Yatagarasu Series
Volume 3:
The Golden Raven
Author: Chisato Abe
PROLOGUE
The Golden Raven is the progenitor of all Yatagarasu, both their mother and their father.
At all times and in all ways, the Golden Raven must stand before their children with compassion and love.
No matter what difficulties arise, the Golden Raven must protect the Yatagarasu, teach them and guide them.
The Golden Raven leads all Yatagarasu, and they follow.
It came to me in almost miraculous fashion.
I was working in a tavern owned by a tight-fisted miserly woman. No matter how much I wiped down the old tables, they were never clean. I smelled a drunk’s vomit on the floor and the reek of alcohol. Stale air blew through the open windows. I took shallow breaths as I cleaned.
“Take this and deliver it to the estate in Yamanote,” the tavern owner told me.
I looked up from the table. The tavern was on a rundown street, but it boasted an impressive view of the city’s large lake. Expensive inns and high-class restaurants were nearby, but this area catered to poorer locals: sailors and fishermen who made their living on the lake. The tavern’s clientele matched the filthy environment. I was harassed by drunkards almost every day.
I always told myself that I would find some way to quit. I worked diligently, but I was always on the lookout for another job. When I was asked to run errands in wealthy Yamanote, I never refused.
“You’re different from the others—you don’t slack off. I can trust you with important deliveries,” the tavern owner said to me. She was a harsh taskmistress and cruel to most people, but she was a good judge of character.
Nobles lived in Yamanote. Some parts were treated like the Imperial Palace; they were patrolled by guards and only nobles could enter. Someone like me would never be allowed to set foot in those exclusive places. I admired the lifestyle of the rich nobles from afar and was always excited to have an excuse to visit the fringes of Yamanote.
I passed through the Central Gate and crossed a bridge. The road changed under my feet, becoming flat and even, and I stepped into a new world. The differences between the dingy tavern and the well-kept shops all around me were readily apparent. The streets were swept clean and even scrubbed in some places. The air was crisp and cool and didn’t stink.
The Yamanote estate that I’d been sent to was on the side of a wide road. It was so grand that the first time I’d seen it, I’d mistaken it for a castle.
Nobles and their servants—all dressed in silk and fine fabrics—passed me by without saying a word. Even children wore silk, their full long sleeves flapping like wings in the wind. Servants who worked here dressed far better than I did.
I was briefly overwhelmed by the opulence all around me and stood still.
Everyone would know at a glance that I didn’t belong here. The difference in social status was too stark. Dressed in rags and miserable, I completed my errand and rushed to return to the tavern.
As I hurried down the street, I passed a girl about my age. She was walking with a woman who appeared to be her mother. Her silver hair ornament sparkled in the early spring sunlight, and she wore the latest fashion—a fluffy dress created with many layers of fine silk. Her upper garment was a crimson silk kimono and the expansive skirt was made of overlapping layers, all a different shade of red. She looked like a peony flower about to bloom.
I had cleaned myself up before coming here, but I would never own a dress like that. My kimono was frayed and worn, and it was the only piece of clothing I owned.
I lowered my head as I passed the girl and her mother.
At that moment, the girl dropped something from her pocket.
When I picked it up, I saw that it was a comb made of black lacquer and inlaid with mother-of-pearl wildflowers that shone with iridescent colors.
The girl chatted with her mother pleasantly. She didn’t seem to realize that she’d dropped the comb.
For a brief moment, I was tempted. If I didn’t call out to her now, she would probably never notice where she had lost the comb. She was dressed so luxuriously; surely she must have many other things like this. If I kept it for myself, there would be no harm.
I sighed heavily. “Excuse me, miss? You dropped this,” I said, holding out the comb to the girl.
The girl and her mother turned around. Their eyes went wide. They appeared terrified of me. Or perhaps they were terrified of the poverty I represented.
The girl recovered first. “Oh! Thank you. How careless of me,” she said. She took the comb from my hand carefully. Her fingers were white and very soft. A delicate perfume wafted from her skin. I had just bathed, but I worried that I stunk of sweat or worse.
“Thank you. This is very important to me,” the girl said. She smiled kindly.
“Your father bought that for you,” her mother chided. “You must always take good care of it.”
“You’re right,” the girl said, lowering her eyes demurely. “I’m very sorry, mother.”
Her mother gave the girl a self-satisfied smirk and then turned toward me. “Thank you for returning it. Losing it would have caused us some trouble.”
“It is a very beautiful comb,” I said. “I understand why you would treasure it.”
“Isn’t it lovely?” the girl asked. “I felt like it was too pretty to use, so I’ve just been carrying it around with me. I never want to lose it.” She pressed a fingertip to her lips and was briefly lost in thought.
Then the girl pulled her silver hairpin from her hair and set the comb in its place. “Does it suit me?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yes, very much.” She was so happy and vibrant. Her world was so different from the one I lived in every day. I forced a smile, and the girl smiled back without a trace of guile.
She placed her silver hairpin in my hand.
“Thank you for picking up my comb,” she said. “I think this will suit your bright hair color far better than mine. Please accept it.”
She didn’t wait for my reply. She waved cheerfully and then spun away. She walked down the street with her mother.
This was a sudden stroke of good luck. I stared at the hairpin in my hand, examining it closely. It was a very lovely hairpin, almost as beautiful as the comb. Flowering crab-apple blossoms were engraved in the polished silver. Delicate silver wires as thin as thread traced over every blossom. Tiny pieces of coral made the centers of the flowers. The silver leaves that wrapped around the flowers were so thin that they were nearly transparent.
The hairpin was beautiful, but also fragile. I feared that it might break under the slightest bit of pressure. It shone in my hands, a precious treasure. I gasped in delight and then tucked the hairpin safely away in my pocket.
As I returned to the tavern to tell the owner that I had completed my errand, my mind remained preoccupied with thoughts of the hairpin. I resolved to work harder than ever before so that I could buy a kimono to match the hairpin.
And why stop there? Maybe someday, I would be able to afford a comb just like the one the girl had been given by her father. I would leave this rubbish heap dressed in my finest clothes. Maybe I’d catch the eye of a young man from a good family and marry rich.
I remembered all the young men I’d passed in Yamanote while running my errand. They were so wonderful. Beautiful to the eye and with kind manners that revealed their refined upbringing. They were nothing like the men who came to the tavern.
Yes. I wanted to marry a kind gentleman who would cherish me.
I skipped home thinking pleasant thoughts about the future.
My home was close to the tavern, but it was tucked back even further from the waterline into a narrow alley. Seeing it now after spending the afternoon in Yamanote made me think that it was even more rundown than usual.
“I’m home!” I called out as I lifted the bamboo screen away from the door.
There was no reply.
I stopped dead in my tracks when my eyes fell on five unfamiliar men sitting in my living room. They sized me up, staring rudely and saying nothing. A chill went up my spine. I tried to escape, but one of them grabbed my hair from behind and dragged me further into the house.
As I screamed and struggled desperately, the man spoke. “Silence, bitch. Your father accepted the money, so it’s a done deal.”
“That’s right, girl,” another man said gruffly. “You’ve been sold.”
A different man laughed. Others gave me half-hearted apologies. None of them would let me go.
In a daze, I caught sight of my father’s hunched back as he hurriedly slipped out the front door.
I screamed. As I struggled, the hairpin fell out of my pocket and was crushed beneath a man’s hairy foot. The delicate silver wires flattened with a sickening crack. Shards of metal and broken coral scattered everywhere. One whole coral bead rolled across the floor.
Before I could retrieve the bead, a shadow passed over my face.
I still don’t know where that little coral bead ended up after it rolled away from me.
Translator's Notes
Taizan taikō means The Fundamental Principles of the Mountainous Regions.
Yamanote literally means “hand of the mountain.” There is a famous Yamanote subway line in Tokyo that derives from earlier uses of the name. Historically, the word yamanote has been used to describe hilly places inside cities (not just Tokyo) and places near the mountains.
Kimono literally means “thing that is worn” and can refer to any clothing.
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