Cassie
“There’s Momotarō fighting devils on their island, and over here is my favorite—Kintarō wrestling a Pisces!” Richly detailed paintings depicting stories decorated the paper screen fusuma throughout the house. With Tarō wrapped around my neck as a scarf, we merged our senses. This gave me a rare opportunity to see the world in color, and I happily shared my Hearing. However, he took far more interest in giving me a tour than borrowing my abilities.
“I’m sort of named after them because, even though they weren’t Tsukumogami, they were great heroes!” Tarō had shown me paintings of knights and dames, tales of love and honor, and righteous causes. He thrilled in the stories and admired those mythical figures. I no longer questioned where he’d gotten his simplistic views on good and evil.
“They weren’t just brave,” the fusuma said. “They were loyal to their friends and family too!”
Portraying the stories of their people is a prestigious position among the Tsukumogami; the artists are chosen for both skill and style. I can’t imagine the concentration and patience it must take to create and maintain a painting for hours on end, but the fusuma love stories as much as Tarō—they’ll talk to anybody who takes the time to listen.
If the paper screen meant the comment as a subtle dig against Tarō, the boy didn’t notice.
“Is that normal? To be named after another race’s hero?” I asked.
“It’s not so crazy,” Tarō defended. “Besides, a hero needs a unique name to set them apart from everyone else.” I dropped the subject, opting to examine the paintings instead.
On the right, a golden boy held tight to a huge carp’s fin. Waiting on the shore stood an axe, a pair of sandals, and several other Tsukumogami. On the left, she saw a dog, a monkey, and a pheasant fighting red and blue horned figures beside a young warrior, “He’s not alone.”
“Well, sure,” Tarō said. “Lots of the famous gods and heroes are actually teams—Why else would they have so many crazy powers?—But every legendary warrior starts by himself. It just takes a while for the great hero to assemble his companions.”
I nodded to show I was paying attention. “Speaking of companions, I’d expected to run into one of your friends by now. I was hoping you could introduce me to more of the locals.”
“I’m… still working on my assembly.”
I had a hard time believing that. Sure, Tarō was a bit excitable, a little direct sometimes, and clearly got into way too much trouble, but he was a nice kid. People noticed that sort of thing. “You’re good at getting into places you shouldn’t. I’m surprised the other troublemakers don’t tag along for the fun of it.”
Tarō hesitated, “Oh, they can’t keep up with me.”
That had to be a lie. “That can’t be true; they could shift into your clothing and tools.”
“It’s seniority rules. The oldest in the group wields the others when we work together.” And, if anything, I knew Tarō was the star of his own movie. He wouldn’t settle for second billing because he was younger.
“So why let me wield you?” I asked.
He seemed confused for a moment. “You beat me, remember? I lost fair and square. You deserve to pilot.” I couldn’t wrap my head around that idea. I wasn’t a fighter or heroine. “Anyways, it’s always the same. If I’m not on floor duty, my parents make me practice my instrument. No time to listen to stories or explore. That’s all over now. I’ll become one of Koto’s elite guards! There’s a warrior I don’t mind wielding me—fighting with him will be so cool!”
To my memory, Koto had said something about ‘hard work’ before Tarō could become an elite anything. I decided to curb the boy’s expectations, “I seriously doubt Koto is planning on fighting anybody soon, to be honest. He won’t leave the mountain while your people are safe. By the way, do you know why Koto is so against interfering in the Wilderness?”
“It’s only the biggest, most important story in the colony’s history! You all saw the mural in the entrance hall.” Tarō meant the tableau where Koto fought with thirteen other tools and a Hundred-Handed One against that Reaper, an Angel of Death.
“Known among our people as The Last Betrayal, the tale recounts an incredible battle against Lityerses. You have got to hear the whole thing sometime! The short version: Lityerses the Reaper was a terror. He killed a bunch of people and made a lot of enemies, so Koto assembled his friends and allies to slay the monster.
“The crazy thing was, Lityerses was so dangerous Koto had to stop most people who wanted to help because they’d get killed in seconds. He picked the nine most skilled Tsukumogami in the colony and his five mightiest allies. He was even blessed by Nurarihyon with Championship during the fight.
“Koto knew they couldn’t defend against Lityerses’ magic, so he planned for the fifteen of them to chain their attacks together to keep the monster occupied. If the Reaper tripped or grew exhausted, they’d win. This fight had everything!—explosions, tornados, flying boulders, giant-sized punches, but the Reaper patiently abided it all.
“Then one of Koto’s allies didn’t make their attack when their turn came. Abandoning the cause, they betrayed Koto by fleeing the battle. That was all the opening Lityerses needed. Before Koto could retreat, the Reaper killed Furiko the clock—Koto’s teacher and lifelong love. It goes to show, no matter how amazing their teamwork, ‘the chain is only strong as its weakest link.’ Lityerses escaped, and Koto withdrew to mourn. We’ve basically been in hiding ever since.
“That story used to bum me out because we’d have won if one of the fifteen warriors hadn’t been a coward, but you know something? Plenty of heroes have a rough spot in their story. I’m sure Koto will try again someday. The greats always come back, whether for revenge or because they can’t forget the thrill of battle. And I’ll be there to fight at his side.”
When I first heard The Last Betrayal, I learned something. I’d always believed ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ I’ve been through some horrible things and had terrible losses, but I’ve never given up hope in finding the T.O. and living happily ever after. Until I heard this story, I’d never understood what people meant by ‘There are storms that cannot be weathered.’
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I’d never imagined a loss so vast or suffering so terrible I wouldn’t want to stand and try again.
In one moment, Koto lost the love of his life and failed the biggest mission of his career. He’d been completely and totally crushed. He knew he’d never get a better opportunity as a warrior or ever find anyone to love so dearly. Though he defended his people, I felt certain Koto would never make another attempt at monster slaying. Though he’d survived, his story ended in The Last Betrayal.
I suspected something when I first heard Tarō’s version and returned later to hear the rest of the story from the fusuma depicting the tableau. Tarō’s retelling missed the point entirely. The Last Betrayal wasn’t about a spectacular climactic battle at all—it was a story of ambition and loss, love and pain, mortality and futility. Understanding this tale was key to unraveling Koto and the colony his story had shaped.
Not that there wasn’t more to learn. Even that story couldn’t sum up the Tsukumogami. There are a couple of very interesting things about them as a people—one being their unique views on the idea of ‘self.’ It’s something every shapeshifter has to deal with, but their kind all the more.
Here, this is what Tarō asked me after the feast.
“What’s it like to be stuck that way?”
“Like what?”
“Your face! Your body! You can’t change anything! Well, you turn into a bat, but you don’t change how you look besides that.”
Confused, I pointed at my face. “This is who I am. I wouldn’t go changing it.”
“What does appearance have to do with it?” Tarō asked. “Who you are is what you know and what you can do. When I turn from wood to straw or cloth, I don’t change who I am!” Tarō may have been immature, but he was no idiot—and the prodigy in him had a clever streak.
“Well, you can take any shape you want, but I can’t.” I shook my wings at him.
“Yes, you can,” he objected, pointing a cloth corner at my legs. Without noticing, I’d shifted into my fish-eating bat claws after the banquet. Now self-conscious, I reveled in how much better they were for walking than my leg-hands.
“Shifting isn’t a switch you turn on and off,” he explained as the scarf’s tip turned from cotton to straw, his transformation rippling along the length. “It’s a sliding scale. You can emphasize how much ‘bat’ you want. Aren’t those wings a hassle indoors?”
He had no idea—though I still objected, “I love my wings!”
“I’m not saying you should get rid of them!” Tarō said with patience. “But you can put them away for convenience. Reduce the ‘bat’ to ears and claws—you don’t want to get caught without those.”
He had a point. I decided to give it a shot, though I had no idea how to go about the task. I tried tugging on the wings with my mind. Nothing happened.
“Again! You can do it!” Tarō cheered.
Before I could tell him I’d already made my best effort, a nearby shoji panel formed a face of animated watercolors and spoke. “Is she having trouble? Young sir wouldn’t know, he never had the issue, but it’s likely Imprint Paralysis.”
“What are you doing?” a pair of fuzzy pink slippers asked as they shaped themselves to fit my claws. “I thought only babies had trouble shifting. You don’t look like a baby.” They sought to connect with my senses.
“My apologies,” a flying bolt of cloth said as he passed by. “The very young ones don’t know to ask permission first.”
I accepted the connection. :Oh wow! This is fantastic!: my new claw warmers sent. :You hear better than we can see! And all around too, and far away,: and on and on they happily babbled.
“It’s alright,” I told the bolt of cloth. “I don’t mind. You can hop on board too if you like.”
To tell the truth, at first, I questioned why the Tsukumogami would want to be sandals or clothes for strangers, but that’s ignoring their whole perspective! It’s no surprise how many Tsukumogami were eager to interact with us. By sharing perceptions through their bond, as all Tool shifters do, they can literally walk a mile in other people’s shoes.
Paul has seen the insides of Rana and Kenta’s heads—getting to know them in a way I couldn’t. I was almost envious, except I wouldn’t trade my wings for anything.
Cassie turned back to the shoji panel. “Sorry, ma’am. You were saying?”
“It’s no trouble, miss. It’s good for the young ones to get some experience,” the shoji panel said, her eyes flying cranes and her mouth swimming fish. “Imprint Paralysis is a common Spirit Disease for children of all Shifter races. Some youngsters become fixated on certain body shapes. While others their age have full form control from animal to humanoid or tool, those afflicted may be restricted to one or two shapes.
“The cure is simple: exposure. Learning about other cultures and lifestyles is an important part of childhood development. Most kids grow out of it by adulthood.”
“Like chickenpox?” Cassie said. “I guess I just have to keep at it then.”
The flying cloth passerby brushed my shoulder and made a connection attempt.
Tarō piped up, “I can make room.” He shifted from scarf to hair clip, pulling a lock of hair out of my face.
“Hey!” I didn’t want him messing with my hair.
“What?” Tarō wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong. “You said you didn’t mind!” The bolt of cloth tucked himself around my neck as a thin linen scarf.
“Not like that; at least be a hat or something,” I suggested.
“A hat wouldn’t complement your ears,” he retorted as he became a straw raincoat and draped himself over my shoulders, then asked, “What’s wrong with showing your eyes?”
I won’t lie to you; being called out embarrassed me. I made an excuse. “They freak people out. They’re all black, except for the silver rings,” or so I was told. “Too much like a demon’s eyes.”
Tarō swung around and manifested a single bead eye to examine me. “No, your eyes are night-black. A demon’s are supposed to be tar black. There, see? Problem solved.”
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I timed my walk to arrive at the meeting place early. I Heard Daniel training by himself in the rock quarry while Wendi played with Tsukumogami kids. Paul talked to the lanterns on duty with the Watch. Kenta had returned from his tour. Lea and Rana were up to something, but the distance and muffle of so many living Tsukumogami walls made me unable to tell what.
The tatami I rode stopped, and a shōji wall slid open. I entered our night chambers, modest in size and bare except for five sleeping rolls and Kenta on a bed of hair. He slept, perhaps jetlagged, with a crown of twelve hairpins. I approached the far futon.
:You’re going to sleep!?: Tarō sent, being considerate not to wake the Kaminoke boy. :I have so much to show you!:
:This is important,: I told him. :It’s my mission.:
:Excuse me,: the scarf Tsukumogami sent, :If you intend to sleep, others may seek to enter your dreams. You should give your permission or denial now to avoid any impropriety.:
:Wait, ‘Enter my dreams?’ What are you talking about?: I sent.
The scarf replied, :My apologies. We Tsukumogami are Nightwalkers, so called for the ability to traverse the Nightscape of the unconscious. We may share the dream of any sleeping being we touch. Since Chiropterans are known for their talent in this arena, I’d assumed you had some knowledge of the practice.:
:No, I’ve never…: I chose to be honest with them and broadcast my sending. :You wouldn’t want to see my dreams. They’ve been nothing but nightmares.:
I came to appreciate the strangeness of my words as whispers arose all around me. The scarf’s mental voice became concerned as if I’d told him of a grave illness. :It is unusual for a Nightwalker to have nightmares. Most have a degree of lucidity or control over their dreams. Perhaps it would be best if a few of us joined you. Nightmares are best faced with the help of friends.:
I was touched. To think these people would help a stranger to this degree, I couldn’t believe it. :Thank you, I would be honored to have your assistance.:
Some other Tsukumogami, overhearing parts of the conversation, approached with interest. I folded my wings and reclined on the futon. The covers tucked me in, the futon adjusted its firmness to my comfort, the pillow softened until my head rested at the perfect angle, and more gathered around. I should’ve been afraid surrounded by so many people I didn’t know—and yet it felt so warm and familiar. I allowed the crushing wave of unconsciousness to roll over me.