IGMS Issue 9 by IGMS Page A

no such expectations. My master, in his generosity, had raised me higher than I could possibly have conceived or deserved, being who I am --
what
I am. In a hundred lifetimes, how should I ever hold any grievance against the Lord Kuroda?"
    Twilight had arrived as they spoke together, and fires were being lighted in the nearest huts. Junko stood up, slinging the fish basket over his shoulder. Looking down at Yukiyasa, his face appearing younger with the eyes in shadow, he said, "But Sayuri knew the
ushi-oni
in me, the thing that hated having been shown all that I could not have or be, and that wished, in the midst of luxury, to have been left where I belonged -- in a place just like this one, where not one person knows how to write the words
daimyo
or
shogun,
and
samurai
is a word that comes raiding and killing, trampling our crops, burning our homes. Do you hear what I am telling you, priest of the
kami
? Do you hear?"
    He pulled Yukiyasa to his feet, briefly holding the old man close as a lover, though he did not seem to notice it. He said, very quietly, "I loved Lord Kuroda for the man he was. But from the day I entered his castle -- a ragged, ignorant boy from a ragged village of which
he
was ignorant -- I hated him for
what
he was. I spent days and years forgetting that I hated him and all his kind, every moment denying it in my heart, in my mind, in my bones." For a moment he put his hand hard over his mouth, as though to stop the words from coming out, but they came anyway. "Sayuri . . . Sayuri knew my soul."
    A child's voice called from the village, the sound sweetly shrill on the evening air. Junko smiled. "I promised her family fish tonight. We must go."
    He took Yukiyasa's elbow respectfully, and they walked slowly away from the river in the fading light. Junko asked, "You will rest here for a few days? It is a long road home. I know."
    The priest nodded agreement. "You will not return with me." It was not a question, but he added, "Lord Kuroda has not long, and he has missed you."
    "And I him. Tell him I will forget my own name before I forget his kindness." A sudden whisper of a laugh. "Though I am Toru now, and no one will ever call me Junko again, I think."
    "Junko-
san
," Yukiyasa corrected him. "Even now, he always asks after Junko-
san
."
    Neither spoke again until they had entered the village, and muddy children were clinging to Junko's legs, dragging him toward a hut further on. Then the priest said quietly, "She really believed she was human. She might never have known." Junko bowed his head. "Did you believe it yourself, truly? I have wondered."
    The answer was almost drowned out by the children's yelps of happiness and hunger. "As much as I ever believed I was Junko-
san.
"



 
The Frankenstein Diaries
     
    by Matthew S. Rotundo
     
    Artwork by Kevin Wasden
----
    Part Two
  (Part one is in issue 8.)
    The guidance counselor introduced himself as "just Mike" -- a young man, barely older than the students, clean shaven, short hair, small gold triple-hoop earring for the lightest touch of cool. He stood a head taller than John. His handshake was firm, his welcoming smile easy and natural. He invited John to sit.
    Across his walls ran inspirational holos of mountain climbers scaling impossibly steep pitches, runners dashing for finish lines, and the like. Interspersed among these were college and financial aid fliers, and a single army recruiting poster, tucked away in a corner.
    Instead of taking a seat behind the desk, Mike sat in the chair next to John's. "I don't like putting obstacles between me and my visitors," he said.
    John nodded, tapping one foot.
    "Nervous?"
    "A little. I've never had a meeting like this before. Paul's mother used to take care of these things."
    "I understand." Mike pulled a PDA from his breast pocket and tapped a few keys. He scanned the readout for a few seconds. "How's Paul adjusting to his mother's death?"
    "Yesterday he got a snake tattooed to his