Year of the Boar, Eleventh Month, Day 9.

 I have made a decision. We leave for the summer house at first light tomorrow. I shall probably come to regret this decision once I am frozen to the bone but as I have told Atsuko, it is not as if I shall miss the chef since I eat next to nothing and I certainly shall not miss the constant clamour of the Diplomats and their nonsensical demands. If I am going to be friendless and alone; I prefer it to be away from prying eyes and with a view of the snow-capped peaks...

I have instructed Atsuko to tell only those upon whose discretion we can rely that we have gone and only so that they can prevent Izumi from getting any further ideas above her station in my absence. Now that I think on it, I doubt anything will prevent her from doing exactly as she pleases should she decide to enact any kind of plan but at least I will know about it before I return to the House rather than arriving back to find myself the victim of a coup I had no idea was being staged... and... so that if Broken Rampart returns, he will know where I am... it is unlikely since he has sent not even the briefest of missives since he left and when I am thinking clearly, I do not blame him; it is not as if I were much of a friend to him but I felt... better... when he was here... and I wish ... I do wish... he would come back... even for a little while so that I could at least tell him I was sorry...

I have agreed to go to the Banquet Hall while Atsuko prepares things for the journey tomorrow; I have been thinking about that piece of octopus since I saw Izumi close her lips around it in the hall last evening and perhaps if I could taste it... savour the saltiness and the texture of its crispy skin, I might actually enjoy eating again... In any case, I should like to hear the musicians; Atsuko tells me there is a group of travelling minstrels in the Hall tonight, among them a renowned biwa player whose reputation for excellence is not exaggerated. I heard her play once, when I was at Shimmering Dawn and I was most envious of her talent; I should enjoy hearing her play again...

Year of the Boar, Eleventh Month, Day 8.

 Yet again, the gods seek to torment me. Have I not been through enough…? Is it not enough that I am alone without a real friend in the entire Kingdom…? Even Atsuko turns against me and wishes to make me suffer at every opportunity. I have already told her many times that I will not go to the Banquet Hall and yet she persists; at precisely the hour of the snake, I find myself dragged into the Hall to sit among gossips and those who plot my downfall. Atsuko says I must regain control of my House and that the only way to do it is to be visible where it matters…

She is not the one who is forced to kneel interminably, surrounded by food which she cannot eat… Broken Rampart assured me that once my withdrawal ended and I recovered from my need for the weed, I would regain my sense of taste but it has not been so… even the very look of anything more elaborate than plain rice and white fish makes my stomach churn so violently, it is like being in the throws of withdrawal again. Broken Rampart… still no word from him… I do so wish he would write. I should like to know that our friendship meant something real and that I did not imagine it … I realise now that I do not recall him ever telling me his given name, although he certainly knew mine... so perhaps it meant nothing after all…

Atsuko cannot understand my aversion to food… I have tried many times to describe the feel of it in my mouth, that it is as ash, worse than ash for at least ash has some texture… It is easier not to eat at all than to try and force food which is powder and sludge down my throat. Atsuko says it will take time but that there is nothing to be gained from wasting away… she tries to save me from myself but on days like today, I wonder why she bothers…

Sometimes, I see a dish I know I enjoyed when I was small and it is if the memory of its taste flitters across my tongue; almost tangible but then before I can catch it, it is gone. Izumi picked up a piece of octopus tentacle, bright pink and succulent; I used to like eating those… perhaps I will try one when I am next dragged into the hall… perhaps the strength of its flavour will penetrate the depths of my mouth and I will actually taste it… For now though, I will take my tea and try to forget that I want to smoke…

Year of the Boar, Eleventh Month, Day 6.

 Yet again, sleep granted me no rest and I awoke before the sun, gasping for breath and covered in sweat. A slow chill crept over me as the cool air met my damp skin and I remained in my bed shivering for a while before I surrendered to the day and came to sit on my veranda for a while.

The strangest of dreams disturbed me… a man whose face I did not recognise in the dream and do not know now I am awake to think on it… a man with the gentlest of hands holding my face, resting his fingertips against my cheek in a gesture of … I know not what… not malevolence and yet… preventing me from moving just the same… the fingertips of his other hand floating down my neck, barely in contact with my skin and as he reached the neckline of my silks, his thumb brushed my lower lip. There was something in his eyes… something… he knew he could have what he wanted for there was nothing to stop him; I was powerless beneath his hands and yet he persisted with only the softest touch…

I felt disquieted, ill at ease. I did not know how to respond… it was not unpleasant but, in the dream, I wanted it to stop. And I … did nothing to prevent it but I did not want it and I did not consent. I woke just as he pressed himself closer, about to push open my silks.

My heart beats irregularly even now as I sit here in the pale light of dawn and I do not understand why I should feel so unsettled by this, of all dreams… I do not know whether it is the memory of the dream or the cool breeze which has raised goosebumps on my forearms and the hair on the back of my neck but the sense of foreboding grows and I wish that it would recede to a dull roar just for today… just a few hours when I do not feel afraid of what is coming around the corner, when I need not worry about demons or shadows or … him… I should like a pipe… I should like to feel my consciousness float away as it used to do… more than anything, I should like a day which is not a battle… A day when I could think clearly about what to do... how to get myself out of this mess which I have created... a day to free myself...

Year of the Boar, Eleventh Month, Day 5.

 Atsuko insisted on throwing my screen doors open at some unholy hour this morning. She said it was about time the fresh air was actually allowed to come in. That is quite unfair; I have sat outside on my veranda many times of late with the doors open as she well knows but once she is taken with an idea she can as unmoving as Itsuki was… Itsuki… the mere mention of her name still chills my blood – as if she could crawl out from her grave whenever she pleased and seek to exact her revenge on me. Since I did not feel like going back to my offices or the banquet hall, I have taken refuge on my veranda despite Atsuko’s assertions that I have not been outside for months. I suppose it is not unpleasant to sit here in the coolness of the early morning and watch as the sun rises over my grounds.

Sunrise… a tiny crescent peeping up as if to test the day, casting its blistering rays across the horizon colouring it every shade of pink, red and orange and some in-between which I am sure I could not name if I could be bothered to try… the process seems interminable, as if the sun is too heavy to drag itself into the sky… then all of a sudden, as if by some sort of sorcery, an enormous ball, glowing red hot like the molten, pulsating liquid metal the smith uses, is there; the entire sky blazing with its heat and light; the mountains lit up and glowing, ethereal beneath its benevolence… shreds of cloud doing their best to maintain their sovereignty of the sky remain, failing miserably to best the sun, trailing, hazy, and transparent like cobwebs until they admit defeat and surrender to daylight as finally, the sun sheds the heaviness of dawn and the sky bursts into the clean, bright light of the day.

When I was little, I remember mother telling me that things always looked better in the light of day. She meant to reassure me about whatever trifle had upset me; trying to make me understand that everything seems different, less important, less troublesome after a good night’s sleep. 

I wonder if she ever looked at the gardens and thought about how different they seem under a clear, bright sky… about how the grass, studded with those small white flowers, seems inviting, begging to be danced upon; about how the pond, filled with the fat carp fighting each other for space between the deep pink of the water lilies, seems a harmless source of endless entertainment; about how the trees, creaking with old age, seem to stretch out their branches and encircle the gardens protectively… 

At night however, when I sit here, afraid of the horror sleep would bring did it not elude me, the gardens seem to be an entirely different place. Icy cold with the blackness of a barely lit night; the tired, yellow glow which flickers from night lanterns in need of fresh candles struggles to light even the edge of the lawn closest to my veranda. The grass seems forbidding, as if it would swallow me should I step onto it and the pond brings the same terror as sleep; the dark glass of its surface reflecting the night sky, now an infinite depth hiding an unknown evil which lurks waiting only for the merest hint of an opportunity to break through the glass and wreak havoc; the trees, protective in daylight, in the depths of night seem to harbour demons. 

I wonder if mother, too, saw the demons which haunt my nights and sought to warn me rather than reassure me… I wonder if, had she lived longer, she would have protected me from what has come to pass or whether she would have given me to him anyway as a way to save herself …