"Bright Sparrow Under Sun and Sky"

[Mariko]

*Reprinted here after first appearing on April 16, 2012 on the ARPC boards*

“Shinkokyuu,” Umeko instructed as she finished wrapping the fifteen feet of yellow silk around the young woman’s waist.

Mariko took a deep breath and held it.

“Ho-hurdo,” Umeko whispered.

Mariko placed her hand firmly on the right side of her waist and held the tesaki in place while Umeko began tying a less formal fukura-suzume musubi sparrow knot in her yellow hanhaba obi. The yellow silk obi would contrast well with the rich, sky-blue kimono.

“Bright sparrow under sun and sky.” Mariko thought.

“Kokyuu sai,” Umeko whispered.

Mariko breathed out slowly, deliberately. Once Umeko finished tying the informal bow, she centered it at the back, stepped to one side and bowed.

Mariko studied the girl’s work in the full length mirror provided by the innkeeper.

Never before had the innkeeper had a Geisha of such renowned stay at his establishment and he made every effort to provide for her needs. He knew, once word spread that she was staying there, his business would surely improve. He envisioned the many prosperous merchants, samurai and even foreigners who would come to his inn just to catch a glimpse of the young woman and imagine themselves alone with her. Perhaps he would even take up a collection to help defray the cost of rebuilding the burned down Okiya that once stood at the edge of the City. Somehow, Zento was just not the same without it.

Mariko nodded her approval of the girl’s work. She had chosen the informal bow since she would not be serving tea today, nor would she be serving tea tomorrow or, for that matter, anytime soon. Her formal kimonos and obis were stored in trunks and kept in a vault at the local bank and there they would stay until a new House was built or she was contracted to a Lord or House wealthy enough to afford her.

Money, however, was not an issue. She had saved a great deal during her seven years of training and service and that would keep her and Umeko fed and housed for some time; but not forever. At some point decisions would have to be made. She did not want to release Umeko from her service and the loss of her teacher and her three sister geishas’ in the horrible fire weighed heavy on her. She had considered seppuku as a means of escaping her guilt for having been away when the fire started, but Umeko had talked her out of it. Now, however, the sadness of that loss followed her like a stray dog.

The cold snows of winter had evolved into the bright, blossom filled days of spring.

“Supuringu is a time of new beginnings.” Her teacher had often said. “And new beginnings are filled with promise.”

Umeko helped Mariko slip her tabied feet into the wooden getas and handed her an ornately decorated higasa to keep the hot sun off her while she traveled. Today she would journey from Zento to New Haven to visit with the mayor of that city. The mayor had been a frequent guest at the Zento Okiya and had written Mariko of a possible business venture after he heard of the devastating fire. He could not, of course, accept her contract as he was a married man with several children, but he had promised to help in any way he could.

To help protect her mistress from the rogues that often traveled through Haven, Umeko had hired a rather unkempt looking ronin to travel with Mariko to keep the gaijin from bothering her. She paid him well for his loyalty. And, if he promised to remain sober during the whole of his service, she would pay him extra upon their safe return.

Umeko bowed low as Mariko left the Inn and started toward the Moongate. The ronin straightened up, replaced his kasa, nodded to Umeko, and fell in a few paces behind Mariko. Overhead, a yellow sun blazed in a bright blue sky while a gang of raucous sparrows chittered in the cherry trees. Peach and cherry blossoms floated on a light sea-breeze and the air was filled with the buzzing of hungry bees.

Umeko sighed deeply. Springtime was always filled with promise.

[Mariko]

The afternoon sun, shining through the tinted, leaded windows of the mayor’s office, wove intricate patterns of blue, red and gold on the dark wood floor. Outside, the din of early morning had given way to a kind of lethargic hum as an early spring heat-wave settled over the dusty streets of New Haven. Few people ventured far from shade or the cool comfort of the local tavern or inn. Others found relief lounging on the city docks watching the local children and their dogs swim in the cool waters of the bay. Several musicians, sitting in the shade of the bank’s portico, plucked various instruments adding to the lazy feeling of the afternoon. No one paid much attention to the disheveled Tokunoese warrior leaning against the wall near one of the bank’s columns. Now and then his dark eyes would wander to the second floor windows of the Mayor’s office across the street. He hoped his mistress’s business would be concluded soon for his thirst for Sake was beginning to claw at his brain. He had heard that a gaijin drink called ‘ale’ was worth trying although they preferred it served cold, which he found odd. But then most things about the ‘mainlanders’ seemed odd or strange. He would not be happy until he was back in Zento drinking warm sake and gambling with his friends. He even entertained the idea that a good word from his current employer might find him, once again, in the service of an important Lord or House. Pulling the rim of his kasa over his eyes, the ronin settled into the shade of the New Haven bank to await the return of his mistress. He only hoped her business would not take all afternoon.


~~~~~~~~~~


Mariko sat quietly fanning herself with a bright red uchiwa. Her face remained calm and stoic as her dark eyes watched the sunlight weave small colored patterns that slid like garden snails across the office floor. She said nothing as Amser, wife to the Mayor of New Haven, explained her husband’s sudden death only a week before. Amser, who had assumed the duties of her husband’s office upon his death, knew nothing of his letter to Mariko or, for that matter, that Mariko even knew her husband. The awkwardness of the situation weighed heavy on the young Geisha as her experience with women in general was severely limited.

The vast majority of “guests” at the Ichiriki Chaya, by far, were men and, although it was quite rare, Mariko had entertained a woman once and found the experience … kouchou … satisfactory. The woman, a warrior from a well known clan, paid the usual price but never returned. Mariko heard, much later, from a prominent Samurai of the same clan, that the woman had been killed in battle and that, with her dying breath, she whispered the name “Mariko.” This story, whether it was true or not, had gone a long way toward adding to the young Geisha’s reputation.

Now, however, the woman sitting across from her was not interested in the Geisha’s fame or reputation. For that matter it was highly doubtful the Mayor’s wife even knew what a Geisha was or did. Few outside Tokuno, save men wealthy enough to travel, actually shared in or even understood the tradition of the Chaya and the Geisha’s many talents. Mariko only nodded and kept her eyes averted so as not to offend the woman. Amser did not speak openly of her grief but Mariko sensed from the strain in her voice that Amser and her husband had been very close. She was also aware, from the many hours she had spent with the woman’s husband, that they had young children, two boys to be exact, and that the boys were of an age where they would miss a father.

“I’m afraid,” Amser stated. “That my husband made no mention of a business proposal regarding anyone from Tokuno. Are you sure about this?”

The tension in her voice was unmistakable.

Mariko spoke gently and calmly as she brought out the letter from the Mayor and handed it to Amser. Her broken accent was noticeable.

“This letter arrive two weeks ago. As you see, your husband wished to assist in rebuilding an honored Okiya of Tokuno. His letter said he knew of someone who might help raise money. It is for this reason I am here.”

Amser read the letter then glanced at Mariko over the top of her reading spectacles. Her look was one of studied interpretation tinged with a hint of suspicion. Mariko would have left immediately if manners and polite decorum had not demand her compliance. She folded her fan and slipped it into the sleeve of her kimono. For her part, Amser, was curious as to this beautiful young woman’s relationship with her late husband.

“How is it you know my husband?” she asked.

It was, after all, a perfectly reasonable question, considering. Mariko lifted her head and, for the first time, looked the woman in the eyes.

“Your husband honored the people of Zento with his patronage of the arts. He was quite fond of our traditional music and art. When he heard our … Shiata …” she thought for a moment before she found the equivalent word … “theater … burned down, he wrote to offer his help.”

Mariko bowed her head in respect.

“Your husband was an honored guest of the people of Tokuno. We shall weep for your loss and honor his name for as long as the sparrows sing.”

Mariko’s words were sincere and spoken from the heart. She would, indeed, morn the death of the Mayor just as duty demanded and she would speak kindly of him from this day forward. Amser handed the letter back to Mariko and sat back in her chair. A kind of appreciation replaced the suspicion in her voice as she apologized for not being able to help further.

“I will, however, make inquiries to see if there is anyone among my husband’s business associates who might be interested in lending the fine people of Tokuno help in rebuilding your theater.” She said escorting Mariko to the door.

“Domo arigato.” Mariko whispered and bowed in respect.


~~~~~~~~~~


The late afternoon sun glared down on the city of New Haven as Mariko stepped out onto the street. The ronin, seeing her emerge, leapt up from his shady spot and scampered to her side. Mariko opened her higasa and, without acknowledging the ronin, started toward the Inn. She had decided to stay a few more days in this interesting city of New Haven, if for no other reason, than the fact she had no place else to be.

[Mariko]

"I loathe the twin seas
Of being and not being
And long for the mountain
Of bliss untouched by
The changing tides."

The well dressed gentleman followed Mariko at a respectful distance as she wandered through the city. The heat wave that had oppressed the city of New Haven had lifted and a cool breeze jostled a stray lock of Mariko’s black hair like a playful kitten. The Ronin kept well back, one eye on the man following his mistress and the other on a second man selling ale from a keg perched atop a large table. The Ronin licked his lips and wondered how many more days he could go without a drink before he opened his veins out of sheer frustration. The fact he was being well paid did little to help alleviate his craving. Regardless, he still had a portion of his honor intact and that would have to carry him through … at least for a few more days anyway.

Mariko chanced a casual glance in the direction of the man following her and recognized him as a well connected, if somewhat shady and impatient, businessman who had been a guest at the Ichiriki Chaya in Zento several months before the fire. She recalled he had been most appreciative of her talents and had returned a number of times during his week long stay in the capital. Protocol, however, demanded he not approach her publicly and she wished, for once, she had brought Umeko along. Umeko handled all contractual agreements and monies as it was considered distasteful for a proper Geisha to handle such mundane chores. Considering the circumstances, however, an exception might be made, provided the gentleman in question was seeking to employ her. If he was not, then this casual meeting could be ignored. If, however, he was seeking her company, whether for an hour of polite conversation or a full evening, then it would be very rude to refuse. Turning, she nodded to the Ronin who fell back and allowed the gentleman to continue following her. After several minutes it became clear he was indeed interested and Mariko tipped her parasol as a signal for him to approach.

The note was passed with the utmost discretion and would have appeared, to the casual onlooker, as if the gentleman merely walked past the young Tokunoese woman. No words were spoken in greeting and the man continued on his way, vanishing around the corner. Mariko continued to browse the marketplace for another twenty minutes before she paused outside the scribe’s offices to read the note which was written on fine parchment and folded so precisely that it fit neatly in the palm of her hand. Taking great care she opened it. Even though the note was written hastily the script was neat and legible.



“Koishii Mariko:”

She smiled at the endearment.

“As I was most surprised and delighted to see you here in New Haven, I found myself compelled to write you a hasty note. I know you do not travel often and I hope you will forgive my intrusion and boldness, but as the accommodations in New Haven leave much to be desired, even by mainland standards, I would like to extend to you and your servant my humble invitation to stay at my estate in Malas for the duration of your visit. If this is agreeable to you I will send an aide to assist with your belongings.”

Sincerely,

Robert Renwald

*Replies may be left with the clerk at New Haven Bank. He will arrange for delivery.



Such an invitation from someone who had been a guest at the Zento Chaya was most unusual. Mariko never stayed at another’s home except if well paid and under strict guidelines. Once, a Daimyo from Homare-Jima had paid a great sum to draw up a contract with the shuchou of the Ichiriki Chaya for Mariko to stay at his home located near the coast. Under the terms of the contract she was required to stay for one week entertaining the Lord and his guests. The ritual of makura, however, had been for the Lord of the House exclusively.

Mariko pondered the meaning of the note for several minutes. Should she accept the gentleman’s invitation it might send a signal that her services were his in return for his hospitality. Such arrangements were not acceptable and, since there had been no mention of a contract or an offer of compensation; she must refuse.

Entering the scribe’s shop she hired the scribe to pen an answer to the gentleman’s note.



Sir:

The kindness and generosity of your invitation is worth much to the heart of this simple girl. My remembrance of you is fond and, as much as I would look forward to your gentle words and honorable company, I must respectfully decline your invitation.

My business in New Haven has been concluded and I shall return to Zento within a day, perhaps two. Know that you will always be looked upon as an honored guest at the Ichiriki Chaya.

Affectionately,

Mariko Shimada



Under her instructions, the reply was delivered to the clerk at the bank. Mariko did not give the incident a second thought as she continued on her way.

Little did she realize that Robert Renwald was the kind of man who never took “no” for an answer …

[Mariko]

Robert Renwald stood at the gate of his sprawling estate in Malas giving his men last minuet instructions.

“Kill whoever is with her and bring her to me, unharmed, is that clear?”

The seven mounted and lightly armored horsemen, dressed as bandits and highwaymen, nodded their understanding, spurred their horses and headed north towards Luna. Upon arriving in Luna they would stable their horses and travel on foot to New Haven via the Moongate where they would set up an ambush. Their objective; to kidnap the Tokunese woman called Mariko and bring her, bound if necessary, to serve their employer. Failure was not an option, for Robert Renwald was not a man accustomed to failure, even if it meant tipping the scales in his favor through the use of bribes, murder or, in this case, kidnapping.

Robert watched his men ride off then turned and walked back to the house. The girl would make a fine addition to his household. Someone with her refined skills and talents was worth a fortune. Besides, if she did not work out, he could always sell her to slavers from Trinsic or Nujel’m. Either way, he would profit.


**********


A bank of heavy, slow moving clouds obscured the mid-morning sun as Mariko dressed for the days travel. She had arranged for her belongings to be sent ahead to Zento for a small fee so she would not be burdened with luggage. The Ronin waited patiently outside her room while Mariko dressed in an informal, dark blue Hakama embroidered with Sakura blossoms. The Obi was a simple design that she could easily tie herself. A simple farmers kasa would keep the sun, or, from the looks of the weather, rain from her face. They would be home in Zento by evening and Mariko was looking forward to seeing Seika again. She was also certain the Ronin would be drunk by nightfall with most of his earning gambled away. Regardless, the man had preformed well. Mariko promised to write to a local Lord referring the Ronin for employment. If the man did well and proved his loyalty to a new Lord, he might, one day, be permitted to carry the title Samurai again.

Satisfied all was in order; Mariko left the inn and headed across town towards the Moongate with the Ronin in tow. The city of New Haven was crowded and full of life. The day’s business was well under way and the streets were packed with all manner of people and things. The air, heavy with the threat of rain, kept the stink of stock animals, horses, human sweat and perfumed ladies close to the ground. Mariko wrinkled her nose as she passed the docks and approached the city gates. Once the two travelers passed under the outer gates the steady stream of travelers thinned out and the thick air was pushed aside by a light sea-breeze. Mariko breathed deep and quickened her pace. She promised herself that she would not return to New Haven any time soon. Outside the city the Ronin took his place in the lead and followed the road leading along the shore. Ships that could not find mooring at the city docks were anchored along the entire shoreline, their tall masts swaying against the darkening sky. Mariko composed a quick haiku as she walked behind the Ronin.

Whitecaps on the bay:
A broken foresail banging
In the April wind.

A short time later, Mariko stood by while the Ronin quickly dispatched several annoying Mongbats that had approached them. Disgusting creatures they were known to attack livestock and horses and, on occasion, people. The threat removed the travelers changed direction and headed north over some hilly areas and into the woods surrounding the Moongate. Travel by Moongate was not one of Mariko’s favorite methods of getting from one place to another. The few times, four to be exact, she had used the magical portal she found it discomforting and unnatural and it always left her nauseated upon exit. But as a means of saving time, nothing could match it.

They were passing through a clump of Burch trees and could see the shimmering blue-white glow of the Moongate in the near distance when the Ronin suddenly stopped. When his hand fell to the hilt of his takana Mariko paused and glanced around. Ettens were known to wander the area and could be a formidable danger if not handled well. Mariko carried a short, but deadly, tanto, but had never drawn it. She doubted it would serve her well against a twelve foot tall Etten. After a moment the Ronin relaxed and nodded that they could continue.

They were just exiting the woods, with the Moongate and its surrounding stone markers within sight, when the attack came. Five men, dressed as common bandits, suddenly appeared in front of them effectively blocking their path. Swords drawn, the bandits cautiously approached the travelers but said nothing. This was unusual, for common bandits usually shouted and made demands out of fear or in an attempt to rattle the nerves of their victims. But these men were silent, which only added to the dread Mariko now felt. This was not a robbery; this was something else. A twig snapped behind her and she spun to find two more bandits approaching from the rear.

Confrontations such as this were often over quickly. Measured in seconds not minutes. Death came very quickly at the hands of a skilled swordsman and the Ronin proved to be just that. The five men rushed him in unison. The Ronin drew so fast and so smoothly that one man fell before the arc of his sword-draw had reached its apex. The two men facing Mariko crouched and swayed back and forth as she gripped the hilt of her tanto. They did not draw their weapons and this confused her. What did they want? Suddenly, one of the men rushed her and in a single movement that showed no hesitation and, with a flash of speed that surprised even her, she had drawn her tanto and jammed it into the onrushing bandit’s throat. The man’s eyes went wide and he coughed once, spraying blood across the front of Mariko’s hakama. Her stomach churned. The blade of her tanto was caught between the dead man’s vertebrae and would not come loose. The man fell, taking her only weapon with him.

Now enraged, the second man drew a wicked looking dagger and swung wildly at her face. Ducking, she felt the impact sweep her kasa from her head sending it spinning into the trees. Before she could recover, the man was upon her. With a strength born of anger and experience the man grabbed the young Tokunoese woman and spun her around gripping her by the arm. Holding her from behind he leveled the edge of his dagger against her throat.

“Struggle more and you will die.” He hissed in her ear.

From were she stood Mariko could now see what had happened while she had been engaged with the two bandits. Her Ronin lay dead. Cut down in a vicious fight that lasted only seconds. But in his final battle he has slain three of the five he faced. Mariko choked at seeing him bloodied and dead, but he had died with honor defending his charge and she would remember his death, if she survived. But something else was now drawing the attention of the three remaining bandits. The man holding her gripped her tighter against him and pushed the blade against her neck. Mariko lifted her gaze from the dead Ronin to see the two other bandits facing what appeared to be a robed man standing in front of the moongate. Silhouetted against the glow of the Moongate she could barely make out his face but he seemed amused by what he was witnessing. Nothing moved. No sound reached her ears save the soft rustle of the surrounding Burch leaves. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. A single drop of cold rain struck the young Geisha on the forehead as she drew a deep breath and, for the first time in her life …

Screamed.

[Renthar]

Renthar was uncertain why it was that he finally decided to act. He was a man who disliked weakness, even more than he despised a woman with fat ankles. If one could not ensure their own survival, then it was a creature undeserving of life. Yet there was something about that peculiar scene that motivated him to assert his interference. A young woman, Tokunese by her features and appearance, assaulted by a gang of common bandits, and her sole protector already a splatter of flesh and blood upon the ground. Her death might have brought him brief amusement, but the strange-eyed intruder suspected that he would resent the continued existence of her attackers even more. A few well placed spells, and he quickly completed the work started by the intended victim and her fallen defender. Minutes later, and the woman and her savior had moved to a safer place, in order to discuss what had transpired and what would follow.

She introduced herself as Mariko of Zento, and by profession, she was something called a Geisha. Renthar had never heard of this term before, but because he was in isolation when first contact was established between Britannia and her homeland, her culture was largely alien to him. It was said that Tokuno used to be the Land of the Feudal Lords, one of the continents of Sosaria that was lost during the cataclysm that followed Mondain's defeat, although the strange mage was skeptical of this proposition. He had once walked both the kingdoms of Baratarian and Rondorin, and found it difficult to believe they could have been so completely transformed over the course of a mere handful of centuries. More likely, the whole story was propaganda concocted by the authorities in Britain and Zento for some unforeseen nefarious purpose. He was fully aware of the trickery that Lord British and his successors were capable of. But either way, whatever his suspicions, he at least had no doubts that she was both Mariko and a Geisha. And according to the beliefs of her strange culture, since Renthar had saved the young woman's life, she now owed him a debt of honor.

"Hai, you saved my life," she attempted to explain in a language not her own. "Thus you own it. I must repay my debt in full. Thus I am for you Rentharsan."

"And how does one pay for a life?" He mused. "And when would such a debt end?"

"When you say it is paid in full."

"Would you kill for me?" Renthar asked of her.

Mariko nodded affirmatively.

"Spy for me?"

"If that is your wish," she nodded again.

"Share my bed?"

The Geisha agreed to that as well, without hesitation.

"Then what limitations?" He wondered, more for himself than for her.

"I do not understand," she stated, as if the concept was foreign to her.

And that was when Renthar came to realize how perfect this new arrangement could truly be ...

[Mariko]

Mariko clapped her hands three times and bowed low. She had come to the Temple of Zento to pray and make offerings. Thirty sticks of Lotus incense burned before the altar of her gods. A large sum of money had been given to the poor. Fate, it seemed, had shoved her onto a new path, one that led beyond the Islands of her homelands. A path that would carry her to a distant land; a land she had never heard of. To serve a man whose ways she did not know. Whose people and culture she did not understand.

“A life saved is a life owed.”

A debt must be paid. After he had saved her life, he made no attempt at subtle or polite conversation. The questions he asked were direct and, at times, crass. But perhaps this was the way of the mainlanders. Even those who came to the Okiya from ‘outside’ were often inpatient and rude. They could not see the beauty of still waters for all the waves they made. But the gaijin had saved her life. The bandits, if that is what they were, would have killed her or worse. If the strange Magick user had not intervened she would certainly be dead or sold into slavery. She made certain he understood she was not to be a slave. She would serve him in all things until her debt was paid in full, or until someone else paid it for her, for the brightness of gold, it seemed, often outweighed the life of another. He would not be her Danna, but he would be responsible for keeping her, feeding and clothing her and protecting her and in return, she would serve without question. But she would always remain Geisha. If he refused to honor this or if he shamed her before others, she reserved the right to commit Jigai and cut her own throat. This was permitted of women who were not Samurai.

“A life saved is a life owed.”

Would she spy for him? Hai. She had spied for the Daimyo of her home province during her time there.

Would she kill his enemies? Hai. She had killed before. Death is always at our shoulder and can sometimes come in the guise of a beautiful woman clothed in beauty and speaking honeyed words.

Would she lie with him? Hai. Her life was his and her debt required she be all things to him. Emotion had nothing to do with anything. Love had no place in the repayment of this debt. A Geisha lived in the “Flower and Willow World” and she would permit the man who saved her life a glimpse into that world; a world where all others were forbidden to go.

Returning to the Inn she released Umeko from her service. The girl was O-shaku , a student and Mariko knew that if she went with her to the mainland this man called Renthar, would steal the girls Mizuage and not bid for it as was proper. Such a thing would destroy the young girl’s chance of ever becoming a full Geisha. Mariko could not allow that to happen. Instead she wrote to the Daimyo of Homare-Jima who accepted Umeko into his House. She would be safe there and could continue her studies under the watchful eye of the Daimyo’s wife who was a retired Geisha. Perhaps one day, when Mariko’s debt was paid, she would return to Zento, rebuild the Ichiriki Chaya and become its “Okasan.” Then she and Umeko could be reunited.

Satisfied everything was in order and her belongings packed, Mariko sat alone in her room and penned a letter to Renthar. A messenger was hired and the letter sent. She would leave for this land called Ashencrosse at first light. She would step, willingly, onto a new and different path and prayed the gods watch over her.

[Mariko]

In the House of Wind and Fire:


A Wood Thrush’s evening song echoed through the trees of Western Malas as Mariko led her horse though the gates of Ashencrosse. The land was primitive and the wooden palisades were rough cut and fashioned in a manner akin to those she had seen at the Daimyo’s castle in the wilds of Homare-Jima. She held Shunsoku’s reins close as she entered the town. There was no one to greet her, no one she could ask directions from, and, there was no grand castle. Somewhat bewildered she led Shunsoku to one side and tied his reins to a post.

“Omaesan keserasera daijoubu koko, osanago,” she whispered as she patted his neck and checked the packs that held her belongings.

For several moments she stood looking up and down the grassy road for any passersby, but saw no one out and about. The town looked abandoned. There were no retainers at the gates or upon the towers overlooking the broad expanse of open grassland surrounding the walled town.

“Naikou beki haiken zengo wagami,” she whispered to herself and started down the road.

The buildings were blocks of wood or stone set down with little attempt to include the beauty of the surrounding land into the design. There were no sweeping rooflines or carved gates, no water gardens or bells to announce visitors. She gravitated toward one of the taller, more solid structures and heard voices within. No doors or gates protected the entrance and, glancing inside; she saw tables and seats that were set well above the floor. There was also a stage. To Mariko it appeared to be a “Chaya” or tea house. There were a few people sitting at the tables talking among themselves. She was surprised to see most of them were women. She was also surprised there was no entertainment; no dancers, no musicians. But, she reminded herself, this was the mainland and their customs were not those of Tokuno. Women patrons were not permitted in most Chaya’s in her homeland and this mainland custom felt unsettling. Glancing about the entrance she saw no neat line of shoes or sandals set aside waiting for their master’s return. So, shoes were also permitted indoors. There was much for her to learn here. Rather than enter the tea house with her wooden geta’s still on, she stood under the arched entrance and bowed politely to the first person who glanced in her direction.

“Please forgive my intrusion,” she said softly and removed her kasa.

The woman smiled and greeted her in the mainland fashion. Her speech was polite but loud, as if she meant to frighten away some evil spirit that might be lurking nearby. Mariko bowed again.

“I am seeking the home of Renthar. Perhaps you could direct …”

“I will see if he is accepting guests,” The woman interupted as she rose from her seat. “He has been ill and may not wish visitors.”

Mariko followed the woman and waited quietly outside a small wooden house for many long minutes while the woman went inside to speak to, she assumed, Renthar. Finally, Mariko was permitted to enter. She paid her respects to the man who now held her life-debt and followed his every instruction. Renthar was a man of few formalities and understood very little of the prize he now possessed. She was Geisha and it was now her fate to serve a man who cared little for the ways of her people, her skills or her customs. She followed his every instruction despite the humiliation, for she was honor-bound to do so. Some men, she had learned early on, were cruel and demanding. They held little moral value and had no patience for subtly or nuance. They understood nothing of beauty beyond that which filled their eyes in a single moment. Their minds were closed and they made great waves upon smooth waters. Mariko would become a leaf upon those waters and would surrender herself to the currents, be they smooth or rough, and thus she would find honor by fulfilling her debt. It is also said, that a single leaf, caught in just the right place, could change the course of a mighty river.


**********

Her Obi lay in a disheveled heap on the wooden floor. She dressed quickly, not bothering with the many under-garments and sashes, under-sleeves and ties and did her best to look proper. She had no maiko to assist her in retying the formal Obi so she made do with a shorter, less complicated one of poorer quality that she could tie herself. After running several errands for him she accompanied Renthar to what his people called the “Izakaya,” or “Tavern.” It was also called a “Shiata” or “Theater.” She listened to the conversations and watched carefully as the gaijin’s talked, drank and made threats upon each other. She did not know if the people were of the same house or served the same master. They were all strangers to her as was much of their language. The mainlanders were not so different from the ill-mannered ronin samurai who wandered Tokuno seeking employment and being drunk on sake most of the day.

Mariko ended her first day in Ashencrosse sleeping on the floor of Renthar’s house. She refused to sleep in the tall bed out of fear that evil spirits would crawl beneath the bed and cause her to have bad dreams. Mainlanders, it seemed, were prone to bad dreams, but did not seem to mind. As she drifted off to sleep she promised herself that when her debt was repaid and she was released from Renthar’s service, she would return to Zento and never leave again. Provided, of course, she survived

[Mariko]

REPRINTED HERE WITH THE PERMISSION OF THE PLAYER ROBERT RENWALD.

Three days passed while Robert Renwald waited for his men to deliver his prize to him. When they failed to return he dispatched aides to both New Haven and Zento to make inquires. There was, it seemed, an attempted robbery at the Moongate outside haven. A Tokunoese woman’s bodyguard was killed along with all seven of the assailants. She escaped harm with the help of a man; a Mage of some sort. There has been no sighting of her in either New Haven or in Zento. The reports did not include the name of the man in question or the whereabouts of the young woman.

Robert Renwald was not a man to be denied. The men he lost could be replaced. Men like that were easily found. But the girl … the girl was worth a hundred such men. A treasure, a work of priceless art to be hidden away, cherished, enjoyed in the private surroundings of his vast estate. He would have her, one way or another, but he would have her.

Other men were hired. Men, who could listen, probe, question. Men of experience and skill who could keep to the shadows and find answers where others might fail. Two weeks passed while Robert Renwald waited. Two weeks of uncertainty. Two weeks of anticipation. Then, finally, as his patience was nearing an end, he was given two names. One, the name of a man and the other, the name of a place, a town.

The man’s name was Renthar and the town was called Ashencrosse. Renthar would die. That much was certain. As for the town, well … if they knew of the girl and were harboring her then the town would burn. If, on the other hand, they knew nothing of the girl or her value, then he would simply take her and be done with it. But first he must learn exactly where she was staying and for that he would need someone skilled in infiltration and stealth. Word was sent out and a few days later a strange, pale woman dressed in black with a patch over one eye, appeared at his door. He did not like the looks of her and her single orange eye, but she came highly recommended.

An agreement regarding the woman’s fee was reached and she was dispatched. Now Robert Renwald had time on his side and, as he opened a bottle of fine Yew wine, he smiled at the vision of his painted Geisha gracing the halls of his home. How he would laugh when he saw the look of envy in the eyes of his friends and business associates. So many of his friends possessed valued works of art that graced their homes. Paintings, sculptures, ancient weapons and armor, displays of treasures found in the far reaches of the wilds or dug up in dangerous lands. But none could claim a living, breathing work of art. A work of art skilled in the secret methods of pleasure long forgotten and lost. A work of art that would soon be his and his alone.

[Mariko]

Days, then weeks passed. Mariko languished in the mainland town of Ashencrosse. In all that time, Renthar had not been seen or heard from. She could leave if she wished, yet she felt held by her debt and compelled by honor to stay where she was. That was until a message arrived bearing the Imperial Seal of Tokuno. The Empress, it seems, had heard of Mariko’s talents and requested a performance. Mariko was to be presented at a local tea house in Zento located on the west side of the city. She remembered passing by it many years ago when she was a young maiko. She did not, however, go inside as it was not an Okiya, but a tea house for the public. She remembered it was large, plainly decorated and quite busy.

Since the message did not mention if an escort would be provided, Mariko assumed she would have to travel alone, and this she did. Thankfully the journey was uneventful. Arriving in Zento she went immediately to the Inn where she had been a guest prior to her leaving for the Mainland. The proprietor was elated to see her and offered her his finest room. He also assigned his eldest daughter to assist the Geisha with dressing for the performance.

Her performance before the Empress and her guests was, to say the least … exact. A Noh Mai Fan dance that consisted of one-hundred and thirty-five precise moves told the tale of two young lovers meeting for the first time. It was one of Mariko’s favorites and appeared to be well received. She spent the rest of the evening playing various instruments for the enjoyment of the Empress, her staff and guests.

At the end of the evening Mariko returned to Ashencrosse where she packed her belongings. Renthar could very well be dead. If that were the case then her debt was nullified and she was free to return to Zento; and this she did. Returning to the Inn the proprietor set her up in a suite of rooms. Once settled she wrote a letter to Lord Takeamada, Daimyo of a province in the Homare-Jima region of Tokuno and asked, politely, if he could find the kindness to return one of Mariko’s younger servants, more notably the young Umeko. Umeko was a “Han’gyoku” or "Half-jewel," a term for a trainee who has not yet become an apprentice maiko. If he agreed to return her, she would be a great help to Mariko.

It was good to be home. To bathe in the hot spring waters located at the rear of the Inn. To have her formal kimonos close at hand. To taste familiar foods and breathe the aromas of lotus and spiced incense. Here in this tiny corner of Zento, Mariko set about creating the “Karyukai,” or “The Flower, Willow World” and focused her intent, once more, on the possibility of rebuilding her beloved Okiya.

Outside, a gentle rain was falling over the city of Zento brining relief from the summer heat. Mariko paused in her writing and watched the red and gray slate rooftops turn dark and slick. Such a rain often signified a new beginning. Mariko smiled. Perhaps this was one of those times.

[Mariko]

Lord Takeamada knelt comfortably at the low table and raised his tea bowl with his left hand. His right hand rested on his lap. This was his habit; to be always ready to draw his Katana should the need arise. His face wore his usual stoic countenance as he sipped the dark, slightly bitter tea. Even though his eyes remained focused on the table before him, Mariko knew he saw every movement around him, no matter how subtle. She quietly observed the fall of his kimono sleeve as he raised the bowl. How his strong fingers held the small porcelain bowl with practice grace. Some men slurped their tea and drank hastily as if late for some engagement or from simple lack of manners. Lord Takeamada, however, was a man who appreciated the delicate and intricate grace of a simple meal or the fine brushstrokes of a master calligrapher. Mariko waited until he finished his first sip before raising her own tea bowl with the fingers of her right hand. Supporting the small bowl with the upturned fingers of her left hand she took a single sip then gently set the bowl down at a precise distance from the edge of the table. She glanced at Lord Takeamada whose eyes were focused on the smooth lines of her exposed wrist. Allowing only the corners of her mouth to show her pleasure; she smiled.

The large dinning room of the Inn had been cleared of customers, save for the owner and three of his staff. They stood at a respectful distance so as not to overhear the conversation between the Daimyo of Sukuri Province and the celebrated Geisha. Trying not to stare, they watched the opening ritual of this meeting with rapt attention. It was rare that such a meeting would take place in a public setting but, times being what they were, the proprietor had offered the use of his dinning room for their comfort.

Lord Takeamada cleared his throat. There were issues he wished to discuss with Mariko and he knew etiquette demanded that he be the first to speak as her training would not permit her to open the conversation. He glanced at the proprietor who averted his eyes and ushered his staff from the room. Takeamada then turned his attention to Mariko. Like a statue made of the finest porcelain she knelt with her hands resting in her lap, one atop the other. Her eyes downcast, she appeared to be in meditation as she waited for him to begin. He studied the perfection of her kimono, the flawless sweep of her hair as it rose into a Sakkou which was adorned with a silver comb and a spray of flower buds made of tortoiseshell relevant to the season. The conversation began with a simple question.

“You are well?” Takeamada asked.

“Hai,” she answered softly with a slight bow of the head. Her eyes remained downcast.

Takeamada motioned for the proprietor to bring Sake. The Daimyo had faced many men in battle. Had even faced death with a calm, clear mind, he had sat in heated debate over tense political issues, but this conversation, with this particular woman, required the assistance of strong liquor so as to find courage.

Takeamada shook his head and chuckled at himself as the proprietor placed the tray bearing the Sake and a single cup on the table. Mariko, seeing the tray, slid on her knees and situated herself to Takeamada’s left. Lifting the small porcelain carafe of Sake with her right hand and supporting the bottom with her left, she filled the small cup to the edge with clear liquid. She then replaced the carafe on the tray in the exact spot it had been and slid back to her original position. Takeamada nodded his thanks and drank the sake in one motion. When Mariko started to move to refill the cup, Takeamada raised his hand for her to remain where she was. He then filled the cup himself and drank it quickly.

“I have come to Zento after receiving your letter not only to see you again, as it has been some time since we last visited, but to discuss a matter that has long been on my mind.”

He poured and drank a third cup before continuing.

“First, allow me extend my sympathies over the loss of your Okasan and your sisters. The fire that destroyed the Okiya was a terrible thing indeed and I am only thankful that you were staying with me in Sukuri at the time. I am also pleased that you have returned to the capital after your ordeal on the mainland.”

He poured another cup of sake and drank it quickly to help ease his anger. Mariko bowed her head and whispered;

“Arigatou Gozaimasu”

Takeamada nodded and continued;

“This so called ‘debt’ of yours has, to my way of thinking, which matches that of my advisors, been paid in full. And, should this Gaijin still live, and should he seek to reclaim you as debtor, he will learn the true meaning of “Tokuno Steel.”

He pounded his fist on the table setting the cups to rattling.

Mariko was accustomed to men growing angry on Sake. She must become the calm refuge from the storms of emotions that men, particularly Tokunoese men, kept pent up inside. She must become the cooling waters that quenched the fires burning in men’s hearts.

“I am happy also to be home once more, My Lord, and most pleased to have you in my company again.”

Her voice was gentle. A soothing whisper that could be heard above the raging winds of battle.

Takeamada took another drink and smiled. It was easy to understand why some men, desperate men, would covet such a gem as she. And, because of that and, because she no longer had the safety of the Okiya to protect her, it fell to others to see that this living, breathing masterpiece of art and tradition be protected. It was to this end he spoke of next.

“Have you found a suitable site here in Zento to rebuild your Okiya?”

Mariko closed her eyes and slowly shook her head.

“Nain.”

Takeamada studied her for a moment. He was very much aware of the difficulty in finding suitable building sites within the capitol city. Foreign investors and tradesmen had moved en-mass to the island when trade routes with the outside world were opened several years ago. It would be years, if ever, before a site might become available. In the meantime he could not permit her to remain the guest of an Innkeeper.

“I have a proposal that I wish to present to you, if you are of a mind to listen. I ask only that you lift your gaze to meet my own.”

Mariko raised her eyes and looked directly at Lord Takeamada. Only by his request would she do this. His green eyes were an oddity, as was his hair; a dark shade of summer wheat. This fact and his height made him stand out among the Tokunoese people and yet he was one of them. A fact no one would dare question. His eyes held a softness that his stature and reputation betrayed. He smiled as he looked into the dark eyes of the Geisha.

“I have recently purchased land in a place called Malas which is located on the mainland. It is nestled in the mountains that remind me very much of my home in Homare-Jima. I am planning to build a large home there in the traditional style of Tokuno. Considering that you could be waiting for some time before a suitable site opens here in Zento, I would like to make the following offer:”

He paused and took another drink of Sake.

“As I can neither see you remaining a guest of this innkeeper for any considerable length of time, nor can I abide you not having an escort when traveling, I am willing to offer myself as your Danna and provide you with suitable living quarters in the new location I have just spoken of. Now, this arrangement would only be for the amount of time it takes for you to find a site in Zento where you could rebuild the Okiya. You would, of course, be free to travel, entertain and practice your craft as you please and I would also permit your servant girl Umeko to reside there as well. Do you accept my offer?”

He paused to take another drink of Sake but also to gage her reaction. Her face remained calm and her eyes showed no emotion.

In all her years as a young apprentice maiko and even in the years before then, Mariko had known of only two Geisha’s who had been offered and had accepted Danna’s or “Patrons.” This was a great honor and spoke to the skill and reputation of the Geisha in question. A Patron was responsible for all expenses owed and incurred by the Geisha and was responsible for her health and safety as well as her continued education. This was not a small matter and any Geisha had the right to refuse if she thought the man making the offer might be unable to provide what was necessary or if she believed he might abuse her in some fashion. Mariko dropped her gaze. She had known Lord Takeamada for many years, from his visits to the Okiya before it was destroyed and from her time spent at his mountain retreat on Homare-Jima. She new him to be a kind and fair man who held a great appreciation for the histories and traditions of Tokuno. And, she knew him to be gentle.

In life, a single moment could feel like an hour or an hour pass in a single moment. Battle. Love. Death. Each held time in their own fashion according to their own rules and, as the world outside the Inn continued to turn, and, as time within passed at its own pace; Mariko lifted her gaze to meet Lord Talkeamada’s own and whispered a single word.

“Hai.”

[Mariko]

Fate had changed the course of her path a number of times in her life. When she was nine and her father sold her to the Okiya for a sizable sum. When she rose through the ranks to become one of the youngest maikos. When her Mizuage ritual sold for a record price and when she found herself at the mountain fortress of a powerful Daimyo at the time a fire took the lives of the Okiya’s Okasan and three of her sister maikos. Again when the strange Mage from Ashencrosse saved her life outside a mainland town and now, against all odds, the gods smiled upon her as she took possession of the rebuilt Okiya named Ichiriki Chaya located in the western district of the capitol city of Zento.

A priest from the Temple blessed the house and Mariko stepped inside. The entry gardens were exactly as she remembered. The bridge to the Tea Room lined with vines and flowers. The stage and its vermillion curtains. The spring-fed bath and the flower-scented pillowing room. All exactly as they had been for three hundred years. The builder had captured its history and beauty precisely. Mariko moved through the hallways running her fingers over the polished wood walls and rice-paper doorways. Her private quarters took up an entire floor. A dressing room, with a full-length mirror and lacquered storage drawers for her formal kimono’s, also had access leading directly to the stage where she would perform for the Okiya’s most celebrated guests. A mainland style bed, a gift from an admirer, stood in one corner of the bedroom. Each evening, fresh Rosemary and Thyme were scattered beneath the raised bed to help ward off mischievous spirits that might cause bad dreams. She had considered having the legs cut off the bed, but thought it rude since it had been a gift. Over time, she would replace it with a more traditional style sleeping arrangement, but for now, it was comfortable.

Young Umeko wandered through the house her jaw agape. Remembering the original Okiya, she marveled at the delicate craftsmanship and precise placement of the flowers and stones of the garden. She would sleep in the attic over the Tea Room and continue her training and service to the House by running errands, shopping, delivering messages, and assisting Mariko when needed. There would be little time for play as it fell upon her to now help her Mistress dress for a performance at the local public Tea House that sat just outside the walls of the city. This was a rare thing, but Mariko had agreed after her first performance before the Empress, at the same Tea House, had gone so well.

Her eyes failed to convey her disappointment at the small audience, but she considered it good practice in the fulfillment of her duty. She performed a short dance entitled “A Refusal of Love,” then engaged in polite conversation with Lord Takeamada and the Lady Ni’Xuin. Later, when they escorted her home, she gave them a tour of the Okiya before locking the gates and retiring for the night. She would keep the Okiya open to the public for a time before establishing it, once again, as an exclusive retreat for those seeking escape from the daily trials and tribulations of their lives. She was home and she was, once again, content.

[Mariko]

Practice

“Our life in this world -
to what shall I compare it?
It is like an echo
resounding through the mountains
and off into the empty sky.”

Mariko tuned the Shamisen carefully; listening to the tone of each of the three strings until she was satisfied they were tuned as near to perfect pitch as possible. Holding the bachi lightly in her right hand she paused and half-closed her eyes to find her center. She then began her practice session. She played for an hour following the written music and redoing those sections where she felt less confident of her skill. After an hour. she carefully lay the Shaminsen aside and went to the garden to water the flowers and have a cup of tea. Umeko followed, dutifully assisting where she could. The young girl was proving to be an asset and would be given more trust over time as her own skills improved. For now, however, she must content herself with running errands, shopping, cooking, cleaning and assisting Mariko when needed.

After tea, Mariko returned to her Shamisen and continued practicing for another two hours. Her skill must be without flaw, for she could be employed for an evening by a Lord of standing or the Empress could call upon her to entertain an honored guest. She might also be sent by the Empress as a “gift” to an ally or even an enemy to prepare the way for peace or to smooth the edges of difficult trade negotiations. Hers was a skill of patience and attentiveness to detail and duty. Where the sword cuts and the spear stabs, the Geisha smoothes, comforts and serves with quiet dignity.

Her practice session with the Shamisen over, she polished and wrapped the instrument in soft cloth before putting it in its lacquered case. Umeko knelt quietly in the corner of the room watching each move Mariko made with rapt attention. One day, years from now, it would be Umeko who would be practicing the Shamisen while another Han’gyoku watched and, in the watching; learned.

The afternoon wore into evening and Mariko instructed Umeko to prepare the evening meal of rice and boiled fish. Afterwards she would return to the stage where she would take up her wooden fans and spend several hours practicing the Noh Mai, unless, of course, a guest arrived at the front gates. Then her evening would be devoted to their entertainment. She would weave her skills into a tapestry of pleasure to help them forget the world outside the walls of the Okiya and, for a single evening, their troubles and tribulations. And, just as she was about to begin her practice of the Noh Mai, the bell at the front gate chimed twice. Umeko scampered to the gate carrying a lantern with Mariko following at a distance. Upon opening the gate and admitting the guest, Mariko and Umeko both bowed low showing respect, for standing within the gates, was one of the Okiya's most welcomed guests and trusted benefactors;

The Daimyo of Sukuri Province, Lord Takeamada.

[Mariko]

Strands of silken water ran from his right shoulder to his wrist. They flowed across his forearm and wrapped themselves in sparkling threads around his wrist and hand before spilling back into the greater pool from which they came.

Lord Takeamada rested his head against the folded white towel that hung over the edge of the polished Teak-wood tub as Mariko lifted a wooden ladle from the steaming waters and poured its contents slowly over his left shoulder. Setting the ladle aside she slid her fingers gently along his arm stopping at the wrist. She then kneaded each finger between her thumb and forefinger taking an extra moment to apply slightly more pressure to the fingertips.

“Maro juritsu onte mahout konnani hunba,” he whispered.

Mariko smiled.

“Atashi gozen menboku,” she responded. “Your words honor me, My Lord”

Takeamada breathed out slowly as his mind cleared and his body relaxed in the soothing heat of the bath.

“Zento does not know how fortunate it is having the Okiya back where it belongs,” he stated. “I shall make every effort to see that people are reminded.”

Mariko bowed her head. “Arigatou Gozaimasu, Takeamada-San.”

Half an hour later Takeamada sat in the small private dining area while Umeko served the main course of rice, soft shell crab and grilled pork, flavored with mirin and ginger. A small porcelain bowl of wasabi sat near the edge of the serving tray. This was Umeko’s first opportunity to wear the kimono and serve a traditional meal and she dutifully kept Takeamada’s drinking bowl filled with Shochu while Mariko played the Shamisen.

The meal over, Takeamada strolled through the gardens with Mariko following at a respectful distance. The outside world was held at bay by the walls of the Okiya and it was here, in this place, that one could sit and observe how the hummingbird hovered over the Cardinal Flower or how the koi swam lazily in the clear waters of the shallow pond. A life could be ended without warning in the world outside, but here, in the quite solitude of the Okiya, one could find peace and beauty if only for an evening. Life and death were one in the same and the knowledge of this helped each warrior face death with calm resolve.

The setting sun blazed the western sky orange and red as distant thunderclouds rose to unimagined heights. Seabirds wheeled and cried overhead. Umeko busied herself lighting paper lanterns while Mariko read aloud from a thin book of poetry. Takeamada listened for a time and then rose without speaking. He could stay the night as was his right, but he chose instead to make his way to the inn where he would stay for several more days before returning home to Homare-Jima.

Mariko bowed respectfully and watched Takeamada walk east toward the city gates. Behind her, Umiko clacked two smooth, black river-stones together three times, for luck. This is how it is. This is how it was meant to be. Mariko would honor her life by bringing perfection into the lives of others and offering them an opportunity to see the world in a different way. To help them feel, touch, taste and hear life in the most intimate terms before the darkness snatched it all away.

Tomorrow would be much the same, as another Lord or Lady or bruised and beaten warrior would arrive at the gates seeking solace and comfort behind the walls of the Ichiriki Chaya of Tokuno.

[Mariko]

“Only upon the swords edge
Can the word “revenge”
Be balanced.”

Mariko greeted Lord Takeamada with a respectful bow.

“Takeamada-San, my eyes are pleased to see you at our gate once more. How may I be of service?”

Takeamada removed his Kasa and ran his hand over his head. The end of summer sun still burned bright and hot in the mid-afternoon sky. All about them tiny orange and white butterflies rose and fell against the background of blue and yellow flowers. The entrance garden of the Okiya was abuzz with tiny honey bees. The heady perfume of wildflowers filled the air. Takeamada paused before answering.

“Mariko-San, I bring news that may be of interest to you. May I enter the house?”

“Hai, our house is open to you always, My Lord.”

Stepping back she slid the wood and rice-paper door open and waited until Takeamada stepped through before closing it softly behind. Keeping her eyes downcast she invited him into the private dinning area where he knelt at one of the low tables.

“Takeamada-San, would you care for tea?”

His only answer was a nod.

Mariko went quickly and prepared a pot of Surio Mountain Black tea. She had just received a fresh shipment that very morning. Strong and aromatic it was favored by many over the more bitter green tea. Green tea, however, would always and forever be used in the traditional Tea Ceremony; nothing could or would change that.

Returning to the dinning area she carefully poured the dark liquid into a tea-bowl to the right of Takeamada’s hand. Not a single drop was spilled. Setting the hot teapot far enough away so as to avoid any accidental touching yet close enough should the tea-bowl need refilling; Mariko bowed then knelt to Takeamada’s right.

Keeping her eyes downcast, she waited patiently while Takeamada tasted the tea. He nodded once before speaking.

“An excellent leaf. I am beginning to favor this particular tea over most others.”

Mariko nodded but said nothing. Takeamada continued sipping his tea and glancing around the room nodding his approval. When the time came for him to explain the reason for his visit, he would. Mariko remained silent. When Takeamada set the empty tea-bowl down, she reached for the teapot to refill it, but he raised his hand indicating he was satisfied. A moment passed in silence as the Daimyo studied the young Geisha. She was dressed in a plain gray kimono with a simple blue sash rather than an obi. Since she was not entertaining a client, this was her normal daywear. Her long ebony hair was down, but held back at the nape of the neck with an intricately carved ivory hair clasp. She wore no jewelry, no earrings or necklace, no rings or bracelets. Nothing to distract the eye from the flawless perfection of her skin; the soft lines of her wrist or the gentle curve of her neck. Takeamada nodded. If ever he was to have a daughter he hoped she would be as lovely. He cleared his throat.

“My reason for this visit is one of formality not pleasure.”

Mariko nodded. Slightly startled by this announcement she showed no outward indication of emotion save for a slight shifting of her hands.

“The investigation,” Takeamada continued, “into the fire that destroyed the original Ichiriki Chaya last year has been concluded.”

Mariko, unaware such an investigation even took place, nodded only once. Whatever she was feeling inside would never be exhibited outwardly. To fall victim to ones emotions was to show weakness in the face of danger or bad news or, for that matter, joyful news. Self-control was the art of discipline and self-discipline was only one path towards perfection. She remained silent.

“The investigation has concluded that the fire was set on purpose. It was arson.”

Mariko’s heart quailed. She had lost four beloved women in that fire, they had been friends and they had been family. Three young maiko sisters and the Okiya’s Okasan or “mother.” The old woman who had taught, scolded, beaten and consoled young Mariko during her years as a virtual slave. The woman who had spent a fortune making sure she had the finest, most expensive kimonos. The woman who had showed such pride when Mariko made her debut as a full Geisha. That woman and three teenage maikos died in the horror of that fire while she, Mariko, played the Samisen a thousand leagues away in the mountain fortress of a Daimyo. This Daimyo; Lord Takeamada.

Guilt at surviving such a horror had plagued her ever since. She had prayed for forgiveness at the altar of the Temple. Given generously to the poor. Made an effort to repay a life-debt and remained silent about the tragedy to better honor their memory. But always, always, she carried their memory close to her heart.

Takeamada studied the young woman. He could see her struggling but would not attempt to comfort her. Her battle was within. Her victory would be seen by all.

“The investigation found that the fire was set by a rival Okiya located on the island of Homare-Jima. It seemed they were loosing clients to your house due to the fame of yours and your sister maikos. Money, it seems was the motive. Jealousy was the spark. But there is more.”

Mariko nodded but did not look up.

“The Okiya in question was run by a Tong. You are familiar with this word, ‘Tong’?”

“Hai,” Mariko whispered. “A Tong is a criminal organization.”

Takeamada nodded.

“This Tong was well organized and held control over many businesses on the Island of Homare-Jima. I use the word “was” for they have been, for the most part, destroyed. When it became clear who was behind this crime I took it upon myself to exact justice since the crime was organized in my district. Ninety of their members have been executed along with the Okasan of the Okiya. The Okiya has been burned to the ground as well. I have brought you the Okasan’s Kasa. It was removed from her head shortly after her head was removed from her body. Do not fret. The Kasa has been purified and blessed and is free of harmful spirits. The monk Kuiki has assured me of this. You may do as you like with it but I thought you should have it.”

“Domo Arigato, Takeamada-San,” Mariko whispered as she accepted the Kasa and set it on the floor beside her.

Takeamada grunted.

“There is more. Some is good news; some not so good. I would like you to look at me while I speak of these things.”

Mariko lifted her gaze and looked directly at him for the first time since his arrival. His green eyes showed a fierceness and determination she had not seen before. His jaw was set.

I have confiscated a sum of money from the Okiya that I believe will help pay for the loss of your original property and help recoup some of the cost of rebuilding.”

He slid a blue bag across the table. Mariko accepted it with a bow and set on the floor next to the Kasa.

“That is the good news.” He cleared his throat. Mariko steadied herself, her eyes fixed on his. Her face stoic and reserved. She hoped she would face her death with as much reserve.

“The Tong,” he continued, “is known as ‘Burakku Tourou Tong’ or ‘The Black Mantis Tong.’ Despite our efforts, we were unable to wipe out all their members. How many are left is difficult to determine, but they are very dangerous and well trained. They have, for the moment, gone into hiding. It is my fear, however, they will, one day, resurface and will come seeking vengeance, not only against me, but against Zento itself. I am telling you this so that, should you see any strangers about the city or these properties, it is imperative that you tell me immediately. You are to instruct Umeko to do the same. Under no circumstance are you or her to confront anyone you suspect as being suspicious. You are not to leave the Okiya alone. This house is under the protection of the alliance, as are you. I assure you; no harm will come to you or any member of your household so long as I draw breath. Do you understand?”

Mariko nodded, but her eyes showed concern.

“Takeamada-San. What you have done has honored the memory of my sisters and my Okasan and I thank you from my heart for this. But my concern now is not for my safety but for yours. Surely this Tong will target you for revenge. You are my Danna and I am compelled to worry for your safety. Please Takeamada-San; promise me you too will be vigilant.”

Takeamada smiled and, reaching across the table, gently stroked the back of his hand along her cheek.

“I promise to be vigilant,” he whispered.

[Mariko]

Mariko quietly rose from the large bed and slipped her powder-blue hiyoku over her naked body. Behind her, the lord of Magincia slept. His broad muscled back was tattooed with numerous battle scars but his sleep was not fitful as it had been on her first night here. Now, he slept peacefully, lost in dreams, she hoped, of cherry blossoms and hummingbirds. Mariko smiled. Pride was unbecoming and crass, but she allowed herself this one conceit; that she had taken this lord of battle to a height of exquisite pleasure, bordering on blissful pain and in a manner he would not soon forget.

This was the last of the seven days he had contracted for. Tomorrow she would board a ship bound for Tokuno. He had paid the required fees and Mariko had provided everything as promised. Each evening the Lord would host a dinner and she would entertain his many guests. Music, dance, poetry, song. And he was generous. The monies made here would assure that the Okiya would be able to provide for itself for another season. That the bills would be paid, young Umeko could be fed, her lessons paid for and new expensive kimonos could be commissioned.

During the day they would walk along the cliffs of Magincia and he would listen as she described her homeland. He was not the kind of man who claimed to know everything about all things, as some men are apt to do. He asked questions and showed a sincere interest in her culture. She in turn learned of ships, battles on land and sea and the dark, terrible history of this land. With every new explanation she would listen intently and take it into her heart so the next time the subject arose she would be able to converse intelligently about it. Some skills must be learned outside the classroom and the simple act of listening was an art unto itself.

Padding softly downstairs, she stepped out onto the wide veranda of the sandstone villa overlooking the city’s broad, clean square. Summer was nearly over. In a few days the Autumnal Equinox would arrive. The autumn kimonos, with the russet leaf pattern of the Tokuno Maple Tree, would be taken out of storage and the matching kanzashi’s polished. The slate tiles of the roof would need inspecting and repaired. The garden prepared for the rains of late fall and the snows of deep winter. These tasks might seem like mundane chores in most peoples eyes, but for Mariko they were art forms and in the world of the Geisha; necessary for the improvement of ones outlook on life. For when one’s life could end as quickly as a nod, even the most despicable task could be seen as beautiful.

As the early morning light rose into the bright blue of an intense, late summer sky, Mariko closed her eyes and took in a deep breath of sea air. How sweet to know such pleasures. A gentle hand touched her shoulder. Turning she looked into the deep blue eyes of this lord of Magincia. He smiled.

“Will you not stay another week? I will pay double your required fees.”

Mariko dropped her gaze and bowed her head. And, in her soft, broken common, whispered.

“Lord, you have been most generous and my time here has been most pleasurable, but I must return to my homeland. It is required of me to make offerings at the temple for the end of summer and the beginning of autumn. This is most important.”

He smiled, nodding his understanding.

“Then perhaps in the spring when the snows have melted you can return.”

Mariko nodded.

“Hai. I will look forward to that time.”

“Excellent!” He grinned. “Excellent indeed. Now, let us return to the bed for I wish to learn more of your culture, particularly this Caste System I have heard so much about.”