Ankūro

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When something begins,
It does not have to replace,
Anything at all.
- Osokan.

The Spirits of the Divine are often reflected in a single drop of rain. A million drops of rain, a million reflections of the Divine. Each drop containing the essence of life. The catalyst for change. For the very essence of life is change and the very essence of change is then seen reflected in the diversity of life. A drop upon parched and hardened soil can bring life to places abandoned by living things.

Too much rain can bring death, also. Soaking the ground, drowning, suffocating life. Washing away the very soil that life clings to. The essence of life. Change. For the better. For worse. Ongoing. Circuitous. Rain becomes a storm. A storm becomes a cyclone. Change and change and change again. Never ending.

Thus the Divine gives and the Divine takes away. Not the false divinity of the Patrons, nor the divinity of the Gods-That-Were, Vaiah, the many that became one and died. A true divinity borne of the spirits contained within every single thing, both living and the non-living. The animate and the inanimate. The spirits of the world, given form in a single drop of rain.

Ajo Bunsuro considered these things as he stared through the shutters of his Ka house and inn. Although little Ka, tea, had passed into the hands of customers of late. Since the early rain season began, he could count on one hand the number of customers that had appeared at his doors. One. One customer. And they stayed only so long until the rain eased a little.

Now, the rain fell in great sheets, painting a picture of lines in the air, falling upon ground that few walked upon in this weather. Soon, the rains would cease, for a short time, allowing Kaima village to harvest the early crop of rice. A hardy breed of rice that gave three crops a year, thanks to the blessings of the Spirits and no thanks at all to those Patrons worshiped on the mainland. Of course, most of the crop disappeared in taxes, but Ajo's business fared little worse for it.

Leaning his chin upon the palm of his hand, he sighed. He could not even see the central mound of the village, so thick came the rain. Impromptu rivers careened down the wide street, running under the buildings raised upon thick stilts, threatening the foundations with every storm. Ajo could hear it, trickling and rushing, dripping and roaring, beneath his feet.

It was, he considered, a good thing that he could not see the central mound. After the last visit by Haūdo Ita's soldiers, the mound still held the decaying heads of those young men that had hidden from service. Decapitated for the crime of not wishing to fight in the never ending skirmishes with Haūdo Rinhi's Naika region, to the south-west, and Haūdo Ginka's Jaā region, across the mountains, to the east. Not to mention the Imperial region of Junawa to the north, ruled by Yāttō Unji. That region sat like a many-armed god, stretching out its influence throughout the island of Kaguta.

Choosing not to fight was not an option. Every Haūdo ruled their region with an iron fist and Yāttō Unji ruled the island above them. In service of the Emperor, of course. That little boy not yet old enough to sit on his own pot to defecate. Ajo didn't even know the boy Emperor's name, but he knew the acts performed in his unknown name.

He gazed towards where the central mound should be, thinking about those boys whose heads still adorned stakes. Glancing over his shoulder, pulling his gaze from the incessant rain for once, he looked towards the common area of his Ka house. Tiima had disappeared somewhere.

"Tiima! Tiima, you lazy child!" He heard something fall to the reed matting in the kitchen room, to the side, and shook his head. "The buckets are almost full. Replace them."

"Yes, Papa." Tiima seemed to glide into the room, rubbing hands upon a cloth tucked into the wide sash at the waist, the long, wrap-around dress tied tight around a skinny body.