The Samurai That I Loved

第18章

Before the sun had risen, the sky was already beginning to lighten from midnight blue to a wash of magenta, chartreuse, and periwinkle blue. The tall willow blades and shoots of bamboo were already swaying gently in the dawn breeze while cicadas fluttered their wings in a rising song that resonated through the morning mist.

Cherry blossoms, along with wild hydrangea and plum blossoms spread their petals, shedding away the cool dew drops that glistened against their silken blooms while macaque monkeys rustled through the thick brushes of the mountains towards natural springs of warmth.

Inside the city of Niigata, shopkeepers were already lighting their lanterns above their shop stalls in the streets in golden glow while the fragrances of smoked meats, delicately moist dumplings, and fresh fish caught from the seaside port filled the air.

Local vendors began to set out their goods of silken robes, hand-painted porcelain, mioga ginger, water dropwort, dried bushels of soybeans and rice. The traveling merchants held boxes upon their shoulders out of which they sold less common wares such as tea from Edo, or parchment scrolls from Osaka.

Shojiro arose at his usual early hour of meditation unlike his peer, Hiruma-San. Although Hiruma-San was a samurai of the Niigata prefecture, the man was as different from Shojiro as day was to night. He was reckless in his code, more privy to the enjoyments his station of status had to offer and far too bloodthirsty for Shojiro's liking.

He was more than aware that the Samurai warriors in the mainland had great authority compared to the southern islands, however the notion of slaying mere peasants simply for practice and bloodsport without any further regard left him with an uneasy taste in his mouth.

Each man was inherently different in nature, however the line between samurai and others was a realm that had garnished far too much ungainly superiority in too many warriors that had fallen into a slovenly, pleasure-indulging lifestyle because of it. Thus, leaving Shojiro deeply wary of Hiruma-san no matter how accommodating the man had been to invite him into his home.

With silent footsteps, he crept past the other man still deep asleep on his back. Slipping two fingers against the sliding frame of the door, Shojiro gently moved it back and looked upon the lump of blankets furrowed in a swaddled bundle on the far side of the room.

There was a strange emptiness in the air, that telltale awareness he had grown comfortable with in her midst was no where to be found. The vibrant electricity that seemed to hover in the air around her prescence was so absent, his heart immediately thrummed inside his chest with alarm.

His brows indented, the slender, narrow ridge of his jawline clenched in agitation even before he reached down to the tatami mat and yanked the blankets away in one quick tug.

A sharp hiss escaped his lips at the disbelieving sight of a row of pillows. The same pillows from his room. His onyx almond eyes narrowed in annoyance and worry mingled into one singular feeling that left his breathing quickened, short-coming, and his throat unusually dry.

How utterly humbling, yet wretchedly humiliating it felt to know the damn hana of a girl had slipped past him and his fellow samurai, swindled the very pillows on which they slept, then vanished into the night?

With a muttered curse, he stood up and veered his eyes towards the irritating sound of flapping cloth in the wind. There in the far right corner of the room rested a square-framed window only wide enough for an incredibly small person to squeeze through, and even then uncomfortably.

"Unbelievable." He said on an exhale of breath in Japanese. Knowing he should have predicted her actions sooner, Shojiro felt both incredibly foolish and yet somehow terribly guilty.