The last leg of Yokui's journey home began on a day of bright autumn beauty, The suspension bridge between Hida and Echizen province creaked under the weight of Yokui and his companion, who bore not only their supplies on their backs, but also the blessed remains of two dead samurai.
"You can find work in the widow's household, perhaps," Yokui was saying, "Or in the fields of Miyama."
"No, oshō-san." Kazu shook his head violently enough to rock the bridge, "I will come to your temple. Learn magic, like you!" Yokui cringed.
"It's not magic, Kazu-san. Only skill learned over many decades. You must learn balance, and peace. And silence!"
"Oooh no. The way you freed me from those bandits? I know magic when I see it. I am coming with you."
Yokui refused to encourage further conversation with another denial. Perhaps Kazu could learn peace and quiet at Eihei-ji. Carrying the weight of two dead men with their storied histories of betrayals and deaths, he could not fault any man for seeking to stay away from the noisy world of battles and politics.
They crossed into his home prefecture in a rare moment of quiet.
Battlefield, now autumn grass
all that's left of
soldier dreams
(With apologies to Bashō)
YOU ARE READING
Traditions of Dead Generations
Historical FictionRound One: Four friends on a picnic in 1830s France decide to pass the time with a wishing game not unlike Truth or Dare. The wishes they make weave tales of love, addiction, sensuality, hope, fear and rebellion laced with just a bit too much Truth...
