The Spirits of Language
- Kotodama no Monogatari -
Fandom: Aphorism by Kujo Karuna
Under the guise of a prestigious military academy, Naraka High School is a literal hell on earth. It's a school where physical training drills mean life or death, where students are not numbers but body bags, and where your friends are your greatest allies - if you can keep them alive.
This year starts with two hundred and thirty odd students. Unlike most years, they have large expectations to live up to - since the previous year's classes all perished, leaving no graduates. Two years before that, a mere ten students graduated.
There is no way to escape from hell. There is only the possibility of moving forward dogmatically, confronting all that one fears, loves, and hates before it is too late.
Chapter One: The Gates of Hell Open
Cities were strange places inhabited by even stranger people, most of whom traversed the streets with single-minded purposes. The grey cliffs that reached into the sky, glinting in the afternoon sunlight, became monotonous even to the tourists who came from the countryside or from other lands. There were features of cities that no one paid attention to, features that no one had the patience or mind for. Street signs mattered, and so did names above businesses, but those were mundane objects.
The blatant ignorance in each focused, straightforward face was perhaps the thing he hated most about the city. The cameras on the traffic lights to catch violations, the security inside every building, and the smartly dressed people on every block, were all aspects he thought of with distaste. Since he was a small child he often tugged at his mother's blouse and peered up at the corners of stores with wide, curious eyes.
"Why're they watching us? Why are there cameras in the bathroom?" Eventually, those childish questions evolved into much darker inquiries. "Why does the government watch us every day, if not to maliciously control every aspect of our lives? Don't they simply give us some freedom, so that one day they can take all if it away without us knowing or caring? No one on the street cares that the government watches them, even in the bathroom."
Since he was not prone to arguing with his mother, as mothers won every argument regardless of the truth of the matter, Nozawa Makoto allowed these thoughts to brew in his head as he walked through the streets of Tokyo every day. He vented to his friends in junior high school, but never to the teachers, no matter how strong his desire was to speak out during class. Teachers worked for the government, after all. They were obligated to report to their superiors.
Today was a bit different, though. The sights on the street were the same, but in a different city, in Saitama. The activity was slightly different than in Tokyo, but the overall atmosphere was similar. He found it hard to imagine a city filled with more noxious gas and crowded streets than in the heart of Tokyo. Naraka was a bit calmer, less suffocating than his hometown that was actually in a residential area of the city. There was a nice park and less cars, but the trains and subways weren't far away.
It had been a fifteen minute walk to his junior high school, so staying in a dormitory with another boy would be a new experience. A private school was not on his list of reliable places to spend extended amounts of time in, but he had been practically forced to attend. His parents thought that the lack of admissions papers was brilliant, as if they didn't have faith in his academics. He just thought that it was plain stupid.
He might not have liked institutions of higher learning - like Todai* - but at least the entrance exams made sense. Still, he was enrolled, already wearing the smart, crisp new uniform of Naraka High School. There was no running back to Tokyo now, and his parents looked relieved to finally have one thing in their lives work out well. He had a feeling that they were always a little disappointed in him, but it was hard for him to fathom why.
His mother's favorite phrase, "We're proud of you no matter what," kind of confirmed that suspicion. She said it at least once every other day, so often that he had to doubt its sincerity. He always earned decent grades, but his academics were nothing special, not of the caliber necessary to enroll in an elite high school. That was why this was a miracle - his presence in Naraka City, the uniform resting on his shoulders, and his ability to see the floating island.
Along the way he had seen a few other students wearing the same grey blazer with gold accents, the girls in strangely pleated sailor uniforms. Impressive red torii gates* marked the entrance to the boarding school, a set of suited guards out front checking student IDs. The sight made him stiffen. People wore suits in the city all the time for official business, he tried to reassure himself. As long as they were unable to see his anxiety he would be fine. He had to act normal.
The sleek new identification card that came by mail gleamed in the sunlight as he withdrew it from his pocket and showed it to the guard. The man motioned him in, along with a group of five students who had just arrived. Listening as they walked across the clean campus, he caught hints of accents from at least two other provinces, deep Kansai and Kyoto dialects he had to struggle to comprehend.
It was strange how people could fall for such farces so easily. It didn't seem to matter where in the country people came from. Although he could see the floating island and his friends could not, it was nearly impossible for him to believe that the truly supernatural was at work here. When he glanced about at his future classmates, all he saw was adolescent curiosity. Either they had no suspicions at all or they were just very good at concealing it.
It unnerved him. He didn't understand how people could ignore such blatant violations of privacy and how they blindly believed strangers were looking out for them. This school, for instance, was definitely too good to be true. He was able to think that even as he entered the large gymnasium, over two hundred chairs staged in neat rows before the podium. As he tugged at the hem of his blazer, he could only think with unease that such an elegant private school would never offer free tuition to all the students attending.
He wished he could turn around and go home. Even if it were impossible to escape from the government's watchful eyes, at least he would be home, somewhere familiar. He would attend a normal public high school, never having to worry about the inner dealings of a private academy and all the politics behind one. The small shivers wouldn't crawl down his spine every time he glanced at a staff member or at his peers, all nervous and laughing teenagers.
He sat down, took a deep breath, and convinced himself that this was alright. Hundreds of first year high school students across the country attended these seminars, and hundreds of people graduated from these top facilities each year. Everything was normal. It was just his thought process that didn't belong.
It was difficult to pay attention to the speeches given by the staff. Every so often he would flinch or start when he caught movement in his peripheral vision, and he concentrated most of his energy on remaining still and unsuspicious. The person sitting to his right was busily whispering to a friend beside him, a quiet murmur in his ear not unlike the thrum of a cicada in a far off tree during the summer.
"Are you nervous?" the boy's voice whispered on his right. Makoto started badly, kicking the bottom of the metal folding chair with the new loafers that came with the crisp uniform. He pressed himself as far away from the person as possible until he deemed it safe to return to his normal position. A few students were staring at him, anyways. He hoped no one of importance had noticed.
"No, why would you think that?" he snapped back, much more defensive than he wished he sounded. A bright, unassuming smile answered him, much too simplistic for his tastes. The boy inched forward in his chair in curiosity, almost as if Makoto was an interesting creature he wandered upon on the side of the road.
"It's not that weird to be nervous today, you know. Look at everyone around us," the boy whispered, although his whispering sounded awfully harsh. He had the strangely auburn hair of idols and a thin frame. A bony hand reached out and tugged on his sleeve. "I'm Kawasaki, from Tokushima City. Who are you and where're you from?"
He was a bit put off by the incessant questions and the boy's straightforward attitude, not pausing for so much as a second to consider how overwhelmed his victim was. He waited, and then smoothly transitioned into another volley of whispers, too loud for the massive hall. The absence of an answer didn't bother him in the least. He continued to address Makoto without once wondering what to call him after his initial question. He spoke of the city here, of his hometown, and of the school.
It was a secretive school, but Kawasaki had apparently heard plenty of rumors about it. Despite the fact that they would experience everything once the orientation finished, Kawasaki insisted on informing him of all the mundane details of every day life at the school. It was a boarding school and they were usually split into five different classes. Dormitories were arranged by those divisions and they normally didn't have lessons with the others, but saw plenty of them around campus.
Makoto's head was buzzing by the time the orientation ended and Kawasaki dragged him along, to wherever the classrooms were. Huge lists were tacked onto the bulletin board where club activities posted advertisements on normal days, detailing each student's homeroom and dorm number in neat little rows.
To his relief, Kawasaki Hisoka was not his roommate, but they were in the same class, and that was a disappointment. Among his friends, Makoto was the type to rant nonstop once he actually spoke, so this amiable guy who seemed completely unable to read the atmosphere threw him off. Any normal person would take his actions as a hint and back away, except for Kawasaki. When he yanked his sore hand from the boy's grasp, he snatched it back up a moment later without a word.
The teacher for class two was a deadpan man in his mid forties or early fifties, a person better suited for an office than a classroom. He didn't bother introducing himself and left the backboard untouched. He was in the process of passing out square slips the size and consistency of origami paper when he finally addressed the class of nearly fifty students.
"You'd better not fold those pieces of paper," he drawled, each syllable longer than necessary to understand his message, if his glare didn't tell them enough. It was the type of voice that put students to sleep during lectures. "Those are your life right now. If you wish to graduate, think carefully and write a character in the center that will help you fight in battle. This is how you survive in Naraka."
Makoto instantly frowned at the innocent piece of upturned paper. It had a strange pattern printed on it, with a white center and a black border. He held it between his fingers curiously. It was a normal piece of origami paper. As a child his aunts and uncles had often occupied his time with colorful cranes and elegant turtles the size of the pad of his thumb.
He had never been academically successful enough to warrant sending him to cram school, but he had heard stories from classmates about the crazy traditions practiced there. Perhaps this was one of those activities meant to raise the students' spirits and motivate them to succeed in the upcoming school year. Alternatively, this might be a method the government used to bind them to some ridiculous contract. Or, it could be that this school just really liked metaphors.
He wondered what Kawasaki wrote, given the boy's exuberant personality.
He wondered what he should write. To survive in a private school, especially a private school so closely connected to the government, he would need…
"Now, everyone, say which character you wrote aloud. It's about time to start." Makoto glanced at the teacher, a perfect owl at the head of the classroom, unblinking. The pen in his hand quivered as he pressed the tip to the thin paper, tracing out the straight angles for a set of doors and the familiar strokes of heaven just as the ground beneath them shivered.
"Gateway," he muttered. It was a familiar character, probably useful in whatever strange activities the school wished for its students to participate in. He had to go along with whatever the authorities wanted. It was never good to stand out too much, to oppose too loudly or strongly. So, he chose gateway, connecting two places or objects together. A cram school would like that - the connection of ideas and the application of such principles.
The paper fluttered, although the second story windows were sealed shut, and he had only a moment to wonder why before the white center glowed. The shock of light blinded him, and then a searing pain blossomed on his skin. He hissed, one hand unconsciously grasping at the area behind his left ear where it felt as if someone had held a match to his skin. The sensitive tissue throbbed in pain as he brushed the tiny droplets of tears from his eyes.
The first thing he saw was the teacher's thin lips, pressed into a line that twitched upwards in a cruel mockery of a smile. It's the government dogs, he thought viciously, and they've finally branded us. It didn't matter how this occurred, because the moment after the students recovered, they realized that tremors had shook the ground beneath them. Tremors were never good.
"It's not an earthquake!" said the teacher, uncharacteristically loud. The volume startled some students. "This is what I meant by survival. Only the worthy and the strong can graduate. Go and prove what you're worth and I'll consider teaching you. Look outside the window."
Those closest shrieked and screamed a second later, and soon the whole classroom was in an uproar, whether or not they had seen the beasts outside.
Makoto's skin felt ice cold, as if he had just gone swimming without his clothes in the middle of a Hokkaido winter. This was the nightmare that plagued his nights and days for years, ever since he witnessed that undercover cop break into the house next door. He had tried to warn countless people that someday the government would resume the experiments it conducted during World War II. No one had believed him, of course, because war atrocities were not on the curriculum, and the government was better nowadays.
He had found that information on the internet. It only solidified his unease with the cameras everywhere and the constant surveillance of the largely innocent population. And now he had a searing brand on his neck and there were beasts outside, seeping out from the ground with bloody maws and ivory teeth. There were people already trying to fight them, the dusty fields splattered and cut-off screams reaching from beyond the glass. It was almost like a Western painting of a medieval battlefield.
"Go and fight," the teacher intoned in his deadpan voice. "You'll die if you stay. Perhaps you will die if you leave, but go and see what you're worth. Only those who survive can graduate."
He took a last glance outside the window, where grey-suited students were fighting, although he didn't know what they were fighting with. This school couldn't have weapons ready and on hand, could it? No normal teenager would even know how to wield one. Was this an elaborate experiment designed to test the weakness of today's youth?
Kawasaki was gone, perhaps for good. A tight hand grasped at his heart at the prospect of never seeing the annoying boy again. Besides those gunshots fired that day in his neighbor's house, he had never been in any conflict that made his heart wretch so badly. As his feet took him down the unfamiliar hallways, he ignored the screams and the light scent of copper in the air. He had not been particularly close to his neighbor, but any proper human being would feel for that pitiful little child curled up against the side of the house.
He supposed it would be too easy to shoot these monsters with guns. There was no way they could take these things with their bare hands. All he had was a pen.
Bile rose into the back of his throat as he ran through the blood splattered halls. He choked on the acid when he collided with another body, thinking for one panicked moment that it was a pale creature oozing red. It was a girl though, a tall girl with a Western saber in her hand. Makoto stumbled backwards, wordless, eyes fixated on the thin blade. What use was that against the monsters and their thick hides?
He flinched as she approached him. The sharp tip was better suited for piercing human flesh in comparison. "Where did you…?"
"It's the character you wrote!" she said quickly, glancing at the blade. "I don't know what's going on, either, but…"
The girl yanked him by the forearm with a crushing grip, but seeing as she was athletically inclined, he didn't resist. Perhaps she played softball or baseball. Makoto never played seriously and never took an interest in the traditional sports that tried to recruit in the beginning of the year, but he could run. That, he could do.
He soon overtook her in strides, but once they reached the outside, they both came to a stop. It was a mess.
He tried to shake the mist from his eyes. His parents always wanted to knock that dreamy look from his face, the one that made him walk into metal light posts and trip down the subway stairs. The girl was gone, unsurprisingly, but she had said that the character gave her a fencing sword. This time, he had no chance to question her intentions.
He was alone in this - this government experiment.
A gateway to knowledge was a cliched expression. His character had a variety of different meanings, but nothing came to mind besides "a gateway". There was no way out, no way to turn a gate into anything but a gate.
Makoto ran for the sake of running. This, he was good at - he could have been on the track and field team if he wanted to devote the time. He knew how to control his breath, how to pace himself, and to what extent his endurance ran. He jumped and pretended that the corpses beneath him were hurdles, pretended that he didn't know this would happen all along. At least he knew no one close to him here.
He slowed, feeling the muscles in his legs burning with disuse. It had become too hard to dodge the creatures at full speed, and he could only sprint at that pace for two hundred yards or so before his lungs gave out. One of the creature's many eyes twisted and swiveled, locking in on his heaving form. He was out of breath only due to panic. It opened its massive jaws and screeched, claws digging into the earth.
He shut his eyes tight and threw his arms out before him, bent at the elbows, tearing at his memories for words he saw every day. And then he remembered, remembered a character that had been with him for years and opened his eyes, no matter how frightened they were.
"H-hey, you, move!" someone shouted. It was too late, because swirls of ink spiraled forward, condensing into some half translucent shield that the monster collided into with a roar. Makoto nearly fell on his back when someone caught him from behind, and they watched for a second as the creature's jaws sparked against the barrier. Barrier, he remembered with sudden clarity. It was a moment of stupidity on his part.
He allowed himself to glance behind him, at the person who caught him. Grey uniforms flashed in the corners of his eyes and as the shield shattered under the pressure of the creature's blows, a soft spray of blood flew into the air. It brushed against his face, a light breeze that smelled of copper and tickled his nose.
"Are you okay - uh, you?" Kawasaki leaned forward into his field of vision, hovering over his shoulder, still supporting his back. Makoto noticed that both of them were quivering. He nodded once and pushed himself back to his feet, eyes darting around. Two girls had arrived with him, one from before, now with a heavier sword, and the other without any weapon.
"I-I'm Nozawa, Nozawa Makoto," he informed the boy. He didn't expect the guy to have noticed his name on the bulletin board. He grimaced; there couldn't be many students left from that list. "Thanks for...for that. Do you...know what's going on?"
Kawasaki seemed to hesitate, but his eyes were constantly darting about, and the smile on his face was strained. "No, no more than you do. We're fighting now because it's the Blight. That's what one of the teachers called it. When the floating island up there moves out of the sun's way, the monsters will disappear. Until then, we can't escape. They just keep on appearing."
The four of them moved along without any further introductions, probably figuring that they could become acquaintances if they survived the first wave. As the other girl with them pointed out, these were regular occurrences in the school. Monsters were real, and their powers were real too. The lessons were to defeat any enemies that appeared and survive until next spring. It was simple. Afterwards, a graduate could get a job anywhere, just as advertised.
There were bodies draped over the bushes, in crumpled heaps on the ground. Despite her resilience, the girl with the sword had to pause to retch before tackling another creature recklessly. The other girl demanded that he cover her with his shield, despite the fact that he had been lucky to summon it in the first place. He did find that it came much easier the second time around, but it left him wondering what the other two had as powers.
It didn't last much longer - the "Blight" as Kawasaki called it. By that time, Makoto was exhausted mentally, too overwhelmed to even be wary around the black-suited adults that went around cleaning the mess up and preventing the frenzied students from leaving. He allowed Kawasaki to drag him along by the wrist, to one of the sinks in the hallway of the school. There were dazed people everywhere, as well as people who were calm and moving about their business with focused, straightforward faces.
"Clean up; blood doesn't look so good on you," Kawasaki said helpfully as he tore off a strip of paper towels. Makoto twisted the faucet and allowed the cold water to run over his hands while the other boy scrubbed the dried flakes of blood off his cheek.
He wanted so badly to start screaming about how he'd been right all along. He had told people so many times that the government was something to be wary of, but no one had listened seriously. He couldn't even mention it to his parents anymore, because they would scold him about telling fantastic tales for attention. They told him to have more faith in people, but he could never have faith in a government that didn't trust the majority of its citizens either. It was like that day, the total surprise in the middle of a peaceful neighborhood.
"It's not so bad. It won't last forever," Kawasaki told him, this time in a more sedate tone, like a parent promising a child something that may or may not be possible to fulfill.
- This story is for the manga Aphorism. It isn't well know, but it's pretty creative and has a lot of interesting characters. The premise for this story is a lot like the beginning of the manga, but it's only the beginning and not many people know of it anyways.
- By "characters" they mean kanji, borrowed Chinese characters in the Japanese language. Just about all of these characters have multiple meanings. When the protagonist is drawing his character, he is thinking about the components to the word. This is his character: 関 .
- The title, Spirits of Language, is the Japanese word kotodama. This word has a much deeper meaning in Japanese, but it's difficult to translate. The Japanese name of this story is Kotodama no Monogatari, or, the Tale of the Power of Words/Spirits of Language.
* Todai: nickname for Tokyo University, one of the most famous and prestegious universities in Japan with a well known entrance exam.
* Red torii gates: the red gates leading to Shinto shrines.