“Well, Mother, I must say I thought you were mad to buy back this old place, but as usual you’ve proven me wrong.”

Casting her daughter a smile, Sumire strolled with her through the blooming courtyards, repaved and replanted for the season. Children ran by them as they went, laughing and playing in the warmth of the sun. Sumire patted a few of them as they dashed past, shaking her head in chagrin at their washed faces already grubby, their clean clothes already grass-stained and smudged. 

Wryly she said, “Keeping them tidy is a losing battle. Sometimes I wonder why I even try.”

“Oh Mother,” Shurei laughed, “you’ll domesticate them yet. Already they’re a far cry from the skulking street urchins they used to be.”

“They do seem happy here,” Sumire replied.

“Of course they are! How could they not be? You’ve created a beautiful home for them here.” Shurei swept out a hand toward the freshly hewn buildings that surrounded them, standing now in the places where the old brothel courts had once stood. With a grin she said, “I should have known better than to challenge you when I said you couldn’t care for them all. Betting against you is a losing proposition.” She winked conspiratorially. “The gods themselves are your backers, it seems.”

Sumire laughed. “So it does.”

Shurei, of course, was one of the trusted few who knew of the fortune Sumire had found by the riverbank. Most assumed this orphanage of hers was funded by the daimyo, as a gesture of goodwill, to create a safe haven for women and children who’d been victims of war, casualties of dread circumstance. Sumire turned none away who sought sanctuary here. And as far as finances went, she was more than content to let people assume what they liked.

With the help of the women who lived here—some of whom, like Shurei’s own daughter, were members of the Inoki clan—Sumire cared for the orphans, providing them with more than mere food and shelter, but with love and support, a sense of community and purpose. A forward path for pursuing their future aims, whatever they might be.

“Is that the new school building you mentioned?” Shurei asked, pointing to a large, many-roomed structure being roofed in the distance.

“Yes,” Sumire sighed, “and it cannot be finished a moment too soon. Between all the different lessons, our sleeping quarters have been doubling as classrooms, dance halls and dojos by turns. It makes our heads spin rearranging them so many times in one day.”

“Careful, Mother, or you’ll have half the city clamoring to attend this new academy of yours.”

“But that is the hope,” Sumire said with a smile, as they reached her private quarters at the end of the gravel path. Together they ascended the snowy pine steps to the patio where a tea service had been set in advance of them. “Your daughter has it all planned out—that one day the school will be self-sufficient, funded entirely by those who send their children to attend. In time, if this era of civil war should ever come to an end, the school may grow to replace the orphanage altogether.” Dipping her head, Sumire reached for the steaming kettle and poured them each a cup. “That is our dream.”

Seating herself with weighty grace on the cushion opposite her mother, Shurei smiled back. “A beautiful dream.”

The latest incarnation of Yuki resettled in Shurei’s arms, snow-white and sapphire-eyed. The cat blinked drowsily as she yawned, showing off her fine pearly teeth.

“And how are you, Shurei?” Sumire asked. “I hear my eldest grandson has won his case.”

“Yes, and without any special favors either. The evidence of claim he presented was overwhelming, and so that was that. The squatters have a day to vacate the Inoki estate.” Gazing dotingly down at Yuki, Shurei stroked her silky brow. “As for me, well, it’s getting harder to move about these days, but I can’t complain.” Her expression grew that much fonder as she pressed a hand to the roundness swelling through the layers of lovely silk she wore. The rings on her fingers glittered in the morning light, so too the jeweled pins that adorned her dark, sheening hair. “If Yahiko had his way, I’d not be moving about at all. Every day is a fight with him, just to get out of bed.” Still smiling, she shook her head. “I adore that man, but he can be such a menace.”

“Now, Shurei,” Sumire said chidingly, “this is his first child. It’s only natural he should be anxious.”

Nodding, Shurei said, “I know he is, but I am not.”

Sitting seiza in her silks and jewels, she was the picture of elegant serenity. Cool and composed as deep waters untroubled, gilded and resplendent in the light of the sun. Sumire was struck by her, the very daughter she had born. Seeing Shurei now, Sumire realized that this noble lady who sat before her was a vision fulfilled, the image of what Shurei had always been in blood and spirit—

A true princess.

“There’s a favor I wanted to ask of you, Mother,” Shurei said, a little sheepishly. “I hope you won’t find it too troublesome.”

“Something in your tone tells me there’s a fair chance of it,” Sumire teased, “but that’s no matter. What’s on your mind?”

“There’s an acquaintance of Yahiko’s, visiting us from abroad. This lady Odai is a sister of his lord brother-in-law, godmother to his nephew. Something of a sister to him as well. I mentioned your home for women and orphans to her in passing, and now she is insisting upon an audience with you.” Shurei paused for breath. “Demanding, rather. It would be a relief to us both if you would humor her and let her pay you a visit here.”

Sumire crooked a smile. “Tell Odai-sama I’d be honored to receive her.”

One day later, the esteemed lady arrived. Sumire met Odai and her entourage at the gates of the orphanage. From her silk-curtained litter, she stepped down onto the swept stones of the courtyard. She was dressed regally, but not gaudily. Like a hawk’s, her keen-eyed gaze flicked about her, assessing the look of the place in a series of brisk glances. 

Bowing to greet her, Sumire assessed her in turn. Though perhaps younger even than Shurei, this lady carried herself with such authority that she seemed older than her youthful appearance would suggest. This was, without question, a personage who was very much accustomed to having her way—and possessing the force of character to make it so, regardless.

“This is a fine place,” Odai pronounced matter-of-factly, as though this were not a compliment at all, or rather, that any compliment from her was a matter of fact. “I should like to see the rest.”

Sumire bowed again. “Of course, my lady. This way.”

Sumire gave her a guided tour of the premises, showing her the various courts and introducing her to the residents they encountered along the way. She pointed out the new school and explained to the lady her vision for it. Odai merely nodded at this, as she’d nodded at everything presented to her thus far. At her lack of response, Sumire began to wonder why the lady had troubled to come here at all.

As the tour concluded, they sat for tea in the nicest of the parlors. Its carved outer screens had been drawn back to take full advantage of the fine weather and flowered views. Sumire had scarcely poured tea for them when Odai began to speak.

“You are a natural hostess, Sumire-dono. I see where your daughter gets her good graces. You have both sense and taste, each of which are rare enough to find on their own. You are something of a matchmaker, I understand?”

Sumire was taken aback. The kettle returned to the tabletop with a clatter.

“I do not profess to be, Odai-sama, but it is true that since my daughter’s second marriage some have approached me, seeking counsel. In womanly matters of various kinds.” A bit pointedly Sumire said, “Perhaps because of my past, they feel at ease discussing with me what they would otherwise be loath to air.”

Odai’s hawkish gaze fixed upon her, unflinching. “My lord husband will soon divorce me,” she said. As Sumire’s eyes widened at this, the lady held up a hand. “It is a matter of politics. There is little love lost between us. Yet he will feel indebted to me, and I intend to take full advantage of it.” An enigmatic expression stole over her shrewd, indomitable face. “I have something of a gift, Sumire-dono. Some might call it intuition but it is more than that—it is a sense of prophecy. 

“I foresaw this meeting of ours. Though I did not know your face, I knew that I would recognize you when I saw you, and that you would be a trusted friend to me as I entertain new suitors. And now since I know you, I will tell you what else I have foreseen.

“I will not leave this first marriage childless. My son is known to me, in the same way that I knew you. He may not be born of my flesh, but he and I are kindred spirits. The gods have guided me to you, so that you may guide me to him—this boy who I will raise to greatness.”

Her eyes glinted with pure, unbridled fervor. Sumire stared at her, wondering if she might be mad. Yet she spoke with such staunch conviction Sumire found herself strangely inclined to believe her. After all, had she not felt something of the gods’ guiding hand herself? Who was to say what forces were at play in this world, shaping paths for the bold to tread?

Moving the heart to love some blood not its own.

Sumire inclined her head. “Give me a moment to gather the children, my lady.”

In the next room, the children stood assembled. Both boys and girls together, in case this great lady’s heart might be moved to adopt more than one into a life of wealth and privilege. Sumire was thankful the children had managed to stay relatively well-kempt, owing to the importance of the visit. Still she and the other women bustled about them, giving them a last once-over. Sensing their nervousness, the children shifted anxiously, their eyes darting around the room, cat-like and quick.

The tension in the air was palpable as the doors slid open, and Odai entered the room. Seeming to glide with her graceful step and sweeping skirts, the lady walked slowly along the rows of children, her gaze flicking over their faces with the same cool, fleeting appraisal she’d cast over their surroundings. When she returned to Sumire, a slight frown creased her face. Frowning herself, Sumire followed her guest back into the parlor room.

As the doors slid shut behind them, Odai turned to her. “Those were all the children?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Odai shook her head. “My son was not among them.”

“Surely, Odai-sama—”

The lady cut her a look that brooked no argument. “When you find him, send word to me.”

Crestfallen, Sumire could only watch as Lady Odai took her leave.

In the hustle and bustle of the days that followed, Sumire’s cryptic encounter with Odai fell to the back of her mind. There was always so much to do about the orphanage that the tasks at hand were more than enough to occupy her full attention. What thoughts she had to spare were for Shurei and her children alone.

And so when she received an urgent summons from the palace, she dropped everything to answer it. Heart racing, she passed through the gates, her fears racing ahead of her.

But it wasn’t Shurei who’d summoned her—it was Yahiko.

Escorted to the far forested edge of the palace grounds, she found him standing there along with her grandson Kenichi and a handful of guardsmen. In their midst was a small hunched figure, bound and thrashing.

“Dear gods,” Sumire gasped, hurrying forward, “is that a child?”

Yahiko’s permanent snarl steepened. “On that point I remain undecided. This little beast used his claws on my stepson.”

Scowling thunderously, Kenichi turned to Sumire. She gasped again at the long slash gleaming redly down his cheek.

“I caught him skulking around in the woods after training,” the boy said hotly, crossing his arms. “While I was holding him down, he whipped out a knife and cut me. A lucky strike, Baa-chan, that’s all it was.”

The dirty bound boy lurched around on them, his lip curled back from his teeth. The dark flash of his eyes hit Sumire like a lightning strike. Half-stumbling, she drew back in shock.

“You wish it was.”

Balling his fist, Kenichi stalked forward, growling. “You little shit…”

“Kenichi!” Sumire cried, starting toward him, but it was Yahiko who halted him by the shoulder.

“Enough of that,” the warlord bit out, wheeling his fuming stepson back around to face him. “Lucky or not, the strike landed all the same. Let that be a lesson to you. Now get that split cheek of yours patched up. Your mother already thinks you take after me too much. If your face gets scarred, neither of us will hear the end of it.”

With a push, Yahiko sent Kenichi on his sullen way. As he went, the lord cast a withering glance toward his unruly prisoner. Sumire had yet to take her own eyes fully from him.

“Well, what do you think?” Yahiko asked her shortly. “I’d have sent him on to you directly, but I wasn’t sure whether I’d be doing either of you any favors. Even for an orphan, he’s wild as a dog.”

“I’m not an orphan!” the scruffy boy snapped.

Sumire’s heart caught in her chest as she knelt down. Warily, the boy recoiled from her, glaring in dark mistrust. By all accounts he did have a wild, wretched look about him. She could only wonder grimly at the hardships he’d endured.

“Your parents are alive then?” she asked softly, willing her voice not to tremble. When the boy set his jaw, she ventured again, “Your mother?”

“She’s dead,” he spat, flinching preemptively as a guard made to toe him in the ribs.

Swallowing, Sumire asked faintly, “…And your father?”

The boy turned his face away, refusing to answer. Or perhaps, Sumire dared to speculate, because he couldn’t. Shutting her eyes, she remained kneeling as she strove to compose herself. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Yahiko regarding her closely.

“If you have no guardian, boy,” he said, turning back to his prisoner, “then you are an orphan. That is what ‘orphan’ means.”

Shooting him a glare, the boy said, “I have a grandfather. He takes care of me.”

“Give me his name. I’ll send for him to come fetch you.” 

Through gritted teeth the boy said, “…My grandfather can’t come here. He’s sick. That’s why…”

“That’s why you were trespassing here,” Yahiko finished sternly for him. “Hoping to steal something to take back to him, were you?”

“I wasn’t going to steal it,” the boy shot back, indignant. “I’d have left something in return for it. I just thought there’d be good medicine here. Not like that crap they sell in the streets. Real kampo medicine.” 

Yahiko’s gaze narrowed. “Have some fine knowledge of it, do you, boy? To match your skill with a blade.” As the boy clammed up again, Yahiko said, “Tell me who you are. Then we’ll see about this grandfather of yours.”

“I’m nobody.”

“Then I can’t help you,” Yahiko said briskly. Gesturing to the guards, he started to turn away. “If my mother-in-law won’t take him, jail him.”

“Wait!” the boy cried. “Takechiyo—that’s my name. Now I’ve told you who I am, so you have to help me!”

Turned partway on his heel, Yahiko exchanged a glance with Sumire. As Takechiyo was unbound and the details of his grandfather’s illness relayed, Yahiko spoke to his mother-in-law aside.

“This boy is no common urchin, rangy and bedraggled though he is. But I suppose you’ve gathered that yourself.”

Weakly, she nodded.

“You know who he is, do you not?”

Sumire closed her eyes briefly again. “I have a strong suspicion. Let me accompany him home, my lord, so that I may confirm it.”

Yahiko nodded. “I should like to speak to this grandfather of his myself.”

Horses were fetched and readied for them. With the mounts came Kenichi, his torn cheek patched and salved.

“That was fast,” Yahiko said dryly, as his stepson sprinted up to them.

“It was only a little scratch,” Kenichi sniffed. “I hardly even feel it now.”

“And your mother? What did she have to say about it?”

“Nothing yet. She’s resting still, so I just kept quiet.”

Yahiko let out a breath. “Good lad,” he said, ruffling Kenichi’s hair as he halfheartedly protested.

From a few feet away Takechiyo watched this exchange with a frown. Catching Sumire’s eye upon him, the boy turned his face away.

As Yahiko lifted Sumire up onto his own horse, Kenichi led his over to Takechiyo. “Here, boy, you can ride with me.”

Ignoring Kenichi’s offered hand, Takechiyo swung himself up into the saddle behind him unaided. Despite his young age, he sat the horse with easy grace. Far easier than Kenichi, who’d only been riding for about a year, and who tossed his companion back a peevish glare.

Through the castle gates, then the city gates, they rode out into the wooded countryside. As the trees thinned near the stony banks of a wide, deep creek, a moldering ramshackle hut came into view by the water’s edge. At the sight, Takechiyo leapt down from the saddle and bolted inside. After tying their horses, the rest followed suit.

Within the dim, dilapidated hut, the stench of sickness hung heavy in the musty air. As Sumire’s eyes adjusted to the low light, she saw Takechiyo kneeling next to a large man’s wasted frame. His broad, sunken chest barely lifted the ragged blanket above it.

“Jii-chan, Jii-chan,” Takechiyo said urgently as he shook the man by the shoulder. “Wake up, Jii-chan. I’ve brought medicine for you.”

A weak groan was all the man could manage in reply. Whatever Takechiyo had made of his caretaker’s condition, it was clearly far worse than he’d described. In Yahiko’s grave expression Sumire saw the shadow of her own. 

Approaching the makeshift bed, she knelt down on the opposite side of Takechiyo. Gingerly she lifted the top edge of the blanket aside. Beneath it, the man’s chest was bare, save for the dirty bandages that covered it. Finding a yellowy stub of candle nearby, Sumire lit it and leaned closer. 

In the spare illumination, she peeled away the stiff, soiled wrapping. The fetid smell of decay that wafted up from the wound below nearly made her gag. The edges of the slash were grossly inflamed. The dark center of it wept pus and black blood with each hard-fought breath.

Replacing the bandage and blanket with care, she looked tenderly to Takechiyo. “I’m sorry.”

The boy set his jaw, shook his head. His eyes fell to the old man’s craggy, ashen face. So too did Sumire’s. Pale and drawn as his features were, she knew him at once as Uetsugi, Edo’s former captain of the guard. Looking to Yahiko, she gave him a solemn nod, which he returned.

“No,” Takechiyo was arguing meanwhile, “he just needs to take the medicine. Once he takes it, he’ll get better, you’ll see! He’s really strong—stronger than anyone, after my father.”

“He’s dying,” Kenichi said, frowning. “Don’t you see?”

Takechiyo glared. “Shut up! What do you know about it?”

As Kenichi bristled, Yahiko said curtly, “That wound has festered, boy. There’s nothing that can be done for him now. How he still draws breath is beyond me.”

Takechiyo’s dark eyes glistened as he shook his head again. “No, he can’t die. He won’t. He’d never leave me alone. He just wouldn’t.”

Drawing closer, Sumire touched a hand to Uetsugi’s clammy brow. Perhaps it was the coolness of her touch, or something intangible in her presence, but his eyes which had been unfocused and glazed with fever fixed upon her with sudden clarity. With recognition. Deeply, he inhaled.

“You,” he breathed out, the word leaving him like a long-suffering sigh.

Nodding, Sumire held her hand to him. “Go in peace,” she said softly. “He’s safe now.”

Uetsugi’s features relaxed. A look of inner calm transcended him as he breathed for the last. In the stillness thereafter, Takechiyo clung to him and wept. 

Leaving the boy to his grief, Sumire and the others stepped outside.

“Look what I found,” Kenichi said, offering up a naked katana to his stepfather.

Tilting the sword this way and that, Yahiko eyed its fine gleaming edge. “This blade has a history, no doubt. I cannot say to which clan it belongs, but another might. Lost swords have a way of bringing trouble once found. Best to be rid of it.” He gave the katana back to Kenichi. “Go now and throw it into the creek.”

Kenichi clutched the sword to him. “But, Yahiko-sama—”

“Do as I say.”

As Kenichi slouched off through the trees, Sumire said lowly to Yahiko, “That boy Takechiyo is surely Tokugawa Ieyasu. He was little more than a baby last I saw him in Edo, but I know the man posing as his grandfather—a guard captain named Uetsugi. He must have escaped with Ieyasu before the castle fell.”

Yahiko pinched at the bridge of his nose. “So my wife’s lost half-brother has emerged from the ashes. But I cannot take him in. You must know this—though she is illegitimate, not all are ignorant of her paternity. For us to adopt him would be as good as to set a target on his back. His father’s enemies will not sit idly by while a blood avenger of the Tokugawa clan grows to manhood. He and his guardian have been clever so far to keep his identity hidden. So it must remain, until he is old enough to reclaim it for himself.”

Sumire sighed. “If you are asking me to keep this a secret from my daughter, I will not. I cannot.”

“Then you must convince her to let him go. Quietly. As soon as can be arranged, he must be sent away.”

Sumire’s chest constricted. It was not only Shurei’s heart which needed convincing. 

Alone, she reentered the shack. By now, Takechiyo’s sobs had quieted. At her approach, he lifted his grimy, tear-streaked face and squinted at her.

“He knew you, didn’t he? Who are you?”

“An old friend of your father’s,” Sumire said, extending a hand to him. “Will you come with me?” She looked softly to Uetsugi where he lay. “He’ll be well cared for, I promise.”

Casting one last remorseful glance to the man who’d wrested him from the jaws of death, Takechiyo rose and went to her. Together they returned to the orphanage. 

After seeing that the scrawny, famished boy was fed his fill, Sumire had a bath drawn for him. While he sat in the steaming tub, she took a damp towel and wiped his face. With the dirt cleansed away, she looked upon him as if gazing upon a ghost. His freckled features mirrored in perfect, haunting miniature those of his lord father.

“Obaa-san,” the boy said with a frown, “why are you crying?”

Sumire touched a hand to the tears threading unbidden down her cheeks. “Oh,” she said with a wistful smile, brushing them away, “I was only remembering someone.”

“Someone you loved?”

“Yes,” Sumire said, holding his dark gaze with her own. “Very much.”

After he was dried and clothed and tucked into bed, Sumire stepped outside, sliding the door shut behind her. In her chest, her heart weighed heavy as a stone. Mustering all her strength, she hailed a servant passing by.

“In the morning, send word to Matsudaira Odai. Tell her I have found him.”

~*~

In the end, convincing Shurei to part with Takechiyo proved far easier than either Yahiko or Sumire had expected.

“It is enough for me to know that he’s alive and well.” Shurei’s dark gaze strayed down from the patio, to where Takechiyo and the other children ran playing about in the garden below. In two days’ time, he would be leaving the city with his new adoptive mother. “Odai-sama is a savvy and powerful woman. He’ll be well-protected under her wing.”

Sumire nodded. “I believe so too.”

“Oh, Mother,” Shurei said with a happy sigh. “To see him again feels like a shadow has been lifted from my heart.”

“Mine as well,” her mother said, for indeed the sunny days had seemed a shade brighter since Takechiyo had been found. It was as if a new world of possibility had opened with his return. Not quite looking at Shurei, Sumire murmured, “Is it foolish to hope he may not have been alone?”

Touching a hand to Sumire’s, Shurei said, “It’s never foolish to hope, Mother. You of all people should know that best.”

Sumire smiled. “For a whore I suppose I have lived a rather charmed life.”

“Mother, please,” Shurei huffed. “Enough of that self-demeaning talk. You know I have nothing against whores, but you use the word as a slur to belittle yourself, and I won’t stand for it. What you mean by ‘whore’ you have never been.”

“Oh, Shurei…”

“No,” her daughter said, huffing again as she pushed herself heavily to her feet. When Sumire rose in concern, Shurei took her by the arm and marched her inside the adjoining room, steering her over to the large looking glass. “Look at yourself, Mother, and tell me honestly what you see.”

Sumire looked. As she studied her own reflection, she saw the crinkles in her skin, the silver in her hair. Yet she did not think she looked her age any more than she felt it. Madam Noh would have called her ‘well-preserved’ but Sumire didn’t think of it this way. She felt neither old nor young. She never had. Even when she was a child she had never felt a child. Searching her own familiar face, she saw past the illusion of age to the true image of herself, unchanged through the seasons.

“A woman,” she said simply. “That is what I see.”

“A woman,” Shurei agreed with a smile. As she circled around to stand beside her arm-in-arm, Sumire saw in their combined image all the facets of her life beautifully and perfectly reflected—mother and daughter, sister and friend, grandmother and guardian. With warmth and pride in her voice, Shurei added, “And some woman you are.”

~*~

Later, sitting on a stone bench beneath a blooming young sakura tree, Sumire smoked her little pipe as she watched the sun begin to set. Fragrant smoke glittered before her like a spirit of good fortune, and on her heart’s horizon she saw the golden days of her life shining bright ahead.

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

This concludes the Seasons of Life miniseries 🙂

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