《Petals In The Wind》


 Prologue

    From its tip to stern, the Ry¨±jin aircraft carrier was five-hundred meters long. The pride of the Shogun¡¯s fleet, it was by far the largest ship in Japan¡¯s navy, and certainly one of the slowest. Despite the sheer power pumped out by its quadruple nuclear reactors, the vessel struggled to hit its maximum speed, a mere twenty knots.


    Speed was not what it was made for, though, so it was hardly a concern. This was a projection of power, constructed solely to beat the British Empire in an arms race to see who could lay down the most advanced and most well-equipped carrier in the world. As naval power became less useful to modern political displays, the carrier had become the ¡®trophy wife¡¯ of Empires.


    The Portuguese had one, the King John IX, named after a recently deceased ruler. Smaller than the Ry¨±jin, and even its Norse-Japanese co-developed little brother, Itsuse, a carrier of a mere four-hundred and seventy meters long.


    The only true rival to the Ry¨±jin in the world was its chief foe, the Edinburgh, which clocked in at a four-hundred and eighty-two meters. It was, on the world scale, a dick-measuring contest of colossal proportions. One that had consumed billions of Yen, and untold billions of Pounds on the other side of the world. The Shogun had made it clear when the Edinburgh was first sighted by Japanese intelligence groups that Japan would have the largest carrier on the planet, and the greatest minds of the Shogunate had come together to see it to reality.


    It was a sight to behold as well ¨C A crew of nearly ten-thousand men and women, capable of arming, repairing and launching up to three-hundred fixed wing aircraft and forty helicopters. The sights and sounds of it in function were like nuclear clockwork. The roar of its engines as it set off across the water, accompanied by its battlegroup of nearly ninety support vessels and protective battleships. The steady whir of its massive defensive guns rotating to track some distant target. The heat of flame from VTOL thrusters taking off and landing across the deck.


    Ry¨±jin was the pride of not only the Shogunate, but the entire Oda Family, as well as the Minamoto and Dojima that contributed to its construction. A symbol of power and strength.


    This made it all the more shocking to the ruling class when it was utterly obliterated.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Not in combat of course, for it would¡¯ve been an honorable and perhaps even joyous thing if the great ship went down with guns blazing and crew roaring. Instead, it was the world itself that swallowed it up. Retribution for a twenty-year mistake, two decades of ignoring a problem in the north and hoping it would go away.


    A salient antimatter storm from Ezochi, the northernmost territory of ¡®mainland¡¯ Japan, which for twenty years had been ravaged by Unravelling Storms in the fallout of the Ikeda Incident, a fusion reactor critical failure. The island was swept with such storms, which would devour mountains and turn them into swamps, or reconstitute lowlands into twisted spires of strange matter.


    These storms were entirely confined to Ezochi in the twenty years since the Ikeda Incident, and all assumed that is how it would remain. Until, of course, a ¡®Rogue Unravelling¡¯ peeled across the water as the Ry¨±jin was making its way toward Furumi, the new world across the eastern sea.


    It would¡¯ve been better for the human mind if there was some sort of violent explosion. If there was recognition of the sheer loss that occurred all at once. There was mayhem to be sure, as red lightning danced in the sky and harsh rains carrying antimatter radiation fell across the fleet. Where once the Ry¨±jin floated however, instead there was rapidly only ice. The storm swept through it, simply cleaving out nearly two-hundred meters of its length from the center, splaying the ship in half and Ravelling what was once steel and flesh into spirals of crystalline ice, that fell into the ocean below with grand yet unceremonious splashes.


    Twelve more ships were lost in the same salient, though none were such devastating losses as the Ry¨±jin, which was nearly irreplaceable. When the Shogun was alerted of the vessel¡¯s loss and the death toll attached ¨C nearly nine-thousand souls across the thirteen affected vessels ¨C he was said to have broken years of composure to scream at the messenger in rage.


    Yet there was no enemy to direct this rage against. No war that could be fought in retaliation for it. Ezochi had long been abandoned by the Magistrate, and while Samurai still governed there, in its sole megacity and tributary villages, it was a largely wild and impossibly untame land. There was no battle to be had to avenge the Ry¨±jin, and this more than anything broke the Shogun¡¯s heart.


    The official cause of death for Oda Tanetaka, Shogun of the Grand Shogunate of Japan, was a preventable form of lung cancer. One he had concealed to avoid treatment and pity. Due to the way he died however, clutching at his chest, a common rumor now spreads that with no heirs to his name and no clear legacy of who shall inherit the Chrysanthemum Throne, Tanetaka saw Ry¨±jin as his only son. When that son was lost, his heart shattered so irreplecably that he could will himself to live no longer.


    Ry¨±jin is gone. The world rebels. The Shogun is dead. Chaos begins.

 Part 1

    While none could argue that Edo¡¯s Imperial gardens were the finest in all of Japan, it could be said that the runner up for that title was in Hamada. Hamada had a difficult history to contend with, as it had always been loyal to the Shogunate in governance, but not so much in populous.


    Just sixty years ago, the ¡®Hamada Uprising¡¯ had split apart the province, and great armies of Ashigaru had descended upon the land to put it down. Despite the timespan, those wounds were still fresh in the minds of the children and grandchildren of peasants that now toiled in the fields beyond the great castle¡¯s walls.


    Hamada hosted a castle in its namesake, from which the Oda Family ruled. Hamada had previously belonged to Fukama Family of the Matsudaira Clan, but their failings in the Uprising led the Shogun of the time to reconsider their rule of the realm.


    Thus it was Oda that ruled Hamada, far from the Shogun¡¯s eyes in Edo. Lord Oda Tomokore held domain over the whole of the Iwami Province as daimyo, ruling from Hamada Castle directly. His brother, Mototeru, controlled the local garrisons and expeditionary Ashigaru, and his uncle, Tadamoro, was the Chief Magistrate of the province.


    And finally, Lord Oda¡¯s wife, Oda Koromi, tended to Hamada¡¯s spectacular gardens.


    Koromi had never aspired to be a Lord¡¯s submissive wife, nor a gardener besides. Raised in Satsuma, where the Shogun¡¯s greatest warriors were trained, Koromi had aspired since childhood to be a great warrior like her mother, Dojima Moku.


    Dojima was powerful, one of the nation¡¯s ¡°Great Ten¡±, but even they had need of alliances, and the death of Dojima Ienori some ten years ago had left a critical lynchpin in western mainland politics absent. A new alliance with the Oda of Iwami was needed, and thus Koromi was ¡®gifted¡¯ to Tomokore to restore the pact.


    Their marriage was not entirely loveless, but they certainly both knew it for what it was: Political. Tomokore admired Koromi¡¯s fighting spirit, and lamented occasionally that she could not find more time to visit the barracks. Likewise, Koromi appreciated Tomokore both for his understanding of her, and his gentler style of rule compared to most Oda Lords.


    Yet their marriage had, in the three years they¡¯d been together, born no heirs. Attempts had been made, doctors had been summoned to provide fertility aids, but no real progress had been made on actually achieving a pregnancy. Koromi didn¡¯t mind ¨C She wasn¡¯t excited to have her position in life further reduced by focusing on childrearing. But Tomokore was aging, turning forty-two as of the latest year of their marriage, and desperately wanted a son.


    Thus, Tomokore spent more time in the Geisha dens than he did their bedchambers though, and more often than not Koromi would choose to rest in a private room near the gardens she spent most of her days tending to. A normal wife ought to have been scared that her husband would find a suitable Geisha and take a concubine, but Koromi honestly hoped he did.


    It would be scandalous, but it would be relieving to her, as she would then be spared the pains and duties of motherhood. She was half Tomokore¡¯s age, and envisioned for herself a grand life of adventure, visions of which she glimpsed in the liquid surface¡¯s reflection in her watering pot. The tactile sensation of running her palm across rough leather gloves, which she imagined might one day be the hide of a great riding horse. The smooth sound of her garden shears closing shut were in her mind much like the metallic draw of a katana slipping its sheathe.


    Koromi lost herself in these fantasies so often that she could spend hours in them while tending to her gardens, fast traveling through time. Gardening had never been an aspiration of hers, but she¡¯d found some peace in it. Maintaining one so vast and complex as Hamada¡¯s was a job that consumed the lives of nearly thirty people, and while Koromi was technically in charge of them all, she delegated their tasks to trusted servants beneath her for the most part.


    Koromi was primarily interested in plantlife: Flowing maple trees, floating lotus flowers atop beds of lily pads, neatly tended azaleas and carefully grown plant sculptures.


    Construction and material efforts, such as creating and maintaining bridges over small streams or smoothing rocks and patterning sand, Koromi left to the attendants. Those were tasks that less lended themselves to the idle fantasies she¡¯d grown to seek refuge in, in the fact of her stagnant life.


    She had surrendered herself almost entirely to the monotony of this new life. Until, of course, the news of the Shogun¡¯s death spread to Hamada.


    That day, Koromi had donned a white and blue kimono, with open sides on the legs, the obi around her waist loosened for better mobility. The colors were Dojima¡¯s, which made her stand out from the usual black and red of Oda, but as a political wife she had the privilege of keeping the trappings of her former life. The white also matched her hair, the signature pigment of Dojima, almost all born with pure white hair due to their selective generational breeding and forced beauty standards. Pulled into a broad ponytail, allowed to grow long as her ambitions for warriorhood had waned.


    Koromi was not as traditionally beautiful as some courtier women. She had appealing features for certain, at least by modern societal standards: Smooth, pale skin, soft blue eyes, a high-bridged nose, and a relatively small face altogether. These traits, partially inherited from her family¡¯s selective marriages but mostly from pre-birth genetic modification, made her an ideal marriage candidate without looking as ¡®perfect¡¯ as many Edo noblewomen.


    The marks of her upbringing were what brought down her appearance. For one, most Samurai men expected their wives to be short, polite, quiet and submissive. While Koromi was often quiet, that quietness was often to the point of near-rudeness. She never quite broke the Courtesy tenet of bushid¨­, but she came close rather frequently.


    Further, Koromi was rather tall, and stood at eye level or higher than many men she encountered. Slender, certainly, but not as slender as the magazine covers would demand. Muscle toned her legs and midsection, not quite to the point of being overly visible, but enough to add bulk where most ladies would prefer it not be.


    Koromi¡¯s arms were not organic, another negative to her appeal. As a child they had both been heavily damaged in a fire, and as a teen the damage was deemed sufficient enough to amputate and replace. Shogunate prostheses were true cyberware, electro-mechanical limbs of the modern age, but in this form they were visibly so. Anyone looking at her could see the alloyed plates that made up her format, the smooth connective ports where the prosthetics connected below her shoulders, and getting close allowed one to hear the steady clicking and servo-whirring of her fingers as they flexed and moved.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    During her marriage, she had donned synthetic skin on the arms for the sake of wedding photos and portraits. As the fragile false flesh had steadily worn with time and garden work however, Koromi had abandoned the sleeves, allowing anyone to see that her arms were truly unreal. The blue alloy plating stood out even in her Dojima kimono, and especially whenever she had to wear Oda colors.


    Ordinarily, these traits would not be a problem, as Koromi had always desired to be a Bushi, the Samurai warrior class. She had trained in Satsuma long years in the art of swordsmanship, horse-riding and iai. All to be dashed away, her skills steadily rusting through disuse.


    As Koromi tended to the garden, carefully pulling weeds around a patch of golden chrysanthemums, she heard the approach of sandals on stone tiles behind her. The servants would all be barefoot, so anyone wearing wooden sandals was sure to be someone of importance ¨C or someone who believed they were important.


    Yet Koromi continued her work. She had plausible deniability of not hearing the approach, allowing her to disrespect whoever it was coming up to her from behind until they announced themselves. Awkwardly, she hoped. A small rebellion.


    ¡°Lady Oda.¡± The voice that came was Minamoto Koretsune¡¯s, Koromi¡¯s yojimbo, or bodyguard. He had a crisp, clean voice that carried well on the wind, much to Koromi¡¯s general frustration. As she rose to her feet, turning to meet him, she transitioned smoothly into a small bow, her eyes finding both Koretsune and another man she did not recognize just behind him.


    Koretsune was taller than Koromi by a full foot, an impressive feat, but such was the legendary height of the Minamoto. He wore their signature blue and white, similar to Dojima¡¯s colors but inverted, though in the form of armor. Segmented scaled armor wrappings made of ultra-light metallics, with the signature square shoulder plates bearing the Minamoto clan mon. He lacked the twin swords most Samurai carried, instead keeping a pair of long spears strapped to his back, that jangled as he walked.


    It all took to his broad frame well, and the blue colors went well with his dark hair and soft brown eyes. He was handsome, though he and Koromi did not get along well, generally due to his insistence on her ¡®ladylike¡¯ posture and attitude.


    It was not that Koromi did not respect the position of courtiers, she knew well that it was politicians who greased the wheels and ensured that the Shogunate ran smoothly. Her direct family consisted of many courtiers, and she respected the trade as a part of the world.


    It was that the life of a courtier was not the one she desired for herself. She had lacked the freedom to choose, and that forced action, being made a man¡¯s wife without any choice of her own and forced into the life of a courtier, had made her desire the adventurer¡¯s path all the more.


    Koretsune gestured to the man he¡¯d brought along, a significantly older Samurai in a formal robe, though his daish¨­ ¨C a matched pair of swords, usually a katana and wakizashi ¨C clung to his waist, tied into his sash. The older man¡¯s robes were black, and he had the red mon of Oda on the breast and back of the robe.


    ¡°This is Oda Michisue.¡± Koretsune said, and the old man bowed. Koromi returned the gesture, ¡°A pleasure to welcome you to our home, Lord Oda.¡± She said, going through the motions of greeting with an almost robotic tone. This, she was sure at the time, was just another dignitary or distant cousin come to suck up for favor. The line of them never seemed to end.


    ¡°Lady Oda,¡± Michisue said in reply, ¡°It is an honor to be welcomed into your home. Your gardens here are beautiful, second only to Edo¡¯s, if I may be so bold.¡±


    Koromi wanted to say that he may, for it was an observation everyone made. Gardens second only to Edo¡¯s, and always second. But she bowed her head in an informal bow of thanks nonetheless, ¡°Your words are kind, Lord Oda. What might I do for you this day?¡±


    Koretsune stepped back and to the side as their conversation began in earnest. Koromi could¡¯ve dismissed him then, but she knew better than to let her guard down around strangers, especially armed ones that appeared mostly harmless. That was how many a tale had ended in some warrior¡¯s demise.


    ¡°I should like to speak privately, if that is agreeable.¡± Michisue requested. ¡®Privately¡¯, even if it was meant to just be the two of them, would always allow Koretsune to be present, such was his right as her champion.


    ¡°The gardens have many things, my Lord, but they do not have ears.¡± Koromi said, and gestured to a small bench nearby. She slipped her sandals on from where they¡¯d been resting, and made a token effort to dust sand from her kimono¡¯s knees, before making the short trek over to sit down.


    Michisue said nothing as she acted, though also did not sit. He seemed to accept the meeting place though, glancing about only briefly in search of servants. They knew their places however, and departed when the samurai had arrived.


    ¡°I bring dire news from Edo. I had hoped to inform your husband, but Koretsune tells me he is not present today.¡± Michisue explained.


    Indeed, Oda Tomokore was away, and would be for some days. He was visiting family in Hiroshima, a small vacation after weeks of court intrigue. Why Michisue did not simply call Tomokore was a mystery though, and Koromi surmised instantly the matter must be sensitive indeed if the comms could not be trusted.


    ¡°Lord Oda will not return for several days. I can take a message for him.¡± Koromi offered, her curiosity dawning. Rarely did she get to interact with matters of importance, as all her political time was most often consumed by simple ¡®orders of the day¡¯; Farmers begging for coin, brokers levying taxation, Magistrates complaining and diplomats bootlicking. It all got so boring, the prospect of something dramatic, something of importance, all the way from Edo, had her excited. Many great adventures began with ¡®dire news¡¯ from distant lands.


    Yet Michisue was not so eager to answer, holding up his hand first, then bowing his head as he realized the reflexive gesture was rude to a Lady. ¡°The news I carry is of great importance, but I am but one of many messengers. If it would not inconvenience you, my Lady, I would take your hospitality and wait for him here.¡±


    Michisue had not directly said he couldn¡¯t tell her, but Koromi knew that half of Samurai politicking was learning to listen to what was not said, often more than what was. She bowed her head in turn, and stood, gesturing toward the guest houses. ¡°Lord Minamoto here will see you have one of our finest guest rooms.¡± Koromi said, then paused and asked, ¡°And rooms for your retinue as well.¡±


    It was a probe more than a sincere offer, but Michisue was either onto the plan or glossed over it, as he simply thanked her: ¡°Your hospitality is legendary, Lady Oda. I shall undoubtedly enjoy my time in your care.¡±


    The two exchanged yet another bow, and Michisue was off with Koretsune. Koromi furrowed her brow. Michisue was a man of many years, but she didn¡¯t know what position he held. He was not dressed like a Magistrate, but did not carry himself with the same pompous weight as an Onmy¨­ji. A simple retainer then perhaps, a low-ranking samurai serving as messenger? Regardless, she wasn¡¯t to get any information from him directly. Thus, his retinue would sate her thirst for knowledge.


    This, she hoped, was the start of at least a brief adventure, even if it never left the confines of her estate.

 Part 2

    Hamada Castle sat atop a hill by the coast, and consumed the entirety of that hill. The grand walls contained open air courtyards in which the famous gardens prospered, and the structures set about in interlocking squares were elegantly furnished and painted inside and out.


    While the castle was large, its inhabitants were actually rather few. While it maintained a garrison of some two-hundred Ashigaru, those men and women lived in the lower barracks set into the hillside, nearer to the town proper. The castle hosted merely eight Samurai permanently, as well as thirty permanent servants, and additional quarters for twenty extra servants seasonally.


    Should the castle ever have need to host Winter Court, it could theoretically sustain nearly five-thousand people. All of those rooms sit empty during the rest of the year however, making the place huge and most of all, quiet. Maddeningly so in Koromi¡¯s opinion, compared the crowded forge-halls of Dojima¡¯s home in Satsuma.


    It did however make it relatively easy to locate newcomers. Koromi found herself soon standing on the front step of the estate itself. A courtyard of stone lay ahead of her, the castle¡¯s main gate and outer walls beyond that. In addition to the beautiful designer vehicles the family had year-round, two new ones had arrived with Michisue.


    One, likely that which the Oda himself arrived in, was an exotic sports car of Igashi make. The design was popular in Furumi, across the east sea, using materials provided by the Norse and Chinook. The cars were shipped over the ocean then, and were signs of great wealth, or at least a wealthy benefactor willing to grant them.


    Less beautiful was the large, bulky armored personnel carrier that had parked in one corner of the courtyard. A military vehicle of gray steel, eight huge tires and a gun turret, thankfully angled up toward the sky. Ashigaru in military uniforms milled about, aiding Michisue¡¯s servant retinue in unloading his belongings for his stay. They wore the signature red and black of Oda. Full face-covering helmets with bold crests. Rifles slung over their backs, uchigatanas at their hips.


    Their leader, or at least who Koromi assumed to be their leader, broke off from their ranks when Koromi had stood there for long enough. A Samurai, wearing lighter-weight armor similar to the Ashigaru, likely their unit leader. He had long black hair tied back in a ponytail, and his face was androgynous enough to almost be considered feminine. Attractive, to be sure, but those disarming looks were accompanied by plated armor, a daish¨­ set and an odachi slung to his back.


    When he reached Koromi, who stood a head taller than him, especially standing on the front step as she was, he bowed deeply to her. Koromi stepped down from the wooden rise to face him on equal footing, the clack of her sandals striking the stone an audible alert to the still-bowing man before her. Koromi still had a height advantage, and bowed in turn.


    ¡°Lady Oda,¡± The Samurai said, ¡°I am Sakai Kazukata, Lord Oda Michisue¡¯s yojimbo and unit leader.¡±


    He rose then to stand straight, and added, ¡°My sincerest apologies for bringing such an ugly vehicle into such a gorgeous castle, my Lady. I will have it removed once Lord Oda¡¯s belongings are unloaded.¡±


    ¡°Your consideration is kind.¡± Koromi said, ¡°Lord Oda informed me of the purpose of your visit. Disastrous news.¡± Koromi wasn¡¯t technically lying. She had, after all, been told that Michisue was there to deliver dire news.


    Kazukata furrowed his brow, and then bowed his head for a moment, ¡°It is. Disastrous feels almost like an understatement, my Lady. Did you know him?¡±


    So someone had died. Someone of importance. Oda Tameyasu perhaps, Tomokore¡¯s father. Or the family branch¡¯s head, Naochika. Worse, perhaps, Oda¡¯s Chief Magistrate, Aritomo. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Koromi knew none of them directly. ¡°Only in passing.¡± She said, ¡°He can be replaced, if with great pain.¡±


    Kazukata almost scoffed, and Koromi could tell this is why he was a unit leader and not a courtier. ¡°I cannot see how. With no heirs and no regent.¡±


    Koromi¡¯s heart skipped a beat. Surely he did not mean the Shogun? The man was only fifty, in a society where lives could be extended easily over one-hundred.


    And yet¡­


    ¡°Tanetaka.¡± Koromi said quietly, with less conviction than she¡¯d have liked, for her heart was beating faster and her mind was racing circles, waiting for the confirmation.


    It came with no words, though Koromi watched as Kazuhata¡¯s face shifted between several emotions. Sadness, realization, regret and fear. He¡¯d realized then that Koromi had duped him, and he politely excused himself, ¡°I must return to my duties.¡± Kazuhata said, his voice shaking enough to confirm everything had she not already been sure.


    ¡°As you should.¡± Koromi said, though she¡¯d already looked past him, her eyes peering out past the samurai. Toward the open gate, where one could see only trees through its arch. Their dark green foliage obscuring the view of Hamada proper, and beyond Hamada, far to the east, Edo. If it was not already in chaos, it would be quickly.


    No sooner did Kazuhata turn away did Koromi quietly, politely, slowly make her way back into the estate. Walking calmly until she was out of view of the front courtyard, then breaking into a faster keel as she rushed toward her quarters at the estate¡¯s rear. First in her sandals, then discarding them to unashamedly run as fast as her kimono would allow on bare feet.


    The sound of her padding across wood and tatami creaked each hall she passed through, and struck alarm onto several servants who saw their Lady nearly sprinting.


    When at last she reached her room, sliding the paper door open and then slamming it shut behind her, Koromi swiftly crossed the cramped quarters to a bookshelf. Her personal quarters were far smaller than the master bedroom she was meant to call home, being those of a servant she¡¯d converted, as it was improper for a Lady of the House to be seen practicing the sword in front of visitors.


    The smaller room, which opened into a tiny yet blessedly concealed garden, gave her privacy for swordplay, calligraphy and other hobbies of the evening. It also gave her room to hide things, like the Igashi S-35 cell phone tucked away in a small box behind a cluster of books.


    It was most improper for a Samurai, much less a Lady, to have her own phone in remote towns such as this. In Edo, or Heaven forbid one should visit it, ¨­tori, such personal devices were common, as the megacities were vast and varied. In Hamada however, and towns like it, it was generally accepted that if a Samurai need place a call, it should happen over one of the estate¡¯s central comm lines. That way outbound calls can be catalogued, tracked and sometimes listened in on by the Magistrate. It was for everyone¡¯s own good in theory.


    Koromi had secured the phone from a servant who had purchased it during a trip to Kyoto for wine, two winters past, using coin Koromi had given her for that explicit task. For the most part it languished in its box behind the bookshelf, waiting to be used only in times of need.


    Such as this. Koromi flicked the small switch on the side of the rectangular box, and listened to the silent whir of its internals booting up, the Igashi family symbol appearing on the screen. Only two contacts were registered in the phone: The servant from whom Koromi had gotten it, who now worked for the Oda family in Higo, and Koromi¡¯s sister, Dojima Mako.


    The servant was a valuable source of information, albeit an infrequent and sparse one, on happenings closer to her home in Satsuma. Mako however had, as of one year prior, moved to Edo to seek a marriage partner and practice court at Dojima¡¯s enclave in Edo.


    Koromi selected the contact from the list with shaking fingers, eyes glued to the small LED screen as it processed the request, dialed the number, and rang. And rang¡­ and rang. When at last the device asked that a message be left, Koromi spoke softly, ¡°Call me when you can. As soon as you can.¡± And then clicked the receiver button to end it.


    Mako had easier access to her phone since she lived in Edo, but it was unlikely to be carried with her if she was at court. Thus it could be some time before she got back, if she got back.


    The waiting game had begun, and so far from Edo, the only thing Koromi could do was sit in silence and worry.

 Part 3

    In the honor code of Japan, patience was considered a virtuous thing. That one could sit by a river and wait for fish to spawn in it, or toil while rice grew, or wait out a long winter with little more than the minds to occupy one''s time. Koromi lacked that virtue.


    Hours passed, and she sat in her room, holding the small Igashi cell phone. In the mid afternoon, a servant brought her lunch. Rice and fish, a small sauce and vegetables. She picked at it a bit, but barely ate. Her stomach turned on itself at the notion of doing so. He fingers tapped at her knees, the metallic digits clicking with each motion.


    If the Shogun was dead, Edo would be in chaos. It was a matter of great controversy that Oda Tanetaka had ascended to the throne with no wife and no children, and though he took a wife, Oda Michiko, she died shortly into his rule and never bore direct heirs. He then consistently denied concubines, searching instead for a wife of the same quality as his first. No woman as perfect, by his measure, existed.


    Twenty years of that had passed, and all assumed he would be forced to adopt, or else name a successor. He never had, at least not publicly. A power vacuum in the Shogunate was a power vacuum in the planet¡¯s most dangerous nation. An opportunity for all who held ire against Japan to seize. The secrecy involved was likely paramount, and the fact that it was not announced publicly yet meant the powers in Edo were trying to conceal it.


    The politics of Edo were a mess. The Great Clans vie endlessly for power, and between them the primary governing bodies of the Shogunate ¨C The Imperial Magistrate, The Grand Army and The Onmy¨­ji Bureau ¨C were at each other''s throats even in times of peace.


    For centuries, since the founding by Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi, there had been a readily apparent Shogun. Always an Oda, always chosen before the previous Shogun¡¯s death, and always swiftly ascended. That Tanetaka would die with no heirs, and that messengers would be sent to far corners of the Empire like Hamada to inform his distant relatives, was indication that something was going terribly wrong.


    Ordinarily when a Shogun passed, it was a great celebration, for his ascension into Heaven would be praised, a grand funeral held, and white worn for weeks as the new Shogun was named and ascended.


    Now there were only secrets and plots. Koromi considered for a time, trapped in her own mind, that she was overreacting. She did after all only have the half-words of a yojimbo to go off of. Michisue had not directly told her that the Shogun had died, nor had Kazuhata confirmed it. It was possible, and a part of her hoped it was so, that it was some important Chief Magistrate that had passed, and that the country would not soon fall to maddened chaos.


    Yet as the afternoon turned to evening and there was no return call, Koromi¡¯s patience had worn thin.


    ¡°Kojiro.¡± She called aloud, breaking hours-long silence to summon her head servant who, in his endless devotion, had been kneeling just beyond her door for several of those hours.


    Kojiro was an elderly man. Short and hobbled, with a balding head of gray hairs and sunken eyes. He had tended Hamada Castle for decades, and in his devotion, had sworn himself to each of its rulers. As the Lady of the estate, that loyalty came upon Koromi, who generally appreciated but declined his constant attempts at assistance. Even so, he was vital in the maintenance of the gardens and the grounds.


    ¡°My Lady?¡± Kojiro asked, sliding the door open, though he remained kneeling, head down to avert his gaze.


    ¡°I shall have need of traveling clothes.¡± Koromi said, sitting cross-legged on the floor, the phone obscured in her lap. Her hands rested still on her knees, robotic digits tapping at them. ¡°And my daish¨­.¡±


    Kojiro was hesitant to reply, but did so after a short delay. ¡°For the morning, Lady Oda?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Koromi said softly, ¡°As quickly as you can. Pick two of the most loyal Ashigaru as well. Inform no one, not even Koretsune. Return within the hour.¡±


    Kojiro understood the gravity of his task, and brought his forehead to the tatami floor in a deep bow. ¡°Yes, my Lady.¡± He said, and closed the door, only then rising to his feet to quickly carry out his assigned tasks.


    Koromi stood, turning the phone on again. No messages, no incoming calls, no word from Edo. Beyond the back door to her room, in the tiny garden, it had begun to rain. The sound of droplets cascading off the wooden rooftop above created a lullaby that she would have liked to sleep to, but this night would know only hardship.


    Koromi had to reach Edo. Her sister, Mako, was her only living direct relative. Her father and mother were both gone of disease, and her brother had died overseas in one of the colony wars. Tomokore had often joked that he expected Koromi to one day vanish off to adventure.


    It appeared he was right.


    Koromi took the next hour to gather a small bag of belongings. Essentials such as the Igashi phone, spare shoes, a paper fan and silk kimono for any courts she might pass through, and various clips and ties for her hair. She also packed a small bundle of sacred talismans gifted to her by an Onmy¨­ji as part of her dowry, and a tant¨­ knife in a wooden sheath, also from her dowry, which would serve as a spare weapon should her swords ever fail her.


    Kojiro returned soon, kneeling by the door. He called out, Koromi approving his entrance, and slid the door open. On the floor just beyond the threshold, he set the traveling clothes down, and atop them carefully presented Koromi¡¯s daish¨­. The blades had sat in storage for years at that point, and Koromi¡¯s swordplay had been with wooden practice weapons.


    The weapons were masterfully crafted, as all Dojima blades were, famed smiths and artisans that the Clan was. The hilts consisted of blackened wood, with white cloth bound tightly around them in intricate patterns, and the Clan mon set into the pommels. Kojiro bowed, shut the door, then ventured off on his next task.


    Koromi donned the attire swiftly: A black traveling hakama with a deep blue sash, an overcoat with the Dojima emblem on its back, and a broad umbrella in matching colors. Koromi stood once dressed, slipping on a pair of tabi socks, then sturdy sandals. Carefully, she tucked the daish¨­ set into her sash, fixing them in place.


    Their weight was at once comforting and alien. There had been a time when she had been so used to wearing the swords, that becoming a courtier had cursed her to months of discomfort, feeling nude without them. Now that they were back, it felt as if she had been reunited with some old friend. They had not changed, but she had.


    Not a few moments after she had fully prepared herself, slinging the bag over one shoulder and picking up the folded umbrella did Kojiro return.


    ¡°Enter.¡± Koromi said, and Kojiro slid the door open. Knelt just behind him were two Ashigaru in Oda colors. One was a young man that Koromi had seen before, one of the gate guards. A unit leader most likely, judging by his heavier plated armor, almost that of a samurai. Dark hair, slightly bronzed skin from hours in the sun, and plenty of muscle. A fine warrior if measured by looks alone.


    The other was a stranger to her, in more ways than one, for she was both a female and an Oni.


    The Oni were a race of tall, horned humanoids that had been allies of Japan since the Great Awakening. Humans, or at least pure humans like Koromi, were actually rather rare in the country¡¯s center. Out here however, in places like Hamada, it was strange to see an Oni, and in truth it was the first Koromi had ever seen.


    She matched her species¡¯ legend: Tall, taller than Koromi by a good margin, and broad-shouldered. She struck a large frame, even when kneeling with her head bowed. Rippling with muscle, clearly visible in the open spots between the plates of her light armor, along her forearms and biceps. Atop her head, a veritable mane of red hair, parted at the front by two long horns, nearly straight save for a slight backward curve near their pointed tips.


    Both of the Ashigaru had tachi swords, and had laid yari spears out behind them, too long to be mounted on their backs while kneeling.


    ¡°Akimo and Kesa, my Lady.¡± Kojiro said softly, leaning his head first to the man, and then the Oni woman.


    ¡°Rise and look to me, Ashigaru.¡± Koromi commanded. A most improper order, which the Ashigaru might have initially interpreted as a test of etiquette. They did rise, but could not quite bring themselves to look directly at the samurai Lady.


    ¡°Look to me.¡± Koromi repeated, and Akimo¡¯s gaze slipped up, meeting Koromi¡¯s. He froze, but she simply gave him a smile and a slight, approving nod. He relaxed then, the body language serving as sufficient signal to Kesa that she could do the same. Akimo had sharp brown eyes, and Kesa¡¯s were a peculiar light orange. Koromi tried not to stare into either set for long, bowing her head after a moment.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Koromi had uniquely always respected Ashigaru, as she had grown up with many of them in Satsuma. Thus it was easier for her to look at them on even footing than some Samurai, who may refuse to even acknowledge a commoner¡¯s presence if faced with one.


    ¡°I am traveling to Edo, starting tonight. I will need aid getting there. Can I trust you to attend me?¡± Technically neither could refuse to come, for it was their duty, but Koromi wanted to see how they¡¯d react. If there was hesitation, apprehension, she¡¯d leave them behind. She needed loyalty. Yet, Kojiro had chosen very well, as both immediately bowed in salute, ¡°Yes, my Lady!¡± Akimo barked, and Kesa parroted the words a moment later, apparently less experienced with speaking to samurai, ¡°Y-Yes, my Lady!¡±


    ¡°Thank you. Rise, no more bows are needed in my presence.¡± Koromi said, giving them permission to be more casual, which she hoped would set them at ease. ¡°Kojiro, you may go. Thank you for your aid. Can either of you drive?¡± Koromi asked, for she certainly could not.


    Kojiro swiftly departed the room, and Kesa was silent. After a moment of more hesitation, Akimo barked, ¡°I can, my Lady.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Koromi bowed her head a second time, then rose properly, straightening her back and settling one hand on her katana¡¯s hilt. There the weapon sat snugly in her sash, where it belonged. She would not so easily let it go again, now that she had it back.


    ¡°Let us be on our way then.¡± Koromi said, gesturing onward. The two Ashigaru collected their spears from the floor, securing them to their backs. As they turned, Koromi saw that Akimo also had a handgun tucked into a holster at his hip, as well as several grenades on clips near his back. Well-armed. Hopefully unneeded.


    Akimo led the way, Koromi following right behind him, and Kesa behind them both. Kesa truly towered over them, a foot or more taller than Koromi, and she had to duck to move through doorways. She carried weight underfoot, the floorboards creaking as they walked. It was impressive, though a certain part of her presence instilled a sort of deep-seated nervousness in Koromi, which she resolved to push down as much as she could.


    There would undoubtedly be hell to pay when she returned. Kojiro knew she was leaving, and could run the estate alone, but Koromi was skipping dinner with an honored guest, and then completely abandoning that guest in the same action. Michisue would be insulted, or perhaps worse if he learned why she was leaving. She was committing no crime by leaving, as she was a Samurai, and could travel where and when she pleased. However, the social aspects were disastrous.


    Not to mention how her husband would react. Tomokore had always suspected Koromi would flee into the night, but likely never anticipated it would be so sudden or under such conditions. If all went well, Koromi hoped that her guest and yojimbo would only notice her absence in the morning.


    Unfortunately, that was not to be. Koromi would insult Koretsune for many things, but a fool he was not. He had heard mumbles from the servants about Koromi¡¯s earlier running around, and seen Kojiro moving swiftly through the halls a few minutes ago. The man could put the signs together, and as Koromi¡¯s protector, took it upon himself to stop her from making what he perceived to be a mistake.


    As Akimo slid the front door of the estate open to step out onto the front awning at the courtyard, the trio quickly found Koretsune blocking their path. Not expecting the Ashigaru to attend Koromi, Koretsune idly plucked one of the spears from his back, planting the blunt end on the wooden floor with a dull ¡®thud¡¯ that interrupted the otherwise melodic sounds of rain.


    Kesa shifted forward to stand in front and to the right of Koromi, while Akimo took to the left. Both of them knew Koretsune, for as Koromi¡¯s yojimbo, he was also one to frequently command them.


    ¡°You are blocking my path, Lord Minamoto.¡± Koromi said in a calm voice, allowing her left hand to settle onto her katana¡¯s pommel.


    ¡°It is late, Lady Oda.¡± Koretsune replied, gesturing with his free hand back into the estate. ¡°Lord Oda will be expecting you at dinner.¡± His eyes steadily tracing over her form, seeing the signs of travel: Her less formal clothing, bag, umbrella, and lingering on her swords. He¡¯d never actually seen her daish¨­ before.


    ¡°I am sure he will understand that I have other matters to tend to. If you will excuse us.¡± Koromi said, but made no move to advance, not wanting to rush Koretsune and trigger a hostile reaction. He could never harm her, but her Ashigaru protectors were another story.


    Koromi had expected an argument, but Koretsune¡¯s rebuttal of her actions was more venomous than she¡¯d anticipated: ¡°This is not the time for a rebellious phase, my Lady. When Lord Oda Tomokore returns, he expects you to be here, unarmed and unharmed. Playing Samurai in the rain is unbecoming of you.¡±


    Had Koromi a better relationship with Koretsune, his response would¡¯ve been unheard of. Any other Lady would¡¯ve demanded he fall on his sword, literally, to answer for the disgrace of so broadly disrespecting her. Yet both he and Koromi knew that he would do no such thing, and he would face no greater punishment from their respective masters, as hers was a position of silent submission. Any deviation from that would see her looked down upon, not Koretsune.


    ¡°¡®Playing Samurai¡¯?¡± Koromi asked with a stunned tone, ¡°If anyone is ¡®playing¡¯, it is you, Lord Minamoto, for defying your Lady in such a way.¡±


    ¡°My Lady is hysterical.¡± He said flatly, his face nearly lacking in expression, save a slightly furrowed brow. ¡°It would be better if she returned to bed, and forgot whatever notion she has of running off into the night.¡±


    ¡°I am not your Lady any longer.¡± Koromi practically sneered, controlling her emotions far worse than he was. Bushid¨­ could take a back seat as far as she was concerned. She had a greater goal to see to. It wasn''t the best example to set for the Ashigaru, who bristled as her voice rose. ¡°I relieve you of your duties. Stand aside, or I shall have you removed from my estate¡¯s grounds.¡±


    It was an official order, one that carried weight. Words and how they were used were critical to Japan, for the labyrinthine politics of the Samurai often ensured they had to be carefully watched. The system broke only when they were simply ignored, as Koretsune seemed primed to do.


    ¡°Do you think I enjoy my lot in life, Koromi?¡± Koretsune asked, breaking his mask of composure somewhat by using her personal name. ¡°The protector ¨C No, the babysitter of a rebellious teenager hiding in the body of a Lady? We all have our role to play in the Shogun¡¯s will, and this is mine. Yours is here. That will not change simply because you wish to leave.¡±


    Koromi knew it would be better to keep her purpose for leaving a secret, but there was no helping it. The words were beyond her lips before she could tame them. ¡°The Shogun is dead.¡±


    For a moment, Koretsune¡¯s face twisted into rage, believing that Koromi had insulted their leader. He opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to shout, but Koromi quickly continued. ¡°Tanetaka is dead.¡± She clarified, ¡°That is why Lord Oda Michisue is here. The Shogun has died, and there will be chaos in Edo ¨C There may already be chaos in Edo.¡±


    Koretsune¡¯s shoulders slowly relaxed. His eyes lowered, glancing about left and right as his mind reeled. ¡°How do¨C¡± He began to ask, but Koromi cut him off a second time, ¡°Lord Oda¡¯s unit chief told me.¡± Not exactly, but who was Koretsune to know.


    Silence befell them. Akimo and Kesa were both stunned silent. For them, commoners, the death of the Shogun was perhaps even greater news, for it was drilled into them how close to Heaven the Shogun was. He was considered a Kami himself to some villages, and he was dead now.


    ¡°My sister is in Edo.¡± Koromi said, softening her voice, appealing to the man¡¯s empathy. ¡°Let us pass.¡±


    She thought about taunting him, telling him that the strings were severed, the throne was empty, that his view of the world was mute. But she knew better than to whittle down a man to a single point. People were complex, and she had no way of knowing what might¡¯ve been passing through Koretsune¡¯s head in that moment.


    After perhaps a full, solid minute of tense silence, save the downpour beyond the awning, the statue-still Koretsune shifted. He took a step to his left, slowly returning the spear to its place on his back. ¡°I am your yojimbo.¡± He said, raising his eyes to Koromi.


    ¡°I¨C¡± She began to tell him she¡¯d dismissed him, but he suddenly turned, gesturing toward the courtyard. ¡°We should go before Lord Oda discovers we are missing. At good speed, we should be able to make it to Edo within half a day.¡±


    Koromi stood in stunned silence for a moment, blinking rapidly as she took that in. He¡¯d invited himself along? He was going to willingly put himself in a vehicle with her for upwards of twelve hours? What bastardized man claiming to be Koretsune was this?


    ¡°You¡­¡± Koromi began to speak, but this time she just trailed off, her thoughts half stumbling out of her lips. She shook off the daze after a moment more, clearing her throat, ¡°Akimo, a vehicle, please bring one here.¡±


    With the protector no longer blocking their path, the Ashigaru nodded and jogged out into the rain, returning within minutes in one of Tomokore¡¯s personal vehicles. A sleek black four-door car, its tired groaning against the courtyard¡¯s gravel as it settled into place. Kesa held Koromi¡¯s umbrella so she could climb into the back seat, shifting her swords from her hip to her lap, then folded the device and sat beside her. Koretsune took the passenger seat.


    The gate guards, though likely confused, dared not to stop two Samurai from departing the estate. In the rearview, Koromi saw Kojiro standing on the porch, watching as the car rolled out of the courtyard.


    Akimo tapped the GPS on the car¡¯s dash, ¡°Destination, my Lady?¡± He asked, and Koromi gestured forward, ¡°Edo by way of Kyoto. Let us pray this rain ends promptly, that you might drive swiftly when it does.¡±


    Akimo inputted the locations. Six and a half hours to Kyoto, twelve total to Edo.


    Settling into her seat, Koromi¡¯s heart finally caught up to all that had happened. It was finally happening. She was finally leaving on an adventure. A dire, dangerous, worrying adventure, but an adventure nonetheless. Even if it only lasted a day, even if she reached Edo and learned Mako was fine and the Shogun was alive and all was well, returning thereafter to her boring life gardening, it was still an adventure. It broke the monotony.


    That slow weight settled onto her. In two days time she might be back right where she started. Koretsune might get to return to lecturing her about running in the halls. Tomokore would look at her in condescension and tell her not to abandon guests. Michisue would make some snide remark if she ever saw him again.


    But that was two days away, at least. In that moment, the world was ahead of her. Places she¡¯d never been. Kyoto, Edo, all the lands between. Hopefully her sister was alright, hopefully Edo was in order, hopefully the world made sense.


    Time would tell.