Windflower

The fortress at the foot of Mount Shizuki near Choshu stood regal and imposing, stark against the crimson moon that peered behind the hills and rose above the cold seas. The moat that surrounded it was much too crowded tonight, the ambience too loud, boats with soldiers bearing oars. The castle once held dear by the daimyo; or the grand land-owner, Lord Narifusa Yoshida, an inheritance that had been passed down from his ancestors; had been breached. A feudal lord from Aizu, the acclaimed Morikiyo Ishikawa,who had heard complaints from the tax-payers and the rest of the soil-tillers about Narifusa's demanding ways, finally rose from his comfortable cushion at the top of his turret and ordered an attack with 'righteous' delight. He and Narifusa had locked horns for ages and this was the one chink in Narifusa's armor that Lord Ishikawa wished to thoroughly exploit and rip apart.

Young, loyal retainers of Ishikawa and the samurai who served under him hurriedly left the boats moored and climbed the winding wooden stairway straight towards Narifusa's bedchambers with torches, their swords slashing away all the guards who stood in their way. The tapestries and the paper sliding doors were splattered with blood, the beautiful patterns of chrysanthemums and cranes lost forever beneath the oil that fueled the lives of the many who had knelt before the Master and the Mistress of the castle and sworn fealty.

"Yukime! Do you hear that?" Narifusa, hiding behind the portal to his room, whispered to his wife, hand positioned over the hilt of his blade, "Those thundering footsteps... They are coming!"

"I know what you will say, Dear, but I shall remain here with you. I do not intend to cast aside the name of Yoshida." Yukime, lips pursed, closed her eyes, brows knit.

"Foolishness is no virtue!" Narifusa hissed back. "If fate decrees, we shall meet again."

She tossed him a dagger from the folds of her heavy attire. "If you want me out of here so badly, then kill me first."

Narifusa smirked a little. "I cannot ever say that I was a great man, but if there is one thing I can boast of... Well, that would be... A woman like you, Yukime, choosing someone like me, over everyone else. So go. Run. My retainers will carry you over the mountain pass to the nearest town. You are my wintry dream, Yukime. If I die in this freezing even-fall, at least let me move on to the after-life dreaming about you, not turning insane over the sight of a fair doll blossoming scarlet amidst silver snow."

Just then, the door was slammed open, and about half a dozen men dashed in.

"Yukime, why do you halt? Escape!"

A sword was about to land on Narifusa's shoulder when he parried it masterfully. An ambidextrous warrior, he was able to fight well against multiple men. However, a blade was no match for burning flares as their room was set on fire.

"Yukime! Please! This is suicide!"

"I am aware, Dear." She sounded serene.

The tongues of flame were slowly swallowing the chamber of resplendence, the backdrops of peacocks and hydrangeas in the rain, the wings of fluttering butterflies and the descent of petals of mauve. Narifusa's arms were getting seared and scorched, the sword clattering to the smouldering floor.

As Yukime Yoshida ran to support her husband, her eyes widened as smears of blood bedecked her peach-tinted visage, the hue akin to the color of her lips. The left side of her face dripping, she noticed a thrust through Narifusa's chest, and him gurgling out copious amounts of blood, coughing.

When the realization of the finality of demise finally struck her, Yukime began to dig her nails into her cheeks and scream, "Ah.. ah... aaah... aaaaaah.... aaaaaaaaaaaah..... AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Still choking out blood, Narifusa managed a small winning smile and brought his lips close to hers. "I'm... s-sorry... I...k-knew... th-that... y-you'd break d-down... Go, p-please... go..."

Bloodied lips touched softer ones before falling like a puppet with its strings snapped.

She continued to stare, her lips smudged redder, running all the way down to her jaws, eyes full of nothing but pure, unadulterated terror.

One of the men tried to approach her, but Narifusa, mustering the last bit of his strength, grabbed the sword by his side and ran it through the soldier's thigh who howled in pain. "I... may... not... h-have... b-been.. a g-good... daimyo... B-but... I... w-will r-remain... a p-perfect... h-hus-band.. f-for... th-that... woman over there!" Narifusa coughed up blood with every phrase he uttered. His breathing became shallow and he rolled over on the ground on his back. "C-come.. at me... All... of... you... at... once!"

His retainers entered through the back-door and whispered to Yukime who stood rooted to the spot, "My Lady, let us depart! It was our Lord's final request!"

As Narifusa continued to duel on, dying, from his supine position, he mumbled, "Ah... I see it... A courtyard swathed in pristine white... A land of silver... How very heavenly... A curved bridge amidst the ocean of snow... Who are you, oh Alluring One? Are you from my dream? A fantasy of winter-tide?"

**

Her teeth chattering ceaselessly, Yukime was huddled at a corner of a palanquin meant for brides and ladies of high-birth. Draped in a veil of blood, encased in the odor of death and horror, hair rippling through the jute covering of the vehicle in the wind of loss and despair, she was wrenched away from the place she had once known as sanctuary. She would now be cast into territories where there would be no love, no warmth, no familiar faces, no welcoming gestures. Only breaths of derision, harshness, jagged sentences that would sting. And the worst, the leers of unpleasant, inebriated men.

Yukime fiercely blinked away tears, refusing to brush away the red marks from her lips, the final symbol of affection from her husband. As the palanquin traipsed on and the wind turned heavier, the moon-beams obscured, she knew exactly where they were. It was the deadliest curve in the road that ran along the rough slope of the mountain pass of Shizuki. One wrong move and the entire entourage would tumble down the avalanche-prone steep escarpment. Furthermore, due to the height of the hillocks in this area, the lunar rays never reached this hairpin-turn, making the carriers of the palanquin almost confused about the geography of the terrain.

All of a sudden, that sound became much too clear and a commotion was heard. Yukime, still crouching within the palanquin, thought she heard one of the men yelling something along the lines of "No! She'll fall!"

The palanquin started to teeter dangerously. She was surrounded by voices no more.

But somehow, she did not fall off the slope.

Her hand was held in a powerful grip and then lifted to the rocky plain.

Yukime knew on instinct that this man was no monarch but might as well be. He was a high-ranking samurai, that much was obvious, given his attire and the dual blades tucked at his waist; the long-sword, the katana, and the shorter one, the wakizashi. Strikingly stately and handsome, his irises with tints of slate, he wore a clover-designed black haori over a violet garb with golden butterflies on them. He turned to calm his chestnut horse before turning to Yukime.

"Madam, I should not say this to a lady, but you.... do not look very well at the moment. May I?"

He extended his arm for Yukime to take.

"I am Fujihara. Shuuhei Fujihara. Pleased to meet you, My Lady."

His slightly long hair blew over his lashes for an instant before his stern face broke into a charming smile that reminded Yukime of a blade that chained for a moment, but when it let go, one could fly like the wind itself.

Did the wind represent death?

Oh, it did.

On this frosty night, four men met their demise.

However, her husband had burnt at the pyre.

The wind was fiery too, like life.

Almost drawn to this man's magnetism, she was compelled to introduce herself.

"I am Yukime. Yukime Yoshida."