What Might Have Been by Yoritomo Somori
"No wall stands forever. Only duty stands forever."--Kaiu Hosaru, A Perfect Cut
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What Might Have Been
by Yoritomo Somori/Simon Gill
[Thanks to Asako Seijaku for setting this in HTML.--Maratai]
The tools of a playwright's trade lay neatly on the desk as a light dusting of snow fell across them.
The open windows gave a magnificent view, from the simple lines of the castle walls to the wide slopes of the Spine of the World mountains. But none of these sights interested Shosuro Ushiri, as his eyes followed his lady's path through the inner gardens.
Shosuro Ajoko was talking with the monks again; doubtless they wished to ensure that the bushi gathering in the valley would not pass near the shrines on their way to war.
Such things never concerned Ushiri. His role in life was to provide art for his masters so that they might appreciate the beauty of life and the necessity of death.
Ushiri sighed and closed the windows, his mind whirling as it always did when he confronted himself. He could never approach Ajoko, not as a friend and not as a lover. He was destined to be a simple retainer for the remainder of his life, perhaps to marry another member of a minor house of the Scorpion.
Turning back into the room, his heart skipped a beat. A man stood there, his intense gaze sweeping over the room. Ushiri had not heard him enter, had not heard him cross the nightingale floors of the corridor.
The man's eyes rested on Ushiri, seeming to bore into him. "I have an offer for you, Ushiri. I can give you your heart's desire, but for a simple price. I wish you to write a new tale."
In the man's eyes, Ushiri saw beyond the barriers of mortal life. He saw love fail, over and over again. He saw the same story with different actors.
Ushiri breathed, "Ieshibe." His thoughts were no less chaotic now. The Fortune of Tragic Love had come to him and asked for a play. How could he refuse such a being, whose actions had given him so much history to draw on for his plays. Could his offer be true; could he make Ajoko love him? Composing himself, Ushiri looked at the Fortune and tried not to tremble in fear.
He spoke clearly. "If you wish a play, Ieshibe-sama, then I will happily provide it for you without need for such a gift."
The Fortune smiled. "Excellent. I await its completion. You have until sunset of this day in a month's time."
A single moment separated the conversation from Ushiri standing alone in the room. As he looked to his desk, his mind raced. Surely Ieshibe knew how he felt. There was only one subject he could choose.
Brush touched paper and the writing began.
The month passed quickly; Ushiri cloistered himself in his rooms, taking trays of food from the servants who passed his way. Scrolls were filled and discarded.
The day finally came. Ushiri stood as the last rays of sun dipped behind the mountains, the scroll tied neatly in his trembling hands. His thoughts, his desires, and his darkest nightmares were contained in this one play.
The light faded around him, and he did not stand in his chambers any longer.
He stood on a wooden stage, facing shadowy figures in the darkness around him. "I have brought the play, Ieshibe-sama."
A voice echoed from the audience, "Then let us watch your art."
Ushiri began to speak. "It was a summer morning, Lord Yakamo's intense gaze upon the land..."
*
A playwright's tools lay on the desk, paper bleaching and ink drying in the strong sun.
Ushiri looked out into the gardens on this summer morning, and smiled to see his lady walking amongst the garden. From this distance, he fancied that he could hear her laugh in delight.
A message lay on the desk. "Ushiri-san, I have a delicate matter I must discuss with you. Please attend me in the gardens this afternoon.--Shosuro Ajoko."
This was the moment that Urishi had waited for through the years he had served Ajoko. A moment to, perhaps, gain her favor.
Memories intruded on Ushiri's reverie: hadn't he written a play once about this situation? The thought was quickly squashed in fevered preperation. As always, selecting the proper attire was important to Ushiri; he could not talk to his lady in the simple kimono he wore while working.
Perhaps the elaborate kimono she had given him for working on the play about her father's glorious death in battle? That might be best.
*
Ushiri continued, "In the gardens, amongst blossoming cherries waited the lady of the house. Her smile glistened with the light of Lady Hitomi's blade..."
*
Ushiri stopped. Ushiri's heart stopped. She sat amongst the trees, a beauty beyond imagining. He felt his heart would burst when he heard the words.
"Ushiri-san, it is good to see you on such a day." Ajoko's melodious tones caressed Ushiri's ears with whispered promises. "I have work for you. I have been found a husband to care for among the Crane..."
Ushiri's heart did burst; rage filled him to the brim. Rage at himself, at the Crane, at whoever it was who had taken his lady from him. Too late he tried to control himself.
Ajoko's eyes narrowed and she glanced at her guards and servants. "Ushiri-san, is there something wrong?"
Almost choking, Ushiri forced himself to reply, "No. My lady."
Ajoko searched Ushiri's eyes with her own. In her face he saw something. He saw contempt.
*
Ushiri continued to speak, magic forcing his words to come. He knew what was about to happen and yet he could not turn away from the vision of himself. Of the reality of his deeds. Of the deaths that would come. "As his rage built, Ushiri took hold of the hilt of his wakizashi..."
*
One strike would end it. One strike would end his pain. One strike would end him.
As he lay dying, his eyes sought the blank eyes of his love. Her head lay on the ground, her blood-spattered face beautiful to the last.
*
Ushiri fell to his knees, the magic holding his voice to the words gone like dew in the morning sun. He curled up, sobbing and weeping, for he had felt the blade bite into her flesh. He had stained his soul with the life-blood of the woman he loved.
Ieshibe walked to the stage and looked down on Ushiri's prone form. "Your tale is one to remember, and for that I grant you your heart's desire."
As the sun rose on the next day, Ushiri read the summons once more. "Ushiri-san. I have a delicate matter I must discuss with you; meet me alone in the gardens.--Shosuro Ajoko" Once, these words would have filled him with joy. Today, he felt again his soul taking the life of the woman he loved.
Could he face her? Could he stand before his lady without losing control?
Or could he simply walk away?
A playwright's tools lay on the desk, touched by a delicate woman's hand in the dying sunlight. Ajoko softly mused, "My love, where could you be?"
A Shosuro mon, torn from a kimono, fluttered to the floor.
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