Part I

Deathly Lullaby

"A tree may look as beautiful as ever; but when you notice the insects infesting it, and the tips of the branches that are brown from disease, even the trunk seems to lose some of its magnificence. "

― Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

      Jun didn't have much tolerance for superstition. He always had little tolerance for anything if it was outside the range of his sword. The fact that his ears twitched at the mention of some whore of a foreign empire should have warded him away in the beginning.

      After all, he had never felt a twinge of curiosity about a woman before. Mostly they were there just for carnal pleasure and a pretty view. Perhaps if he were some lord, capable of having fancy with another, he would spare a second thought.

      The Qui Empire was a bloody one, but Jun was a warrior of the highest caliber. If there was one thing he couldn't stand it was weakness and women were weak. Perhaps that was why he was so surprised when one of his best fighters turned up love struck by the pure grace of a single foreign whore.

      "Was she good in bed?" asked one of the men and Jun recognized him as Fu. He was an all right fighter, quite prone to being caught off guard. Perhaps that was true of a lot of the men here who were so quick to yearn for their wives back home, only to fuck random whores in the red light district.

      It was an infinite loop of hypocrisy that Jun did not fully understand. But this war and this world was built on hypocrisy. It was the foundations and the core of every army and every official. It was at the core of Jun and likely it was at the core of this fabled whore.

      "We didn't sleep together," the soldier, Ming, said without a moment's pause, as if a thought of such an action was impossible.

      "What good is a prostitute if she doesn't part her legs?" Fu retorted with a growing frown.

      Jun's attention was slightly peeked. The amount of girls this particular fighter was known for taking was in the hundreds. What kind of spell would cause such a man to hold back when in the presence of a stunning beauty that bewitched his men?

      "One of class," Ming retorted.

      "If I wanted class, I would go home to my wife," Fu retorted with a calm grunt. "What does this whore look like? Perhaps one look at my cock and she'll end up paying to fuck me."

      Ming let out a snort of indignation as he looked ready to strike Fu down where he stood. It was odd to Jun that his men were so ready to fight over some foreign prostitute in a foreign country. He placed the tip of his blade over the thin skin of Ming's neck just as he reached to unsheathe his own blade. Fu let out an amused scoff as he place a tan hand over the hilt of his blade.

     "You mean to fight me over a woman?" Fu asked with a grunt. "Should we test your newfound strength?"

      "That's enough or I'll kill you both," Jun warned, watching as Fu's eyes darted to his commander before begrudgingly dropping his hand. Ming looked less adamant about uncurling his nearly white knuckles from around the hilt of his sword. Jun hardly wanted to sully his blade so soon after cleaning it, so he spoke up once more, "Don't test me."

      Ming's eyes seemed cloudy when they darted to meet Jun's gaze. Perhaps they had always been such a milky hue, but something felt wrong in the soldier's face. It was almost as if Ming were decades older than he was upon arrival to this city. Slowly, Ming dropped his hand.

      Jun waited a couple more seconds before lowering his blade. A tiny slice of blood dripped down Ming's tan neck and disappeared underneath the thin shirt. Usually, Ming wore his armor day and night and to see him so exposed was an odd sight that Jun decided not to question.

      Jun was quite used to the boring melancholy of everyday life. Outside of the fables of heroes and thieves, many singers left out that a majority of war was waiting. A majority of war was filth and disease and the anxious knowing that you could die any day.

      Jun wasn't afraid of much. He wasn't afraid to die, gutted like a fish on a summer day. He wasn't afraid of the smell of rotting flesh or the feeling of blades piercing his supple flesh. This wasn't because he believed himself above being caught off guard. To be honest he could train everyday, but with a well-timed attack he would die like any other commoner. Low and behold the truth of war.

      He was not afraid of death, but he was not stupid enough to walk around without being equipped for a battle. That was why he never questioned Ming's obsession with armor and paranoia that kept his blade side by side with him at all times. Even when they visited the brothels after a long campaign, that sword was by his side and Jun respected him for it.

      Perhaps that was why the oddity was so apparent in the vulnerability of Ming's open flesh. Although, Jun didn't question it any further. He wasn't eager to start a fight over something as ridiculous as a woman, and even worse if that woman was a lowly courtesan.

      Perhaps that was the confusion when he first met her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had the blackest hair that was held so loosely in intricate loops, braided around her cheeks. If he stared too long, he felt it would be like looking down into the darkest of ink, staining the parchment with thick brushes of characters.

      He noticed she had a few flowers picked and delicately placed in a wooden basket. They were beautiful and stacked on top of each other as if they grew from the bamboo and in between the tiny crevices of the wood giving the illusion that they were woven into the loops of bamboo. Her dress was loose and silky around her hips and chest, and it nearly looked like the sash around her waist was the only thing keeping the material together. A small folded fan rested in between her palm and the wooden handle. It was carved with intricate Shin script that was impossible to read. Dialect between the two countries was nearly exact, but that was perhaps the only similarity between the two. Even Camilla flowers seemed redder and more luscious than the ones back home.

      "What does a whore need with flowers?" asked Jun, but he immediately chided himself for such a foolish question. Curiosity was a fickle curse. You could follow it down every path, and still manage to find great peril.

      He reluctantly noticed the sly way her lips rose and for a moment she batted her lashes with a bit more of a flirtatious glamour than any normal woman. She reached her tiny hands into the basket and pulled out one of the Camilla flowers. He noticed what it was upon first glance, and he regarded it with a sniff of annoyance. Unlike most flowers, Camilla didn't fall petal by petal and instead the entire bud fell off at once. It was a forewarning, signifying a gruesome fate.

      It looked rather natural in her hand, he supposed, and she lifted it as if it were an extension of her fingers. It was nearly as if she had been born among flowers judging by the embroidered flowers that covered the thin and clear veil that sat comfortably against her silk dress.

      It was nearly hard to believe that this woman could so resemble an omen. "Flowers light up this war stricken village," she said as she placed the red flower in between the tight strands of hair resting above his ear. She placed it in rather smoothly, considering his hair was pulled into a tight bun at the top of his head.

      Jun was sure that the sight must have been humorous. A man, clad in armor from the Qui empire, receiving a flower from a whore from the Shin empire. Even if the two nations were at war, he saw no purpose in letting a nation's feud predict his actions. He was a general, not a slave.

      "There. Now this war stricken man is less grim," she commented, and he thought about ravishing her lips, but he refrained. She was likely covered in another man's filth and another night's debauchery. "Aren't you going to ask for my name?"

      "I don't care much for a whore's name," Jun replied and she didn't so much as flinch as a woman usually would. He supposed women like her always had rather thick skin, but that didn't mean it couldn't bleed if enough pressure was applied.

      "That's a shame. Mine is a name you likely wouldn't forget," she said in return.   

      "You'll find I forget many women's names," came his grunted reply.

      "That's quite the shame. You will eventually find your way to my brothel. Every man with a spare coin does," she said this with a smile as she took a light step back. Her basket stayed tucked between her arm, closed with a lock of her elbow. "Now, whoever shall aid what ails you when you visit?"

      She pressed her fingers against his cheek with a glossy sweet smile that probably tasted like peaches. Her eyes twinkled with a hidden bout of mischief that reminded him of a sword that would never grow to rust. Women were the trickiest of species, and courtesans were worse than women for all they likely saw were satchels of gold rather than flesh and bone.

     He grabbed her wrist before her palm could get nearer, "Nothing ails me—at least, not enough to desire you," he replied with a flick of his wrist as he tore her hand away from him. Despite the rough way he handled her, she still didn't show even the quiver of fear.

      "You stand strong like a mountain," she dipped her head in a nearly coy motion. "But a mountain cannot move in life. It is stagnant and boring with the lack of ambition for anything more."

      "You're rather impertinent for a women. I have cut down higher beings for less," Jun scolded, finding it odd that such a comment—which would have spurred a deep rage in any other situation—didn't so much as irk him. The sweet twinkle in her eyes felt like a lullaby and it immediately killed the demon in his chest.

      "Forgive me, general," she stated with a delicate smile. "I did not realize you fretted over proverbs about mountains, or perhaps you find the truth impertinent as well? Of course, you do not care about names so perhaps renouncing yours would suit you and you should take off your blade and be a mountain."

      "You are dancing over your place, whore," he warned but she only bowed her head again. It was odd to see her body abide by all the proper signs of respect, but her tongue spew out such venom.

      "I am just familiar with your kind," she said without any hesitation.