[Senkumo Saga: Book of Blossoming Epilogue]: Threads of Betrayal

Thunder boomed in the dark clouds looming above, their shadows benighting Tsukiakari’s base. Every last man, woman, and child was summoned to the courtyard, where each soldier stood in columns before Tsukiakari, Mayumi, and Taeko. The flowers in their courtyard began to wilt and darken, their petals slowly flaking off from the rest of the blossoms. Taeko stepped forth on the raised platform, silently scanning the faces of the men below. The wind whistled past her as she stood there like an ageless statue, letting the silence settle over the base.

At last, she spoke aloud to her troops, shouting so they could all hear.

“Many of you have been wondering…where Ebina Senkumo has gone. None of you have seen her for at least five days. I’m going to tell you here and now, and I won’t sugarcoat the answer. During the rebellion in Kaga, Ebina suffered a catastrophic wound from an arrow fired at her hip. She was believed to be stabilized at camp, but we soon came to realize that she was dying. There was no way for Ebina to survive her wounds.”

Tsukiakari stood behind her, her eyes darker than the sky above.

“Ebina had two choices before her. Either she would wait in agony, vomiting violently in her bed and shaking from fever until her wounds killed her, or she would accept a mercy killing, to relieve her of the pain. She chose the latter.”

The stern faces of the men were dashed with shock. They all thought Ebina was going to recover from her injury, just as Tsukiakari foolishly believed. The first, tiny drops of rain fell from the sky as the thunder continued to rock the heavens. Taeko hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath as she held her head up high. The men mistook her posture as a sign of pride, that she was going to bestow upon them a happy ending to this short, miserable tale. They were sadly mistaken.

“I carried out her final wish…with my own hands. I killed Ebina Senkumo, to spare her the pain of a slow death. I refused to watch her suffer. Tsukiakari and I laid her to rest in the forest.”

Gasps and whispers broke the silence among the troops. Many of the younger girls who knew Ebina broke down in tears, unable to stifle their sobs. Taeko saw the heartbreak in the eyes of the men, the pain welling up inside of them. They began to come to the same realization as Taeko, that they had arrogantly marched themselves into a war without end. They all spoke so highly about being a nation unto themselves, about being free from the feudal system.

Compared to the lives of their loved ones, those ridiculous dreams of grandeur meant nothing. They represented and resembled nothing.

“I know exactly what you’re all feeling. Some of you may even feel hatred towards me for failing to tell you sooner, for not taking your feelings into consideration. I won’t tell you you’re wrong to feel that way. In fact, it’s perfectly valid. All I ask…is that you remember her. All I ask is that you keep Ebina in your hearts for as long as you live. Look to your comrades to your right, and then to your left. If you see them saddened and broken…comfort them. Heal them. That’s what Ebina would’ve wanted.”

Tsukiakari gazed at Taeko, knowing full well the remorse and sorrow she kept bottled and fortified inside her. Ebina marked the second time that Taeko had to kill someone she loved. Everyone on base saw how close those two were, how overly affectionate Taeko could be with her adopted sister. That’s why it was so painfully jarring that, after having lost her only remaining family, Taeko simply buried her.

“There will be no funeral for her," Taeko announced. “I know that’s selfish, but…I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

The Senkumo learned now, more than ever, to beware the phantom glory. Each of them stood with tears in their eyes and crucibles of lead where there hearts used to be. War no longer seemed so romantic to them.

This was no era of blossoming. This was the Warring States era of Japan. This was an age of endless strife and bloodshed, where countrymen killed their fellow countrymen, and children were thrown onto the battlefield to die for their lords. All of man’s worst evils came together to produce such an era, infecting the country like a parasitic illness.

From that day forth, the hearts of the Senkumo blackened with bitter, vitriolic rot. Their glorified view of martyrdom came crashing down upon them, along with heavy rain and wrathful thunder.

No longer would they believe anyone that told them war could make heroes out of them. They knew now to disregard those venomous lies that they had been told until then. They knew now to despise, with as much passion as possible, the delusions of phantom glory.

And yet, they had yet to learn history’s most powerful lesson –– War makes demons out of men.