Author’s Note: Greetings, everyone! Well, I’ve wanted to get back in the Shadow Hearts swing of things, but nothing has really come to mind. Then I decided, as I did with Castlevania, to write a story that I consider to be non-canonical. Basically, it’s a story where Anastasia is reading a book about the Russian Revolution, and she is giving her reflections on the words of the author. I would like to point something out for the reader. I think sometimes my audience gets confused by some of my mechanics, so I’m just going to explain them outright. Whenever you see a character talking and it’s in italics that means he or she is talking inside their head. I’ll probably have more of these later, but let’s just start with this one. As always, please read and give me some critical reviews.

When the sun sets over cherry blossom skies,
and the twilight fills the air.
You can see the snow on the mountaintops,
through the veil of old Japan—

“Benzai Ten”—Blackmore’s Night

Rememberances

Chapter I

On an afternoon in early December, Anastasia and Kurando Inugami found themselves in the master room of Saki Inugami’s home. Anastasia knelt before her two-year-old son, Nicholas Kurandovich, who was dressed in a sailor suit from the old Russian Imperial Navy. “Now, Nicky, I want you to be a good boy for Grandmama. I don’t want to hear any bad reports, when me and Daddy come back, okay?”

“Okay,” the boy said through his pacifier.

Anastasia gave her first born a kiss, and then stood up, to allow Kurando a chance to talk with his son.

“Now, Nicky, whenever Grandmama tells you to say out of something you will do so, right?”

“Yes,” the boy said, with a nod.

Kurando smiled. “That’s my boy!” And he gave his son a hug, a kiss, and a pat on the bottom to send Nicky on his way.

Saki agreed to watch over her grandson, so that Anastasia and Kurando could spend some time together. For Anastasia and Kurando, it was a joy not to have the ‘pesky boy’ around. Granted, although Anastasia and Kurando would sometimes refer to Nicky as their ‘pesky boy,’ it was always said out of love. The two loved their first born very much, but Nicky could be quite the pest. The toddler could find his way into anything. Things that Anastasia and Kurando thought they had ‘baby proofed,’ Nicky could find his way into; and it was hard for Anastasia and Kurando to punish him, unless they warned him not to get into something, they thought he could not get into anyway. Nevertheless, at least they could spend a couple of hours away from their boy.

“We don’t get to do this much anymore, Anastasia,” Kurando said, as he walked arm-in-arm with his wife.

“No, we don’t. Not since Nicky’s birth, and you and my brother going to Naniwa’s in Tokyo all the time.” Anastasia paused to look at the sky—a gray sky. “Speaking of him, I wonder if he’ll be okay.”

“Who? Alexei?”

Anastasia returned to Kurando and nodded.

“He’ll be fine. You know that he’s a grown man. Besides, it was better that he would go to Shanghai over me, as the whole deal of working with a bishop to get a priest is something he’d know a lot more about, than I would.”

Kurando’s statement referred to something Anastasia had discussed with Alexei. Anastasia and Alexei were both raised devoutly religious, and while they may not have been as devout as their parents—particularly their mother—they still maintained a strong connection to their Orthodox faith. But since their flight from Russia, Anastasia and Alexei had been unable to attend mass, because they were unable to find a priest. However, due to the diversity within the many cities of China, there was an Orthodox church set up for Christians predominately from Greece, Romania, and Russia. Alexei decided that with Christmas approaching, he would go to China, and secure the services of a priest—especially for Christmas mass.

Nevertheless, once Kurando finished his statement, a cold blast of air brushed past Anastasia and Kurando. Again, turning to the sky, Anastasia smiled. The cold air reminded her of the past—a past that was filled with joy.

Noticing his wife’s expression, Kurando said, “Somehow, I don’t think that me talking about your brother made you smile. Something else might be on your mind. Am I right?”

Anastasia nodded. “That cold blast of air just made me think of Tsarkoe Selo.” Tsarkoe Selo, or the ‘tsar’s village,’ is the area outside of Petrograd where Anastasia spent most of her childhood. “I remember Christmas, around this time of year. It was cold, as usual, and there was plenty of snow on the ground. My sisters and I would have snowball fights. So would Alexei. So would Mother and Daddy. And so would our tutors and some of the servants as well—particularly our French tutor, Monsieur Gilliard.”

Kurando visited Tsarkoe Selo before, but not at Christmas. The last time he was there was in the summer of 1916—the last full year the tsar was in power. And what he remembered was a gentle boat trip with Anastasia around the Children’s Island. Still, he was nervous to talk about Tsarkoe Selo. Anastasia often suffered from nightmares—nightmares recalling the events from that tragic day in the Siberian cellar. Nevertheless, he could not ignore his wife. “You know, it might snow this evening.”

“Really?”

Kurando nodded. “Yes, and Alexei should be back this evening—it might be nice to through a few snowballs.”

Anastasia chuckled.

“Who knows, maybe Nicky might be big enough to join in?”

Anastasia laughed. “Nicky? No, Nicky’s just a baby—a clever baby, but still a baby. However, there are some good hills in this area. It might be fun to push him down a sled.”

Kurando nodded. “Absolutely!” And turning to the local tavern, he added, “Well, we have plenty of time. Care for a drink?”

“Of course!”

Later that evening, Anastasia and Kurando—along with their son—enjoyed a fine supper at Saki’s, much to the pleasure of Anastasia and Kurando. Anastasia hated to cook, and was not very good at it. She could cook some basic foods for herself and her son but nothing outstanding—either Kurando helped her, the three went to the tavern, or they went to Saki’s.

Around eight the same evening, Anastasia and Kurando were back in their home. Kurando sat in his chair, reading a book on the Meiji Restoration, but he often stopped to smile at the scene before him—Anastasia blowing kisses on their son’s stomach, while the toddler squealed and kicked.

But the scene ended, due to rapping on the front door. Anastasia opened the door to reveal Alexei. Large snowflakes melted on Alexei’s coat and hat. “Hey, Sis!”

“Alexei! Come in! Come in!” Anastasia said, motioning her brother inside. “It must be very cold outside.”

“Ah, it’s not too bad. We Romanovs have a love for the cold. Plus my coat and hat keeps me warm. Hello, Kurando!” Alexei added, turning to his mentor.

“Good evening, Alexei,” Kurando said, as he closed his book. “Please, have a seat,” Kurando added, gesturing to the sofa.

“Thank you,” responded Alexei, while he removed his coat and hat, before taking a seat on the sofa.

“Would you like a glass of wine, Alexei?” asked Anastasia.

“Sure, that sounds nice.”

“How about you, Kurando?” Anastasia asked again.

Her husband nodded. “I’ll take a glass.”

Anastasia returned the nod. “Very well, then I’ll make three glasses of wine.”

After Anastasia handed a glass of wine to Kurando and Alexei, her brother asked, “So where’s Nicky?”

“I think he took off to the nursery,” Kurando said. “When you knocked on the door, it gave him the opportunity to get away from his mother.”

Alexei smirked at Anastasia. “Oh, he had enough of his mother for one day?”

“Only when she won’t stop blowing bubbles on his tummy,” responded Kurando.

Anastasia returned the smirk.

And Alexei chuckled. “Well, anyway, I have some news to report.”

“You were able to meet with the bishop in Shanghai?” asked Anastasia.

Alexei nodded. “Indeed! I told him about our plight—about how my sister and I had to flee Russia during the revolution, and that we are now living with friends in Japan. I gave the bishop only our first and middle names, because I said it wasn’t safe for me to give him our last names…”

“Don’t you think that ‘Alexei Nicholaevich’ and ‘Anastasia Nicholaievna’ are enough to rouse suspicion?” interjected Anastasia with a look.

Alexei shook his head. “I don’t think so. There are a lot of Russians named ‘Alexei’ and ‘Anastasia,’ and a lot of them have a father named ‘Nicholas.’”

Anastasia paused, before she nodded. “Did the bishop suspect anything?”

Again, Alexei shook his head. “I don’t think so. He did wonder if how I spoke meant that I was the son of a prince or something.”

“What did you tell him?” Anastasia asked with a sip.

“I told him that I couldn’t say. All that I could tell him was that Lenin would kill me in an instant, if he could.”

Anastasia nodded. “So then what happened?”

“I told him that my sister and I would like a priest—preferably one before Christmas. I told him there are places in the village where the priest can stay, and, if necessary, he can stay with one of us for a certain period of time.”

“And what did the bishop say?” Anastasia asked, with another sip.

“He said that he had a young man, a Russian, who was about to be ordained to the priesthood. In fact, the man’s ordination was the day after my conversation with the bishop, so I stayed, and watched his ordination. He’s in his mid-twenties, and I chatted with him, after he was ordained. He’s a swell fellow, and the bishop told me that he was going to send him to us. In a couple of days, I’m going to pick him up from Tokyo, and bring him here.”

“Wonderful!”

Alexei nodded. “But that’s not all I found, while in Shanghai.”

“What else?”

“I went over to the British-American area of Shanghai, and found this book.” Alexei put his glass on a coaster, and removed a book from his pocket. “It’s written by a man named Robert George, who’s an American reporter for the New York Times,” Alexei added, while he returned the glass to his lips.

“The what?” asked Kurando, after a sip of his wine.

“The New York Times,” Anastasia said. “It’s a paper in America. What’s so special about the book?”

“It’s titled, The Russian Revolution: An America Reporter’s Eye-Witness to History. The first page says: ‘Farewell, Tsar; Hello, Kerensky; Farewell, Kerensky; Hello, Lenin.’ I read most of it on the train back home. Some of the events the reporter witnessed very well, and some events he did not.”

“How did he portray Daddy?”

“I think he tried to be fair, but he was sometimes inaccurate.”

“I would like to see that book. Would you mind if I borrowed it?”

“Anastasia,” began Kurando.

“Yes?”

“I need to talk to you,” Kurando began, while he placed his glass on a coaster. “Would you excuse us, Alexei?”

Kurando motioned Anastasia down the hallway, past Nicky’s room—who was enjoying his time on his rocking horse—and near the master bedroom. “Anastasia, there are many times I’ve seen you wake up in a cold sweat, and I know it’s due to you having nightmares, remembering the events in Ekaterinburg. I don’t want this book to bring anymore of those bad memories back.”

“Kurando,” Anastasia began, taking her hands into his, “I appreciate your concern, but I must read this book. I want to read this book, because I want to know what the outside world thinks. I never paid any attention to politics, when we traveled with Yuri, because there was no reason to. The old Russia is gone, but people are still writing about it—and the people that I mostly hear from are people in my family. But I want to hear what an outsider has to say. An American. I want to hear an American voice.”

Caressing his wife’s hands, Kurando sighed and nodded. “Oh, all right,” he said, before he gave each hand a kiss.

Anastasia smiled. “Thank you,” and she gave her husband a quick kiss.

Returning to her brother, Anastasia said, “Sorry about that, Alexei. Now, may I read that book?”

“I suspected what that conversation was about, Sis. Kurando’s worried you’re going to have nightmares. He’s told me about them before, but I always kept that information to myself. I’m going to be honest with you. I’m not going to have much time to read this book, so, yes, you can; but, Sis, I don’t want this book to bring back anymore bad memories. I do my best not to be bothered by old memories, but it bothers me too sometimes. Part of the reason why I purchased this book was because I wanted to hear the voice of an outsider.”

Anastasia nodded. “And that’s why I want to read it, and that’s what I told Kurando.”

Alexei returned the nod. “Very well, here is the book,” Alexei said, as he handed the book to her.

Opening the book, Anastasia saw three images: her father, Alexander Kerensky, and Vladimir Ilyich Lenin.

“Give the book back to me, as soon as you’re done with it. And whatever you do, make sure Nicky doesn’t get his hands on it.”