Dusk had fallen. The husk of a moon floated above the horizon as we departed the house. We would take the peasant roads, a weather-ruined, but largely unsurveilled passages where none would stop to take notice of us.

I wore a linen robe over trousers. She wore the same—my clothing, and she nearly disappeared inside of its folds. She’d had to alter them before departure and had managed a rather hasty job of it. No doubt the seams chaffed, wearing thin her skin in intimate places.

She was unused to travel and vigorous movement, and quickly fatigued as we passed over the ruts of the roads. A high mountain pass loomed beyond the hills against the eastern horizon. This range, our destination.

We continued on, through the night and into a blinding sunrise the following morning until reaching the woods atop the hills. There, we made camp and ate a breakfast of dried fish and salt vegetables. We had passed the long night in almost complete silence, of necessity, because the streets still teamed with strangers and we didn’t wish to expose ourselves either by voice or accent. It didn’t matter. All necessary communication passed between us with a gentle nudge or knowing look.

Once beyond frequent travelers, it was safe enough to stop and rest. I spoke aloud, “Let me look at your feet.”

Furi glared, but at last averted her eyes. An apparent concession. I removed her sandals and took her feet into my hands. Blisters had formed across the tops and at the heals of her feet, but had long ruptured, and bled. Now puss was forming. And stink.

“They’re bad,” I whispered. “You should have told me. I might have prevented this. The remaining journey is difficult. And they’ll…”

“Hamper our progress,” she finished for me, tugging her foot against my hold.

“I was going to say, take time to heal.” I held her feet with one hand and with the other began applying a salve. “I will never understand your inclination to suffer silently alone rather than ask me for what you need and you know I would happily supply.”

But I did understand. Wordlessly, I read her stiffness and perceived her preference for his cold scolding to the warmth of my touch. And I fell silent and handed her a neat fold of clean bandages. She finished the dressing herself while I turned my attention elsewhere, a little way apart. We nursed our own wounds separately, as the sun rose high above our shelter beneath the trees.

At dusk, we resumed our journey, though more slowly, in deference to her injured feet. She never complained, but every couple of miles, I found reasons to stop. To inspect a milestone or refill our flasks at a well. And so, we progressed over the foothills and toward the mountain range beyond.

By morning, we had mounted high into the hills where the forest thrived. Trees encroached upon our narrow path, craggy roots exposed above the earth and draped with moss. I recognized the place we were approaching, and I had to press through the foreboding instinct planted in my psyche from early childhood during haunting journeys at my mother’s heels.

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I paused as the path disappeared through a natural tunnel beneath the thick treelimbs arcing above us. Foliage admitted the slightest slivers of light. Tightly woven vines and roots would force our passage more by feel than by sight.

I sought her gaze.

“We’re here. The outskirts of the Spirit Garden.”

It was called a garden, though it grew completely wild, and as its name implied, was famed for mysticism.

“Have you been here before?”

“Not since I was a child.”

“You don’t really believe it haunted?” she whispered.

“I don’t have to believe it. I know it.” My eyes cautioned hers. I didn’t need to warn her to stay close. She willingly laced her fingers through my hand, our blood’s motion beat palpably from our breasts through its pathway inside our entangled thumbs.

“Haunted by who?”

I swallowed over a tightened throat. “Our own cousins—the jorogumo.”

“The spider demons are only legend.”

“Like your parents are legends. And yet, your effect on me has always been so material.” I closed my hand tightly around hers and leaned down, planting a kiss on her left earlobe.

“You have seen them?” She whispered.

“Yes.”

“You’re not teasing?”

“No, I am not. And if you would rather not go on, I’ll return with you to the house without another word.”

She exhaled, “No. We may as well die by jorogumo as anything.”

“Don’t say it,” I whispered. “They were the terror of my childhood. I wouldn’t dream of daring this forest without your having begged it of me.”

She peered at me and I thought I almost detected the failure of her resolve, but no. She took a breath and gave a quick nod of decision. After a brief pause for rest, we pressed toward the shadows, the tunnel swallowing us to blackness within seconds.

In a short stretch of path, we learned to move together. I lifted her atop my feet. She carried her own weight, but received my every physical signal. Knees. Pelvis. Hands. Shoulders. She answered every nudge, every breath on her neck, with movement and momentum of her own—replying with pressure, and occasionally, urgency, when I should conform to her. We fused, efficient and reflexive. Slowly, our strides lengthened, our movement became unhampered. Fluid as water.

Roots and branches reached and clung, ripped and clawed. We adjusted. A nest of bats stormed across our faces, screaming and beating. We coiled together—Furi nesting her face beneath my chin. Foxes cried. Owls called. It came faintly, but I shuddered at the tremor of throaty laughter bursting from demon lungs. The jorogumo. Furi had heard it, too and I couldn’t fully suppress the shock of horror the demons inspired.

Vaguely, time crept its way into awareness. Fatigue threatened to overtake us both, but I pressed forward, unrelenting until the branches broke again to light.

When the trees finally parted, it was not to bright day, but to the quiet light of dusk. I had not realized the sun had sunk so low toward the horizon. We had been moving in the darkness more efficiently as one body than we had individually all morning. We fell, exhausted to the ground. Mouths parted. Lungs heaving.

A sense of catharsis overtook me and my breathing escalated. In the next moment we were both laughing, arms encircling one another, exulting in life we had both been so ready to throw away.

We sobered quickly. In cooperation, our bodies had held so much tension that once easing, fatigue spoke and we slipped to sleep. Although we had escaped the darkest forest I had ever seen before or since, we couldn’t outdistance the moon. And by then, we were too exhausted for vigilance.