Fic: Orange Blossom [Onmyouji]
Title: Orange Blossom
Summary: Summoned to the Shishinden, Hiromasa finds Seimei deep in conversation with a tree. As usual with Seimei, nothing is quite the way it seems.
Rating: PG
Word count: 4371
Notes: Written for ozsaur’s prompt of ‘flowers’ at smallfandomfest.
Orange Blossom
Hiromasa was roused from his mid-morning nap by a breathless, wide-eyed page, who handed him a note folded into four. Still half asleep, Hiromasa glanced at it. He exclaimed and jumped up, shaking off his drowsiness as he circled his room trying to pull on his cloak. He hurried through the palace, the trailing length of black brocade flapping behind him. At the thought of presenting such an inelegant spectacle, he blushed and paused to straighten the fall of the silk. The page, chasing after him and carrying his boots, almost ran into Hiromasa’s back.
“Wait.” Hiromasa pulled the note from his sleeve and looked at it again, just in case it proved to be more forthcoming on closer inspection. Occasionally, Seimei sent him letters with writing that appeared and vanished and changed content. Hiromasa doubted anyone else at court could do such a thing, but it was best to check, just to be sure.
The note contained two characters written in a hasty hand on plain Michinokuni paper. Seimei, it said, and Hiromasa could sense the disapproval behind the formation of those two characters. The note was unsigned, but from the scent layered into the paper, he knew it came from the Minister of the Right. An irascible man at the best of times, the Minister of the Right reserved a special dislike for yin yang masters and for Seimei in particular. Hiromasa had never wanted to ask why, but he often wondered.
The page gestured. “Hurry, lord. This way.”
Hiromasa folded the note and shoved it back into his sleeve, then continued through the palace until he reached the courtyard of the Shishinden.
A crowd had gathered there, huddling beneath the colonnades in the shadows despite the warm, blossom-scented day. The ladies hid behind their fans and the gentlemen frowned and whispered to one another. With a murmur of apology, Hiromasa nudged his way through the crowd until he could see what held their attention.
“Lord Hiromasa!”
He turned and bowed before the Minister of the Right, whose habitual sour expression had taken on an immovable, stone-like quality. Hiromasa straightened and beamed at him. “Yes, my lord. What seems to be the problem?”
The Minister of the Right met his happy smile with a freezing look. “The problem, Lord Hiromasa, is your... friend, Abe no Seimei. He is molesting the imperial trees.”
Hiromasa stared at him in consternation. “Seimei doesn’t molest trees.”
The Minister of the Right drew himself up to his full, unimpressive height. “I saw him myself. He touched the Orange Tree of the Right most lasciviously, as if it were the unclothed limb of a woman! It’s shocking. That tree is the symbol of the Emperor himself! A symbol of our harmonious past relationship with China! And there is Lord Seimei, taking liberties and stroking the tree as if it were a woman. Outrageous!”
The courtiers standing nearby added their sycophantic agreement. Hiromasa ignored them and looked over the shining white gravel raked in careful arrangement through the courtyard. In front of the Shishinden stood two trees, the Cherry of the Left and the Orange of the Right. Both were in flower, and though the cherry held more blossoms, it was the scent of orange that pervaded the air.
Seimei knelt before the Orange Tree of the Right, smiling peaceably at something in its branches. He appeared to be deep in conversation with it, and while Hiromasa watched, he ran his fingers through the air in front of the tree.
The Minister of the Right turned to Hiromasa. “Did you see that?”
“He didn’t touch the tree.” Hiromasa frowned as he followed Seimei’s delicate gestures. His movements, careful and respectful, seemed familiar somehow. A spell? Hiromasa’s frown deepened as he started from beneath the colonnade towards him.
It wasn’t a spell, he realised scant moments later. It looked more like mimicry, as if Seimei were handling something invisible - fabric, perhaps, or a woman’s long hair - as if he were arranging the train of a set of robes or settling a swathe of hair to create the most pleasing effect.
Hiromasa shook his head at such foolish thoughts. He crunched across the gravel, his gaze flicking between Seimei and the orange tree. A scatter of blossom lay at Seimei’s feet, and white petals dusted the pale blue silk of his sleeves. He seemed oblivious to Hiromasa’s approach, his focus entirely on the lower branches of the tree.
There was nothing there to be seen. The glossy dark green leaves flicked a little in the merest suggestion of a breeze, and the white blossoms trembled, but nothing else stirred. Hiromasa peered at the tree from different angles, even crouching to Seimei’s level, but he could see nothing. Remaining in a crouch, he crept closer to his friend, his boots scuffing through the white gravel of the courtyard.
“Ah,” said Seimei. Still ignoring Hiromasa, he assumed an expression of great interest and rocked forward slightly on his toes. “Yes, I see. That’s true. You’re right. But what shall we do about it?”
His words carried clear through the air. Hiromasa heard a murmur of comment from the watching courtiers and felt a wash of embarrassment. Though he felt certain Seimei was here for some special purpose, he couldn’t rid himself of the notion that, if he was feeling bored enough, Seimei was more than capable of spending the whole day chattering to an inanimate object just to cause apprehension amongst the ladies and gentlemen of the palace.
Hiromasa glanced at the tree then back again. He cleared his throat. “Seimei. You’re talking to a tree.” He paused and added, “In Chinese.”
Seimei pursed his lips and made a soft sound of annoyance. Still gazing at the tree, he said, “This? This is Minamoto no Hiromasa. Yes, he is, isn’t he?” And he laughed.
Hiromasa felt his mouth drop open. “Seimei,” he blustered, “don’t be ridiculous!”
Finally deigning to glance in his direction, Seimei gave Hiromasa an innocent look. “You’re interrupting our conversation.”
“What conversation? There’s nothing there!”
Seimei sighed. He placed his hand in front of Hiromasa’s eyes, murmured a few words, then lifted his hand away. “That should improve your sight.”
Hiromasa blinked once, then twice. A sway of gauzy cream fabric caught his attention. He followed it with his gaze from the train to the immodest split at the front, which revealed a shapely pair of legs.
His mouth fell open again. Hiromasa hastily looked away from the disturbing sight of naked limbs and ran his gaze upwards. A beautiful young Chinese woman sat in the tree and smiled at him, quite unabashed by his staring.
An unmanly yelp broke from him. Hiromasa started back, toppled over, and landed on his behind. He sprawled in the gravel, feeling it bite through his brocades, and heard the enchanting sound of the girl’s giggles join Seimei’s laughter.
He sat up, pulling his dignity close. On his knees, he ventured near enough to touch the trailing hem of her gown. Trimmed with orange ribbon, the cloth darkened to green at mid-thigh then lightened again into cream above the waist. An orange sash embroidered with gold matched the slippers on her feet. She permitted him to touch a fingertip to the toe of her slipper before she tucked one foot beneath the other and swung her legs.
Hiromasa retreated and huddled beside Seimei. Unable to take his eyes off her, he whispered sidelong, “This is a trick. She’s one of your shikigami.”
“Not at all.” Seimei sounded amused. He reached out and caught her by the ankles, stopping her from swinging her legs. Addressing her, he said, “Don’t be so undignified. Princesses don’t kick, or at least they don’t when formal introductions are being made... Hiromasa, may I present Orange Blossom, the Tree of the Right.”
Hiromasa stared. “A girl in a tree.”
“The spirit of the orange tree,” Seimei corrected.
Hiromasa couldn’t stop staring, and not just because she was the spirit of the tree. The clinging, filmy drape of her gown revealed far more of her body than the swaddling layers worn by women of the court. He dragged his gaze from the sight of her bare shoulders and finally forced himself to look at Seimei. “Do all trees have beautiful girls in them?”
“The more robust have handsome young men as their guardians.” Seimei got to his feet, dusting off the snowy white train of his hunting costume. “Orange Blossom is suffering from exhaustion.”
“She is?” Startled, Hiromasa glanced up at him. “She looks perfectly healthy to me.”
Seimei made a moue. “And this is the opinion of a man who believes gardens are created purely for their aesthetic effect on poetry.”
“But they are,” said Hiromasa, mystified.
He received an irritated look and one of Seimei’s quiet sighs. “Look at the tree, Hiromasa. Can you see what’s happening to her?”
Orange Blossom crossed her legs and rearranged her gown over her knees in a demure fashion. Hiromasa tried to look past her at the tree itself. His attention wandered, and he made himself focus on the shiny dark leaves the other side of Orange Blossom’s head. It took him a moment to realise what he was seeing, and then he drew in his breath.
“You see it. Good.” Seimei gave him a pleased smile.
“The leaves are going brown.” Hiromasa looked closer and saw that the lower branches hid several dead leaves amongst the green. “And...” He paused, wrinkling his nose. Beneath the sweet scent of the blossom lay something rotten and sickly. He stood and strode forward, parting the leaves to reveal the small round fruit. At this time of year, the oranges were still maturing, their skins a light golden colour, and yet several fruits bore patchy skin, the gold marred by the brown of disease and decay.
He stepped back and looked at Seimei. “Is - is she sick?”
“Just tired.” Seimei traced a hand over the outstretched leaves closest to him. Orange Blossom giggled and shivered, and he smiled at her, gentle and patient. “I noticed her malaise last week and questioned the gardeners about it. They said they pruned and watered the tree with great care, and were at a loss to explain the sudden wilting of her leaves and the browning of the fruit. They suspected an infestation, but no trace of insects could be found. It was a mystery: Cherry Blossom thrives, yet Orange Blossom is exhausted.”
“Cherry...” Hiromasa looked over his shoulder at the Cherry Tree of the Left. He caught a glimpse of a lovely Japanese maiden amongst the pink blossoms before she hid from him, her shy giggles lilting through the air. Entranced, Hiromasa tugged on Seimei’s sleeve. “Ah! Seimei! Do you see her?”
“Of course.” Seimei raised his eyebrows. “Cherry Blossom is a very refined young woman, Hiromasa, so please refrain from pawing at her skirts the way you did with Orange Blossom.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Hmm.” Seimei slanted him a disbelieving look, his lips curving into a smile before he returned his attention to Orange Blossom. “Since the imperial gardeners were unable to give me a reason, I decided to ask her what was wrong. She’s weary and a little homesick.”
“Homesick.” Hiromasa looked away from Cherry Blossom to stare at Orange Blossom. “How can a tree get homesick?”
Seimei lifted his gaze heavenwards. “She is a Chinese tree placed in Japanese earth. If you were uprooted and transplanted to Zizhou, how would you feel?”
“I don’t even know where that is.”
“Well, then.” Seimei went closer to the tree. “I will take her home with me. Orange Blossom needs a complete rest. The palace is too noisy and full of idiots who care little for her welfare.” He held out his hand to the girl. “Come, my dear.”
“Wait!” Hiromasa batted away his hand and took hold of Seimei’s sleeve. Half turning Seimei towards him, he whispered, “You can’t take her home.”
Seimei’s expression was one of mild curiosity. “Why not?”
“Because... because...” Hiromasa tried to think of a good excuse. Nothing came to mind except the truth, which was that he didn’t like it when beautiful women spent time with Seimei rather than with him, and he didn't like anyone other than himself spending time with Seimei. Admitting to such petty jealousies was beneath him, so Hiromasa made a more concerted effort. His thoughts swirled. He opened his mouth. “Mitsumushi wouldn’t approve!”
The mild expression didn’t change. “On the contrary,” Seimei said, “Mitsumushi will be delighted to see Orange Blossom again. They’re old friends.” He flicked Hiromasa a look. “Help Orange Blossom down from her tree, Hiromasa. You can carry her. I will arrange for an ox-cart.”
Hiromasa let go of Seimei’s sleeve and retreated a few steps across the gravel. “Me? Why can’t she walk?”
“Because she’s weak and needs tender care.” A mischievous smile flashed and vanished. “Be a gentleman, Hiromasa. Carry the lady.”
Seimei walked away, leaving Hiromasa staring at the tree. Orange Blossom held out both hands to him, the gesture both imperious and hopeful. With a sigh, he went over to her. He’d never been able to turn down a woman in need of his assistance, no matter what form that assistance took. He inclined his head respectfully - hadn’t Seimei called her a princess? - mumbled an apology for touching her in a less than respectful manner, and then placed his hands about her slender waist to lift her down from her perch.
Orange Blossom slid into his embrace with a flutter of silk. The fragrance of the flowers came with her, a delicate yet demanding tug at his senses. She nestled against him, one arm around his shoulders, her free hand pressed to his chest. Her hair, a complicated upswept style wound through with orange ribbons and golden charms, brushed his cheek as he moved back from the tree.
She felt almost weightless. Only the warmth of her body made her seem real. Hiromasa glanced down and studied the shape of her breasts through the thin silk of her gown. He lifted his gaze to her throat and shoulders. Heat flared through him, embarrassment almost making him trip as he turned to carry her out of the courtyard.
He caught himself before he lost his balance. The hiss of gravel at his feet seemed to fracture reality, and for a moment when he looked down, he saw not a beautiful woman in his arms but a single delicate orange blossom cradled in his hands.
Hiromasa paused, confused as to whether what he saw now was reality or illusion. He became aware of murmured comments from the watching courtiers, and then the Minister of the Right demanded querulously, “Lord Hiromasa, what do you think you’re doing?”
Turning towards him, Hiromasa felt the blossom skitter across his palms. It felt like the brush of silk, and was followed by the sensation of a woman’s warm, fragrant body pressed against his chest. Reality - or was it illusion? - flickered again, and he held Orange Blossom once more.
Hiromasa faced the Minister of the Right. “Excellency, I am carrying this woman to a place where she may be healed.”
The Minister of the Right gobbled at him. “Why must you encourage Lord Seimei in his antics? I shall report your behaviour to His Majesty your grandfather!”
Hiromasa hesitated, caught between two realities. The woman in his arms became a drift of white petals. The flower in his hands lifted her lovely face to him and smiled.
Orange Blossom twined both arms around his neck, bringing his attention back to her. Her smile intensified, her dark eyes shining. “Lord Hiromasa, you’re very strong.”
“Thank you, lady.” Puffing with pride, he lifted her a little higher and carried her out of the Shishinden courtyard, ignoring the squawking behind them of the Minister of the Right.
“The men who tend me daily are dull, unattractive creatures without a whit of imagination,” Orange Blossom told him. “Not like you, so tall and handsome.” Her lashes fluttered and a blush bloomed on her smooth cheeks.
It took Hiromasa a few moments before he realised the men she spoke of must be the imperial gardeners. The comparison wasn’t quite as flattering as he’d thought, but he returned her smile with charming warmth and said, “Perhaps you will permit me to visit you from time to time when you return to your... tree.”
Orange Blossom snuggled against him. “How kind! I would appreciate the attention, Lord Hiromasa.”
Her lips seemed to brush over his throat. Hiromasa gulped and hurried his footsteps through the palace to where Seimei stood beside an ox-cart, a goad tucked beneath one arm.
“Where are the handlers?” Hiromasa asked, looking around for the servants.
“Waiting on the pleasure of the owner of the cart, I should imagine.” Seimei quirked an eyebrow. “I am merely borrowing this mode of transportation. The Minister of the Right won’t even notice it’s gone.”
Hiromasa opened his mouth to remonstrate, then thought better of it. “And who will drive the cart?”
Seimei smiled. “I will.”
“Wonderful,” Hiromasa muttered. He carried Orange Blossom to the rear of the cart, where the curtains were tied back, and set her on the first of the foldaway steps leading from the ground to the cart’s interior. She gripped his hand for balance as she shook out the length of her draperies and mounted the remainder of the steps.
“Lord Hiromasa will accompany you,” Seimei told her.
She gave a delighted giggle and clapped her hands. A moment later, she vanished.
Hiromasa started forward, but all he could see was a white blossom rolling across the floor of the ox-cart. He scrambled inside and crouched on the matting, staring at the flower in consternation. “My lady...”
“Ah, she’s a flirt.” Seimei regarded the orange blossom with an indulgent smile before transferring the same look to Hiromasa. “For the duration of the journey, I believe she’d be more comfortable on your knee.”
Hiromasa almost choked. “Seimei!”
Seimei reached past him and retrieved the tumbled blossom, cupping it between his palms. He turned and rolled the flower into Hiromasa’s lap, his expression shining with innocence. “Her petals are fragile, easily damaged... Take good care of her, Hiromasa. Now, both of you - enjoy the ride.”
* * * *
Several days passed before Hiromasa was able to escape his palace duties and call upon Seimei. He’d seen his friend in the palace a number of times, ostensibly to check on the health of the Orange Tree of the Right. On one occasion, Seimei had turned up outside Hiromasa’s rooms in the Autumn Palace with a jar of very good sake, a certain gleam in his eyes, and the comment that his house was overrun with females shrieking over colour combinations for the next season. Amused, Hiromasa accepted the sake and let him stay the night.
His own curiosity as well as his promise to Orange Blossom drew Hiromasa to the tree in the Shishinden courtyard twice a day. He watched the imperial gardeners tend to the Cherry of the Left and the Orange of the Right in the morning, and in the evening he would go over to the trees and speak to them both in turn. He checked the orange tree’s leaves, pleased when the wilt retreated and the brown patches faded from the fruit. To his delight, new shoots and fresh blossoms emerged. Hiromasa congratulated himself, certain that the tree’s recovery was the result of his chivalrous attentions. Not even the acid remarks of the Minister of the Right could dampen his enthusiasm.
When his guard duty ended for the week, Hiromasa took his ox-cart out to Seimei’s estate on the edge of the city. The gates were opened by Mitsumushi and Orange Blossom, who danced around him in a blur of colourful silk and ribbon, calling out their welcome.
He ventured through the wilderness of grasses and past the riot of flowering plants to find Seimei stretched out cat-like on the veranda, propped on one elbow with the sleeves of his hunting costume unfastened. A dish of dried fruit and nuts sat in front of him, along with an unopened jar of sake and two cups. He dipped his orange and gold patterned fan in acknowledgement and smiled over it. “Greetings, Hiromasa. You’re just in time for a drink.”
Hiromasa beamed at his friend and seated himself on the matting, arranging his silks around him. He sat back with a sigh, enjoying the pleasant sensation of the sun on his bare feet. His gaze followed Orange Blossom as she moved through the garden between the flowers.
“She is much improved, I think,” he said. “The Orange Tree of the Right is almost restored to full health, or so the gardeners say. They are astonished by the change in her. The head gardener told me in the strictest confidence that he feared they would have to chop down the tree to be rid of the rot. He says it’s a miracle, and thanked me for spending the time talking to the tree.”
Seimei closed his fan in slow increments, the paper snapping as it folded shut. “Did you play your flute for Orange Blossom?”
“Only once, a few days ago. I think Cherry Blossom liked it, too. She showered her petals over me.”
Seimei chuckled. “Indeed.” He laid the fan against his cheek and watched the women crouch beside the stream beneath the shade of the pines. “It’s like anything else in life. If you pay attention to something, feed it, nurture it, it will bloom and grow. Without these attentions, it will shrivel and die.”
“What about the imperial gardeners?” Hiromasa asked. “They care for the Orange Tree of the Right, yet she still became tired and sick.”
“Ah,” said Seimei, “but it is their job to care for her and for all the other plants in the imperial gardens. Such care can become duty, and then it ceases to be an emotion freely given. Unlike humans, trees and plants do not ask for much, but when they do ask, they want something sincere in return.”
Hiromasa looked at him. “So when we cut the heads from flowers to make incense or to tie around morning-after letters...”
“That is a sacrifice they’re happy to make.” Seimei placed his fan on the floor and sat up. “By picking them at the height of their beauty or for such a purpose, you’re offering them praise. You choose them because you find them beautiful, fragrant, or their very nature is meaningful.”
“I see,” said Hiromasa, though he wasn’t sure that he did. His attention was caught by the fluttering trains of Orange Blossom and Mitsumushi. They strolled along one of the paths, their heads close together as they whispered and giggled. Hiromasa smiled at the sight. “Mitsumushi seems to enjoy Orange Blossom’s company.”
Seimei retrieved his fan and ran his fingers idly along its length, his eyes half-closed against the warmth and dazzle of the sun. “Butterflies like orange blossom.”
Hiromasa sat in silence for a while, wondering how best to interpret the remark. Seimei’s most innocuous comments could occasionally be double-edged. This time, though, Hiromasa decided to take the words at face value. He nodded and reached for a piece of dried fruit from the dish. As he chewed, he glanced around the garden. Now seemed the opportune time to ask a question he’d often wondered about.
“Your garden,” he began. “Why is it you have so many plants flowering out of season? They never seem to die. Why is that?”
Seimei flicked open his fan and studied the design painted upon it. “I’m a yin yang master. I can persuade flowers to bloom forever.”
Hiromasa huffed at Seimei’s deliberate obtuseness. “Don’t be like that. Tell me, Seimei. Why?”
“Perhaps so that, in secret, I may compose banal poetry to their everlasting beauty.”
“I don’t believe you.” Hiromasa chuckled at the mere thought. “I doubt you know how to form a proper poem.”
Seimei made an amused sound and set down his fan. Leaning forward, he broke the seal on the wine-jar, poured the sake, and handed him a cup. “You cannot trick me, Hiromasa. If I wanted to share poetry with you, it would not be on an occasion such as this.”
Hiromasa accepted the cup and cradled it in the palm of one hand. “Then when would you do it?”
Seimei gave him a look over the top of his cup, the tip of his tongue flickering out to taste the splashed gleam of sake along the rim.
Slow heat crept through Hiromasa’s body. He muffled a squeak and buried his nose in his own cup, barely tasting the sake as he gulped it down.
“To return to your question...” Seimei paused, tilting back his head as he thought. He turned the cup in his hands and sipped again before continuing: “It’s simple enough. I like to have flowers available throughout the year for medicinal purposes, for ritual use, or for the preparation of incense.”
Hiromasa swirled the sake around his cup. “What else?”
“Must there be something else?”
“With you, yes.” Hiromasa reached for the wine-jar. “An immortal butterfly spirit. An immortal orange tree spirit. Flowers that don’t die. You surround yourself with permanence, yet at court we love and mourn the very opposite. In our world, butterflies and flowers are transient things, living for only a few days. That is why we write poems to their beauty. But here in your garden, they live forever.”
Seimei looked at him. “Does their permanence make them any less beautiful?”
Hiromasa considered. “No. But somehow, it makes me sad. Sadder than when I think of them as transient things.”
For a while Seimei was silent, and then he murmured, “I like permanence on my own terms, not on those set down by the change of season.”
“But why do you want permanence?” Hiromasa persisted.
Seimei smiled into his cup; a soft, secretive smile. “Why indeed?”
Settling back with a fresh drink, Hiromasa said, “It’s because you’re really old, isn’t it? Having immortal things around you makes you feel young.”
The smile became a laugh. “Perhaps,” Seimei said, his eyes glinting. “Perhaps.”
end
Summary: Summoned to the Shishinden, Hiromasa finds Seimei deep in conversation with a tree. As usual with Seimei, nothing is quite the way it seems.
Rating: PG
Word count: 4371
Notes: Written for ozsaur’s prompt of ‘flowers’ at smallfandomfest.
Orange Blossom
Hiromasa was roused from his mid-morning nap by a breathless, wide-eyed page, who handed him a note folded into four. Still half asleep, Hiromasa glanced at it. He exclaimed and jumped up, shaking off his drowsiness as he circled his room trying to pull on his cloak. He hurried through the palace, the trailing length of black brocade flapping behind him. At the thought of presenting such an inelegant spectacle, he blushed and paused to straighten the fall of the silk. The page, chasing after him and carrying his boots, almost ran into Hiromasa’s back.
“Wait.” Hiromasa pulled the note from his sleeve and looked at it again, just in case it proved to be more forthcoming on closer inspection. Occasionally, Seimei sent him letters with writing that appeared and vanished and changed content. Hiromasa doubted anyone else at court could do such a thing, but it was best to check, just to be sure.
The note contained two characters written in a hasty hand on plain Michinokuni paper. Seimei, it said, and Hiromasa could sense the disapproval behind the formation of those two characters. The note was unsigned, but from the scent layered into the paper, he knew it came from the Minister of the Right. An irascible man at the best of times, the Minister of the Right reserved a special dislike for yin yang masters and for Seimei in particular. Hiromasa had never wanted to ask why, but he often wondered.
The page gestured. “Hurry, lord. This way.”
Hiromasa folded the note and shoved it back into his sleeve, then continued through the palace until he reached the courtyard of the Shishinden.
A crowd had gathered there, huddling beneath the colonnades in the shadows despite the warm, blossom-scented day. The ladies hid behind their fans and the gentlemen frowned and whispered to one another. With a murmur of apology, Hiromasa nudged his way through the crowd until he could see what held their attention.
“Lord Hiromasa!”
He turned and bowed before the Minister of the Right, whose habitual sour expression had taken on an immovable, stone-like quality. Hiromasa straightened and beamed at him. “Yes, my lord. What seems to be the problem?”
The Minister of the Right met his happy smile with a freezing look. “The problem, Lord Hiromasa, is your... friend, Abe no Seimei. He is molesting the imperial trees.”
Hiromasa stared at him in consternation. “Seimei doesn’t molest trees.”
The Minister of the Right drew himself up to his full, unimpressive height. “I saw him myself. He touched the Orange Tree of the Right most lasciviously, as if it were the unclothed limb of a woman! It’s shocking. That tree is the symbol of the Emperor himself! A symbol of our harmonious past relationship with China! And there is Lord Seimei, taking liberties and stroking the tree as if it were a woman. Outrageous!”
The courtiers standing nearby added their sycophantic agreement. Hiromasa ignored them and looked over the shining white gravel raked in careful arrangement through the courtyard. In front of the Shishinden stood two trees, the Cherry of the Left and the Orange of the Right. Both were in flower, and though the cherry held more blossoms, it was the scent of orange that pervaded the air.
Seimei knelt before the Orange Tree of the Right, smiling peaceably at something in its branches. He appeared to be deep in conversation with it, and while Hiromasa watched, he ran his fingers through the air in front of the tree.
The Minister of the Right turned to Hiromasa. “Did you see that?”
“He didn’t touch the tree.” Hiromasa frowned as he followed Seimei’s delicate gestures. His movements, careful and respectful, seemed familiar somehow. A spell? Hiromasa’s frown deepened as he started from beneath the colonnade towards him.
It wasn’t a spell, he realised scant moments later. It looked more like mimicry, as if Seimei were handling something invisible - fabric, perhaps, or a woman’s long hair - as if he were arranging the train of a set of robes or settling a swathe of hair to create the most pleasing effect.
Hiromasa shook his head at such foolish thoughts. He crunched across the gravel, his gaze flicking between Seimei and the orange tree. A scatter of blossom lay at Seimei’s feet, and white petals dusted the pale blue silk of his sleeves. He seemed oblivious to Hiromasa’s approach, his focus entirely on the lower branches of the tree.
There was nothing there to be seen. The glossy dark green leaves flicked a little in the merest suggestion of a breeze, and the white blossoms trembled, but nothing else stirred. Hiromasa peered at the tree from different angles, even crouching to Seimei’s level, but he could see nothing. Remaining in a crouch, he crept closer to his friend, his boots scuffing through the white gravel of the courtyard.
“Ah,” said Seimei. Still ignoring Hiromasa, he assumed an expression of great interest and rocked forward slightly on his toes. “Yes, I see. That’s true. You’re right. But what shall we do about it?”
His words carried clear through the air. Hiromasa heard a murmur of comment from the watching courtiers and felt a wash of embarrassment. Though he felt certain Seimei was here for some special purpose, he couldn’t rid himself of the notion that, if he was feeling bored enough, Seimei was more than capable of spending the whole day chattering to an inanimate object just to cause apprehension amongst the ladies and gentlemen of the palace.
Hiromasa glanced at the tree then back again. He cleared his throat. “Seimei. You’re talking to a tree.” He paused and added, “In Chinese.”
Seimei pursed his lips and made a soft sound of annoyance. Still gazing at the tree, he said, “This? This is Minamoto no Hiromasa. Yes, he is, isn’t he?” And he laughed.
Hiromasa felt his mouth drop open. “Seimei,” he blustered, “don’t be ridiculous!”
Finally deigning to glance in his direction, Seimei gave Hiromasa an innocent look. “You’re interrupting our conversation.”
“What conversation? There’s nothing there!”
Seimei sighed. He placed his hand in front of Hiromasa’s eyes, murmured a few words, then lifted his hand away. “That should improve your sight.”
Hiromasa blinked once, then twice. A sway of gauzy cream fabric caught his attention. He followed it with his gaze from the train to the immodest split at the front, which revealed a shapely pair of legs.
His mouth fell open again. Hiromasa hastily looked away from the disturbing sight of naked limbs and ran his gaze upwards. A beautiful young Chinese woman sat in the tree and smiled at him, quite unabashed by his staring.
An unmanly yelp broke from him. Hiromasa started back, toppled over, and landed on his behind. He sprawled in the gravel, feeling it bite through his brocades, and heard the enchanting sound of the girl’s giggles join Seimei’s laughter.
He sat up, pulling his dignity close. On his knees, he ventured near enough to touch the trailing hem of her gown. Trimmed with orange ribbon, the cloth darkened to green at mid-thigh then lightened again into cream above the waist. An orange sash embroidered with gold matched the slippers on her feet. She permitted him to touch a fingertip to the toe of her slipper before she tucked one foot beneath the other and swung her legs.
Hiromasa retreated and huddled beside Seimei. Unable to take his eyes off her, he whispered sidelong, “This is a trick. She’s one of your shikigami.”
“Not at all.” Seimei sounded amused. He reached out and caught her by the ankles, stopping her from swinging her legs. Addressing her, he said, “Don’t be so undignified. Princesses don’t kick, or at least they don’t when formal introductions are being made... Hiromasa, may I present Orange Blossom, the Tree of the Right.”
Hiromasa stared. “A girl in a tree.”
“The spirit of the orange tree,” Seimei corrected.
Hiromasa couldn’t stop staring, and not just because she was the spirit of the tree. The clinging, filmy drape of her gown revealed far more of her body than the swaddling layers worn by women of the court. He dragged his gaze from the sight of her bare shoulders and finally forced himself to look at Seimei. “Do all trees have beautiful girls in them?”
“The more robust have handsome young men as their guardians.” Seimei got to his feet, dusting off the snowy white train of his hunting costume. “Orange Blossom is suffering from exhaustion.”
“She is?” Startled, Hiromasa glanced up at him. “She looks perfectly healthy to me.”
Seimei made a moue. “And this is the opinion of a man who believes gardens are created purely for their aesthetic effect on poetry.”
“But they are,” said Hiromasa, mystified.
He received an irritated look and one of Seimei’s quiet sighs. “Look at the tree, Hiromasa. Can you see what’s happening to her?”
Orange Blossom crossed her legs and rearranged her gown over her knees in a demure fashion. Hiromasa tried to look past her at the tree itself. His attention wandered, and he made himself focus on the shiny dark leaves the other side of Orange Blossom’s head. It took him a moment to realise what he was seeing, and then he drew in his breath.
“You see it. Good.” Seimei gave him a pleased smile.
“The leaves are going brown.” Hiromasa looked closer and saw that the lower branches hid several dead leaves amongst the green. “And...” He paused, wrinkling his nose. Beneath the sweet scent of the blossom lay something rotten and sickly. He stood and strode forward, parting the leaves to reveal the small round fruit. At this time of year, the oranges were still maturing, their skins a light golden colour, and yet several fruits bore patchy skin, the gold marred by the brown of disease and decay.
He stepped back and looked at Seimei. “Is - is she sick?”
“Just tired.” Seimei traced a hand over the outstretched leaves closest to him. Orange Blossom giggled and shivered, and he smiled at her, gentle and patient. “I noticed her malaise last week and questioned the gardeners about it. They said they pruned and watered the tree with great care, and were at a loss to explain the sudden wilting of her leaves and the browning of the fruit. They suspected an infestation, but no trace of insects could be found. It was a mystery: Cherry Blossom thrives, yet Orange Blossom is exhausted.”
“Cherry...” Hiromasa looked over his shoulder at the Cherry Tree of the Left. He caught a glimpse of a lovely Japanese maiden amongst the pink blossoms before she hid from him, her shy giggles lilting through the air. Entranced, Hiromasa tugged on Seimei’s sleeve. “Ah! Seimei! Do you see her?”
“Of course.” Seimei raised his eyebrows. “Cherry Blossom is a very refined young woman, Hiromasa, so please refrain from pawing at her skirts the way you did with Orange Blossom.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Hmm.” Seimei slanted him a disbelieving look, his lips curving into a smile before he returned his attention to Orange Blossom. “Since the imperial gardeners were unable to give me a reason, I decided to ask her what was wrong. She’s weary and a little homesick.”
“Homesick.” Hiromasa looked away from Cherry Blossom to stare at Orange Blossom. “How can a tree get homesick?”
Seimei lifted his gaze heavenwards. “She is a Chinese tree placed in Japanese earth. If you were uprooted and transplanted to Zizhou, how would you feel?”
“I don’t even know where that is.”
“Well, then.” Seimei went closer to the tree. “I will take her home with me. Orange Blossom needs a complete rest. The palace is too noisy and full of idiots who care little for her welfare.” He held out his hand to the girl. “Come, my dear.”
“Wait!” Hiromasa batted away his hand and took hold of Seimei’s sleeve. Half turning Seimei towards him, he whispered, “You can’t take her home.”
Seimei’s expression was one of mild curiosity. “Why not?”
“Because... because...” Hiromasa tried to think of a good excuse. Nothing came to mind except the truth, which was that he didn’t like it when beautiful women spent time with Seimei rather than with him, and he didn't like anyone other than himself spending time with Seimei. Admitting to such petty jealousies was beneath him, so Hiromasa made a more concerted effort. His thoughts swirled. He opened his mouth. “Mitsumushi wouldn’t approve!”
The mild expression didn’t change. “On the contrary,” Seimei said, “Mitsumushi will be delighted to see Orange Blossom again. They’re old friends.” He flicked Hiromasa a look. “Help Orange Blossom down from her tree, Hiromasa. You can carry her. I will arrange for an ox-cart.”
Hiromasa let go of Seimei’s sleeve and retreated a few steps across the gravel. “Me? Why can’t she walk?”
“Because she’s weak and needs tender care.” A mischievous smile flashed and vanished. “Be a gentleman, Hiromasa. Carry the lady.”
Seimei walked away, leaving Hiromasa staring at the tree. Orange Blossom held out both hands to him, the gesture both imperious and hopeful. With a sigh, he went over to her. He’d never been able to turn down a woman in need of his assistance, no matter what form that assistance took. He inclined his head respectfully - hadn’t Seimei called her a princess? - mumbled an apology for touching her in a less than respectful manner, and then placed his hands about her slender waist to lift her down from her perch.
Orange Blossom slid into his embrace with a flutter of silk. The fragrance of the flowers came with her, a delicate yet demanding tug at his senses. She nestled against him, one arm around his shoulders, her free hand pressed to his chest. Her hair, a complicated upswept style wound through with orange ribbons and golden charms, brushed his cheek as he moved back from the tree.
She felt almost weightless. Only the warmth of her body made her seem real. Hiromasa glanced down and studied the shape of her breasts through the thin silk of her gown. He lifted his gaze to her throat and shoulders. Heat flared through him, embarrassment almost making him trip as he turned to carry her out of the courtyard.
He caught himself before he lost his balance. The hiss of gravel at his feet seemed to fracture reality, and for a moment when he looked down, he saw not a beautiful woman in his arms but a single delicate orange blossom cradled in his hands.
Hiromasa paused, confused as to whether what he saw now was reality or illusion. He became aware of murmured comments from the watching courtiers, and then the Minister of the Right demanded querulously, “Lord Hiromasa, what do you think you’re doing?”
Turning towards him, Hiromasa felt the blossom skitter across his palms. It felt like the brush of silk, and was followed by the sensation of a woman’s warm, fragrant body pressed against his chest. Reality - or was it illusion? - flickered again, and he held Orange Blossom once more.
Hiromasa faced the Minister of the Right. “Excellency, I am carrying this woman to a place where she may be healed.”
The Minister of the Right gobbled at him. “Why must you encourage Lord Seimei in his antics? I shall report your behaviour to His Majesty your grandfather!”
Hiromasa hesitated, caught between two realities. The woman in his arms became a drift of white petals. The flower in his hands lifted her lovely face to him and smiled.
Orange Blossom twined both arms around his neck, bringing his attention back to her. Her smile intensified, her dark eyes shining. “Lord Hiromasa, you’re very strong.”
“Thank you, lady.” Puffing with pride, he lifted her a little higher and carried her out of the Shishinden courtyard, ignoring the squawking behind them of the Minister of the Right.
“The men who tend me daily are dull, unattractive creatures without a whit of imagination,” Orange Blossom told him. “Not like you, so tall and handsome.” Her lashes fluttered and a blush bloomed on her smooth cheeks.
It took Hiromasa a few moments before he realised the men she spoke of must be the imperial gardeners. The comparison wasn’t quite as flattering as he’d thought, but he returned her smile with charming warmth and said, “Perhaps you will permit me to visit you from time to time when you return to your... tree.”
Orange Blossom snuggled against him. “How kind! I would appreciate the attention, Lord Hiromasa.”
Her lips seemed to brush over his throat. Hiromasa gulped and hurried his footsteps through the palace to where Seimei stood beside an ox-cart, a goad tucked beneath one arm.
“Where are the handlers?” Hiromasa asked, looking around for the servants.
“Waiting on the pleasure of the owner of the cart, I should imagine.” Seimei quirked an eyebrow. “I am merely borrowing this mode of transportation. The Minister of the Right won’t even notice it’s gone.”
Hiromasa opened his mouth to remonstrate, then thought better of it. “And who will drive the cart?”
Seimei smiled. “I will.”
“Wonderful,” Hiromasa muttered. He carried Orange Blossom to the rear of the cart, where the curtains were tied back, and set her on the first of the foldaway steps leading from the ground to the cart’s interior. She gripped his hand for balance as she shook out the length of her draperies and mounted the remainder of the steps.
“Lord Hiromasa will accompany you,” Seimei told her.
She gave a delighted giggle and clapped her hands. A moment later, she vanished.
Hiromasa started forward, but all he could see was a white blossom rolling across the floor of the ox-cart. He scrambled inside and crouched on the matting, staring at the flower in consternation. “My lady...”
“Ah, she’s a flirt.” Seimei regarded the orange blossom with an indulgent smile before transferring the same look to Hiromasa. “For the duration of the journey, I believe she’d be more comfortable on your knee.”
Hiromasa almost choked. “Seimei!”
Seimei reached past him and retrieved the tumbled blossom, cupping it between his palms. He turned and rolled the flower into Hiromasa’s lap, his expression shining with innocence. “Her petals are fragile, easily damaged... Take good care of her, Hiromasa. Now, both of you - enjoy the ride.”
* * * *
Several days passed before Hiromasa was able to escape his palace duties and call upon Seimei. He’d seen his friend in the palace a number of times, ostensibly to check on the health of the Orange Tree of the Right. On one occasion, Seimei had turned up outside Hiromasa’s rooms in the Autumn Palace with a jar of very good sake, a certain gleam in his eyes, and the comment that his house was overrun with females shrieking over colour combinations for the next season. Amused, Hiromasa accepted the sake and let him stay the night.
His own curiosity as well as his promise to Orange Blossom drew Hiromasa to the tree in the Shishinden courtyard twice a day. He watched the imperial gardeners tend to the Cherry of the Left and the Orange of the Right in the morning, and in the evening he would go over to the trees and speak to them both in turn. He checked the orange tree’s leaves, pleased when the wilt retreated and the brown patches faded from the fruit. To his delight, new shoots and fresh blossoms emerged. Hiromasa congratulated himself, certain that the tree’s recovery was the result of his chivalrous attentions. Not even the acid remarks of the Minister of the Right could dampen his enthusiasm.
When his guard duty ended for the week, Hiromasa took his ox-cart out to Seimei’s estate on the edge of the city. The gates were opened by Mitsumushi and Orange Blossom, who danced around him in a blur of colourful silk and ribbon, calling out their welcome.
He ventured through the wilderness of grasses and past the riot of flowering plants to find Seimei stretched out cat-like on the veranda, propped on one elbow with the sleeves of his hunting costume unfastened. A dish of dried fruit and nuts sat in front of him, along with an unopened jar of sake and two cups. He dipped his orange and gold patterned fan in acknowledgement and smiled over it. “Greetings, Hiromasa. You’re just in time for a drink.”
Hiromasa beamed at his friend and seated himself on the matting, arranging his silks around him. He sat back with a sigh, enjoying the pleasant sensation of the sun on his bare feet. His gaze followed Orange Blossom as she moved through the garden between the flowers.
“She is much improved, I think,” he said. “The Orange Tree of the Right is almost restored to full health, or so the gardeners say. They are astonished by the change in her. The head gardener told me in the strictest confidence that he feared they would have to chop down the tree to be rid of the rot. He says it’s a miracle, and thanked me for spending the time talking to the tree.”
Seimei closed his fan in slow increments, the paper snapping as it folded shut. “Did you play your flute for Orange Blossom?”
“Only once, a few days ago. I think Cherry Blossom liked it, too. She showered her petals over me.”
Seimei chuckled. “Indeed.” He laid the fan against his cheek and watched the women crouch beside the stream beneath the shade of the pines. “It’s like anything else in life. If you pay attention to something, feed it, nurture it, it will bloom and grow. Without these attentions, it will shrivel and die.”
“What about the imperial gardeners?” Hiromasa asked. “They care for the Orange Tree of the Right, yet she still became tired and sick.”
“Ah,” said Seimei, “but it is their job to care for her and for all the other plants in the imperial gardens. Such care can become duty, and then it ceases to be an emotion freely given. Unlike humans, trees and plants do not ask for much, but when they do ask, they want something sincere in return.”
Hiromasa looked at him. “So when we cut the heads from flowers to make incense or to tie around morning-after letters...”
“That is a sacrifice they’re happy to make.” Seimei placed his fan on the floor and sat up. “By picking them at the height of their beauty or for such a purpose, you’re offering them praise. You choose them because you find them beautiful, fragrant, or their very nature is meaningful.”
“I see,” said Hiromasa, though he wasn’t sure that he did. His attention was caught by the fluttering trains of Orange Blossom and Mitsumushi. They strolled along one of the paths, their heads close together as they whispered and giggled. Hiromasa smiled at the sight. “Mitsumushi seems to enjoy Orange Blossom’s company.”
Seimei retrieved his fan and ran his fingers idly along its length, his eyes half-closed against the warmth and dazzle of the sun. “Butterflies like orange blossom.”
Hiromasa sat in silence for a while, wondering how best to interpret the remark. Seimei’s most innocuous comments could occasionally be double-edged. This time, though, Hiromasa decided to take the words at face value. He nodded and reached for a piece of dried fruit from the dish. As he chewed, he glanced around the garden. Now seemed the opportune time to ask a question he’d often wondered about.
“Your garden,” he began. “Why is it you have so many plants flowering out of season? They never seem to die. Why is that?”
Seimei flicked open his fan and studied the design painted upon it. “I’m a yin yang master. I can persuade flowers to bloom forever.”
Hiromasa huffed at Seimei’s deliberate obtuseness. “Don’t be like that. Tell me, Seimei. Why?”
“Perhaps so that, in secret, I may compose banal poetry to their everlasting beauty.”
“I don’t believe you.” Hiromasa chuckled at the mere thought. “I doubt you know how to form a proper poem.”
Seimei made an amused sound and set down his fan. Leaning forward, he broke the seal on the wine-jar, poured the sake, and handed him a cup. “You cannot trick me, Hiromasa. If I wanted to share poetry with you, it would not be on an occasion such as this.”
Hiromasa accepted the cup and cradled it in the palm of one hand. “Then when would you do it?”
Seimei gave him a look over the top of his cup, the tip of his tongue flickering out to taste the splashed gleam of sake along the rim.
Slow heat crept through Hiromasa’s body. He muffled a squeak and buried his nose in his own cup, barely tasting the sake as he gulped it down.
“To return to your question...” Seimei paused, tilting back his head as he thought. He turned the cup in his hands and sipped again before continuing: “It’s simple enough. I like to have flowers available throughout the year for medicinal purposes, for ritual use, or for the preparation of incense.”
Hiromasa swirled the sake around his cup. “What else?”
“Must there be something else?”
“With you, yes.” Hiromasa reached for the wine-jar. “An immortal butterfly spirit. An immortal orange tree spirit. Flowers that don’t die. You surround yourself with permanence, yet at court we love and mourn the very opposite. In our world, butterflies and flowers are transient things, living for only a few days. That is why we write poems to their beauty. But here in your garden, they live forever.”
Seimei looked at him. “Does their permanence make them any less beautiful?”
Hiromasa considered. “No. But somehow, it makes me sad. Sadder than when I think of them as transient things.”
For a while Seimei was silent, and then he murmured, “I like permanence on my own terms, not on those set down by the change of season.”
“But why do you want permanence?” Hiromasa persisted.
Seimei smiled into his cup; a soft, secretive smile. “Why indeed?”
Settling back with a fresh drink, Hiromasa said, “It’s because you’re really old, isn’t it? Having immortal things around you makes you feel young.”
The smile became a laugh. “Perhaps,” Seimei said, his eyes glinting. “Perhaps.”
end