Necrosis (The Omens of Gaia Book 1)

by H. C. Damrosch

  “Keren, of Herayon.”

  The two women giggled again and pointed at themselves: “We are Teruka and Nanoe, of Shinrin!”

  Keren bowed to each of them in turn. “Thank you for giving me safety within your walls.”

  “It is no trouble!” They replied. “The hanshi, our elders, will be pleased to question you on your strange ways, and to hear news of what other foreigners are up to.”

  “Er, gladly…can they also tell me what you all are hiding from?”

  “Ah, in good time! Come, we will show you where to refresh yourself.”

  Keren followed them through the narrow streets of the village. The houses were all squat and built of wood, their roofs carved into whimsical designs she had never seen before. The eaves were so delicate and graceful that she fancied they must have fairies living under them. Paper lanterns hung from the eaves, their warm glow lighting the narrow ways between the houses. Everywhere the people bustled, carrying in their harvests from the fields to process at the mills. There was milk to be churned, fresh meat to be salted and cured. Keren guessed they must have a separate palisade built for their livestock. Her own horse was put up for the night in a small corral near the gate.

  Every so often she would glimpse the archers standing watch along the walls. In the distance, toward the center of town, a building of many tiers rose. Its wooden walls were dyed richly in white and red, and a plethora of lanterns hung from each tier. A golden spire rose from the utmost peak, adorned with bells of many sizes. These, Keren supposed, must have been the ones which sounded the warning for nightfall.

  After depositing their goods Mataro sent her off with the women to prepare for the evening meal. To Keren’s surprise they headed straight to the village bathhouse. Inside the building was an open room surrounding a rocky pool, with a wooden divider separating the men’s from the women’s sections. Clouds of steam rose from the milky water. Keren looked in amazement at the crowds of women frolicking in the steam, vigorously scrubbing one-another with handfuls of porous stone.

  Teruka and Nanoe grabbed hold of her at once and eagerly ripped off her road-stained clothes. Keren hardly thought to protest, since they were simultaneously discarding their own robes with equal abandon. With broad smiles they urged her into the pool. Keren gasped at the heat of the water, lancing through her body as soon as her toes broke the steaming surface.

  The crowds of women all looked her over in fascination. “Ooh, a strange girl! A foreigner! Where did you find her? She is so pale! Brown hair, almond eyes! Where is she from, where is she from?”

  Keren tried to gasp out her name and birthplace as a dozen of them fell on her with frenzied washings and loud demands. “Do all from your country look as you do? Your hair is so soft! How far was it to travel here? Did wild beasts try to eat you on the way? Are you all alone? Is there a handsome companion you can introduce us to?”

  “Yes, everyone looks like this where I come from!” Keren shrieked over their insistent voices. “Except the men grow great bushy beards, and their hair is long and curly! I traveled several months to get here, and no, I did not get eaten by wild animals! I, uh, had a companion until, um, recently. But he said it was no fun traveling with a girl, and left me all alone. He wanted to go off by himself looking for great adventures!”

  Many of the women laughed and clapped their hands. “A brave one, he, to seek adventure all alone! Fortunate that he left you near our village, else he would have been shamed for leaving you to the mercy of the forest! They do not take kindly to pretty maidens, the yokai! Tell us more, tell us more!”

  Keren found it quite natural to exaggerate the details in order to provoke a more exuberant reaction from them. They laughed often, but she began to feel reassured that it was not all mocking laughter. They were genuinely excited to encounter someone so absurdly different from them. And Keren felt the same. When she was a girl, it was the foreign merchants who had always provoked the greatest interest; the ones bearing the most exotic tales from the farthest lands. As long as they accepted the elders’ hospitality with grace and did not inflate their prices too outrageously, that is. Keren reminded herself to not get on the bad side of whoever the hanshi were.

  “What are these ‘yokai’ you mention, that you have so many guards watching for?” She asked. “And why is the water here so warm?!”

  “It’s a hot spring!” they cried, splashing the water gleefully. “You do not have mountains where you come from? All around there are underground currents which heat the water and send it into these pools! As for the yokai – the hanshi will tell you of them! They are very frightening, very dangerous! You should be grateful to have escaped them!”

  They pulled her out of the pool and spent a busy minute drying one-another. Keren couldn’t help but giggle at the feeling of other hands rubbing towels all over her. Strange as this environment was, it also felt familiar. Her village too had practiced communal bathing; every week in summer the women and girls would troop down to the river and wash in the cool currents. In winter they would haul buckets up into the larger town houses and heat them over the fire, before taking turns dunking each-other in the wooden tubs. Like any tedious but necessary activity, bathing was made easier and more enjoyable with more bodies to join in the work.

  The women oiled their hair and donned fresh robes, dyed in bright colors for the evening hour. Keren never saw her clothes from Xiramin again; instead she was squeezed into a robe of her own. Her hair was wound up in a neat coif and a wide sash tied around her waist. The women also wore prim black slippers that barely peeked beneath the hems of their robes. Once attired, they all proceeded to the tiered building at the center of the village.

  They met the men along the way, whom the women greeted with coy smiles. They all packed into the bustling hall where several cooks stood guard over steaming cauldrons. Keren gazed around in nervous anticipation at the close press of bodies. These people were fairer-skinned than the Pouthenians, but also showed greater signs of wear from the sun and weather. Their eyes and hair were black, and gleamed like water on smooth stones. They were also short in stature, and Keren realized to her surprise that she could look most of the men straight in the eye. Or she would have, had they not been so intimidating. Hospitable though they were, these people were born of the mountains and forests, and carried a certain ferocity in their airs and movements. Their gaze was impenetrable, both infinitely patient and infinitely wary.

  Every villager brought their own bowl to be served out of the communal pot. The village hanshi – elderly men adorned with wispy beards and black robes – sat closest to the bounty on small floor-cushions. The younger men sat nearest them, the women around them, and the children along the walls. When all were seated, the hanshi intoned a solemn prayer thanking the gods of beast and field for the meal, with requests for future prosperity. All were silent for the next length of time as they busied themselves in their bowls.

  Keren ate as though she were famished, having survived on dried rations for what felt like forever. Hot, fresh meat and vegetables were a blessing. It didn’t matter that she had no idea what any of the food was. The main crop these people grew was a grain that looked like a white seed, starchy and filling when boiled in water. It was as satisfying as any bread she had ever eaten.

  When the congregation had finished the cooks cleaned the cauldrons and brought out large kettles of pungent tea. Again every person produced a teacup from somewhere on their person and was served. Keren sniffed the brew suspiciously, but found the taste to be not unpleasant. She only hoped these people did not enjoy putting hallucinogens or other drugs in their brews.

  The hanshi pondered their cups solemnly, sipping and nodding for several minutes as they enjoyed the beverage. Finally one of them turned his attention to Keren. He was the oldest, wrinkled and stooped with age, like a twig plucked from a winter branch. And yet when he spoke, his voice was as clear and strong as one of half his years: “My children, we have an honored guest tonight.”
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br />   Keren quailed as a roomful of eyes turned toward her. She managed a tiny smile, and Teruka patted her arm reassuringly.

  “We have heard our guest hails from the land of Herayon. Tell us, stranger, what goes on there in these times?”

  Keren swallowed hard. As used as she was to beating up Akar about what was done to her people, somehow it was an entirely different thing to relate such horrors to these strangers. Like those in Xiramin, they only wished to satisfy their curiosity, and had no real cause to care. “Herayon…my people…were not as prosperous as your land, but lived happily until recent times. They have been taken over by a tyrant, a necromancer named Belshazzar.”

  The people of Iru Mori gasped. “We heard of this; it happened many years ago. Are you saying the upstart king still holds power? We were uncertain if the tribes were strong enough to overthrow him. The last visitors here were very disturbed – they said strange presences wandered that land, ghosts without faces who took people in the night. They spoke of a king who claimed to rule over these spirits, but they did not venture to say if he had been successful.”

  Keren grimaced. “He was. Almost half of the tribes have been slaughtered by him now. His minions – the undead spirits – wander the land in force, corrupting the minds of my people.” She tried not to think about Akar, lingering just within reach of her mind somewhere in the darkness beyond the palisade. She really shouldn’t worry… That thing didn’t care what rumors she spread about the Necrow.

  The group of hanshi nodded solemnly, and the eldest spoke again: “Your story rings of truth, for such spirits haunt our lands as well. Not –” and he raised a hand, “as you have described, but similar. Our specters come not from death, but from the bosom of the earth. We revere them as guardians of life, but, like much of nature, they are fickle as well. Ask of us what you will, stranger. We are glad to answer any questions travelers have about our wondrous land, for it is unlike any other in the world!”

  Keren rubbed her hands around her cup nervously. It was difficult to think with so many eyes on her. A hand reached over and topped off the tea in her cup; she looked up and saw Nanoe grinning broadly. “Ask!” she said in a loud whisper.

  Keren blushed. “When I was traveling here, the seasons changed very quickly. Winter became spring in only a few weeks. Yet…I saw some calendars in Xiramin, and they said spring should not be here for another month at least. How is this possible? Why is your land blooming when all others sleep under snow?”

  The hanshi chuckled softly. “The kingdom of Iru Mori is blessed, stranger. You saw the mountains yonder when you arrived. Nestled in the cradle of those peaks is a great lake, which we call Izanami. It is the heart of all creation. Its waters well up from the center of the earth, bearing life-energy which enriches the entire realm. The lake itself is sacred, and the streams which flow from it are blessed. Wherever those waters run the land knows no winter. The trees shed their leaves, but remain always green. Flowers wilt and die, but new buds arise at once to take their place. The crops are always in season, as are the livestock and wild game. It is truly a paradise other men can only dream of.”

  Keren listened to this in awe. “That is incredible! I would not have believed such a paradise was possible, if I did not see it for myself. My people come from a poor land. They could never even imagine such a place…”

  The hanshi smiled. “It is the privilege of our people that we should be blessed with such a land. Our Great Ancestor Kazikuro was the first man chosen by the Harbinger of Heaven to settle his tribe here. But beware: Iru Mori is not the virgin paradise you imagine it to be! It is also one of the places of the gods, shared by the spirits as well as man. Strange entities roam the forests here. We call them yokai, creatures of earth that prowl the night and devour the hearts of men.”

  “Oh…I see…Is that why you keep guards on the walls at night?”

  “It is so.”

  A woman spoke up then. “Revolting creatures! They are parasites which seek to devour us to sate their endless greed!”

  One of the other hanshi turned to her, “You speak rashly, child. The yokai were here long before our ancestors stepped foot on this soil. They are the true rulers of the forests, the rivers and the sky. Selfish and ravenous, yes, but they are also stewards and guardians of the land. Respect must be shown to them.”

  “Why? They are beasts which hunt us for sport and mock us with arbitrary decrees; their queen sends her winds to spy on everything we do and inflicts punishments to suit her whims!”

  Keren felt Akar’s presence stir restlessly at the borders of her mind. “You have a queen?”

  The hanshi shook his head. “Not as other kingdoms do. Queen Amaterasu is the ruler of the yokai, not of men. We pay tribute to her with every turn of the moon, but she does not pass decrees as a human ruler does. Her creatures claim to do her bidding, but it is unknown what her actual wishes are. She resides in Ozora no Kyuden, and has never been seen by human eyes.”

  “What is Ozora no Kyuden?”

  “The Palace of Heaven which rests on the island at the center of the Lake of Izanami. It is said Amaterasu was set to guard the well of life in the lake, long before our First Ancestor ever settled here.”

  “The yokai and their mistress seek to hoard its power for themselves!” the woman cried. Keren sensed a great stirring in the hall, murmurs among the people who quietly agreed with her words. “They despise humans; they attack us and feed on our hearts like vultures! Why should we owe allegiance to such creatures?”

  Mataro spoke up then: “The yokai are agents of nature. They are as pitiless as earthquakes and storms, as ageless as the cycle of the stars. It is futile to ask them to adhere to human notions of fairness. We pay them tribute because we must, much as the fields must be fertilized and slaughtered beasts cleansed of lingering malice. It is in accord with the ways of the world.”

  “But they are more than animals, Mataro! They can speak – they can even understand reason when they choose to! Why honor such creatures that have no notion of honor or justice themselves? Where is the sense in that? They abuse us without end; why don’t we fight back?!”

  “Unpleasant they may be, but that does not abolish our own duty!” Mataro insisted. “We are human: therefore we are bound to our honor. Though the yokai do not know honor, they act in accordance with the will of nature.”

  “Not this one! Queen Amaterasu has grown arrogant from centuries of rule. Her lust for power nearly outstrips her lust for men!”

  The oldest hanshi spoke again: “Nevertheless, it is not in the interest of Shinrin to take up swords against the ruler of the yokai. It would be suicide to do so.” The old man gazed hard at the young woman. She blushed, and slowly subsided back into the crowd.

  The villagers sat in silence for several moments. Keren squirmed uncomfortably, unable to read the currents of emotion in these people. Their dark eyes and solemn features were careful to reveal nothing.

  Finally one of the other men in the crowd stirred. “We do as we have done before: pray to the kami for wisdom and guidance. The Harbingers of Heaven cannot forsake this land for long!”

  “What are the kami?” Keren whispered, afraid of speaking up.

  “They are the Sacred Beasts,” the old hanshi said. Apparently his ancient ears were still quite keen. “Animals who were granted divine ordinance by the gods. They are above the yokai, and are faithful servants of Heaven. It is said they have the power to command elemental forces.”

  “Each one represents a certain virtue,” one of the women said. “Like the Phoenix: kami of chastity!” All the women in the circle looked slyly askance at their menfolk, giggling.

  “The kami provide balance against the malevolent forces of the world. But they are rarely seen,” the hanshi said wearily. “Not many people believe in them anymore. Never have we heard foreigners speak of these creatures, although the Sacred Beasts must sometimes visit other lands than ours.”

  “Yes,” Keren said slowly. “I think I k
now what you’re talking about. There were folk tales among my people. They spoke of holy animals that protected virtue and sometimes brought messages from God. We did not talk about them much after childhood, but we inherited the myths from our predecessors…those who live in the north.”

  “Ah, yes! Rhodinia….True believers are rare there as well, though they have done better at preserving the old ways!” The hanshi cackled. “Blasted fools – once a generation they try to invade the villages along the borders of Iru Mori, but never succeed! It seems the gods do not side with them, despite what they claim.”

  Keren laughed despite herself. She liked to believe the Rhodinians still held some filial sentiment for her people, but the truth was probably that it simply was not worth the effort for them to raid the relatively poor tribes of Herayon.

  The hanshi finished their tea and nodded agreeably. “This has been a good night.” They looked at Keren. “All strangers are welcome within our walls who seek shelter from the yokai. The wilderness of Iru Mori is more dangerous than all the other lands combined. We expect no reparations for our hospitality. However, we also do not expect visitors to stay any longer than what is necessary to recuperate from their travels.”

  Keren nodded. “I thank you for your generosity, and plan to leave the day after tomorrow. My… companion is waiting for me at the edge of the plain.”

  The old men solemnly held out their folded hands. “We wish you well on your journey, wherever you may go. Our prayers also go out to your country, that it not succumb to the darkness. The kami still stalk the world in one guise or another. You just might encounter one yourself, foreigner, if you are fortunate!”

  After that the hanshi gave leave for the villagers to disperse. Some took up seats just outside the hall, smoking long pipes in the starlit evening, their eyes turned towards the outer walls. The women escorted Keren to one of their sleeping quarters, where they laid out rows of mats on the floor to sleep. The windows were left open to let in the cool breeze. Keren listened absently for the feral howls of the monsters these people feared so, but heard nothing. Strange…They were even more superstitious than old Malak had been.