Kumea

Kumea (Koo-may) was a little girl. She was the age of ten and always wore pigtails clasped with a bright blue ribbon. Every morning Kumea woke up early, with the sun, and helped her mother tend to the rice farm in beautiful Japan. This farm year was different than all the others. The rice paddy was a sickly brownish yellow instead of bright lush green, and at night she would hear her parents talking about how the emperor would take their farm away if the weather didn’t change.

One morning Kumea was gathering water from the creek when she thought she heard movement in the forest behind her house. Kumea took a little cup, filled it with water, and carried it over to a small yellow flower behind a shed. Slowly she poured water on the flower like she had done for weeks when her mother wasn’t looking.

Just then a large cart approached the farmhouse with armored soldiers in it. Kumea peeked around the corner of the shed and watched the soldiers walk to her Father. The soldiers and her father talked for a moment before they pointed to the cart. Her father and mother looked scared. Kumea had never seen them scared so she was scared to. The soldiers put shackles on her parents and Kumea heard them say something about “prison”. Kumea started to run to her mother. Her mother looked over and gave Kumea a sharp stare and a small shake of her head. Kumea backed around the shed and hid in the forest. Her parents walked into the back of the cart and the soldiers locked the door. As the cart lurched away Kumea started to bawl.

She sat in the shadow of the tall trees, tears running down her face, the sun glistening off the leaves. It seemed like she sat there for hours when it really was just a few minutes. There was a rustling behind her. Kumea turned her head slowly, she thought she saw something in the tall grass and bamboo. A shadowed figure emerged and walked towards her. She screamed for a moment before he quickly covered her mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered.
Tentatively he removed his hand from her mouth. Kumea didn’t scream.
“Follow me,” the man said.

Kumea didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t stay at the farm because the soldiers may come back. But she didn’t like the idea of following a stranger into the forest.
“Who are you?” Kumea quizzed.
“Atsumori,” the man answered.

Kumea looked at him as the light broke through the trees. To Kumea, Atsumori looked ancient. He was probably around 40 years old. He had thin pale scars running down his face and his dark hair showed traces of silver around his temples.
Atsumori scooped up Kumea and threw her over his shoulder like a bag of rice. He started to make his way into the forest.
“Put me down! Put me down!” Kumea shrieked while she pounded her little fists on his back.

As Atsumori sprinted through the forest it became darker and darker. Soon Kumea couldn’t tell if it was day or night. By this time she had given up on screaming and hitting, mainly because her hands and throat hurt, and was just lying in a heap upon Atsumori’s hard shoulder.

“I’m tired,” Kumea complained.
“We will camp soon,” Atsumori replied.
“Where are we going?” Kumea asked.
“To find your parents,” he answered.
“I already know where they are,” Kumea sighed. “Some town called ‘prison’.”
Kumea heard a small chuckle from Atsumori before he said, “There are many places called ‘prison’, I need to know which one.”
“Why are you helping me?” she questioned.
Atsumori dropped her atop a pile of moss.
“We camp here tonight,” he stated.
“Why are you helping me?” Kumea asked again.
Soberly he answered, “Because I owe your parents, I cannot just watch as they are dying in a prison.”
“My mother is not going to die!” tears started to fill Kumea’s eyes just before she started bawling on the moss.

Atsumori watched her cry; for a moment there may have been a trace of emotion before he left to get wood for a fire and shelter. When he returned Kumea was reduced to a red-faced quivering lump on the ground. In not too long there was a small fire going and a lean-to like shelter made on the soft ground.

“I’m hungry,” Kumea stated sulkily. Atsumori reached into his small satchel to pull out three small pieces of fruit.
When Kumea woke up the next morning Atsumori had already doused the fire and packed the few things he possessed. Kumea sat up, stretched, and grabbed the last piece of fruit sitting next to her.
“Stand up. We need to leave soon.” Atsumori ordered.

By this time Kumea was used to Atsumori’s stern ways and simply nodded her head as she stood up.They fought through dense foliage for a half mile before Kumea saw sunlight breaking through the trees ahead. Atsumori lifted the last branch so that she could crawl out of the forest onto a hill overlooking a small fishing village.

“In that village there is a man who can tell me where your parents are,” Atsumori said with a sigh.
Atsumori lead the way down to the village. He glanced over his shoulder at Kumea. She was tired and he knew it. Her cheeks were flushed crimson and she breathed hard from all the distance they had covered.

Soon they were entering the village. As the two of them made there way to the fish market all the locals watched them with suspicion. Kumea was too tired and hungry to notice the quaint beauty of the little market. Atsumori didn’t care. Kumea hungrily watched while rice and fish were cooked and eaten as she followed Atsumori into a small fisherman's hut.

The hut was bright and smelled of the rotting fish hanging on all the walls.
“Why have you come back, Atsumori?” asked an old man who walked into the hut behind Kumea.
“Rin, I just need a little information,” said Atsumori in a slightly hushed tone.
Angrily Rin answered, “Information? You risk guards bashing down my door for a little information?”
“I need to know which prison the Haito’s are in.” Atsumori asked in almost a whisper.
“The Haito’s? Why do you care about the Haito’s?” Rin asked.
“I have to repay a debt.”
Rin sighed, “They are in Rhosu prison.”

As Kumea followed Atsumori she forgot her fatigue. She was on her way to see her parents, ohh how she missed how her mother put her to bed every night with a small kiss on the forehead, and how her father would always remember to bring her a piece of sweet fruit every time he went to market.

“Stop,” Atsumori whispered, jarring Kumea out of her daydream.
The sun was setting. Kumea and Atsumori were atop a small hill, and down in the valley Kumea could just make out a tall wall surrounding many buildings.
“Is that Rhosu prison?” Kumea asked.
Atsumori nodded his head.
“How are we going to get in?” wondered Kumea.
“Follow me,” Atsumori answered.

Quickly Atsumori made his was around to the south end of the prison. He picked up the delicate Kumea and carefully hid her in the center of a knot of branches and leaves in a lush tree.
“Do not leave this spot until I call you,” commanded Atsumori.

Kumea watched as he scrambled up a tall tree and shimmied to the end of a long branch. Atsumori wiped the sweat off his brow as he looked once more at the spot where he hid Kumea. There were two guards on the wall, one was patrolling the north wall, by the main gate, the other was gazing to the west. Atsumori was nearly above the south wall, reaching up he grabbed a branch above his head for stability as he attempted to stand. Shakily he gauged the distance between himself and the wall. With a quick leap he was grasping the wall. Slowly he heaved over onto the wall. Atsumori crouched low as he moved over to the southern tower, grabbed a rope, and returned to where he could see where he’d hidden Kumea.

By this time it was very dark outside and Kumea couldn’t even see Atsumori on the wall, but she heard him when he whispered, “Kumea, come to the wall.” Nervously she crawled out of the tree and ran to the base of the wall. She felt a rope land on her head, and as she grabbed it she discovered a loop.
“Sit in the loop and hold onto the rope,” instructed Atsumori.
Kumea did as she was told. Slowly she was lifted off the ground and soon she felt Atsumori’s strong hand grab her around the belly and set her on the stone wall.

Atsumori motioned for Kumea to follow him then he crouched low and ran along the wall. Kumea stayed close behind Atsumori and copied his every move. She was scared. Soon they arrived at the stairs. Atsumori peeked over the wall into the center of the prison, there didn’t appear to be anyone looking. Keeping close to the wall Atsumori and Kumea crept down the stairs. Once they were at the bottom they hid in a dark corner and looked at their surroundings.

There were five buildings, two guard houses, one captain’s house, a records headquarters, and the actual prison building. The prison was the largest and the records building was next to it, right by the main gate. There were no guards outside, but Atsumori could see at least four in the prison through a window.

“What are we going to do?” Kumea whispered.
“We need to know where your parents are so we are going to check the records,” Atsumori answered in an ever more quiet whisper.
“I’m scared,” Kumea said, lip quivering.
“Don’t worry. Just do as I say and we will make it out of here,” Atsumori said in an almost comforting tone.
Atsumori snuck through the courtyard area and made it to the records building door. Slowly he peeked through the window. Kumea watched the light move onto Atsumori’s face. Atsumori pulled his head back and paused for a second to think. There was one man in there who was sitting at a desk facing away from the door.

Atsumori reached over to Kumea and grasped her little shoulders, he turned her and pointed to a dark nook by the wall. She nodded, crawled over, and hid. Atsumori waited until Kumea was thoroughly hidden before he stood up. Carefully he opened the door, the man, who was a scribe not a soldier, was on the far side of the room, so he didn’t hear as Atsumori snuck up behind him. Like a snake, Atsumori wrapped his hands around the scribe’s neck. The man screamed a little before Atsumori stifled him, causing him to drop the papers he had been working on.
“Where are the Haitos being held?” Atsumori growled.
“The Haitos? How do you expect me to remember each prisoner?” the scribe answered gasping slightly from shortness of breath.
“I am going to let you go and you are going to find where the Haitos are. If you do this I will let you live,” Atsumori said coldly.
The scribe answered, “Yes, yes of course.”
Atsumori released his hold and the man gasped for breath then quickly got to work searching through his papers.
Soon the scribe exclaimed, “Yes here they are Haito, they are in the last cell in row eight.”
Atsumori brought down his heavy hand onto the back of the scribes head, knocking him out. As Atsumori exited the building Kumea ran over to him.

“Do you know where they are?” Kumea asked excitedly.
“Yes,”Atsumori stated, “From now on I want you to stay right behind me.”
“I will,” Kumea said nodding her head.

Atsumori crawled over to the prison door Kumea right on his heels. Kumea could see soldiers through the small barred windows, they looked strong and they had swords on their hips. Kumea watched at Atsumori put his back to the wall under the window, quickly she did the same. Slowly Atsumori crept upward trying to look through the window without being seen. There were two guards talking to each other, they were relaxed. Atsumori could tell they had not had trouble with people breaking in before.

Atsumori leaned in close to Kumea’s ear and whispered so quietly she could hardly hear, “When we go in here I want you to run and hide under the table, don’t look at me or what I am doing.” Kumea felt a rush a fear as she nodded her head.
Atsumori stood up in front of the door, took one deep breath, then threw the door open as he charged inside. The soldiers spun around shocked as Atsumori grabbed the nearest soldier’s sword off his hip.

Kumea dived under the table screaming, then she curled up shaking all over. All she could see were the feet of Atsumori and the guards. Very quickly she saw one guard fall, he was facing away from her and she could see his arms wrapped around his stomach. Kumea heard a dull thud, then the other soldier fell.
“Kumea, come out now,” Atsumori said hardly out of breath.
Kumea crawled out as far from the bodies as possible. When she looked at Atsumori he was wiping blood off a sword.
“Are..... are they dead?” Kumea asked stunned.
“Just one, the other is only asleep,” Atsumori calmly replied. Kumea felt sick in her stomach. She sat down in a chair, her face pale.
“Come. We need to get your parents,” said Atsumori as he finished cleaning the sword. When he looked at her his face changed, he walked over to her and placed his hand on her shoulder, “Kumea, do you want to see your mother?”
Kumea looked up at his scarred face and realized what he must have done to get those scars.
“Yes,” she answered timidly.

Kumea stood up, her head staring at the floor in front of her until she was away from the room with the bodies.
Atsumori walked down the long hallway. There were numbered doors all along both walls. He soon stopped in front of door ‘8’.

As he opened the door he saw a soldier standing in front of him halfway down the short hall of cells. When the door opened the soldier whirled around, hand on his sword.
“Kumea, go back out and shut the door. No matter what you hear do not come in,” Atsumori said in a deadly cold way.
Atsumori heard the door close behind him. He started to walk towards the soldier. The soldier stood there with his hands on his sword watching Atsumori’s every move. Atsumori stepped forward. The soldier stepped back and to the right squarely facing Atsumori. Atsumori was drawing his sword when a hand darted through the bars and grabbed the soldier around the neck. Another prisoner dashed to the bars and hammered the guard until he collapsed to the floor unconscious. Kumea heard Atsumori call her, so she slowly opened the door. When she saw the body on the floor she started to pale until Atsumori assured her that he wasn’t dead.

Atsumori seized the keys off the guard’s body and hurried the end of the hall while prisoners screamed to be freed.
When the Haitos saw Atsumori unlocking their cell they looked thoroughly shocked.

“Atsumori?” Kumea’s father asked disconcertedly. “Why have you come here?”
“We have no time to talk, Brother, we need to get out of this place,” responded Atsumori. Kumea’s parents exited their cell, looked down the hall, and when they saw Kumea they dashed to her. Kumea hugged her mother wishing to never let go. Atsumori interrupted this joyous moment with a sharp, “We need to leave now.”

Exiting the prison was far easier that entering. After opening most of the cell doors there was a mad rush for the main gate. While the guards were rushing to stop the prisoners none of them noticed a small group heading for the south wall. Once they were safely in the forest Kumea’s father asked, “Why did you come for us, Atsumori? You left our family decades ago.”

“You raised me, Brother. When I renounced our family to combat the emperor I brought shame upon you,” Atsumori sighed deeply. “I was imprisoned eight years after I left. When I finally escaped I heard that you had married and that I had a niece. I then decided to return and try to restore some of the honor I had destroyed. As I approached your home I saw you and your wife dragged away from your farm and daughter. My only choice was to help you.” After concluding Atsumori looked his brother right in the eye, waiting for a response.

“Welcome back, Brother,” Kumea’s father answered graciously.

Kumea smiled as she looked at her mother, father, and new uncle, Atsumori.