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Chapter 30: The Goddess of Mercy Part II
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2021-08-02 01:48:06The next day the princess went back to the same spot. There she found no fewer than a dozen savage beasts working under the command of the friendly tiger, gathering wood for her. In a short time enough brush and firewood had been piled up to last the convent for six months. Thus, even the wild animals of the forest were better able to judge of her goodness than the women of the sisterhood.
At another time when Kwan-yin was toiling up the hill for the twentieth time, carrying two great pails of water on a pole, an enormous dragon faced her in the road. Now, in Sinadol, the dragon is sacred, and Kwan-yin was not at all frightened, for she knew that she had done no wrong.
The animal looked at her for a moment, switched its horrid tail, and shot out fire from its nostrils. Then, dashing the burden from the startled maiden's shoulder, it vanished. Full of fear, Kwan-yin hurried up the hill to the nunnery. As she drew near the inner court, she was amazed to see in the center
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Outside the crackling of the greedy flames could already be heard. The fire king would soon destroy every building on that hill-top. Mad with terror, the sisters prepared to leave the compound and give up all their belongings to the cruel flames and still more cruel soldiers. Kwan-yin alone remained in the room, praying earnestly for help. Suddenly a soft breeze sprang up from the neighboring forest, dark clouds gathered overhead, and, although it was the dry season a drenching shower descended on the flames. Within five minutes the fire was put out and the convent was saved. Just as the shivering nuns were thanking Kwan-yin for the divine help she had brought them, two soldiers who had scaled the outer wall of the compound came in and roughly asked for the princess. The trembling girl, knowing that these men were obeying her father's orders, poured out a prayer to the gods, and straightway made herself known. They dragged her from the presence of the nuns who had ju
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The strange humanoid dog appeared through the main gate. It was a hot and hominid summer day, but he was dressed in a black neck-laced gambeson with small iron spikes on the side of his vambrace, over the gambeson he had a large woolen cloak that hung past his ankles. He was a strange sight. His sword was strapped on his back with a large decorated belt. Almost everybody was armed with a sword in town, but nobody carried it on their back. He was a different type. He walked down the cobblestone road. He turned his large shaggy head, sniffed the air. The air was polluted with town smells. Everything was strange to him, and yet, he continued down the muddy road. His eyes looked in every direction. The street was crowed; he had a trouble of finding his way. He walked. His face remained the same, without emotions. The dog swiftly moved through the groups of people that stood or walked at their own pace. He didn’t stop nor did he look at the curious faces that followed his every s
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Twenty years later… Yanta, now a retired hero, spends his days sitting and relaxing with his grandchildren that aren’t easy to count, but he’s used to that. Each day, one by one, they want a story or stories, the circle turned, it was Hirohime’s turn. The princess in all her wisdom, as much as five-year-old could have, looked him in the eyes. “Do you have any specific story you wish to hear?” he asked. “No,” she replied like whip cracking. “Strange,” he looked at her. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “Are you certain?” “Yes.” “Are you truly?” “Yes.” “Are you truly sure?” “Yes.” “Alright, then, let’s start.” “Who’s in it?” “A dancer.”
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This is the tale of Sakura-ko, Flower of the Cherry, who was the beautiful dancer of Gim. She was a geisha, born a samurai’sdaughter, which sold herself into bondage after her father died, so that her mother might have food to eat. Ah, the pity of it! The money that bought her was called Namida no Kané, that is “the money of tears.” She dwelt in the narrow street of the geisha, where the red and white lanterns swing and the plum trees flourish by the low eves. The street of the geishais full of music, for they play the samisenthere all day long. Sakura-ko played it too; indeed she was skillful in every lovely art. She played the samisen, the kotto, the biwa, and the small hand-drum. She could make songs and sing them. Her eyes were long, her hair was black, her hands were white. Her beauty was wonderful, and wonderful her power to please. From dawn to dusk and from dusk
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“This is the happy time of all my life. I thank the dear gods,” said Flower of the Cherry one evening. “My dear,” the young man bade her, “fetch hither your samisenand let me hear you sing.” So she did. She said, “I shall sing you a song you have heard already.” “My mother bade me spin fine threadOut of the yellow sea sand—a hard task, a hard task.May the dear gods speed me!My father gave me a basket of reeds;He said, ‘Draw water from the springAnd carry it a mile’—A hard task, a hard task.May the dear gods speed me!My heart would remember,my heart must forget;Forget, my heart, forget—a hard task, a hard task.May the dear gods speed me!” “Sweet,” he said, “what does this song mean, and why do you sing it?” She ans
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The princess cheerfully looked around her, catching all the details that the room had to offer. Her grandfather was amused with her powers of deduction; the powers were stronger than most skillfully trained detectives. The genetic material, that was passed from generation to generation, was indeed strong in her. It amused him. Such a thing was unheard of even less witnessed by someone. These were the things that normal science couldn’t answer, so it didn’t exit, at least in the normal terms. And, yet again, what was normal in this country? Where warlords rise from the dead, not as vampires but true living men what they were a few days ago. Is there a way for science to explain these strange phenomenons? Of course, there isn’t. Most of them are the work of nature or sorcery. “Is it natural for your king to be that large?” she asked. “Yes,” he replied. “I was the smallest of my brothers.” “No way, I don’t believe it.” “It’s true.” “How did you…”
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The Otokodate were friendly associations of brave men bound together by an obligation to stand by one another in weal or in woe, regardless of their own lives, and without inquiring into one another's antecedents. A bad man, however, having joined the Otokodate must forsake his evil ways; for their principle was to treat the oppressor as an enemy, and to help the feeble as a father does his child. If they had money, they gave it to those that had none, and their charitable deeds won for them the respect of all men. The head of the society was called its “Father”; if any of the others, who were his apprentices, were homeless, they lived with the Father and served him, paying him at the same time a small fee, in consideration of which, if they fell sick or into misfortune, he took charge of them and assisted them. The Father of the Otokodate pursued the calling of farming out coolies to the Daimios and great personages for their journeys to and from Gim, and in return for this
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“Oh, dear! What shall we do?” said Shônosuké. “We have lost my father's football in his absence; and if we go and ask for it back from that churlish neighbor of ours, we shall only be scolded and sworn at for our pains.” “Oh, never mind,” answered Tsunéhei; “I will go and apologize for our carelessness, and get the football back.” “Well, but then you will be chidden, and I don't want that.” “Never mind me. Little care I for his cross words.” So Tsunéhei went to the next-door house to reclaim the ball. Now it so happened that Zempachi, the surly neighbor, had been walking in his garden whilst the two youths were playing; and as he was admiring the beauty of his favorite chrysanthemums, the football came flying over the wall and struck him full in the face. Zempachi, not used to anything but flattery and coaxing, flew into a violent rage at this; and while he was thinking how he would revenge himself upon anyone who might be sent to ask for the lost bal
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