Ueno Park, Tokyo,
1981 January 

Ueno railway station was a crowded place. Seishiro, still in his grey middle school uniform, the book bag over his shoulder, stepped calmly down from the 10:48 train and searched his way through the milling throng. The house he shared with his mother since he had been given to her six years ago lay to the East across the Showa-dori and South into Taito-cho. Naka-okachimachi was his usual subway stop, not the giant Ueno station that came next.  
     Seishiro headed west. Snow crunched under his feet. It was still snowing. At the station, the feet of countless passersby had sloshed the snow to a wet, greyish pulp. Here, deeper into the park away from the museums, it was a homogeneous white cover. Black trees glittering with frost on their bark appeared out of its sparkling expanse. He left the path where people sauntered enjoying the crisp winter air and ducked under the trees. Laughter arising from an impromptu snowball fight among school children followed him. Apparently, Clamp Academy wasn't alone in desciding that its students were not to miss the rare event of several centimeters fresh snow across Tokyo. Seishiro intended to use the unexpected free day well.  
     His breath fogged in the air, dissipated, fogged again. It was well below average winter temperatures today. A slight shine of frozen breath covered the rim of his upturned collar. The cloth was wet where his exhalations warmed it regularly. Pale winter sun percolated through falling snow and ice-laden twigs. The gnarled, intimidating trunk in front of him was glittering with frost. Ice drops hung like pearls on the bare branches. A dangerous beauty.  
     Seishiro knew more than most about how dangerous a beauty. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near it without his mother being present, too. He put his clammy gloved hands under his arms. "Tree-san?" 
     ...You shouldn't be here...  
     The ghost of a maboroshi flickered pink around the black skeleton of the branches above and was gone. Seishiro wasn't inclined to leave. Tugging one of his gloves off his hand he fumbled to retrieve a small notepad from his bag. "Tree-san. I have a question." He flipped open a page with a pencilled pentagram. 
     Silence. The paper remained what it was. Paper with pencil lines. A faint blue glow emanated from it. "Tree-san?" 
     Silence. 
     He began to turn the notepad on his open palm. The branches above rustled faintly. Snow flakes fluttered. A couple of them melted on the pad and the paper became wavy in a few spots. The blue glow vanished and returned and vanished... Seishiro's eyes narrowed slightly. He stopped when the blue was gone and began to follow the lines of the turned symbol with his finger... 
     ...Stop it...
     A single tuft of sakura flowers had appeared on the twig just above him. "Will you answer my questions now?" he asked calmly, crumpling the page around the faint red shimmer that had begun to manifest itself above it. 
     ...You are a most persistent creature, Sei-chan... the tree sighed as the maboroshi enveloped them. 

"The campus is formed like the Sumeragi sigil. It's constantly redrawn by the ring subway and the trams." Seishiro, his padded jacket opened in the warmth the Sakura provided, sat on the lowest thick branch. His back rested comfortably against the massive trunk. "A sigil with a diameter of over a mile and redrawn every fifteen minutes. It should have blown me across Tokyo Bay the moment I touched the gate. Instead... it felt cool." 
     ...Cool? As in cold?... 
     "As in–" He searched for an appropriate description. "...exciting." Seishiro stretched his arm to enjoy the caress of sakura blossoms running along the tender skin of the inside as far as the sleeve allowed. "Something is going on there, Tree-san, and I don't know what it is. You saw it on the paper. If I rotate the paper by thirty-six degrees, our power is gone and we see the Sumeragi pentacle. But it holds no power of theirs. But if I as much as follow the lines with my eyes..." 
     ...The Sumeragi put spirit above matter, intention above the physical fact. That is what the pentacle stands for... 
     Seishiro sighed. "I know. Spirit is singular. That's one tip. Matter is represented by dualities like 'Flesh and Blood', 'Life and Death', hence it's represented by two tips." He laid his head against a thick bunch of blossoms. "I've been studying the texts since I was taught to read." 
     ...Even the old ones?... 
     "The old ones, the new ones, the in-between ones." Seishiro snorted. "Recently, even some I'm not supposed to know about until I'm twenty-one. But they were of no help with this. I asked mother and my instructors but they weren't interested." He drew his legs up and rested his chin on his knees. "They want me to leave school after the middle school finals this month." 
     ...And you don't want that?...  
     "No. I want to understand." He drove his hand sharply into the blossoms next to his head tearing them as he pressed them against his lips to breathe in the intensified scent of the crushed petals. "Life and death, flesh and blood." He purred. "They somehow cancel the spirit."  
     ...Or they overwrite it... 
     "How?" 
     ...You should find out. This is a complex, fast-living world... There was something entirely anticipatory in the way scented flowers and dark scratchy bark were dancing along his skin. Blossoms fluttered against the pulse in his wrists and throat. Youngest twigs, barely more than sprouts, the only ones without a bark that would abrade his skin curled along his sides. Soothing. Calming. Exciting. 
     ...Learn to be part of it... The twigs at his wrists pulled tight, bark rasped across his pulse, pain flared as it cut in. Blood welled over his skin... and vanished. He tried to tear free. The twigs tightened their hold, cutting deeper, moving rhythmically against the torn skin, drinking... A dark whisper inside his head, the Sakura, telling him of power, of strength, of... succession. The abrasions on his wrists were barely more than a memory when the tree released him. 
     ...Your mother will be home soon... the Sakura said softly. ...Go now. Don't keep her waiting... 

Taito-cho, Tokyo 
two hours later 

"Sayonara... mother."  
     He breathed it against her lips as he gave her the kiss she desired and he didn't mind giving. Her lips were cold; from the chill and the snow still falling in thick white flakes all around them not from her death that she breathed into his mouth. 
     Old blood trailed her path through the house and out into the snow. Her white kimono with the burgundy stains of her last victim and the crimson of her life flowing out of her, the crimson that spread in the snow under her and around his black-clad knees, the soot of her hair... together it strangely resembled the camellia flowers she'd liked in life. 
     He stood and studied her body calmly. He would have to change clothes. This school uniform was clearly out of commission. He would also have to take care of the trail of blood she'd left across the house. It hadn't been his kill. 
     She was. 
     Take her to you, Tree-san, he demanded in his thoughts and the energy tickled along his veins. More and more of the immaculate snowflakes turned into pink-tinged blossoms. He concentrated and redirected a whirl of them down the path and across the living room. How good are you compared to forensics teams? he asked the tree in his thoughts. 
     ...I'm as good as you let me be... 
     I see. Seishiro decided he would take a blood detection set to the living room floor sometime soon. He headed up the stairs to his room to change into his second uniform. Outside, crimson camellia glittered above the frozen bamboo fountain. The shadow of the house was drawn in deep blue on the immaculate snow. 

"Hello, Seishiro-kun." The man in front of him actually acknowledged his presence. "I've come for your mother. Our lectures will resume tomorrow. If you would–" The man slipped out of his heavy shoes and hung up his coat and woolen scarf.  
     Seishiro closed the door dutifully behind him. He couldn't address him. Instructors never held a name for him. They weren't supposed to. "Say, are you close to my mother, sensei?" 
     "Of course, I'm close to Setsuka-san." The man proudly puffed out his chest. "She is like a sister to me! I've been entrusted with the clan's financial and business obligations ever since she claimed her position." 
     "I see." Seishiro nodded amiably. "I shall call you ojisan, then." 
     "Oji–! How dare–?" 
     Seishiro slowly tilted his head studying him curiously. "After all, you are my mother's brother, right? I apologize for having forgotten to ask about relatives. I kind of figured there wouldn't be any, so I didn't ask before I killed her." 
     Seishiro took a comfortable seat on the couch and waited patiently till 'ojisan' came to grips with that particular piece of information. Finally, he released a trickle of power into the air of the small house to snap the man from his stupor. He allowed a few sakura petals to scatter in the room just for effect. He still felt dizzy at the amount of power suddenly at his hands, at the implications, the possibilities that came with it.  
     A few more petals fluttered across the low traditional table. These were of a slightly deeper color, tinged with the crimson of a fresh death. A deep, amused voice in his thoughts reminded him that he wasn't supposed to play. Seishiro obeyed, not without another gust of petals – for the heck of it! – "Now, if you don't mind, ojisan. I'd like to have the proceedings." 
     The man's mouth fell open. "W– what!?" 
     "The proceedings." Seishiro's slender, once again clean right hand fluttered vaguely. "You know, everything you took care of: case files, contacts, names, places, certificates of ownership..." He allowed his words to trail off as if he were lost in thought. "Ah yes!" He snapped his fingers. "And don't forget the bank accounts and the government contact codes, please." 
     Again it took some time for his words to settle in before the man finally stood to take a large, embossed brass key out of his pocket. It fitted the sealed trunk next to the sitting group. Pentagrams on the key and the trunk, a Chinese character, tassels, and several wards – it was a rather obvious place if you knew what to look for. The man threw him another long lasting look before he turned the key in the lock. 
     "Yes, I am only fifteen." Seishiro allowed himself a humorous smile when he answered the unstated question that had been hanging in the air since 'ojisan' understood with whom he was talking now. "But my teacher said I was quite precocious." 
     The documents, papers, and code keys were slowly placed on the table in front of him. "You know–" The man gulped and wiped at the sweat beads on his high forehead. "You– you don't have to kill m–" 
     "I fear you are mistaken, ojisan," Seishiro replied amiably getting to his feet. "Of course I have to kill you. It wouldn't be a proper succession otherwise." The whirl of sakura petals thickened. 'Ojisan' actually stood his ground. Seishiro acknowledged the unexpected bravery of the man with an appreciative nod as he struck. 

He pulled his hand free from the dead man's chest and used the refreshing tissues on the table to wipe off the blood. With a frown he noticed that part of it had soaked into the sleeve of his school uniform. He'd have to wash and dry one of his jackets somehow before tomorrow or– 
     He shrugged. It couldn't be helped. He covered the soaked sleeve with a paper towel and proceeded to add the files and other paraphernalia to his homework in the tightly packed book bag. 
     "Sayonara, ojisan. I fear our lecture tomorrow has been cancelled." 
     The door fell closed behind him. The sakura petals scattered on the wind, taking the evidence of blood and fingerprints and a dead body with them. The house belonged to the clan. Nobody would come looking for a generation or two. Though Seishiro would make that forensics experiment when he came for the few possessions he was leaving behind now. It wouldn't do to start out sloppy. 
     Today, there was still his homework: an essay about an emperor of his choice and a sketch of said emperor's last resting place. He hummed a happy melody, a giddy bounce in his step, as he headed through the winding streets back to Ueno Park. The National Museum at its northern end was open till 5 pm. If he held a good pace he would have over an hour to collect the facts and make a first sketch for his project. 

The first symptoms appeared when he crossed through Ueno Station for the third time today. The bright illumination burned into his eyes, causing the crowded masses milling around the trains to blur before his eyes. Sakanagi. It was still scattered and weak. Slipping into a corner, he used the relative peace in the crowd to send out a tracer. The advancing backlash was threateningly close. He had to get out of the crowd, out of... 
     Sakanagi. He had taken care of it. Had redirected it, to be disposed... 
     The lights of the festival hall glittered on his left. He averted his eyes. Pain rose in his temples. He used the edge of an ofuda to draw blood from the pad of his thumb. Sigils in the open weren't the best choice. He called the shadows. The maboroshi. It wouldn't shield him from the sakanagi but from possible witnesses when he drew the symbol with his blood on the card... 
     He staggered under the trees. Black trunks danced around him in an afternoon that was night to his eyes. He followed a path his eyes couldn't see any longer. Snow crunched underneath. Footsteps in the snow without a form to make them. Seishiro cursed. He was making mistakes. The path. Sandy. Footfalls. Blunt claws tapping on the ground. Yipping. 
     The blood-marked ofuda fell onto reddish fur as he leapt and was caught. 
     A wet sound accompanied by a yelp cut short followed him up into the crown. An eerie silence followed, accentuated by the slow, slightly unsteady walk of an old woman along the sandy path and the sound of something slick and tangled being dragged along. 
     "Pochi?" A frail old voice asked fearfully. "Pochi, don't tug on the leash–" 
     The scream made Seishiro wince. His head throbbed. He felt sick. The second scream would have caused him to fall off the tree if small, smooth sakura twigs hadn't been curled around his shoulders and waist to hold him. 
     He gritted his teeth against the pain in his temples. He should have given the sakanagi to the old hag and not the damn dog. She wouldn't be that dreadfully noisy if it were her entrails trailing behind... 
     Blossom tufts dabbed the sweat off his temples and cheeks. Wind whispered soothingly along his clammy skin. The tree caressed the pulse at his throat and wrists. ...Shhhh... It's only the second kill in so short a time. I should have watched you more closely. You are so tall compared to your predecessor. I keep forgetting that you aren't a grown man yet, that I can't leave as much to you as I left to her. Your execution was perfect. It's the blood. It left you lightheaded... 
     "Not lightheaded enough..." Seishiro rested his aching head against a cool pillow of flowers and forced himself to weave an illusion. Underneath, the sobbing woman screamed again. A white Tosa-inu, fangs and chest smeared with blood, trailed back across the blood-stained path to disappear between the trees. "Now they'll look only for the dog..." Seishiro sighed and, closing his eyes, sank deeper into the blossoms. The tree, supporting his head, dabbed his temples again. "I have to... homework..." 
     The wind rose in the now impenetrable dark of the Sakura's maboroshi. The swishing of the twigs and blossoms grew louder and drowned out his sleepy whisper. A long twig topped by a single tuft of thick buds crept over the skin of his waist. 
     ...Sleep...  
     He fought against it, against the caress, the touch, the... Another branch, thick with flowers, wound around his shoulders and curled up to cushion his head. Twigs tugged at the notebook that stuck in the cramped book bag. He thought he saw a green sprout winding itself around the pen he'd left clipped to the paper. The sprout wriggled, readjusted. Finally, the pen's tip scratched across the paper, forming characters... 
     ...he was dreaming. He shouldn't... 

Ueno Park, Tokyo, 
the next day just before dawn 

Fog arose in the darkness, silver and translucent. A figure took form in it. A slender frame with delicate limbs and narrow hands... a traditional Chinese tunic... bent over him, touched his cheek, fingertips trailing his jaw line as if in awe. A name floated by... Chen Yue... A formal bow. A noble's long braid down the figure's back flew with the movement. A mocking glance out of long sparkling grey eyes... Laughter. A batting of the hand. Pieces on a Go board. A frowned 'you cheat' flowed on the wind. An emperor's death... 
     ...no, a dead emperor. And Yue was laughing. 

...Sei-chan... Something downy dabbed at his face. ...Time to get up... 
     Seishiro blinked against the soft light surrounding him in the tree's realm. Flowers whisked around his head again. He struggled to sit up in the nest of twigs and branches the Sakura had woven around him while he'd been... out. He frowned at the realization. That was not supposed to happen. The tree couldn't be trusted that far. He– "Where is the Chinese guy?" 
     ...Chinese?...  
     "Don't play around." Seishiro chided and rubbed his eyes with his palm. "He was here just... He... Yue." He stared at the collection of tiny light-green leaves his hand had found in his hair. 
     ...Yue was Sakurazukamori in the troubled times at the end of Emperor Sushun's reign... the tree complied. ...Chen Yue. He arrived as a refugee, he stayed as... something else... The Sakura shivered. Petals danced in the air. ...He was someone special, not unlike you, Sei-chan. So curious, so... vividly alive in his work for death... 
     "Do you remember all my predecessors?" 
     ...Some. Those who made a change. Who left me something more than mere sustenance... 
     The tattered notebook fluttered on the rough bark next to his feet. Sap stains covered the open page, sap stains and scribbles. Surprised, he deciphered the first line as ~The history of Emperor Sushun~. The branches rustled. He hadn't dreamed that? A bunch of blossoms danced across his cheek. Seishiro, irritated, brushed it aside but the tree was persistent.
     ...Your mother was a curious one in her youth, too... 
     The tuft of flowers returned to his cheek. The sweet scent of sakura blossoms arose. A thin twig proceeded to curl along his throat and worm itself into his collar. A titillating sensation ran along his skin as his chin was raised to expose the spot where the arteries pulsed under his skin.
     ...But you will be so much more than she ever was. The Sakurazukamori is meant to be my eyes and ears, my way to understand the world of the living. They crippled me when they turned Setsuka-chan from the girl she had been to that empty shell of a woman you knew...
     The tree sounded possessive, no, aggressive now. ...They are meant to serve me... The rough bark of the twig inside Seishiro's shirt scraped across something very sensitive calling an involuntary gasp from his throat. ...They are not supposed to take what is mine!... A thick gnarled branch wound around his left thigh forcing his legs apart, curling against his groin. His body arched in unexpected heat. His fingers clawed into the rough bark for hold, bloodied themselves. ...Yessss... 
     A slim twig whisked about his mouth, touched, teased. Seishiro's teeth closed sharply around it, drawing slightly bitter sap with the tang of old blood from its veins. He drew the symbol blindly with the blood from his torn hands. ~Politeness~. The tree shivered, retreated. ...You want to bind me with manners?... it asked, amused. 
     "It is polite to ask, right?" Seishiro cursed silently at the tremor of unwanted lust lacing the anger in his voice as he warned the tree off. "You won't subdue me!" 
     ...Nor you me... The tree laughed as he pushed free. ...Equal... it offered. 
     "We'll see." Seishiro adjusted his jacket, straightened lapels and sleeves and ran a hand through his disheveled, sap-stained hair. "Next time I won't be so nice!" His bag over one shoulder he leapt down onto the path. He didn't look back. 
     ...Just like Yue... The branches whispered and rustled behind him. Petals sailed down around him. A single one came to rest on the grey cloth on his shoulder. Annoyed, he brushed it off. ...Exciting prospects...

The park was deserted at night. Empty. The remains of yesterday's snow, frosted by a night with temperatures well below zero, crunched under his shoes. Wind stirred his hair and hissed in the empty crowns of the ghostly trees. 
     Ueno Park was a dangerous place before dawn.  
     The danger had a new name. 
     Its name was Seishiro. 

to be continued in
36°-4: Sumeragi Subaru - Time's Gone

Notes:
ojisan: Japanese for "uncle" - it doesn't have to be in the strict sense of the word.
Tosa-Inu: Japanese breed of fighting dog; actually a mixed breed between the native Shikoku-inu and various European dog breeds to increase size and strength, including English bulldog, German pointer, Mastiff, Bull terrier, St. Bernhard, and Great Dane.
Chen Yue: The Chen Dynasty (557-589) was the fourth and last of the Southern dynasties in China, eliminated by the Sui Dynasty. This dynasty had very little chance of survival. The devastation of the last years of the Liang Dynasty severely crippled the Chen Dynasty. It was ended by Sui Emperor Wen who invaded and reunified China in 589.  
Note that Chen Yue itself is a fictitious character supposed to have fled the war-torn Chen empire in favor of Yamato Japan (via the Kingdom of Baekje in Korea). 
Go: The game Go was first mentioned in literature in 625 about a quarter century after Yue's time. But it is based on the Chinese Wei-ch'i game which was developed about 2000 BC. 
Emperor Sushun was slain in 592. The date of his death marks the beginning of the Asuka period (593 - 710) in Yamato Japan, which brought strong influences of Chinese culture into Japan (including a strict land reform, fixed court ranks, a first law code, a calendar, and the furthering of Buddhism and Taoism (Jap.: onmyo throughout the country). Tree-san has a nose for future events, it seems.