The suns rise above

While my bitterness rages

And my heart fights on

~ Shouta, First Poet of Arata, Haiku #12

Rain pummeled the ground. Masaki scowled at the water soaking through the most comfortable of his two sets of clothing. Cursing the general environment, he squatted beneath a towering pine and grumbled while he wrung the moisture from his long braid and swatted at the fireflies that shared his shelter. His unstrung bow scraped against the tree trunk and he dislodged it from its perch on his shoulder, resting it across his knees. The thick smell of steam tickled his nostrils as he took in the odors of the forest. Masaki disliked rain—it only made things miserable, uncomfortable, and moist for hours.

It was the beginning of the third cycle of the moons since he had left his village in the far east. Though he had no clear directional goal for his trek through the mountains, Masaki grew irritated whenever his path was hindered. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever decide where he was actually going. He had more or less traveled northwest on his journey—as far as possible from his village and his mother. Her vicious words still hounded him, despite the din of the rain around him and the distance.

Get out!... You’re filthy! Just like him!

Cursing again, Masaki closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the rough bark. What did he care if his mother hated him? It wasn’t like he loved her either. She had treated him like a mangy, unwanted dog his entire life. Her grudge had nothing to do with him; not really. Yet, each night the same words coursed through his mind and each night he had to fight them off to achieve any peace at all. Thankfully his stepfather had been a kind man. When his mother had ignored him efficiently from the time Masaki was weaned, her husband had taken him under his wing and nurtured him as Masaki’s birth father should have done.

Things had been bearable until the siblings arrived. First came Natsuo: born screaming one winter night and who grew up to be a hellion just like their mother. Second was Gen: a near copy of Masaki’s stepfather in appearance, though even more treacherous than Natsuo. The two of them made Masaki’s young years a living nightmare. They were always making fun of his sensitive nose and his gangly body. Once Masaki reached adolescence, however, their taunts became more cruel and specific.

See his ears? Bet his father gave those to him to remind our mother of how he ravaged her…

Look at those stripes! He looks like a beast!

Masaki’s stepfather had scolded the boys every time for their vicious teasing, but his mother never did. She never said a kind word to Masaki about anything and went about her life without seeming to notice his existence. Until several months ago. His stepfather passed away suddenly after suffering from chest pains for a few days and his mother drank herself into a numbing oblivion. When Masaki had tried to comfort her out of a sense of honor rather than affection, she’d spat in his face and told him what he could do with his offer of consolation. A string of insults and contemptuous jibes about Masaki’s absent fathers followed and he finally left. Natsuo and Gen ridiculed him for leaving, saying he had abandoned his dear mother just like his demon of a father.

Masaki’s mother had screamed at him for years to leave. Masaki had simply done as she had demanded. Despite missing his stepfather, and fighting away hateful words that lingered in his mind, things had been exponentially better for him since he’d left home. A bitter smirk found its way to his face and he looked up through the canopy of trees at the black clouds above. The storm would last a while and he had nothing better to do, so he decided to go to sleep.

He closed his eyelids and endeavored to still his flustered thoughts. Through the rain and dense foliage drifted a compelling scent, puncturing his relaxation. It was familiar in some way, though Masaki couldn’t place its origin. Then it struck him— like the lightning that clattered around his shelter.

It was the scent of someone like him; someone who wasn’t quite human.

His interest piqued, he tore out from under the tree, ignoring the fierce drops that battered him from above. Sniffing, he tracked the scent to the edge of the forest.

An overpowering, foul odor bombarded Masaki once he broke through the tree line. Illness. Disease. Death. A sodden, rotting village lay before him. Directly to his left, Masaki noticed a small hut and a secluded strip of beach away from the rest of the congregation of houses. Leaping over the back fence of the property, he picked his way through a well-tended garden. A straw flap covered a doorway leading inside. As he passed through it, he again discerned that familiar scent. An awful stench of decay permeated the air and he groaned, covering his nose with his damp sleeve. When he paid attention, he could tell there was only one living soul left in the small assemblage of houses and it was inside this hut.

The only thing keeping him from retching then and there was the clean, familiar essence of the half-human inside. Mustering his resolve, Masaki stepped up onto the main floor and into the rest of the house. No lights flickered in the lamp stands and a humid haze meandered over every damp surface. It took considerable effort to keep the contents of his stomach down. The kitchen and hearth were empty, as were two of the other open rooms. Masaki padded silently to the only closed rice-paper screen. Sliding open the near weightless door, he gasped.

Before him sat a girl gazing at nothing. She held two women in her arms— both of whom were dead. Masaki’s shoulders slumped. She was a half-human like him and she was alive when everyone else was dead.

Some sort of plague must have wiped out the rest of the population. Despite her disheveled appearance, the girl smelled healthy and strong. But the despair in her scent disturbed him. The dead women must have been her family members. She didn’t acknowledge Masaki’s presence, so he ventured closer, edging around her body to get a better look.

Her eyes remained fixed before her even as Masaki knelt down and studied her face. The facial markings were different from his. Two dark pointed stripes snaked down her cheeks and three small diamonds clustered at a single point on her forehead, almost like a three-bladed leaf. The irises of her eyes were a vivid, glassy gray with flecks of gold that reminded Masaki of moonlight. Tangled, black hair tumbled about her pointed ears and fell over a rumpled yukata that had fallen slightly open, revealing the upper slopes of pale breasts. Masaki blushed. He’d never met another half-human before, let alone a beautiful girl like her. The scene around them quickly sobered his thoughts and he shifted on his feet.

“Have you come to kill me?” Her whispered question startled him and Masaki’s mouth slacked open.

Confused, he looked behind his shoulder at his bow. Ahh. Removing it, Masaki gently placed it on the floor and shook his head. “No. I’m not here to kill you.” He kept his voice soft and low. Did he sound kind? He hoped so. Humans were usually afraid of him, but this girl wasn’t a human.

She moved her head for the first time and looked out the open window at the falling rain, depression etched into every corner of her youthful face.

“What do you want?” Her voice rang hollow and parched.

He didn’t know. He’d simply been curious about her scent and had never expected to find this sort of situation.

“Are you a bandit?”

“No, I’m not a bandit,” he told her. “I’m here to take you away from this.”

Masaki had no idea what made him say it, but he wanted to rescue her from the dead village and the empty bodies of her kinswomen. Her eyelids closed, revealing a thin singular stripe of emerald green near the lashes of each eye.

She slumped, her chin falling to her chest and her upper body drifting over her thighs. Even breathing slightly raised her back up, then down. Up, then down. Her scent grew calm.

Carefully, Masaki disentangled the girl from the dead women she held. Her body was light and Masaki was able to retrieve his bow from the floor while cradling her with one arm. As swiftly as his feet would carry him, he spirited her away to the forest and ran to the north. He remembered a cave where he could take her to wait out the storm.

Clean air filled his grateful lungs once he was well away from the village. Epidemics of that sort had been common after the colonization of planet Arata hundreds of years before, but one occurring in this day and age was rare. Masaki pondered the origin of such a plague while he carried the sleeping girl in his arms. It took a while to reach the cavern, so he relaxed and let his body work while his mind wandered. Every few moments, he checked on her and was pleased that the jostling of his body and the dampness of his garments hadn’t woken her. If she was anything like him, she had avoided sleep for days. It was always bound to catch up to him when he waited a while to sleep. She was probably the same.

He couldn’t believe that he had finally found another half-human. In all his life, Masaki had never come across another like himself. Plenty of humans were scattered in various settlements throughout the mountains, marshes, and plains, but their kind was scarce. Most of the villagers Masaki met on his journey were afraid of him and respectfully deferred to him. In truth, they mistook him for one of the Immortals: dangerous natives who had lived on Arata long before humans came here. Those villagers never guessed that Masaki was only half-Immortal. No one stuck around long enough to correct their mistaken assumption. Immortals weren't much better. Those he had encountered had simply ignored him.

Until adolescence, Masaki had looked just like any other human boy. Then, the changes had taken him swiftly after his sixteenth birthday. Masaki was a man now— seventeen years old. He’d lived with his odd gifts and strange appearance for over a year. He’d had time to get used to the sight and the hearing and the sense of smell. But at times, he had struggled knowing he wasn’t like the rest of the people he’d grown up with. The girl in his arms looked to be around his age. He wondered how she had taken to the changes.

With such heightened senses, it was hard to feel human at all. Had she struggled with her identity like he had? Many questions filled his head that he hoped to ask the girl once she was ready. She’d need to grieve, of course. Masaki supposed the women she had held had been her mother and grandmother. He remembered well how desolate and alone he’d felt when his stepfather had died. When his mother and half-brothers died, would Masaki feel such sorrow? Would he even know when they passed? The thought brought a mingled sense of pain and bitterness. It went without saying that he would outlive them.

The cave mouth up ahead prompted him out of his contemplations. Shifting the girl’s weight to one arm, he moved the vines and exposed roots covering the opening and darted under, careful not to hit her head on the rocks. Once inside, Masaki looked around for the straw and blankets he had deposited the first time he’d used the cavern for shelter a week or so ago. Though it had been nearly a month, he located what he sought and set about creating a sleeping mat for the girl. He had slept a day or two ago and didn’t really need to rest. Masaki lowered her with care and then stationed himself near the entrance to keep watch. The girl still smelled strongly of decay and he was concerned wayward scavengers might be attracted to the scent. He would make sure she bathed sometime the next day— for their own safety.

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* * *

Throughout the night, he listened to the sounds of insects and other creatures going about their business. This had become a custom he enjoyed on the nights he didn’t sleep. Because he did not have the benefit of an Immortal father’s teachings, Masaki tried to teach himself to observe patterns in the sounds and movements of the environment around him.

Already, he had become a skillful hunter and knew how to move silently through the brush and to kill mercifully. He figured his clawed hands were the traditional tools of combat for his Immortal ancestors, but he found he couldn’t relinquish the bow his stepfather had given him. It was his sole connection to the only person who had ever cared anything about him. He ran his hands over the smooth wood and counted his arrows in his quiver to make sure he still had enough to defend them should problems arise.

The moons set and soon, morning came. Still, Masaki’s charge slept on. A thought crossed his mind that the girl might be hungry when she awoke and he wondered if she preferred to hunt herself or if he should go do it. Masaki knew little about women— especially those of the half-human variety. The girls in his mother’s village had avoided him, calling him a demon behind his back. He knew he shouldn’t listen to their gossip, but it still hurt his pride. It had to be ignorance that made the villagers call Immortals demons. In his experience, they were nothing of the sort. The Immortals who had drifted through their village from time to time had been clerks of a sort. Somewhat boring and bookish. Only there to take a census, collect taxes, or to settle a dispute. He figured such careers didn't endear them to the villagers.

The last few drops of rain trickled over the vines that shielded the cavern mouth. Masaki ran his sharp nails over the greenery and snipped several leaves off, giving himself a better view of the landscape. A wet, silvery film covered every tree and blade of grass. Light spilled over the mountains and every surface gleamed and sparkled. It was a shame the girl was still asleep. It was really beautiful.

When Masaki thought about how her entire village had died out, he suspected even a beautiful sunrise would not touch her hurting heart. Sighing, Masaki squatted by the straw mat and observed the girl. Her breath was even and her scent smelled peaceful despite the malodorous fragrance of death that still clung to her skin. Without thinking, he reached out a hand to brush aside black locks that had fallen over her face. He smiled. She was very pretty.

Masaki rose and paced about the uneven cavern floor. He loathed inactivity. It would be cruel to carry her too far from her village without her consent, but he grew anxious just waiting for her to wake up. Needing something to do, he returned to his perch at the entrance and fit an arrow to his bow, searching with his hawkish eyes for an animal to hunt. The trees rustled with gusts of summer wind and remnants of the storm blew off the leaves, causing droplets of water to dance through the air. Masaki didn’t allow himself to be distracted by them and kept staring intently at the underbrush.

A stray, white tail caught his attention. It belonged to one of the red elks that frequented the area. He had hunted several during his journey and knew they were delicious. Masaki figured the girl would be pleased with his choice, assuming she was hungry when she awoke. Drawing his arrow back, he inhaled, released, and watched as the beast slumped to the forest floor, barely disturbing its surroundings. Birds chirped and wind blew past, fluttering the vines. Since the elk had fallen only a little way from their shelter, he sped forward, snatched it up, and returned to the cave within a few minutes.

It was somewhat disappointing to see that the girl still slept. Then again, he wondered why he was trying so hard to impress her when they didn’t know one another yet. With nothing else to do, Masaki cleaned his kill just outside the entrance. The smell of blood invaded his nose and his nostrils flared reflexively. Time passed quickly as he prepared the meat with his hunting knife and cleared the debris from the floor of the cave. As terrible as his mother had been, she always kept a tidy house and he had picked up the habit at a young age.

While he took the vines and set about soaking up the pool of blood on the ground near the mouth, Masaki heard her first waking noises; first a sigh and then a yawn. For some reason, those simple everyday sounds made him uncomfortable. He hoped she remembered their encounter from the previous night and that she didn’t still imagine her life to be as it had been before.

Putting off their discussion would be cowardly, so Masaki bolstered his courage and slipped through the green curtain into the darkness. The girl gasped and he put out his hands, trying to gesture for peace. “I won’t harm you,” he promised.

Her gray-gold eyes widened and her hands clutched the yukata she wore. Her scent reeked of alarm and confusion.

“Everything is alright,” he assured her. “You’ve just been sleeping a while.”

“Ookami’sama?” she muttered, trying to bow to him.

“Ookami…sama?” Masaki cocked his head in utter confusion.

The young woman had managed to prostrate herself before him and he cocked his head at the sight. She thought he was a wolf god? Masaki was somewhat familiar with the human tales about divine wolves being messengers of the mountain god. He knew the legends said that wolves sometimes changed their appearance into that of a human, but surely Masaki was nothing like that.

When she did not get up right away, he cleared his throat and knelt before her, extending his clawed hands. Gently, he lifted her chin. Masaki peered into her bewitching eyes. “I’m no wolf.”

“But your markings! And your scent,” she stammered.

“I’m no more wolf than you are.” Masaki folded his arms.

“What are you?”

Again, Masaki was confused by her question. He thought it was quite plain for her to see that he was a half-human like her. Frowning, he put a hand to her forehead, trying to feel for a fever, but her skin was cool and soft. She didn’t smell of sickness. Her mind must have been distraught over the death of her family. “Do you remember what happened?” Masaki asked, sensing it would not be wise to avoid the painful topic for long.

She rose and stared off at the entrance with a look of mingled sadness and pain. “Where are we?” she asked, stroking the creepers that blocked her view of the outside.

“I took you away from your village. We are safe here.”

“They’re dead aren’t they?” The girl’s posture stiffened.

“Yes.”

Masaki smelled the salt of tears and sensed the desperation welling up within her. Impulsiveness prompted him to lay a hand on her shoulder. The girl did not respond to it in any way. She just continued to stare at the opening with the same expression of emptiness that she had worn the night before. Masaki knew it would take a long time for her to feel joy again. The death of his stepfather had created a similar depression in him in the beginning. He hoped she would let him stay by her side now that she was alone, too. She was the only half-human he had ever met. His curiosity was far too strong to leave her. Besides, there was nothing left for the girl to return to. It made sense that she should stay with him. He could protect her.

“I hunted something for you. It’s over in the corner.” He pointed to the slices of elk flesh he had stored there.

For the first time, something sparked in her eyes. He hoped it was interest, but when she turned to look at the meat, all he saw was a perplexed revulsion. Masaki blushed and supposed she wasn’t partial to elk.

“I’m not very hungry.” She sat and ran a hand through her tangled hair.

Masaki shrugged and swiped a piece for himself before sitting next to her. He noted with some interest that she shied away from the raw meat.

“Have you ever tried it? Elk is very good,” Masaki encouraged.

“No, thank you,” she mumbled, folding her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

Shrugging again, Masaki tore at the fibrous muscles and enjoyed the warm, metallic taste. His fangs easily separated the meat and he swallowed greedily. It had been nearly a week since he had eaten anything. Hunger, like sleep, always caught up to him. Masaki imagined if she didn’t eat tonight, she might be tempted in a day or two. He mentally promised to properly preserve the elk for when she grew hungry again. Silence filled the shelter as he ate and she stared at the rocky walls. Finally, when he could stand the quiet no longer, Masaki stood up and wiped his reddened hands on the animal’s skinned hide. Rolling up the pelt, he tucked it under the straw in the back of the cave. Then he set about packing up.

“Why did you take me away?” she asked.

Masaki stopped his packing and thought of a way to answer her. He knew nothing about this girl except that she was all alone just like him and she was a half-human. Without turning to look into her eyes, he said, “Because I couldn’t bear to leave you there by yourself with nothing but death around you. Not when you’re like me.”

Her gaze drifted to the cavern floor and she grew quiet once more. He felt sure he saw her sniff the air and she stole sideways glimpses of him every few seconds. Masaki pretended not to notice. Reaching inside his haori, he removed a small oil skin that he could wrap the slabs of elk in to keep until the next day. Silence, he figured, would be more welcome to her than filling the air with small talk.

“What did you mean by that?” she finally queried.

“By what?”

“You said I was like you.”

“Yes. We have a similar scent and though your markings are different from mine, I knew what you were the instant I smelled you,” Masaki informed her.

Her face sported confusion at first, then utter bewilderment. “Markings?” Absently, she reached up and stroked her pointed ears and rubbed her face, testing her skin.

“You mean you didn’t know?” Masaki’s eyebrows lifted.

“Know what?”

“You’re a half-human,” Masaki told her, completely flummoxed that she didn’t already know this.

A brief flicker of understanding splayed across her features and she brought a sharp-nailed hand to her lips. “That’s why they hid me from the villagers… ” her voice trailed off.

“Hid you?” Masaki’s chest sparked with irritation.

“Over the last year, my ears changed and I became… different. Lately, Mother and Granny haven’t let me leave the house. I overheard them talking about my father and that they needed to tell me something about him.” The girl’s eyes welled with tears and they spilled down her striped cheeks. “They’re both gone… Mother… Granny…”

Before Masaki could prepare himself, she burst into fitful sobs, doubling over. He tensed, feeling completely helpless. Though he felt terrible for her loss, he had no idea how to comfort or console her. The girl’s broken cries resonated off of the rock walls and it rang in Masaki’s sensitive ears. He paced nervously across the span of the tiny cavern. Memories of his stepfather’s death and cremation flashed before him and the remembered hurt caused his chest to ache. He had not cried like the girl. He had not been strong enough for that.

Eventually, Masaki exited the cave and left her alone. He didn’t want to make her even more miserable by their unfamiliarity with one another. It was barely afternoon and the suns blazed in the sky. The oppressive heat swarmed all around and Masaki mourned the loss of the cool, dark shade of the cavern. He didn’t stray far. Finding an expansive magnolia tree, he sat and closed his eyes. Though the great leaves blocked much of the sunlight filtering through the branches above, they did little to diminish the sweltering temperature.

His haori was too thick for summer, but his other haori was the same fabric so changing wasn’t an option and he figured the girl would be uncomfortable if he took the thing off. He would have to try and barter for something new in a human settlement if he came across one. Thankfully, his hair was tied up and braided; out of his way. The thick, chestnut plait trailed down his back and coiled on the ground. Masaki had originally refused to cut his hair to annoy his brothers who had the thin, scraggly manes of their mother. As he grew older, however, it became something important to him. He imagined it as another physical trait that likened him to the Immortals. Those who'd visited his village all wore their hair long.

By evening, the girl had cried all her tears and cautiously stepped through the foliage into the open. Masaki looked up from his seat, catching her calmer scent, and stood. She moved like water over the ground until she, too, was beneath the magnolia. The dying light of the suns cast dapples of orange and yellow over her face. Her eyes were swollen and red, her striped cheeks streaked with tear tracks. Masaki watched her lower her lashes. When she bowed again, his cheeks flared with embarrassment.

“Thank you for watching over me,” she whispered.

He frowned and shifted his weight. “You don’t have to bow. You and I are equals.”

Straightening, her eyes betrayed a bereft hopelessness. Without another word, she brushed past him and walked through the trees into the woods. Masaki leapt up and followed her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, turning round to face him.

“Coming with you.”

“Why?”

“The woods are dangerous and you smell…” Masaki reddened. “Animals may be attracted by your current scent, I mean.”

“Because of where I was when you found me?” Her voice again held that deadened, monotone timbre.

“Yes.” When she looked like tears would fall again within seconds, Masaki hastily added, “but there is a spring nearby! We can go there if you like.”

“There is something I need to do first.” A determined glint flashed through her eyes and Masaki was momentarily relieved.

Her spirit wasn’t completely broken, then.

“Can I help you with whatever it is that you need to do?” Masaki inquired out of politeness— knowing that if she said no, he would follow her at a discreet distance anyway, just to make sure she stayed safe.

Instead of answering, she just turned and continued on her way. It didn't take long to retrace his steps from the night before. The stench of the village’s dead had worsened with the monstrous heat of the day. Nausea built in his stomach and Masaki imagined that the girl was bearing her discomfort only because of her despair and grim determination. When they reached the small hut that concealed her family, she hesitated. Masaki remained silent—knowing this was something she needed to accomplish on her own. He watched with mixed emotions as she wandered into her house through the back flap. Folding himself onto the fence of the back garden, he waited for the girl to face the dead alone.