Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.
Theme: Japanese Myth.
Warning: M.
*edited. sorry, when i say edit, i mean re-write.
Steel and Silk
I. dead in the water
appleschan
There's dead in the water, the villagers say.
Rukia has heard it all. Mother to daughter, father to son, grandparents to grandchildren, it is a mantra, repeated generations after generations over hushed and cautionary tones - a weighty warning;
They speak of the river as if the water flows directly to hell itself.
Foul words escape their mouths -swearing that the river is a plague, cursing its existence, yet they remain apathetic, they don't say anything, they don't do anything, they don't protest anything whenever the time for ritual comes. They don't watch. They don't come at all.
But tonight, Rukia sees the villagers dotted the place surrounding the riverbanks many meters away. Most of them hold small candles -lighting up the usually dark forest like scattered fireflies. Amidst the praying priests around her, she hears the murmurs of the villagers praying for her, for her soul. Their expressions and tones, grim and pitying, but their eyes hold a more interesting message, thank you for dying.
The rite priests, however, speak of it like a servant to a master, dutiful and respectful. Yet Rukia knows, behind their prayers and praises, their clean ceremonial clothes and astute attention to incense and offerings, are men slave to occult customs that predates their village out of disabling, unbearable, unimaginable, fear.
They call the river Karinui.
The river runs parallel to their village, separated only by a thick forest in between. Their small village resides near the foot of a mountainous range, strangely, despite its location, it is inaccessible to any outsiders; they never had a visitor bearing a name beyond the registry of families. More strangely, they never needed anything beyond the lines of trees and never set foot in its confusing trail.
Rukia stands alone, barefoot in the riverbanks. Her waist-length black hair pulled up by a red ribbon, a stubborn bang hung between her violet eyes. Her petite form clothed in the best red furisode her stepmother could find -borrowed from the village chief's daughter -Orihime, who, everyone thought as the next offering to please the demon.
"Look at me," Rukia hears one of the priests snaps an order. She turns to him reluctantly.
They wear wooden-carved masks with very thin slits in place of eyes -to protect them from having even the slightest of glimpse of the fires of hell, and because they are unwilling –first and foremost- to gouge out their eyes –to become blind for the entities they claim to loyally serve.
The masked priest carefully picks up a red cloth between his hands and shows it to her.
"You are not to see anything until you hear the bells, it marks your passage to the other world." His raspy voice grates Rukia's nerves. Her head raises an inch to look to the entirety of his wooden mask then to the small slit where the voice came is coldness there, and a tone of finality that seem to suddenly and easily rattle her reserve -like a disturbing touch on an otherwise peaceful pond.
Reserve. What a lie.
Because Rukia comprehends their words, but what she hears are meaningless words, far from her understanding. Because she, in the last seven days, was like an alive doll, a spiritless body capable of moving and walking. The idea of being chosen was never in her mind. She watched the previous ladies stood in this riverbank much like an audience to a depressing kagura -emphatic but never the participant.
"Do you understand?"
Rukia nods. No.
"Come closer," the priests orders again.
Rukia steps forward hesitantly, the wet grass in her bare feet suddenly feels comfortable, the looming trees do not look threatening anymore, and she suddenly wants to run back to her sleeping cot in their tiny home; feel the needle pines in her back, follow a small group of rabbits during her free time, and just be a simple human.
The fraction of a second before the oldest of the priests could tie the red cloth around her eyes, she catches sight of her stepmother crying and her expressionless stepfather. She sees a tearful Orihime standing behind her father, the village chief. The chief himself stares ahead, not at her, but at the river apprehensively -like everyone else.
Rukia stifles a choke when the cloth completely shrouds her vision, rendering everything as nothing. Out of fear, the defeat of the body -she doesn't know.
It may be because, from this point on, she would have to travel on her own, towards a place she never really understood, to a place she grew up hearing but never minded.
Dead in the water.
"Follow my voice," the priest says, "step down." He adds firmly.
Rukia carefully steps down, down to the wobbly boat that would take her away.
This is the last part of the ritual, the woman stands alone at the riverbanks, clothed in red and blindfolded before stepping into the boat unescorted after the purification ceremony. Because they believe the demon watches from the other world, her red clothes distinguishes her from the darkness, and her willingness to walk alone towards the river is a sign or her submissiveness -this pleases the demon.
Before, she, a hapless weed from the lesser part of the village, would never be a part from this, for they only select the most beautiful of their young female villagers from the designated harvest sacrifice selection for the demon.
For the past three years, they were unusual demands from the demon that terrorizes their village. The blind shamanness that communicates with it asks more and more of offerings, more urgent than the previous, grander and better, with worrying frequency.
Three nights ago, when a black katana -believed to be a tsukumogami, a once, inanimate object that gained a semblance of consciousness- first appeared beside her. The priests assumed the demon wanted her. So they sent her.
Rukia sits near the far end of the boat, two lighted paper lanterns placed on both ends of the boat, beside three lighted incense and three pieces of tiger lilies, she has nothing more to take with her.
One of the priests -she thinks- looses the tie and her boat starts its journey along the river.
The river seems to be singing -strangely so. It sways gently. She feels it in the air, there is gentle thrumming beneath her, like the river is gently lulling her, and there is no wave, just smooth stream sail ahead.
This is the river of death, or for some -of life.
To her, it is more of death.
Of death -her friend Renji disappeared here. Of death -to her real family. And now -her. Ironically, of life, her family drowned but she didn't.
She hears a familiar yet distant sound of bells.
Remembering what the priest said about the bells and the ribbon, she slowly unties the cloth at the back of her head, the ribbon falls inaudibly in her lap where it blends well with her clothes.
The bells are placed at the furthest humans can reach, signifying the end of the river from the human side, it was placed there by their village forefathers -those who performed the ritual first.
Here, there is stillness and a form of silence similar to a song abruptly suspended after hitting the highest note, violently expectant.
The river continues to expand in size, almost resembling a greater body of water, they call it the realm between, or the passage to the other.
The priest said once she sees the place where heaven kissed the earth, she's near -she's in between.
Rukia opens her eyes and she sees no more of the narrow riverbanks, but a wider water reach, horizon to horizon.
She thinks, this is where heaven and water meet, divided by a thin line people call the horizon. The water reflects the nebulous stars above like a mirror making the horizon impossible to discern. This is the stars, suspended colorful small jewels and spiraling, expanding smoke that light the sky whenever night time comes.
Tonight, the stars are reachable, almost tangible, almost intimate shining beside her.
Rukia sits silently, looking at them. The tugging in her heart disappears, a warmth in her stomach settles.
This is her soul's last soar. The path ahead is anguished.
She's almost drowsy, lulled by the stars when she sees the first candle twinkling a few meters ahead of her.
Immediately, the creeping dread pushes back, jolting her back to her senses harshly. Her eyes focus on the single lit candle then slowly moves to ten more, twenty more, fifty more and hundred more ahead.
The priests warned her that when the stars are slowly being replaced by lighted candles floating in the water and wispy smoke starts appearing, she's entering her destination -the Meido.
Looking back, Rukia sees the stars are no more, there is nothing, there is no horizon, where water meets heaven is indecipherable.
Rukia feels the cold settles in, her layered kimono is useless, the cold penetrates it easily and makes her paralyzed.
The boat rocks weakly, like hands are pushing it, directing her forward -yet the mirror-like stillness of the water remains unbroken.
She passes the first lit candle. Rukia realizes they are hovering an inch above the water and that small inscriptions are written in its short body -a name. Indiscernible names clumsily scribed.
She passes more, and more, there are thousands more. The candles move, making way for her.
She has come to realize that they ones near her are all the same in height -short, yet some are thin, large or curved. All of them are burning furiously.
She tries to read the name in each candles -to make sense, though she can only guess; these must be names of dying people. But after seeing a candle with 'Orihime' written in it, she knows it's not the case -almost, with complete certainty; Orihime isn't dying.
The candles are soon joined by smoke appearing as a certain form. A small cloud of smoke would rise from the water, form a torso, hands then dissolves just as quickly. Some would form from the extinguished candles afar. They weave in and out of form, but when their forms appear human, their transparent eyes would look at her, their bodiless form would turn to her boat's direction but not move -until the wind dissolves their forms.
The priests say they are spirits. Rukia closes her eyes, but she isn't scared.
'Treat it like a dream until you meet him.'
Him -she doesn't know. The priests are always tight-lipped about the demons and Hell, is he a monster? She doesn't know. She clutches the sides of the boat. She does know, however, that demons are monstrous in forms, horned with engorged heads, with Red or Blue skins, carrying iron clubs or large blades.
The rocking in her boat continues, getting harsher and harsher by degrees -like there are things bumping beneath her boat. Then the bumping abruptly stops. This forces her to open her eyes once more, and when she does, she sees the riverbanks returned.
Contrary to the human world's wilderness and green lush, everything here is cast by shadows, by the shadows, from the shadows. The trees resemble the shadows from the sinister characters and settings of their village's occasional shadow plays, devoid of color. Her boat continues to move at a glacial pace between riverbanks.
And she does not notice the many heads all peering from her behind the shadowed trees.
Rukia peers down the river water again, expecting to see the something. And its depth is still dark, so dark -she thinks it's endless, like the spaces between the twinkling stars every night, like the darkness that engulfs her whenever her stepmother extinguishes their candles. Curiously, the water's surface -even with all the bumping -remains intact.
"Rukia!"
Rukia feels a surge of familiarity, a leap in her heart, a voice she hasn't heard for a long time. Her head turns to the direction of the familiar voice just as when a feeling, a presence so eerie, a feeling so heavy it paralyzes her, forcing her on her place, unable to move an inch.
There is dread, it is everywhere.
She sees him for the first time, or his silhouette. She thinks he's the demon.
His shadowy figure tells her he is of human form, reclining opposite her direction. The silhouette of a katana resting on his right shoulder is dreadfully familiar.
She could not see his face.
The figure stands up, Rukia's vision becomes blank.
To be continued.
i like myths.
*9.30.14 i might rewrite for the third time sometime. maybe.