The Storm-Tossed Cassia
by Kakita Kaori
Kakita Nishoko stood on the engawa of her home, the raised porch of the cozy home that her husband, Kashiwa, and she shared. The cassias, for which the village had been named, were in bloom, their nodding crowns of golden showers defiant of emperors and armies and the passage of centuries. A thin line of clouds touched the Eastern horizon, the wet winds from the ocean rising as they greeted the weathered peaks around Kyuden Kakita. The air kami would bring a storm soon. She could sense them, dimly, ready to unleash their power in a frenzied display.
Her fist tightened. I would join you if I could! The blood of Isawa flowed deeply in her veins, even though she, herself, lacked the talent for more than sensing the kami that whispered around her. If she were like others of her family, she could reach out to that churning sky and call upon the power of Osano Wo. She’d fly to the gates of Kyuden Kakita and in a voice like thunder make the Lion quail before her. She would demand they give him back.
She had no such power.
The gate to her garden opened, and an armored bushi entered. At first she stiffened, but her shoulders relaxed when she saw it was the familiar form of Doji Ienobu, the village yoriki.
“My Lady.” Ienobu bowed, one hand steadying his blades.
Nishoko gracefully returned the bow . “What news from Kyuden Kakita?” she asked as quickly could be considered polite.
Ienobu offered a tired smile. “The Lion have reinforced a palisade overlooking the gates to the palace. Our armies will move soon. Beyond that…” he held out his hand. It was a plain scroll on white paper. “Daidoji-dono has called you to service as the Lady of Golden Petal Village.”
Nishoko accepted, turning the scroll, marked with the seal of the Daidoji family, over in her hand. “Of course. Let me tell the nursemaid for the twins, and make sure they are still sleeping. Then I will return with you.
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The Iron Warriors at the door pulled the tentflap aside. Within, in a sun-streaked dimness as the afternoon light slipped through the holes in the canvas, a great banner cloth hung on the tent wall, painted with the mon of the Daidojji. Two unlit sconces stood, waiting for evening, and between them, a plain wooden camp chair, upon which sat a man clad in full armor, though his distinctive mempo of blank steel had not been closed into place.
Knowing her place, Nishiko knelt on the tatami before the chair. “My name Kakita Nishiko, wife of Kakita Kashiwa, Sonchou of Golden Petal Village. You summoned me, Daidoji Uji-dono?”
The daimyo of the Daidoji family nodded. “Yes. I understand your husband was captured by the Lion the day Kyuden Kakita was taken?”
Nishoko lifted her head. “Yes, Daidoji-dono. That is our belief. He was traveling alone to Kyuden Kakita that morning before the attack. His body was not found, his swords were not turned over. He was an instructor at the Kakita Academy, but he never reached Tsuma or the Academy that day. We believe he must have been captured on the road, and surrendered himself to protect the students of the Academy or to gather intelligence.”
Uji gave a non-committal grunt. “With luck, then, Matsu Tsuko holds him with Lady Barahime and the other hostages. It would be good to have a Kenshinzen with her, until we liberate Kyuden Kakita.”
“Yes, Daidoji-dono.”
“Until that day, I mean to use Golden Petal Village as an infirmary for our wounded and a mortuary for our dead. I have ordered the headmen of all the neighboring villages to send burakumin and healers villages there. I look to you to handle the logistics of housing them and clearing homes for the injured. Is your rice in?”
“Not fully, Daidoji-dono. Though we have been bundling the rice straw since the harvest began, and the woodcutters worked all summer. There will be wood enough for burning even if my farmers continue their harvesting.” Nishoko did not add that it had been fears of a harsh winter that had driven their summer woodcutting. The touch of frost or funeral pyres. Either way, it would be a grim winter.
The tent brightened as the tent flap was pulled aside. One of the guards stuck his head in and said, “Daidoji-dono….Word has come. Doji Kuwanan-sama has awakened from his injuries, and is well enough to speak with you.”
“That boy,” Uji muttered as he got to his feet. Nishoko could hear the frustration and resignation in his voice. The general gestured at her. “Very well. I must go. You may leave, Kakita-san. Speak with my quartermasters if anything else is required.”
Nishoko pressed her forehead to the tatami mat again to hide her face. “Of course. Thank you, Daidoji-dono.”
Daidoji Uji politely waited until she had begun to rise before sweeping past her to leave the tent.
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The golden light of Ameterasu sparkled like diamonds off the trees and tiles of Golden Petal Village, but Kakita Nishoko could not appreciate their beauty. Fatigue such as she had not known since the days following the birth of her twin children weighed upon her shoulders and would cause her head to nod if she allowed it.
Even without the battle, could she have slept well the night before anyway? It had been a fierce storm, riven with the bolts of Osano-Wo’s wrath and the roar of thunder. Were my babies frightened? But the fiercest storm offered little to fear when you lay with your children tucked safely into the futon with you, and your husband’s arms warm about you. Last night offered no such comforts.
But her duty was not yet done.
“Carry her over to Shimashi’s house,“ she called, raising her voice to carry across the village square. The litter-bearers nodded, carrying the softly-groaning woman into one of the larger homes. Each house had been commandeered for the wounded. The dead and the heimin would sleep in the hastily constructed tents for now. “Lion or Crane, Itou?”
The burakumin turned to look at her, using his body to shield her from the corpse that he and Ubano bore, bundled in a black cloak. “Lion, Nishoko-sama. From the palisade.”
Nishoko nodded and marked a tabulation down on the scroll in her hand. “Prepare him and place him with the others, but do not take any further steps. The Brotherhood will arrive on the morrow, and I have asked that a born-Lion monk of the Brotherhood to supervise the funerary rights and return of the bodies of the dead. The Lion must be assured their fallen are treated with proper respect.”
And I am trusting, if Kashiwa has fallen, they would do the same for us. Has that trust been earned, though? They attacked us without honor. What hope have we that they would treat our dead with more honor than they treat the living?
She closed her eyes and prayed again to the Fortunes to bring her husband back to her safely.
A jingling of harness and tack caused her to open them before she would drift off further. She lifted her eyes to see a brown horse, ridden by tall, handsome young man, wearing battered but finely crafted silver armor. Behind him, a small unit of Daidoji Warrors marched in stoic silence, a furoshiki bundle over their shoulders marking the beginning of their journey. She bowed as the young man approached on his horse.
“Rise, Kakita-san,” the young man said.
Nishoko straightened and looked up at him. His hair was shorter now than it had been when she saw him last. He must have cut it. Then, he had been weary from the road and consulting with her husband on his journey to Otosan Uchi, but now a grave burden pulled down his shoulders, even as his eyes scanned the horizon to pick out a path of some distant purpose.
“You are wise to show such reverence to the dead. I myself will be returning Matsu Kaitokuro’s daishō and death poem, so do not fear if it is not found.”
Nishoko inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Yes, Lord Kuwanan. Will you then be returning?” Kuwanan had led a victory at the Palisade, even if the battle at the gates of Kyuden Kakita had been lost. She would cling to any hope that she could that her husband would be returned to her alive.
Kuwanan looked down on her with pity. “I do not expect to. From there, I march to the Osari Plains. Keep faith with Daidoji Uji, and be strong. Spring comes after winter.”
A tug of the rein and a kick of his heels, and the horse trotted away, leaving Nishoko watching as he and his men disappeared past the copse of golden trees that marked the cassia grove in autumn.
You say this before even winter begins, Kuwanan-sama. How long, then, until spring?
Will my husband live to see the cassia bloom again?
Kakita Nishoko stood on the engawa of her home, the raised porch of the cozy home that her husband, Kashiwa, and she shared. The cassias, for which the village had been named, were in bloom, their nodding crowns of golden showers defiant of emperors and armies and the passage of centuries. A thin line of clouds touched the Eastern horizon, the wet winds from the ocean rising as they greeted the weathered peaks around Kyuden Kakita. The air kami would bring a storm soon. She could sense them, dimly, ready to unleash their power in a frenzied display.
Her fist tightened. I would join you if I could! The blood of Isawa flowed deeply in her veins, even though she, herself, lacked the talent for more than sensing the kami that whispered around her. If she were like others of her family, she could reach out to that churning sky and call upon the power of Osano Wo. She’d fly to the gates of Kyuden Kakita and in a voice like thunder make the Lion quail before her. She would demand they give him back.
She had no such power.
The gate to her garden opened, and an armored bushi entered. At first she stiffened, but her shoulders relaxed when she saw it was the familiar form of Doji Ienobu, the village yoriki.
“My Lady.” Ienobu bowed, one hand steadying his blades.
Nishoko gracefully returned the bow . “What news from Kyuden Kakita?” she asked as quickly could be considered polite.
Ienobu offered a tired smile. “The Lion have reinforced a palisade overlooking the gates to the palace. Our armies will move soon. Beyond that…” he held out his hand. It was a plain scroll on white paper. “Daidoji-dono has called you to service as the Lady of Golden Petal Village.”
Nishoko accepted, turning the scroll, marked with the seal of the Daidoji family, over in her hand. “Of course. Let me tell the nursemaid for the twins, and make sure they are still sleeping. Then I will return with you.
-----------------------------------
The Iron Warriors at the door pulled the tentflap aside. Within, in a sun-streaked dimness as the afternoon light slipped through the holes in the canvas, a great banner cloth hung on the tent wall, painted with the mon of the Daidojji. Two unlit sconces stood, waiting for evening, and between them, a plain wooden camp chair, upon which sat a man clad in full armor, though his distinctive mempo of blank steel had not been closed into place.
Knowing her place, Nishiko knelt on the tatami before the chair. “My name Kakita Nishiko, wife of Kakita Kashiwa, Sonchou of Golden Petal Village. You summoned me, Daidoji Uji-dono?”
The daimyo of the Daidoji family nodded. “Yes. I understand your husband was captured by the Lion the day Kyuden Kakita was taken?”
Nishoko lifted her head. “Yes, Daidoji-dono. That is our belief. He was traveling alone to Kyuden Kakita that morning before the attack. His body was not found, his swords were not turned over. He was an instructor at the Kakita Academy, but he never reached Tsuma or the Academy that day. We believe he must have been captured on the road, and surrendered himself to protect the students of the Academy or to gather intelligence.”
Uji gave a non-committal grunt. “With luck, then, Matsu Tsuko holds him with Lady Barahime and the other hostages. It would be good to have a Kenshinzen with her, until we liberate Kyuden Kakita.”
“Yes, Daidoji-dono.”
“Until that day, I mean to use Golden Petal Village as an infirmary for our wounded and a mortuary for our dead. I have ordered the headmen of all the neighboring villages to send burakumin and healers villages there. I look to you to handle the logistics of housing them and clearing homes for the injured. Is your rice in?”
“Not fully, Daidoji-dono. Though we have been bundling the rice straw since the harvest began, and the woodcutters worked all summer. There will be wood enough for burning even if my farmers continue their harvesting.” Nishoko did not add that it had been fears of a harsh winter that had driven their summer woodcutting. The touch of frost or funeral pyres. Either way, it would be a grim winter.
The tent brightened as the tent flap was pulled aside. One of the guards stuck his head in and said, “Daidoji-dono….Word has come. Doji Kuwanan-sama has awakened from his injuries, and is well enough to speak with you.”
“That boy,” Uji muttered as he got to his feet. Nishoko could hear the frustration and resignation in his voice. The general gestured at her. “Very well. I must go. You may leave, Kakita-san. Speak with my quartermasters if anything else is required.”
Nishoko pressed her forehead to the tatami mat again to hide her face. “Of course. Thank you, Daidoji-dono.”
Daidoji Uji politely waited until she had begun to rise before sweeping past her to leave the tent.
-----------------------------------
The golden light of Ameterasu sparkled like diamonds off the trees and tiles of Golden Petal Village, but Kakita Nishoko could not appreciate their beauty. Fatigue such as she had not known since the days following the birth of her twin children weighed upon her shoulders and would cause her head to nod if she allowed it.
Even without the battle, could she have slept well the night before anyway? It had been a fierce storm, riven with the bolts of Osano-Wo’s wrath and the roar of thunder. Were my babies frightened? But the fiercest storm offered little to fear when you lay with your children tucked safely into the futon with you, and your husband’s arms warm about you. Last night offered no such comforts.
But her duty was not yet done.
“Carry her over to Shimashi’s house,“ she called, raising her voice to carry across the village square. The litter-bearers nodded, carrying the softly-groaning woman into one of the larger homes. Each house had been commandeered for the wounded. The dead and the heimin would sleep in the hastily constructed tents for now. “Lion or Crane, Itou?”
The burakumin turned to look at her, using his body to shield her from the corpse that he and Ubano bore, bundled in a black cloak. “Lion, Nishoko-sama. From the palisade.”
Nishoko nodded and marked a tabulation down on the scroll in her hand. “Prepare him and place him with the others, but do not take any further steps. The Brotherhood will arrive on the morrow, and I have asked that a born-Lion monk of the Brotherhood to supervise the funerary rights and return of the bodies of the dead. The Lion must be assured their fallen are treated with proper respect.”
And I am trusting, if Kashiwa has fallen, they would do the same for us. Has that trust been earned, though? They attacked us without honor. What hope have we that they would treat our dead with more honor than they treat the living?
She closed her eyes and prayed again to the Fortunes to bring her husband back to her safely.
A jingling of harness and tack caused her to open them before she would drift off further. She lifted her eyes to see a brown horse, ridden by tall, handsome young man, wearing battered but finely crafted silver armor. Behind him, a small unit of Daidoji Warrors marched in stoic silence, a furoshiki bundle over their shoulders marking the beginning of their journey. She bowed as the young man approached on his horse.
“Rise, Kakita-san,” the young man said.
Nishoko straightened and looked up at him. His hair was shorter now than it had been when she saw him last. He must have cut it. Then, he had been weary from the road and consulting with her husband on his journey to Otosan Uchi, but now a grave burden pulled down his shoulders, even as his eyes scanned the horizon to pick out a path of some distant purpose.
“You are wise to show such reverence to the dead. I myself will be returning Matsu Kaitokuro’s daishō and death poem, so do not fear if it is not found.”
Nishoko inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Yes, Lord Kuwanan. Will you then be returning?” Kuwanan had led a victory at the Palisade, even if the battle at the gates of Kyuden Kakita had been lost. She would cling to any hope that she could that her husband would be returned to her alive.
Kuwanan looked down on her with pity. “I do not expect to. From there, I march to the Osari Plains. Keep faith with Daidoji Uji, and be strong. Spring comes after winter.”
A tug of the rein and a kick of his heels, and the horse trotted away, leaving Nishoko watching as he and his men disappeared past the copse of golden trees that marked the cassia grove in autumn.
You say this before even winter begins, Kuwanan-sama. How long, then, until spring?
Will my husband live to see the cassia bloom again?
