“It can’t be…
Ashinji turned around to find his old friend Aneko staring at him, her face a pale blot in the darkness.
“Ai, Goddess!” She approached to within touching distance, raised her hand as if to caress his face, then let it fall. “Lord Ashinji…it really is you,” she whispered, then gasped in dismay. “My lord, your clothes…you’ve been hurt! I’ll go fetch Lord Sen!”
Before she could go, Ashinji grabbed her forearm. “No, Aneko,” he said. A torn lower lip and aching jaw made speech slow and difficult. “I don’t want to cause a commotion. Better if you bring me a cloak or something I can cover myself with. I’d rather just slip into camp quietly.”
“Of course, my lord, but…” Ashinji sensed her confusion and fear for him, but Aneko had always been one of the steadiest of the Kerala guards. “You wait right here, my lord. I won’t be but a moment.”
True to her word, Aneko returned quickly, a voluminous length of cloth in her arms. “Couldn’t find a cloak, my lord,” she explained. “A horse blanket will have to do.”
Ashinji chuckled, despite the pain. “A beggar can’t be too picky, can he?” he replied. He tossed the blanket over his shoulders, pulled a fold over his head, then indicated with a nod that Aneko should lead on. Anonymous in his makeshift cloak, he followed the guardswoman through the camp.
A few early risers made note of his passing, but most of the camp still lay wrapped in sleep. Aneko’s powerful emotions trailed her like smoke on the dawn air-elation, concern, and curiosity in equal measure. He knew she wanted very much to question him, but her discipline and deference kept her curiosity at bay. They walked in silence until Aneko halted before a tent distinguished from the ones surrounding it only by its larger size. The flap had been pinned back to allow in any stray breezes. Muted conversation, mingled with the sound of a man’s laughter, soft and relaxed, drifted out, followed by a snippet of song. Ashinji’s breath caught in his throat.
Aneko stood aside, waiting for him to enter the tent ahead of her. Ashinji hesitated. “Aneko,” he murmured. “Go in to my father and tell him someone is here to see him.”
“Yes, my lord,” Aneko replied then ducked into the tent.
The voices stopped as soon as the guardswoman entered. She delivered her message and Ashinji listened for the reply.
“Who is it?”
“You need to see for yourself, my lord.”
Ashinji stepped through the entrance, letting the blanket slip from his shoulders as he did so, then moved forward into the light.
Sen lounged in a camp chair, a wooden tankard in his hand. Misune sat beside him on a stool, her brother Ibeji sprawled on a cushion at her feet. Sen looked up to greet his visitor and his words froze on his lips.
The tankard slipped from his fingers.
Misune leapt from her stool with a startled shriek. Ibeji bolted up, staring.
Like a man moving through a dream, Ashinji’s father drifted to his feet, his face white.
“Father,” Ashinji whispered.
Sen lurched forward then swept Ashinji into his arms.
“My son!” he sobbed. “My son is alive!”
A memory from childhood pushed its way to the fore of Ashinji’s consciousness just then. He had been very young, a baby really, playing by himself, when he had fallen into a deep hole. He found out much later that it was an old, forgotten well. He had crouched in the dark, bruised and crying, too young to fear death but old enough to fear he would never see his mother and father again.
After what seemed like forever to his child’s mind, Sen came to rescue him. Ashinji remembered how his father lifted him into his strong arms then held him close, how he had felt completely safe and how quickly his fear had evaporated in the heat of his father’s love.
“How is this possible?” Sen whispered. He held Ashinji at arm’s length, shaking his head. Tears spilled from his eyes and dripped off his chin. “
“Never mind, Son.” Sen pulled him close again. “I can see you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. There’ll be time to hear all about it after you’ve gotten some rest.”
Ashinji nodded against his father’s shoulder. He could feel his body letting go and his mind slipping away. “I just need to sleep a little, that’s all,” he murmured.
“Here…come over here, Son. Lie down on my cot.”
Ashinji allowed his father to steer him to a folding bed behind a curtain. He sank down with a grateful sigh and closed his eyes. He heard his father ask Ibeji to go fetch the doctor.
“I can’t understand you, Son, you’re mumbling. Don’t try to talk. Just sleep, now.”
“I love you, Son.”
The Unbreakable Bonds of Love
When Ashinji awoke, he turned his head to see his father slumped in a camp chair at his bedside, dozing. He pushed himself onto his elbows, then collapsed back, grinding his teeth against the pounding agony behind his eyes. That pain, along with an assortment of other aches, served as a potent reminder of the ordeal he had survived.
Sen stirred, then jerked awake with a snort. He rubbed his eyes then focused on Ashinji’s face. “Son, you’re awake. How’re you feeling?” Sen’s voice was soft and gentle.
“Like a wagon rolled over my head,” Ashinji groaned. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “Ugh! My mouth tastes awful!”
“That’s probably the medicine the doctor’s been forcing down your throat these last two days.” Sen paused for such a long time, Ashinji looked up with concern. He could see his father struggling with himself about something.
“Father, what’s wrong?”
“Ashi, I…no…it’s too soon. You need to rest. We can talk about things later.”
“You know about Sadaiyo,” Ashinji murmured. The memory of his last, terrible encounter with his brother atop the rocky outcrop flooded his mind. For a few heartbeats, he could not move or speak.
“I know my eldest son is dead, but I don’t know how he died,” Sen replied. “I also know my youngest son whom I’d given up for dead, my favorite child whose loss I thought I’d never get over, is, by some miracle, alive. Ashi, I don’t understand any of this. I need to know what happened, but I can wait until you’re stronger.”
“Father, I…”
“No, Son. Not now. I’ll send for the doctor. He’ll bring you something to ease the pain in your head. Then, you can sleep awhile longer. After that…if you’re ready, we’ll talk.”
Ashinji did not argue. His head hurt too much. Instead, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift. He managed to rouse himself enough to swallow the draught the doctor brought, but then he let go again, and slept.
