Two – The Colors of the Flame
Ayame of Ecruteak dreamed.
Stirring from sleep, it was nothing coherent, nor borrowed from memories or remade stories her parents had told her. It was nothing but splotches of color and vague murmuring voices. She couldn't make them out, so close to wakefulness, so she didn't try.
Instead she let them carry her up and up, following the melodious humming of one voice, so much like her own, except… she couldn't think of words to explain the feeling this voice gave her. It was older, yes, not by much but it was old enough that it made her think of long nights in front of the fire, watching the will-o-wisps dance outside the windows and in the gym's corridors. She liked it very much when it spoke, but for whatever reason she was very happy not to understand what it was saying.
Then, in the middle of the voices, a purple light flooded her sleeping vision. It flickered and twitched behind her eyelids, mixing with a high-pitched little giggle that Ayame knew as well as the calluses on her feet.
With a groan, she opened her eyes. "Jericho," she said to the seemingly thin air. "You aren't allowed to eat me. You know better than that. I'll grow all slow and you'll never get any of me then."
The air filled with the sound of a miserable razz berry and the little melting candle appeared on her chest. Its one visible golden eye shone in the rays of the sun and it blew the messy waves of pink hair from her face. It also nearly set her bangs on fire, but that was fine. Ayame had hatched the little litwick, she knew his pranks better than anyone except maybe Father. But father was special.
She sat up and watched the waxy creature fall off her torso and plop to the edge of her blanket. A smile touched her face for a moment before the rest of her set to get ready.
The dreams, incomprehensible as they were, were long since forgotten.
Per Nancy Lucille's wishes, her daughter was dead and gone, and Ayame Kitsunebi of Ecruteak, Morty's adopted daughter, was alive and well.
Even though she called once every few months, even though there were small parcels left in the mailbox and stipends billed to their bank, some to a trust account under her name. And they couldn't just refuse them. She had given them an incredible gift and it'd be rude to spit in the face of it.
But by Ho-oh's beak, did Morty wish that the woman would just let it go. Was she having seller's remorse?
"Good morning Father," came from the sink as he stepped near it. His daughter stood on a stool, rinsing out her lunch containers, bare feet wet with soapy water.
Morty chortled, unsurprised to see her there. "Good morning Ayame. Where's Eusine?"
"Papa is taking the jumpluff out to float. Now that it's rained, they need to scatter more pollen." She shook out the dishcloth with a delighted smile.
"He just didn't want to do dishes," Morty told her and she rolled her eyes at him.
"Cy-nic," she said with a small wiggle on the stool. "I like doing dishes."
"He knows." He pecked her on the forehead and she laughed. There was none of that sad toddler in those eyes anymore, only the happy look of someone who found love and drank it up like water. As children should be.
He smoothed her pink hair down, leaving a section messily flopped over one red eye. She winked at him with the other.
"Come on, clean the soap off your hands so we can eat. We have a long day today."
Ayame shot him a distrustful look. "Every day is long, Father."
Morty laughed. "True, true. I suppose it can't be helped. Training has already started."
"I dodged every single ghost," Ayame reported as she settled seiza beside him, wiping her hands. "Cept Jericho." She paused. "Except Jericho," she corrected after a moment. As if to prove it so, the wax candle slid about up her undershirt with its little flame brushing under her neck. Its face settled at her left shoulder. There was not a single burn on her tanned skin.
Morty chuckled. 'You don't have to sit on ceremony for me, Aya."
"I have to practice," she told him in her most proper voice. "If you all are going to see me dance in the fire, I must be poised in everything."
Morty picked up his chopsticks. "If you are certain."
She straightened. "I am."
He laughed again, and this time, she laughed too.
Then they both laughed harder at the rush of their last family member through the door. There was a delighted squeak from the sliding door and then the telltale thump of a body over a long piece of cloth.
"No capes," Morty reminded his daughter.
"No capes," Ayame agreed, giggling behind a hand.
"I'm home, I'm home!" Eusine skidded into them, nearly thumping his purple-panted legs on the table as he slid down to ruffle Ayame's dancing pink hair. "The jumpluff are ready to migrate, no spores to poison them from the beedrill and the sunflora mating. The fires will start below ground soon, and the festival preparations are underway." He said all of this in one breath and his chest puffed out repeatedly once he had finished.
"Hullo, Daddy," Ayame greeted. Unlike Morty, if he got the formal treatment, Eusine would fall into at least an hour of exaggerated sobs that never failed to make Ayame guilty even when she knew they weren't real. "Are you hurt?"
"Nothing a hug from you can't fix," Eusine declared comically from the floor, turning himself to face her. Morty rolled her eyes and so did Ayame. Even so, she went over and climbed up onto his knees to oblige him.
"One of those days you're going to break her ribs," Morty mused. Eusine adopted a look of horror at the very thought.
He clutched Ayame more tightly to his chest. "Our daughter is more than capable of handling the stress!"
"I-I need to breathe though, papa…" She pretended to wheeze, if only so he would let her go. Eusine of course did so, the comical panic on his face replaced with that familiar joy and pride.
"Come on, let's eat so we're not late." Morty took a deliberate bite of his food. "There's a grand announcement this morning and I for one, actually want to hear it this time."
The two of them chorused their agreement together and his chest swelled. He pretended it wasn't and they continued their morning.
To be a kimono girl meant hours upon hours of training, from the moment you could walk with a steady pace, to the moment you could speak without a fear to the moment you reached your full maturity. Even then you were training, learning, growing. You never stopped until you could no longer bear the burden of the fabric, no matter where you were from.
So Ayame made sure she walked into the theater with as much balance as she could muster. At three she had stumbled and tripped over the hem of the tattered legs and the unfamiliar sandals with which to walk in. Now she wore them as well as a girl could. Most people around her age went on journeys right about now. Some waited a little, but ten was the sacred age. For children raised in prayer, it was only to be expected that things wait a little longer, to the age of eleven, to be sure. Or something. Ayame had no clue what the actual reason was and because the reasoning was brought up by adults, she knew no one would tell her.
She slipped the sandals off as she entered the backstage. "Morning, Fu-chan!" she called to the girl at the back. Said girl turned, black curls folding all over each other and lifting from below as she beamed.
"Aya-chi!" she said, waving her over. Unlike Ayame, who wore a kimono of white and purple, Himawari Fuuka wore sunshine colors that made her cheeks all light up. Her mother had sewn it for her, intentionally too big. And now the sleeves were a little brown from all the times had fallen in it, much like Aya's own. "Big announcement today!" she said, twining her fingers and Ayame's together, very much without asking. Ayame let her, appreciating the warmth of her best friend's palm and the soft silk fabric. "You made it just in time! Riri and the others are late!"
"They'll make it," Ayame said with an affectionate little skip. Fuuka led her to their cushions, towards the middle. An entire row, that for their friends, was visible in the crowd. "But they have to be careful. It'll be us in the front next month!"
"I know!" Fuuka wiggled in place. "Our last year! We'll get to perform in front of everyone for the harvest and the trees! I'm so excited!"
"You would be." Ayame grinned at her. "You big show off!"
"I am not!"
The lights dimmed around them, leaving the room only lit by candles and cloaking the arriving kimono girl in shadow. She looked just like the rest, which Ayame supposed was the point. With the full makeup on, you needed good eyes to tell the troupe apart usually. The older students kept threatening that Ayame was going to need a wig or hair dye. Fu-chan told them to buzz off.
At the thought of them, Ayame pulled down her hair with a free hand.
Four thumps made themselves known to her left. She waved at her friends, boys and girls alike. Kimono girls and sages trained together, as they would have to work together one day. It was known.
"Good morning young apprentices."
"Saya-sama," Fuuka squealed behind her hand. "She's here!"
Tadashi snickered behind them. "Suck-up."
"It is good to see you all here… and on time no less."
Snickers rippled through the crowd.
"I have an announcement to make. This upcoming summer festival will be drastically changed. I know it is last minute. However, the monks of Sprout Tower sent us a very important message." Saya paused, dramatically at that. "Ho-oh's flames have been sighted on Johto soil."
The room rippled. Ayame perked. Father had been hunting Ho-oh since he was her age! Since he was younger than her!
"It is likely that the great phoenix will make itself known on the day of our festival's beginning. We must ensure it is a fact."
Ayame was squirming now herself. She couldn't wait to tell her dads! Ho-oh was going to be here and she got to help.