She looked at the Dragon Sword protruding from her bag and smiled. “I used it as a talisman. I felt that if I had it with me, I would find you.”
“Why did you come looking for me?” Chihaya whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Because I wanted to apologize.”
“Apologize?”
“For thinking that you killed Natsume.”
“But what does it mean, to apologize?”
She looked at him, perplexed, and then realized that he actually did not understand. “It means to say ‘I’m sorry.’ But don’t you know that?”
“I’ve never heard the word before,” he said seriously.
“Well! What a predicament!”
For the first time Saya felt that she understood what the novices had been taught in the Palace of Light; why a priestess who lost favor with the gods was held responsible to the degree that she would take her own life. It was because the gods could not forgive. If one erred, one could not make amends. There was no second chance. For the immortal Children of Light, this was accepted as a matter of course. The words of Princess Teruhi came back to her: “ . . . we who may never hope, nay, are not permitted to run away from our mistakes.” To them, reflecting on one’s mistakes must surely appear to be an aberration. Saya suddenly felt unsure of herself and, with eyes downcast, began hesitantly to explain.
“To apologize is to tell someone that you realize you’ve made a mistake, that you wish you’d never done it. And then to beg them, in consideration of this feeling, not to punish you, not to be angry with you; to ask them to forget the past and have no bitter feelings. I know it’s a very selfish thing to do. But among our people, when we realize that we’ve done something wrong, the first thing we do is apologize . . .” Saya’s voice grew fainter, finally fading away completely.
Chihaya remained silent. Just when she felt sure that he could not understand, he asked abruptly, “Then, if I apologize, do you think Lord Ibuki will forgive me?”
“He already forgave you, even before you could apologize,” Saya replied gently.
“Can I see him again?”
“No.”
“Then he died?”
Seeing Saya nod slightly, Chihaya said softly, “Then it’s the same as not being forgiven.”
“No, it isn’t!” she said hastily. “That’s not true. Before he died, Lord Ibuki said that he hoped to see you once more. In some other guise, he said. After all, we have the saying ‘until we meet again.’ ”
“I don’t understand.” Chihaya turned his face away and pressed his forehead against his arms, which were folded upon his knees. “Everyone dies. Natsume died right before my eyes. She sought my help, but I could only watch her die. I’m different. I can’t be like my brother or my sister, yet I’m shunned by the people of Darkness. I only cause harm to Toyoashihara. Do you think that gods or people can be brought back to life just by apologizing? It can’t be done. Because I cannot go to the Land of the Dead to apologize.”
“If you think that you’re all alone, you’re wrong,” Saya said. “I’m here.”
“But even you, Saya, you’ll die, too. You, too, will leave me.”
“Yes, that’s true. Someday.” Then taking a deep breath, she said, “Yes, maybe even tomorrow. And that’s why I came to apologize. Even if you can’t forgive me—before we’re parted, at least I want to do that much.”
“Well, if you must apologize,” Chihaya muttered, “you’d better find someone who’s angry and wants to punish you. I don’t know who that might be, but it certainly isn’t me. Who on earth could think of you like that?”
“Well then,” Saya began, and then suddenly realized that she could say nothing at all. She wanted to laugh or cry but could do neither. Finally she said, “Let’s eat. That should make us feel better.”
The driftwood was permeated with salt and, as it burned, the flames turned grass-green. Intrigued, Saya kept feeding the fire until it blazed brightly and the hollow in the rock was warm. She divided all the remaining provisions in half: chestnuts, walnuts, and a bamboo flask of sake. When she offered Chihaya chestnut dumplings that she had roasted over the fire, he said with feeling, “It’s a long time since I last ate. I had totally forgotten.”
“But you always ate normally before, didn’t you?” she asked in surprise. “Or did you stop eating, like Princess Teruhi and Prince Tsukishiro?”
“They don’t eat because they wish to retain their youth. If they eat too much of the things of the earth, they don’t feel right. When I was in the shrine, I was rarely allowed to eat.” Then, as though the thought had just occurred to him, he added, “Maybe that’s why my sister said that I had changed.”
“I don’t think that’s the only reason . . .” Saya faltered as she looked at Chihaya on the other side of the brightly dancing flames. And no wonder. For he looked just like what she had once imagined the Ground Spiders looked like.
“But then I think perhaps you’ve grown a bit taller. I noticed that when I was standing beside you earlier.”
“Maybe if I continue to eat I’ll even grow into an old man.”
“Hmm.” Imagining it, Saya suddenly burst out laughing. “If you stayed an old man forever, you’d suffer a lot of aches and pains in your bones. The old people in Hashiba were always grumbling.”
Chihaya did not laugh but whispered seriously, “The voice of the God of the Sea . . . it was the voice of an old man. A very, very old man.”
“Why did you decide to visit him?” Saya asked. She had been longing to ask that question for some time.
“Because he knew me. He knew me much better than I knew myself . . .” Seeing the inquiring look on her face, he continued. “Do you remember the other time we came to the seashore? The time I met the messenger of the Sea God on the beach?”
“You mean the shark? It was midsummer. It seems like so long ago.”
“I thought then that he had mistaken me for someone else, and I didn’t pay much attention to what he said. After all, old people are often forgetful—like the handmaidens of the shrine. But it wasn’t so. The God of the Sea knew I was the Dragon, even though I didn’t know it myself. He told me that there were only two paths before me: to slay my father or to be slain by him.”
“What?” Saya paled. “What did he mean?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask him.” Chihaya clasped his hands together. “But it was no use. I traveled along the sea floor until I came to a bottomless fissure, and though I descended into it, I lost consciousness partway down. It was filled with a blackness more relentless than the night, one which the strength of neither Light nor Darkness can ever penetrate.”
Imagining what it must have been like, Saya shuddered. “You’re lucky you made it back.”
“Perhaps I was sent back. When I regained consciousness, I was floating far out at sea. The ancient one said that we were both isolated, alone. Perhaps he meant that I should think for myself.” He had been staring into the dancing green flames, but now he raised his eyes and asked, “What do you think, Saya? About killing my father or being killed by him?”
“Did he mean the God of Light?”
“I guess so.”
Saya muttered, “I–I don’t want to think of such a thing. Such a terrible, frightening thing!”
“But still, if there were only two paths . . . ?”
The flames lit up his eyes as if they were spangled with gold dust. His soiled and tattered clothing, his sand-encrusted hair, made no difference. He was a Prince of Light, and the superiority of his being shone through his outer garments. Saya suddenly realized that no trace of girlishness remained in him. It’s as Lady Iwa said, she thought. Chihaya knows who he is. She knew he had not asked her this question with any intent to follow her instructions.
“If you must choose,” she replied earnestly, “then I’ll tell you. I don’t want you to be killed. If that’s the choice, I would rather you killed the God of Light.”
Chihaya smiled unexpectedly. It w
as the first time she had seen him smile in a long time, and it seemed as if the golden light deep within his eyes were strewn all about her. “I feel better now. I will doubt no longer. If there’s no way to avoid this fate, I’ll go out to meet it with sword in hand rather than standing by with arms folded— even if it means I must fight my own brother and sister. That’s the road I must take.”
Saya was surprised to catch herself returning his smile. Hearing him voice his decision, she felt as though a ray of clear light had lit up her heart. In that moment she realized that the problem was not hers to judge. The decision was his alone to make and she must leave it in his hands, no matter what might happen.
“Now I can finally return the Sword to you. You have no need of a priestess to still you. For you, yourself, are the Sword that must be wielded, and you must follow your own path. Of that I’m sure because, for the first time, I can see you for what you truly are.”
Taking the Sword from her hands, Chihaya hesitated slightly and looked at her. “And what does that look like? My true self ?”
“Don’t you know?” Saya gave a little laugh. She was tempted to evade the question by leaving it at that, but thought better of it and said seriously, “There was never any time when you looked more like a Prince of Light. Dazzling to our eyes, powerful, pure, absolute—and beautiful. Yet at the same time completely different from Princess Teruhi or Prince Tsukishiro. You know how to grieve for those who have died, and you know enough to hate killing. Although you are immortal, strangely enough you have what we call compassion. You are even capable of forgiveness. And that is why, although you possess a terrible power, I do not fear you. Now I understand why you are the one whom the Water Maiden has sought so long.”
Chihaya looked as though he wanted to feel pleased but could not. “I have no right to be described like that. I’ve already killed countless people, and I don’t know what I might do in the future.”
Stroking the hilt of the Sword, he hung his head and then continued. “What you said sounds like just another way of saying that I’m different. If it comes to a confrontation with my father or with my brother and sister, then I expect I’ll terrify you again.”
“No. No matter what happens, I won’t lose sight of you a second time. Just watch me,” Saya said with conviction. “I’ll join you. If they call you ‘different,’ then I, too, will gladly be different. After all, I’m the only person in the world who has found the Sword’s true form.”
The burning wood crackled and popped, and the green and gold flames wavered sharply, causing the shadows on the rock wall to dance. Outside the shallow cave it was completely dark, and the sound of the waves on the shore was the only thing reminiscent of the daytime world. The rocks and the sea had merged into the jet-black night. Neither moon nor stars could be seen. Saya was suddenly caught up in the illusion that the shallow cave was the one spot in the ever-changing land of Toyoashihara that remained unchanged, and that the two of them were at its center. The world in constant motion swung like a busy pendulum, dancing through time. Yet before her were the eyes of Chihaya, which continued to hold her gaze, reflecting the light of the flames, rivaling the entire world.
As though a thin silk veil surrounding her had suddenly fallen away, she understood what all lovers feel when they exchange glances, what they all know.
AT DAWN the eastern sky was dyed a deep crimson as if a huge quantity of blood had been spilled along the border between water and sky. Then, the sun rose from the sea, round and full like a ripe fruit, and instantly the waves and clouds turned to gold. The sun, haloed in white, was almost ephemeral in its paleness. Saya, who had gone down to the beach alone to watch the sunrise, wondered if this was an omen. Although uncanny, it was nevertheless beautiful, and the flutter of anxiety that touched her heart was replaced once again by joy.
There’s nothing in this world that isn’t beautiful, she thought contentedly. Like the water lapping the shore at her feet, waves of happiness welled up inside her, immersing her in a sea of bliss. She was so warm and snug within, she almost felt guilty. The freezing dawn wind that pierced her skin did not bother her at all, and she continued to sit on the windswept beach, wrapping both arms about herself as though hugging the warm glow within her breast.
Even when she had decided to look for Chihaya one last time, she had never imagined she would find such contentment as this. Last night she had suddenly realized how close the place she had been seeking had always been; so close that she had only to reach out her hand to touch it. And she found this amazing.
Change is something we should be thankful for. Saya pondered this thought. She would continue to change—she and Chihaya, both of them, for they had only just learned how to open the door that had been closed. That thought, too, was part of the happiness that enveloped her.
A flock of gleaming white gulls flew across the brightening sky. The sea opened its blue bosom to welcome the new day. Billions of little silver fish dwelt within its generous, surging waters and there, too, resided life and death. Saya realized that she could now accept Princess Sayura without resistance.
By leaving her footprints in the palace, Princess Sayura led me to Chihaya. And the Water Maidens before Princess Sayura showed her the road to take . . . Together, the Water Maidens have followed a single path. But just as today is not a repeat of yesterday, so I am not Sayura. I am Saya. And I found Chihaya . . .
“Saya.” Chihaya had come over without her noticing and was standing behind her. Looking up, she saw that his face, bathed in the morning light, was bright and animated.
“Let’s leave this beach. You should get back as soon as you can.”
“But what about you? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine now. Let’s go to the top. Your poor horse—his feedbag is empty.”
Saya was startled and then she laughed. She could not recall having mentioned a word about her horse, which she had left tethered at the top of the cliff. “Well! You certainly haven’t changed in that respect.”
She slung her lightened bag across her back and they left the cave together. Returning to the cliff and looking up, she saw the rugged rock face looming far up into the distance and found it hard to believe that she had actually climbed down it. She had been so impatient yesterday that she had not stopped to consider how she would get back up. There was no easier place, however, so, steeling themselves, they grasped the rock and began the long, grueling climb. Less than halfway up, their breath came in gasps, their clothes were drenched in sweat, and they could not drag themselves any higher.
They paused on a narrow ledge, too narrow to sit upon, and rested where they stood. Saya leaned her head against the rock and caught her breath. Suddenly she was struck by the ludicrousness of their position. Chihaya was watching a bird wheel in the sky but turned to look at her when he heard her laughing whisper.
“What did you say?”
“ ‘No climb is too steep when with you, beloved,’ ” Saya repeated. Seeing Chihaya’s puzzled look, she explained. “It’s one of the Kagai songs. It means that no matter how steep the mountain, it doesn’t seem so steep when I’m with you. It’s a good song don’t you think? Everyone used to sing it.”
Chihaya smiled vaguely. It was clear that he did not really understand. For the first time it dawned on Saya that there was still one major problem left.
What does Chihaya think about me? she wondered. Not even she could imagine him bearing a betrothal gift and coming to ask for her hand like other men. This realization discouraged her, and Chihaya was left to puzzle over her sudden gloomy silence.
In any case, the most urgent problem was to master the cliff. Refreshed after their rest, they patiently labored upward while the sun slowly climbed the sky behind them, until at last they reached flat ground. It was already close to noon. They stretched out upon the ground for a while, unable even to search for Saya’s horse. But at last they rose and turned toward the forest. It was bright among the leafless trees, but no matter where they
looked, they saw no trace of living creatures; all was silent and still.
“How strange. He should be here. Perhaps I tethered him carelessly,” Saya said, scratching her head.
“Let’s look for footprints. I doubt he’s gone far.”
But just as Saya had begun to scan the ground, Chihaya said in a hard voice, “Run, Saya!”
“What?”
“I said run!”
He grabbed her hand and as she began to run, uncomprehending, armed soldiers stepped out one after another from the shadows of the dry thickets. They wore helmets emblazoned with the copper disks of the army of Light. Pursued, Saya and Chihaya fled toward a gap in their ranks, but through it came a group of horsemen riding abreast, galloping straight at them. They turned back, but there was no avenue of escape. They ran to the edge of the cliff and, there, were surrounded. Confronted by soldiers brandishing their weapons, Chihaya drew the Dragon Sword. Although the soldiers instinctively recoiled before its imposing shower of blue-white sparks, not one of them broke rank. They were standing glaring at one another when suddenly a cool voice rang out.
“If you wish to fight, I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of doing so. But you’d best take a good look at our numbers. Saya will most certainly die. Do you still want to go through with this?”
Looking up, they saw among the horsemen with their arrows cocked one lone figure shrouded in white from head to foot. His face was hidden in a fold of cloth, like that of a shrine maiden. But the curve of his cheekbone, only partially revealed, and the tall dapple-gray steed he rode were all too familiar.
Prince Tsukishiro! What’s he doing here? Saya wondered.
Chihaya, too, recognized him instantly. The tip of his Sword, tinged with light, drooped a little as if his confidence was waning. Prince Tsukishiro spoke again, his face still concealed. He looked like someone in mourning.
“Why did you come back? I saw you go to the bottom of the sea. Why did you return? Now we’ll be forced to kill you.”
Dragon Sword and Wind Child Page 26