Himitsu (Book One of the Kakureta Hana series)

XII: Ju Ni

The last part seems more to herself than to me.  "How many days?"

There is no reply from the shinobi for a moment that seems to stretch on and on and on.  "A few days.  Sakura, they will come for me, and you must not be afraid.  There is help that will come for you, but you must be willing to take it."

"What do you mean?" I cry.  "I am sick of the cryptic messages and veiled meanings.  For once, tell me the truth without the riddle.  We would not be here if you had just told Ryuu and me who the traitor was to begin with."

"You are correct," Emi says, her voice hard as rock.  "None of your family would be here right now; you would be lying in an unmarked grave right next to Rika and Tadashi.  I kept the truth from you for a reason, and it may seem that I made the wrong decision right now, but you would not have liked how it played out if I had told you everything when you demanded to know it."

Despite what words I throw through the silence, she says nothing more.  I would have better luck talking to a bug that decided to grace the filthy pit I am in with its presence.

My eyes drift shut, the concept of time slipping far beyond my grasp.  In the darkness, there is nothing to do but tend to Moriko when needed and wait for what Emi had said to come to pass.

I almost miss when they come for Emi, the slight echo of sandals against the stones the only warning.  Whoever has come to retrieve her speaks in low tones with her indecipherable words answering at brief intervals.

The door opens for a mere second, and a worn, pale Emi half-stands, half-leans in the faint light.  "Stay strong, Sakura.  Every tragedy has an ending."

I reach for her with shaking hands, and she returns the gesture with the one of hers that is not holding her upright.  Our fingertips connect for a brief time before she is tugged away from the opening, and the door slams shut once more.

It may have been mere moments or days that pass after I lose the final connection, the final person, who could talk to me and keep me from succumbing to the darkness that curls around my feet.  I hardly am aware of Moriko against my body, her cries growing weaker the longer that I go without food.

The memories grow stronger, some of them pleasant and some of them enough to make me scream into the pit that has begun to consume me.  I remember.

Meeting Ryuu for the first time, his six-year-old hands already growing rough from holding weapons.  Lying tangled with him on the futon, his lips against my temple and fingers tracking the scar along my side.  Sitting in the grass after my mother died, wondering how he managed to hold in the tears every time a woman walked by.

Looking at my father's eyes when he realizes that I am no longer a flat-chested child.  Seeing the stark anger in his face when I ask if I can tell someone, anyone, who I really am.  Feeling my parents on either side of me, their hands entwined over my head as they sleepily talk about something.

I am a vortex of remembrances, barely able to nurse Moriko, barely able to rise and walk to keep my body from disuse.  I may have been trapped in that state for the rest of my shortened life if it had not been for the wail.

At the sound of it, Moriko raises her voice to mingle with the faint cry, and I carefully force myself up off the ground.  I wait in the darkness as the noise gets closer and closer, part of my mind recognizing who was making the sound even before the door swings open.

Yori stands framed in the light, a wailing babe cradling in her arms.  She looks almost as pale as Emi had the last time I had seen her, and tearmarks stain her cheeks.  We stand there for a moment, staring at each other, waiting for something to break the frail peace that suddenly is tangible.

"I am so sorry, Sakura," she says at last, her voice only a mere whisper above the cries of the babes.  "If I had known, if I had even suspected, I would have never told Taro anything.  I never thought..."

Her words choke her, and the older woman holds the babe closer to her as sobs wrack her body.  I take a hesitant step forward, Moriko's weak fists pounding into my chest.

"You did not know what he was doing?" I ask, the sound of my voice rusty even to my ears.

She raises her eyes to mine, stark pain shining through them.  "Taro never told me his suspicions, never even hinted that he had had a hand in killing Rika and Lord Amachi.  Though, from what little I have heard, you are Amachi Junichi, not the man who married the shogun's daughter."

Her gaze drops to the floor.  "I would release you, but I am afraid that it would do you no good.  At least here, Taro is less likely to hunt you down and kill you."

"Why are you here, Yori?"

Awkwardly, she reaches into her kimono and draws out a bundle.  "I brought you food and Kazuhiko.  The man brought him back two days ago, and he refuses to take to a wet nurse."

I shift Moriko to one arm and take my son, barely noticing the food as I stare into his red face.  "Does Taro know that you are here?"

"No, it is night right now.  No one has been able to sleep with Kazuhiko's screaming, and I told Taro that I was going to take him for a walk," a twisted smile tugs at her lips.  "Rather, I decide to visit his mother, knowing that she is likely the only one who can get him to nurse.  And if this goes on for much longer, Ryuu will return to find that his entire family has died from hunger."

And those are the words that cause me to start to cry as well, my body slowly sliding down the wall as I hold my children.  Yori takes a seat next to me, opening the bundle of food that she had brought too.  I manage to place the babes in my lap, freeing my hands to take the bread that she offers me, resisting the impulse to cram it into my mouth.

"What story is Taro telling to explain why I am in the dungeon?"  I ask, once my tears have dried and Kazuhiko and Moriko are nursing.  "He did not want anyone else to know that I am Amachi Junichi, so he must have spread some other tale."

"Actually, no one knows that you are down here.  That is part of why you have not heard anyone since Emi left," she answers, and at the mention of Emi's name, her hands sliding over her stomach.  "You living outside of the fortress has ensured that no one knows that you are not at home."

I lean my head against the damp wall, realizing why Taro had let Emi go now.  He wanted the appearance that someone was still living in the house to prevent too many people from asking questions about where I had disappeared to.

I sigh and rolling my head to the side to look at Yori.  "Why are you helping me?  You know that Taro could kill you for this."

She studies the cloth that she is folding.  "I decided that regardless of whether or not I knew what was going on at the time that events unfolded, now that I knew the truth, I had to do something.  If not for you, then for your children.  And that urge became even strong when I found out that I was going to be a mother.  I never expect someone to do to me what has been done to you, but if I ever found myself in such a situation, I would hope that someone would ensure that my babe would be able to survive."

A sly smile slides across her face when Yori looks back at me.  "Besides, I doubt that Taro will kill me when I am potentially carrying his son.  And I have to believe that there is still some kindness in my husband's heart despite the evidence to the contrary currently."

We talk together a time longer as the babes finish nursing and fall asleep.  Yori rises soon after Kazuhiko's chest has begun to move with the even breaths of sleep, her face full of regret.

"I best make my way back upstairs," she whispers, and I reluctantly transfer my son into her arms.  "I will return as often as I dare, Sakura.  And I will hope that you will find a light in this darkness that currently surrounds you."

"Thank you, Yori, for everything.  Be careful."

She smiles.  "Of course.  Here is hope for a better day dawning."

And with those words, she leaves, shutting the door carefully behind her, and the darkness rushes back in with a vengeance.  Though, now it does not seem quite so dark as before, lit with something that I had lost earlier.

Hope.