Nine Swords

Mood music:


Farewell, Kyoto

I saw Gion for the last time just as the cherry trees were starting to bloom, in the early spring of my ninth year. It was a bright, warm day, there was sun everywhere in the hanamachi except in our hearts.

My mother’s mother was sliding wooden pearls on her old abacus, not even looking at me. She just said, with a flat voice: “Now go to your room. The gaijin will come back to pick you up, make sure you leave nothing behind. You will not be coming back.”

The word “gaijin” snapped out of her mouth like a slap in my face. I remember how I shrunk inside, how I lowered my gaze. It could pass as shame alone. True, there was shame, but that was not what I was trying to hide. I was trying to hide anger, rage even. That anger, in return, was there to hide something else: pain. Of course, I would not figure this out until much, much later. At the time, I was trying to avoid making things worse. In my young heart, I knew there was nothing I could possibly do or say to redeem my existence in the eyes of my obaasan, my grandmother. I knew one thing: I would not let her see the wound her contempt had inflicted to me since I took my first breath in this world. So I just said “Hai, obaasan”, my voice barely audible, because if I talked any louder, I knew I would scream.

In my bedroom was my suitcase, open. My drawers were empty, as was my heart. I looked at the shelves, now deserted from the objects that once ornamented them, except for a framed picture. I had waited as long as I could before packing it. As I was staring at the family picture, I could feel memories flowing through me. My mother’s smile, the sound of her laughter, my father’s soothing voice and the way they were looking at each other. There has been, at all times, a silver thread between their two hearts. It was simply weaved longer when they were away from each other.

I have no idea of how long I stayed there. My father’s voice brought me back to the then and there. “Izzy sweetheart, are you ready?” I could not answer. I reached up to the picture. Lifting it from the shelf felt like brutally uprooting a flower. It was as if I just tore my soul from myself. I pressed the frame on my heart and delicately put it in the suitcase. My father called again. I was choking with such deep sadness that my throat felt clutched by a dark, invisible hand. I locked my suitcase and carried it out of what became, from then on, my former room.

I could see my father standing in the entrance, obaasan standing face to him at some distance, and I felt the air freezing between them two. I walked along the wall to avoid passing between them and reached my father’s side as a drowning child would reach the shore, and clutched his hand.

None of us spoke any parting word, a simple stiff nod was exchanged between my father and obaasan. As for me, no word could have escaped from my throat strangled by the storm of change and sadness. I remember looking back as we reached the street, catching a last glimpse of my grandmother sliding the doors closed. I saw her frown as she raised a hand to her face, brushing her fingertips down her wrinkled cheek. At the time, I thought she probably had a mosquito bite. It is only years later that I realized that it was still too early for mosquitoes.

I looked back a long time, at the house, at the street, then at the hanamachi, then at Kyoto, as I was leaving it behind, as I was leaving my mother’s land, as my father was taking me away. I carried with me my small suitcase and the memory of my mother. As we were going through customs, I told them my name. I almost said “Izzy”, but that was only a name of endearment from my parents. “Izumi Kotone Marsh”. I usually said only the middle initial instead of the full maiden name of my mother, but leaving Japan, I would not leave her name unspoken.

My father and I boarded the plane and I stopped looking back.

Mood music:


Souls afloat and drifting

The trip has been excruciating on many accounts. The distance, first and obviously, was considerable and took its toll of tiredness on our bodies That was nothing compared to our ravaged souls. The day my mother’s heart had stopped beating, I think a part of my father also died. The silver thread was now floating loose from his heart.

I was feeling guilt, as children often do when something bad happens, unable as they are to appraise the complexity of the causes and effects of the changes happening around them. I was powerless to bring my father any meaningful comfort, powerless to gain obaasan’s affection, powerless to bring my mother back to life. My seat felt too big for me, in the light of the weight upon my shoulders, and too small for me, in the face of the emotional tempest I was trying to escape.

I had learned travel light between Japan and Canada. Despite obaasan’s attitude, I enjoyed Kyoto as much as I finally enjoyed Montreal. There, my mother was in her element. My mother was helping her own mother, my obaasan, at the tea house, making appointments for the geiko and maiko. I was only in my third year when I saw a geiko for the first time. My mother told me I tugged her sleeve, bouncing in excitement, and exclaimed “Mommy! Is it a doll? She’s so cute!” My mother turned and looked at me with a tender laugh and said “Yes, isn’t she? We call her a geiko, Izzy. She does look like a doll”. I was fascinated.

From this point, I tried to go at the tea house as often as I could. I reveled at the sight of elegant geiko with their elaborate kimonos and extravagant obis, the sophisticated women and men enjoying fine tea and good sake. My nose was breathing in the smell of fancy food skillfully displayed on hand painted plates, my ears filled with the souns of ruffling silk and tinkling ornaments, with koto strings plucked at first delicately, then passionately, their vibrato evocating stories and legends, lifting the hearts and souls of the audience. From my fifth year, I started helping in small tasks, sweeping tatamis, cleaning tables. I was catching every opportunity to shift into this ethereal world, running back from school to do my homework and chores as fast as I could, so I could finally join mother and obaasan at the teahouse.

Looking back at it today, I cannot help a sigh. Beauty and wonder were the public attire worn to hide something that, many years later, would find me, all the way to the other face of the Earth. Such innocence has been lost. When I was only little Izzy, my eyes saw it as all magic and mystery, beauty and, sometimes, intrigue. This is what colored my childhood in Gion. This is what I was leaving behind, unaware that I was also leaving behind something more sinister, more deadly, lurking behind veils and whispers.

In Japan, my father was a gaijin, a stranger. In Canada, he was... home. Because I bore much of my mother’s traits, it took many years before I could start feeling home in Montreal. In Kyoto, I had been accepted because of what my family did, despite my father’s mark in my face, eyes color of dark leaves. This is how I learned to keep my gaze low and observe discreetly.

This is also why, most of the time, I have worn brown contact lenses.

Mood music:


Silk cocoons

In my early teen ages, I asked my father what happened to mother. He eluded the question by telling me that he would explain when I would be an adult. “She died and it still hurts me that she’s gone”, he said. I buried this question in a coffin of silence. While matter decays when buried, this question did not.

“Dad, are you busy?...
— Nothing that I can’t interrupt, sweetheart. What is it?
— A long time ago, you told me that when I am of age, you would tell me.
— I’m not following... What are you talking about, Izzy?
— You said you would tell me what happened to Mom.”

How could I forget the sadness and pain, but also gentleness, disputing the monopole of his features? Ten years seem like an eternity for an eighteen years old girl but for a man of nearly fifty years old, it can still be too recent. Worse, I revived the wound with such eagerness that I only realized the amplitude of my father’s pain when he stood up.

I was torn between my need to know and my guilt for the lack of warning I gave him. He poured himself a glass of strong amber liquid, shortly followed by another, and took the third glass with him to sit down, as if Earth’s gravity had suddenly doubled. Time seemed to hold its breath, but he finally spoke, forcing his voice out of his throat.

“I was hoping this question would come much later.”

His eyes were locked on the invisible, on shadows and ghosts that I could not see. They were filling the living room, I could feel their nature through my father’s expression. I was not so eager, suddenly, to know how my mother died. His gaze refocused as I leaned forward, ready to leave the room, his green eyes meeting mine. “I guess it’s time you know... Izzy, you won’t like it. To make it worse, I won’t tell you all of it. I can’t.”

The sky was fashionably gray, swept by clouds shedding tears of October, the wind stealing colors from the trees, stripping them with its cold embrace. He started telling the story of my mother’s demise while I was staring outside, blind to the sad beauty of falling leaves.

“The circumstances of her death were not clear, but the causes were. The rest… falls under sense. I cannot tell you the details, sweetheart... for your own sake. But there are certain things you need to understand.”

As my father was unraveling the tale, each piece fell like more autumn leaves, a similarly cold embrace clutching my soul. I started to understand why obaasan, my mother’s mother, was acting so strange the day we left Kyoto, and realized that it was tears that she had been wiping off her cheeks when I last looked at her. She was both angry and sad. Powerless is the exact word.

My father stood up and reached to the bookshelves, pulling out a leather binder that bore no mark. “Come look”, he said. I did. It was full of old pictures, of mother, obaasan, father, but also of several geiko and maiko, and clients, some of them present on several pictures.

“Before I met your mother, I was employed by a group rival to hers. I had discovered things about my employers that made me reconsider my association with them. Your mother helped me escape and recruited me with her group.”

As he was talking, he was turning the pages of the photo album. There was no writings in it, and without the tale, the pictures would not make any particular sense except simple memories. However, as he was lifting some veils that have been hiding the truth from me, the pictures seemed to be organized in a deliberate order and my father’s tale linked them with an invisible thread.

“We married, and had you. Then, eight years later, someone came to the hanamachi and visited the tea house. He saw you, noticed your eyes, then he saw... Miyuki.”

He spoke my mother’s first name with reverence, almost whispering it, as would someone afraid of disturbing a sleeper.

“He found me, made threats if I didn’t come back. ‘No one leaves the order’, he said to me, and I told him to go to hell. He told me that I was already ahead of him but unaware of it...”

He was turning the last few pages, his voice swelling with memories untold for years.

“We ran, moved, leaving you with your grandmother in Kyoto. One day, she contacted us, saying that people have been nosing around the tea house. She was worried for your safety. I wanted to come back, but your mother said it was a trap and...”

His voice broke. I tore my glance from the photos to look at him. His eyes were gleaming.

“She came back for you, to take you away and protect you. I should have come with her, maybe it would never have happened, but she was adamant that we would both be in danger...”

The pictures were showing places I had never seen and small shore villages on remote islands. Strangers, all of them, though I could swear there was a few faces that felt somehow familiar. He turned to the last page.

The last page was not a picture. There was a small business card with a small stylized dragon on it, a dried flower, a silk stripe with Japanese writings on it, and a torn piece of paper bearing numbers.

“She was murdered.”

At that point, I was expecting the news, but it was still a shock to hear them. He closed the album, laid his hand on the back cover, gently rubbing his thumb over it, a few tears quietly trailing down his cheeks. I raised my hand and softly brushed the back of my fingers to wipe them.

“Dad... Please forgive me for pouring salt over this wound. I had no idea...”

He faintly shook his head.

“There is nothing to be sorry about, Izzy. It’s just... I feel like I left her down... God it hurts, even still.”

I crouched before him and took his face between my hands.

“Dad... If she was right... Then I would be an orphan.”

He shut his eyes and flood gates collapsed as he buried his face in his palms, his shoulders shaken by bitter sobbing. We stayed up late that night and once the worse of the storm passed, we talked more about my mother, for the first time since her death. The weight of his guilt was considerably heavier than I could ever suspect, and I could finally bring soothing to his old wound. Had I learned this earlier, I would have blamed myself for her death, just like my father had been doing. We evoked and honored her memory, as we should have long before.

Christians say that truth will free you. Truth, even if incomplete, did not fulfill its promise of peace, but opened a huge gap under my feet and for several weeks, I felt like the very ground has been swept from under me. Fall retreated, laying a white blanket of snow for winter to settle. “Miyuki” means “deep snow silence”. White is also the color of mourning in Japan, a mourning we could finally go through with the winter. My father and I emerged from winter with stronger souls.

The life laid ahead of me was now very different than the one I had imagined. I left the silk cocoon of childhood and let it to melt with the last snow banks. I began preparing to face what was to come.

Truth may free you, but freedom sometimes comes with a price.

Mood music:


Footprints in the last spring frost

During that winter, the deep silence about my mother’s fate melted, as we were threading word by word. Through my father’s tale, a new light was brought on many memories I had been carrying, sometimes nurturing them, sometimes dreading them.

Obaasan had been opposed to the union of her daughter with Kenneth Marsh from the very moment she learned of their attraction. “He will bring storms upon this house”, she had said. Nonetheless, they united in wedlock. Obaasan treated him with polite courtesy and in return, he treated her with the respect due to elders. She did not hate him; in her eyes, my father would simply never be part of the land, nor make one with it. Obaasan never called him “gaijin” however, not until mother died. Tore apart with grief, under the shock of her loss, she aimed her anger and pain at my father. He never retaliated, he thought she was right to blame him.

I was born the year after my parents were married. It was a bittersweet comfort to me when I understood my grandmother’s attitude toward me. It was simply easier for her to keep her distance with me than to try to explain, or to admit to herself, that she was worried of growing attached to me. I came to understand what brought tears to her eyes, the ones she brushed from her cheeks when I surprised her upon looking back, as I left Gion.

Soon after settling in Montreal, letters had started to arrive. Envelopes stamped from Japan, United States, France, Korea, South America, United Kingdom, Russia were landing on his desk, only to be stored in his safe without being opened. Once, when I was eleven, I stormed in his office, waving one of those envelopes excitedly, marveled by the strange writing on it. My father worked in different countries on engineering contracts. Sometimes, it would be as long as two moons before I would see him again. He told me to be careful with those letters, that they were important for his work, so important that he had to keep them in his safe. “Dad, why do you lock them in your box without opening them?” He would smile and laugh before gently tugging on my chin. “Because, cherry plum, I want to spend time with my favorite little girl before she goes to bed! I will read them later, because now, I... must… tickle you!” Those moments I had always cherished, the sound of our laughs filling my ears. It made me feel special, loved and safe. Veils, more veils, were draping precious moments under layers of shimmer and light, hiding the true nature of these moments.

My father remained vague about who was responsible for my mother’s death. One day, while he was not home, I pulled the leather binder from its shelf and looked at it again. Slowly, they came, elusive images, distant sounds of a shamisen rising in the fragrance of teas and sweets, murmurs, whispers and knowing glances, fragments of the Gion district lifted from the dust on which they had been put to rest for years. With difficulty at first, these fragments of my former life started to move more freely in my memory, as dancers slowly remembering the steps and movements of a dance once familiar. Certain regular clients of the teahouse, as well as geisha and maiko, appeared more often on the pictures in the nameless photo album. It became a ritual for me to revisit these pictures while father was out.

Even if he told me more than he ever did before, I knew father was hiding more secrets. Once the first relief of revelation had faded, I came to see that each veil parting was opening on more secrets. The light changed, the colors switched, on the life I had led, on the people I had known, and like a broken mirror would, they were reflected back to me in shattered pieces, almost unrecognizable.

I knew it had everything to do with the reason of my mother’s death, however I could not see how it all tied together. The more I was trying to understand, the less understanding I would gain from it, more confusion rising.

In April of that winter, I was placing a school picture in my own album. It was my last year before entering university. A crossroad moment where both nature and my own life seemed suspended in time. I started turning the pages backwards, going back in time. There were pictures of my first year in college, then earlier, my graduation from high school, and the summer vacations with the trips and garden parties...

My heart came to a halt.

On one picture was a man with his family, standing in our garden near the barbecue, laughing with father. The small flash of green on his skin caught my eye. I quickly walked to the living room to retrieve a magnifier and my father’s leather binder to open it at the last page. I remember my inner struggle as I was staring at the business card, unsure I really wanted to know. I realized I would never find peace with this question floating above my head. I placed the magnifier above the garden party picture.

There it was, on the inside of his upper arm, a tattoo bearing the same stylized dragon than the one stamped on the business card.

A chill filled my spirit, wrapping my mind in frost, leaving only two green burning footprints to guide me, shaped as a dragon’s head.

Mood music:


Crossroads

There are paths in forests that lead you in unexpected directions, and at times, bring you to crossroads. I could not see the clearing at the time, nor could I sense which direction to take. The last year of college, I was frequently revisited by the image of the green dragon, trying repeatedly to forget about it. Whether I wanted it or not, the time had come for me to decide what direction to take. Two paths were laid before me, one of oblivion, the other of pursuit.

I was looking at the paper fan on my desk, made of letters bearing different art school logos, like paper leaves of a tree waiting to be rooted. Where would I plant my roots next? The path of oblivion was a lullaby promising peace and a normal life. This was a tempting whisper to heed, beauty calling was always appealing.

The alternative path would first lead me to Kyoto, then possibly into the unknown. Pursuing the past and chasing down clues was a much darker path, one I was afraid to take. My inexperienced feet would easily stumble upon many of its stones. Answers to my questions were muffled screams in the distance, bringing a chill to my spine.

When I informed my father that I was possibly considering spending some time in Kyoto to “connect with my root”, he turned pale. To my surprise, he lost his temper and his means. I remember his shouts, his hands flying in ample desperate gestures as he was trying to discourage me from going.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into, Izzy!” He voice lowered, almost strangled. “These people are nothing you can imagine. This is not a forgiving world for girls who want to know too much. I already lost your mother, I will not let them take you as well!”

“...I lost her too!”

The shout came out before I realized, stunning both my father and myself. I watched him as he flopped down on the sofa. The silence between us was deafening with all that still remained unsaid.

“I’m sorry”, I said, powerlessly witnessing his inner debate. He raised his palm slowly, a deep sigh escaping him.

“I told you too much and too little. If this has led you to seek out the past instead of looking into the future, I guess I only have myself to blame.
— I just want to understand. I’m not sure I want to know the whole truth, but…
— The truth… It can free you or it can wipe away the world as you see it now.”

His mossy green eyes were casting a meaningful glance on me.

“Dad… I tried to put this aside, to forget about it… I really tried. I failed. As you said… I know too much and too little.
— You cannot go to Kyoto and start asking questions left and right, Izzy. This could get you, and me, killed. Do you understand?
— Yes… Yes, I understand. So, help me. Tell me, so I don’t go unprepared.”

He seemed to evaluate me for a few seconds, then he stood up and went to his office where he brought back the unmarked album I had looked at before. He showed me the green dragon head. He showed me a blue triangle, and a white cross on red background.

“These are symbols of three secret societies. Officially, we are not at war. However, just like the Cold War, maneuvers are endeavored and led by all three societies.
— You said ‘we’, Dad…
— Yes, yes I did.”

From this moment, I had a glimpse of what kind of world I had ignored, yet evolved in, unknowingly. A secret world made of mysteries and things beyond imagination.

“I was young and ambitious and wanted to carve a solid career and make a name for myself. When I was offered my first big contract, I jumped on it. I had no idea I had just stepped into the net of the Illuminati. By the time I found out, it was too late to opt out. I didn’t know a lot but it was still too incriminating for them. They made me see how ‘quitting’ was not an option. At that point, I figured there was worse in life than having a lot of money and powerful connections… I was wrong.”

He was walking down the memory lane, telling me how he became involved in operations that were so upsetting that he started to think about a way to severe the ties between him and the Illuminati.

“That’s when I met your mother. I was sent to Kyoto and one evening, I decided to go to this teahouse I heard of. I saw Miyuki… I had no idea they already knew who my employers were. Nonetheless, she caught my attention and was a delicious hostess, along with her mother. We had a wonderful evening. I went back a few times until one evening, she told me that I should be careful in the choice of who my friends were and even more in the choice of my enemies.”

The evocation of my mother was vividly reminding me of the way she was approaching the things of life. I could recognize her touch in the way she approached my father. It was very typical of her, the way she was going to the essential with her delicate touch and stern determination.

With the help of the agents of the Dragon, they planned his defection from the Illuminati. It took over a year before everything was in place. In the meantime, he was keeping in touch with my mother-to-be, via codes and means that would not raise suspicion. Finally, it came to pass that my father broke free of the Illuminati’s control. The Dragon welcomed him as a refugee, with a mix of pride at the deception against the Illuminati, and of prudent trust for the stranger that he was in the land of the rising sun. His knowledge of the Illuminati allowed for some solid blows to be landed on them.

My father said little about the specifics of either the Dragon or the Illuminati. He simply explained some broad principles, enough for me to understand that I was not dealing with amateurs, but with people who had a unique conception regarding the value of life and death.

My father married my mother, I was born and the rest is history… One Illuminati man came at the teahouse looking for something else but noticed my mother and me. He made the connection between us and my father and the rest followed. When my parents fled, the knowledge of my existence allowed the New Yorkers to use me to force my parents out of their hideout. It only partly succeeded. My mother came back for me, but she did not come without allies. The immediate threat was removed, at the cost of her life, allowing my father to tear me out of the deadly claws that were about to clutch me.

“There will be no forgiveness for me, not for the ones I love, Izzy. I have kept them at bay with the help of the Dragon, but sooner or later, they will find me. You run the risk of raising unwanted attention… Why wouldn’t they try to use you to reach me? They already tried before.” His voice was calmer now, allowing me to weigh the meaning of his words.

After a while, I broke the silence. “What about the Templars, dad? Are they involved in any of this?”

Surprised, he looked at me. “What about them indeed? As far as I know, they have no part in these events. Why do you ask?
— Because that’s one less to worry about.”

He couldn’t help a small grin. I suppose he appreciated how I was appraising the situation, despite his undeniable worry that I should have to do so.

“Izzy, I don’t want you to walk into a situation you’re not ready for. Your mother paid for my defection. You don’t need to pay as well. If the answers I gave you were not enough, then you at least need to be better prepared…”

He picked up the phone and dialed. A few moments later, the call went through. “Hey… It’s me. I’m cashing in a favor you owe me…”

On that moment, at crossroads, a third path had just opened up for me.

[I added music to each installment.]


Mood music:


Tsunami

They say that the batting wing of a butterfly can give birth to a storm. When my father made this phone call, a butterfly’s wing flapped, echoes carried out to New York, then to Japan.

We were expecting a certain Matsuo. According to my father, this man had trained many people and would work with me. He was scheduled to arrive three days later.

Two days later, someone showed. My father answered the door to someone I assumed was Matsuo. The man was wearing a fedora, a suit and a wool long coat, very proper, and very Asian looking. My father greeted him with a different name. I could not quite hear it, but it was not Matsuo. They exchanged brief greetings, whispered a few words and immediately went to my father’s office, closing the door behind them.

I waited. When they came out of the office, my father was livid.

“Izzy, listen very carefully… Matsuo is not coming.” he said. His voice was calm, flat, with an undercurrent of urgency that brought back echoes of childhood. It was the same tone he had, just before my mother and him had to lead our pursuers away when I was a child.

After he gave me instructions, questions were pushing behind my lips but I let none of them out. Part of me was afraid by the answers I would get. I went to pack my things as quickly as I could, leaving my father with the Fedora man waiting in the living room.

As I was locking my suitcase, I heard a third voice in the living room. “I was expecting you tomorrow” I heard my father say. The stranger’s voice spoke too softly for me to make out words. “She went out with friends” my father replied. Then came a shout, followed by thuds and muffled gunshots.

Time slowed down as shock rushed through my veins. We were being attacked. I tiptoed to my door, closed it silently and locked it. I grabbed my suitcase and quickly stepped in the corner of a wall that would not let bullets through easily, lowering my back against it. I held my suitcase next to me, using it as a shield to my open side. . My eyes were rapidly surveying the escape options while the fight was raging in the living room. The window was not an option. Being on the 3rd story, I would only break my leg and my escape would fail. I was starting to consider attaching the bed sheets when the sounds of fight died.

I held my breath, listening intently. Was there anyone left alive? If so… who? Was my father still alive? At this moment, I thought my last hour had come. If the assailant won… He would come looking for me. I would not be an orphan for long… That cluster of thoughts exploded in my head all at once, making my heart pound hard in my chest, amplifying my senses to an almost unbearable level, putting me in a state of emergency that had my hands shaking, but my thoughts clear. I moved silently to take position behind the door, holding the suitcase in front of me, ready to slam it into anyone who would pass my bedroom door. Footsteps approached my door.

“Izzy?! Are you okay in there?” The relief I felt upon hearing my father’s voice was so intense that a sob escaped my lips. I unlocked the door and opened it. My father quickly wrapped his right arm around me in a tight hug. As he pulled back, I looked at his left arm. Blood was dripping down that hand. “Dad! You’re bleeding!” He waved it off with his right hand. “Nothing bandages won’t fix. We need to get out of here. Take your suitcase and come quickly.”

“What happened?” I asked as we were going back to the living room. “Matsuo had a different idea of what helping us meant.” he flatly replied with an expression of disdain at the mention of the traitor’s name.

In the living room, the Fedora man was wrapping a body in a thick bed sheet. I stopped, petrified, then turned an alarmed glance at my father. He calmly nodded to me. “It’s over, this one can’t harm us now. But others will come once they figure out that Matsuo failed. We don’t have much time.”

Father turned to the Fedora man and helped him carry the body in the bathtub, then they came back. “I will call the safe house and update them” said the Fedora man. “The phone’s is right – “ The Fedora man interrupted my father. “Not on your phone line.” My father cringed in frustration. “I thought my line was secure…” The Fedora man leaned down to wash some bloodstains. Without looking over his shoulder, he replied. “Ken, your phone line was secured. The problem is internal… The order came from Seoul.”

I had no idea what he meant, but I could see the impact it had on my father. He slightly staggered to the sofa and flopped down, looking devastated. The Fedora man turned his head and saw him. “Sorry to be the one breaking the news to you, Ken… As soon as she heard, your mother-in-law called me.” The Fedora man picked up his cell phone, said a few cryptic words then slid it back in his pocket. “Clean up team will be here in a moment.”

My father simply nodded as if it was usual procedure for him. With both horror and amazement, I realized that it probably was. He stood up, went to the bathroom and came back five minutes later, his wounded arm bandaged. He tossed a bottle and some rags at the Fedora man, then proceeded to secure the arm sling behind his neck.

I was still standing in the living room, trying to understand what had just happened in the last minutes, what it all meant. To see them handle it so casually gave the situation a dimension that I could not bear. I snapped.

“Will someone finally tell me what is going on here?!?” They both looked at me, then at each other. The Fedora man spoke.

“You and your father must disappear, and part. If you are to live, you two cannot be found in the same place, it would be too easy for them to get you both. I will explain the rest in the car.”

My father took my coat from the hook and gently handed it to me, frowning in sadness. I looked at him, my vision blurring as tears swell up in my eyes. “When will I see you again, dad?…” The muscles of his jaw tightened as he briefly closed his eyes. “I don’t know, Izzy… It could take a while. I will find you.” I could only nod, my tightened throat preventing words to come out. He brought his good hand to my cheek, his thumb wiping a tear that had escaped my eyelid, and landed a gentle kiss on my forehead before letting me go.

I slid my coat on my shoulders. “Take her to safety” my father said before turning to me. We exchanged a silent look, no word was neither added nor needed.

The Fedora man moved to my suitcase and lifted it before showing me the door. “Follow me, Miss Marsh. It should be safe for now but we cannot take risks.” I followed the Fedora man and watched him put my suitcase in the trunk. He finally signaled me to come and I quickly walked to the car, got in and we left. Leaving my father behind was breaking my heart, but I understood. He did it before, and it saved my life.

We drove for about an hour. We left the Montreal island and it was only once we reached highway 10 east that the Fedora man finally spoke.

Apparently, my father was under protection of the Dragon, but one man was waiting. When my father made that phone call, he mentioned that I would need preparation since I was going to chase old ghosts. This reached the ears of someone in the Dragon that had something to hide. Ultimately, this revealed that someone within the Dragon wanted my father and me both dead, and it was likely the same who tipped off the Illuminati, back in Japan. “Miss Marsh, I was there alongside your mother. I was in the team that dealt with the Lummies sent after you, in Kyoto. We didn’t let them get to you, but we were fighting on two fronts and we lost your mother. Miyuki was a wonderful woman, and a valued member of the Dragon. I miss her still.”

I turned my head slowly to him as he was talking. So he knew… He was there and he knew… “How… how did she die?” I asked carefully. This answer has been eluding me ever since my mother’s death.

“We split the team in two to divide their forces. At first, they divided and had a team following each of our two groups, but the Lummies following the other team broke chase and rushed back with the first team. That was not supposed to happen. Someone probably tipped them off again. When both their teams converged, we found ourselves overwhelmed. It didn’t take long for our second team to realize the Lummies had broken the chase, but they could not get back to us in time to prevent your mother’s death…”

He paused, the car slightly slowing, then he slightly shook his head and resumed our cruise speed. “She was shot from behind, headshot, and shots to her torso… When our forces also regrouped, we made sure that the killers paid for our loss.”

The crisp green of spring colored the hills, the road started to wind down toward a large lake. My mind was reeling too quickly to care, making the rest seem like life had slowed down.

“You said the order came from Seoul.” I asked abruptly, after a long silence. “What does it mean?” The Fedora man kept his eyes on the road. “Are you sure you want to know, Miss Marsh?” I frowned, blankly looking at the road. “I just want to know why they won’t leave us alone.” The man drew a long sigh. “I cannot be sure, but… I believe someone among us has something to hide and I think they are worried that you could turn old stones that they wish to remain untouched. I think someone higher in the Dragon had interest in seeing your father dead. And you, since you were about ready to go chasing the past.”

As we were driving closer to the lake, the silhouette of a stone building was being etched in the distance. Approaching our destination, the stone building appeared to be some kind of monastery. We passed security gates and stopped in front of large double wood doors. The Fedora man turned to me. “When you are ready, I will tell you more, but for now, we should get you settled in.” He told me to wait here, under the hawk gaze of the two guards flanking the large doors.

I waited, trying to take in what I had just learned. After a few minutes which seemed to last much longer, he came back out with a woman. She looked in her fifties, her hair more salt than pepper, her eyes paled by the years behind the small frame of her eyeglasses. She exchanged a few words on the doorstep with the Fedora man, then she nodded at one of the guards. The guard approached the car, the Fedora man opened the trunk and the guard pulled out my suitcase while the Fedora man opened the car door. He motioned me to come out in a surprisingly courteous fashion, then offered me his hand. I hesitantly took it and got off the car. The woman beckoned me and the Fedora man let go of my hand, following me as I was approaching, my step unsure.

The voice came, unexpectedly soft, contrasting with her otherwise rigid features and her cold gaze. “This way, please.” I could only nod, more stiffly than I wanted. The guard was carrying my suitcase, waiting behind with the Fedora man. “Come on in, dear, there is hot tea waiting for you. I think you need it.”

The heavy looking door opened without a single screech or cracking sound. I followed her while the two men followed me. She led our small procession through a stone-paved hallway lined with a long stripe of rug, muffling our footsteps. We entered a cozy living room: fire was burning quietly in the fireplace, two sofas and some chairs were waiting for guests around a long low table where a tea set was readily placed, a ribbon of steam indolently swirling up from the teapot. “Thank you”, she said, and the guard briefly bowed and left, my suitcase resting near the door. The Fedora man had removed his hat and hung it, along with his long wool coat and his scarf, on a wood coat rack standing next to the door.

I was led to the sofa where the lady sat down to serve the tea, the Fedora man sitting in the massive chair next to the sofa. “Here…” she said, handing me a cup. She turned to the Fedora man to hand him his. She then sat down with her cup.

“Welcome to the Shelter, Miss Marsh. You can call me Lily.”

Mood music:



Third road

Lily listened while the Fedora man told her the account of the day. When he was finished, she stayed silent a moment, then thanked Yasu, as she called him, while pouring more tea in our cups. We all took a sip before she turned to me.

“I reckon it was quite the day for you, child. How are you feeling now?”

I shook my head slowly, at a loss for an answer. “I’m not sure, really. I feel drained and exhausted, but I don’t believe I will sleep soundly tonight.” She nodded knowingly. I turned to the Fedora man. “May I call you Yasu?” He nodded his assent. “Thank you, Yasu, for everything.. Without you, we would probably be both dead, father and I.” He nodded again in agreement. “You would be, but you are safe here. Our clean up team will cover the tracks. Your father knows what to do. By now, the attackers must know of their man’s failure. They should be sending reinforcements as we speak. They will find nothing and no one.”

Lily spoke after glancing at my unsteady hands around my cup. “You are probably feeling the aftershock of the attack. It will fade gradually. You may have difficulties sleeping tonight. We are making a room ready for you where you will have the opportunity to unwind and rest. For security reasons, you may not explore the facilities as you like. We are to keep you safe, even from yourself. What you have seen today is our daily bread, but not within these walls. These walls trace the boundaries of our safe haven.” The soft, modulated tone of her voice was making its way through the haze I was slipping into, I nodded.

She presented a plate of scones. “If you can eat one, then you are in a better state than many would be after such a day. If you can eat, we will arrange for a meal.” I considered the plate and extended a shaky hand to pick a scone. I carefully took a bite, then a sip. “We often receive casualties whom we shelter. Our goal is to make sure life can go on for those who should not be involved. You have been pulled into a fine mess, young lady.” I nodded, already biting on the last third of the scone. She smiled. “Very good. You will fall back on your feet. Give yourself some time, for now is not a good moment to be making life changing decisions.”

I finished the scone thoughtfully while she turned to Yasu. “Has the Council been notified of this?” He shook his head, to which gesture she briefly answered with a firm nod. “Very well. This is spilling more than it should ever have. We must contain further propagation.” I was trying to understand, my brain fogged with too many things to consider, too much residual stress and too many questions. She continued. “Civilians must be kept out of this. Izumi has already been exposed beyond limits. We may need to take administrative measures to blur the trail, and this will take time and money.” Yasu frowned. “I know”, he said, “and Kenneth is considering it as well for her.” They looked at me and met my interrogative eyes.

“Our apologies for being cryptic. You may find that answers will be coming to you whether you want them or not.” Lily paused, then looked at Yasu. “When is she arriving?” Yasu sipped, thinking a moment. “As soon as she can settle things in Japan. I would give it a few weeks.” The lady turned to me again. “How long has it been since you last saw your grandmother?”

I blinked hard a few times, my jaw slowly slacking, thrown off balance by the question. “I was nine years old last time…” I put the cup down on the table and leaned back in the sofa. “I was planning to visit her… to find answers.” Lily nodded. “Yes, we know. Unfortunately, we are not the only ones who were hinted at that. This is why you were attacked.” She raised her hand and lowered it on her lap. “Before you blame yourself… Keep in mind that your telephone was monitored and your father had no way of finding that out. When he called for Matsuo, he unknowingly triggered a chain of events that we will now be trying to stop, or at least jugulate.”

A knock on the door interrupted us. Lily stood up gracefully and walked to the door. A young woman with strawberry blonde hair stepped in the room. With her pale skin and her deep blue eyes, she had an eerie look to her. “Izumi, meet Louise. I assigned her to look after you. She will guide you to your room, fill you in on how things work here, and answers questions you may have that she is allowed to answer. If you are hungry, dinner will be served in about thirty minutes. In the meantime, I suggest to have a look at your room, relax a bit, freshen up or change if you want to, You will see if you prefer to join us for dinner or dine alone in your room. That can be arranged.”

I stood up, gave Yasu a grateful nod and joined the two women near the door. Louise extended a hand and smiled warmly as I shook it. “Hello, Izumi. Welcome to the Shelter.” She leaned down to grab the retractable handle of my suitcase. “I’ll show you where your room is and you can see from there, how does that sound?” I nodded and turned to Lily. “Thank you, Lily. I will let you know if I join you for dinner or not.” I followed Louise in the hallway.

Mood music:


Soul gauze

I remember how unreal the next few days felt, as if walking in a foggy dream. The Shelter was previously a monastery that has been bought to establish this safe haven. The installations were a mix of old and new. The stone floors were softened by rugs and carpet while the walls bore paintings, draperies and lighting devices. Wood beams were running across the ceilings. More wood was found here and there in the stair cases, the doors and wall panels. Natural materials were mixed with glass and steel, which gave the place a unique feel, both antique and modern. Archways and sturdy, decorated doorframes created an impression of stability and steadiness that was befitting to the goals of the place. I could have been a princess in a castle, if but the buzzing activity of a court.

It was indeed a well organized hive filled with discreet but busy people.

Other people arrived. They looked haggard at first. I was probably looking like one of them when I first set foot in the Shelter. I could catch a glimpse of them in the dining hall. They were assigned a personal “helper” for the first days, until they could quiet down. After a few days, they progressively regained some light in their eyes and I would see them again without their personal assistant. For others, it took longer.

The Shelter was an intensive care unit for wounded souls. I was instructed not to discuss the reasons that brought me here with other residents, though I could discuss it with Lily, Louise and Yasu, of course. “Every soul that comes here is in need of mending, some are in need of protection. We help them stay apart of matters that should never have come to them. For this reason, we ask that they are not exposed to further insights of which they try to escape”, Lily explained.

Lily was the pillar of the Shelter. She went about her business with both grace and strength. Assigning Louise to me has been a very good choice. Louise was kind hearted and was able to pick up on my mood with very few hints. I felt grateful for the way she was being present without being intrusive. Gradually, I started calming down and I realized I was not alone on my side… Whatever that side may be.

The Shelter indeed bore no sign of allegiance to any of the factions my father told me about. Instead, it seemed to be some kind of no man’s land, a neutral ground dedicated to the mending of innocent bystanders. Yasu was not working at the Shelter, apparently, but seemed to have a safe-conduct to come and go within certain boundaries. Residents were assigned quarters further inside the Shelter’s walls. This allowed to avoid unexpected contact with certain outsiders who could have caused alarm or even brought harm to the residents. From what I gathered, there were specific people from different factions that would at times come to the Shelter, bringing people to be healed or protected. Lily made sure there was a safe containment between these privileged visitors and the residents; indeed, some of the residents were hunted by one of the factions, as I was.

Yasu came to visit me. He brought news of my father and answered some questions I had about my mother’s death. However, there was no more mystery to this that he could unravel and some questions were still unanswered. “There is someone who can bring more light upon this, someone who will arrive in a few days. We are making the last arrangements for this visit.”

These words stirred mixed feelings inside me. I was not sure if I wanted to know more, but I was sure that I had craved these answers for such a very long time. “Who is it, Yasu?…” He looked at me with a reassuring smile. “Someone who wishes you well”, he simply replied.

Mood music:


Weaving death

I remember keenly the day when my visitor came. I had spend all morning training hard, chaining katas and routines over and over, sweating out my anxiety. I vividly recall how time seemed to slow down as I followed Louise to the door behind which I would find answers to questions that had been haunting me for years.

When Lily led me to the chairs placed in front of the fireplace, I saw two figures stand up. The familiar silhouettes triggered a wave of hope in my heart.

When they turned around to face me, my breath skipped. There was my father was opening his arms to me, flanked by a short woman leaning on a cane, her face weathered by the years, with eyes as dark and glistening as polished onyx. Hands over my mouth, I gasped: “Oh my… Obaasan?…” Her hair had more streaks of gray than in my memory.

We took some time to gather, many thoughts and memories flying and weaving a bittersweet tapestry. It was the first time the three of us were together since we left Kyoto, a lifetime ago…

My grandmother took my face in her hands. “You look so much like her”, she said with an unexpected tenderness. My heart snapped and we fell in each other’s arms. I was shaking like a leaf. Father wrapped his arms around us and we stood together in this unusual family reunion.

After a while, Lily approached and invited us to sit down. I realized how flimsy my legs were. “This is not strictly a family visit, Izzy”, Lily said. That was stating the obvious. Their eyes converged on Obaasan. I still remember her voice as she started to lift the veils behind which so many whispers have been laying their deceit on my reality...


“There was a man called Shiro. I’ve known him when he was still a boy, a promising child. He was fond of Miyuki. She liked him but always kept some distance from him. He was a friend, but not a best friend.

Your mother had a rare talent to see light where it was to be found, and its counterpart as well. She saw both in Shiro. Miyuki needed more light than he could offer her and he had more darkness in him than she could bear. Shiro was hoping she would come to love him, that her own light would bring out more of his own light… So, he waited, thinking that, in time, Miyuki would be his.

You need to understand something about Shiro. He was very ambitious and focused. He could have been a shining beacon and a driving force within the Dragon. But there was something broken inside of him. He was wicked and ruthless. He was both brilliant and rotten.

When your father fled the Illuminati, Miyuki was sent as a liaison to assist his escape and take him back to the Dragon as an opportunity for insights in New York’s plans. So she took him back and helped him settle in Kyoto.

What nobody expected is that your parents would get so close. Shiro was not pleased with this situation. He could not act openly against it but he watched as it developed. To be cast aside by Miyuki, only to see her turn a loving eye on a gaijin was a burning insult to Shiro.

After much brooding, Shiro tried to convince the Dragon that more could be gained by trading your father back to the Illuminati in exchange for information. This, of course, would have signed your father’s death warrant, and your father had already proven useful to the Dragon.

Division ensued. Akira believed that the Dragon’s plans would be best served by keeping your father, Shiro kept pushing for your father to be handed over to New York, even if it meant death for him. Akira could see Shiro’s real motivations but could not prove them. In the end, Shiro’s position prevailed.

While Shiro was setting up a trap for your father, Akira warned Yasu of Shiro’s plans. When the Illuminati agents moved closer, we knew about it. You were taken to friends and your parents left Kyoto to drive the enemy away from you. We thought Shiro would go after your father, but he was going to use you as bait instead.

When we realized our mistake, we sent word to your parents. Shiro assumed your father would come back for you, a perfect opportunity to capture him. His plans were foiled again. Miyuki convinced your father that she would be less noticeable than him, so she came back for you instead, while your father prepared your retreat.

We moved you to another safe house and we set up a squad to fight the enemy agents. The tea house was closed and your mother stayed, as if you were at the tea house with her.

After the fight broke out, part of the team left with a decoy doll of you. The Illuminati sent half of their unit to run after Yasu. It worked for a while until the pursuers realized they were led on a goose chase. They broke the chase and ran back to the tea house. When Yasu realized their pursuers had stopped following, they turned around and rushed back to your mother.

The tea house was swarmed when the Illuminati pursuers came back. Miyuki… Your mother was mortally wounded… When the decoy team caught up with us, it was too late for Miyuki.

From this point, the battle became a hurling of rage and pain. Your mother was loved and respected and her loss gave a second wind to our ranks. We pushed back our assailants, who suffered heavy casualties.

When Shiro received the report of the operations and learned that your father was not even there, he was very angry. However, when he was informed that Miyuki was present instead and that she was killed in the fight…

I think this is when Shiro lost his mind. He slaughtered the reporting team on the spot. He accused your father of cowardice for letting Miyuki come back alone and swore to make him pay for her death. Shiro said he would wash in blood the dishonor of being rejected by Miyuki in favor of your father…

Akira pressed for Shiro to be expelled. Though he could not make this happen, his request was still partly heard. Shiro had failed and this failure had consequences. He was assigned away from Kyoto with an agent of the Dragon to keep an eye on him, discreetly of course. This agent answered to Akira, an information that was kept hidden from Shiro.

Because of this, we were able to broker a deal and the Dragon agreed to let you leave Japan with your father, seeing how we had been wronged in this whole failure, us who had always been faithful to the Dragon. Some of our members in New York were relocated to Montreal until you could settle down. Some stayed, others went back to New York and later, to other locations.

In the following years, Shiro worked hard to rebuild his credibility, but his obsession with your father remained. The Dragon would not lose face again due to Shiro’s obsession. As long as it remained, Akira kept an eye on Shiro, through an agent placed in Shiro’s staff.

You know the rest. Your father made a call that attracted Shiro’s attention and he sent Matsuo for you. Akira was informed before you were attacked and Yasu was sent. To tell the truth, he asked to be the one who would be sent. He arrived just in time to prevent Matsuo from carrying out Shiro’s vengeance.

All this because Shiro confused love with a sense of entitlement… My daughter was a strong and kind spirit. She could see to the roots of things. She would have taken direction of the tea house after me and she would probably have done much more…”


Obaasan words trailed off as her mind was reminiscing. The silence was overwhelming. I was trying to take in all the information, making connections with shreds of my reality, my memories, linking elements together that were previously fragmented. The weave was tightening and I could see the truth behind the thin veils that concealed parts of my world. When I finally spoke up, my voice was almost a whisper. “How do you know this?

— Because Shiro has been caught and he is now detained. When I went to Kyoto to see him, he spitted the truth at me, along with his contempt and resentment.”

My father’s answer brought up another question, fueled by the fire that was starting to burn inside of me. I kept my eyes lowered, just like when I was little: I did not dare look up and let them see the anger that was swelling inside me.

“And what will happen of him now?” I asked under my breath. I knew that if I spoke any louder than I did, I would scream. My father looked at Lily and Obaasan. Lily turned to me.

“I am not allowed to give you the details. Know that there are rules all factions must follow, even if they don’t like it. Shiro has broken them and exposed civilians to the ripples of a world that must remain secret. He will pay a high price for this transgression and for the other things he has done.
— How high?
— I am not allowed to tell…
— How. High.
— Death.
— I want to see him.”

Lily had opened her mouth to continue but could not say another word as she realized what I had just said. She looked at me a moment before leaning back slowly in the high chair, sighing heavily. Obaasan and my father both looked alarmed.

“You want to do what?” My father’s face was pale. He closed his eyes as he inhaled a deep breath, then looked at me.

“Izzy, no. You must stay away from him. It will only hurt you, sweetie, we tried too hard to protect you from all this to let —
— STOP! Please, stop…”

I remember keenly that day, how I had been thrown in the turmoil of a rightful anger, how I cursed being kept in ignorance while forces in the shadows were tearing my world apart, powerless to act upon it, how I had been deprived of the means to fight back.

“Enough. I want to see him. I will have no peace until I do. All these years, when did I have a say in all this? Not even once. I have been shuffled around the globe for my own good, for the sake of my protection… It’s time you hear me now. I want to see him face to face. Most of all, I want him to see me.”

Obaasan looked at me, worried. “Why do this, Izumi?”

I returned her look, tenderness mixing in with sadness.

“I need to come to terms with this. I will never find peace otherwise. And because I look so much like her, him and I have silences to exchange.”

Mood music:


Blurring lines

Isn’t it amazing to look evil in the eyes and see just a reflection of human nature? When you expect to find malice and find only a pain so human? When you walk in holding vengeance but walk out with redemption instead? To this day, I am still not sure if I can call this a miracle. Back then, it felt like one.

I was blindfolded and taken to a facility for the meeting. After my blindfold was removed, I was led in a dull beige room of twelve feet by twelve, divided from floor to ceiling by a metallic mesh fence. Two doors were the only openings in the walls, one on each side of the fence. I came through one door and sat on a metal chair, waiting.

I did not have to wait very long. On the other side of the fence, the door opened and two imposing guards led a blindfolded man to another metal chair. The man’s hair was short, streaks of white contrasting with the rest of the short black mane. He was unshaved, a stubble darkening his upper lip and chin.

Shiro… I thought he would be taller. We always expect our nemesis to be taller, don’t we. “Sit down” said the guards to him. Before retreating to each corner of the room, they removed the prisoner’s blindfold.

He rubbed his eyes and squinted. His vision was probably blurred after being blindfolded for a while. He kept looking at me for a long moment, blinking to clear his eyes, then stopped blinking, staring at me, his face decomposing. “Miyuki?…” he whispered, his eyes widened. He blinked hard, rubbed his eyes again and shook his head quickly, as if trying to chase the vision of a ghost. I remained silent while watching the emotions pass upon his face. Fear, incredulity, regret and something that I read as revered love disputed on his traits. His throat shifted as he swallowed, struggling to regain composure.

“You cannot be her.” He squinted again and his eyes seemed to focus. He sighed and at this moment, I realized how tired he was. “Ah. Izumi, I reckon” he said. I nodded silently. “Why are you here?
— To see you.
— Ah, yes, of course… You want to see your mother’s assassin? He is not here. I killed him myself long ago.
— I know.”

He hesitated a moment, examining me closer. “Then why are you here?
— To see the man who stole my life from me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Miyuki was all that I wanted, the most beautiful treasure I could ever wish for, my light. That was until Marsh came and swayed her with his green eyes…” He paused, his jaw clenching briefly. “I was young and presumptuous. I was probably too pressing. I never meant for her to die.”

I leaned forward, staring at him. “But she did, from your doings. You speak of her as a shiny loot to grab, your ‘treasure’. She had the right to choose, her free will, and chose my father. She was never yours to have and you could never respect her choice.”

He snorted. “And what would a girl like you know about such matters?
— I am very much her daughter.”

He leaned his head to the side and stayed silent for a while, staring off. I waited until he spoke again. “What do you expect from me?
— Nothing. I came to see what kind of man you are. Obaasan told me you were brilliant and ruthless, that you loved my mother but could not respect her. That you could easily have been a blessing instead of a curse.”

He smirked and nodded. There was something sad and bitter behind the mask of assurance he was trying to maintain. “Not so easily, I’m afraid. But I have already received my sentence when Miyuki died. The rest has only been a cash down payment on hell.”

I nodded. “Maybe. We have been bearing the scar of her death all these years but her ghost doesn’t point an accusative finger at us. No… I have not come for an apology. I have come to see you before you die, to say goodbye to the man who could have been my father.”

I stood up and moved closer to the mesh, the corner of my eye catching sight of the guards’ hands moving closer to their side arms. I stopped one foot away from the mesh.

Shiro frowned and lowered his eyes. “So there it is, at last… It will be a relief.” This time, his voice was bearing no trace of defiance. He finally raised his eyes and stood up. I motioned my hand to the guards when I saw their hands were landing on their side arms. “It’s okay.” They looked at each other while Shiro was looking back at them, waiting until they nodded. They kept their hands ready to skin out their pistols. He turned back to me and took a step closer to the mesh, our eyes meeting.

“I have lost my honor when trying to regain it. I have lost Miyuki by trying to have her. I have lost my life by trying to take the life of your father. I have brought shadows and darkness on you, Miyuki’s flesh and blood. She was proud of you…”

He paused and drew a breath, our eyes locked. “Your torment should end with my death, Izumi. Maybe this will bring you a little relief. I cannot bring her back from the dead, only honor her memory… May her child go in peace.”

In this moment, I saw the man my Obaasan said he could have been. The energy between us was almost tangible. Before I realized it, I heard myself speak. “May your soul find its way to our ancestors.” Where did I find it to grant him this blessing? Our eyes still locked gleamed a moment. Was it tears in his eyes, I will never know. I know it was in mine.

The moment was ended when the door opened behind me. “Time is up, Miss Marsh” said the guard who escorted me to the room. Shiro and I both stepped back slowly and stood there a moment. When he bowed to me, I bowed in return. We exchanged a meaningful silence and I turned around, not looking back as I left the room.

The hallway was nothing more than a painted concrete corridor, its walls sporadically pierced with sturdy metal doors. The guard showed me toward the end of the corridor. We arrived at the security check point. “We will have to blindfold you again from here, sorry” said the guard. As he was retrieving the blindfold, a woman passed through the check point. She was wearing a military cap, a tank top featuring a viper devouring a skull and camouflage pants. Her eyes briefly scanned me. As she passed me, I noticed the viper tattoo on her arm before she entered the corridor. I shuddered and let the guard blindfold me.

Almost two hours later, I was brought back to the Tokyo airport, where I was picked up. The guard carefully removed the blindfold from my eyes. “Good luck, Miss Marsh.” I thanked him and got off the car to find Yasu waiting for me. We took the plane together back to Montreal.