A/N: Alright, here's where I really thin out the crowd. Before anyone starts furiously hitting the back button, I do want to clarify that you do not actually have to read these chapters to understand what's going down in the main story. There will be brief references and shout-outs, sure, but nothing heavily plot related is hinging on you reading these chapters.
So far I've been doing my best to upload a chapter every Saturday (this one is a little late though oops) and these little "intermissions" will show up as a break between each season. While you don't have to read these to make sense of the main plot that I've got goin' on, I do enjoy being able to put in a bit of my own original writing within the FB universe. But to those who violently shy away from any (I mean, let's call them what they are) original characters then feel free to sit this one out as our regularly scheduled programming will resume next week. I would not blame you in the least.
To those who do read this whole thing through, I love you bunches and I hope it's worth your time. If not, well, allow me to be just one more added disappointment in this dangerous tango that we call life.
Also if you enjoy this story at all so far please review or favorite or subscribe or whatever the kids are doing these days. It would be much appreciated!
Intermission
Spring 1635
It was a scream so agonized and tortured that it bled through the walls. Throughout the grounds of the house everyone could hear the shrieks and sobs of the young woman as she gulped in air, tears pouring down a face that had turned a violet red from pain. Her hand grasping her husband's who sat beside her, allowing her to dig her fingernails into his skin.
"Push, Sayo! Push!"
"No, no, no please. I can't. Please, I can't, I can't," the woman sobbed, falling back onto her futon, sweat causing her robes and hair to cling to her as she wept.
"Keep her elevated!" The midwife snapped as the husband quickly propped the woman back up. Sayo breathed through the pain, the midwife taking a cold cloth against her forehead as she dropped her head on her husband's shoulder.
"This child will kill me," she cried. "I'll die, I'll die," she chanted again and again. Her husband doing his best to shush her, stroking her hair, feeling his own tears fall from his eyes.
"Please, Sayo. You have to push," he muttered, which earned him an exhausted nod from his wife. With as much effort as she could muster she pushed, clenching her eyes shut and grinding her teeth together until she cried out in agony once more. The sound of little feet shuffling caused her eyes to fall on the open door to her home. She gave another scream.
"Get them out of here!" She demanded.
Standing patiently with glassy and attentive eyes, 11 young children observed from behind shoji doors. Their crowding blocked the spring breeze from relieving the mother from her overheated body. They stared as the woman's womb opened. The blood spilling from between her legs as the head of a creature began to crown. The woman leaned forward, screaming again, this time to intimidate the children who had rooted themselves on the foyer of her house.
Ujinobu, the man who had delivered all the blessed children from their mothers' grieving wombs, looked from the tuft of fur that had appeared between the woman's legs, to the children who crowded the entrance of the room.
"Someone take those children away!" He commanded and servants bustled at his orders, doing their best to shoo the stubborn boys from their observatory. "Makoto!" He screamed to his son, the dragon child, who was amongst the crowd. "Makoto, go home! Go home!"
The doctor was torn from his scoldings when Sayo screamed again.
"You're almost there, Sayo. You're almost there!"
"Is my child a son?" The husband asked.
"All the blessed children are men," the doctor responded quickly. "I expect no different from the boar."
The husband kissed his wife's hand happily, and with a final push the child was born. The woman fell back onto her cushions and wailed, allowing her body to relax. Quickly the doctor handed the child to the midwife who was careful to conceal it from the parents.
"I want to see my son," demanded the husband.
"I would advise against it, Tadaaki," Ujinobu said as he wiped his hands on a clean cloth. "It can be shocking to most parents of the blessed."
"I want to hold my child," came Sayo's weak voice. "Give me my child."
"Sayo, it can take some time for them to turn into their human form."
"Uji, please. My child is a son, this is the only way I'll ever be able to hold him," Sayo said, her voice still catching in her throat as her tears calmed. "I will not allow my son to have a mother who does not embrace him."
Ujinobu's hardened eyes turned soft as he listened to her gentle voice. His sharp features contrasting with expressions so easily moved. He nodded to the midwife who gave a disapproving look to the doctor before following her orders.
Tadaaki, a devoted but simple husband, helped her sit up. His rounded out features forming into a smile that so easily rested on his healthy face. Carefully the midwife handed Sayo the child. The mother embraced him, peering into at the face in the cloth.
What stared back was the face of a baby boar. The eyes too new to open, soft snorts and whimpers given in the place of a crying newborn. Sayo rocked back and forth, crying soft tears as she stared at her son.
The children from outside each wandered into the room one by one, crowding the mother who was too tired to protest their presence.
Together they cried.
They were all here.
"My dearest family, today is cause for celebration. No occasion will be more sacred, more divine, than the day that the blessed have finally been reunited after so long. The birth of the son of the boar seals the fate for the Sohma clan. One of good fortune, of great wealth, and long and healthy lives here among these walls. This banquet we hold here today will last twelve days and twelve nights to honor each child. Starting, of course, with our first born. After which I will take the children up the mountain to pray at the shrine of the gracious spirit who watches over our family."
With these words the man who stood at the head of the table in his extravagant robes and his long white hair lowered his cup so that a servant could fill it. He had a face that was laced with serenity, and skin that was as smooth and undisturbed as that of fresh snow. He stood tall and proud with bright eyes that saw far and deep into the faces of each member of the family that gathered before him. He lifted his glass. Those with wine followed suit.
"To the blessed!"
"To the blessed!" Echoed the crowd.
Music blasted from the estate grounds and people cheered, danced, and drank as the sun began to fully rise in the sky.
Jirou, the head of the family, watched in delight as a bountiful joy spilled from his children. Watching as they celebrated and feasted with the plentiful harvest that they had been granted in this past decade. He drank from his cup, his young features speaking with eyes that were centuries old. With a rejoicing cry he turned to his right hand side, looking down on the gray haired child who sat next to him, sneaking a sip of wine with his still juvenile fingers.
"Tarou!" The head of the family called out, picking the boy up and spinning him around to bring him into an embrace. "Today is your day, child. Celebrate amongst those who owe you their lives."
The boy looked at him with slim mischievous eyes. His unruly gray hair pulled back into a small bun atop a head with pretty features that promised to blossom into handsome ones. Tarou, the rat child of twelve years, smiled bright and confident, dressed head to toe in traditional robes for his day of celebration. The elegance of the luscious fabric only being disrupted by a decorative scabbard that was always strapped to his hip, and the handle of a dagger that bloomed from it.
"My grandfather said that I'm the most fortunate of the blessed because the rat was first born!" Tarou cried out with a smile.
"Your grandfather speaks wisely. You amongst your brothers are the most honored guest," Jirou said, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. "Your birth was a sign from the gracious spirit that this family would no longer suffer."
"If that's so my day of celebration should be longer!"
Jirou laughed, patting the boy on the head affectionately. "Don't fret, young one. You will have many celebration days to come."
"To my son!" Tadaaki exclaimed, lifting his cup as the men gathered around him cheered alongside him.
"One can only wonder how a son of both the boar and Tadaaki will grow up to be," laughed one of the men.
"Though if Tadaaki were to have a son of the blessed, the boar would be the most suitable," laughed another.
"Say whatever you like, my friends. But nothing can keep me from celebrating today!" He stood, swaying a little in his spot as he lifted his head again. "My son is the final link in the holy chain! I am a father of good fortune!" He finished the liquor in his cup with a satisfied sigh. "Today Tadaaki Sohma is also celebrated!"
"And here's your offering, great and mighty one!" One of the men called as he threw a handful of rice into Tadaaki's face, causing him to fall back into his seat on the floor. The men burst out laughing, and in his daze so did the new father. The men continued to laugh, making rowdy conversation as Tadaaki reached for the bottle of rice wine until a familiar face caught his eye.
"Ujinobu! Ujinobu!" He called out to the doctor who was walking through the estate grounds. He turned his head and somewhat reluctantly approached the table.
"I see you all are enjoying yourselves," he said, greeting the men with a soft nod of his head.
"How's Sayo? Is she well?" He asked.
"She's resting," the doctor responded. "Your wife is very resilient. She is one of only three to survive giving birth to a zodiac child."
"That's Sayo for you!" Cried one of the men. "I heard she even snarled at the other blesseds like a dog." The men all gave an uproaring laugh again, excluding the doctor and Tadaaki, who with his flushed face still directed his attention to the doctor.
"Will she be alright?" He asked sincerely. Ujinobu gave a soft sigh.
"I have faith in Sayo, she is an incredible woman," he said. Tadaaki beamed at the praise of his wife and slammed his fist on the table with another happy shout.
"Do you hear that? My wife is incredible! To my Sayo!" He lifted his cup again and the men all cheered again.
Ujinobu took the opportunity to slip away from the crowd, giving a parting smile to the raucous group of men, and continued his way through the Sohma grounds. Throughout the clan there was celebration, dancing, feasting. He weaved his way through, having grown tired of the noise since it began at dawn. Finally, he approached the modest house that neared the edge of the estate. Taking off his sandals, he opened the door to see Sayo's form resting beside her child. The newborn boar had taken the form of a human, and Sayo laid a protective hand on its stomach. Her exhausted features seemed fastened onto her son.
"You're awake," he said.
"Who can sleep in this clamor?" Sayo responded simply. She turned her head to face him. Her strong features apparent on a humble face. Though what she lacked in beauty she made up for with a smart mouth and a resilient spirit.
"You shouldn't sound so bitter. It's a celebration for your child," he said with a small smile. He sat beside her, gently taking a strand of her thick black hair and tucked it behind her ear. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm not sure," she whispered, not taking her eyes away from her child. "Something doesn't feel right about having a child I'm not able to embrace. It seems lonely."
He stopped to stare at the peacefully sleeping child, his soft and gentle breath coming at such a contrast to screams and shouts that came from beyond the walls in the festivities. He was reminded of his own child, how the newborn dragon wrapped around his arm instinctively, how he held him tightly in his arms as the woman he had grown to care for so dearly, his beautiful late wife, breathed her last breath as his son breathed his first.
Sayo was right. It was lonely.
"I heard on the 12th day they'll be coming to move you three into your new home," he said. "Within the inner circle of the family."
She nodded, waving a passive hand. "I couldn't care either way, but Master Jirou insists. It seems ridiculous to move when we will be leaving this place soon, anyway."
"He just wants your family to be comfortable," Sayo shrugged at that, keeping her eyes on her child. "Your husband seems to be enjoying the life of a blessed," Ujinobu said with far more spite in his voice than he wished.
"He's a simple man impressed by simple things," she sighed. "But he's a loyal man." Ujinobu looked away from the child for a moment before giving a soft sigh.
"It's not usual that men stay during the birth of their children," Uji said. "He cares for you deeply."
She smiled, "Tadaaki is not someone who's ever been aware of what's usual."
"I suppose that's true," he said quietly, before lifting himself up and walking towards the door. "I'll come by and check on you later with the midwife."
"Uji, wait!" Sayo called out to him, propping herself up on her elbows with an anguished look in her eye. "I want you to hold him."
The doctor stared at the child still dozing peacefully, so unnaturally still in a world that always seemed to be moving. A troubled look crossed his face as he looked back to Sayo.
"I don't think I should."
"Please," she said again, a tear rolling down her cheek. "You need to embrace your own child at least once."
Always vulnerable to her expressive eyes, he nodded. Softly padding next to the child and picking him up with the practiced gentility of an experienced father. In his arms he rocked the boy softly as tears welled up in his eyes.
"What have you called him?"
"Saburou."
"A handsome name for a handsome man," he said as the child began to stir. "Hello, Saburou."
Tarou watched as the beetle walked idly across the tatami floors, watched how its slow moving legs yearned to reach the outside. With the tip of his still sheathed dagger, he pressed on the back of the bug, pushing down harder and harder until it burst underneath him. He wiped the residual slime off the scabbard and onto the floor before flopping on his back and letting out a bored groan.
"Masae, are you done yet?"
"Master Tarou, this won't go any faster if you keep trying to interrupt the process," an elder servant snapped from behind the elaborate shoji screen. Tarou let out another groan.
"Sorry, Tarou," came the meek voice of a young boy from behind the same screen. The rustling of fabric filling the room until careful footprints emerged.
Tarou looked to his friend and how the delicate and beautiful robes tied around him in an elaborate fashion. Masae, a boy of eleven years, drowned in the fabric. His hands completely covered by the long sleeves, but complimenting his boyish face framed by locks of black and white hair.
Today was the day of the Ox.
"Finally," anguished the rat boy. Masae took another few steps forward to his friend, the bells on his celebration day costume chiming with each sudden movement.
"Look at those bells!" Tarou laughed loudly, as he lifted one up and shook it back and forth. "It's like you're a real cow!"
"I must remind Master Masae that he is expected soon at Master Jirou's table," the elderly servant woman reminded sharply.
"I'll take him over there myself, you don't have to worry," said Tarou with a beamingly innocent smile. The woman nodded and left the two in the room. The gray haired boy turned back to look at his friend. "You look like you're about to trip."
"It is a little hard to move around," he sighed, taking a few cautious steps before catching himself from almost falling. Tarou laughed again.
"Are you going to be able to remember all your dance moves? If you trip you'll dishonor the whole family, you know. It's a sign of bad luck," the boy reprimanded. "Cattle aren't very light on their feet anyway."
"I think I'll be okay," reassured the ox boy, looking nervously down at his feet. Tarou gave an exaggerated sigh.
"I think I should go up there with you and make sure you don't fall," commented the boy.
"What?"
"Yeah! If you fall it'll be really embarrassing! I'll dance up there with you!" Tarou said, stepping so close that Masae had to lean back.
"But I thought we could only dance on our celebration day," he asked.
"Not for the rat," Tarou replied easily. "The rat is the most special and the most blessed. I bet if I danced with you the fortune in your celebration day would double—maybe even triple!"
With unsure eyes Masae looked down at the robes the maids had dressed him in and echoed the steps in his mind that he had practiced in the room he and his father shared. His practice always earned him a hearty applause from his father, but now the thought of falling in front of him seemed paralyzing. He looked up at Tarou with a smile. "Okay, if you think it'll work."
Tarou cheered, running to the entrance of the home and sliding on his sandals.
"I'll have a maid dress me right now," he called over his shoulder. "Don't let them start without me."
Masae nodded, waving his friend goodbye, as he stood alone in his empty house.
As the sun rose in the sky, the drums echoed through the grounds of the Sohma estate as they had the morning before. With practiced and careful moves Masae presented his dance in tandem with Tarou. Their bare feet stepped and slid in time with a precise and quick beat, and their bells added to the traditional rhythm. While Masae's arms were tense and gave only the most restricted movements as a product of nerves and deep concentration, Tarou moved his freely and gracefully—performing the dance as if it were how he learned to walk. The fabric that wrapped around him tightly moved like a second skin, flowed as if he had possessed the wind around him, yet the robes around Masae seemed to fall awkwardly, fighting to move out of the way of abrupt movements.
The speckled haired boy looked to the audience for the first time, something he had been trying to avoid, and met the kind eyes of his father. His attentive and encouraging nod gave Masae enough strength to inflate his posture, if only slightly. He quickly scanned over a bought of smiling eyes and soft whispers to neighbors when an unfamiliar movement caught his eyes in the crowd before the banquet table.
Masae looked to Master Jirou, who was vacating his seat next to the other zodiac children who were old enough to be separated from their guardians. He watched as he left, two servant men following behind him with alarm in their steps before he snuck a look at Tarou. He continued to dance with a bright and careless smile on his face.
With that the final moves of the dance came and the two boys finished, standing side by side. As those who had gathered to watch clapped and cheered, they stepped off the stage and headed back to their rightful seats at the banquet table—only to be stopped by several family members who crowded the stage.
"You boys danced so beautifully!" Cried one of the women who crowded around the boys as they bounded off the stage.
"And Tarou, what a treat to see you dance two days in a row!" Tarou beamed at the women, puffing his chest up proudly as Masae smiled politely, taking shelter behind his cousin.
"Hopefully you won't be dancing with each blessed, you'll outshine them all!" The women giggled and Tarou added his own bountiful laugh.
"Masae was really nervous about dancing, he kept messing up when he tried to practice! He pleaded for me to help him," Tarou said giving Masae a bright smile. "It's because he gets too nervous around everyone, isn't that right, Masa?"
In an instant Tarou deflected all attention onto the small, timid boy who hid his arms inside the bright billowing sleeves of the traditional robes. The eyes of their family members boring into him so much so that it made him squirm. He gave a simple nod of his head.
"Excuse me," Masae said, escaping the stifling group.
"Hey! Where are you going?!" Tarou clicked his tongue, "how boring."
Masae quickly found his place at the table, sitting to the right of Genta, the tiger boy of only ten years age. His bright orange-gold hair waiting to express its vibrancy in the burning sun that threatened to peak over the mountains that surrounded their home. His eyes piercing and sharp and roared even in the rare occasions that he remained silent.
"You're so soft," Genta scolded coldly.
"Huh?"
"Letting that rat dance with you," he replied quickly. "Learn to do things by yourself."
"I guess so," he murmured. Genta gave an annoyed snort.
"Just like your weak father," he scoffed. Masae gave a small smile, relishing the comparison to his father even in its negative connotation. Leaning forward on the table he looked down to meet the eyes of his guardian to whom he gave a weak wave. The man returned the gesture.
"Where's Master Jirou?" Tarou said suddenly sitting in his seat to the right of where the head of the family was supposed to be.
"He left," Genta replied quickly.
"Where did he go?" Tarou asked, his patience always wearing thin in the presence of his tiger cousin.
"How would I know?" He hissed back. Tarou furrowed his eyebrows and gave a pout as he crossed his arms.
"Did he miss my dance?"
"It wasn't your dance, stupid," Genta shot back.
"It was so! Masae asked me to do it with him!"
"Well, you're not dancing with me tomorrow!"
"I wouldn't want to! You'd probably fall on me!"
"I would not!" Genta smashed his cup on the table, standing up abruptly just as Tarou did. The two stared each other down over Masae who shrunk further into his seat. Quickly a servant woman came and touched Genta lightly on the shoulder before he wrenched himself out of his grip, hating the touch of any woman.
"Please, Master Genta, Master Tarou. Calm down and return to your meal."
Tarou huffed and Genta did the same turning away from each other.
"It's not my fault he's crazy like his mother," Genta mumbled.
In that instant Tarou threw himself onto Genta, taking his tiny fists and hitting anything he could as he sat on the tiger boy's body. With a violent wail he hit him and hit him, hitting his nose and causing blood to spill, even as Genta brought his hands up to his face to try and protect himself, letting out a sob for help under Tarou's crazed frenzy.
With clumsy hands, fueled by blind irrationality, Tarou reached for his dagger, ready to draw it onto his cousin. Quickly a pair of strong arms wrapped around Tarou's middle, pulling him off the crying boy with the bloody nose as a pair of servants went to aid the tiger child.
Masae's father, Yoshirou, held Tarou firmly as he struggled, kicking and punching the air and shouting and screaming through the scratchy and uncontrolled weeping of a child. He calmed, clinging to the ox boy's guardian as he continued to cry relentlessly into the shoulder of the man.
The banquet hall went silent as Genta was hurried out of the room and Tarou was carried to separate quarters, Masae trailing behind. The bells on his shoulders chiming with every step.
In the early hours of the day, the sky washed over the mountain homes in a faint and cautious blue. A color that knew of its own fleeting nature, and awaited its destruction under the powerful and sure pigments the sun would soon surely provide. The further away Jirou walked from the banquet, the more the noises of celebration failed to fill in for the restlessness that had plagued every stone and blade of grass under his feet.
Behind him fell the quick and fearful steps of his servants, daggers tucked deep into their belts, and sweat forming on their brow even in the chill of dawn.
A twig snapped under Jirou's foot and he stopped. The men behind him followed suit.
"I can hear it," he said quietly. The two servants exchanged a nervous glance. "I can hear him calling out to me."
Deep on a beaten mountain path, nestled on the unpopulated outskirts of the Sohma inner family property rested a house made of rotting wood and splintered holes—the only way sunlight could leak through. With each movement it would creak, even with the slightest caress of the wind. With each night it would skulk unseen if not for the screeching cries that echoed past its weak foundation. Each day it would make a noise as if the roots of a great cedar tree were being viciously torn from its mother earth.
Two men stood outside this structure, cloth tied over their noses and mouths, spears pointed and ready. Jirou approached them with an ease that was unnerving to the men who served him.
"Master Jirou!" The two guarding the door called in unison when they spotted the head of the family nearing the structure—still leading the two other servant men.
"How long has it been like this?" He asked immediately, standing directly in front of the tightly sealed door.
"Three days," replied one.
A deafening roar ripped from the insides of the hut and the four men flinched. Jirou closed his eyes, as if absorbing the sudden sound, letting it sink into each pore of his skin as he took a deep breath.
"We weren't sure if we should send for you on the days of celebration, but its screams have been constant. Sunrise and sundown."
"You were right to call for me. He needs me," Jirou said as he approached the door. "Wait here, if I call for you, be ready," he told the men who gave an obedient yes in reply.
With nimble and steady fingers the head of the family opened the door, releasing a scent so foul it warmed the man's face, and caused the youngest of the servant men to vomit as soon as he was sure his master's back was completely turned. The sun was making its appearance, poking holes into the structure, dancing off splinters and dust that floated in the air.
Bouncing off the deformed and burnt flesh that warped around the jagged and misshapen bones of a beast.
With a particularly loud creak the being lurched forward, only to be held back by its restraints, a dirty and syrupy blood coming from where the ropes had broken his tightly constrained limbs. Jirou held up a hand.
"Be calm," he said. The beast lurched forward again, snarling as it snapped its sharpened and yellow tinted teeth at the man's hand, only barely missing its target by the width of a hair.
It roared again, its voice turning high and cracked as it whimpered out an enraged reply, snarling again at the restraints that kept it controlled.
With a careful step Jirou came forward, placing his hand on the snout of the creature, who huffed and growled and squirmed under the unfamiliar touch, breathing forcefully through its teeth. Its darkened eyes shining a violet color that resembled that of a severe bruise.
"I know your excitement, I know," he said quietly. "Your brothers are all gathered here once more, on a day of celebration." Another rough growl. "Save your energy, there are many celebration days to come."
Under his graceful palm the form of the beast began to shrink. Bones sinking into their original shape, seared flesh being soothed into calloused and reddened skin, eyes closing only to blink open and closed with a dull red iris to replace its violet ones.
Within moments Jirou's hand was buried in dirty orange locks attached to the figure of a naked boy, shivering and breathing at an irregular rapidity. The ropes loose on his now resting limbs that sprawled out onto the unforgiving planks of wood, but still held rough and chaffed patches of skin, so sensitive that the boy would twitch in his sleep at the feel of a grazing breeze.
Jirou sighed and kneeled down to observe the unconscious boy, his eyes burning like a white hot flame, adding more light to the room than the sunlight that threatened to slip through the cracks. His voice echoed against his own throat, and his joints bending and working as if beyond his own will.
"How many times must you kill your brothers until you are satisfied?"
With an ethereal grace he stood, leaving the slumbering vessel behind as he opened the door to return to his servants who waited on tense and careful breaths.
The head of the family took one step, then another, and by the third he was falling, quickly being lifted up by two of the four men.
"He should be calm now, but this will not end until the celebration days have finished," he said with a weak voice. "Keep my family safe," he demanded to the guards as he used his servant men as crutches, leaning against them the entirety of the walk back to his quarters.
"Fujigorou has been bedridden for days now."
Masae lifted his head from where they were resting on his knees to look up at his father.
"Grandfather Fuji?"
Yoshirou nodded, "he's a man who has lived for many years, and his body is beginning to fail him."
Masae looked down at Tarou who was slumbering on the futon in the ox boy's house. Red rings around his eyes visible from the weeping that tired his body out. Now he breathed evenly, laying on his back as his arm rested close to his mouth. He shifted in his sleep but did not wake up, even with the festival noises ringing throughout their village.
"Poor Tarou," Masae said softly. "What will happen if Grandfather Fuji dies? Where will Tarou live then?"
"I don't know," Yoshirou said gravely, sitting cross-legged beside his son. Masae hugged his knees harder to his chest. "I don't believe he's handling it well, however."
"Tarou and Genta are always at odds…" Masae trailed off, giving the weak defense for his friend. His father kept a stern gaze on the boy, gently lifting the sheathed dagger from the boy's hip, displaying it on the palm of his hand for Masae to observe.
"This weapon was used during a time of war. It is a great mark of honor and pride. But more so than anything it is a mark of hope, one that Fujigorou provided us during such a tragic time. It shouldn't be used like a toy at a child's whim," he sighed.
"I don't think he meant it," Masae said, looking to his slumbering friend. His father carefully placed the dagger next to the rat child and gently patted the boy's head.
"I know, my son," he said. "But it leaves me to wonder what will happen to him when his grandfather is gone."
"Do you think Tarou's mom will get better?" Masae asked.
"I don't think so, Masa," he said.
Masae sighed, recalling the one memory he had of the woman. Her long flowing black hair reaching her waist, her pale and beautiful face slightly blurred in the mind of an unsure child. He didn't see her often. The woman, from what he had heard, was kept on a separate property far from her son. Her mind unable to comprehend how a rat had crawled from between her legs after days of labor so excruciating, she had fallen unconscious for three days after.
Tarou was the first of the blessed to be born.
No mother could anticipate such a thing.
His father stayed with his mother, devoting the entirety of his time to helping heal his wife—a woman he loved so dearly, he couldn't help but resent even such a fragile and tiny body that had caused his wife to spiral away from him.
Instead, Tarou lived with his grandfather, a sharp-mouthed old man with a back that bent like a thin branch of a tree under a coating of thick snow. His body left no trace of the man he once was.
"In ten days Master Jirou will take you to the mountain shrine of the gracious spirit. I want you to watch over him, Masae," Yoshirou began. The boy nodded immediately. "Most of the blessed children have the burden of living their lives without the embrace of a mother," he sighed. "You cannot allow each other to suffer alone."
"Yes, father," Masae reassured. "I promise I'll take care of Tarou."
The man smiled, resting a gentle hand on his head.
"Look at all the blood!"
"Go away, Makoto!" Genta huffed as Ujinobu carefully wiped the blood off his face. He sighed at how the now sensitive skin was already starting to bruise.
"Makoto that might be for the best. Why don't you join the others?"
"No! I want to stay! I'll be quiet, I promise!" The dragon boy asked, tugging at his father's sleeve. He rolled his eyes but made no other move to kick him out, to which Makoto smiled—accepting the complacent invitation.
Ujinobu placed a small bandage on the bridge of the boy's nose where a more obvious cut presented itself. He winced at the touch.
"Just a moment more, Genta," said the doctor deep in concentration. The tiger crossed his arms and huffed.
"I should've punched him in the mouth," he grumbled.
"Talk like that is why you're here in the first place, if I'm not mistaken," the doctor replied. Genta pouted in response. He smirked. "Well it's not your first time here, and I doubt this will be your last."
"Tarou's gonna be in here next!" Genta said sharply and Makoto let out a sharp, hardly restrained laugh. The boy whipped a glare towards the dragon child. "Or maybe you'll be next if you make fun of me like that!"
"No way! I don't want to get scars all over my face like you," Makoto said, sticking out his tongue.
"They make me look tough!" Genta said with a mischievous smile and Makoto laughed.
"The biggest scar you have is from when you fell over nothing," Makoto pointed out.
"You tripped me!"
"You pulled my hair!"
"That's enough," Ujinobu scolded. "Genta, your celebration day is tomorrow, I suggest you get some rest. The swelling should go down in due time."
"By dawn?" He asked expectantly.
"We'll see," he said. Genta rolled his eyes. "Don't push yourself too hard during the festivities, either. Conserve your energy for the trip to the mountain shrine in the time you can."
"Fine," the tiger boy said with a mumble.
"How's little brother going to get to the top of the mountain?" Makoto asked.
Ujinobu stopped himself, turning to face his son. "Who?"
"Auntie Sayo's baby," Makoto responded.
The doctor looked into the innocent eyes of his son. A boy eight years in age, with sleek black hair that fell like raindrops around his pale skin. His clever eyes that absorbed so much promised to narrow even more as he grew, and his features were beginning to mold into the sharp edges that Ujinobu's face held.
The doctor turned to Genta, who had a curious look on his face—a far more relaxed expression than when his face would wrinkle and furrow in anger.
"Genta, go get some rest," Ujinobu said.
The boy nodded, walking slowly out of the room, looking over his shoulder to Makoto before shutting the door to Ujinobu's quarters behind him.
The doctor faced his son.
"Why did you call him that?"
"Who?"
"Sayo's child. Why did you call him little brother?" He urged, trying to keep his patience in check.
"Because Auntie Sayo hasn't announced his name yet," Makoto said.
"Then why not call him your cousin?" He asked. The boy shook his head.
"Isn't he my brother?" He blinked his eyes, asking as if it were a completely benign question.
"Why do you assume such a thing," the doctor asked.
Makoto with his tiny hand brought it up to the chest of his father, above the formal robes he had dressed himself in for the festivities. Under the hand of his son he could feel guilty pumps working his heart faster.
"They're the same," the boy said simply. "Right here. You and my little brother are the same."
In the calm that nature promised, in the sweet smelling mountain skies where air turned thin and rigid, among the thick, rich grass, the Sohmas lived. They contented in the knowledge that the soil underfoot was secure in their name. The scars of war and battle grown over with thick branches, and tree roots that acted as if they were trying to invade the small forest path.
It was through these familiar leaves and friendly saplings that the family began their ten day journey to the shrine of the gracious spirit.
Jirou rode on a horse at the head of the group, his servants following shortly behind on foot. The other blessed children followed behind on their own steeds. The children too small to ride on their own being accompanied by male servants, who did not pose the risk of transforming the children. The only exception being the wet nurse that cradled the baby boar in her arms as she rode last in the procession.
She soothed and comforted the newborn as best she could, having a male servant hold the child up to her breast when the time came to feed the boy.
The wailing snorts and cries of a child using the mouth of an animal broke the peace that had settled among the sleepy travelers. It was the first day, and the children had woken up at dawn—just as they had been in celebrations. With the smooth terrain limited to the strip of land that snaked between trees, and often enough felt the pounding of human feet to keep its receding grass at bay, the horses walked one by one up the mountains.
Tarou released a yawn, tears forming in his eyes as he did, shielding himself from the sudden light that spilled over the clearing the path led them to. The trees were patchy and thin and the road widened to allow a clear view from the mountain. The sun was now well in the sky, hanging above head and boring through the spring air to bleed a heat that indicated a sign of the coming summer. He wiped the sweat off his brow, turning when he heard a horse grunting and galloping ahead of him.
Makoto was the youngest to ride without a servant strapped behind him. His eager new found knowledge manifesting itself in a reckless enjoyment of the animal as he urged himself forward so that he could ride next to Jirou.
"Master Jirou!"
"Hello Makoto, I see you've become accustomed to riding on your own," Jirou said with a smile. Tarou narrowed his eyes at the back of Makoto's head, his irritation flaring further when Genta rode to join Makoto's side.
"My father taught me!"
"Ujinobu is a very skilled rider," Jirou said, nodding in agreement.
"He's the best!"
"No way, my uncle is the best rider who ever lived," Genta said sharply.
"Nuh-uh! I'm sure my father could outrace that old man any day!"
"If you're so sure, why don't you race me right now?"
"Yeah!"
Genta gave a competitive smirk to his friend who practically jumped up and down on his horse, gripping the reigns in his newly experienced hands and giving the tiger boy a bright, unhinged smile.
"Boys, you really should be getting back into your formation," Jirou said with a laugh.
"Wait! I will, I promise!" Makoto said quickly. "But I wanted to hear the story about the gracious spirit again."
"I'm sure you've heard that story hundreds of times," the man said curiously, arching a brow.
"I want to hear it too!" Tarou called from behind, Jirou turned his neck to face the sudden voice. He stared at Tarou and the boys that followed behind on their horses and the servants on foot, before staring up at the blistering sun. He sighed.
"I suppose there's no harm in taking a small rest."
Jirou stepped to the edge of the path, a cliff tumbling below him as he stared out above the trees and into the clear blue sky that was scattered with soft white clouds. The bright yellow of the sun bouncing off them and down onto their faces, the heat of their rays fighting to splash against the faces of the family and servants. The head of the family gave a melancholic sigh, drinking in each detail of the scenery before him as the servants and children bustled behind him. Stretching their legs, resting in the shade, and preparing the food for their rest.
Masae walked to the man's side, staring up at him as he observed the solemn features of his god. Reflexively he put a comforting hand on the man's sleeve, gripping onto it tight as he stared out at the scene, as well.
Jirou stared down at the boy with a smile before giving another sigh.
"I will miss these lands," he said softly. Masae tilted his head in a question.
"Where are they going?"
Jirou gave a good natured laugh, "nowhere, my dear son. It is us that will soon have to leave."
"Why?" Masae asked, suddenly feeling a jolt of sorrow at the thought that this sight would not be one he would be allowed to revisit.
"The emperor has ordered that each clan head is to take up residence in Edo," Jirou said softly. "We will be traveling there before the snow falls."
"To Edo?" Masae had heard of it. Of buildings and people. Of life that bustled from every corner of the streets. Of modernity. Even of people who came from lands beyond the sea waters. It seemed like a place in a story. Intangible. Fleeting.
It didn't sound like home.
"I'm sorry I was not able to see the last of your dance," Jirou said suddenly looking down at the boy, his face contorting as if he had eaten something bitter. "I heard you performed beautifully."
Masae looked up and smiled at him.
"Master Jirou!" The pair turned to see Makoto sitting in a circle with a number of his other cousins. Tarou and Genta sat at opposite ends of each other, crossing their arms and making it a point not to look each other at all, Genta's bandage still sticking firmly across his nose. Makoto sat beside Akikane, the rabbit child, a boy with yellow hair that absorbed the sun in each strand, and bright eyes that always seemed so wide and curious.
Beside him sat Kinkiyo, the snake child. An easily distracted boy that wasn't quite old enough to understand his older cousins, but not quite young enough to enjoy the company of toddlers and infants. He laid on his stomach, picking pieces of grass out of the ground and sniffing the wildflowers before tearing out the petals one by one.
Jirou approached the boys, kneeling on the cloth that the servants had laid out for them.
"Where is Sadahide?" asked Jirou as Masae took a seat next to him.
"He wanted to stay with the horses," Akikane said, pointing a hand over to where the horses rested.
Sadahide, a young boy of five years, stood contently among the horses, patting them each absentmindedly. Jirou smiled.
"Leave him be," he said.
"Master Jirou! The story, the story!" Makoto pleaded for again.
"Alright, young ones," he nodded. Genta, with little interest, laid down on his back next to Makoto. The rest of the children turning their attention to the head of the family. "Decades ago, when my grandfather was still a young boy, a terrible drought plagued our family.
"War from the neighboring clans had devastated what little of the land that could be salvaged. We had no water, our plants would not grow, our animals would die of sickness and starvation. Our family rested on the edge of destruction."
"Grandfather Fuji said there used to be raids on our fields, and said that he took down a whole group of men who threatened his life!" Tarou exclaimed excitedly.
"That's true," Jirou said. "That was before my time, however. Still, stories of your grandfather's warrior days are stories the whole family have enjoyed since he was young."
Tarou smiled smugly at his cousins who paid him little attention. Jirou patted the boy on the head lovingly.
"One day, my father heard a tale of an ancient spirit who lived in these mountains. A spirit that would grant the wish of any man worthy enough to survive the journey. He was a sickly man, with a weak body and a soft heart, and feared he would not be able to ensure the safety of his clan when my grandfather passed away. He climbed these very mountains in a last desperate attempt, following the same path we are on today, and went on a search for the gracious spirit that lasted from the bloom of the cherry blossoms, to the melting of the snow.
"It was when my father was close to death that he encountered the spirit. An apparition that had been in hiding for centuries. When he asked him to grant his wish the spirit turned against him. Nearly taking his life before he could finish his words."
"That doesn't sound very gracious," Genta remarked.
"Centuries had tired him," Jirou remarked with sad eyes.
"Still," Genta said flippantly, still staring up at the sky. "Shouldn't we call him the somewhat-murderous spirit? Or the bitter spirit, instead?"
"Shut up, Genta, you don't know what you're talking about!" Tarou exclaimed.
"I know more than you!"
"Boys, please," Jirou said firmly. The two huffed and turned away from each other even more. "That is no way for family to act."
"So what happened next?" Makoto asked, trying to steer the topic from their tired bickering.
"He offered something in exchange," Jirou said, his sad eyes sinking into every curve of his smile. "His life."
"So the spirit did kill him!" Genta remarked.
"In a way," Jirou said. "As I said, my father was a weak man, and knew he would not make the journey back home. So instead he offered his life, allowing for the spirit to be reborn in our family. He offered the spirit a place where he and his brothers could live in peace, away from the prying eyes of those who could only take from the spirit and never give in return."
"Are we his brothers?" Asked Masae. Jirou nodded.
"You are, my children," he said. "In exchange for allowing his brothers to live again in our family the Sohmas were granted wealth, prosperity, rain once more, freedom from war, healthy bodies in the family. We were offered life in return for life. This is why you are the blessed ones. You are the bearers of fortune in this family."
The children looked at each other, looked at themselves and inflated a bit. Smiling at one another as the spring air whirled around them.
"Do you miss your father?" Asked Masae gently.
"I never knew him," said Jirou. "My mother was pregnant with me when he left for his journey, though she didn't realize it at the time."
"Are you lonely?" Asked Makoto. For his age, his eyes were perceptive, and absorbed the detail around him like a cloth being pulled from a riverbank. His eyes dripped with minutia he couldn't quite understand yet, but knew was important enough to hold onto.
Things such as the look in his father's eyes when he stared down at him. Observing the smile that his father had regarded on more than one occasions to be from his mother. A mother he never knew. A mother that none of them ever knew. All but Akikane, the child of the first mother to survive the childbirth with her sanity intact. Soon Saburou, the newborn boar, would grow to know his mother, as well.
"I cannot be lonely among you, my sons," he said with a smile. "You, above all, are my family. My fortune."
The boys looked around at each other again.
A bond between them as tight as a well taught rope that chaffed against their skin and pressed against their stomachs. Winding them.
"Then I don't feel lonely, either," Tarou mumbled looking up at Jirou.
The god smiled.
The other boys couldn't bring themselves to.
The sounds of the mountain calmed in that moment. Birds didn't squawk, the few eager cicadas didn't chirp, the wind seemed to halt, leaving behind the burning rays of sun that couldn't be whisked away by fickle breezes.
Makoto looked around as the rest of the boys sat in silence, pondering the words of Jirou's story in young minds that still saw the world so simply. He stood and walked towards his younger cousins as Tarou tugged on Jirou's sleeve.
"If I was the first born, does that mean that I'm the closest brother?"
"It does," Jirou said simply. "The rat is the one who leads his brothers in fortune, in health, and in prosperity. You have a great responsibility to carry such a status."
Genta rolled his eyes. He did his best to block out their conversation before the boys around him began to chatter. Plagued by a child's boredom, he rolled idly from his back to his stomach, from his stomach to his back until his body collided with something sturdy. He looked up at Sadahide who stared down at him in a slight daze and the tiger boy sat up, staring up at his cousin whose quiet nature had always puzzled him.
"Sadahide, my boy. Why don't you join us?" Jirou said to the boy who had made his way to the edge of their circle. The horse child shook his head.
"Something's coming."
"What do you mean?" Asked Jirou.
"Something's coming. They told me," he said, pointing a finger to the group of horses who were beginning to whiney and stomp their feet, fighting their restraints.
Jirou's blood ran cold.
"We must leave this place," he said, standing up.
"What?" Tarou asked, panic falling into his eyes that was mirrored in the boys around him. Cautiously they all stood, standing with tensed joints, unsure of where to go or how to move.
"We are leaving now!" Jirou commanded, sending the servants into a confused frenzy, exchanging looks that did not nearly carry the weight that pushed down on the shoulders of the blessed.
"I can't calm the horses," cried a servant. "If I untie them they'll run off!"
The boys stepped back from the horses, Sadahide feeling fear ripple through him at the cries of his kindred animals. He grabbed onto Kinkiyo's arm, and huddled with the rest of the children. Something rustled in the trees and one of the horses lurched on its hind legs, trying its best to escape.
A blood-curdling screech pierced the sky, the sound of something so purely unhuman, so tortured and warped that it turned the taste on their tongues sour, and the spring air felt as sharp and cruel as winter wind. The servants that looked after the younger zodiac children picked them up, running to take cover in the bushes and in the trees further down the path.
But Jirou was frozen. The older children hiding behind him, unable to move. Unable to turn their gaze away. A sickening pull compelling them to keep their feet as grounded and rooted to the earth as the trees that arched overhead.
From the clearing came the snarling and deformed body of the creature.
Jirou could feel tiny hands clutching onto his robe desperately, and watched as loyal servants carefully placed themselves in front of the head of the family.
The stench from the being sunk into the dirt, contaminated the air, filled their lungs with spoiled oxygen. Akikane gagged, but covered his mouth with a shaking hand, careful not to make any movement, a fear so tangible it paralyzed all of them.
With its misshapen limbs the demon stalked closer and closer to the trembling servants, baring its teeth in what could only be a warning. Thick, red liquid dropping from its stained and sharpened fangs as it stepped closer and closer.
Tarou stared intently at the creature that had presented itself before them. In their years of celebration, of fortune, of prosperity, no one had ever told the children of the remaining spirit that never dined at their table. That never had a place within the estate. Whose existence never passed the lips of any elder, or any gossiping servant.
But staring into the eyes of the monster, they knew who he was. In this clearing, they were all here. One by one, they had gathered to be together. To fulfill a bond that ached in them all, that pulled them together so tightly that it strung them together with the same prick that would come with being stabbed through with a needle.
Struck by fear, but fed with fascination and a deep greed for balance. Tarou could feel anger. Greed. Violence. Fear. Hatred. Hatred. Hatred.
He could feel it.
They all could.
He craved such an indelicate balance even through the feeling of sick that rose in his throat.
Without thinking, the boy took a step forward.
The beast snapped. He lurched forward, giving a distorted roar as he dug his claws into the servants and flung them to the side, coming straight towards the group of children that began to scream and sob behind Jirou's elegant robes.
The head of the family put his hand up, his fingers steady but his eyes pouring with terror.
"Spare them, please!" He cried, only to be thrown to the side by a violent blow to the stomach, weakening him and leaving him motionless on the ground. The blessed scattered, all but Tarou who could only back away step by step as he stared up into those violet eyes, the color of battered and bruised skin.
Tarou screamed as the creature dug its claws roughly into his shoulder, flinging him onto the ground and sliding him against the dirt until he lay underneath the creature. Shaking uncontrollably, Tarou's eyes leaked with fearful tears as sobs spilled from his throat like vomit. The creature snarled, its putrid saliva dripping onto his scraped cheek where blood was beginning to bead.
He closed his eyes, and with a movement that was not his own, with a will that so fully controlled his body that it had to be foreign, he grabbed for his dagger in a split second, and as the demon pulled its claw back to strike a finishing blow Tarou stuck the dagger in its neck.
It shrieked. Again and again. Filled the sky with a sound so grim it became as deafening and constant as silence, itself.
With its final breath it fell.
Tarou clenched his reddened eyes shut, expecting the crushing weight of the monster to fall atop him.
It didn't.
The rat boy opened his eyes carefully, and the first thing he noticed was bright orange hair. Pale, almost ghostly skin rested atop of him, blood spilling from where the dagger was still lodged in the neck of what looked like a child that couldn't be much older than him.
Tarou's breath came rapidly and heavy, unable to move as he looked to his sides again and again, silently pleading for help, for safety, for oblivion.
"Tarou! Tarou! Tarou, my boy! Tarou, please, are you hurt?" Jirou said, holding his stomach as he gracelessly rolled the body off of him so that it lay on its back just to Tarou's side. He turned his head to look at the features of a boy, his eyes brows furrowed, his mouth carved into an expression of agony.
"Tarou!" Jirou called again, taking his free hand to place on his cheek so that he could force him to look up into his eyes. "Tarou, are you alright?"
He looked up blankly into the eyes of the head of the family and couldn't speak.
Instead, he could only cry.
Tears fell from Jirou's eyes as well as he cradled the boys cheek, looking up at the rest of the children who had tears in their eyes as well.
From the bushes Jirou could hear the younger children crying into the arms of their keepers.
Panic washed over the man once more.
"Where's Makoto?"
Nighttime washed over the Sohma estate, scrubbing any yellow or orange that dared to stray from its setting sun. Where the streets were previously filled with music, dancing, and celebration, now a silence laid itself out on the roads between the houses. It settled in between each and every blade of grass. It echoed behind the rustle of branches that hurried to be still once more.
Ujinobu slid the paper doors open only slightly. Within the inner circle of estate houses the zodiac children lay in a restless sleep. While he peered further into a willful darkness that accompanied the late hour, the fitful crying of the younger children was complemented by soft candle light behind the neighboring doors. They resembled fireflies that had been trapped in a child's hand, and if the doctor closed the door to his own home, the wails and sobs of children could be mistaken for the buzzing heard when those hands were brought up to his ear.
He stumbled to the middle of his home, slouching down over a rice wine that he never drank, and stared at the small cup in his hands, swirling it so that his reflection could be distorted.
Behind him he could hear the soft sound of his door being slid open and closed again. Though he didn't turn when footsteps padded lightly behind him.
"Uji?" Sayo's careful voice asked. He couldn't help but release a shaking breath at the rare and complete gentility that textured her voice.
He clenched his eyes shut and tried to listen for the buzzing once more.
How he wanted to wail with each child.
Sob just as they had when he had first brought them to this world.
How he wanted to cry as if he were being born again.
Sayo placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and he let a quiet tear fall from his eye.
"Where is Saburou?" He asked quietly, careful not to let his voice break.
"Tadaaki is tending to him," she said. "He's been fussing ever since he returned."
Ujinobu nodded, taking his cup to his lips and drinking it all in one gulp. He poured himself another. "You shouldn't be here," he said. "It's late. People will talk."
"People have little else to do," she said softly. "How are you doing?"
Ujinobu stared down at his rice wine once more. He watched as it rippled and stilled under his hand. Watched as he brought the wine to the very edge of its container, teasing his fingers with the threat to spill, only to slide it back down to its center. He drank. He refilled.
"I was there when he was born," he said softly. Her hand didn't budge from his shoulder.
"Makoto?"
He shook his head, "the demon. Or, no. Not a demon. He was a child. I saw him when he was born. He was a child."
"Like the blessed?" She asked, pouring him another drink when he finished his again.
"That child is not blessed," he said. "When he crowned he was human. I could see a tuft of soft orange hair. When his head came from his mother it was as if the first breath he took had made an enemy out of him. He changed… he changed into this… this creature."
He brought his palms up to his eyes, as if to try to push the memory back inside. As if his eyelids weren't enough to keep his eyes closed. Sayo sat beside him. Patient. Listening. Silent.
"He thrashed out of his mother, tearing her flesh, making sure those breathes were her last. I tried to calm him and he scratched my face, my arm, anything he could reach. But when a child finally rested in my arms the father approached me—told me to hand the baby to him. He wanted to kill it with his own two hands.
"I protected him. I wouldn't let him come near us. I protected that child," a strangled sob came from his throat and he quickly tried to suck it back in. "I protected it," he repeated.
"You're a good man," Sayo reassured. He shook his head. "What man lets a child die?"
"What man watches a child be tied up in chains, exiled and denied? What man denies death but doesn't allow life in return?" He turned to look at Sayo with anguish burning into his eyes. "I knew he wasn't human. I knew, I knew."
"He was," Sayo said. "He was a child."
"It used the form of a child to escape its prison. To kill the men who guarded him, to kill my son," he choked on the last word. Tears falling freely from his eyes as he leaned forward, digging his hands into his hair. "My son."
"You cannot blame yourself for what happened," Sayo said, shifting so that she was sitting in front of him. She took his face in her hands and lifted him up tenderly so that she could look into those eyes. "Please, grant yourself forgiveness."
He placed a hand over hers on his cheek and directed his eyes down at the sliver of floor that rested between them.
"I will not go to Edo," he said softly.
"What?"
"I will go as far as when the mountains break, and then I will make my own way."
"Why?" Sayo pleaded. "Will you punish yourself forever? Will you abandon everything you know to carry this burden?"
Sayo could feel angry tears spilling from her eyes, and then soothing lips calming her own. He kissed her, a dance that took its cue from sorrow and tasted of rice wine, and salt from the tears that overflowed from them both. He broke away from her.
"Thank you for letting me hold my child," he whispered. "I will never forget the feeling of him in my arms," he turned his eyes up to look at her. "Nor you."
She nodded, swallowing back any noise that threatened to stumble from her chest. She stood, and with the same quiet padding of feet she was gone.
Ujinobu looked around the house that carried so much of Makoto in its walls.
His most blessed child.
So why did the air around him feel so cursed?