Underneath the Cherry Blossom Tree

1

It had been centuries since the Sun Born and Moon Born were together. In that time, the moon child experienced a growth in being, becoming more confident and assured in herself. The wolves had provided her a platform to develop her sense of self and a purpose for the life undead she now led. Conversely, the sun boy found himself delving ever deeper into madness, haunted by the actions he had taken and determined to restore some semblance of balance in what he perceived as the cosmic order. The two were growing apart, the prospect of reunion on any equal footing becoming a faint dream.

Here now, under the Tokugawa Shogunate of feudal Japan, the children of the long dead Celestial City fight for opposing camps. The moon rises high as the sun has set, and confrontation is on its way to render a new path forward.

2

When I close my eyes and dream I see pink cherry blossom petals floating on the wind; below this sight I lay, my pierced chest feeding the cold soil my blood. This dream is of my final moments; the pain, the gasping for breath, the grasping for life all make me certain of this. My flesh, my bones and my mind are all numb, they all begin to die. I hope this moment is real, I pray that I have found my death finally. Then, my eyes open. Not even in my dreams can I find relief.

The wind is warm today, the morning sun seeps through the tree leaves as it rises. I can feel it, trouble is coming just over the horizon; it weighs heavy on the air like an autumn rain. When it decides to make itself known, it takes the form of smoke, a dense black spread that speaks of burning rubble in the vicinity of a nearby village, not far from where I made camp last night. She’s found me.

How long has it been since we last spoke, Tsukiumare? How long has it been since I confided in you the fear I feel, that we can never go home again? A fear that our path will be forever obscure? How long has it been since you made me that promise we both know you won’t be able to keep? I’m tired of running from you. I won’t stand idle as you and your puppet-daimyo break this province.

To my shame, I have been silent; I have seen the streams run crimson with the blood of the unfortunate, the mountains haloed in the smoke of burnt lives and flesh, the questioning fear in the eyes of the villagers as they wonder when it will be their time to die so violent and pitiably. I have forsaken my duty to preserve this domain and its inhabitants for too long, engulfed by self torment and my desire for destruction.

It’s time to come back to me, Sankisu, this world is no place for you. Where have you hidden yourself away, my love? You walk in these lands, pretending to be ronin, knowing all the while that you live a lie; you have no right to pledge your life and death to a master, my love; we who can’t die can never truly claim to be alive. Where I serve this region’s head as a matter of purpose, a method of maintaining a presence in the world, you seek to absolve yourself with notions of honor; you have no honor, my love, neither of us do. I will make you see this, I promise. I will drag you out of your delusion and set you free. You may hate me for it, but I will endure because I know that you will be grateful in the end. And in that moment, I will show you that we can find peace in our own way.

3

The horror of the scene: bodies strewn about in various poses attesting to their terrible final moments. A sickness wells up from within me, I wretch at this sight. To know that this is the work of my love, to know that this is the price paid by others for my self obsession, my ignorance, it’s almost too much to bear. I played a role in this. I played a role by standing aside, my back turned to her new nature, and doing nothing.

Kneeling in the blackened soil now, I offer up an incantation to Amaterasu on behalf of the departed. I must begin my work of preparing and burying the bodies; I know it’s little consolation, but it is all I can do for them now. So I dig. I dig, and dig, and dig; I can’t eat, I can’t drink, I can’t sleep, the horrors of this massacre remain present in my mind.

The thick ash covering the ground begins to cling to me as I work, digging graves for all of the lost. The days become blurred, my arduous task coming to eat time itself. Still I dig; I will dig until it’s time to begin burying these abandoned charges. I take up this new hell without regard, moving like some ghoulish phantom at life’s end. One by one I carry them in my arms to their last place of rest.

My beautiful Tsukiumare, was this your point? Am I to look upon the dead and break, weeping at my failure? Should the frailness of the human form elicit disgust or maybe some epiphany of disregard? I’m sorry my love, I only feel shame; shame that not even we, the accursed deathless, can escape the cruelties of life.

4

“Is it time?” she already knew the answer, she had always known the outcome her actions would produce. The mid-day sun tilted slightly towards its resting place as he drew his tachi in silence. “I like your menpo,” she said, “The oni fangs are terrifying, paired with those hate-filled eyes of yours.” Her mockery fell unregarded.

Sankisu took a hard step forward, his right hand clenched tightly around his scabbard, the left holding his weapon’s razor edge toward the woman. He uttered a succinct, grave phrase, “Ready yourself.” the biting voice was low, deathly in its tone. Tsukiumare obliged him; she affixed her somen, the visage of Tsukuyomi, and firmly gripped her sword in both hands, holding it in her ready position, prepared to strike her once and future love down.

“You think you can be a monk, reclusive, practicing your craft of self reflection, seeking some connection to this world? You think just because you look like them you can live amongst these foreign creatures? You think your self hatred makes the past acceptable, even forgivable? You are wrong. You will never be like them, or live like them, or find union with their existence. You will never know the peace of atonement. To suggest otherwise is an affront to who we are and what we’ve done in this dominion.”

His ears burned with her words, he felt a familiar sickness scratching its way to the surface; inside, he feared she might be right. “You are corrupted, my love, you Abomination. You do not belong in this world of man, you have no home in it. Truth be told, you never did.”

His swing was clean, easily passing through the three paces that separated the dihcotomic pair, narrowly missing her. Their fight was glorious in its brutality, the grim undertone of cruel immortality constant in its presence. Sankisu and Tsukiumare asked themselves the same question: What was the point of this? What could either gain from this outpouring of frustrated hate? Neither had a sufficient answer; both felt they had already lost. Their metal blades slashed and stabbed, seeking flesh and bone to slice, pierce and destroy.

A small gust of wind came, on it rode familiar small pink petals along with their distinct scent; The battle was over. In that moment, that fleeting instance attributable to nature, Sankisu lost his focus. He recognized the scene and in doing so left a space open perfect for a thrusting strike.

Her blow came swiftly, puncturing his chest and pinning him to a nearby cherry blossom tree. The hatred and dread, the fear and angst felt for so long dissipated. Tsukiumare pulled her tachi out of her Sun Born companion, tossing it to the grass below. Sankisu slumped down, a copious amount of blood flowing from him, betraying the severity of his wound. She knelt beside him and rested his head on her shoulder as she tenderly hugged him. “I like watching the cherry blossoms bloom,” Sankisu confessed. His eyes closed as he fell asleep in her arms, underneath a cherry blossom tree.

Next Chapter: Children of the Earth