Anwen stood with her arms raised at her sides as a middle-aged woman stood to her back, whose raven-black hair was tied up high in a similar fashion to her husband’s and wore a green kimono. The girl could feel the fabric being pulled as it was being made to be as flat as possible. Her eyes were shut as she had wanted the outfit to be a surprise. Finally, she felt the wrapping of another fabric under her bust, completing the look.
“You may open your eyes now, Anwen-sama.” Genichi’s wife, Lady Makoto, spoke in a polite yet eager tone. She was just as excited to help her guest put on her new clothing as the girl was to try it on.
Anwen’s eyelids fluttered open, moved by the anxiety of wanting to see herself in a traditional costume that hadn’t been worn by outsiders in centuries. Before her was a coral pink sheet of fabric that embraced her body, its silken texture fuzzy on her skin. A large dandelion-yellow sash known as an obi firmly hugged her ribs, holding the kimono close to her body. Flower motifs appeared as she slowly turned around, and with each shift her chest felt warmer. Her outfit was beautiful. She felt beautiful.
“It-it looks amazing,” Anwen said, awestruck by the sight of herself in the mirror. “Makoto-san, you have such a good eye for design! I’ve never worn anything more pretty!”
“Oh, it is simply experience from picking out the Daimyo’s outfits for the past 18 years,” Makoto giggled with humility, which Anwen had seen in every Shimajimese she had encountered other than the small handful of household guards who could barely hold back their dislike for the foreigners’ traditions. “But Anwen-sama, it is you who makes the kimono looks so wonderful. In our nation, pink represents femininity and elegance. Just by looking at you, I know you carry those traits very well.”
Anwen’s cheeks reddened at the compliment. The woman before her was the spouse of the most powerful man in many leagues, yet she spoke to her as if they had known one another for a long time.
“That means a lot, Makoto-san. Thank you very much.” Anwen said with a wobbly smile.
“Would you like for me to brush your hair, Anwen-sama? We have a lot of time before the ceremony starts.” Makoto offered almost suddenly. Anwen happily agreed and kneeled on the ground.
The grooming was silent for a minute, before a question that Makoto had kept in the back of her mind since the Barrier fell down decided to finally dig itself out.
“What kind of people are your people?” the middle-aged woman asked. “How have they lived for this millennium?”
Anwen tried hard not to raise a brow.
“What exactly do you mean, Makoto-san?” she desired further clarification.
“How have they persevered? You’ve had your own shares of strife. What I meant was… how did they find the strength to push on against all the odds?”
Anwen thought hard about that question. If there had to be one simple answer to Lady Makoto’s question, it had to be… necessity. She’d seen it from the first time she and Gareth returned to Marius after her discovery. The hymns mothers would sing to their children as they waited in Dr. Bernard’s office, and the ballads men would chant as they worked the fields and manned the markets outside the houses and establishments in the small town. Resistance was in their culture, in their blood. Being ever aware of the threat that could extinguish their loved ones and everything they knew in a matter of moments strengthened them and displaying it so openly was what had to make the people, at least those of north Yeupis, as strong as they were.
“Because we only have each other, and because that’s all we can be, I suppose.” Anwen gave her answer, as simple as it was.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A warm giggle emerged from Makoto’s lips as Anwen’s ash brown locks, which were a result of being under the sun constantly for three months, fell down to her tailbone with each stroke of Makoto’s elegant comb.
“You have freedom to band together and protect each other. That is very good. Your rulers have allowed that.”
We don’t have rulers in the north, Anwen wanted to say, but explaining how almost completely lawless her adopted homeland was with the exception of mayors and reeves of only the biggest towns to someone who certainly lived in a different political system would be a chore. And the southerners had their own massively complex set of issues.
“Makoto-san,” Anwen said instead to ask a question of her own. “Does your ruler not allow that?”
The woman was silent for a while, and it was that way for so long that the girl thought she might’ve chosen to ignore her question. But as the woman was wrapping up with the grooming of Anwen’s hair, she finally decided to speak.
“Anwen-sama, the strength your companions brought, that same strength that took down the barrier our father’s fathers and their fathers knew their whole lives… I pray that there is still more of it left.” Her tone was not hostile, but the girl understood that it was not quite warm either.
“Are we done yet, Makoto-san?” Anwen wondered, choosing to ignore the cryptically worded warning.
“Oh, yes,” Makoto’s smile appeared once more. “Just in time. I believe the geisha has arrived. This will be a ceremony you will not want to miss. Please, come this way.”
--
The tea ceremony was a precise, practiced ritual. The movements the white-faced geisha made, and the craftsmanship of the tools were done and made with such care, it almost seemed that the 30 or so foreign guests were witness to a show of martial arts. The tearoom was so silent, that the only sound for the duration of the long ceremony were the clink of the lid on the kettle, the tap of the tea-bowl on the mat, and the clink of the teaspoon on the teabowl.
Finally, the geisha made her final bow, which her guests and patrons reciprocated.
“Thank you very much, Koharu-san. Your patience means a lot to the Lady and I, and to our dear guests as well,” Genichi spoke, genuine humility in his voice. “You truly are the best geisha in Yakuramoto.”
Koharu did not speak, but her smile deepened, and her bow became lower. A sign of true respect for the Daimyo. That was the invitation for the Yeupisian guests to leave, and in an orderly fashion led by Genichi and Makoto, they all left, allowing Koharu to pack up post-ceremony.
“Ivan,” Bhavana spoke with an exasperated low tone, as she and her partner were the last to leave. “I know where your eyes are.”
“So do I.” Ivan rolled his eyes. It was very quickly obvious where the young northerner was looking, as he hit the thin wall next to the opened sliding door face-first. That prompted both Bhavana and Koharu to giggle, before the latter quickly returned to finish her work.
“You were looking at her through the corner of yer eyes, ya fool!” Bhavana grabbed Ivan by the back of his beige kimono, pulling him away from the wall and pushing him out in front of her towards the courtyard at the centre of the Daimyo’s villa.
“Okay, so? Am I not allowed to be curious after seeing a lady with powder on her face that’s so white it makes the snow back home look dark?” Ivan said, attempting to defend the movement his lewd eyes had made.
“You were clearly checking her out. And I could tell she was doing the same thing to you! What on Terra’s your issue? She don’t even speak the same language as you!”
“Wait.” Ivan said, taking a step back.
“What?” Bhavana crossed her arms.
“That’s your problem? That I don’t speak the same language as her?”
“…yeah,” the young southerner scoffed after some time of trying to prevent the corner of her lips from twitching from embarassment. “You wanna show her yer into her? Learn her language.”
“You’re not… mad that I was looking at another girl?” Ivan was thoroughly bewildered.
“As long as I know you’re looking at one,” his girlfriend reasoned. “I don’t mind sharing you with another lady. But just one. And even if ya do that, ya gotta treat both of us right. Don’t pick no favourites. Not even me.”
Ivan’s face became red, which was evident underneath the moonlight.
“You southern women are super hard to read.” he sighed, slumping his shoulders forward.
“And y’all northern fellas are so easy to see through,” Bhavana giggled, before planting a kiss on Ivan’s cheek. “Come on now, let’s head to our room. This might be the only night I get ta’ keep ya to myself, you know? ‘Cause I’m gonna make ya speak to Koharu real soon. Hope Anwen ain’t too busy tomorrow.”
“Aye, Ma’am.” Ivan sardonically responded before he allowed Bhavana to take his arm and lead him to their temporary lodgings.
Another hard part, before the real hard part? Fuck me. I have to learn another tongue before I stand before the Shogun tomorrow evening. Well, whatever. At least I get to have a fun night before it all becomes a pain in the ass.