CHAPTER 8

~ Asami ~

 

Black.  Everything is black.  I probably should be frightened, but it’s so peaceful.  Calm.  Quiet.

I feel like I am floating along on a vast sea of serenity.  If I had a body, I’d be smiling.  But somehow, I know my body is not along for the ride.

What in heaven’s name did the crazy dude with the staff do to me?

Suddenly, the black fades and shapes begin to form.  A small house, more like a hut, surrounded by laughing and playing children, a few dogs looking for scraps, and a couple of adults who are attending to chores necessary for survival, keep a watchful eye on the children.  And that’s when I realize I have a basket in my hands.  I look down and it’s filled with vegetables. Some of them look kind of exotic to me.  My hands are covered with dirt, scrapes and a few scratches.  I turn my left hand to examine my palm and realize my hand is marred with thick callouses, evidence of a lifetime filled with hard labor.  And don’t even get me started on my nails.

These are not my hands, and yet they are.

“Asami!”  A voice breaks through my moment of epiphany.  “Asami, bring the vegetables!”  I look up to see an ancient Japanese woman glaring at me from a lean-to attached to the house.  “Asami, get your head out of the clouds, little dreamer.  We have much work to do today.”  The stooped woman tuts her tongue at me and turns to re-enter the small shelter which haphazardly leans against the right side of the tiny home.  Obviously, she believes I will be following directly behind her.  Not knowing what else to do, I follow her. 

“Did you stop by the stream to wash the vegetables, little dreamer?” I look down and realize the vegetables are clean and still sporting droplets of water.  I can’t help but wonder why I did not wash my hands at the same time.  But I quickly realize I did.  It would appear that my hands are stained and calloused, not actually dirty.  Whatever type of work these hands are accustomed to doing on a daily basis has left its mark on what should be delicate, pale flesh.  Instead, these are the hands of a strong laborer. 

“Asami?”  The sound of the old woman’s voice drags me from my musings, and I recall that she asked me a question which I have yet to answer.

I realize my head is nodding.  “I did, grandmother.”

“Fine! Fine!” the wizened crone cackles with a delighted smile on her creased face.  Her once lovely visage smiles at me with such obvious affection and acceptance, that I can feel my lips curl up in a smile of my own.  As though this body I have found myself occupying knows what is expected, I turn to a makeshift table and begin chopping the assorted vegetables into diagonal slivers.  The crone and I work in companionable silence until I begin chopping an onion.

Once the tears begin flowing, the old crone rushes over.  “Child, child.  Silly little dreamer, did I not tell you I would chop the onions?”  She tuts her tongue.  “It simply would not do for your lovely face to be marred by swollen and red eyes from tears caused by an onion.” 

The old woman quickly takes the offending vegetables, board and knife from me and moves over to her own work station to finish my work.  “We would not want your potential mate to think that you are mourning the end of your maiden years, now would we?”  She glances up from her work with such an open and expectant expression that I cannot help but agree.

“No, Grandmother, we would not want that.”

The old woman leans to the left, her head extending beyond the shade of the lean to, so that she can look at the sun.  “Oh, the day has gotten away from us.  Hurry, Asami.  Go wash up and dress.  Please, please do something with that hair!” My hand flies up involuntarily and I capture a flyaway strand to pull it forward to examine it.  I am shocked to realize it is so black that it is nearly blue, straight as a board, and it feels as soft as the finest silk.  I can’t help but smile.  I have always wanted jet black hair rather than the mousey brown I was born with.  “Get along, child!”

I smile and bow on my way out of the lean to.  I enter the tiny home to be greeted by another older woman.  This one looks to be the crone’s daughter, at least, they look enough alike to be mother and daughter. 

“Asami!” the woman cries out in greeting.  “Come, come!” The woman urges me forward.

“Yes, Mother,” the words easily fly from my lips as the woman leads me to a small room at the back of the house, where an elaborate silk Kimono with wide flowing sleeves, constructed of gorgeous tangerine colored silk, and adorned with intricate embroidery depicting foxes, swords, and foxglove blooms is spread out upon a low pallet for sleeping.  I long to touch the soft material and trace the lovely designs with my fingertips, but I fear damaging the delicate fabric with my rough, work hardened hands.  This kimono seems fit for a princess, and yet, I am obviously not such a girl.  Curious.  Very curious.

The woman I called mother rushes me through a sponge bath and manicure, during which she sloughes off the rough callouses on my hands and massages them with some sweet smelling almond oil.  Next, she begins brushing my ridiculously long hair to arrange it into a series of artful rolls and buns.  With practiced ease, she begins decorating the clever arrangement with long sticks, ribbons, and flowers.  And then she begins applying a fine white powder to my face, and what I assume is some sort of rouge to my lips.  As she carefully helps me don the undergarments and the beautiful kimono I see tears in her eyes.

“Mother?” I beseech.  “What is wrong?”

She smiles through her tears and shakes her head.  “Nothing Asami.  Nothing is wrong.  It is just that you are so beautiful and I am so proud of you.  Not just for what you are willing to do for our small village today, but because of who you are on the inside.  The sweet, loving, and talented girl who always strives to serve and honor her family and clan.”  She brings her hands together and bows her head to me.  “I am blessed to be the mother of Asami of the Mori no Gādian.” 

I smile as well, and return the gesture of respect, because I too am happy to be the daughter of the next matriarch of the Forest Guardians.  In that moment, I realize that we are essentially forest sprites.  Spirits who have taken on frail human form to protect the forests and woodland creatures, and to teach the humans, as well as the other races of immortals, to live in harmony with the bounty of mother earth.  And today, the males of the nearby Kitsune clan of Samurai Fox shifters will come to see if I am a fated mate to any among them.

I feel butterflies in my tummy, not borne of fear, but of anticipation.  Today marks a turning point for supernatural beings in my homeland, fifteenth century Japan.  The union of the Nakano clan of Himeji Castle and my small clan of forest sprites will mark a new era of protection for the earth and its occupants in our small corner of the world.

And then something occurs to me.  “Mother, what if I am not the fated mate of any of the Kitsune warriors?”

Mother’s expression momentarily saddens, but she quickly hides it.  “Asami, Master Hiro has agreed to take you into the clan regardless.  Whether you are a fated mate or not, you will become an honored member of their clan, and that will make our clans allies.”

“But if I do not get a mark of recognition today, I will have to remain unmated?” I’m struggling to hide my sadness, but apparently I do not do a very good job. 

My mother has tears in her eyes again, and this time I know they are tears of regret.  I tenderly kiss her tears away and assure her that I will find happiness in my life, with or without a mate.

At the sound of approaching mounts, we both smile wanly.  This marks the day that the lives of every single Forest Guardian will change irrevocably.  The Oracle of the Forest says the change will be for the good, but it is still difficult to embrace the unknown.  My mother and I exchange careful hugs and kiss each other’s cheek before she leads me outside to meet my destiny.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The sounds of quiet voices murmuring about their concerns over Callie’s wellbeing infiltrate her vision from the past life, and brings her back into modern times.  Oddly, she is very certain that she had just traveled back in time and revisited her first incarnation. 

I once lived in fifteenth century Japan.  I was called Asami, or beautiful, by my clan of Forest Guardians.

And even though Callie cannot recall what happened after Asami’s mother and she left their little home to greet the arrivals from the Kitsune clan, the human woman is quite certain that her fated mate was not among the males of the clan.  She is filled with the knowledge that Asami lived a short, but happy life as an honored member of the Kitsune clan, but died a lonely virgin.  Asami continued working as a potter, in fact, she became quite famous for her craft.  The young Forest Sprite frequently visited her home to be with the people of her birth, but always remained loyal to her adopted clan of Kitsune warriors.  It saddens Callie to know that as Asami, she never knew the love of a mate or had the opportunity to become a mother, which as now, was her greatest wish for her life.

There are tears filling Callie’s closed eyes when she hears Morrígan’s voice.  “She’s come back,” the Irish Raven declares quietly.

After a few moments, she opens her eyes to see Morrígan and Blood hovering solicitously.  With a wan smile for her caregivers, she assures them both she is alright.  Just a bit dazed.  Despite her astonished state, she is wholly confident that she actually lived a past life.  And it was a happy life, despite never achieving the dream of motherhood. 

“Welcome back, dearie,” Morrígan says with a bright smile on her face.  “I was beginning to think that I was going to have to go to the Astral Plane and track that loon down to reel him back to this reality.”  Callie smiles at her friend and searches for the right words to explain that she had traveled back in time to a former life, but suddenly realizes there are others in the room. 

Callie turns her head to see Kazar and Nyle standing near the door of her bedroom in the MC.  The very protective males are watching her intently, with worried expressions on their handsome faces.  Callie’s heart soars at the idea that these two beautiful men care enough about her to be concerned about her wellbeing.  But as her sluggish senses take in the entire scene, she notices their clasped hands.  It’s a painful reminder that both males are taken… by one another.  Just because they want you to be safe and well, doesn’t mean that you are any more important to them than any other human who needs protecting, she reminds herself harshly. 

In that moment, Callie can no longer hold back the tears she has kept at bay since her world was ripped apart by a vicious vampire in a back alley.  This strong, stoic woman finally releases the iron grip on her emotions and begins to sob helplessly.  Without ever being aware of the fact, it seems Callie has developed very real feelings for both of these men, and apparently harbored some very unrealistic hopes that one of them, at least, could somehow return her feelings.  But the love, devotion, and commitment which she has witnessed between those two men make it plain to the distraught woman that her dreams for a happy life with these men will never be more than just dreams.

Just like Asami. Forever alone.  

Callie’s hand goes protectively to her rounded belly, and she is reminded that this life time will not be exactly like Asami’s, because Callie will have someone in her life to love.  And that someone will love her back with the pure love that a child has for its mother.