True Light
It is amazing, how every culture in the world seems to have an inherent knowledge about the earth around them.
They create stories of gods, of strange creatures and of spirits.
Long ago, the beings we now call ghosts, had a different name.
They were called
Mushi
Snow, falling gently upon a nearly silent landscape. Gently, peacefully. Alighting on branches and the shoulders of beasts, catching and perching like tiny doves, listening patiently to the wind's faint whispers. Gathering together in a downy blanket over the landscape, ready to burst into motion at the slightest command of the wind's chilled breath. Featherlight touches brushing pale cheeks
Melting upon this contact, fading and slipping down smooth skin, mimicking a slow trail of tears that had not fallen from closed eyes. A comforting embrace that dared not tighten, for fear of touching the living fire, to fade and return as something as solid as the dark trees they wrapped around.
This was the world of snow and ice. Calm, obeying only the wind and the changing of seasons.
A burst of exhaled smoke, condensed water and the scent of burnt herbs mixing together in a single breath. Nimble fingers were touched back to warm lips, a deep breath echoing through steady lungs. Another, smooth trail of smoke drifted into the air.
It's so quiet here.
A calm tap brought a glowing ember into the light, while pale ashes fell slowly to the ground, almost blending in with the snowy landscape around it.
There was something here, he knew it.
Something strange that happened twice before, reported by the local townspeople.
He felt, deep in his chest that there was something happening.
Something powerful.
The small creatures, the embodiment of life, they flowed around him, all at once attracted to him, and repulsed by the smell of smoke. More than usual.
Yet, their presence was not the unusual thing.
It was their movements
And their voices.
These creatures, diminutive at times, while at others, could be as large as a tree.
Or a swamp.
Even a mountain.
They were invisible to most people, their glowing bodies and untouchable forms dancing quietly around, everywhere. Looping around people as they lived daily, untouched and unbothered by the strings of life.
These creatures inhabited every place on earth, even making their ways into other places.
Inside our houses
Inside our bodies
Inside of our dreams.
They were generally harmless, though when agitated, strange things often happened.
Humans could be given the gift to hear things no one else could.
To become one with a body of water
To walk the paths of an endless maze that was another reality.
Even to see the river from which all life sprang.
A beautiful, flowing river of life. It was said that only chosen individuals could see these creatures, and fewer knew what they were seeing.
A couple, though.... a few humans in the world had taken it upon themselves to learn about these ethereal beings, to study their ways and help those who had been touched by the untouchable life.
These humans normally possessed skills that ranged from doctoring, to engineering.
Few of them came away unaffected.
Many were stolen away by the creatures, disappearing entirely into the realms of the unknown, sometimes being spotted by other humans who could spot the creatures.
In the end, each of them were seen walking calmly, even joyfully into the beautiful river of light.
A soft smile of contentment spread over their features before they sunk into the luminescence, their soul becoming one among many.
These strange creatures and the ones who saw them, were irreversibly linked, and it was rare to find someone who could see them, and was not affected by them in some way.
Occasionally, a human became a host to one of the more influential creatures, and began to see or hear or feel the creatures, while they had not been able to before.
Those ones were unlucky.
Their bodies usually could not handle the sudden influx of spiritual information, like forcing a huge pressure on a thin filter. Like trying to scoop a goldfish with a paper net. The net sometimes held, but usually broke under the stress, ripping open, and allowing the soul to be flooded away under the waves of information.
The humans normally died.
These creatures of light
Beings of unknown purpose and barely understood power.
These creatures were called Mushi.
While the ones who spent their lives studying the creatures, combating their effects on human, animal, or even a plant host.
These people were called Mushi Masters.
Mushishi
At some point, he had become lost.
When it happened, he did not remember
Nor did he remember when the snow had stopped
Or when he had fallen asleep, with his wooden pack tilted against his shoulder, and his head resting gently against a tree's trunk.
He did remember waking up to a beautiful noise.
Like a small, perfect crystal bell being struck with an equally perfect rod. It played along his conciousness, lingering and echoing in his ears for the longest time.
His eyes were half-closed, dulled in concentration as he listened to that clear sound. Where was it coming from?
The cries of mushi, he always heard them when his mind concentrated on the sensation. But now, it sounded like this was right in his ear, like someone had struck a bell just above his head.
He looked up, the sound having faded at last.
Snow continued to fall from a pale gray sky, twisting around dark branches and faintly brushing against his heavy coat, only to catch in his scarf and melt. A sighing breath, lacking of its customary smoke, faded into the winter air. His eyes caught the movement of mushi, yet their dances only confused him.
Normally, when he was not constantly breathing out the special herbs that held them at bay, mushi weak and strong alike would pick up his (scent? Soul?) trail and move closer to him, many attempting to influence his body.
He had been foolish once before, and had tangled with a mushi whose powers left him without memories.
He still had not remembered his childhood.
He doubted he ever would
But his white hair left him with the knowlage about the ones he had been touched by, and the constant pulling and pushing of the mushi around him, telling him that it had been more than just his hair and eyes that were changed.
His soul must have been affected as well.
Mushi were innately drawn to him
Like a moth to the flame.
They desired him
And he felt a faint tug toward them as well.
However, he had seen with his own eye, what it meant to follow that pull, and to surrender yourself to the lightstream.
He had seen a young girl, eyeballs dead and blackened as they waded euphorically through those dazzling lights.
Old men, fading into pale light that was swallowed by other mushi
A child.. barely older than an infant, reaching toward those beautiful, dancing creatures.
Stretching for the mushi, and watching sadly as they were consumed by those gentle, glowing tendrils.
He knew not to enter the lifestream, or even get too close to it.
But when the pulling on his center became too much, he gave in to his urges, closing the second eyelid that allowed him to see this river in its full glory.
Even while sitting next to the river, skin caressed by the faint auras of mushi, he was always careful to have his back facing the flow, unwilling to let his sight and mind be whisked away like a leaf in a flood.
Sitting here now, awake and watching the cold snow fall from a gentle sky, he still could not forget that tender warmth and rippling of colors that called for him. He pushed it to the back of his mind, however, to watch the mushi's movements.
Normally, they twirled endlessly toward him, flowing close, before being pushed away with each exhale of the fragrant herbs. Like an ocean's tide, each wave new, though laced with the old.
It was why he traveled constantly, to prevent the mushi from attaching themselves to his presence, and making it easier for them to move away from his smoke.
After all, how could a bird build a nest in a tree that walked away from it?
But now, the mushi were moving strangely. On the surface, he saw the movement of waves, glowing tendrils stretching for him, before moving away again. But behind that, he saw trails of mushi, barely tugged toward him, before rushing onward again, ignoring his stationary form.
It puzzled and worried him.
The only other being that he knew to attract mushi with such vigor, was a human on the verge of being changed into one of their own.
It was a ceremony that very few went through, and through the process of drinking a deep wine from the life-river, a human's physical being was stripped away, leaving only the spiritual essence of a mushi behind.
Taking an extra breath of smoke, aiming it playfully toward the few mushi who had been lingering around him since he had awoken, he smiled as they gave a barely-audible squeal and twisted away, merging into the trails of others who snaked through the snow-covered trees and deeper into the forest.
Hoisting his large, wooden pack onto his shoulders, he ignored the faint clinking from within, as glass bumped against the shelves inside, confident that their padding would be enough to keep them from breaking, even if he dropped the rectangular box.
His leather gloves squeaked slightly, and snow crunched under his boots, muffled as he stepped toward where the mushi seemed to be headed.
The sound of the snow under his feet, his own breaths puffing into chilled air, the faint thump of a branch unloading its burden into a bank beneath it. He ignored these things, listening only to the the warm hum of pleased mushi as he watched more and more of them appear around him, deep turquoise eyes carefully memorizing and noting each new species that he saw.
There were hundreds, if not thousands of different types gathering.
The sky above him seemed to glow with its own Aurora Borialis, casting now shadows, but leaving his vision as clear as day, despite the thick, intertwining branches , laden with snow that blocked out much sunlight.
More snow was gathered in the treetops, making a natural roof, while dead leaves became apparent.
After a moment, he stopped, looking around.
It was warmer on his face, and he could spot faint signs of plant life.
Seeing the thick ribbons of light still steadily trailing onward, he knelt down, brushing aside some fallen leaves atop a large, oddly shaped mound.
His eye widened, and his lips upturned in a small smile.
Fingers reaching out, he plucked a single blossom out of the bunch that lay there, turning it over in his hand and admiring the rich red color. Pestles grew from its center in a shimmering gold color, which rubbed off onto his gloves very easily. Examining the leaves of the plant, he lowered his pack and placed the blossom gently inside, wrapping an extra cloth around it, lest it be bruised in his pack's movements. He huffed at himself for feeling tired so soon after waking up. His mind felt heavy.
He brushed gold-laced hands off onto his thick winter pants, standing up and noting that the snowfall had not even touched the dead leaves around him, allowing for the chilly ground to still support life.
Looking back up to the trickles of light above him, he began to dutifully follow them again, amazed that they did not even pause to flow in his direction any more. He stood next to a ribbon that was nearly at his chest hight, and it flowed past him, even going around him when he pushed his gloved hand near to it experimentally.
His mind continued to process information, curiosity reaching an all-time high.
Suddenly, he jerked, eyes wide as a clear, crisp note sliced through the clearing.
The air seemed to hum with it, his breath expelling heavily as he listened. It was beautiful.
Whatever was producing that sound, he was sure that it was the one attracting the mushi. Even he had felt the pull that time
A sudden urge to fall into place with the rest of the mushi lines and follow them to their destination.
He shook off the feeling stubbornly, mouth setting into a firm line, and walking beside the mushi with determination in his mind.
He would find the source of this.
The humming in his ears began to escalate.
It grew louder and louder, as if he were walking toward a valley of people who were all talking in whispers and songs, a wavering sound that slid across his thoughts, yet placed a firm pressure as well. The pressure suddenly increased, squeezing his chest, before vanishing completely.
Without warning, the sounds stopped.
His eyes widened and he stumbled, and stopping his steps after he caught himself, listening carefully and worried that a mushi had gotten past his smoke and stole into his ears to eat the sound before he could hear it.
It had happened before
But he still heard his heart beating quickly in his chest, and the crunching of leaves below him that, now that the mushi were not singing to one another, seemed painfully loud.
He looked around, seeing only a faint glow in the forest around him. The mushi were gone?
He turned to look directly behind him, trench coat snapping in the warm air, breath catching.
Behind him rose a massive wall of mushi, writhing around upon one another.
They all pressed against an invisible wall, unable to get through, yet trying nonetheless.
He stepped toward the mushi, looking at them carefully.
Something inside him thrummed as he approached them, the feeling of his chest tightening growing stronger.
He looked at the trees, seeing no difference in their general placement, before looking down on the ground.
He saw a line of raised ground, almost at shin-level.
Was that what he had tripped over?
Leaning down, he felt his head grow heavy again, tired and willing him to fall asleep. Narrowing his eye, he brushed aside the dried leaves covering the circular mound.
Vibrant red petals exposed themselves to the air, cheerful golden stalks shaking dust into the air.
He winced and drew back, a leaf still clutched in his fingers, watching as the mushi did likewise, floating backward away from the dust stirred up into the air.
He looked down at the leaf in his hand, only faintly surprised at their familiar shape.
It was the same herb he smoked, but it was the first time he had seen, or even heard of that plant blooming.
Mushi repellent, huh?
Very interesting.
The pulling on his chest increased, and his back straitened automatically.
He turned and walked deeper into the forest, his back on the massive wall of glowing mushi, not seeing as they spread in all directions, meeting other walls to form a column around the area, just outside the barrier of crimson plants.
As he walked, he noticed himself stepping over more and more rows of these blooming plants, most of them still covered by leaves, some bared to the world by a random gust of wind.
The air around him grew warmer.
He breathed in the smell of plant life, stepping over another row of covered flowers, jerking to the side when he spotted something bright flutter past his vision.
When he turned to identify it, the thing was gone.
All around him, plant life had become more obvious.
Mosses covered trees, extending pale flower-like stalks to the open air. Thick grass poked through the constant leaf cover.
The trees above him even carried green leaves on their lower branches now, despite the obvious cover of snow just a few layers above them.
He heard no sounds of animals, as he would in a forest.
A swell of weariness creeped up his legs, forcing him to kneel down, breathing hard despite his leasurely pace.
Something was amiss.
Something big.
His chest was still being tugged, harder than before, toward the center of this lush forest.
Yet his legs were tired as if he were still trudging through the snow toward this place. Pulling and pushing.
Pulling and pushing.
Like the wind against a determined bird
or an ocean's waves.
Pulling.
He hefted his pack higher on his back, ignoring as the bottom side dug into his back. His feet were determined as he made his way toward the center of the clearing.
Pushing.
Even as he approached, his weariness increased. He felt like his pack was being pulled backwards, away from his goal.
In fact...
His pale eyebrow furrowed, wondering why he didn't notice earlier.
He lowered the pack to the ground, opening the outer doors to find many of the drawers rattling steadily.
He opened one, finding the special egg-like sac that contained a special mushi inside, one who liked to travel between closes spaces, and would deliver messages placed inside its container.
The silk cocoon was wiggling frantically, twisting around and almost jumping out of its padded container. He went to pick it up, but the moment his gloved finger touched the white casing, it burst open, like a butterfly ripping violently from its wrappings, flying desperately upwards, only to suddenly give out, and fall to the ground, dissolving.
Its body was black powder before it even hit the earth.
He eyed the other drawers, wary about this happening again, and knowing the rarity of some of the mushi stored in his pack, the usefulness of them. Saddened by the loss of his mail-carrier, he closed the outer doors, leaning it against a tree. He slid off his scarf, wrapping it around branch in obvious veiw and let it dangle, the blue-gray coloring standing brighly from the browns and green around it.
Unwise of him to leave the pack unattended, but nessisary if he was to continue.
He didn't even know what he was looking for, but it pulled at his entire being, stronger than the life-river ever had.
Speaking of which...
He took a moment to close his eyes, then his second eyelid, to briefly examine the river of life.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the light all around him, adrenaline spiking as he thought himself to be already immersed in the glowing flow.
After a moment of panic, he realized that the river.. was indeed all around him. But not touching him. Looking around in awe, he saw the forest around him encased in a solid mass of mushi, himself nearly in the center of a giant orb of light. He wondered how this would look from the outside. Would it be a ball separate from the river, or would it be an extension of it? Aside from the plants that seemed to scare the crap out of mushi, what was so remarkable about this place
His shoulders light from the absence of his pack, he progressed faster into the depths of the forest, the trees thinning out, but the undergrowth getting thicker.
Wincing as a branch scraped his cheek, he pushed past a last layer of leafy bushes, he stopped dead at the edge of a small clearing.
Around the clearing, like a wall that he had just breached, was a thick layer of bushes, almost like a hedge.
In the center of the clearing was a tightly grown dome of vines, the crimson petals of his newly discovered blooms covering the surface evenly. It was almost hard to see the vines through the many crimson flower and glittering gold pestles. The half-orb was only a few heads taller than he was, and about the same width.
The entire clearing seemed to be shining.
The gold powder laid so heavily in the air, that the glow from the mushi far above was constantly reflected into shimmering beams of light twisting around the air. Thick grass under his boots were heavy with the dust, much of it stirred back into the air, despite his steady gait.
He felt sleepy again.
Tired beyond all belief, and fought desperately to not simply fall to the ground and sleep.
He would blame it on the mushi, but they obviously were not here right now.
Or maybe the flower was some sort of vessel for a particularly potent mushi that would repel others.
It suddenly worried him the amount of these leaves that he smoked.
Shaking his head firmly, feeling his snow-colored white locks stir up the still air around him, he stepped toward the dome in the center, feeling his heard and head practically thrumming their own song. He gasped suddenly, and stumbled forward, eyes glazed and hands reaching forward and brushing clumsily against the wall of flowers.
As soon as his hands touched them, a massive cloud of powder erupted from the area, suddenly disturbed after years of being untouched, thick dust clouding his senses and making him tired.
The clear, bell-like sound had returned, along with an irresistible urge to find the creator of it. To find it and protect it. It was precious, the sound seemed to weave into his mind.
You must find it.
But the gold dust had muffled that pulling voice, the demanding yank on his soul becoming less, as the heady gold dust pushed him away from it.
He stumbled back, falling on his butt and breathing heavily. His body was so tired
Weary
Exhausted
Yet still being pulled, desperately toward whatever was behind that small dome of flowers.
He coughed into the crook of his elbow, staring dully at the orb, his turquoise eyes half-lidded once more.
His mind was foggy, the combined dust and frantic tugging making him unable to keep a solid train of thought, despite his ordeal.
He thought he heard a mushi whisper, but discarded the idea, since nothing seemed to be able to cross the walls of flowers.
Pushing himself (with difficulty) to his feet, he ran his fingers through white hair, closing his eyes fully.
He exhaled loudly, taking a step toward the dome once again.
He stopped, definitely hearing something this time.
A whisper, different from the scraping of his trench coat on heavy pants, or the rustle of leaves far above him.
It sounded strange to his ears, but sparked his curiosity once again, the fog on his brain lifting just slightly.
The whisper halted for a moment, before growing louder, his ears recognizing rising and falling tones, similar to a mushi song.
Yet different
He cleared his throat, long used to trying to speak to mushi, knowing full well that they never understood his words, but sometimes obeyed, or listened to the emotion he put into them.
"I can't get inside. Sorry. The dust is too heavy, and I keep wanting to fall asleep. I've gotten this far, but I don't know how to get further. "
There was silence, the air still shimmering with gold specks and reflected light.
Suddenly, he jerked backward, covering his face with the inside of his shirt as dust burst outward in a thick, almost opaque wall that washed over him, his eyes squinted shut against it.
He heard the distinct sound of ice cracking, and risked opening his eye to make sure the ceiling of snow was not collapsing in on him.
A flash of pale blue light. He stopped breathing for an instant.
In the center of the clearing stood a young boy, far older than a child, yet a good few years younger than him. What really caught his eye, despite the slight build and young appearance of this person.
Was the white-as-snow hair, splayed in the sudden wind and shining amongst gold powder, along with the brilliantly glowing, vivid green eyes.
Such shining forest eyes that were focused on his single visible turquoise eye,
He barely noticed that the young man's body was covered in red, long strips of red against pale skin, when the green eyes were suddenly much closer, and he felt a chilly wind puff against his face and neckline.
Vibrant luminescence that pulled at his chest in a way the river of life had, before he learned to stay far away from it. Hair as pale as his own settled around his shoulders, brushing against his cheek and no longer being suspended in the air by that eerie cold wind.
He had no time to respond before he was tackled to the ground, the pull in his chest becoming horribly painful before it stopped altogether, fading into a peaceful state that he barely remembered it being.
His back and head hit the ground, eye glazing over.
He felt the cold presence of that boy pressing against his shirt, slim arms wrapping around his ribcage loosely.
He felt long, soft locks of hair falling against his sleeves and legs.
He heard the crack of melting ice
He smelt the spice of crushed and broken greenery
He faintly saw the dome beyond a curtain of white hair, glittering ice standing at dangerous angles out between mutilated vines and flowers, a crack through ice showing a dark space inside, and crushed grass leading to where he lay.
Ginko's only real eye closed slowly, his exhaled breath stirring a few hairs of snowy white.
He could not tell if they were his or not.
As he succumbed to the gold dust settling around his limbs, his only coherent thought faded, leaving only an echo of its presence before drifting into a sleep without dreams.
'I wonder if it's still snowing'