Wisteria Dance

Many wondered how Rin made the painting “Sovereign’s Dance” sparkle with inner light unusual in still art. He told articles and interviewers alike that it had been a passing dream that he expounded on. It was a beautiful lie; the words hollow soon as they sprung from his throat. The truth was more insane and unbelievable to the common man. Common was a state he knew nothing of. It was a memory of time long ago when he encountered the soul he was tracking when he least expected it.

Centuries before, Thorin had traveled to a land that once belonged to Asia Major in a land called Japan. He paid for passage on a Dutch trade ship to put distance and insurmountable sorrows to rest and set forth on the rest of his journey. This was the most populated place he could think of where he could be unfound. Months later, they reached the island port in the area called Dejima.

With several days of traveling by foot, oxen cart and small river boat, he came across a village deep in the mountains. Its inhabitants were surprised to see a man his size amongst their slender frames. He was tall by even the other world’s standard for mortals. He was tall as a small horse and stout as a barrel. His hair was tied back with a strand of worn leather hide Sophie had gifted before being called away. His eyes were like the sapphires in a royal jewel. Such a rich blue that even the highest paid artists couldn't recreate it. He would know, he sought after the most difficult shades. After being treated as a nobleman for many years, Thorin needed a moment's reprieve. It was time to return to humbler roots like his childhood in Avalon, before things became complicated.

Thorin listening to the language realized his gift from Athena would be immeasurable. He had bartered for a blessed gift known as Wisdom’s grace. This is what allowed him speech in the tongue of whomever he encountered. It was a small metal coin that had to touch his skin for it to work. As he listened to the villagers with understood tongue, he gained valuable lessons on grief, acceptance and one’s own worth.

Late one night while the moon peaked over the mountain tops, Thorin tossed and turned. His loss of Sophie recent to him even though it had been one hundred years since. Gently moving away from the fire pit, he stepped outside after bundling in the spare, heavier fur mantles.

The unyielding winter chill swept through covering the earth in a blanket of white, crystalline snow and fallen branches. He wandered along the path encouraged by the delicate glow of the moon. It's ephemeral radiance blanketed the landscape in a filter of serene still.

“Sophie...” Her name spilt from his mouth like a mourning prayer as he recalled hearing word of her hanging. He had come to this distant land to escape the mounting pressures of a noble. Cursed class of vain fools tittering and speaking riddles to pass their waning youth. He scoffed at the young Duke's proposal and dismissal of the servants that helped feed his legacy. His ignorance or misinformed thoughts erased the kind servant girl from his great- grand father's history as he had removed her like spoiled hunt.

Thorin (the family called him Furitsu-dono as their tongue had concerns of pronunciation) turned with a weighted sigh to head back to the dwelling. His nerves calmed by the evening’s embrace and body yearning for the house: warmth and security. A soft, comely voice pierced his thoughts. It carried on the wind like leaves falling in the autumn season. Curious about where and what the voice came from, he changed his steps to head toward a small river that froze over.

There bathed in the lights of eternity, stood Rin. She was the old farmer's second daughter not yet married. Her skin was covered in deep violet and indigo colored fabrics with long sleeves to protect from the winter chill. Her tapestry of ebony fell neatly to her waist as it swayed to the words she uttered. The voice from her mouth was low and soft but full and beckoning. It filled him more than the meals shared during his stay. Behind her waif form was the river glinting with icy tranquility. He would wager that the pond the river fed was almost completely frozen as well.

“wisteria blossoms so bright

Sway and spring with vigor

Bare silk to the ai plant

Shabu shabu

Plum tree with fruit so low

Blessings from the gods above

Long night with Tsukihime’s grace

Bore life in the wheels cycle”

He had never seen such graceful movements from even the ladies of the court. Peaks of skin shifted behind fabric with the swirls of the sea tide. The barest glimpse of wrist seemed to flirt with the chill and tantalize the spirits of the land. When she turned, her eyes never opened and he was all the more relieved. The woman's cheeks were flush from the colds caress but she continued to move to her soft hum.

“Cherry blossoms fall

When fish spawn

Rice grows hardy and plenty

Sons and husbands serve the Lords

Daughters swell with babes

Doki Doki

snow falls like frozen tears

life slumbers and wait for wisteria”

Thorin headed back in the thick foliage, hardy even in this climate. He didn't want the awkward tension tainting and befouling the air if she noticed him. Seeing the embers getting low, he added a few small logs to stave off the chill of his return. Unable to rest soundly, he found the enchanted parchment and coal made from the world tree’s bark and Granna Laurel's sap and twigs.

He thought of her precise and enchanted movements as dainty lines formed. His hand was quick to lay her features bare to memory; letting his inner eye polish the fine details as one with fancy loafers and exquisite tableware. Before he was aware, a draft full and strong blew in as she moved quickly to enter and regain the lost heat.

Rin’s scotch brown orbs shone with a mahogany cover as the glowing embers cast shadows in the room and calmed the wind burn. Her soft measured steps carried her ass if she floated to the recessed pit.

“Is everything well, Ms. Rin?” his voice was low in pitch but carried like the prayers from the temples on a clear day.

“Please forgive my inconsiderate ways, Furitsu-dono. Please take rest.”

As she moved to resituate herself in the tattered blanket, Thorin found himself asking yet another question.

“If I may inquire, why do you dance till the spirits come?” She hesitated and looked up from under long, sooty lashes that kissed the top of cream colored flesh. She gave a quick poke at the fire with an iron pole before moving back to her sleeping space.

“My ancestors see my dance as an offering to the kami to bless our family and bring good crops to our village. For no offer has been made for my hand. It is a small price to help my family.” She laid back on her flat bed and he watched in silence.

Quiet as a whisper of silk, he heard the same voice carry among the intricate flames, fluid and strong like the rush of water currents that claimed those unfortunate enough to wade in.

“ I dance for you to run. The past never is forgotten. Just scattered like cherry blossoms.”

He looked at her but she never moved. Thorin took one last glance at the sketch he started and tucked it back into the satchel he carried and laid down too. He would ponder the words once he had more rest and time to reflect.

Each time Rin thought of that night, chills appeared and was followed by gooseflesh. She would sing in that low, but delicate voice and her voice would weave. Tapestries of light, air, petals and spiritualized ether seemed to cloak her in a Wisteria Kimono. When he asked why she always wore a purple or indigo cloak, she had told him that she couldn't afford those dyes. She further explained the legend of wisteria. Wisteria is a tree that is said to keep demons and evil spirits away.

Every time she danced, her cloak appeared in shade of purple to him and he stopped recounting it to her.

When her time had come to an end, she was set ablaze on a pyre. Her ashes were planted at the base of the mountain where a small shrine sat. There, he planted a small wisteria tree near by for protection of those who traveled the worn path.

He sat aside his well worn sketch pad and charcoal, both being placed in the charmed satchel he always carried. As Thorin's eyes started to flutter closed, the words "Please rest well" brushed his ear like a flirtatious kiss in that long remembered voice. The voice that gave thanks to the gods and humbled themselves to the elements for family.