The only problem was he didn’t have wheat or rice straw to weave it. Both were resource greedy crops that the war had wiped out and left the land and water too toxic to breed. The seeds remained locked away in the Svalbard Global Seed Vault, accessible only by corporations specializing in hydroponics.
He read a bit further and then laughed as he found a sketch of a seven-pointed leaf. Of course, hemp!
It was a remarkably hardy plant when one didn’t care about THC content. It was one of the few flora that survived the war. Like the sunflower, it could flourish despite high levels of radiation. There was even a grove of it within Notia’s protective barrier. In the years past, they’d harvested the plant for its fibers and medicinal flowers.
Bolstered by his good fortune, Kanruo grabbed his sickle and headed outside.
The grove wasn’t far. A cool spring breeze made the foliage surrounding him sway, carrying the sounds of birds through the sunlight dappled leaves.
A twig snapped under his foot as he pushed through the ferns and tall grasses, entirely focused on his goal.
A soft pit-a-pat followed him.
He froze at the disturbance, risking a glance over his shoulder. They were far enough north for lynx, but the felines seldom shared territory with wolves.
Pit-a-pat. Pit-a-pat.
Was it a wolverine? Or a bear cub that had wandered from its mother’s side?
The woods stilled and the birdsong ceased. Kanruo held his breath as he pivoted around in an attempt to pinpoint the sound’s source.
Pit-a-pat. Pit-a-pat.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He could feel eyes watching him, their gaze heavy and burning. His hand went to his sickle.
“Who’s there?” he called out to the trees. A beast wouldn’t answer him and might even be startled away. Something more supernatural, however, would pose a greater challenge.
Minutes dragged by as the silence compressed the gravity around him.
Kanruo let his breath out and turned, continuing toward the hemp grove.
We are here . . . A scratchy voice rose from the earth around him. It leaked out of the tree bark, bitter and gummy as it sank into his ears.
Pit-a-pat. Pit-a-pat. The soft footsteps followed him as he crossed the stream. There before him was the grove, nestled in a patch of sunlight between two towering pines.
He needed the male plants in order to get the softest fibers. They would have thicker stalks, fewer leaves, and at the branch joints, there would be kernel-shaped buds that contained their pollen.
Pit-a-pat. Pit-a-pat.
Kanruo ignored the sound as he began to cut the hemp. He swatted blindly behind him with the stalk, trying to shoo the presence away. It didn’t seem like it could hurt him.
Your desire opened the way for us, just a sliver, but enough. The words were a mouse’s squeak, faint and weak beneath a collapsed burrow.
He poured all his focus into cutting the thick stalks of hemp, but the sensation of being watched didn’t cease. Had he really let something in?
The whispers slowly faded. When he finally straightened from his task, the woods had returned to normal. A choir of birds filled the air with song and the wind had picked up, cooling the sweat forming on his brow. A few adventurous honeybees sought out spring flowers.
No footsteps followed him home. No murmurs tickled his ears as he began the laborious process of bludgeoning the stalks and separating the hemp fibers.
When he looked up again, the clouds were painted purple and red with the sunset. His neck had a crick in it and his fingers were raw from teasing the filaments apart, but he felt better. He was invigorated, lighter, and more at peace after the labor. With a grunt, he stood, gathering the strands to soak them in a bucket of water overnight.
Tomorrow, he would begin weaving the shimenawa and hang it on his doorframe with the shide.
He would find the answers he sought and unravel the remaining truths still hidden from him. It would just take time and a more careful approach, he told himself as he swished the strands around in the cold water.
Pit-a-pat. Pit-a-pat. The steps echoed through the garden.
He froze.
Pit-a-pat . . . Pit-a-pat.
Slowly, he straightened and squinted in the dying light. But he was alone in the garden.
The warm peace within him evaporated and in its place a gelid, tumultuous ocean thrashed. The riptide caught him and dragged him down beneath the surface.
Where are you? The voice from the forest creaked.
Where are you?
WHERE ARE YOU?
“Kanruo.” He jumped as a hand touched his shoulder.
It was only Notia, carrying with her the scent of cloves, mint, and pepper. He let out a breath of relief as the scent revived him, forcing his head above the surface of the ocean of dread.
Did she not hear the whispers seeping through the darkness?
“I came to get you for dinner.” She leaned close, studying him. “You’re pale. Is everything all right?”
He nodded. “Fine. I’m fine. I was just . . . lost in thought.” He could handle this on his own. He didn’t need her help. He’d be fine.
But as he followed Notia back inside, a cold finger traced down his spine. Eyes were on him once more, watching from afar, waiting for the right moment to creep closer.
Kanruo sat on the floor of his room, the hemp laid out before him. Bright spring sunlight poured through his window, giving everything a golden glow.
Another two days of drying and peeling away the outer layer of the stalks left him with soft, malleable fibers. They made a low rustling sound as he arranged them on the floor into fist-sized bundles, tying off one end with a length of cord.
He bit his lip as he focused on the tricky task of braiding the hemp as he twisted it.
Pit-a-pat. Pit-a-pat.
Just a bird at the window, fighting its reflection, Kanruo told himself.
Do you want to know?
He looked up at the question, but he was alone in his room. There was no bird on his windowsill. With a shake of his head, he returned to his task.
The hemp was determined to rebel against him as he tried to braid it. The strands unfurled from the tight twists at the slightest provocation.
Perhaps it was too thick? Or maybe trying to do a three-piece plait was overly ambitious?
Or maybe this is a waste of time?
Kanruo huffed, shaking his head to clear it. Whatever these intrusive thoughts were, he wanted them gone.
As if you could get rid of us.
“Shut up,” he muttered to himself as he halved the bundle of hemp.
Twist. Twist. Twist.
This time, he pinned the strand with his foot before twining the second half.
Twist. Twist. Twist.
Holding his breath, Kanruo took the two twisted bundles and began to interlace them.
Yes, it was coming together! He just had to keep twisting as he wrapped the halves together and—
A sharp nip behind his ear shattered his concentration. He yelped, dropping the half-woven bundle to slap at the spot.
What the hell?
Pit-a-pat. Pit-a-pat.
The sunlight from his window dimmed. Gray clouds roiled in the sky and rain began to plink against the glass.
With a sigh, he picked the bundle back up. All his work had come undone. He glared at the hemp, certain that the plant was mocking him.
Maybe if he worked the fibers more, they would hold their shape? Perhaps he was rushing the process?
Perhaps you’re a fool, little witch.
“Stop it,” he whispered through clenched teeth.
No. You opened the door. You let us in.
He took a deep breath, holding it as he listened to the rain collide with the window.
Calm. He just had to be calm.
With an exhale, he began to twist the hemp again.
The ghostly feeling of spider feet tiptoed along his scalp as he worked, trying to di
vert his attention from the task.
Twist. Twist. Wrap.
Sleek gray apparitions glided along the edges of his peripheral vision, skittering away the moment he looked up.
Outside, the cloudburst passed and sunlight poured through his window once more. Bit by bit, the sacred rope began to take form. As he found the rhythm, the work became meditative and the meddlesome whispers faded away.
But the presence did not.
Pit-a-pat. Pit-a-pat. It stalked around the perimeter of his room.
Hot breath kissed the shell of his ear and Kanruo stiffened. He rubbed his ear against his shoulder, unwilling to lose the progress he’d made on the shimenawa.
“Go away,” he told it firmly. His skin prickled, every hair standing on end.
The specter offered no snide reply this time, but its gaze refused to waver.
He refused to acknowledge it further, pouring his energy into completing the plait.
An hour later, he had a three-foot braid. He tied the working end off, smoothing over the fibers.
Yes! He’d done it!
His back cracked as he stood up and stretched. Joy bubbled up inside him as he strung the shimenawa across his door frame. Carefully, he took the shide down and attached the delicate streamers to the braid.
He stepped back to analyze his work.
The tension in his shoulders eased as he gazed at the sacred items. The weight on his shoulders lifted, and each breath he took filled him with new motivation to continue down his path.
Notia’s words of warning echoed in his memory, but he pushed them aside.
He would find his parents, just as he’d found this part of himself.
Are you so sure? The voice echoed, needling at the back of his thoughts.
“So? What did you find out?” Alrik asked as they sat in the private room of their favorite café, his hair a bright purple now. A strategic holo-card game took up most of the table.
“That uncertain doom awaits me if I keep looking for my parents.” Kanruo sighed, staring at his coffee. He was only half-heartedly playing the game between them.
Even with the shimenawa completed, the feeling that something was lurking over his shoulder had returned with a vengeance. It crept ever closer, vanishing from sight every time he sought to identify it. Each whisper hollowed him out a little more, leaving him drained and irritable.
“But they’re both alive.”
“Ah, see? Progress!” Alrik toasted with his own mug of coffee, but Kanruo didn’t return the gesture. “Oh, come on, you’ve worked hard! You should celebrate! Tell me more! Did you get a look at their faces? Did you get their names?”
Kanruo didn’t feel much like celebrating, not when alarms kept ringing in his head. Not when the soft padding of many feet dogged him at every turn. “Saw my dad’s face, almost saw my mom’s before Notia caught me.”
“Oh, she’s the one who gave you the doom prophecy then.” Alrik pulled a hand through his hair as he considered his next move in the game. “I mean, what’s the worst it could be? You’re the lovechild of some illicit affair?”
“That wouldn’t be half bad, but it would make sense. It would explain why so many people died.”
“You think they were, like, political rivals?”
“Considering that I saw my dad in some sort of gentlemen’s club.” Kanruo scrunched up his nose at the idea. “I doubt he was ever in politics.”
“Oh, come on, politicians love skeevy joints! There was a scandal in England just last week. Your turn.” Alrik finally made his move, shifting three of the cards into an attack formation.
“There’s a scandal every week.” Kanruo rolled his eyes. It didn’t put him closer to the truth, though. He needed contact. he needed to know, directly from the source, what had happened. He stared at the cards sprawled between them, hoping they might cast some illumination on his plight.
Of course they didn’t. They were just game cards, after all.
We could tell you, a voice creaked from within the walls. Kanruo glanced at the old café wallpaper with mistrust. From the other side, the centuries-old plumbing groaned and shuddered. It was nothing, he told himself as he set down a series of defensive cards.
“So, what’re you going to do now?” Alrik asked. “About your parents, I mean, not the game. The game, you’re obviously done for.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure where I go from here.”
“You’ll figure something out. You’re clever like that.” Alrik patted his hand, letting it rest there for a few seconds. Kanruo felt a surge of warmth rush through him.
“You’ve still got purple dye in your cuticles,” he remarked. Alrik glanced at his fingers, and then a mischievous smile crept across his face.
“You should let me dye your hair sometime. We’d have to lighten it first so the color really pops.” He studied Kanruo’s hair, bound back in its usual half-up bun. He was already figuring out what blends to use.
Kanruo wasn’t sure how Notia would feel about his coming back home with a head full of brightly colored hair.
But on the other hand, it would give him an excuse to spend more time with Alrik and put them in close proximity. It could be a nice distraction. “Well, maybe just a little bit.”
“Sure, we can just do a section underneath so it can be hidden. I think a crimson red would be good, unless you want a different color?” Alrik was grinning with glee.
“Nah, I trust your judgment. You’re the one with all the experience.” Kanruo nearly bit his tongue at the words. The unintentional double-entendre made his cheeks go as red as the proposed dye Alrik suggested. He promptly took a sip of coffee to try and hide his face.
To his relief, though, Alrik didn’t seem to notice as he had already launched into the topic of different dye types and techniques.
“Okay, I’m gonna take your hair down and see what we’re working with,” Alrik told him as they crammed into the tiny bathroom on the second floor of Björn’s house.
Kanruo sat perched on the closed toilet as Alrik removed his hair stick. Tingles raced down his spine as the other’s boy’s fingers began to comb through his hair. He swallowed, the sound obscenely loud in his own ears.
This was fine. This was perfectly normal. There was no reason to be nervous. Friends dye each other’s hair all the time. He just had to relax. Just relax. Just relax.
“You all right with me brushing it?” Alrik interrupted his cycling thoughts.
“Y–yeah, that’s fine.” He winced as his voice cracked.
Alrik patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t screw up.”
“I trust you,” he managed to say through a timid cough. His mouth had gone dry and a blush heated his cheeks.
Alrik hummed as he began brushing his hair. Kanruo couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through him. Gooseflesh dotted his body, and he had to remind himself to let out the breath he’d been holding.
Alrik snorted. “Nothing quite like getting your hair brushed, huh?”
“It feels amazing,” Kanruo muttered, his eyes sliding shut as he let the blissful sensation fill him, the gentle scraping of the bristle against his scalp, the rustling sound echoing in his ears.
Notia had brushed his hair as a child, but this was different. It made his heart dance in his chest, his worries melt away. The itching sensation of the shadows watching him vanished, and the world focused on just him and Alrik. He wanted the moment to last forever.
It could . . .
“Did you say something?” Kanruo glanced back at Alrik.
“Nope, but we should get started lightening your hair.” Alrik put the brush down.
Kanruo sighed and turned to watch the other boy rummage through the cabinet.
“So the primary ingredient in hair bleach used to be hydrogen peroxide,” Alrik explained. “But its ridiculously harsh and damaging, also time consuming. You had to bleach, wash it out, dry it, then apply the dye and wash it again. Fortunately for us, we don’t live in the dar
k ages of the Twenty-First Century anymore.”
With a grunt, he emerged from the depths of the cabinet with a cordless flat iron that had a cartridge attached to it.
“Now we use sonic lasers.” Alrik snapped the flat iron a few times with a grin. “Don’t worry, you won’t go bald. We just have to dial it to the pigmentation level.”
Kanruo eyed the flat iron. “Sonic lasers?”
“Yeah. Your hair will turn yellow initially, so don’t freak out.”
“You’re going to put a laser in my hair, and you want me to be calm?”
“It’s perfectly safe, I promise. Loads of folks use them.”
“Uh-huh. And after you blast the color out, then what?”
Alrik dove back into the cabinet, bumping his head as he did so. He emerged with another brush and a bottle of crimson red fluid.
“Then we load up the brush and apply it. The brush uses low heat to set the new color, and the dye has a hydrating oil in it to refresh your hair.”
He set the items on the counter and put a hand on Kanruo’s shoulder. “I’ll take good care of you, promise.”
The witch bit his lip, staring hard at the cosmetic apparatuses. Alrik’s hand was warm and comforting. The lightheadedness had returned, and his heart had morphed into a jackrabbit. He licked his lips a few times and swallowed. It was always a bit harder to think when Alrik maintained his touch.
You could have this forever . . . a windswept voice cooed in the back of his mind.
He willed his hand not to tremble as he brushed his fingers against Alrik’s. That only made the nerves worse. He was making a fool of himself. He just had to—
Alrik clasped his hand, and Kanruo was certain that his heart would explode.
“Hey, breathe, it’s just hair dye.” Alrik gave his hand a squeeze. “You all right? You’re almost as red as the colorant.”
He forced himself to exhale. “Y–Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He didn’t want to let go of Alrik’s hand. When he turned his head, Alrik’s face was inches from his, peering at him with concern.
The Last Moon Witch Page 9