Fire and Light

[aiyoku]

Somewhere in the darkness, there was a scream. Sleep shattered in a fantastic explosion of heat and pain. Where was she? What was happening? Another cry, and still another. The babies – the children! Aiyoku leapt from her bed, trying to make sense of the room around her.

“Ai! Get those two in the corner!” The voice was frantic, but she recognized it as Matron Millicent.

“Aye, Millie!” Aiyoku gathered two babies from the corner beds as fire and debris rained from the ceiling. But something wasn't right. They weren't crying. They weren't breathing. Aiyoku fled for the door. Perhaps she could help them once she was clear of the fire. But something else was in her way. Something ablaze, something – alive, and writhing.

“Millie!” Aiyoku paused, looking frantically between the unbreathing babies in her arms and the woman struggling at her feet. Millicent lay prone on the floor, pinned by timbers and a portion of the stone chimney that had fallen in the blast.

“Get them out of here, Aiyoku, get them clear of the raiders! Go!” Matron Millicent still wriggled, but there was something wrong in the way her body moved. She was broken. She looked up with pleading eyes. “Take them to safety, Ai – get them out of Jhelom. Please. Promise me you won't ever come back here.”

“Might makes right! We are right!”

The cries from outside pierced the chaos as another bottle sailed through the window. The glass and fuel ignited as it smashed against was was left of the stone hearth, and engulfed the room with flame. Another scream, this time her own, was drowned by the sounds of destruction. All she could do was flee.

Outside, by the light of the rioter's fires, she could better see the broken bodies of the children she carried. The girl, and smaller of the two, seemed to sleep peacefully, but for the shard of wood that nearly severed her in half at the chest. The boy child was burned beyond all hope. The other women and children had fled already. No sounds came from inside, except for fire, and shattering of glass. Aiyoku watched, horrified, as the orphanage – the only home she had ever known – became an inferno of death and flame. Silently, she uttered a prayer over those who escaped – and those who had not. A prayer that those who'd gone before would make it to safety. A prayer that those like Millicent would not suffer anymore.

And when she had done all that she could, she, too, fled the raiders and rioters – death in each arm – through the fires and cries that ravaged Jhelom, to the moongate that shimmered with hope at the perimeter of the city. Aiyoku stepped through the gate and emerged in the silent, darkened forest on the other side. No fires here. No screams, and no unrest. Only the cry of an owl and the shimmer of the moon on dark, infested trees.

Only when she had buried the precious things she carried, could she give thought to where she, herself, would go. She had worked at the orphanage in the months since she had come of age. It was all she had ever known. She wiped the soot and earth and blood from her hands on her skirts, as she paused again at the moongate. All she remembered of where she had come from were the names and words repeated to her by Matron Millicent since she was old enough to understand them.

Quietly, with resolve, Aiyoku stepped into the moongate again. Bathed in the light of promise, she uttered the name of the only place that came to mind. “Makoto-Jima.”

Without preamble, night was swept away, and she was bathed in the light of morning. Curious eyes, dark, and so like her own, watched her as she stumbled from the gate. For now, she would find a bath, and grieve, and rest. Hope could wait until tomorrow.

[aiyoku]

Zento seemed a city of indifference. Few cast their gaze her direction, and none seemed overly-concerned that she wore scorched and torn bedclothes, soiled with the blood and ash of the dead. Yet likewise, none heaped judgment upon her. But oh, the raiment hung heavily, and dragged down her spirit more with every step. The night's events played and replayed in her head as she took in the city's splendor, and the images of the two cities struggled and writhed alongside one another in her mind, desperate to reconcile themselves.

She was hungry, and she walked barefoot through the streets. She had no gold, and only one item that was worth anything at all. But it was something she would never part with, no matter how desperate she became. She pulled a jeweled hair comb from her skirt pocket and turned it over in her hands, watching the gems sparkle and glitter by morning's light. Even daylight in Jhelom had never cast such fire in the depths of the stones, and Aiyoku gasped lightly as she ran her fingertips over the jeweled filigree. Then, she pocketed the comb again, somewhat afraid that someone might see. Someone who might wish to take what was hers – all that was hers.

Aiyoku gazed into a koi pond, contemplating an attempt to catch one of the brightly-spattered fishes. Fish, she could cook. All she'd need was a fire. The sun's rays reflected off the surface of the water, painting her face in ripples of light, and she squinted in the glare. From behind her came the hopeful sound of words that seemed to be spoken to her. Quickly, she turned. But the words were jumbled, quick and soft.

She furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of them, and the elegantly-clad man who spoke them, then shook her head. “Sorry, Lord, I don't understand you...”

“Ah. You speak common?” He looked a bit surprised, but unfettered. “Are you all right?” His eyes grazed down over the scorched and soiled bedclothes, but his expression betrayed neither concern, nor disdain.

“Aye, Lord. I fled from the riots. There was fire, and...” She trailed off, unwilling to part with the events that she had already closed up tightly within her. “My home was destroyed,” she finished simply.

“Hai.” He nodded swiftly. “You need a bath, and new clothes. Come.” He turned without waiting for her response and stalked off down the road to the west.

Aiyoku scanned the streets with her gaze, uncertain whether she should follow or flee. But the man did not turn back to her, nor did he wait. His gait was purposeful, and swift. There wasn't a mote of uncertainty about him.

Millie always told me that the gods put people in our lives for a reason, and we must learn to trust and be grateful...

Without further hesitation, Aiyoku hastened to follow the unnamed benefactor, already fifty paces ahead of her.

[aiyoku]

“Girl. Are those the same rags from yesterday?” Takeamada looked her over critically.

Aiyoku looked down at the pink and blue silk kimono she wore, and shook her head. “I bathed, and changed. Yesterday's was peach, this one's pink.”

The Daimyo handed her a small leather pack. “This is what you will wear. Go change. And bring those rags back to me.”

She didn't understand. The kimonos she'd been given were the two prettiest and most elegant pieces of clothing she'd ever owned. And her mother's jeweled hair comb complemented each beautifully. But she climbed the stairs to the closet she now called home in Takeamada's abode, and began to unravel the shimmering obi and remove her kimono. Then she pulled out the drab black kimono and put it on, straightening and smoothing it the best she could. The obi was a brilliant blue, at least. A touch of colour for which she was thankful. But a kind woman at the inn had always wrapped and tied hers for her. She had no idea how, as it tied in back. And Aiyoku scolded herself for not having learned to do this herself.

“Over the shoulder...around....around...then what?” She pulled down the end of the thing from her shoulder, but it seemed she'd done something wrong. There wasn't enough left of the other end to do whatever it was she needed to do. The lady at the inn made it look so easy...

Three more tries, and finally, Aiyoku had tied it crudely on the side and turned it around so the slapdash bow was in the back. She didn't know how bad it looked. There wasn't room for a mirror. As it was, her elbows kept hitting the walls until she was afraid the Daimyo would send in someone to make sure she hadn't beaten herself to death.

Aiyoku folded her two new silk kimonos, and carried them down the stairs to where Takeamada waited. He looked her over as she fussed with the bunched and twisted obi, then looked her in the face. “Girl. Where are the kimonos?”

“Here, Lord.” Aiyoku lifted them up, but didn't offer them in his direction, hoping he might let her keep them yet.

“Good.” He took them from her hands.

Aiyoku lowered her head, feeling her cheeks burning with what felt like shame – yet for the life of her she could not fathom why.

“Our society is like a ladder, Girl. At the bottom are the commoners and peasants. You must rise above this before such honours are bestowed.”

She nodded quietly, slipping one hand into her sleeve. She grasped the jeweled filigree of her mother's comb, and rubbed her thumb comfortingly over the emerald in the center. But she did not draw it out. Honour or no, it was one item this peasant would not surrender.

[aiyoku]

Aiyoku closed the door ever-so-quietly behind her. She seemed to have slipped unnoticed into the massive abode, through formally decorated rooms, up the stairs, and down the hall. Daimyo Takeamada would surely be sleeping by now. She hoped she hadn't disturbed him. Shifting the precious items she carried, Aiyoku sank to her knees on the floor in the center of the tiny room. She could nearly reach all four walls from where she knelt. But it was enough for her. A room of her own. Her entire life had been shared with as many as they could pack into a room at the orphanage. Even since she'd come of age, she still shared a room with the matrons and workers. Here in this place, she had silence, and privacy, and a space she could call hers.

In the corner, beside her pillow, she placed a tiny pot containing a plant with ivory flowers that smelled of vanilla. Upon the pillow itself, she lay a book of Haiku, running her fingertips lightly over the binding. She leaned her lute carefully into the far corner, and went to place the final piece, a candlestick, upon the table beside the mat where she slept. But the table was no longer empty.

A tall white paper lantern sat burning cheerfully on the table, and Aiyoku smiled, touching the delicate paper to feel the crisp, rough texture. She drew a paintbrush and a tiny pot of black paint from her pack, then opened the pot and dipped the brush very carefully into the pigment. Slowly and painstakingly, she lifted her brush to the lantern and painted a dark and foreign character upon it. The one character that she had diligently learned since her arrival in Zento. The one which meant more to her than anything else in the world. With a final stroke, Aiyoku drew away her brush to appraise her work. The symbol for “Hope” was emblazoned boldly upon the paper lantern in sure and steady strokes.

With a sigh, Aiyoku lay quietly upon her mat and watched the lantern for hours, the events of the night and the new prospects for her future swirling wildly in her head. When at last her eyes closed in slumber, all seemed right, and new, and promising. A faint smile played itself across her lips as sleep claimed her. The flame inside the lantern flickered and danced merrily, painting Aiyoku and her tiny world in hues of hope, and fire, and light.