Flowers for Your Grave -Chapter One - 65 Years Earlier -
"Oni-sama, wait for me!"
I slowed my run into a walk, the dry leaves of fall crackling under my feet. My younger sister ran up behind me, panting with exhaustion. I scowled a bit, ruffling her short, black hair, and laughed when she tackled me.
"You aren't supposed to run off and leave me like that, Onigumo!" she said, putting her hands on her hips and giving me an indignant sigh. "I'm going to tell mother on you."
Grinning, I flipped and pinned her. "Not if I leave you here to get eaten by the kappas. They come out around this time, you know, stalking little kids just...like...you..."
"I'm not little! I'm six years old, and--"
"Five," I corrected, letting her up and brushing myself off. "Your birthday isn't for another two days."
She was quiet for a few minutes, but then began to walk towards home. I followed her, and for some time were travelled through the thick forests in silence. It was almost winter, the first frost already past. Though it wasn't too long after mid-day, the sun was beginning to cast long shadows across the ground, and smaller woodland animal had begun packing food away for the winter. I stopped, watching a squirrel with huge cheeks, and pointed it out to my sister, who giggled.
"He looks like you at dinner, Oni-sama," she said maliciously, then squealed and ran the rest of the way as I chased her, threatening to send her to the kappas.
As we neared our small home near the treeline, a foot suddenly stuck from the shadows, and I went flying, hitting the dust face first. Coughing, I stood and turned to my attacker. The raven-haired girl snorted, stepping from the trees and walking past me, hitting me with her shoulder on the way towards the house.
"Watch where you're going, little brother," she laughed, letting the door slam in my face.
I grit my teeth. All too often, when I had been out walking with Hakori and showed signs of enjoying life, my elder sister Oyama managed to remind me I was lower on the food chain than she was. Or, so she thought. Shaking the dust from my hair, I opened the door and tried to control my anger at the site of Oyama's self-righteous expression.
"Honest, mama, Oni-chan didn't make me walk home on my own," Hakori told our mother, who was giving me a disapproving look. "He was right behind me...weren't you, brother?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but Oyama butt in. "The child decieves you, mother. You know how she always covers for him; believe me. I came in before him...he was dwaddling around outside."
My mother, Kiriko, sighed. "Onigumo, you're over sixteen summers old. When are you going to learn that you can't just wander off and leave your little sister off in--"
"I didn't," I protested, cutting her off. "Mother, Oyama always exaggerates. Besides, she..."
My words died as my mother stared me down. Guilty or innocent...I had lost the argument, either way. My hands clenched at my sides, but I bowed my head and forced the words from my mouth.
"Gomen nasai, okaasan," I mumbled. "I'll watch Hakori more closely in the future."
She paused, flicking a glance at my elder sister. "And you, Oyama. As a woman of nineteen seasons, shouldn't you be finding a husband already?"
Sweet retrobution! I looked up in glee, seeing the embarressed look on Oyama's face. Ah, the vain little viper, blushing like a bright red apple. She gave me a deathglare, the turned and stormed from the tiny enterance, heading towards her room. Mother only gave me a faint smile, before turning and watching the door. I took Hakori's hand, leading her to the room we shared. Mother always watched the door when our father was about to come home. They never liked to talk about things in front of us, and not even Oyama could listen in without getting chided.
Sure enough, as I watch my sister braid reeds for a new tatami mat, I heard the front door pop open. Low murmurs taunted my hearing, and Hakori looked up briefly, her expression at once curious, blank, and serene. She went back to her weaving, but with more enthusiasm this time. Soon, she had a whole row done, and I began to help her.
"Do you think he brought me anything?" she asked suddenly.
I blew my longer, black bangs from my face, taking a rest. "He always brings you something."
"I meant...something. For...you know. My birthday."
Looking at the floor, I frowned. Ever since our family mill was burned down during a fight between war-lords, our father had resorted to thievery in order to keep us alive. We'd lost everything...and with all the fighting, there was little work. It wasn't the best way to survive, but...Her question troubled me. The most our father had ever brought home was food, and sometimes fabrics and ceramics. Nothing too fancy.
"I'm sure he did," I lied. How could anyone tell her differently? But I saw by the way she glanced at me, that she knew I was lying. I'd always loved the fact that she was like me...quiet, sensible, and smart as a whip. Sometimes, though, it bit me in the ass, and this was one of those times.
Suddenly, the screen to our room opened, and I was looking at a much older version of me. With his amber, almost reddish eyes, and long black haired pulled into a braid, my father often mused about how I got all his charm and none of his testosterone. Was there something wrong with not wanting to kill other people, I wondered. Somehow, the idea of going onto a battlefield and slaughtering countless people seemed unreasonable, as did the idea of chasing after women half my age in order to produce little people who resembled me (or not, if I wasn't the first man to get to said woman).
"I wish to speak to you," father said shortly, raising an eyebrow at my tatami weaving. Once again, I thought with amusment as I stood and went into the main room, I provided an example of my unmanliness.
My mother looked worried, and that was the first thing that set off the proverbial red flags. But when my father sat next to my mother, and they both stared at me, I knew something was wrong. I just never knew how correct I was.
"Son...we have a problem," my father started off slowly. "There's not enough food coming in to last us the winter."
I tried to swallow, but it stuck in my throat. "W-what are you saying?"
My mother looked at the ground. "Dear one, you're going to have to help your father."
The silence in the air was filled with a tension, and I heard the tiny sound of feet on floor. Slow, quiet...I knew it was Oyama. She always tried to stick her nose where it didn't belong...I tried to turn and look, but I felt frozen. Me...become a thief...? I didn't even have the faintest idea...
"It's time for you to take responsibility for your family," my father added quietly. "You're the only other man in this house. You have your mother and sisters to think about...not just your own comfort."
Hakori's face entered my mind, her pale features...her sadness. What would happen to her, if we didn't get what we needed...? Taking a breath, I looked my father in the eye, and I was surprised by the ruthless tone in my voice.
"So, then, my father. Where do I begin?"
- - - - -
Two days later, I kneeled before my little sister, smiling as I handed her the packaged item. My father gave me a proud look, esepcially when Hakori opened it and gazed at the porcelain doll, dressed in a tiny version of the empress' attire. Her eyes widened, hugging it to her chest as shegazed at me in awe. And from that moment, I knew that I was doing what I had to do...what was right. Thief or no...I would make sure my family survived, no matter the cost.