Chapter 3: Silver Soul (Era of the Joi War)

The summer days stretched long, the sky a clear blue, clouds milky white, a gentle breeze ruffling the lush green waves of wheat, while cicadas shrieked incessantly from the trees at the field’s edge. The busy season in the fields was over; most of the adults in the village had gone home for their midday rest, leaving only a few mischievous children who slipped out, clutching nets and carrying little buckets, running to the small ditches between the paddies to catch tadpoles.

After a while, Okakura Take grew tired of wandering. She put on her wide-brimmed straw hat and lay down under the shade of a tree, closing her eyes in a lazy doze. This spot was secluded; the noisy children wouldn’t come here to disturb her rest.

She liked sunny days, liked the sun—so bright, so dazzling, hanging high in the sky yet warming everyone below. It was wonderful. Even her perpetually cold skin was now warmed by its rays.

She raised her bluish-purple hand to the sun, letting a few beams slip between her fingers. Look, she thought, I’m not a ghost—I can live in the sunlight.

The heat made her so drowsy that her eyelids began to droop. Just as she was about to fall asleep, the shrill cries and laughter of children echoed from not far away.

“Ah! I caught a toad! Aaah!”

Okakura Take opened her eyes in exasperation. So noisy. The children’s screams were piercing, shattering her sleepiness. She stood up, dusted off her clothes, slipped on her discarded wooden sandals, straightened her straw hat, and decided to take another stroll, returning home only when it was time to eat.

She looked up at the sky—the sun was still high; it was early yet. She decided to head into town. The summer festival was approaching, and preparations at the shrine would likely be underway.

The village lay a mile or two from the town. Okakura Take ran along in her clattering wooden sandals, wide sleeves billowing in the wind, shoulder-length black hair flying loose. She was like a gust of wind herself, darting past so quickly that by the time passersby turned to look, they saw only a fleeting shadow.

Upon reaching town, she flitted about in her wooden sandals. Thanks to her large straw hat, no one noticed her well enough to cry out and flee.

When she reached the bridge, she saw a crowd gathered there. Always drawn to a commotion, she squeezed inside and found everyone staring at a posted notice.

The words were archaic and dense. She could read, but classical prose gave her a headache. It took several minutes to decipher: it was a conscription notice.

After Shuuweistar used the Armstrong Cyclotron Jet Armstrong Cannon to blast open Japan’s closed doors, the shogunate immediately changed its stance of resistance, signing a series of unequal treaties with the Amanto, treating them as honored guests.

Those samurai who had once fought bravely against the Amanto were now branded criminals. If the country was broken, what was the point of clinging to one’s head? With the nation fallen so low, why treasure one’s own life? The samurai resolved to fight the Amanto to the death, swearing to drive them out.

A starved camel is still bigger than a horse; the shogunate’s influence remained strong. The ignorant common folk only cared for food and warmth, and most still sided with the shogunate. But war required manpower. Without the shogunate’s support and facing the Amanto’s advanced weaponry, the expulsion squads suffered heavy casualties. Desperate, they posted conscription notices, hoping to recruit more fighters to join their cause.

However, whoever drafted the notice clearly overestimated the literacy of the people. The wording was beautifully sophisticated. The educated would slap their thighs in admiration: “What a masterpiece!” The unlettered would just scratch their heads, spit, and say, “What nonsense!” before moving on.

Okakura Take, halfway between scholar and simpleton, managed to understand, thanks to her parents’ education and the reading she had done at school.

In front of the notice, many gathered villagers were completely baffled by its meaning. They recognized the characters, but together they made no sense. Finally, an elderly gentleman explained it to them.

“It’s those expulsion ronin recruiting soldiers,” he said, frowning. “It’s pointless. Just look, but don’t throw your lives away. The gap between us and the Amanto is too great.”

His words, however, stirred the blood of some young men.

“What are you talking about, old man? We’re just as good as the Amanto!”

“That’s right! I’ll go to the battlefield and fight to my heart’s content—send those Amanto back to their own planet!”

“Exactly!”

A group of youths burned with passion.

Okakura Take watched for a while, shook her head. It had nothing to do with her. She decided to visit the shrine instead.

At the foot of the shrine, many stalls were already being set up. Though the summer festival was still more than a week away, preparations had begun. She bounded up to the altar to pray for her family’s safety—and, most importantly, for the festival to proceed as planned.

As she descended from the shrine, the sky was darkening. She ran back—her father was probably preparing dinner. If she was late, her mother would scold her.

When she got home, her cousin hadn’t returned—likely still playing with other village children. Her mother sent her to fetch Megumi home for dinner. Without even catching her breath, she dashed out again.

She found Megumi in the abandoned house behind the village. It was summer, and where there were many children, they’d try to conjure a chilly atmosphere—so, a group of little ones were telling ghost stories.

“A woman in a white kimono called out to Meiko. Meiko looked over and saw the woman squatting by the roadside, head bowed, long black hair covering her face…” A snaggle-toothed boy widened his eyes and lowered his voice for effect.

All the little ones huddled together, shivering. Ghost stories—they wanted to hear them but were scared out of their wits.

“Meiko thought the woman was unwell, so she walked over and patted her on the shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked. The woman replied in a low voice, ‘I lost something. Can you help me find it?’ Meiko answered, ‘Sure! What did you lose?’” The boy’s tone grew more chilling.

“The woman slowly raised her head, revealing hollow, black eye sockets, and said, ‘My eyeballs fell out!’”

“Waaaahhhhhhh—!” The children screamed in terror.

“Ha! That silly story scared you all this much!” The storyteller clutched his belly, laughing with wicked glee.

“Hmph! Now it’s my turn. Kaita, don’t scream like a pig later!” Another boy stepped up, indignant.

“Who are you calling a pig?” Kaita retorted defiantly.

Just as the lad was about to start his tale, a strange clattering sound echoed from outside. He paused, puzzled, glancing toward the window. The others fell silent, listening.

The sound drew closer and closer.

The children pressed together in a trembling huddle—even the two arguing boys squashed side by side, eyes wide, staring at the door, cold sweat on their backs.

The noise stopped outside the door. A figure appeared in the shadows, a slender hand reaching out for the sliding door.

The door creaked open, inch by inch. Through the crack, they saw a bluish-purple face and wide, white eyes…

“Ghooooost!!!”

The children’s piercing screams made Okakura Take’s head pound. She slapped her forehead and shouted, “Stop screaming! It’s me, Okakura Take.” Then she looked at her tear-stained cousin in the crowd. “Megumi, time to come home for dinner.”

“Sniff…Cousin…” Megumi, sobbing, stepped out, eyes brimming with tears, casting a fearful glance at her scary cousin.

Okakura Take fished out a tissue and wiped away Megumi’s tears and snot. “You’re such a scaredy-cat, crying like this,” she said helplessly.

The little girl looked at Okakura Take, aggrieved, but dared not protest that it was her cousin’s frightening appearance that had terrified her.

“Come on, let’s go home and eat.” Okakura Take turned to address the group of children. “You all should run home too—don’t make your families worry.”

Shivering, the children nodded quickly.

Okakura Take led Megumi home. As she turned away, a sly smile crept across her lips—seeing those kids scared out of their wits was secretly satisfying. Heh heh.

The sun sank behind the western hills; dusk slowly deepened, and lights began to glow in village homes as families started making dinner. Okakura Take walked the path between fields, holding Megumi’s hand. She led the way, Megumi following, warning her cousin of bumps and dips. In the soft twilight, the two girls walked slowly, hand in hand, down the road toward home.

Okakura Take thought her days would go on like this forever, until the day her parents quarreled.

Her mother’s angry face and her father’s apologetic one stared back at her. Wide-eyed, Okakura Take looked at her father—he had just said he was going to join the expulsion movement.

Father was leaving her and her mother…

“Tamaki, I’m sorry. I’ve failed you both…” her father said, then knelt before her mother. Both Okakura Take and her mother stared in stunned silence.

“Do as you please,” her mother said, covering her face as she left the room.

Okakura Take stood, dazed, watching her father still kneeling on the floor.

“Father…” she whispered.

He rose, walked to her, patted her head, his gentle gaze tinged with regret. “Take, I’m sorry.” With that, he too turned and left.

What was this? What did this mean? Okakura Take felt as if she might explode.

She ran to the backyard, dragged out old bricks and stones from the shed, and smashed them with her fists, breaking them to pieces.

It wasn’t enough! Not nearly enough!

Her eyes blazed with anger. The weight of resentment and bitterness pressed painfully on her heart. She felt abandoned, even betrayed.

When all the bricks and stones were reduced to rubble, she finally calmed down a little.

Looking at the shattered debris, Okakura Take’s nose twitched, and she couldn’t hold back her tears.

“Waaah…” She sat down on the rubble, hugging her knees, sobbing her heart out.

At that moment, a pair of familiar large hands rested gently on her head. She sullenly pushed them away, but the hand returned to her head.

“What do you want?” Okakura Take looked up, eyes hurt and full of grievance, glaring fiercely at her father.

He wore his usual foolish smile. “Seeing you cry like this breaks my heart.”

“I don’t care about you,” she muttered, turning her head away.

Her father sat down beside her and gently stroked her hair.

“Take, I’m sorry. I really am a worthless man. Once, I abandoned the way of the samurai, abandoned my country and my comrades, to bring you and your mother here. And now I’m about to leave you again for the battlefield. I truly am the worst of men.” His voice gradually choked with emotion.

“If we’d stayed in Kyoto, maybe you and your mother wouldn’t have suffered so much. Your mother is such a good person, following me to this rural backwater, and now this fool is about to leave her behind.”

Okakura Take turned to look at him. In the moonlight, her father’s tears fell like pearls. Men may not easily weep, but only because their hearts have not yet truly broken.

It was the first time she had seen her father cry. The man she admired most in all the world now wept like a child, tears and snot streaming down his face.

“Dad…” Okakura Take leaned her head against him. “I don’t blame you anymore. But please, you have to come back. I’ll wait for you, always. Please, promise me you’ll come back.”

She extended her little finger.

“Pinky swear! You must come back.” Her eyes shone with unwavering determination.

“Yes, pinky swear. I’ll come back, I promise.” Her father, eyes brimming with tears, reached out his hand.

In the silver moonlight, their entwined fingers sealed an everlasting promise.