The Tale of Ashikawa

Spring – Osaka, 1607

“Blossoms on the wind

Dance in bright morning sunshine,

Ephemeral light”

Tatsumaru shifted anxiously in the shadow of the temple’s shrine. His father, Ichiro, stood nearby with eyes facing forward, his face unreadable. A small crowd of samurai were gathered around in ranks, each one alert but respectful as the temple’s kannushi continued his prayers. Tatsumaru fought the urge to fidget as the kannushi beseeched the goddess, Amaterasu. Instead, he glanced at the complex around him.

The grounds were bathed in the watery light of early morning. A gentle breeze teased its way through the courtyard, stirring the soft petals of the blooming sakura trees. The blue smoke of burning incense aided the kannushi in carrying his words heavenward. Tatsumaru peered at the faces in the crowd, trying and failing to remain focused on the genpuku ceremony. His eyes wandered, touching briefly on the stern warriors close by and the soft, courtly faces toward the center. Next to his father, Hayami stood tall and proud as she watched the ceremony take place.

As if sensing his gaze, Hayami glanced at Tatsumaru. Their eyes met, the corner of her mouth twitching as if to say, “I caught you, now pay attention.” Her dark eyes seemed almost to glow with amusement before turning back to the shrine and the kannushi. Tatsumaru turned back as well, but before he could his father shot a heated glare. A nervous sweat broke out on Tatsumaru’s neck and he jerked forward, suppressing a reckless grin and assuming a pose of respectful deference.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, the kannushi turned to Ichiro and gestured for him to continue the final rites. He nodded and took a bundle from Hayami, striding over to Tatsumaru as he pulled at the strings and yellow wrappings. He stopped before his son and revealed a set of armor topped by a gleaming helmet. Ichiro’s hard eyes melted with pride as he spoke.

“Tatsumaru, today you become a man. Though you have yet to see your twelfth summer, you have completed the training set before you to become a warrior. Do you accept your new role and responsibilities as a man?”

Tatsumaru did not hesitate. “Yes.”

Ichiro nodded as though he expected nothing else. His voice was commanding as he said, “Tell me your name, son of Ashikawa.”

The young man replied, “Tatsuo.”

“Welcome, Ashikawa Tatsuo. It is time to take up your burden and join your brothers.” Ichiro gave a slight bow and proffered the armor and helm. Tatsuo accepted the bundle and bowed, muttering his gratitude. The two men straightened and Ichiro returned to his place beside Hayami, who beamed at Tatsuo with such pride that Tatsuo momentarily forgot that she wasn’t his biological mother. He flashed a smile back at her as the kannushi spoke a few more prayers to close the ceremony. As the last words were spoken, Tatsuo felt an invisible weight settle onto his shoulders.

Later that day, Tatsuo found himself in his family’s home under the watchful eye of his father. Ichiro instructed him in the proper way to shave his head and tie his chonmage. Tatsuo’s attention was unwavering as his father walked him through the process, and while learning the ritual of self-care, Tatsuo found himself being educated in all the ways one could become a true samurai in more than just name.

The lesson was long, and by the end Tatsuo thought he may have already forgotten half of what he had heard. But Ichiro assured him that all would be well, and he would learn in time. A warrior’s life lay before him, and he gazed toward that path with the sort of enthusiasm one rarely sees outside of youth. Ichiro’s smile had never been wider.

Summer – Osaka, 1615

“Balmy rain gives way

Replaced with endless blue sky,

Twilight years of youth”

The castle was aflame. Black smoke billowed high into the noon sky as Tatsuo stared at his father’s corpse. Battle raged all around him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the body, now muddied and covered in blood that both did and did not belong to Ichiro. Toyotomi Hideyori himself had sallied them forth from the castle, leading a charge on the advancing army. Too late, thought Tatsuo.

Tokugawa’s forces overwhelmed them, forcing the smaller contingent to retreat almost as soon as battle had been joined. And now Ichiro was dead.

Another samurai jostled Tatsuo and he surfaced from his shock long enough to realize they were being pressed hard. A distant shout called for a full retreat. Before he could react, an enemy closed with him and he lifted his katana out of reflex, shifting his grip on the hilt and preparing a defensive stance. Tatsuo fixed his glare on his opponent and did not look at his fallen father again. He took a deep breath, emptying his thoughts and entering into a state of mushin.

After a few quick steps, Tatsuo found himself exchanging a flurry of blows. He parried each slash with deft precision, returning a few of his own and all the while taking measured, retreating steps. The battle lasted only a few minutes before he dispatched his opponent with a counter strike that took the man in his neck. Tatsuo pulled the sword out and performed chiburui—swinging the sword in a wide arc, spattering some of the blood onto the ground—as his opponent fell at his feet. When he was sure the man would not rise again, he turned and darted back towards the burning castle. He passed into the shadow of the smoke column; his mind quiet aside from one thought. Hayami-san is still inside.

Sweat rolled down his face as he ran, the heat of the flames stealing the air from his lungs. He was gasping by the time he reached the castle and sprinted inside, shoving his way through the panicked crush of samurai and nobility trying to escape their looming fate. Tatsuo fought his way free of the crowd and took off toward a side building that should have housed the women and children of the castle during the siege.

The young warrior charged inside and scanned the crowd of frightened faces, picking out Hayami from the group. She was dressed in a kimono with a few pieces of armor strapped to her torso and arms. She held her naginata in her hand, standing in a relaxed but alert pose. She was the image of a true onna-bugeisha, frightening and beautiful at once, like Tomoe Gozen come again. She turned her attention on Tatsuo and lifted a single brow in question. He gestured and turned, walking back out of the crowded room.

A moment later, Hayami was at his side and they strode across the castle grounds toward a side gate. The castle was swarming with people running everywhere trying to put out the flames and relay orders, the noise near-deafening. Tatsuo had to strain to hear Hayami as she spoke. “What news?”

Tatsuo grimaced but his voice was apologetic as he replied, “Your husband is dead. He fell in the last attack.”

Shock and sorrow stole Hayami’s typical smile and despair settled in its place. Her voice trembled as she asked, “What now?”

Shaking his head, he replied, “We are overrun. Hideyori-sama called the retreat, and I suspect he has gone to hide until we have news from Tokugawa’s forces. Maybe they can broker peace somehow, but it may be too late. We must leave.”

“If Hideyori-sama still lives, there is hope. We should stay to protect him.”

Tatsuo glanced at the woman beside him. Her expression was fierce, but the bitterness of recent loss was still hidden there. He shook his head again. “It’s too late, Hayami. Please, let me protect you and see you out of the city. It’s the last I can do for my father.”

Hayami blinked back tears and bit her soft, pink lip. In that moment she did not look like the 28-year-old woman he knew her to be, instead becoming the image of a small and frightened girl. That vulnerability was gone in an instant, replaced by a look of pure determination. She nodded once and said, “Very well. Let us go.”

Together, the two warriors fled the city, hiding in the countryside to escape the onslaught of Tokugawa’s army. It would be days before they learned of the outcome of the battle. With Hideyori’s seppuku in the flames of the castle, the Toyotomi clan met its complete destruction. Tatsuo had survived, but he found himself to be masterless. He had no family left aside from Hayami, and nowhere to turn to.

It was then that he realized he could not bring himself to follow his father’s footsteps into the afterlife. He had no purpose, no destination. The weight of duty fell away from his shoulders and was replaced by a burden that threatened to overwhelm him. Tatsuo struggled to process his change in fate but could only look to the horizon and what may lay beyond it. Once the shock of loss relaxed its hold on his mind, Tatsuo made a decision. With Hayami beside him, he left everything he had ever known behind, and walked.

Autumn – Shimabara Domain, 1638

“Leaves of red and gold

Sad call of the cicada,

Caught by waning light”

The day was drawing to a close when Tatsuo called for his group to make camp. Hayami set aside her bundle and laid the naginata beside it. Kioshi, a younger warrior that had joined them on the road a few years prior, went to work gathering tinder for a fire. Tatsuo organized the campsite, digging a small pit and readying their equipment for dinner.

While he worked, he watched the evening light filter through the trees in hues of red and gold. Hayami returned with a small stack of wood and Kioshi produced a few handfuls of dry moss. They arranged the materials in the pit and Tatsuo started the fire with a few strikes from his flint. Soon after, they sat around the fire as their stew cooked.

Tatsuo watched the fire in silence, lost in his thoughts of the prior months. The trio had participated in a failed rebellion but left their comrades behind to be captured and executed. Tatsuo was haunted once more by his unwillingness to let death take him and he cursed himself for his weakness and shame, despite not believing in the cause for the rebellion in the first place.

It had been Kioshi that had convinced him and Hayami to join the fight. Kioshi had become a rōnin when he was young, much the same as Tatsuo had. But instead of letting his lack of purpose rule him, Kioshi’s journey had instead taken him to a new religion and purpose. It was only natural that he would join the other rōnin in the fight against Tokugawa and harsh laws that oppressed Christianity in the country. Tatsuo and Hayami had agreed to fight out of respect for their friend more than anything.

Now the trio had nothing left and had found themselves set adrift once again. Hayami stirred the contents of the cooking pot, keeping her eyes downcast as she said, “So, where do we go next?”

Tatsuo hesitated. They had not spoken of the events of the rebellion and hadn’t spoken much at all in the months following. Kioshi shrugged, looking between Tatsuo and Hayami. “I suppose wherever our feet take us. I know only that wherever I go, it will be with the two of you. If you’ll have me.” He dipped his head at that last part, turning his eyes down in deference. The forest itself seemed to grow quiet as the last of the sun’s light faded into the gloom of twilight. The shadows on his companion’s faces touched something inside of Tatsuo and he sighed.

He said, “Wherever we go, so will you, Kioshi-san. What happened to the rebellion was through no fault of your own, nor ours. We can only continue on.”

Kioshi nodded and looked up, meeting Tatsuo’s eyes. The firelight danced in the younger man’s eyes, highlighting a spark of something that Tatsuo knew was no longer present in his own. He smiled and stretched, feeling the aches in his tired joints. He was 43 years old now, and some days he felt far older. He looked at Hayami and found her smiling back at him, the light glinting off the silver that streaked her otherwise black locks.

The years, despite their stress, had somehow been kind to her. She was more beautiful now than she had ever been before. Age had not marred her beauty, but enhanced it in many ways. Her smile creased the places that showed where she had laughed often in her life, how they had laughed together. Years after the loss of his father, the pain lessened in them both. They had fallen in love, though Tatsuo could not remember when that had happened. He knew only that they loved each other then, and still now. He had known no other woman but her.

The shared moment passed, and they looked back at Kioshi to find he had averted his gaze out of respect. Tatsuo and Hayami both chuckled. The stew came to a boil and the trio ate, laughing together and enjoying the sort of companionship that can only be understood by those who had lost everything, and now had only each other to share their burdens.

As they lay down to sleep that night, Tatsuo returned once again to his tumultuous thoughts. How does one find meaning in a life that has rejected you? His eyes drifted closed and in the moment before sleep took him, he saw a bird flutter across his vision. A bright-eyed owl sat watching him from a nearby tree branch. A sense of unease chased him into dark dreams.

Winter – Sunpu Domain, 1651

“Dark finality

Last breaths join with falling snow,

I tread slowly on”

Tatsuo’s hand trembled as he inked the last characters of his haiku. He sat back in his chair and rubbed at the aches in his hands. Age had caught him in the last year. The city was cold and silent around him, as if holding its breath in preparation for what was coming. Chance, perhaps fate, had brought him here in the end. His fellow rōnin had worked out a plot to overthrow Tokugawa and he and his friends had joined them in this last hope.

He glanced behind him and watched as Kioshi and Hayami huddled beside their small fire in the dimly lit room. Aside from the fireplace, he had only a solitary candle on the desk and a window open to the night sky by which he had penned his final thoughts. Time and desperation had brought them here to this moment. The coup had failed, and it was only a matter of time before the authorities would find them. Torture and execution would be his only destination now.

Tatsuo laughed darkly, realizing that only now, in the final hours of his life, did he find the strength to do what he could not do before.

“Kioshi-san.”

The younger man looked up from the fire and met his gaze. The years had lined his tanned face with wrinkles, but his eyes looked far older. Aside from his face, the rest of him belied his age. His hair was still dark, with no sign of silvering, and his was as lean and muscular as he had been in his youth. His voice was clear and steady as he replied, “Yes, Tatsuo-san?”

The old rōnin sighed, his breath clouding in the chilled air. “It is time. We can go no further.”

Kioshi nodded in understanding and Hayami looked up then, her features cast in flickering relief by the firelight. Her face was a war of emotions: remorse, hopefulness, determination, relief, sorrow. Each emotion vied for control within her, but she only said, “I am ready, my love.”

The three friends had discussed the potential outcome prior to becoming involved in the uprising. They gathered their few belongings and burned them in the fireplace, erasing the last remnants of their journey together. Hayami laid her naginata beside her and began her mental preparations. Kioshi knelt on the floor and bowed to Tatsuo, baring his neck.

Stepping up to the younger man, Tatsuo lifted his katana high and spoke. “May you find peace in the next life, brother.”

The firelight glinted on the gray steel of the weapon as it descended. In an instant, Kioshi’s head was separated from his shoulders. Blood spouted from the neck and pooled on the ground as the body slumped over. The head landed with a sickening thump but did not roll. It was the last honor Tatsuo could give Kioshi since his beliefs would not allow him to take his own life. Hayami stifled a sob but her tears tracked down her pale cheeks.

With a sense of finality, Tatsuo turned to Hayami and took her face in his hands. He wiped her tears and pressed his lips to hers, conveying everything he had ever felt through that single, passionate kiss. They broke apart a moment later and Hayami touched his brow with gentle fingers. “I love you,” she whispered. Tatsuo took her hand and kissed it as well, muttering his reply against her soft skin.

They knelt together then, and he aided her in tying her legs together before handing her his bloodied sword. She nodded her thanks and took a few steadying breaths, pressing the blade to her throat. Facing toward her, it struck him again how beautiful she was. He held his tanto, poised to stab into his abdomen, when realization hit.

He never had the strength to end his life before now—not because he had been too weak, but because he had needed to be strong. For her. For them both. His life had been filled with honor, duty, shame, sorrow, and love. But here at the end, he realized his life had been full.

Tatsuo smiled then, regardless of what they were about to do. This small reassurance was enough for Hayami. She smiled back at him and no more tears fell. They heard the crash and shouts of the authorities outside, somewhere down the street, and knew they were out of time.

Together, the couple plunged their blades into their bodies and cut, severing their final connections to life. Hot blood coated their hands and they knew fear and pain, but also love and relief. They did not know shame or despair in the end. And then, they knew no more.