly and sponginess that is the cake, oh dear, and the mere imagination of placing the delicious dish of delicateness upon your sensitive, tasteful tongue! Uuuuuuwa~! I grasp the trembling sides of my thin, pale arms which shiver in such ecstatic joy as I feel so much uncontrolled excitement and glee! Oh dear, how I ever-so difficulty try and struggle to screech in restlessness as quiet as I can! Oh, I am just so awful! But oh, kasutera-sama! If only you were a man.

- "Oda Nobunaga is Dead" by Madame de Chokoreto

AmeCon Website

2007-08-13T18:20:41Z

Hello everyone.

The committee would like to thank everyone who attended AmeCon over the weekend and we hope you all had a fantastic time. If you have any feedback, please make sure to post it on our forum when the Feedback section opens :)

Speaking of the forums, we have noticed over the weekend that the website has unexpectedly gone down due to a problem with our server. Rest assure that we are currently working on the problem and hope to have both the website and forums up and running as soon as possible.

Thank you for reading :)

~fridgeuk

Forum Downtime

2007-08-08T21:01:44Z

Please note that the forum is currently down at the moment for maintenance purposes.

The forum maintenance session has been longer than expected. We apologise for this delay and we hope to have the forum reopened between 22:05 and 22:10 GMT.

Cosplay Snap

2007-07-28T00:08:43Z

Cosplay Snap, a photography website dedicated to cosplay and lolita photography in the UK, has just opened! We have over 200 photos in our galleries with more to come, and we offer private photo shoots in the UK to cosplayers looking for some quality pictures of their costumes. The next convention we go to will be Amecon, and bookings are currently open for photo shoots.

We're a small site at the moment but we're hoping that you'll support us. See you at Ame! ^^

(Crossposted to cosplayscotland & ukcosplay)

Beez Q&A

2007-06-20T21:45:41Z

Hi all,

On the night of Wednesday 27th June, we will have a special guest on the AmeCon 2007 forum!

Andrew Partridge, Marketing Consultant for Beez Entertainment, will be joining us here for a Q&A session to give you all the opportunity to ask whatever questions you may have about the anime industry, forthcoming releases or even just discuss where anime has been and where it's going both commercially and as a form of entertainment.

If you would like to ask Andrew a question, please e-mail it to me (Andrew.Howat@blueyonder.co.uk) with the subject line AmeCon 2007 - Andrew Partridge Forum Chat. All questions will then be put up in the Q&A section of the forum on the night and Andrew will answer each one as I do.

All of this will take place between 8pm and 9pm. If there's still time after Andrew has answered the pre-submitted questions during the hour, we will open the floor to any remaining questions.

Please make sure that you have e-mailed your questions to me by 8pm on Tuesday 26th June.

On that evening, we will also be announcing a competition for a new Beez title, so keep your eyes on the forum!

Andy Howat
AmeCon Video Programmme Officer

ADV Films Q&A Tonight

2007-03-26T17:40:27Z

Hi everyone,

Just a reminder that our ADV Films Q&A with Hugh David is going to start in 20 minutes on the Q&A Special forum.

Once all of the preprepared questions have been answered, we will open the floor to additional questions until 8pm.

Hope to see you there!

Best wishes,
- Jay.

Press Release: Amecon 2007 Announces Registration Prices; Dates; Location; Accommodation And Guests

2007-02-28T23:22:03Z

AMECON 2007 ANNOUNCES REGISTRATION PRICES; DATES; LOCATION; ACCOMMODATION AND GUESTS

Phenomenal response during first week of registrations.

LEICESTER, UK, 28 February 2007 - The AmeCon committee are proud to announce that registrations are currently being accepted for AmeCon 2007, to be held on the weekend of 10 - 12 August 2007 at the Main Campus of the University of Leicester in England, UK. The initial response to this, the third anime convention under the successful AmeCon banner (following events in 2004 and 2006), indicates a strong chance of AmeCon 2007's attendance numbers living up to its record-setting predecessors; a total of 673 registered members have signed up at time of press since registrations opened on 25 February 2007.

Further details regarding pricing, accommodation and guests can also now be confirmed.

Convention Venue Details

AmeCon 2007 will be run at the University of Leicester’s Main Campus (University Road, Leicester, LE1 7RH). In addition to such fantastic facilities as working lifts this year (or so we're told, keep your fingers crossed folks), the University also offers large screening rooms with tiered 'theatre style' seating for a great anime viewing experience, as well as multiple events rooms, spacious socialising facilities and the 1,500-person capacity ‘Venue’, within the Students’ Union (please feel free to prop yourself up at the bar so that our Ops Officer doesn't stumble over weary bodies when he joins you for a pint!)

Convention Dates

AmeCon 2007 will begin on the morning of Friday, August 10th, and the convention will run until late evening on Sunday, August 12th. If you are staying in on-site accommodation, you are welcome to stay in them until Monday morning, after which time you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.

Convention Accommodation

By popular demand, en suite accommodation will be provided for con attendees at AmeCon 2007. Opal Court is located right next to the venue. In addition to en-suite facilities, there is also a late-opening convenience store. There are no free parking spaces available at Opal Park, although there is a pay-and-display car park nearby and free parking is available at Nixon Court. In total, 191 rooms are available at a cost of GBP 37.50 per person per night.

For additional on-site accommodation, Freeman's Common is a series of 3-floor accommodation blocks, with shared kitchens and bathrooms. Just don't leave your ever-important shower until the last night. There is a car park available, with an overflow carpark at Nixon Court. In total, 290 rooms are available at a cost of GBP 24.50 per person per night.

Once you have registered, you will receive details of how to book your on-site accommodation in your confirmation e-mail. Further details, along with a list of nearby hotels and guest houses, are also available on the AmeCon 2007 website (http://www.amecon.org/venue.php).

Convention Registration Rates

AmeCon 2007 opened registrations on 25 February 2007. Pricing for a weekend convention pass (excluding accommodation) will be GBP 40 (payable by cheque only). You can register online at http://www.amecon.org/register.php

AmeCon regrets that it is currently unable to offer one-day passes for the 2007 event. Watch for more information on the AmeCon website in the run-up to the event.

Guest Announcements

Monica Rial

The AmeCon committee is pleased to announce the return of Monica Rial to England in time for AmeCon 2007. A voice-actor for ADV Films and FUNimation Studios, as well as an ADR Script Writer, Monica Rial has provided the voice for such fan-favourite anime characters as Kirika Yumura (Noir), Lumiere (Kiddy Grade), Hyatt (Excel Saga) and has recently been announced as the voice of Sakura in CLAMP's Tsubasa: RESERVoir CHRoNiCLE. Following well-received appearances at both AmeCons 2004 and 2006 (the latter of which she provided the voice for our very own mascot, Ame-chan!), Miss Rial will be giving several panels and signing everything from DVDs to Nintendo DS's to the *ahem* 'well-toned' stomachs of fanboys and goodness knows what else!

Chris Patton

The AmeCon committee is pleased to announce Chris Patton as a guest at AmeCon 2007. Joining Monica Rial on her jaunt over the pond to AmeCon 2007, Mr Patton is a fellow voice-actor who has worked for ADV Films and FUNimation Studios. A regular face on the Houston theatre scene, and co-frontman of an electropop band, Mr Patton is best known over here for being the English language voice of Greed (Fullmetal Alchemist), Sousuke Sagara (Full Metal Panic!) and Joshua Christopher (Chrono Crusade). Chris Patton will also be attending panels and doing signings. Whether or not he is asked to sign items as bizarre as Monica has in the past however is probably best left up to fate.

Additional guests and a list of the events scheduled for AmeCon 2007, along with updates on every other area of the convention, will shortly be available on the website, so watch that space!

In the meantime, should you wish to offer any comments or suggestions for AmeCon 2007, feel free to visit the popular AmeCon Forum (http://amecon.org/forum/index.php), where you can also meet and greet fellow anime fans in The Lounge and find answers to any questions you may have, and some you may not have thought of. To start you off, here's one that the AmeCon 2006 attendees can relate to:

When the sky turns dark, stay out of the park.

Hope to see you there!
- Jay Moss.
AmeCon 2007 Publicity Officer/Forum Moderator.

About AmeCon:

AmeCon is a convention dedicated to the celebration of Japanese animation and comics. Following some successful one-day events, several committee members of the Leicester Anime and Manga Club (LANMA – http://www.lanma.org.uk) decided to run a small, residential event in 2004. This event, through no fault of their own, became the largest anime convention to be hosted in the British Isles to date. The follow-up event, AmeCon 2006, surpassed even that lofty claim and AmeCon 2007 promises to be a further improvement on its predecessors – as long as the weather holds up!

Accommodation Details Announced

2007-02-28T20:17:35Z

Details on accommodation for AmeCon 2007 have been announced:

http://amecon.org/forum/index.php?showtopic=872

Registrations Now Open!

2007-02-25T13:46:40Z

We're pleased to announced that registrations for this year's Amecon are now open!

The registration form can be found at http://www.amecon.org/register.php. If you are registering, please make sure that you fill in each section of the form carefully ^-^ Entrance to the convention costs £40.00, and you will be notified via email with regards to registering for onsite accommodation. Cheques should be recieved by us within two weeks of registration.

When you have reigstered, keep an eye on the members page (found at http://www.amecon.org/members.php), as you will move from 'New' to 'Pending' and to 'Confirmed' as we process your payment. Please be aware that payment processing can take around 2 weeks.

If you have any specific questions, please feel free to send me a message on the forum

We look forward to see you in the Summer!

~kawaii-clamp-fan~
Amecon Registrations Officer

AmeCon Website

2007-02-23T01:10:11Z

The forums have just re-opened :D

Oh yeah, and the website is up too ^_~

http://amecon.org

Forum Downtime

2007-02-21T22:18:45Z

Good evening everybody,

Tonight we're preparing for a big change for the website. Due to recent problems with our current host, we've decided to migrate elsewhere to make sure our website has the best service possible. This has been the main reason for the delay in the website, therefore we are hoping that if all goes well, we may have the website online sometime on Sunday evening (with registrations for AmeCon 2007 following soon after).

To make sure that we minimise any inconveniences to you, the general public, we have decided to close the forum from midnight tonight for a minimum period of 24 hours. During this time you will not be allowed to access the forum or your accounts, and we recommend that users refrain from accessing their accounts until 23:59 tomorrow (Thursday 22nd February 2007).

As with all work performed on the website and forum, there is a possibility that work may be completed early or may require additional time to complete. To make sure you're kept up-to-date on matters, we'll be posting updates on any changes to our schedule on the AmeCon groups on LiveJournal, MySpace and Facebook.

Thanks you for your time and hope to see you after the migration ^_^

Mark Loveridge ~ fridgeuk
AmeCon Webmaster

-----------------------------------------------

External Links
AmeCon LiveJournal Community: http://community.livejournal.com/amecon/
AmeCon Facebook Group: http://newcastletyne.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2227115296
AmeCon MySpace Group: http://groups.myspace.com/amecon

AmeCon 2006 Writing Contest - 1st Place

2007-02-02T21:12:11Z

Hi all,

Here is the 1st place entry!

Fusion: Faith.

By Emma Campbell (Mana) & Christopher Byford.

Persecution is the route of corruption.

The word of the Holy Sorceress is passed on. It was written in scriptures predicting her arrival to govern all life and whilst nobody knows when she will actually do so, people hypothesize and speculate. Maybe it will be this year, maybe it will be the next. There is no need to force the prediction to others, each nation discussed their view rather than debated them in a needless argument. A rare harmony was consistent, unless you looked under the façade in certain places. The corruption of man is always an inevitability.

In a world where beliefs tie together nations and great collectives of people, it is important that the message that ties them across the distance is one and the same. Should this information become distorted along the way the repercussions could be great. Lands can become enemies. Teachings can become false. The word of The Almighty can be converted from a gesture of peace to a call of war.

Of course it is all down to the interpretation. Subtle but important words or phrases can become distorted via time, ancient languages can be translated wrong but in very few instances these contortions are deliberate.

Through gentle manipulation of the facts the deepest beliefs of the population can be twisted to direct fear or anger to another race or creed. The benefits are debatable but most revolve around land or wealth, at least in the minds of those vindictive enough to do such a thing.

For certain men used their information for the control. They did incite the fear and cause the disarray, creating scapegoats for the unaware.

This is the story of a man of faith, a man by the name of Rigal who lives by the rules he is presented with. This corrupted word is being taught to him in a small town called Etherven. The difference between Rigal and the others within the temple walls is that he has begun to question the world he has been presented…

‘I will deal with you LATER!’ a professor bellowed as the class door was slammed violently and a young man thundered down the corridor in protest. His facial expression was one of frustration as he clenched his fists as his side. The man had short spiky light brown hair with a fringe of two strands that covered the sides of his face, which where quickly pushed to the side as he rushed along the next corridor. Rigal screamed out in sheer fury and punched the side of the wall with a fist ignoring the thumping pain in his knuckles he stopped and lent against the wall on his arms, taking a breath. He breathed out slowly, trying to concentrate on his actions, a bead of sweat running down his brow before he pushed himself back and carried on.

The rest of the way Rigal scraped his feet on the way back to his room, pressed the door open heavily and slammed it behind him. The sparse room was focused on a large bunk bed, a figure leaning over barely looking over the top of his book of philosophy to acknowledge his room mates return. 'Don't tell me that Murcinan threw you out of his lecture again....' He sighed. 'What did you do this time?’

‘What is that suppose to mean?’ Rigal started, pulling up the sleeves of his white robes to his elbows and taking a seat next to the large window, so he was facing his room mate. He paused, biting his lip, the young man staring at him from the top of his book making him feel more edgy and anxious, ‘Oh alright Brayden! I just questioned why it was so important that we must remain silent during the midday Bells everyday…I mean-’ he went to explain by standing up, seeing his room mate’s expression turn to distaste but he did not let him finish.

'So you wound him up the wrong way again. I've lost count of how many times he has hurled chalk at your head.' He placed his book on his thigh. 'Look, why is it so hard to understand that this is the way things are - this is how the things go, we're followers Rigal. This is what we're supposed to follow.' Brayden sighed.

‘But ask yourself this!’ Rigal looked at Brayden with a determined look on his face, ‘How does being punished for missing a choir class mean you are unfaithful to Her Holiness?’ he turned away, walking forward and hanging his head, ‘I would rather show my worth and help those who I can then spend every single day in this temple and…’ he looked straight across at Brayden, ‘having chalk hurled at my head’. With that Rigal walked over to the bottom bed and rolled onto it so he was lying on his back, ‘why is that so wrong?’ he snorted.

'Maybe it's not what you do it's how you do it?' Brayden scowled. 'Honestly, you talk professors and scholars into corners in front of many others. How do you expect them to react? You actions are to reflect those here at the temple, your reserved attitude and control are supposed to show others that the faith in the above brings a glorious clarity.' He looked down noticing Rigal pouting. 'Don't take this the wrong way but acting like a child won't convince people to listen to your views no matter how amicable'

'I don’t want to be a slave to the professors and scholars,' Rigal said bluntly, 'I am going to fulfil my faith to The Goddess my own way, and one day everyone will see that' he stood up and instantly walked towards the door, ‘I feel sorry for you Brayden, live your own life, not the life of this place,’

'We are all slaves my friend.' Brayden muttered. 'That's what faith is but we have been called to show others the message. If you want to walk out then by all means do so but how long will it be before you're dragged back?' Brayden jumped from the bunk and approached him pushing back some of his chestnut hair behind an ear; he was a small looking individual with deep brown piercing eyes with a pale complexion, 'You're never going to get all this are you? You'll never learn to accept it. You'll always run away with this notion that you're imprisoned, somehow constrained from you life. Rigal, I want to say that you'll understand one day but I have a feeling that time will ever come. Whatever fear or anger you harbour, you should let go. You have been taught to let go yet you refuse to. You denied your teachings from the start. You never gave them a chance.'

Brayden watched as Rigal bit his lip. The pair knew that there was no point in discussing the topic any further but it still surprised Brayden as his companion scattered the contents of his dresser onto the floor. ‘No more!’ Rigal said forcibly, pointing. ‘No more of this!’ his hand gripped around the door handle and he paused for a moment. Logic seeped into his mind like a disease, his teachings and warnings from those higher up. Those who were taught under this roof were bound by not only a strict moral code but also of curfews. To hell with these rules, Rigal thought.

‘You’re not going!’ Brayden called out, ‘you CAN’T go! You can’t just leave. What will I tell people? What will I tell your friends? What will I tell the Elders?!’

Rigal glared under his fringe.

‘Tell them I lost my faith.’ He said.

The Monk slammed the door as violently in closure as he had done when entering. He walked down the silent marble halls, mentally drawing out a path to the entrance which he could follow. As classes were being held the route was quiet, bar the occasional Priest who traversed. He slunk against every pillar, checking every corridor before his pace accelerated to a sprint. As he neared the frontal lobby Rigal slouched behind a decorated statue of a false hero, examining the two guards who stood opposite the door talking. He could make out their bodies from the broken shadows that moved over the thick glass in the doorway. Their flailing robes hid their lethal skill with the long spears at their sides, a casual stance as they did not expect trouble. Rigal knew he could not fight them in a straight confrontation so he did what he was good at.

He ran.

Rigal sprinted down the corridor and crashed into the doors, sending them slamming into the guards who hit the ground in a daze. He didn’t look back as he knew that the temple would be in a state of alarm. He crossed the bridge that scenically looked over the river with the traditional blossom scattering in the wind. The cries that followed, heard over his own wheezing breath caused panic in him. He dived through into trees and bushes, scrabbling as the branches whipped and cut his skin. Rigal needed a place to retreat to. The surrounding mountains were full of wild animals. The Priests taught them from an early age not to venture too far for fear of being attacked. Surely the Monks would not follow if he retreated there. The paths were dangerous but he had no choice. As he looked behind him he could have sworn he heard more voices closing in on him, calling for his retrieval.

Panic set in. He didn’t know where he was going bar the mountain range. There was no plan to all this. All he knew was that he had to progress forward. He could not turn back now.

Rigal refused to look back on the path he was following on the off chance that somebody shadowed his footsteps. On rare occasions that he ran from blind panic to hide from his imagination he would find himself laughing about it moments after. This new sense of freedom was difficult to grasp but if memory served correctly, maybe there was somewhere he could hide out for a few days before moving on.

So Rigal took the high paths to the mountain tops, keen to move towards the carved figures from the cliff face whose craftsmanship gained in impression. The last mile to the top passed around these figures before leading into a dense thicket that emptied into a lush green clearing.

Birds sang gently as Rigal made his way, somewhat exhausted and finally setting his eyes on the small shrine that had been erected there. Besides the handing birch trees stood a simple structure, a small house with few cramped rooms. He sat slumped in the bushes, haggard and tired pressed against the twisted branches. Wheezing deeply, Riga tried desperately to control his breathing in deep gasps.

He covered his mouth hurriedly as from the house, the simple sliding wooden door clicked shut and emerging from the building dressed in simple temple robes a woman appeared who made her way into the glade. The woman who tended the shrine moved gracefully over the grass holding an empty pail in her hands. Rigal finally lowered his hands and leaned forward in inquisitiveness.

The rustling from the bushes called the woman to jump in alarm and drop her bucket with her hands to her mouth. Rigal was keen to make sure she knew he did not intent harm; he tried to speak with his mouth dry and his mind hazy. 'I …I won’t…hurt you…' The woman took a step back, examining his attire. 'Those robes!' She exclaimed. 'you're a monk? What are you doing way out here?'

Rigal crawled out of the bushes on all fours before hauling himself to his feet. His attire was tarnished and torn for his travel had been exhausting. He croaked suddenly and coughed, his throat parched for water causing the priestess to run over to his side. The woman instantly placed a delicate hand on the top of his arm, ‘Maybe you should come with me…’ She looked him up and down with a small smile appearing on her face as she looked at him softly, ‘…and get you cleaned up and watered.’

Rigal watched the mousey blonde haired girl turn around and start to walk away, her curls and wavy hair bouncing in rhythm, she then looked back and with a hand motioned for him to follow, which he promptly did, just walking a step behind.

He sat hunched over on a small bench positioned, the weariness weighing his limbs. The woman placed her pail into the cool hissing of the small waterfall in the glade and pressed the lip of the bucket to his lips. Rigal drank hungrily and gasped when he had his fill, the woman brushing his fringe back.

'You needn't have become so exhausted' she spoke softly.

‘I needn't have done a lot of things but I tend not to listen to other people, let alone myself' Rigal chuckled, wiping the drips from his unshaven jaw. 'Self discipline has never really been my strong point.'

The woman looked over him, keen to make sure he wasn't wounded or harmed in any way. 'Well,' she sighed, 'it looks like her Highness has brought you to me in one piece. However why you would want to be here is beyond me. I don't get many visitors and this shrine isn't exactly paid attention by the locals as it's so out of the way.' she picked her pail up, grasping the handle with both hands. 'You must be either a very good Monk and on a pilgrimage to make sure I know I am appreciated by the Temple, or you are running away.' She looked over his tired features. 'I am guessing the second correct?'

Rigal nodded, his head resting against the rock behind him.

‘May I ask why?’ she spoke after a thought.

‘I know I can serve my faith in a more productive way,’ Rigal said looking up, watching the woman’s expression carefully, ‘You could say I ran away to find that method.’ a smile crossed his face as the priestess sighed deeply.

‘Well,’ she started, putting her pail down beside her and putting her hair behind her ears, ‘I think you should stay here in the mean time, at least then you can be sure that no-one hardly comes up here and you will be safe to…’ she put on a voice to try and mimic his ‘…find a new way to follow my faith’. She smiled at him and held out a hand, ‘my name is Emela,’

Rigal stood up quickly returning a shake of her hand, his smile turning into one of curiosity, ‘Rigal,’ he said simply looking the attractive woman up and down, ‘So…’ he went to speak.

‘Could you please assist me by taking this water to the shrine?’ Emela interrupted him, and then with a sly smirk she turned and walked off into the grass, grabbing a basket whilst humming to herself.

The man stared at her figure for a few moments with a confused expression, why was she helping him so suddenly? It was like she didn't fear the stranger and willingly accepted his presence without question. Why was it he found it a sudden tranquillity? Also, without thinking Rigal found himself picking up the bucket and walking to the shrine, just like she had requested.

It was a simple arrangement which suited the pair of them just fine. Rigal carried out any physical labour which needed doing and Emela was true to her word to reward him. He painted the shrine, removed the creeping vines and even chopped wood for the fireplace on the nights when it got cold. Yet whilst they went through the motions of something they had been told to avoid, the small glances, heart felt exchanges ensued that the pair grew closer by the day.
Rigal took a step into the shrine, watching the beautiful interior as he silently walked bare foot inside, delicate paintings of birds and foxes adorned the walls. He took a deep breath taking in the delicious smells that surrounded him, he walked to a beaded curtain, which he pushed back and saw Emela sat on her knees attending to a small pot and stirring the contents inside. He walked over and sat down on one of the large pillows next to the priestess. Rigal told his new friend what he had achieved that afternoon and Emela thanked him and placed a lid on the pot.

‘I have a gift for you,’ Emela said smiling, she turned away from were Rigal was sat and when she turned back round to face him, she had a set of clothes folded neatly in her arms, ‘this is a thank you for assisting me with the shrine…’

Rigal looked astonished, ‘Hey where did you get those?’

The woman placed them into his hands, ‘I made them,’ she leaned over and touched his tattered sleeve, ‘you don’t want to be wearing these rags all the time do you?’ without a second thought, she pulled herself across so she was right next to him and lifted the top item, which was a dark grey shirt with small ceramic buttons, ‘You see?’ she said softly.

Emela then glanced at him and their eyes met, but this time they found themselves being in complete silence, just staring at one another. Emela lowered the clothing in her hands and her hand landed softly on Rigal’s. He took a deep breath and rapped his fingers on her small hand.

Suddenly the pot boiled over breaking the silence in the room and making Emela shoot up and scramble back to the dinner she was preparing. ‘Oh no!’ she exclaimed, her heart still pounding in her chest as she rushed around to find something to clean the mess.

Rigal just froze, staring at the woman hurry around trying to fix the disarray. He stood up and walked over to her, as he kneeled he pulled her by her arm so she was facing him, ‘Stop it,’

‘What? Stop what?’ she spoke pulling back her arm, her cheeks were flushed with red, ‘Rigal, please just…just leave!’ she raised her voice at him.

Rigal shook his head; ‘I can’t…’ he spoke calmly, pulling her back around, he continued to kneel and pulled Emela into him and said nothing but take his hands, putting them on her burning cheeks and kissed her on the lips. Emela couldn’t move she suddenly felt her whole body weaken and she found herself place her hands on his chest and slowly kissing him back. The woman held Rigal almost at bay as her pressed against her, wanting the kisses to become deeper.

Emela pushed back, and stared at him in shock, ‘Rigal…’ her breaths were quickened, she shook her head quickly, ‘we…we cannot do this,’

'Tell me you don't want this Emela, tell me you don't and I will not say another word', Rigal spoke, a quiver in his voice displaying his desperation, 'but if you feel even the slightest bit the same you will tell me and end my suffering.' He spoke, tears welling in his eyes as he placed her hands in his. 'Tell me.... Please,' he whispered, 'am I wrong?'

Emela stared and watched Rigal move towards her once again, he kissed her again, this time more passionate, as time went on every kiss became a pleasure and self control became an illusion as Emela’s mind struggled against it.

Suddenly Emela snapped and pushed him back, she scrambled to her feet and ran to the entrance of the shine, almost tripping on the matting, ‘Emela!’ Rigal called to her as he got to his feet.
The woman ran down the steps and stopped outside as a tear started to run down her face, she turned as Rigal followed her, the wind blowing at her hair, ‘I feel like I have known you all my life,’ she said, then turning away, looking out over the landscape.

Rigal approached her slowly and stood beside her, ‘I know I have met you for a reason Emela,’

She closed her eyes and bowed her head, ‘I was always alone up here, and now…’ she turned her head away from Rigal, ‘I find myself…’ she stopped not finishing her sentence.

‘Emela,’ he placed a hand on her shoulder, and watched her as she turned back to him, ‘You are so honest…thank you,’ he said, a smile rising over his features as the woman stared in awe, ‘I know this sounds a little cliché, but you have brought reason to my life, now I think I know what happiness truly is,’ he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her lips, and then pulled back looking at her and she smiled back, ‘how about we clean up that mess in there, I am starving,’

Emela laughed a little and pushed at his shoulder, ‘Me too,’ as they both approached the shrine steps, Rigal looked across at her and offered a hand, without a second thought Emela took his and they walked hand in hand inside the small building.

The next morning Rigal woke to the same birds chirping happily outside, he sat up and stretched, looking across at the woman lying beside him, he smiled sincerely and stood up rubbing at his spiky hair. So breathtaking, he thought, watching her sleep. For a moment he was captivated and reached down, trailing his fingers through her hair to which she contently purred.

He picked up the shirt that Emela has made for him and put it on, smiling to himself as he pulled the trousers on and walked outside into the bright morning sun. Taking in a deep breath he walked around the shrine by a pebbled path that led to a small cliff that overlooked the road to the village. He made is way up, sitting on the edge and crossing his legs. The bring sun shown down, the sky a brilliant blue and the birds singing their morning song. Each footfall gave a feeling he was advancing towards destiny and eventually as he stood atop the winding path he took in the surroundings in wonder.

Rigal was speechless. It was such a beauty, the likes of which not witnessed before. He could see everything in panoramic. The rolling valleys. The town of Etherven with its stone walls. The high tipped temple with its decorated flags flailing as a centerpiece. The steep mountain sides. The green fields lay dotted with farm houses, with small dusty roads connecting them all.

Never had he felt closer to the Heavens than he did now, struck by the beauty of creation, the wind blew around him and for the first time Rigal wasn’t being forced the answers to existence he had found them.

Such moments were destined to be reduced to despair.

Catching his attention as snaking through the lower paths a group of monks walking up the path, accompanied with a unit of Town Guards with various weapons, and the monks pointing forward disarrayed and angry. Rigal quickly jumped back and bit his lip; he raced down as fast as he could back down to the shrine via the sharper paths, sometimes sliding violently down the mountain side.

‘Traitors to our Goddess!’ One spoke loudly to the guards, allowing Rigal to overhear as he ran, ‘Arrest them quickly, especially the priestess! If they resist, restrain them by any means you deem fit.’

Rigal’s heart suddenly jumped into his throat, he paused in panic about what he just heard, before he jumped up and ran faster then before back to Emela and he cursed to himself that someone must had been spying on them both the whole time. His heart raced, the monks and guards couldn’t be less then minutes from appearing, he pounded his feet heavily as he jumped up the steps, waking Emela.

‘Rigal?’ She said, sitting up in the bed, ‘What are you doing?’

Rigal said nothing but pulled her up, grabbing her robes from the day before and throwing them to her, ‘get changed Emela, now!’ he shouted angrily.

Emela looked in horror, ‘Why?’

‘Just do it Emela!’ Rigal ordered, grabbing what he could into a sheet and tying it.

Emela did not argue but did exactly as Rigal asked as moments later he pulled her out of the shrine, carrying the made up bag in his tight grip, he looked around in dread, before looking up the mountain and the path that would take them there. He ran with a frightened Emela behind him to the beginning of the track, he turned to her, pushing the sheet filled contents into her hands, ‘Take this and go!’ he ordered.

The priestess shook her head, ‘What is going on! I am going nowhere!’ she stamped a foot, her eyes filling with tears, ‘Rigal! What is this?!’

‘You don’t have time, but Emela…’ He bowed his head and swallowed, ‘I love you, very much, and you need to get out of here so I know you are safe…’

‘S…safe?’ she whimpered, the tears running down her beautiful face, ‘Safe?’ she said again.

‘What we have become is wrong in the eyes of the law Emela…’ he started, ‘You need to go, that way I know you will always be safe and they…they can never harm you, you must hide away Emela, do it for me!’ Rigal said desperately.

Emela broke down and burst into tears, she clutched at the bag in her hands as Rigal pulled her into him in an embrace. The man then pulled back and looked at her, ‘I will make a difference, I will make people see this is wrong…’ he kissed her on the forehead, his fringe brushed against her face, ‘go…Emela…’

He turned on his heals and ran back to the shrine, Emela looked desperate to run to him but she forced herself to turn around and suddenly run up the path, not looking back. He put a hand to his face and pushed back his fringe, smelling Emela’s scent as it went past his nose.

Rigal sat down in the steps and within seconds the monks and guards came into view shouting how he and Emela are traitors and will be punished for shaming the religion. Rigal stood up and held out his arms as the guards quickly pulled at him and started to tie a band around his wrists, ‘get the girl!’ a monk shouted at the other guard who rushed into the shrine, but quickly ran back outside, ‘She has gone!’

‘You won’t find her,’ Rigal spat, ‘I wont ever let you find her,’

One of the monks approached him and glared down at Rigal, ‘You shall be punished for your slander and felony against Her Highness, she will grant you nothing more then repentance to be killed for your crimes! We are showing you mercy to hang you in front of your fellow monks and those of the villages who worship The Goddess herself…!’

Rigal was brought to the gallows in a wide open courtyard. He was watched by many of the public who had gathered to view this historical feat. Most didn't know why they were there as the temple had pretty much demanded their audience from the locals. They had been ushered in to bare witness to this act, to be reminded of the fates of those who did not fall into line with the temples views. They watched Rigal, head bowed, be pushed and prodded by guards who flanked him on either side. Each shuffle with his feet clattered the shackles that bound them and his wrists together. He trudged onto the decking with a small glare to the hangman who grinned viciously.

Directly opposite and gathered on the balcony stood the High Priests, all robed in their traditional attire and silently praying. Rigal was pulled beneath the rope and had it looped around his neck before being pulled tightly. The crowd buzzed with whisper.

'Rigal!' A voice called. 'You have been tried for the crime of heresy, renouncement and absence without permission. You have sullied yourself in an effort to destroy your teachings whilst attempting to pervert others to your twisted ideas. You have been found guilty, your punishment death by hanging until you suffocate.' The high priest swept his hand through the air, the chanting louder by his compatriots. 'This day shall serve as a warning to those who got against the beliefs - that the Holy Sorceress shall punish all those who renounce her name-'

He was suddenly cut off with an outburst from the gallows.

'That's a lie!' Rigal roared. 'I have renounced nothing and She is not punishing me, you are! This isn't about my beliefs; this is about the fear of yours! You make up the rules as you go along; translate sections of the scriptures which deem fitting whilst ignoring others that go against your favor! You're hypocrites and detestable, every one of you! These are methods of control which you inflict on the poor people here and you execute me to remind them of that!' Rigal spoke to the people in front of him. 'In the last five years there have been numerous laws against you. Taxes have been raised to pay for temple expansions and decorations! Discovered artefacts have been kept and not given back to those who found them to claim reward! They have stole and raped our lands in the name of The Sorceress and I know that no Goddess would ever do such a thing to its people!'

The crowd erupted. Cries of 'he's right' rang around the courtyard. People shouted amongst themselves as if Rigal had spoken the thoughts that were being suppressed. The Guards lining the doorways looked to one another as they began to get pushed and jostled.

'Believe how you want to believe my friends!' Rigal shouted above the High Priests objections. 'Let nobody control you in such a way! Be free! My death is a sin upon their Holy Souls!'

The crowd erupted once more, setting upon the guards who backed into retreat. An all out riot began to break out, uncontrollable by any military in the town’s presence.

The High Priest pulled back his hood and roared. 'YOU SHALL BE A MARTYR TO NOONE!' He screamed, desperately gesturing to the hang man. 'HANG HIM!' He bellowed. 'HANG HIM NOW!'

The Hangman nodded and punched Rigal across the jaw, sending his body limp before kicking the leaver to open the trap door.

Rigal’s feet gave way as the trap exploded and instantly he was taken back from the noose around his neck. He gurgled and croaked, swaying side to side.

All he could see was the townsfolk tearing the place to pieces, kicking the gallows down and breaking the doors and windows. The High Priests all panicked as the door to the balcony burst open. Rabid townsfolk lashing out at their suppressors before throwing them over the rail for a lynching from the ones bellow.

With his last breath Rigal smiled, the darkness eloping around his vision. He had finally managed to do something good with his life.

It was just a shame that it would be so late in it.

For Rigal his short gurgles for breath became silent as the black waves crashed against him like the tide of the sea. The pain around his neck began to dull as his mind slipped into a feeling of total nothingness. He felt his body hanging, a gentle sway side to side before the last shards of feeling from his nerves indicated his final seconds on the mortal plane of existence.

Then there was nothing. A literal sense of non existence. The fabric of Rigal’s being was being unwound into the void, separating memory from energy, from being and position before existence itself spun upside down.

There was nothing but a brilliant white. A pair of brilliant blue eyes moved into focus, joined by the features of a handsome short haired blonde man. He was, however, sideways being that Rigal was lying with his head on the floor. His eyes slowly focused but there was something wrong with this picture. The smiling man stood there, watching silently as Rigal lay on the floor. Only something was different. The memories in Rigal's mind were non existent. He could not recall a single piece of information, even his mind. For Rigal had been born anew. He wasn't the same man. His soul had been removed from the void of nothingness and moulded within a new body.

'Are you with us Largi?' The man hunching over spoke, reaching out with his hand. He helped Rigal onto his feet, the white still blinding but his new eyes adjusting slowly.

'Largi?' Rigal questioned. The man sagely nodded, dressed in white and gold decorated robes. 'Who is Largi?'

The man laughed, examining the male body standing naked before him with great interest. ‘That’s your name my friend, as mine is Evermore. It has been given to you. You have been given a great honour - to serve a being of power, of effervescence on a plane of existence that radiates brilliance. You have been chosen to protect and guard the Holy Sorceress herself. You have been blessed.'

Evermore crossed his arms and glanced Largi up and down. 'You will also develop a cold if we don't get you into some clothes soon.' Evermore spoke, leading him into the white. 'I doubt my superior would like you to be introduced to him naked.'

'Well to be honest I don't think I mind if it is a woman....' Largi groaned, rubbing his forehead to remove the pounding headache. 'However.... this higher power... thing.' He stammered. 'I'm protecting it?'

Evermore heartily laughed. 'He said you would be like this. To be honest it's charming although I was somewhat cautious at first.' A door suddenly appeared from the white void and as soon as he focused Largi found himself standing in a lavishly decorated hall. It hung with intricate tapestries, various framed paintings and flamboyant statues. It was a shrine of sorts to acts of greatness. 'We are the Angel Troupe. We are assigned individuals removed from the void for their feats of greatness to protect and serve her Highness. You are one of us - a warrior, a protector, a compatriot.'

Largi stopped Evermore in his monologue speech with a raised hand. 'Wait, let me get this right. Are you saying I'm dead? As in I used to be alive but now I’m not?' He asked.

Evermore nodded. 'Pretty much.'

'... and I have no choice but to be in your service for all eternity?'

'Not really but it is an amazing honour.' Evermore spoke.

Largi laughed. 'It beats wasting my time doing nothing I guess. At least I have something to do to keep me occupied.' He spoke, taking in the scenery from the tapestries to the artefacts on pillars. The scale of wonderment momentarily overtook him. 'Wow...' he muttered.

Evermore advanced down the hall. 'He was right about you.'

'There's that 'He' again.’ Largi added, ‘It sounds pretty sinister that I should be assigned to you people lead by some man to be on a crusade to protect an individual...' The pats of his bare feet on the cold marble drawing to a stop as he thought. '.... and all the while I'm in nothing but a smile.'

Evermore chuckled and beckoned him onward. 'Why is everyone willing to discuss their state of undress with me? Also I have no idea why I have to be the welcome wagon. The others don't have to put up with this. Talk about the short end of the stick..' Evermore glanced down subconsciously and recoiled before rolling his eyes, hauling the large double doors in front of them open then leading Largi inside.

There was a simple dresser and clothes on a chair beside it. ‘Put these on,’ Evermore requested, ‘then everything shall be explained to you in full.’

Largi stepped forward and picked up the trousers, quickly slipping them on. As he grabbed his shirt, he noticed a strange twirling symbol on the front. ‘Hey what…is this?’

‘Your Angel symbol, and…’ Evermore pointed to his right shoulder, ‘Your mark as a member of the Angel Troupe,’ he smiled as Largi examined the wing logo with interest.

Shortly after Largi made himself presentable the pair continued on back through where they had come and then through another door where they walked into a brightly lit room which was shaped like a dome. The walls on the outside were made from glass looking out for miles. Largi looked forward at the General’s office, a large thick wooden desk was littered with battle plans, and other paperwork and as he glanced at the shadow that adorned it he looked up at his creator.

The figure of a well built man stood with his back to them looking out but clearly knowing they were there. The General was wearing a highly decorated white tunic, with a robe over one shoulder, he lowered his head, making his flowing blonde hair that just past his ears fall forward, ‘So my fourth Angel is ready Captain?’ his voice charismatic.

Evermore stood forward and nodded his head with a proud smile on his face, ‘Yes, My Lord,’ he glanced over to Largi, ‘He is ready’ the Angel then prompted Largi to walk ahead and over to his new mentor. The new Angel took a deep breath and stepped forward and walked over so he was standing beside the General, glancing at the Angel Troupe wing symbol on his creator’s right shoulder.

The man smiled under his long fringe of blonde hair and looked out, ‘Largi Angel…welcome to the Kingdom of Heaven…’

Thanks again,
- Jay.

AmeCon 2006 Writing Contest - 2nd Place - Take Two!

2007-02-02T21:08:01Z

Heh heh, Frenchie writes at great length ^_^;;

CHAPTER FIVE:
HEARTBREAK ON THE PROMENADE

Mamoru’s presentation to His Majesty had been uninspiring and yet sufficient in fact to cause the Imperial Regent, Tadahira some concern. As a boy, Taira no Masakado had been in his service and although the period was of little relevance to Tadahira at the time, now it took on a whole new aspect. This young boy had become a fearsome warrior and a trusted leader in Hitachi. It also appeared ambition burned as deeply within him as Tadahira had seen in his own son, before the marriage to Haruka. His Majesty had, unfortunately, shown little concern for the event and saw it as little more than a squabble between the Minamoto and Taira, who were both descended from the Imperial line. Tadahira, however, knew the importance of these two families and the influence they waved in the provinces far from the Imperial city. Masakado had been summoned to the city to answer the claims Mamoru had laid before the court and to explain his actions. The aging Regent was worried at the reception the warlord might receive.
It was getting dark on this day and now was a brief break in the summoned court. Tadahira slumped forward against one of the many wooden supports in the amber tinged halls of the Imperial palace. Frivolity was rife this day for it was the coming of age of the Emperor Suzaku and the final day of the Regent’s stewardship had now closed. Everything had to go through His Majesty now and Tadahira worried that the young Emperor was too gallant for his lofty position. The criminals presented to Suzaku today had all, to the very last man, been pardoned, regardless of their crimes, as a gift from the Emperor on his joyous day.
Tadahira took a moment to look upon the large, golden statue of Buddha to the right of the courthouse and silently request some divine guidance in the following proceedings. The golden glow that illuminated the Regent’s face as he edged ever closer to the monument gave him an ethereal appearance and a strength one would rarely see of the man in sun-light. Such things were misguiding aesthetic as Tadahira had never felt so powerless. He could not argue with the Emperor on his coming of age for the offence would be so great that Suzaku may exile him.
The thick, brown, oak doors to the court room were thrust aside by guards and stood with his back to the blue tinged darkness inside was Takumi, now regaled in his finest cloth, a beautiful and unmistakable red beacon in his kimono. Catching his father unaware, Takumi found the weak look on his father’s unsure face disappointing and embarrassing, but he too had demons racing through his conscious thought and today, he felt no need to chastise his father’s indecisiveness. “We must assemble now, Regent. Taira no Masakado awaits the judgement of our Sovereign.”

Masakado was a formidable looking man. His angled features gave his face a sharpness that would be intimidating without the man’s reputation. He was taller than Hiroshi and was, perhaps the first man of six feet Takumi had ever laid his eyes upon. He wore ceremonial armour, designed with a Chinese influence in the image of a dragon; it was thick and of a material Takumi was not familiar with. All he knew was that it was far from the bamboo vest worn by his Minamoto friend and clearly stronger, with no weak points in the joins across the body, only at the moving joints in the shoulders, elbows, neck and knees. The armour looked scarlet in the low, blue evening light, but Takumi surmised that it would be a rich clay colour in the day. His whole appearance was one of power, even the long strides of his walk to the inquisition stand landed with an impact not too dissimilar from a tiny earthquake. What marked the man as different from those around him most of all was his deep tan. It had long been the fashion in the capital to whiten one’s complexion. Masakado snubbed such indulgences and proudly bore the effects of his toil in the sun.
Masakado came to a stop in front of the veil that sheltered the Emperor from prying eyes and Tadahira scuffled forwards on the stage before him. “Taira no Masakado, you have been summoned to the Imperial court to answer claims from Minamoto no Mamoru that you forcibly ejected him from his premises in Hitachi and sought to murder him before he reached the city. How do you respond to this claim?” Tadahira explained diligently.
The Hitachi warlord mused for a moment but to Takumi’s eyes it was not hesitation, but strategic ordering of thoughts. When Masakado spoke, his booming voice was unlike the one spoken when Takumi had last seen him, when both men had been boys on Tadahira’s estate. “It’s true that I threw that pathetic Minamoto from his home. His greed had caused a great number of citizens’ harm.” The Taira General replied. Takumi looked over at where Mamoru sat, observing proceedings, sweating profusely, afraid and looking more than a little guilty at this claim. He continued looking where the Minamoto’s sat and was disappointed to find that Hiroshi was not among them. After all, it had been his friend who had levelled the assassins sent by Masakado to intercept Mamoru.
There was a whisper from behind the curtain and Takumi watched his father lean towards it, sullenly accepting the command issued to him. Tadahira stood before Masakado again and asked; “And what of the marauders sent to murder Minamoto no Mamoru on his journey to the capital? Did you have a hand in that?”
“I did not command any of my men to attack the Minamoto coach, Your Majesty.” Masakado spoke with excessive pride as he knew he was being addressed by the Monarch directly, this was not from Tadahira. The Regent felt exposed and Takumi could see his father’s expression change from impassive to hurt. This was further stretched by another whispered command from the Emperor. When Tadahira walked forward again, the small amount of strength he still held in court had vanished and for the first time, Takumi felt sorrow for his father’s predicament. He was being made a fool of and now the inevitable was about to occur after scant seconds of inquiry.
Tadahira announced; “The court has found no evidence, besides the circumstantial involvement of your forces in removing the accuser from his home, of any serious wrong doing. You are charged with unlicensed engagement in your province but at the Emperor’s dispensation, you are pardoned, as a gift from His Majesty to celebrate his coming of age. The Emperor hopes you remain in the capital to indulge in the festivities before returning to Hitachi.” Takumi couldn’t be certain but for a moment he was sure the angry, focused expression on Masakado’s face gave way to a smirk.

Music softened the air around the corridors of the Imperial Palace to the point where it felt as though Takumi’s cheeks were being warmed by the air alone. The humming in his head it provided was a welcome one and almost eradicated the painful nervousness that had encapsulated him once he had left the courtroom. This evening, after his heroic actions of the past week, was the night he would finally win Haruka over. He now felt as though he had become the man she had always wanted, strong, confident and adventurous. He had never felt so good about the situation and had sent an Uta poem to her in the afternoon, requesting she meet him upon this open air promenade at the palace. He had lovingly composed the piece and it was by far his most accomplished work. He read it back to himself from memory in his own head.
I was but a bore
Nothing but a grazing cow
Shielded from your love
Now I am Strength, Passion, Hope
Awaiting to bathe in light

He was caught daydreaming, running over a multitude of scenarios in his head that all saw his union with Haruka on this night in a number of exceedingly romantic and beautiful ways, when his father approached from behind, clasping his shoulder. It awoke Takumi form his daze and yet he felt nothing but anger for the interruption. He turned to face his father, who looked gaunt and wretched, as if there were no fight left in him. “Takumi,” The older man said, “We must talk. There are issues at stake with this Masakado incident. We are so detached from the rest of the country...” Tadahira was cut off by the rude raising of hand by Takumi, who held his palm in front of his father.
“I do not wish to speak of this right now, father. Tomorrow I will come and see you and we can talk about these things. I have more pressing matters to attend to this evening. Please leave, I await my wife.” Takumi’s words inflamed the defeated face of his father, who took a final, hated glance at his son, enraged by the dismissal, the unfathomable obsession over Haruka and lack of care for so important a subject as the security of the nation. Tadahira stomped off, leaving Takumi behind to watch as his wife, dressed in brilliant white garnished with lilac edges and stitching, appeared from the warm darkness like an angel appearing in the underworld. She gracefully slid towards him and came to a halt one metre away, bowing curtly but with a passive expression on her face. “It was a beautiful Uta, Takumi. I did not think you capable.” She said; her words tinged with venom to suppress any false hope in her husband. He seemed oblivious to her comment and moved in closer, taking her soft, white hands and placing them on his chest, softly massaging them into his body and down his arms.
“Do you feel it, Haruka?” He asked her, only to be met with a confused expression. He had not imagined she would fail comment on the change in his physique and was thrown off track for several moments. After an awkward pause, he spoke again. “I am changing. No longer will your touch sink into my belly like a blind deer in quick sand. I am stronger now than when we met, I can protect you and Hitomi. I can protect you from anything.” His reiteration was an attempt to emphasise his power but it was lost for she had never seen him in this light. He thought to explain to her the attack on the carriage and how he and Hiroshi had rescued Mamoru. His own contribution, although great, was exaggerated for her benefit and yet he saw no reaction to his deeds but only the mention of his friend’s name. Each time he spoke it, her eyes watered and a great sadness consumed her. This seemed the only thing that elicited a reaction from her. Takumi was now beginning to succumb to frustration, his daydreams had skewed his vision for this meeting and he had prepared himself to bathe in her attention and adoration. “Is this not what you wanted?” He yelled, “A heroic, strong husband of adventure and determination? What do I have to do, Haruka? What do I have to do to make you love me? Everything I see you hoping for, I attain and yet still you do not look at me as a wife should!” He was losing his calm very quickly and disintegrating into an emotional wreck. She for her part was very upset, she wanted to love him, she had no doubt and yet all his attempts were so contrived, and they were not natural. She pulled hard to relieve herself of his grip. Tears streamed down her face, she felt awful at what she was doing to this man, she didn’t know how long she could continue living while bringing misery to her family. She averted her gaze from his teary, bloodshot stare and pulled a piece of paper from her kimono, forcefully pushing it into Takumi’s palm, before fleeing in tears. He looked in her direction, but did not watch her leave, he was stupefied by what had just happened and stared ahead for what felt like an eternity before opening his right hand and removing the piece of paper. It was Haruka’s reply to his Uta.
The bee is nature
He nestles within the rose
Phoenix is power
Rebirthing at his own whim
His existence is lonely

Takumi’s heart broke, for it was apparent to him that she did not see his actions as genuine. He was not effortless in his profession as Hiroshi was. She saw him as a pale imitation of the man she loved, or at least that is how Takumi saw things. He took a deep breath, dried his eyes and looked around to see if anyone had seen the awful exchange that had just occurred. There were people in the distance but all paid no attention to the open air promenade and the lonely figure stood upon it. Takumi’s final thought, stood here in his misery was that it may take war for him to prove his worth. He would defend the Heian way of life as best he could, on the battlefield
CHAPTER 6:
MASAKADO’S LETTER

Three years had passed since The Emperor’s coming of age festivities and Masakado’s pardon. In that time the Taira warlord had raised an army and conquered Shimosa and the neighbouring province of Shimotsuke. Some nobles worried about the unfolding events, others were so detached from anything beyond the walls of the capital they saw no reason to care. Tadahira was not one of them. Today, the aging Fujiwara Regent sat, dishevelled and weak at his desk, pondering over a roll of parchment addressed to him in a personal manner. Over the years, the Regent’s office had accrued large quantities of clutter, old, ornate lamps filled up one corner of the room, whereas finely written policies on papyrus and even woodblock stood, human high, in the other. Books adorned the walls in a variety of different covers, many of which were leather bound and in cases of the finest wood carving. However, much had gathered dust and there were spider’s webs across the ceiling and in some of the darkest corners of the room, betraying years of neglect.
A member of the household staff entered the room and stood before Tadahira. “Sessho, Lord Takumi has arrived at your request.” He spoke nervously. The tension of his master’s mood and fear had obviously filtered through to him.
“Send him in.” Tadahira said simply.
Takumi strode into the room in an ornate and patterned red kimono, finished with a golden pattern on the bottom left hand side portraying Buddha. He looked almost regal, but a thinness and gaunt appearance in the face betrayed the unhappiness of these intervening years for him. His body was sculpted and muscular and Tadahira could make out the powerful shoulders hidden beneath the spacious kimono. He could not hide his distaste so he looked back to the letter, rather than make eye contact with his son. “What do you wish to discuss, father?” Takumi asked impatiently.
“I am sorry to hear of your father-in-law’s death. I understand you and your wife took care of him in his final weeks. It is an act of compassion not unseen by the court.” Tadahira sighed as though preparing for the real issue of this conversation to be told. “However, although the post of Minister of the Left will remain vacant for a respectful time I intend to name your brother, Saneyori as the benefactor of your father-in-law’s demise.”
Takumi felt a wave of emotion flow over him, everything from anger to fear was experienced by him in a single moment and he fought powerfully to keep his appearance of serenity. This was it for him, with his other elder brother, Morosuke currently the Minister of the Right only the death of one of them could allow him to realise his dreams of holding one of the highest offices in the land. He felt resigned to it because he full well knew that his attention had not been where it was needed but on the wife at home and the blades he hid in his bedroom. This thought infuriated him further as he felt powerless. He thought he could do it all at the same time. Now he knew he was wrong. “This is not the only bad news I hold for you, my son.” Tadahira, seeing Takumi’s distress, wished to hurry through the rest of the information as quickly as possible. He pushed the roll of parchment across the table and gestured for Takumi to take a seat.
The young minister accepted and knelt before the traditional, low table. He picked up the letter and scanned through it. “Masakado!” He huskily exclaimed.
“Seen as no one else thought much of the situation when he was last in the city, I began corresponding with him as a concerned benefactor. His service in this house allowed me such a courtesy and I have learned a great many things. This letter however, is the most disturbing. It details Masakado’s true desire, for in it, he declares himself the “true” Emperor. He has amassed an army, murdered his own kin for advancement and he seeks to now overthrow the “out-of-touch” Government and install himself as divine sovereign.”
“Then you will send forces to crush him?” Takumi spoke in a condescending tone. He knew such a thing was impossible. The capital’s warriors were, for the most part, untrained and merely high born pretenders requiring rank. To Takumi’s knowledge, only Hiroshi could be considered a true warrior amongst the Emperor’s vast retinue. For his part, Tadahira dismissed his son’s impertinence with no care; he was too old for their squabbles now.
“We will send incentive to those surrounding the problem areas and that will, with luck, see them rise against Masakado and defeat him. The problem lies in Masakado’s two supporters. If you read further into the parchment you will read of Prince Okiyo’s encouragement, a troublesome development, you would agree? The former Emperor’s son seeking to overthrow the current one? It is a scandal. However, for us there is another problem. My cousin, Haruaki had pilfered from his province and fled as nothing but a petty criminal. It seems he is under Masakado’s protection. Although I could not possibly say why Masakado would lower himself as such, it could be a disastrous embarrassment for the Fujiwara clan.” As Tadahira took breath, Takumi could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. This was it! He could finally go into battle and ply his new skills, becoming, in the process, a natural warrior as opposed to a skilled hobbyist. He would get everything back on track, his father had not long to live, he could still make Minister of the Left when Saneyori was promoted the Chancellor or above. All he had to do was bring the traitor, Haruaki to justice and quell the rebellion to the East. His façade dropped for a moment and he could not help but beam. Seeing this, Tadahira’s tone darkened.”I called you here to tell you, in no uncertain terms, you are forbidden from travelling to Shimotsuke.”
Takumi was taken aback, so much so that he rose immediately from his kneeling position and backed hastily towards the door. “You mock me father! Surely you see this is the only way for me to get my life back on track!”
Tadahira was in no mood for this whining. “I mock you? Takumi it is you who mock yourself! For ten years you have failed to advance in court and for most of those you have been training with a Minamoto in the art of violence! You think me too stupid to realise what is happening with my own son?” Tadahira’s elevated tone was so enraged; the Regent often lost his breath between his punctuated remarks. “You somehow think that ending Masakado’s life with your own hand and bringing your cousin to justice will enhance your claim to any future position? You are the son of the Regent! You would have been seen as a fouler man than even Masakado were I not to have kept this under wraps! Violence is not tolerated in the Imperial city and banishment could be the only answer to your covert training. I can imagine that succubus of a wife has a hand in this!”
Takumi flew into a rage himself at the mention of Haruka and strode up to his father, staring down at the hunched old man with menace. “Haruka does not make my decisions!”
“No, but you make them under her spell. I don’t believe anything you have done in the past decade has not been filtered through some attempt to win her over from the cold.”
Takumi had now had enough of this slanging match; he was stung by the truth in his father’s observations and haunted by the false impression of the Regent he had held for so long. It was now clear to him that there was no longer indecisiveness in the old man. “I am going father. I will return a hero, violence or not and you cannot do anything to stop me.”
Tadahira looked up at his son as Takumi walked into the doorway. His eyes strained under the weight of emotion he felt watching this young man, whose promise had been unfathomable, throw away everything to attain an ideal that would not make a difference to his domestic life. You cannot change a woman’s heart once it has decided upon you. “If you go to Shimotsuke, you will return as nothing more than a masterless warrior. You will no longer be called Minister and will no longer be my son.”
The Minister that-was had made his decision. The risk of Shimotsuke was the only way of getting what he wanted. Love from Haruka and a new life, for it was now apparent the old one was in ruins. He nodded to his father, sternly looking upon him as the facilitator of the desperate choice he had just made, and hovered out of the door like a ghost across a promenade.

Mist had descended upon the stables outside of the Imperial palace and visibility was extremely difficult. Hiroshi stood before his brown horse, squinting into the grey, looking for any sign of the man who had sent word for him to ready a mare and supplies for a journey east.
Takumi burst from the mist like a bullet on the back of a black, silver mane stallion, pulling up to the inch of where Hiroshi stood holding the reins of his animal. Hiroshi took one look at the seriousness on his friend’s face and leapt onto the back of his steed, thrusting his arm in self appreciation of his movement. “So, my overly dramatic, melancholy munchkin... Where to?” Hiroshi spoke with a lack of confidence, hoping his attempt at light humour did not offend.
The ex-communicated Fujiwara Lord stared dead ahead at the thick, dangerous mist before speaking in a dull, monotone but authoritative voice. “East... To Shimotsuke.”

CHAPTER SEVEN:
THE BATTLE OF SHIMOTSUKE

It had been a long and difficult trek for the two friends; they had navigated a variety of terrain and rested their mounts on many occasions. Arguments had ensued before being rectified over warm rice wine in a variety of different taverns and the two had shared many a joke. Now, however, they stood before a province in fear. Masakado’s legion camped along the perimeter of his base and everyone else at their mercy.
Takumi had listened to his kinsman, Fujiwara no Hidesato, speak of the cruelty felt under this regime. Hidesato was constable of Shimotsuke and was deeply ashamed of his defeat; the resigned nature of his posture, hunched and loose was a clear indicator of this crippling emotion. The former minister listened intently to Hidesato’s descriptions of the thieving and rape that were tearing his province apart. Behind Hidesato stood further prominent figures in this provincial uprising, Taira no Sadamori, Masakado’s cousin and governor of Hitachi and Minamoto no Tsunemoto, the vice-governor of Musashi. Both men, while respected nobles, were granted leave as the ancestry demanded to become great military leaders in their own right. In fact, the defence of the country did not begin in the capital, so removed from nationwide events as the nobles were, it began out here in the rice fields and farmlands of the peasants that most nobles looked down their noses at.
“We cannot allow this to go further.” Takumi spoke with authority despite no longer having a station in the heirachy. “We here today represent the three greatest families in the Imperial realm and all of us, bar the two Minamoto have a very real threat to our honour in the shape of kinsmen who have been at the centre of this rebellion.” Takumi took a drink of water before continuing and absent mindedly brushed his plain, battle robes clear of imaginary crumbs. “Hidesato put forth an excellent strategy, tonight; a small squad will be picked to quietly infiltrate Masakado’s camp. The aim will be to kill one or more of the ringleaders, preferably Masakado himself. When we are discovered and the alert is raised, Sadamori and Tsunemoto, it is your men who will stampede the camp on horseback, hopefully catching them in disarray from our covert operation. If Masakado is dead, you should roll them over with little trouble. If he is not, the survivors of our infiltrators should be able to strike from within.”
“There are reinforcements due from Masakado’s allies tomorrow. We have been told the army will be five to one in their favour with twenty-five thousand troops against our five thousand. Those are odds we cannot hope to overcome.” Hidesato said, trying to scupper his own plan.
Hiroshi now took a step forward, entering the conversation with a cheery smile. “My Lord, then it is obvious that we must take on the ten thousand strong forces down there now before the new arrivals waltz on up the road from Musashi.” Hidesato nodded in reverence to the lower ranked Minamoto and Hiroshi took another step back to let the more fluent talker, Takumi, continue his briefing.
“Hidesato, I want you to choose five of your very best men, but none must be famous faces here. We will kill enough guards to steal their colours and masquerade as revolutionaries until we can gain access to the leaders. This party shall be fronted by you, kinsman, Hiroshi and myself.”
Sadamori piped up, his squeaky but horse voice hurting the ears of the listeners. He was incensed by the risk being taken. “Only eight! What folly! How can you possibly hope to slay Masakado with so small a force? I wouldn’t mind betting that even with sleep dust still nestling in the corner of his eye, my cousin could destroy all eight in a heartbeat.”
Takumi stood up besides Hiroshi and gestured for Hidesato to join them. “Your concern is noted, My Lord.” Takumi stuttered as he spoke the honorific, it was difficult for him to take the sub servant speech of a peasant given until a week or so before, he had been above this Governor of Hitachi in the Imperial rankings. “And I would be foolish to think your estimation of your cousin’s skills was tinged by family pride for I too have heard of Masakado’s supernatural ability on the battlefield. However, it is a risk we must take and I am as confident in the abilities of my Minamoto companion as you are of our adversary.” Hiroshi, deciding it would be funny, pulled the goofiest expression on his face he could possibly think of. The smile that emanated from his face had a deranged look, but in the manner of a very simple country bumpkin.
Once Takumi had said his goodbyes and urged the Sadamori and Tsunemoto to ready their garrisons for by daybreak, he, Hiroshi and Hidesato left the compound and Hidesato bounced off to find his five “faceless” warriors leaving Takumi and Hiroshi alone. “Was it really necessary to put further doubt in Sadamori’s mind with that ridiculous smirk?” Takumi chastised his friend. Hiroshi could not find words for reply and he crumpled up, clutching his midriff and laughing so riotously he may have awoken every single man in the encampment this night.

It was three a.m and the night was at its blackest. Clouds had formed, reducing all light from the moon and stars and allowing the eight, black garbed men fast passage between their encampment and the enemy’s. Hiroshi, as the most experienced, took the lead, all but his eyes obscured by black linen but beneath the cloth his laughter lines were replaced with frown lines, his mind fully focused on the task at hand as opposed to the frivolity of earlier. Takumi and Hidesato moved swiftly behind the Minamoto making up a small lead triangle and the faceless members of the constable’s security force made up a large triangle behind them.
They approached the guard post on the Western side, manned by six men. Takumi caressed the Wakizashi he had concealed within his tight garments and felt ill at ease with the decision to carry only small blades. The plan was for one hit kills as a sword battle would arouse suspicion but the former minister felt painfully exposed wielding the weapon he had the least confidence in.
Hiroshi stopped dead a few yards from where the night watch sat and talked while watching along their line of sight for any enemy movement. He signalled to the others that he would be going on his own to scout and went on his way. They waited for some twenty minutes before he returned. Takumi had begun to worry and the sight of the black figure running across an open stretch of grassland brought some relief, but not for very long. “This is the lowest populated guard post. I was hoping for only two or three. We have to penetrate here.” Hiroshi whispered with a grimace. Takumi’s reaction was to rub his forehead, trying to massage away the tightness in the muscle. He knew now that they would only have two men available to move through the camp. Hidesato and his men would have to wait behind and pretend to be the guards until the next change of watch. “How long till the change of guard?” Hiroshi whispered.
“I can’t make out the time with the moon and stars behind the clouds. We will have to wait, we need as much time as possible and the next change should see it through till dawn.” Takumi spoke in hushed tones. So they waited and continued to wait for far longer than Takumi had anticipated. Now he was beginning to worry that the reinforcements would arrive before Sadamori and Tsunemoto mounted their charge. Just as he was about to change plans, six new guards came and changed around. Once the tired set of guards had walked far enough away, Hiroshi began to co-ordinate the attack.
The logistics of entering were simple. The fort in which Masakado was holding out had openings at the North, South, East and West sides. Otherwise, impossible to scale, twenty foot stone walls prevented any large scale attack and bottle necked the charge of opposing forces, making them easy to dispatch. The fort was low and characterized mostly by the walls. There were small flat buildings within those stone perimeters but it was mostly flattened land populated by tents holding the soldiers charged with its defence. Such a system meant that in killing one set of guards without being seen and replacing them would allow entry for a few soldiers, but any large number would easily be discovered.
The attack itself was over with before it began. Sneaking along the walls designed to protect, the interlopers were able to get close enough to the guards to mount a quick attack and were also able to peer into the compound and ascertain who was watching. There were very few patrols that Takumi could see as he peered around the wall and the sheer number of tents carpeted across the soil meant that viewing between the four posts was obscured. They would still have to do it all in a single moment, just in case some insomniac decided to take a walk here at the east guard post. Takumi needn’t have worried as the eight men snuck silently behind the guards, edging ever closer until, in unison, they dashed the final pace and planted a blade into the skull of a guard. Then, quickly, they dragged the dead bodies around to the sides of the wall, stripped them and changed into the removed clothing.
Hidesato and his men took their positions at the guard post; backs to the main hub of sleeping soldiers so as not to tempt fate that some knew exactly who was on this watch. Being the two men not assuming the identity of guards, Hiroshi and Takumi had to find their own change of clothes and did so in a tent close by, killing three soldiers and taking two sets of clothing from the corpses. Now they were ready and they moved freely about the camp, although making sure they looked at no man in the eye.
Speaking to Tsunemoto earlier, Takumi had garnered that Masakado had taken the central building in the fort as his own but discerning where the central building was would be difficult. There were four evenly spaced, grey stoned buildings all within what one could call the centre of the compound. The two of them decided to separate and enter two buildings each simultaneously to lessen the chance of being discovered before they had completed their task. The first building Takumi entered was empty other than a multitude of swords. Satisfying his curiosity, he went into the second building. Again, there was nothing, but closer inspection revealed that it was indeed quarters that had been lived in. He began to panic a little for they had no idea where to look were Masakado to be elsewhere and it would become almost impossible to avoid detection if they started looking in every building and tent among the hundreds within the fort. It was then that he noticed the gorgeous golden and purple linen across the mat on the floor. It was crumpled and had been thrust aside with quick abandon. Takumi inched closer to it and touched beneath, it was still warm. In fact, Takumi would have said that the sheets were hot. He frantically looked around the room, trying to find some indication of where the inhabitant could have fled but there was nothing. Recognizing there was little to be gained from a closer search inside; after all, it was not a mouse he was looking for, Takumi ran back through the doorway.
This, he realised was a terrible, terrible error. The buildings were very short; probably no more than six feet in total height and the stone had a quality to it that made it useful as a tool for sharpening swords. That familiar sound, the scraping of metal across flint, awoke a sense in Takumi he felt all too often. The former minister was secreting a cold sweat for he was feeling deep and intangible fear. Turning around, Takumi could see, stood on the edge of the building’s ceiling, a figure he best remembered inside a clay coloured battle suit, stood before his father in the Imperial Court but one he also recollected wearing plain white linens and bringing beverages to him as he studied when both had been boys. Masakado stood, his tanned, angled face, looking down at Takumi with pity and the hunger of a predator. The Taira warlord was dressed only in hakama, his naked torso as strong as Takumi’s own but there was passion in Masakado’s stance where Takumi felt only duty. He wondered to himself, fatefully if such a figure would have appealed to his wife and saw, for the first time, the folly of his obsession.
The two did not speak, but only looked at one another; eyes locked communicating everything that needed to be said. They were adversaries and one of them was not going to make it out of this situation alive. Masakado jumped, descending upon Takumi from the high ground with unnatural speed and power. The situation reminded Takumi of the time in the grove, before they rescued Mamoru from his pursuers, when Hiroshi had bested him from a similar position. There was the distinct hint of a similar technique as Takumi felt a gust of wind as his opponent shifted in mid air but completely out of sight in a haze of rapidity.
Masakado’s blade flew through the air, but Takumi, seeking to throw himself wholly into repelling the attack, had learned his lesson in the grove well and took his wakizashi in hand, blocking, but not parrying his more skilled opponent’s slash. He was feeling good about himself, because he felt that he could do this; he just had to hold off the madman before Hiroshi heard the ruckus and arrived. Then he felt nothing but agony. Masakado had removed his wakizashi from its resting place around his hip, snugly fit in the waist of his hakama and as soon as his katana slash was blocked, brought the wakizashi across the back of Takumi’s neck, severing the Fujiwara’s spine.
Takumi dropped to the floor, completely paralysed from the neck down and unable to move. To make matters worse, Masakado had held the stroke firm as he turned into Takumi and had succeeded in severing an artery and that now pulsated blood from it in a thick red jet. And here is where Masakado made his own fateful error, for he stood above his conquered opponent to get a look at the dying man but now with his back to the arriving danger.
Hiroshi moved too quickly and with no sound, Masakado had no human sense of his new adversary’s arrival and so it was that he died suddenly, with no idea of who had orchestrated his demise. Hiroshi had jumped onto the roof having heard the sound of a sword scrapping across flint as Masakado had prepared his attack on Takumi. He then ran across but was not fast enough to save his friend. He saw Takumi fall, but stayed his emotion for a final split second as he leapt from the spot Masakado had and plunged his knife-like wakizashi into the warlord’s heart.
Hiroshi, now a wave of sorrow, held his dying friend’s head in his arms, allowing the blood to saturate his stolen clothes. The battle horns of the Taira and Minamoto sounded loud and clear as he did so, as if in monument to his friend, but actually in necessity as the dawn was breaking and Sadamori and Tsunemoto had seen the coming reinforcements over the hills in the distance. Suddenly the peaceful encampment was a flurry of activity as men scuttled to their feet, arming themselves and preparing to go to war. They ran around Hiroshi and Takumi paying them no heed as they lie and sit on the floor at the feet of the lifeless Masakado.
This all seemed to be in slow motion for Takumi, he watched, with no energy as men took forever in running around him and yet he felt fast leaving the mortal coil and in complete shock at his sudden paralysis. He now saw what his father had feared. He had never really been a warrior; it had been like a hobby, an engagement of no serious tone. He had become a soldier like a child takes up martial arts. One day it may save him from a bind, but it was nothing more than recreation, even when he saw it as otherwise. This had been his second real battle and now he looked at Hiroshi, he realised why his friend was better suited. He had experience and had lived this way all his life. There in lies the passion Takumi saw in Masakado. It was all Hiroshi had ever done, had ever been good at.
You cannot fabricate such a thing, Takumi thought. Just as you can’t make a woman love you if she has chosen not to. And finally, he understood. “Hiroshi.” He spoke weakly and gurgled as the bloodflow went down his throat. “Please, take care of my family.” Then, Fujiwara no Takumi, thinking only of his catalogue of mistakes and bullish pride, gave way to silent death amongst the noise of battle.

Even when Masakado’s head was displayed in the capital, Hiroshi could not bring himself to feel as though victory in Shimotsuke was worth the life sacrificed for it. His feeling of pointlessness would have been further compounded, had he lived, when less than two centuries later Hitomi’s great-great-great grandson, and the last blood-memory of her father, was killed defending the capital as Taira no Kiyamori succeeded where Masakado had failed and Japan entered a millennium of isolation and martial law.

Thanks for reading,
- Jay.

AmeCon 2006 Writing Contest - 2nd Place

2007-02-02T21:05:22Z

Hi all,

Here is the 2nd place entry.

KIBOU NO AI MONOGATARI
BY STEPHEN FRENCH

CHAPTER ONE:
TAKUMI AND HARUKA

The afternoon in the Imperial city was golden in every sense. The sun shimmered across the slate that rested on top of the estates of Nijo, the second street and closest in proximity to the elaborate Imperial palace. There had been rain in the early afternoon that had moistened the stone carriageways between residences giving a curious reflective quality to them in the light. There was also a spray mist one would associate with the coastline that had the miraculous ability to refresh the weary were they to inhale deeply.
Outside the two story residence of the Minister of the Left, Sugawara no Tokio, a servant borne carriage arrived. It would be unfavourable to compare the carriage to the spherical style of classic western design because the Fujiwara carriage that pulled up to His Grace’s Nijo mansion was square in its geometry but much more than that in its artistry. The red hue was most prominent, an expensive dye to use and indicative of the owner’s high status. This was coupled with a traditional green variant and carefully placed gold effigies to various Gods and great scenes of history’s past. The openings in the body of the carriage were covered with shimmering silk, as opposed to the more common paper screens and as the carriage pulled up, one of these silk coverings was pushed slightly to one side and a pair of curious eyes came to rest in the open hole.
In unison, the male servants all wearing standardized black kimonos, lowered the carriage within a few feet of the door to the estate. One servant broke away from the others and marched with great discipline to the front gate where he was met by a young serving girl in white. “I announce the arrival of His Eminence, Sessho of the Imperial Court; Fujiwara no Tadahira and His Lordship, Minister of the Fourth Rank; Fujiwara no Takumi!” The servant spoke with strength and authority, much of which was exaggerated for the pretty serving girl in front of him. For her part, she offered a curt bow to the lead servant and disappeared into the building, announcing in turn the arrival of the Fujiwara gentlemen.
With announcements over, the silk that was carefully moved earlier was brushed aside completely. A single wooden geta sandal, the raised sandal known for its loud clack across the wooden floorboards of homes throughout the country, and the foot of its occupant stepped down gracefully from the opening making a wet, muted clack followed by a beautifully rich red coloured hakama billowing in the soft wind as the pleats so carefully woven caught the rogue gusts and dispersed them around the wearer’s legs. Full exposure was not far off as the red kimono with oversized sleeves that covered the torso of the wearer appeared simultaneously with the face and red eboshi of Fujiwara no Takumi. Takumi’s beauty was not remarkable. He was not what one would say, a fair comparison to his contemporary; The Shining Prince but nor was he like much of the court nobles in their distinct mediocrity of appearance. He was a powerful man, unusually tall and well postured giving him an air of authority those who chose to slump lacked. His face was serious and focused. His eyes were likewise small and strained and he possessed a strong, dramatically angled nose that refused to be too far away from the rest of his face. His investment in red dye immediately singled him out as a man of great wealth and dignity and it was precisely the effect he was looking to garner from his expenditure.
Around the other side, a man of smaller stature took a far less graceful approach to disembarking. Fujiwara no Tadahira was a man of fifty years, some thirty years senior to Takumi, whose likeness of face was unmistakable for the two were father and son. Having stumbled out of the carriage, the natural busy-body, Tadahira was quick to wipe down his Kimono and check his eboshi was in place by using the reflection cast by the small puddle before him.
Takumi strode around the carriage to his father’s side and let the quietest of sighs sound as he viewed his father’s frantic preparations for audience. Tadahira remained ignorant of the sound but looked up at his son soon enough. “This is an extremely important event, Takumi. Sugawara is delighted that his daughter should be the first wife of such a bright and promising minister. I don’t share his exuberant praise for your promise but I hope I do not need to stress how this union will deflect a large number of our detractors.” Tadahira barely paused for breath during his speech.
“Your detractors, Father, not mine.” Takumi added with an unmistakable sneer etched across his otherwise serene face.
The serving girl hurriedly returned, bowing sweetly, but without dignity before the two visitors and then speaking quietly to the Lead Servant. She curtly bowed before him before shuffling back inside the mansion. The Lead Servant turned to his masters. “Your Eminence, Your Lordship; Sugawara no Tokio and his daughter await your arrival with hope and respect. You may enter at your discretion.” Tadahira ground his teeth before pacing into the mansion with some speed. Takumi held back for a moment, taking a deep breath and betraying the mask of indifference he had erected. He was fearful of this encounter. His life had been dedicated to court, much to his father’s disdain, and he had no time for the frivolities that were expected of him as the minor son of a great lord. He had dedicated his life to the servitude of the realm in desperation to prove himself and this would be his first foray into women in twenty years of life. He knew nothing but success in his career, achieving a fine rank at such a young age and hearing whispers throughout the court of his suitability to eventually become Kampaku; a rank granting power equal to that of the Emperor and a rank his father had failed to achieve. His inexperience in matters of the heart worried him, he did not know what he would be faced with and being unable to see variations of the future left him unsure of his ability to succeed. Shaking the self doubt from his face, Takumi moved forwards, gliding with effortlessness through the open gates.

Takumi kneeled rigidly on a decorated pillow before the white drapes that separated him from his fiancée. His meeting with her father had gone well and lasted little more than an hour. Now Tokio and Tadahira were drinking Sake in the garden, talking about old times and exaggerating their desire to be linked through family. A cold sweat had taken over Takumi and he had not said a word nor exchanged papyrus paper with his bride to be. Poetry had been difficult for him as he had abandoned literature against his father’s wishes far back in his youth. He lacked finery in his expression and had little to no use of inter-textual echoes because he simply had not read a great deal of popular or classical poetry for many years. With an embarrassed lowering of the head, he removed a piece of paper from inside his kimono. He slowly read it over several times, hoping there was nothing within it that could embarrass him before slowly slipping it beneath the drapes. His arm was trembling as he ushered it through and he was greatly relieved for the drape protecting his vulnerability where other more frivolous men of the court would find challenge in trying to remove the anonymity.
Surrounded by ladies in waiting on the other side of the drapes was an unusually small but utterly captivating fifteen year old girl. Her confusion was etched upon her face mixed with a degree of fear. Her eyes, exceptionally large and round, lacking the strong fox-like slant of her fiancée and several of the ladies surrounding her, were wide and barely blinking. She trembled slightly beneath the oversized kimono which spread out from her like a wedding cake. She was not ready for this; her slender features gave her feelings away. Sugawara no Haruka’s button nose itched with nervous tension, her jaw shook as she bit her teeth together and her hairless brow darkened as if it had never been shaved, the muscles casting a shadow where once hair had been. The light was low with the afternoon sun lowering steadily all the time, but a pink glow remained, cast through the open shutters and illuminating the area where Haruka kneeled, like the sight of the outside of one’s fingers when held up to the light. The note was passed along between the Ladies before stopping in front of Haruka, who nervously and with a hint of saddened regret, unfolded the paper revealing a bold, but messy hand.
My heart is empty
Waiting for one such as you
Come fill it with joy

Haruka blinked, strongly before throwing her excessively long black hair behind her shoulders with a flick of her head. The poem was crude, but sweet and she felt a strong sense of guilt that she felt no passion for this man’s correspondence. He had revealed himself to be a bore and she was privately devastated but sought to hide her disappointment from the ladies around her. She called for the instruments she needed to reply and they were placed in front of her. Were he merely a suitor she would have let one of her ladies reply but this man was to be her husband, with a heavy heart she inked her reply in her own hand.
The note was passed under the drape and almost immediately snatched from the hand that had delivered it. Takumi had been waiting in silence, trying to retain his composure but unable to avoid unwanted fidgeting and excessive sweating. He had never known nerves like this in all his years and he had confronted what many consider to be far more daunting situations. The idea struck him that he should hint upon this exchange being the personal equivalent of his ancestor’s move from Nara to Kyoto but for now he settled upon greedily unfolding the papyrus paper and reading its contents.
You expect much, Love
The confusion of my heart*
Knows no emotion
I will love thee as husband
And hope much adventure comes

Takumi was not so naïve as to mistake her meaning within the Uta she had composed. He recognized the skill as far superior to his own and was struck cruelly by her dismissal of him from the single poem he had composed. He struggled to suppress the rage that quelled within his breast and at the rejection and audacity but found solace in the appreciation of the brave and fiery nature she must possess to have addressed him so. Even so, his pride had taken a knock that had dislodged a dam as tears broke free of his defence. They came forth in deadly silence, threatening to submerge his notion of strength, once again giving him cause to hold the drapes that separated him from Haruka in the highest of regard. It took him a few minutes to regain his composure and take more paper, quill and ink to form his reply. He did so with care, precision and with the constant overtone of melancholy. He was crushed and his worldview would fast need re-evaluation. He read the simple haiku he had written back to himself.

Admirable needs
I will prove my worth to you
Fun shall reign at home

Takumi knew this was barely a poem. Shifting it beneath the drape he knew it was more of a promise and that Haruka would not be impressed. Stoically he rose and stormed out from the room, his hakama billowing behind him violently and with crimson intensity.

*Refers to a passage in the first Uta of ‘The Tales of Ise’ referring to coming of age
CHAPTER TWO:
STOLEN HEART

The thumping sound of tiny feet hurrying across the treated boards sounded from the modest residence of Fujiwara no Takumi. The minister’s precocious daughter, Hitomi had heard the arrival of her father’s carriage and run from her mother’s side to welcome her father. The three year old could barely contain her glee as she stumbled on her oversized Kimono, one dyed in the finest red that her father loved so much. Hitomi jumped into her father’s stomach as he shuffled through the door, causing him to gasp in surprise. Takumi had, as always, entered the house dishevelled and preoccupied. The past four years had eroded not only the domineering physical presence of the man, but his strength of conviction too. His face, although never beautiful was now gaunt, lined and black rings surrounded his sleepless eyes. The sight and touch of his daughter had now pierced the black cloud that fogged him, creating just enough space for a smile to escape bursting from his face like a sunbeam through thick gloom. Takumi picked Hitomi up by the waist and clutched her tightly to his chest, snuggling her small head into his shoulder.
He looked around the corridor before him. Where the exterior was modest and not unlike other minister’s homes, inside was sumptuous. The night had rendered much of the hall dark, but open slides spilled amber light from lamps into the darkness, casting menacing shadows across the beautiful tapestries Takumi had commissioned for his marital home. Again the theme was red, although many of the tapestries’ colour in the minimal amber light was that of blood. Some were dully lit in their entirety, others half shadowed, like a crescent moon. Takumi placed his tiny daughter back to the ground, kneeling to bring him down to her eye level. “Go to your wet nurse, Hitomi. I need to spend some time with your mother.” Hitomi’s face scrunched up at the brow, her lip curling in mild annoyance and Takumi could not help but broadly smile. “I will come to you before you sleep and read a story. I promise.” The little girl’s shoulder length hair swirled as she nodded vigorously with a cheeky smile. Satisfied, she kissed her father on the cheek before turning and running back the way she came, cutting into the first door on her right. A few seconds passed before she popped her head back out, laughing mischievously at an oversight of hers. She waved at her father and closed the slide to the room.
The sound of a so no koto arose through the murky atmosphere and a mistake in the tune caused gleeful laughter from the room Hitomi had entered. Satisfied his daughter was being cared for appropriately, Takumi rose from his haunches and shuffled his way down the corridor and up the steps to the second level, whose two rooms were first, a small one that came before the balcony where Takumi often went to look out at the night in fits of melancholy and second, the large bedroom he shared with his wife. Inside the room Haruka knelt before their expertly carved, dragon themed, table and poured tea, accompanied by her ladies in waiting. Takumi entered the room and all turned to him, offering a small bow of the head in reverence, including his wife. This upset Takumi greatly as he had always wanted Haruka to be his partner in everything, to talk to him and offer advice. Deferring to him like this meant she had no desire to share in his career and that was something he felt further compounded the servitude she believed the marriage to be, greatly distancing herself from the love that he had craved they would share. With a fierce glance, Takumi dismissed the ladies from the room, waiting impatiently as they scurried out of the door behind him and made no eye contact thereafter. Aggressively, Takumi padded towards the table, kneeling down besides his wife, their hakama touching. The tension was unbearable for both, Takumi always felt unwelcome around his wife and she feared his anger which had surfaced many times in their brief marriage, especially in instances like these when Takumi was feeling particularly insecure in his position as her husband. Haruka poured the tea from a gold rimmed China pot with painted green images of rice paddies adorning the sides and into a matching cup in front of Takumi. “How was court, husband?” She asked shyly.
“I did not attend today.” Takumi curtly replied, bringing the tea to his lips, revelling in the pain inflicted by the heat that occupied his mind for a few seconds before it returned to the painful business of his marriage.
There was a rapping at the front doorway. Takumi turned his neck towards the noise with speed and instinct, pausing to decipher what it was. He was just about to write it off as a gust of wind when the rapping returned with a little more force. There was definitely someone at the door and Takumi could only imagine what it could be. His father or one of the senior nobles coming to admonish his lack of appearance at court on this and several other occasions would have been announced to the household as was custom. In fact, the idea of any resident of the Imperial City not being announced at the door of a minister was as alien to Takumi as the world beyond Cathay. He gave his wife a stern look, in essence telling her to wait where she was as he thumped his way out of the room and back down to the front door.
Tentatively, Takumi placed his hands on an outcrop in the slide. He noticed his arms were shaking, not uncontrollably nor with any particular visibility to others but the idea came to him that his wife must see him as a common coward. Today was not a good day for Takumi’s thoughts and the single mindedness of his preoccupation was beginning to wear thin, even on him. He shook away the negative feelings in his head and stood tall, before drawing the slide back with one short, sharp pull. The sight that stood before him and how it was dressed would be one that would stay with him forever.
Standing in the doorway, covered in thick, slimy manure and wearing common, linen hunting garments with no hint of artificial colouring, was the very poor excuse of a Lord, Minamoto no Hiroshi and on his face, the biggest grin Takumi had ever seen. “Well, good day to you, Lord Fujiwara!” Hiroshi exclaimed with a bright chirpiness one would associate with the criminally insane. “Are you not going to embrace an old friend?” He added with mischievous glee.
Takumi smirked. “I would stutter to call a walking pile of faeces an ‘old friend’.” Both men burst into fits of laughter and for a time, Takumi forgot the troubles of his life in favour of reminiscing a more innocent time, embodied perfectly within the string bean like frame of the man who stood before him.
Hiroshi had been staying at Takumi’s residence for three days and for three days Takumi had been a far happier man. Entertaining his guest had taken the bulk of his attention and he was less prone to the bouts of depression that had plagued him for the past four years. Takumi, Hiroshi and Hitomi knelt around a dinner table in the main living area of the house and spread before them, a mighty feast of epic proportions. That was all just as well, for Hiroshi’s appetite challenged a horse’s and the crudity of his table manners accentuated the analogy. For all this, the finery he wore was in stark contrast. His attire was almost identical to that of Takumi and yet he had forgone expensive red dye for green, a colour more commonly associated with his family, the Minamoto than any other. He did, however, insist upon wearing his eboshi slightly off centre, exposing some of his scalp, an act noted by Hitomi who was prone to fits of giggles at the sight. During one of these fits, she sought to speak. “So you slept with the pigs?”
Hiroshi smiled at the girl, with whom he had become fast friends and nodded, trying to keep his mouthful of food from spilling out as he chewed with gusto. At the first chance he got, he gulped down the half chewed chunk of boar and answered her. “I had no choice; your grandfather was petrified a man of my reputation would spoil Suzaku’s new house staff so I was locked in the pen.”
“But aren’t you supposed to protect Suzaku...” She began to reference Hiroshi’s new position as a Guardian of the Imperial palace but was immediately shot with a vicious stare from her father and she shrunk back within herself, knowing she had overstepped the mark.
“Daughter, I don’t care how this riff-raff speaks, but you are not to address His Majesty by any other term, least of all his name without honorific!” Takumi bellowed.
Hiroshi protruded his lower lip in a mock sulk as he turned to Takumi. “Riff-raff...?” His hurt tones trailed off as yet another broad grin, this one more brilliant than the moon, erupted from his formerly sullen features. “Your father is right Hitomi. You are fortunate to be allowed the run of the house and the level of insolence you are forgiven... You will make a difficult wife, but a fun one no doubt!” He turned back to face Takumi. “You wanted a boy didn’t you old friend?”
The two friends burst once again into thunderous laughter, a laughter that caused the ground to shake and several items of food and drink to bounce off of the table and onto the floor. Servants were quick to action in cleaning it up and this served to humour the two men even more. Hitomi, however, was not so impressed. The comment had not been lost on her bright intellect and she sat, arms folded with her pretty face screwed up in disgust. This was a sight so frighteningly funny that when Hiroshi turned into it, he almost passed out in glee.
Once finished, all three retired to bed, seeking gluttonous rest. Takumi removed his kimono with delicate care, folding it neatly before laying it in a small pile with his hakama and tatami shoes. Naked, he slipped in next to Haruka and his jovial mood descended into the sexual and the quantity of wine in his veins dulled any thoughts that may have upset him regarding his wife’s unwillingness to face him as he made love to her. However, it could not dull the clarity with which he saw in climax as his sight ran along his wife’s outstretched arm, holding the drape open a fraction with an unmistakably clear sight across the hall into the small room by the balcony that Hiroshi had taken as guest quarters. Takumi could see Haruka’s wide and awake eyes staring at the naked torso of his great friend as he swung a practice sword with great finery and ferocity wearing travelling hakama. Rage poured over Takumi, but he held firm, turning to look up at the ceiling for what seemed like forever and long after Hiroshi’s exercise had ceased. Leaning over to check that Haruka’s traitorous mind was deep in sleep, Takumi stole from the bed and crouched, moving like a spider across the floor to the dresser that she guarded so privately. Routing through the drawers, he came across several pieces of elaborate, scented papyrus, the newest of which read words that pierced Takumi’s fragile heart, words written in Hiroshi’s distinctive hand.
The insect and dove
Different without measure
May lie together
Only if the turtle dies
And the insect imprisoned

She had contacted Hiroshi and he had rejected her, referring to himself as an insect, but she still desired him, he who did not love her, over the husband to whom she occupied every waking thought. The notion chilled Takumi to his core and he sat, head in his hands, sobbing profusely.

CHAPTER THREE:
THE WAY OF THE WARRIOR

The next morning was a wet one. The damp in the air on top of his sleepless night had stiffened Takumi’s bones to the point where he wished not to rise at all. Eventually he rolled out of bed, moving groggily to the open window and sliding on an informal morning gown of pure white with black trimmings. He looked out at the torrential rain ramming into the ground to the side of his Sanjo estate, the avenue behind Nijo where Sugawara no Tokio resided as Minister of the Left. Takumi could feel a Typhoon coming; high winds and unfathomable rain with the strength of battering rams had already characterized its arrival and the thought was oddly comforting to Takumi. The environment obviously sympathized with his predicament as it sought to imitate his inner turmoil.
He looked over his shoulder with a longing glance. Haruka laid quite still, whispers of breath emitting from her small, perfectly formed lips and her chest gently rising mere millimetres with each tiny breath. She was a beauty, it had to be said and although she continually frustrated him, Takumi could not help but objectify the shell in which she resided, further compounding his unhappiness.
Movement in the balcony room drew Takumi’s attention and he looked up to see Hiroshi carefully lowering an elaborate bamboo chest plate, made of tens of cylindrical shoots laid horizontal, over his head with quiet reverence. Takumi edged closer, coming to the doorway of his own room and observed the martial attention that held Hiroshi tightly as he finalized his elaborate appearance by placing his Wakizashi, a small, dagger like blade whose ornamental black and gold handle had no brethren to Takumi’s mind, and his Katana, a traditional long sword with an identical hilt pattern to the smaller side sword’s, beneath the belt that held his practical green kimono into place. The combination of Kimono and armour added a Golden shimmer to the dress that gave Hiroshi an extremely regal look so far removed from his appearance before Takumi four days ago that one had to blink repeatedly to see the same man. Hiroshi spat in the face of impractical tradition on such a regular basis that one became accustomed to it at the cost of the knowledge that in practical tradition, Hiroshi shone like no other.
In a moment of bizarre catharsis, Takumi could readily see the fascination with which his wife must have felt observing this contradictory stranger. The rebellious nature inside her that was quelled when she entered into marriage with a court noble, the most rigid and respectful of traditionalists, would have been reawakened by such a warrior who embodied adventure and a new future, even to Takumi’s eye. He was struck suddenly by doubt for now, after untold years of working to rise in court and show his father that he was the brightest and most capable of his offspring in the ‘family business’, Takumi was beginning to question that career path. He wished now that he had spent his youth chasing young women and learning to defend the realm as his father had originally wished of him so he could become the exciting, fragrant man his wife had always hoped for. He was also aware of the cruelty of the fact that he would never have been allowed to marry the first daughter of the Minister of the Left were it not for his hard work in attaining the rank and influence he possessed at the time. It struck him now that his situation was set in such a way that he could be both. He could be worthy of his wife and bask in her admiration. All it would take was a little help from the man who stood before him in Imperial regalia.
Hiroshi said his goodbyes that morning to the household, with Haruka the only notable absence. He had made himself a popular figure amongst the staff and a great friend to Hitomi, who couldn’t stop crying when Hiroshi revealed that he was moving to the palace. Gathering his modest possessions into a plain linen sack, he flung it effortlessly over his shoulder, pulled the front slide aside and walked slowly out into the rain, savouring the feeling of the fresh water hitting his skin with force to raise goose bumps. Before he could get too far, a delicate hand touched him on the shoulder and he turned to face whoever it was. To his horror it was Takumi, dressed in his finest clothes now having them drenched in the downpour. Hiroshi could read the pain on his friend’s face and realised that Takumi had uncovered the notes he had scrawled to Haruka and feared that his friend had interpreted his intentions wrongly.
“Hiroshi,” Takumi spluttered with sadness, “I know that Haruka confessed feelings for you.” Hearing this, Hiroshi found his perky smile absent and his jovial face taking on a seriousness that amplified the angles. Takumi slumped into his friend’s chest, gripping hard at the exposed part of the kimono, losing all will to retain composure. Hiroshi was petrified someone of importance would see them standing in Sanjo like this and seek to tarnish Takumi’s reputation. Takumi, for his part, tried to regain some composure, the rain hiding from view the tears that were streaming from his eyes by engulfing them within a steady stream. “I love her so much, Hiroshi. She won’t, she won’t return any affection and yet she looks on you with such lust it drives me insane! Please, help me. Help me change to make her happy. Please. Make me a warrior.”
Feeling as though some irreversible shift had occurred in their relationship, Hiroshi struggle to find words that could transcend how upset he was by this turn of events. To see a Fujiwara, not least a Fujiwara he had known for unparalleled composure in all the years they had been friends, descend into such desperation was a terrible abomination and a mixture of confused feelings passed through his mind. Firstly disgust for the insecurity Takumi had let consume him, but secondly admiration for his strength of conviction. Feeling he needed to readdress the balance and through complete selflessness, Hiroshi kneeled before his superior as he spoke his answer. “My Lord and greatest friend you honour me with your request but I will not allow you to compromise yourself. For a Fujiwara of the court to become a master of violence is unprecedented. Those of your family who gave into those emotions in times past were exiled, sent to far off provinces, a disgrace upon the family name. After all you have worked, do you wish such a thing to unravel everything?”
“Everything is already unravelled, Hiroshi. Where have I gone in the past four years? I am lucky to remain in my seat. I must win my wife over. There is nothing beyond that.” Takumi’s dangerous obsession was now clear for Hiroshi to see. He had been outraged by Haruka’s advances towards him but soon came to understand the young woman, for she had been a kindred spirit. She was locked in a loveless marriage and honourable enough to see it through as had many before her. This would be enough for any normal man of the time, but Hiroshi knew his friend’s obsession with success and how it would command him. He knew he had to help light a spark between the two or Takumi would self destruct. He forced a smile and although brilliant, would be hard pressed to convince anyone that it was genuine.
“I will do what I can to aid Your Lordship.” Hiroshi paused, his fake grin broadening into one far more believable. “The artisan’s† path would have been far easier.” And with this, the two men laughed deeply, but mostly to hide the terrible thing that had passed between them and throughout their humour they looked ominously to the heavens and at the giant black clouds of the typhoon.

Takumi was thrust to the ground by Hiroshi’s clever footwork and the forward motion of his wakazashi hilt. The embarrassed look on the Minister’s face was painful to watch and unbecoming of a man of his status. He was, in essence being re-schooled and that came with the sense of embarrassment associated with failure. Hiroshi was unsure the Minister’s pride would allow for this to happen too long. He hoped Takumi would pick up the basics quickly but at the moment His Lordship was struggling in keeping balance and safe distance. Hiroshi offered his arm, which, foul tempered though he was at that moment, Takumi took and dragged himself up with.
“Wide stance, Takumi! When advancing at this level, keep it wide for better footing.” Hiroshi instructed. Takumi’s face, though red and flustered showed determination and deep focus, with this, Hiroshi was pleased but this alone was not enough. He stepped back and bowed before Takumi again.
The sight of this lesson was unique in many ways, not least because it saw the usually extravagant Takumi dressed down in brown linen. A simple plain kimono and separated travelling hakama, more readily identifiable as modern day trousers than modern skirt like formal ones. Both were soft and spacious, allowing for better movement. To say Takumi looked uncomfortable would be an understatement and he would anxiously look around every few seconds to make sure no one was watching him. It was during one of these self-inflicted diversions that Hiroshi quickly edged forwards, catching Takumi off guard and sliding his practice sword down the shaft of Takumi’s using the movement to lurch to one side and send it spinning from the Minister’s grasp. Hiroshi followed though by grabbing the outstretched lead arm of Takumi and twisting it into submission, before planting an elbow deep into his friend’s chest, sending him crashing to the ground yet again.
“Concentrate! Damn it Takumi! You can’t fight if you’re worried someone is going to see you in informal dress! I will tell you one thing, if you try fighting in those ridiculous kimonos you wear in court you are going to die very quickly! Again.” Hiroshi was stern, far more so than he thought he would be as a teacher. He had notions of retiring to Hitachi and spending his time instructing young villagers with an easy going outlook and stress free attitude that would see him live a long life. Sometimes, he mused, you even surprise yourself.
The two stood again, Takumi watching his mentor with a hawk like eye, observing every movement, every nuance of muscle. He brushed himself down half heartedly with his off hand, never removing the point of his wooden practice sword from its intended destination; Hiroshi’s head. Hiroshi, for his part, stood limber and relaxed, the earlier thought at the forefront of his mind. Takumi, all concentration now on Hiroshi, gripped his wooden sword tightly. The instructor, sensing it was time, sought to lunge past the stoic stance of his pupil, using the lack of movement as another lesson to learn. Only Takumi did not remain stoic and with the flexibility of water, spun his shoulder and wrist in a certain way that flicked his wooden sword out, batting away the thrusting blade Hiroshi was wielding and sending the Minamoto forwards and off balance. Side stepping, Takumi casually patted Hiroshi on the backside with the flat of his practice sword. Hiroshi’s amazement was communicated with a wide eyed and open mouthed stare.
“Playing dumb,” the warrior could not suppress a grin, “is a tactic I was not expecting you to be ready for until at least the spring.

†The name Takumi is Japanese for Artisan.
CHAPTER FOUR:
THE HITACHI ASSASSINS

The last two years had been anything but easy for Takumi and his pursuit of martial skill. The effort of finding places in which to train and be instructed was draining, both emotionally and physically. Wherever they went they had to be careful not to be seen and Hiroshi had finally convinced the proud minister that they must travel out of the city as peasants, wearing the simplest of garments and riding the most modest of steeds. At first Takumi had found joy in the rebellious nature of his new pursuit and the areas that he had discovered that were isolated and far from human touch. Today he and Hiroshi sparred eagerly amongst the green and yellow beauty of a large grove that was hidden deep within a forest North West of Heian-Kyo††. Off to one side of the grove was a felled tree, the only sign of human existence in this microcosm of paradise and running almost down the centre was a clear, freshwater river with a strong current. Takumi stood in this cool and invigorating liquid, the current swirling around his shins, pushing in many different spots, trying to shift him into imbalance. The water had soaked through the plain linen hakama he wore, right up to the bottom of the knee and Takumi paid it no mind. His concentration was firmly directed at the bank in front of him, where an identically clothed Hiroshi stood before him, his hair unmoving in the windless grove, his wooden practice sword, the Bo-Ken, held forward in preparation for an attack.
When it came, the attack was swift, fierce and almost overpowering. Takumi could feel the air displacement in detail, so forceful was the strength of Hiroshi’s movement, but still, Takumi felt equal too it, carefully widening his stance in the water, making sure that his centre of gravity was in a position to absorb the impact. Takumi braced himself, but the faintest gust of wind that blew softly across his tanned forehead, catching a lock of hair on the temple and tickling the top of his ear with it, revealed to him that he had lost this exchange. The premonition was correct as the finest split of a second later held for him a dull ache and the collapse of his trailing leg, taking him off balance and forcing him to groan to one side, teetering for a moment before being felled like the tree in the grove had been and landing with an almighty crash that soaked the bank of the river behind him. Hiroshi had guided his Bo-Ken to the back of Takumi’s knee having performed an impossibly fast feint from an already advantageous position on the high ground and with that, the contest was over.
Takumi smashed his fist into the water as he lethargically raised himself onto his knees, the water having now darkened his plain travelling garments in their entirety. Water dripped from his chin in slow, annoying droplets and he looked at Hiroshi, now back on the bank in front of him with a dark malice in his eyes. “There are still some issues with your defence in disadvantageous positions. Your focus should not be on countering the opponent’s strike; it should be about blocking all attacks and moving back to an equal footing.” Hiroshi spoke with the commanding tone of an instructor rather than the jovial speech of a friend.
The young minister nodded, refusing to make eye contact with Hiroshi. He looked out over the grove taking in its beauty before closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. He imagined sitting here with Haruka, sharing a joke and eating a picnic with Hitomi running around the field catching butterflies whose wings changed from one vibrant colour to another. He imagined bandits intruding on the happy scene, stealthily emerging from the trees like gangrene spreading from a wound and of his heroic action in speedily dispatching them with his Katana before they could pose any threat to his family.
Back in reality he sighed deeply. He had never felt so far from this scene as he did now amongst this placid beauty. His melancholy was interrupted by a hand grasping his shoulder. Hiroshi turned him around to face him. “I think that’s enough for today, my friend. Don’t think too much about it. Learning means making mistakes. You can’t get everything first time.” Hiroshi spoke, lending Takumi his support but knowing full well it would not soothe the impatient and deeply ambitious minister.
Their walk through the forest and back to reality was a contemplative one. Neither man spoke to the other, Hiroshi taking in all energy of movement that surrounded him. There were small animals being chased by larger ones, birds flapping from tree to tree with less grace than one would include in the poetry they wrote about the scene and deer basking in sun beams that pierced the thick canopy above them. Such life invigorated Hiroshi, played on his sense of wonder and fulfilled his desire to be part of a greater system. Takumi, on the other hand, walked sullenly, his eyes set firmly upon the moist and fertile soil beneath him. He was not looking at the nuances in colour or the roots of plants that nestled, suggestively, under the surface but instead looking at what was not there, reviewing his bitter defeat regardless of the excuses behind it and continuing to obsess over his cold and distant wife.
Breaking through the forest came after much walking, but was a relief to both men as the evening sun beat down on them from the West. As he had seen the deer doing within the forest, Hiroshi raised his head to bask in the warm, golden glow of the retreating light. Takumi, for his part, tried to penetrate the gloom in his mind by doing the same as his friend, but his eyes were open and it was he who saw the cloud of dust coming ever closer to their position. The horses they had tethered to the trees reared high in fear as the cloud sped forth. Having come closer, Takumi could make out a Lordly carriage, not of the refinery of his own, but one well suited to a provincial noble. Worryingly he could also see seven black garbed horsemen behind the carriage, pursuing with rallying calls and katana’s held aloft. Takumi knew there was going to be trouble and his sour mood helped calm any excitement he may have felt. Almost instinctively he felt his hand upon the hilt of his blade. “Hiroshi, we have something that needs to be taken care of before we go home.” Takumi spoke with little emotion.
The carriage tumbled past them and they had a split second to make a move on the rampaging marauders. Takumi leapt through the air with silent, aerodynamic grace, unsheathing his katana and slicing at the first horseback rider, severing the reins and taking the tips of a couple of fingers. The rider soon lost control and was bucked from the horse, landing with a nasty crack that indicated to Takumi that something had been broken. Looking at the man rolling around, clutching his side, Takumi wryly snorted an affirmation that it was the assailant’s hip.
Hiroshi’s opening strike was, in comparison to his student’s, wondrous. He had jumped as though gravity was nothing to him, taking a handful of clothing in his left hand’s grip as he passed over the first rider, yanking the man from his mount. Before landing, he brought his already unsheathed sword down in a simple slash, cutting the next rider in line’s thigh deeply, rendering him all but useless.
The two men now stood several metres from each other and stood firm in front of the second line of four riders that were about to run them down. Hiroshi pulled his wakazashi from his belt, unsheathed it and with a smart, efficient flick of the wrist, threw it at the rider furthest left of their position. It lodged in the side of the man’s neck and instinctively, he leaned to his left hand side, causing his horse to follow the same direction and unintentionally collide with the animal next to it, sending its rider over the top of its neck and trampling him beneath its hooves.
Takumi waited longer to make his final strike and there was no room for error for if one broke free, he and Hiroshi could not catch up with their own mounts, still tethered to the trees on the border of the forest. He took a deep breath, trying to focus, to feel the air being dispersed throughout his body and take oxygen to all his muscles, strengthening them. In the moment that the heads of the two horses passed his back, Takumi hopped, spinning as he did so from one foot into their air, turning three times with his sword held out, his arm and the weapon powering forwards like the forearm volley of a powerful tennis player. He removed the head of the marauder to his right with the first strike and severed the spinal column of the marauder to his left as he completed his third revolution. The speed and power of his movement had made him appear to be a human tornado but the continued circular motion after the assault sought only to bring him to the ground with soft grace. He bent his knees as he landed, trying to look calm and unfazed, but struggling with his inner joy and excitement over the execution of this phenomenal movement.
Hiroshi looked at the young minister for a moment as Takumi raised from his half crouch with his eyes closed. He couldn’t help but produce a broad grin looking on at the minister because he was impressed with Takumi’s assault but most importantly for Hiroshi, he knew how worked up Takumi would be inside over what he had done and could see through the serene presentation the closed eyes were supposed to be indicating. Lightening the tone, Hiroshi danced up to Takumi with zero grace, humming a barely recognizable tune as he did so, looking vaguely like an Orang-utan. When the minister opened his eyes and saw this most ridiculous of sights, he nearly choked trying to suppress the riotous laugh that would have been considered undisciplined were any court nobles to appear from the carriage.
As they stood, surveying their handiwork, the provincial carriage came to a stop and out jumped a portly man in fine green robes, marking him out clearly as a Minamoto. About halfway through his bumpy gallop, the portly Minamoto stopped running and began to walk and again before he reached the two warriors he reduced his speed to a crawl. Before he got too close, Takumi covered his face with a shawl from one of the dead marauders. He could not allow this Minamoto to see a Fujiwara minister engaging in such blood sports.
Once he was stood before them, panting a wheezing, with his over fed stomach shuddering from the exertion a look of curious recognition formed across Hiroshi’s face. “Mamoru?” He questioned, looking at the fat man with some distaste, and perhaps influenced by the wafting stench the Lord had failed to conceal.
Mamoru took even longer to recognize the kin that stood before him in unflattering linen robes. He made a quick glance towards the companion, seeing the face concealed immediately signalled to his primitive way of thinking that this was a leper warrior, one easily thrown into battle and not too sorely missed. Glancing back at Hiroshi it suddenly clicked with him and his eyes lit up like a greedy little piggy. “Hiroshi! Cousin!” He exclaimed, engulfing the younger, fitter man in a sticky embrace. Hiroshi pushed him away as soon as politeness allowed.
“Well, Stinks, what was all that about?” Hiroshi asked.
Mamoru looked offended by the old nickname, but thinking about what had happened spooked him even further and he tentatively spoke on the subject with an unnecessary quietness. “I come to inform the Emperor of treachery. Those were the minions of Taira no Masakado.

††Heian-Kyo was the period name for the city of Kyoto, then the nation’s capital

Thanks,
- Jay