Ashian Metamorphosis

Amachi Hakuryu
Ashia -1913

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The guards led me along a luxurious corridor adorned with intricate floral wallpaper and dimly lit by several electric bulbs. Ahead stood an imposing oak door, complimenting the rest of the sumptuous western styled stone facade building which stood alone on a gated, grassy lot.

The journey here was itself quite reprehensible as I was brought against my will by uncouth foreigners. I was disgraced with a forced ride in an automobile; my first time in one of those clattering contraptions and a far cry from the regal steed I once mounted with pride.

Gaijin had become a more familiar sight over the past several years yet their unfamiliar physical demeanors were something I was still unaccustomed to. Those two men escorting me possessed pale skin and hair of yellow and brown and donned dark uniforms adorned with golden finishes. On the lips of one grew a mustache, indicating that personal grooming and shaving among these people was a rarity. Nevertheless I hadn’t the single idea who these men were. The fact that I was in the custody of what seemed to be mere common footsoldiers was shameful. I was the son of generations of noble warriors and now here I was, ambushed by oafs who were little more than peasants in costumes hinting of far more grandeur than their social positions deserved.  

Their native tongue sounded animalistic to what I was accustomed to. The guards either hissed like snakes or spoke words with a lisp that lacked any sense of the poetic beauty that could be delivered in Ashian. At times they barked with the ferocity of an angered dog, particularly when I had done something they had not approved of while under their custody. Even now while we walked down the great hall they had remained stern with me, showing no hesitance to shoving me in the general direction it was indicated that we would be going. I haven't a clue what their intention with me was, however what lay behind that heavy oak door was likely the reason they kidnapped me from my home in the first place.The first guard gave a hearty knock, the rap of the solid wood echoing through the hall. He put his hand on the brass knob and slowly rotated.

A magnificently lavish room was revealed. Finely polished wood furnishings, lush carpenting, and a plethora of books stacked neatly on numerous shelves instantly stood out to my senses, which while still not familiar with western styles I appreciated the craftsmanship involved in such construction. At the center of it all sat a large desk, above which stood a tall, slender man whose hands rested on its surface.

“I see you have made it, welcome,” he greeted me, speaking in perfect Ashian to my bewildered astonishment. The man wore a long black coat, unbuttoned at the front to reveal a western suit which included a silken gray vest. A brilliant pink orchid blossom was curiously pinned to his lapel, giving an air of frivolity to an otherwise somber ensemble. His hair was a light brown, immaculately slicked to the side with not a strand out of place. Most notable was the monocle he wore on his right eye. It gave the effect of magnifying his pupil and producing an unintended yet intimidating scowl as his brow gripped the eyepiece to hold it into place.

"It would be rude of me to not introduce myself," he continued, fully straightening his pose. "Sir Flōki Ulric Tūnbeorht Bryneulph; chief advisor representing His Imperial Majesty's government in Ashia."

Flōki Bryneulph:

His words did little to make the situation any clearer. Who was his Imperial Majesty? What country was this gaijin even from? All Eporans looked similar to me and it could be difficult to distinguish them apart.

"It is my understanding, Mr. Amachi Hakuryu, that you have been quite the thorn in our side."

How does he know my name?

Flōki reached into a drawer within his desk, withdrawing two fine cigars.

"They are Slobodian, if you'd like one."

The irony of my captor offering me a cigar wasn't lost on me. "I must refuse, unfortunately. I do not smoke."

"Very well," he replied, replacing the extra cigar back in the drawer. Flōki turned to face the window behind his desk, bringing the lighter to his face. Outside was an idyllic garden buzzing with pollinating bees and hummingbirds. Flōki let in a deep breath, savoring the delicate taste of imported Caimaisan tobacco. A plume of smoke was expelled upon exhalation, making contact with the window.

"Now where were we?" He turned to me and let out a slight chuckle. "Ah yes, Hakuryu. I have been keeping myself updated with tales of your antics. Of course I cannot tell where the truth ends and legend begins, but you have been making a name for yourself amongst the Imperial Ashian Army regardless. Who would have known that a twenty something year old former samurai would wreak havoc on military conscripts? But who can blame you, especially with the ordeal with your family.”

I quickly interjected, the mere hint of their fates being enough to send chills all the way down my spine. "What do you know about my family? Was it you who killed them? How do you know?"

Anger pulsated through my veins. I vowed to kill whoever was responsible for the murder of my wife and children. Every night I was haunted by their tortured screams, still fresh in my mind. The sheer heat of the entire village burning left its scars on my skin and my soul.

Flōki let out another laugh. "I am afraid I can't help you as much as you would wish. I had nothing to do with the tragedy you had to endure."

"But surely… you must know who did? Please! I beg of you."

"What I can tell you, however limited that knowledge may be, is that it was former samurai who torched your village. Loyal to the emperor, of course. Proponents of a new era of industrialized Ashian excellence. Burning the ashes of old so that a new nation rises in its place."

The information he revealed wasn't satisfactory, but it was a start. I had known that samurai have joined the imperial cause, although going so far as to burn civilian homes? While common in the past, that was almost unheard of in recent times. The samurai and peasants have had their relations improve. We were no longer the tyrants of the downtrodden we once were.

"With all due respect Mr. Flōki, we didn't ask for this. Our traditional way of life was that lived by our fathers and forefathers. The Ashia of old is my home; it's all of our home. What the emperor is doing… it's disgraceful. The shogun and his daimyo have led our people for a thousand years, in perfect harmony with the emperor. It was the shogun who commanded us samurai into battle. By seizing control of the armed forces the emperor has upset centuries of delicate balance. And now he wears his foolish western uniform, attempting the best he can to be one of them and erasing our own customs in the process, all in the name of progress. The Emperor wishes to be like you to the point he has lost who he is."

Flōki paused, seemingly allowing the words I gave to sink in. He placed his finger to his chin, as if engaged in deep thought.

"Follow me for a moment, Hakuryu. I would like to show you something."

I gave the tall man a nod. He led me to the corner of the room where sat a globe, sitting on an intricately carved mount.

"This", he began, "as you know, is our world. Now I want you to look carefully. Do you notice something? A handful of countries control nearly all of the Earth's surface. Akrifa, Hezrana, Anphilos, all consumed by Eporan's steam powered machines of war. Michu, the giant of the east, has not been immune to being carved up like a Christmas ham. Even though I was formerly the Secretary of State for the colony of Shaoliang; a Kanadorikan territory, in case you have not figured who I am by now." Flōki spun the globe and placed his finger down to stop it, landing on Ashia. "Your land is one of the very few left that is not the personal domain of a power of Eporan. Ashia enjoys its independence, but this is not guaranteed. The only way to hold off the Eporan vultures is to be one yourself. Ashia must learn from those who have conquered or it will be conquered itself. Your emperor knows this."

"I'm sorry Mr. Flōki, but our very customs and way of life are not worth throwing away. If the colonizers wish for a fight, I will be happy to give them one. If the Michise could not subjugate us I don't see how Eporans from the other side of the world could."

"You are being foolish, Hakuryu. All the bravery and all the samurai in the world will not be victorious against the Maxim gun. You have to face the honest truth that the era you were born in is decaying faster than a rotting corpse. It is a changing world out there. I speak from experience, as someone born in the excess majesty of the Wictorian era now witnessing the forbidding clouds of war gather around Eporan.”

Flōki’s lips contorted into an impish smile. He produced a pair of white silk gloves and delicately placed them on his hands as if he were dressing for a fine event. “As I told you, I cannot tell you the names of those who killed your family. I, however, have access to people who perhaps do know this information. If you are willing to cooperate with my requests and help me with my mission, perhaps I can help you with yours.”

I had no choice. I did not trust the man the least bit and knew that I was likely going to be used for his own benefit, but I had to seek vengeance for the sake of my family’s honor. If I wanted to do this, I had to play Flōki’s game by his rules.

“I will do what you ask of me, Sir Flōki Bryneulph.”