Dale Furutani - Jade Palace Vendetta

It seemed strange to Kaze that the heart of this aging merchant should be so captivated by a new wife. Still, the Taiko himself, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, had found satisfaction and passion with a new wife at the end of his life. And this new wife had given Hideyoshi a child. In fact, she had given Hideyoshi two children. When the first child died, a second was conceived and born-a son. Since Hideyoshi had a long-standing relationship with his first wife and at least a hundred concubines, there was endless speculation on how Yododono, the mother of the child, could have created such a miracle. The pious believed it was because Yododono had prayed to the proper gods. The cynical believed that Yododono had taken other means, or perhaps other men, to guarantee her conception. In either case, Hideyoshi believed the child to be his and tried to ensure his son would succeed him to the rulership of Japan.

Now the child and his mother ruled only Osaka Castle and there was speculation that they would not be ruling that for long. Ieyasu continued to give proper respect to the memory of Hideyoshi, but his forces were gathering the threads of power and weaving them into a mighty and enveloping tapestry.

Hishigawa remained quiet, perhaps still caught up in the memory of his wife. Soon Kaze heard snoring as the exhausted merchant fell into a deep sleep, despite the miserable conditions. Kaze focused on the sound of the falling raindrops hitting the cart and the ground around him, filtering out the man’s snores.

Splat-splaaat-splat-splat-splaat. The rain was coming down harder now, hitting the earth in an irregular rhythm. It was a mesmerizing sound, and one that brought back memories that flooded Kaze’s mind like the water washing down the hillside.

Kaze reflected on how strange it was that so many of his encounters with the Lady involved falling water.

His very first glimpse of the Lady was when he was ten. He had been with his Sensei, his teacher, for about two years. Every time Kaze had thought he had mastered something that the Sensei had to teach him, the old man would suddenly increase the difficulty of the lesson with an effortless grace, which always left Kaze frustrated that he would never truly learn anything, even the most rudimentary thing.

Once, when he expressed his feelings about this to his teacher, the old man had looked at him very seriously and said, “If you are going to follow the way of bushido, then you must learn throughout your entire life. After a while the mechanical things I can teach you will no longer be new, but in their application and feel they will always be new. The simplest parry with your sword-the very first one I taught you-will evolve through the years as you grow in skill and understanding. So even though the motions you make will be the same ones that you made when you were eight years old and started your lessons with me, throughout your entire life those motions will be ever changing, yet still the same. Thus it is with life-ever changing but still the same. Just as important, you must expand your circle of skills beyond the sword to art and literature and music. The true warrior is not just a killer. Remember the lesson of Yoshimori and the foxes.”

Kaze looked puzzled.

“The great warrior Yoshimori had a suit of exceptionally fine armor commissioned,” the Sensei continued. “Part of the process of creating this armor was the reinforcement of key points with fresh fox skin. The special glue used to attach these reinforcements took three days and nights of constant attention to prepare. Someone had to be stirring it continuously and minding the fire to make sure it did not get too hot. Three times the master armorer prepared this glue, but Yoshimori’s vassals could not supply a freshly killed fox whose skin could be used to finish the armor, so each time days of effort were wasted and the glue had to be thrown away.

“In frustration the armorer complained to Yoshimori because he had to throw away three batches of glue after laboring over each of them for three days and three nights. Yoshimori immediately told the armorer to start another batch of glue because he was very anxious to have this new suit of armor. He said he would personally deliver a freshly killed fox to the armorer. He then took his bow and went alone into the hills above Kyoto hunting for foxes.

“He hunted all day, trudging up and down hills in the hot sun, using his keen instincts to try to find the lair of a fox. Despite his best efforts, he could not find a fox, even though the hills around Kyoto are usually teeming with them. He returned that night puzzled and discouraged, determined to do better the next day.

“The second day he went hunting again in a different area. Once again, after a hot day searching the hillsides, he could not find a fox. Yoshimori returned home empty-handed, and he knew that the special glue would be ready the next evening.

“The third day, Yoshimori was up before dawn and scouring the hills. As on the previous days, he could find no trace of foxes, and he grew increasingly frustrated and anxious. As the sun dipped low on the horizon, he thought about how humiliated he would be if he did not make good on his promise to deliver a fresh fox skin to the armorer. Just as he was about to return home, a flash of brown caught his eye. Fitting an arrow to his bow, he stealthily crept toward where he had seen what he thought to be a glimpse of a fox’s fur.

“Suddenly, he came upon a family of foxes trapped and cowering under a rock. It was a male, a female, and a young kit. Yoshimori was pleased, because he would be able to have his pick of foxes now and have his armor completed. He would not suffer embarrassment because he could make good on his boast to provide a freshly killed fox skin to complete the armor. As he drew back his bow, he noticed that the male and female fox did not run away. Instead, they pressed in close to their tiny baby, protecting it from Yoshimori’s arrow.

“As he saw this scene, he was moved to pity, for he thought that even these dumb creatures were acting with bravery, ready to sacrifice their own lives to protect their child. He lowered his bow and vowed to tell the armorer that he could not kill a fox on his hunting expedition, even though it would cost him great embarrassment to make such an admission. The armorer was so angry that he vowed not to finish the armor for Yoshimori, an unprecedented insult for a samurai to suffer at the hands of a tradesman.

“Yet, despite the embarrassment, Yoshimori did the proper thing. He was not a wanton killer, but a complete warrior. He understood the difference between killing and murder. It is the warrior’s duty to kill or be killed, but only the outlaw or brute commits wanton murder, even of a simple creature like a fox. As you grow and mature you must strive to be a complete warrior, too. The natural result of our art, our gei , is death-either your death or your opponent’s. Yet this death must always be honorable and never simple murder. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” the Sensei asked.

“I think so,” Kaze answered.

“Good. I want you to meditate on that, but I want you to learn how to meditate while suffering distractions.” Saying that, the Sensei took him from where they had been talking to the foot of Dragonfly Falls.

Dragonfly Falls was a small but beautiful waterfall near the Sensei’s hut in Kaze’s home prefecture. The waterfall tumbled the height of three men in a steady silver stream. It was framed by black volcanic rocks in a rugged cliff. Lush green ferns and trees surrounded the picturesque setting. The sound of the falling water made a refreshing music that eased the soul. It was a favorite diversion to pass by the waterfall when any traveler was in the neighborhood, and this diversion was shared by intense orange and bright blue dragonflies, who gave the falls its name. The insects seemed to share the pleasure of humans in loitering near the beauty of the falls.