“Before you can expel ki – with fire, for instance – you must master it within yourself,” Himiko explained.

We were sitting outside, side by side under the cherry tree, pink petals falling slowly around us.

“Ki is your life force. It is stored in the heart, lungs, and liver, and dispersed throughout the body. That process is natural and unconscious, like breathing, but it can be controlled,” she continued. “Overall, an abundance of ki makes one’s body stronger, faster, more resilient. As a result, focusing ki into a certain part of your body will do the same.”

She picked a pebble on the ground in front of her, and turned it into gravel with a simple crush of her graceful fingers.

“That too is unconscious, to a certain degree. Your ki rushes to your arm when you pull the string on your bow, to your legs when you break into a sprint. Yet, with greater amounts of ki, and a fine control over it, the effects only multiply.”

“And that is common knowledge?” I asked. “It all sounds like magic to me.”

“It is, and it isn’t,” she replied with a quick smile. “Mastering ki is like mastering the beating of your heart. It has nothing to do with kotodama – or magic, as you call it. See it as another limb, which most are unable to see.”

“So how do I turn a pebble to dust?” I continued, eager to get started.

“Slow, dear, let us begin with the most simple step.”

She reached over to my belt to unsheathe my carving knife. Before I could protest, she slit a shallow cut in her beautiful arm.

“Wh– what did you do that for??” I asked, as she returned the knife to me.

“Observe,” she said simply.

The wound immediately started resolving. Within a second, it had disappeared completely, leaving only a droplet of blood.

“An excess of ki gives your body the energy to heal faster. Once again, it is not magic: only wounds that would heal naturally, with time, can be treated that way. For instance, if a bullet were lodged in your thigh, focusing your ki there would seal it inside you.”

“So cuts, light fractures, but no regrown limbs?”

“That is correct.”

“Wait…” I mumbled, as something just occurred to me. “You were covered in cuts, after the fight with the wolf, but you could have healed yourself!”

Himiko laughed, gracefully covering her mouth with her hand.

“You were cute,” she said with a chuckle. “I could not bear to stop you.”

It was clear in my memories now, but in the storm of action of the previous night I did not notice that she had shed her bandages and that her wounds had all healed. I feigned indignation – copying that pout that she did when deep in thought – but smiled internally.

“So how do I do it?” I asked to change the subject.

“Cut your right hand,” she said, and I obeyed.

The brief stab of pain had me shivering. A thin red line was now burning across my hand, dripping blood into the snow.

“Now focus your mind onto your hand,” she continued. “Let go of everything else, but do not shut the world out either. The wind, the birds, the falling leaves, let them in, and let them go. See the universe, with your wound at its center, and your ki will flow to it.”

“Sounds easy enough,” I said ironically.

“Place your hands as I do,” she said.

She executed a familiar gesture, both hands in front of her stomach, palms apart with fingers joined at their tips.

“It is a simple position taught to young students to help focus their ki. There are many ways, of course, but that is how I learned.”

“That’s how you breathed fire!” I exclaimed while copying her position.

“It is,” she acquiesced. “Though I need not do it. It is more of a matter of habit.”

I closed my eyes to try and do as she ordered. Let go of everything else. Let in the world, and let it go. See the universe, with my wound at its center.

Though I remembered little of my old life, I knew that I had trained to perceive every detail in my surroundings. I had learned to hear, feel, smell and see everything. The sun was warm over my face as the breeze gently passed through my hair. I felt the cherry petals falling around me, laying on my laps and shoulders, and breathed in the cold hair slowly. I felt calm, complete.

“This… plenitude, it feels no different than the state in which I wait during my hunts,” I said. “Body and mind become one with your surroundings when you stay still on a branch for hours on end…”

I opened my eyes and saw that Himiko had taken a step back. She seemed shocked, either scared or intrigued, mouth slightly open and eyes glistening with thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, confused.

Without a word, she pointed at the ground beneath me.

I looked down, and saw – where once there was only dirt and snow – lushful grass and white flowers sprouting through the white blanket. They were growing tall, over my knees, as if a blooming verdant prairie. I touched them, my hand now healed, and felt that they were lively, strong, and deeply rooted.

“Hanagami…” I whispered.

“Your local deity?” Himiko said. “A god of blossoms?”

Something connected in my mind.

“That stone… it’s him, it’s him!!” I exclaimed. “The Caretaker, Hanagami, they’re one and the same! You said he could be a god didn’t you? One you didn’t know? He must have been forgotten on the mainland, and somehow he passed on some of his powers to me!”

Himiko stayed silent, deeply in thought as she sat back down next to me.

“I have studied the histories thoroughly, Akira-kun,” she said after a long moment of thought. “There is only one goddess of blossoms in Yamataï and she died long ago.”

“Gods can die?” I asked, suddenly curious. “Are they not immortal?”

“They can, and they are,” Himiko answered in a distracted voice. “To them, death has a different meaning altogether.”

She stayed quiet for another long moment, and I did not dare interrupt her thoughts. She was staring at the valley pensively, arms crossed around herself. I found myself staring at her in turn, my eyes lingering over her lips, pouting once more in deep meditation.

“This has grave implications,” she said suddenly, pulling me out of my daydream. “It goes a long way to explain how the Verdant Stone saps the ki of the island’s inhabitants. Like the roots of a great tree, life taketh and life giveth.”

She turned to me, a serious light in her eyes.

“We need to learn more about this… Caretaker, see if he is Hanagami. In doing so, we may also learn the full extent of his power, and how much was passed on to you. For now, let us focus on your training.”

I smiled and raised my palm towards her, the red cut nothing but a memory.

“What’s next?” I asked.

Himiko smiled too.

“That has nothing to do with the Caretaker,” she said, pointing at my hand. “You were trained. You may have forgotten how, but your mind remembers.”

She leaned close, her face coming close to mine as she grabbed my hand.

“This is good Akira,” she said, smiling. “There is hope yet. You and I, we can fend off whatever comes our way. Beasts, samurai, gods, may they come to Umeshima, and be sent to Izanami.”

I chuckled, emboldened by Himiko’s enthusiasm.

“Oh that newfound confidence,” I murmured. “For all we know, perhaps all I’d mastered was meditation and the growth of flowers. For all you know, perhaps I was nothing but a talented gardener.”

“Who’s to say a gardener – or a hunter – cannot overcome Yamatai’s finest warriors,” she replied, waving away my humility.

“What’s next then, fire?” I asked, eagerly.

“Not so fast, dear. Even if you mastered it in your previous life, one mistake could set your lungs ablaze.”

She stood up, and went towards the small wall that circled around the house. She ripped a stone from it effortlessly, and returned to place it on my lap. It was heavy, too heavy for someone to lift with one hand like she did.

“I’ll have to fix that…” I grumbled.

“Take out your knife, and hold it before your stomach, the tip resting on the stone,” she continued, ignoring me.

I obeyed.

“As you did before, focus your ki between your hands, towards the blade, and push down gently.”

“The blade?” I asked. “Not my hands?”

“Trust, pupil,” she replied with a mischievous smile. “You’ll see.”

I closed my eyes once more, my hands firm around the handle.

It was faster this time. After only seconds, I felt my hands slide down and heard the sound of the pummel hitting the rock.

I saw, amazed, that the knife had pierce through smoothly, as if that stone was a tender piece of meat. I pulled it out smoothly, and the blade was intact, unchipped and as sharp as it was when it left Daisuke-kun’s grindstone.

“So you’re not just some sustenance hunter from the forests of Hokkaido,” Himiko said, smiling proudly. “You really were trained.”

“How is this possible?” I asked. “I barely pushed and my knife pierced through the stone like it was melted snow!”

“Ki can imbue materials,” she explained. “Metals, dense rocks, and even water and ice, to a certain extent, retain it well, enhancing their durability and capabilities. A shard of ice could be hardened into a dagger. Conversely, skin, or clothing or armor, can be made nearly impervious to damage. That is why your arrows barely scratched Masuda, while my fangs pierced through. It was not the strength of your arm that was lacking, but your mastery of ki.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“So I could even imbue arrows?”

“Yes, though your ki will weaken as the arrows leave your hands. One can do so with any projectile, in fact, though it is often pointless with firearms. A gun can pierce through most defenses, even when fired by a layman.”

“Maybe I ought to accept Gin-san’s rifle then,” I said, laying back with my hands deep in the flowers that surrounded me. “If my training does not prove strong enough, a pull of the trigger would kill a samurai.”

“That would have helped,” Himiko said, with a disappointed pout. “I thought this island was isolated, I did not know your smith would have a rifle in his workshop.”

I laid down completely, flowers and grass tickling around my face and ears.

“How bad is it, out there?” I asked her. “How does it fare compared to our blissful ignorance, whatever’s going on in Yamataï?”

She came to sit closer to me, in the grass, her knees rested sideways against my shoulder and her hand quietly passing through the flowers.

“How much do you remember?” she asked, smiling with melancholy.

“I think I was a soldier,” I said. “There’s what you said about my training, and then earlier when I tried to use Gin-san’s rifle, I saw these flashes of violence, like I had used it before, and that I was good at it.”

“Perhaps you enlisted into Kuma’s army,” Himiko said pensively. “That would explain the engraving on your knife.”

“Do they enlist women?”

“No, but it would also explain your name.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, intrigued.

Himiko smiled tenderly at my candor.

“Akira-kun, that is a boy’s name, and not one native to your people.”

“So even my name’s not my own?” I said, defeated.

Himiko leaned down over me, her palm gently holding my cheek, our faces so close to each other that I could feel the warmth of breath.

“Akira means bright, like moonlight, wisdom, prosperity, truth and joy, shining like the sunrise. Whoever you were before, you need not let it go, but do not let it plague you either. Here, now, you are Akira, the huntress, the wolf slayer, the survivor, savior and protector of Himiko, friend to Gin, Daisuke and Tsumugi. Akira is your name. Whatever else you remember from your previous life will only add to who you are, not change you.”

I reached up to hold her cheek in my hand too.

“I like that,” I said. “Savior and protector of Himiko…”

She chuckled coyly.

“Sit back up, dear, instead of lazing about and growing flowers for me, training isn’t over.”

“I can’t help it,” I said with a smirk as I sat up. “The mere thought of you is deserving of flowers.”

“Oh you really were a soldier, weren’t you?” she said as she burst out laughing.

We trained for several more hours, after which I could reach the meditative state required for a fine control of ki in all sorts of difficult positions and situations. Himiko had me healing cut after cut, hanging upside down from the cherry tree, standing on my hands or while carrying a heavy stone over my back. She had me pierce a dozen stones with my knife, and shoot through them with arrows. According to her, my control of ki was still unrefined, though compensated by its sheer abundance. When evening came, I felt exhausted – as if I had just run without interruption for the whole afternoon – and the entire hill was covered in colorful flowers.

With limbs numbed and a spirit bolstered, we returned inside the cabin where I prepared some more venison stew. We talked, while I cooked, of the state of the world I knew so little about. It was a quiet war, it seemed, between the forces of Kuma in the north and God-Empress loyalists in the south. Officially, Shogun Yoshimichi, the patriarch of house Kuma, was ordained by the Amaterasu to rule in her stead, but his brutality had caused many to call for his removal, and for the Empress to regain full power over Yamataï. Amaterasu had stayed silent in that matter, confined with her court on the island of Tsukushi, but her followers were amassing armies in her name nonetheless. It was a game played in shadows, with pacts made in secret and assassins making their ways into noble houses, waiting for the order to strike.

The Shogun, meanwhile, repressed in violence any hint of rebellion, without claiming to disobey his God-Empress. For a few years, he had been quelling insurrections in the countryside, where discontent over his rule was quietly growing. The Ainu, on Hokkaido, were among the first to rise when Yoshimichi outlawed hunting, to preserve game for his own hunts. He had also razed our forests to build his castle and farmsteads for his retainers to rule over and exploit, booting Ainu off their lands with wave after wave of Yamataï settlers. As far as Himiko was aware, Ainu villages had been razed and built over. After a failed insurrection six years ago, the Ainu had fled to hide among crowded cities, leaving behind their traditions in a bid for survival.

In the stronghold of Otaru, its walls built by indentured Ainu hands, over Ainu lands, the house of Kuma was deemed unbreakable.

According to Himiko, the average Yamataï, who was not Ainu and did not speak of dissent against the Shogun, life was peaceful, and relatively prosperous. The roads were safe, farmers and merchants could go about their business, but the fear of a war breaking out was seeded deeply into everyone’s mind. The people knew that it was but a matter of time, and that a clash between the Shogun and the loyalists would also mean the intrusion of foreign forces, kept at bay for over two hundred years now.

That is what Himiko envied most of Umeshima. We were free of this all consuming anxiety that plagued the country: would they wake up to soldiers on their doorstep, and whatever what else from distant foreign lands, raping and pillaging?

Yet, she could not stay here forever, with Kuma’s hounds on her trail, and she could most definitely not forget the circumstances that had led her there.

The pain in the back of my head was sharp at first, but slowly subsided. Himiko explained it as my memory coming to terms with itself. She called it a dissonance, like misaligned teeth, slowly grinding their ways back in place.

When I asked about the world beyond Yamataï, she said that she knew little of it, and that I should not concern myself with it.

“We are like fish in a pond, shared with sharks,” she said. “We could ponder and strategize over life on land, but what use will it be if the sharks eat us first?”

“Tell me about Amaterasu,” I asked. “How close were you?”

“I’ve never met her,” she replied with a dry smile. “I was born in Fumishi, outside of the court. The God-Empress has had many children, more grand-children, and beyond. I hear she is formidable, once a great warrior and now a patron of poets and painters.”

“She was a warrior?” I asked, enticed by the idea. “How so?”

Himiko smiled at my excitement.

“I am no historian, Akira-kun, but it is known that she led many ancient wars, thousands of years ago, and won. She is the reason Yamataï was never subjected to a foreign dominion.

“A warrior empress, eh? That must be quite a sight.”

“I am sure. My breath of fire, it is believed that she pioneered this technique, thousands of years ago. It is said that even among the world’s greatest warriors and madoshi, none has finer control of fire than she does.”

I sat there, picturing a woman shrouded in flames, leading armies into battle with a burning sword.

“Who did she fight against?” I asked. “The Qin, the Han?”

“Why, dragons, of course” she replied, in a matter of fact tone.

“Dragons… with gods walking about the earth I should not be surprised.”

“It was so long ago, very few remember it now, but there was a war, I believe. Anyway, they’re long gone now.”

When we fell asleep, bodies and breath intertwined, my mind wandered again in these fantasized stories. Dragons, slithering across the skies, the God-Empress in a crown of fire. What wonders awaited me, away from Umeshima?

The next day, training continued. We meditated together, healed, pierced through so many stones that I would need to rebuild my entire wall. Still, Himiko was reluctant to begin with fire.

“It is not a simple expulsion of ki, like you do with your knife” she explained. “Ki in itself has no substance. It is energy, pure and simple. The moment it leaves your body, with no interface like metal or stone, it dissipates. To turn it into fire you must learn to manipulate energy outside your body, not simply expel it. You must learn to imbue the air itself with ki, so that it ignites, and then turn your own ki into heat to light the spark. Finally, you must control your breath precisely, lest you burn your own lungs.”

I pleaded, and pleaded, to become the dragon, but Himiko stood firm. Instead, we continued working on the same few techniques. With the flowers that sprouted at my feet, the entire hill would look like a meadow in spring by the end of the week.

In the afternoon, we went back to the village for supplies and to check on Gin-san at his workshop. Himiko reverted to her fox form, trotting along as we passed through the market and traded some fish for boar lard with a catatonic Tsumugi. I had gotten used to that awful sight at that point, and barely tried to talk to her or look her in the eyes. Himiko, meanwhile, went to investigate the Verdant Stone, sniffing around every inch of it.

The second we passed the workshop’s entrance, a bolt of white fur bolted into my arms.

“Akira-san!” shouted the excited, ear-piercing voice of Aoto-kun. “Look, look!”

He jumped off me and stood there, eyes glittering with happiness. He was wearing a beautiful white fur coat, perfectly tailored. It took me a few seconds to notice that it was made from the pelt of Masuda – or rather, a bear pelt transformed to look like it.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “Daisuke-san made it for me!”

“You look so fierce in it!” I said, smiling widely. “But why…?”

“I want to be like you!” The boy said. “With this, I won’t be scared of wolves anymore, and one day I’ll be a fearless hunter too!”

“Now now, come on Aoto-kun, Akira-san is very busy,” Daisuke-kun said as he walked in, leaning against the door frame.

He looked exhausted, with deep black pockets under his eyes and an uneven two-day beard – as even as it could be for an eighteen year-old.

“Go, Aoto-kun,” I said to the boy. “I’ll teach you how to shoot arrows later.”

“He loves it,” Daisuke said once he was out of sight. “He said he feels invincible with it.”

“Invincible, eh?” I said pensively. “Hopefully he does not become reckless.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him, don’t worry,” Daisuke replied. “How can I help you?”

“How are you?” I asked in return. “You look like you haven’t slept since I last saw you.”

His eyes darkened, as if I had given him some grave news. He turned back and walked deeper into the workshop, upstairs towards his father’s room, gesturing to me to follow him. He stopped halfway up, Himiko sitting by my feet, and looked me dead in the eyes.

“I… I can’t sleep, Akira-san,” he said, leaning against the wall with his arms along his side. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Are you having nightmares? Or are you just unable to…?”

“Neither,” he said, his eyes filling with an eerie alarm. “Anytime it’s quiet around me, or when it’s dark, I…”

He shook his head, swallowing with difficulty.

“I hear things, Akira-san, when no one’s around. I see shapes, in the darkness, when there’s nothing there.”

His voice was shaking, much like his father’s just two days ago. There was that same unease in his eyes, fear and uncertainty.

“What do you hear and see?” I asked, putting my hand on his shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring.

“I’m not sure…” he said, weakly. “It sounds like a voice but I can’t make out any words. It sounds distant, like it’s coming from outside my room, from underground, but it’s there anytime there’s silence. And I see… it’s black, like tar, reflecting off light, but it’s moving, slowly like… like a bucket of eels. It’s everywhere, Akira-san, in every dark corner, in every shadow of my bedroom. Even when I close my eyes, I see it.”

I looked at Himiko inquisitively. She was entirely focused on Daisuke, snout and whiskers shaking slightly.

“Can you not say anything more?” I asked. “You could well be hearing people speaking outside, or hallucinating simply because you can’t sleep.”

“I’m telling you, Akira-san,” Daisuke said, almost shouting. “It’s there. I hear it, I see it, and I can’t escape it.”

He grabbed me by both my shoulders, in a familiar gesture.

“Akira-san,” he repeated. “I fear… I fear I’ll end up like my father.”

“Please, Daisuke-kun,” I said as he was pushing me against the wall, his fingers squeezing my arms so tightly that I feared they might break. “You’re hurting me.”

“Sorry,” he blurted out, immediately stepping back and shaking his head as if pulled out of a dream.

“Let me see your father again, perhaps we’ll find some clue to the root of his illness,” I said, putting on a hopeful facade. “Has his condition changed at all?”

“He makes even less sense now,” Daisuke-kun said, looking away as he started walking up the stairs again. “Most of the time he sits in a corner of his room, mumbling to himself. He never touches the food I leave for him, only drinks water when I’m not looking. If he sleeps, it’s from sheer exhaustion.”

“When did Daisuke-kun become so strong?” I thought. Even Gin-san did not hurt me as he did. I thought of Himiko, crushing a stone with her bare hands using ki, and wondered if that perhaps had something to do with it.

We entered Gin-san’s room, and he was sitting on the ground, turned against the corner, as Daisuke-kun had predicted. He did not acknowledge our presence, only muttering an incomprehensible litany into the darkness. Daisuke stayed by the door as Himiko and I approached. I knelt down next to him, and still he did not seem to see me, his bloodshot eyes revulsed and twitching around while he started at nothing.

“Gin-san, can you hear me? It’s me Akira,” I tried, to no avail. “Aoto-kun’s doing better, he says he’s no longer scared of wolves, now that I brought the pelt back to him.”

He kept on muttering, so quickly and quietly that I could barely understand him. In fact, it did not even sound like Yamataï.

“I know I’ve said it before, Daisuke-kun,” I said as I stood back up. “But I swear, I will find a cure.”

Daisuke-kun nodded slowly, his arms crossed around him as if he was cold.

“Take care of yourself. Try to sleep, no matter how frightening it is.”

I left with a tap on his shoulder, Himiko following closely.

We went down into the storage rooms where I found a small bow in an old dusty crate. I called Aoto-kun, and we went outside together. There, I showed him how to string the bow, which was hard enough for a small boy like himself, and we practiced shooting at an old tree stump. He picked it up rather quickly, though he struggled to pull the string all the way back.

When night fell, Himiko and I returned towards my home on the hill with a few more arrowheads in my pack. Back inside the cabin, while I prepared the gutted fish over the coals in the hearth, Himiko said: “Daisuke-kun’s… illness, it rings familiar. It sounds like the first moments a madoshi, a Speaker of kotodama outsteps their bounds. Understanding it may give us a glimpse towards the nature of the Caretaker.”

“I’ll need your help, Himiko-san,” I said pensively as I flipped the fishes.

“You have it,” she replied.

“I need you to find him, make him lift this spell, and kill him.”

“Of course,” she said. “And I think I know exactly where to begin our search.”