Shinta's Orchard

Part 1

"Kyouji! Brother Kyouji, give it back!" Akami's rusty-colored hair bounced crazily as she jumped up and down, trying to retrieve her lost doll. Her hands grasped empty air again and again. "That's mine! I said give it back!"

Kyouji laughed at her wasted efforts, dangling the prize just beyond her reach. "Why don't you just take it, Akami-chan?" he teased. "It's right here." He tapped her on the head with it, then immediately raised it to over his own. "Come on--I'm just holding it for you."

"Oh, you brat!" Akami paused to catch her breath, her eyes fastened on the doll that hung in the air. "I made that doll. It's for Sister."

"It's very nice." He admired the young girl's handiwork appreciatively. "Looks...almost like her. Say, why don't you make another? Of Sachiko-san?" He grinned.

The younger put her hands on her hips in a pout. "Make your own dolls for your stupid girlfriend."

The two continued to argue back and forth, and so did not notice the young boy that watched them. He was unusually short for his young age of seven, with red-orange hair a shade lighter than his sister's and large, curious violet eyes. Once he was sure that Kyouji wasn't paying attention, he broke into a sprint.

"If you don't," Kyouji was saying, "I'll take little Shiiho here and--" He stopped, realizing that his hand was now empty. For a moment he stared, uncomprehending. "Hey, where'd it...."

"Here, Sis." Shinta handed the doll he'd pilfered back to its owner, and received a warm hug.

"Thank you, Shinta-chan."

"Hey." The eldest brother loomed over the, his face contorted into the angry snarl of some terrible beast. "You, little boy, are in trouble now."

Shinta regarded his older brother blankly. With the deliberate attitude of a wise warrior he stood at his full height, and faced the towering "giant" with his calm, intelligent eyes. "I'd prefer you leave my sister alone," he said in a tone of absolute seriousness. "I think you've had enough."

"Oh?" Kyouji fought to keep his countenance threatening, as the mock-heroic look on his younger brother's face was already beginning to pull laughter from his gut. "And what if I don't?"

Shinta stepped in front of Akami and spread his arms out. "Then I will protect her. If you don't want to get hurt, you'd better go."

"Shinta-chan's my hero," said Akami matter-of-factly.

Kyouji looked at Shinta's protective stance, pursed lips and serious eyes, and suppressed a grin. "In that case, Mr. Hero, you win. I'll leave her alone." He hung his head in an exaggerated sign of defeat and retreated to the porch where his mother was sewing.

"Thank you, Kyouji," his mother said, smiling as Akami and Shinta scampered off with twin giggles.

"I just hope the little shrimp doesn't get a big head," he laughed.

She cast him a sideways glance. "You'd be surprised, Kyouji. When Shinta was with Shiiho in town yesterday, some boys were bullying your sister. They were almost twice Shinta's age, but he still stood up to them." She paused for dramatic effect. "They backed down."

"Really?" After a moment of stunned silence Kyouji laughed out loud. "That's our Shin-chan for you. The little dare-devil. He'll do anything for the girls."

"I'll never understand how he does it," his mother admitted. "It wasn't the first time. He never puts up a fight, but somehow they all know not to start anything with him. It makes me wonder where he got his reputation from."

Akami reached into her bag, pulling out several small dolls that had been stitched from pieces of scrap fabric. Each was no more than five inches long, with tiny knot eyes and filled with sand for weight. She pointed to one that had been dressed in a flowered kimono-like outfit with rusty-orange hair. "Mom made me this when I was two, before you were born," she explained. "It's supposed to be me. Last month she taught me how to make them, so I decided to make our entire family." She pointed to each in turn. "Mom, Dad, Brother, and Sister."

Shinta hummed thoughtfully, inspecting each with a critical eye. He grinned delightedly at the likenesses. "They're great."

"You'll be next." Akami frowned disconcertedly. "But I can't find anything for your hair. Mom used some of Dad's gi to make mine, but she threw that out a long time ago. We don't have any more red."

"Why don't you buy something red?"

She shook her head. "I can't buy nice material like that--it's too expensive. And Mom won't get it because I only need a little. She told me to use a different color."

Shinta pursed his lips in deep consideration. "It's okay," he told her. "I don't mind." He held out his sleeve. "You can use this for my hair; brown is close."

His sister shook her head immediately. "No, it has to be red. All the others are correct." She rested her chin in her hands. "Besides, you're special, so it has to be extra special."

"I'm not special," he protested.

"You're the most special. Now help me think."

Shinta fell silent, concentrating on the task at hand. She could tell he was thinking hard by the strict look on his face, and she giggled. "You're so cute when you're serious," she said, tapping him on the head affectionately. "C'mon--let's go home and get some lunch."

"Okay." He helped to gather the dolls and they started back to the house.

All that day Shinta pondered over the dilemma of the doll's unusual hair color. With the tenacity of a determined child he searched the house for anything that might serve as a head of red hair. He found pinks, greens, grays, browns, blues, even violets--but no reds. It was an awkward problem; common sense told him to settle for something less, but when he saw the down-hearted look in his sister's face he decided not to give up. She deserved better than that.

The next day Shinta's mother took the children into town--except for Kyouji, who stayed behind to mind the farm with his father. "I'll buy you all one thing," she told them as they walked up and down the market. "Once you spend your share that's it, because the rest we need for dinner."

Shinta retrieved the promised amount and counted the coins. "If we combine ours," he said to Akami, "we can buy one of those dolls." He pointed to a stand where a man was selling toys. Several dolls were set out, and one was wearing a red ribbon. "That's enough for the hair, isn't it?"

"Yes, but you don't have to use your money. Didn't you want to buy a new top for Matsuriko-chan?"

Matsuriko was the youngest member of Shinta's family at age two, with her brother's violet eyes, and black hair tied in pigtails. Unlike most children her age she refused to speak, and often acted as if she had no perception of the world outside her toys. Ever since her birth Shinta had taken it upon himself to care for her personally.

"I've got some more money saved at home," Shinta replied. "She'll get it next time. Well?"

Akami couldn't help but smile at her brother's insistence. "Alright. Thank you, Shinta." She handed him her money.

Shinta grinned back, slipping through the crowds to the stand. His excitement was so great that the people around him couldn't help the smiles that crept upon their own faces. That is, except for the boy already at the small road shop. He was arguing with the owner over the price of the very doll in Shinta's sights. "C'mon, Mister, you know I don't have that much."

"Then I'm sorry, but I can't let you have the doll," the man replied. "So please stand aside so the other customers can shop." His eye caught Shinta's, and his face immediately brightened. "Oh, Shinta-kun. Another toy for your sister?"

"It's for Akami," said Shinta, lifting the money over the stand. "The doll with the red ribbon."

The other boy glared at him angrily. "Hey, kid," he snapped. "I'm buying that doll."

"There's another doll," Shinta replied reasonably. "You can have that one."

"I want that one. My sister wears a red ribbon like that."

"Don't be a sore sport," the owner interjected, handing the doll to Shinta. "You don't have enough money anyway. Take good care of her, Shinta-kun."

"Yup."

The older boy scowled, annoyed by the look of delighted triumph on the strange boy's face. He wanted that doll. Without hesitation he reached out and snatched the item, turning to flee.

"Hey!" Shinta immediately gave chase, pushing his way through the crowds of people in pursuit of the stolen gift. "Give it back!" he shouted. "That's for Akami!"

The boy turned just long enough to make a face at him before continuing, forcing his pursuer to increase his pace. Shinta ducked under wagons and slipped around the townsfolk, but none of his efforts brought him any closer. Finally he found himself in an open stretch, and he pushed his speed to its limit.

As the boy was young, it was inevitable; he tripped on a protruding rock, and at his speed was sent tumbling in the street. The pain was second to his disappointment--his quarry had escaped. Slowly, Shinta began to push himself up.

"Shinta! Shinta-chan!" He could hear his mother and sisters calling, and soon they'd swarmed over him. "Oh, Shinta, you poor dear," his mother clucked, pulling out a handkerchief. "Are you all right?"

"You're so stupid," Akami admonished gently. "You didn't have to do that. That boy was twice your size!"

"I just wanted to get the doll." Shinta finally noticed that his knees and palms were scraped and bleeding, and more blood dribbled from his nose. He stared at the red fluid, and before the pain could replace his shock, an idea leapt upon him that silenced his every complaint. His pants had torn, and he ripped off a square of the white fabric that had once covered his knee. He used it to wipe the blood from his face and hands, taking care to spread the colorful stains evenly over the material.

"Shinta, what are you doing?" his mother asked. "Are you all right?"

When the square had been completely covered he proudly displayed the piece to Akami. "Look, it's red!" he said enthusiastically. "I'm sorry I lost the doll, but is this okay? It's red, like my hair."

"Shinta..." Akami stared at her brother and the offering. here he was, after losing his money and scraped raw, offering her a gift. He was grinning even though his hands and legs must have stung painfully. Without thinking she wrapped her arms around him, and she began to cry. "Shinta, how can you be so caring? You didn't have to...."

"But is it okay?" he persisted. "Will it work?"

"Of course it will work! Now don't worry about it anymore, you little fool." She pulled back, and began to help her mother and sister in cleaning and covering his wounds. Several townspeople appeared to help, and their neighbor--Mr. Yamashita--volunteered to carry Shinta home.

That afternoon, as Shinta watched with bandaged hands and knees, Akami cut the stained fabric into strips and sowed each onto the head of her newest doll. Already the blood had dried and become a rusty brown, but neither child cared. "There," she announced proudly once it was finished. "Now I will always have you with me."

Shinta's Orchard

Part 2

The day started as any other spring day: with the sound of Shinta running up and down the house calling, "Cherry blossoms! Cherry blossoms! Come see the cherry blossoms snowing!"

"Shinta, it's too early," Shiiho complained, the eldest of her sisters at age thirteen. "Go back to bed." She covered her head with her blankets.

Despite her chiding, Akami and Matsuriko instantly leapt out of bed and ran to the open panel. "Wow, look! It's so pretty!" Akami pointed to the grove of cherry trees that stood on a hill overlooking their far; a mild breeze was about, lifting the tiny pink blossoms off the trees and mixing them about in the wind. "It looks like pink snow."

Matsuriko laughed out loud, waving her arms excitedly. She tottered down the steps and began to skip across the yard.

Before she could get too far Shinta stopped her, then bent down to allow her the privilege of riding piggy-back. "Come on, Ma-chan," he said. Shinta had only been six when his youngest sister was born, and the difficulty he had in pronouncing her name had required a pet name he had grown too accustomed to. "Let's go see." She giggled exuberantly and hugged his neck from behind.

"Brother," Shiiho groaned from bed, "go after them."

"The sun's barely up," he snorted back, sitting up. "Besides, I've got chores."

"Kyouji? Shiiho?" Their father's voice could be heard from outside, and moments later his figure appeared in the carelessly left open entrance. "Shiiho, your mother could use your help--did you forget about today?"

"Oh, my gosh, the picnic!" Shiiho instantly leapt to her feet and dashed to the corner where her yukata was set and waiting. "Could you please excuse me, father? I have to get dressed."

"Of course. Come on, Kyouji."

Kyouji stumbled outside to wait while his sister changed. "What's going on, father?" he asked groggily.

The man chuckled. "So, you forgot, too. Today is our Cheery Blossom Picnic; our neighbors the Yamashitas, and the Sagakuras are coming to spend the morning with us and then have lunch in the cherry tree grove." He smiled into the frozen morning light. "And what a beautiful day for it."

A moment later Shiiho emerged from the room; she slipped into her sandals and hurried off to join her mother in the kitchen. "And so it begins," Kyouji murmured. "Well, I'm gonna get dressed. You need help, Dad?"

"Yes. We'll get as much of the work done as we can now, and the rest later in the afternoon. This day is for us, too."

"Of course." Kyouji grinned and reentered his room, picking out his work clothes. I'll change just before Sachiko-san arrives, he thought smugly.

Meanwhile, Akami, Matsuriko, and Shinta were already in the cheery tree grove, laughing and dancing, capturing the petals that scattered like butterflies about their heads. They scampered about the trees' thick roots and chased each other in circles around the trunks. Not even they knew the rules of their impromptu game of tag. Their elfish laughter echoed down the hill as they played.

At long last the realization of that day's promised event reached Akami's thoughts. "I can't believe I forgot! Mother's going to need help preparing the food." She turned to her siblings. "Shinta, Matsuriko-chan, we've got to go back."

"Go back?" Shinta echoed disappointedly. Matsuriko simply ignored them. "Why?"

"The picnic! You have to help, too." She scooped up Matsuriko, much to the young girl's dismay. "Come on--we'll play later."

The trio skipped down the hill and ran giggling back to their room. They changed in record time and hurried to find their mother.

"Look at your three," their mother admonished. "It's not past seven and you're already a mess--what's a mother to do? Now I'll have to call your brother to prepare a bath."

"We're sorry, Mother," Akami apologized sheepishly. "We just wanted to play."

She sighed, even as her face was already being twisted by a smile. "Impossible children. Now hurry and help your sister with the vegetables while I clean up Matsuriko-chan."

"Okay." Shinta and Akami quickly retreated into the kitchen. Their mother shook her head, lifting the youngest Himura into her arms.

At about nine o'clock the Yamashitas arrived: the parents Sanbrurou and Ayumi, their eldest son Osamu, Oyuki (who was Kyouji's age), Akami's friend Miyo, and Ayumi's mother, who was only called "Grandma." A little time later Nori and Naoko arrived with their daughter Sachiko, and their ten-year-old triplets, Yoshi, Yasu, and Toshi. Each brought with them some food offering, and as a group the three families journeyed up the hill to the cheery tree grove. Several large blankets were laid out, and everyone gradually split into groups: the men spoke of their farms, the women of their daily lives, and the children played among the trees. Kyouji stayed with the two older boys to discuss Sachiko, while the triplets stuck together and Sachiko watched the younger children.

"These are really cute," said Miyo, looking over Akami's dolls. "This is Shiiho-san, isn't it?"

"Yup. And Brother, Shinta, Matsuriko, and this one's you." She removed another from her yukata and displayed it proudly.

"You should make one for Sachiko. I bet she'd really like one."

"I have enough stuff. Will you help?"

"Can I?"

The morning passed pleasantly, sitting in the shade of the beautiful trees. "It certainly turned out to be perfect weather," remarked Shinta's mother, Himura Marimo. "We couldn't ask for a more beautiful day."

"It certainly is," replied Naoko. She was smiling, but then her expression darkened, and she climbed to her feet. "Please, excuse me for a moment."

"We were just about to eat," Ayumi protested. "Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no. Only, I'm not feeling quite well. But please, don't worry over me." She bowed slightly. "Thank you for your concern."

Marimo frowned thoughtfully as her neighbor left the hill. "I hope nothing's the matter," she murmured. "She did look a little pale."

"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing. Why don't we get the food ready for the children?"

"Yes, of course." She called them over, and realized with a frown that Akami and Shinta weren't among them. "Oh, now where have those two gone?"

"They said they were getting something from the barn," Miyo answered. "For the cheery blossoms."

Marimo let out an exasperated sigh, as she already knew their plan. "Another year," she groaned. "Every year they have to do this. Well, we can at least get things started."

Akami laughed at the spectacle her brother made; the barrel he'd put over his head had swallowed his entire body, which made navigation nearly impossible. He wandered about, bumping into the trees as his laughter echoed from within his wooden prison. "Akami, help me," he said, spinning in a circle dizzily. "I can't see."

"Hold on--I'm coming." Still giggling she pushed him gently in the direction he was supposed to go. "Just walk straight. you're going the right way." They made their way up the hill together, sharing their private joke away from the other boys and girls. "This is a good place," the elder declared, helping to remove the barrel from her brother's head. She set it beneath the largest of the nearby trees; as the breeze continued, it rustled tiny blossoms from the tree and sent them falling into the container. Delighted, the pair began to help by collecting those flowers that had already fallen.

"Akami! Shinta! We're eating now!" their mother called.

"Coming!" they responded simultaneously. But just when they decided to do so, a gust of wind rose suddenly, stirring to life another flock of blossom-butterflies. The two children scampered about, collecting as many as they could; the promised meal was soon forgotten. Another several minutes passed before the mumbled complaints of their stomachs urged them to return.

"There you are," their mother scolded. "Well, I hope you had fun, but you missed out on the ohagi Sagakura-san made for us. We ate it all."

"All of it?" Shinta echoed incredulously, whose favorite food was ohagi. "You didn't save any for us?"

"Your loss," spoke up Kyouji. He patted his stomach. "Umm, that was great. Better luck next time."

Akami knelt beside her mother with a pouting expression. "That wasn't very nice."

"Next time, come when I call you." Marimo glanced about. "Speaking of which, where is Sagakura-san?"

"She hasn't been feeling well lately," offered the woman's husband. "Nothing serious--just a touch of the flu, I believe."

Staring at the now empty ohagi plate, Shinta muttered, "I can't believe you at it all."

Everyone laughed at the boy's dejected tone, and then turned inward to continue the meal. After all the food had been eaten, the separate families began to clean up and returned home to complete their own private chores and affairs. Akami and Shinta wasted no time, and spent the remainder of that day collecting the cherry blossoms.

Three days after the picnic, the plan of the two children finally came into affect. Kyouji awoke with a yawn, and nearly panicked when several soft objects slipped into his mouth. Coughing and sputtering, he sat up. "Shiiho? Akami?" He glanced about groggily, and the sight made him groan. "Damnit you kids, not again," he muttered.

The entire room was filled with cherry blossoms.

Kyouji dressed quickly and headed outside, muttering curses as he brushed the tiny petals from his clothes and hair. Every year those little imps--

"Kyouji, come here a moment." The voice was his fathers, in the other direction. He abandoned his sibling hunt to see what the man wanted.

"I need you to go the Sagakura's farm," Gouji told his son. "Your mother needs to borrow some things."

"Why not send Shiiho?" he asked lazily. "I have to take care of the horses."

"Shiiho is ill. You're to borrow some medicine, understand? It's only a stomach flu, but you know how your mother is."

"Yes, Father."

Akami, Shinta, and Matsuriko approached just after their brother had gone. They'd stuffed their clothes with the pink flowers so that handfuls dropped out as they ran. "Sister's sick?" Shinta asked. "Did she throw up."

Gouji knelt down in front of his three children, though he directed his words to the elder two; the vacant look in Matsuriko's eyes indicated that she could not even hear them. "I know this is your special day," he told them quietly. "We all laughed and smiled when we saw your flowers." He reached out and plucked a blossom out of Akami's hair. "But your mother and sister are sick now, and resting. You'll have to help me and Kyouji take care of them."

"We'll help," said Akami immediately. "What should we do?"

"When Kyouji gets back he and I will do the chores. If you can clean the laundry, Akami, then Shinta can tend to Mother and Shiiho. Is that all right?"

"Yes, Father. Matsuriko-chan will help, too."

He smiled. "Yes, of course. Now get started right away, so they'll get better."

"Okay!" The children quickly separated to begin their tasks.

When Kyouji reached the Sagakura's farm he was surprised to find no one in the fields or tending the animals. Curious, he investigated. None of the chores were being done. No one was cooking. At last he detected the sound of voices--they were people crying.

"Sagakura-san? Sachiko-san?" Kyouji followed the lamentations, growing uneasy by the mournful sounds. He soon found himself outside one of the house rooms, and the grievous murmurings solidified into words.

"I don't believe it!" one of the triplets yelled suddenly. "How can you say that? She can't be dead!"

What? Kyouji stood frozen as the panel slid open nosily, and two of the Sagakura boys burst out of the room running. Neither paid any notice to his presence. A moment later Sachiko appeared in the door, her face streaked with sorrowful tears. Her gaze leapt immediately to the visitor. "Kyouji-kun..."

"Sachiko-san, what's going on?" he asked, coming forward. But before he could speak again she ran to him, clutching his shoulders as her body threatened to crumble. He gripped her arms to keep her upright. "What on earth--"

"Our mother is dead!" Sachiko cried, her tears renewing. "She's dead, she's dead..." Still sobbing she hid her face in his shoulder.

"W-What? That's...." Kyouji shook his head to dispel his shock. "Sachiko-san, what's going on? How? What?"

"Kyouji-kun?" Sachiko's father, Norihide, emerged from the room with the town doctor. "You shouldn't be here, boy," he said wearily.

"What'sgong on?" Kyouji demanded, glancing between Nori and the doctor. "Sagakura-san--what happened to her?"

Nori bowed his head sadly, and Sachiko's sobbing began to lessen. "She died this morning," he replied quietly. "Of Cholera. And now my son Yasu is ill."

"Cholera? Oh no...." The realization drained all color from the boy's face. He forgot the girl that clung to him, and the faces of the boys as they ran from the room in which their mother had died. All he could think of were his father's words, and he whispered, "My sister Shiiho is sock today."

The doctor's attention was drawn in full. "Take me to her."

Kyouji led the aging man to his home, calling the family together in his parents' room where Marimo and Shiiho were resting. The doctor listened impassively to their symptoms: diarrhea, nausea, headache, and dizziness when walking or standing was attempted. The family watched his reactions closely, but no indication of their condition's severity showed in his face. At long last he sighed. "I was afraid so."

"It's...isn't it?" Kyouji stuttered, unable to speak the ailment's name aloud. "What can we do?"

The doctor glanced at the young children gathered, and opted instead to speak to the husband in private. Kyouji fidgeted restlessly as they spoke outside. Shinta crawled to his mother. "He'll give you some medicine to make you better, won't he?" he asked innocently. "You'll feel better soon, Mother."

"I'm sure I will." Despite the uncertainty that rested inside her, Marimo patted her son lightly on the head. "Just be patient."

Several anxious minutes later Gouji returned, his face grim even as he tried not to seem so. He knelt beside his wife and touched her head lightly. "How do you feel now, dear?"

"Weak," she answered softly. "But not too bad."

"Well?" Kyouji interrupted impatiently. "Father, what is it?"

The man did not reply immediately. He gazed at the children's wide, fearful eyes, debating with himself. He knew that to lie to them would be cruel. "It's Cholera," he said at long last, and the two eldest children--as they were the only ones who understood--reflected shock in their faces. "Same as the Sagakuras, and I heard earlier that the Yamashita's grandmother has it as well."

Marimo sighed deeply, and closed her eyes. She stroked her son's hair, who was staring at her in incomprehension. "How long?" was all she asked.

"A matter of days." Gouji could not meet the eyes of his family. "All we can do is feed you--nutritious foods, with sugar and protein. That will help, but...."

"We're going to die," Shiiho blurted out, finally revealing to Akami and Shinta how serious the situation was. "That's what Cholera does, doesn't it? We'll whither away."

"No!" Shinta cried as everyone began to panic. "Mother, Sister--you can't leave. Tell the doctor to come back! We'll get you medicine!"

His mother shushed him gently. "Quiet, Shinta. We haven't given up."

"Damn right." Kyouji rose to his feet. "I'm definitely not gong to let you die. We'll work hard and get food for you."

Gouji smiled grimly at his son's determination. "Of course. Now everyone, listen carefully; you'll all have to stay out of this room from now on, alright? I don't want you to get ill." He began to usher them outside. "If you children finish the chores, I can take care of our two fine women."

But Shinta was reluctant to leave his mother's side. "What if they die?" he asked diffidently.

"Don't think about that now, dear," Marimo assured. "You only have to worry about your chores. now go on--help your father." She was urged to kiss him on the forehead, but her logic told her otherwise. She offered him only a smile as he and his siblings left hesitantly.

"Mother," Shiiho asked once thy were alone in the room. "Will we die?"

"Shiiho, come here, child." Marimo gestured for her daughter to come closer, and she embraced the younger tightly. "I love you, Shiiho. You were my first daughter, and I won't let you go easily. We won't give up. It is possible to survive this, and we can."

Shinta's Orchard

Part 3

Two days passed. Gouji devoted all his efforts into the care of his wife and daughter, but he knew from the beginning that it wouldn't be enough. The faces of his charges grew increasingly pale, and their skin hung limply on meatless limbs. He did his best to keep the other four oblivious, even as it pained him. The children worked diligently on the tasks he assigned, and after each completion asked how their kin were faring. Their innocent faces, so full of hope, tore through his heart, so that as soon as they'd moved to their next task he retreated to privacy and cried.

Late that morning Gouji went to check on his wife and daughter. He felt it as soon as he entered the room: death, decay, as if walking into a fresh grave. The air was stale and cold. Silence would have been fitting for such a scene, but instead the man was treated to an even more horrifying sound--hoarse, weak breath. Marimo had moved into the corner of the small room, still wrapped in her blankets, her eyes closed and head bowed. Shiiho was huddled like one of Akami's small dolls in her lap.

Gouji approached slowly. "Marimo," he coaxed, kneeling in front of her. He touched her face, then pulled his hand back--her skin was frighteningly cold. "Marimo, can you hear me?"

Slowly, she opened her eyes, but they were vacant and red with tears. "My baby," she whispered, tightening her embrace around the silent body she held. "She was...my first daughter." Her tears fell over her pale cheeks. "But she won't be lonely for very long."

Gouji took his wife and daughter into his arms, holding them tightly to him as they wept.

"Sister Akami! Sister Akami!"

"What is it, Shinta?" Akami called from the kitchen. She was just preparing the afternoon meal, exhausted from her work in the last several days. She dried her hands when Shinta burst inside.

"It's Ma-chan," the young boy declared breathlessly. His eyes were wide with fear. "She just threw up."

Both children ran to the stables, where Kyouji had been attending to the animals with Matsuriko, to find their brother cleaning the child's face. She looked a bit pale but otherwise not unlike her normal self. Kyouji was speaking to her softly. When the two entered, he gazed up at them with eyes that were dark. "She's sick," he told them, lifting Matsuriko into his arms. His voice was so calm that it frightened them. "I'm going to take her to Father. Both of you will have to finish preparing the food, all right? I'll finish here." Without so much as another glance he carried the youngest Himura out of the stables and crossed the yard.

Gouji was near the entrance of the farm, speaking to a man: Sagakura Norihide. He was dressed in his yukata, which was stained with dirt. His dark eyes were hollow and cold. Kyouji approached slowly, trying to make out what the two adults were saying.

"I've sent her away." Nori's voice gave the young man a chill--it was as if he were an animated corpse, relaying a tale that didn't apply to him. "All my sons are dead, Gouji, and I'm ill. It...won't be long now. But there's something I need to tell you."

Gouji nodded. It was then that his son noticed the disarray of his garments, and the similarity in the men's eyes. "Go ahead."

Nori sank to his knees, as if his weight had become too great for them to support any longer. The ridges of his spine could be seen even through the material of his yukata. "It's all our fault," he said, the words like a sob, his shoulders trembling. "My wife was the first to fall ill--she developed the disease before any of us. And...she prepared our food, for the picnic that day."

Though Gouji did not react, his son could not help himself. "What?" he demanded, setting his little sister down. "It...it was you?"

"We didn't know," the man wailed, and his voice was quivering and vaporous, already a ghost. "If we'd known...but it's too late. It's our fault your wife and daughter..."

"What!? Father, what is he--" Kyouji turned on his parent, ready to demand an explanation. His heart twisted and plummeted into his gut when he saw the pain in Gouji's face. "Father...what is it?" His vice rose shrilly. "What happened to Mother and Shiiho?"

Gouji stared straight ahead, refusing to meet the disbelieving gaze. "They're dead," he said quietly. "Not long ago. I just finished burying them."

"That's...that's a lie." Kyouji's sight became blurred, and he wiped the tears away quickly; as if their absence could dull the painful truth. "Father...it has to be a lie! They can't be dead! They were just...only a day ago...."

The man looked to his son, preparing to speak. But just then his knees buckled, and he dropped to the earth, exhausted with illness. Kyouji could only stare, horrified, as he retched. "No...." the boy whispered, shaking his head in fierce denial. His eyes danced from his father, to the withered Sagakura Nori, to his young sister, smiling innocently at them all. Her face was only a bit pale--nothing compared to the ivory tones of the men, and softly curious. She did not understand what was happening to her, or what she would become.

"I'm sorry...." Nori bowed until his forehead touched the dusty earth. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry...."

Shinta was awoken roughly by a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He sat up, rubbing at sleep-crusted eyes, exhausted and soul-weary. "Who is it?" he asked, finally clearing his sight.

"It's Akami." His older sister was watching him very carefully, as if searching for some indication in his face that would tell his destiny. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. "Come on, Shinta. We're leaving."

"Where are we going?" Shinta climbed out of his futon and changed quickly, noting that Kyouji and Matsuriko weren't in the room. "Where is everyone?"

"Outside. Be quick--we have to go."

They entered the yard to find Akami's friend Miyo, and her brother Oyuki waiting with Kyouji and Matsuriko. Miyo was holding the youngest of them, also tearstained. The faces on the two boys were colorless, and empty. Each was holding a lit torch.

"What's going on?" Shinta asked anxiously. Something had happened; he could feel the remnants of it in the air. It prickled his skin with goosebumps.

"Father died last night," Akami told him quietly, suppressing the falling of fresh tears. "And Ayumi-san, Miyo-chan's mother. We're the only ones left, so we're gong away. We don't want others to get infected."

Shinta nodded. The news of his father's end did not affect him as seriously as it could have; somehow, he'd already known. The limp, white skin had told him, as had the cold, well-like eyes. He found that his eyes held no more tears to shed, no more grief.

Kyouji and Oyuki stepped forward with their torches, touching them to the wooden walls. They caught quickly; like the tongues of hungry beasts their fire glided along the rough surface of the wood, stretching and expanding. Shinta watched, a bit mystified by the flames. They rose higher, engulfing the small house as they belched their black clouds like the cloaks of death. Then Akami took him by the hand, turning her back on their home. A moment later the other children followed, down the path that led them through the grove of cherry trees.

Akami seated herself on the steps, allowing her gaze to mingle with the fading light of another lonely day. Her eyes would not dry. She scrubbed at them, slapped them, ground them, but could not get the tears to stop. She watched the back of her brother Shinta as he left down the path to town, his rusty hair bouncing. He was hurrying to fetch fresh clothing for her and the two boys--Miyo had passed away earlier that morning. Two days the five remaining children had been living in the smallest room of the Yamashita household, as the Sagakura and Himura residences had been burned with the disease that had destroyed them. Two days--ten days since the cherry grove picnic--and Shinta had still not developed any signs of the illness. While Akami found herself becoming weaker, she saw him with more spirit then ever. He refused to let their enemy win.

"He doesn't...understand," Kyouji said in a hoarse whisper behind her. He was lying on the floor, covered in a thick blanket, as walking or even sitting had become too difficult a task for him. "He'll…survive, but we...."

Next to her brother, Matsuriko was playing with Akami's dolls. "No, he doesn't," Akami said, envying her sister's blissful ignorance. "Someday, he will. But for now...." She choked on her emotions, allowing a sob to grace her lips. Then she composed herself, and in a softer tone said, "He'll be taken care of. My little Shinta...he will live."

Though Shinta had intended on returning to the house just after completing his errand, the shop owner--a family friend--insisted that he spend the night due to the late hour. Reluctantly, he agreed. The comfort of the futon was greatly appreciated after the relative poverty he had become accustomed to. In the morning he was well fed and given fresh clothing, compliments of the townsfolk. He was just about to set out with the supplies he'd gathered when the shop-owner's husband pulled him aside. His eyes, not unlike the stern eyes of his father, were filled with sympathy. They told him the news before it was spoken. Quietly, the boy cried into his hands.

"I'm sorry, son. I just came back from the Yamashita house--they're all dead."

Shinta did not see the bodies. The townspeople kept him away for fear of him being infected, and burned the Yamashita house. Shinta was put into the care of the shop-owners. They treated him kindly with food, shelter, clothing, and sympathy. Everything they could think of to do for him, they did with open and willing hearts.

Shinta regretted not being able to express his gratitude towards them. He drifted about the town specter-like. Some whispered to each other that he was searching for his family, others speculating that he'd simply lost his mind in grief. Truthfully, Shinta didn't know what drove him. He walked the streets, flittering about the people as if their presence would prove that he too was alive. He was still a part of this empty world, a world without his family. The pain began to fade with time--slowly at first, and then more easily. It was simpler that way, to forget. If he moved quickly enough, and surrounded himself with enough people, it was almost as if his parents and siblings were there with him, and were only lost in the crowd.

It was late one night that Shinta left the town and journeyed, one last time, up the hill to the cherry tree grove that sat overlooking where his home lay in ashes. He sat among the twisted, gnarled roots--to him, they were the arms of his mother. He did not stay there long, as the memories rose like shrieking gusts of wind against him. But for some time he allowed the scene to drift through his mind, and then to drift out. For there was nothing left in the orchard: not the laughter of children, or the ohagi baked for a picnic, or the barrel of cherry blossoms. All of the delicate pink flowers were gone now, deep within the earth, where they would remain.

Shinta climbed to his feet. Slowly, and without a word, he departed.

*End

(sorry it's a little depressing, but this story is actually a set up for things to come)