Dawn Over Shirokarasu

by

Heather 'Istara' Sluys

   Aiko sat forlornly on her bed.  It was strange that she should be so sad, because the previous day she had become the wife of a wealthy fur merchant.  The daylight filtered in through shuttered windows; her cheeks shone with the remnants of tears.  She tried to see hope in her position, but her mind stubbornly kept traveling back to the previous day.

                During the wedding ceremony, Juutarou, the groom, was full of smiles and courteous nods, but the previous night, Aiko had discovered that she’d made a terrible mistake.  As the two lay in bed under heavy, ornate blankets, her husband had refused to touch her.  Being a young bride, Aiko was nervous at best, but she had still been expecting the things that married couples went through.  She tentatively had asked Juutarou, "am I not beautiful enough?"

                He’d turned to her in the darkness and brushed his fingers across her cheek, "oh, you are beautiful," said he, "too beautiful to be made impure by the likes of men."  He smiled coldly, "and now, none shall look upon you but me.  Good night, dear one."  With that, he’d turned and fallen asleep.

                In Aiko’s village of Shirokarasu, parents arranged their children’s marriages, but the children were given one chance to choose.  Aiko had taken that chance, and regretted her choice.  In a society where wisdom was revered, and Aiko had been considered very wise for her age, she sat on her bridal bed alone, a scared and lost child.

                How she wished that she had been wiser in choosing based upon the character of her husband, and not upon mere practicalities.  However, in Shirokarasu, practicality was considered nearly analogous to wisdom.

The village was high in the mountains, and few travelers could reach it.  It was peaceful, for the bandits thought it wasn't worth their effort.  It was prosperous, for it was located in a valley where the people could farm.  The village’s name, Shirokarasu, meant White Crow, for it was seen as bright and pure from outside influences, and full of folk who were cunning like the bird.

                Aiko’s thoughts drifted back to her parents.  It seemed to her that they could have provided more warning for such possibilities, but perhaps they had been eager to marry her off.  Mikage Aiko was sixteen years old, and a desirable young woman.  Her hair was long and white-gold, her skin like the palest snow, her sweeping eyelashes resting over eyes brown and knowing like an owl's wing.  She always had a slight smile on her heart-shaped face, at least she did before her wedding night, and her manner was kind and gentle.  She was also adept at weaving, a very desirable skill for a wife to have in the cold of the mountains.

                She remembered the evening on which her mother and father had spoken to her of marriage.  Her father asked her, "my daughter, have you given any thought to whom you would like to marry?"

                Aiko had sat in silence for a moment, considering something.  She had been expecting this, for she knew it was common at her age.  "I believe that I would choose the fur merchant Iyashinbou Juutarou."

                As was the custom, her mother had asked her, "and your reason for this choice?"

                She’d answered complacently, "he is handsome, wealthy and wise.  He would be an excellent provider for a family."

                Both mother and father had nodded to one another.  Their daughter had shown a solid reason for her choice, and they traveled across the large valley to the merchant's household the very next day to propose the marriage.  Knowing Aiko's beauty and skill, Juutarou's family readily agreed.

                Now, Mikage Aiko sat weeping at her fate.  Much to her dismay, she was not allowed to leave her chambers.  Juutarou even locked the shutters on the windows during the day so that no light would break through, keeping the high mountain air from her.  She should have guessed at the merchant’s jealous, possessive nature, but she had seen only the things about him that would have made him a good husband.  Besides, she had reasoned, not all merchants were like that. 

                While she sat on her bed, immersed in her regret, she heard a knock at the door.  It opened hastily, and a woman came in.  She bowed to Aiko.  Strangely, she was wearing a blindfold.  “My name is Giseisha; I will be your personal servant.  If milady needs anything, I will be the one to attend to it.  For now, I’ve brought you something to eat.”  She deposited a tray next to Aiko and left quickly before the girl had a chance to talk to her.

                She picked dully at her food.

This pattern continued.  Juutarou never slept next to Aiko after their wedding night.  He came to visit her regularly, saying little, and gazing at her like a man possessed.  It frightened her.  She spent the rest of her time sitting in an elaborate wicker chair and wondering what was happening outside, in her village of Shirokarasu.

                Once, Aiko was alone for three days save the visits from Giseisha, which lasted no more than a few moments.  The girl's will to survive was breaking down; over her normally calm countenance floated the shadow of fear.  Isolation could shatter even the most confident heart.  Desperate for the light of day, she lifted a small stone statue from one of the shelves of expensive relics in the room.  Aiko walked over to the shuttered window and began to crack the statue against the lock, over and over again.  Eventually, to her delight and relief, the lock gradually dented, then snapped in half. The shutters flew open, and the air and light exploded into her prison.

                To Aiko's misfortune, her husband returned only an hour after she’d opened the window.  When he saw it, he immediately became angry.

                "I give you everything here.  I give you a nice place to live, and food, and if you desired a loom so that you could weave and practice your art, I would provide that as well.  I also give my attention only to you, my heart only to you.  I love you, and what do I get in return?  All I ask is that the world not see you, and this is the thanks I get?  I worship your beauty, and you," he spat, "you seek to throw it away on those who cannot appreciate it as I do!"  With that, he left to summon the locksmith.

                Throughout his tirade, Aiko's hands had trembled, and she'd turned away from the window.  Perhaps he was right.  Perhaps no one out there could truly love her.  Her hands shook, and she covered her face with them.  She crumpled to the floor in despair, and was overcome by a fit of tormented sobbing.

                That very evening she requested a loom from Juutarou, and he honored his word.

                The next day the locksmith arrived to perform his task.  He had been instructed not to speak with or look at Aiko, but he protested that he needed his eyes to do his work.  Juutarou grudgingly agreed, having duties to attend to elsewhere.

                Aiko sat blankly at her loom, weaving and weaving as the locksmith fixed the shutters on the window.

                "My name is Hakugawa Seijin," he said to her, startling her out of her reverie.  He was middle-aged, with smiling wrinkles around his eyes.  He was not a large man, but appeared to be strong.  His hands worked on the lock as he spoke to her, never turning to meet her eyes.

                "Hakugawa," she replied dully, "you're not from our valley."

                “I traveled here because I heard by word of mouth that my services would be needed.  That is not important.  I will tell you this . . . I know some of the old ways of Magic, and I am leaving a tiny flaw in this lock.  No man should keep his wife this way; I abhor it.  You will be able to open the shutters, with a simple word, Freedom, a word that you, of all poor folk, must not utter often.  You must speak it again to lock them, though your husband’s key serves the same purpose.”  With one final twist and a gesture of the hand, the locksmith finished.  “Now, I must go from here.  Fare thee well.”  He took his leather sack of tools and began to leave.

                Completely stunned, Aiko cried out, “wait, Sir Hakugawa . . . I am indebted to you.  What can I do?”  Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

                Without turning toward her, he shook his head.  “Use the spell and open the shutters.  Then you will have done justice to my work.”  He left quickly and shut the door.

                For weeks between visits from her husband, Aiko could not bring herself to open the shutters.  There was almost something malevolent about them, as though they were taunting her and beckoning to her all at once.  One day, however, the merchant had been gone for several hours, and it began to get dark.  He usually did not come home at night anymore.  Aiko crept up to the window, and whispered, almost as though she were afraid to speak.  “Freedom.”

                Before she knew it, the window stood open.  She edged her gaze around the side of it, and the sight of Shirokarasu in the evening nearly broke her heart.

                Secretly, she began to speak the word more often.  It became an obsession to her, her only gateway to the outside.  Her window was on the third floor of the house, and it was not likely that anyone would see her, though her husband would jealously disagree.

                Gradually, Aiko became more and more careless, until one day, her elbows leaning eagerly on the windowsill and her hair shining in the sunlight, she heard the door behind her open, and in terror, spun about to see her husband looming darkly in the frame.

                Aiko froze, her eyes wide.  She found herself unable to speak.  Without a word to her, Juutarou quickly closed the distance between them, grasped her arm with fingers like iron, and flung her to the floor.  “I merely came to you this afternoon to see if you would accompany me tonight, for you’ve been obedient for quite some time.”  Aiko buried her face in the crook of her arm where she lay and tried to keep herself from crying.  “You’ve been warned of this before, “ her husband said acidly, “and now there must be greater consequences.  Were it not for the risk of marring your beauty, I would beat you with my own two hands.”  He turned and briskly stepped out, slamming the door behind him.

                Aiko’s body trembled on the fine wooden floor.  Time slowed to a crawl, but it meant nothing to her, for she would be trapped there forever.  There was no way that she could escape, for she was becoming more and more a prisoner of her own mind—the strongest jailer that has ever held man or woman captive.

                She barely noticed when the locksmith, Hakugawa Seijin, entered the chamber.  He was followed closely by Iyashinbou Juutarou.  With steel in his eyes, he withdrew strong shackles from his leather bag, and set them gingerly on the floor.

                Juutarou knelt beside Aiko, pondering her for a moment, a crazed, yet somehow worshipful expression appearing on his face.  He slipped his arms underneath her body and began to pick her up.  She neither helped nor hindered him.

                “Put your feet to the ground, woman!” He spat in disgust.  Afraid of his wrath, Aiko complied.  Juutarou dragged her to the bench at her loom, and unceremoniously sat her down upon it.  She stared emptily, listlessly.

                Once she was seated there, Seijin asked, “how shall it be done?”

                “Whatever works best, just not too tight.  I don’t want a single bruise on her lovely skin.”

                Seijin inclined his head in compliance, and began his work—binding Aiko to her loom.  “Master Iyashinbou,” he said without looking up, “you appear agitated.  Perhaps you should go take some tea.”

                Pacing back and forth, his eyes never leaving Aiko’s motionless body, the fur merchant put his thumb and little finger to his forehead, which had broken out in sweat born from anxiety.  His eyes were wild.  “Yes.  Yes, perhaps I will.”  Jerking his arm down to his side, he stepped out of the chamber, muttering to himself.

                The very second that Seijin was sure he had gone, he dropped his tools with a slight clatter, placed one hand on Aiko’s ankle, and the other on the bottom of the loom.  “Look at me, young lady,” he commanded.  Aiko turned her head downward, meeting his eyes where he crouched at her feet.  “You must weave.  Weave a cape for yourself.  If your husband asks, tell him that you are doing so in hopes of going trapping with him at night some time; you will need it for the cold of the forest.  Yes, that is where he goes; it is easier to catch the forest animals at night—the ones whose furs are most highly prized.  When he leaves for days, he travels far into the mountains to find the rarest fur.”

                Aiko spoke weakly, “why must I do that?  How will I get him to take me along?”  In her former days, Aiko would have easily thought of what to do on her own, but such days were fading quickly from her memory.

                “You must, because I want to help you, and I cannot help you any more than I have already as long as you are in this house.  As to how you convince him to allow you to accompany him . . . that is a choice you must make for yourself.”  In the man’s eyes she saw a deep sadness and compassion, and her numb heart was moved by it.  Hope sparked within her and caught fire.  Aiko felt that perhaps this stranger to her was someone she could rely on, and she clung to that idea as she used to cling to the hands of her mother and father.

                Aiko’s wise nature was returning.  “Why can you not help me escape from this house?”  She asked.  “Why are you helping him by chaining me?”

                Seijin regarded her seriously.  “You know that I have some Magic,” as she watched, his hand that held the loom gleamed white.  It moved across his torso, down his other arm, and to his right hand holding her ankle.  It felt warm and comforting to the touch.  The brightness vanished, but Aiko felt a slight returning of her strength.  “What you do not know is that your husband does as well.  It pervades this house and everything in it, including me when I am here.  It causes my tricks to be small and few.  If I tried to get you out of here without it, I would undoubtedly fail.  That is why you must take the first step.  I comply with Juutarou’s wishes for now so that I can bring you this information.”

                Her head hurt.  Tears shook her voice.  “Why are you doing this?  Are you obsessed with my beauty as well?  Once you “rescue” me, will you take me elsewhere only to imprison me once more?!”

                The locksmith’s eyes were somber.  “Do not be so presumptuous.”  He let go of her ankle, and the loom, and completed the fastening of the chains between them.  “You are indeed beautiful, but within you grow uglier by the day.  Your husband sees only that which is external, and so continues to venerate it.  He does not see the twisted defeat that suffering scratches upon your heart.  He does not see how it changes you.  He only sees the lines of your cheeks, the curve of your back.  In all of Shirokarasu, you are the most beautiful maiden, and one of the wisest, and that is why his parents agreed to your parents’ proposal.  But now, in all of Shirokarasu, your soul is also the most broken.”  His words, though harsh at first, turned softer.  “I travel from village to village.  I go where I am most needed, and I help those who most need my help.  However, the only way I can do so is if they desire it.  Though injustice sickens me to my very bones, I alone cannot stop it.”

                Seijin ceased speaking, allowing Aiko to contemplate all of this.  He began to pack up his tools, and Juutarou returned to the room.  He seemed much calmer.  “It is finished, then,” he said to Seijin.  “Be sure to shut the door when you leave.”  He directed his attention to Aiko, and all traces of his anger were gone, replaced by a cool demeanor.  “Amuse yourself.  I will return later.”  With that, he sauntered off.

                Aiko shook her head from side to side.  “I can’t believe that he has Magic.  He would never do either of the things that you’ve done.”

                “Lady,” said Seijin, rising to his feet, “he had you believing that he loves you, did he not?”

                Aiko sat silent.  She looked at Seijin.  His eyes were impenetrable mirrors.

                “What he has done to you did not require Magic.  It only required you to give up.  Beyond that . . . your husband has Magic that you know nothing about.”  And with that, he turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

                With renewed determination and a little hope, Aiko began to weave a cape.  She used some of the fine material that her husband had given her with the loom, and started creating a long, luxurious garment of bright orange and gold.  She had been working for a few hours and hadn’t gotten far when Juutarou returned.

                He seemed yet calmer.  “Ah.  I see that you’re doing something with yourself, my beauty.”  He walked over to her and ran his fingers through her hair.  She looked up at him and met his eyes, something that she hadn’t done in a long while.

                “Yes.  Yes, I am.”  She turned her attention back to her weaving.

                He walked over to the window, and opened the shutters on the evening, seeming to mock her as he stood and inhaled deeply of the clear air.  “It’s a fine night for trapping . . . a shame that you were being insolent right at the time when I was ready to ask you to join me.”  Aiko said nothing.  Her husband continued, “what are you working away at so busily, anyway?”  He turned to her and the smallest suggestion of a grin came over his lips.  “Are you creating something to wear that will please me?”

                Aiko took a moment to respond.  She thought she knew how she could turn this to her advantage.  Without looking up at him, she answered, “oh . . . well, I had wanted to . . . you see . . .” she feigned hesitance.

                “Yes?”  Juutarou’s voice had a sharp edge to it.  “Spit it out, woman!”

                Aiko continued quickly, “I was touched by your offering to take me outside with you.  I’ve been in this room so long, you know,” her voice grew whimsical with longing.  “I had planned to craft this cloak, in hopes that one day I would regain your trust, and you would ask me again.  It is cold this season, and I thought that I would need it out there, dear husband.”

                “Perhaps,” the fur merchant grumbled.  “If you can finish that cloak in one week, I will take you with me.  But you must prove that you can work quickly and well; I won’t have you daydreaming.  No,” he corrected himself, “do not daydream of anything but me, my sweet.  I am leaving now . . . but I will have Giseisha bring you some extra blankets, and a pillow.  I won’t have you catching cold and becoming pale, sleeping there on the floor by your bench.”  He stared at her for several minutes before slipping away once more.

                Aiko worked feverishly.  Even after Giseisha brought her some very comfortable bedding indeed, she drove herself beyond the bounds of sleep.  Resting only when she needed to, eating only to spur her on, aided by dreams of freedom, Aiko finished the shimmering cloak in not one week, but five days.

                At last, Juutarou approved of his lovely bride’s work, and saw fit to bring her with him on his next night trapping.  He unlocked her bonds and helped her to walk.  She had been able to stand in the shackles, but they had prevented her from getting any exercise to speak of.

Juutarou picked up the completed cape from where Aiko had placed it on the bench, and helped her to fasten it about her shoulders and throat.  He guided her by the hand through the back corridors of the house, so as to hide her from the servants and maids.  Her long, white-gold hair contrasted sharply with the golden orange cloak, and she wore a sky-blue dress beneath it.

                Juutarou took her by the hand and led her out into the forest to the west of the village.  She asked him why he didn’t use a horse, and he said that the trails were too narrow, the paths too overgrown.

                They reached a clearing.  The moonlight peeked through branches high overheard, branches that seemed to stretch their shadowed fingers toward the forest floor.  Juutarou stopped in the middle of the small area, and spread his arms as though he were encompassing the sky.  He breathed deeply, and looked at her.  He smiled frighteningly.  “The only thing more beautiful than the night is you, my wife.  Now watch, and stay where you are.”

                To Aiko’s horror, her husband began to change before her eyes.  His hair grew long and thick all over his body, fangs slipped over his bottom lips as he grinned at her, and his limbs twisted and changed until he stood on four legs.  His body grew to three times its normal size.  Aiko screamed and began to run, but the beast who used to be her husband caught her in two quick strides, his teeth clamped threateningly around her left leg.  A massive paw reached out, hooking her waist.  He released her leg.

                “Oh no, you don’t.  Be a good wife, now.  You never asked me how I trap animals, why my business does so well.  I catch them.  I catch them, and their fur is sleek and beautiful, just like you, my dear.  Be careful that I do not mistake you for one of them,” he let go of her roughly, and she stumbled, falling to one knee.

                Suddenly, a white bolt burst into the clearing, moving too fast for Aiko to see.  The movement ceased just to the left of Juutarou, and as she got to her feet and turned, she saw that it was a creature fashioned of starlight and phantasms . . .  the legendary unicorn.

                Its body was white and shining as a pearl, its flanks smooth as though newly brushed.  The mane and tail were of silver waterfalls, and the horn was a majestic spire curling to a point from between its obsidian black eyes.  It stamped a cloven hoof, and reared a challenge to the beast.

                Juutarou spun quickly and cuffed it across its side.  The beautiful creature went reeling, and took a moment to regain its footing.  The beast took this chance to grip the unicorn’s flank with one paw and leave a trio of bloody welts etched in the snow white fur.

                Aiko sank to her knees in shock at the edge of the clearing, the battle seeming surreal as morning fog over a field.  The moonlight painted everything with a glow, as though the events were taking place outside of time.  She saw every strike of the unicorn’s sharp hooves, every crimson stain from the beast’s claws and teeth.

                The two adversaries came together four, five, six times.  They stood panting for a moment, their blood dripping and mingling on the forest floor.  Their eyes met and burned, the beast’s with firey hatred, the unicorn’s with righteous fury.

                The unicorn whinnied.  Summoning its strength, its muscles coiled like springs, it shouted, “Aiko, the cape!!!”  Shocked out of her inaction, Aiko knew what she must do, and tore the cape from her shoulders.  She rushed the beast that was her husband, tossing the brightly-colored fabric over his head.  The cloak began to glow with a star-hot brilliance.

                Enraged, Juutarou leapt at the unicorn, and in one final burst of strength, sank his claws into its throat and ripped it raggedly open.

                “Sir Hakugawa!”  Aiko cried, for the voice had indeed been the locksmith’s.  She thought that her husband had won, and began to despair, until she saw that Seijin’s quicksilver horn had pierced the beast’s neck.

                The scene seemed to freeze.  With eyes wide and dead, the creature that  Juutarou had become slipped off of the unicorn’s horn as it collapsed.  The unicorn fell backward on its haunches, and then flopped sideways into the dirt.

                Ignoring the beast, Aiko ran to the unicorn’s side.  “Sir Hakugawa . . . don’t die . . . you saved me.”  As she watched, the muzzle shrank.  The features changed, the body became smaller.  Hakugawa Seijin lay on the ground before her.  His throat was a bleeding maroon gash where he lay in the shadows.

                He tried to speak, but blood gushed forth from his mouth.  His eyes looked frustrated, and Aiko heard his voice in her mind.

                Now, do not let this be in vain.

                “Who are you, Sir Hakugawa?” she whispered.

                I am only a locksmith.  I travel from place to place, freeing the bonds of the mind, heart, and spirit.  But now, my work is finished, and my time is over.

                “Don’t say that,” the girl cried, “how can I repay you?”  She looked behind where she was kneeling, and the human body of Iyashinbou Juutarou lay there.  She turned her head back to Seijin.  Tears dripped onto his broken form.

                Live, she heard.  His eyes closed, and he died.

                In a daze, Mikage Aiko stumbled out of the forest, and when she could go no further, fell to the ground until the sun rose over the village of Shirokarasu.  It seemed that the past several months had been a dream, and her awakening had finally come.  The calm mountain air surrounded her, and she listened with regret to the call of a black crow.