Fables For Japan Book1

The water fooded through the Boy,
ripping away his fear, sadness, and despair,

his love, happiness, and hope. The great
wave washed away the land, leaving only
an open sea in its wake.
-- Boy in the Water
Book I
apan
F
ables
for
J
Tamonten
by Eric Prince
God of Wealth, Warriors, and
Buddhism, Protector of North,
Lord of the Four Heavenly Kings
Fables for Japan, Book I. Published digitally by Jason Minor. September 10th, 2011. 2011. All works contained in this book are
solely owned by the individual creators and cannot be reproduced without the creators written consent. All works appearing in
this book were used with the permission of the creators. No similarity between any of the names, characters, persons, and/or
institutions in this book with those of any living or dead person or institution is intended and is purely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to the people of Japan, to the
survivors, the volunteers helping to rebuild, the people who
have opened their homes to the homeless, and to those who
have helped others fnd light in their darkest moments. We
hope this book honors those who have passed and those
who must continue.
Dedication
Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge all of those who have made
this book possible. We began this project without the
benefts of a publishing company or investors; we are a
group of independent writers and artists using what we have
to help. As a general rule, freelancers dont earn a fortune
and often have to deal with impossible deadlines. It is no
small sacrifce to take time out of that rat race and do work
for free. So to all of them, I say thank you.
I would also like to send a special thanks to Matt Funk
for sparking the fame that ignited this project and to Joan
Upton Hall and Rebecca Minor for helping me edit this
book. All praise is due to them and only the typos are mine.
M
y son was born about two weeks before March 11th, so
when I heard about the massive quake and following
tsunami in Japan, I was a little preoccupied. I made a
small donation to the Red Cross and went back to taking care of
my son. I didnt think much more about it.
Three things changed that. The frst was a video I saw of an
entire village, on fre, literally being swept away by foodwaters. Id
seen tsunamis topple buildings before, turn over cars and such,
but a whole village? The second came when
ffty of the workers at the Fukushima nuclear
power plant chose not to evacuate, but to stay
behind and face lethal doses of radiation in a
futile attempt to stop the meltdown. Their level
of sacrifce and bravery underlined, for me, the
seriousness of the situation in a way nothing else
could. The third came when I read the post of a
nineteen-year-old college student named Matt Funk
on Twitter.
Matt was looking for artists to illustrate several
short stories he had written. He planned to collect
them for a charity anthology, called Fairy Tales
for Japan, and sell the book through his website.
I volunteered but, soon after, logistical problems
forced Matt to call it of. I understood the problems
he faced but felt Matts idea deserved another shot.
With his permission, I picked up the project. It turns
out that I didnt understand as much as I thought I
did.
I tried to maintain
Matts direction but
made a few changes.
First, was to shelve the
idea of doing a print
run for the time being.
Its costly and, if the
Preface
Illustration by Amy Evans
sales were weak, we might not cover the
cost, leaving nothing to donate. However,
selling the book as a digital download
would almost completely eliminate the
expense, allowing us to donate all proceeds
toward Japan.
The second change was to broaden the types of
material accepted to include poetry, fairy tales, action,
modern day, childrens and adult stories, as well as stand-alone
artwork and spot illustrations. The only stipulation was each
submission had to relate to Japanese Folklore in some way. The
book was renamed Fables for Japan, to refect the diverse body of
works being collected.
Lastly, the scope and timeline for the book was expanded. It
was divided into three smaller books and spaced out over a year,
allowing us a somewhat timely release to start raising money but
keeping us fexible to accommodate busy freelancer schedules.
While we faced many obstacles along the way, a year later we
had fnished all 3 volumes of Fables for Japan and raised just over
$2000.00. We donated that money to the International Medical
Corps who continue to work with various groups in Japan, treating
and helping to relocate the thousands still displaced from the
Fukushima meltdown.
With the books complete and the sales tapering of, we decided
to make them available to everyone for free. These books are our
memorial to those who lost their lives in the quake of 2011 and to
those who have carried on.
A lot of love went into this project and we hope youll enjoy
all 3 of these magnifcant books. All we ask is, if you are able, to
please make a donation in whatever amount you can aford to the
International Medical Corps at the following link:
https://internationalmedicalcorps.org/sslpage.aspx?pid=2434
Thank you.
Jason Temujin Minor
September 1, 2012
An Introduction
by Nathan Dodge
D
ear Japan Lover,
If anime, cherry blossoms,
manga, haiku, karaoke,
kimonos, rice cakes, sushi, sake, or
bizarre fashions sound familiar, then
Im sure you are at least somewhat
aware of Japanese culture. Lucky
for me, I moved to Sendai, Japan
4 years ago to work in teaching
and now animation. Through the
years, I have been able to see what
truly represents Japan through its
people, culture, and love of food,
festivals, and scenery. The festivals,
in particular, have led me to surf the
coast of Miyagi, enjoy the cruises
around Matsushimas islands, dance
late into the night on the beaches of
Fukushima, and enjoy the tastiest
freshest eel in Ishinomaki while
drinking beers from Iwate. Im sure if I had asked last year where
Sendai or any of the other afore mentioned locals were on a map
most would be clueless. Sadly, the event that did put Sendai and
Tohoku region on everyones radar was the devastating 9.0 quake
of March 11, 2011.
Im sure by now most of you have seen the pictures, heard the
news, or followed the events on Twitter regarding Sendai, Japan
and the rest of Tohoku with its coasts destroyed by tsunamis. So
Illustration by Gareth Sleightholme
instead of dwelling on that, I hope to give a brief introduction of
the people and art of Tohoku and encourage you to search more
for yourself. Tohoku is a rich scenic area of northern Japan far from
the hustle and bustle of Tokyo. The mountains of Tohoku stretch
from Fukushima through Miyagi and Iwate up into Aomori, the
very northern part of mainland Japan. The night skies are flled
with beautiful purples, oranges, and pinks along the mountain
peaks. The land of the rising sun has some of the most spectacular
sunsets as well. These mountains entertain several festivals, music,
and barbeques in the summer, and snowboarders and skiers in
the winter. Beautiful coastlines stretch from north to south where
surfers board the waves from dawn to dusk. Time here runs in a
more relaxed way away from the craziness of the big cities in the
south. Because of the rural culture, festivals celebrating ancient
lovesick couples, mythical creatures, samurai, and harvests are
abundant and bring new friends together constantly.
As a result of Tohokus natural calmness, the reaction to the
March 11 quake was much diferent than people elsewhere in the
world could have expected. Although there had been warnings of
a possible quake for many years, no one could have prepared for
such a massive catastrophe as the one that struck on March 11 or
the series of quakes that came in the months
after and still continues to tremble through
Japan today. Afterwards, as people tried
to locate loved ones, reclaim what was
left of their homes, and waited in lines
for hours to buy ten items or less at
the supermarkets, an amazing thing
happened. Neighbors began gathering
in the evening for warm talks and to
share what they had. Those without
homes were welcomed into local
school gyms. In so many ways,
it reminded me of the frst
year I moved to the Tohoku
area. I was invited to enjoy
barbeques with new friends
and neighbors who I could
Illustration by Gareth Sleightholme
barely understand. These were the people who
inspired me to be adventurous and explore the
area more. Any free time is cause for some sort of
celebration in Japan. This is true even now, amidst all
the tragedy, the people of Japan fnd reason to rejoice
and celebrate. In fact, Im writing this on a Japanese
holiday. Sea Day, celebrated in July, is a time of festivals
set aside for the many prefectures of Tohoku. However,
this weekend was extra special. A mass, called Rokon Sai
meaning Six Prefecture Mass Festival, was formed to honor and
remember the victims in spirit. In the past, the Sea Day festivals
were celebrated in the separate prefectures for the purpose
of enjoying the water. Rokon Sai became a new tradition
held in Sendai, showcasing all six prefectures talents, foods,
games, and beauty contestants. These holidays give the Japanese
people a much-needed rest and a chance to enjoy the hot climates
of summer wearing yukatas (a summer kimono) with friends.
These festivals alone are reason to visit Japan.
Its because of the Japanese culture that I believe several people
stuck close to their families despite tsunamis and later nuclear
meltdown. Some say it was foolish, but no one can be considered
foolish for wanting to protect and support those they love. This
love is why so many came out after the quake to volunteer along
the coast. I was one of those lucky volunteers. I awoke at dawn and
spent full days with the coastal people who were starting to put
their lives back together. I was amazed by how quickly everyone
responded to the needs of the families who had lost everything
and sometimes everyone in the tsunamis. The groups of volunteers
changed daily, which made each day a new experience and brought
new friends I would never have met otherwise.
Now, just months later the volunteers are still coming in every
month to serve by building homes for those living in school gyms.
Others are taking food to the coast and serving thousands every
week in potluck barbeques. Roads are being constructed in only a
few days now that debris has been cleared away. Although Twitter
and other news sources might not carry Sendai in the news other
than to scare foreigners with radiation warnings, you can believe
me that there is still work to be done. The March 11 quake and
following tsunami literally changed the geography of Japan, the
ramifcations of the nuclear meltdown remain to be seen, and
smaller tremors still threaten to this day. Thankfully, volunteers
from around the world keep coming, supporting those in need,
and making new friends with the warm and loving people of Japan.
Life is beginning to come to some form of normality in Tohoku.
I have been given so much opportunity and care from the
Japanese and it is my hope that projects like Fables for Japan
will help Japan continue to rebuild and heal. I hope that you,
the reader, may have the same opportunities to board down the
mountains of Miyagi and Yamagata, to try the fresh sushi of
Ishinomaki, to surf the coast of Shichigahama, and to dance on the
beaches of Fukushima and Saitama. I hope you get to indulge your
senses as you hike the trails of Miyagi, and bathe in the onsens
of Naruko, and enjoy the festivals of searching for the mythical
creature, Kappa, in Iwate. Tohoku is a rich culture that cannot be
held down or destroyed. It will rebuild because there are people
like you who care for Japan and its people, who live and love
abundantly who work to put the pieces back together.
Creative artists and writers throughout the world, brought
together for the frst time through a mutual love of Japan, formed
this amazing book. It is the desire of the contributors to Fables for
Japan to remind the world how wonderful Japan is by showcasing
art, stories, and culture that shaped its resilient people. On behalf
of everyone who worked so hard to make Fables for Japan we thank
you and hope you enjoy the book. We look forward to entertaining
you more as this is only the beginning of something amazing.
Nathanael Dodge
Sendai, Japan
August 19, 2011
Tabl e of Contents
To My Masterpiece 10
by Matt Funk & Gareth Sleightholme
Wings 15
by Patricia Morse-McNeely & Ayan Sengupta
There was a Troll Under the Bridge 16
by Matt Funk & Leigh Walls
Silver Wings 23
The Roof Deckers Tale 24
by Stuart Moore & Ryan Kelly
The Butterfly 30
by Patricia Morse-McNeely & Risa Horiuchi
There Were Pixies Dancing 31
by Matt Funk & Yao Xiao
Kitsune 36
by Nancy A. Collins & Phillip Hester
Writing Love 45
Sun and Moon 46
by Matt Funk & Amy Evans
Resurrection 48
by Patricia Morse-McNeely & Ross Carnes
The Samurai 51
by Christopher Clements
Aging Hearts 57
Bad Sushi 58
by Mark Badger
Monkey and Wolf 70
by Matt Funk & Nathan Dodge
A Heavenly Message 80
Hirokos Tale 81
by Jef Baker & Leanne Buckley
Biography of Love 86
Bunbuku Chagama 88
by Tom Peyer, Federico Dallocchio, & MaGnUs
Traveler 92
by Anna Bron
Sun and Rain 96
Healer 97
by Mary Elizabeth Hall & Kristen Grace Hall
The Birth of Spring 105
Boy in the Water 106
by Jason Temujin Minor
Afterword 114
Meet The Contributors 115
Cover: Wounded Torii
by Jason Temujin Minor
Inside Cover: Koi
by Gareth Sleightholme
Title Page: Tamonten
by Eric Prince
Inside Back Cover: Woman under Tree
by Gareth Sleightholme
Back Cover: Re-Building
by Teddy Kristiansen
Editors:
Jason Temujin Minor
Joan Upton Hall
Rebecca Minor
Project Manager:
Jason Temujin Minor
A
long time ago, in a place that was
certainly filled with wonder, there lived
an artist. He was renowned throughout
the land, and was talented in every medium
imaginable. Everyone admired him, and he was
happy.
He lived in a house with his wife and his cat.
His work had made him rich beyond his wildest dreams, but he settled
for a perfectly average dwelling. It was a small but cozy house with
the ground floor consisting of the kitchen, bedroom and living room,
and the second floor devoted entirely to the artists studio.
To
My Masterpiece
Story by Matt Funk
illustrations by Gareth Sleightholme
10
H
is wife was sweet and supportive of him, even during his more
obsessive projects, and they loved each other. The artist
thought her the most beautiful creature in all the universe.
O
ne day, after hed finished his
latest project, the artist
realized something. Hed
dedicated pieces to foreign kings
and queens, hed dedicated pieces to
famed explorers, warriors, heroes,
and politicians. The Emperor had
even commissioned him. His work was
dedicated to more people than he
could remember and was seen in cities
across the world, but there was one
person he had left out:
his wife.
T
he artist climbed the stairs to his studio and locked the door
behind him.
Ill design her a palace grander than any Ive made for any royalty!
he declared.
11
H
e pulled out a sheet of butcher paper, swept his desk
clean of its accumulated oddities, and set to work.
He sat there, hunched over his desk, his hand
scratching intensely across the paper. He did not stop. He
worked through the night with a feverish haste, working by
candle-light. He
worked without
sleeping until,
as the sun shone
through his open
window, he finished.
He spread out
the paper on the
floor and looked
at the blueprints.
Examining it, he
believed it to be
the most impressive
building hed ever
designed.
Its not good
enough!
he yelled in a fit of rage, and
tore the paper to shreds.
I must try something else.
12
H
e walked in circles around his studio, ripping at his hair in
frustration. He went to a box in the corner and found a huge
lump of clay that hed made the day before.
Ill sculpt her, in all of her beauty! he said. It will be a statue
greater than the
Colossus of Rhodes!
He took his tools from
their drawer and set to
work. Using his hands, he
pushed and shaped and
smoothed the clay into
the form of a woman.
With his tools, he
carved and cut and
shaved away at the
shape. He worked through
the day, late into the
afternoon, pulling his beautiful wife out from the formless clay.
Finally, as the sun sank behind the hills, he finished. He stepped back
and examined the sculpture, and thought it every bit as gorgeous as
the real thing.
Its still not good enough for her! he roared. She deserves
perfection, and this is not it.
A hammer was sitting on a shelf nearby, and the
artist took it and
pulverized the statue.
The bits of clay fell
crashing to the floor
and joined the shredded
paper. The artist walked
over and gazed out the
window. As he watched,
the sun lit up the
twilight sky in radiant
swaths of purple, orange
and pink.
Perfect, whispered
the artist.
H
e spun around and fetched
a blank canvas and an easel.
He lit a lantern and set it
nearby, illuminating the white surface.
He took his best paints and brushes,
and for hours and hours, he danced the
bristles across the canvas, recreating
the sunset that hed witnessed. Across
the white surface, he swirled the fiery
hues, creating a sunset perhaps more
mesmerizing than the original. He worked
well into the night, until the painting
was finished. Looking over his handiwork,
he thought it his best painting.
13
It must be better!
The artist took the lantern and smashed it across the painting, and the
sunset burst into flames. The canvas burned, and the ashes fluttered to
the floor to join its clay and paper ancestors.
The artist fell to the ground in defeat. He sat against the locked door
and leaned his head back
as torrents of tears ran
down his face.
As he sat there for
unknown hours, wallowing
in hopelessness, his cat
walked in through the
open window and casually
rubbed against his leg,
purring. It leapt into his
lap, curled up in a tight
ball, and fell asleep. The
artist looked down at his
pet and smiled.
R
eaching for a pen and paper on a nearby shelf, he began to draw.
After a few minutes, he set the paper down and fell asleep to the
sound of the cats purr.
The artist woke late in the morning exhausted and starving. His cat was
no longer present. He picked up the paper, stood, and unlocked the door. He
walked down the stairs to the kitchen, where
his wife was cooking cheerfully. She turned
and looked at him. Setting down what she was
doing, she hugged him tightly and kissed him
gently on the lips.
You must have been doing something pretty
important, she said, you havent left that
room in two days!
The most important thing Ive ever done,
said the artist. He handed her the paper. I
tried to design a palace, a testimony to your
amazing mind, but it was not vast enough.
I tried to sculpt you, a testimony to your
beauty, but it was not beautiful enough. I
tried to paint you a sunset, a testimony
to your perfection, but it was not perfect
enough. So I drew you this.
His wife looked down at the sheet and
smiled. On it was two simple hearts, over-
lapping one another, and three words written
below them:
To My
Masterpiece.
End
14
Wings
By Patricia Morse-McNeely
Illustration by Ayan Sengupta
As seagulls on winds
Soar above the restless sea
Love will give you wings.
Love will give you wings
To soar like seagulls on winds
High above the storm.
Love gives you strong wings
To soar above stormy waves
As gulls ride the winds.
Spread your wings and fy
Above the storm darken clouds.
God will guide you Home.
15
H
e had olive green skin, was the size
of a young elephant, and had hair in
places he shouldnt. His lower jaw
jutted out and two large yellowing canines
stuck up out of his mouth like tusks. His
bridge wasnt particularly nice. It covered him
when it rained, and it hadnt yet collapsed
under the weight of the people entering or
leaving the village, but it wasnt anything
special. The babbling brook that fowed under
the bridge supplied the troll with water and
enough fsh to sustain him.
Occasionally, a gruf old billy goat, a pig, or
other farm animal would wander under the
bridge and hed have a treat. The villagers
would become angry with him but they were
too frightened to ever do anything about it.
16
17
There was a new samurai in the village. He had only just
arrived and was not aware of the troll lurking beneath the
very bridge he rode across. He tied his horse to a tree and
walked down to the stream to cool of. He splashed his face
with the water and drank a bit. His gaze turned toward the
bridge where he saw the troll. Startled, the samurai cried
out and stumbled over into the mud.
Stay back! he yelled, drawing his sword. The troll sighed
and turned away from the samurai, withdrawing into the
shadows under the bridge. The samurai, surprised that the
troll had obeyed him, sheathed his sword. He took a deep
breath of relief, and then coughed and gagged. What is
that horrible stench? Is that you?
You dont smell like roses either, the troll replied.
Well, its not easy to stay fresh in this armor and in
this summer heat, said the samurai.
Its about as easy for me to bathe as it is for
you, said the troll. The stream barely covers my
ankles.
Well why dont you go somewhere else
then?
I cant, the troll murmured. The
samurai heard something that sounded
like the rattling of chains from under
the bridge.
Oh, Im sorry, I didnt realize
you were locked up.
18
19
Ive been here for longer than anyone in the village has
been alive. They have long since forgotten theyre the reason
I cant leave. They fear me for no reason at all.
Why dont you tell them? the samurai asked. Surely
theyd understand.
Because, out of starvation, Ive eaten a few of their
animals. They think Ill eat them next if they get too
close.
The samurai could hear the sadness in the trolls
voice, and couldnt but feel sympathy for the
monster. He drew his sword and walked up to
the troll. He found where the chain was hooked
to the bridge and started to hack away at the
lock.
Lets get you out of here, friend, said
the samurai as he sliced at the chain
with all his might. He swung his blade
again and again, but he hardly made
a dent. He tried until he had no
strength left, and collapsed on the
shore, peering into the water.
Im sorry, I tried.
20
The troll said nothing and sat down behind the
samurai. Pondering what to do next, the samurai gazed
out on the sparkling water. He saw something gleaming
in the sunlight, half buried in the mud. The samurai
walked into the water and pulled the object up. He
cleaned it of; it was a rusted metal breastplate, not
unlike his own.
21
Howd this get here? the samurai asked and
felt an enormous hand close around his neck.
Apparently, they didnt tell you how the last
guy lost his job.
Te End...
22
Silver Wings
Love spreads silvry wings
To soar in Joy forever
Over restless seas.
23
The
Roof Deckers
Tale
Story by Stuart Moore
Illustrations by Ryan Kelly
A Story of the Broken Land
(Inspired by the Japanese Tale of the Stonecutter)
I
n a time very much like this one, yet very unlike it as
well, there lay beneath the stars a mighty village called
Breuckelen. In that village lived a man called Skye, who
made beautiful Roof Decks. He made small ones for apartment
buildings and huge, lavish Decks for restaurants. He built sturdy
fences, selected the most comfortable weatherproof chairs,
placed lovely potted plants in just the right spots where the wind
would not blow them away. He was known and loved throughout
Breuckelen, from the Flatlands of the east all the way up to the
northern Wall of Wick; but mostly he plied his trade in the
Gardens, the oldest and most venerable part of the village.
One very hot day, Skye was laboring atop the lavish brownstone
of a Rich Man, a composer whose popular songs had earned him
wealth both from nearby and from foreign lands. The Rich Man
had demanded only the fnest furnishings. The chairs were to be
ergonomically perfect, the overhead awning must be retractable.
The fence was imported, and not from Sweden either.
24
The Roof was also to have a Wet Bar installed, and Skye had
just punched a hole through the ceiling to run the piping up and
outside. Inside the building it was cool, because the Rich Man had
installed Central Air Conditioning, which was almost unheard
of in Breuckelen. But when Skye climbed back up to the Roof to
fnish connecting the plumbing, the sun beat down on him, and he
paused in his labors to wipe his brow.
Now, Skye had an assistant named Tierra. Tierra had a good
heart and clever hands, but his attention span was not of the best.
Skye glanced over at the edge of the roof, where Tierra was laying
down the tiles that would hold the Deck on top of them, providing
cushion for moisture and for the uneven nature of Breuckelens
Roofs. Tierra was smiling, enjoying his work, but Skye saw that he
was laying the pieces down in the wrong pattern. If he continued
in that way, the tiles would not line up properly to cover the entire
Roof. Skye opened his mouth to speak...
...but then he was overcome by a wave of despair. He thought
of all the many years hed labored, the dozens of wonderful Roof
Decks he had constructed. And what had it gotten him? Calloused
hands, a small apartment in the basement of another Rich Mans
building, and no one to go home to. He worked on Roofs, every day
of his life, but he lived in the lowest spot a man could live.
I wish I were a Rich Man, he whispered.
Immediately, Skye sensed a presence, a stirring in the air. He
glanced all around, at the scattered tiles, at the plastic-sheathed
chairs, the half-installed piping. Dust rose from the Roof itself,
sudden yet graceful and slow...sparkling, eerie, mystical. It
shimmered in the bright sun, sweeping up and swirling all around
him like a shroud of light.
Now, Breuckelen was not like other villages you may have seen.
It was a place of Magicks, intricate and mysterious. In the south,
a column of smoke rose forever without fre to fuel it. In the
Flatlands, the dark-fashing unsects swarmed. And in the Gardens,
where Skye plied his trade, the dust rose from sewers and pipes,
from streets and from Roofs. It had been known to grant miracles.
Skye had heard legends. Tales of the Five Kings, or maybe Six,
The Roof Deckers Tale
25
Fables for Japan: Book I
who ruled Breuckelen from the shadows, who had kept it safe from
the outside world for hundreds of years. No mortal man had ever
seen them, but the legends said that the smoke and the dust and
the unsects and the Wall were gifts from the Kings. Gift or not, the
dust whirled around Skye now like a tiny tornado, whipping into
his eyes. He blinked, shook his head, and when he opened his eyes,
the dust was gone.
Nothing seemed diferent. The piping still stood next to him,
waiting to be attached. Tierra hummed to himself, still blithely
laying out tiles in the wrong order. Again Skye began to speak;
but again, something stopped him. Without a word, he dropped
himself back down through the skylight, descended the stairs, and
exited the building. He felt a sense of elation, as if great things
were about to happen. As he walked away down the street, he
could hear Tierra calling to him from the Roof, puzzlement in the
boys voice.
Ten minutes later, Skye descended the few short outdoor steps to
his apartment door. But when he tried the key, it would not work.
He climbed the steps to the buildings main entrance, dreading
the talk hed have with Mister Nein, the Rich Man who owned the
building. Had Mister Nein changed the locks? If so, why?
Skye paused before the buildings large, main door. On a whim,
he tried his key in the lock.
It clicked. The door opened.
As Skye crept inside, his eyes grew wide. Hed been to Mister
Neins apartment before; but now everything was diferent. A lush,
Victorian staircase rose straight ahead; the foyer and living room
stood unwalled, as if the building had never been subdivided
into separate apartments. He ran from room to room, excited.
The kitchen had a lovely marble countertop; the den boasted a
television screen that flled one entire wall. The bedroom was
almost flled with a beautiful canopy bed, lushly made up with silk
sheets. And on the dresser sat photographs of Skye, his parents,
and his many brothers and sisters, all lovingly framed in gold and
silver.
With a shock, he realized: I live here.
26
I am a Rich Man.
And then an even greater excitement came over him. He
bounded up the stairs, climbed a short staircase to the Roof, and
his breath caught with joy at the sight. Beautiful, tasteful chairs:
lawn chairs and easy chairs and chaise lounges, each one the
perfect combination of weatherproof and tasteful. Tall potted
trees, shielding the Roof just enough from the glare of the sun. A
full-sized barbecue grill hooked up to a sink and Wet Bar, and a
keg of fresh, lovely Beer leading to a tap on the sink.
Soon Skye was seated on the chaise lounge, leaning back, the
most delicious East India Pale Ale hed ever tasted still tingling on
his tongue. He smiled, then realized his smile seemed forced. He
was a Rich Man; he had his wealth, his own building, even his own
Roof Deck. And yet...
A noise wafted up to him from the street: music, loud and
pumping. Skye rose and crept to the edge of the Roof, leaning
over the fence, which was constructed of the fnest oak. Below, a
convertible Sports Car sat idling at a trafc light, top lowered to
soak in the sun. A brawny man in sunglasses sat at the wheel, one
arm around a Beautiful Woman, while another Beautiful Woman
sat in the back seat, massaging his shoulders. As Skye watched, the
light turned green and the car sped away, roaring with horsepower,
urban music, and the laughter of its three riders.
Without even thinking, Skye said: I wish I had a Sports Car and
Beautiful Women.
Again the dust swirled and shook, and Skye found himself
behind the wheel of a sleek, gleaming Sports Car. Next to him sat a
very Beautiful Woman, slim and tall with long dark hair, her teeth
gleaming unnaturally white as she smiled at him adoringly. From
behind him, a pair of lean, frm hands massaged his shoulders, and
then another pair joined in. With a start, Skye realized: The dust
has given me three Beautiful Women.
Skye drove and smiled and laughed for an hour. The Women
were indeed Beautiful. The one was fair with dark hair, another
was blonde, and the third had lovely dark skin. But something,
still, was missing. Whenever Skye tried to talk to the Women,
27
all they did was laugh. He wasnt sure if they were real or just
manifestations of the dust, but with a pit-deep feeling he realized
he didnt belong with them.
When he stopped for a light, Skye heard a roar overhead. He
looked up and saw a small Private Plane, fying lower than usual,
dipping and swooping in the air. And again without planning it, he
whispered: I wish I had a Private Plane.
When the dust receded again, Skye found himself far above the
streets of Breuckelen, soaring and lurching in his very own one-
passenger Private Plane. He panicked for a moment, then realized
to his shock that he knew how to steer the Plane. He banked and
swung about, dipping down and climbing up again toward the sun,
then leveled out again and took a good look around him.
Skye had never seen Breuckelen from this height before. He
gazed at the smoke of Gravesend rising up from its ashy source;
then he turned northward, where he could just make out the Wall
rising slowly, a few feet each year, around the area called Bushwick.
He swung his little plane back around, cleaving back over the
Poisoned Canal, through a small cloud of unsects which fashed
dark at his approach.
And Skye realized he was lonely.
Up ahead lay the Gardens, three- and four-story buildings with
fat Roofs, all glittering with a sheen of dust. And down there on
one of the Roofs, just barely visible from this altitude, stood Tierra,
Skyes former assistant. He was laying out tile for a small, modest
Roof Deck and, even from this height, Skye could see that he was
doing it wrong.
A yearning began to grow in Skyes mind...and then, suddenly,
he felt a prickling on his neck. The air seemed to roil; a dark cloud
passed beneath the sun. Before him, behind him, all around him,
Skye sensed a presence. He thought he saw a very old, stern face,
dark and growling and monocle-eyed, looming twenty feet tall
against the clouds.
Somehow, Skye knew he was in the presence of Broch, frst
among Kings and hidden ruler of the Gardens, oldest of the Six
28
Towns of Breuckelen.
One more, Broch said
without speaking. One
more wish.
Skye swallowed
nervously.
I wish I were a Roof
Decker again, he said.
And then Skye was
down there on the little
Roof, shaking his head
and scowling as Tierra
mislaid the tiles. Skye
shoved the boy aside,
gruf but friendly, and
started pointing and
rearranging the pieces.
Tierra nodded, smiled,
and reached out his
clever fngers to follow his
mentors lead.
Never again, after that
day, did Skye wish to be
other than a Roof Decker,
the fnest Roof Decker
Breuckelen had ever
known. And never again
did Broch appear before a
mortal, to tempt him with
the Magicks of the dust.
That we know of, anyway.
End
29
The Butterfly
Illustration by Risa Horiuchi
Fragile folded wings
Light upon my fngertips
A trembling now gone.
30
There Were Pixies Dancing
Written by Matt Funk, Illustrations by Yao Xiao
31
T
here were pixies dancing. A dozen tiny naked female
forms fitted and dashed about an intricately designed
circle of leaves, twigs and grasses. Their bodies, no
bigger than a mans fnger, glowed in every shade of pink and
purple. Wings like a butterfys carried them gracefully through
the air, their hair adorned with all manner of fora fowing
weightlessly behind them. They danced their mysterious dance
around the circle, for it was the frst day of spring, and the dance of
the pixies had begun.
They had all emerged from their dens that morning after a long
sleep through the winter, and immediately took to arranging the
petals for their ritual. When they completed the dance, their magic
would be released and spring would ofcially start.
A prince came tromping through the woods, on the hunt for a
princess, or a stag, or a dragon or whatever it is that princes hunt in
the woods. He searched and trudged through the trees and brush
when he stumbled upon the pixies and their dance.
How peculiar! thought the prince. I wonder what manner of
insect they are. The prince crept closer to the circle, and saw the
pixies for what they really were.
Pixies! he exclaimed. Impossible!
The prince startled the pixies with his shouting, and they
scattered away into the bushes and trees. They peered out at the
prince from behind leaves and branches, waiting for him to leave.
No, dont go! he said. I wont hurt you.
32
One of the pixies futtered its wings nervously and came out
from its hiding place. The prince held out his palm, inviting her to
come to him. She warily foated over, landed in his hand, and sat.
The prince raised her to eye level and examined her.
Well arent you beautiful? the prince said to her. She pulled her
legs in close timidly and turned away, as if she were embarrassed.
There were Pixies Dancing
33
She said something to the prince in a quiet, high-pitched voice, but
he couldnt hear her. What was that? Can you speak louder?
She tried again, but she was too small, and her voice wouldnt
reach his ears.
I wish I could hear what you were saying. I imagine you have a
lovely voice. Im sure I could hear it if we were the same size.
Hearing this, the pixie perked up, and futtered happily up to
the princes mouth. She tossed some sparkling dust on his lips and
kissed them gently. There was a fash of golden light and the prince
was no longer there, only a pile of fancy clothes where his feet had
been. The pixies all came from their hiding places and searched
the clothes. They found the prince, tiny and naked, buried under
his trousers. He tried, in vain, to cover himself.
What happened? he cried. Why am I tiny?
You wished to be the same size as me, so that you may hear
what I was saying, said the pixie he once held in his palm.
I wanted you to be big, not me tiny! he declared.
Well you should have specifed, then. At least you can hear me
now, like you wanted, yes?
I didnt want it that bad! cried the prince.
Well, said the pixie, obviously ofended, now you wont get to
hear it at all.
The pixies gathered their petals from the ground and few of
into the woods to complete their dance elsewhere. The prince
stood there, tiny, naked, and alone.
A gnome emerged from the trunk of a nearby tree and plodded
clumsily over to the prince.
I seen the whole thing, said the gnome. She cast a spell yeh.
How can I break it?
Yeh gotta kiss a prinsis of course, the gnome chortled.
Where could I fnd a princess around here? the prince said
sadly.
34
Well, the gnome chuckled, you already kissed one.
The princes shoulders slumped and he fell to the ground with a
hopeless thud.
Best be mindin yer manners next time, purty boy.
End
35
Kitsune
Written by Nancy A. Collins
Illustrations by Phillip Hester
(Inspired by the print The Fox-Woman Kuzunoha Leaving Her Child by Yoshitoshi)
T
his story begins a very long time ago, before the afairs of
gods and demons were made separate from the human
world. Back in those far-away days there was a samurai of
the Mononobe clan named Isamu, who, in his youth, had been
a brave warrior, but later in life proved to be a bad drunk and an
even worse gambler. In the end, his luck with the dice cups was
such that he lost all his money. Shamed by his actions, Isamu
committed seppuku. As he was a widower, his young son, Ryoichi,
was forced to make his way by himself.
Since his fathers creditors had taken everything, Ryoichi had
36
no choice but to leave Yamato Province for the isolated wilderness
of the Aomori Prefecture. It was there that his family had a tiny
country estate, in the foothills of the Hakkda Mountains. The
estate had seen better days, as its garden was overgrown and
untended, and its roof extremely leaky.
Since Ryoichi could not aford servants, he had to do everything
himself, from re-thatching his roof to chopping wood for his fre. It
was hard, humbling work for the son of a samurai, but eventually
Ryoichi no longer missed the soft living and easy pleasures of
the city and came to love the wild beauty of the mountains that
surrounded him.
One day, while he was chopping wood, a fox ran into his garden.
The creature froze upon espying him with a raised axe, a look of
mortal terror in its glittering, dark eyes. Ryoichi heard hunters
from the local village shouting to one another in the near distance.
His heart went out to the little fox and he lowered his axe. You are
welcome to hide in my woodpile, little one, until you are safe.
As quick as a wink, the fox disappeared into the stack of
frewood, just as two hunters arrived in the dooryard. The men
were surprised to see someone living in the house, as it had been
empty for such a long time. Are you a real man, or are you a
ghost? one of the hunters asked.
Would a ghost have to chop wood to stay warm or cook his
food? Ryoichi replied.
This answer seemed to satisfy the men. Have you seen a fox run
by this way? asked the second hunter. Ryoichi shook his head no.
The hunters decided to resume their search elsewhere, but before
they left they warned Ryoichi to beware of any fox he might see.
You city folk do not realize it, but the kitsune in these mountains
are very tricky. Sometimes they steal chickens; sometimes they
walk on two legs and pretend to be humans. In any case, they
cause a lot of trouble.
Ryoichi waited until the hunters were gone, and then called out
to the fox hiding in the woodpile. It is safe to come out, little one.
No one will hurt you now. The fox crept out from its hiding place
and quickly fed back into the woods, but not before turning to fx.
Kitsune
37
Ryoichi with an
intelligent gaze that was far
from bestial.
The next morning
Ryoichi awoke to hear
someone sobbing outside
his front door. To his
surprise he found a young
girl, naked except for
smears of mud, her hair
wild and full of tangles and
brambles, huddled on the
porch. Ryoichi wrapped a
blanket about her to cover
her shame and then drew
water and lit a fre so that
she could clean herself.
Once properly bathed and
clothed, the girl proved to
be a stunning beauty.
My name is Moriko, she
told him. I was travelling
with my family when we
were set upon by a band
of oni. My father and his
servants were brutally
killed and eaten by the
monsters, who cooked
them on spits like roasted
pigs. The only reason I was
not killed as well is that
they wanted to fatten me
up for later. But during the
Kitsune
38
night the oni bandits became drunk and careless, and I was able
to slip my bonds and escape. You are a very kind and honorable
man, Ryoichi-san, and I owe you my life. Had you not heard my
cries and taken pity on me, I most certainly would have died of
exposure. Now listen carefully, for I have a secret I must tell you.
Before the oni overtook our party, my father hid the treasure he
was carrying so the bandits would not fnd it. I will take you to it, if
you agree to make me your wife. The only thing I ask of you is that
you never again ask about my family or my past.
Even if there was no treasure involved, Ryoichi was more than
willing to agree to Morikos terms, for he was bewitched by her
astounding beautyin particular her darkly shining eyes. Moriko
then led him through the woods to a foxs den at the base of an old
tree trunk. Ryoichi reached inside and pulled out fve times what
his father had lost at the gaming house in gold and jewels.
Ryoichi was good to his word and made Moriko his bride, and
used the fortune from the foxs den to re-establish his familys
name to its former glory, if not greater. He soon left the Hakkda
Mountains and returned to Yamato Province, where he bought a
grand house for his new wife.
Good fortune smiled on Ryoichi for many years. He grew
increasingly wealthy and powerful, becoming a favorite of the
Emperor. His marriage to Lady Moriko was a happy one and he
remained true to his word and never once, during the years of their
marriage, did he ask about her people or the life she had known
before she came to his door step.
Yet for all their happiness and success, Lord Ryoichi and Lady
Moriko remained childless. One day Lord Ryoichis advisors came
to him and begged him to take a concubine in order to sire an heir.
Unknown to the men, Lady Moriko overheard their conversation.
That night, as she lay with her husband, she asked him how
important it was for him to have an heir.
Every man desires a son to carry on his name and plans,
Ryoichi replied. Otherwise all he has accomplished is lost to the
winds upon his death.
Then you shall have a son, Lady Moriko replied. But it will
Kitsune
39
come at a price, I fear. Sure enough, Lady Moriko was soon with
child. And when the time came, she delivered to Lord Ryoichi a
fne, healthy son, with dark glittering eyes like his mother, who
they named Satoru.
However, with the birth of their child, Lady Moriko underwent
a strange change. She became increasingly distant, often sitting
up all night in the garden and staring at the moon. Lord Ryoichi
was uncertain what to do, as his duties often called for him to be
away from his family. Whenever he would return from one of these
journeys, he would fnd his beloved wife more and more remote, as
if she was listening to music only she could hear.
Then, one night, the Lady Moriko said to her husband: It has
been a long time since I lost my family and came to live with you. I
yearn to see the forests of Aomori and the mountains of Hakkda
once again. Please take me back to where we frst met, so I may
honor my fathers memory.
Ryoichi agreed to her request and ordered that the household
be packed up and moved to the country place in the foothills,
which was now a fne estate worthy of a man of his station. Upon
their arrival, the Lady Morikos mood seemed much improved, as
if the closeness of the wilderness had revitalized her. Ryoichi was
gladdened to see how she led their little son on walks through the
wood, pointing out and naming every tree, animal, bird and fower
as they went.
Then one night, when the moon was bright, Lady Moriko left her
slumbering husband and crept into the room her young son shared
with his nursemaid. Weeping silently, she kissed her sleeping son
gently on the forehead. Wakened by the fall of his mothers tears,
Satoru sat up and grabbed at her kimono, to keep her from leaving.
Lady Moriko looked down at her son one last time, but now she
had the head of a fox, not that of a beautiful woman. Satoru cried
out in fright and let go of his mothers hem, and the fox-woman
escaped into the night.
The next morning the Lady Morikos kimono, comb and sandals
were found on the nearby river bank. Although there was no
body, it was assumed that she had thrown herself into the frigid
Kitsune
40
rapids. The loss of his wife shattered Lord Ryoichis heart and,
some whispered, his mind as well, and a year after Lady Morikos
disappearance, Lord Ryoichi followed his wife into the afterlife,
leaving poor Satoru both an orphan and heir to a princely legacy.
Unlike his own father, Lord Ryoichi did not leave his son without
resources and guidance. In his will he assigned Satorus welfare and
education to three of his most loyal retainers: a priest, a samurai,
and a nursemaid. The nurse was to see to the boys physical needs,
and became his mother in everything but fesh. The samurai was
to serve as executor of the estate and advisor to the boy, as well as
instruct him in the way of the sword and the code of Bushid. The
priest was to instruct Satoru in the scholarly arts and mysteries.
Satoru proved to be an apt pupil, growing up with a mind as sharp
as the katana he wielded.
Upon his twentieth birthday, Satoru was declared the master of
his house and set of to present himself to the Emperor, as was the
custom. Before he left, he kissed his old nursemaid goodbye and,
dressed in his manly robes, headed of for the Imperial Palace with
the samurai and the priest. Along the way, they stopped at an inn,
where they dined and rested for the night. However Satoru was
unable to fall asleep, so he decided to go for a walk in the night air.
During his midnight stroll he came upon a fox seated on the
trunk of a fallen tree. Satoru knew that this was not a normal fox,
for it had seven tails, which marked it as one of the kitsune, fabled
fox-spirits that haunt the Japanese countryside.
Do not be afraid, Satoru, the kitsune said. I mean you no
harm, for I am your mother, the Lady Moriko. Satoru remembered
the strange, frightening dream he had as a child, and instantly
knew that the creature spoke the truth. Please forgive me for
leaving you behind, but I had to return to my people. I never
intended for my beloved to die of grief and leave you orphaned.
Still, your father made sure you were raised strong, wise and kind.
Now it is my turn to bestow a gift. With that the kitsune spat a
pearl onto the forest foor. It was the size of a mans thumb and
glowed with the celestial light known as foxfre. I give you the
greatest bequest my kind has to ofer---my hoshi no tama, my star
ball. It contains all my wisdom, my knowledge, and my power.
Kitsune
41
Consume it and from now on,
where once you only looked;
now you will see. Satoru did
as his fox-mother commanded
and swallowed the star ball.
Now it is time for me to join
your father, Lady Moriko said.
But know that part of me lives
within you. With that the
seven-tailed fox sprang up into
the air and disappeared. Satoru
returned to the inn and went to
sleep.
Once young Lord Satoru
fnally reached Yamato
Province, he went to the
Imperial Court, where he was
to pledge his devotion and
his sword to the Emperor.
Satoru had spent most of his
life in relative isolation in the
wilderness of Aomori, and was
not accustomed to the efete
afectations of the courtiers,
who laughed into their sleeves
at the sight of a country
bumpkin in their midst.
Suddenly there was the sound
of gongs and trumpets, and
the Emperor entered the court
room in the company of his
retinue. Satoru kow-towed so
that his head touched the foor.
But upon rising, he was shocked
to see a fearsome oni standing
next to the Emperors throne.
The ogres skin was blood-
Kitsune
42
red and had wild, tangled
hair with a pair of ox-horns
growing from its skull, and
three large, staring eyes.
Without thinking twice, the
young prince leapt up and
cut of the demons head!
The gathered courtiers
and their ladies screamed in
terror, and Satoru was seized
by armed soldiers. What
manner of madness is this?
demanded the Captain of
the Imperial Guard. You
have killed Lord Torao, the
Emperors adviser!
I am as sane as you, but
not as blind! Satoru replied,
pointing to the head that
now lay on the foor of the
throne room. Can you not
see that I killed a monster,
not a man? The soldiers
and courtiers looked where
Satoru pointed and cried out
again, this time in horror,
to see the severed head
of a red-skinned oni in
place of that of Lord
Torao!
The Emperor ordered his
men to let go of the young
prince, who knelt before
him in humble abasement.
You have served me well,
Lord Satoru, as your father
did before you. By ridding
Kitsune
43
my court of this foul demon, I give you my youngest daughter,
Princess Kimiko.
And that is how Lord Satoru became the Emperors son-in-
law and adviser on his frst day in the Imperial Court. Over the
years Lord Satoru and Princess Kimiko lived a long and happy life
together, and had many fne sons and daughters, all of whom grew
up to be heroes, scholars and poets, and all of whom were brave
like their father, beautiful like their mother, and had glittering
black eyes like a fox.
End
Kitsune
44
Writing Love
Who writes Loves sweet name
Across Lifes blue sunlit sky
Writes Eternity.
45
Sun and Moon
Written by Matt Funk
Illustrated by Amy Evans
O
ne morning, the sun woke up early and decided to go visit
the moon.
Good morning, said the moon. What has you up at
such an hour?
I felt I needed to talk to you, Ms. Moon, replied the sun.
Well you best make it quick. You know Mother Earth doesnt
like me talking to you. And you know how jealous Mars can get.
Mars is always trying to pick fghts with everyone, the sun said.
What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?
I was wondering if youd consider running away with me and
travelling the universe together.
Thats quite a proposition! exclaimed the moon. What caused
you to think of such a thing?
I had a dream, said the sun, and in it, the sky wasnt so black It
was flled with thousands of little suns, sparkling happily. I believe
that you were their mother.
46
The moon was silent for a moment.
I love you, Lady Moon, said the sun.
At that moment, Mother Earth awoke and saw the two talking.
And just what do you think you are doing young lady?! she
yelled at the moon. Ive told you to never talk to him. Hes not ft
for you.
Maam... started the sun, before he was cut of.
Ill hear none of it! Mother Earth blurted. Get out of here!
The sun turned away from the moon and solemnly walked back
across the sky. But, just as the sun was about to cross the horizon,
he heard the moons voice:
I love you too!
They both smiled at each other from opposite ends of the sky,
and the sun walked back to his home.
Mother Earth has kept them apart as best she could, but once in
a while, the sky will darken in mid-day, as the sun and moon meet
in the sky. And each time, a few more stars add a little bit of hope
to the night sky.
End
47
Resurrection
Poem by Patricia Morse-McNeely
Painting by Ross Carnes
Along the tree limb, slowly moving
A caterpillar in her dull brown hair,
Seeking shelter mid whispering leaves
Readying for Fall and regretting, grieves
Upon a chosen spot, the pillar stays
Viewing Nature, feeling the waves
Rippling among her soft hairs
Reassuring touch
God cares.
Painstakingly she begins to spin
The soft whitish cofn-hell to enter
Resting there within
And days will pass as soft she sleeps
Through the days Time ever keeps
Until the day Gods Son breaks through
To call her forth, a creature new,
Filmy something on her back slow drying,
Knowing a cocoon was not a place of dying,
But transformation to a life renewed
In another form, by eyes neer viewed
48
Film along a body slim, stretching to the sky
Like petaled fowers wings become to let her fy,
Revealing myriads of each rainbow hue,
Gods color palette through which she few
From the tomb-cocoon, all fresh and new
Into the sky, fitting on winds breezing
And to Mans eyes, most greatly pleasing
A Butterfy!
Resurrection from past sorrow
Into the life of Joys tomorrow
Angels wings adding joy-color soft
To the beauty of blue skies aloft
Many colored patterns create song
As her brothers, sisters come along
To fll new days with joyous laughter
Bring Life that lives forever after
49
The butterfy whose metamorphosis
Reminds what Mankinds life on Earth is:
Work and striving, and through the tomb to
Joyous song, Lifes Resurrection and
Eternal Life anew!
50
The Samurai
By Christopher Clements
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Aging Hearts
The mocking bird high
On tree limb, blue sky, white clouds
Echoing his love.
Time slips by, age creeps
Slow, leaves only memories
Of youth and loving.
Songs of old wood hearts
Back to Spring dreams of sweet scents,
Violets and Roses.
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A Hevenly Message
Cross, arm broke, foating
In heavens high blue, angels,
White clouds pursuing.
80
Written by Jeff Baker, Illustrated by Leanne Buckley
I
t is said that the Haru-Dori, the spring birds, sing the
memory of Hiroko, the blessed child. The islanders of
Yakushima claimed she was the daughter of a great spirit, for
her sweet voice was lilting and her very presence flled their hearts
with peace. Many would travel to see her at the Shinto temple that
was nestled within the forest of the island. There they sought her
blessings and wisdom.
When Hiroko came of age, wealthy suitors brought her
extravagant gifts, seeking her afection. Chests flled with jewelry
fashioned from jade and sapphire, silks of brilliant hues, and
garments that paled next to her beauty, were laid at her feet.
However, she refused them all in turn saying, My love is not
bound in gifts of the world.
Akio, a fsherman from the village of Anbou, also sought Hirokos
attention, for his love was as deep for her as the oceans he sailed.
Having little in the way of money, and determined to show his love
for her, Akio set to make a gift for her. Finding a log of driftwood
upon the shore, he patiently carved into it until all that was left
was a rounded shape the size of a coconut. He painted the bulk
of the wood red with yellow trimmings, to depict a small robe. He
added a white face with a black beard. Where the pupils should be,
he left blank. In a fash of inspiration, he afxed tiny limbs to the
body then sat back to admire his work. Before him sat a Daruma
doll, a great talisman, said to be able to grant wishes. Akio was
pleased.
That evening, Akio carried Daruma to the Shinto Temple. At the
gates he steeled himself, determined to present the doll to Hiroko
with pride. Crossing the grounds, Akio caught sight of her radiance
Hirokos Tale
82
through the windows. Doubt struck his heart. How could she ever
accept anything from him, a poor fsherman? Feeling ashamed of
his work, Akio crept to the temple steps, laid down the doll upon
the wooden foor and departed in silence.
Hiroko, sensing a presence outside, went to greet the visitor at
the temple entrance. There she only found the Daruma. The dolls
bulbous body and tiny limbs delighted her. Picking up the gift,
she placed a gentle kiss upon its forehead. As her red lips brushed
against the wood, a portion of her spirit entered the doll. The spark
of life washed over Daruma and a black circle formed in the empty
space of his left eye.
Hiroko asked Daruma, Tell me, small one. Who made you and
brought you to me?
My frst memory is of a kiss upon my head, sweet girl. Before
this, I know nothing.
Hiroko frowned, then placed her cheek against Darumas wooden
face. She whispered her wish.
Daruma replied, It shall be done.
That following morning, Tempest, a malefcent typhoon, roared
in the east. His hatred for all mankind and their creations burned
within him. He thundered across the sky, racing toward Yakushima
- destruction set in his heart. Frightened, the villagers hid within
their homes, shuttered their windows, and huddled together. But
Hiroko was not afraid.
Battling the thrashing wind, Hiroko fought to reach the shore of
the island. She ofered a soothing song to assuage Tempests fury.
But he was unmoved. Calling up a tremendous wave, he swept
across Yakushima.
Tempests wrath was brief but terrible. The surviving villagers
cried out for mercy, taking their prayers to the Shinto temple.
There they discovered Hiroko, washed onto the grounds. She was
alive but gravely injured. The villagers rushed to her aid. They
made her a warm bed, brought healing salves to tend her wounds,
and ofered prayers. What comforts they could spare they gave
to her. But each day she grew more ill. As time passed the weight
Hirokos Tale
83
of their own troubles became too much to bear. With reluctance
in their hearts, they left Hiroko, to focus on rebuilding their own
lives.
One evening, while the dying Hiroko slept, Daruma whispered
into her ear, I have not forgotten you. How you gave a part
of yourself to me. I will fnd a way to save you. With that, he
departed into the forest.
The trees above him, weakened by the storm, groaned and
swayed with menace. His tiny legs fought against thick underbrush
and his eye found it difcult to see through the dark shadows.
High above, a tree limb splintered and broke free, it crashed
next to Daruma, sending up a shower of dirt. Like a chorus, more
limbs cried out as they cracked and fell to the earth. The tiny doll
tried with all his spirit to run from the cascading branches, but his
short legs and rotund body worked against him. A monstrous limb
struck him upon the back with such force that he was propelled
through the air. Daruma was spinning wildly before he crunched
against the trunk of a large cedar tree, causing a mass of branches
to loosen and rain down upon him. Hirokos spirit within Daruma
pulsed faintly and despair shrouded over him.
Not yet willing to give in, Daruma fought against the weight of
his wooden prison. He pushed against the mass of sticks. What
little strength he had left was being sapped, when a pair of hands
wrapped around his body and tenderly lifted Daruma from the
debris.
Darumas vision could not distinguish the man in the dark.
How did you get so far, my little man? The spirit within
Daruma stirred at the mans voice. The blank space, where his right
eye should be, flled with a black spot.
By the sound of your voice, I am whole. By seeing you, I know
my makers face at last. Akio.
Akio grinned down upon Daruma, And I sense the spirit of
Hiroko in you. I was at sea when the great Tempest brought his
anger upon the island and I was lost in the ocean. Having returned,
I was given word that she is ill. Has death taken her?
Hirokos Tale
84
No, great Akio, she still lives but barely so. I plead to you, just as
you have rescued me from death, rescue her.
Together they hastened to the temple. Akio came upon the
sleeping Hiroko, her face ashen. Going to her side, he took her
hand in his. Akios own spirit, like a brilliant light, issued from his
chest. It wove down his arm and washed over Hiroko.
With a gasp, she sat up. Her cheeks fushed a soft pink, and her
eyes shone with brilliance.
Seeing Daruma whole at the foot of her bed, she turned to Akio,
You! You are the one who crafted my Daruma. Had it not been for
him, I would have surely perished. Of all the suitors, you showed
care and humility. And for you, my sweet companion, she turned
her radiant gaze to Daruma, you have done what I wished and
found your maker. Never before has a Daruma doll been more
deserving of his eyes than you.
As the sun rose and cast its renewing light upon the temple, the
Haru-Dori began to sing. From that day Akio and Hiroko never
parted, and the faithful Daruma rested upon their mantle, content,
for the rest of his days.
End
Hirokos Tale
85
Biography of Love
Written by Patricia Morse-McNeely
Illustrated by Ayan Sengupta
I
LOVE BLOOMS Like a rose Love blooms
Deep roots in the secret soil
Of the human heart.
II
MY CHILDREN They come my children
Like fowers in Spring bringing
Joy to waning years.
III
OLD AGE Winter snow lies white
Upon golden strands fading
In Lifes setting sun.
86
IV
GRANDCHILDREN Snow white blossoms on
A black bough hail the coming
Of new life from old.
V
THE ENDING The Sun sets on Life
As the Soul passes the Gate
To enter the Light.
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
Sun and Rain
Sunshine without rain,
Happiness without sorrow
Creates no rainbows.
96
Healer
Written by Mary Elizabeth Hall
Illustrations by Kristen Grace Hall
Springtime brings new life
Death of winter overcome,
Sorrow turns to hope
T
he Emperor lay dying. Ayame, his only daughter, rested her
forehead upon his chest.
Emi-Shou, the Bird of Healing, will come, he whispered
as he turned his head toward the terrace doorway, where bare trees
arched fragile limbs toward the winter sky.
Ayame wept. Her elder brothers, evil of heart and desperate for
their fathers power and wealth, had released the palace cats to
drive away Emi-Shou.
Many days passed, and Spring wove her jade silk tapestry over
the mountains. Ayame knelt beside her father and watched the
slow rise and fall of his breathing. One morning, a futter drew her
gaze to the terrace. Emi-Shou! The brilliantly colored bird clutched
at the railing with one claw, then another. Emi-Shou fell from the
terrace and into a barberry bush below. Ayame rushed out and
down the steps. She lifted the wounded creature from the bush
and brought her inside.
O Emi-Shou! she cried. The Healing Bird was a golden dove
with trailing plumes and ruby feathered crest. Delicate ink brush
strokes lined azure eyes like those of a waxwing. The birds chest
trembled.
My heart desires to heal your father. Emi-Shous thin voice
97
fractured like a porcelain teacup. But I cannot. That which is most
precious to me has been taken by the Water Dragon who dwells
within the Mount, and feline claws have
What are you doing? Ayames third eldest brother, Subro, burst
into the room.
No! Ayame shouted as he strode toward her. She clutched the
bird to her chest.
Out with it! The young mans face was hard as fint as he
snatched Emi-Shou from her grasp and hurled the bird away,
between blossoming plum trees.
Ayame clutched her face and slumped to the foor with a wail.
And out with you as well. Subro yanked his sister up by her arm,
then hastened her toward another room. He dumped her on a foor
mat then latched the door. Whispers in the corridor a moment
later left Ayame with no doubt that her seven brothers were
conferring. The hissing voice of her eldest brother, Taro, stood out
among the rest.
She must die.
Ayame gathered her kimono skirt and crept out the window. She
searched around the outside of the palace until she found what she
sought.
The crumpled bird lay under a fowering quince bush. Bright red
blossoms refected Emi-Shous lifeblood, now pooled beneath her.
Tiny eyes, faded to gray, blinked up at Ayame. My treasure can
heal your father. Her eyes closed and she lay still.
f
I
t took Ayame three arduous days and nights to make her
way through the forest and up the steep mountainside, to
the small opening from which steam rose at sunrise each day. She
had no bow or saber, and could only hope to snatch the treasure
and fee, then fnd enough roots and berries to sustain her as she
returned to the palace.
Then she would face her brothers.
Healer
98
I must heal my father.
Shed been foolish to keep her brothers treachery from him. He
must choose a diferent successor. One who would be faithful. One
who would be worthy to govern her people.
Hiding herself in a stand of bamboo near the cave, she peered
through misty shadows and waited patiently for the suns morning
light to sweep down from the highest peaks and reach the opening.
Did the legends speak truth? Did the Water Dragon indeed live in
this place?
A burst of steam billowed from the cave.
Fear twisted Ayames heart. Who am I to approach such a beast?
I am no more than a child.
The frst golden ray stretched into the misty darkness. Ayame
gasped as a blaze of blue sparkles danced in refection throughout
the cave. The Water Dragon! No doubt remained in her mind.
The creature was here. Overwhelmed with desire to run, her feet
arched to spring deeper into bamboo shadows.
I am the Emperors daughter.
She clenched her fsts and stepped forward.
Ryu, the Water Dragon, lay curled around a small gold object.
Was this Emi-Shous treasure? His immense body flled the cave,
and vivid hues of blue shimmered as his scales moved in time with
his breathing.
I will approach with the stealth of a snake, then ease the treasure
from his grasp.
She stepped toward him.
A snort of steam, and the creature lifted his head.
Ayames heart hammered against her chest. Sorrowful eyes
peered out from the dragons curved, angular face. A long whisker
swept the ground on each side as he slowly turned toward her.
Run! I must run! She willed her feet to move, but they would not.
Be still, my child. His voice rumbled like distant thunder. Steam
rose from the depths of the beasts long, sharp-toothed maw and
Healer
99
100
yawning nostrils. It is about to begin. The dragon gazed down at
the golden object.
Ayame could not speak. She watched in silence as the object
began to shudder. A crack, then another, and a tiny beak poked
through the smooth, delicate shell. It was an egg! Emi-Shous child.
Healing birds only produced a single female ofspring during their
lifetimes. And if that egg were harmed
A little squeak, another shudder, and up popped a small, damp
head. A baby bird fopped over and wriggled out of the egg. An
image of Emi-Shou, the bird had a piece of shell covering one
blinking eye.
If I snatch the bird, can I evade the jaws of the beast?
Ayame stepped slowly, and reached out trembling fngers. The
dragon lifted his gaze and fxed bright red eyes upon her. Ayame
ficked the shell piece of the babys head, then looked up at Ryu.
Was the dragon smiling? And yet drooping folds beneath his eyes
bespoke great sadness.
He drew in a great breath and slowly blew it onto the bird. Tiny
feathers futtered in the breeze. The bird closed its eyes.
When the birds eyes opened, it stood up straight and leveled its
gaze upon Ayame.
I am Ayaka-Shou. Her voice tinkled like small bells. Soaring
fower.
Ayame blinked, then looked up at the dragon. A sad smile curled
the corners of the creatures long snout. I, like you, was cast out by
my people, he whispered as he lay his massive head down on the
ground.
In the days before your world was formed, the Fire Dragons
waged war throughout the heavens. Sparks few from their fery
blasts and created the stars. The dragons tumbled through them as
they struggled for domination, and the constellations swirled into
their places.
A prophecy foretold the coming of a blue Water Dragon that
would bring healing, but when I was born among them they
Healer
101
were overcome with jealousy. With a great lash of their tails they
propelled me far across the heavens.
His eyes closed partway, and blue sparkles danced over the walls
as he stretched his long body further across the wide cave.
I came to this place, a dry and barren world. I breathed healing
water vapor upon it for decades, then centuries. Life came into
being, and soon teemed over the earth. I rejoiced in what had
come to be, but then confict and jealousy sprang up among its
people and mirrored the cruel spirit of the Fire Dragons. If this
continued, the dragons would surely be drawn here and consume
the earth in the blaze of their breath.
Fresh steam poured forth from his snout, and sorrow tore at his
words. I sought to end the evil by breathing healing water upon
cruel men, but only stirred up more fury as they came to hunt me.
I chose to hide myself here and breathe my healing power into the
Ken-Shou, the Healing Birds.
Ryus eyelids dropped, then opened again in gleaming slits. I
have lived long, but my time has reached its end. Ayaka-Shou is
the last Healing Bird. She must be protected, and a Great One
must rise up to lead the people out of strife. They must be made
to understand their danger. Only one who is true of heart can do
this. The dragon peered up at Ayame with a smile. Then he closed
his eyes and said no more.
Oh, Ryu, how can I bring such a message to our people? I, cast
out myself, will never be heard! She knelt by the dragon and
covered her eyes. Warm tears dripped onto the ground.
I will come with you.
Ayame peeked through her hands. Ayaka-Shou stood before her
and blinked tiny eyes flled with wisdom. Ayame took the bird on
her hand and looked sadly back at Ryu, then made her way down
the mountain.
f
O
n the morning of the third day, the suns light outlined the
roof and walls of the palace. Ayame gathered her kimono
and Ayaka-Shou, and stepped between trees.
Healer
102
Ayame. It was Subro. Ayame gasped and jumped back.
I will not harm you, my sister. The young mans eyes were
swollen, and his voice broke with sorrow. Brother Taro has slain
the others. I alone escaped. He bowed his head. I beg your
forgiveness.
She eyed him warily. Will you help me heal our father?
He glanced at the bird on her shoulder. His dark eyebrows lifted,
and his face radiated hope. I will protect you from Taro if it
requires my last breath. We can enter through the spring. Come.
He extended his hand, and they crept together toward the palace
wall. They crawled together through a dark, narrow tunnel through
which water entered the palace, and emerged beneath the bottom
foor. Ayame wrung out the hem of her kimono, then gathered it
in her hands, and followed Subro up narrow steps to the kitchens.
Ayaka-Shou clung to her shoulder.
They came upon a young servant girl washing the foor.
Hotaru. Ayame whispered. The girls head popped up and tears
streamed down her face.
You are well! She spoke quietly, and wiped her smiling cheeks.
Then her eyes widened in fear and she glanced around for listening
ears. Your brother will
We know. Subro stepped around Ayame. Little frefy, we must
ask you to fit to our fathers chambers and tell us whether he is
alone.
She dashed of and quickly returned. Servants are with him, but
they will help you. Taro is not there.
Father! Ayame rushed to the Emperor a moment later. His eyes
remained closed. Ayaka-Shou stepped onto his chest. The tiny bird
warbled a plaintive melody, and the elderly man looked up. His
eyes brightened, and he rose from his mat.
Ayame grasped his hands and wept with joy. Then her heart
wrung with sorrow. Father you must be told. Your eldest son, Taro,
has killed all except
Healer
103
The door opened. Ayame turned as Taro stepped in.
Subro snatched an ornamental saber from the wall and thrust
it toward his brothers chest. The blade collided with Taros. Eyes
blazing like cats, the two men circled each other. Dark hair few
as Subro parried Taros weapon and struck again. Lithe as a snake,
Taro leaped back, out onto the spacious terrace. Subro followed.
He aimed to strike, then jumped and kicked his brothers knee.
Taro buckled to the foor.
Subro lifted his saber.
Dont, my brother. Taros dark eyes pleaded. Subro hesitated,
and Taros leg caught him on his side and knocked him down.
Fool, snarled Taro as he made the killing thrust.
Ayame shrieked, then lifted her eyes at the sound of rushing, like
many winds. Ryus massive head rose behind Taro. With a great
billow of steam, the dragon snatched Taro in his long jaws and,
rearing high above the palace roof, cast him far out into the sea.
Ayame put her hands to her face.
You, Ayame. It is you who must prepare to lead your people.
Ryus coppery eyes gazed tenderly at her.
Come, my child. The Emperor, tears rippling down his
careworn face, drew her to his chest and wrapped his arms around
her. I will teach you.
End
Healer
104
The Birth of Spring
There on the small bough,
Leaden still with pristine snow,
Tiny green buds wait.
105
106
T
he earth moved beneath the
Boys feet. His cat, Kibou, leapt
from his arms as windows
shattered and great buildings swayed
like willows in the wind. He called for
his mother and father but there was no
answer. He shouted for his sisters, his
uncle, his grandmother but there was
no reply. The Boy fell to the ground,
held himself tight, and waited for it all
to stop.
f
W
hen the Boy opened his eyes,
he was walking through the
streets of his village. How did he get
here? How long had he been walking?
The Boy could not remember. He
walked past crying people, burning
buildings, and many other sights he
wished he could un-see.
Suddenly, water rushed over his
bare feet. The trickle swelled into
a torrent that became a great wave
towering above the wreckage, rushing
toward him, devouring everything in
its path. There was nowhere to run so
he spread his arms wide as the wave
slammed into him. He was not crushed
or swept away. Instead, the water
flooded through the Boy, ripping away
his fear, sadness, and despair, his love,
happiness, and hope. The great wave
washed away the land, leaving only an
open sea in its wake. A fine gray mist
fell all around him.
The Boy stood alone, waist deep and
naked, a speck in the middle of a vast
ocean. Was he dead? No, but he wasnt
there either, just an empty vessel set adrift.
He walked on.
107
Water bogged him down deeper with each step yet he continued
to walk on. After some time, he didnt know how long, the Boy
saw a figure floating through the mist. It drew closer and he could
see a fox sitting on a plank of wood. Cloth hung from its mouth.
What an unusual thing, a
fox foating out here.
No more unusual than
a naked boy wading
waist deep but going
nowhere.
You can
speak?
Only when
spoken to.
I brought you a Jinbei
to cover yourself.
Why? Everybody is
gone. Who cares if
Im naked?
Well, Im still here.
Dress yourself.
Everything is grey and
dead, Fox. Shouldnt I
be sad?
If you want to,
but the rice will
return.
Is that a riddle?
Fox said nothing, only
smiled and disappeared
into the mist. The Boy
walked on.
He walked for miles and years, or it could have been
feet and seconds. All manner of measurement was gone.
Only the water level changed. It was now just above his
knees. Landmarks began to appear, shadowy husks of
buildings and trees, just skeletons.
108
One such husk, the Torii of an old shrine, emerged before the Boy. A
monkey sat atop.
Where are you
going, Boy?
I dont know,
forward, I
guess.
Forward is a
direction, not a
destination.
I dont have a
destination. Every
place is gone, washed
away.
Well this place
isnt gone. Its
still here. And the
Earth is always
pregnant.
More riddles?
You cannot
continue forward,
you must take
another path.
But this is my
path.
Choose another. A
Demon lies beyond this
gate. It will consume
you.
The Boy looked past the Torii and saw
silhouettes of four damaged buildings on
the horizon. A vapor rose above them but
he saw no Demon. Then the vapor turned
toward him. Glowing green slits appeared,
opening like eyes, and beckoned the Boy
forward. He walked through the Torii and
into the vapor. It wrapped around him,
ready to clench like a fist.
109
Before the Demon
could tighten its grip,
a massive Dragon,
carrying five Warrior
Monks burst from
the water.
Get back
Boy!
You should
have heeded
Monkeys
warning!
110
The Dragon coiled around the Boy and the Demon fled.
What was
that?
A terrible Oni,
and we will
stop him. Even at
the cost of our
lives!
Why? Nobodys left
to protect. Everyone
is gone.
In response,
nine more
Dragons, each
carrying five
Monks apiece,
erupted from
the deep.
WE ARE STILL HERE!
The Monks all yelled
as one.
Take my takuhatsugasa,
child. As protection
from the Onis poison.
111
With that, ten Dragons and fifty
Monks flew to battle with the Oni.
The Boy watched them go and then
walked back to the Torii where Monkey
waited for him.
Even if they win, the Demons
poison will eventually kill them.
I should mourn them, or praise
their honor, but I cannot.
Why?
Perhaps
youve not
found what
you seek.
Take this, every Seeker
should have a good walking
stick. It will help you fnd
your destination.
The Boy put on the Monks takuhatsugasa
and took the staff. He now looked and felt like
a Monk himself. Standing a little straighter,
he walked on.
112
The Boy walked and walked. The water
receded and soon he was sloshing ankle
deep in mud. He grew tired and stopped to
rest against a broken ceiling beam jutting
from a mound of earth. Fox is wrong, he
thought. Nothing will grow here again.
Monkey is wrong too. There will be no
new life. Dragon and the Monks, their
sacrifice is without hope. Everything is
gone.
The Boy sat in the mud, held himself
tight, and shut his eyes. He waited to be
gone too.
f
T
he Boy opened his eyes. People
wandered around him, looking for
what they had lost. In the distance, he saw
the remains of a large building, the same
one he saw swaying in the quake. It was the
only remaining, recognizable, landmark in
a sea of mud, but still the Boy knew he
was sitting where his house once stood.
Im back where I started, he thought.
In the distance, there was the soft mew
of a cat. Then another, stronger cry. The
Boy looked and saw his cat hiding in an
old refrigerator with a missing door.
Kibou! Is
that you?
The frightened cat came
running at the sound of her name
and the Boy scooped her into his
arms. She shivered and he hugged
her close, to warm her.
Kibou! I cant
believe its you, I
cant believe it.
Youre safe now,
Kibou. Im here.
Im still here.
End
113
T
hankfully, few of us know what its like to live
through something so devastating as the quake
in Japan...
But then, maybe that isnt true these days. There have
been so many horrible tragedies over the last decade
(September 11th, the Indian Ocean tsunami, Katrina, the
earthquake in Haiti, to name a few) that weve all been
afected in one way or another. If weve been lucky enough
to avoid one of these disasters then most likely we know
someone who wasnt. Sometimes, I think we are becoming a shell-
shocked society, feeling helpless and living in fear of the next
catastrophe. I think people want to take action, but dont always
see how they can make a diference.
Early on in this project, I received an email from one of the
artists who wrote: [Fables for Japan] feels like the start of a charity
franchise, wherever or whenever someone needs help. Ive been
wondering for a long time how could an artist help to improve this
world...Count on me, Ill follow this and further projects.
Well, Fables for Japan is not a franchise and thats probably
good but this comment made me realize that this project really
could be an outlet for people who wanted to get involved. Most of
us cant donate large sums of money but we can donate our talents.
And thats what this project was about, taking what you have and
using it to make the world just a little bit better.
You, dear reader, can play a part in this too. If youve enjoyed the
work in this book (or even if you havent) please take a moment
and donate what you can to the charity of your choice. We suggest
the International Medical Corps. This is the group weve worked
with and they are doing quite good things. You can fnd all the
details on how to donate on our website, www.fables4japan.com.
Please join us in helping to make the world just a little bit better.
Thank you.
Jason Temujin Minor
September 1, 2012
Afterword
114
Meet the Contributors
Lets take a moment to meet those who have made Fables for Japan possible.
Mark Badger
markbadger.org
Mark Badger is a cartoonist,
programmer, teacher, and activist. Hes
worked for DC COMICS and MARVEL
and is currently working on an
adaptation of Julius Caesar using Jack
Kirby as his creative guide.
Mark wrote and illustrated the
surreal Buddhist ghost story, BAD
SUSHI.
Jeff Baker
www.jeffreynbaker.com
Jef Baker is a Science-Fiction/
Fantasy writer. You can read more of his
published work at eFiction Magazine
and you can follow him on Twitter @
jefreynbaker
Jef wrote HIROKOS TALE.
Anna Bron
annabron.blogspot.com
Anna Bron is a recent graduate of
animation from Sheridan College. She
is currently freelancing as an illustrator
and a comic book artist.
Anna wrote and illustrated the
TRAVELER.
Leanne Buckley
leannebuckley.com
Leanne Buckley has been a
professional illustrator, artist, and
designer for over ten years. Shes
worked for WHITE WOLF, WIZARDS
OF THE COAST, IMAGE COMICS,
CATALYST GAMES, WILDFIRE LLC,
and POSTHUMAN STUDIOS. You can
follow Leanne on Twitter @envertigo.
Leanne illustrated HIROKOS TALE.
Ross Carnes
rosscarnesart.wordpress.com
Ross Carnes began as an illustrator
40 years ago. Clients have included:
UNIROYAL, AMERICAN GENERAL
INS., and INTEL.
Recently curtailed by crippling health
issues, he turned to writing and has
completed his frst novel, WHISPERS
OF ATLANTIS, which is now available.
Ross donated a painting for the poem
RESURRECTION.
Christopher Clements
christophertime.tumblr.com
Christopher Clements graduated
from Maryland Institute College of
Art in 2008. He works at a non-proft
Foundation by day and writes and
115
illustrates childrens books and graphic
novels by night.
Chris wrote and illustrated THE
SAMURAI.
Nancy A. Collins
www.golgothamonline.com
Nancy A. Collins has authored more
than 20 novels, numerous short stories,
and comic books, including a 2-year run
on SWAMP THING. She is a recipient
of the HWAS STOKER AWARD and
the BRITISH FANTASY SOCIETY
AWARD. Shes been nominated for
the EISNER, JOHN CAMPBELL
MEMORIAL, and WORLD FANTASY
& INTERNATIONAL HORROR GUILD
AWARDS.
Nancys latest book, LEFT HAND
MAGIC, the second book in the
acclaimed new GOLGOTHAM urban
fantasy series, has just been published.
Nancy wrote the story KITSUNE.
Federico Dallocchio
Federico Dallocchio is a comic book
artist from Buenos Aires, Argentina.
He has worked for WILDSTORM,
DC COMICS, DARK HORSE, and
MARVEL on such books as STAR
CRAFT, SUICIDE SQUAD, STAR WARS:
KNIGHT ERRANT, JUSTICE LEAGUE
OF AMERICA, and GREEN LANTERN.
Federico illustrated the story
BUNBUKU CHAGAMA.
Nathanael Dodge
nathanaeldodge.com
Nathanael Dodge started as a
freelancer in New York and later
moved to Sendai Japan. Hes worked in
flm, animation, and web design and
collaborated on the short flm MIXED
DRINKS, and GRAPESEED (an English
curriculum DVD set).
Nathan illustrated MONKEY AND
WOLF.
Amy Evans
tiger-tea.blogspot.com
Amy Evans is an aspiring illustrator
and animator. Amy counts comics and
animation as big infuences in her life,
as well as the work of Charley Harper
and Nobrow Press.
Amy illustrated SUN AND MOON
and provided several spot illustrations.

Matthew Funk
onthesubjectof beingawesome.
blogspot.com
Matthew Funk is a college student
and an aspiring comic book writer
and novelist. After the tragic events of
March 11th 2011, he felt compelled to
help. Matthew came up with the idea
for an anthology of stories and artwork
inspired by Japanese folklore, called
FAIRY TALES FOR JAPAN. That frst
incarnation fell through but it planted
the seeds for FABLES FOR JAPAN.
Matt has written fve short stories
for Book 1, TO MY MASTERPIECE,
MONKEY AND WOLF, SUN AND
MOON, THERE WAS A TROLL UNDER
THE BRIDGE, and THERE WERE
PIXIES DANCING.
Joan Upton Hall
www.JoanUptonHall.com
For 28 years, Joan Upton Hall
taught English and edited a teachers
newsletter that won national awards.
She is now a full-time freelance writer
and editor. Her manual, RX FOR YOUR
WRITING ILLS, has helped hundreds
116
of writers and she has published several
short stories in various magazines and
e-zines.
Joans books run from historical
nonfction to the paranormal. Book
three of her urban fantasy series
EXCALIBUR REGAINED has been
recently released as well as her
futuristic mystery debut, DREAM
SHIFTERS.
Joan is co-editor on FABLES FOR
JAPAN.
Kristen Grace Hall
kristengracehall.blogspot.com
Kristen Grace Hall is a sixteen year
old whose passion is serving God
through art. She is mostly self-taught,
but has taken some classes in Studio
Art and Art History, as well as Drawing
and Composition.
Kristen illustrated the story HEALER.
Mary Elizabeth Hall
maryelizabethhall.com
Mary Elizabeth Hall holds degrees
from Cornell and Syracuse Universities,
and has a professional background
in human services and program
management. Her true passion,
however, is for writing and editing.
Shes published community research,
contributed revisions to I CAN READ
IT (1998) for Sonlight Curriculum, and
writes articles for Home Educating
Family magazine. Her frst novel,
AMBERLY, was released in August,
2012. Mary and her husband Matt live
in South Carolina, where she home
educates their three daughters, wipes
up many messes, and writes.
Mary wrote the story, HEALER.
Phillip Hester
Phillip Hester has been making
comics for over two decades. He spent
many years on the indie comics scene;
culminating in his Eisner Award
nominated series THE WRETCH.
Phil penciled DCs SWAMP THING
and Kevin Smiths revival of GREEN
ARROW. He created THE COFFIN
with artist Mike Huddleston, and
FIREBREATHER with artist Andy
Kuhn now a television feature for
CARTOON NETWORK.
Phil illustrated the story KITSUNE.
Risa Horiuchi
Risa Horiuchi is an aspiring
illustrator of childrens books and is
studying at the School of Visual Arts in
New York City. She has worked on the
picture books THE STORY OF PETE
AND RALPH and 335: THE TRUCK
WITH A BIG HEART.
Risa illustrated THE BUTTERFLY.
Ryan Kelly
funrama.blogspot.com
Ryan Kelly has been an illustrator,
painter, and comic artist for 14 years.
Hes done illustrations for SPIN and
WIRED magazine and comic work for
DC and MARVEL comics. His credits
include LOCAL, LUCIFER, DMZ, and
THE UNWRITTEN.
Ryan illustrated the story THE ROOF
DECKERS TALE.
Teddy Kristiansen
teddykristiansenblog.blogspot.com
Teddy Kristiansen draws and draws
and then tries to turn all the drawings
into books in the end.
117
Some of those drawings that Teddy
had turned into books are: M IS FOR
MAGIC with Neil Gaiman, SANDMAN,
also with Neil, and HOUSE OF
SECRETS with Steven Seagle to name a
few.
Teddy provided a terrifc piece called
RE-BUILDING for the back cover.
MaGnUs
clockworkchap.carbonmade.com
MaGnUs (Martin Prez) is a writer,
letterer, and radio host/producer. He
writes articles, essays, short stories, and
text for video games.
MaGnUs lettered the story
BUNBUKU CHAGAMA.
Jason Temujin Minor
www.jason-minor.com
Jason Temujin Minor has worked
for over twenty years as a Comic Book
artist, Game Developer, and Writer.
He is best known for his work on THE
BOOKS OF MAGIC, DEADPOOL, and
the EISNER AWARD winning anthology
THE BIG BOOK OF URBAN LEGENDS.
He currently works at BIOWARE on
their new MMO, STAR WARS: THE
OLD REPUBLIC, as the lead character
artist.
After the frst incarnation of the
project fell through, Jason picked up
FABLES FOR JAPAN and took over the
recruiting, organizing, editing, and
publishing.
Jason wrote and illustrated BOY IN
THE WATER.
Stuart Moore
pensivemischief.blogspot.com
Stuart Moore has been a writer, a
book editor, and an award-winning
comics editor. His recent writing
includes NAMOR: THE FIRST
MUTANT, CLOAK & DAGGER, and
WOLVERINE NOIR, the original
graphic novel SHADRACH STONE, and
STAR TREK CAPTAINS LOG: PIKE.
He is also a partner in BOTFRIEND,
a comics packaging company and
won the BEST EDITOR EISNER
AWARD for his work on DCs acclaimed
VERTIGO imprint.
Stuart wrote THE ROOF DECKERS
TALE.
Patricia Morse-McNeely
Patricia Morse-McNeely has written
since early childhood and is both poet
and writer. She has been published in
newspapers, newsletters, and some
private publications. She published
a small collection of poetry, THE
INCONSTANT MOON, and has won
several prizes and honorable mentions
for her poetry. She is currently rewriting
a novel she wrote in 1950. Patricia is
also the great great granddaughter of
Samuel Finley Breese Morse, inventor
of the telegraph.
Patricia has written several
Haikus for book 1: WRITING LOVE,
A HEAVENLY MESSAGE, THE
BUTTERFLY, THE BIRTH OF SPRING,
RESURRECTION, AGING HEARTS,
SILVER WINGS, BIOGRAPHY OF
LOVE, SUN AND RAIN, and WINGS.
Tom Peyer
www.twitter.com/TomPeyer
Tom Peyer has been writing comic
books since you were in diapers, so give
him a break.
Tom wrote BUNBUKU CHAGAMA.
118
Eric Prince
ecprince.posterous.com
Eric Prince is a flm/games artist and
producer and a painter. He currently
lives in Denmark with his wife.
Eric painted TAMONTEN: THE
GOD OF WEALTH, WARRIORS,
& BUDDHISM, PROTECTOR OF
NORTH, LORD OF THE FOUR
HEAVENLY KINGS.
Ayan Sengupta
ayan-folio.blogspot.com
Ayan Sengupta is a recent grad with
BFAA in Animation from Sheridan
College. He made several short flms
in 2009 and worked for ZINK Digital
Agency as a compositor and matte
painter.
Ayan illustrated several of haikus in
book 1: WRITING LOVE, A HEAVENLY
MESSAGE, THE BIRTH OF SPRING,
AGING HEARTS, SILVER WINGS,
BIOGRAPHY OF LOVE, SUN AND
RAIN, and WINGS.
Gareth Sleightholme
apopheniainc.wordpress.com
Gareth Sleightholme has over
15 years experience in all areas of
illustration, graphic design, production
design, and flm. He now teaches
Traditional Animation (including Stop-
Motion) and Game Design. He also
spent a number of years as a Theme
Park designer.
Gareth illustrated the story, TO MY
MASTERPIECE.
Leigh Walls
aertistx.deviantart.com
Leigh Walls is a New York-based
cartoonist whose work has appeared
in BLOODY PULP MAGAZINE #1
(Comixpress.com), GUARDIAN
KNIGHT PRESENTS #1 (IndyPlanet.
com), and THE GATHERING VOL. 4
(GrayHaven Comics)
Leigh illustrated the story, THERE
WAS A TROLL UNDER THE BRIDGE.
Yao Xiao
www.yaoxiaoart.com
Yao Xiao is currently attending
the School of Visual Arts for a BFA in
illustration. She writes and illustrates
two webcomics and illustrates the
weekly webcomic DINGLEBERRIES!
written by Foley.
Yao has won awards from the
KENNEDY CENTER FOR SCENIC ART.
Her recent publications include THE
TRANSMETROPOLITAN ART BOOK,
and DR. SKETCHYS BLOG.
Yao illustrated the story, THERE
WERE PIXIES DANCING.
119
We hope youve enjoyed
Fables for Japan, book I.
The contributors have donated their time to create these books
and ofer them at absolutely no cost. This project is our memorial
to those who lost their lives in the earthquake, tsunami, and
nuclear catastrophe of 2011, and to honor the tremendous will of
those who have continued on.
We hope you will consider donating a gift directed toward
helping those in Japan who are still struggling in the very long
process of rebuilding.
You can make a donation directly to the International Medical
Corps by following this link:
https://internationalmedicalcorps.org/sslpage.aspx?pid=2434
Thank you from all the writers and artists of Fables for Japan!
And remember to pick up all 3 volumes of
Fables for Japan
Available for FREE through our website: www.fables4japan.com
For more information, follow our blog: www.fables4japan.com
and on Facebook and Twitter: @fables4japan
Original Tales, Comic Book Stories, and Poetry, spun
from the foundations of Japanese folklore.
The frst of 3 volumes, book 1 collects 24 original stories.
From classic Japanese tales retold with a twist, to new fables
for a modern age. As in the tale of the lonely Roof Decker
looking for happiness in a fantasy version of Brooklyn,
New York; or the story of the fox spirit, Kitsune, who must
abandon her human child. There are the darkly comedic
tales such as the Samurai and a misunderstood Troll or the
gift of a shape shifting raccoon dog.
These stories and so many more are
masterfully told by 28 contributors,
including such renowned writers
and artists as Stuart Moore, Ryan
Kelly, Nancy A. Collins, Phillip
Hester, Mark Badger, Tom Peyer
and Federico Dallocchio.
Please Donate to the International Medical Corps, in care of Japan!
Check out our website for details, www.fables4japan.com and follow us on
Facebook and Twitter @Fables4Japan
apan
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The water fooded through the Boy,

ripping away his fear, sadness, and despair,

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