IN THE SHADES OF DAWNING
Story the Third:
Forgets Both Joy and Grief, Pleasure and Pain
Months have past since the disappearance of Yukari Kotozume when, an afternoon in early April the next year, a tall, strong redhead of manly beauty staggers through the flowered wrought iron gate into the botanical gardens on the outskirts of Kibougahana. At first, before heading for this seat of learning, Akira has drifted on foot aimlessly, braving the storms of springtime and gleaning whatever information she can find in the taverns where she has already spent all her little fortune of about a dozen silvers.
That winter, after all, she felt a lump in her throat when Yukari did not return after five days or a week or so of her disappearance. The Kotozumes made inquiries at the Kenjo cottage, servants were summoned to comb the whole province... but no once could give them news of the estranged heiress. Yukari was last seen, said a maidservant, leaving the yashiki gardens in the dead of night and getting into a regal carriage, but who believed that story? A fortnight passed. Then, the turn of the year came. Everyone's hopes of finding Yukari faded away. Surely, like Aoi Tategami in August the year before, the other heiress had run away from home in the dead of night and jumped off the bridge into the river below.
During those long winter nights, Akira had thought of it and shuddered. Around fruit harvest time the year before, it had been the first time she had ever seen the Tategami heiress, even though that cheerful face was merely on wanted posters that basically wallpapered the streets of Ichigozaka, while valets in uniform-like livery had scoured every byway in the province, and even enquiries were made among the Tategamis' friends in the capital about the fate of Aoi, who had just reached her sixteenth year when her canopy bed was found empty. The only clue that could be found had been a familiar pink satin sash, tied into a bow, that hung over the bridge railing, aside from the letter Aoi had written and left on her dressing table, addressing her parents and retainer in a harsh tone full of rage and angst, as in a suicide note. After which, when September came, the Tategamis drew conclusions, the windows of their mansion were all draped in black, and Yukari -right before her change of heart- told Akira that she wondered what could have made a younger girl, also an only child of rank, who had everything she could wish for, run away and leave it all behind, to take away her own life in such eager haste.
However, no clues had been found that winter of Yukari's whereabouts, neither on the bridge nor elsewhere. Furthermore... Had she really thrown herself into the icy stream and frozen to death, that was also quite atypical of Yukari Kotozume, before or after her change of heart.
Thus, when springtime came and its spirits-raising sun warmed Akira's heart, that flitting spark of hope within was kindled into a flame. No clues had been found, and the sun seemed to say it didn't believe that the heiress was gone for good.
And thus, the dice were cast.
On the very day of the springtime equinox, packing into her knapsack a set of spare clothes, a flask, and a pair of buns, and into her pocket her little fortune of a dozen silvers, donning her crimson waistcoat and her Wellingtons, Akira got up at the crack of dawn and, after breaking her fast, kissed her grandmother and sister goodbye. Miku looked more anxious than ever before, even with teary eyes, but her older sister mussed those soft red locks and dried up those tears as old Tomi reassured the little girl:
"Let her leave. Akira is the strongest and bravest girl we know. She will return alive. Surely, this is an inspiration not without a good reason. Right, Miku, don't worry, keep your spirits up."
As Akira Kenjo left her birthplace, her cottage, her native town, she wavered slightly herself. What should happen to her grandmother and sister in her absence? Would they be able to fend for themselves without her firm support? Hadn't it been at least slightly selfish to go forth into the wide world in search of Yukari like that?
Anyway, like young Lady Kotozume always said, alea iacta est.
And now a month has passed since her departure. She has been walking for hours before she entered the botanical gardens of Kibougahana, where the foremost university in the realm encourages its students to study plant life from up close...
Though Akira is young, and strong, and fit, and though the April sun is relatively mild, she is already faint with exertion and thirst. Luckily, the treetops around her contrive to give her a cooling shade... but, unfortunately, her burning throat feels like it's full of thorns, her heavy legs begin to give way under her weight, and the verdant landscape around her twirls and reels with light-headedness. Her shirt, drenched with perspiration, sticks to her skin, and so does the fringe of her red hair to her forehead, under which her face is constantly ablaze. Every step the young seeker takes is harder than the previous.
Staggering as if she were drunk, like a sleepy child, she suddenly hears like a tinkling stream a bit to her left. The thought of refreshment lends her new vigour, that is doubled by the sight of glittering freshwater rising from a fountain in the sunlight when she strides closer and closer.
At last, right as she stands before the fountain, a little spearmint-lined pond from which a thin sparkling spring shoots up, and where not even a single pair of frogs have ever plunged (though a single dragonfly darts off at seeing Akira stagger into the clearing), our tall redhead collapses on all fours, cupping her joined hands and plunging them into the crystal clear liquid, then putting the flesh-and-blood cup to her lips and quaffing heartily, in eager haste.
So thirsty is Akira Kenjo that she feels she has never tasted such sweet and refreshing water. One more deep draught courses down her no longer parched throat, the feeling equally soothing, then a third. Then she plunges her whole face into the pond, so clear that all the pebbles at the bottom can be seen, and raises her face back up again, drenched in pleasant, soothing cool, her fiery hair swivelling like a halo as the heat and perspiration dissolved on her face.
Then, lying down on the fresh spearmint and in the shade of the lindens around, she lets her weary limbs rest, as the now milder sun and the tinkle of the fountain, reassuring Akira, lull her into pleasant sleep.
For how long has she been napping? The sun has not set yet when she awakens, looking left and right, in a daze. Who is she, and where is she? Recollections are hard to piece together. Before the resting young person stands a lady in her winter... or autumn... years, in the November of her life, dressed in a white lab coat, who has waked the redhead up with a pat on the shoulder blades... There were two old ladies at home, but is she one of them? All faces from the past are hazy.
"Ah, there you were, young man! You must have been burned out and dying of thirst... Glad to see you have recovered," the lady in the lab coat says with a friendly smile. Though her face is furrowed with old age, her hair is far more nutbrown than white, and her bearing is youthfully upright. "Now what's your name, young man, and what brings you here?"
The maiden, who is at least sure that she is not the young man she has been taken for, cannot remember a thing about her quest. She just woke up right here in this afternoon. Taking off her crimson waistcoat to see if there is a clue in there, she finds all the pockets empty and a five-letter embroidery on the nape of the waistcoat's neck. "Akira." Something stirs within her: she suddenly remembers several clearer voices -male and female, adult and childish-, belonging to those hazy faces, calling her Akira.
But still she cannot remember how she's wound up here of all places.
"So your name is Akira," the older lady kindly addresses the shocked bifauxnen. "Befitting such a comely stripling, isn't it? Such a bold young man, going forth on his own into the wide world... But haven't you got at least a surname?"
No, she cannot remember her surname, not any friends nor family members either. She replies with a firm headshake, still reassured by the friendly old lady, her loving eyes, her smile, her soothing scent of lavender...
"You must have been a foundling, an orphan, who left home upon coming of age. But here you shall find as much as any young soul could ask for... I have been waiting for ages for such a tall and strong and sturdy lad like you..."
An orphan? Now that she recalls... her memories of other people may be hazy right now, but Akira had no reminiscence of her parents to begin with.
"You see how mysterious are the ways of chance... you, an orphan on a quest for a family, and me, an empty-nester who has seen better days and whom her kin care little about, no matter her renown and accomplishments." She reaches Akira a fragile, bony, callused, strong right hand. "Haven't I introduced myself?" she chortles. "Kaoruko Hanasaki, née Godai. Once the first female graduate, then the first female lecturer, at the University of Kibougahana."
Indeed, she looks like a woman of the world, a learned lady, aside from the matriarch of a closely-knit family, no matter what she has said about her descendants. Hand in hand, she leads Akira to a little half-timbered thatched cottage, that strikes the amnesiac bifauxnen with a sense of déjà-vu. Behind the cottage stands a large construction of glass -a winter garden, or greenhouse-, and all around grows an orchard of fruit trees in bloom so dense and white that they look like clouds, their white petals snowing down on the heads of both females; while flowers and flowering bushes of several colours and species, in adorable round flower beds, hemmed in by a white picket fence and wicket gate, surround the little cottage.
"Aren't plants far friendlier than any kind of animal, including humans? Well, well... My flowers and bushes are lovelier than those painted by any artist. What's more, each and every one of my little ones knows a different story from their past lives..." Kaoruko says, leading Akira through the garden and into the croft.
The brightly-coloured stainglass windows depict, fittingly, diverse floral motifs, dying the interior like a rainbow in the fading evening light. While Akira is waiting for her host to make the supper, she looks at the cello in the corner and the faded crayon-coloured daguerreotypes on the wall, among bouquets of refreshing sundried lavender... A young Kaoruko in bridal array standing next to a young man, a comely and slender, raven-haired and bespectacled cellist. Another daguerreotype of a middle-aged Kaoruko next to a bride and groom in their twenties, the former a thin redhead with spectacles, the latter a muscular, broad-shouldered young gentleman. A middle-aged Kaoruko with those two young people, surely her child and child-in-law, and a fraidy little toddler of a girl who is also wearing glasses, shying away from the camera. The sight of this family history makes unmanly tears well in Akira's eyes.
Kaoruko takes from the stove a light supper of sunny-side-up eggs and toast, that the redhead stuffs into her mouth listlessly, before pouring her a cup of lavender tea. Now the drink goes down more easily, though sip by sip. At the third sip, the host notices her younger guest's pensive mood...
"What's the matter? Don't tell me... the pictures, right? It was Sora, bless his soul, who taught me to love plants and music. I had been a warrior before, thinking of nothing but fighting the wicked enemies, wearing blinkers to the beauty of both art and nature. And then I met him... Though I was as young as you are, a maiden by her maiden name, a hard-contested fight had parched my throat and burned my strength out. He offered me a cup of lavender tea, like the one you are sipping, and never felt I more soothed, more reassured, than by the taste of lavender and the tune he strummed on his violin. He gave me this musical box you can see up there, among the coffee mill and all the herb pots. And I hung up the uniform and put a ring on his left ring finger. We were young, and hopeful, and I had seen the light at last... the trees and the flowers here were his friends, far more trustworthy than any human heart, at least until he met me, he said."
"The two of you were meant to be husband and wife..."
"Of course we were! And thus, I left the promise of a life assured under the flags as our first female officer, and doubtless another lady deserves that honour. Went to live in this cottage in the gardens, and to study in this university town, leading the same bohemian life that Sora found more pleasant than the bed of roses that is high society. He busked on the streets for his daily bread, in rain or shine, in between the lecture hall and our cozy home, you know. Sharing his suffering, his passions, and his surname as Mrs. Hanasaki. Though I was met with snide remarks in the lecture halls, he defended me and encouraged me to research more about the healing virtues of plant life for all the different ailments that can be healed. The next year, our Yoichi was born. Though the labour had been so hard that I would never bring him any younger siblings..."
Akira, half-way across her lavender tea, glances at the portrait of the second wedding. So the bridegroom was the one who was Kaoruko's son by blood. "But still adored by both his parents, and I suppose encouraged in his thirst for knowledge. I see as much of the warrior as of the scholar, and no wonder that he grew so tall and strong and confident..."
"Indeed, Akira. Yoichi was our pride and joy, even when he lay beneath my heart like a flower in the bulb, and he's still mine. Still today, he's carrying on our research in lecture halls in Kibougahana, accompanied as well by a spouse that is certainly made for him as well. Mizuki is a local bourgeoise, and in her youth she was part of the batch of female students that came after my graduation, those happy few who admired me, and my heart throbbed more intensely than it had throbbed in the glow of victory whenever I saw both young people gathering healing plants and locking eyes, their faces aglow with true love... Of course I couldn't say no, and that year in June I had, added to the honour of being the first female lecturer in this kingdom, the one of being the mother of the bridegroom. Now they're both, my boy and his wife, giving lectures at our university, coming every now and then, though more rarely, to glean samples here... and their little Tsubomi is now on the cusp of adolescence, though too busy with her studies to give her grandmother some spare time."
Akira drinks a deeper draught of the now cooled-down lavender tea, which has begun to work its magic, stripping away the few worries and sorrows that the Hanasaki gallery had raised within her. Her eyes glance back to the first wedding picture...
"And Sora? Your own husband..."
"Tsubomi has never known her grandfather. Neither have her parents, actually. Right the day before our Yoichi saw the light of day, Sora breathed his last... The illness had torn him apart from within, his ribs threadbare, coughing every now and then into a bloodstained handkerchief. So he just sank back into the pillow and was still, then ceased to breathe; it was as if he had fallen fast asleep..." Now the teary eyes were old Kaoruko's. "He never lived to see our boy training among the lavender bushes, wooing his bride, taking up my seat in the lecture hall when I felt my strength fail... Chance took one life from us and gave us another in exchange. Please, Akira. Take down the music box and wind it up for me. Now it's even beyond my reach..."
It's no hard task for Akira Kenjo to reach and seize the musical box: a simple lindenwood casket, with no ornaments except the four-leaf clover carved into the lid. There is no lock, so all that the redhead has to do is to open the lid... and a slightly mournful tune tinkles from the carillon of the music box, as the older botanist listens with tears in her eyes:
"Play me my song... here it comes again... Play me my song... here it comes again..." Kaoruko chants, entranced. The tune has also stirred up something within Akira's own heart... the same nursery tune, from her own childhood, is brought to her ears, along with memories of a fragile little girl, a toddler like Tsubomi in the family portrait, tossing feverishly in bed and asking for a drink or fruit to quench her burning thirst. A name whispered by Akira softly: "Miku..."
After the music box is put back into place, old Mrs. Hanasaki leads her young guest into an austerely furnished spare room: "It was once Yoichi's, so I hope you find yourself at ease here as well."
"Before I undress, there is something I must tell you, madam. I am not what you think you are..."
"So the stripling is a maiden, right? I already felt that there was something about you... And feel free to call me Kaoruko; after all, we are family already. Feel free to undress before me, and don't be shy... those clothes need a good wash and a rub a dub dub; off with that strong musk and on with the cool scent of lavender! And that little wardrobe on the wall contains the clothes my boy wore before his shoulders grew too broad for his shirt, but they will sure fit you like a glove. Including the night shift."
Having undressed and donned the shift, pervaded by the same soothing lavender as everything else in the Hanasaki cottage, Akira wishes Kaoruko good night and vice versa. The pillows and the bedding are also lavender-washed, now warm and soothing in the silvery night, and Akira Kenjo, hugging her pillow, sleeps as soundly and dreams as sweetly as any young queen on the eve of her coronation.
Meanwhile, before going to bed, old Mrs. Hanasaki looks into one of her herbaries, consulting by candlelight a map of the gardens, her eyes resting on the fountain where she found the sleeping young person.
"The Forbidden Fountain..." A seat of learning devoted to culture, to knowledge and science, full of peaceful people, Kibougahana has always been an unwalled town, without a garrison except for the local militia, every able man taking up arms in case of war. The fountain has been there since ages before the community and the university existed; anyone who drank from that spring would no longer remember anything. According to legend, in ancient times, this land was parched and harsh, ruled by a warrior despot who took an ondine as a prisoner of war. To free herself and all the other captives from oppression, she made the fountain spring and the ruler drink thereof, soothing and refreshing his hot blood as that deep draught coursed down his throat; his mind an innocent blank slate, he had to learn everything anew and for once appreciate the good things in life, so he hung up his sword and breastplate, freed all of his captives -making them also drink from the spring to forget what he had wrought and become equally innocent-, and took the ondine for a consort, saying she had taken him prisoner; and, under their common reign, the land became thriving and verdant with plant life as peace and happiness reigned at last, the cruel swords of war forged into spades and plowshares, and around the ruler's fort springing a village, populated by the freed captives, which was named, literally, "Flower of Hope." And thus, for ages, Kibougahana has remained unconquered, the thirsty invading enemy always refreshing themselves at this fated spring and rendered harmless and innocent as children.
"Now all that remains to do is wait for the effect to wear off," Kaoruko thinks. But how much has this weary young redhead drunk? All that remains to do is to cross her fingers and hope that the effect will not last for a lifetime...
The next day in the morn, after a heavy breakfast of pancakes with rose preserves, Mrs. Hanasaki leads the young redhead into the greenhouse, where flowering plants of far hotter climates, including Victoria lilies -on whose leaves Miku could have sat down- in the ponds, thrive in such exuberance that no artist would ever be able to replicate all that lavish scene of diverse bright colours and teeming life.
And so, a new life begins for Akira, who cannot remember her surname. Weeding the gardens, watering all the plants, picking the spring strawberries, drying up herbs in the warm sun for tea, fixing the thatched roof when the rain gets in, helping Kaoruko wash the clothes, cook, and clean; helping the old lady with her chores from dawn to dark (which also awakens more memories in Akira of performing similar chores), making beautiful flower baskets by hand together (which also reminds Akira of making baskets of flowers with someone whose face she cannot remember), reading in the cottage library in between supper and bedtime, as Kaoruko teaches her young ward the properties of the diverse healing plants... the month of April passes by as easily as a dance, the days flying by like the fluttering butterflies that pollinate all the Hanasaki garden's flora, in both beds and greenhouse. The purple irises, in the meantime, have slept in their little bulb cradles underground, unnoticed by Akira even when their shoots pierce the soil... but it's not until halfway through May that everything changes.
Until then, Akira had noticed that a certain kind of flower, the loveliest one of all, was missing, that she had lost something quite important among all these leaves and petals, but did not remember which species it was or why it was that relevant. And then, one day in May, while weeding, her eyes fall upon the freshly flowering irises, graceful and slender and purple as can be.
It feels like a gunshot right between the eyes, as her heart throbs upon the left ribs, pounding all the way through the arteries of her temples and her wrists!
The floodgates of her mind are crushed, and all the memories rush forth at once. As it would happen to a dying person, all the past rushes back to her within that instant. Yukari... the scent of irises by the koi pond in the May sun... Taking up the purple petals in her callous, muddy fingers, Akira Kenjo kisses the iris flowers: one could fear that her heated breath may sear the fragile irises.
"For how long have I tarried here? Ages, for sure. May is the month of irises... I came here in April, the month of leaves!" Her eyes widen in shock. "How could I ever forget my quest like that... Wasn't there something in Kaoruko's books? A-ha, it was that fountain where I quenched my thirst! It was but by chance that I should forget my calling... Yukari... Miku, Grandmother, and Ichigozaka..."
Then, she addresses the flowers that awakened her conscience: "Dear irises, do you know what ever happened to Yukari Kotozume?"
"She is still alive," the irises reply in graceful feminine voices, reminiscent of the missing damsel's. "We have slept in our bulbs dreaming of the underworld below, there were lots of souls of the deceased, but that maiden so fair and so dignified have we not found among them."
Once more, Akira's eyes widen, but this time they are also teary.
"She is... still... alive... Then, what ever happened to her?" She decides to ask every other flower in the garden, prying into their calyces and listening to their tales, one by one, after asking each plant for the fate of Yukari. And thus, Akira listens to story after story... but they're all rêveries, recollections of their past lives, and the Kotozume heiress is never to be found in any of those tales.
What does the sunflower say?
"Why are the things we wish for the most so often so far out of our reach?
For days and nights, the fair maiden stands upright in the hot August sun, in the middle of the parched meadow; though faint with heat and thirst, her legs, though wavering, still support the weight, such heavy weight! Her once lovely complexion is so darkened and marred! Her only drink is the morning dew that laces her unkempt golden hair, and flames dance before her dazzled eyes, that always face the ruthless sun, from east to west and from dawn to dark, only looking down at nightfall. She loves the sun, with a fire far hotter than the star of stars has itself in this season, and those feelings remain unrequited! Her lips, her throat all shrivelled, her toes take root and she drinks through the veins in her feet and legs... as her hair flows around her burned face in a halo of petals... Still her dried-up, raisin-like bloodshot eyes always face the ruthless sun, from east to west and from dawn to dark, only looking down at nightfall. Why are the things we wish for the most so often so far out of our reach?"
The words make Akira think of Yukari and flinch, but only for an instant. Indeed, how often had both maidens asked one another this question in response to disappointment and sighed, trying in vain to find a reply? There is still hope that she is still alive. "How do you want me to know why we wish for such things?"
"My tale has come to an end," the sunflower replies, as Akira turns towards the sky blue hyacinths.
What do the hyacinths say?
"A net is spread from side to side, across a dusty enclosure in the royal gardens: 'tis a tennis court. A match is about to begin, both players ready to strike the ball, shirtless lest perspiration should make the cloth stick to their skin. On one side stands the young prince, a stripling of sixteen, auburn and blue-eyed, racket in hand; across the net stands his twentyish lover, golden locks tied in a queue, broader of chest and stronger of limbs, he holds a racket as well. It's the latter who serves, the ball thrids the cloudless May sky and flies back across the net, struck by the boy's racket; thus they strike the little ball with all their strength, running to left and right, leaping, crouching, trying to strike the ball beyond the opponent's reach. The tennis ball careens now right onto a racket and back across with even more power, now far beyond the reach of the opponent. Equals as they are in strength and skill, it all boils down to the match point. Now it's the blond to serve again, yet, to take the stripling by surprise, he switches his racket from right hand to left! A thwack, the ball is in the air... the lad leaps to the sky, hoping to strike it, yet he is struck down himself! In a state of shock, his lover cradles the boy-prince, whom the tennis ball struck above the left ear, where the pulse throbbed, like cannon breaching a wall; the stripling's face is strangely pale, the steaming blood gushes from his ear and nostrils, and, after quivering a little, he is utterly still. Both tennis players have dropped their rackets, the unwitting slayer trying in vain, with a cool drink and breathing air into his lungs, to recall the young life, but what can he do?! Not a sigh steals through those parted lips, and his heartbeat has been coldly hushed. Once the blood had throbbed and the passions striven, and now... death in one heart, and sorrow in the other, have left it all cold and dire! The lifeless royal child's head tilts to the right, like the calyx of a wilting flower, cut short already in spring, as it began to bloom! What rank offence has the sobbing one committed? Unless playing tennis, or loving one's equal, can be called a crime... The sobs are broken with such a painful song... Can the same hand that lovingly caresses also strike a fatal blow? Such a tableau of blood and youth nipped in the bud, this is my story."
As she listens, he thoughts of Akira fall back to the tennis court at the Kotozume Yashiki. Has Yukari, out in the wide world, found another maiden to love, but died so young and so violently? Or has she been the one to unwittingly strike such a fatal blow? The blond young man in the hyacinths' tale was ambidextrous as well...
"Yours was a dreary tale indeed... it even rends my heart. Tell me, is Yukari's life nipped in the bud? Or has she unwittingly shed innocent blood?"
"Let us all ring fancy's knell; I'll begin it, ding, dong, bell! Who is Yukari? We have never heard her name or seen her face. That was the only song we know."
Relieved yet full of doubts, Akira approaches the frog pond, not only to wash the heat off her face, but also to ask the lotuses.
And what does the lotus say?
"On one of the first days of springtime, the morning sun kisses the buds of the lotuses in the godswood pond good day, as they shut their weary calyces and lay down to rest. Only a few flowers remain unquiet, their blood red petals wide open, when the Queen arrives with her little girl in her arms. The princess is but a toddler child, so young and so fragile, yet these kisses between mother and daughter are more valuable than all the gold and jewels of their royal standing. Right as the Queen has nipped, with lily fingers, a lotus from the pond for her child, blood gushes from the stalk both on her hand and into the pond water... is it sap or blood? So red, and even steaming, it cannot be sap. Now she remembers that each flower in this pond has a spirit of its own, but it's too late... a strange inner force pushes her to wave into the pond, her feet take root and fix in the mud, her waist and limbs fuse together and thin underwater into a dark green stem. Circle after circle of blood red petals fills the crown of her hair, laying straiter and straiter siege to her lovely face, as the child princess looks on from the shore at how her mum is changing. Right then the Prince Consort arrives and stands in shock, staring at his crowned spouse, reaching out for the flower-queen to kiss the lips that remain unchanged, in the middle of the calyx, below eyes teary with dewdrops: 'I swear by the gods that I have never deserved this punishment. Leave the child in the care of governesses, but take her every now and then here, teach her that this lotus was and is her mother. Let her fear and respect the flowers in this sacred pond. Promise me you will never take a second wife, for I am still alive, as long as this flower blooms... Farewell, my child, my spouse, and all my friends, and never let any mortal hand nip my stalk, or that person shall share my fate!' She blows them kisses, yet suddenly cannot speak no more: her lips have given way to a swollen yellow stigma. Cradling the little girl, her father returns home to the palace; the child will grow up learning the virtues of royalty in the care of strangers, yet always with her mother in her heart, as long as that lotus retains the warmth of her past self within. Will their love last after the mother is gone forever, or the daughter has come of age?"
The thought of a helpless child left forlorn by her guardian stirs Akira Kenjo even more, for she has seen in the toddler princess her faint-hearted little sister:
"Miku! I left Miku and Grandmother at home, to fend for themselves... what if, when I return, I find at least the little one resting beneath a gravestone with her name...? They worry as much for me as I worry about Yukari... or surely even more! I hope their waiting time is not that long, for I shall surely return with my beloved by my side, to find the few relatives who wait for me at home... at least still alive!"
It hasn't helped that she would ask any more flowers, knowing that each kind could only tell the tale of its past life. Wiping the perspiration from her forehead, Akira runs as fast as she can, making a dash for the garden gate, but she stumbles on a little stone right in front of a narcissus that reflected itself on the pondside. "Do you know anything, Narcissus?" the redhead asks, wincing as she gets back up again and breathing in its poisonous yet sweet vanilla perfume.
And what does the narcissus say?
"Mirror, mirror in the spring, who is of all the fairest thing?
I can see myself right here, I can see myself! Oh, what a sweet vanilla-like scent! Collapsing before the dark pool of the spring, a stripling kneels to quench his thirst, but, as the liquid enters his system, a more burning thirst cools his throat as it sets fire to his young heart! He turns his back on the whole world; after all, everything is an illusion, and what appears the most illusory happens to be real life! Such golden locks, such eyes of green, such a soft face he's never seen... He pours cool water down his throat and splashes it on his face, yet this can only kindle, not quench at all, the fire within! So his health dwindles like frost in the springtime sun... At least the splashing makes his eyes brighter, his fair hair hang lovely damp and cool, the soft skin on his face even fairer! No other care has he but trying to reach the boy in the mirror, who is always beyond his reach, yet isn't this game of catch-me-if-you-can an exciting one?
Mirror, mirror in the spring, who is of all the fairest thing?"
Equally wistful and discontented had Yukari been during her change of heart, and not rarely had Akira seen her peering into the koi pond and smiling listlessly to her reflection. Yet the narcissus was even more self-centered, as the tale of his past life proved, thus our shero thinks as she storms down the orchard path towards the wicket gate. And, as soon as she stops there for a rest, lo and behold, there is none other but old Kaoruko Hanasaki, née Godai, to whom she has been so kind!
Lowering her head, the old botanist sighs to her younger ward:
"I have listened to everything you said, but neither have I got any idea of where your damsel has gone. Akira... Wouldn't you please forgive a lonely and weary old lady, for trying to keep such an earnest young person by her side, since that young person had forgotten her quest?"
"Forgiven? You are already forgiven, Kaoruko. How could I ever have repaid your kindness in taking me in, if not in helping you with all those household chores? Your family, after all, frequents you every now and then, but you're far from forgotten. And I am free to come and go as I please, am I not?"
"Of course you are indeed! Here, take these three apples for provisions; you could as well use some refreshment. And, if you follow the instructions on this town map of Kibougahana, you will find my family's home. The Hanasakis will gladly welcome you, and maybe give you more directions towards your goal. Send them my regards, and tell them not to take their study and work so much in stride."
Akira presses Kaoruko to her chest, thanking the old lady and bidding her farewell, ere she (Akira) leaves the orchard through the gate, waving goodbye. Her heart is cloven in twain; on one hand feeling sorry for the old lady, as much as for her own grandmother, and on the other hand obliged to leave and carry on her quest. Once more, there is no room for others but Yukari in her heart.
She's crossed the gate in the same clothes she wore when she came, but now freshly washed with lavender and handmade soap; the waistcoat, shirt, trousers, and Wellingtons never feeling so light or so refreshing on her skin. Putting one of those crisp red apples to her lips, Akira breathes in the May air laden with scents of rose, rosemary, lavender, narcissus, hyacinths... and irises. Having spent a whole month of amnesia, there is no time to tarry anymore! She tries to console herself with the fact that she has been given provisions and directions. And thus, unfolding the map, she sets forth, following the pen-traced line left by Kaoruko, towards the church towers that rise beyond the treetops, sure of the hearty welcome she will find at the Hanasakis'. The wide world was never brighter or more full of hope.
ANNOTATIONS:
- The title refers to the drinker of Lethe in Canto II of Paradise Lost. The literary allusion title tradition is still carried on! The next title will be, hopefully, from Othello!
- Next chapter will begin at the Hanasakis' and the Kurumis', but end at the royal court and star another OTP of mine, playing my OTP in the original fairytale!! Also, we'll see some cameos as suitors, and Akira get at least slightly sloshed while trying to get some liquid courage to dance in the ballroom...
- But the crowner are definitely the Ovidian flower dreams. I have long since tried to work the Metamorphoses into Story the Third of a Snow Queen fusion, et voilà!
- The Kibougahana backstory of the tyrant and the ondine has two main inspirations. One is the story Tigersclaw by Henry Morley, and the other is from the Oz saga, "How Ozma Refused to Fight for her Kingdom." Both of which are cathartic anti-war parables linked to a healing fountain, from which a warlord drinks, becoming a peaceful enlightened ruler.
- May as the month of irises: or ayamezuki in archaic Japanese. April is konohatorizuki, the leaf month. Isn't it more than chance that the May-born Yukari Kotozume is so associated with irises?
