The day finally came to remove the heavy bandages and test her right eye. Doctor Mori came and undid the bandages tenderly and with care. When he was finished, he carefully cleaned around her eye with a moist cloth, dabbing it with warm water mixed with fragrant herbs. After a bit of time, he paused.
“It may be too early,” he said nervously. “It has only been a few weeks after all. Perhaps we should wait a little longer?”
“No,” Yuki answered. “I would like to try now.”
“Very well,” he conceded, sounding apprehensive. “Yuki-chan, please try and open your eye. But do it slowly and carefully.”
She did. She could feel the eyelid lift on her face. It was not a specific feeling, but a general awareness that her eye was now open and exposed to the light. She opened her eye slowly at first and then flung it wide.
She could see nothing.
“It’s no good,” she said softly. “I am blind.”
The physician, who was holding his breath, slowly exhaled. “Well, as I said. It may be too early to tell. We really should have waited – I mean there are a range of factors at play here and...”
“Do you really think it will get better?” she asked, in the smallest voice she had ever heard herself use.
“I do not know,” the physician admitted, but the tone of his voice told her everything she needed to know. “Let me try this salve first, and we will see how it goes tomorrow.”
She sat limp, with all her will sucked out of her, while Mori dabbed her opened eye with some cream.
“There,” he said, doing his best to sound comforting. “I am sorry things didn’t turn out the way you wanted. These matters are often rather difficult.” He paused, realizing that his words were not helping. “Ah!” he cried as if remembering something important. “I found this on your person when you first came to me and hid it away so that it would not be discovered by anyone else.” He took her hands and opened them, and then slowly put a long, slender chain and a gemstone into her palms.
Yuki manipulated the contents for a few moments, letting her fingers feel around the smoothness and the curved shape of the stone. She measured the size and the weight of it in her grasp. It felt strangely familiar.
“A magatama…” she whispered.
“Yes! Is it yours, child?”
“What color is it?”
“It's a milky white, pearl I would say.”
She forced a shallow nod. Her lips quivered. “It was my mother’s…”
“Then it belongs to you!” Mori stated, sounding very satisfied. “You must hold on to that. It is ancient, exceptionally beautiful, and important, I think. Let it be a small comfort to you on this day.” His voice trailed off. “Well, I must be leaving now. But keep your head up. We will try the salve and see where that gets us. Don’t give up hope!”
Yukiana said nothing as Mori quietly left the room. As soon as he shut the door, she laid down and despaired.
“Hope?” she whispered between sobs. “What is hope?”
Yuki awoke sometime later, confused and unaware of the time. She did not know how long she had slept, so she did not know whether it was day or night. She woke in a miserable state of mind, and the disorientation made it all the harder for her. Despair had reached its very crescendo and dark thoughts enveloped her. She had been taken, enslaved, sold, and traded like common goods, and now her left eye was gone, and her right was rendered useless. In that moment she purposed to take her own life and set about finding the means in which to do so.
The door was locked, so she was constrained to her small cell. She could have used one of Mori’s tools if they were inside, but since he usually left them outside her room, they were unavailable. Her servants never gave her sharp utensils either, perhaps as a precaution, or just because chopsticks were sufficient for most meals. Her blankets were long enough, but she had nothing to tie them to, and the roof above her was flat, without any rafters to use. She knew this from her intricate inspection of her chamber over the past week. She did have a window, but it was too small to crawl through.
She walked over to the door, to see if she could hear anything from down the hall, and as she did, she accidentally leaned too hard, and the door suddenly popped open.
“How strange,” she thought to herself. “Perhaps Doctor Mori was so upset by the results of the test that he forgot to lock it. Poor Mori-sensei, he has worked so hard on me.” She stood still for a moment, straining her ears to make sure no one was coming.
The thought entered her mind of jumping from one of the high battlements or a parapet with a large enough window, and this plot stayed with her. The problem was that she did not know where she was among the castle grounds and how to get to the top.
She decided to try going right and slowly walked down the hall with a hand on the nearest wall for balance. She passed a few doors on her way and tried each, but they were all locked. She moved hesitantly and carefully. Her sense of hearing had doubled in her blindness, and after several minutes she reached the end of the corridor. Here was another doorway, but it was left open and unguarded. She remembered how Kondo had told her that the castle complex was still being built, and it being exceedingly vast, would account for why some of the corridors were left empty. She stepped over a tall lip on the floor, careful not to trip over it, and went inside what seemed to be a high tower.
She could tell that it was indeed a tower, for the little amount of noise she made seemed to echo and travel upwards. She felt around the room and noticed that there were many low openings, which were presently barred and shut. These were part of the defenses and allowed soldiers to fling stones or shoot arrows when under siege. There was also a ladder on one side, which she pushed herself to climb.
She did not know how high she climbed exactly but estimated that she went three stories upwards. At the end, she could feel a base of solid flooring around her, and she was able to safely step off the ladder and onto the topmost floor of the turret. She could feel that the roof was just above her, as the room had a more cramped atmosphere and her movements sounded louder in her ears. The windows were locked in this room, except for one, which she was able to slide open with a firm shove. As soon as she did so, a cool breeze swept in, and the wind whistled by.
Without much thought, she hoisted herself up and climbed through the window, slowly but carefully gripping onto the tiles below. There was a triangular protrusion in the roof on which she could climb by straddling it and sliding forward. It was designed to shield men on the windows from arrows coming up from below. If she continued onwards for a few feet, she would eventually run into a bronze figurine of the symbol of the Mashige clan, the hawk with opened wings, which was attached to the corners of most of the high roofs of the castle grounds. Beyond the decorative figurine was an incalculable drop down to the earth below.
Yuki paused once she sat on the small, tiled roof and held it tight. The wind seemed to whip by, and if a gust came strong enough, it would throw her off the roof if she were not careful. She was not quite ready to die just yet. She wanted to think first.
She thought about all the events that had brought her to that ledge. She wondered about Kondo and the young Tora, how they were getting on in their pursuits. She considered Misasa and lamented the death of Rin. She thought about her childhood friends and teachers: Fuka, Mokuwahara, and Fuji. She thought about her favorite stories and the characters that now seemed so very far away. She thought about her father and mother most of all. She missed them, both of them, dearly. Her last thoughts were memories of all three of them together. In the end, she sighed.
The wind blew again, and cut through her kimono, giving her a sharp chill. She reached down into the pocket of her kimono and drew out her mother’s magatama. It was the only remaining article she had from her mother and the last gift given to her by her father. She felt that by putting on this small trinket, she would be close to them one last time. She had never worn it, and this would be one last way to honor them.
She stood, gripping hard to the side of the watchtower. She did not want to fall accidentally but leap out with one final act of defiance and purpose. It had to be her way. It would be the last true action she would ever make. The last bit of control over her life was to end it.
At first, she held the magatama in her hand, palming it. She then held it in front of her face. She held it so close to her right eye, hoping for even just a glint of light to show in the darkness. Of course, she could see nothing, not even the faintest outline. When that failed, she frowned. What was she doing? She would never see again. She knew that. Darkness was all she had left, and into darkness she would soon go.
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She then clasped the magatama’s chain with her fingers tight, not wanting it to slip from her grasp. She slowly put it around her neck, so that it sat just between her collarbones. Yuki then stepped forward, bent her knees, took one last breath, and then paused.
“I am sorry, Papa. I couldn’t wait long enough.”
She stood there, barely balancing on the thin ledge, and had a vision of the wide world before her. It was nighttime, and the bright late summer moon hung enlarged in the sky above. The stars dotted the sky like a dazzling tapestry against the cloudless expanse. Below her was this marvelous new city, which seemed to swell with people by day and breathe at night as most had laid down in their small corners of the world. The remaining lights of fires and kettles, hearths, and candles emanated from the windows and paper doors, creating their own starry reflection on the ground below. It was so beautiful, peaceful, and still at that moment.
Suddenly, she realized that this was not just a vision, but her own vision. Her right eye was somehow working again. She was seeing the actual moon, the true starry sky, and the real city below as she had once done before. Yukiana was stunned and even afraid at this realization and instinctively took a step back. As she did this, a strong wind blew across her, and she lost her footing on the smooth tiles. She slid down the roof, now clearly able to see the great height from which she had stood, which was at least ten stories or more from the ground below. At the last moment, she stretched out her arm and grabbed ahold of the bronze figurine of the fierce hawk, just in time to save her from plummeting to her death.
She hung there as if by a thread, with one hand around the figure, and her body ready at any moment to slip down the tiles of the roof. She fought with all her might to climb back up, but the tiles were smooth, and the angle was too steep. She let out a cry of panic but realized that this was futile, for there had been no one around when she climbed the watchtower. Her grip was steadily failing, and without her anchor, she would surely fall. Yuki gave one last effort to pull herself closer to the figure, hoping to get close enough to grab it with her other hand, but as she did this, the figure cracked under her weight. Before her eyes, she watched the figure slowly shudder until it splintered and then fully gave way. She slid down the tiles as horror rose within her breast. Then, a strong hand grabbed her by the wrist.
She looked up. There he was, the Shōgun of the Islands himself, hunched over the thin beam of wood that made the joint of the small roof. His eyes were locked on hers. There was fear in them, anger but also worry. He leaned back, like a counterbalance, which brought her up the tiles once again. Her feet kicked viciously, searching for anything in which she could grip. But the tiles were built with this very purpose in mind, to prevent any from below from making their way up. Her wrist throbbed with pain from the Shōgun’s iron grip, but he steadily brought her closer, inch by inch, to the top of the roof.
They soon came to a juncture where he could not lean back any further for if he did, he would risk himself falling backward over the other side.
“Can you grab my hand with your other hand?” he cried, grunting and perspiring from exertion. “I am losing you.”
“I’ll try!” she answered and tried to reach with her other hand to grasp his. The first time she missed completely, the second time she managed to swipe at his forearm but could not get a solid grasp. Finally, on the third try, she managed to do it.
The Shōgun roared with ferocity as he pulled back, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Soon another problem presented itself. There was not enough room on the thin strip of wood for two people. Realizing this, the Shōgun, as he continued to hold her, moved sideways towards the watchtower window, and when he had gotten close enough, lifted her to the point where she could grasp and pull herself up onto the ledge, as he moved back through the window.
Yuki was up, but too tired and afraid to stand. She slowly crawled her way towards the opening. The Shōgun, with his outstretched hand, guided her towards him, until he could finally grab her and pull her back into the watchtower.
When they both had made it inside the turret safely, they fell back upon the floor, their chests heaving from exhaustion.
“What were you doing?” the Shōgun gasped after a few moments had passed. He was the first to rise to his feet. “Why on earth were you out there?”
Yuki rolled around and prostrated herself before her savior. “I am so sorry, my lord. I...I... I have...please forgive me!” She was too astonished to speak clearly. She had not expected to fall in the first place, and she did not expect to be rescued when she did. Even more than that, she did not expect the Shōgun to be the one to do it. He would have been the last person she ever imagined. But despite all these lingering questions, there was one greater emotion running through her heart. She could see! Her right eye had been healed!
She began to weep, and at once tears began to fall from her intact eye. It felt so good, so refreshing to feel those tears that she sobbed hard and uncontrollably, convulsing and wailing in an outpouring of joy, fear, and wonder at being alive.
Whatever fury the Shōgun had for her at that moment melted away seeing the poor girl cry as if it were the most blissful thing to do. “All right,” he said, trying to calm her. “It's all right. We are both alive. Do not be so troubled.”
She did her best to compose herself, realizing whose presence she was in. “You saved me, my lord! You saved my life! Why did you do it? Your life is worth far more than mine!”
At this, the Shōgun pursed his lips. “I was on the battlements,” he explained. “I often take walks out here alone, on beautiful nights when I find myself restless. I was staring up at the moon when I saw something strange. I saw a hawk flying low, the symbol of my house. I thought it was a sign and I followed it with my eyes. It flew right above where you were standing, my dear. Then, I thought you were some kind of kami, standing as you were. You looked so calm, so fearless. Then you were startled and fell, and I recognized who you were. I climbed the ladder as fast as I could, and I was just in time.”
“But, why?” she asked again.
There was quite a long pause. The Shōgun looked at her, and Yuki thought she could see tears in his eyes as well. “I thought you were her.”
After the Shōgun had composed himself, he called for a few of his personal guards and retainers, all of whom apologized profusely for their absence. The Shōgun did not punish them, as that area of the castle was supposed to be left unoccupied, and Yuki’s presence there had been a secret to protect her from the Lady. This was why the usual sentinels were intentionally absent. Furthermore, the Shōgun, who would normally never be without some kind of protective entourage, snuck away to walk the walls of his castle alone. He was wearing a simple dark blue robe and appeared much different than the last time she had seen him at the Council of Lords.
Yuki was brought back to her room, and Mori was summoned from his sleep to meet them. After some time both he and the Shōgun entered the room.
Mori bowed profusely but was waved off by the Shōgun, who sat casually on a cushion by the meager table.
“Sit down, Mori!” he commanded to his chief physician, and the old man hastily obeyed. “Now, I need to make this clear,” the Shōgun stated, “Word of this cannot get out to anyone, I tell you, anyone! I will deal with the guards later, but I need you both to promise that this never is spoken about again!”
Both Mori and Yukiana swore to keep the secret.
“Good,” he said, relaxing a bit. “Now what on earth was that about? How did you get out of this room? What brought you up there? Imagine if I had not been there, or if I hadn’t seen you!”
Yuki moved to speak, but Mori interrupted her. “It is all my fault, my lord. I must have failed to lock the door properly. Tonight was the most unfortunate of all nights, for she had just discovered that she might be blind for the rest of her life. Please have mercy on her! She must be in a desperate state of mind.”
“Is this true?” the Shōgun asked, turning towards her. “You are blind?”
Yuki did not know what to say. She could see him as clearly as day, but if she told him so, that would open an entirely new topic of discussion, one she had barely thought about herself. So, she nodded and stared ahead blankly with her remaining eye.
“Well, you don't have to worry,” Mashige said to her. “I risked my own life in saving you and how foolish would it be to kill you now? Besides, I need you alive. You are a critical piece of a rather complex puzzle. But I cannot have you trying to kill yourself. Do not make me chain you up like a beast.” His words were cold and cutting. Then, he softened. “You must have had a hard time of it, coming here. I can understand your despair. My prime consort is exceedingly wise, but she does have a dangerous temper. You were not meant to see it, but there we miscalculated. That is why you are here with me now. I do not intend for you to die in my care or suffer any further harm. I would even like to see you reunited with your father in the end.”
Perhaps it was his sudden softness, the exhilaration of the night, the miracle of being able to see again, or her brush with death, but something inside her gave her tremendous courage. She was bold enough to ask this one question.
“Why did you take me away?”
The Shōgun frowned and moved as if he were uncomfortable. “I cannot tell you that at this present time.”
Yuki’s head slowly lowered.
“But you must believe my words,” he insisted, sensing her disappointment. “I do not intend you to suffer any further harm. Perhaps harm will come by miscalculation or mistake, but that is out of my hands.”
“Are not all of the Islands in your hands, my lord?” Yuki asked, her words heavy with meaning.
“So it is said…” the Shōgun retorted, before turning to Mori. “You, however, did have some fault in this. I will say this once. If she escapes from this room again without my leave, you will be held responsible. Do you understand?”
“Yes...yes, my lord,” he stammered with a low bow, his voice quivering with fear.
“Do all you can for her,” the Shōgun finished, rising to his feet, “But she cannot leave.”
With that, he turned and stormed out of the room, and he and his retinue of guards could be heard marching in the direction of the castle keep.
When all was quiet and still once again, the physician breathed a sigh of relief. “You can never be sure when he is in one of those tempers, what he is going to do.”
“Mori-sensei,” Yuki said quietly. This had been the first time she had really been able to look at the man who had helped her survive. He was exactly what she had imagined him to be. He was aged, slightly stooped, and balding. He wore a simple attendant’s robe, and he had an earthy, ordinary kind of face. Yet there was vigor in him, and a light of life in his eyes that defied his plain appearance. “I am terribly sorry,” she apologized. “You must have been so startled, being woken up from sleep like that.”
“Of course I was, child! I was summoned in the middle of the night! Summoned to the Shōgun himself, no less. I could barely understand what was going on when I was first told.”
“I can tell that you must have been very worried, for you are wearing mismatched sandals,” Yuki said with a subtle grin.
“Oh! Well, so I am! But that is to be expected when…” he stopped mid-sentence. “How did you know that?” he asked. His voice was like a hushed whisper.
“I can see them.”
Mori suddenly lurched forward on all fours and crawled over towards her and peered into her right eye with disbelief.
“Strange...” he whispered. “There seems to be something like a faint glow, coming deep from within.”
“My magatama...” Yuki said to herself, for the first time remembering that she began to see right after putting it on.
The doctor pulled his head away from hers and stared at her with amazement. “Tell me everything!” he cried breathlessly.