Chapter 4 – A void of disgust; The golden hair that stole the smile of a flower

The bird was gone, although in my mind I would always be searching for it so it could answer me what I have become. In every dark alley of my thoughts, in every dark corner of my memories, I would always be looking for, and running from that bird. It gave me what I wanted the most, but left me empty yearning for what I needed the most. For the best or worst of it, I would never find that bird again.

When the sun rose the day I escaped from the lost catacombs, it marked me, making my hair yellow as gold, condemning me to walk the earth forsaken. It was the punishment for my crimes, and accepted it. How could I blame anyone or anything but myself for the atrocities I've committed? I spitted at the face of reality, I perverted the laws of living. Now, every step taken by me was with the weight of the complete certainty that I was banished, that I did not belong anymore to this world.

When the breeze would blow in my face, I would not feel anymore that comforting sensation of yonder, but a strange chill would pierce through my spine. When rain would soak my dress, the dampness would permeate my bones, and my whole body would feel swollen and bloated as a big bubble of moss. When the heat of the sun licked my flesh, it would itch. And when the glorious moon would appear high in the sky, I could not stand seeing its face, a gigantic eye watching inside my ripped soul.

And beyond all those tribulations, one would rise higher than all. A thirst for air that would be darker and lower than everything. It was of such devastation that I could do little else than crawl for the first days after I escaped the old monastery. That lack of air, the feeling of not only emptiness, but of something escaping from inside me, could it be that I've lost my soul? I could not know. But, that sensation of drowning, of going under an eternity of weight, it was that very feeling when my brother died.

Are you now punishing me for my crimes, brother? Are you that void inside my breast, plucking the petals of the flower you once loved? I'm sorry, dear Myouren. Was your death my fault? I searched for you, my dear, from beyond the Toudai Temple I made my path. You were lost and I looked for you, the Buddha statue, Daibutsu, guided my way to you there, on that snowy path. I have found you! Have I found you? Have I failed you? Have I failed us? Memories are as transient as transient was our love. The white lotus you once cherished within your arms, the Byakuren where in her bosom you have rested your hair, is now dead. What's left is a stranger with no place to call home, a monk that could only love the road, Hijiri. Are you proud of your sister?

No matter what that void were, I was able to alleviate the pain it caused with meditation and unrelenting determination. I exercised my body through Zen, and my mind with the mantras of Buddha. But, even though the void was tamed, it could never be vanquished. I knew that, although sleeping, it was there, consuming me from the inside, waiting to wail its way out of me, waiting to send me back to that spiral of madness. Nevertheless, even as precarious as it was, I could control myself and my overwhelming emotions.

Meanwhile, I was always walking, wandering from place to place. With my new granted powers, I soon made a name for myself. People saw on my golden locks of hair some sort of good omen, prophecies of a 'golden warrior' to vanquish the evil and protect the just. My magic and sorcery mesmerized them, and I soon became a heroine in the minds of those simple people. I would walk by their city gates and they would smile and scream my name "The wandering monk is here, Hijiri is here". Their happiness, their smiles, their joy were all empty for me. They were hollow dolls.

The tomes changed me. They replaced fear of death with disgust for life. When I looked at the eyes of those simple peasants, I would see only sweat, stench, a life rolling in the mud and death. When I looked at children, I would see stupidity, a bunch of mindless creatures that knew nothing about suffering, stupid creatures that would eventually be taught the way of pain by the inflexibility of nature.

And more than anything, I disgusted myself. Yes, I hated the music, the art, the dancing, the cherishing, the holidays, the food, the drink and the lovely caresses that lovers would trade in a moment of happiness. But more than everything, I hated looking at me, at what I've become. I would run from any mirror, and every water calm enough to reflect my image, I would either strike or run from it. I could not... I did not have the strength to look at my body eternally young, never aging no matter how many years should pass. And my hair, once dark and serene as the night inside brother's eye, was now a mockery of gold.

I wish I could again feel that simple joy of laying at the floor, bathing in the sun rays of a summer day. I wish I could find that peace when watching the falling snow. But everywhere I looked, there was only hate and shame. And, beyond that hate and shame, was that all consuming void. Sometimes, even with all my power and training, I would lose control of it. The void would emerge, and my mind would be taken by fear once again.

With my nerves in freckles, I would ask me many disturbing questions. What if my magic failed me? What if I could once again be victim to death? I would end up like brother, dead and forgotten in a cliff side taken by the snow. No matter that I've become a creature of shadow, that all the things I once hold dear to me – the gentle caress of the seasons, the blooming flowers of spring, my faith and religion, the memories of my brother's love – were now venom running in my veins, I still would chose that instead of death. So, to continue undying, I had to uncover the nature of my sorcery and understand how I could protect it, to make so I would never lose it.

The key of my magic was in the yokais. They were the creatures, the monsters and demons that walked the world in the long forgotten past, like those shadows that attacked me in the monastery. They were all creatures of magic, and the same magic that made possible for them to exist, made possible for me to be eternally young and to hold powers beyond any human being could have.

For in the end, reality is a just lie that we believe in. If we believe in something, that thing is real to us. Therefore, the power of belief is the power to control reality, which, in other words, is magic. My sorcery, the one which I learned from that dark tomes, was fueled by the belief in the supernatural. As long as I maintained that belief strong, my magic would continue to live on. Simple.

And with that realization I gained a new identity. I became an yokai hunter, a monster slayer. Every village I went, I would offer my services to cleanse the place of all the demons and beasts that lived there. The villagers would gladly accept my offer, praising me as their savior. Then, I would proceed to hunt the creature through the wild. When I found the beast, I would harness it's power, draining the magic out of it, but letting it go. With that, everyone was happy: the humans would be freed from the yokai, the yokai would have its life spared, and I would quench the thirst of my void and feed my magic.

That became my routine, going from village to village offering my services as a hunter. The yokais that I defeated and that I let to run away would, eventually, get stronger and terrorize another village. With that, with more people fearing the yokai, the belief in the supernatural would grow, and I would maintain my power. Hunt yokai, let it escape, wait for it to attack again, rinse and repeat, that was my plan, and that would probably be what I would be doing for the rest of my disgusting rotted life. Forever. And again. And once more. And more. More.