Moons harbor no love
For one such as I who eats
Only bitterness
~ Shouta, First Poet of Arata, Haiku #160
Tsukiko blocked the stranger in the back garden from her mind as she stepped across the wooden floor of her house. It took all of her strength to choke back the bile and tears that threatened to choke the life out of her. Every soul was gone— from the entire village— and yet she remained. The total absurdity of the situation generated a cognitive dissonance in her mind. Though she could smell the decay in the room where her mother and grandmother lay, she didn’t believe in it. Even when she knelt on the floor and ran her hands through Mother’s brittle hair and touched her stiffened limbs, Tsukiko’s heart marveled at the great lie of it; the trick of the light. In her heart, she knew her mother was by the hearth, stirring their soup for dinner. Granny was in the garden picking the shiso.
It was a crow that finally shattered her delusion. The sleek black body flew in from the open window and landed with its skeletal feet on her grandmother’s chest. Without any hesitation, it hammered its beak into Granny’s glazed eye. It was too much. Tsukiko viciously lashed out with a lightning fast swipe and the bird lay dead on the floor, feathers scattered and floating about, blood slithering away from its ripped up body. Her eyes grew wide at the horror of what she had done. Looking down at her hands, she observed bloodied claws and wisps of black that stuck between the nails and skin of her long fingers.
She held the sides of her head and screamed— releasing the stopper on her sealed emotions. Tsukiko barely noticed when the man stormed into the room with his bow, arrow ready to fly. He ran over to her and covered her face with his sleeve to hide the carnage on the floor. Ignoring propriety, she plunged into his open arms and clutched his haori fabric, weeping violently. His sheltering embrace tightened about her and Tsukiko clung to him in her wretchedness.
His scent enveloped her, bringing some comfort. He smelled of rain and peonies. Strange… that someone like him–like her–would be her rescuer. Tsukiko finally slumped in exhaustion and he carried her out of the house into the back garden. Though the air was not much fresher outside, a breeze moved over their bodies and she was away from the crow and her dead family. It took her a few moments to compose herself.
“Are you alright?” the man asked.
She nodded even as her lips murmured, “No.”
He frowned and stood up, looking westward toward the other houses in the village. “We should bury them,” he said. “Burning the bodies might attract more attention than we want right now.”
She nodded, standing up beside him. The man strode away. Tsukiko knew she would just cry if she stayed in the garden, so she trudged after. It took well into the night, but the stranger helped her dig a grave for every single person in the village. It had been a small settlement, the fresh mounds of dirt and vacant houses the only proof that people had lived there. When they were done with their task, their bodies covered in the sandy soil, they turned back to Tsukiko’s house. The man stared ahead, his striped face and shocking blue eyes distinct in the moons’ light. She felt strange appreciating his beauty at such a dreadful time, but Tsukiko was willing to look anywhere other than her home.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he told her. “There are other ways to honor their memories.”
“I can’t leave them like this,” Tsukiko stated simply.
He nodded.
With as much courage as she could summon, Tsukiko returned to the room that housed the remains of her entire world. The man let her carry the bodies of the dead— first her mother, then her grandmother— out into the back garden. Tsukiko appreciated his silence and his respectful distance. Based on his regard and the way he stood beyond the garden, she wondered if he knew something of loss. Alone, she dug the graves. He never said a word and often, when she bothered to look, he merely inspected the ocean beyond the beach, or the forest trees that swayed under the stars. Inexplicably, she felt comfortable with him, even as she covered her beloved ones with dirt and laid them to rest. His eyes followed her as she clipped camellias from Mother’s favorite bush and arranged them over the graves.
In private, for the man had retreated by then to the tree line, Tsukiko wept for her family. She let her tears fall on each grave, causing the dirt to clump and separate with their impact. She lifted her head to the sky and asked the two moons for guidance and begged the mountain god for direction. Everything had been lost in so short a time. Tsukiko had not been ready and yet, there was nothing to do but move forward now. Her mother and grandmother would not have wanted her to wallow in sorrow. It would honor their memory and their spirits to be strong and soldier on. Still, bitterness threatened to swallow her up. She could hardly make sense of the last few days.
Sometime between midnight and dawn, Tsukiko went to join the man in the woods. His eyes held a sympathetic expression and she wondered, again, if he had lost someone close to him at some point in his life. She kept her silence and sat down. Because she had slept so long the previous day, she wasn’t going to need rest for a long while. He seemed alert as well.
“Where will you go?” He spoke in a quiet voice that soothed her, though it asked so much.
“I don’t know.”
“You could come with me,” he offered.
“Where are you going?”
“Northwest.”
Tsukiko didn’t say anything more. Instead, she felt again the talon of bitterness rip a hole through her resolve. Who was she to think she was strong? She felt only anger, resentment, and confusion. Why had she lived when everyone else had died? A grimace twisted on her face. Tsukiko imagined that the stranger could tell her more about why she lived. What had he called her… a half-human? He seemed to think they were the same somehow, and now that she thought about it, there was something undeniably familiar about the way he moved and behaved.
What Tsukiko had done to the crow terrified her. It had not been premeditated. It had been instinct. How had her fingers and nails been able to create that sort of damage? Was she some monster? Yet, when she caught a glimpse of the man beside her, she couldn’t believe that he was a monster. He had saved her, helped her. Still, he ate raw meat and had a terrible beauty that fascinated her. Did she have those same traits? Tsukiko’s thoughts were interrupted when her stomach growled in complaint.
“Hungry?” He lifted an eyebrow.
“I suppose. I don’t eat often.”
A pack Tsukiko hadn’t noticed before lay next to the man and he reached inside, retrieving a bundle. She tensed— afraid it was the meat from earlier. To her relief, it was a package of berries and other dried fruits. She accepted them appreciatively and ate in silence. When she was done, the man rose and gathered his things— the pack, his bow and quiver— and slung his long braid over his shoulder. Her heart sank. Tsukiko wasn’t ready to leave her village… not yet. Though, what was left there for her? Nothing. No one. She was alone if she didn’t go with him. Perhaps he could provide her with answers about the changes she had experienced.
“Come,” he extended his hand.
“Where?”
“To the hot spring. It’s not far. A bit to the east, there’s a cave and water wells up in the mouth. You’ll be able to bathe and relax. I’ll make sure no one harms you,” he informed her.
“I don’t even know your name. Why are you helping me?” Tsukiko peered up at him.
The man’s face darkened in the moonlight. “I’m helping you, because I know what it’s like to lose your family and feel utterly alone. We are half-humans. We should stick together. There aren’t that many of us, you know. Most humans avoid us, thinking we’re the Immortals,” he explained, still not giving her his name.
“The Immortals? Who are they?” Tsukiko was puzzled by his words. She had never heard of such a race of people.
“Your village must have been very isolated,” he gaped.
“My mother and grandmother didn’t associate with the others much. I never really spoke to anyone when I left the house. Now that I know I’m a half-human,” she tried the word, “I suppose I know why I always felt out of place.” Tsukiko frowned, not sure if she believed the man’s words or not.
“The Immortals are a proud, cold race who have lived on Arata for far longer than the humans. Your father must be among them, considering your mother was human. My father is an Immortal as well.”
“Are you searching for him? Is that why you’re traveling?” Tsukiko asked.
“Not really. I left my village several months ago when my stepfather died. My mother and I don’t get along. I think I remind her of my birth father. So, I left and I’ve been traveling north more or less since then. You’re the only person like me that I’ve ever met. I suppose I got curious.” He shrugged.
“There are really that few of us?” she asked.
“Yes. Immortals have a tenuous relationship with human villages in the east. They sort of act like magistrates. But in actuality, they have their own societies, clans, and agendas. I haven’t come across any other Immortals since I started my journey. I’ve only come across two human settlements. This area seems to be sparsely populated.”
Tsukiko tried to imagine what such an existence would be like– living side by side with an alien race.
“Let’s go to the springs. We can talk some more then if you like.”
She started to follow him into the woods, but something stopped her. “Wait a moment.”
He turned, watching as she retreated back into the hut she had lived in all her life. There was only one thing that could possibly bring her comfort at a time like this and was the only thing she wanted with her on the journey ahead. In her mother’s empty room, she deftly removed the aged lock on the black box that sat beneath the window. Inside, the little wooden flute rested in packed bamboo tissue. Tsukiko touched it, running her fingers over its cunning surface. She slipped it into her yukata and followed after the stranger.
* * *
On the way to the hot spring, Tsukiko thought about her Immortal father. That must have been what Mother had wanted to tell her about in the garden. Tsukiko wanted to know what he was like, if he had loved her mother, and why he had left them. Even though her heart had been crushed by the sudden deaths of her human family, at least these thoughts hinted at some immediate purpose; something to occupy the time that might otherwise have been spent wasting away in grief.
Oddly, she felt at ease with the stranger ahead of her. He’d never frightened her, despite his uncanny appearance. Granted, she had thought him the wolf that had helped her on the mountain. She had heard stories about the shape-shifting messengers of the mountain god just like every other child, but the man was definitely of flesh and blood.
It wasn’t lost on her that he still hadn’t told her his name. She was a bit surprised she’d been so open with him. She had been a very shy child and an even shier adolescent. Yet, with him, it seemed easier. Thoughts of her village drifted into her mind. She supposed the reason she had not died in the plague was because of the Immortal blood that filled her veins. Was their kind so invincible that disease didn’t affect them? Despite Tsukiko’s despair, she could not feel cheated that she lived on. It wouldn’t be fair to her family’s memory or to the man who had helped her. Still, it was a terrible fate to survive alone.
“What is your name?” Tsukiko spoke up.
He glanced back over his shoulder, the braid at his back swinging with the movement. “It’s Masaki.”
“Masaki…”
“And yours?”
“Tsukiko.”
A smile lit Masaki’s lips and his face brightened. She managed a small grin, too. She had never really been friends with anyone before, let alone a man, but maybe he could be one. For the rest of the trip to the springs, she walked behind him, mesmerized by the thick, chestnut braid that undulated with his steps. Was it customary for men like him to keep long hair? Did the Immortals prefer long hair?
She smelled the spring well before they reached it. It had a heady, mineral-rich scent and the already-humid air felt heavier with increased moisture. When Tsukiko saw it, a gasp escaped her. It was enormous, with rocks dispersed throughout providing enough privacy for both of them to enjoy the waters separately. The cave mouth hung over half of the pool and the rest flowed into the darkness. She was glad that the moons’ light would enable them to see.
Masaki turned his back and indicated that she should get in first. He promised to circle around to another area and give her privacy. She watched him go and once he was far enough away, she swiftly shed the disgusting yukata and took it with her into the water. She hoped the strong scent of the spring would help make it a little more bearable to wear again. Perhaps it would also wash away the dirt and blood the garment had managed to attract. The water was like a longed-for embrace and the liquid heat wrapped around Tsukiko’s limbs, melting away the tension knotted in her shoulders and back.
Masaki’s scent was nearby, but not too near. Since he was no doubt bathing himself, Tsukiko relaxed. Pushing all thought from her mind, she scrubbed the dirt and grime from her body and untied her tangled hair, letting the steamy water separate the ebony strands. Slowly, she cleansed it from several days of oil and inattention. Tsukiko had situated her yukata between several small stones on the bottom of the spring so that it wouldn’t float away.
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Occasionally, she looked down, seeing that it was getting a thorough rinsing. Already, she felt the smell of the dead seeping away. In some ways, it worried Tsukiko— made her feel as though she would lose the sole material connection to Mother and Granny. The stark images of their death and the remembered hurt and confusion came vividly to the forefront of Tsukiko’s mind. She knew that she would never forget.
Pain threatened to swallow her up, but she pushed it down. Knowing that it would not benefit her or her companion to become an angry spirit bent on vengeance for what she had lost. There were tales of such things happening; tales of women on Ancient Earth who had lost a husband or child and who wasted away into bitter demons that sought revenge on the lives of happy people around them.
Tsukiko shuddered. Surely she would not become one of them. Death was a regrettable part of life. Granny had said that to her once when Mother’s beloved dog had been struck by a cart wheel. Though Tsukiko had cried, it did help to know that it was just the turning of the wheel of fate that had taken the dog’s spirit. And it was the wheel of fate that had controlled the timing of the village’s plague. It didn’t feel fair and it still hurt. Tsukiko felt sure if she’d arrived with the Heaven’s Flower earlier, she could have saved them. But she hadn’t and now they were dead.
She cupped some of the warm water into her hand and watched it glisten as it dripped to the surface of the water. As it fell, she looked at her upper arms and noticed dark green stripes that encircled her flesh and directed downward to her forearm. Her heart stilled. These markings were new and must have come up within the last week. Bathing at home had been a quick affair and Tsukiko often did so half-clothed while concentrating on household tasks, but even then she would have noticed them before. How many more changes could she expect?
Waiting for the spring’s surface to still and the ripples to dissipate, she breathed heavily. Once the water was clear, Tsukiko peered into it. She could barely make out a round, pale face marked with a stripe on each cheekbone and dark stripes over the eyelids— almost as though she wore the beauty pigments that some of the village girls had used. Her pointed ears framed the face and above the eyebrows in the center of the forehead was a mark that looked almost like a three-bladed leaf. On her chin, another stripe snaked up to her bottom lip.
Tsukiko had never seen her new reflection. It was surreal to see her own face, even if it was blurred and dark with only moons’ light to see by. Mother and Granny had never supplied their hut with mirrors, since the frivolous things were so expensive. She’d seen distorted images in the rippling water of her bathing bowl, but only for a second or so at a time and it had never been clear.
So, it was true. She was like Masaki. A half-human. The water rippled when a single tear pierced the surface, upsetting its delicate smoothness. More tears came, but she ignored them and continued to wash. After she was finished, she took her yukata and roughed up the fabric in the depths, trying to dislodge any remaining pieces of grave dirt and crow’s blood. After a half hour or so, she walked from the spring onto the bank clothed in her wet robe and set about finger-combing her hip length hair. After ringing it out, she let it spread over her body so the air could touch most strands. She retrieved the wooden flute from the ground where she’d placed it during her bath and slipped it back into the folds of her yukata.
Masaki remained hidden behind one of the enormous boulders in the spring, taking his time. It would take hours for her yukata to dry in the moist summer heat. She hoped it did not cling too immodestly to her skin. After a time, her new friend came to her, dressed in his wet clothing and wearing his bow strapped across his shoulder. Masaki had taken his hair down and it fell to his knees in dewy, thick sections. Tsukiko had never seen hair that long before.
“Ready?” he inquired.
She nodded. Because they were both rested, awake, and sated, they walked long into the night. Little was said, but the silence was comfortable and it allowed Tsukiko some time to think about what she planned to do with her life now that everything had changed. Her top priority should be finding her father. Perhaps he would have the answers that she sought. She wondered if Masaki would help her since he seemed to have little in the way of ambitious goals— or at least, he hadn’t yet shared any aims with her.
Her mind teemed with emotions, thoughts, and fibrous wisps that were neither thought nor emotion. Throughout the night, she desperately tried to be mindful of the path they took through the forest. Masaki said little and Tsukiko said even less, but the way was pleasant. The sounds of crickets and cicadas helped to drown out the painful stream of consciousness Tsukiko suffered. It was difficult, but over the course of the dark hours, she managed not to cry again.
* * *
By morning, they had ascended the first of several mountain peaks to the north of Tsukiko’s seaside village. Over her shoulder, she could see the endless, blue expanse of the Bridge Sea rushing in and out from the shore. Seabirds flew overhead even that far up the mountain. A longing stole her breath away. It was as though her childhood had abruptly ended and what lay ahead was an uncertain adulthood that she was ill prepared for. Masaki was patient each time she stopped to look back. Each time, she gave an apologetic half-smile and followed, lost in her thoughts.
Memories bloomed in her mind as they hiked up the paths. Tsukiko remembered the stories Granny would tell her at night and the way Mother would laugh at all the best parts. She recalled the way Mother would sit by the window sometimes and cry without any explanation. Granny had always rushed Tsukiko away at those moments, saying that mothers sometimes got overwhelmed by their thoughts, too.
She wondered if her mother was remembering Tsukiko’s father when she cried like that. Tsukiko thought she would feel better if only she knew her father’s name. Perhaps that would aid her in her search. But she had no idea. How would she find a single Immortal among the millions that no doubt populated their large continent? There had been no clues about him in their hut besides the flute and it was a generic thing that any village carpenter could have made. He may have even gone across the sea to the islands or to the other larger continent across the sea.
Masaki stopped sometime mid-morning and Tsukiko raised her eyebrows in question. He put a finger to his lips and led her into a secluded thicket.
“Is everything alright?” she whispered.
“I smell something odd,” he told her, sniffing the air.
Tsukiko tested her nose and discerned the unusual odor as well. It was almost like smoke but it had a sweet quality to it. She’d never smelled anything like it. Masaki cautiously slipped out of the thicket indicating that she should stay there. His scent grew fainter as he sped ahead to check what lay beyond. While she waited, she tried to search her mind for a name to attach to the smoky scent. Tsukiko was disappointed when she could not supply one.
Masaki came back a few minutes later and beckoned to her. Tsukiko squeezed through the branches of the thicket and followed him. He led her to the clearing of a miniature valley, carved into the space between two smaller mountain peaks. Trees surrounded a quaint, traditional shrine— or so Tsukiko guessed. They had no shrine in her village, but Mother had told her about them when she was a little girl. The fragrance was stronger there and seemed to emanate from within the wooden structure. Her sensitive ears heard the knocking of bamboo on bamboo and the trickling of water. She supposed a garden grew behind the shrine and a bamboo water fountain was the source of the bubbling noise.
Masaki approached, taking silent and swift steps. Tsukiko kept behind him at a similar pace. There was another smell wafting toward them from inside. Tsukiko tensed. Tinges of human mingled with something more fragrant… like springtime… Tsukiko froze. She knew this scent! Masaki stepped on the wooden porch and stilled, flexing his claws in case they met a threat once he slid aside the shoji door of the shrine. Their concern proved superfluous once a little old man wearing a white haori and blue hakama opened the door. He looked to be on the further side of eighty and came almost to Tsukiko’s shoulder in height. The priest wore a cheerful smile and laughed at their disbelieving faces.
“Thought I was some ruffian out to attack you, eh?” he cackled as he waved them inside.
Tsukiko peered at him, staring intently at his short stature and amiable countenance. That scent… he had the same underlying scent as the wolf! The human bit was just a mirage, she guessed, but could it really be the same servant of the gods who’d helped her find the herbs? She remembered the wolf’s eyes and tried to peer under the old man’s heavy lids to discern their color. He turned before she could get a good look. Masaki followed after him and she shuffled her feet to keep up.
The source of the smoky sweet scent had been the incense that burned on an altar near a painting of the mountain god. Tsukiko had seen a similar painting when she had visited the headman’s house with her grandmother many years ago. The old priest bowed when he passed it. He led Tsukiko and Masaki out onto the back porch that ran around a courtyard garden. There, the priest supplied them with cushions and asked them to sit and relax. Masaki seemed ill at ease and Tsukiko didn’t blame him. This little man was far more than he seemed.
“Now, tell me your troubles.” The old man patted Masaki’s knee paternally.
“Our troubles?” the young man repeated.
“I sense a deep sadness in both of you, though you are so young. What could trouble such youth and beauty?” The old man smiled, revealing a grin that was missing several teeth— and crinkled his eyelids so Tsukiko still couldn’t catch his eye color.
Masaki’s scent contained traces of apprehension. Tsukiko frowned and felt herself growing increasingly uncomfortable. Just who was this strange creature that could take on the guise of wolf and old man alike? “What are you, Grandpa?” Masaki growled, apparently noticing the odd inconsistencies with the old man’s scent, too.
“A friend, if you’ll let me be one to you,” the ancient priest assured them. He smiled again, seemingly unaffected by the half-human’s distrust.
Masaki crossed his arms and pursed his lips.
“Let me help you,” the old man tried again.
“How can you help us?” Tsukiko couldn’t help herself.
“I could tell you a bit about yourselves at least. I’m very familiar with the goings on of the Immortals. I can see that you two are half-humans. Perhaps I can help you find your families,” he suggested.
Masaki scowled, “How could you possibly know we’re looking for them, let alone where they are? You don’t even know our names!”
The old man gazed out towards the garden and seemed distracted by a crane that prowled the koi pond there. He did not answer for some time and Tsukiko found she was holding her breath. The garden was beautiful. There were camellia bushes and spikes of irises both white and purple. Large koi swam in the pool around the hunter crane’s feet and Tsukiko hoped the fish would escape the predator’s notice. A gurgling laugh prompted her back to the matter at hand and she turned to see Masaki eying the old man suspiciously.
“I know you, young man.” The priest inclined his head to Masaki. “Your markings cannot lie. You are a son of House Mizurh.”
Masaki’s eyes widened and he shifted on the pillow. Tsukiko wished she understood what was going through his mind. His face had grown paler and his ears twitched. She turned towards the old man— or old thing— hoping he could reveal something about her own otherworldly origins.
“Worry not, little sister, I know you as well. You are a daughter of high birth in the House Hikarhi.” He bowed to her.
“High birth?” she whispered.
“There is no mistake. You have the regal look of the ruling line of that tribe. Those striking gray-gold eyes of yours belong only to a few.”
Tsukiko looked at Masaki and he appeared as stunned as she.
“How can you know all of this?” Masaki repeated, an impatient furrow marring his brow.
“Who are you?” Tsukiko added.
Another laugh rang out through the suns’ lit air. “I know this, because I have lived a long, long time on this continent, in these mountains. I know all about the Immortal clans and their ruling families. I can potentially tell you more about myself and what I suspect of your parentage if you do something for me.” The old man lifted an eyebrow, revealing a flash of green iris when his eyelid lifted.
Tsukiko’s heart fluttered—the same green eyes as the wolf! Same eyes… same scent of springtime blossoms… it had to be the same creature!
“A task?” Tsukiko ventured, not wanting to spook the old man with her recognition.
“Yes. I need you both to retrieve something for me from the peak of the next mountain.”
“Oh really?” Masaki smirked.
“What is it?” Tsukiko was eager to find out anything about her father; even if it meant serving at the beck and call of this shape-shifting spirit.
“More curious than your friend, I see,” the old man laughed. “There is a great treasure housed in a small shrine on the next mountain near the tallest slope. It faces the western ocean and gulls perch on its tiny roof. It is very hard to reach and I am old now…” The priest made a great show of hunching his back to prove his point.
Masaki rolled his eyes. “What’s inside?”
“You shall see. Bring me this treasure and I will tell you what I can about your families. Every last detail that I know,” the old man assured them.
“How do we know you’re telling the truth? You might not know anything more about our families than what you’ve already said,” Masaki pointed out, raising his voice.
“You are very distrustful, child.”
Tsukiko’s companion visibly bristled at being called a child. She couldn’t help but grin. Still, she had the same question and turned her eyes to the old man. “How do you know so much, Grandfather?”
“Despite your politeness, little sister, I’m afraid I’ve little time to tell you the answer to that question. However, I will tell you this: I know that your village was wiped out by a plague and that you alone survived. I know that this boy was cast out by his mother because of the Immortal blood he carries.”
The two of them stared at the priest in shock. It was impossible for him to know these things when he was so isolated in the little valley. Then again, if Tsukiko’s guess that the wolf and the priest were one and the same— and if he were a servant of the gods— she supposed his knowledge wasn’t so far-fetched. Tsukiko frowned. She felt she had no choice but to trust the mysterious little man.
“If we do this, you swear you will tell us all that you know about us? About our fathers?” Tsukiko queried.
“On my honor, you will learn what I know.” The old man bowed low before them.
Before Tsukiko could reply, she felt a clawed hand encircle her wrist and lift her to her feet.
“We’re going,” Masaki barked.
Tsukiko looked back and saw the waving, green-eyed figure of the old priest growing fainter. At first, she thought her vision was blurred with moisture, but after another few seconds, he had disappeared. She blinked excessively as her companion dragged her through the shrine, past the mountain god’s painting, and out into the suns’ lit valley.
“He’s gone,” she whispered. “The priest— he’s just gone!”
Masaki scowled. His scent gave off layers of anger and irritation. She was astonished at his reaction to the priest. What had happened to make him so angry? After they had made it a mile or so further up the mountain path and away from the old man’s shrine, she tore her hand away and put her hands on her hips. Though it made her nervous to cross her new friend, and even more nervous to speak her mind, she felt she must. “What has gotten into you? It really seems like he’s just trying to help us!”
Masaki ran a hand through his unbound hair and paced. “How could he know those things? I haven’t smelled any evidence of humans for miles! How could someone have told him about our lives? I just don’t...” he paused.
“You don’t what?” Tsukiko encouraged, her voice soft.
“I don’t like to think about my mother or my father— my Immortal father. He’s nothing to me.” Despite his anger, Masaki looked as though he harbored tears behind his angry blue eyes. “And I don’t like odd-smelling priests that set the hairs on my neck prickling.”
Tsukiko shrank back from him, afraid to reach out. She felt the bitterness and sadness encroach around her and traitorous tears spring to her eyes. Looking at the ground, she quietly wished that she could go back to her life the way it had been with Mother and Granny. But that time was over.
“Tsukiko, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said things like that. I have much of my human family still living. I was careless. Please forgive me.”
She sniffed and wiped the tears away with her sleeves. Absently, she noticed that her yukata had dried from its soak in the hot springs. Nodding was the only gesture she could muster and instead of saying anything, she walked forward ahead of him in the direction of the summit.
Shuffling footsteps disturbed the undergrowth behind her and Tsukiko noticed how much space Masaki put between their bodies. His thoughtless words had wounded her, but she forgave him, knowing he hadn’t truly meant them. There was a deep scar in his life, too, she knew. As they walked in silence, Tsukiko pondered the oddness of their companionship. Masaki had rescued her from the desolation in her village. He had enlightened her to the truth about her uncanny abilities and evolving body. It seemed fate had dealt her a kindness after the tragedy of Mother and Granny’s deaths.
As the three suns rose higher into the robin’s egg sky, Tsukiko led the way up to the summit and then their descent into the next valley. The vale ahead was dense with maples, pines, and wild cherry trees. Tsukiko gradually found herself letting go of the tension in her shoulders and brow. The waxing afternoon was pleasant and a cool breeze wafted through the shade the copious foliage provided. Masaki remained silent behind her. She wondered what he was thinking about. Both knew where they were headed. Senseless as it was, Tsukiko knew they would retrieve the old man’s trinket, if only to have some semblance of purpose on their new journey. She hoped that the priest— the ancient creature— might truly have the answers they sought about their Immortal blood and that he would tell them more about himself, too.
The daylight waned and night fell upon them as they continued to descend deeper into the gorge between the two mountains. Neither was hungry or sleepy. Sharp eyes, noses, and ears kept them safe from the bears and wolves that prowled the area. Tsukiko just didn’t want to be seen and since Masaki seemed to understand that sentiment as well, they kept to the shadows and moved in silence.