Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress: Lanterns

[jordannamorgan]

Title: Lanterns
Author: jordannamorgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: G.
Characters: Ensemble.
Setting: General.
Summary: The passengers of the Kotetsujo observe the Obon holiday.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kabaneri Committee and other relevant parties. I’m just playing with them.
Notes: Considering how much loss they’ve experienced due to the Kabane, a holiday honoring the spirits of departed loved ones has to be especially poignant to the people of Hinomoto. I wanted to examine that, as well as how its customs might be altered out of necessity for those who cannot return to their homes.
This fic was submitted for the prompt of “Family, Community, and Culture” at genprompt_bingo.



The bamboo forest was beautiful, a maze of tranquil green stalks whose very appearance made the thick summer heat seem cooler. Sunlight slanted through the foliage, creating slivers of brightness in which dragonflies danced, while cicadas droned high overhead. The setting was so peaceful, it could have made an onlooker drowsy.

…Except that at the moment, the serenity of the scene was marred by a grinding scrape of handsaws and the labored grunts of men—working quickly under the watchful eye of two Kabaneri guardians who stood lookout atop a great armored train.

“Why are they cutting down bamboo?” asked little Sayo, watching the men at work from the safe vantage point of the Kotetsujo’s prow deck. “Are we going to have Tanabata again?”

“Tanabata was last month, silly,” Ichinoshin chided her with a roll of his eyes.

Sitting on the deck with her orphan foundlings gathered around her, Kajika smiled and hugged Sayo closer to her side. “No, this bamboo is for Obon tomorrow night. You all know what that is, don’t you?”

“That’s when the spirits of all the people that have died come back to visit,” Kotaro chimed in, still looking puzzled. “But at home, we’d go take care of the family graves, and light a fire outside our house to guide the spirits home. We didn’t use bamboo for any of that.”

A brief pang of wistfulness filled Kajika’s heart at the memory of Aragane Station, and the safe familiar ways now lost to the survivors aboard the Kotetsujo. Her smile softening, she reached up to gently ruffle Kotaro’s untamed hair.

“We can’t go back to our families’ graves yet. Not until someday when we can find a way to rebuild Aragane. So instead, we’re going to celebrate Obon the way train crews do when they can’t get home in time. Yukina and Suzuki told us all about it.” She pointed to the long leaves of a giant bamboo stalk that two men were carefully lowering to the ground. “First we have to make little boats out of bamboo leaves. Then—do you remember all those candles and paper lanterns we bought at the last station we stopped at? This is what they’re for. We’ll put the lanterns in the boats to represent the spirits of our departed loved ones, and set them adrift on a river, so the current can take them away to the sea. It’s just like how our fires back home would return their spirits to the sky… but this way, they’ll go by water instead.”

Eyes wide, the children took in the activity with new fascination. Several women had joined the work down on the ground, hastily stripping the leaves and branches from the bamboo stalks. Most of the bare green poles that remained would be abandoned, but a few of the longest and straightest ones were being securely lashed to the railing on the deck of the first train car.

“What are we going to do with those?” Ichinoshin asked, pointing.

“That’s how we’re going to put the bamboo boats with the candles on the river. Even with the Kabaneri watching over us, it’s too dangerous to leave the train and go down to a riverbank at night. So instead we’ll stop in the middle of a bridge, where we can protect ourselves if any Kabane come along. The little boats will slide down into the water on those poles.” Kajika smiled at her wards and stood up, stretching her arms above her head. “Speaking of which, those bamboo leaves need to be worked with before they dry out too much—and that’s where you all get to help. Come on, I’ll show you how to make the boats!”

Excited at the prospect of being able to take part in the preparations, the children eagerly followed her into the locomotive.



Half an hour later, when the Kotetsujo was once more on the move, Ayame Yomogawa made her way back through the train to observe those preparations.

In every car, townfolk were intently weaving bamboo leaves into the shape of small flat-bottomed boats. Parents gently guided children through the technique, and grown men laughed at each other’s less-than-perfect attempts. It was good to see the people busy with their hands and enjoying themselves… forgetting, for the moment, the somber purpose their creations were meant for.

“If only the occasion itself could be so festive,” Kurusu said quietly at Ayame’s side, echoing her thoughts.

She turned to him with a rueful smile. “I think it will be good for the people, all the same. Even though we lit prayer fires for those we’ve lost, after so much happened so quickly… I think we all needed more time and distance before we could grieve properly.” The thought of her father flashed through her mind, and her smile faltered. “At least, I feel that way.”

Ayame was conscious of Kurusu’s hand rising behind her, hovering for a brief moment near her shoulder; but it did not come to rest there. He merely let out something like a quiet sigh, and lowered his hand again.

Part of her wished he hadn’t thought better of the impulse, but for now she supposed it was just as well.

“Did everyone get enough bamboo?” a voice asked behind them.

The leader and her bodyguard turned to see Ikoma approaching, with Mumei trailing in his wake. Now divested of their weapons and battle garb, the two Kabaneri were both clutching their own handfuls of long green leaves.

Warmth and light immediately broke through the clouds of Ayame’s expression. “Oh yes—thanks to the two of you.” She smiled fondly at the guardians of her people. “In fact, we really couldn’t have done this without you at all. Not only did you keep watch while we gathered the bamboo, you did most of the extra hunting and foraging to earn money for the candle lanterns.”

Ikoma ducked his head, dropping his gaze. “Of course. I was glad to do it. …It’s important.”

There was just enough glimpse of a shadow in his eyes to know that he was thinking about the sister he’d long since lost. Ayame’s heart twinged this time for another’s pain, and she searched for further words to say; but her intent was derailed when Mumei energetically shouldered past them both, making a beeline for Kajika and the orphans. “Hey guys, show me how to make the boats too!”

Kurusu scowled after the uncouth girl, but the corners of Ayame’s mouth turned up in wry amusement—and she was pleased to see a little smile cross Ikoma’s face as well.



The following morning brought the beginning of the Obon rituals, shortened as they were to a single day by the limitations of life on the rails. Soon after dawn, the passengers set about cleaning the interior of the Kotetsujo: polishing every inch of steel until it gleamed, straightening the bedding on their bunks, neatly putting away their meager belongings. Altars placed in each car were gradually adorned with the only humble offerings the living could spare: bits of dried fruit set aside from rations, messages written on flat stones or pieces of wood, drooping flowers picked the previous day during the stop to gather bamboo. The scent of incense wafted through the train, mingled with the aromas of cooking food.

Near midday, a priest passed through the length of the train, performing a memorial service in each car. A vegetarian meal of stewed beans and pickled vegetables was then served. As they ate, the people spent the following hours talking about their deceased loved ones, sharing memories and celebrating the lives they had lived.

Takumi spun a tale of how he and Ikoma had helped old Yuji, the overseer of Aragane’s apprentice steamsmiths, to clean out his infamous shed full of junk. Yukina recalled her master, the former engineer of the Kotetsujo, teaching her everything she knew about trains. Miss Ayame spoke of the first archery lessons she received from her father, and the ways he had raised her to be strong. Mumei remembered how her mother could tell her the name of every flower in their garden. Ikoma reminisced about his sister always getting after him to eat, and scolding him for carelessness as she mended clothes he had torn—as if she had been the elder of the two.

Obon was meant to be a joyous occasion, a revisiting of the cherished departed… but when so many had been lost so recently and so cruelly, some tears were inevitable.

In the evening, as the sun was sinking low in the sky, the Kotetsujo arrived as planned at a broad and slow-moving river. The train was brought to a halt on the middle of the long bridge that spanned it, where any Kabane approaching from either end could be fairly easily fended off until the train was able to move. Fortunately, although the bushi still took up watchful posts, the Kabaneri sensed no presence of the undead nearby.

As night fell, torches blazed to life along the outer decks. Passengers began to emerge from the train, dressed in their nicer clothes that were usually reserved for station visits, and carrying small red or white paper lanterns that rested on the bamboo boats they had made. Bits of ribbon and origami animals decorated many of them, while even more were painted with names and written messages.

From somewhere farther down the length of the train, the quavering voice of one of the Elders took up a prayer chant.

One by one, the candles inside the lanterns were lit, and each boat was carefully slid down into the water on the now sanded-smooth bamboo poles. The murky darkness stretching beyond the bridge was soon transformed into a river of light, filled with glowing paper orbs gently bobbing on the current that would drift them toward the distant sea.

Standing on the prow deck with arms folded, Kurusu watched Miss Ayame launch the lantern she had prepared for her father. Unlike the red color assigned to those who had been longer deceased, it was the white that distinguished souls lost within the past year…

As were surely more than half of the many dozens of lanterns already floating on the water.

“So many,” Kibito murmured softly at Kurusu’s side, gazing out over the flickering lights with an expression of heartbroken wonder. “…Is this really how much the Kabane took from us?”

Kurusu drew in a tense breath. His right hand tightened into a fist, and his left hand clenched upon the sheath of the katana at his hip.

No more…

I will never let our people suffer this way again. I swear it with my life.

Miss Ayame looked up at him as she stepped back from the railing. Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes, but her calm expression was filled with a quiet resolve; and in this at least, Kurusu knew their feelings were the same.



As Yukina turned from sending off her lanterns—red for her parents who had been gone for many years, white for her old master who died in the fall of Aragane—she caught a glimpse of a familiar blond head sitting apart in a corner, watching the proceedings through hooded eyes. Sukari was curled into himself, and despite the warmth of the August night, his worn red scarf was pulled up a little higher than usual around his chin. Someone else might have looked as if he was feeling a chill from the emotion of the ceremony… but the Kotetsujo’s engineer suspected she knew better.

She drifted closer to him, avoiding his gaze. “You know, I’m not really surprised to see you hiding from an occasion that might actually make you feel something.”

With the faintest quiver of a flat chuckle, Sukari raised his chin from the folds of his scarf—revealing that damn smirk he always wore like a shield.

“I’m not hiding from anything. I’m just not into waste.” He jerked his head toward the lanterns glimmering on the water. “The only dead that could visit us tonight are the Kabane. The spirits of the people we’ve lost are gone for good. They’ve got no use for offerings, and they’re not here to need any lights guiding them home. All those candles are just burning up money we could’ve used to buy food for the living instead.”

…It never failed. Somehow that boy could never say ten words to her without getting under her skin.

“The Kabaneri and some of the bushi volunteered to hunt and gather wild vegetables to sell for that money,” Yukina pointed out stiffly.

“So they just risked their lives for nothing, too.”

“It’s not for nothing…!” Yukina halted and drew a deep breath, forcing herself not to become irrationally angry. “Everyone needed this. After what happened at Aragane Station, we all needed a chance to heal and say goodbye.”

“Then you’re admitting it.” Sukari raised an eyebrow at her challengingly. “You’re admitting the spirits of our families aren’t really here, and this is all just a show to make people feel better.”

“If it is… what’s wrong with that.” Yukina looked away from the young steamsmith, fists clenched, refusing to let the view of the beautiful lantern-dotted river be blurred by the sudden moisture in her eyes. “But who are you to say they aren’t here with us? You don’t know.”

“…Yeah. I don’t know.”

There was something abruptly flat and hard in his tone that made her turn to look at him. She saw him sitting with the fingers of his right hand curled tightly into the fabric of his scarf, his downcast eyes focused upon that clutching fist.

“I don’t know if spirits really come back. I don’t know if there are spirits at all, and if there are, if—” He suddenly threw himself to his feet and turned his back to the lanterns, staring into the lonely darkness on the upriver side of the bridge. “If some of them aren’t free because… because when their bodies died, they…”

The boy choked into silence, and with a swift thrill of horror, the implications of what he couldn’t bring himself to say dawned on Yukina.

Sukari knows that someone he cared about… didn’t stay dead.

It was a monstrous thought—and one Yukina had never been forced to face in her own experiences. Her parents had died naturally, if prematurely, as was all too common in the closed environments of stations that were vulnerable to disease and malnutrition. Even her master… well, he had been dragged down by a Kabane while helping the bushi protect Aragane’s people, but her last glimpse of the man had caught him clutching a suicide charge. The moment after someone pulled her away, she’d heard the muffled sound of the detonation, and knew that at least he would not become one of them.

Now she thought of what it would be like to know someone close to her had met that fate… as Sukari apparently did.

So this was why the Obon rituals made him even more brittle and standoffish than usual. Where others were comforted by the thought of loved ones’ spirits being near for the night, for him it only reopened the wound of wondering how much one of his own had suffered. Worse, wondering whether any part of them went on lingering and suffering, trapped within the corrupted husk that remained…

No.

Yukina did not hesitate for a moment to obey the impulse that suddenly gripped her. She flung herself forward and wrapped strong arms around Sukari’s shoulders, hugging him from behind with a crushing tightness.

“The Kabane are just corpses,” she whispered close to his ear, softly but firmly. “Nothing about the people we loved is still in there anymore. Believe that, Sukari.”

Although he remained absolutely still, she could feel the pounding of his heart. She held on for a long moment before at last she released him, and quietly moved off toward the railing.

After all, Sukari wasn’t the kind of guy who would want to talk out feelings like these.

Most of the lanterns, it seemed, had been set adrift now. All down the length of the train, the outer deck on the downriver side was still crowded with people, admiring the beauty of the lights or silently praying. A more adventurous group of young men—mainly steamsmiths, from the looks of it—had climbed up on the roof of the second car to find space for a Bon Odori dance, accompanied by someone beating the time on a makeshift drum.

Somewhere in the midst of all the activity, Yukina’s eye was drawn again to a flash of blond hair in the firelight. Peering past a crush of bodies, she caught a glimpse of Sukari near the now-unattended launching poles. He swiped a fist across his eyes and looked around with furtive wariness before quickly sliding an unadorned red lantern into the river.

An awkward sort of warmth squirmed around in Yukina’s heart, and she cracked a faint smile. She decided she would let him go on thinking no one had seen him.

…Just as long as no one heard from him about that hug, of course.



“C’mon Ikoma,” Takumi cajoled, leaning his hands on his knees as he bent down to regard his best friend. “You don’t need to fuss with it anymore. It looks perfect.”

Sitting cross-legged on the deck, Ikoma thoughtfully studied the red paper lantern that sat on his bamboo boat. Twined around the top of it was a makeshift necklace: a knotted length of cord that was strung with small gears and other shiny, round bits of castoff hardware. It couldn’t compare to the craftsmanship his little sister had put into their matching talismans… but still, he thought she would have liked it.

“Just one more thing,” the Kabaneri said, and carefully placed a polished yellow-green stone on the flat bottom of the boat, where it rested in front of the lantern like a tiny stalwart pilot.

“Where’d that come from?” Takumi asked with a somber smile.

“I picked it up on one of the hunting forays to earn money for the candles.” Ikoma squeezed the similar hard shape that lay nestled in his right palm. “The color isn’t quite the same, but it still reminded me of Hatsune.”

“She’d be proud of you, you know.”

A trace of color crept into Ikoma’s pale cheeks, and he ducked his head.

He was tempted to say It would be enough if she doesn’t hate me. However, Takumi had rebuked him often enough for such thoughts that he didn’t want to invite yet another objection. Instead he merely rose from the deck, picked up his boat with the utmost care, and gently set it on the launching poles. One small push set it gliding downward to the surface of the river, where it joined the myriad floating lights set adrift before it.

“Now she’s gonna be in good company,” Takumi observed, gazing out over the lanterns that covered the water’s surface. Then he turned to give Ikoma a quiet, knowing grin. “And someday, you’ll see her again. …Just try not to make that day come too soon by being reckless, will ya?”

A small but genuine smile crossed Ikoma’s lips, and he lightly bumped his knuckles against Takumi’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

Since the night he watched Hatsune die, Ikoma had set himself to a purpose, focusing on it as his reason to survive. He was determined to atone for his failure and earn forgiveness from her spirit by finding a way to save others. Hard work and twists of fate had granted him a certain success in that, in ways he could never have imagined; and yet, that had surprisingly little to do with the reasons he had found to truly live. The reasons that quite literally gave him life every day.

Those reasons were all around him now… and they were not spirits, but very much alive.

With one last glance at the lanterns slowly drifting away on their long journey to the sea, Ikoma turned and followed Takumi back to his friends.

---

© 2021 Jordanna Morgan