The Dragon's Flower

by Wyn Estelle Owens

  The ceremony was a blur, passing by him like a wind. The only thing he was paying attention to was the quiet little thing next to him, sitting so properly, with her head bowed. He sneaked glances at her as often as he could, and if the priest disapproved, Shichiro didn’t care. It wasn’t as if this was the priest’s wedding, now was it? Shichiro was the one getting married, and he would look at his own wife as much as he wanted, thank you very much.

  When his turn came to speak, he regurgitated the lines he had been given to memorize, his mind barely paying any attention to the words. He felt… strangely detached, for the whole situation. Did most people feel like that when they got married? With a start that he just barely managed to stifle, he realized his wife was speaking, the tones of her voice sweet and gentle, striking an odd, familiar tone to his ear. But just as soon as he managed to snap out of his daze, she had ceased to speak, and the priest was pressing a sake cup into his hands. Mechanically, he lifted and drank three sips, and the taste of sake sliding over his tongue and down his throat served to ground him in a way nothing else had quite managed to do yet. Suddenly, Shichiro realized that this was real, and happening, and nothing could change what happened here.

  He glanced to the side, and watched her little white hands tilt her cup for another sip. Shichiro remembered the look in his mother’s eyes, when she saw her husband by the side of one of his other wives, and silently made a promise.

  Wives should not be made to feel alone by their own husbands. He did not know who his little wife was, but his wife she remained, and he would do his best to make sure she was as happy as he could managed. He was Nishimura Shichiro, after all, who had risen up from his honorless disgrace to marrying a princess. He could make this work, he swore it. For the sake of Tomoko who now dwelt in the train of the Heavenly Emperor, his wife would be happy.

  He took the last of the nine sips, let the rice wine slide down his throat.

  Well, Shichiro thought. That’s done then. I’m a married man. He heard the priest announce the final blessings, and he added a prayer of his won to them, hoping that the Emperor in the Heavens would see fit to grant it.

  Give me wisdom, for it is an unknown path I walk. And… please, by all that you hold holy, let the one whose side I walk by be not like Princess Katsumi.

  And with hat final, hopeful prayer, he turned to face his bride and bowed in acknowledgement. She turned to him as well and bowed deeply, before slowly, hesitantly rising and looking up.

  Her pretty face was painted traditional white makeup, so much so to nearly render it unrecognizable, and her sweet lips were covered with bright red paint, but nothing could hide the color of her bright, sparkling blue eyes.

  Shichiro felt like he was going to faint, and he did not think it was the fault of the sake.

  He… he was married to Hanako? How in all the heavens did that happen?

  He rose to his feet and assisted Hanako—his wife!—to her feet, and together they walked through the room and out into the hall. Immediately his wife was whisked away by those stone-faced handmaidens of hers, and Shichiro was hustled off to the next level of the pagoda. He found himself seated before a sumptuous dinner, and he peered around suspiciously at the small collection of people he found himself sharing his wedding feast with.

  If he turned out to have married Princess Hanako of the Dragons, who else could he expect to pop out of the shadows? Isao? Manami? Ichiro? The Great Spirits, the Immortal Tamotsu Eiji and his wife, the Celestial Momoe Chiyo? The entire demon horde of goats that ate his oft-lamented hat?

  At this rate, nothing, absolutely nothing, would surprise him.

  Until Hanako came through the door dressed in a scarlet kimono, embroidered with golden dragons and his family’s crest.

  Shichiro quickly snapped his jaw shut and hoped no one noticed.

  The meal seemed to drag out forever—Hanako sat besides him, barely picking at her food, and not saying a single syllable in his direction. Everyone else talked, but Shichiro didn’t trust a single one of them.

  Finally, the meal was over, and the guests all rose and gave their well-wishes to the bride and groom, before being ushered out by the strange, expressionless handmaidens, and finally Hanako and Shichiro were left alone.

  There was a long minute of silence, before Shichiro cleared his throat and built up the courage to speak. “Ah, I take it we are at your pagoda, then?”

  “Yes, honored husband,” She said, and then she looked up at him and smiled gently, and he felt something strange lodge in his throat. “Did you not realize where you were?”

  Shichiro shook his head. “I think they did not wish me to see—the kept me inside a palanquin for a long while, and it was dark when I entered.”

  He paused, thought about it for a long second, then burst out, “Hey! There’s doors on this blasted thing after all!”

  Hanako couldn’t help it, she giggled, and Shichiro frowned down at her for as long as he could manage. After a minute of scowling he felt his resolve falter and his frown slowly melted into a smile. He held out a hand and said, “Well, come then, honored wife. It’ll be nice to not have to sleep on the tatami mats in the room above you for once.”

  At that statement, Hanako’s pretty eyes widened, and she flushed so brightly that he could see it through her makeup. After a second, he realized what he had just said, and felt all the blood drain from his face. “Ah, that is, well, I mean—”

  But before he managed to get his tongue to stop stumbling long enough to get a recognizably coherent sentence out, Hanako shyly reached out and with fingers that trembled ever-so-slightly, took ahold of his hand. She glanced down, took a deep breath, and smiled up at him. “Well, from now on, I guess you won’t have to climb up my roofs to visit me anymore, will you?”

  Shichiro smiled down at his little wife, tucking her hand through the crook of his elbow as he led her to the door. “No, I don’t think I will, honored wife.”

  And as they stepped out the door, her smile brightened, and Shichiro thought this whole ‘being married’ deal might not be so bad after all.

  *****

  The stars were beginning to fade away in the face of the dawn, and the pagoda was wreathed in sleep, and all was still on the mountain. A veil of silence seemed to settle on the hidden glen, and the only ones unaffected were a small group that had gathered on the engawa, outside the door where Shichiro had dueled with the rice bowl and had spectacularly failed.

  “Well, this is a lovely bit of work.” One said, and he flicked his hair over his shoulder in a faint glimmer of starlit orange… or perhaps it wasn’t hair, but a plume of titian bushy tail, but who could say? The only ones who saw where his comrades, and they would not tell. “Things could not be more perfect. Whoever is responsible, I applaud you.”

  A tall and slender one, who lifted a white hand, sheathed in a long draping sleeve of grey and tawny silk—or perhaps it was a wide feathered wing, and gestured grandly towards the pagoda and two of its sleeping denizens. “You are mistaken, my son,” She said, her voice low and rich and gentle. “This was none of our doing.”

  After a moment of silence, another one spoke, and as he did the starlight gleamed on a sharp fang within his mouth, “That can’t be right—are you suggesting that something this perfect can be attributed to mere happenstance? One of us must have done it.”

  Another spoke in answer—the tallest of all, and when he moved he seemed to almost float through the air. “I am the girl-child’s guardian—do you not think I would know if I or my wife or one of my children planned this happening? Nay, this all happened completely independently of my plans.” There was a sudden rush of babble, the leader shook his head. “But that does not mean it was not orchestrated by anyone. After all, there are more forces in this world for good than simply us, and there are ones greater than I, and there is One who told me of the birth of these two remarkable little ones.”

  “Are you suggesting what we think you are, honored father?” A woman spoke, and
her kimono shimmered like golden scales deep in a pond in the dimness of the pre-dawn starlight.

  “Ah, I do not suggest,” Their father said, “I know. They are two very different things.”

  “Make no mistake,” The first woman said, “These two children were brought together by the Heavenly Emperor. And it seems that these times will be even greater than we had dreamed.”

  “Hmm.” The first one who had spoken said, and rested his chin in one hand. “I think… they are within my governance now, and the little mortal maid grew up under my protection. I think if anything ill would befall her—and we all know that to be an inescapable eventuality, I shall make myself her own guardian.”

  “Are you sure?” several people asked, but he merely grinned.

  “Of course I’m sure! Should be rather fun. Give me something to do while this whole mess straightens itself out, and that horrible woman is removed from the throne of my country. Besides, she’s a sweet thing. And it … would be nice to have a personal charge again.”

  “Very well,” the first woman said, “It is done.”

  “It is done, and well done, and we rejoice at its doing,” the rest echoed in response, and one by one they slipped away, until only three remained.

  The first one who had spoke immediately jumped up to the roof above them and made himself comfortable, leaving his father and the tall lady by themselves.

  “Well,” after a moment the lady began. “What do you think shall happen next, honored husband?”

  Her husband shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and said, “I do not have the faintest idea, but I find I am quite looking forward to finding out.”

  *****

  The next morning dawned bright, and Hanako found herself stirring slowly to wakefulness. The birds were singing sweetly outside on the engawa, and the sun was turning the panels of the shoji door into gold.

  She turned and saw her husband’s face on the pillow, next to her, and she felt the warmth of a flush spread across her face. It was… strange, this state of marriage. When Mother had come and told her that she was to be married, Hanako had been ecstatic at the chance to finally fulfil her purpose, but the prospect of being bound to some stranger had been… worrying.

  But then! Then she had heard Shichiro’s voice, and she could scarcely believe it, but when she had bowed to him and looked up, she had seen her friend. She hummed happily at the memory of it—it was a spark of wonder and delight, such as she had never experienced before. What joy could be greater than to fulfil her purpose by being bound to her friend?

  She smiled at his sleeping face, and it was far more calm and relaxed than Hanako had ever seen it awake. Hesitantly, she moved her fingers forward to brush the strands of hair away from his face, but stopped just before she touched his face. She dearly, dearly wished to… but what if he did not wish his hair to be touched, such as she did? Well, she would learn, in time.

  She carefully sat up, moving slowly in order to not disturb his slumber, and moved over to where she kept her under-kosodes and began to dress. Just as she was slipping it on, she heard the stirring of her husband within the blankets. She continued dressing and had just retrieved her favorite comb when he finally broke his silence.

  “You have… a dragon on your back.” He said slowly.

  Hanako blinked, startled at the sudden question, and glanced back at him, tilting her head in confusion. “Yes?” His voice had sounded so… odd. It was not a tone of voice she was familiar with, and she wondered what on earth it might mean.

  Shichiro-her-husband tilted his head to one side, his thick dark hair sliding across his shoulders, and she blinked at the sight it made. She glanced hesitantly at the comb in her hand—perhaps he would not mind?

  “It… I have never seen anything quite like it. When… what is it?”

  “Oh, um,” She fidgeted with the comb and asked, “Have… have you never seen a birthmark before?”

  He blinked, and Hanako was very confused, even more confused than before. Were birthmarks truly so taboo in the outside world?

  “That…” he said slowly, “Is unlilke any birthmark I have ever seen. Are you sure that’s what it is?”

  She nodded, eager to reassure her husband. “Oh yes, I’ve had it as long as I can remember, and more, even. Ah, but, if it’s not to much to ask…” She hesitated, fumbled, but Shichiro is her friend AND her husband, she can trust him to let herself to ask questions, “Why are you asking, honored husband?”

  Her husband linked, long and slow, before shrugged elegantly and saying, “I… I’m not sure. I guess I was curious.” He glanced around the room, at the paintings of dragons on the screens and the engravings on the pillar, and then flicked his gaze towards her back. “I guess, when you introduced yourself as Princess Hanako of the Dragons, you really meant it, didn’t you?”

  Hanako flushed and looked down, but peeked up just in time to see him smile and run a hand through his hair, tangling it even more than it already had. “Anyway, what time is breakfast usually ready?”

  Hanako smiled and said, “It will be ready very soon, and the handmaidens will come up in order to assist me in dressing, and they will bring breakfast with them.

  “Ah, excellent,” Shichiro said, and stood up, moving over to dress himself in some of his new clothing. She knelt down and began to run the teeth of the comb through her hair, studiously looking away until her husband was dressed and attempting to pull his hair into his customary high ponytail.

  It made her insides twitch at the sight, and she gathered her resolve and stepped forward. “Ah… would you like me to brush your hair?”

  Her husband blinked at that, long and slow, and then repeated the process, gaze flicking from her to the comb, and back again. But then he smiled and said, “I would very much appreciate it, thank you.”

  And she smiled and him and thought, yes, this marriage thing is a very good thing indeed, even more than she had hoped, because Shichiro was her friend.

  They were eating breakfast when his wife finally managed to gather the courage to speak again. “Um, honored husband, if you do not mind me asking…”

  Shichiro looked up from his soup and smiled at her obvious confusion. “Yes, what is it?”

  “When we first met, you told me you were nothing more than a wanderer… but…”

  She glanced up, and her eyes saw how his jaw clenched, and the shadows that crept forth to darken his eyes. He hung his head, and he sighed, and shuddered once, and when he looked up again he was smiling, but it was a sad smile.

  “It was bound to come out, wasn’t it?” And a wry look caught ahold of his smile, and twisted it. Hanako felt her fingers twitch in a sudden urge to reach for him and smooth out his smile (it wasn’t supposed to look like that), but she firmly clasped her hands together to prevent that. Just because he was her husband didn’t mean she was allowed to take any liberties with him.

  “Mother said I was bound to wed a prince of the Nishimura clan—so when you said you were a wander…” she bit her lip, her heart shuddering within her at the very thought, but somehow managed to force the leaden, tasteless words from between her lips. “Did that mean you lied, Shichiro-san?”

  She stared down at her hands, all her bravery departed from her, and did not dare to look up. But then a long, lean, rough hand reached suddenly into her vision, took ahold of her chin, and tilted her head up.

  Hanako’s eyes met the dark, sincere ones of her husband, and as his gaze bored into her own, he said, “I did not lie to you, Hanako-hime. This I swear, by the blade of my sword. And I also swear, on my mother’s grave, that I shall never willingly lie to you, unless by my falsehood I might save your life.”

  The painful, sick feeling in her stomach withered away and vanished, like frost in the sunlight, and to her horror and embarrassment, she felt tears slip away from her eyes and slide down her cheeks. That was odd, she thought, why would she be crying?

  Shichiro’s gut clenched—had his words failed to reach her? Why was
she crying? Hastily, he blotted away the tears with the width of his sleeve, and smoothed his fingers over her cheeks. “Honored wife? Hanako-hime? Are… are you all right? Did I say something wrong?”

  She shook her head, her cheeks sliding against his fingers, and she blinked her eyes once and met his gaze. They were still swimming slightly with tears, but they were bright and blue and shining, and her lips were curved a happy smile. “No, dearest husband—” and his breath caught at those words, though he barely noticed, “You said something very right.”

  That smile made Shichiro’s head go fuzzy, and he couldn’t seem to think of what to say next. “Oh, uh, well… good.” He said, and belated realized he was still holding her face. Quickly, he dropped his hands, but his chest warmed when her own pale little fingers rose up and stroked gently along her own cheeks, her smile growing softer.

  It was that smile that prompted him to speak, though he very nearly regretted the words once they had left his mouth. “Would…” and his tongue felt heavy, like stone, and his throat and mouth were dry. He coughed and forged onward, before he could stop, before the memories caught up to him and became too much. “Would you like me to tell you why?”

  She nodded once, and then carefully, tentatively, reached out and laid her soft white rose-petal fingertips on the backs of his own fingers, and that touch gave him the courage to keep going.

  “My mother was the Princess Tomoko, the third and youngest wife of Shogun Nishimura Tsuneo of Masaki. She… was sweet, and gentle and pretty as cherry blossoms… and lasted only as long as them, as well. When I was young, my elder brother Isao and I were left all alone. She… died.” He shuddered and shoved his hands into his sleeves, afraid to look at them. Perhaps, perhaps if he looked down, he would still see blood staining his fingers and under his nails. He swallowed, hard, and continued his story.