by Zoe Marriott
The words hung in the air like the sickly stale scent of dried blood.
“Isn’t there anything…?” Mother’s voice wavered, her hands curling into fists on her knees.
“I’m not a magician, or a witch, or a seer. I can’t undo what’s been done to him.”
Mother drew in a sharp breath at the seeming cruelty of the blunt words – but I sensed something hiding beneath Kaede’s apparently fatalistic attitude. A faint edge of … excitement? I laid my hand comfortingly on my mother’s shoulder, staring at the healer. “But?”
“I’m not a magician, or a witch, or a seer,” Kaede repeated with more emphasis. “But it stands to reason, doesn’t it, that if magic is keeping him like this – some spell or curse, whatever you would name it – then the only way to help him is to break it?”
There was a long pause, in which the silence hummed like the plucked string of a shamisen.
“This is why the sensei spoke to us first, and asked us to be here,” Hayate said finally. “We must decide what action to take.”
“I don’t…” My mother’s eyes darted to the elders. Her hand rose to clasp mine on her shoulder.
“Break the curse,” I said slowly, hardly believing such insane words were leaving my mouth. “Break the monster’s magic. You’re saying – you’re saying – the monster must be … destroyed. For my father to live, it must die.”
My mother’s head turned between me and the sensei, her eyes running over both of us incredulously. “How?”
Kaede again glanced at the elders. “I don’t know. I don’t know how or if such a thing could be done. I only know that for the first time in one hundred years, a man has walked into the Dark Wood at the dark of the Moon and survived it. Maybe the curse on the mountain is weakening. Maybe at last something has changed—”
“Or maybe it was just chance,” the most ancient of the elders – Hirohito – interrupted. “We cannot know.”
“Then what is to be done?” I asked them. My thoughts churned slowly, turning over and over until nothing seemed to make sense any more.
The female elder, Yuu, cleared her throat. “Honoured Kaede-sensei has suggested that now might be the time to – to mount some kind of – of exploration. An expedition. In daylight, of course, and heavily armed. If they could penetrate the Dark Wood, seek out the beast while it slept, perhaps—”
“But who is to say that it is possible?” Hirohito interrupted. “Who is to say that because one man walked into the Dark Wood and returned, others can too? We have lived under this … this foul enchantment for a century. No one has ever been able to break it!”
Without thinking, I snapped, “No one has ever tried.”
Hirohito opened his mouth again, met my eyes – and looked away suddenly, blinking.
“It would be a very great risk,” Hayate said. “Very great. We have already lost so many. To send more into that cursed forest, to face that darkness, by choice…”
“We could ask them?” my mother suggested softly. “Lay the facts we have before the village, and ask if anyone would go? Give them a chance to decide for themselves if they feel the possibility of freedom is worth the risk.”
“They would,” I whispered fiercely. “I know they would.”
Yuu sighed wearily. “Everyone must know about this – that is not in question. Everyone saw Ichiro-san return. Everyone knows something has changed. They are frightened, and the longer they have to wait to hear what is going on, the more frightened they will become.”
Reluctantly, the other two nodded. Kaede made a small noise of satisfaction.
“Very well then,” Hayate said. “We will tell them about Kaede-sensei’s idea, and let them make up their own minds. Tomorrow.” The elder climbed creakily to his feet. The discussion was at an end.
I dreamed that night, for the first time in many years.
Sometimes, when my mood was at its lowest, and I felt sorrow and grief weigh as stones upon my breast, I wondered if the emptiness my brother had left behind wrapped itself around me in the darkness and drank down my dreams, denying me even that refuge. At other times, I told myself it was just the honest exhaustion of hard work that kept both dreams and nightmares at bay, and I should be grateful for it.
But that night, I dreamed.
I walked into the wood again, and saw again my father just as I had found him that morning. He lay sprawled on his front, one arm outstretched as if he had been reaching for home even as he fell. His pale grey yukata – almost identical to mine – had turned black with blood.
I could not tell if he was breathing.
The light of the rising sun slowly pierced the bronze leaves above, dappling the wood with spots of gold. The trees shivered but did not speak. Nothing stirred – no birds sang, no animals called. I knelt over him, unable to speak, unable to touch. Paralysed, not by fear, but by disbelief. Nothing seemed real. Nothing made sense.
No one ever comes back from the Dark Wood.
And then something happened which did not come from my memory. My father’s ashen face twitched, and his bruised eyelids lifted. Yet instead of the familiar dark brown gaze, I found myself looking into pleading eyes the same sharp, vivid green as sunlight shining through a new spring leaf.
“Hana,” he whispered, and his voice was not my father’s, but another voice that was ageless and tormented and terrible. “Help me.”
“How?” I asked, my hands reaching without thought to clasp his. “Tell me what to do.”
His cold waxy fingers closed around mine, tight, tight. Distant dream-pain panged through me. A lone droplet of blood, intensely red, trickled through our joined fingers and splashed onto the pale gold of a fallen leaf. With a gasp, I tore away – and saw three deep claw marks raked across the skin of my palm.
“What—?”
“Hana.” Those impossible, unnatural eyes bored into mine. “Kill me.”
Five
The morning was crisp and still. Amber sunlight spilled through the open screens of the meeting house and through the gaps in the ceiling and walls, painting gilded patterns among the blue-edged shapes of the other village folk. Everyone had come, except for a few older ladies who had volunteered to watch the littlest children and keep them quiet. I had never seen the small building so full.
I wanted to look properly at the sea of familiar faces. From my privileged position at the foot of the raised dais where the elders sat, it would only have taken a quick glance over my shoulder to examine everyone’s expressions and try to determine their reaction to the elders’ words. But my mother’s shoulder pressed heavily into mine, forcing me to support almost half her weight, and a sudden turn sideways on my part would cause her to stumble. I could almost hear her willing me to behave: Be still, Hana. Be patient. It does no good to fidget.
Hayate cleared his throat, and in my peripheral vision several people flinched.
“We have told you all we know,” he said. “At this juncture, our plan is the only hope for Ichiro-san, and perhaps – perhaps for all of us. Every resource we have will be at the disposal of the volunteers. We will fully arm and provision them from the village stores, so there is no need to worry about stealing precious supplies from your families. In the event that something goes wrong … of course those who are left behind by the volunteers would be cared for by us all, and not allowed to suffer for their loss.”
“Although we would encourage any man with a young family to think very carefully before volunteering,” Hirohito put in quickly. “And ask those without siblings and with parents still living not to consider it at all.”
It was a struggle to keep a grimace from my face. No need to ask for whom that comment was intended.
There was another uneasy pause. At last Kaede spoke up. “You will wish to speak with your families and consider everything we have discussed before you make any decisions. The volunteers should return here to the meeting house at – let us say … sunset.”
I heard the people behind me shifting, stir
ring and stretching, like ones awakening from a strange dream. But they were so quiet – almost completely silent. There were no muffled exclamations, no frightened or excited whispers. It was eerie. My mother must have felt me tense. She leaned against me harder than ever, her hand fastening around my upper arm, like a vice, to keep me in place. The other villagers filed out of the meeting house in that unnatural hush, leaving just me and Mother alone with the elders.
“It is done, for good or ill,” Kaede muttered. “Now all we can do is wait.”
Mother finally let loose my arm, and bowed respectfully. A moment later I followed her example, rather less gracefully.
“I should like to sit with my husband while we wait,” my mother said. “Is that acceptable?”
“Of course.” The healer heaved herself nimbly to her feet as the other elders slowly began to rise. “We can walk together. You too, Hana-san?”
I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to see him like that again, still as death and emptied of all the frozen rage, dry disapproval and occasional flashing humour that made him – made him himself. I didn’t want to imagine him as another aching void in my life. Or look at him and remember my dream. But still less did I want to let my mother down.
Schooling my expression into composure, I bowed. “Thank you, Sensei.”
The healer’s house was stiflingly hot, and the great room where my father lay was filled with thick billows of blue incense that made my throat close up. I had not expected to see any change in him – the sensei would have told us if there had been – and I tried to believe that it was a good thing. Change was unlikely to be beneficial now. At least he wasn’t beginning to wither yet.
My mother settled at my father’s side and took one of his limp hands in hers. I took up a place a little behind her where she could not easily see my face, hoping my presence was some kind of comfort, at least. To my frustration, much as I wracked my brains, I found I had nothing else to offer. So I watched her as she watched him, quietly awed by her unwearied patience. Sometimes she gazed down at him with intent, searching eyes. Sometimes her gaze went distant and I knew she was remembering. At other times her lids fell shut and her lips moved silently as she prayed.
It wasn’t as if I was unused to waiting. To stillness, and silence. Half my life had been bound up in those things. When I hunted, there were quite as many hours spent crouched motionless waiting for prey to show itself, as there were hours stalking, running and climbing. Yet in a nest of leaves, surrounded by soft forest sounds and with the potential to burst into motion at any moment, I never had trouble finding the stillness within myself that made waiting bearable. Today, trapped by obligation as much as by these walls, there was no peace in my heart. Every nerve and muscle seemed to twitch beneath my skin, fired with the urge to do something – anything. But there was nothing at all that could be done.
After about an hour, my mother’s free hand came to rest on my knee, startling me so badly that I sucked in a too-large mouthful of the incense smoke and suffered a coughing fit.
“Poor Hana,” she said softly as I wiped my watering eyes. “I had hoped the quiet would help you to calm yourself, but it isn’t working, is it? Your father will sense you have been to visit him, and be comforted, I am sure of it. There is no need to force yourself to sit for … for the whole day.”
Until sunset, she meant. Until we knew who would go into the Dark Wood for us, and when they would go, and how they planned to hunt the beast down…
“I can’t leave you alone,” I protested.
“I am not alone. Kaede-sensei and Mako-san are on the other side of the door – and your father is right here. Go, Hana. Just…” She stopped, and took a short shuddering breath. “Just stay away from the trees.”
“Yes, Mother.” I bowed my head and squeezed her hand before rising to my feet. I despised myself for the relief I felt at leaving the room – and both my parents – behind.
“Is something wrong?” Mako asked in surprise as I emerged into the small vestibule and drew the door closed behind me. She set down the basket of herbs she held and made as if to hurry into the great room again.
I stopped her with a hasty gesture. “No – no! I only… My mother has sent me out to … to undertake some chores at home.”
Mako frowned a little. “I am sure the sensei could ask one of the men to look in at your house and take care of any urgent tasks. You need not leave.”
“Let the girl go, Mako-san,” the healer interrupted, appearing from a room deeper in the house. “There is nothing for her to do here. No doubt she has been fidgeting her poor mother to flinders.” Despite the blunt words her eyes, resting upon me, were kind. “Go stalk another serow if it will ease your heart, child. Just make sure you return by sunset. She will truly need you then.”
I gave her a deep bow of wordless gratitude, and fled, barely taking the time to slip my socked feet into my sandals as I went.
Outside I stopped to savour the sweet clean air on my flushed cheeks, and then forced myself to walk away calmly, taking the well-worn village paths with slow, graceful steps. Hidden inside the voluminous sleeves of my soft yellow and green kimono, my hands curled and uncurled, curled and uncurled, trembling with strain. I couldn’t seem to make myself stop, and could only hope it would go unnoticed. I may have been unable to control my fear, worry and self-consciousness – unable even to offer my mother the support she needed and deserved – but I refused to let my feelings show for everyone to pick apart and comment on. I had endured enough of that in my life already.
There was no need to have worried. Polite nods, jerky bows, and swiftly turned backs were all I was called upon to deal with. The scent of pity in the air was thicker than the pungent clouds of incense in the healer’s house. Bad fortune in that house. Bad luck. Such a sad, unlucky family…
Although I had intended to honour my words to Mako and retreat home, when I reached the fork in the path, I yielded to some faint, internal prompting and veered left. My soft-soled sandals squeaked over the smooth, wet stones as I picked my way carefully down to the edge of the river.
The river was the greatest friend of our settlement – but she was an inconstant companion, changing her moods as often as a fine lady changes the combs in her hair. Today, when I would have welcomed the sight of raging white water, she was calm and smooth, greyish blue and almost clear under the glare of the low autumn sun, and her song was gentle in my ears.
No children played here this morning to pierce me with bittersweet memories, and so I was left alone, save for a small group of older men wading a little further up, where the water deepened, looking for fish or crabs with their nets at the ready. It seemed an ordinary day for them. Just a normal day in the valley, like any other. And yet it was a day that could – that must – change everything.
We were asking so much of our people, my mother, the elders and me. But what other choice did we have?
What other chance would we get?
It was already too late for so many…
The aching hollow that Kyo had left behind seemed to unfold itself then, devouring everything else inside me until all that was left within my body were grief and guilt, longing and despair. I imagined I could see it, see the emptiness, like dark wings curving above my head, streaming and flowing at the edges of my perception. A single harsh sob ripped loose before I clamped my jaws together.
Kyo, Kyo, why did you leave us – why didn’t you turn back, why didn’t you come home…?
Because you didn’t call me back, sister. You didn’t answer me. It’s because of you.
I put both hands over my face, wheezing through my teeth.
Breathe. Just breathe. This will pass, it will pass. For now you must breathe. Just breathe…
There under the open sky, alone, I found my stillness at last.
When I came to myself again, the sun had slunk a little way across the sky to hang above me. My joints ached with the chill mist that had crept up from the river, and fine shivers p
rickled my skin with gooseflesh.
I knelt to drink, gathering my trailing sleeves up in one hand as I cupped the other in the icy water. My parched throat begged for more and I drank again, and then again, before I was satisfied and able to turn towards home. I was numb, all through, and grateful for the numbness.
When at last I entered the safe solitude of my family’s house, I busied myself with familiar, useful tasks. Changing from my furisode kimono – which had been passed down from my grandmother’s mother, and was the finest thing I owned despite the patches and worn spots – into a ragged old yukata and leather leggings took the blink of an eye. Freeing my hair from the heavy, uncomfortable knot at the base of my skull and rearranging it into its accustomed tight plait was only a little more time-consuming. Then I looked around eagerly for other chores to occupy my hands.
I lit the fires and banked them. Then I drew water from the well in case my mother wanted tea or to wash when she returned. In the rapidly warming kitchen, I cleaned and polished my bow, stringing and drawing it carefully to maintain its flexibility. I checked my arrows, washing off streaks of dried blood, mending some fletching, and replacing a chipped horn arrowhead with a new flint one that I had made the week before. There was a small split in the bottom of the quiver to be sewed shut, and the ancient, cracked leather deserved a careful oiling. Finally, I plucked the birds which I had brought home the day before, and which my mother had hung in the pantry, finishing by collecting all the precious feathers and down, and storing them carefully away.
By then I was warmed through and longing to be outside again. Taking the small, quartz-bladed hatchet from the hook by the kitchen door, I went to chop wood and bring it into the house to dry out.
It was there, at the woodpile by Father’s workshop, that Shouta found me.
I heard the footsteps crunching through the fallen leaves when he was a few yards away and turned to watch him approach.
“Good afternoon,” I greeted a little uncomfortably.
“It is evening now,” he corrected.