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鐘消えて

花の香は撞く

夕かな

The temple bell stops–

but the sound

keeps coming out of the flowers.

— Matsuo Bashō

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Prompt #05: Reflection

He awoke from deep slumber. The air was dry in the forsaken mountain cave that he called home, and smelled of metal. The sound of glistening coins, scraping on one another, echoed a beautiful symphony with every movement of his heavy body. Many a sword and mastercraft pottery was amassed here, but nothing pleased him as much as the aurean shimmer of gold. It was his bed as much as it was his altar. He was absolutely, to the brink of his being, content. 

There was no memory of a time before the cave, his vault, his fortress, but he did not care about anything that happened before. Sometimes, however, he had dreams of another life. A mortal life. In those dreams he was so frail, so powerless, that he had to seek help from another. He did not like those fabrications of his sleep, but now he was awake.

Instinctively, he dug one of his great talons into the mound of riches. There was something he was looking for, he did not know what it was, but he would remember once he found it. Gemstones and jewelry were tossed aside. None of them revealed itself to be what he sook.

Suddenly, there was a voice inside of his most sacred chamber.

“Greetings to you, Ruusa Anh.”

As quick as a spooked cat he whirled his long body around to where the voice was coming from, tail raised for a strike, his mighty body erected in a threatening pose.

There was a man in dark robes and with dark, long hair sitting at the foot of an old statue. He had pointed ears and there were symbols written on to his forehead that the dragon did not recognize. The rattling of coin must have covered his approach, there was no other way he could have evaded his attention otherwise.

“Who art thou who dares enter my vault?” he roared in return. His deep voice was full of mastery, he noted complacently, as he did not remember to ever have used it. It was echoed by the dry stone and resonated so full that the cave seemed to quake - The only object that did not shake was the intruder in front of him. 

“Ilmarin is the name mortals have chosen for me. But I am no stranger to you. We have met in the tranquility of your slumber.“ If the little man was intimidated by his display, he did not show it. Even that his voice sounded puny in contrast did not seem to trouble him in the slightest. What a curious thing.

“You called for me, so I came. It is I who is here to take you with me. Look.”

From under his black gown he produced a beautiful mirror. A big crack split the reflective glass in two. The wyrm recognized it at once. And then he recognized the man, too. He had indeed seen him in his sleep. In his slumber he did befriend him, but now he was awake.

“This doth not belong in thine hands.” He growled slowly. His monstrous body leaned in, closer - until he was but a few yalms away from the black haired man, who, to his further surprise, did not flinch.

“You are right,” the intruder simply said and lifted the mirror so that it faced the wyrm who sought to assail him, “it belongs to you.These splinters of your own being shall be returned to their rightful owner. Take what is yours. I, Ilmarin, set you free from your curse.”

Ruusa Anh felt the aether woven into these words, from teeth to talon, down to his very core. Now, the syllables echoed as mightily as his own voice did just moments before. His eyes were drawn onto the broken mirror. As if it was an organic thing with a mind on it’s own, the large tear began to mend, slowly, from the bottom to the top of the precious jade frame. But what it revealed was not the mighty serpent that he was, but the face of a horned man. The man he was in his dreams.

He cried out in surprise but soon his moaning was filled with sorrow instead. Memories flooded back into his mind. Of an ancient time when he had been a revered spirit, of times of arrogance, of the curse that had imprisoned his spirit in this cave without him even noticing his own rebirth as man. Then of present times, times of comradery, of the simple joys of life, of marvel and affection for the man who still stood before him, his liberator.

Those memories were true and more real than all that he had previously accepted as his happy lot. He was bodies entwined, he was souls conjoined. He was free. 

The man clad in black smiled softly, as the vault, that had been a prison in disguise, crumbled around them and turned into a silvery mist that hung amidst a space of strange nothingness. 

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featuring @a-grave-for-moths ‘s lovely character

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Prompt #03: In dreams a serpent

a dark wind blowing memories, dream in it’s touch of a time long past

Who was he, really? Every day, being his parent’s son, no matter how good of a teacher they were, felt more and more like a lie. Every night he dreamt of the great serpent Ruusa Anh. He saw himself in the reflections of its eyes and beyond. The arts it taught were his own. The name it revealed was his own name. Those memories that, more and more, had flooded his mind - they were real. He told his father once, whose name he had carried proudly before he had seen the truth. His revered sire, Hisanaga, had laughed about his young boy’s vivid imagination. His begetter could not sense it. Only he himself could fathom the truth. Only Ruusa Anh could. They would call him a madman once he fully revealed himself as who he truly was.

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Prompt #02: Bargain

Hisanaga Kusagare slid the door open with a thunder. He had to control himself to not simply tear the thin divider apart and go straight through it.

It had been a long night, but two gentle moons had kept him company in the small estate’s garden whereto he had fled. He could not suffer to hear his labouring wife scream without being allowed to stand by her side. His flight had, however, been of little use.

The rites of birth were the women’s secrets by tradition – He hated this part of it, for it was a veil that his sharp blade could not cut in two when his dulled wit failed him.

The Raen bushi had felt joy and relief when he heard the faint cry of a babe - He immediately knew, no matter how faint the sound, that the kami had gifted him a boy who would secure the continuation of the young family line. Another cry, unmistakably his wife, Itsui. But it was no outcry of pain. The servant who appeared just moments later did not bear a smile on his face. Without a word, Hisanaga shoved him to the side, his steps heavy but with more intent for it, as he closed in on the bed chambers. Adrenaline rushed up his spine, through his whole body, into the very tips of large, metal clad horns. He felt almost as he had when he rushed into enemy lines for the very first time. No, this was, in some ways, even more intense - His senses were so sharpened that it hurt.

With a heavy thud, he opened the door. The midwife had warned him that there would be blood, but she seemed to have already cleaned up the scene. Itsui lay sobbing upon the birthing bed, a bundle of white sheets pressed against her chest. As her eyes met his confused gaze, he noticed a fear in them that he had never before witnessed in the warrioress.

«Let me see him.» he demanded, more harshly than he intended. The uncertainty of the whole affair roused him.

«He is your son, Hisanaga!» she cried out in a pleading voice he was not used to, as the midwife took the bundle from her and complied with the master of the house.

He was lighter than the young father had expected. The newborn had been wrapped into the soft sheets so tightly, that only his face was visible – and every inch of it was covered in bone coloured scales. Below the stubby infant horns he spotted the distinct shape of ears. They looked like that of a Hyur, albeit more pointed than round. The implication of those foreign features made him sick. He felt a fire flare up in his stomach and his breathing grew heavy as he stared the child down.

Itsui said something, but the world around him was a blur, the rushing blood in his veins too loud. In the corner of his vision he could barely make out the concern on the midwife’s face - she dared not to approach them. He did not notice his grip on the bundle tighten, that he was squeezing him. He began to tremble, unable to shake his sight off the scale-ridden visage.

Afraid of this angry giant, the child opened his eyes wide, and began to cry.

A few moments passes before Hisanaga, too, felt hot tears rolling down his own cheeks. With a thud he let himself fall to his knees and clutched the newborn close to his chest. The father was still trembling in terror of what he had been about to do before the child looked at him in fear.

Only then had he recognized his son.

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Prompt #01: Elder Brother

«by the Kami that thing’s so heavy. How much you reckon’s in there?»

«shhh, we’re not supposed to care about that stuff.»

The men, one still almost a boy, the other his elder by at least two generations, spoke in a hushed tone. In an attempt at courtliness, they tried to approach the tea chamber quietly, but the parched wooden flooring of the old mountain-castle’s corridors had probably betrayed them long before their voices did.

The shoji doors had already been pulled back when they arrived - A subtle scolding for their lack in discretion, even though only the old one was perceptive enough to recognize it as such.

Their chief sat alone, seemingly absorbed in one of his sumi-e’s. They bowed deeply, then waited for him to release them from the greeting ritual. They listened intently as the sound of a final stroke upon the paper waxed, then waned, then was suspended by a gentle, low voice.

«Welcome home, brothers. Show me what you brought.»

The young one’s gaze was still pinned to the ink painting - a flock of ravens, hunting for a lone hawk. Before he could ponder the meaning of the strange imagery, an urging huff prompted him to assist the old one.

The flooring creaked under the weight of the metal chest the two placed in front of the kneeling Raen before they themselves knelt down next to it. 

Slowly, as if not to spoil the moment, a set of pale hands reached out to open the lid that had a few stray sprinkles of blood on it. Rays of midday sunshine reached down through a big hole in the ceiling as if some mischievous kami wanted to cast the scene into an ironic spotlight.

They lived in a ruin and yet their leader displayed the demeanour of a lord. It irritated some of the men but at the same time, ceding responsibility for their actions to their ‘elder brother’ gave them the comfort they needed to look their families in the eye.

The heavenly fire’s golden glare was amplified by the contents of the iron coffer that cast a shimmer upon the pale Raen’s face. A sight that roused the youngster bandit.

«How much do you think it - ouch!»

The old one gave him a slap on the back of his head.

«This is not your place to ask stupid questions, boy!» he growled. Like many of the older members, he had fought, then fled the invaders and remembered past hierarchies fondly. He embraced the aristocratic act of their leader, even when he had named all of them as his brothers. It reminded him of better times.

«Do not strike him, Okuma.», the baritone voice called out. «Apologies, elder brother…», he seemed to shrink at an instance.

«And your name is Seyama, is it not?», the young one was visibly flustered but nodded while blood rushed to his face.

«I heard that your sweetheart is with child and that this is why you wanted to lead this foray so urgently. Is that true?»

«Yes..! Yes it is.», his cheeks grew even more crimson but he dared to look the elder brother in the eye. They were cool, but more gentle than he had expected. The gold still reflected upon his face when he reached out and produced two elongated coins from the bounty.

«Then I can forgive your curiosity about the measure of our prize this time.» There was a short delay before Seyama understood the gesture and opened his hand to receive the coins.

«T-Thank you, elder brother!»

«Make sure she has whatever she needs. These should be joyous times.» Okuma bowed shortly after the young one did, albeit just as deep in face of such unusual display of generosity. 

«And now, please leave me alone.», the Raen demanded abruptly. The blow of the sudden dismissal was softened by the gentle tone he kept in his voice. His younger brothers obliged immediately, even though Seyama could barely keep his excited chatter at a whisper as they left.

The Raen sat alone now. The sun was still shining its light upon the chest that was a merchant’s no more. Gold and jewelry gleamed and glistened, but the eyes, all softness gone, remained transfixed on the place where he had pulled the two coins from. They were by far not the most precious parts of the haul but there still was melancholy in their absence. A deep sigh filled and left his lungs and he reached over to pick up the painting he had worked on earlier. A flock of ravens, hunting for a lone hawk. Who knew if those black brothers would ever catch their prey?

Pale fingers reached for a fresh brush. The elder brother watched as the fine bristles were absorbing a deep crimson ink that would finish the painting. The ravens would spill blood.

He needed more gold.

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Kawanabe Kyōsai (1831–1889)

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Details of Judith and Holofernes by Pedro Américo, ca. 1880

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“Across a deep-sunken stream The pink of blossoming trees, And from windless appleblooms The humming of many bees. The air was of rose and gold Arabesqued with the song of birds Who, swinging unseen under leaves, Made music more eager than words. Of a sudden, aslant the road, A brightness to dazzle and stun, A glint of the bluest blue, A flash from a sapphire sun. Blue-birds so blue, ‘t was a dream, An impossible, unconceived hue, The high sky of summer dropped down Some rapturous ocean to woo.”

— excerpt from “Azure and Blue”, Amy Lowell, A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass. 

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Art by AnatoFinnstark