Each silken string of the shamisen is pliant under your fingers; it pours its soul out to you at the gentlest tug of your fingertips or stroke of the bachi.
You know each song you sing by heart. You know the lyrics as if they were your own. You feel as though you've lived them yourself.
Your voice never breaks.
You're a goze, and you're not a goze. Blind from birth and orphaned at too young an age, your options have always been limited. Very early on, you began to learn the shamisen.
Your senses are sharp: you can feel the ground beneath you tremble when another approaches, and you can feel changes in the air around you. You "see" a certain aura for every living thing, and even soft breaths can be audible.
At the age of eight, you were teased for the last time about your blindness. The master of the local dojo saw you fight that day, and your life hasn't been the same since.
Masterfully trained for years by that respected teacher, you took up the kama-yari as your second instrument. In your mind it wasn't hard to liken each fight to a song, and in a short time you were as noted for your skill as a fighter as you were for your skill as a musician.
One day a man, Kariya Kagetoki, came to observe your dojo. His name meant nothing to you, but within a month you were pursued by the Shogunate, wanted on their side, needed in their employ.
You listened to their proposal. You reluctantly considered it. You refused.
Six months later, you refused again. You enjoyed having the skills you did, but you never wished to become an assassin. The Shogunate didn't like it, but you had nothing to lose.
Later that year, you met him. He approached you after hearing you perform, and he was kind. He was charming. You could hear his smile in his voice, and you liked it. You grew accustomed to his presence, to his kindness, to his aura. He respected you. He complimented you. He knew his boundaries with you.
The first time he kissed you, you'd been starting to wonder if it would ever happen. He didn't know the first thing about music, he said, but he came to listen every night you performed and you thought his voice was the sweetest melody you'd ever heard.
For six weeks you were happy. For six weeks you lived as you never had, and you loved him. You loved him when he stopped coming around, when he stopped showing up on nights you performed. You loved him for days after that, for weeks. You loved him when nobody could tell you what became of him, when there was no trace left of him. You loved him when you discovered you were going to have his child.
He never came back.
The child was a boy, and you had an undivided adoration for him from the moment he was born. You don't know which of you he looked like, but you suspect it was you. Being a mother was something you had given up much hope of before, but you took to it with the same quietly burning passion that had driven you with your music and your spear.
You had help but refused charity. The baby was yours, and you wanted to raise him to be strong.
He was just over a year old when the Shogunate came back into your life. This time there were no offers, no pleasantries, no requests. There were only demands, threats, and this time they took your son to gain your loyalty.
1/2
Each silken string of the shamisen is pliant under your fingers; it pours its soul out to you at the gentlest tug of your fingertips or stroke of the bachi.
You know each song you sing by heart. You know the lyrics as if they were your own. You feel as though you've lived them yourself.
Your voice never breaks.
You're a goze, and you're not a goze. Blind from birth and orphaned at too young an age, your options have always been limited. Very early on, you began to learn the shamisen.
Your senses are sharp: you can feel the ground beneath you tremble when another approaches, and you can feel changes in the air around you. You "see" a certain aura for every living thing, and even soft breaths can be audible.
At the age of eight, you were teased for the last time about your blindness. The master of the local dojo saw you fight that day, and your life hasn't been the same since.
Masterfully trained for years by that respected teacher, you took up the kama-yari as your second instrument. In your mind it wasn't hard to liken each fight to a song, and in a short time you were as noted for your skill as a fighter as you were for your skill as a musician.
One day a man, Kariya Kagetoki, came to observe your dojo. His name meant nothing to you, but within a month you were pursued by the Shogunate, wanted on their side, needed in their employ.
You listened to their proposal. You reluctantly considered it. You refused.
Six months later, you refused again. You enjoyed having the skills you did, but you never wished to become an assassin. The Shogunate didn't like it, but you had nothing to lose.
Later that year, you met him. He approached you after hearing you perform, and he was kind. He was charming. You could hear his smile in his voice, and you liked it. You grew accustomed to his presence, to his kindness, to his aura. He respected you. He complimented you. He knew his boundaries with you.
The first time he kissed you, you'd been starting to wonder if it would ever happen. He didn't know the first thing about music, he said, but he came to listen every night you performed and you thought his voice was the sweetest melody you'd ever heard.
For six weeks you were happy. For six weeks you lived as you never had, and you loved him. You loved him when he stopped coming around, when he stopped showing up on nights you performed. You loved him for days after that, for weeks. You loved him when nobody could tell you what became of him, when there was no trace left of him. You loved him when you discovered you were going to have his child.
He never came back.
The child was a boy, and you had an undivided adoration for him from the moment he was born. You don't know which of you he looked like, but you suspect it was you. Being a mother was something you had given up much hope of before, but you took to it with the same quietly burning passion that had driven you with your music and your spear.
You had help but refused charity. The baby was yours, and you wanted to raise him to be strong.
He was just over a year old when the Shogunate came back into your life. This time there were no offers, no pleasantries, no requests. There were only demands, threats, and this time they took your son to gain your loyalty.
They got what they wanted.