The
Great Assembly Hall of the Fujiwara Estate was filled with members of the
Imperial Court as well as an assortment of politicians and diplomats come
sunset.
The two new ningyō, Murasaki
and her cousin Midori Urushihara, would be sworn in as the day turned into
night. It was as if they would give up
the sunshiny sweetness of their childhood for the gritty grimness of adulthood
come night.
Other than the immediate Imperial
Family, three of the Emperor’s nephews – the sons of his three younger sisters
– were also present. Two were
accompanied by their respective ningyō.
Haruhiko Hamilton-Hayes, Lord Tremaine arrived from England with Aoi
Taira, the interim ningyō of her clan.
(Interim because she was the younger daughter; her sister Maria was the
true ningyō.) Sorayama Ang came from
Hong Kong with his ningyō Maruka Minamoto.
The third nephew sat with the Crown
Prince prior to the ceremony proper in a corner of the Hall. Except for the fact that his hair was a
solid black, the thin, slight boy of about fifteen or sixteen bore an uncanny
resemblance to Kunihiko. It was
noticeable, though, that the Crown Prince was the mysterious, secretive sort
despite his unusually charismatic personality.
There was nothing secretive about the younger boy: his charming face so like his cousin’s was
open and friendly. He positively
brimmed with energy and appeared to keep fidgeting though he was obviously
capable of giving an impression of dignity.
Fumihiko Andrew Saavedra – or Fumi
as his family called him – could barely keep still, casting nervous glances at
the main doorway of the Hall. Kunihiko
noticed this and chided him for being jittery.
“I can’t help it, niisan!”,
he exclaimed. To Fumi who was an only
child, his eldest cousin was more of an older brother to him because they were
very close despite the fact that Fumi had grown up in Manila. “I always fidget when Midori isn’t
around!”
His cousin grinned teasingly and
nudged him in the ribs. “Godawful
attached to your ningyō, aren’t you?”, he chuckled. “She must mean the world to you, Fumi-chan!”
“Oh, does she ever!”, Fumi agreed
fervently. A pale blush appeared across
his thin face and his eyes shone lovingly.
Ever since he’d met Midori Urushihara, she had him tied to her little
finger. Fumi didn’t mind since Midori
was sincerely more than a little fond of him.
“Not having her around depresses me for some reason”, he admitted.
Kunihiko smiled. Much as he didn’t really care to admit it,
he knew the feeling very well. The
whole five years Murasaki had been away, he’d missed her even if he declared
otherwise. Outwardly, he’d told people
that he didn’t care a pin about her.
But, whenever he was alone, he found himself pining away, missing her so
badly that the loneliness often reduced him to tears. She was home now and that was all that really mattered to the
Crown Prince. He felt better knowing
that she was around. Safer, too, as a
matter of fact.
Meanwhile,
the last survivor of that morning’s fracas at the airport paced his cell back
and forth.
Outside, heavily armed guardsmen of
the Regents’ Stronghold of Nara (RSN) stood watch. The rogue within sighed morosely. There was no chance of escape with them around.
Or so he thought.
In
Japanese, the word ningyō also meant “doll” although the word o-hina
was used more frequently.
It hearkened back to the days when
the few women bound by blood to defend the Chrysanthemum Throne posed as mere
courtesans: mere decorations of the Imperial Court. In the passage of time, it was common to hear ningyō say
derisively of themselves that they were but dolls made to do their masters’
bidding. Of course, despite their vow
to obey, many ningyō usually overrode their masters’ commands in the practice
of prudence and better judgment. Their
masters, grateful for having been spared, never really had the heart to scold
or punish them. Real ningyō
served their masters as both defenders and advisers. They had to be as tough as nails to get that job done, as well as
wise and prudent – if not downright practical.
However, rumor had it that Maruka
Minamoto, Ningyō of Osaka, was anything but tough, or wise, or even
prudent. It was said that she was truly
a doll in every sense of the word as far as her master was concerned. It was bad enough that Maruka was anything
but competent, but it was speculated openly that Sora Ang got her to do
anything he wanted. She was so
submissive, they said, that all she was good for was to become her master’s
“doll” to be used at his pleasure.
Nothing could have been more ludicrous as Sora was so moralistic that it
was difficult to suspect him of bedding down the hapless Maruka.
On the other hand, nobody could
accuse Aoi Taira, Interim Ningyō of Tōkyo, of being a doll. Though she wasn’t the true ningyō of her
clan, Aoi was said to be able to kill a man just by staring at him. Small wonder: Aoi had the heart and soul of
a dominatrix. Few had the guts to stand
up to her – man or woman! Maria Taira’s
sultry younger sister now stood behind her master, the ever elegant Haruhiko
Hamilton-Hayes, Lord Tremaine – only child of Princess Haruko and Gregory
Hamilton-Hayes, Duke of Cheshire. The
two had flown in from England that afternoon to represent Harry’s parents who
were quite busy at the time. For Aoi,
the trip back to Japan was sheer bliss; England bored her to tears! Why, oh why did Maria accept the assignment
to the network surveillance team! The
country itself was boring enough, but her master was insufferable: a pompous
ass with an inflated idea of what he was.
Aoi held Harry in contempt, but Harry was, as Aoi grudgingly admitted, a
far better master than some holier-than-thou people she could name off
the bat.
A
black blur sped through the corridors of the Fujiwara dungeons, knocking down
guards in its path.
One by one, the stalwarts of the
Nara-ken militia fell soundlessly to the floor, none ever knowing what had hit
them. Each fell before the next could
even bat an eyelash.
As the guards fell beneath its hard,
well-aimed blows, the dark figure sped down to the cell that housed the latest
prisoner.
“What are you doing here?”, the
prisoner hissed to the figure.
The latter did not bother to
reply. Instead, it blew up the lock
with a small explosive.
“The master is not pleased”, the
figure grated, pushing the startled prisoner back. “You failed to return with the Crown Prince!”
“His ningyō showed up out of
nowhere!”, the prisoner snarled back.
“You should’ve known what she looked
like.”
“Oh, is that so? Well!”
The prisoner drew himself up angrily.
“Tell the master that the picture he showed us was about five years out
of date!”
“What?!?”
“Yeah: he showed us the picture of a
little kid in braids. Hell, she turned
out to be this sexy bitch in spandex with a hog-wild temper! If we’d known she’d be a bombshell,
we would’ve succeeded!”
The little figure’s eyes narrowed
angrily. The master would have to
change his plans. They hadn’t been
expecting this.
“What the hell you waiting’
for?” The figure was startled out of
reverie and saw the prisoner walking out of the cell. “You’re here to spring me out, right?”
Those were the last words he
said. A small hand reached from behind
him, ripping his belly open, spilling out his guts. Before he could even cry out, a single shot blew his brains out.
The
throng in the Hall rose to their feet when the Imperial Council of Advisers
marched in, flanking the Emperor and Empress whom they escorted to the dais.
Yoshiyuki Fujiwara and Hiroyuki
Urushihara both looked very proud.
Yasuhiro Taira smiled; why not?
His two daughters and his niece served the Empire to the best of their
ability. The only one among the Grand
Dukes who looked glum was Kenichi Minamoto.
His daughter and her master had arrived late and he’d caught Maruka
fawning over her master like a schoolgirl over the school heartthrob. The sight sickened him; it was a regular
throwback to the age when his clan was thwarted from claiming the Chrysanthemum
Throne for one weakness or another.
The Crown Prince followed behind,
escorted by his sister. Rei, dressed in
a silver and gold hakama, looked smug as she walked to the dais with her older
brother. She’d taken note of the quiet
but unmistakable delight glowing in his eyes.
Rei was sure she knew who was behind the transformation; her brother had
returned from his lunch with Murasaki somewhat bemused. Kunihiko would be in good hands now. His sister just hoped that Murasaki could
get him to eat more; no matter how tightly he’d tied on his hakama, it still
hung on him as if it were still on its hanger.
It looked so loose!
To one side sat the Imperial
Nephews: Fumi Saavedra, Harry Tremaine,
and Sora Ang who came in wheezing from rushing in. Alas for him, both his cousins raised eyebrows at his tardiness. Though he was Filipino-born, Fumi never
developed the maddening habit of being habitually late that many of that
nation’s citizens seemed to have. His
parents made sure of that; Don Andres – Fumi’s dad – didn’t become the mogul
that he was by being late. Harry was,
quite simply, a control freak; tardiness was an unforgivable sin in his eyes
and would not go unpunished. Alas, Sora
was the type upon whom a severe scolding rolled off like water off a duck’s
back.
Fumi
fervently wished that he were someplace else – or at least some distance away
from his cousins! He had no objections
to Aoi who treated him like a kid brother whenever she saw him, but both his
cousins were something else! Harry’s
ego set the boy’s teeth on the edge; Sora, on the other hand…
To Fumi, Sora made Harry seem like a
really swell guy. At least the latter
was no proselytizer. Sora took every
family reunion as an opportunity to convert his kinsmen to Pentecostal
Christianity. Much as he appeared to be
sincere – Sora was an active member of a number of charitable institutions –
Fumi did not trust Sora. He agreed with
Murasaki Fujiwara that there was something not quite right about the
cousin from Hong Kong.
Fumi and Harry exchanged rueful
glances; Sora – late as he already was – had begun to bitch about the impiety
of his being at the investiture ceremony.
He said that it was a throwback to a time when pagans ruled Japan and
was thus, in a Christian frame of mind, taboo.
Harry could not resist making a
barbed remark at that. “If you find it
taboo”, he began warily, “why are you here, Cousin Sora?” He said it with one eyebrow raised
alarmingly high and his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Shouldn’t you be out preaching amongst the half-naked Yamami
tribesmen in the Amazon?”
“I came because I wanted to speak to
Miss Fujiwara”, Sora replied.
“Is that so?” Fumi grimaced; Sora had been nursing a crush
on Murasaki since they were kids.
Murasaki made no bones of the fact that she thought Sora a crashing bore
and a regular bum. Why couldn’t he just
quit already! “I’d hate to break it to you,
Sora, but niisan has already spoken to Miss Murasaki.”
“Spoken to her? About what?”
Aoi, Harry, and Fumi all rolled
their eyes heavenward. “Somebody buy
this boy a brain!”, Aoi groaned.
“Are you saying that my master’s
stupid?” Defensively, Maruka Minamoto
prepared to draw on Aoi.
“Oh, look, Master!” Aoi’s voice dripped with as much vitriol as
her master’s had been. “A talking
puppy!” She stared the diminutive Maruka
down, hands on her luscious hips.
“Down, pup! You needn’t get so
hot under the collar!”
“You can be so dense, Cousin
Sora”, Fumi shook his head in dismay.
“Besides”, Harry chimed in. “Do you honestly think that Murasaki will
want to be your ningyō?” He snickered
wickedly at that. “Sora, Sora,
Sora! I believe that the young lady in
question is about to be engaged. Am I
right in surmising that, Fumi-chan?”
“Hai, Harry-itokosan”,
Fumi grinned.
“If you want Murasaki, Sora, you’ll
have to fight it out with Cousin Kuni.”
Harry sat back with an air of malicious satisfaction.
“Kuni?” Sora looked aghast, even horrified. “Whatever did she see in that scrawny, puny – “
“How dare you speak ill of
the Crown Prince in the presence of the Emperor!”, Aoi shrilled, preparing to
draw. Harry made no attempt to restrain
her; indeed, he looked ready to spur her on into action. “You probably haven’t realized that you can
lose your head for what you just said, Milord Sora.”
Sora stared at them in
consternation, his hand lightly resting on Maruka’s sword arm. One tap from him, and…
“Kuni-chan won’t let you have her
without a fight”, Harry warned his cousin.
“Even if you did duel with him, he wouldn’t let her go.”
“He’d kill you first”, Fumi agreed
somberly. “Niisan’s terribly
attached to Miss Murasaki since she was a baby. Am I not right, Cousin Harry?”
“You are, Fumi-chan”, Harry assured
him. “You most definitely are.” Yet, Harry sighed remorsefully and cast a
longing glance at Kunihiko who’d taken his place at his father’s right
hand. “I rather wish that he weren’t so
attached to her. It’s
heartbreaking. Ah…” He touched his heart dramatically. “Woe is me!
But, as the French would say, c’est la vie.”
Both his cousins suddenly drew back
from Harry at the implications of what he’d just said. Fumi thought he was going to be sick, but
said nothing. Sora, on the other hand,
was livid.
“You sinner!”, he gasped,
eyes wide with anger. “Don’t you know
that what you’re thinking about is going to take you to Hell someday?”
“Oh, grow up!”, Harry retorted. “I can’t help being what I am, Sora. If I had a choice, I probably choose to be
as straight as any of you. But I wasn’t
born that way – I was born to be like this. If you cannot accept me for what I am, I suggest that you keep
your bigotry to yourself!”
“Well said”, Fumi murmured. Much as he found Harry insufferable, he was
a fairly decent guy.
Sora was about to retort when Mamoru
Fujiwara approached them. Mamoru wore
the ceremonial hakama of his clan in the maroon and deep gold standard. He was pleased to see that Fumi and Harry
were dressed appropriately given the formality of the occasion. The former wore a well-tailored barong
Tagalog made of finely woven pińa cloth over dark pants while the
latter was dressed in a dark, stylish Italian suit. Mamoru couldn’t feel as pleased about Sora’s outfit, though. Sora hadn’t even bothered to dress properly
and still wore the plain white tee, black cargo pants, and shabby sneakers he’d
flown in from Hong Kong in.
“I believe the invitation stated formal
dress”, Mamoru remarked politely. His
eyes had narrowed dangerously, though.
“I’m decently dressed, Mamo-san”,
Sora snapped back. “I needn’t get all
gussied up.”
“Perhaps.” Mamoru, however, did not back down. Maliciously, he looked Sora over. “The way you’re dressed, I am not surprised that Murasaki
denied you admittance to her chambers this afternoon.”
“What?!?” The other cousins looked positively horrified. It was part of Imperial Protocol that no
male would be admitted into the apartments of a ningyō awaiting her investiture
within two hours prior to the ceremony.
“You imbecile!”, Harry roared; it
was an affront to the person of the Countess of Nara by his book.
“Have you gone nuts, Sora?”, Fumi
shrilled.
Aoi was beside herself in rage. She was a stickler for formality and any
transgression against the rules and regulations angered her.
“Who the hell did you think you
were?”, she roared. To the surprise of
everyone in the Hall, she drew her sword and advanced menacingly towards
Sora. “The Crown Prince – hah!” She stopped about a foot away from Sora and
Maruka, tossing her long jet-black hair derisively. “If you were the Crown Prince, Mr. Ang”, she
snorted, “I’d personally be more than willing to help any given traitor keep
you off the Throne!”
“How dare you address my
master as Mr. Ang?”, Maruka demanded of her, drawing her own sword.
“Pshaw!” Aoi simply waved off her anger as if she were a pesky bug. “You’re as bad as he is, Minamoto-kun!”, she
thundered. “Look at you: you’re
attending an investiture in a day-dress uniform? I’m shocked; really, I am!”
Aoi, like Rei, was clad in the ceremonial navy blue and gray hakama of
her clan. Maruka wore a simple
day-dress uniform: a sleeveless black
and white mini-dress belted at the waist worn with knee-high socks and
ballerina flats. As charming as it was,
it was certainly not appropriate for such an occasion though it was part of any
ningyō’s standard wardrobe. To Aoi,
though, it was an eyesore. “I swear:
like master, like ningyō!”
“Enough, Aoi.” Harry motioned for her to withdraw,
admonishing her in crisp tones.
Nevertheless, he agreed with her.
“But I sincerely hope that dear Cousin Sora and Minamoto-ningyō will
dress more appropriately next time, hmm?”
“Amen”, Fumi agreed fervently without
cracking the faintest hint of a smile.
“Ditto”, Mamoru chimed in. “Oh, and Fumihiko-san? Your uncle would like you to join him and
the Imperial Family upon the dais.” He
motioned for the boy to come and follow him. “Dōzo.”
“Ah, there you are, Fumi-chan!” The Emperor rose and fondly clasped the
boy’s hands as he approached. “What was
that all about?”, he asked Fumi and Mamoru.
“Just a spirited discussion about
formality, Uncle Junichi”, Fumi dimpled.
“The finer points of which were
rather stimulating.” Mamoru bowed out
and left. “Please excuse me, your
Majesty; I’ve matters to attend to.”
“Mom and Dad send their fondest
regards, Uncle”, Fumi informed his uncle as the latter motioned for him to take
his place next to Kunihiko. “You and Aunt
Nao-chan look well. You are
well, I hope?”
“As well as can be expected, dear”,
Naoko assured him with an affectionate smile.
“Though this morning’s scare did rattle us. We’re glad that Kuni-chan is safe; young
Murasaki made sure of that.”
Fumi shot his cousin a startled
look. He hadn’t mentioned anything of
the sort. The Crown Prince said
nothing, so Rei was the one who gave the explanation.
“Some creeps in Saracens’ clothing
tried to kidnap niisama, Fumi-chan”, she informed her cousin as she took her
place behind her father. “Murasaki
killed most of them while the boys and I cleaned up the rest. We kept one alive, though; he’s in the
dungeon downstairs.” Grimly, she
cracked her knuckles. “We mean to wring
the truth from him.”
Fumi noted the steel in his cousin’s
voice at the mention of the word wring.
It had some very unpleasant connotations and Fumi was dead sure
that the suspect would be in for a very bad time.
“What’s
going on here?”
The gunman looked up, heart beating
wildly. Footsteps – rapid ones at that
– were coming down the halls. There was
also the chilling sound of a sword – several swords – being drawn. The Fujiwara had a reputation for sparing no
mercy and of absolute brutality when it came to treating captives known to be disloyal
to the causes they served. To be caught
by them almost always spelled death – and by no means would such a demise be
pleasant.
In a desperate move, the gunman
tossed an explosive at a window and blew it out. Not sparing any time, the dark assailant leapt up to the window
and escaped into the darkness growing outside.
Murasaki was very fast – but, being
encumbered by the weight of her ceremonial uniform, was unable to capture the
assailant. She did however manage to
hear a small clang as a metal object fell off the fiend’s person and onto the
floor.
Masahiro and Masakazu came in on the
heels of their sister. “Good God!”,
Masahiro choked when he saw the bludgeoned body of their prisoner.
Masakazu knelt and silently made the
sign of the Cross, closing the vacant eyes of the dead man as he rose to his
feet. He looked around and sighed.
“Guess whoever was here got clean
away”, he murmured.
“Not quite.” The boys turned sharply and saw their sister
spraying on sterile latex onto her palms.
Shaking the stuff dry, she gingerly picked up what appeared to be a
brooch. She fished a jeweler’s glass
from her pocket and set it into her eye, appraising the object in tense
silence. Then, “I think we may have
ourselves a clue.”
All
settled down into their places as sunset approached.
Finally, the herald at the door
announced the presence of the ningyō up for investiture.
“Presenting the Lady Murasaki of the
Scarlet and Gold Faction!”, he declared grandly. “Ningyō of the Fujiwara Clan and Protectress from the Regents’
Stronghold in Nara!”
Murasaki came forth and appeared in
the middle of the doorway, proud and resplendent in her ceremonial uniform, her
bobbed blue-black hair tucked neatly away beneath a kerchief embroidered with
the Fujiwara Crest. Taking slow,
measured steps, she approached the dais.
The crowd murmured admiringly as she
made her down the red carpet. A number
of young noblemen eyed her speculatively and Sora Ang sighed longingly. Murasaki’s eyes, however, were stern and
only softened when she met the gaze of the Crown Prince. Kunihiko raised his hand ever so slightly in
acknowledgment. Rei saw this from the
corner of her eye, meaning to tease her brother about it after the ceremony.
When Murasaki had gone halfway, the
herald raised his voice a second time.
“Presenting the Lady Midori of the Jade and Gold Faction”, he
bellowed. “Ningyō of the Urushihara
Clan and Protectress from the Imperial City of Kyōto!”
There was a shocked gasp that swept
through the Hall when a second ningyō stood in the doorway. Save for the fact that her hakama was pine
green and her hair fell to her waist and was caught in a high samurai’s
ponytail, many could’ve sworn that it was Murasaki all over again. Fumi, however, grinned broadly.
Rei and Kunihiko both stared in
wide-eyed fascination. “That’s
Midori?”, the latter gasped. “She was a
roly-poly little thing when she left five years ago!”
“That was five years ago”, Fumi
chuckled proudly. He gazed adoringly as
Midori came forward. “She’s thinned out
since then.”
“I can see that!”
“You’re a lucky man, Cousin Fumi”,
Rei teased him.
“Oh, am I ever! She’s an excellent cook, too. No match for Miss Murasaki in the kitchen,
of course, but she can whip up the meanest paella this side of Spain.” He pressed a finger to the side of his nose
conspiratorially. “That’s when she isn’t
beating people up for fun and profit!”
“You two…” Rei covered her mouth to stifle her giggles, but was shaking with
laughter. Her cousin and his ningyō
seemed like an ideal pair. She hoped
that she could soon say the same about her brother and his ningyō. She didn’t have any doubts about that,
though…
“They look good”, Empress Naoko
murmured to Rumiko Fujiwara and Kei Urushihara who sat beside her. “They both do.”
“Were you expecting any less,
Nao-chan?” Kei, Grand Duchess of Kyōto,
dimpled impishly. “It is but fair that
they should.”
“Reminds you of our own
investitures, doesn’t it?”, Rumiko sighed nostalgically.
Naoko slid a sidelong glance at her
son and motioned to Rumiko. “Has my boy
thanked Murasaki for the service she did for him?”, she asked. “I may be his mother, but I’ll personally
rearrange his skeleton in case he hasn’t.”
“You needn’t get provoked so,
Nao-chan. Rei was telling me over lunch
that Kuni-chan looked like a pole-axed ox when he saw her. I think Murasaki takes the fact that he
thought she was an angel when he regained consciousness as thanks enough.”
“An angel?” That amused Kei. “My, she must’ve been quite a revelation to him!”
Together, the two ningyō genuflected
at the foot of the dais with their swords placed horizontally on the floor
before them. As one, they intoned the
request to serve in the Court of Emperor Junichi.
“Long have men served the
Chrysanthemum Throne as defenders, procurers, advisors, and such. Few outside the halls of the Palace have
known that there have been women lurking in the shadows, seeing to the defense
of the Emperor’s person. These women
are but few and their occupation perilous.
Few women will dare to risk their lives to enter such an occupation –
but even fewer will be chosen to serve.
“We are the daughters of the
Patriarchs of the Clans that have made their mark upon the Empire and the world
about us. Blood binds us, duty compels
us to serve the Throne, to give up our lives if need be to protect those upon
the Throne and those destined by fate to ascend to it when the time comes.
“We have trained in and mastered the
arts of war and the exquisite dance of dealings between our nation and others.
“We are not ordinary women though we
may be as human as the rest of the world.
“We are ningyō and we ask to be
given the right to serve the Chrysanthemum Throne.”
Emperor Junichi rose and motioned
for them to come forward. Silently,
both girls rose and went up the steps.
Mutely, they genuflected as they handed their swords to the Emperor.
The throng seemed to wait in
breathless anticipation. Junichi took
the sword of the Fujiwara Ningyō, the one with the gold and ebony hilt and the
scarlet tassel, and handed it to the Crown Prince. The sword of the Urushihara Ningyō, the one with a similar hilt
and a green tassel, he handed to Fumi.
“Thus do I accept the services of
Murasaki Fujiwara and Midori Urushihara as ningyō”, the Emperor announced to
the assembled crowd before him. He took
Murasaki by the hand and raised her to her feet. “As a child, the Countess of Nara-ken vowed that she would serve
none but my only son, Kunihiko, and the day of her acceptance has come.”
This was the Crown Prince’s
cue. Carrying Murasaki’s sword, he came
to stand before her.
“Fujiwara-kun”, he addressed
her. “As a child, thou promised to come
and serve me as my ningyō.” He cocked
his head to one side, eyeing her seriously.
“I trust that thou art aware that this task will be difficult, even
fraught with peril?”
“Aye, master.” Murasaki gracefully went down on her knees,
pressing her forehead to the floor of the dais. “But the peril is of no moment to me if it means keeping thy
person safe and the difficulties are as nothing if I am able to prepare thee to
rule our nation in thy father’s stead when the appointed time comes.” Murasaki closed her eyes as she spoke and
those who heard caught a heartfelt note in her words as they departed from her
lips. “I would truly give my own life
if need be to save thine, my master.
“If I seem impertinent by preempting
thy next query, master, do forgive me.
I do know what thou wouldst ask of me: if I would give up the life of a
normal lass ere I enter thy service. I
made that decision long before I took my first step, master, even as a babe in
my mother’s arms. Long have I known
that I would grow and choose to be thy ningyō.
After all…” An impish cast came
over Murasaki’s unseen face. “Were not
thou the one who named me, my master?”
The crowd fell unusually
silent. Sora stared at the gathering on
the dais in disbelief. Kunihiko felt
his heart skip a beat: how could he
have forgotten? Had it already been so
long, sixteen years to the day? He and
Masahiro had been at school together when a Fujiwara court noble drove up to
tell the Fujiwara boys that their mother had given birth to a daughter. He’d gone with them to the hospital and
found the Grand Duke and Duchess vainly trying to quell the infant’s
crying. Gingerly, the barely
twelve-year-old prince had taken the baby who suddenly stopped crying as soon
as he touched her.
Murasaki he’d named her – after the
great lady Murasaki Shikibu who was, herself, of the Fujiwara. The young prince had a feeling that the baby
would grow up wise, understanding, and beautiful. He had not been wrong:
her she was now, grown in wisdom, strength, and beauty. That little baby – this young goddess
kneeling before him – was one after his own heart. She’d ruined him for any other girl – and, really, he didn’t care
as long as she was there.
“Thou art fair-spoken, my
ningyō.” Kunihiko helped her up and
handed back her sword. “Take up thy
sword, Fujiwara-ningyō”, he intoned. To
the surprise of the assemblage, he fished a jeweler’s box out of his
pocket. He opened it to reveal a
ring: a gold signet wrought in the form
of the Chrysanthemum Seal with a brilliant ruby in the center of the golden
blossom. Trembling in every nerve, he
slipped the ring onto the middle finger of Murasaki’s right hand. “Thus do I bind thee to my person.” Tenderly, he kissed her hand. The ningyō looked touched and bowed
gratefully; however, there was a very satisfied little smirk on her pretty
face.
What had just happened was something
not unheard of but was so rarely seen that it was enough to set the audience
abuzz with comments. The ring meant
that Kunihiko had chosen a bride even as he swore a ningyō into his
service. The last time such a thing
happened had been more than thirty years ago:
when young Naoko Taira was sworn into the service of Crown Prince
Junichi. The whole thing brought joyful
tears to the Empress’s eyes; her son could never have made a better
choice. Murasaki would be a great
empress someday as she was both wise and determined, a good co-ruler.
Not everyone was happy about it,
though. There were a good number of
young noblemen who had meant to approach the Grand Duke of Nara about courting
his lovely daughter. Kunihiko’s move
brought the curtains crashing down on them.
Sora was beside himself with rage –
a rage his bewildered ningyō couldn’t understand. It angered Maruka that her master could get so worked up about Murasaki. It galled her that Sora looked like a jilted
suitor who had failed to press his suit.
To Maruka, Murasaki was just a kid.
All the same, the diminutive ningyō was more than a little jealous.
Why didn’t my master give
me a ring?, she thought bitterly. Why
wasn’t I bound to him that way?
Why? Why? WHY?!?
Harry had suddenly grown tearful and
whipped a crisp white handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his
eyes. Aoi grinned mischievously but was
sincere when she placed a consoling hand on his shoulder.
“There, there…”, she consoled
him. “Remember: it is better to have
loved than lost than never to have loved at all.” To which, Harry burst into tears rather disconsolately.
To everyone’s surprise, the ceremony
for Midori followed the same pattern.
Fumi slipped a ring onto her finger, one wrought in the shape of a sampaguita
(Filipino jasmine) garland with a large emerald in the center. Midori was unabashedly pleased by the
gesture and would’ve kissed Fumi if the situation weren’t so formal. Instead, she rewarded him with a bow as
graceful as her cousin’s had been.
Needless to say that Harry broke down, inconsolable.
Normally, a grand reception wherein
the new ningyō raise the first toast was held after the ceremony. However, both girls backed away from the
affair and motioned to their respective brethren and their masters. The Emperor asked them sotto voce
what was wrong.
“The prisoner’s been killed, your
Majesty”, Murasaki whispered intently.
“And there’s no time to waste”,
Midori chimed in. “For all we know, the
killer may still be on the grounds.”
“Then I will not detain you any
longer”, Junichi told them. He motioned
for them to make haste. “Hop to it,
people; the security of our nation is at stake.”
Murasaki pursed her lips somewhat
thoughtfully as they genuflected before running off. “And perhaps that of the rest of the world”, she murmured
worriedly as she led the way to the dungeons.
Megami Media Online The Ningyō Home Page
Chapter One: Murasaki’s Homecoming
Chapter Four: Princes’ Sanctuary