| Prologue |
In a field of almost fully-grown sweet potato plants, her senses filled with the smell of soil and the sound of farmers working, a goddess did her divine work.
To outsiders, ensuring abundant harvests for farmers looked like an easy thing to do: a snap of the fingers, and the crops would eventually be ready for harvest. But the task was far harder than it seemed.
She concentrated, carefully making sure that each sweet potato plant got just enough of her holy energies to bloom and bear fruit, but not so much that she'd run out before she got to all the others. Today, in particular, was the most important day, for it was today's work that would add the last finishing touches on the crops before they were ready to be harvested. It required precision, practice, and above all, discipline. Too little power, and the harvest might wither and die. Too much, and the crops would be unwieldy—no one wanted to deal with a dozen sweet potatoes that were each larger than a house. Yet, even now, just weeks before they were to be harvested, the plants thirsted for her blessings more than they did water. So greedy for my divine power,she thought. So like the farmers that tended them.
At last, she finished. She felt drained, more so than usual—both in body and mind. "Did I use too much power this time?" she wondered. She checked the spiritual power thrumming through the field.
"Hmm...no, everything's fine...
...so why do I feel so tired?"
Before she could dwell on the issue any further, she shook her head of such thoughts and turned her attention to the task ahead.
"Next are the cabbages and radishes, and tomorrow's the barley. All of next week is for the rice...
A passing farmer called out to her. He bowed in reverence, then immediately launched into supplication—a good harvest for his fields, health and good fortune for hisfamily. She waved back and smiled, and gave him a pre-fabricated response about faith and hard work. Only after the farmer receded into the distance did she let out a snort of disgust.
*Sigh* "This is so exhausting. But, no harvests mean no worship, and I guess a goddess has to get faith somehow."
She breathed in deep, and let it out, hoping her fatigue would leave with it. It didn't.
"No use complaining. Onto the next field."
She allowed herself one last glance backwards, at the field of sweet potatoes she'd just left. Back at the arsenic green of the plants. The shriveled tubers hidden away underground, away from the garish light of the sun. The equally shriveled people tending them.
This wasn't the autumn she fell in love with.
So went Minoriko Aki, goddess of bountiful harvests and the symbol of abundance and plenty.
In the depths of the forest, surrounded by the wind and the rustling leaves, another goddess looked upon the fruits of her divine labor.
Another autumn, another kaleidoscope of reds, browns, yellows, and the occasional defiant green. Her work seemed easy, and in a sense it had been—the trees just needed a modicum of divine power to get things going, and they could take care of the rest themselves. Not like crops, where things had to be managed else they go out of control. No; here, all that mattered was ensuring that the leaves, at some time or another, all went to their deaths.
So she had done what she always did. Just a smidgen of power here, a larger infusion there, so that the leaves changed colors at different times. Through her blessings, the once-green forests of Gensokyo turned into a scintillating landscape that drew in the viewer, one that could be appreciated as a grand whole and in the smallest of details. She was an artist, and Gensokyo's woods were her canvas.
She wanted to tell herself that her work was beautiful.
"Who am I kidding? It's just leaves dying in the end. Dying, falling off the trees, and rotting so they enrich the earth again. Anything else is a lie."
She wanted to believe that what she did made people happy.
"Who am I kidding? No one worships me. No one has rituals and ceremonies to summon me so I can change the color of the leaves. No one asks me for favors or blessings. No one kneels in the forest and thanks me for making the leaves die."
Tired of the false beauty surrounding her, she walked to the edge of the forest, where she saw how no one gave the living mural of colored leaves even a glance. She saw how the farmers were calling out and giving thanks to the another goddess, their delighted faces filling with hope. She watched as a young boy went about raking fallen leaves in his yard, grumbling about the mess that appeared daily, wishing for the leaves to never fall or change color so he wouldn't have to clean them up all the time.
"I want to make them happy. That's all I want to do. I want to use my divine power, and make them smile."
This wasn't a matter of survival for her; she was a goddess of nature, and so she didn't depend on the faith of worshipers to live, as many other deities did. Nevertheless, even if she didn't need them, she was a goddess who longed for the people. She tore her gaze away from the village and went home.
Her path led her through the woods. Every step she took kicked up fallen leaves and filled her with the first hints of decay. Every so often, she'd see the rotting remains of a dead woodland creature, or a piece of deadwood filled with insects feasting on the remains. She'd see leaves falling on them, and imagined how they'd mix together and return to the soil.
This wasn't the autumn she fell in love with.
So went Shizuha Aki, goddess of the changing leaves and the symbol of loneliness and demise.