Music on the bridge, a shaman king fanfic

Inspired by Fantinerose's painting -"Music on the bridge"

It is often said that every little village in Japan had it's own legends. Everywhere you go, if you are patient and kind, people will come to you, invite you to sit with them and ask if you might be interested in hearing their village's history.

As a historian, I am always interested in these stories, so when I was invited for dinner and an accound of village history, I didn't hesitate for even a second before accepting the invitation. Little did I know that this story would be so different from the other stories I have heard until now...

"This is a story..." The grandfather began after dinner, "Is not the story of how our village was built or where it got its name. It is a tale of how our village was almost destroyed, and a kindhearted stranger saved us all. This is the tale of music on the bridge."

Music on the Bridge

A thousand years ago there was a small farmers' village in this exact spot. That which is now surrounded by towns and acres of farm land was then mostly surrounded by forest. The river that brought life to the land, called 'Hebi' by the people for it's many twists and turns, flowed calmly near the village's outskirts. The gods that were worshiped were kind to the townsfolk and blessed them with good harvest and healthy offspring.

Until one day, one woman's evil conduct ruined the life of all.

To this woman, a beloved child had been born; her first son, whom she named Hiroshi. But the baby's spirit was weak and his body sickly, so he died before he could properly be named. His untimely death had a most unpleasant effect on his mother. For two days and two nights she smeared her face with ashes and mourned where her son was buried.

On the third day she was seen walking quietly into the village, with hollow eyes and an unnatural pallor disgracing her features. Into the middle of the village she walked and sat there, waiting.

At the end of the working day, when everyone returned home, life seemed to come back to her. She jumped up from the ground, ran towards the shrine of the gods and yelled; "You, cursed gods, you who have taken first my husband and then my child from me, you shall never be loved in this village again! May your bodies crumble to dust and your minds fade in the darkness!"

She spat on the altar after she said this, threw all of the incense bowls across the square and scattered all the gifts to the gods on the ground, where she trampled on them.

The woman was of course captured and beheaded, but the damage had already been done. From that day onward, the gods stopped favoring the little village near the river. They had to work twice as hard to harvest barely enough to last the winter. The trees withered. All seemed dead and unhappy around the village, and this did not change, no matter how the people pleaded and begged at the shrine.

The worst of all, however, was the river Hebi. Overnight, the river had turned from a calm stream into a living nightmare. On its own it uprooted trees, and the unlucky human who might fall in would never again be found; up- nor downstream.

Since that dreaded day, the river Hebi always overflowed in spring, flooding half of the village and driving people out of their minds with fear. The river kept edging closer and closer, and it was absolutely clear to the people that this was nature punishing them.

This demise went on for many years. Generations came and went, and the circumstances became worse every year. The old gods were forgotten; the people slaved away on their poor land.

Thus was the state of the village at that time, one thousand years ago; the crops rotted, the people hungry and weary, and the river Hebi threatening to swallow the village whole. The people had nowhere to run, since there was only one way out of the valley; the bridge across the river Hebi, which led to the mountain pass. The foot of this bridge, however, would be flooded when the time came to fly.

One evening in spring, as the river roared and growled and edged closer and closer to the little town, a stranger clad in a while travelers' cloak entered the village. He crossed the bridge quite calmly, entered the village and asked the village head for a place to stay the night.

The village head, who was a kind old gentleman, offered him a futon in this own house, even though he had no space. The stranger laughed at this. "I would be very content with just a place in your barn." He spoke. "My feet are tired and in dire need of rest."

The village head agreed to this, and the stranger moved into his barn that same evening. In the morning, when the word of his arrival had already been passed on from mouth to mouth, a group of curious villagers gathered around the barn entrance to meet this mysterious stranger.

When he came out, he was once again clad in his travelers' cloak, the hood pulled over his eyes to hide his face. He did not speak, but in stead wandered around town and took a look by the riverside.

On the evening of the third day he spent like this, it started to rain and storm so hard that the villagers thought it would be the end of them. Far away in the distance, a rumbling sound could be heard. At first, people thought it was thunder. Then one of the village elders remembered hearing that sound before, as the melt- and rainwater came down from the hills and rushed through the small riverbed. Judging by the sound, this was unlike anything the village had ever seen before.

The people raised the alarm and tried to reach the mountains safely, but it was too late. The water had already flooded the village outskirts and was rapidly rising. Outside, however, above the roar of the water, another sound could be heard; a flute, clear and pure. It came from the direction of the bridge.

The bravest of the villagers waded through the river towards the bridge.

There, in the middle of the bridge, stood the stranger. He had thrown off his travel cloak to reveal himself; a young man, clad entirely in purple, with hair that flowed all the way down to his waist. In his hands he held a flute, which he played quite calmly. Though the water roared below him and the storm raged around him he was completely dry; the water seemed to avoid him.

The brave villagers tried to wade towards the bridge and shouted at him to get away from there, est he should be killed. But the stranger did not listen. He kept on playing and playing as the rumble of the nearing water grew louder and louder in the villagers' ears.

What happened then was something that they could only describe as a miracle. Around the turn of the river came the water, roaring loudly like an angry beast. It sped towards the stranger at a disconcerting speed. As it was about to crush him, the stranger's eyes shot open.

The water halted in mid-air, right as it was about to hit him. The villagers could but watch open mouthed as the foamy waves twisted and turned to form the body of an enormous snake, with glowing eyes as blue as ice, and with seven different heads. All hissed at the stranger, a deafening sound which drowned the tones of his whistle.

The stranger lowered the instrument, looked the monster square in the eye and spoke for the first time since he had arrived. His words thundered through the air.

"Poorly have you treated those are in your care!" He spoke to the monster. "You have taken advantage of their kind spirits and destroyed all hope when you chased the old gods away and took their rightful place. You sucked the life out of the land and the crops, and now you seek to take the peoples' lives? What have you to say, Hebi of seven heads?"

The snake god hissed. "Who tellssss me thisss?" It spoke.

"Asakura Hao tells you this." Said the stranger. "Even though you took all they had, these people were kind to me, a stranger in their midst. Therefore, to replay their kindness, I will put an end to your earthly reign."

From his Yukata he pulled a string of prayer beads, one-thousand and eighty in total. This he wrapped around his left wrist. The fingers of this hand he pointed at the snake god. "By the power bestowed onto me I command thee to surrender and return to thy true nature."

"You cannot dessstroy me, Asssakura Hao." The snake god replied. "A mere human like you cannot kill a god like me..."

"I do not intend to kill you." Hao said, as he put his right had through the chain of beads and took his flute back into both hands. "But I do intend to put you to sleep for a very long time."

The snake god hissed, enraged, and attempted an attack as Hao put the flute to his lips. The first note however created a shield that deflected the attack. As the melody sped up, the one-thousand and eighty beads started to glow; they rose, stretched, became a long chain of shackles. The chain wrapped itself around the snake god and bound him tightly. This combined with the flute's soothing melody forced the snake god to give up his true form. A huge wave crashed down upon the bridge, but did not break it. The brave villagers were washed away in the stream and stranded a mile downstream. From there, they witnessed an enormous beam of light shoot down from the clouds and into the valley, followed by a roar of thunder unlike anything they had ever heard. And yet, above all of this noise, there was still the calming melody of a wooden flute...

The next morning they awoke to find that the storm had gone. They made their way back to their village, where the people were finally starting to venture out to see what had become of their village. To their immense surprise, there was no damage at all; it was as if the river had never escaped from the river bed. The braver ones rushed towards the bridge immediately. There was no one there; the stranger was gone. Around one of the bridge's wooden pillars, a chain of beads was woven tightly. On the surface of the bridge a wooden flute was recovered, and into the surface, someone had scratched some words, which translate as follows;

"Pay heed, whomever crosses this bridge

Pay heed the beads that keep the snake

Pay heed the gods who live anew

When one thousand and eighty years have passed

Beware the snake's escape.

Prepare the flute, prepare the beads

With them to tame the wildest beast."

Below this the year and date.

The people of the village were speechless, especially as the ones who had been there that night recounted what they had seen. They erected a shrine for the stranger, where they placed his wooden flute which had apparently saved them all. They inscribed the shrine with the year and date of this miraculous occurrence. The village prospered again, and our people live here happily until this very day."

The day after hearing this story, I went to see the shrine myself, and found an ancient looking wooden flute lying in a well-kept, small wooden shrine. Then I took a stroll towards the bridge. The river was calm now, but I could imagine how wild it must have been on that night, so many years ago.

I observed with my own eyes the bead that were wrapped tightly around the base of one of the bridge's mighty pillars. With a sigh, I turned. The promised one-thousand and eighty years had almost passed, I observed; less than a week until the exact date.

As crossed the bridge to leave the village and trek across the mountains to the next village, a stranger passed me by. He was short; shorter than me, and wore a heavy white cloak that covered him from head to toe. His eyes remained in the shadows, but as our paths crossed I saw him smile.

"One by one, all shall fall

one by one-thousand and seventy-nine

and when the last bead cracks

the snake returns, alive"

His voice was kind and calm, but the undertone was clearly unpleasant. But when I spun around to tell him this, he was gone.

Three days later I had reached the top of the mountain, and I observed a strange phenomenon. Below me, in the valley, thick black clouds were gathering, and a thundering sound could be heard. From where I stood, I could see the river grow wilder and wilder. And then a heavenly melody reached my ears, and all became quiet once again.

Naturally, I dismissed this as being a bad dream, caused by the old man's storytelling. I laughed at my rich fantasy and carried on with my journey.

When I arrived in the city one week later, having taken the long route rather than the short mountain tunnel, I learned that a dam had broken upstream of the small river, and seven times the normal amount of water had come rushing down the mountain on one side. Miraculously, one village had been spared by all of nature's violence; the village I had just left.

Villagers spoke of a stranger who showed up in town and saved all of those present; not a single person was missing. The newspaper speculated that a natural turn in the mountain pass where the river bed flowed might have directed the water away from the village, but I know better.

It was thus I, Asakura Yoh, became to believe the legends about the one I call my brother; Asakura Hao.

~Fin