by Zoe Marriott
That sounded … reasonable. Kind, even. He had been kind to me, so far, hadn’t he? Perhaps he really was what he seemed to be now, a well-meaning, gentle … stranger.
But I still didn’t know who he was.
I took a large gulp of the delicious warm drink, coughed a little, and – gathering my courage – choked out, “I am Hana. What is your name?”
There was no response. The barrel-like chest against which I rested seemed to go still, as if he had stopped breathing.
“I don’t know. Don’t remember,” he corrected himself stiffly. “It’s been … so long since I heard it. I am alone here.” A long pause. “I have been alone for a very long time.”
My lips parted in surprise, even as a memory seared through my brain, a memory of asking who he was once before, and his reply: Nobody.
What a terrible, lonely way to live.
Unhappy silence fell then, filled only with the low snapping and whispering of the fire. Just as I was beginning to think that I could trust him, I had managed to say the exact wrong thing. His silence and stillness felt like a chasm yawning between us now. And I found that I was sorry – and I wanted somehow to bridge the silence. Not to ask all the questions that burned inside me, to discover just what he meant – how could anyone forget their own name? − or where this strange home of his was, or what had happened to bring me here. Not even to attempt to placate him for my own safety. I had hurt him and I wanted to soothe the wound.
“Itsuki,” I said experimentally, testing the sound of it.
“What?” The word was distant, as if he had forgotten, or wished to forget, that I was there.
“It means—”
“Tree. I know.”
“You are as strong as a tree. Almost as big. And nearly as quiet. I must call you something, so if you do not mind, I will call you that. Itsuki-san.”
“Itsuki-san,” he repeated, but his voice wavered as if he was winded, and I felt him take a deep, deep breath. “Very well.” And then after another slightly too long pause: “Thank you. Are – are you feeling much pain now?”
Instinct immediately urged me to deny my true vulnerability. “Just … just a little.”
“Only a little?”
I did not answer.
He sighed. “I would like to examine your injuries. I am worried that what happened today may have caused the bleeding to start again.”
“I don’t think it has. I would feel it, wouldn’t I?”
“Perhaps. Still. There’s a salve I can apply which will numb you a little, and your bandages should be changed now anyway. They’ve dried out.”
What he said was sensible enough. I could not argue with it. But I wanted to.
Swallowing hard, I tilted my head back to look up at him. Though the fire burned brightly with golden light behind me, I could not make out his face. The heavy hood of his cloak hung low over his head, and he had turned a little away from me, so that the shadows hid him completely. I couldn’t even see the tiny glints of the firelight in his eyes. He had seen my wounds – seen me at my most broken and vulnerable − many times, and yet he would not let me see even his face. He was hiding from me on purpose.
He twitched – an almost imperceptible movement – under my steady gaze. As though I had held his eyes for too long and discomforted him, even though I had no idea where, in that too deep shadow under his hood, his eyes might be. His head turned away even more, ducking almost shyly.
“Itsuki-san—” I began quietly.
Wordlessly, he shook his head. The great shoulders hunched, and still he did not speak.
“Let me see you. I must see who you are.”
I didn’t allow any hint of pleading to creep into the words, but he seemed to feel it anyway. He made a tiny hissing sound, as if through his teeth. “You won’t like it. You – you’ll be afraid.”
“I am already afraid. Don’t you understand? I cannot let you do this unless… I have to see your face. You have to let me see who you are. Please.”
He let out his breath – a shaky, almost pained exhale. Then he carefully took my empty cup from my good hand, placed it down on the hearthstone behind me and unravelled me from his cloak. Leaving me on the tattered, colourful rug, he straightened up and took two long paces back.
Chilled by the silent withdrawal, I thought he would turn and walk out of the little room. Instead he lifted his hands to the hood of his cloak. The long, slender fingers seemed very pale against the dark material as they clenched down on it. His knuckles stood out, yellow and red with strain, trembling visibly.
Then he pushed the hood back – and in the same movement he pulled away more layers of dark fabric that had lain beneath it, swathed around his face like bandages – allowing his hair to spill out. He lifted his head to look at me. To let me see him.
My suddenly nerveless fingers slipped, and the fur fell away from my shoulders as I stared.
His hair was a thick, luxuriant curtain, raggedly chopped off at chin-length. It was pure white. White as the Moon, white as bone, white as death. His skin was almost as pale, smooth and poreless, without blemish or line or scar. His features were exquisitely carved, with high, round cheekbones, a perfectly proportioned nose, full lips and a firm yet faintly delicate, pointed chin. And his eyes. Such eyes. Large and deep-set, ringed with soft, silvery lashes … and green. The colour of Michi’s prized glass bottle – and glowing the way the glass did when the sun fell upon it and lit it up from within. No one had such colouring. No one. No one had such features. Every detail of Itsuki’s face was perfect.
He was the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on – and the most terrible.
His beauty was alien. Repellent. Like the vivid jewel-like colours of the most vicious, venomous snake, like the eerie garden of tormented dead trees and the music of its glass bells. It frightened me. No human face should be so perfect. No human face could be so perfect. He looked like something … inhuman. My mind rejected it, crying wrong wrong wrong.
He had been right to warn me. I wished I had never seen him. And yet I could not tear my gaze away.
At last, with a ragged sob, I managed to squeeze my eyes shut.
“I’m sorry,” he said, blankly. There was a soft rustle of fabric. “Sorry.”
Pressing my fist against my lips, I tried to compose myself. “No, I – I’m sorry. I can’t – it’s not – not your fault,” I mumbled from behind my hand.
There was more movement, and my eyes flew open as I realized that now he was walking away, heading for the doorway. His back was bent, and his shoulders slumped. The hood was back up.
“Itsuki-san,” I said, remorseful. I was driving him from his own home. “Don’t go.”
“You are frightened.” The gentle voice was dull.
“I’m not. Not any more. I don’t want you to leave.” I forced the words out, but as I said them, they became true. With more conviction, I continued, “I don’t want you to go away. I promise, Itsuki-san.”
His head lifted up a little, and he turned around. Slowly, as if each step were a struggle, he came back to the fire. I pointed at the threadbare rug where I sat, and more slowly still he sank down and seated himself beside me, though not very close.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “You warned me. I should have been able to … control myself better.”
“The first time I saw myself…” he whispered, so softly that I thought he half-wished I wouldn’t hear at all. “Saw my face reflected in a pool of water, I was sick.”
Dear Moon, grant me your strength. Grant me your wisdom. Let me think of the right thing to do. Cautiously, I reached out to him and laid my hand – my large, square, strong hand that still seemed tiny and fragile compared to his – over his long fingers, where they twitched restlessly on his knee.
His head jerked up. I saw the shape of his chin and his lips outlined in gold from the fire – he hadn’t had time yet to rewrap the cloth around his face. As unobtrusively as I could, I averted my eyes, trying not
to shudder. “Do you still want to examine my wounds today?”
The twitching fingers quieted. After a moment, he said, “Let me fetch my supplies.”
Nine
Based on past experience, I expected the peeling of the makeshift leaf bandages from my injuries to be excruciating, and braced myself to be as stoic about it as possible. But after the first layer of flaky, brittle leaves was lifted away, the ones beneath seemed still to be damp, and flexible, and rather than cracking scabs or ripping away painfully dry skin, they slid loose with barely a careful tug on the stranger’s – Itsuki’s – part.
“I soak them in oil made from the bark of this tree.” He waved a hand to indicate the walls around us. “It helps wounds to heal, and stops the leaves from adhering to the skin. The leaves come from it too. They have a quality which helps to prevent infection.”
I nodded, fixing my eyes firmly on the orange and gold ripples of the fire. Not just because I wanted to avoid another horrifying glimpse at his face but also because letting anyone, let alone someone I barely knew, so close to me when I was weak and vulnerable was uncomfortable, like fine cuts dealt by paper, stinging all over my body. It took a great deal of effort to stay still.
Clearing my throat, I said rather unevenly, “My village healer would happily murder you for the secret of such a thing.”
He made an absent-minded humming noise that could have been agreement or negation. “You were right, there’s no sign of blood here. I’ll put the salve on. It may sting, or be a little uncomfortable when I press. Tell me if it hurts too much.”
I nodded again, breathing in deeply through my nose, feeling my nostrils flare like a nervous horse’s.
“Hana-san. I mean it. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Despite my unease and embarrassment, I felt a crooked smile pull at one corner of my lips. “You are a strange healer. Normally they tell you to shut up and take your medicine and not whine about it if you know what’s good for you.”
He let out a little puff of breath. “So far, whining is not a problem I have encountered very much. My … patients aren’t ones for chatter.”
I only just stopped my eyes from flying to his face in surprise. I had assumed that he was here alone. “Your patients?”
“Animals large and small. Birds. And myself, of course. A quiet group, generally. You will tell me if it’s too much?”
“I will,” I said, not sure if I was telling the truth or not.
“Very well then.”
There was a little squeaky noise as he unscrewed a jar and then a sharp smell like crushed pine needles, perhaps, or camphor, or both and yet … different. It was so strong that it made my eyes water. The salve felt cool as Itsuki tracked it over the most tender, aching, burning hurts on my side, my arm, my hip. He touched me so lightly that it tickled, and I bit down on my lip to stop a faint snort-laugh slipping out. He paused.
“It’s … it’s all right,” I said. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”
The coolness had become a tingling sensation, like pins and needles, but growing stronger by the moment. Entirely against my will my eyes flicked away from the fire to look down at the wounds for the first time. A choke of shock escaped me.
I had been carved almost in two.
Ugly red wounds slashed deep, gouging my flesh into puffy pink runnels. No wonder I couldn’t move my arm. I might never move my arm again. At best I would be scarred for the rest of my life.
What had happened to me?
Screaming as the ground rose up to meet me.
What had happened to me?
Pain in my head. Vision wobbling and blurring, fighting desperately to move, to free myself, to stand.
What happened to me?
Starlight white sizzling in the black. Hot red jaws, gaping, eyes burning green. A colossal sound like thunder breaking around my head. Pale talons striking home—
What had happened?
“Hana-san, listen to me, listen to my voice. Hana!”
I coughed, whimpered, sucked in a whistling breath through a throat that seemed to have shrunk to a raw, dry channel three sizes too small, and opened eyes I didn’t even realize I had closed. Itsuki was leaning over me. His hands were firmly planted on my forearms, holding me still. The glimpse I got of his expression before I ripped my gaze away was stricken.
“Listen to me. You’re safe, Hana-san. You’re safe here. Just listen to my voice. Breathe out. Breathe for me. Come on. Breathe.”
I choked again and felt the panicked gasps turn into wet, undignified sobs as I finally caught my breath. “What happened to me?” I gasped roughly. “How did I get such wounds?”
He turned his head so that all I could see was the drooping folds of his hood, and removed his hands from my arms. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t… Don’t you know?”
“I can’t remember. There’s nothing but nightmares. Nothing real. Will I – will I be able to… My arm. How bad is it?”
He turned back quickly, and I saw the light reflecting from his wide, bright eyes. “Your arm will heal fully. You will use it again just as you did before. Even the scars will fade too in time. I give you my word.”
I let out a slow, shuddering exhale of relief. “Thank the Moon. You’re sure? My hand—”
“I give you my word,” he repeated, and his emphasis made it clear that he considered it an oath, a vow.
I nodded, letting my head roll sideways on its mossy pillow. I realized Itsuki’s salve had worked – the stabs of hot pain in my side had simmered down to a dull ache again, and without the constant pain, my body was slowly going limp, heavy with exhaustion. “Thank you. I’m … I’m so sorry. For all this trouble.”
“There is nothing to thank me for, and nothing to forgive.”
What a strange creature, I mused sleepily, to distain both apologies and thanks, no matter how richly deserved. “Don’t I need more … leaves?” I asked. “Bandages, I mean?”
“Yes, but not just now. You’ve been through a lot today. You can sleep.”
I hummed gratefully, letting my eyes drift shut, then frowned. The wounds… They were red and vicious looking … but they were almost completely closed, as Itsuki had said. I was no healer, but surely…?
“Itsuki-san,” I murmured muzzily. “How long have I been here, with you?”
There was a barely noticeable hesitation. “Time may not pass here as it does beyond the thorns – in the outside world that you know. All I can tell you is that the sun has set on the maze ten times since I found you.”
At the very back of my mind, an alarm sounded, ringing like the village warning bell, and bringing faint ripples of remembered panic and fear. Ten times? Ten days? Could that really be true? Itsuki had no reason to lie, surely, but … I had been here for almost a fortnight already? Ten days was too long. Far too long. I was running out of time. But … time for what?
My stomach churned with the feeling that I had forgotten something – something very important indeed. But as I reached out to try and grasp these thoughts, they turned to mist and dissolved, leaving nothing but a faint sense of anxiety behind.
Why can’t I remember? What can’t I remember?
What happened to me…?
By the time my exhausted slumber broke, it was dark. I was sure I had never been so ill before, so seriously injured, but I wondered if all invalids experienced this side effect of time swooping away in great expanses whenever they paused to rest or closed their eyes. And if so, did they find it as disconcerting, frightening, as I did? Days were slipping through my hands like grains of sand. Time was running out.
My brows knitted together as I tried to work out what it was, this thing that I had forgotten to do. Why so urgent? The memories that could have lent my feelings a solid foundation, or even just context, remained elusive.
When I turned my head towards the light of the fire, the stranger – no, Itsuki, I must remember that – was there, stirring a battered old iron pot hung over the hearth. When he sa
w me looking at him, he replaced the lid on the pot, stood, and moved around the fire towards me. Something in the set of his shoulders and hooded head conveyed concern.
“I’m all right,” I assured him, voice croaking. “It’s dark – did I sleep for hours?”
“Not for many hours. It is only evening. The shadow of the tree swallows up the sunlight early.” He was kneeling beside me as he spoke, and drawing the basket filled with the oily leaves towards him. “Do you … feel strong enough to sit up?” His hands curled and uncurled around the handle of the basket as the words trailed off.
I thought about all the times he must have bandaged and unbandaged me when I was bleeding and unconscious, or perhaps raving and fighting him, when he had not known yet if I would live or die. Not pleasant remembrances for him.
“I can sit,” I said, extending my hand to him.
Itsuki shook his head. “You’ll strain something that way. Here.”
He bent over me and lifted my body up into a sitting position without so much as a grunt of effort.
“Show off,” I accused, half-serious. I wasn’t sure I liked anyone feeling free to heave me around just as they pleased. Even this man. Especially this man.
Again that soft huffing noise. “Says she who went running around the maze alone the moment she could stand from her sickbed. You were lucky you didn’t kill yourself. You must have the constitution of an ox.”
I didn’t have an answer to that – or none which it seemed wise to utter. “You called it that before,” I said, a few moments later, when Itsuki was fully engrossed in rebandaging my shoulder. “A maze. Is that what this place is?”
“Yes, a maze of thorn hedges, as you saw.”
“But then who made it?” And once one question had slipped out, I couldn’t stop the rest. “Am I still on Otsukimi no Yama? Where do all the strange animals and plants come from? I didn’t recognize a single one, and I know plants and animals. How could it get so dangerously cold so fast? I was walking in broad sunlight!”
His hands didn’t slow as he replied. I wondered if he had had been preparing himself for this blizzard of questions while I slept. “The maze was created by some kind of great magic, or curse, which I do not pretend to understand. My home, this garden, lies within it, but is only a tiny part of the whole. As far as I know, the maze is hidden within the deepest forests of Mount Moonview. The animals and plants … they are foreign to me, too. Or they were, when first I came here. I do not know if they hale from other lands, or if perhaps the enchantment created them. But they are real now, and they live and die as other plants and creatures do, though some of them have qualities or … abilities that I have never known before.”