Yatagarasu Series
Volume 6:
The Raven's Flourishing
Author: Abe Chisato
Epilogue: Scattered Seeds
The season was turning from autumn to winter. The sweet fragrance of mature healing herbs tickled Nazukihiko’s nose. He sat on the veranda of Shion Temple, gazing out at the garden and not thinking about anything in particular.
Crimson-dyed maple leaves fell to the ground as the sun set. The leaves created a mottled red pattern on the rich dark earth, like the blood on the battlefield beyond the Forbidden Gate.
A year ago, Nazukihiko would have taken in this view without remembering war or battle. Many things had changed for him since then. It had been three months since the end of the last Kuisaru invasion. There had been no more earthquakes, and reconstruction was underway everywhere in Souke Territory. Nobles moved back to Souke Territory’s central mountain after it was announced that the danger had passed. The Imperial Court was shifting its functions over from the Palace Above the Clouds to the Imperial Palace.
The people of Yamauchi never learned that Yukiya had used a decoy Crown Prince at the Palace Above the Clouds during the battle there. The official story was that the Yamauchishu had noticed the attack right away and called for reinforcements before the Kuisaru could do much damage.
Yukiya had made a name for himself as a military strategist, perhaps the best one in Yamauchi’s history.
Even knowing what Yukiya had done, Nazukihiko couldn’t bring himself to blame him. Nazukihiko had dragged the boy who’d said he wanted to live peacefully into his chaotic life; it was his fault that Yukiya had grown up to become the man he was.
Nothing had happened as he’d wanted it to. His coronation would be held soon, and he didn’t want it now. He was safe, and so was Yamauchi for now; who cared about being emperor? But the White Raven’s priests insisted. There was no reason for the Emperor not to abdicate in his favor.
Everything looked peaceful on the surface. Yamauchi was preparing to welcome a new true Golden Raven as their ruler. Nazukihiko should have been happy about that.
But he wasn’t. Yamauchi wasn’t stable; it could collapse in a decade or a century. He was a flawed leader: the remnant of a forgotten god.
The hero had used his power to mend the tears in Yamauchi for the time being. He’d also restored the Forbidden Gate and sealed it shut again. Nazukihiko wished he’d kept it open, but it seemed that the new mountain god didn’t want anything to do with the Yatagarasu. Nazukihiko could open the Forbidden Gate in an emergency, but it would be difficult.
If the new mountain god lived for only a single generation, how much longer would Yamauchi endure? If the new mountain god died or disappeared, what would become of Yamauchi?
“You look awful,” Hamayū said brightly. “What are you thinking about this time?” She pulled her over-robe more snugly around her shoulders. It wasn’t like her to wear many layers of clothing, but she’d been pressured to wear more lately. She had recovered from her miscarriage; her skin glowed with health. “You’re worried. Why?”
Nazukihiko covered his face with both hands. “The Kuisaru god destroyed his entire species for the sake of revenge. And I, who forgot everything, am a coward and a fool. It is cruel to make me lead the Yatagarasu. I resent my ignorance. I thought that I was born to protect and lead my people, but that was a lie. Yamauchi cannot be saved. It will be destroyed, and there’s nothing I can do.”
“Yes,” Hamayū said evenly. “So you’ve said. Stop thinking about it like that.”
Nazukihiko blinked. “Like what? I should not have forgotten. I should not have run away or forsaken my duty to the mountain god.”
Neither excuses nor apologies could be made without memories. He didn’t know why he’d done all that, but he needed to know. His thoughts ran in circles all the time.
“I am unfit to be a true Golden Raven,” Nazukihiko said.
Hamayū folded her arms in exasperation. Then she sat down beside him on the veranda. “Yamauchi will change. Maybe we won’t be able to take human form anymore, but that doesn’t mean that all of the Yatagarasu will die.” She smiled slightly. “It’s too early to give in to despair. You can’t stop Yamauchi from being destroyed, so don’t worry about it. Focus on the here and now, and put off what you can do later. I do that all the time.” She laughed.
Nazukihiko stared back at her, his expression blank. “Why don’t you worry? Why aren’t you scared? How are you so strong?”
Hamayū shrugged. “I worry. I get scared. But if there’s nothing I can do, then I don’t waste energy on it.” She gave him a self-deprecating smile. “I’ve made so many mistakes in my life. I’ve done so many stupid things, but I’ve learned from them all. So keep your head up,” she said, putting her hand under his chin to lift his face. “The Kuisaru and the mountain god went crazy because they kept clinging to godhood. You don’t have to do that. There’s nothing wrong with being a true Golden Raven, is there? You’re fine just as you are.”
“Just as I am?” Nazukihiko asked skeptically.
“That’s right. An ordinary Yatagarasu doesn’t have any special powers like you do, and they’re fine. They live their lives contentedly enough for the most part.” She grinned. “Honestly, I don’t care if you’re a true Golden Raven or a forgotten god. You were my friend first, and my husband second. That matters more to me than anything else.” She tapped her chin. “Think about it. If I couldn’t take human form anymore, would you love me any less?”
“Of course not,” Nazukihiko said.
“And do the Yatagarasu have to remain in Yamauchi to flourish?”
“…no.” Nazukihiko stared blankly ahead. “No, they don’t. I never thought about things that way before.”
“I figured you hadn’t. You know, when I was a child, I grew morning glories at the main Nanke estate. Merchants love those flowers; there are quite a few varieties. Some of the people I gardened with were specialists who knew how to make the flowers grow in different shapes and a lot of different colors.
“Anyway, every year the gardeners would try to create new varieties of morning glories to present to the Lord of Nanke and his family. But new varieties are, hm, unstable? They’re grown for looks, not health or yield. A little too much water can make their roots moldy and kill them.
“The ones I was growing the year I left home all died,” Hamayū said despondently. “I didn’t worry about it so much at the time; being homeless distracted me. When I came back home a few years later, I went to the greenhouse and discovered the most beautiful blue morning glory I’d ever seen. It wasn’t an unusual shape or size, but one of the ordinary varieties that had mutated and grown an unusual color. It was hiding in a corner—I’m not sure the gardeners noticed it, but I did. It wasn’t gorgeous and delicate like the morning glories I was growing before I left home. It was healthy and very beautiful.”
Hamayū gazed out at the sunset. “Think of Yamauchi as a delicate morning glory. The conditions aren’t right for it to exist anymore. It is a withering flower, but there will still be seeds left behind. So don’t give up. Not all change is bad. I couldn’t take raven form until I was seven years old, can you believe it? It wasn’t considered ladylike.” She rested her chin in her hands. “But then I transformed, and it was—freeing. Exhilarating. I liked it more than I ever thought I would. Definitely more than I was supposed to. I realized that being a noble’s daughter was like being in a cage. Being common set me free.”
She glanced over at Nazukihiko. “Resilience is an underrated trait. Sometimes the only thing we can do is hold on with everything we’ve got. If we hold on long enough, a path forward will open for us. It always does.” She scratched her cheek. For a brief moment, she looked concerned or worried, but then she smoothed her expression. “I’ve been keeping it quiet, but… it seems to be all right now, so I’ll just say it.”
Nazukihiko found his wife’s unusually tentative way of speaking suspicious. “What?”
“I received a message from Princess Tamayori, who appeared to me in a dream. She told me that she wanted to give me a gift as a small token of thanks to you.” She looked out at the sunset again. “It’s just about time for me to seclude myself in a maternity room.”
Nazukihiko stared at her, uncomprehending.
Hamayū’s hands rested gently over her stomach.
***
Cicadas sang in the early morning, waking Akeru up. He worried that today would be another unusually warm day. He headed for the Keisōin’s lecture hall far earlier than classes started.
I’ll convince him to come with me today, Akeru thought. I’ve got to.
Akeru walked into Yukiya’s office and found him sitting at his desk with a brush pen in one hand. His cheeks were hollow and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked like a man who hadn’t smiled once since the day he was born.
Yukiya kept up with his physical training and conditioning, so he should be in excellent health. Up until a year ago, he had been. He’d been a shadow of himself since then.
Crown Prince Nazukihiko was now the Emperor. Yukiya remained his appointed role of military strategist and kept teaching at the Keisōin, but his intelligent eyes had lost their keenness. Haruma mediated between him and his new subordinates at the Keisōin, but they didn’t warm to him because he didn’t warm to them. Yukiya kept everyone at arm’s length, including his friends and family.
The strangest thing was that Yukiya hadn’t come to pay his respects to the new imperial princess even once. She had hatched weeks ago, and he’d shown no interest in her or the Crown Prince’s family at all.
Hamayū had given birth to the princess in Shion Temple, which she’d kept as her residence even after the rest of the Imperial Court moved back to Souke Territory’s central mountain. She had a larger guard presence than before the Kuisaru invasion, but she lived simply, very like a commoner Yatagarasu.
The little princess collected her first title when she was days old: Princess of Shion Temple. Some officials in the Imperial Court had complained that the child was not a boy, but her parents patently ignored such rude comments. They were overjoyed to welcome their little girl to the world.
Yatagarasu celebrated the birth of a child with three milestones: first, egg-laying; second, hatching, which happened after approximately three months of brooding; and third, transforming into human shape for the first time.
Egg-laying was very focused on the mother and her health. The day the egg was laid was recorded as the child’s first birthday. Most Yatagarasu infants who died in infancy died shortly after hatching. There were cases where they couldn’t break apart their own shells or where they died in the egg from cold or hunger or some other cause. Hatching too early could cause the child to have health problems later in life.
Noble families celebrated human transformation far more than commoner families did because they believed the raven form was shameful. Noble fathers were often not permitted to see their offspring until they were able to take human form.
The princess had hatched a few days early, and people had worried about that at first. She was a healthy child, though, and was growing steadily. She’d taken human form for the first time scant days ago.
Natsuka had been one of the grumblers who’d complained that the princess wasn’t a boy. The instant he’d seen her face, he’d apologized directly to her and started visiting frequently, almost every day. He brought her gifts with every visit—so many that there was no place to fit them all in Hamayū’s austere chamber in Shion Temple.
Ichiryū, Chihaya and Sumio hadn’t been able to contain their excitement; they’d gone to see the princess even before she was capable of taking human form. Ordinarily that wouldn’t be permitted, but Nazukihiko didn’t care about protocol. He wanted to show his daughter to the world.
Yukiya had sent a gift to celebrate the princess’ birth, but he hadn’t gone to see her even once.
Akeru was growing impatient with Yukiya’s stubbornness. “His Imperial Majesty is visiting the princess today,” he said. “You should come see them both. His Imperial Majesty commanded you to come if you’re not busy.”
“I am busy,” Yukiya snapped.
“You are not,” Akeru said flatly. “Not too busy for this.”
Yukiya closed his eyes. He was still there, deep in the mountain god’s realm, with the smell of charred flesh hanging in the air and Shigemaru’s hand disintegrating in his.
But he couldn’t say that out loud; Akeru wouldn’t understand. Worse, he would be saddened and concerned, and Yukiya didn’t have the strength to deal with that right now.
“Fine,” Yukiya said. “I’ll come.”
***
Akeru all but dragged Yukiya to Hamayū’s chamber in Shion Temple. Laughter echoed down the hallway as they approached.
Yukiya halted just outside the closed door. His face was stern and his shoulders were set. He clearly didn’t want to take another step.
Then the door opened, revealing Masuho no Susuki. She’d been appointed as the princess’ tutor. “Well, don’t linger in the doorway,” she said. “You’ve come at a good time. The princess just woke up.”
Yukiya gave her an apprehensive look. “If I come in, will you bite my head off?”
Masuho no Susuki shrugged. “I’m not mad at you anymore. Just try not to make me angry again.”
Yukiya bowed slightly and then entered the room, which was bright with morning sunshine. The sliding doors on the garden-facing side of the room were open, and a pleasant breeze blew in. A simple glass wind chime hung from the eaves, making sparkling music.
Hamayū and Nazukihiko knelt on the floor to either side of a rocking bamboo cradle, making hushing sounds. They didn’t look like nobles at all; they could have been any commoner couple in the territories.
Hamayū looked up and smiled. “Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence: the heartless bastard.”
Yukiya scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah… I deserve that this time. I’m sorry.”
Since the birth of his daughter, Nazukihiko had started acting more like an ordinary Yatagarasu. Akeru wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing for Yamauchi, but Akeru was glad to see him happy.
“How is the princess this morning?” Akeru asked.
Nazukihiko frowned slightly. “She never cries, but she never smiles, either.”
Hamayū chuckled. “She has your face. She must take after you. If she’s not a friendly baby, then that’s probably your fault.”
Yukiya stood above them awkwardly.
Akeru pursed his lips, grabbed Yukiya by the shoulders from behind, and pushed him down until he was sitting in front of the cradle.
“What are you doing?” Yukiya protested.
“You came here to visit, so visit,” Akeru said encouragingly.
Yukiya sulked like a teenager.
The princess’ eyes found Yukiya’s.
Akeru grinned. The princess was an adorable baby; everyone loved her. Her cheeks were plump and rosy like sweet mochi cakes.
All of the infants Akeru had seen before had been born with downy feathers on their heads that were gradually replaced by hair as it grew in. The princess had been born with a full head of lustrous black hair. Her tiny features were as well-formed as a doll’s. Her eyes were huge and curious in her pale face. Her eyelashes had already grown in; even her blinking was exceptionally cute.
Hamayū was correct in her observations: The princess looked very much like her father. Her dark eyes shone like deep purple amethysts in sunlight.
Yukiya gasped as the princess smiled at him.
Hamayū clapped and praised the baby. The princess almost never smiled.
And her smile was lovely: pure and happy, untainted by guile or malice or deception. It was a smile like the rising sun, like flowers blooming in summer.
“She’s smiling!” Nazukihiko cried out in delight.
Hamayū poked the tiny princess’ cheek. “I’m sure every parent thinks this, but she might be the most adorable thing in the entire world.” She shared a contented smile with Nazukihiko.
Then they both looked at Yukiya and froze.
“Yukiya? What’s wrong?” Nazukihiko asked.
Akeru looked at Yukiya’s face, aghast.
Yukiya was staring at the princess with tears streaming down his cheeks.
***
Yukiya had no idea why he was crying.
I couldn’t cry when Shige died, he thought. Why am I crying now?
The princess kept looking at him, still smiling, overwhelmingly precious. Yukiya glimpsed the flowers blooming in the garden behind her as he blinked tears away.
The garden was full of vibrant blue morning glories. Dew glimmered on their petals as the sun rose.
The flowers must have been there for a long time, but Yukiya had never noticed them before. The sight of the flowers restored color to the gray world he’d been living in for the past year.
It’s summer, Yukiya thought, awed and humbled. He couldn’t stop crying. He didn’t even make the attempt. The world welcomed him back gently; there was no rush.
As Yukiya sat there thinking about all the season changes he’d missed in his gray, isolated world, he remembered that it was a year to the day since Shigemaru’s death.
Translator's Note
The description of the princess refers specifically to daifuku mochi, a type of Japanese confection consisting of a small round rice cake stuffed with a sweet filling, most commonly a sweetened red bean paste made from adzuki beans. Daifuku mochi are often pink.
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