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talesofedo · 6 months

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This is a work of fiction. (I'm finally rewriting it.) You can find more information about my tumblr, Tales of Edo, here, and an index for this story’s chapters, anything else I've written, and my art, here.

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Suigetsu (Samon’s Story) Loosely inspired by Yagyuu Hijouken Samon (manga) / Also on AO3 CW: graphic violence, abusive family, physical & psychological abuse

Chapter 1

It was already well into the hour of the rat and the bright full moon hung large and white in an inky sky, casting deep shadows across the formal garden of the secluded samurai mansion in the valley below. Gathering storm clouds raced across the blackness, pushed by the strong winds that had been gusting since late in the afternoon; winds that tore at the ancient maple at the center of the garden, scattering its crimson late-fall leaves like embers sparking from a fire.

Samon sat cross-legged in the center of the porch facing the garden, far enough from the edge that the overhanging roof shielded him from the thick raindrops that had begun falling just then, the only person still awake at this late hour.

He was dressed in a white kimono and light blue hakama as if readying himself for seppuku, and the brightness of his clothing contrasted with the dark wood of the veranda like a reflection of the moon above. He was watching the trees swaying in the distance, trying (and failing miserably) to calm his unfocused mind.

Early the previous morning, a messenger had arrived with a wrinkled letter sent by an acquaintance in Edo, a servant girl working in his clan’s upper mansion, who had once embarrassed herself by confessing her love to him when he was still a boy.

The letter, difficult to read because of her unpracticed handwriting, had been unsettling: she wrote that Munenori, Samon’s father, had been beside himself with rage after finding out about the stipend His Excellency the Shogun had granted Samon, and that he had dispatched Jubei, Samon’s eldest brother, to the Yagyu valley to “set things straight."

She didn’t know what this meant, said a scrawled addition at the end, but thought that he deserved a warning, considering his father’s and his brother’s tempers.

Samon appreciated her thoughtfulness in sending the letter, but the message had given him cause to anxiously pace around the mansion and its grounds ever since, trying to collect his thoughts and preparing for the worst. He almost wished he’d never received the letter at all, that he had been left in blissful ignorance until Jubei arrived at his doorstep.

He understood, at least on some basic level, why his father was angry: Tokugawa Iemitsu, who had inherited the post of Shogun following the death of his father, was in a precarious position because many of the daimyo opposed his succession and instead favored his younger brother, Tadanaga, whom they considered more suitable. Anything those men could use as fodder to strengthen their case, like the relationship Iemitsu and Samon had failed to keep secret, threatened not only the shogun, but by extension the Yagyu, Samon's family.

It was because of these politics Munenori had sent his son away months ago under the guise of illness, and why Samon was now little more than a prisoner in the old family home in Iga, two weeks’ travel from Edo.

Samon often wondered whether the politics surrounding their situation had occurred to Iemitsu. Certainly, he must have given it some thought before trying to return his lover to Edo with the stroke of a brush, by making him a daimyo in his own right and therefore subjecting him to the Edo posting, which required all daimyo to live in the city every other year; ironically, a measure originally devised to prevent rebellion against the shogunate.

But perhaps Iemitsu hadn’t considered it at all, had worried only about the two of them being kept apart for reasons he didn’t fully understand or care about.

Samon would have liked to think Iemitsu wouldn’t be so shortsighted, but he also knew just how impulsive he could be: once, when Iemitsu was still a teen, he’d stabbed his older lover to death just for looking at another man, though Samon had not seen that side of him as the young future Shogun matured.

He realized, of course, that worrying about Iemitsu’s intent or consideration made no difference now: what was done was done, and the only path left was the one moving forward, regardless of where it might lead. Logically, this made it entirely pointless to worry about the What Ifs of the situation.

However, Samon did worry about his father’s plans for “setting things straight,” as the girl had put it in her letter. He found it difficult to imagine any scenario that didn’t end in his own death, and he’d paced around his rooms and up and down the veranda for hours, apprehensively pondering whether a simple thing like blood ties would stand in the way of his father’s ambitions and desire for power.

Would this even enter his father’s mind, considering Samon was merely his third son, and additionally only the child of a mistress?

Eventually, and perhaps overdramatically, Samon had resigned himself to the idea that he would likely be killed once Jubei reached the Yagyu valley, and he’d dressed accordingly to await his brother’s arrival, which he supposed wouldn’t be too long after the courier’s.

By the time he sat down on the porch that night – and honestly, he couldn’t have slept even if he tried, just like he hadn’t slept the previous night – his thoughts were all over the place still, but somewhere at the back of his mind, he’d at least made peace with the idea of death. After all, if this was the price to pay to keep Iemitsu safe in his position as Shogun, wasn’t it worth such an insignificant life as his own?

How strange, he thought, that both my father and I share the common goal of keeping Iemitsu safe.

…

The initial thick, slow raindrops had turned into sheeting rain by the time Jubei arrived, dressed in black and dark green traveling clothes, climbing over the back wall into the garden like a common thief, rather than a visiting relative. It was a familiar entrance for Jubei, who had come and gone by means of this secret back route as a boy more times than Samon could count.

But this was no childhood escapade. Jubei already had his long sword unsheathed as he stood on the tiled roof of the wall, one foot planted firmly on either side of the center ridge while he surveyed the scene before him, like a large bird of prey perched on a tree branch, looking for a juicy mouse scurrying along the forest floor.

Seeing that his younger brother was waiting for him, he jumped down and walked casually along the stone path winding between landscape features, entirely unbothered by the rain dripping from his face and soaking into his clothes.

A small, satisfied smile curled the corners of his lips upward with contentment because his brother was expecting him, but his eyes were cold and disdainful, just as they had commonly looked at Samon in the past.

“I always hoped we’d get a chance to duel,” Jubei said when he was close enough for Samon to hear him over the rain pattering against the tiled porch roof. “I’m told some people think you’re the stronger swordsman, but we’ve never had a chance to measure our skills against each other in the fencing hall, let alone with real blades.”

This was so like Jubei: the obsession to be the stronger swordsman, the strongest swordsman, had not let up since Samon had replaced him as Iemitsu’s fencing instructor five years prior, and it stood to reason that he had only gained more real-life sword experience in his missions and wanderings since.

Samon had already played out in his mind numerous scenarios of how he might draw and strike with his sword tonight, and in each of them had found himself lacking in the face of his brother’s skill.

Jubei was many things: he was hateful and short-tempered, inconsiderate and self-important, ambitious and ruthless. But still, Samon could not deny the fact that Jubei was also an expert swordsman possessed of a strength and speed that was like a demon’s.

And Samon was scared. Terrified, really.

So, this was it, then.

Samon took a shaky breath and uncrossed his legs to rise, uncomfortably aware of the sweat slicking his palms as he reached for the sword that lay beside him, waiting to be drawn.

He found it unmovable, because someone, some shadowy figure suddenly standing behind him, had planted a foot against the sheath, pinning it in place against the floorboards. As distracted as Samon had been with anxiety, and with his focus solely on his elder brother, he’d never heard this second man approach, never even felt his presence. It served only to remind him in this split second of sheer panic of how inexperienced he still was, despite his years of training.

The thought flashed through his mind that his father would have been disappointed.

Samon tried to draw his blade from this awkward position, but next thing he knew, a coarse rope was slung around his neck. Instinctively, he brought up his hands to protect himself from being strangled, but before he could grab the rope, the man behind him kicked him between the shoulders, causing him to slam face first into the dark wood of the porch.

In the seconds it took Samon to taste the metallic bitterness of his own blood in his mouth and try to push himself upward, the man had knotted the rope at the nape of his neck, looped the two loose ends around his elbows to pin his arms against his sides, and bound his hands tightly in the small of his back. No matter how Samon struggled, he already knew there was no point: he was completely defenseless in front of Jubei.

“Why are you doing this?” he gasped, the rope pressing against his throat as he still pointlessly struggled to get to his feet. The man behind him pulled him backward and Samon came to sit awkwardly as Jubei approached.

“Ah, don’t give me that angry look,” Jubei sneered, sheathing his sword. “Is this any way to greet your big brother?”

“Why would you go to such lengths?” Samon said, trying to keep his voice calm and steady but hearing it waver all the same. He was both seething with anger that his own brother would resort to using one of their clan’s shinobi to trap him like this, and utterly terrified at what Jubei had planned, now that a fair duel seemed out of the question. “I know you don’t believe I’m better with the sword, or that you need to resort to dirty tricks to kill me.”

Jubei shrugged. “I’m not allowed to kill you, so what need is there for a duel?”

Samon couldn’t hide his confusion as he studied his brother’s face for anything that might give away a hint of what would happen next. Of all the scenarios he had considered over the past two days (and there had been many), he hadn’t considered a single one that did not involve his own death, unless he’d somehow be able to best Jubei in a duel.

After all, what easier way was there to solve his father’s dilemma: If the youngest son presented a danger to both the Shogun and the Yagyu, then disposing of the youngest son would fix the issue, since merely sending him away had not. And although understanding the reasoning gave him little comfort, it was at least a thought process Samon could follow and he’d prepared, in his own way, for this worst-case scenario.

But this, whatever this was, loomed dark and foreboding in its uncertainty.

“If you aren’t here to kill me,” Samon asked tentatively, “then why are you here?”

The rain had started to let up by now and Jubei smoothed back some of the soggy strands of hair clinging to his face as he stepped onto the porch, leaving muddy footprints in his wake.

Looking around the yard as if he were studying its features, the large rocks and manicured shrubs, he explained: “Father sent me to ensure you’re no threat to our family due to your …” A sarcastic chuckle interrupted his sentence. “…intimate friendship with our Shogun. But, for reasons that are a mystery to me, he doesn’t want you dead. He wants to keep you around.” A shrug. “Your mother is his favorite mistress, after all, so perhaps he’s feeling some kind of attachment. Perhaps she begged him for your life. Who the fuck knows.”

He turned to face Samon. “At any rate, he doesn’t want you dead. But he does want me to ensure that you won’t be seeing our Shogun again and that the stipend and title, with which he tried to return you to Edo so desperately, are rendered irrelevant.”

Although Jubei’s tone was light and dismissive, Samon could detect the undertone of anger, which he supposed originated in his brother’s disappointment at having to miss out on a long hoped-for duel, and he worried this might spell disaster because Jubei had a terrible temper – always had, even when they were both still children – which showed itself in a sadistic side. Jubei truly was their father’s son in that regard.

“So, here I am.” The elder brother continued, spreading his arms wide to indicate the mansion and gardens around them, irritation plain on his face. “An errand boy sent to do father’s bidding, sneaking around the Yagyu valley like a thief. And why? Because my little brother can’t be entrusted with simply doing his job as fencing instructor. No, you just had to spread your cheeks for the Shogun like a cheap whore, caring nothing about rank or position. You truly are an embarrassment.”

He leaned in close, breath warm against Samon’s face, and, with a smirk that exposed his pointy canine teeth, he produced a small dagger from within his belt.

“It’s not death, sorry, but I promise it will hurt a lot.”

As if on cue, the man behind Samon grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him flat onto his back, tied arms trapped awkwardly beneath his body so that the boney parts of his wrists and elbows ground painfully into the unforgiving wood of the floorboards.

For a moment, their eyes met and Samon recognized the shinobi as Genjiro’s son, Taro, whom he had known since childhood. He felt betrayed that someone he’d once counted as a friend would do this to him, and at the same time realized what a ridiculous sentiment this was, considering Taro was in service to Munenori, just as his father Genjiro had been before him, and any friendship that might have existed between the two boys as children did not extent to their respective positions in adulthood.

Taro placed his hands on either side of Samon’s face to hold his head steady, and Jubei lowered himself over his brother, knees to either side of his ribcage, and leaned forward to look closely at his face.

Samon lay still and quiet, knowing there was no point in struggling now and having resigned himself despondently to whatever was going to happen next.

He couldn’t think of any other course of action to take; his whole life had been one of doing as he was told, no matter if the orders came from his father, his elder brother, or the Shogun. If His Excellency asked for a duel, Samon would let him win. If his father wanted to use him as a pawn in some political scheme, he would hold his breath and wait for it to be over, regardless of the sacrifices he had to make.

Once, he'd told Iemitsu that he didn’t fear death because he was dead already, though that had been a bit of a lie. He feared death. He just knew that his life had never belonged to himself in the first place.

Jubei studied his younger brother’s face, droplets of water dripping down from his hair and rolling off Samon’s cheeks as he leaned in close.

“Get a good look, little brother,” he said, his pale brown eyes searching Samon’s, which looked at him through long lashes. “I’ll be the last person you’ll ever see.”

He touched the side of his brother’s face gently, calloused fingers against smooth, pale skin, then brought his hand up to force open Samon’s right eye. With a flash of steel caught briefly by the moon’s brightness, he flipped the small knife, holding it as one might hold a writing brush.

Samon took a sharp breath in, reflexively trying to wrench his head from Taro’s grip to no avail.

Jubei paused, clearly savoring his younger brother’s expression of terror, of the pupils widening at the sight of the sharp blade, and then he brought the knife down to carefully, surgically, lift the eye from its socket and cut its attachments, all in one swift motion not entirely unlike shucking an oyster.

Samon bit down on his lip to keep from screaming as he felt the warmth of his own blood spill from his eye socket, but his body stiffened and he couldn’t keep his breath from quickening, coming in harsh gasps no matter how hard he tried to control himself to deny Jubei the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. He felt betrayed by his own body when he realized he couldn’t even keep himself from spilling tears.

Jubei noticed, of course. He switched the knife to his left hand and cupped Samon’s cheek with his right, wearing an expression of satisfaction that made Samon feel utterly nauseous.

“How sweet,” Jubei said, his voice soft. “Actual tears.” He used his thumb to wipe them, then licked it as if savoring the salty taste.

“Do you suppose a person can still cry if they don’t have any eyes,” he wondered aloud, not expecting an answer, as he switched the knife back to his right and turned it on his brother once more.

His sarcastic smile was the last thing Samon saw before his world went dark and blood spilled across the other half of his face. He clenched his teeth so hard he was afraid they would break from the strain, but anything was better than giving Jubei the joy of hearing him scream. Even so, he couldn’t suppress a whimper in his agony, and his body, which he’d tried so hard to control even through the pain, was shaking now, shivering as if with cold, and he could do nothing to stop it.

Jubei sat back on his heels, wiping his hands and the small blade on his black tattsuke bakama before reaching into his sleeve and producing a small square piece of silk, which he spread across his palm, carefully placing the two eyeballs on it.

He studied the now lifeless dark brown irises, pupils gaping black in their centers, and seemed amused by the bits of optical nerve still attached to the back, which flopped limply like dead fish as he turned the globes between his fingers.

He stood up and stepped away, engrossed in playing with his trophies. Distractedly, he ordered Taro to wipe up the bloody mess lest it should stain the floorboards of the family home.

Taro helped Samon sit up and began gently wiping his face with a tenugui, whispering quietly so that Jubei would not overhear: “Please bear with it just a little longer, wakasama. I have prepared something for the pain and will give it to you as soon as your brother leaves.”

After a few minutes, Jubei wrapped the eyes with the cloth and tucked them into a pouch for safekeeping. Then he turned and said, almost as if to himself, “Our dear Shogun has always been so attracted to your dark eyes and those pretty lashes.” Every word was dripping with disdain. “I don’t suppose he would find you as attractive now, were he to lay eyes on you.”

You think him so shallow, Samon thought, but he couldn’t help wondering how Iemitsu would react if he saw him like this. After all, he had so often praised Samon for his appearance, just as Jubei said. He tried to shake the thought from his mind.

“Ah, but don’t worry, little brother,” said Jubei, watching him carefully. “You needn't be concerned that he’ll see you again. After all, these lovely little eyeballs I’ll be taking back to Edo…” He jiggled the pouch in his hand, even though his brother obviously couldn’t see it. “… these will serve as proof that you’ve lost your mind being separated from your lover for such a long time. He’ll want nothing to do with a madman who’s gauged out his own eyes, I suppose.”

So, that was the story father was planning to fabricate.

It was brilliant, in a way. Keeping Samon sequestered in the Yagyu valley had not done the trick. Instead, it had served only to embarrass Munenori, making him the subject of gossip around Edo castle once his son had been awarded that ridiculous stipend.

This, on the other hand, would solve the problem: once rumors that Samon had taken leave of his senses and disfigured himself to such an extent would begin circulating around the city, as assuredly they would with Jubei’s help, Munenori could rest safe in the knowledge that the Shogun would at last heed his advisors’ words and sever all ties with his former lover.

Surely, it would be a bit of an embarrassment to the Yagyu, but since Samon was only a third son and the child of a mistress, the outrage would certainly be brief. And the masses would love it: a story of a former lover driven to despair by their separation. It was the kind of gossip that kept the city going.

“Of course,” Jubei said, turning back from the end of the porch. “Our poor shogun will have to find himself a new wakashu on whom to dote his affections now. Though I doubt that will be much of a problem. The city is literally teeming with capable young samurai and since His Excellency certainly doesn’t hold his lovers to particularly high standards, as we’ve seen with you, perhaps he will find himself a whole harem of pretty, young, disposable boys to suit his fancies now. Don’t you think, brother? He might fill his whole Ooku with young men.”

“You’ve no right to mock Uesama,” Samon said through gritted teeth. “You’ve done what you came here to do. What reason is there for you to stand here and mock him.”

Jubei chuckled. “Oh, but it’s so much fun seeing you all riled up. I suppose the sex must have been quite something for you to become so utterly attached. It’s very sweet.”

He crossed back to Samon in a few swift steps, grabbed his brother by the chin, and slammed him backwards into the floorboards so hard Samon saw stars and, for a minute, thought he was going to pass out.

Jubei pulled him back into a sitting position by the front of his clothing, his younger brother too dazed from the sudden assault to resist. “But here you are still thinking you can talk back to me. You just don’t learn, do you? Your job – your only job – is to shut the fuck up and do as you’re fucking told.”

He grasped Samon’s chin and forced his rough fingers, callused from a lifetime of sword training, into his brother’s mouth, forcing it open.

“Don’t even think about biting me,” he warned as he pinched his tongue between two fingers and pulled it forward. “You’ll want to hold nice and still so I can make a straight cut. If you fight me … well, I might just rip it out instead. Your choice.”

He unsheathed his little knife again and sliced through his brother’s tongue, severing it just forward of its base. Then he pushed Samon back down, gave him a kick for good measure, and cast the severed tongue into the yard.

“We’ll have no more talking back now, will we?” he asked calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

Turning to Taro, he added, “I think I’ll find a servant to heat the bath for me. Get this cleaned up. Once dawn breaks, have someone fetch the doctor. And don’t even think about untying him.”

“Yes, master Jubei.” Taro shifted nervously, watching Jubei disappear around the corner toward the main part of the house, then looked down at Samon who lay on his side in a puddle of his own blood, his body shaking from pain and blood loss.

“I am so sorry,” Taro said quietly. “Please don’t bear me a grudge, wakasama. These things are out of my control.”

Of course, they are. Just as they are out of my control as well.

Samon pulled his legs up, curling into himself, and pressed his head against the smooth wood of the floorboards. If there was only something he could do to make the pain stop. The coppery taste and smell of his own blood were so overwhelming in his nose and mouth they made him retch and he just wanted this to be over.

He lifted his head and slammed it into the floorboards.

He would never have been truly happy sequestered away in the Yagyu Valley, but only a handful of days ago, before the message of his appointment and stipend had reached him, he’d believed that he could at least be content to carve out a small life of his own here.

He’d considered opening a school to teach commoners’ children to read and write, just as his uncle Toshikatsu, his father’s eldest brother, had done after he was injured in battle and no longer able to fulfill his obligations to his lord. Perhaps he might even have taken up teaching the sword in the family dojo or build a fencing hall of his own and teach anyone interested in learning.

But now, even the hope for a simple life had been taken from him.

He slammed his head into the floorboards a second time. And again. Perhaps he could at least succeed in ending his life on this night. Not to spite Jubei, though he had no doubt that his father would see it that way, but to end the misery he was enduring.

But when he tried to hit his head into the floor again, Taro pulled him upright and wrapped his arms around his body, stopping him from continuing.

“Wakasama, please, calm yourself.”

Almost reflexively, Samon smashed his head backward into Taro’s face, hearing the crunch of his skull against the other’s nose. It was to Taro’s great credit that he didn’t curse out loud, but he brought one of his hands up and held Samon’s head back, restraining him from doing anything else.

“Please, wakasama,” he said again. “Calm down so I can see to your wounds. Your life should not end tonight. Don’t give them that satisfaction.”

Samon supposed “them” meant his brother and father, but he cared little whether they were or were not satisfied. He was tired of being a pawn in their political games, tired of being powerless against the forces that controlled his life. But he knew there was nothing he could do and he was tired, so very tired, of continuing down this path that was being laid out for him.

He felt Taro’s fingers on his mouth, a sudden cool touch against lips slippery with blood, and a small round object was placed in his mouth, the finger gently pushing it to the back of what remained of his tongue.

“Please swallow this,” Taro said. “It will take away the pain.”

Index | Next Chapter

#roninwrites #suigetsu #samon's story #I'm going to rewrite this thing if it kills me

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