Tales Of Grimea

by Andrew Mowere

  After a few moments, Gueri was able to painstakingly get up to his feet. He pulled on his brown mud-stained tunic over his tall but slender frame. It was to be washed in a few days, but for now the boy had to bear with the stench of work. It was his, after all. He left the lean to, careful not to drop any of uncle Yatushi’s moldy wallboards nor cut himself on a rusty nail. If any damage came to the place, his family would pay. His father, Yukihira Midoriya, was already taking up a big set of clippers. “About time, slowpoke,” he chided, as he often did. His voice was louder than other people’s, which was all very well and good for the weak eared Gurei. His father, however, did not believe that his son didn’t hear as well as others, and assumed he was either stupid or lazy. This was because the mild mannered boy had always slept very lightly.

  “I’m sorry, father,” said he softly. His father didn’t seem to understand that ‘mild mannered’ and ‘Skittish’ came hand in hand for some.

  “Well, there’s no use telling you to make this the last time.” His weathered face cracked, exposing a smile of sorts. Gurei’s father didn’t do that often, and the boy almost smiled back in gratitude. Instead he looked to his right. He and his family lived on a small hill, overlooking rectangular mirror like patches of water. Each was long and wide, and villagers made their way between them using the green grass roads created when the rice paddies were first dug out. To their right was a forest of bamboos rising up, curving slightly as if tired from a long climb. Gurei knew that the forest held more variety, although none really knew how far it stretched and none dared tread too far. Far behind the forest, darkness reigned. The boy knew that a tired sun would eventually start a painstakingly long climb, but that he was still too early for that. “Well, come on.” With those words, Yukihira made his way down the hill. “You were late, so no real time for breakfast. Your mother gave me this for you.” The tall but slightly hunched over man pulled a rice ball out of a pocket as he walked, showing it to the boy. Gurei could looked behind, to where his Katou was saying goodbye to their mother. He waved, and she waved back with a wide smile, although the woman looked tired. Far in the distance behind her, something flew amongst the clouds. Gurei could not be sure if it was a bird or something else. Nobusame came to mind, and he averted his eyes quickly, lest he see the face upon a nobusame’s back and be cursed. Maybe it was something good and cute like a fairy or Tennyo. Gurei blushed, knowing that even if it were a Tennyo, it wouldn’t be as pretty as Natsumi. It was impossible for anyone or anything, even an angelic yokai, to be as beautiful as Natsumi. Of course, anyone who saw a Tennyo feeding on a rat would hardly be able to consider them beautiful anymore.

  The boy made his way down the hill more carefully than his father and brother did. Despite doing this for a good many years now, working every morning had done nothing to improve Gurei’s feeble constitution. Despite his litter containing only two pups, there was no doubt in his mind about which was the runt. Whereas Katou was lean but hardworking and their father strong if sporting a beer belly, Gurei’s twenty years of existence left him looking more like a bamboo stalk than anything else. Still, he was worked as hard as his brother, and as the sun began to find its way up the sky’s canvas, his breath began to catch in his throat. He and his brother had the task of walking around a set area of rice paddy, picking out anything that was getting into the soil and making sure all the plants were growing straight and true. Spending hours stooped in that manner can get into a man’s back, as Yukihira Midoriya had demonstrated with his permanent slightly askew stance. Pain lanced and throbbed slowly through the boy’s body. Come on, he urged himself, seeing his brother parallel to and ahead of him. You’re a man now. Do it for dad. Do it for the village. Sweat beaded his scrunched up forehead, and his breath came cold like stalagmites dropping through his body. Don’t drop, not yet. He could see his father doing harder work with the heavy rusted shears. It was always Gurei who dropped first. His constitution was too different from a healthy boy’s. Twenty years of wishing couldn’t change that. Shadows flitted inside his mind, reminding him of every time his body let him down, whispering weakness. He wasn’t smart, nor was he strong. For those who had nothing else in their favor, perseverance was the only way. Mrs. Kitsune had said so, trying to cheer him up once. Don’t be useless.

  “Boy, weed patch to your left. Don’t get sloppy now!” The words came as if from far away. A rare spot of reflected sunlight in the water below blinded the boy as he turned his gaze left, seeing the patch. He stepped towards it and fell face down into the water. His father glanced upwards, towards the mostly dark sky above, trying to gauge the time. “Yip, that’s about when he usually drops. Break!”

  Gurei remained in a haze as he was hauled to his feet by strong arms. His father grumbled in his ears, and although he couldn’t figure out what was being said, the boy knew that it was something about him. Of course it was, for he could barely keep up with children five years his junior. The sky above looked like rain, he thought, but didn’t say anything as he was plopped down on one of the paddy’s grassy outskirts. A cloth and rice balls were shoved into his hands, and he was unable to determine if he wanted to eat them or bury his face in his hands with shame. In the end, the boy wiped his wet face on his sleeve, sniffed, and began to eat with more enthusiasm than was normal. He kept his eyes down, lest a tear escape them.

  A sound of sloshing came towards him slowly, and then a plop. Gurei looked to see his brother next to him. “Hey, buddy,” he said gently.

  “Hello, Katou,” answered the older brother, trying to put some cheer into it.

  “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself falling. Dad can be a bit rough, but we really can use all the help we get. You’re doing well. Can’t miss uncle’s deadlines, you know.” The words sounded hallow. Gurei knew that every bit of help was needed. That was the only reason a useless muss such as he was tolerated. He could feel villagers on other parts of the paddy eyeing him with disdain. He could sympathize with them.

  “It’s all because of uncle,” he said, words burning hot.

  “Yeah. If he hadn’t gotten those paddies, we’d be way worse off.”

  “No. It’s all because he doesn’t pay well!” Gurei’s brother gasped at his outburst, although it was still delivered in hushed tones. “Just because he lucked out in Yotaku with what little he got when grandpa died doesn’t mean he’s better than us.” Much like the empire and large glamorous city, their uncle had forgotten his roots and wanted only riches. Gurei hated it, as did any sensible person. The settlements had lost much to Yotaku’s expansion.

  Katou looked at his brother. “Don’t talk like that. He’s older than us. He’s successful. Smart people are successful, and smart people figure out when someone hates them. We have what we have because of his grace.” Further to the side, Gurei glimpsed Natsumi eying them. Beautiful Natsumi with her shoulder length hair. Usually seeing her calmed him, but not when he looked this pathetic.

  “Grace! We pay rent for our shack. We do all the work and he gets most of the money! And we go to visit, I see how he looks at us. If he’s so smart,” he spat out, “Then how come his daughter is as dumb as a brick? She’s a pig!”

  His brother, always happy, gave Gurei a cold look. “His daughter was born wrong. Sympathy is what that poor girl deserves.” He didn’t say it, but with that last glance and the way he leapt into the rice paddy and his work, Gurei understood what he’d meant. I of all people should understand what it’s like to be born wrong.

  Naturally, the rest of his morning was spent in hard work with intermediate breaks. Katou did not come back to talk to him for a while, but he was too good a person not to eventually check up on his older brother. For his part, Gurei mumbled and said everything was fine when he was asked, but he was born with a fragile heart. The darkening gloom above, usual around this part of Sehkai, mirrored his heart in an uncanny manner. He’d let the ever-present hurt inside him out, aimed at someone who didn’t even deserve it. Gurei wanted nothing more than to crawl
into his bed like a miserable creature and never come back out again. He didn’t understand why he was so different.

  The boy had always been angst ridden, but brief flashes of happiness were tucked away within his childhood. The memory of being carried upon his father’s shoulders at a Niner festival, watching explosions light the sky, still had a strange warmth to them. Nowadays he just felt out of place, like a thorn stuck where it doesn’t belong. Every day, his own worthlessness would haunt him, waiting for the inevitable failures like carrions circling above a bloody feast.

  That day, relief came in the form of Natsumi’s closeness. Old lady Sakasha had died the week before, and today was Natsumi’s turn in rotation at the woman’s old spot. Gurei’s heart lurched with the glee of her being so close. He tried to talk to her, for they’d known each other since their childhood. However, the pale girl with the shoulder length hair was a fast worker, and so he gave that up after an initial greeting. “It’s fine,” he wheezed as she shrugged. Her eyes, curved like a mountain was, burned with dark concentration and focused on the work at hand. Gurei wished only for money so he could make her happy. It pained him to see the way his uncle hoarded golden ring coins. If he were like that, cute Natsumi would never have to work a rice paddy ever again. The thought made his heart throb, and it staved off the dark numbness lurking in his mind.

  At midafternoon, Gurei was allowed to leave the rice paddy. He splashed off the watery mud, wiping off sweat on his sleeve. It wasn’t the best of days, so the boy asked permission to rest before going on to his second job. His father looked him up and down, but agreed. The man was distracted, Gurei saw. When he followed his gaze, the boys saw trails of smoke in the distance, coming from behind horse drawn carriages. They were coming right towards them. His father spat in distaste, and Gurei knew he thought these may merchants coming from the north east. Distrust was rampant against those who came from those parts, for they might be mixed with those from the northern continent of Jerr, or even the island savages in between the two continents. Leaving that matter, the boy went into his father and mother’s cottage, where he was greeted by the smell of fresh dumplings. For a second they brought good memories, but as Gurei ate, his nostalgia turned into wishful remembrance. It doesn’t really matter, he finally thought.

  “Is something wrong, child?” asked his mother. She had been a slender woman, Gurei had been told, but had turned hard and bellied with age.

  “Nothing, really. Well, it’s just…” He was twenty years old already, and didn’t know anything about what he wanted to do with his life. It wasn’t like he could work the farms well. He couldn’t read and write too well either. No skills, hobbies, nothing except wasting time and going into the forest. He didn’t fit anywhere. There was gaping hole inside him, fertilized with worry and fear, with the only fruit to show being self-loathing. “I’m just worried about the caravans coming here.”

  Gurei’s mother was naturally accepting of others, but had a strong dislike for those coming from the north. “Hope they just don’t steal from us,” she muttered darkly.

  When Gurei finished his meal, he went out to his other job. Being feeble, he’d been often sent into the forest to stay out of everyone’s way. He liked to pick whatever got his interest, and one day a wizard who happened to live in a nearby village caught him grasping a bluish sort of nut. “Bring me three sacks of those each month, and I’ll pay.” Ever since, this became Gurei’s specialty. The wizard used it for something or the other. Gurei didn’t really care, although Katou had prodded him to ask.

  The sky had begun to shed a few tears when Gurei got beyond the bamboo forest. Here, the trees were large and ominous, gnarly and close knit. Bark grew from them like malicious growths, and the grass beneath them rose tired and sickly. The sky above was… gone, hidden by more leaves than a thousand men could count. Gurei walked cautiously, listening for howls, scuttles, screams or crashes. He cursed his weakened hearing as a honey snake slithered away from his foot. These snakes were captured and raised for their sweet venom, which was harmless to humans for some reason. Somewhere in the distance, a light alerted the boy to a fairy’s presence, and he made towards it as silently as possible for someone like him. Before he was a hundred steps away the light fled, but he did not mind.

  Fairies, for some reason, gathered near the trees which produced the fruits Gurei was after. It was with a small breath of excitement that the boy found what he sought: A long slender trunk laden with tiny branches, like fingers. Each ended in a small puff of leaves and fruit. Opening the sack he’d brought with him, the boy filled the sack with wonder, disregarding everything around him. The trees didn’t stay in place long, so he had to bag as much as he could that day. For a second, he didn’t seem quite so useless, filled with immediate purpose as he was.

  The boy took to his task with too much purpose, evidently. A crack behind him alerted the slant eyed boy to danger, and he turned to find a monstrosity right behind him. A Dodomeki. It screamed at him, all hundred eyes glaring at him. The eyes covered its ball like body, and it stood on four arms. Not knowing where to look, the boy stammered. “Eh, ah, erm…” He thought about holding his breath, remembering the stories about the beast’s breath. He couldn’t see a mouth anywhere.

  After a second, the beast came and Gurei ran, zigzagging his way around the trees as he tried to put anything between him and a horrid death. Grass and trees and screams blurred in his head as he cut left then right over and over, praying only for a quick end. He was so terrified that it didn’t even occur to him that his life was hardly worth the effort of saving. It was only due to dumb luck that the monster managed to trip on something and lose him, for with his stamina there would have been no contest in a true chase. His bag was only half full, but the boy whooped his survival, wheezing. Then he began to think. He only filled the sack halfway. Filling it completely would have gotten them that much extra money.

  He may as well have let the thing eat him. There was no purpose in anything he ever did, and all of his actions ended in failure. Gurei’s life was just an empty routine, trying every day to summon the strength to smile and enjoy something like normal people did. It was too hard. He knew that every day would be the same, and there was nothing but emptiness to look forward to. Letting that reality crash over him for the first time that day, the boy in the brown tunic sat down and cried. Even that felt stupid, because he didn’t really have any big problems. The shadows flitted in his heart, telling him that nothing will ever make him happy. Someone without a purpose should just lie there and turn to stone. This was the part of his second job that he hated. Keeping the mask of normal life on all the time was difficult, but it kept him from overthinking things. Now, that safety was gone. Desperately, squatting against a tree trunk, the boy grasped on to his knees. Mentally, he tried to think of something to get him up. He needed the strength to stand up and go back, face his family, and keep living. The only purpose which came to mind was Natsumi, and so Gurei focused on that. He visualized the beautiful girl in something other than filthy work tunics, cute with done hair and just a hint of powder on her face. He held that image in his head for a few seconds, then got up.

  When Gurei came back out the bamboo forest, the sky was almost completely dark. He could see light from his parent’s shack, but made his way to Natsumi’s with a determined step. He had filled another sack, that one with momo and sakura flowers. He walked a few minutes to where her own shack was, then paused, fist hanging over the door. His knees shook, and the boy realized that he didn’t have it in him. He’d gathered all the strength he had in his soul, and still couldn’t knock on the door of a silly girl’s room. A low moan like sound escaped his mouth. Even if he could, she would never accept his advances.

  Just as he turned to make his way back home her door opened. She eyed at him in surprise. “Gurei?” she asked, and slight irritation ran through him. Then he noticed how cute it was when she asked while knowing the answer. “Uh, yes.”

  “What is it?”
she asked, then saw the sacks. “Wow, did you gather that much?”

  “No… half is… it’s…” She waited patiently, looking innocent with head cocked to the side. Then she asked, “Flowers? Are they for me?”

  “…Yes…” Now it was his turn to cast his gaze shyly. He was sure it wasn’t quite so captivating when he acted this way.

  “Awww! That’s so sweet of you!” she stepped forward, took the sack in his right hand, and looked inside. Gurei realized how clammy his palms were, and hoped he hadn’t stained the sack. Then he saw the mark on it and his heart dropped. It began to rain again, slowly. Luckily, this cut the conversation time.

  “It’s amazing of you. I like momo and sakura flowers. Tsubaki is my favorite, though. It signifies perfect love. Anyway, the people from the caravan hired you. There’s a magician and some scouts from Yotaku, want to go into the forest. We were with them most of the evening.”

  Gurei couldn’t sleep that night. After he got home, his father had introduced him to a lord Aimatsu, who was a man around his forties. The lord owned a nicely trimmed beard, bore a green cape, and seemed completely uninterested in Gurei, his guide for the night. He simply told him that he was to take them into the forest and guide them as deep within as possibly. When that was done, the lord retreated back to his wagon, where he and his hardened scouts set up camp for the night.

  Stress wore on the boy. He had not an inkling of what was meant to happen with him the day after. Moreover, Natsumi’s rejection of his flowers had hurt. What kind of idiot doesn’t check the flower types before picking them? Thus he tossed and turned, opening his eyes every so often so as to glare at his shack’s roof. Katou snored peacefully.