Chapter #61Miko's Chronicle, part 3 by: imaj   Miko stared distractedly out the window as her history teacher droned on with his lecture. The classroom sat on the second floor and she could see out and onto the rooftops of the nearby houses. The sky was grey and miserable looking. It looked like it was going to rain soon, probably when she had to walk home Miko thought.
In truth Miko had trouble concentrating all day. She felt as if she had disappointed her father in his training hall the previous day. It had left a sour taste in her mouth that hadn’t faded since. Miko sighed as the first drops of rain pattered against the windows. Maybe she could try again when she got home
“If I can have your attention, Miss Toyotomi,” said her teacher, Mr Watanabe, instantly snapping Miko’s attention back to the class. She blushed furiously at the embarrassment. “This should be very interesting for you,” he added taping the blackboard with a wooden pointer. “We are talking about your clan Miko.”
The rest of the class tittered dutifully, doing nothing to ease Miko’s already red face.
“Or what happened to them, at least,” added the teacher. He continued his lecture in the manner of one used to giving them. “The Siege of Osaka continued on into 1615, with the so-called summer campaign. A series of battles culminated in the sacking of Osaka castle. Hideyori Toyotomi was forced to take his own life, ending both his rebellion against the Tokugawa Shogunate and the Toyotomi Clan.”
A hand shot up near the front of the class. “Didn’t Hideyori have any children,” asked an eager boy.
“Yes he did Hisao,” begun Mr Watanabe before being interrupted by the bell. The Teacher waited patiently for the ringing to subside before continuing. “But that will have to wait for next week it seems. You may pack up class. Remember your homework for Monday.”
Miko stood up as the class started to break up, looking out the window again. “I told you should have come with us yesterday,” whispered Yuriko in her ear as she passed. “Summer sun has all gone now.”
Miko sighed again as she hoisted her bag up onto her shoulder before making her way to the front of the class. Mr Watanabe had sat at his battered old desk and was marking papers. He looked up was Miko approached.
“I was distracted Sir,” she said, bowing her head slightly. “It will not happen again.”
The teacher broke into a broad smile. “You shouldn’t worry too much about it Miko,” he said. “We all have other things on our mind from time to time. So long as your are back to your usual exemplary self on Monday I will be happy.”
“I will,” replied Miko, smiling faintly.
Miko turned to leave but felt something brush against her bag, followed by the sound of something hitting the floor. She turned back round to see that she had accidently knocked some textbooks off the teachers desk. Eight textbooks had fallen to the floor in a radial pattern. For a moment Miko thought they resembled stylised drawing of the sun, light radiating from it in all directions.
“I.. I..” she stammered.
“It looks like it isn’t your day Miko,” sighed Mr Watanabe. He grinned impishly. “I’ll tidy up, you should go before you damage my classroom further.”
“Yes sir,” replied Miko, nodding her head deferentially before scuttling out the door. The conversation with her teacher had delayed her and the stairs down to the exit were already empty of students. She took the steps two at a time, desperate to flee the building. She rushed downwards and out, pushing past the double doors out of the school and into the rain.
A few students still huddled in against the building, hoping that the rain would end. Most were running or walking quickly away home, although a few hardy types were milling about in the short courtyard between the doors and the gates. Miko sighed again, at least it was not far to her home. She quickly checked her bag was closed securely.
A side pocket was open. Miko looked inside it and found the comb her mother had given her yesterday. She’d forgotten she had put it there. Miko closed the pocket, hoisted the bag back on her shoulders and walked briskly out to the gates.
Miko stopped just in time as a compact van bearing the laurel wreath logo of a nearby rice-liquor company hurtled down the road far faster than it should have been going. The van’s nearside front wheel hit a pothole in the road where the rain had been pooling. The rainwater splashed into the air soaking Miko.
Miko almost shouted after the van, but it was going far too fast to even notice her. It turned right at the crossroads at the bottom of the road, its tyres squealing in protest. She watched it disappear with a sense of resignation. Shoulders slumped, Miko set off up the hill, increasingly sodden as the rain grew heavier.
The door to the house was open when Miko arrived. She took a step back and looked around, there was nobody nearby, no sign of her mother outside the house taking the garbage out. “Mother,” she shouted as she walked inside. “Mother, where are you?” Miko slipped off her shoes and went further inside. She dumped her bag in the living room before checking each room in turn.
Miko came to the kitchen last. Here at least there was some sign of life: A couple of pots sat on top of the cooker but there was no heat from the hobs. Miko walked round behind the counter. A plate had been dropped on the floor and shattered into eight pieces. There was a scrap of cloth under one of the pieces. Miko knelt down to pick it up. She rubbed the thin scrap between her fingers, recognising it almost instantly: It was from her mother’s robe and it had been torn roughly from it.
Miko’s heart started to beat faster as a horrible, inconceivable idea started to gnaw away at her. She dropped the strip of fabric and ran for the basement. The light was already on and the stairs to the training room open. Her father never left the stairs open. She skidded down the stairs, down the corridor and into the training hall.
It was a mess, the equipment had been torn from the racks and scattered about the floor. Much of it was broken and Miko had to carefully pick her way through the wreckage carefully. Long, ugly looking bloodstains marked the floor, the swirls showing the path the fighting had taken.
Miko span slowly round, taking it all in. At least three men had fought here judging by the blood. The trails went and back and forth. They had been pushed back by a fourth man, perhaps Miko’s father, yet still they had come on. Miko traced the fight till it came to a halt. A single practice sword lay on the floor, broken in two equal sized halves. The leather bindings had broken and the four slats of bamboo that made up the sword had come loose and scattered. Miko sank to her knees and wailed.
*****
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