Sword and Sacrifice:
A Feudal Fairy Tale

Every hundred years, a sacrifice is demanded in order to ensure the prosperity of the nation, but one young noble swordswoman has taken it upon herself, not to break the cycle, but to at least postpone the loss of another innocent life for the next hundred years. How will the deity that holds back the dark react to her gesture, though. Will her sacrifice be accepted, or will both she, and the woman she loves, be taken for daring to try and change the pact?

Foreword
As I'm posting this, this story is only a couple of hours old. I honestly couldn't say what inspired it. I woke up from an extremely vivid dream in which the vast majority of this tale had already unfolded right before my eyes. I only had to write the ending and clean up some of the rough details.

But the tea ceremony, the ritual, it was all there. I don't normally post something so soon after writing it, but I'm extremely excited by how this one came out and couldn't wait to share it as soon as possible.

Please also note that this tale is INSPIRED BY Japanese lore and mythology. It's meant as an homage, not as something that reads like it was written by an actual Japanese person, as I am, in fact, very much a white girl who just really, really loves multiple global cultures.

Please read it through that lens, and not as someone attempting to in any way usurp or coopt Japanese culture. I write out of a place of love and respect.

In a now long and distant time, in a place whose history has been forgotten, but whose resonance echoes forward and backward, sending ripples like an anchor dropped into still water, a small village in the high mountains stood. This village had both the honor and sorrow that every 100 years one of innocent youth would go willingly to the slaughter in order to guarantee the prosperity, not simply of the people of the village, or the crops and animals therein, but of the entire nation.

It was a pact as ancient as anyone could remember, and the nation, from its wealthiest shogun to its meekest young maid, understood the stakes of the pact, though they might not know its true nature, or what entity held the reins of whatever disaster awaited should it be left incomplete.

And so when the appointed day arrived, with no fanfare and no jubilation or celebration, for this was a solemn and somber occasion, a gift to an unknown god or demon not to be praised, but honored and given thanks in quiet contemplation, a young swordswoman appeared beneath the open gate to the village.

Dressed in the finest silk kimono, radiant white over pink the very color of the sakura blossoms that bloomed all around them. Her hair, the color of dried summer grass, a rich golden and as long as a rice stalk, had been delicately braided and swung neatly at her back.

And at her side stood the absolute contrast, as the young woman beside her might have been her equal in age, but she was no noblewoman, and barely more than a peasant, her face dirty, her eyes swollen and dark from crying, for despite how she knew the gift she was giving to her nation, it did not make the sting less bitter.

She too had tied her long hair, as black as a moonless midnight, into delicate braids, and torn the hem of her ragged dress for a securing ribbon at both ends.

And though they did not celebrate their coming, the townspeople were grateful nonetheless. They all came out, both young and old, forming an unbroken line along the cobbled path for the pair to walk. They knew only one would leave, and they would not come back to greet the executioner, as was the custom.

The destined pair walked in wordless, steady determination through the village square and to the other side, to the gate which led to the path that would take them to their final destination further up the path, and gradually they reached the open grove whereupon stood a long, low, flat stone.

They were both surprised to see not a bone, not a scrap of cloth, and not so much as a drop of dried blood upon the ritual stone. Did this mean the legends were true? Was there truly some divine or unholy creature dwelling here, who respectfully, or perhaps greedily, took the whole of the sacrifice leaving nothing behind every hundred years?

The pair set about their duty, preparing the site for what must be done. The peasant girl gathered loose branches and kindling from fallen, small logs for a fire. She kept only enough that she could cobble together a makeshift broom that would, itself, be consumed in flames by the end, while the swordswoman walked to each corner - northeast, northwest, southeast, and southwest, breaking her silence only to recite a small blessing and thanks to the forest spirits.

Already, she could feel the eyes of someone - some thing, upon them. Something more than mortal, something deep, ancient, lurked here, and it was awake and aware of them.

In an odd juxtaposition of roles though, it was not the peasant who prepared the tea, but rather the swordswoman. The peasant sat uncomfortably kneeling by the fire, her hands folded in front of her, not out of fear for what was to come, but rather, out of discomfort from being served by someone of such a high status as the swordswoman.

Indeed, they knew each other very well. They had grown up together, and until societal roles required otherwise, played together as friends and as equals. She wondered, hoped even, in the far back of her thoughts, if She remembered those days so fondly as the peasant did. She found strength and courage in those thoughts as the swordswoman poured two cups of sweet sakura blossom tea, giving the first to her.

She sat kneeling across from the peasant, her blonde braid now resting gently on her shoulder as she sipped her own tea in quiet thoughtful silence. When their cups were empty, the peasant girl placed the stick broom which was always more for symbolism than actual cleaning into the fire, drawing it out ablaze and turned to approach the altar stone. She placed it down and watched as the fire consumed the wood, leaving ashes behind - ashes to soak up the blood that would soon spill. Her blood, she thought, and a fresh wellspring of tears fought their way forward.

The swordswoman approached her from behind and the peasant stiffened, but lowered her head in silent unspoken obedience. And for the first time since the trip began, the noble spoke.

“Please, Ami, place your braid over your shoulder, and do not flinch. I do not want to miss.”

Ami, as she had been called by her friend, did as she was told, her eyes shut tight because she feared her tears would otherwise fall onto the ashes and disturb the ritual. She heard a quick swipe as the blade cut the air. She flinched, and yet, she felt no pain, no great stinging burn, and this confused her, even as she heard the thump of her hair fall into the grass.

Once, when she was on kitchen duty, she had accidentally sliced open her palm. It burned like unholy fire and stung for a week and a half after. Yushida had been the one to help her bind the wound initially, and then gone out of her way to find sacred herbs for the village healer to create a poultice to ease her pain. But now? She felt nothing, and, she was now quite confident she was still standing as well. She dared not raise her head, just in case this was not yet the end. Yushida understood the ritual, after all. Ami’s only role in it was completed, and she only had to wait for the end now.

She heard a second thump, as Yushida’s braid fell onto the grass alongside it, but, then she heard a sound that she did not expect - that of the clatter of wooden shoes upon stone. She opened her eyes, and then opened them wider still. From her position, neck tilted forward, she was now staring into Yushida’s unblinking eyes, kneeling on the altar before her.

“What... What are you doing?” she asked. She knew protocol demanded her complete silence, but this? This was not the way this was supposed to go. Yushida had her long katana in its scabbard now in front of her, and she was using their braids to weave and twist a tight belt around it.

Without turning her face away from Ami’s, she said, “What I must. The ritual demands a sacrifice of innocence. I am as innocent as you. My blade may have spilled the blood of many innocent and guilty in its past lives, but as MY blade, it has spilled none yet. It’s too long for me to wield against myself, and so, it will rest at your side as witness to my sacrifice. One of us must die, and I see no reason for it to be the woman that I love.”

Ami’s jaw fell slack. How could she respond to something like that? Yushida continued her preparations as Ami stood unmoving and stunned into utter silence by the declaration. When she had finished binding the sword, she sprinkled some of the ashes onto the twists of black and gold hair around it. She then lifted it in her open palms, for Ami to take.

“May this symbol of our love bear you safely back home, that everyone who sees it knows that I made this sacrifice willingly and with a full heart. My code will not allow me to harm you, no matter what being demands it of me, and I am left only to give myself instead. I love you, Ami. Always remember that.”

Ami reluctantly took the blade. She bent down just that little bit more and pressed her lips to Yushida’s for what she thought to be the final time, the sweet taste of sakura tea still on both their lips. “I love you as well, Yashi. I always have, and will love no one else again for so long as I live.”

She sobbed openly now as she backed away from the altar. She knew she had to bear witness to what came next, but it burned worse than any blade ever could. She wailed as Yushida drew her short dagger and raised it to plunge it into her stomach, and lay bear the proof that she was no coward, that her sacrifice was real. Yushida shut her eyes, and then...

And then, all at once, like a gentle rustling of leaves, and at the same time as loud as a thunderclap, she felt something grab both her arms and wrench the blade from her hands.

“STOP!” the voice bellowed such that even Ami nearly threw herself to the ground in mad terror, but managed to stay herself. Her eyes were blurred with tears but she could make out, only faintly, what appeared to be a shrine maiden, except that couldn’t be the case.

The figure before them was taller than any man or woman any of them had ever seen, towering at least eight hulms - or feet in the modern, with hair as red as a summer fox’s, though wild and free, unbound and unbraided, and even here and there, caked with dirt or twigs, or the stray leaf.

Yushida stared into the face of the creature, even as Ami could only see her back. Where Ami saw the ragged, forest-worn attire, bare feet, and the sash of vines, Yushida saw only the milky white skin, pale blue eyes, soft red lips, and felt the gentle, but firm grasp on her arms, like silk, but also like steel. She could not resist the woman’s grip if she wanted.

“Speak your peace, spirit,” Yushida said gently and respectfully, but firmly. “But if you intend to stay me from my duties to my nation, know that as soon as you release me, I will finish what I came here to do.”

The woman with no effort at all, easily pulled Yushida to her feet, even lifting her off the ground briefly before letting her wooden shoes touch the altar stone again.

“You are very brave, little mortal,” the creature disguised as a woman said. She tilted her head in thought. “For countless centuries, have I sat and watched as mortals come here to willingly sacrifice their lives to me in exchange for the selfish pact made by ancestors so ancient that even their bones are mere dust. And yet, of all those, you are the first to choose yourself over your charge.”

“It is as I stated,” Yushida said without breaking eye contact. “My life for the life of the woman that I love.”

“Tell me then, little mortal, what if another were to sacrifice herself in your lover’s place? What if you could instead go forward, live happily with your beloved, and reign as Empresses upon this land? Would such an offer interest you?”

Yushida looked at Ami, who now had a new hope slowly beginning to fill her eyes as she clutched the sword, bound by the symbol of their love, closer to her chest, but she didn’t answer. Nor did Yushida initially.

“I would be lying to say your offer didn’t tempt me even a little. I truly wish I could live in that world, a world where our love was accepted, whether as empresses or as peasants, a world where we were equal.” Now she began to shed tears, despite her best efforts. “And I have no doubt that your magic could make such a thing possible. But it would still mean the death of another innocent. I was chosen as the executioner, and I have selected myself as the condemned. I could not live with the guilt of knowing I murdered an innocent, whose only crime was to sate your own greed - with all due respect.”

The entity scowled for just a moment, and for a moment both girls thought she would strike Yushida down in righteous fury, but instead, her face contorted. She snickered quietly at first, and then as she could hold it back no more, threw back her head in a full, deep bellied laugh that rang across the grove and off the mountainside around them.

“Very well,” she said, and even lifted a delicate finger to wipe away a tear from her eye, shed in pure, unbridled amusement. “Then I shall take you both.”

“No!” Yushida protested, but the entity held up her hand and placed it on Yushida’s lips.

“Let me finish. I will take you to the place where I take all who come willingly to me to exchange the providence of their kingdom for their own happiness, where you and your beloved can share in your marital bliss. Only you, she, and I will know that you come from a different time and place, and you will be prosperous beyond your wildest dreams. And,” she said, almost as an afterthought, “You will be equals.”

Yushida blinked. She sat bolt upright as the dull thump of the wall clock droned away the seconds, her bleary eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. She turned to see it was 5 a.m. on the dot, her alarm clock sitting in silent witness to the night’s transgressions.

She turned her head to the other side. Ami slept soundly beside her, only occasionally stirring before nodding back asleep again.

Yushida crept out of bed and padded across their New York penthouse. She stopped at the large window that afforded them a view of the city unfolding below, one of the many cities that never truly slept.

“That was some dream,” she whispered to herself, the weight of her wedding ring seemingly heavier than she remembered it being the night before.

A moment later, Ami came into the room behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. She leaned into Yushida and smiled. “Hey, it’s still early. Come back to bed.”

Yushida turned to Ami and put her arms around her. She planted a kiss on her lips and giggled to herself. Ami, unable to help herself, giggled too.
“What?” she asked.

Yushida shook her head, still beaming. “Nothing. It was just a silly dream. But it’s given me an idea for a new fantasy manga. I want to write some of it down before I forget, and then I’ll be right back with you.”

“Okay,” Ami said. “I’ll be waiting.” She turned, hesitated, and turned back. “But, remind me to tell you about the crazy dream I had, too. It was about us, and you were about to commit seppuku like some crazy ass anime when a fox goddess stopped you.” She giggled and kissed Yushida softly again before walking away.

Yushida was left in stunned silence to wonder if it really was a dream, or if perhaps there was just a little more to it.

She shrugged her shoulders and sat down at her laptop to write a few lines, a few stray notes, and then, getting up again, returned to bed, snuggling close to her beloved, the love of her life, and, her true equal in all things, Ami.