Yatagarasu Series 9 - The Raven's Loyalty - Part 3: Hamidori

 

Yatagarasu Series

Volume 9: 

The Raven's Loyalty

Author: Abe Chisato

Part 3: Hamidori

“The Valley is a garbage dump”—who had said that to him first? Midori often wondered, but he couldn’t remember.

The central mountain of Souke Territory housed the Imperial Court. The mountain god was said to dwell on its summit. Nobles lived on overhanging residences built on the mountainside. Ordinary townsfolk and merchants lived in the foothills around the mountain.

Below them all was the Valley, much of which was so far underground that the sunlight never shone upon it. The people of the Valley matched their surroundings: they had fallen into darkness, and there was no place for them in the world above. Criminals fled to the Valley. Veterans who’d lost limbs and had nowhere else to go wound up there, desperate. Women were sold into slavery by their impoverished relatives. Survivors of plague and debtors who couldn’t pay rubbed shoulders with elderly people who had no family to look after them.

The Valley was a refuge for the hopeless. It was the place people went when the rest of the world rejected them. It was ruled by bosses whose only talent was violence. Gambling dens and brothels lined the narrow streets. The poor nested together at night, homeless, huddling together for warmth.

Everything that the people who lived in the world above thought about the Valley was true. In the past, things were even worse; there were no stable bosses and power was determined by roving gangs of murderers who killed and stole as they pleased.

Then King Saku took power, and those lawless gangs were ground under his heel. His legend claimed that he’d come to the Valley as a drifter, alone, after committing some crime. He’d united others to his cause, earning respect from the Valley’s appallingly violent bosses. Step by slow step, he forged a world of order.

The Valley had never been ordered before. People resisted. King Saku won them over by appealing to their common enemy.

“Those above us underestimate us, believing that we are weak. If the weak prey on the weak, they don’t get stronger. Fighting amongst ourselves benefits them, not us. If we wish to be strong, we must work together to make it so.”

King Saku resolved the territorial disputes between the other bosses, drawing clear territory lines. He and the other bosses met regularly to discuss important matters and swear mutual solidarity and protection. The bosses took on the responsibility of protecting the people in their territory in exchange for revenue from the brothels and gambling dens. If they shirked their responsibilities, the other bosses would band together and take the offending boss’ territory for themselves. Disputes that used to be solved with fistfights or assassinations were now adjudicated at the bosses’ meetings.

No one thought that King Saku’s reforms would last. How could the lawless be made to obey laws? And yet his way of doing things persisted.

The Aerial Army of Heaven, which was responsible for protecting the world above, took notice. A disorderly Valley was easy to control; a disciplined and principled Valley was not. Instead of choosing war, the Aerial Army of Heaven proposed a non-aggression pact. The Valley and the Aerial Army of Heaven wouldn’t fight so long as the Valley’s residents remained there.

And so the Valley was permitted to self-govern without interference from the world above.

Who knew what would have become of the Valley if King Saku hadn’t decided to remake it? Miserable lives improved by leaps and bounds. When Midori went to the Keisōin and heard people describe the Valley as a garbage dump, he struggled to understand why. He’d been born and raised in the Valley. King Saku had reigned there for his entire life. He was an orphan; he didn’t even remember what his parents looked like. His mother was a courtesan who’d died when he was very young.

Midori spent his childhood in a brothel. Sometimes the courtesans shouted at him or hit him if he misbehaved, but they also fed him and took care of him when he was sick. Some of the kinder ones shared sweets with him. They had raised him with indifferent care, along with several other children who shared his circumstances.

Sometimes, Midori found one of the other children behind the brothel, crying and saying that they wanted to go home.

“Why? Isn’t this your home?” Midori would ask them.

No one ever answered this question. Not in words. Midori had received plenty of hostile glares in response.

Sometimes, those same children would say, “The Valley is a garbage dump.” Or they would say, “This place is hell, and you’re a poor unfortunate wretch for not understanding that.”

The people who said things like that always came from the world above. They’d fallen into the Valley after suffering a dramatic change in circumstances. People who’d lived in the Valley for their whole lives had no sympathy for them. Naturally, Midori didn’t understand people from the world above at all.

Every summer, a boy he thought of as his favorite older brother would come to the brothel with green cucumbers freshly picked from the field. “Hey, Midori, I’ve got something good for you!”

There were usually about five to ten children in the brothel where Midori lived. For the children of the Valley, anyone even a little older was an older brother or older sister, and anyone younger was a little brother or little sister. Midori had been looked after when he was little; it was normal for him to help take care of children younger than himself.

Older children cleaned up after infants. When they were strong enough to fetch and carry, they hauled water. If they had quick hands, they cooked and cleaned. Almost everyone shared a bed with one or more people, packed in side-by-side at night. When the communal bedroom started to smell, everyone lined up outside to wash themselves and then their bedding using buckets of water from the well. Meals were also shared; Midori often split his portion with younger children or old women visiting from other places. Hunger was common, but starvation was rare.

Green cucumbers were always a popular snack in the summertime. Sunny spots in the Valley were frequently fought over. People wanted the sunlight to hang washing or grow herbs or flowers. The places where the cucumbers grew were secret, and an older boy always managed the supply chain. When Midori’s favorite older brother aged out and joined one of the Valley’s bosses, his role would pass to another older boy.

Midori wasn’t always a well-behaved child, but his favorite older brother always shared cucumbers with him. The taste of them was like sunlight distilled, and he savored every bite. He was a poor boy, but he wasn’t usually unhappy. The Valley might not be the best place to be a child, but he wouldn’t have described it as the worst place, either.

The veneer of order painted over the Valley was only enforced by violence. Those who violated the Valley’s laws were punished mercilessly. Cheating gamblers were beaten to a pulp. Those who harmed children or courtesans were castrated, their hands removed; some of them died from that treatment. Life was cheap in the Valley. People didn’t value it like they did in the word above.

The bosses of the Valley took their protection duties seriously, however. The rough, unkempt men who worked for the bosses frightened Midori, but he knew that they protected everyone from even more terrifying people who ignored the Valley’s unwritten laws. Most of the boys he knew assumed that they would grow up and join the bosses so that they could protect the children and courtesans.

Midori was not so sure of his future. When he was around seven or eight, he learned that lives didn’t follow fixed paths.

One of the older boys he saw often struck him as remarkable. He was an orphan like Midori. Most of the adults didn’t like him because he was always causing trouble somewhere. He couldn’t tolerate bullies and spent most of his time defending the younger children. He was a strong fighter who was much admired by the boys in the Valley.

One day, the boy was taken away by a man from the world above.

Midori had never even considered that there was a way to leave the Valley. He’d believed that the strong boy would stay in the Valley forever. He’d watched the boy be led away by the hand; they hadn’t even given him time to say goodbye.

The boy looked back at Midori with a complicated expression on his face. He didn’t want to go, but he also wasn’t resisting.

When Midori asked one of the courtesans about what he’d seen, she explained things to him.

“They bought him,” the courtesan said. “He’s handsome, so they’re going to train him as an actor.” She lifted her pipe elegantly away from her mouth and blew a smoke ring into the air.

“What’s an actor?”

“They perform in plays. If things go well, they become popular in the world above and become wealthy. You have a pretty face, too. Perhaps they’ll buy you next.”

Midori was appalled. The Valley was the only home he knew. “I want to stay here forever!”

“Don’t say that. It’s not a bad thing to leave. You should celebrate if you’re bought, in fact. The world above is so much better than here.” She said this without conviction, but Midori didn’t think she was lying, either.

Some time after that, the older boy who’d been bought returned to the Valley.

Midori was drawing water from a well near the courtesans’ quarters when he heard someone call his name. He turned around and saw the older boy there. He didn’t recognize him at first. His hair was disheveled and he was sweating, but he was wearing makeup like the courtesans did. At first glance, he looked like a girl.

“Please let me speak to granny,” the boy said. “I can’t stand that place anymore.”

Midori blinked. He’d never heard this boy sound so desperate. He rushed inside to talk to the madam of the brothel on the boy’s behalf.

But the brothel madam was cold toward him.

“You’re no longer a Yatagarasu of the Valley. You’re bought and paid for, child. We can’t hide you here.”

“No!” the boy cried out. “Please!”

Granny looked him over from head to toe. “You’re not hurt. You’re not starving. If they were abusing you, it would be one thing, but you’re fine. Go back to where you belong now.”

“I don’t belong there!” the boy yelled. “Those bastards—you don’t know what they do!” He burst into tears.

Granny stared at him, her face unreadable. “So they’re training you as a courtesan. That’s fine. You’ll make a decent living that way. You shouldn’t have come back. Hurry up and fly off to the world above.”

The boy hung his head in despair.

After that, the man who had bought him came again. Midori had assumed he would punish the boy for running away, but instead, he tried to reason with him.

“Entertaining the masters is part of your job. The more you endure now, the more you’ll be able to earn in the future. Just bear with it a little longer,” the man said.

The boy collapsed to his knees where he stood and wept. “I can’t do it anymore.”

The man sighed and said, “Let’s go back.” He took the boy’s hand.

“I’m begging you. Have mercy on me, please!”

It was hard to believe that this boy was the same person who’d defended Midori and the younger children from bullies so often. He couldn’t forget his face as he was dragged away from the Valley in tears.

Perhaps they’ll buy you next. The courtesan’s remembered words sent a shiver up Midori’s spine. He was too young to understand exactly what had happened to the boy who’d been bought, but he had no doubt that the world above was an awful and terrifying place to be.

Other courtesans showed no sympathy for the boy’s distress. They ignored him as he passed by and made snide remarks as he was led away.

“Awfully spoiled, isn’t he? He’s doing the same work we do, but he gets paid better and has a nicer place to live.”

“He’s an actor in the city’s pleasure district, right?”

“Yeah, he gets paid way more than we do. He can probably buy his way out in a few years and do whatever he wants. He might even get married one day.”

“He should just endure it for now.”

“Seriously. Children have no patience at all.”

“That boy is a fool.”

Midori bit his lips so that he wouldn’t say something he’d regret. He pitied the boy, but the courtesans wouldn’t listen to him. He didn’t want to be bought like the boy had been. The mere idea filled him with terrified disgust.

How could he stay in the Valley forever? He thought about that constantly.

The boy had been bought because he was handsome. Midori might be bought if someone liked the look of him. Should he disfigure himself? A wound on his face would make him ugly.

The idea came to him immediately. He knew of a girl who’d been a courtesan in the world above; she had only come to the Valley after suffering severe burns to her face.

Midori decided to ruin his face. The only difficult part was making it look like an accident. The courtesans wouldn’t just let him wander around with blades or hot oil.

He took a deep breath and prepared himself for the inevitable pain. Better to harm himself now than to leave the Valley in despair. He wandered through the narrow, badly maintained streets until he came to a stream with a sagging wooden bridge over it. The stream was shallow and littered with small, sharp stones.

Midori launched himself off the bridge face-first so that he would fall onto the stones. His head slammed into the ground, and he passed out.

***

When he regained consciousness, Midori found himself lying in the storage room of a brothel on a borrowed futon. His left eye throbbed with pain. He couldn’t open it. When he tried, he almost screamed.

The fear that he might lose his sight made him shiver, but he felt strangely proud of himself otherwise. He’d ruined his face successfully. He would remain in the Valley where he belonged.

“Are you awake?”

Startled, Midori looked up to see an old woman standing at the entrance to the room. “Foolish child,” she said. She didn’t sound exasperated, only a little sad.

“You’ve cut the skin above your eyelid a little, but it probably won’t scar. You’ve hurt your eye for no reason at all. What a pointless thing to do.”

Midori gasped.

The old woman knew everything.

Instead of scolding him, she said, “Since you don’t seem to know, I’ll tell you. A pretty boy with a slight flaw cannot become an actor’s apprentice, but he can still be bought and sold. All you’ve done is make sure that you’ll go to an even worse place. Never do something so stupid again.”

Midori nodded slowly.

The old woman went away.

Midori covered his face with both hands.

***

The wound on Midori’s eyelid healed without leaving much of a mark. His bruised left eye would ache months or years after the injury, but he didn’t lose his sight. He remembered the old woman’s condemnation of his act almost daily. It really had been a stupid idea to hurt himself.

What’s going to happen to me? Midori thought. There were worse things to be in the world above than an actor. When would he be bought? Who would take him out of here?

Midori lived in constant fear. When he was about ten years old, the brothel madam called for him. He didn’t want to go to her. What if he wound up leaving the Valley just like the boy had years before?

But he couldn’t ignore a summons forever. He allowed himself a moment to peek into the room before entering. The brothel madam was sitting there with a man Midori had never seen before. He was dressed like a shopkeeper in practical but well-made clothes. He took one look at Midori and frowned severely.

“Ah—yes, there can be no mistake. This is Hamidori!” the man said effusively, in the same tone he might use to sell an unwanted item to a reluctant customer.

“I’m Midori.”

“No, you’re Hamidori. I should know. I’m the one who gave you that name.”

“Did you name me?”

“Of course I did. I’m your father!”

Midori was stunned. “That’s a lie!” He looked to the brothel madam for support, but she remained silent.

The man claiming to be Midori’s father didn’t look anything like his alleged son. “It’s not a lie,” he said. “I know how to spell and read it. You were named for your mother, who had beautiful black hair with a slight green tint. Her name was Hamidori. When you were born, you had hair just like hers, so I named you after her.”^

“Why?” The man’s eager torrent of words only made Midori more uncomfortable. He didn’t want to be taken away from the Valley as an actor, but he had never imagined that his real father would appear, either. “Why are you here now?”

Midori intended no accusation with the question. He was curious and bewildered. His life had just bent in an unfamiliar direction.

The man wept and apologized, bowing his head over and over again. He said he was a merchant who lived and worked in the world above. Midori’s mother had been a courtesan in the same city where he worked, and his father had been one of her customers before her death. The man had bought Midori’s mother out of her courtesan contract, but his family had compelled him to marry another.

Midori’s mother had disappeared after hearing that his father was promised to another. She hadn’t wanted to ruin his life or influence his choices.

“I’ve been searching all this time, but I never imagined you had come to the Valley. If only… I’m sorry it took me so long. If only I’d found you sooner, maybe she would still be alive.”

Midori knew that his mother had died shortly after his birth. She had suffered from the harsh living conditions in the Valley, and her pregnancy and the birth had weakened her considerably.

Midori listened to the man’s explanation impassively. His emotions churned beneath his skin, but nothing the man said seemed quite real to him. It was like he was hearing the story of another boy’s life.

“If you intend to take this child, then you’ll have to pay for what it has cost to raise him until now,” the brothel madam said flatly.

The man wiped his eyes with his sleeve and said, “Of course! I will repay you for everything, and you have my gratitude as well for supporting my son for so long.”

“That’s fine, then,” the brothel madam said, her voice clinical and detached.

Midori blinked. All of this was happening so fast. What was he supposed to do now?

“Go say goodbye to the others,” the brothel madam said.

Midori stood up straight and nodded. He bowed to her and his supposed father and left the room. He roamed the brothel’s halls like a sleepwalker, heading for the room that he shared with several other children.

“Midori, what’s wrong?”

“You look weird…”

Several younger children were in the room when Midori entered, soothing an infant. Midori had no idea what to say to them. The older boys and girls were at work now; he probably wouldn’t get a chance to tell them where he was going or why.

With halting words, Midori explained that his father had come to take him from the Valley.

A girl smiled faintly. “That’s okay, isn’t it? You didn’t want to be an actor, anyway.”

“Isn’t this good news?” a boy asked.

Several courtesans crowded into the room and offered Midori quiet murmurs of, “Congratulations.”

“Your father’s wife probably can’t have children,” one practical courtesan said. “That’s why he came back for you now.”

“You’ll inherit your father’s property, and merchants are rich. This is a good thing, Midori,” another courtesan said.

A different courtesan gave Midori a bright smile. “Come back and buy me when you grow up, okay?”

“You’ll be an old hag by then,” the first courtesan said.

The courtesans laughed together and gave Midori fond looks. They hadn’t always been kind to him, but they’d rarely been cruel, either. Midori couldn’t believe that he’d be leaving them soon. Would he ever see them again?

“This is a happy occasion,” the courtesan who had once spoken to Midori about being an actor said.

“It’s definitely something to celebrate, but be careful, Midori. They could have found you a long time ago if they’d wanted to. The fact that they’ve only come now is suspicious. Hamidori fled here for a reason.”

Midori was startled to hear his mother’s name from the courtesan. “You knew her? My mother?”

“I did. She was beautiful, and clever, and strong in herself. You’re a lot like her,” she said with a crooked smile. “Beware of your father. It is strange for a man to name his bastard son after the courtesan who bore him. Your life now will be different from what it has been, son of Hamidori.”

Midori had almost nothing to pack. He left the brothel with his few possessions in his pockets and wearing the only clothes he owned.

“I know you’ve had a tough life until now,” Midori’s father said. “But I’ll be with you from now on, so there’s nothing you need to worry about. I own a draper’s shop, and I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

Midori still only half-believed that this man was his father. He nodded vaguely, disliking the man’s familiar tone. Most adults he’d met had spoken down to him, which he preferred because he was used to it.

This would be the first time Midori ever left the Valley. His father hired a palanquin to take them to the city above. He climbed awkwardly into a basket made of bamboo and sat on his father’s lap. There was nowhere else to sit, and he squirmed uncomfortably.

A horse was lashed to the basket. They took off, flying upwards and hauling the basket with them. Midori was briefly entranced by the sight of the Valley below him. The world above came into view by slow degrees, the familiar giving way to the unfamiliar.

The first thing Midori noticed was that the world above was much larger than the Valley. Souke Territory’s central mountain loomed over him, ominous and vaguely threatening. The mountain’s summit was obscured by clouds. Stately mansions were built in orderly lines on the face of the mountain. Splendid red bridges and gates connected them. The tiled roofs of more modest buildings shone in the sun below; these had been built in the mountain’s foothills.

There was a wide road below them now, but Midori couldn’t see where it led.

The palanquin landed. Midori and his father climbed out of the basket and started walking down the road, which was lined with many kinds of shops. Everyone he saw was dressed in a kimono; there was not a feather robe to be seen anywhere. Most people in the Valley wore feather robes, since they cost nothing to make or alter. The only kimonos he’d seen before had been worn by especially wealthy courtesans.

The stores along the road sold things that Midori couldn’t even identify. Musicians played on the street. The draper’s shop his father owned had an impressive storefront and looked busy. People bustled in and out quickly. Midori looked up and noticed that the shop had a second floor. The shop’s staff rushed to and fro, setting out samples of cloth for customers to look at.

“The front door is for customers, so we’ll go in the side door,” Midori’s father said.

Midori nodded.

They wound around the building to a narrow door. Midori’s father unlocked and opened it.

“I’m back,” Midori’s father said as he stepped inside. His face was grim and his shoulders tensed.

A plainly dressed middle-aged woman approached and said, “Welcome home, master.” She placed a basin of water at his feet. Midori stood there awkwardly while his father washed his feet.

The woman had surely noticed his presence, but she refused to look at him.

“Please don’t let that wander around near the shop,” another woman said, her voice full of malice.

Midori turned and saw a plump, pale woman slowly emerge from behind a wooden pillar. She wasn’t dressed as a servant. Her garments were very fine, and she was younger than the other woman he’d seen. Midori guessed that this was his father’s wife. The gaze she fixed on Midori was openly hostile.

Midori’s father flinched. “Don’t insult him like that.”

“He deserves it. He’s the son of a whore. For all we know, he’s not even your child.” She came closer and seized Midori’s chin. “He doesn’t look like you at all.”

Midori’s shoulders slumped. He should have known that there was a lie somewhere. His father hadn’t given him any proof that he was who he said he was. Midori had no proof of his parentage, either.

The woman’s face twisted, angry and cruel. “How insolent! It dares to look me in the eye.” Her grip tightened on his chin, her nails biting into his skin. “You rescued a cur from the Valley. He can never be your heir.”

“Don’t say that,” Midori’s father said. He shrank back and mumbled something to the floor.

The woman let go of Midori. She looked up and said, “Come here.”

A boy about five or six years old approached with hesitant steps. His clothes were tailored and elaborately embroidered.

“Go on, say hello.”

Prompted by the woman, the boy bowed his head toward Midori’s father.

“My name is Mitsuru. It is an honor to meet you.”

The woman broke into an exaggerated, artificial smile and placed her hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“This boy is the third son of the distinguished Nishikiyomizu family. He has come to live with us thanks to his father’s great kindness.”

Midori’s father’s mouth fell open in shock.

“What? You did this without consulting me?”

“I have no recollection of ever agreeing to make some unknown child from who-knows-where the heir of this family.” The woman glared at Midori. “You brought this thing home, so I brought home someone better.”

Midori’s father hung his head and said nothing more.

Mitsuru was treated as the heir of the shop. Midori was treated like a servant. His father had bought study materials for him, but all those things were given to Mitsuru. Midori lived and worked in a large shared room with the other servants.

“You need to understand your place, boy,” the head clerk said to Midori. He was in charge of all the other servants and managed the workers in the shop.

The shop was called the Tomihara Store. Midori’s father had been born and raised to inherit it. He had married a poor nobleman’s daughter in an attempt to make more noble connections. His in-laws largely ignored Midori’s father, the shop, and their daughter. Midori’s father and his wife had never gotten along, either, so their marriage couldn’t be described as successful.

Fortunately, a girl was born to them not long after they married. The wife devoted herself to caring for the chick, but Midori’s father started hiring courtesans from the city’s pleasure district most nights.

“He had Hamidori live secretly in a separate residence, but there was no way he could keep it hidden forever. In the end, the mistress of the house and her noble family became enraged and set fire to the house where she lived.”

Midori was stunned by the head clerk’s words. Everyone in this house knew about his mother’s circumstances and his own. They had known everything for a very long time. He didn’t think his mother could have done anything so terrible for her to deserve having her house burned down as punishment. The awful clerk described this senseless act of destruction as if it were right and proper.

“Why was such a terrible thing done to my mother?” Midori asked, shouting before he had time to think.

“Know your place, you wretch!” came the reply. “You’re a courtesan’s child. In truth, there’s no telling whose child you are. Be grateful that you’ve been allowed to live here.”

The Tomihara Store’s former owner and his wife—Midori’s paternal grandparents—disapproved of their son’s visits to the pleasure district. Naturally, they took their daughter-in-law’s side. Midori’s father and his wife had no male heirs, but they could adopt a child if they needed to. Their future son-in-law might also inherit the shop.

That was how matters stood for many years, but then the daughter of the house caught a sudden, terrible illness and died. That was why Midori’s father had gone looking for him. Unfortunately, he had told his wife nothing of his plan. He’d hoped that when his wife saw Midori, she would show him compassion. He was just a child, after all.

But Midori’s father was naïve, and now Midori was a servant in a house that he should have called home. His father’s wife had brought in her own distant relative to compete with Midori.

“Everyone knows that the mistress is the one who really runs the shop,” the clerk said. “The master can’t go against her wishes. We all see you as yet another irresponsible decision the master has made. You should be grateful that you’re allowed to remain. Resentment won’t get you anything but worse treatment.”

Midori hated the head clerk, who spoke like his words couldn’t be questioned.

The clerk and the other servants in the house saw Midori as an ill omen—a bringer of pestilence who had come into their lives carrying a mountain of problems.

Midori was given clean clothes because it was likely that customers would see him at some point. Midori didn’t know how to feel about this. The Valley had no solid concept of personal property. All of the boys had shared clothes and possessions. Having clothing that was only his was very strange to him. He ate his meals with the other servants—proper meals at a table, and he was expected eat using strict and fussy table manners.

The other servants glared at Midori at meals, their gazes full of contempt. Midori never got used to that. He did all the same tasks as them every day—cleaning the shop, cooking, laundry, and other menial chores—but he was never treated like just another servant. The others called him names and excluded him from their conversations.

“Rotten egg.”

“Filth.”

“He makes everything smell bad.”

New servants who’d been recently hired were sometimes kind to Midori for a few days before the other servants poisoned them against Midori.

“That kid has no connections and comes from the Valley. If you get too close to him, something terrible might happen to you.”

The mistress of the house doted on Mitsuru and treated Midori like a stain on the floor that wouldn’t come out.

“This spot is dirty! If you touch it, it will get even filthier! I can’t stand it!” she screamed at him after he finished dry-mopping the shop’s wooden floor.

“You think you can take over the Tomihara Store? You won’t. I don’t know what that woman whispered in your ear, but you and the Tomihara Store have nothing to do with one another.”

She grabbed Midori while he was drawing water from the well and yanked his ear so hard it felt like it would tear off.

“Really, how ugly and disgusting you are. Your heart must be rotten through!”

Midori feared being caught by the mistress and hid from her as much as possible. The servants ignored him for the most part, unless they were bored and decided to insult him for fun. No one wanted anything to do with him. He thought about returning to the Valley, but he knew that he didn’t have a place there, either—not anymore. The brothel madam would view him as a troublemaker and refuse to take him in. Midori would surely be snapped at for being naïve. If he returned to the Valley now, the brothel madam would only command him to go back to the world above.

Why did this happen to me? Midori asked himself. Why? What did I do to deserve this? He was so angry, but his anger had nowhere productive to go. He worked desperately each day and did his best to keep his head down.

Midori hated the servants and the house and everything that surrounded him. Everyone he met looked down on him for being from the Valley. He was sick of hiding from the mistress. He loathed his father most of all, because his father had decided to bring him here in the first place. His father never interfered to protect him from others. Sometimes he’d bring Midori sweets and apologize to him in a halfhearted way, but that only made Midori more angry.

What had his mother been thinking? Had she really chosen to have a child with such a weak and cowardly man? Had her circumstances been so terrible that Midori’s miserable life looked better by comparison?

Midori had some knowledge of how courtesans lived in the Valley. He knew that their lives were not easy or simple. Perhaps his mother had known that his father was foolish and feckless, but she’d decided to make use of his money anyway, lacking better options.

His mother’s thoughts would never be revealed to him now, but Midori knew that his current existence was untenable. Here he was, strong and healthy and the son of a merchant, and he was treated worse than most of the Valley’s workers. Something had to change.

In the Valley, healthy children were uncommon. Many chicks died inside the egg before they hatched. Midori’s general good health meant that someone had taken care of him when he was an egg. The brothel where he’d been raised, for all its faults, was not the worst place for children to be. The courtesans who’d raised him lacked pretty manners and maternal feelings, but they’d never seriously harmed the children in their care.

His mother had taken him there. She must have chosen that place for a reason. Midori liked to think that he was alive and healthy now because his mother had loved him and done all she could so that he would survive.

The mistress made him perform all kinds of tasks to punish him. One unintended side effect of this treatment was that Midori learned how the shop worked. The ins and outs of shipments and deliveries were clear to him. He knew which servants specialized in which tasks. In short, he understood what would be required of him if he inherited the shop one day. He learned to read and write so that he could send and carry messages.

Reading was the only bright spot in Midori’s life at the Tomihara Store. He was a quick learner, mastering his basic letters in days. Kanji logograms took longer to learn, but he memorized the meanings of several hundred of those in a month or so. He was exposed to more written language in context while making deliveries and running errands. Soon he could read all the signboards around town. His desire to learn more kanji was insatiable; he borrowed illustrated storybooks from his father’s shelves in secret and took notes to study later.

Unfortunately, Midori had no one trustworthy to talk to, so it was impossible to verify the contents of what he read. Still, his confidence in his understanding grew day by day. The illustrated books helped most because he could view the symbols and letters alongside the pictures. He read plays that had been popular a decade ago, stories about famous warriors, old fairy tales from the provinces, and children’s versions of classical literature. As weeks and months passed, he no longer needed pictures for understanding, and he started borrowing more difficult books.

The Tomihara Store was bearable as long as Midori had books to read. Without his burgeoning literacy, Midori would have returned to the Valley, and hang the consequences.

Writing was far more difficult than reading. He tried to imitate the kanji characters he saw, but his handwriting looked clumsy to his own eyes; he could scarcely read it. Before long, he learned that kanji had a fixed stroke order just like normal letters, but no one told him what the right stroke order was, and he couldn’t figure it out by guesswork. He started practicing writing with a stick in the dirt during his breaks, focusing on making the kanji characters clear and easy to read.

Midori’s writing became legible over time, but he would never describe it as elegant or beautiful. He needed a teacher.

One day while he was practicing writing in the backyard, he saw movement behind him and spun. The mistress must never find out that he knew how to read and write so well. She would definitely punish him if she discovered his secret.

Mitsuru stood behind him. He was trembling slightly.

“Young master?” Midori asked. He’d been instructed to refer to Mitsuru that way. “Did you need something?”

Mitsuru wore a new outfit every day, which Midori thought was pointless and wasteful. He’d never seen the clothes Mitsuru was wearing today before. The mistress of the house spoiled the boy rotten. He’d never spoken directly to Mitsuru before.

As Midori stared down at the boy, he realized that almost three years had passed since he’d come here. He and Mitsuru had never said a single word to one another until today.

Mitsuru was not an obnoxious child. He’d never bullied or insulted Midori in any way. Sometimes when the boy overheard the servants bullying Midori, he would turn away, looking uncomfortable.

He looked equally uncomfortable now as his gaze swept over the yard, avoiding Midori. “Well… um… I don’t want to be mean. I don’t like it when they’re mean to you.” His voice was vanishingly small. He clenched his hands in his hakama and took a deep breath. “That’s… that’s all.” It had taken all his courage to say that.

Midori nodded cautiously. “I understand, young master.” He had meant to keep his tone distant and polite as he’d been taught, but his voice was full of sympathy. “You have it rough, too, don’t you?”

Mitsuru had not been home in three years. His large eyes widened from surprise, and then he looked down. “I miss my mom,” he said to the ground. A tear dropped from his chin to the garden soil.

Midori hesitated. He and Mitsuru had both been brought here by adults who hadn’t considered their wishes or feelings. He stepped forward and opened his arms for a hug.

Mitsuru practically fell into him, sobbing.

Midori pulled him closer and patted his back soothingly as Mitsuru buried his face in Midori’s servant clothes and wept. Midori combed his fingers through Mitsuru’s long hair, making hushing sounds.

The mistress of the house found them like that, her face contorted with fury.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

Midori and Mitsuru both gasped at the same time and sprang apart. The mistress of the house ran over to Mitsuru, who staggered backward like he wanted to flee from her.

“Midori, you hurt Mitsuru, didn’t you?”

“Mother, that’s not true,” Mitsuru cried out.

The mistress of the house didn’t listen to him. “You made Mitsuru cry! You’re a terrible boy! Just look at him—his eyes are all red and swollen!” She bent and rubbed Mitsuru’s tear-stained cheeks.

Midori didn’t even try to defend himself. Nothing he said would be believed.

“You’re a demon’s child!” the mistress of the house said. She struck Midori hard across the face.

Midori tasted blood in his mouth as the mistress cornered him, hitting him over and over again. There was a tree at his back, so he couldn’t turn and run.

The pain wasn’t too bad. Shock paralyzed Midori more than the force of the mistress’ blows.

“That’s not true, Mother!” Mitsuru yelled. “Brother did nothing wrong!”

“Who are you calling ‘brother?’ Your only sibling was your sister, who died. This thing is not your brother!”

The mistress of the house hit Midori even harder. Midori didn’t move. If she kept attacking him like this for a few minutes, she’d hurt her own hand. He observed this distantly, as if the beating he was experiencing was happening to someone else.

“Wife, what on earth are you doing?” Midori’s father ran over from the house, out of breath. He moved between the mistress and Midori, seizing his wife’s upraised hand.

The mistress of the house wailed. “This little demon child bullied Mitsuru! He made my precious child cry. He cannot remain here any longer. Throw him out of here at once!”

“No, that’s not true,” Mitsuru pleaded through tears.

Midori’s father looked between Mitsuru and Midori with a complicated expression on his face. Then he sighed. “All right, all right, I understand.”

“What do you mean, ‘I understand?!’” the mistress of the house asked. “This is all your fault! You brought that demon child here! Everything is your fault, not mine!” she shrieked. She clutched her husband’s kimono in both fists and fell to her knees.

Mitsuru wouldn’t stop crying. The mistress of the house was wracked with sobs. Midori’s father stood there like the eye of a storm, completely still. Servants watched them all from a distance. Many of them appeared frightened.

Midori sighed heavily. His left eye throbbed, his old injury acting up. The mistress of the house had battered both of his eyes during her assault. The pain felt mocking and unserious, his suffering trivialized by the weight of everything he’d endured during the past three years.

***

Midori’s life became more constrained after that. He avoided Mitsuru as much as possible. The mistress of the house didn’t ask his father to send him away again, but she was as hostile as ever. In some ways, it was worse to know that Mitsuru didn’t hate him. He might have had a friend in his father’s house if things had been different.

The days passed familiarly. Midori relied on routine to keep him focused on his tasks. Nothing had changed on the surface, but everything felt different since that day in the garden. Little by little, like rain leaking through the roof and collecting in a jar, Midori’s dissatisfaction grew. He felt like he might boil over at any moment.

About two weeks after the incident in the garden, Midori was summoned to a guest room in the Tomihara Store. The room was floored with rice mats and was usually used to entertain wealthy customers. Midori wondered if he’d been called on to serve tea and show rich customers bolts of fabric.

When Midori entered the room, he found a priest in white ritual robes waiting for him.

“Go and greet him, Hamidori,” Midori’s father said. “This is Keikai of Gold Sparrow Temple.”

“Oh, so you’re Hamidori?” the priest asked. He was middle-aged, not old, but definitely older than Midori’s father. Laugh lines etched the sides of his mouth. His skin was as smooth as the surface of a hard-boiled egg. “I heard you were in the Valley before. You must have suffered terrible hardship.”

Midori had not expected to receive sympathy. When the priest was not rebuked or contradicted by his father, he knew that he was going to be taken away again. It didn’t matter what this man thought because neither he nor Midori would be staying.

Like everyone else Midori had met since leaving home, the priest had negative opinions about the Valley. Midori shouldn’t have been surprised.

What the hell do you know about the Valley? The women there treated me far more kindly than anyone here, Midori thought but didn’t say. He drew on the polite manners he’d learned from dealing with customers for the past three years and bowed. “You are too kind, sir.”

Keikai nodded in satisfaction and then smiled at his father.

His father nodded back, then turned to Midori and said, “It’s sudden, but I’ve been thinking it might be best for you to go to a temple. What do you say to that?”

Midori had no conception of what going to a temple would mean.

“Look, we have Mitsuru here, right? So you can’t become my heir. But you’re clever. Your talents are wasted here.”

Midori frowned slightly. You’re the one who brought me here in the first place, you ass. It took great effort to keep his expression still. He stared fixedly at his father, who avoided looking him in the eye.

Midori knew from books that children with no relatives were often sent to temples. He had never really felt that the man standing before him was his father, so the idea of being sent away didn’t hurt or sadden him. He’d accepted his father’s version of his past out of convenience, but now he entertained the idea that he and this man weren’t related at all. The idea didn’t disappoint him. Quite the opposite, in fact.

So his father was finally abandoning him again. This day felt long overdue.

Perhaps thinking that the silent Midori needed more explanation, Keikai told him more about Gold Sparrow Temple. The temple was built on the side of Souke Territory’s central mountain. Midori would go there, study under Keikai, learn to read and write, memorize liturgical prayers, and devote himself to religious practice.

“If you do well, you may become a priest one day,” Keikai said.

“I can become a priest?”

He had been convinced that he would be made a servant in the temple, but studying to become a priest was better. He leaned forward before he could stop himself.

Keikai smiled and nodded. “Of course. I hear you are quite diligent in your studies. A priest has a mountain of things to learn, so I suspect the occupation will suit you. If someone of your background wishes to pursue the path of learning, becoming a priest is the easiest way forward.”

That was certainly true. If Midori stayed at the Tomihara Store forever, he wouldn’t be able to study as he wished. Who knew how long it would take him to become truly literate? He desperately needed instruction.

“The more you learn, the harder you train, and the more you serve the mountain god, the more respect you will earn. However, you will not be allowed to marry and have children.”

“That’s fine. Nothing good comes of that, anyway.” The words were out before he could think about them.

Keikai gave him a wry grin.

His father shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Going to a temple to learn was an opportunity. Midori felt like he couldn’t afford to miss this chance. After working (however imperfectly) in a merchant’s house for nearly three years, he understood down to his bones how people from the Valley were regarded in the world above. He thought such prejudice was absurd, but it couldn’t be ignored. If he was going to live and work in the world above, he needed to earn its respect.

He couldn’t change where he’d been born or the circumstances of his birth, but that didn’t mean he lacked choices. He would no longer meekly accept abuse from anyone.

“I’ll go to the temple,” Midori said.

His father let out a sigh of relief.

Keikai nodded in satisfaction.

***

A certain amount of preparation was required before Midori was permitted to leave for the temple. A priest-in-training was a cut above an ordinary orphan from the Valley. Midori needed to have clothes prepared for him, and the family needed to make a significant donation to the temple so that he would be permitted to live there.

Midori’s father spared no expense. Midori prepared himself for complaints from the mistress of the house, but she said little about the temple or the preparations that his father made for Midori’s future. When Midori’s father asked her what she thought, she put her nose in the air and said, “I’ll put up with it until it leaves. After that, we won’t concern ourselves with it any longer.”

Some of the servants came to say farewell. Others offered words of advice about his studies or his future. Everyone appeared relieved that the mistress of the house was finally getting her way. Midori’s presence in the house and the shop had been stressful for everyone.

This place had never been Midori’s home, but leaving it unsettled him somewhat. What if he didn’t belong at Gold Sparrow Temple, either? What then? He’d never been particularly pious. He loved to learn, but he didn’t think he’d be a good priest.

Back when he was in the Valley, the courtesan who had prayed most fervently to the mountain god had died young from an illness. When her body was burned, the brothel madam had casually tossed the small divine statue that the deceased woman had treasured into the fire. Some of the courtesans had shuddered in fear, worried about divine retribution.

The brothel madam had scoffed. “I have never prayed to a god, and my life knows no lack,” she’d said.

As far as Midori knew, the healthiest and wealthiest woman in the brothel was the brothel madam. She was doubtless telling the truth. He’d never prayed to the mountain god after that. He’d grown up believing that prayers were a waste of time.

Midori wouldn’t have chosen the life of a priest for himself, but as things were, it was his best option.

Before long, all the preparations were complete, and Midori was ready to go. His belongings had been sent ahead to the temple, so he had nothing to carry. His father led him to the temple.

“I’m glad you’ve come,” Keikai said with a light bow. He’d come to the temple entrance to greet them, and he wasn’t alone. Beside him was a young boy dressed in a bright red robe with short, tapered sleeves.

Midori had never seen a priest’s attendant before, but he recognized the uniform. He stared at the boy.

The boy looked away from him, discomfited, and adjusted his close-fitting sleeves as he surreptitiously took in Midori’s appearance. He snorted.

Midori remembered that he should bow, so he did. He frowned while his face was hidden. I’ve been here less than a minute, and I already have another enemy. How tiresome.

Choosing to ignore the rude boy, Midori addressed the priest. “I look forward to your guidance, sir.”

Keikai would be Midori’s master. Midori would become one of his attendants. Placing his hands on the wooden floor, he bowed deeply.

Keikai nodded. “You have excellent manners, as expected from the son of a prosperous merchant.”

“Master Keikai, please make my boy into a fine priest,” Midori’s father said.

“I will, indeed. I promise that I shall look after him.”

Midori kept his head bowed as his father formally handed over his parental rights to Keikai. When he looked up, his father was staring at him.

“Uh… take care of yourself, Hamidori,” he said. There were tears in his eyes.

Midori waited to hear more. Surely he’d promise to help him if things didn’t work out at the temple? But his father said nothing like that. It was likely that he’d never see his father again after today.

“Thank you for everything,” Midori said without sincerity. His father had dragged him from his home and subjected him to all manner of abuse, but that was over now. It was easy for him to believe that the man before him wasn’t his father. A real parent wouldn’t make their child suffer so much. He bowed with scrupulous politeness.

“I’m sorry.” Midori’s father turned around and left, his tears falling to the floor.

Midori felt nothing but relief. The man who called himself his father had no sense of personal responsibility. He wasn’t an unkind man, but kindness meant nothing when paired with cowardice. During the rare times he remembered his father after that, he thought of him as an incomplete man—a man with something critical missing on the inside.

After his father had gone, Keikai came closer to him. “Well, then.”

“Sir?” Midori asked.

“I am now officially your master. Your training will often be difficult, but you must apply yourself diligently to every task. Do you understand?”

The priest reached out as if he wanted to take Midori’s hand. Midori flinched backwards.

“Oh,” Keikai murmured. Then he chuckled. “Well, I suppose it will take time for you to get used to how things are done here.”

The red-robed boy glared at Midori. He approached the priest and stood very close to him.

Midori gasped involuntarily as he understood what would be expected of him.

“Is something wrong?” the priest asked.

“Nothing,” Midori said reflexively. “It’s nothing, sir.”

Midori headed straight into the temple and checked over the items that had arrived from the Tomihara Store. All of his garments were garish red attendant robes. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths.

***

That priest goes to the lake when he has no attendant with him.

Midori had heard that often while running errands near the harbor. The bustling harbor was lined with shops and entertainment options, including theaters. Many of the actors worked late nights as courtesans to supplement their income. Men and women both sold themselves that way.

While living at the Tomihara Store, Midori had gained some understanding of what must have happened to the boy he thought of as an older brother. Actors who also worked as courtesans were far from rare in the city. Everyone knew about them, just like everyone knew about the high-class courtesans who did business in the city’s pleasure district. Courtesans-in-training often envied actors for their opportunities to gain fame as well as fortune.

Midori knew now why the courtesans in the Valley had reproached the boy he thought of as his brother. For them, the chance to work as an actor in the city was like a dream. Of course, Midori still sympathized with the boy. No one had cared about his suffering. He hadn’t chosen that life for himself.

Some actor/courtesans were proud of themselves and their success. They strutted around the city like they owned it, their heads held high. Midori didn’t think he was capable of such behavior. He knew that the boy would never be good enough at acting to pretend that he wanted the life he’d been sold into.

Midori looked for the boy sometimes when he went on errands, but he’d never seen him. He saw the shadow of the boy’s features on every actor’s face. When people talked about courtesans in his presence, he excused himself from the conversation.

That priest goes to the lake when he has no attendant with him.

Midori had never thought through what that meant. He knew that the words were mocking. A priest was supposed to be celibate. No priests should be in the pleasure district or the harbor town at night. Now that he was here—in a temple himself—he understood that the phrase he’d heard so often described hypocritical, but common, behavior.

A priest with an attendant had no need to go to the lake. Only those without would go to the harbor to hire an actor/courtesan for the night.

Many priests had taken the tonsure to avoid family disputes. According to the teachings of the mountain god, sexual relations with women were regarded as a grave sin. So priests kept male attendants, and they hired male courtesans. So much was simple to understand.

Midori hadn’t realized that being a priest-in-training would involve such things until now. He sat with his head in his hands in front of his red attendant robes, silent.

“You there! What do you think you’re doing?”

When Midori turned toward the door, the rude boy he’d seen before was standing there. “Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Tsuyuwaka. You shall address me as Attendant Tsuyuwaka,” the boy said imperiously. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t understand the question,” Midori said.

“Don’t play dumb. You brushed away Priest Keikai’s hand.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I brushed it away. I just—”

“No excuses! Listen well: Priest Keikai is your benefactor. He decides if you thrive or starve. Don’t ever insult him or show him disrespect. You have no right.”

Midori was struck dumb.

Tsuyuwaka snorted contemptuously. “I have been appointed by Priest Keikai as your supervisor. You will obey my commands.”

Midori sighed inwardly. He’d come all this way to escape the mistress of the house, but Tsuyuwaka might be even worse than her.

Here we go again.

***

Life in Gold Sparrow Temple was not the same as life in the Tomihara Store, but the level of suffering was similar. Every step he took was regulated by a bewildering code of conduct that seemed to change from day to day.

Midori was not permitted to see other priests without express permission. Even on blisteringly hot days, he was never allowed to roll up his sleeves or adjust his robes in any way. Midori’s nails must always be neatly trimmed and filed. He was required to carry a mirror, blank paper, and toothpicks in his breast pocket at all times. Carriage, deportment, and manners were all harshly graded. When he laughed, he had to hide his mouth with his sleeve, and he wasn’t permitted to make unnecessary noise.

On top of all that, Midori had prayers and classical texts to memorize, music to learn, and miscellaneous tasks. He didn’t know how to read music, so he spent every day learning to play the flute and practicing dancing. He also learned how to serve tea, arrange flowers, and select appropriate incense for religious festivals.

Midori realized that he was being trained as a courtesan. In the largest brothel in the Valley, good-looking young girls were taught to do similar things. Several of them were bought for the city’s pleasure district every year.

When Midori was instructed to wear makeup, he balked. “Why must I wear makeup to become a priest?” he complained. He was sitting in the back garden of the temple and thought himself to be alone.

A sweeper was passing by, and he gave Midori a sympathetic look. “Tsuyuwaka was like you once,” he said. “He came here often to cry and complain. But acting that way does no good at all, you see. They all end up the same in the end.” The man sighed and leaned a little on his broom.

Not every priest-in-training served as an attendant in the temple. The sons and daughters of nobles were educated differently and permitted to return to their families after learning proper manners and classical texts. Only the poor were taken as attendants. They had no resources to refuse the demands that the temple priests made of them.

The priests competed to find and keep their attendants in an unseemly manner. They sought boys who were good-looking and intelligent. Midori heard rumors that they would even buy poor children from the countryside to suit themselves. Only priests who were relatively wealthy and of high rank could keep attendants. After the boys came of age, they would be given other occupations elsewhere.

There was no slavery in the Valley. Not compared to the world above, anyway.

“Tsuyuwaka comes from a middle-ranking noble family. He’s good-looking and clever. Priest Keikai is especially fond of him. At first he did nothing but cry, but after he realized that he might be introduced to a great noble house after he came of age, he started working hard. I suppose you remind him of his old self, and that makes him harsh toward you,” the temple worker said.

Midori didn’t much care about Tsuyuwaka’s circumstances.

“I was given money by my family to become a priest-in-training. From what you’re saying, there aren’t many boys who are sent here to be attendants. Do wealthy priests-in-training have to sleep with priests?” he asked.

“That’s certainly rare,” the temple worker said. “Boys from wealthy families aren’t expected to do that, as a rule.”

Midori hoped the temple worker was correct, but he doubted he’d be so lucky. “I can’t return to my family, though,” he said. “And I don’t think there’ll be any more donations. I think my father paid the temple so that he could get rid of me.”

The temple worker shrugged. “I won’t pretend to understand your situation, but…” He rested his chin on his broom handle. “Priest Keikai is proud and has a high rank in the temple. If word got out that he forced you, he’d be humiliated. I don’t think you have to be too worried about him. But watch your back around the other priests and attendants.”

“Why?”

“You’re not noble or very rich. You’ll be envied and resented for remaining untouched while others suffer,” the temple worker said. “If you draw attention to yourself, you’ll become a target for their bullying.”

“I’d rather put up with that than the priests’ attentions.”

“Suit yourself.” The temple worker resumed sweeping and didn’t say another word.

***

Speaking to the temple worker gave Midori some hope. Priest Keikai didn’t indiscriminately abuse his attendants, which was lucky. Midori performed his duties with great care and thoroughly avoided skin-to-skin contact with anyone so that none of his actions could be misconstrued as sexual. Midori decided that if Keikai hinted that he expected such attention, Midori would tell him clearly that he disliked such acts.

Priest Keikai was polite and never pressed Midori to provide physical favors of any kind. Sometimes he seemed to realize what Midori was doing, but all he did in response was smile slightly and shake his head.

Tsuyuwaka was Priest Keikai’s personal attendant now, which perhaps explained his forbearance. Midori was younger than Tsuyuwaka. He suspected that Keikai had taken him as an attendant because he planned to replace Tsuyuwaka when the boy came of age.

Thinking about the future gave him a headache. Midori thought himself in circles searching for a way out, but he was stuck here until he came of age himself and became a priest.

When trouble came to disrupt Midori’s uncomfortable life, it came from the attendants around him, just as the temple worker had warned.

“How dare you behave so rudely toward your benefactor!” Tsuyuwaka fumed at Midori one day after lessons were over. He’d summoned Midori to a secluded place in the gardens to yell at him. “You have to learn your place!”

Midori stared straight through him. “It’s rude not to sell my body to a celibate priest because I owe him a debt?”

“Yes.”

“That makes no sense. Don’t you owe him a debt as well? Since you don’t seem to oppose such activities, you’re free to do them. I don’t care how much I owe; I won’t provide favors like that to anyone. After I become a priest, I’m more than willing to repay my debt through my work. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

Tsuyuwaka’s face turned bright red. He probably hated sleeping with the priest. He rationalized his actions so that he wouldn’t hate himself, and so that he could convince Midori to follow in his footsteps. Midori had no intention of doing so. Anyone with a sound mind would not try to force others to do what they hated.

Tsuyuwaka was a hypocrite in a sea of hypocrites. Midori decided not to listen to anything he said.

“You’re a common bastard and the son of a whore,” Tsuyuwaka said in a low voice. “You have no right to refuse. You must obey.”

“Yeah, sure,” Midori said. “I’ve obeyed every reasonable command. But I never agreed to sell my body. And the priests shouldn’t demand that of me, anyway.”

Tsuyuwaka looked like a kicked cat, indignant and horrified.

Midori thought that Tsuyuwaka and the boy he’d thought of as his older brother were quite similar. Neither of them had chosen the lives they’d wound up with, but they hadn’t chosen to fight, either. Tsuyuwaka had chosen to accept his lot. The boy had decided to return to the city after running away. One had resisted a bit more than the other, but the result was the same.

“You could be as noble as the emperor and as rich as the mountain god, and I still wouldn’t care. I’ll never wind up like you, Tsuyuwaka.”

Tsuyuwaka fell silent, his eyes burning with humiliation and rage.

Midori wasn’t scared of him. If he’d been raised as a noble, he might have been, but he was an orphan of the Valley who had endured three years of physical and verbal abuse from his father’s wife. Nothing scared him anymore. Insults from the pampered son of a noble barely irritated him.

Tsuyuwaka left him alone for awhile after that, but Priest Keikai didn’t. “It’s all very well to be self-willed, but you also need to learn to get along with others,” he said to Midori one day not long after Tsuyuwaka had scolded him in the garden.

If another priest had said that to him, Midori wouldn’t have known what to think. He obeyed Keikai and was always polite. He was careful not to let anyone touch him, but he didn’t equate that behavior with being difficult to get along with.

Midori didn’t dare argue, but some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face. “I am sorry if I am asking you to act outside of your own capabilities,” Keikai said.

At the time, Midori didn’t fully understand this apology. It turned out that the priest hadn’t warned Midori about himself, but about numerous others that surrounded them both like hungry wolves.

***

That night, Priest Keikai was called out to perform memorial rites for a noble and was absent from Gold Sparrow Temple. Midori went to bed next to Tsuyuwaka as usual.

In the middle of the night, Midori woke when he felt a weight settle on his chest. His eyes snapped open. He’d extinguished the lamp before going to sleep, but the room was dimly lit now.

Tsuyuwaka was on top of him.

“Keep still.”

Midori squirmed and tried unsuccessfully to roll off the futon. He saw Tsuyuwaka’s shadowed face above him in the light of a single candle.

Tsuyuwaka covered Midori’s mouth with one hand. There were several other people standing behind him. He knew them all: they were personal attendants who served other priests. Some of them sneered at him. No one tried to help him.

Midori shifted again and felt someone grab his ankles and hold him down.

“This is all your own fault,” Tsuyuwaka snarled.

Midori listened blankly, considering his options. He was furious, but fury wouldn’t save him.

They’re all terrible, Midori thought, his mind perfectly clear. Every single one. Even with Tsuyuwaka pinning him and another boy holding him down, he wasn’t afraid.

Midori bit down on Tsuyuwaka’s hand with all his strength. Blood flowed into his mouth, and then Tsuyuwaka screamed and fell over.

Midori sat up and then sprang to his feet.

Ignoring the panicked shouts of Tsuyuwaka and the other boys, Midori mercilessly thrust out his heel and kicked the soft belly of the boy who’d held his feet. The boy stumbled backward into the room’s sliding door.

Tsuyuwaka cradled his hand, still screaming. Midori spat Tsuyuwaka’s severed finger from his mouth. It struck Tsuyuwaka’s nightclothes, leaving an angry red-black stain behind. The finger landed on the wooden floor and rolled.

The other attendants backed away from the finger in terror.

Midori wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You thought you were ready for this, but you were wrong.”

After that, the screams from that room woke every priest in Gold Sparrow Temple.

***

The four attendants who’d conspired to assault Midori all suffered significant injury. Midori went on a rampage until the other priests rushed in to stop him as a group. The attendants who’d attacked him were missing teeth and had broken bones. Tsuyuwaka was on the ground, nursing his profusely bleeding hand.

Keikai arrived the next morning and was astonished by the events of the previous night.

“You went too far,” the priest said to Midori sternly. “Apologize and make amends.”

“They attacked me! Why should I apologize to people who intended to harm me?”

Keikai’s embittered expression sent a shiver down Midori’s spine. “They should not have attacked you,” the priest said. “That was wrong of them, but you drove them to it. You were arrogant, and they took their frustration out on you.”

Midori laughed, high-pitched and semi-hysterical. “So you’re saying that if I don’t fawn over you, I’ll get hurt? As a priest-in-training, I showed you proper respect. But you don’t care. You don’t care if I suffer or die.”

Keikai wrinkled his nose as if he had caught a whiff of something rotten. “Hamidori. I am only thinking of your future and what is best for you. You injured the sons of nobles. You can’t expect to be let off without punishment.”

“So I should apologize to them because their fathers will be angry with me? Who cares? Their fathers will be angry no matter what I do. You’re trying to command me to do something unreasonable and unfair. You, a priest who preaches that the mountain god’s eyes are always upon us and judging our actions. It’s almost funny how much of a charlatan you are.”

This whole system was flawed. Priests pretended to take on attendants because of their benevolence and abused the boys in their care. They did all this without being punished by the mountain god or any Yatagarasu. Midori knew that obeying the priest would benefit him later, but there were certain acts he refused to do for any reason.

He wouldn’t apologize for being attacked. He would go along with corrupt systems to an extent, to benefit himself, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be twisted into a dishonest sycophant of nobles. That was something he’d learned about himself today.

“I will never apologize.”

Keikai looked helplessly up at the heavens. “I can’t get through to you at all.” He shook his head sadly. “I knew it. I should never have accepted a boy who was raised in the Valley,” he added in an undertone.

The priest left before Midori could say anything in response, the door sliding shut behind him.

***

After the priest left, Midori received no more visitors. One of the priests told him through the door that his punishment was being decided. He was encouraged to reflect on his actions and repent.

The priests seemed to think Midori would apologize after being kept in isolation. Midori had absolutely no intention of apologizing or repenting. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

Meals were left outside his door twice a day. If the priests had decided to make him fast, he might have considered apologizing for appearances’ sake. Starving was a painful and ugly way to die.

He was also permitted to go to the latrine once a day, but a guard accompanied him at all times. None of the guards he saw spoke to him.

Being alone didn’t trouble Midori, though he would have preferred the company of a book. He decided that he would never apologize as long as he drew breath. No one and nothing would make him give up his principles. Being loyal to them was the same thing as being loyal to himself.

Sometimes, Midori thought about what would happen next. He’d be fine, right? He was always fine, even when he suffered. But he worried. His father wouldn’t speak for him or give him any aid. He’d angered nobles. He knew that punishment was coming. Not knowing what it would be made him pace across his sparsely furnished room, fretting about possibilities.

Midori doubted he’d be killed or turned into a horse. Only rebels against the emperor or murderers received such harsh treatment. But if the worst wouldn’t happen to him, then what would? Midori had no idea. Perhaps he would be cast out? That wouldn’t be so bad. He could go back to the Valley then.

The Valley was not a kind or easy place, but it was just. Midori had skills now that he hadn’t possessed as a child. He could work for the bosses, performing physical labor or keeping the books for a business. If he explained his skills and his circumstances, someone would certainly employ him.

The idea that he would be able to fulfill his childhood wish heartened him. As a boy in the brothel, Midori had always wished that he would grow up and learn how to defend the children and the courtesans of the Valley. He’d taken the long way around to reach that goal, but it was no longer out of reach.

If he was made into a temple slave, returning to the Valley would be all but impossible. Temple slaves ranked even lower than temple workers, who were commoners, and they were treated even worse. Unlike temple workers, who were at least allowed to marry and have property, temple slaves were ranked the same as horses and criminal laborers. Running away wouldn’t save him. If he was made a temple slave and escaped to the Valley, achieving his goals would be much more difficult.

While Midori considered his punishment and his future, four days passed. Midori wished that the priests would hurry up and decide what to do with him. The waiting made him bored and tired. He paced frequently so that his legs wouldn’t cramp from sitting still for too long.

When Midori was summoned, it was in the middle of the day, and he was instructed to bathe and change his clothes immediately. The temple worker who came for him passed a letter with clear instructions written on it into his hands.

“Why go to all that trouble?” Midori asked. “What’s going to happen to me?”

The temple worker shrugged and said, “Who knows. It seems that someone came to speak for you.”

Midori’s heart leaped in his chest. Was his father here? That should be impossible, but no one else came to mind. Fidgety with nervousness, he bathed, dressed, and then followed the temple worker to a reception room for nobles.

The man waiting for Midori there was not his father.

Midori visibly deflated before he could compose himself.

The nobleman before him wore magnificent robes embroidered with thread of many colors. Midori had never seen anyone so obviously wealthy up close. His features were stern and his eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s. Most nobles Midori had met had made no impression whatsoever on him, but Midori suspected that he wouldn’t forget this man in a hurry. He was tall and broad and looked like a warrior wearing his best clothes.

Maybe he’s the father of one of the boys I beat up? Midori thought.

The head priest of Gold Sparrow Temple sat across from the nobleman. The man was sweating and clasping his hands together in supplication.

“Hamidori, offer your greetings. This is Lord Yasuchika of Minami Tachibana,” the head priest said.

Midori didn’t recognize the name, but he understood that the nobleman was very rich and powerful. He bowed in the formal way the priests had taught him and not like a commoner.

“I offer my greetings to Lord Yasuchika of Minami Tachibana. I am Hamidori.”

Normally he would have added something like, “I am currently being educated by Priest Keikai of Gold Sparrow Temple,” but he didn’t know if that was still true. It irked him that he had to introduce himself by his mother’s name and not the name he’d been raised with in the Valley.

When he raised his head, Lord Yasuchika looked him directly in the eye. Midori didn’t flinch or look away.

Lord Yasuchika nodded. “Hmm. Do you think of yourself as brave, boy? You’re certainly not a coward.”

Midori couldn’t tell if the lord thought he was impertinent or not. “No, I’m not, my lord,” he said politely.

“I heard you thrashed some of the other attendants.”

“They attacked me first!” Midori shouted this so that the head priest couldn’t speak over him.

The head priest gave Lord Yasuchika an apologetic look.

“I see. You’re stubborn as well,” Lord Yasuchika said to Midori.

The head priest raised and lowered his hands in agitation.

Yasuchika ignored him completely. “You’ve lost your place. I think you understand that already, don’t you? The temple can no longer take responsibility for you.”

Midori remained silent and waited for him to continue.

“Your temperament is far too fierce. You’re diligent in your studies, yet you’re too stubborn to teach—or so I’ve heard.”

“I am stubborn, but I’m not too stubborn to learn. I always did as instructed, but I didn’t want to be used as a plaything by the priests or the other attendants. That’s why I’m here.”

Lord Yasuchika raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not afraid that you’ll be demoted to a temple slave as punishment?”

Midori thought about what he wanted to say before answering. “I care,” he said. “But I won’t suffer harm to my person for the sake of avoiding worse harm. The temple isn’t supposed to make people suffer.”

If the general trend of his life continued as normal, Midori would now be punished for being honest.

“There’s another path open to you,” Lord Yasuchika said. “You could become a noble. No one will make you suffer then.”

“Huh?”

“No one will bully you anymore.”

Midori didn’t understand what Lord Yasuchika was saying. He was convinced that he’d misheard.

“I can’t just become a noble,” Midori said. “No one can.”

“There is a way. You can become a Yamauchishu.”

Midori gaped. He knew about Yamauchishu, of course. They featured prominently in books about history and adventure novels.

“A Yamauchishu…”

“You don’t know of them? Anyone can enroll at the Keisōin if they qualify. Of course, being intelligent is not enough. You must also excel at fighting. You fulfill both of those conditions, I think,” Yasuchika said, stifling a laugh. “I heard you bit off an attendant’s finger.”

“But I’ve never even held a sword.”

“Then you can start learning now. I’ll provide instruction for you.”

“Why would you do so much for me?”

“I cannot bear to see a young man like you with so much potential turned into a temple slave. When you graduate, you will confer honor to me for your strength and skill. I would be known as your supporter. Many noblemen sponsor Keisōin cadets. It is not strange for me to take an interest in a promising cadet.”

“It’s not strange, but you don’t know me at all. You must have some other reason for helping me.”

“Enough,” the head priest said sharply.

Midori ignored him as Lord Yasuchika had done. From past experience, he knew that any deal that sounded too good to be true probably was. He wasn’t about to blindly accept the first tempting offer that came his way. That was how he’d come to this temple in the first place.

“The Minami Tachibana family is a great noble house, isn’t it? There must be candidates lining up to attach themselves to you and become Yamauchishu. Why go out of your way to stir up trouble and approach a nobody like me?”

Midori knew that he was being rude, but he didn’t care. If he accepted Lord Yasuchika’s offer, the man would learn that his manners were nothing but a mask.

“If you expect me to be grateful, think again,” Midori said. “If you have an ulterior motive, I’d rather know about that now.”

The head priest went very pale.

Yasuchika smiled. “Very well. My son is at the Keisōin. He’s what you might call a difficult child. I need someone who can serve him while keeping an eye on him.”

Midori tensed at the idea of being a personal attendant. He didn’t know what keeping an eye on Yasuchika’s son would entail, either.

Before he could ask questions, Yasuchika said, “In the past, my son had many attendants and servants. He’s driven all of them away with his behavior.”

“How?”

“I told you: he’s a difficult child. I need someone brave—someone with guts—to watch over him. The eldest son of the Lord of Minami Tachibana cannot go through life with no attendants. It just isn’t done.”

Midori considered this carefully. If he succeeded at the Keisōin, he’d become a noble in his own right. His stubbornness and penchant for violence would be assets at the Keisōin, not liabilities.

“In exchange for being allowed to attend the Keisōin, I would serve your son as his attendant?” Midori asked.

“You will be serving me by taking care of my son. In return, I will support you and give you resources. I will also protect you from other nobles.”

“Other nobles?”

“The parents of the attendants you attacked in the temple will eventually come here for revenge. Nobles are proud peacocks. They won’t let a commoner who beat their child live among honest people. At best, you’d be sent to the Valley. At worst…” He shrugged.

Midori gasped.

“If you choose to stay, you’ll become a temple slave. The priests would be obligated to protect you while you remained here, but any noble could buy your contract. You could wind up a slave in the household of one of the noble boys you injured. If you were disposed of there, there would be no legal trouble at all.”

Midori flinched and looked down. The choice before him was no choice at all. His anger and stubbornness drained away, leaving him tired and a little afraid. If he didn’t go with Lord Yasuchika now, he would die. Sooner or later; it made little difference.

There were laws in the Valley, and not even the bosses were exempt. When a legal matter involved one of the bosses, or several, they all had to make a unanimous decision together. Nobles in the world above didn’t operate like that. Laws applied to commoners, not to them. If they murdered him, no one would seek justice. They would not be held responsible for their actions.

“This makes no sense,” Midori said. “It’s not logical. Nothing in the world above is sensible.” His voice sounded small and childlike.

“Logic and reason are ideals that don’t always exist in reality,” Yasuchika said. “Reality doesn’t have to make sense. You and I live in the real world, not a storybook. If you want to go on living, you’ll have to learn the rules of survival, whether they make sense to you or not.”

Yasuchika was telling Midori to buy into—or at least go along with—the corrupt system that benefited only Yamauchi’s nobles. Could he do that? He, an orphan of no account? Could he accept injustice as his lot in life?

Midori stared at Lord Yasuchika for a few moments, stunned by the difference between them.

“If you learn those rules, I shall take you under my wing. I can protect you. I wouldn’t say that I could if I couldn’t. No noble would lay a hand on you if they knew you had my support. This is not a bad offer for you.”

So nobles are weak against other nobles, Midori thought. This one is drunk on power and rotten to the core, just like the rest.

“I think you wish to live your life in such a way that you will be respected, child of the Valley. Am I mistaken?”

A muscle twitched near Midori’s jaw. For his entire life, he’d been met with nothing but disrespect because of the circumstances of his birth. He’d tried to earn a respectable life for himself by agreeing to become a priest, but that path was closed to him now. A dull, throbbing pain pulsed behind his left eye.

Is this the same thing all over again? Midori wondered. Even if agreeing to go with Lord Yasuchika was a mistake, he had no choice. Refusing the man’s offer would bring him nothing but a swift and painful death. He was young and poor and weak, and he had no recourse. None but the lord before him, who was offering him a way out. An uncertain future, but a future nevertheless.

No one would listen to Midori or help him as he was now. If he ever wanted to be respected, he had to become a noble. Until then, he’d have to hide his true thoughts and feelings from everyone. If he didn’t—if he failed—he’d remain weak and defenseless forever, or at least for as long as his pitiful life lasted.

Midori steeled his resolve. “I understand.” He breathed deeply and then stood up straight. “I am grateful for your offer of protection, Lord Yasuchika. I shall accept it. From this day forward, I vow never to forget your kindness, to etch the reality of my own position firmly into my heart, and to serve you with the utmost sincerity and devotion.” He bowed his head.

Lord Yasuchika’s expression didn’t shift an inch. “Very well,” he said. “I have great expectations of you, boy.”

***

Midori’s belongings had already been packed. He had feared that anything of value had been stolen, but when he looked, everything was there. He was glad that he could bring his calligraphy set with him. The objects themselves had no sentimental value, but he would have been irked if those brushes and tools had been taken from him.

He decided to leave behind all of the garish attendant robes. He wouldn’t need them where he was going.

***

Yasuchika had come to the temple on horseback. Midori took raven form and headed for the Minami Tachibana family’s city residence. Only the head priest came out of the temple to see him off.

Midori didn’t look back at Gold Sparrow Temple even once.

The Minami Tachibana city residence was absurdly large. It was almost as big as the temple Midori had just left, and the family was not a large one. Everything was built on a grand scale.

Shortly after his arrival, Midori was given a new name. An orphan from the Valley wouldn’t be considered a suitable attendant for the Lord of Minami Tachibana’s eldest son, so Midori would take an entirely new name that would obscure his true identity. Being known as the boy who had bitten off a temple attendant’s finger wouldn’t do in noble society. Changing his name was a necessary measure to avoid trouble.

Lord Yasuchika selected the new family name, but he said that Midori could choose any personal name that he wanted.

“Do you have any preferences?” Lord Yasuchika asked. “We can also choose for you.”

Fortunately or unfortunately, there were no good memories attached to the name Hamidori.

“Would ‘Midori’ be unacceptable?” He wanted to preserve his mother’s name in some way, and besides, he’d always thought of himself as Midori regardless of what other people called him.

Yasuchika nodded in understanding. “Let’s just change the kanji, then. We’ll use the one from the poem, ‘Two Golden Orioles Sing in the Green Willows.’”^

Midori knew that poem; he had read it before. The poem had been written by someone in the human world. It was about setting off on a journey and leaving a familiar land behind.

“I think this kanji will suit your new identity,” Lord Yasuchika said.

“I am deeply grateful to you.” He bowed.

And so Hamidori became simply Midori.

Translator's Notes

Hamidori is written with the kanji characters that mean “feather” and “green.”

Midori means “green,” but the kanji variant that Yasuchika selects for Midori’s new name specifically refers to the green of living plants. The poem referenced here is a real one penned by the Chinese poet Du Fu around 764 CE.

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