Notes and Disclaimers: Amakusa 1637, and all characters and situations are the sole property of Akaishi Michiyo and Shogokukan/Petite Flower Comics.
That having been said, I believe that this is the first, in any language, Amakusa 1637 fanfic in the whole world. I’m rather pleased by that, actually. It’s a pretty spiffy manga, currently running in petite Flower Comics – no tankubon as of yet. If you like this story,, please let me know at firstname.lastname@example.org If you’d like to know a little more about Amakusa 1637, you can find a review of it here.
Sounds in the Night
It’s so quiet here at night.
So quiet that every sound wakes me from a fitful sleep. What *is* that noise? Some animal, I suppose. I miss the reassuring hum of traffic, or even the train that annoyed me so much at home, blowing its horn as it passed the house. Now I don’t even have the background noise of electricity – my clock radio, my computer, all gone. I miss them, too. How ridiculous! But I do. I’m homesick…. Can you be homesick when you are technically still home? I guess I’m timesick, only a few hundred miles from my home, but almost five centuries away.
It’s so strange here. Home, and yet, nothing like home. The language is the same, the food similar; the clothes are familiar, at least. Yet I feel like a stranger, or an actor. Or an impostor.
Natuski doesn’t seem to mind. I can just make out her shape in the gloom. She’s snoring slightly – for some reason I find that comforting. If I look past her, I can see the shape of her shoulders and her hip. I wish we were small children, so I could cling to her, even while we slept. If she held me, I’m sure I’d sleep better than I am now.
But that’s silly, isn’t it? I’m not a child, anymore than Natsuki is a boy. It’s like we’re stuck in some kind of bizarre play, where our roles are already written. Natsuki isn’t their Shiro, or their saint, or their Messiah! Why won’t they see that?
How did we get to this place? Maybe if I think it through, I can figure out what happened to us…but it doesn’t make much sense, no matter how often I try. We were on the ship, and a storm blew in. When I awoke, I was here. Such a simple story that makes no sense at all. Student Council members on a summer trip at sea. Storm capsizes boat; students land four hundred and sixty three years before they ever left. Perfectly sensible. As sensible as everyone thinking that Natsuki is a rebel leader named Matsuda Shiro, a young man with saintly powers, who was tortured to death several years ago. It makes no sense at all!
I’m going around in circles again.
Natsuki’s dreaming. I can hear her murmuring Miyamoto-kun’s name. She’s so strong, but I know she misses him. She is so strong it’s amazing, sometimes. Even faced with the part of a tragic hero, she manages to make people love her. Every village we stop at, the people love her. I love her, too. I always have, since that day I came to St. Francis’ Academy and she stopped the upperclassmen from picking on me. She’s just like that, stepping into a situation, taking charge, saving the lost, the weak, me.
Maybe…maybe, she really is a saint, like all the villagers believe. Maybe she is the Messiah…maybe we won’t all die in the uprising that will happen any day. Maybe we won’t be burned with almost forty thousand men, women and children whose only crime is that they are Christian. Maybe God will take pity on us and return us to our own time before we die. Maybe Natsuki can save us all.
Oh God, please help us! I don’t want to die! Not like this, away from home, away from my time.
It’s getting lighter out. I should sleep again, but I can’t. Am I crying? I have to stop or I’ll wake…
“Are you alright?” Natsuki’s voice is rough with sleepiness.
“Mmm.” I can’t bring myself to answer.
“Are you crying?”
I can see Natsuki’s silhouette as she sits up. She’s silent for a long time, then she moves closer. I can feel her arms as they encircle my shoulders, then I can feel her hair against my face. I lean against her chest, listen to her heartbeat, and let the tears run down my face.
“Eri, I promise, we’ll get out of here.” She says, stroking my hair. “We’ll find Seika, and…” her voice cracks a little, “Miyamoto and the others. And Yatsuka will regain his memory and we’ll stop the rebellion.”
I can’t help myself, I laugh. Natsuki laughs with me.
“And while I’m at it, I’ll write my name in the sky.” She can joke at a time like this. I wish I could be as confident as she is.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I whisper. “And that name is Amakusa Shiro – martyr of the Christian uprising.”
I can hear her heart beat faster, but she doesn’t answer me.
My eyes close as she holds me. She’s so warm I’m getting sleepy. Just before I drift off, I can hear Natsuki speak. I’m not sure, but it sounds like “Miyamoto-kun, I’ll find you.”
When I wake up the next morning, Natsuki is still holding me, her face buried in my hair. I’ll try to be stronger, I promise. If only because she shouldn’t have to do this alone. I’ll use my knowledge of history; I’ll help her save us all.