Dreams of Lily Mountain
Shimako x Noriko. An AU oneshot of magic, wonder and miracles. High up on Lily Mountain, a young sculptor called Noriko meets an angel in a church. Their bond is instant, deep and true, but the angel has begun to slowly die. Can Noriko save her new love?
A/N: Happy holidays! This is my first AU oneshot for Marimite, a fairytale of the relationship between Shimako and Noriko. The language is slightly different to the other stories I've done - I hope it won't be confusing. I really enjoyed writing this and I think I like Shimako x Noriko even more after finishing. Thanks very much for reading! (^o^)
No one knows the origins of Lily Mountain. Some say it was created by constellations that yearned to see life. Others say that it was always there, watched over by great dragon spirits whose true forms were brilliant stars.
What is certain is that Lily Mountain was a supernatural summit, filled with many mystic wonders. It was nourished by a great sun and bright moon. By dayspring, the mountain was lush and bright, and by eventide, it was calm and peaceful. All across it were gullies, canyons, and dense, fertile forests of great oaks. Within these forests were crystal lakes and flowing rivers, crashing waterfalls and tranquil streams. Its verdant groves were filled with delicious fruits and blossoming flowers that never withered. Within the azure blue ponds and wellsprings were hidden treasures and gems like rubies, sapphires and emeralds.
A host of strange and remarkable beings lived across Lily Mountain: dancing faeries, noble unicorns, and elves of great honour and courage. Dryads dwelled in the trunks of trees and nymphs splashed away in the lakes. There were mischievous kitsune or fox spirits, and serpentine drakes that swam in the sky and brought rain to the world. Winged tigers prowled the woodlands. Earth spirits, water spirits, friendly giants, deities of wood and rime: they all lived in harmony here. But there were also humans and angels.
At the foothills lived a young girl who made Buddhist sculptures. Her eyes were dark and passionate, and her hair was jet-black. Her talent was incredible, but she was not wealthy; in fact, she was extremely poor. No one thought that a young girl could ever make good statues, let alone statues of the Buddha! The human residents of Lily Mountain preferred to pay men or elves to sculpt their religious objects. Few cared to give the girl a chance to show her skills. As a result, she was often hungry and lived in a makeshift hut. But she didn't care. Despite her poverty, she loved Buddhist statues. She continued to carve and build masterpieces of great beauty. They stood outside her hut when they were complete, waiting for customers to come.
But only one or two came every few months, and many of the statues had already gathered moss.
One day, the sculptor went to forage for food. She had only a few pieces of mango and papaya left in her basket at home, and this time she took a different route to her usual way. She wandered up the mountain for several hours until she came upon a large clearing. Her legs were rather sore. She was about to start searching for fruit when she caught sight of the small church. Vines and creepers grew across its steeple and roof. It looked uninhabited and empty, although the sun still filtered through the stained glass windows, lending it a mysterious force of attraction. The sculptor felt curious and made her way towards the church door, her desired fruit forgotten. She stepped inside, and to her surprise, it was remarkably well-kept. The walls were bright, the altar was orderly and clean, and the pews weren't dusty. But who came up to maintain this lonely place when there wasn't a soul here?
The sculptor wandered up the aisle, looking at the gilded cross on the wall, when a shaft of light broke through the cross. Her eyes widened as her gaze fell upon a descending girl, a beauty with two white wings silently unfurling from her back. An aura of radiance surrounded her body. Her hair was long, of a light brown shade, and her grey eyes were wide and innocent, pure and feminine. She wore a flowing white robe, and the sculptor, who was wearing a rather plain green blouse and grimy shoes, felt dirty in comparison. The angel's sandalled feet touched the ground, and her wings flapped once. A gentle gust of wind blew across the pews. "Have you come to pray?" she asked, her mild voice a soothing, melodic serenade.
"N… no," muttered the sculptor. She stared at the angel's face, almost lost for words. "Erm… I… came here by mistake. I was actually looking for some food."
"I see." The stunning angel gave a sad smile. "Then do you wish to leave?"
The sculptor's answer was almost reflexive. "No."
The divine being blinked in surprise, but she realized that the sculptor was actually quite respectful, if slightly impulsive. "I see." Her smile was radiant and warm. "When I was created in Heaven, I was given the name Shimako. What is yours?"
"My name… my name is Noriko," replied the other. "I live at the foothills of this mountain."
"Welcome to this sanctum of God, Noriko," said the angel, spreading her arms in a gesture of greeting. "I've tended to this holy house for centuries. I don't have many visitors, but it's always peaceful and quiet here."
They stared at each other, and the sculptor felt a strong blush creeping over her face. "You…"
"Yes?" asked the young angel kindly, beaming. A few ruffled feathers fell down from her wings, disappearing into thin air as they reached the ground.
"You're beautiful, Shimako-san," blurted the girl suddenly. "I've never seen anyone like you at the foothills before."
"Oh my," squeaked the angel, putting her hands on her mouth. An adorable blush began to creep across her doll-like face. "How many centuries has it been since anyone flattered me like that?"
"But it's the truth. I've seen unicorns before, but not a real angel! I'm just being honest, Shimako-san," cried the sculptor recklessly.
"I wouldn't know, Noriko," mumbled the angel in embarrassment, turning her head shyly. Even her ears were red now. She felt her knees growing weaker at the sculptor's words. What was happening to her? "You are so aggressive, and I haven't left this church in such a long time. Only now am I remembering the kind of emotion that humans are capable of."
The girl and the female angel stared at each other. Their soft lips were slightly parted, and their eyes were glued to each other's.
A miracle was unfolding.
The sculptor never forgot about the angel living in the church. After their first meeting, every day, she would run up the mountain, to the small church to find her. Then they would spend the entire day sharing a part of their heart with the other. Sometimes they sat inside the church, other times outside on the lush damp grass. At first, the sculptor would complain to the angel about how no one would buy her statues, despite their superior craftsmanship. It felt good to have someone sympathetic for once. The angel would only smile, drawing the sculptor into her tender embrace and folding her wings around her. She was a wonderful companion, listener, and comforter. Shimako-san… she has a warmth not of this world, the sculptor would think to herself. Soon, she hardly cared that her statues weren't being appreciated. She felt herself falling in love with the angel, and the angel's welcoming beam seemed to indicate mutual feelings.
As their bond grew unbreakable, the sculptor spent less and less time at home, and eventually she felt as if she only wanted to live for the lonely angel. She wanted to keep her company at the church for the rest of her life.
But as the weeks trotted by, the sculptor began to notice the angel growing weaker. The melody of her voice was as divine as ever, and her eyes continued to shine like opal stars. But her movements were slowing, and her back was sometimes slumped. One day, the sculptor could not hold back her concern anymore. "Shimako-san," she said worriedly. "You look pale. Your cheeks are becoming sunken. You don't even talk as much. Something's very wrong." She was about to continue when the angel's knees suddenly buckled, and the divine beauty slowly crumpled to the grassy ground. The sculptor caught her, fearing the worst. Is it because of me? she thought. Why did this happen only after I started to come?
"I am cursed, Noriko. I bear a curse that will make me wither away and die."
"But you're an angel. How can you die?"
"Angels cannot be hurt or destroyed. But should their hearts falter, or their will weaken…" The angel avoided her new beloved's eyes. "They can wish themselves away."
The sculptor shook her head in disbelief. "You can't do this to me. Not when I've become lost in your embrace. Not when we've become soul mates."
The angel looked at the sculptor sadly. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want to scare you off. Please forgive me. I don't want to lose you. You have brought life to this church. I love this house, but I love you more. You have stolen my heart, sweet human girl, and I don't want you to give it back."
"Tell me everything about this curse," whispered the sculptor, clutching the angel's shaking hand. "I promise I won't abandon you. No matter what has happened… or will happen."
The angel gazed up at the blue sky, shrouded by the forest canopy. "I am afflicted with the Curse of Longing."
"Curse of Longing?" whispered the sculptor.
"Many years ago, there was a woman who came to this church. She was known as the White Witch. She was a harmless sorceress: she only conjured spells that made people laugh." The angel's eyes began to water. "But one night, she collapsed at my altar after an exhausting journey. And from then on she lived with me, and I nursed her back to health. But…" The angel started to weep quietly, wiping her face ashamedly. "One day, she told me she had to leave. And while I didn't try to make her stay, I have… felt my will to live slowly weaken ever since."
"Then this curse shouldn't be yours to bear," cried the sculptor, her fingers trailing along the angel's tear-stained cheeks, desperate to wipe away her sorrow. "We need to find this White Witch and tell her about your pain!"
But the angel didn't respond. Her eyes had closed, and her breathing was growing fainter. Her grip around the sculptor's hand was loosening, and her wings were slowly drooping. "Shimako-san! Shimako-san!" cried the sculptor, despair overtaking her. She began to panic even as she cradled the dying angel in her arms. How was she supposed to help her? She knew of nothing that could save a holy being from a self-inflicted curse made of emotions. "This can't be! What about your church? What about this grove? What about us…?"
"Yoohoo!" came an unexpected voice, and the sculptor glanced back to glimpse a tall, slender woman riding a magical broomstick and making straight for them. Her sweeping robe was entirely black, with a tall pointed hat and a wide brim. She leaped off her broomstick as she flew into the clearing, her black boots slamming into the dewy grass. Winking, she clicked her fingers, and the broom fell to the ground like any normal household tool. "The one and only Satou Sei, the uuuumatched White Witch, at your service… for a price of course, so I can pay my bills!"
The sculptor stared at the stylish, light-haired woman. So she was the object of the angel's longing and pain! "You… you're the person who lived here."
"Yo," acknowledged the Witch, giving a glib salute. "I thought Shimako might be in trouble, so I came to check up. Looks like I made the right choice, even though she looks enamoured of you."
"Wow, you can tell just by looking at her dying face?" barked the sculptor sarcastically, and the Witch winced at her enraged shout. "Look at her! She's barely breathing. The Curse of Longing has been placed upon her! And it's your fault! Help me get rid of it!"
"What! The Curse of Longing!" cried the Witch. She scratched her head. "Erm, what's that?" she muttered, slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, but I've never heard of such a curse in all my years at Lillian Witches' School."
The sculptor put her hand on the faint angel's forehead. "I'm not sure either. But it must be because Shimako-san still hasn't forgotten you. I don't know everything, but… she can't seem to let go because there are residual memories or regrets holding her back."
The White Witch's face turned serious. "What's your name?"
"Noriko," replied the sculptor almost defiantly.
"Well, let me tell you the truth. I really didn't do anything, Noriko-chan. It was Shimako who did this to herself." She smiled. "She's always been like this… burdening herself with the love of God. Such is the Deity's love – so great that it hurts even a good angel like her. When I left to see the realms beyond Lily Mountain, I already told her that I would always be with her. But she can be such a stubborn cherub."
"She still loves you, Sei-san!" cried the sculptor. "Please, save her so she can stay in this church! She has watched over it all her life! You can't let her – "
"Oh, stop shouting. You're not supposed to rush the dramatic part of a story, right?" The Witch extended a hand and placed a finger of the angel's pale lips. She muttered a spell, and a halo of bright white spread from her nail. "Release, release," she urged, her face illuminated by the light. "May Shimako's self-inflicted pain be countered by my balm and Noriko's love. May she feel the pain of parting lessen, and let a new meeting bring her joy."
The Witch suddenly turned to the sculptor and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. The contact was sudden but kind. Another halo radiated from the Witch's lips and diffused into the magical air. "Sei – Sei-san?" stuttered the surprised sculptor, staring at the light that surrounded the area.
"The curse should be lifted now, Noriko-chan. It has been sealed with my lips and my words, which have power," murmured the White Witch. "Shimako is in your hands now. Take care of her. Treasure her. She deserves nothing less." The Witch waved her hand, and the broomstick rose into the air, waiting for its mistress. "With my blessing, Shimako's own curse should be countered. Noriko-chan! I leave Shimako to you, along with this church she loves so much." She hopped on her broomstick and saluted.
"I don't think I'll see either of you again. I'm going on a journey, and I might not be coming back. So… if you can, stay with Shimako as long as you can."
"Wait. Aren't you going to say goodbye to her? And where are you going?" asked the sculptor.
The Witch winked. "Not telling."
And with that, she flew away, waving as she soared into the afternoon sky and disappeared into the sunset.
The sculptor's heart was pounding. Did it work? she thought eagerly. She looked down at the angel, whose large eyes began to open once more.
"N… Noriko," groaned the angel weakly. The colour was slowly returning to her cheeks. "Why does my heart… feel so much lighter?"
"I'll explain later. We have all the time in the world now that you're staying here." The sculptor was overcome with relief, and without thinking she gave the angel the gentlest kiss she had ever given in her life. "Sei-san saved you from the curse. Now it's my turn to be yours," she whispered, nibbling the other's lips. "My angel, Shimako-san."
"Thank you, Noriko," replied the angel, her voice breaking into grateful stammers. She slowly rose, and her wings enfolded the sculptor in a nest of white feathers. The two embraced each other, crying and laughing and giggling in joy, their tears of affection mixing together. Their hands refused to let the other go. A warm light seemed to shine from that corner of Lily Mountain even as dusk fell.
The sculptor quickly felt exhausted, and she dozed off in the angel's embrace. The angel dared not disturb her, so she simply continued to hold her lover, stroking her black hair and gazing outward at the night that had fallen across the forests of Lily Mountain like a blanket. Crickets began to chirp and owls began to hoot.
Thank you for showing me the way, sweet Witch. I don't regret staying in this church. Because I met you, and now I have my own darling chick, thought the angel to herself.
Thank you for watching over me, Maria-sama.
Many happy years passed between the angel and the sculptor. The months came and went, and the blissful couple lived out their quiet days on Lily Mountain. To wake up and fall asleep in each other's arms, and see the cyclical seasons side-by-side: those were the real blessings, and neither had want of anything else.
But the sculptor was not immortal. She was human. Her raven-black hair gradually greyed, and her body, once so fast as a young girl, slowed. But still she stayed, and she never returned to the foothills or to her sculptures. Her lively eyes never lost their twinkle, and her loyalty to the angel never died. After decades of contentment with her ageless beloved, she passed away peacefully in the tranquillity of the small church. But before she left this world, she made the angel her first and final gift – a small memento of her eternal devotion. It was a stone face of the Buddha.
A few weeks later at sunset, a human bard who was travelling to the Fox King's court lost his way. He came across the church in the clearing, and was shocked to see a marvellous statue of an angel outside, just by the doorstep. Her wings were partially folded around her body, and she had one knee on the grass. Her eyelids were closed as if in great pain, and she was motionless, gone forever. To his surprise, the bard could not stop the tears falling down his face. He wept in grief at how lifelike the statue was, as if a real angel had wished her life away because of some terrible heartbreak.
In her hand was a small face of the Buddha, also made out of stone.
THE END