The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

Final Notes: Well it's been a long journey, both for the characters and you guys. This is my favorite story in the series. I know a lot of people like Knights of Derbyshire and that's my number 2, but this is my favorite. I hope you enjoyed this little tangent into Japan, but I know you're looking forward to being back in England with the rest of the cast.

The next story, tentatively titled Obligation and Desire, picks up about 3 months after chapter 49, with the younger Darcys stopping in Italy to see Charles Bingley III on the way home to England. There's matchmaking, marriages, and all the usual stuff (which means an occasional fight of some kind), and a segment in France with a guest cameo I think you will enjoy. Thank you to everyone for reading this far! I'll post a preview in the next week or so and probably start posting the next story in a few weeks, max. The Jewish holidays are coming up, I'm moving apartments, and I can't overtax Brandy much more than I already do (you wouldn't believe the consistency errors we deal with in this saga), but I won't want to make you guys wait too long. P.S. We do see Mugen again.

Thank you to everyone who supported me by buying Book 1, especially the people who did it unintentionally, thinking it was new material they hadn't read 2 years before as fanfic. Because it's been so successful, Sourcebooks and I are hammering out a deal for books 2 and 3 (The Price of Family and Left to Follow). Wish me luck on that.

And as always, if you spot any historical mistakes in the story, leave a comment or PM me so I can correct it in revisions. I appreciate it.


Chapter 50 – The Tale of Gendai

The Uchina people could not help but notice their visitor. Her cloak did a poor job of disguising herself, or hiding the boy beneath its folds. He must have not been much older than four or five, from the way his topknot was tied. The islanders found her trying to sneak away some food from behind the tavern without being found. She thought a female worker might be more understanding, but the maid was too curious for her own good and the whole town – nay island – knew of her presence. She could not disguise herself enough to hide the fine silk kimono beneath her cloak. It was simply too fine for anyone on their island, certainly. And when they were done gawking at her fabrics, they started on her, but she didn't speak Ryūkyūan. When they queried her in Japanese, she begged forgiveness, but refused to answer their questions. She was a runaway; that much was obvious. Hiding from her husband with her lover's child? Cast out of the family because of a youthful indiscretion and its result? She certainly looked young, and those rich Japanese daimyos didn't tolerate a philandering wife. The only question was, what was she doing out here?

Well, it didn't matter. She couldn't stay. If she had come so far, there were men after her, and they wanted nothing to with the Japanese, especially daimyo samurai. Who knew? Maybe she was even one of the shōgun's courtesans! What scandal!

"We should kill her and send her body back!"

"Oh? And what about the boy? Are we to hide him?"

"He's just a boy!"

"He'll avenge her when he grows older. He'll kill us all."

"Oh," said the tavern master's wife. "How did it come to talk of blood already? She's done nothing wrong here."

"Samurai! She'll bring samurai! We've never had Japanese samurai here. What will the king think?"

"Who cares what the king thinks? I don't want to find out."

The woman spoke at last, fending them off only with her air of desperation as she hugged the child to her chest. "Please, I won't cause any trouble. I can leave! I can pay for transport!" She held out coins – more money than some of them had ever seen.

"We can't sail now – not to China on these seas. We have to wait for the winds to die down."

"What do I do until then?"

"Hey, we'll ask Gendai-sama."

"Gendai-sama?"

On this, the mob seemed to agree.

"Mom?" the boy said, but she shook her head. She didn't know the answer either.

"Oi. What's this?"

The voice came from the tiled roof of the tavern. A man was sitting up on the roof. He was dressed in the island style, but didn't have a topknot at all. There was nothing about him signaling the status of a lord, except perhaps for his sword, but he only had one, and it was no samurai sword. He stood up, his geta clacking against the roof, and leapt right off it, landing next to her.

"You are Lord Gendai?" she whimpered. Some of the islanders were bowing.

"Some people call me that," he said in a more fluent, less accented Japanese. "So, you want to kill this woman for what? Some samurai that might be showing up? She didn't say that. I was listening."

"What will we do?

"Nothing." He looked at the woman, and at her child. "You – come with me." He turned his back to the mob, and they made a path for him.

"Gendai-sama! What will you do?"

"What? I'm going home, and she's coming with me."

"What about the samurai?"

He shrugged. "If they come, send them my way."

One of the bigger islanders briefly tried to get in his way, but he just stared up at him, and the man went fleeing in the other direction. "Lord Gendai" lit his lantern, and they walked from town, deeper into the woods. "This way."

She wasn't so sure this was the best idea, to be leaving alone with an armed man, but she would take his offer. If she had to, she would let her son escape to China, and slit her belly with the dagger hidden in her obi – but hopefully, it would not come to that.

Lord Gendai did not speak on the way. They passed many houses, lit and unlit, until finally heading up to the cliff. There was a stretch of land there that was cleared but not used as farmland, except for a small garden. The house was not particularly large or well-kept, but it had several rooms. Lord Gendai entered, and lit the lamps inside. "You can stay here. I have another mattress, but not two. The boy will have to sleep with you until I can find another." The final thing he lit was the small fire below the grate, before setting the teapot on it. "Tea will be ready in a bit."

"Your lordship – "

"I'm not a lord. I don't know why they call me that, but I don't care," he said. "You can call me whatever you like, as long as it's not that."

She set her boy down, but he remained by her side, as he was taught. "I can pay – "

"You don't have to." He removed a tea set from the chest.

"Do you want to know – "

"I'll give you time to make up a name. Or you can tell me your real one. I won't know the difference." He bowed his head, waiting for the water to boil, and she didn't want to ask anything. Her son finally pulled himself free and padded over to the kneeling man, and for whatever reason, pulled at his hair, which was wild and on the long side for someone with no topknot. "Kid, that hurts." Instead of striking him, he took the hand and gently pulled it away from his hair. "What's your name?"

"Akihito!"

"Akihito!" she screamed.

"So that's it? Very noble name." Gendai reached into the box and removed a dish, which he uncovered to reveal little black bean-like items. "You look hungry for a 'bright' boy. Here, have some dried meat."

Before she could stop him, her son dipped both hands in the bowl and began shoveling it into his mouth.

"Not that fast! You'll hurt your stomach." He patted Akihito on the head. "Go wash up. There's a pump out back. You don't want to be all filthy for your mother, right?"

Akihito bowed, and ran out the back, in the direction Gendai was pointing. Gendai removed the tea from the stove and set it on the tray between them. "You want to tell me your name, too? Or make one up? Or should I?"

"Murako."

He bowed. "People call me Gendai." He was older than her – perhaps in his late forties- with grey in his hair, but not much. He had a lot of life in him. He moved slowly, but it was because he did everything with great care, like a Zen master, even though he didn't dress like a monk. "Drink."

They drank together. It was good tea – much better than she'd had while on the run. For tea that was made in a hurry, she would say it was very good. Gendai poured another cup as Akihito returned, and insisted he drink it for warmth. "It'll be cold tonight. Let me find you some blankets."

There were only a few rooms, and she finished her tea and joined him as he found a mattress and unrolled it in a room used for storage. It had plenty of space, and he found two, then three blankets and a clean pillow.

"Are you going to ask me who I am?"

"No," he replied. "You'll tell me if you want to. Otherwise, I don't have to know."

"Is there a boat in the morning?"

"There won't be a boat for a while. Nobody comes here except the traders, and they were just here. You can stay as long as you like."

"I have money."

"I don't need money. I don't need anything." He pushed away some boxes, making more room for her and her son. "Your court kimono is too fine for the island weather. Tomorrow we'll go and buy a hardier one, so you don't ruin yours so quickly. There's no need to worry – no one will touch you under my protection." He bowed. "Good night."

She knew what she had to do. After Akihito was asleep, she removed her clothing, put her beautiful court robe over her body, and padded across the house, kneeling in front of the door to Gendai's room. If he would protect them, it was worth it. She took a deep breath and slid open the door.

"Don't bother," he said, not even turning over to face her. By all other appearances, he was fast asleep. There was no light in the room, only the moonlight coming through the window. "That is not what this is about."

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes. You're not a whore, so I refuse to treat you like one." He rolled over to face her. "You can stay, and so can your son, as long as you like. If you want to pay me, then you can help out around the house. I hate cleaning. I always have. Now get some rest. You're exhausted."

She bowed, tightening her grip on her kimono. She was now ashamed of her nakedness beneath the kimono. "Thank you, Lord Gendai."

"Gen is fine."

"Hai, Gen-san."

He smiled, and turned back over. Within moments, he was snoring again. She slipped out and returned to what she now supposed was her room, put her under-kimono back on, and slipped under the covers beside her sleeping son. Usually she spent the night with an eye open, barely catching sleep between frightful awakenings and looking over her shoulder, but that night, she finally slept well.


When she rose in the morning, Gen was already up. In fact, he walked in from a trip to the village, bearing some fresh food and a kimono for her and a little one for Akihito, both in the style of the islanders. She held out coin, but he shook his head. "If you sail with traders to China, you won't need them anymore, and I'll return them. If you don't, you can go and buy whatever else you need." He set aside the packages and picked up a rod. "Make yourself whatever you like. I'm going fishing."

Still mystified, she changed into the islander kimono, which was not especially fine, but clean and new. She noticed that Gen left his sword on its stand in his room. Why did he trust her so much? Who was he? He wasn't a local, but he didn't appear to be Japanese, either. He carried himself very oddly: not with the simpering bow of a servant, but nor with the pride of a ranked noble. He knew who he was and would not accept anyone challenging that. The rooms were simple, but the items he had were very fine, some of Chinese origin. There was a Buddhist prayer flag flying on the porch, but it was in Chinese, so she couldn't read it.

Murako found herself exhausted simply by the act of heating breakfast for herself and her son, and was embarrassed to discover how much she had eaten. This was what months on the road had reduced her to. She cleaned up, neatly put the remaining food away, and retired. Fortunately Akihito knew not to make trouble for them and found amusement with one of the bizarre items from China, which must have had some other function beyond a child's toy, but did not appear breakable.

She rose to the smell of fish on the fire. It was much later, and she made herself presentable before joining Gen in the main room. He was a good fisherman and a good cook. He had done everything himself, but he lived alone and without a servant, so that was probably his way. "Eat," he said, passing her a bowl of fish and another of steaming vegetables. He served Akihito, too, before he served himself. "How old is the boy?"

"Five." She had no reason not to tell him. He probably could guess close enough.

"I'll teach him to fish, if he wants, even though he's a little young." He turned to Akihito. "Do you want to learn to fish?"

"Is it fun?"

"I think it is. And it's good when you're on the road, and you're hungry." He wolfed down his own food. "And I'm always hungry. Hey, I see you found the little horseman. I have a whole set somewhere, of jade soldiers. I'll have to find it."

Murako helped him wash the dishes, and he took his sword and left for the evening. She heard him return very late, obviously drunk, and pretended to be asleep as he stumbled around until he eventually found his own room and collapsed on the mattress.

The next day, he woke very late, and had the distinct look of a man trying to disguise his hangover. "Will you go to town? I need some herbs, and some more sauce for the soup. And if they have meat, I'll take some of that, too." He handed her his money pouch. "And don't believe what they say about me. Unless it's true."

"Should I take my son?"

"If you want to. If not, just tell him not to break anything." He closed the door, indicating that he was going back to sleep.

She did not take her son, who would only invite more speculation, or at least slow down the trip, which she wanted to be expedient. Fortunately there was only one path through the woods, and it led straight to the little town. Fearing the critical eyes of the locals, she quickly ducked into the medicinal store. Fortunately the woman working there spoke Japanese, as some of the islanders didn't. "The usual, then?"

"And some headache medicine, if you have it."

The woman chuckled. "I suppose he'll need more of that." She went to and fro in the store, collecting the things needed. "So, you're staying with Gendai until the traders come?"

"Perhaps."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about. They grilled him last night pretty rough, but he set the record straight. You're just his guest, not a foreign conquest." She chuckled. "How he can go straight from a brothel to defending a woman's honor, I'll never know. But that's Gendai for you."

"May I ask something about him? He doesn't talk about himself much." Or at all.

The woman began to portion out ground herbs into little packets on the table in front of her. "He came a few years ago. Four? No, it must be five. He spoke Japanese, Chinese, some other languages I'd never heard of, but only a little Ryūkyūan. When we bothered him about it enough, he said he was born in the north, on one of the islands where they have the prisoners make silk. He doesn't know his parentage. Obviously he's been wandering for a long time. He didn't have to tell us that." She tied up the little packets in such a neat bow. "When he came, there were some samurai – Ryūkyū samurai – that were basically thugs, and they were bringing all kinds of trouble to the island. He ran them out the first night he was here. Killed one of them, but from what I heard, that was because the guy wouldn't leave and charged him. Since then, it's been very peaceful here."

"And the house?"

"It used to belong to an old man whose family left to find work in China. Gendai took care of him until he died, and the man left the house to him." She frowned. "I think when he first came, he had a different name. Mu Gen or something. It's changed over the years."

"How does he live? By fishing?"

"That and he helps us when the traders comes. He speaks a lot of languages, and we pay in kind, and let him drink at the inn and whatnot. On festival days, he always has candy for the children, with real sugar. They love him. Otherwise, he keeps to himself. No one wants to get in his way, not after what he did to those samurai." She put the whole package together and passed it to her, taking some coins from the purse. "He's a good man. He drinks, he fights, he gambles, but that's all on the surface. He has a very calm way about him. If you choose to stay, it'll be good for you, and your son."

"Arigato." (Thanks)

"You're welcome."

She returned to the house with a sense of relief that was beyond description.


Their days fell into a quiet routine. Every day was not the same, but that depended on Gen's activities the night before. If he went drinking, he slept in. If he did not, he rose early. He fished, and worked in the garden. He spent long hours meditating or slowly practicing his strange forms, which were either native or Chinese. He was very lively around Akihito, or any of the islander children who came to visit him and beg for sweets.

She didn't speak of her past, but he guessed enough of it to know that she didn't know how to clean or how to cook, and he showed her. "You know how to write?"

She nodded.

"I need help with these letters I send. I can read and write a little, but I'm not good enough. If you would help me, I would be grateful."

How could she not? He fed and clothed them, and gave them shelter without any serious demands. Mugen was an apt pupil, and learned quickly. She didn't particularly understand who he was writing to or what he was talking about, but they were not business letters. They were to a woman, because he asked about her daughter, and her husband, but the name was bizarre.

"It's not what you think," he said to her unasked question. "She was my student. She came from far away to study with me, and then she went home."

She did not stop herself before she said, "You took a female student?"

He shrugged. "She was very good. Is very good."

So it was not a former lover, or even a wife. He did not carry around the sadness of the widower, so he had probably never been married. Always, she was afraid to ask. He was such an odd man and had done so much for them, and she didn't want to foul anything up. Their lives depended on it.

One morning, the ringing of a bell interrupted their breakfast. Gen finished quickly. "That's the traders. Their ship has been spotted. I suppose I should go earn my keep." He put on his jacket and his sword. "They should be here within the hour. Are you going, or do you need the time to decide?"

She looked down at the floor, then up at him. "Gen-san, will you answer a question?"

"I can try."

"Why are you letting us stay here? We can't pay you, you don't seem to want anything, and we're just invading your privacy."

"If I wanted to live in privacy I wouldn't have taken you in," he said. He paused, studying her expression, and said, "I don't admit that I like having people around sometimes. I just wait for them to come to me, and here you are. Akihito is a good boy and he doesn't deserve a life on the run. I know what that's like. And besides, how long do you have to live? Not long enough to raise him to an adult."

She looked away. She was doing so well, and she was so discreet. "How did you know I was ill?"

"I'm familiar with it. Also, there was blood on your sleeve, when I washed your kimono." He turned to her more seriously, with a certain air of genuine concern. "How long have you been sick?"

"A year now, perhaps."

Gen nodded. "You could live several years if you take care of yourself. There's no better medicine in China – not anything that can cure you – but you can live a long time with consumption. Still, not long enough."

"I don't know what to do."

"Well, you don't have to decide today. The ships will be back in a few weeks, weather permitting. You can leave – or not leave – anytime you like. I don't advise trying China, without serious money or a knowledge of Chinese, and I don't know it well enough to teach it." He shouldered his pack. "I'm off."

She couldn't manage a response. As soon as he left, she broke down and cried on the floor.


Murako and Akihito did not leave with that ship, or the next. She had not been spotted since she left Okinawa, but she still kept running. Even with the price on her head, she supposed that Gen would protect her. He said he would, and he seemed good to his word.

It was not an easy life, but it was a good one. She traded in the mind-numbing boredom of court life and the frustrating scheming of the similar-unoccupied ladies for simple chores and living. She didn't know how to sew, but after she found Gen sewing her own torn jacket, she had enough courage to ask him to teach her. The island dialect was not far from Japanese, so it was easy to pick up, and Akihito was a child so he was speaking it as if it was his own within months.

As she cooked and cleaned, she watched him flourish. For so long he was taught to be still and quiet and not draw attention to himself, but he was a boy and it went against his instincts. He learned to fish, to swim, and in time, how to play all the games the islander children played. As soon as his presence was constant enough, they accepted him as their own, especially because he lived with Uncle Gendai, whom was universally loved by anyone under ten.

Under her tutelage, Gen's writing improved, though she did not understand the nature of his letters, which seemed so mundane for a man who surely had better things to do with his time. The ones that arrived for him were none of her business, though sometimes she was tempted to peek at them, as he kept them all and reread them several times. One day he returned from the traders with a package, and was delighted to put up the most bizarre picture she had ever seen. The figures in the painting were not properly drawn, but instead more to life, if anyone looked or dressed like that. They were undeniably Western, but they looked so different that Gen had to explain they were a family.

"This one," he said, pointing to the seated woman wearing a hat over red hair. "That's my student. Jorgi-chan."

"You taught a foreigner?"

"She was good."

With the obvious affection he had for her and the other people in the painting, she didn't question it.

Gen was religious, but no monk. She knew he continued to visit the women in town who made their services available, and drank more than he should, but he was respectful of the rituals he chose to respect. There was no Buddhist shrine here, just a village priestess who performed bizarre rituals to ward off and alternately send thanks to the invisible demons that surrounded them all. Though she was the most powerful person in the village, the priestess showed as much deference to Gen as he did to her, not out of fear like some islanders did, but an odd sort of respect.

When Murako had been living on the island for almost a year, and knew the dialect well enough, she approached the priestess, who said, "There is a man who has seen the gods and argued with them. And he won."

"Is that what his tattoos mean?"

The priestess regarded her oddly. "They're Japanese tattoos. They mean he was convicted of a crime. He must have escaped the penal colony. They are of no religious significance."

Murako saw no reason to doubt it. Gen had the hardened look of a criminal, though he rarely used it in full force, and never around children.

On Akihito's birthday, it was time to give him a new shave if he were to stay in the community, or so some of the other women told her. He ought to look like the other children. She decided to ask Gen's opinion.

"There's no reason not to," he said. "It all comes back anyway."

She bowed her head.

"Oi. What is it? Do you want him to keep his little ponytail, like a samurai's son?"

"Are you opposed to the idea?"

"It's just hair."

She poured more spices into the pot. "I thought you didn't like samurai."

"I don't like some samurai. Usually they're the ones that get in my way. But there are samurai I've liked. Loved. If you're going to judge people at all, you should do it on their own merits."

In the end, they decided not to give him the islander cut, but to let him keep his distinct future-samurai topknot and locks. No one objected enough, and Gen didn't question it. As always, he just seemed to know.


Murako thought maybe the island winds would cure her, but they didn't. It never was truly cold, even in the dead of winter, but her health declined in the extremes of weather, hot or cold. Sometimes she had energy to do chores, sometimes she didn't, and always, she was coughing. Gen wasn't asked. He came home from shopping with more of the tea that was easy on her throat and served it to her while she was still in bed. They agreed that it was time for Akihito to have his own room.

"The weaver had a cough like that, and she died," he said. "Is Mother going to die?"

"The weaver was an old woman! Are you calling your mother old? Disrespectful child!" He swatted Akihito, and Murako found the strength to laugh.

In the spring she formally saw a healer to better manage her care. She knew that they were just trying to give her more time.

When Akihito turned seven Gen said, "Do you want me to train him in bushido?"

"You know it?"

He shrugged. "Well enough. To become a serious master, he would have to join a dojo, but that would be years away. I know all the codes and the teachings of bushido, not just the art of the sword."

"I don't have swords."

"I do. I have a daisho, a good friend gifted to me when he died. Akihito could have them, if that is what you want for him."

"If he wants it ..."

"That is what you want for him?"

She was non-committal. Truth be told, she had mixed feelings about it herself. "He should at least know these things. It's in his blood."

"I'll teach him. You rest."

Mugen cleared out space in the yard, and when Murako recovered, she watched her son pick up the wooden sword Gen carved for him. At first they were really just playing, but slowly, Akihito learned to copy the sword katas Mugen showed him. He took pride in it.

"I only ask one thing of you," Gen said when Akihito was gone to town. "Tell me I'm not training him so he can avenge you, or anyone else. That can be a reason if he decides it, but not the only reason. That's not a good path for a child like him. He deserves better."

She looked down at her tea. "You've never asked anything of me, even my full name. Is it because you didn't want to know?"

"I said you would tell me when you wanted to."

"Akihito's proper name is Hosokawa-no-Akihito. Before I was born, my marriage was arranged. My father was part of the Hosokawa clan, but he made overtures to the Mōri clan because he wanted a better trading relationship with them. He said the next daughter born to him would marry any man they chose.

"When I came of age, so did Mōri-no-Yoshinaga, who was the heir to the position as daimyo. I never cared for him, but our marriage was already set. However, he contracted a stomach virus and was ill for many months. During this time, I fell in love with a distant cousin, Hideyoshi, and we married in secret. I was with child when Yoshinaga recovered. He was outraged, and his clan is far more powerful than mine. Hideyoshi loved me, but he was only a low-level samurai and my family demanded that he commit seppuku for the honor of the clan. He did, but only to save my life. I married Mōri-no-Yoshinaga, and Akihito was born a month later. Yoshinaga never forgave me for my brazen actions. When I heard he was conspiring to have Akihito murdered so he could not grow up and avenge his father, I decided to leave. I was chased, but I escaped. I did terrible things and while in hiding, I contracted this horrible illness. Since I came to the islands, I've not seen a samurai, but I did not plan to stay here, until I realized how hard China would be. I know I will not survive, but I want Akihito to. I would do anything for his happiness. I've survived only because of your unending kindness – " She broke off, covering her mouth to disguise the sob. "I cannot repay you."

He let her find comfort in his arms. "Oi, don't be upset. I'll care for Akihito until he is old enough to go out on his own. I don't have a proper reason for you. Who knows? It will keep me entertained."

But she had already learned the truth. Gen never said what he meant, but he loved Akihito. He had always cared for him and he always would. Gen was not a young man, but he was not old, either.

"You will tell him the story, when he's old enough?"

"When he's old enough."


She had good days and bad days. The balance seemed to be shifting towards the latter, but there were many happy days. There were festivals, there were hours spent with her son, or just watching him play.

"He's growing so fast," she said.

Gen nodded and let her refill his sake dish. "That's what kids do."

"Gen-san, you love children so much. Why don't you have some of your own?"

"Why? They seem to find their way to me anyway, without all the work."

"I've never heard it said that way."

"Well, now you have." He grinned, and headed inside, taking the sake bottle with him.

It was so hard for her, to keep ignoring him like this. Why did he shun her and content himself with whores?

With a certain amount of liquor in her, she was determined to find out. She removed her over-kimono and took her old court kimono out of the case and dressed herself. She slid his door open.

"I thought we did this a while ago?" he said.

"Is it the illness? Or is there something else about me?"

"No. It's not – anything." He rolled over. "I can't explain it. I'm sorry."

"So I'm just undesirable?"

"On the contrary. It's me, Murako-chan. I don't take well to commitment."

"You're lying. What kind of man takes a woman and child in his home for no reason? Who sends long letters to his faraway gaijin student?"

Gen shook his head and laughed. "I suppose you may be right."

"If you want me to go, I'll understand. And I won't ever bother you again."

He sat up. "No. Don't go."

That was it. No other words were needed. Akihito was already asleep, and too young to understand or care that two adults would spend the night together.

"Why did you never take a wife?" she said between kisses. His skin was not soft, even under his clothing. She had seen his scars before, but never felt them. They were softer than she imagined.

"If I took a wife, I'd be married, and you wouldn't be in this room. Possibly. Depends how good a husband I was."

"You didn't answer the question."

"Clever." His hands were rough, but he could make her feel like they were silk as he caressed her body. He didn't answer the question, but she was too occupied to ask again.

She was married to a man who wanted her son dead, and he was a former vagrant and criminal. There was ice around his heart, and it took two years, but she finally melted it.


Murako's last year was a good one. She would even rival it to the brief time she'd been married to Akihito's father, with less excitement and more peace. She understood it wasn't in Gen's nature to talk openly of their relationship to anyone, sometimes even each other, but his actions always spoke louder than his words.

She saw her boy continue to thrive under Gen's care. Someday, as she'd asked, he would be a samurai like his father. Under Gen's guidance, she liked to think he wouldn't be quite as obedient as her husband had been. It might be against the tenants of bushido, but perhaps a little independence would serve her son well. She tried to picture Akihito as a man, as a samurai. Would he look just like his father, or favor her?

"Oi, Mura-chan, don't cry," Gen whispered. "Or do that. I don't know with you women. Always crying."

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "You always know the right thing to say."

"It's one of my many talents."

It was good not to be alone in bed, because she was spending more and more time in it. The coughing and hacking was exhausting, and she had to be told to eat.

"Look, Mother, what Gen-san got us!" Akihito plucked a piece of steaming pork from the bowl and fed it to her. "Isn't it good?"

"I was lazy. I bought it," Gen said shamelessly. "It smelled good."

"You didn't have any?"

He pushed the bowl forward. "You eat first."

The priestess visited them, and set up amulets of conch shells and pieces of tied grass. She re-blessed the house and appealed to the different gods of the household to protect and heal Murako. Gen was very polite, and thanked the priestess. Murako wondered if he situated himself so that she could hear him speak with Priestess Shoka.

"Do you have anyone else to care for her?"

"If I need someone else, or if she asks for someone, I'll hire someone. Why?"

"You, who are so close to death yourself – perhaps you should not be the one to watch over her."

Gen laughed, but it was not the gentle sort of laugh he used with children. "If anything, I should be around to teach her how to cheat death, as I am quite accomplished at doing so. You can put up all the wards you like, but I will not leave her side because of my past." He added with a hint of anger, "There is nothing unnatural about me."

"Of course, Gendai-sama."

"And I don't appreciate the implication that there is."

"My apologies, Gendai-sama."

"O-Priestess-sama."

Gen opened the door. The priestess was gone, but the incense were still burning. "How do you feel?"

"Better."

He held her hand. The islanders surely knew the truth of their relationship now, but no one said a word, and it was unclear if they had any reason to disapprove. The only one who concerned them was Akihito, who understood only that Gen made his mother feel better, and he was fine with that.

"Is there better medicine in China?" Akihito asked.

"No," Gen said. "If there was, I would take her."

"How do you know?"

"I've seen this before. Several times, actually."

Akihito, who had never formally been told his mother's condition, had tears in his eyes. "Why does she have to die?"

"Everyone has to die, Aki-chan. We don't usually get to choose when it happens."

"It's not fair."

"I never said it was." He softened his composure. Murako watched through the screen. "I didn't know my mother at all. It is this way with many people. Your mother is around because she couldn't bear to leave you when you were so young and vulnerable. Soon you're going to be a brave samurai, not a helpless infant."

"No!" Akihito pulled himself from Gen's grasp. "I want her to stay with me."

"Oi, even if she was healthy, you would have to leave her eventually, to start a life of your own."

"No!"

Murako turned her head at the sound of her son running out the door. She was too weak to call out. Gen didn't follow. He returned to her side. "He'll be all right. It's very hard, but he's a brave boy."

"I can't leave him."

"Well, if you believe what the islanders say, your spirit will be in the graveyard, and he can visit you all he likes. If you're a Buddhist, just reincarnate into a local."

She managed a giggle. "It's not so simple."

"And why not?"

Murako could not properly answer him.


Her world became clouded. It was hard to get a grasp of things, literally or with her mind. Gen was there, and so was Akihito, and the priestess. Maybe some other people; she wasn't sure.

"You had a fever," Gen said. It was later now. It wasn't light out. "It's down a bit now."

She could barely breathe. Drawing in air felt like dragging it across a jagged cliff hidden in her throat. She took a little of her favorite broth, but nothing else. It hurt too much to swallow.

"Gen-san," she whispered, "tell me a story."

"What kind of story do you want?"

"Something with a happy ending."

He put his hand over hers. His was so warm in comparison to hers. "Let me think. Most of my stories end with somebody dying, because I killed them. I think that's a pretty happy ending, but you might think differently." He was watching her; he must have seen her smile. "Let's see ... there was a no-good vagrant and a samurai, and they loved each other, but the samurai died. That's not very happy, is it? Well, he wanted to die. A bushido thing. So I guess it's how you look at it." He smiled sadly. "So let me think. Oi, I know one. It's about a lost princess who is rescued by a mighty warrior from ... well, some suspicious villagers. But they can be pretty tough! Especially when they gang up on you. And I think one of them had a stick."

"Nobody had a stick."

"How do you know? This is my story!"

She smiled. "Fine. And who was this gallant warrior?"

"Well ... I'll tell you who he wasn't, which was a convict covered in scars who no one in their right mind would ever trust. And not with their kids! Certainly not. And gallant rescuers don't spend their money on drink and whores, that's for sure."

"Did he have a name?"

"Ach! Who cares about names? People called him what they wanted to call him, and he didn't care."

"But did he have a name?"

Gen sighed. "The people who really loved him, called him Mugen."

"It's a nice story."

"You think so? I thought it was terrible. All over the place."

"It was fine." It hurt so much to talk. She would rest, and find a little strength. He would excuse her for nodding off, surely.

When she woke, it was light again, and Akihito was there. "Mama-san."

"Akihito." She had rehearsed this speech so many painful times, but still it just came to her, what she should say. "I love you, you know that? I would never leave you if I had a choice."

He nodded, his eyes full of tears.

"Your father died for you. When you're older, Gen will tell you about it. He loved you, too, even though he never met you. He had to hurry up and share all of his love when you were still in my belly. We decided on your name before you were born, so he would know it before he died, and he could pray for you up in heaven. And if he's forgotten, I will remind him." She added, "Remember who you are, but don't let it be a burden, or it will weigh you down."

"I love you, Mama-san."

She could no longer rise, so he had to hug her while she was still lying down, more of a furious embrace. When he was done crying, Gen led him out, saying she needed rest.

She did. She needed more rest than sleep could provide. "Mugen, answer this question for me – why were you so kind to us?"

He grinned. "Why not?"

It was his way, and it could not be described. Even he lacked that ability. She smiled sweetly at him, staring up at the floor from her position on the ceiling. He didn't seem bothered by the odd shadows on the upside-down room, or the men entering to escort her. They were warriors, but they were so undemanding for the way they were dressed.

Gen stood, and remained in place, his feet on the floor that was now the ceiling, as they carried her away. He remained in the distance, seeing her off.

"I would go with you," Mugen said, "but I have some things I still have to do."

The End