The following is a retelling of Gasaraki, which belongs to Sunrise. Some details have been altered, added, or altogether gotten rid of, but you may expect overall a faithful adaptation. Each chapter will correspond roughly to an episode of the series.
This novel is the current pet project of mine, and I would appreciate your reviews very much. If nothing else, simply let me know that you are reading as new installments are posted.
-Eliot (egmont76hotmail.com)
GASARAKI
A Modern Myth
With this path I take
In testament to the very kai I house within
I stamp my foot loud upon this stage of cold
hard stone.
Stave I. The Gowas
The history I am about to narrate is all very true. I have fabricated nothing, and where any
specifics are outside my knowledge I will duly hold silence. I have however given it the name
myth, and have rendered it in a form befitting a myth, not because it is untrue but because I know
it will not survive otherwise. It is quite a fantastic story, and insisting on its historicity will only
encourage its dismissal. If it is to endure in the thoughts of men, who often prefer fascinating
fiction to drab facts, it must be told and remembered as a myth. Else it may not be remembered
at all and I should be very sorry to see it forgotten.
The family of Gowa, then, comes from an ancient lineage in the country of Japan, where folks put
the surname before the given name and practice a thousand cults they don't really believe in
anymore. The Gowas had long been a powerful clan, and as influential families go they were one
of the greatest in all of Japan. They were well known as a financial titan and as a patron of
studies and research. Conservative to the core and always at the forefront of technical
advancement, they seemed to represent that quintessential mix of tradition and modernity which
defines their nation. The family acted under the discipline of well-ordered hierarchy, with old
Daizaburo as the patriarch. Gowa Daizaburo had five children. The eldest was the aloof and
charismatic Kazukiyo who oversaw his father's estate. The second was Kiyotsugu, an
accomplished scientist. The third was Kiyoharu, who for his diplomatic talent was given the task
of speaking to the rest of the world on behalf of the Gowa family.
The two youngest Gowa siblings had not yet reached the prestige of their elders in family
operations. These were Yushiro, a quiet young man of seventeen whom we will be following
closely, and Misuzu, the sole daughter and at fourteen still only a girl. But Yushiro from childhood
had been trained in the way of a peculiar family tradition—peculiar because he alone was chosen
among all his family for its observance. This was the art of Noh, a traditional dance of Japan.
Now Noh can be as much a ritual as a dance. And like most rituals it has its share of the odd and
the bizarre. The performer dons a loose garment, almost priestly in form, and a mask of
grotesque appearance which obscures the face entirely. The dance itself is slow and deliberate
and accompanied by chants, and achieves an ecstatic climax by carefully measured degrees;
there is very little spontaneity about the whole affair. Master Sorachi, whose family had long been
retainers in the service of the Gowas, was charged with imparting the art to the boy. And on the
day we open our story, the leading men of the Gowa clan gathered at the family shrine deep in
the mountains of Kinashi, to see young Gowa Yushiro perform the ceremonial dance of Gasara.
-----------------------
Kinashi was an old Gowa property and barred to outsiders. On this day the security round the
mountains was especially forbidding. The normally quiet forests stirred with activities of the
oddest sort. The presence of chanters in traditional Noh garbs was easily explainable. But most
of the men that filled the waterside clearing by the shrine seemed to bear no relation at all to the
impending rite. They were busy setting up all manners of equipment decidedly modern in
character: cameras, radio antennae, satellite devices, and small and large monitors beyond
counting, all hooked together by heaps of cables. A natural stage of stone extended over the
waters, illuminated by torch staffs. The chanters sat silently by awaiting the hour. At this scene
Gowa Daizaburo arrived with his eldest Kazukiyo when the afternoon began to turn golden.
Kiyotsugu was already there overseeing the technical setup. He led his father and brother into a
vehicle filled with like equipments.
'From here we will be able to monitor everything,' Kiyotsugu told them, pointing to the screens
lined up along the wall. 'I have been going over his data the company has compiled for us. He
has shown some astounding growth since he began operating the armor.'
'Do you think we will succeed this evening?' asked Kazukiyo.
'At the very least I am certain we will get much closer than the last attempt. Look at this.'
Kiyotsugu opened a booklet full of charts. 'Eight times he achieved under duress an abnormal
burst of mental activity while inside the armor. The phenomena exhibited patterns all but identical
to the trance we observed before.'
'It has been long and burdensome eight years,' Daizaburo noted gravely. 'We learn tonight
whether they were in vain. A repeat of the mistake is unacceptable.'
'Still we must be prepared for any outcome,' Kazukiyo said, turning to his brother. 'Remember
that in the event of failure collection of data has priority over all—over even the performer.'
------------------------
In the tent prepared next to the stage Yushiro sat in full ceremonial attire, contemplating the
mirror. Misuzu was with him and growing anxious; he had not spoken or moved for a long while.
Hidden behind the mask her brother was quite unrecognizable.
'Dear elder brother,' said she (it was the proper old way of addressing an older sibling, and she
was a very proper young lady), 'everyone is acting strange. And you are, too. What is all this
hustle and bustle about? No one will tell me, not even Master Sorachi.'
'Misuzu, the performer is not to be spoken to,' admonished her mother. She had been assisting
the boy with dress.
'The performance hasn't begun yet,' the girl returned.
'The preparation is a part of the ceremony also. Do not disturb him until he has taken off his
mask.'
So saying, Madam Gowa took her daughter's arm and exited the tent. Yushiro remained before
the mirror until he heard the chanters' first call. Then he rose, took the ceremonial fan and joined
them on the stage of stone.
Gowa Kazukiyo accosted Master Sorachi shortly before commencement. 'Will he be able to
perform the ancient rite correctly, Sorachi Kengyou?' he asked.
'There is no need for concern. The dance of Gasara grants the kai his identity as such. You know
this.'
'That's right. That is how it should be. Only remember: should the dance fail, one of the
puppeteers you call kugutsu will forever be lost.'
Kazukiyo left the old master to rejoin his family in the car. Then the attendants began to chant in
earnest to the drum's beat, and Yushiro took to the center of the stage.
------------------------
At that very hour, far out in a desert at nearly the opposite end of the globe, there sat another
gathering of men huddled in a room not unlike Kiyotsugu's car. The air was tense, and the men's
looks uneasy. They faced an emergency they had not seen before.
'Do you mean to say someone else is attempting contact?' asked the group's overseer.
'That is the only explanation,' came the answer.
'Hurry with the procedure. We must not let them beat us to the goal.'
'We can't, sir,' one of the men said, pointing to his screen. 'The subject has withdrawn on her
own. She is not responding to our call.'
'What is causing it?'
'Unknown, sir. She just will not let us in.'
The overseer looked into the adjoining chamber where the slim bare figure of a young woman lay
wrapped as a cocoon. 'She may be attempting fusion with another invitator. We must regain
control over the subject quickly.'
'Maximum dose of the drug has already been administered, but she shows no sign of returning.
We may injure her if we continue.'
'Reduce her oxygen supply if you must. Just pull her out of the trance.'
------------------------
Yushiro was dancing. Though the chanters were now quite loud their voices had long since faded
to silence in his ears, and he could no longer hear his own steps. Only his heartbeats gave
him any sense of time. He felt his limbs moving of their own accord, and thought his body would
go on dancing the dance of Gasara if he closed his eyes and went to sleep on his feet. The world
was but a small window of colors through the mask's eyes. And then even that was snuffed out,
and all was blackness. He stood alone in a great void. He started then. There was another in the
void with him.
Daizaburo, Kazukiyo, and Kiyotsugu watched the performance transfixed. Kiyotsugu especially
was excited, reading aloud the multitude of screens for the others. 'His brainwave is shifting. He
is approaching the threshold rapidly. I think he really will do it.'
Yushiro regarded the figure erect before him. She wore a robe the color of cherry and a Noh
mask of blanched appearance. Calmly she took a sheathed knife from her sleeve, and cut across
the smooth wave of hair that reached down to the waist. Then she charged forward, stabbing at
him. He moved out of the knife's way. He did not comprehend her hostility but neither did he
question it. Wordlessly they continued the exchange of thrust and evasion. The dance seemed to
have become for two.
She dropped the knife and lunged at him. Her fingers locked round his neck, tightening. They
struggled against each other. She was not as strong as he, but somehow he felt compelled not to
be violent with her. Suddenly the woman flinched and released her grip. She hugged herself,
crouching, and shivered. Almost involuntarily she stepped backward, as if jerked by a chain. A
cave of blinding white opened behind her, and she began to be drawn into it. She resisted—but
she was like a raft in a maelstrom, helpless against the current.
A crack ran down her mask. It shattered, and revealed to Yushiro the face of a young woman no
older than himself. Fighting to shake free of the pull, she reached out for him.
'Don't,' she cried. 'Don't bring back the terror.'
Then she disappeared into the light, and the void closed upon it.
'We are nearing the final phase,' Kiyotsugu said to the rest. 'I am seeing the very pattern we saw
eight years ago, but in a scale incomparably larger. We have done it.'
'A singularity is emerging at the center of the field,' one of the men informed them. 'It is
enlarging—rapidly.'
'At last,' muttered Gowa Daizaburo, with the half-fearful reverence of a man who stood at the
brink of a dream too long denied and too taxing to sustain.
As the observers looked on riveted a pillar of shimmery air, colossal and piercing, materialized in
the night sky. It fell upon the stage before Yushiro's solitary figure, whose arm was raised to the
heaven as though in greeting. A crimson cluster of light hovered at the peak. Slowly it descended
along the stream. The stage, bathed in red, began to tremble. A mighty clap rang out across the
clearing. The pillar had stamped its mark upon the stage, cutting into the stone. Then came
another clap, and another.
Kazukiyo rose from the seat, abandoning his usual calm. 'It's going to happen. At last!'
The cluster shifted in hues—now blue, now yellow and orange, and now like a bundled rainbow,
vibrant, tremulous. And standing bared to its splendor, Yushiro was thinking of the girl's plea.
'Don't bring back the terror.'
Yushiro lowered his arm. His feet stilled. The chant went on, and the drum's sharp beat
continued, but he was dancing no longer.
'What happened?' Kazukiyo cried to his brother, who was as nonplused as he. 'Why did he
stop?'
'His brainwave... heartbeat... they are settling back to the normal. He simply stopped.'
'Impossible,' said Daizaburo. 'Once in trance the performer cannot stop of his own will.'
'Dance, Yushiro,' Kazukiyo called out none too gently. 'Continue and finish the rite.'
Yushiro took the mask off his face. He addressed the fluttering light before him: 'Go back.'
The colors lifted and scattered. Like smoke released it faded into the air. The chant ceased. All
regarded the lone youth on the stage, not daring to break the silence that suddenly took hold of
the place.
Daizaburo sighed heavily. 'We have failed again.'
'But how did he...?' Kiyotsugu stuttered, uncomprehending. 'How did he...?'
Without another word Yushiro retired to the tent. He left the mask lying on the stage.
------------------------
A brief mention of an incident quite far removed from Mount Kinashi, and we have done with
this prelude. On the same day as the Gowas' unsuccessful rite, an American spy satellite
observed what seemed a massive explosion in the Middle East. The opalescent ball of fire was
photographed over a remote unpopulated region of the nation of Belgistan. The United States
intelligence determined it to be an illicit experimentation of a weapon of mass destruction, and
presently embarked upon a course of action which became the seed of much that we are about
to see.