Ai of the Mountain (A Fairy Retelling #2) Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Glossary

  Author’s Note

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  Copyright © 2014 by Dorian Tsukioka

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher (which honestly is not hard to get, just email me at [email protected]) except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Those who flagrantly disregard this copyright notice may find themselves completely shunned and their karma completely damaged.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read Ai of the Mountain. If you enjoy my story, and would like to stay informed of new releases, as well as receive discounts on future books, make sure to join my mailing list by going to http://eepurl.com/7OjkP You’ll get access to the first chapters of an upcoming novel I’m working on as well.

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to Audra, who asked me what I most wanted to do with my life.

  When I said “Be a writer,” she had enough gumption and gall to give it to me straight.

  “So do it, then!” she said.

  So this is me.

  Doing it.

  Chapter 1

  “Ai-chan, I want you to know that I have always loved you,” Kaito, the man I have known and loved all my life, says to me, just before he leans down to kiss me. He pulls back just long enough to finish his sentence. “No matter what happens, I always will.”

  Our lips meet. I relish the feel of his arms embracing me, needing me just as much as I need him. But all too soon, our time together is over.

  I wake up, and he is gone. As he always is when I rise from sleep. In all my eighteen years of knowing him, the only time I have ever seen Kaito has been in my dreams.

  I remember every detail with excruciating clarity, wishing I could truly relive the moment of being held in Kaito’s arms and feeling his lips press down on mine. The memory is so real, it’s hard to believe it was all just a part of my imagination.

  I think of him now, replaying the moment of Kaito’s tender embrace over and over in my mind. He keeps me company as I make the arduous climb up Kawatana Mountain and helps distract me from a feeling that has been crawling up my back, ever since I began the ascent up the mountain – the feeling of being watched. Somewhere, behind the newly-budding spring trees, eyes are focused on me. Every once in a while, I catch a quick glimpse of those eyes, brown, hesitant, and sly. The eyes of the fox.

  Father loves to retell the story of climbing the mountain to find the best growth of fir trees and finding me in a basket on the forest floor with a lone, red fox sitting next to me. He says the fox must have been a kitsune, a forest spirit, guarding me until I was found. Sometimes I wonder who left me there on the side of the mountain, and if they knew that my father would walk there. I wonder, too, why the fox decided to stay by my side, and if it truly was a forest spirit looking over me. I like to think so. Even now, as I climb and feel the eyes of the fox watching me, part of me wants to believe that it is confirmation of higher power watching and guarding over me.

  Father’s obento lunch bangs into my leg, pushing aside my memories of Kaito’s kiss and the feeling of fox eyes following me, reminding me to concentrate on the climb. Though the mountain is steep, and the climb is long, it is not too difficult of an ascent– if I pay attention. I put the obento in my other hand, and watch the path in front of me instead of looking into the forest for kitsune eyes. I need to be more careful. I spent a great deal of time making Father’s lunch perfect this morning; I don’t want to disrupt it by being careless. I know he will appreciate the lunch, almost as much as Mother and I appreciate his new job.

  The entire village was surprised when the new daimyo of our prefecture chose to build a castle on our little mountain. It is a beautiful place to put a castle, facing the sunset over the Omura bay every evening, but we were still stunned to hear that the daimyo chose this spot for his new home. It is several days’ journey to Nagasaki, the largest nearby city and the bustling trade point for foreigners, which is no doubt helping to fund the daimyo’s new home.

  I’ve heard stories about the daimyo, Lord Nakaguchi, and though I am grateful that he hired my father to be his head carpenter, I hope never to meet him. His reputation for cruelty and demand for complete obedience preceded his arrival. Although my father has the opportunity to work directly with the daimyo, I am certain that their contact with each other is limited to Lord Nakaguchi barking orders at him from afar.

  By the time I arrive at the outskirts of the daimyo’s castle, the air has warmed considerably, and I am starting to perspire. The sound of wood splitting fills the air, and I hope that Father isn’t being asked to fell and cut trees. The Japanese cedar trees that grow on this mountain make very strong building material, but are very tough to cut. Father is too old to do such hard, physical labor. I quicken my steps, eager to see how he is doing, when I am stopped by a man pointing a sword at my chest.

  “What is your business here?” the man asks, keeping the sword level with my heart.

  I bow low, my hands folded respectfully in front of me, and say, “Forgive me, sir. I am merely a mountain girl, bringing an obento to my father who is working for his grace, Daimyo Nakaguchi. I do not mean to intrude.”

  “Who is your father?” the guard asks.

  I remain in my position of subservience. I have no wish to anger this man who is acting as gatekeeper for the daimyo. I do not think he would actually use his sword on me, but I do not want to cause trouble for my father, either. “Tanaka Ichirou,” I answer. “The daimyo’s head carpenter.”

  I stay still and finally hear the man put his sword back in its sheath. “Tanaka-san is a very honorable man,” he says. “Come. I will take you to him.”

  “Thank you,” I say, grateful to stand upright. I wait for the guard to lead, but he takes no steps to leave. I know it is not respectful to look at a man I do not know directly in the eye, but he stays standing without moving for so long that I finally do look him in the face. From the tone of his voice, I expected his countenance to be harsh, but his face is not angry at all. In fact, it is open and almost wistful. His eyebrows are raised and his lips are parted as if he is about to say something. Although he has a full moustache, it is not very long; he is not that much older than I am. I know that I am staring, but I’m not sure what to say or do.

  The guard clears his throat. “I am Kurasawa Chikara, the daimyo’s head guard.” I look closer at his clothing. The sword had captured my attention, but I had not realized this man was an actual samurai. I’ve never met a warrior in real life before. Although he is tall, I expected a samurai warrior - a head guard at that - to be bigger. A closer look reveals that though his frame seems lean, the muscles in his arms and shoulders are thick and strong. I move my gaze from his biceps to his eyes, and find him smiling slightly at me. Heat radiates up my throat and flushes my cheeks, divulging my embarrassment.

  If Kurasawa-san notices my blush, he is gentleman enough to ignore it and says only, “What is your name, daughter of the head carpenter?”

  Finally, I a
m able to tear my eyes away and look again to the ground. “Tanaka Ai,” I answer.

  “Follow me,” he says and leads me up to the castle.

  I walk just behind Kurasawa-san, up to the entrance of the castle. Men are working everywhere, carrying stone and wood. Fires are forged and blacksmiths clang away at iron and steel, their backs bare and sweaty. I have never seen so many men before. Surely they cannot all be from the village at the base of Kawatana Mountain. Next to the exterior perimeter wall I see rows upon rows of tents.

  Kurasawa-san notices my interest in the tents and explains. “Many of the workers have been brought here from other towns and villages. They are experts in their field of work. The daimyo requires the very best to build his castle.”

  I look to Kurasawa-san, and wonder for a moment if there is a slight smirk on his lips, or if it is simply how his mouth always sets in his face. His lips are full and firm, and I forget myself and consider what it would be like to touch them. The dream I had last night of Kaito’s embrace flashes through my mind. Ashamed of my thoughts, I look down and say nothing.

  Though the outer castle walls are still being constructed, and the daimyo has not been on the mountain long, what has been built so far is expansive. The castle’s keep alone towers up vertically in three, nearly-complete sections. I get dizzy looking up at them. My samurai guard leads me through passageways filled with men, and I begin to feel very self-conscious. There are no other women here. I am the only female, as far as I can tell.

  “Are there no other daughters, sisters, or wives to help take care of the men?”

  “As I said, the daimyo has brought only the very best workers to build his castle. Your father is the only man from this area who has been hired by the daimyo.” I’m shocked to hear his words. So many men here, and my father is the only from our region. How far have these men traveled to build the daimyo’s new home?

  Kurasawa-san continues to lead me through the mazelike passages of the castle, walking up and up through its great heights. I’m lost within minutes, and wonder how the guard can keep all of the passages straight in his head. They all look alike, especially now in their infant stages of being built. Finally, he stops just outside a room. A curtain covers the doorway and behind it voices are speaking in low tones that I cannot make out.

  Kurasawa-san looks at me for a moment and opens his mouth as if to say something. He changes his mind, and I’m left wondering what he was going to say as he announces our entrance to the room and begs forgiveness for interrupting the meeting.

  Several men, sitting on their knees, heads bent over a table overflowing with documents, look up at our arrival. At this moment, I know without a doubt that I should not have come. A quick glance around tells me this is the daimyo’s private chambers, and important business is being conducted here. I am intruding, and certainly will be seen as a nuisance. I hope I will not be thrown out of the castle in disgrace, but I know that my arrival is sure to cause at the very least a great source of embarrassment for my father. My cheeks burn with shame. I look to the table and see my father bent over the papers, still studying them. He is so entranced in his work that he is the only one who has not noticed my arrival.

  A man next to him, dressed in layers of rich fabric, stands and regards us. The other counselors surrounding the table stand as well. Father, who has just noticed our entrance into the room, stands hastily, leaning heavily on his cane. Kurasawa-san walks confidently into the room. I follow behind, fully realizing that I do not exude a minutia of his confident demeanor. The samurai leads us to the center of the room, and bows low before the men. I follow behind him, keeping my eyes on the floor the entire time.

  “Excuse me, my lord,” Kurasawa-san says, “I do not mean to intrude. This is the daughter of Tanaka-san,” he says, sweeping his arm towards me. “Showing the dutiful obedience of a loving daughter, Tanaka Ai-san has fearlessly climbed the mountain on her own. She has done this simply to bring her father joy in providing him a boxed lunch made graciously by her own hands.”

  I stand for a moment in awkward silence, not believing the words I hear Kurasawa-san speak on my behalf. I felt like a poor, stupid peasant girl when we walked into the room, but his overly-kind remarks fill me with pride and a great amount of gratitude. I silently fall to my knees and prostrate myself on the floor before the daimyo. “Your grace,” I say, and stay on the floor, waiting for him to speak.

  He takes his time. My imagination begins to run wild. Is he looking at my father? Is my father’s face full of disappointment? Will I be thrown out of the castle in spite of Kurasawa-san’s kind words? Finally, the daimyo acknowledges me. “Please stand, my dear. I long to look on the face of a young woman so dedicated to her father that she would climb a mountain just to bring him a meal.”

  I obey, and stand but keep my gaze steadily on the floor, hoping that this will all be over soon and that I can be on my way. I am angry at myself for my carelessness in coming here. I love my father deeply, but I will never again subject myself or my father’s reputation to such scrutiny. I vow that this will be my last trip to the daimyo’s castle.

  “Look at me,” the daimyo says, taking a step closer. It takes everything within me to accept his intrusion into my space and not step back in natural reflex, while he stands just inches away from me. I lift my gaze to his. Lord Nakaguchi’s eyes are hungry and possessive as they move up and down my body. I wish I could slip farther into my kimono, and hide away from his penetrating gaze. A voice in my head tells me to stay strong, and meet this man head on. I have the distinct impression that this man feeds on fear. I have no wish to oblige him, even though I truly am full of trepidation for what this man is capable of with his vast expanse of power and influence.

  “Master carpenter, Tanaka-san, your daughter is very striking. I do not believe I have ever seen her equal in beauty before. Her eyes in particular are very singular and striking. Have they always been different colors?”

  I sometimes forget that my eyes are two colors. One is golden brown, like the tawny fur of a fox, and the other is deep blue, the color of the river that flows down the mountain, next to my family’s home. The only time I see myself is when I am looking down into the reflective surface of the lazy river, but even then, I cannot really see the difference in my eyes’ irises. I usually forget that they are different colors, until a time such as this, when I first meet someone and they are taken aback, sometimes even gawking at me. The daimyo isn’t quite gawking, though his gaze is very intense, and makes me feel very uncomfortable.

  His lips turn up from a studying scowl, to a smirking smile. I do not know why his scrutiny grates on me so deeply, but I feel his eyes travel my body like unwanted caresses. “Allow me,” he says. The daimyo holds out his hand to me, and I have little choice but to place my hand in his. His hold is firm as he leads me to the table where my father is standing as a silent witness to the daimyo’s overly-eager greeting.

  “You have a very dedicated daughter, Tanaka-san,” Lord Nakaguchi says, looking to me with his possessive eyes once more.

  “Indeed,” my father says, “I do. I am very grateful for her generous spirit. There is no daughter like her in all of Japan.”

  “Yes,” Lord Nakaguchi agrees, “I believe you are right.”

  I know my hand is trembling in his, and I will it to stop. My body is not so obedient. This man is one of the most powerful rulers in all of Japan, subject only to the emperor, who lives far across the country in Edo, the capital city. There is almost nothing he cannot do to me, my father, or the people of our region. I knew my father would meet this man as his head carpenter, but I had assumed that the daimyo would be far too busy with other business to be preoccupied with the architectural plans for building his castle. Truth be told, I am very surprised he is here at all, living in an unfinished castle at the top of our mountain. I try to calm myself, telling my brain that he is just an ordinary man. My brain knows I am lying, and my hand continues to shake. There is nothing ordinary about
the daimyo.

  “What have you brought for your father’s lunch?” Lord Nakaguchi asks, still holding my hand in his. He has placed his left hand on top, and strokes my trembling fingers like a pet. I hold up the obento, neatly folded and tied in a furoshiki cloth, a sheet tied around the lunch box to keep it closed and warm, and easily transportable.

  “It is a simple lunch, my lord,” I answer, wincing at the quiver in my voice. I want to seem strong, even though at the moment, I am not.

  “May I see?” he asks. I am startled by his strange request. I only want to leave as quickly as possible, and it seems like he is trying to keep me here, purposely.

  “Of course, my lord,” I answer, and slip my hand out from between his. He motions to the table, and I sit seiza style, on my knees in front of the table. The men surrounding the table rush to pull away the important plans and documents that litter the surface, making space for me to unwrap the obento from the furoshiki. I struggle with the top knot for a moment before the ends finally pull free, and the cloth falls to the table, revealing the square, black lacquer box that has been my father’s lunch box for decades.

  I pull off the lid of the obento. “This looks delectable, Tanaka Ai-san,” Lord Nakaguchi says as he sits down on his knees next to me. “Do you mind if I try some?”

  My eyebrows raise in surprise. I don’t understand why the daimyo would make such an unexpected request. I look to my father for guidance. He nods once, and I return my gaze to Lord Nakaguchi. He continues to wear a smirk on his face. He’s taking a great deal of pleasure in this game of his.

  “Of course, my lord,” I answer. “Please help yourself.”

  The daimyo looks down at the box of food, seems to consider something, and then looks back at me. “I’d prefer it if you helped me, actually.” He pulls the obento off the table and holds it in his hands, as if he’s offering it to me, and sits, waiting. I’m not sure what he is expecting me to do. The men standing around the table shift uncomfortably. I look up to see the samurai, Kurasawa-san, frowning at his master. His gaze moves to me, and I note the anger in his eyes. I look back to the daimyo. He is waiting patiently for me to feed him.