The shadows were creeping on toward evening before Lady Haruna roused from her own writing desk to consider the sewing, but her neglect wasn't entirely intentional. She'd honestly meant to get to it earlier, but there was so little joy left in it…after squinting at miniscule stitches for so many days, it felt like her eyes might be permanently crossing. Still, it was better than the mind-numbing silence, and in some ways she supposed she looked forward to being frustrated. At least the needle-pricks gave her a reasonable excuse to curse.
At one point, her women had advised her to embroider the patterns on her child's naming-day robes for good luck, but lately she saw little point to the exercise. She had poured all her soul into the first layer, lavished it with hopeful cherry blossoms and aspiring mountains, and still no child arrived to fill it. She tried even harder with the next layer, stretching the to the limit of her abilities to fill a blue silk sky with delicate wishing-fireflies, but the more weeks passed by the harder she found it to believe in them. Presently, it was gathering dust.
Her own winter robe was going well though, the lady considered, squinting down at the ebony silk. The very beginnings of winter trees snaked over the sleeve bottom, and she knew it would be one of her finest...if she took the time to finish it. It was a pity, she thought, that her husband's wardrobe never seemed to need mending--at least it would give her something useful to work on.
After all, she now owned a total of fifteen winter outfits.
A sudden creak on her veranda step catapulted her senses to high alert, and despite her carefully cultured reserve the woman couldn't help but gasp. It was heavy, impatient; the kind of deliberate step that implied obedience. A faint scratching noise and then a growling whine, which could only mean…
He's home! her mind sang joyously, and her heart beat triple-time to keep up with the tune. The wearied ache in her hands disappeared as she smoothed out her overcoat, raked bony fingers through thin hair. I look terrible! she panicked, reaching for her fine toothed comb. She'd not yet had time to bathe, and her women hadn't even helped her pick the nits out...
Another scratch, more insistent this time, and Haruna dropped the comb in favor of rolling up the blind. To hell with the lice, she'd take care of them later.
"Coming, my lord!" she called, as composed as she could be under the circumstances. What was he visiting for, so suddenly? Was he injured? She thought about calling for a servant but decided against it--surely he would be inside already if something dire had happened. And hopefully he's clean this time...she shuddered involuntarily, remembering the last time he'd come to her door, covered in blood.
She swept to the nearest blind and peeped through the crack, but her husband failed to appear. Suddenly, the scratch came again, and Haruna whirled around on the heels of a sudden shiver.
Northeast.
She had never gotten used to how he always managed to appear from the least auspicious direction. It was slightly bothersome but she could forgive him this time--he had probably taken the most direct route. Her heart was roaring in her chest now and she could practically hear her own heartbeat as she padded down the corridor. What should she say to him? How long would he stay with her? What was happening, out there?
Oh gods, I hope...
...and stopped, breathless.
An ominous shape hunkered ominously behind the outdoor screens, almost indistinguishable from the bush-shadows. Instinctively, she pressed one hand over her empty stomach.
This was no husband.
The shape shifted slightly, swelling upward, and Haruna crazily wondered if she would even see it before it cut through the thin paper between them. There was no time to call for her servants, no time for anything but this cold, shaking freezing, these numb, fading senses before it tore through--
Then the whining sound came again, and the shape changed positions just enough to let her see its tail.
"Don't SCARE me like that!" she admonished, forgetting her place for the moment. Annoyed, Haruna pulled the shutter aside to frown at the snow-white dog.
"Why can't you just enter like a normal person?" she grumbled with no real resentment. He was home! He had come for her! He was—
--holding a folded paper between his teeth?
Belatedly, the lady noticed there was something awry with her "lord": how his eyes were blue, not golden—how that normally floppy ear was standing upright. And where her lord's eyes would be twinkling with mischief, this creature's eyes were filled with a dull, bestial malice…
It wasn't fair, but for a moment she hated him and his messengers equally.
"Are you seeking me?" she asked wearily. The animal dipped its head affirmatively but kept its tight hold on its cargo, wrinkling its muzzle into a wicked snarl.
"Come on then, drop it!" Haruna snapped, reaching for what was rightfully hers. The animal bared even more of its fangs and the lady recoiled; it might owe its allegiance to her husband, but it was clear the beast spared no love for her.
"I apologize, friend messenger." She bowed apologetically, and the beast lashed its tail in what could only be described as annoyance. If anything, its snarl deepened—but finally the jaws parted, and an off-white slip of paper dropped silently to the floor.
What kind of idiot are you? Its eyes sneered, waving its milk-white tail indignantly.
Then it was gone.
Haruna reached forward with hesitation and she couldn't hide her revulsion at the note's shiny coat of dog-spit. Yet another reason to hate the abominable creatures, she thought with disgust…they can't even serve as a proper go-between. Why couldn't he use birds as his emblem? Nice, pretty songbirds that don't drool on everything…
There are times when a lady sincerely regrets marrying a dog lord, and Haruna decided this was one of them.
Shuddering, the woman finally forced herself to touch the paper, gingerly pinching one corner and flipping it over hastily. Definitely from her lord, given the seal. Telltale doggy teeth marks were imprinted around the outside edges, but the inner folds had survived the hot saliva. Still utterly disgusted, Haruna forced herself to open her letter.
Poetry, she realized, written in the old style. The calligraphy was exquisite but shaky– the tell-tale edges of haste and rough brushes. Thankfully it was written entirely in simple syllable-characters; else the note would have been completely illegible. There was no signature, but she recognized that penmanship anywhere.
"Autumn maples
Turn red as fire.
How I yearn for spring." *
She smiled then, running her fingers over the play on her own name; the mention of his longing nearly easing her own pain. That he would send his own, highly recognizable signature-messenger in broad daylight… For one heart-breaking moment, the loneliness seemed unbearable - but gradually the pain in her chest eased, and she could breathe past the knot in her throat without crying. It would do little good to stain her sleeves with tears, when that woman was already established in the eastern apartments.
She was busy reading the poem for the second time when something heavy came crashing down her corridor. A sudden swishing noise, something scurrying toward her, and then thumping person disappeared before she could even react.
Grasping her belt knife, Haruna swiveled to face the thing behind her--only to find an unassuming note on nondescript brown paper. Giggling more in relief than actual amusement, the lady retrieved her latest message and slit the crude seal open with her belt knife. It was written somewhat inexpertly, she noticed...the ink was even smudged twice! Jii-san must have returned—or he had found a contact he trusted within the castle walls. Somehow Haruna doubted the possibility, but it was comforting to know that such a person might yet exist.
"The hydrangeas are over.
Now is the time for
A few final roses."
Definitely no points for writing style. the lady grinned, giggling slightly at the old retainer's choice of words. Even a child of six had to know the roses had long ago stopped blooming…not even Jii-san's talents could keep them alive past the first heat of summer. Hydrangea, maybe…but even that stretched his talents. But regardless of the imagery, Haruna was still greatly excited by this latest poem.
It was the other meaning that got her.
A few roses, he said.
But how many, and how sweet?
"She received my message." Inutaishou queried. It was a statement, not a question, and for a moment the messenger-general was unable to respond.
"The messenger-beast returned this evening, my lord, but..." The unfinished sentence hung in the air, and the young retainer's disapproval was almost tangible. The diminutive terrier swished his tail anxiously, but his master did not turn to rebuke him. The messenger-dog had returned from its errand uneventfully, but the very concept of using it for love letters...
"What should I have done, then?" the dog lord continued, deceptively lightly. Almost dangerously. The younger demon watched in confusion, chocolate-brown eyes attempting to gauge his lord's expression.
"Should I have let her languish there, without word? I could be dead, you know." he continued. "You know she can't go out, in her condition."
"...condition, my lord?" the young pup questioned. Suddenly, piercing gold filled his entire field of vision, cat-slit pupils expanding into beams scant inches in front of him. It seemed that his lord had never moved so fast.
"She is barren, you fool." Inutaishou hissed, and the pup quailed beneath the massive paw lying nonchalantly on his shoulder. He gazed at it stupidly, quite unable to respond.
Abruptly, Inutaishou withdrew, as if faintly embarrassed by outburst of emotion. He turned once again toward his pack, but glanced once more at his messenger-general out of the corner of one reddened eye.
"Torachiyo?"
"Yessir?"
"You know I've treated you like a son, since your father died."
"I thank you, master." the servant replied humbly.
"And I would have taken you as my heir, if not for Makoto…"
"Makoto?"
"Between you and me, I should have gone ahead with it." The dog lord scrubbed one hand through his silvery hair in frustration. And for one, fleeting moment, all of his business-like manner dropped away.
"I really did love you, son." The lord whispered sadly.
"My lord?"
In the space of a heartbeat, Inutaishou split Torachiyo's torso open from flank to groin and tore out the crow demon nested inside.
"You shouldn't have started with Tora." Inutaishou rasped.
The sickening crunch its neck bones made did little to comfort him.
Torachiyo lay exactly as he'd fallen but he wouldn't last long; the edges of his fur were already crumbling. In an hour, he'd be dust- but at least his body was no longer controlled.
Did they think I was blind? Inutaishou raged, stalking beside it. Did they think my senses were so dull that I couldn't smell out a corpse? As if I can't notice when my people turn half-witted...Oh, Tora...
But he also remembered why he hadn't adopted the puppy, how the boy was so prone to wandering by himself, and how he implicitly trusted anything that didn't overtly act hostile...
Poor Tora, he never had a chance.
He did not cry, because he knew he would never have time to stop if he got into that habit, but Inutaishou did allow himself a brief moment to remember his little servant…as he remembered all the puppies that had gone on before. More than anything else, the boy's smile came to mind—strong enough to melt the sun, it had seemed. He'd always wondered where that smile would take his little friend someday.
Now, he was only left to wonder how long the crow had tortured the boy before possessing him, and how much the bird's master knew.
Response to Reviews:
Dark Kitsune: Thanks again for your continued support for this story and all your kind words…you help keep me on my feet when I'm feeling down about my writing. I should be updating a lot as the dialup allows, and I dedicate the next few chapters entirely to you ^_^
Kylara: Once again, kudos to you for picking up on the minor details! I have indeed read part of the English-translated Genji…I'm not quite up enough on ancient Japanese forms to read the original ^_^;;; However, I concede that I'm taking a few liberties with that particular part of the story…this timeline is actually somewhat past the Heian-period court dealings, which was when one paid the most attention to calligraphy, paper, etc. But hey, this is demon society, and their social circles can work differently from the humans, no? Anyways, if you want some other great resources about Japanese poetry, Heian-era court intrigue and the ilk, there are a couple more in translation (like The Gossamer Years). So yeah ^_^